Proiect
Proiect
Proiect
the
Spies?
Spies?
Establishing Intelligence
Service Accountability
Edited by
HANS BORN, LOCH K. JOHNSON, IAN LEIGH
Foreword by
Ambassador Theodor H. Winkler
and Ambassador Leif Mevik
Published in the United States by Potomac Books, Inc. (formerly Brassey’s, Inc.). All
rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner whatsoever
without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations
embodied in critical articles and reviews.
The views and opinions expressed (unless otherwise declared) are those of the authors
and do not necessarily reflect those of the Geneva Centre for the Democratic Control of
Armed Forces or the Norwegian Parliamentary Intelligence Oversight Committee.
First Edition
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
PART 1
Introduction to Intelligence Accountability
1 More Closely Watching the Spies: Three Decades of
Experiences 3
Ian Leigh
2 The Politicization of Intelligence: Lessons from the
Invasion of Iraq 12
Peter Gill
3 Beyond the Nation State: The Influence of the European
Court of Human Rights on Intelligence Accountability 34
Iain Cameron
PART 2
The Revolution in Intelligence Accountability
4 Governing in the Absence of Angels: On the Practice of
Intelligence Accountability in the United States 57
Loch K. Johnson
5 Accountability of Security and Intelligence in the United
Kingdom 79
Ian Leigh
—v—
PART 3
The Spread of Intelligence Accountability
8 An Unresolved Game: The Role of the Intelligence Services
in the Nascent Polish Democracy 145
Andrzej Zybertowicz
9 Executive and Legislative Oversight of the Intelligence
System in Argentina 160
Eduardo E. Estévez
10 The Role of the Security Services in Democratization: South
Korea’s Agency for National Security Planning 180
Jonathan Moran
11 Controlling the Hydra: A Historical Analysis of South
African Intelligence Accountability 199
Kevin O’Brien
PART 4
Conclusions
12 Balancing Operational Efficiency and Democratic
Legitimacy 225
Hans Born and Loch K. Johnson
Index 241
List of Contributors 255
— vii —
— ix —
the judiciary must play vital roles in any serious attempt to balance the values of
security and liberty.
As an introduction to the country case studies, three thematic chapters lay out
an overview of the essential challenges facing the democratic governance of secret
agencies. By drawing upon the knowledge and expertise of established scholars
and practitioners in a wide range of nations around the world, including Argen-
tina, Canada, Norway, Poland, South Africa, South Korea, the United Kingdom,
and the United States, this volume brings together the rich experience of three
decades of intelligence accountability. The reader can benefit from a combina-
tion of best practices and legal procedures from countries with a variety of con-
stitutional and political backgrounds. This volume demonstrates that not only
do transition states face problems with the democratic accountability of intelli-
gence but also that many problems are common to established western democra-
cies as well.
By supporting this research, the Geneva Centre for the Democratic Control
of Armed Forces and the Norwegian Parliamentary Intelligence Oversight Com-
mittee hope to contribute to a substantive and informed debate among lawmak-
ers, administration officials, journalists, and academic experts on the role and
reformed nature of intelligence agencies in today’s democratic societies.
The study of intelligence oversight calls for connecting the seemingly diver-
gent worlds of democracy and security. From an academic point of view, it
necessitates an interdisciplinary research that combines political science, law,
security studies, and perhaps the understanding of human behavior as well. From
an institutional point of view, the parliament is a public forum of open debates
and discussion, while the intelligence and security agencies are often regarded as
secretive organizations. This volume presents the findings of comparative
research into the intelligence oversight trends, frameworks, and practices in vari-
ous democracies.
Many people supported us in bringing these worlds together and we are
delighted to acknowledge them here. In particular, we are grateful to Amb.
Theodor H. Winkler, director of the Geneva Centre for the Democratic Control
of Armed Forces (DCAF) and Amb. Leif Mevik, chairman of the Norwegian Par-
liamentary Intelligence Oversight Committee. They provided us with the oppor-
tunity and resources to undertake this research project. We greatly appreciated
the cordial and warm welcome of the Norwegian Parliamentary Oversight Com-
mittee at the international workshop ‘‘Making Intelligence Accountable’’ in Sep-
tember 2003.
We are very much indebted to Thorsten Wetzling, our main editorial assistant
who was part of the project from the very beginning, and to Ingrid Thorburn for
her efficient and timely help. Furthermore, we welcome the assistance of Wendy
Robinson and Eden Cole in the realization of the manuscript. We would like to
thank all of them and to express our special gratitude to the book’s contributors,
who did a wonderful job in meeting the great many demands the editors placed
on them.
April 2005
Hans Born, Geneva, Switzerland
Loch K. Johnson, Athens, USA
Ian Leigh, Durham, UK
— xi —
— xiii —
Introduction to Intelligence
Accountability
T his chapter introduces the studies that follow on specific themes in intelli-
gence oversight and how it operates in different countries. The aim is to pro-
vide a framework for thinking about oversight by looking at some of the major
causes of reform and at some recurring issues addressed by reforms of intelli-
gence oversight.
There could scarcely be a more appropriate time to consider the oversight of
security and intelligence. The debate about oversight of intelligence agencies by
governments and legislatures began in the 1970s and is now in its third decade. A
body of comparative experience has amassed that can yield more general lessons,
especially for states now embarking on the process of reform. Moreover, the
changed climate since September 11, 2001, has underlined the urgent need to
somehow balance our simultaneous commitments to security and democracy.
This can be achieved only if new powers to meet the new security challenges are
accompanied by a renewed emphasis on the oversight of security and intelligence
agencies.
—3—
to be a major catalyst for reform across the globe. Following the United States,
Australia and Canada legislated for intelligence oversight in 1979 and 1984.1
Having commenced in the Anglo-Saxon world (though reform would not reach
the UK until 1989; see chapter 5), a wave of reform spread to Europe in the 1980s
and 1990s, with reforms in Denmark in 1988, Austria in 1991, Romania in 1993,
Greece in 1994, Norway in 1996, and Italy in 1997.2 These developments have
attracted support from the Parliamentary Assemblies of the Council of Europe
and of the Western European Union.3 Progress outside Europe has been slower,
although there are exceptions, as the chapters in this volume dealing with over-
sight in Argentina, South Africa, and South Korea demonstrate.
The congressional investigations by the Church and Pike Committees, which
documented systematic abuses both in the United States and abroad by that
country’s intelligence agencies, began a pattern of exposure, report, and strength-
ening of oversight that has been repeated in many countries since.4 These include
the McDonald Commission in Canada (1977–80), the Royal Commission under
Justice Hope in Australia, and the Lund Commission in Norway (1996).5 A com-
mon theme was the growing recognition among the public and legislators that
security and intelligence agencies not only protect but can also threaten democ-
racy. The threat may come from invasions of privacy by information gathering
and surveillance and direct attempts to manipulate the political process; in the
extreme, by assignations and coups in foreign countries; but also by control of
information, infiltration of political movements, pressure groups, trades unions,
and so on.
Apart from scandal, three other recurring causes of reform can be identified,
in some instances overlapping: constitutional reform (e.g., Canada and the
Republic of South Africa, described in this volume), transition from military to
civilian rule (e.g., Argentina and South Korea, represented in this volume), and
legal challenges (UK, Netherlands, and Romania).
Constitutional reform is perhaps most marked as a cause of reform in the case
of post-apartheid South Africa (see chapter 11) and in the transitional states in
Southern and Eastern Europe following the collapse of the Soviet bloc from 1989
onwards. Civil-military relations are a recurring theme of these new European
constitutions.6 A key feature of democratization in Eastern Europe has been the
vesting of key decisions in defense and security with parliaments, such as the
budget approval, declaring or confirming states of emergency, the declaration of
war and peace, and control over the appointment of defense chiefs. As a part of
the civilianization process it is common also to find the president (chief execu-
tive) designated as commander in chief of the armed forces.7
In transitional states the domestic security agency has often been tainted by a
repressive past, and many of these states codified in law the constitutions of their
security forces as part of a package of constitutional reforms. Some recent exam-
ples include legislation in Slovenia, Lithuania, Estonia, and South Africa8 and,
most recently, Bosnia-Herzegovina.9
The absence of an explicit legal basis for the work of its security and intelli-
gence agencies may bring a state into conflict with constitutional or human rights
norms, especially in the case of powers affecting individuals, such as surveillance.
This has been of particular importance in leading to reform in European states
that are parties to the European Convention on Human Rights (see chapter 3).
In several states aspects of the legal basis have been found to be inadequate.10
The European Court of Human Rights refers additionally to the ‘‘quality of law’’
test—this requires the legal regime to be clear, foreseeable, and accessible. This
test puts a particular responsibility on legislatures when establishing the legal
framework for security and intelligence agencies.
Finally, after 9/11 the phenomenon described as ‘‘superterrorism’’11 is pro-
ducing some important changes. There are two discernible legal and administra-
tive responses. First, there has been the blurring of the legal boundaries between
war and peace, with resort to wartime powers, for instance the detention of
‘‘unlawful combatants’’ at the Guantanamo Naval Base and detention of foreign
nationals under the UK Anti-Terrorism Crime and Security Act 2001. Second is
the creation of new institutions to combat the threat. In the United States a single
Department of Homeland Security and the Homeland Security Council have
been created.12 In the UK the Joint Terrorism Analysis Centre, an interagency
joint working group on terrorism and threat assessment, has been established.13
Following the Madrid bombing in March 2004, EU ministers have discussed the
establishment of a European Intelligence Coordinator to facilitate the sharing of
counterterrorist intelligence among states.14
This combination of wartime responses and organizational reform is poten-
tially dangerous since it undermines institutional barriers put in place over the
last three decades in many countries to protect against the abuse of security pow-
ers. It is vital that responses to ‘‘superterrorism’’ are accompanied by attendant
reforms in the oversight regime to prevent black holes emerging in which the
democratic writ does not pertain.15
Common Concerns
Three common concerns in the design of oversight procedures can be mentioned:
the need to establish mechanisms to prevent political abuse while providing for
effective governance of the agencies; upholding the rule of law; and ensuring the
proportionate use of exceptional powers in order to protect civil rights.
So far as the first point is concerned, there are twin and opposing dangers
here—both of too much or too little executive control. Too little control by the
Oversight Issues
‘‘Oversight’’ is a means of ensuring public accountability for the decisions and
actions of security and intelligence agencies. It suggests something looser than con-
trol in the sense of day-to-day management of the operations of the agencies. The
form varies according to the body involved in oversight, particularly whether it is
exercised by the government (executive) or the legislature (parliament). Parlia-
mentarians typically exercise oversight by critical analysis of policy, often ex post
facto. Although governments should have more direct involvement in authorizing
and setting the policy context for the actions of security and intelligence agencies,
it is nevertheless appropriate to refer to this also as ‘‘oversight.’’ Doing so empha-
sizes that agencies in this sphere should owe their allegiance to the state or the
constitution and so should have a certain distance from everyday party politics.
In considering oversight, a number of initial questions of design arise: To
whom should the agency be accountable (the government, the legislature, or
some independent body or person)? For what (expenditure, policy, and opera-
tions)? And when (before carrying out operations or after)? Operations are
plainly highly sensitive and yet may raise policy questions that are areas of legiti-
mate oversight concern. If an oversight body has foreknowledge of sensitive or
controversial operations this will hamper its ability to dispassionately review
them later. The long-term nature of security operations makes a separation of
review and current activities difficult in practice, however.
Further choices concern the objective or standard of oversight, whether it is
to check efficiency or effectiveness, legality or proportionality. This in turn will
color the procedures involved: policy analysis or factual investigation, whether
the oversight body is self-tasking, commissioned by the executive or the legisla-
ture, or has jurisdiction to receive complaints. Parliamentarians are perhaps best
employed in policy oversight, rather than detective work. More investigative
processes are undertaken in some countries by independent inspectors-general
or commissioners.
Constitutional traditions, of course vary. Among the country studies repre-
sented in this volume are parliamentary systems (Canada, Norway, and the UK),
presidential systems (such as the United States, Argentina, and South Korea) and
mixed systems (for example, Poland). Whatever the tradition, it is now common-
place to find a mix of legislative and executive oversight. Providing more than one
device for oversight—for example, a parliamentary committee and an inspector-
general or a judicial commissioner—institutionalizes checks and balances.
A mix of oversight methods may also act as a guarantee where parts of the
machinery oversee specific institutions, such as the security service, and other
parts oversee specific functions, such as telephone tapping. Whereas agency over-
sight can be sidestepped if intelligence work is undertaken by other bodies, over-
sight that is purely functional runs the risk of being seen out of context. Where
there is a mix of the two methods mistakes are less likely to go undetected.
Scrutiny of the security sector cannot remain the exclusive preserve of the
government without inviting potential abuse. It is commonplace, aside from
their role in setting the legal framework, for parliaments to take on the task of
scrutinizing governmental activity. In a democracy no area of state activity
should be a ‘‘no-go’’ zone for the legislature, including the security sectors. Par-
liamentary involvement gives legitimacy and direct democratic accountability. It
can help to ensure that the security organizations are serving the state as a whole
and protecting the constitution rather than narrower political or sectional inter-
ests. Proper control ensures a stable, politically bipartisan approach to security
that is good for the state and the agencies themselves. The involvement of parlia-
mentarians can also help ensure that the use of public money is properly author-
ized and accounted for.
There are dangers, however, in legislative scrutiny. The security sector may be
drawn into party political controversy—an immature approach by parliamentar-
ians may lead to sensationalism in public debate and to wild accusations and
conspiracy theories being aired under parliamentary privilege. As a consequence
the press and public may form an inaccurate impression and a corresponding
distrust of parliamentarians by security officials may develop. Where leaks occur
of sensitive material to which legislators have been given privileged access these
may compromise the effectiveness of military or security operations and discour-
age officials from being candid.
Effective scrutiny of security is painstaking and unglamorous work for politi-
cians, necessarily conducted almost entirely behind the scenes. Sensitive parlia-
mentary investigations require in effect a parallel secure environment for
witnesses and papers. The preservation of secrecy may create a barrier between
those parliamentarians involved and the remainder. They may be envied or dis-
trusted by colleagues because of privileged access to secret material. It is therefore
essential to involve a cross-section who can command widespread trust and pub-
lic credibility.
Conclusion
In modern states the security sector plays a vital role in serving and supporting
government in its domestic, defense, and foreign policy by supplying and analyz-
Notes
1. Australian Security Intelligence Organization Act 1979 (Cth) and Canadian Secur-
ity Intelligence Service Act 1984, respectively. L. Lustgarten and I. Leigh, In from the Cold:
National Security and Parliamentary Democracy (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1994) is a sur-
vey of accountability in Australia, Canada, and the UK.
2. For other comparative reviews see: Jean-Paul Brodeur, Peter Gill, and Dennis Töllb-
org, Democracy, Law, and Security: Internal Security Services in Contemporary Europe
(Aldershot: Ashgate, 2003); Assembly of the WEU, Parliamentary oversight of the intelli-
gence services in the WEU countries—current situation and prospects for reform (Document
A/1801, 4 December 2002). Available at: http://assembly-weu.itnetwork.fr/en/documents/
sessions_ordinaires/rpt/2002/1 801.html (searched on March 25, 2004).
3. Recommendation 1402/1999 of the Council of Europe Parliamentary Assembly;
and Western European Union Assembly Resolution 113, adopted on December 4, 2002
(ninth sitting).
4. U.S. Senate, 1976. Final Report. Select Committee to Study Governmental Opera-
tions with Respect to Intelligence Activities (the Church Committee), 94th Cong., 2d
Sess., Rept. 94–755 (May). Loch K. Johnson, A Season of Inquiry (Lexington: University
Press of Kentucky, 1985).
5. Respectively, Government of Canada, Commission of Inquiry Concerning Certain
Activities of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, Second Report, Freedom and Security
under the Law (2 Volumes, Hull: Ministry of Supply and Services Canada, August 1981)
[The McDonald Commission Report]; Royal Commission on Intelligence and Security,
Fourth Report (Canberra, 1977) [The Hope Report]; Dok. nr. 15 (1995–96) [The Lund
Report].
6. See Biljana Vankovska, ed., Legal Framing of the Democratic Control of Armed Forces
and the Security Sector: Norms and Reality/ies (Belgrade, 2001).
7. See, for example, Article 42 of the Latvian Constitution; Article 100 of the Croatian
Constitution; Article 100 of the Bulgarian Constitution; Article 106 of the Ukrainian Con-
stitution.
8. Slovenia: Law on Defense, 28 December 1994, Arts. 33–36; The Basics of National
Security of Lithuania, 1996; Estonia: Security Authorities Act passed December 20, 2000;
RSA, Intelligence Services Act, 1994 (as amended).
9. Law on the Intelligence and Security Agency of Bosnia and Herzegovina, passed in
March 2004.
10. Harman and Hewitt v. UK (1992) 14 EHRR 657; V and others v. Netherlands, Com-
mission report of 3 December 1991; Rotaru v. Romania, Appl. No. 8341/95, May 4, 2000.
11. Lawrence Freedman, ed., Superterrorism: Policy Responses (Oxford; Blackwell,
2002).
12. U.S. Homeland Security Act 2002.
13. Intelligence and Security Committee, Annual Report for 2002–3, Cm. 5837 (June
2003), para. 62.
14. ‘‘EU to appoint anti-terror ‘tsar.’ ’’ Available at: http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/
europe/3524626.stm (searched on 25 March 2004).
15. See Harold Hongju Koh, ‘‘The Spirit of the Laws,’’ Harvard Journal of International
Law 43 (2002): 23.
16. McDonald Report, vol. 1, 513 ff.
— 12 —
mentary, some not). Taken together, these have encouraged increased media
attention to intelligence and have required of governments more complex strate-
gies for dealing with intelligence issues. Where once they would simply refuse
comment, now they have to engage in some explanation and debate.
which it is often manifest. For example, if different groups of ministers and offi-
cials share a common set of assumptions about the nature of threats and ‘‘accept-
able’’ ways of responding to them, it is futile to examine precisely who ‘‘took’’
particular decisions.
Professional power is founded on exclusive knowledge claims and, where pro-
fessionals work within some private or public bureaucracy, they can act as a
counterweight to the power of ‘‘command’’ inherent in the senior positions of
the hierarchy. To the extent that politicians have no basis on which to challenge
the knowledge claims of the professionals, they have to trust them or, if they
ignore them, take the risk of policy failure.8 Intelligence is a profession in which
specialist ‘‘knowledge’’—for example, ‘‘tradecraft’’—is jealously guarded. It incor-
porates varieties of technological expertise, for example, regarding the manufac-
ture, storage, and deployment of nuclear, biological, and chemical weapons,
which political superiors are no more likely to possess than other lay members
of society. Central to this discussion is the tension between, on the one hand, the
needs for policy making (decision) and implementation (command) or power
and, on the other, the knowledge claims on which they may be based.
Thus, we can develop a number of hypothetical possibilities of the relation-
ship between intelligence (knowledge) and policy (power) that, in turn, can
guide us through the fog that has enveloped the controversies regarding the inva-
sion of Iraq. At the ‘‘professional’’ end of the spectrum is the ‘‘purest’’ form of
relation in which governments react to the intelligence that is presented to them;
if this requires the government to change its domestic or foreign policy, then so
be it. Along the spectrum is space for various relationships between knowledge
and power, while at the ‘‘politicized’’ end, the knowledge-power connection may
actually be reversed. Here the will to act pre-exists the search for information
and the significance of what is collected will be judged in terms of its ability to
support the chosen course of action rather than to inform it. Here, the relation
between knowledge and power is like that of lamppost and drunk—to provide
support, not illumination. Here, intelligence is not the reason for policy but pro-
vides a post hoc rationalization for it; it may temporarily empower governments
but disempowers the public if they are misled.
Information Control
However, the complexities of intelligence and politics cannot be confined to a
one-dimensional spectrum between the ‘‘politicized’’ and the ‘‘professional’’—
other factors are in play. A more inclusive model of ‘‘information control’’9
incorporates four discrete processes: gathering, evaluation, influence, and
secrecy. (Clearly, these mirror the main activities of intelligence agencies them-
selves: surveillance, analysis, and dissemination of intelligence, all protected by
secrecy.) Gathering information is the core business of intelligence agencies and,
indeed, of any other organization that seeks to inform itself in order to further
the organizational mission. Analysis or evaluation is the process by which sense
is made of what is gathered. ‘‘Facts’’ do not ‘‘speak for themselves’’—difficult
judgments of validity and reliability have to be made and information placed in
the broader context of the organizational ‘‘store’’ of knowledge.
Information can influence others only if it is disseminated. Even the simple
decision whether or not to pass on ‘‘intelligence’’ to another person or organiza-
tion will have consequences for power. There is an important distinction between
intelligence disseminated that is believed to be true and thus amounts to a form
of ‘‘education’’ and a situation in which the intelligence disseminated is believed
to be misleading; in this case deception or manipulation are more appropriate
terms.10 ‘‘Secrecy’’ distinguishes the intelligence business from knowledge man-
agement elsewhere in government, but it is clear that ‘‘commercial confidential-
ity,’’ ‘‘personal privacy,’’ and group ‘‘loyalty’’ all establish similar processes of
secretiveness around information control processes.
So far we have discussed the politics (power)–intelligence (knowledge) rela-
tionship primarily in terms of the interaction between intelligence agencies and
government. Two other ‘‘institutions’’ are centrally involved in the politics–
intelligence relationship: oversight bodies and the media. The former include
both those permanent committees now established in most liberal democracies
and ad hoc inquiries and commissions of which several have been instituted
regarding the Iraq controversy. For present purposes the UK reports of the Intel-
ligence and Security Committee,11 the Commons’ Foreign Affairs Committee,12
the Hutton Inquiry,13 the Butler Review,14 and the work of the U.S. congressional
intelligence committees are most relevant. The media is the primary mechanism
by which governments, agencies (to a lesser extent), and oversight bodies seek to
transmit information to the public. However, the media are much more than
passive transmitters; because of their ‘‘gathering’’ and ‘‘evaluating’’ activities they
are important ‘‘players.’’ Therefore, there are potentially six sets of power/knowl-
edge interaction to be studied within which each of these actors15 will deploy the
four methods of information control (see figure 2.1).
Of course, the relationships between these four different actors are different
in many respects; some are formally subordinate to others and some seek the
‘‘public interest,’’ while others seek profit; some are elected, and others are not;
and the precise organizational architecture varies between countries. But, not-
withstanding these differences, it is suggested that the relationships can be use-
fully generalized in terms of power/knowledge.
oversight bodies
3 6
4
government media
(executive) 2
5
1
agencies
Figure 2.1 Model of Power/Knowledge Interaction
[JIC] stepped outside its traditional role. It entered the prime minister’s magic
circle. It was engulfed in the atmosphere of excitement that surrounds decision-
making in a crisis. Whether they realized it or not, its members went beyond assess-
ment to become part of the process of making and advocating policy. That inevita-
bly undermined their objectivity.17
There has been similar controversy in the United States, for example, as to the
extent to which analysis and assessment were influenced by the greater political
pressure on Iraq emanating from the Bush administration, especially after 9/11.
A recent Carnegie Foundation study provides a systematic review and identifies
the strengthening of conclusions in the October 2002 NIE compared with its
predecessors: the later NIE concluded that Iraq had restarted its nuclear program
and had ‘‘high confidence’’ that it had stockpiles of chemical and biological
weapons. Of course, this might have accurately reflected a flow of new intelli-
gence to this effect but, given the decline in information once the UN inspectors
withdrew from Iraq in 1998, the authors conclude, rather, that it suggests undue
influence by policymakers’ views.18
In January 2004 David Kay resigned as head of the Iraqi Survey Group—
whose job it was to search for evidence of WMD in Iraq—and in subsequent
congressional testimony19 admitted that intelligence agencies had failed to recog-
nize that Iraq had all but abandoned its efforts to produce large quantities of
chemical and biological weapons after 1991. An institutional post mortem had
actually already started: by August 2003 George Tenet, U.S. director of central
intelligence, had commissioned internal reviews of tradecraft and the work lead-
ing up to the October 2002 NIE. Tenet acknowledged that close examination was
needed of the extent to which factors such as the history of deception and denial
by Saddam Hussein and the very absence of information in key areas, especially
after 1998, contributed to a failure to test prevailing assumptions. ‘‘We did not
have enough of our own human intelligence,’’ said Tenet, commenting on the
risks inherent in information from defectors and indirect information from part-
ner agencies.20
Both Kay and Tenet denied that CIA analysts had been subjected to political
pressure in the run-up to the October 2002 NIE, but others have argued other-
wise. Kenneth Pollack, a CIA analyst for the Persian Gulf who later worked for
the NSC under Clinton, disputes that the strength of the October 2002 NIE can
be put down solely to political pressure because it reflected what the agencies had
been saying for some years (contra the Carnegie investigation). However, Pollack
does acknowledge that the Office of Special Plans (OSP)21 set up in the Pentagon
was an attempt to manipulate intelligence. Ironically, given the soul searching
now underway in the CIA over its failure to test assumptions, it was the very fact
that it did question the assumptions of the case for links between Iraq and al
Qaeda that frustrated Defense Secretary Donald Rumsfeld, Under-Secretary Paul
Wolfowitz, and other administration officials. So OSP was created to find evi-
dence of what they believed to be true: that Saddam Hussein had close ties to al
Qaeda and possessed WMD that threatened the region and potentially the
United States. A particular aspect of OSP’s search for new intelligence was its
reliance on Ahmad Chalabi and the Iraqi National Congress, which subsequently
became the core of the regime installed after the invasion.22
In the UK the general issue of the absence of WMD in Iraq in the wake of the
invasion concentrated on the more specific information received by the Secret
Intelligence Service (SIS, aka MI6) that biological and chemical weapons could
be deployed in twenty to forty-five minutes. It reported on August 30, 2002,
‘‘that on average it took 20 minutes to move BCW [sic] munitions into place for
attack. The maximum response time was 45 minutes.’’23 The SIS told the ISC that
the sourcing of this report was regarded as reliable24 and Sir Richard Dearlove,
head of SIS, subsequently confirmed that the report originated with ‘‘a senior
Iraqi military officer who was certainly in a position to know this information.’’25
This report was incorporated in the JIC Assessment of September 9: ‘‘Intelligence
also indicates that chemical and biological munitions could be with military
units and ready for firing within 20–45 minutes.’’26
The ISC questioned JIC Chairman, John Scarlett, and Assessments Staff about
the preparation of the September 9 assessment:
The Assessments Staff stated that they, and the people they had consulted, did not
know what munitions the Iraqi officer was referring to or their status. Nor did they
know from where and to where munitions might be moved. They assessed that the
Iraqi officer was referring to the time needed to move the biological and chemical
battlefield munitions from where they were held by Iraqi Security units in forward-
deployed storage sites to pre-designated military units.27
JIC has not been subject to political pressures and that its independence and
impartiality has not been compromised in any way.’’30 Yet Hutton did comment
on the possible impact of pressure from 10 Downing Street on John Scarlett’s
subconscious31—this is precisely the kind of pressure envisaged in the ‘‘second
stream’’ of power.
Finally in this section, we need to consider the possibility that the accuracy or
otherwise of western intelligence was actually unimportant. What rapidly became
clear once the Bush administration took office was the preparedness for unilat-
eral action in cases where multilateral action was seen as inadequate in the
defense of U.S. interests.32 With respect to Iraq in particular, then–Secretary of
the Treasury Paul O’Neill reported that the discussion of Iraq at the first NSC
meeting of the new administration—that is, before 9/11—was about finding a
way to overthrow the regime, not about what the intelligence said;33 former
counterterrorism coordinator Richard Clarke has testified to the U.S. Commis-
sion regarding the White House attempt in the immediate aftermath of 9/11 to
pin the blame on Iraq.34 This is why OSP was established. If so, then why all the
fuss about WMD? Well, Wolfowitz said that this was for bureaucratic reasons: it
was the one reason over which the cabinet could present a united front.35 Sup-
port for this thesis is provided by the fact that, if the removal of Saddam Hussein
was to be a legitimate multilateral action, then it needed to be carried out under
the auspices of the various UN resolutions passed since 1991. They did not refer
to the awfulness of the regime, or to its alleged links with al Qaeda; the ultimately
unsuccessful quest for a specific UN resolution authorizing the invasion could
be made only if grounded on WMD. On this reading, the only role for intelli-
gence was to provide support for a policy already determined—knowledge was
simply to support power36 —and intelligence was ‘‘perfectly’’ politicized.
In the UK it was the September 2002 dossier that would eventually receive the
closest attention because of the forty-five-minute claim and the establishment of
the Hutton Inquiry, but the January dossier achieved even more rapid notoriety
when it emerged that most of it had been plagiarized from academic sources.38
Although it did contain some material from SIS, it had been compiled in Down-
ing Street’s communications department and was not cleared by the JIC.39 It
rapidly became known as the ‘‘dodgy dossier’’ and sank from public view. Gov-
ernment embarrassment was compounded by the fact that Powell had approv-
ingly referred to the dossier in his UN presentation.
An examination of these public statements make it clear that, at the very least,
the case for the continued and threatening existence of WMD in Iraq was pre-
sented at a level of certainty quite unheard of in intelligence assessments. For
example, addressing the UN Security Council with audio and video extracts of
intelligence, Powell said:
Initiating the House of Commons debate the previous September, Blair said:
The intelligence picture that they (the intelligence services) paint is one accumu-
lated over the last four years. It is extensive, detailed and authoritative.41
Equally, there is no doubt is that the government was highly selective in present-
ing the intelligence assessments that tended to support its determination to
invade Iraq while not publicizing those that cautioned against. For example, in
an assessment of February 2003 JIC reported that not only was there no evidence
that Iraq had transferred WMD to al Qaeda or that it intended to use them for
terrorist attacks itself but also that the risk of such a transfer would be increased
in the event of regime collapse:
The JIC assessed that al-Qaida and associated groups continued to represent by far
the greatest terrorist threat to Western interests, and that threat would be height-
ened by military action against Iraq.42
Blair judged that this assessment should not be published in the build-up to the
invasion.43
In the UK government’s dossier published on September 24 there were four
references to the forty-five-minute claim: for example, in the Executive Sum-
mary:
As a result of the intelligence we judge that Iraq has . . . military plans for the use
of chemical and biological weapons, including against its own Shia population.
Some of these weapons are deployable within 45 minutes of an order to use them.44
And, in chapter 3:
Intelligence indicates that the Iraqi military are able to deploy chemical and biolog-
ical weapons within 45 minutes of an order to do so.45
[The intelligence picture] concludes that Iraq has chemical and biological weapons,
that Saddam has continued to produce them, that he has existing and active mili-
tary plans for the use of chemical and biological weapons, which could be activated
within 45 minutes, including against his own Shia population, and that he is
actively trying to acquire nuclear weapons capability.46
The danger is already significant, and it only grows worse with time. . . . We know
that the regime has produced thousands of tons of chemical agents, including mus-
tard gas, sarin nerve gas, VX nerve gas. . . . We know that Iraq and al Qaeda have
had high-level contacts that go back a decade. . . . Facing clear evidence of peril, we
cannot wait for the final proof—the smoking gun—that could come in the form of
a mushroom cloud.47
The last of these is an especially evocative image given that the NIE had just said:
Without [sufficient fissile] material from abroad, Iraq probably would not be able
to make a weapon until 2007 to 2009, owing to inexperience in building and opera-
ting centrifuge facilities to produce highly enriched uranium and challenges in pro-
curing the necessary equipment and expertise.48
The State Department’s Bureau of Intelligence and Research (INR) entered a dis-
sent to the NIE doubting that the evidence was adequate even then to support a
judgment that the nuclear program had been restarted. As it turns out, INR has
been proved right; even George Tenet has acknowledged:
Saddam did not have a nuclear weapon. He still wanted one and Iraq intended to
reconstitute a nuclear program at some point. But we have not yet found clear
evidence that the dual-use items Iraq sought were for nuclear reconstitution. We
do not know if any reconstitution efforts had begun but we may have overesti-
mated the progress Saddam was making.49
Blair made no explicit reference to the possibility of nuclear attack but the first
draft of his foreword had included the sentence: ‘‘The case I make is not that
Saddam could launch a nuclear attack on London or another part of the UK (he
could not).’’ This was excluded from the published dossier.50
In seeking to ‘‘persuade’’ the public to support a controversial policy, govern-
ments have no use for the measured or conditional language of intelligence
assessments. People must be reassured that the government knows precisely what
they are doing and why; anything less is to invite opposition. Therefore, by a
mixture of ‘‘creative omission’’51 and ‘‘cherry-picking,’’ professional doubts are
translated into political certainties.
furor by asking the ISC54 to investigate. Just as with a select committee, ministers
can act as gatekeepers of the ISC’s access to intelligence papers, but in the ten
years of its operation it has steadily increased its reputation and enjoyed more
access to material than would have been envisaged when it was established in
1994.55 However, some MPs remain skeptical because it is appointed by and
reports to the PM. After the removal of sensitive material, reports are sent to
Parliament. Given the temper of the times it is not surprising that the PM prom-
ised the ISC access to all the JIC assessments and the people who produced them
and also that he would publish the report.56 Accordingly the ISC sought
It reported that, based on the intelligence it had seen, ‘‘there was convincing
intelligence that Iraq had active chemical, biological and nuclear programmes
and the capability to produce chemical and biological weapons.’’58 But it also
noted that the JIC assessment of September 9, 2002, ‘‘did not highlight in the
key judgments the uncertainties and gaps in the UK’s knowledge about the Iraqi
biological and chemical weapons.’’59
In its response to this point the government drew what might be described as
a fine distinction: The ‘‘key judgments’’ section of a JIC assessment is to highlight
the judgments to be drawn from the assessment; it ‘‘is not intended to be a sum-
mary of the main facts of the paper.’’60 With respect to the September 24 dossier,
ISC said that it was ‘‘founded on the assessments then available’’ and had not
been ‘‘ ‘sexed up’ by Alistair Campbell or anyone else.’’ It reported that the JIC
had not been subjected to political pressures and that its independence and
impartiality had not been compromised.61
ISC criticized the removal from the PM’s foreword of the sentence regarding
nuclear attack on London (para. 83 and see preceding discussion) and rebuked
the government over the presentation of the forty-five-minutes claim in the dos-
sier (e.g., paras. 83, 110–112). ISC concluded:
The dossier was for public consumption and not for experienced readers of intelli-
gence material. . . . The fact that it was assessed to refer to battlefield chemical and
biological munitions and their movement on the battlefield, not to any other form
of chemical or biological attack, should have been highlighted in the dossier. This
was unhelpful to an understanding of the issue.62
In its response the government took no responsibility for the silences in the dos-
sier. It was content that the ISC recognized that the dossier did not say that Iraq
posed a ‘‘current and imminent’’ threat to the UK mainland63 but made no
response to the criticism of the exclusion of the UK attack caveat in the foreword
(see preceding discussion). Similarly, regarding the ISC criticism that the forty-
five-minute claim was ‘‘unhelpful,’’ the government merely noted that the dos-
sier did not say that Iraq could deliver chemical or biological weapons by ballistic
missiles ‘‘within 45 minutes.’’64 No, it did not, but it was precisely this failure to
make clear just what the assessments were that amounted to serious misrepresen-
tation of the nature of the threat from Iraq.
The stakes in the political contest in the UK over the adequacy of the govern-
ment’s case for the invasion were significantly increased on May 29, 2003, when
a BBC radio journalist, Andrew Gilligan, broadcast to the effect that the govern-
ment probably knew that the statement that the Iraqi regime could deploy WMD
within forty-five minutes was wrong and that the prime minister’s office had
ordered the September 2002 dossier to be ‘‘sexed up.’’ The government, mainly
in the person of Alistair Campbell, the PM’s press secretary, reacted furiously to
the broadcast and demanded an apology from the BBC, which it declined to give.
On July 8 the Ministry of Defence announced that a civil servant had come for-
ward and admitted being the source for the May 29 story. The following day
the MOD confirmed his name as Dr. David Kelly to those journalists who had
successfully worked out who he was from the clues given. Both the FAC (that
had just completed its enquiry—see preceding) and the ISC (just commencing
its) requested to interview Kelly, and he appeared before the FAC in public on
July 15 and the ISC in private on July 16. The following day he disappeared from
his home and was later found dead, apparently having committed suicide. The
government rapidly sought to quell the mounting media pressure by appointing
Lord Hutton, a House of Lords judge ‘‘urgently to conduct an investigation into
the circumstances surrounding the death of Dr. Kelly.’’65
The inquiry was conducted in two stages: the first was inquisitorial in order
to obtain information from witnesses as to the course of events, and the second
was adversarial when those who might be subject to criticism by the inquiry were
recalled to be examined further and possibly cross-examined by counsel for other
parties represented. Hutton interpreted his terms of reference as requiring him to
examine five issues: first, the process of the preparation of the September dossier;
second, Kelly’s meeting with Gilligan on May 22, 2003; third, the BBC’s handling
of Gilligan’s May 29 broadcast and its aftermath; fourth, how Kelly’s name
became public as the source for Gilligan’s broadcast; and fifth, the specific causes
of Kelly’s death.66
On the first issue, Hutton exonerated the government of any wrongdoing: the
report that it had inserted the ‘‘45 minute claim’’ knowing it was probably wrong
was unfounded; the wording in the September 24 dossier had been modified by
the chair of the JIC, John Scarlett, after suggestions from Downing Street but
only when he was satisfied that the wording remained consistent with the intelli-
gence.67 The shift between the September 9 JIC assessment that WMD ‘‘could
be’’ deployable to the September 24 dossier that they ‘‘are’’ deployable came
under close scrutiny at the inquiry—clearly it was central to the issue of the ‘‘sex-
ing up’’ or otherwise of the dossier. Under cross-examination, John Scarlett
maintained that the former contained no indication of uncertainty68 and that
therefore, by implication, there had been no exaggeration in the dossier.
However, Hutton concluded that the dossier had not been ‘‘sexed up’’ only
by interpreting the term narrowly to imply that people would have understood
the phrase to mean that the dossier had been embellished with information
known to be false or unreliable, not in the broader sense that the dossier was
drafted so as to make as strong a case as the intelligence would permit.69 Readers
can make their own judgment by reference to the evidence given to Hutton, but
the preceding analysis justifies a conclusion that the dossier was clearly mislead-
ing. On the other issues, Hutton concluded that Kelly had not provided the con-
troversial claims on which Gilligan’s May 29 broadcast was based, that BBC
management was seriously at fault in handling the broadcast,70 that the govern-
ment had not improperly allowed Kelly’s name into the public domain, and
finally, he accepted medical evidence that Kelly had committed suicide.71
But if the government enjoyed some moments of triumph in what had been
a long battle with the BBC—it started over its coverage of Iraq before Gilligan’s
fateful broadcast—they were short-lived. Two newspapers—the tabloid Sun and
the Times—accepted Hutton’s conclusions, but the rest of the papers expressed
varying degrees of skepticism and a number made accusations of a ‘‘white-
wash.’’72 In an opinion poll after Hutton was published, 54 percent said they
believed Blair had lied over the threat from Iraq, and 51 percent said he should
resign.73
Thus it was quickly clear that Hutton had not had the desired effect: signifi-
cant controversy continued regarding the pre-invasion intelligence. Arguably,
indeed, the government’s success in diverting the widespread public concern
over the war by its attack on Gilligan and the BBC in June 2003 lasted just until
Hutton reported on January 28, 2004. The very narrowness of his terms of refer-
ence meant that the more important issues had simply not been dealt with. So,
on February 3, Blair announced that an inquiry would be conducted by five privy
councilors, headed by Lord Butler, a former cabinet secretary, and including two
members of the ISC. As ever, the terms of reference were crucial; in this case
there was such an argument between the government and the opposition parties
that one of them, the Liberal Democrats, refused to join the inquiry from the
outset because it took the view that the terms of reference excluded the crucial
question of the use that the government made of the intelligence,74 and the Con-
servative Party withdrew its official support a few weeks later. Reflecting the cyni-
cism of the public view of Hutton’s report, a poll found that 23 percent believed
the new inquiry would be a ‘‘genuine attempt to find the truth while 68 percent
believed it would a ‘whitewash.’ ’’75 When published in July 2004, the Butler
report76 provided a detailed examination of the collection, analysis, and dissemi-
nation of intelligence (especially the September 2002 dossier) regarding Iraqi
WMD. Some of its criticisms were to be echoed by the Senate Intelligence Com-
mittee (see following discussion); for example, the unreliability of human intelli-
gence (HUMINT) and the poor procedures for validation of sources (paras.
440–45) and tendency over time for caveats to get lost in the assessments process
(paras. 458–59). Yet although the report shows clearly that the language of the
dossier and the prime minister represented the intelligence as far more certain
than it was, Butler and his colleagues would only conclude that this ‘‘may have
left readers with the impression that there was fuller and firmer intelligence
behind the judgments than was the case . . .’’77
Throughout January 2004 political pressure had grown steadily in the United
States also, and the president was obliged to institute an inquiry he did not want.
Bush announced the establishment of a Commission on the Intelligence Capabil-
ities of the United States Regarding Weapons of Mass Destruction78 with broadly
similar terms of reference to the Butler inquiry; that is, they were to compare the
state of pre-invasion intelligence with the findings of the Iraqi Survey Group but
were also to explore the more general problems involved in gathering intelligence
with respect to WMD. The Commission was chaired jointly by Charles Robb,
former Democratic senator and Laurence Silberman, a Republican appeals court
judge. There was some criticism of the relative lack of experience and indepen-
dence among the members and, importantly, the Commission was not to report
until March 2005, safely after the presidential election.79 After the announcement
of this commission, an opinion poll found Bush suffering from a similar ‘‘credi-
bility gap’’ to Blair: 54 percent thought Bush had exaggerated or lied about pre-
war intelligence.80
In July 2004 the Senate Intelligence Committee published the first report of
its two-phase review of U.S. intelligence on Iraqi WMD, and its main conclu-
sions81 were that most of the major ‘‘key judgments’’ in the October 2002 NIE
were not supported by the underlying intelligence reporting; that the uncertaint-
ies behind these judgments were explained to policymakers inaccurately or inad-
equately; that the collective presumption within the intelligence community that
Iraq did have an active WMD program led it to ignore or misinterpret contrary
evidence; and that failures of collection (especially HUMINT), sharing (espe-
cially by the CIA), and analysis stemmed from ‘‘broken corporate culture and
poor management’’82 throughout the community. Although the Committee had
begun its review in June 2003, it extended its coverage in February 2004 to
include, for example, whether the government’s statements were substantiated
by the intelligence;83 however, the Democrats on the Committee agreed that, as
with Robb–Silverman, there would be no report on this until after the presiden-
tial election in November.84
information and public opinion was that Gilligan’s broadcast led to a full gov-
ernment hue and cry for the source. There are always tensions in the routine
relations between journalists and intelligence officials because of the secrecy that
envelops the field,91 but they cannot be regulated simply by the legalistic applica-
tion of a code that seeks to protect governments from controversy and criticism
as much as national security (for example, see principles governing disclosure of
information92). Gilligan’s May 29 broadcast clearly included specific errors, but
he was correct in reporting general unease within some official quarters at the
(ab)use of intelligence. Some now fear that Hutton’s wholesale condemnation of
the BBC will ‘‘chill’’ investigative journalism into controversial policy areas.
Conclusions
Although we await further reports from the Senate Intelligence Committee and
Robb–Silberman, it is timely to take stock of the central question identified ear-
lier: did the U.S. and UK governments receive intelligence that justified their
public position that the regime of Saddam Hussein posed such a threat to
regional and/or international stability as to justify his immediate removal? The
ambiguities of language and significance of official silences inherent in intelli-
gence mean that generally accepted conclusions may never be reached. Only the
discovery of significant evidence of WMD in Iraq can resolve the question in
favor of the governments. Meanwhile, the detailed examination of controversies
such as this can serve useful purposes for oversight bodies and public education
more generally because they shine a torch into normally dark places of govern-
ment and intelligence. But while the forensic examination of precisely ‘‘who said
what to whom and when’’ is useful in illustrating the interplay of information
control processes, it is important that we do not lose sight of the forest for the
trees. There can be few issues of greater significance for any state than the rela-
tionship between intelligence and decisions to go to war.
Such decisions will always be politically contested; they cannot be made on
some simple empirical test. Whatever the inquiries find, there will be those for
whom this episode represents neither intelligence nor political ‘‘failure.’’ Gary
Schmitt, executive director of the Project for a New American Century, argued
recently that the intelligence assessment that Saddam Hussein had not given up
his desire to reconstitute WMD programs was right and therefore he asks, rhe-
torically: would continuing the policy of containment have been sufficient to
prevent him from becoming a dangerous threat to U.S. interests?93 But beyond
this small but powerfully entrenched view, the controversy remains one in which
governments and intelligence agencies have keen interests. The inquiries concen-
trated on the issue of intelligence failure—how could such a consensus among
Notes
1. Thanks to Mike Mannin, Joe Sim, and the editors for their helpful suggestions on
an earlier draft of this chapter.
2. For an earlier consideration of this issue see H.H. Ransom, ‘‘The Politicization of
Intelligence,’’ in Intelligence and Intelligence Policy in a Democratic Society, ed. S. J. Cim-
bala (Ardsley-in-Hudson: Transnational Publishers, 1987), 25–46.
53. FAC, The Decision to Go to War in Iraq, HC813-I, para. 4 (London: The Stationery
Office, July, 2003).
54. For a discussion of recent developments in intelligence oversight arrangements in
UK, see Leigh, this volume.
55. For example, see Gill, ‘‘Reasserting Control,’’ 1996.
56. ISC, Iraqi Weapons, paras. 13–14.
57. ISC, Iraqi Weapons, para. 11.
58. ISC, Iraqi Weapons, para. 66.
59. ISC, Iraqi Weapons, para. 67.
60. Prime Minister, Government Response to the ISC Report, 2004, para. 7. Accessible at
www.cabinetoffice.gov/uk/intelligence
61. ISC, Iraqi Weapons, paras. 107–108.
62. ISC, Iraqi Weapons, para. 86.
63. Prime Minister, Government Response, para. 14, but PM’s foreword described it as
‘‘current and serious’’ (HMG, Iraq’s Weapons of Mass Destruction, 3).
64. Prime Minister, Government Response, para. 15.
65. Hutton, Report, para. 1.
66. Hutton, Report, para. 160.
67. Hutton, Report, para. 467[1].
68. Hutton, Report, para. 214.
69. Hutton, Report, para. 467[1][viii].
70. No attempt is made to analyze Hutton’s extensive critique of BBC management
since it goes well beyond the core concerns of the chapter. After publication both the BBC
chair of governors and the director-general resigned.
71. Hutton, Report, para. 467.
72. Guardian Wrap, January 29, 2004. Accessible at www.guardian.co.uk/
73. P. Waugh, ‘‘After Hutton, the verdict: 51 per cent say Blair should go,’’ Indepen-
dent, February 7, 2004.
74. P. Wintour and R. Norton-Taylor, ‘‘Swift and Secret, Blair’s inquiry,’’ The Guard-
ian, February 4, 2004. The foreign secretary, Jack Straw, reportedly said the Butler inquiry
had been modeled in part on the Franks Inquiry into the Falklands War in 1982. Given
the context, this is somewhat ironic because after Franks published his Report, absolving
the government of the day of any blame for the failure to prevent the Argentine invasion,
the then leader of the Labour Party, James Callaghan, described Franks as chucking ‘‘a
bucket of whitewash’’ over it (P. Hennessy, Whitehall [London: Secker and Warburg,
1989], 586).
75. P. Waugh, ‘‘After Hutton,’’ Independent, February 7, 2004.
76. Butler, Review, 2004.
77. Butler, Review, 2004, para. 464. In a subsequent debate in the House of Lords, But-
ler said it was for the people, not his committee, to draw a conclusion as to how grave a
fault this was in the run-up to war. (R. Norton-Taylor, ‘‘Butler criticises government over
‘thin’ evidence for WMD,’’ The Guardian, September 8, 2004.) For a detailed analysis of
the Butler Report see Gill P., ‘‘Keeping in touch with ‘earthly awkwardnesses,’ ’’ in Reform-
ing Intelligence Across the World, eds. T. Bruneau and K. Dombrowski (Austin: University
of Texas Press, forthcoming).
78. Executive Order 13328, February 6, 2004.
79. D. Jehl, ‘‘Bush sets Panel on Intelligence before Iraq War,’’ New York Times, Febru-
ary 7, 2004.
80. R. Morin and D. Milbank, ‘‘Most think truth was stretched to justify Iraq war,’’
Washington Post, February 13, 2004.
81. Senate Select Committee on Intelligence, Report, July 7, 2004, 14–29. Accessible at
http://intelligence.senate.gov/iraqreport2.pdf
82. Senate Select Committee on Intelligence, Report, July 7, 2004, 24.
83. Senate Select Committee on Intelligence, Report, July 7, 2004, 2.
84. W. Branigin and D. Priest, ‘‘Senate Report Blasts Intelligence Agencies’ Flaws,’’
Washington Post, July 9, 2004.
85. ISC, Iraqi Weapons, para. 138.
86. Hutton, Report, para. 259[2]; for extracts from code see paras. 23–25.
87. Hutton, Report, para. 255.
88. Hutton, Report, para.112.
89. TV interview with Amy Goodman, December 30, 2003, transcript in Security and
Intelligence Digest, Intel Research, PO Box 550, London SW3 2YQ.
90. N. Rufford, ‘‘Revealed: how MI6 sold the Iraq war,’’ The Times, December 28, 2003.
91. For a full discussion of these issues see M. Caparini, ed., Media and Security Gover-
nance (Münster: Nomos verlagsgesellschaft, 2004).
92. Hutton, Report, para. 23.
93. G. Schmitt, ‘‘Our basic instincts were sound,’’ Los Angeles Times, February 1, 2004.
94. This is argued with respect to the Senate Intelligence Committee July 2004 report
by Thomas Powers, ‘‘How Bush Got It Wrong,’’ New York Review of Books, September 23,
2004.
95. Katherine Gun, a translator at GCHQ, leaked a request from the NSA for a ‘‘surge’’
of surveillance to be conducted on members of the UN Security Council as the UK and
United States sought a second resolution in 2003. She was charged under the Official
Secrets Act but charges were dropped in February 2004. It was reported that this was
because her trial would have seen the airing of controversial arguments about the legality
of the invasion of Iraq (R. Norton-Taylor, ‘‘Whitehall united in doubt on war,’’ The
Guardian, February 27, 2004). But this has been denied by the Intelligence and Security
Committee, Annual Report 2003–2004, Cm 6240, para. 72. Accessible at www.cabinet-
office.gov.uk/reports/intelligence/pdf/govres2004.pdf
T his chapter examines the influence of the European Court of Human Rights
(hereafter, ‘‘the Court’’ or the ‘‘ECtHR’’), on the issue of intelligence
accountability. In particular, it examines the case law of the Court insofar as it
relates to intelligence surveillance and intelligence files/screening, in order to
determine to what extent common European legal requirements could be said to
exist in these fields. It concludes with a number of comments on the ‘‘added
value’’ of the supervision the Court exercises over states’ laws and practices in
this field.
— 34 —
year. It also takes about eight thousand ‘‘admissibility decisions’’ per year—that
is, decisions to dismiss an application without an examination of the merits of
the dispute (which occurs in approximately 90 percent of cases), or to take up a
case on the merits (a function previously performed by the European Commis-
sion on Human Rights).4
The Convention has also been incorporated in the national law of all forty-
six states, requiring national courts and administrative agencies to apply it and
to take account of the case law of the ECtHR. The ECtHR thus develops pan-
European legal principles by means of its case law.5 It is also part of the ‘‘general
principles’’ of European Community law, and as such binding on the EC. The
importance of the Convention as a superior source of EC/EU law is increasing,
as the EC/EU has begun legislating in the general field of security, and the princi-
ple of the supremacy of EC law means that one cannot challenge EC norms on
the basis that these breach national constitutional rules.6
Certain of the rights provided for in the Convention contain an express clause
permitting a state to limit the right in question on the basis of ‘‘national secur-
ity.’’ This clause can be found in the rights to a fair trial (article 6), to privacy,
respect for family life and inviolability of correspondence (article 8), to freedom
of expression (article 10), and to freedom of assembly and association (article
11). There are also national security limitations on the rights to liberty of move-
ment and freedom to choose a residence within a state (article 2(3), protocol 4)
and to review of a deportation decision (article 1(2), protocol 7). Under certain
circumstances national security considerations can be taken into account in
other articles where there is no such express limitation.7
Like domestic courts applying domestic human rights norms, the Court must
strike a balance between the competing interests of individuals and the state. The
Court nonetheless has less ‘‘legitimacy’’ compared to national constitutional
courts when it comes to imposing its will on recalcitrant governments or legisla-
tures. The Court does not, and should not, function as a final court of appeal
from domestic courts, as a form of European cour de cassation. Nor does it have
an explicit function to harmonize the parties’ national laws. All the Court does
is to test the compatibility of national law and practice against the standards of
the Convention. All the members of the Council are sovereign states that are
jealous of their sovereignty.
The Convention was designed to be, and clearly is, subsidiary to the domestic
systems of protection of human rights.8 The Convention organs are aware that
there is a fine line between being perceived as brave defenders of basic human
rights and being seen as a (more or less) self-appointed group of interfering for-
eigners in Strasbourg. This is particularly so as regards the extremely sensitive
area of policy making covered by national security.
Thus, in this and other sensitive policy areas, the Court has permitted states
Thus, one should not automatically assume that Court case law disapproving of
a particular law or practice will be implemented wholeheartedly.
In any event, the Court’s relative political weakness vis-à-vis respondent gov-
ernments means that the Court has been reluctant to engage in any activity that
can be attacked as ‘‘judicial legislation.’’ This has meant, inter alia, that the steps
to be taken to bring law and practice into line with the Convention have rela-
tively rarely been explicitly spelt out in a judgment. Having said that, this
restrained approach is now changing under the combined pressure of the vast,
and growing, caseload of the Court and the need to be more pedagogical with
legal systems that fall far short of the requirements of a Rechtstaat and which
need clear, not cryptic, guidance on what legislative changes are necessary.17
has started, and by the time a judgment is delivered, the fire may well have gone
out.
Moreover, the Court cannot take a holistic approach to intelligence account-
ability in the way a legislature can, laying down general rules as to the mandate
of an organization, its powers, the necessary internal and external controls over
these, and the available remedies against abuse of power. The particular facts of
the case provide a strict procedural framework for the Court, a crucial difference
between judicial and legislative power. An allegedly unsatisfactory intelligence
law or practice must be ‘‘fitted in’’ to a Convention right. Thus, such vitally
important aspects of control as training of intelligence staff (designed to foster
democratic sensibilities and ‘‘rights awareness’’), dividing responsibility between
different agencies, and fiscal management can rarely, if ever, be the focus of
Court scrutiny.
The procedural restraints on the Court mean that it is limited to examining
systems of accountability as indirect components of the requirements that a limi-
tation on a given human right be for the ‘‘protection of national security,’’ ‘‘in
accordance with the law,’’ ‘‘necessary in a democratic society,’’ and accompanied
by ‘‘effective remedies’’ at the national level. What does each of these concepts
mean?
The Court has been reluctant to give abstract definitions of Convention terms,
and this has also been the case with national security.20 The Court naturally
refuses to accept that issues of security are ‘‘outside of the law,’’ although it has
also stressed that the Convention is not neutral as regards ‘‘enemies of democ-
racy.’’21 The Court is prepared to take a very wide view of national security, hold-
ing, for example, that the German system of loyalty tests for teachers22 and the
Greek government’s protection of ‘‘national cultural and historical symbols’’ fall
within the concept.23
‘‘Accordance with the law’’ means that the exercise of state power, in particu-
lar coercive power, must have support in statute law, subordinate legislation, or
case law. This in itself is hardly onerous; however, the Court has increasingly
stressed the need for minimum standards of foreseeability and for discretionary
powers to be drafted carefully, identifying the addressees, the objects of the exer-
cise of power, and the limits, temporal and otherwise, on its exercise. The ‘‘neces-
sity’’ requirement is essentially a test of the proportionality of an infringement,
and involves looking at the control system for preventing abuse of discretionary
powers. Where the Court finds that a measure complained of is not ‘‘in accor-
dance with the law,’’ then it does not proceed to examine whether the measure
satisfies the requirements of ‘‘necessity in a democratic society.’’ The majority of
cases relating to intelligence accountability have dealt only with the ‘‘accordance
with law’’ requirement, the Court, probably with some relief, confining its criti-
cism to this issue.
Intelligence Surveillance
Although there are considerable, and growing, overlaps between intelligence sur-
veillance and law enforcement surveillance, most states still subject these to dif-
ferent legal regimes. Law enforcement surveillance is still seen primarily as a
mechanism for obtaining evidence of crime against identified suspects, whereas
intelligence surveillance is still seen primarily as a mechanism for gathering intel-
ligence on more nebulous threats to national security, not necessarily connected
to crime, or at least, specific criminal offenses. Some countries have a ‘‘strategic
surveillance’’ capacity, allowing them to monitor large sections of national, and
even international, microwave and sea/land line telecommunications traffic in a
proactive way, without any suspicion of ongoing offenses.
The mandate of the intelligence agencies to engage in surveillance is usually
framed in a less, or much less, clear way, with more, or much more, room for
speculative ‘‘fishing expeditions’’ and correspondingly less protection of the
rights of the targets. The time limits are usually more lenient, most intelligence
operations going on for much longer periods than law enforcement operations.28
The information obtained may be kept forever (an issue that goes more to files,
considered in the following discussion). The authorizing body may differ from
the usual, judicial, method in relation to law enforcement surveillance and be
less objective. Even if the authorizing body is objective, as the surveillance will
rarely, if ever, result in a prosecution, a definitive judicial assessment of whether
the information available at the time really justified the surveillance may never
be made. These are some of the special problems of intelligence surveillance.
As mentioned, most of the Court’s cases have concerned the adequacy or
inadequacy of the legal framework regulating the ordering of both law enforce-
ment and intelligence surveillance. The first such case in which a violation was
found was Malone v. UK. The Court found that the British administrative prac-
tice did not ‘‘indicate with reasonable clarity the scope and manner of exercise
of the relevant discretion conferred on the public authorities.’’29 The Malone case
led to the enactment in the UK of the Interception of Communications (IOC)
Act 1985, subsequently superseded by the Regulation of Investigative Powers Act
(RIPA) 2000. In the later cases of Kruslin v. France30 and Huvig v. France31 the
Court specified that the following matters in particular should be laid down in
the law so as to minimize the potential for abuse of the law: the categories of
people liable to have their telephones tapped by judicial order, the nature of the
offenses that may give rise to such an order, the permitted duration of the tele-
phone tapping, the procedure for transcribing the relevant parts of the inter-
cepted material, the precautions to be taken to secure that the entire recordings
are available for inspection by the judge and the defense, and the circumstances
in which the recordings may or must be destroyed, particularly when the accused
is acquitted.32
These cases concerned law enforcement surveillance. However, in Amman v.
Switzerland33 the Court extended these safeguards to intelligence surveillance.
Under the applicable domestic law at the time (the Federal Council’s Ordinance
on Police Services of the Federal Attorney’s Office 1958) the police were given
competence to engage in the ‘‘surveillance and prevention of acts liable to endan-
ger the internal or external security of the Confederation.’’ The Court, however,
found that these provisions were not sufficiently foreseeable to serve as a basis
for telephone tapping. It stated that these provisions contain:
The judgments of the Court have led to law reform in a number of states, provid-
ing for tightened mandates. However, while requiring more detailed legal
engaged in risk assessment, there will be a natural tendency to collect more rather
than less intelligence in case the security agency is found to be wanting in a crisis.
And where ‘‘progress’’ for a security official is indicated by the growing thickness
of the files for which he or she is responsible, then there is a strong personal
motivation for more intelligence gathering. There is also a natural tendency to
retain out-of-date information on the off chance that it may prove to be relevant
in the future. But old information can give a misleading picture of an individual
and the degree of risk, if any, which this person poses today.
As with secret surveillance, there are dangers involved in the mere fact of tech-
nical advances in this field, the lure of technology as it were. The potential for
abuse also exists with manual records, but computerization adds a new dimen-
sion to this. The question is whether the technological advances have gone so far
as to constitute qualitative rather than simply quantitative change.48
This intelligence is collected partly for the purpose of communication. It can
thus obviously be used to the disadvantage of an individual in a variety of differ-
ent ways. The interference may, like secret surveillance, occur in secret so that
the person does not know why he or she has been disadvantaged, or even that
he or she has been disadvantaged. The factual information communicated may
be inaccurate. The person on whom the information is communicated may have
been wrongly identified. A case of mistaken identity can have catastrophic conse-
quences for the victim’s career. The dangers of inaccurate information are multi-
plied when information is exchanged between states; at the same time it is
increasingly being recognized that timely exchange of information is crucial in
intelligence cooperation, particularly against international terrorism.
The information can obviously be misused in a number of ways. It can be
used by the security agency itself or a faction of it to discredit someone for its
own purposes. A security official can pass on the information to a politician, a
businessman, or a journalist for personal gain. The security agency can be forced
or persuaded by its political master to hand over intelligence to him or herself
or to another agency, in order to discredit a political opponent, in or outside of
the government. Finally, the mere collection of security intelligence can have a
deterrent effect on political activity. One can take the view that only extremist
political groups are likely to be deterred and that this is a small price to pay for
improved security. But the political rights enjoyed by the fringe cannot be so
easily separated from those enjoyed by the political mainstream. The rights of
freedom of expression and association are protected by the Convention (articles
10 and 11), and the Court has made it plain that individuals should not be penal-
ized for exercising their Convention rights.49
However, it is no simple matter to create an effective mechanism of control.
Security information within the agency tends to be compartmentalized, that is,
available only on a need to know basis.50 This is to minimize the damage that
would result from a penetration of the agency by a hostile service, but it means
that the register is not, and cannot be, constructed wholly on the basis of the
principle of ease of use. It can be very difficult for an ‘‘outsider’’ to obtain an
overview of, for example, all the information held on a particular individual and
to provide an effective level of supervision and control. Intelligence files are not
simply personal files, but also organizational, event, and place files. There may
be extensive cross-referencing between these different categories. Informants are
not identified, but are given code names and numbers. The reliability of intelli-
gence is graded, but the information on which this grading is based may in turn
be in several, or even many, other files. And as security intelligence is based partly
on more or less well-founded speculation, essentially, all that an independent
monitor can offer is a second subjective opinion on whether a particular file or
entry is justified, and why.
There are three Court judgments and a number of Commission decisions
dealing with the issue of the adequacy of the legal mandate to collect and use
intelligence. The case of Leander v. Sweden studied both the issue of the legal
mandate and controls/remedies. I have commented on this case at length else-
where.51 Suffice to say that a government inquiry, long after the Court judgment,
revealed that the legal authority for the collection of security data, accepted by
the Court, was fatally flawed: it said one thing, but the practice was quite differ-
ent. Notwithstanding the requirement that one was to individually assess the
need for registration of people, there was more or less automatic registration of
political parties that the Security Police regarded as potentially dangerous.
In the cases after Leander, the Commission set relatively minimal require-
ments of foreseeability in relation to the mandate, but certain states nonetheless
failed to satisfy these. In V et al. v. Netherlands, the applicants complained to the
Commission that they had been subjected to surveillance by the Army Intelli-
gence Service.52 The Commission stated that the decree did not ‘‘in sufficiently
clear terms indicate the circumstances in which and the conditions on which the
authorities were empowered to carry out measures of secret surveillance.’’53 In
particular, there was no statement as to the limits to be respected, there was no
definition of the categories of people to be subject to surveillance, the circum-
stances in which this could occur, and the means to be used. Nor were the func-
tions of the counterintelligence section within Army Intelligence set out. Finally,
the safeguards to which the respondent government referred, the possibility of
making a complaint to the ombudsman or a parliamentary committee consisting
of the leaders of the political parties, were not contained in the Royal Decree.54
For these reasons, the Commission considered that the interferences with the
applicant’s rights were not in accordance with the law.
A similar approach was taken in Hewitt and Harman v. UK (No. 1), and
Nimmo v. UK. At the time, the only legal basis for the Security Services activities
as regards the grounds for filing (and the methods which might be used—
something which relates to security surveillance). Moreover, there were insuffi-
cient safeguards against abuse of discretion. Accordingly it was not ‘‘in
accordance with law.’’ The Court also found a violation of article 13 because
there were no remedies available.
In Amman v. Switzerland, the Court, as well as finding the surveillance unlaw-
ful, went on to examine whether the retention of the file on the applicant was
‘‘in accordance with the law.’’ The Swiss law at the time provided that data that
was not ‘‘necessary’’ or that had ‘‘no further purpose’’ should be destroyed, but
there was no mechanism for checking that these rules were actually followed.
The Court came to the conclusion that, when it became apparent that the appli-
cant was not preparing a criminal offense, the retention of the file was not ‘‘in
accordance with the law.’’59
The conclusions that can be drawn from this case law are that a general clause
allowing collection of intelligence on grounds of ‘‘national security,’’ for exam-
ple, must be qualified by internal procedures for opening, adding to, and retain-
ing files, as well as some form of external control mechanism. There must be
legal authority for the use, that is, the revealing, of material from the files,
although the exact conditions and limitations on this may be left to administra-
tive practice. I would argue that it must be a minimum demand as far as use of
the intelligence is concerned that the subject know, first, that the post he or she
has applied to or is applying for is subject to vetting and second, that a vetting
check that has been made has given a result which has influenced the employer
or potential employer. Without knowledge of these two factors, whatever reme-
dies might exist are illusory.
To turn now to the issue of the working of the external controls, the only
Court case to date where controls have been studied is Leander v. Sweden. There
are also four significant Commission admissibility decisions, Sandberg v. Sweden,
Hewitt and Harman v. UK (No. 2), Esbester v. UK, and Volpi v. Switzerland.60 The
Convention organs accepted the necessity for some form of collection of security
data and some system of security screening more or less without question. The
Court in Leander confirmed that it is the use to which information is put that is
the most important. In doing so, it indirectly approved of the Swedish approach
of placing the bulk of the safeguards at the stage when information is to be
released. The Court granted a wide margin of appreciation to states in how they
design control/remedies for systems.61 This means, in effect, that the applicant
must prove that the measures adopted by the government are not proportionate
to the aim to be achieved.
However, the Leander case is most interesting because subsequent official
inquiries have shown that the controls and remedies that the government argued
existed—and the majority of the Court accepted at the time—did not work.
Conclusions65
What is the ‘‘added value’’ of this supranational level of protection? The Conven-
tion is one of the few common standards applicable to all European states, and
as such is invaluable as a platform on which to elaborate more detailed European
principles of accountability. There is undoubtedly a great need for such princi-
ples, especially when, as mentioned, the EU has begun legislating in the field of
internal security. The Convention case law shows that there can be situations
when an international body places greater demands than those set by national
courts and legislatures. The pan-European legal culture of the Court can give a
different perspective on the need to reform an unsatisfactory system, and on the
direction reform can take.
So far, the main value of the Convention in this area, aside from whatever
preventive effect it might have had, has been in setting minimum levels of fore-
seeability regarding legal authority to engage in secret surveillance and security
filing/screening. A negative judgment on formal grounds, requiring legislation to
correct, can obviously give the legislature the opportunity to overhaul the whole
area.
There is potential for further cases, even though the Court’s present caseload
means that it is unlikely to want to create other ‘‘growth areas.’’ There are none-
theless limits to what the Court can achieve as regards substantive matters. In
order to be able to make real advances in this direction, the Court needs more
comparative knowledge of how European states’ national security laws and prac-
tices are constructed and applied. Projects such as this volume have a role to play
in analyzing and systematizing national laws and practices as well as highlighting
best practices. But having access to objective comparative material is not enough.
Where a state’s legislature has been given the opportunity to consider the issue
of intelligence accountability, but has failed to do so, it is asking a lot of the
Court to disapprove of the solution adopted democratically by the state, even if
most impartial observers would regard the system adopted as gravely deficient.
The attempts within the Council of Europe to adopt common rules in this area,66
something that seemed possible following the end of the Cold War, have made
no real progress. If even stable Western democracies block progress on this issue,
the scope for the Court to make further meaningful advances in the field is lim-
ited.
Notes
1. 1950, European Treaty System (ETS) No. 5 (hereafter ‘‘the Convention’’).
2. The Council of Europe was established after the Second World War and is an orga-
nization for regional cooperation concerning all matters except security. It has adopted
some 190 conventions on different matters. It consists of a secretariat, a committee of
(foreign) ministers, and a parliamentary assembly, consisting of delegates from member
states legislatures. It is not to be confused with the Council of the European Communities
(EC).
3. It should be noted that there are fourteen protocols to the Convention. These are
separate treaties under international law. Eight deal with procedural matters and the oth-
ers with additional substantive rights. Not all the member states have ratified all the pro-
tocols providing for additional substantive rights.
4. The functions of the Court and the Commission were amalgamated by protocol
11, in 1998. As shown below, some of the old Commission case law, although having less
‘‘status,’’ can still be important where the Court has not yet produced a judgment on
the issue. In the following discussion, this is the case for several intelligence accountability
issues.
5. The Court has spoken on several occasions of the Convention as a ‘‘common pub-
lic order,’’ e.g., Ireland v. UK, April 18, 1978, A/25 at para. 25. For discussions of the
constitutional nature of the Convention see, e.g., J. G. Merrills, The Development of Inter-
national Law by the European Court of Human Rights (2nd ed.) (Manchester: Manchester
UP, 1993), 9–62; and Iain Cameron, ‘‘Protocol 11 to the ECHR: the European Court of
Human Rights as a Constitutional Court?’’ Yearbook of European Law 15 (1995), 219–62.
6. For discussion of the problems caused by EU antiterror blacklists (drafted partly on
the basis of secret intelligence material) see Iain Cameron, ‘‘EU Antiterrorist Blacklisting,’’
Human Rights Law Review 3 (2003): 225–56. However, the fact that the EU has not rati-
fied the Convention as such (and cannot as of yet do so) means that there are awkward
procedural gaps in rights protection. See Segi and others and Gestoras Pro-Amnistia and
others v. 15 States of the EU, No. 6422/02 and 9916/02, May 23, 2002 (Applicants not
‘‘victims’’ of EU Common Position 2001/930/CFSP). This will change if the treaty estab-
lishing a constitution for Europe (OJC 310, Vol. 47, December 16, 2004), currently going
through the ratification process in the member states, is accepted. The treaty provides,
first, that the EU ratify the ECHR and, second, that the Charter on Rights and Fundamen-
tal Freedoms will become legally binding.
7. The Court has held that where there is an exceptional situation threatening public
order, such as a wave of terrorist violence, then this background can be taken into account
in determining the legitimacy of measures taken which allegedly infringe Convention
rights. See, e.g., Brogan and others v. UK, November 29, 1988, A/145-B, para. 48.
8. This is expressly recognized in article 53.
9. See, e.g. Handyside v. UK, December 7, 1976, A/24, para. 48.
10. See, e.g. Hilton v. UK, 12015/86, 57 DR 108 (1988), Nimmo v. UK, 12327/86, 58
DR 85 (1989), Hewitt and Harman v. UK, No. 12175/86, 67 DR 88 (1989). Having said
this, problems of proof can arise where it is, on the facts, equally likely that a private
actor (e.g. a private security firm) has infringed an individual’s rights. To ground state
responsibility for active measures (as opposed to responsibility for a failure to stop inter-
ferences), an applicant must show ‘‘beyond a reasonable doubt’’ that state agents are
responsible for the alleged violation. Thus, proving, for example, the existence of an illegal
bugging device in one’s home will not in itself suffice to create state responsibility for this
surveillance.
11. Another important factor here is the requirement in article 35 that a case be
brought before the Court within six months of the final domestic decision (in the case of
secret measures, within six months of the decision becoming known to the applicant). It
can be noted that some of the issues which do reach Strasbourg undergo a transformation
and become something other than what they were in the national context. See, e.g.,
Guardian and Observer v. UK, November 26, 1991, A/216 and Castells v. Spain, April 23,
1992, A/236 para. 39.
12. See Council of Ministers recommendation No. R (2000) 2. The Court has recently
begun explicitly stating, in exceptional cases, that the respondent state has a duty not
simply to pay just satisfaction but also to take specific measures redressing the situation
of the applicant. Assanidzé v. Georgia, No. 71503/01, April 8, 2004.
13. See, e.g., the unsuccessful attempt made by the Canadian parliament to restrict its
security agency’s collection of information on nonviolent subversives, discussed by Peter
Gill, Policing Politics: Security Intelligence and the Liberal Democratic State (London: Frank
Cass, 1994), 110–11.
14. David Dixon, Law in Policing (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1997), 33.
15. Dawn Oliver, Government in the United Kingdom: the search for accountability, effec-
tiveness and citizenship (Philadelphia: Open University Press, 1991), 22.
16. The ‘‘sanction’’ is, ultimately, expulsion from the Council of Europe. However,
noncompliance will probably also lead to multilateral political and economic sanctions
(in particular EU pressure exerted in various ways through association, trade, etc. agree-
ments).
17. The Committee of Ministers has now adopted a resolution, Res (2004) 3 ‘‘on judg-
ments revealing an underlying systemic problem,’’ which encourages the Court to exercise
a more forward-looking ‘‘quasi-legislative’’ competence where it has identified a struc-
tural rights problem. The Court invoked this competence for the first time in Broniowski
v. Poland, No. 31443/96, June 22, 2004.
18. Responsibility under article 1 of the Convention can exist for extraterritorial action,
by a state’s foreign intelligence service. See, e.g., Öcalan v. Turkey, No. 46221/99, March
12, 2003. However, the subject is complicated. The extent of responsibility can vary
depending upon the extent of actual control exercised, and difficulties of proof in this
area are likely to be even greater than for alleged abuse of domestic power.
19. M. D. McCubbins and T. Schwartz, ‘‘Congressional Oversight Overlooked: Police
Patrols vs. Fire Alarms,’’ American Journal of Political Science 28 (1984), 165–79. See also
chapter 4 by Loch K. Johnson and chapter 12 by Hans Born in this volume.
20. Indeed, the Commission expressed the view that national security cannot be
defined exhaustively. Esbester v. UK, No. 18601/91, 18 EHRR CD 72 (1993) and that in
the first place it is for member states to decide whether it is necessary to criminalize partic-
ular conduct deemed to be damaging to national security. M. v. France, No. 10078/82, 41
D.R. 103, 117 (1985). See also discussion of Hewitt and Harman (No. 2) below.
21. See Refah Partisi (The Welfare Party) and others v. Turkey Nos 41340/98, 41342/
98, 41343/98, and 41344/98, February 13, 2003, where the Court stated that Convention
freedoms ‘‘cannot deprive the authorities of a State in which an association, through its
activities, jeopardizes that State’s institutions, of the right to protect those institutions . . .
some compromise between the requirements of defending democratic society and indi-
vidual rights [is] inherent in the Convention system’’ (at para. 96).
22. See Vogt v. FRG, September 26, 1995, A/323, paras 49–51.
23. Sidiropolous v. Greece, July 10, 1998, para. 38.
24. Op. cit. para. 69.
25. See Chahal v. UK, No. 22414/93, November 15, 1996, and Al-Nashif and others v.
Bulgaria, No. 50963/99, June 20, 2002.
26. Tinnelly and McElduff v. UK, July 10, 1998.
27. Intelligence material can naturally arise in other contexts, in particular as regards
article 5 (arrest and detention), see Iain Cameron, National Security and the European
Convention on Human Rights (Uppsala/Dordrecht: Iustus/Kluwer, 2000), 267–86, and in
relation to fair trial in criminal proceedings. See, e.g., Hulki Günes v. Turkey, No. 28490/
95, June 19, 2003, and the pending case of Haas v. Germany, No. 73047/01.
28. e.g., in Canada the period is one year (Security Intelligence Service Act 1984, sec-
tion 21(5)). Anti-subversion warrants, i.e., not involving acts of violence, may be issued
for only sixty days, but no such warrants have been issued for many years. In the United
States, domestic security warrants can be issued for three months and ‘‘foreign intelli-
gence’’ warrants for one year (50 USC section 1805(d)(l)). Normal law enforcement war-
rants in the United States are issued for thirty days (18 USC section 2518(5)).
29. Malone v. UK, August 2, 1984, A/82, para. 79.
30. April 24, 1990, A/176-A.
31. April 24, 1990, A/176-B.
T his chapter examines the current state of oversight with respect to supervi-
sion of America’s intelligence agencies. Employing the methodologies of
interviews and archival research, the analysis explores the fit of prominent over-
sight theories to this hidden side of government. As well, it evaluates the major
obstacles to effective oversight in dealing with secretive agencies.
— 57 —
that already exist. This change in the political environment has provided a strong
incentive for members of Congress to initiate oversight themselves, anticipating
fires and claiming credit for their vigilance as overseers rather than waiting pas-
sively for alarms to sound. ‘‘As a consequence,’’ writes Aberbach, ‘‘formal over-
sight proceedings (such as oversight hearings) became common activities in the
1970s, and it seems that aggressive information search also became more
common.’’10
Collection
Pointing to his choice as the major problem facing U.S. intelligence today, intelli-
gence scholar Angelo Codevilla declares: ‘‘The CIA has not been gathering
enough quality data.’’12 Overseers have a responsibility to evaluate the proper
mix of spending on technical versus human intelligence. ‘‘We simply didn’t
understand . . . the need for human intelligence . . . we simply did not provide the
resources,’’ Senator Mike DeWine (R-Ohio) conceded in public hearings after 9/
11.13 How much ‘‘HUMINT’’ is enough? How well are the agencies recruiting
case officers and translators with skills in the languages and cultures of the Mid-
dle East and South Asia? How effectively are they keeping up with the forward
Processing
Extraneous information (‘‘noise’’) gathered by intelligence agencies is always
greater in volume than valuable information, a core vexation for intelligence
officials. Processing is the effort to sift through the flood tide of information
coming into the United States from worldwide collectors (satellites, reconnais-
sance aircraft, spies) in search of useful findings. The ‘‘raw’’ intelligence, say, a
Farsi telephone interception, must be readied for examination by expert analysts
(in this example, translated into English). The job of processing can be over-
whelming, since the incoming information is like a fire hose held to the mouth.
Skill at data mining is vital, and in this regard the U.S. government continues
to lag behind the private sector. Hunting for specifically relevant information,
rather than broad gathering, is the goal. Most of the data—upwards of 90 percent
in the case of satellite photographs, for instance—remain unexamined, because
of the limits of time and trained staff.14 Moreover, even key messages may not be
handled with dispatch, as was the case with the Arabic telephone intercept of
September 10, 2001, that said ‘‘Tomorrow is zero hour’’—translated too late, on
September 12. Kessler claims that for some eight years, under Director Louis
Freer’s reign, the FBI drifted with respect to information technology. 15 If so,
where were the legislative overseers to halt the drift and demand better IT com-
petence in the intelligence community?
Analysis
‘‘The biggest failure of the Senate Intelligence Committee in recent years,’’
according to a senior staffer, ‘‘has been its lack of focus on the quality of intelli-
gence analysis.’’16 Providing timely, accurate, objective, actionable insights to
policymakers, based on the data that flow back to the United States from assets
abroad, is the essential duty of intelligence agencies, as performed by their ana-
lysts. By combing through the evidence, if analysts could have warned that in
September 2001 al Qaeda operatives would attempt to fly hijacked airlines into
Dissemination
Despite enormous expenditures on intelligence, policymakers often ignore the
product delivered to them by the secret agencies. As early as 1995, for instance,
the CIA’s Counterterrorism Center warned that America could soon be the vic-
tim of ‘‘aerial terrorism,’’ with terrorists piloting aircraft into buildings.17 Twelve
reports to this effect were sent by the CIA through the higher echelons of the
government between 1995 and 2002, including SSCI and HPSCI overseers.18 Yet,
neither the White House nor any other entity took significant action to increase
airport security. In this sense, the attacks of 9/11 were as much a policy failure
as an intelligence failure—and, on both accounts, failures of legislative overseers,
who should have prodded the government into responding to these startling
warnings.
The most important criticism of intelligence to emerge from the hearings of
the Joint Intelligence Committee in 2003 was the lack of cooperation among the
secret agencies—the problem of information sharing that drove President Harry
S Truman to create a modern central intelligence in the first place. Well before
the events of 9/11, virtually every scholarly study of American intelligence called
for greater ‘‘all-source fusion’’ of information and better ‘‘jointness’’ among the
secret agencies.19 Yet, the U.S. intelligence agencies have changed little from the
damning description of them as a ‘‘tribal federation’’ made by a deputy director
of the CIA some thirty years ago.20 As a commentary on this lack of institutional
cohesion, the DCI and the secretary of defense never met with one another a
single time throughout 1999 and 2000.
An important concern for overseers, too, is the question of intelligence
politicization: ‘‘cooking’’ information to suit the political needs and ideological
inclinations of policymakers. The Church Committee recorded instances of
politicization21 and, from time to time, new charges arise.22 In 2002, Department
of Defense officials complained that CIA intelligence on Iraq failed to match their
expectations, and they established a new intelligence unit of their own (the Office
of Special Plans), perhaps to bypass the intelligence community and produce
information that better reinforced the administration’s plans to invade Iraq and
the preconceived views on Iraq held by Pentagon officials. In 2003, a CIA esti-
mate that rejected the White House hypothesis of ties between al Qaeda and the
Iraqi regime was first withheld, briefly released, then quickly buried by the
administration.23 On another issue, according to reporter Seymour Hersh, ‘‘the
Bush Administration at the highest levels is a cocoon, resistant to information
on North Korea—until it became a crisis [in 2003].’’24 Have legislative overseers
examined these apparent efforts to politicize intelligence? If so, their findings
remain out of sight from the public, which relies on representatives to keep them
informed. This reliance may be misplaced, however, for the two congressional
oversight committees rarely report to the public, seldom hold open hearings, and
maintain a website that makes Mother Hubbard’s cupboard seem well-stocked.
Speaking truth to power is notoriously difficult; those in high office often
refuse to listen. The classic case is President Lyndon B. Johnson’s shunting aside
of the CIA’s warnings about the bleak chances for U.S. military success in Viet-
nam. Even when policymakers are willing to remove ideological and political
blinkers, intelligence officers face an additional dissemination challenge: those in
power are frequently too busy to read intelligence reports. Members of HSPCI
and SSCI must spend time working on ways to heighten the appreciation of pol-
icy officials for intelligence products. What good is it for overseers to labor hard
toward improving their intelligence if the product is ignored or distorted by pol-
icy officials?
Covert Action
Each of the major oversight laws—the Hughes-Ryan Act of 1974,25 the Oversight
Act of 1980,26 and the Intelligence Authorization Act of 199127—focused on how
best to supervise covert actions. The most contentious legislation to confront
members of the congressional oversight committees—the Boland Amendments,
named after their sponsor, HPSCI Chair Edward P. Boland (D-Massachu-
setts)28 —also dealt with covert action (in Nicaragua). Among the most embar-
rassing moments for overseers and for the intelligence agencies came about as a
result of the Iran-Contra scandal, an instance of covert action run amuck.29
No wonder covert action has been a hot potato for overseers and intelligence
officers alike. This mission can involve coups d’etat and assassination plots, the
mining of harbors with explosives, and bribes to foreign politicians, along with
fiascos like the Bay of Pigs.30 Prolonged legislative battles have been waged over
when the executive branch should report to Congress on its covert action pro-
posals. The formula in the Hughes-Ryan Act, bold at the time, was ‘‘in a timely
manner.’’ The Oversight Act of 1980 went a significant step further, requiring
prior notice, except in emergencies (when the president would still have to
As with so many other aspects of intelligence, the 9/11 terrorist attacks against
the United States reprised a topic that had been at the center of the Church Com-
mittee investigation: Should America resort to assassinations? Senator Church
argued no, except in the most dire circumstances.34 Agreeing, President Gerald
R. Ford signed an executive order in 1976 [No. 11,905, 41 Fed. Reg. 7703] to halt
assassination plots, although with a waiver in time of war. The waiver provision
leaves the door open for the assassination of contemporary terrorists, since Con-
gress authorized war against them soon after the 9/11 attacks. A rising chorus of
television pundits now argues, however, that even the waiver is insufficient, and
they call for the outright revision of the executive order altogether in this time
of danger—yet another vital issue for consideration on the crowded agenda of
congressional overseers.
Counterintelligence
Counterterrorism, a subsidiary of counterintelligence (the thwarting of enemy
attacks and penetrations), is currently Priority One for U.S. intelligence officers
and overseers. Still, counterintelligence officers have other responsibilities as
well, as suggested by this unholy trinity: Walker, Hanssen, and Ames. The Walker
family stole secrets from U.S. Naval Intelligence and sold them to the Soviets
from 1968 until 1984, when a disgruntled wife in the family finally tipped off the
FBI. Robert P. Hanssen and Aldrich H. Ames also spied for the Soviets, Hanssen
beginning in 1979 and Ames in 1985. Both carried on their espionage for Russia
after the Cold War, until Ames was caught in 1994 and Hanssen in 2001. How
did these traitors slip through America’s security defenses? Were legislative over-
seers vigilant enough in stressing the importance of the counterintelligence mis-
sion?
With the current emphasis on jointness and computer connectivity, intelli-
gence compartmentalization will be on the decline in order to improve the shar-
ing of information across agency barriers. This jointness can increase the danger
of a major counterintelligence failure: an Ames with access to information across
all agencies. Adding to the challenge is the recruitment of non-traditional intelli-
gence officers into the ranks of the secret agencies. Most Americans of Middle
Eastern and South Asian heritage, for example, are doubtless loyal to the United
States; but among them may hide an al Qaeda sleeper. For a wide span of time
between 1975 and 1995, counterintelligence did not receive the attention it war-
ranted from intelligence managers or overseers. The country can ill afford a com-
parable laxity now, as the intelligence agencies begin to integrate better their
communications channels in the quest for interagency all-source fusion.
Civil Liberties
Above all, overseers have an obligation to guard the precious civil liberties of
U.S. citizens. The destruction of terrorism would be a Pyrrhic victory if, in the
process, what matters most about American society was destroyed. Too often in
the past, government paranoia has led to the trampling of basic rights, as with
the FBI Counterintelligence Program (‘‘Cointelpro’’) abuses uncovered by the
Church Committee in 1975.35 In the wake of the 9/11 attacks, the nation again
faces not only the danger of future terrorist attacks, perhaps with even more
lethal weapons, but also the erosion of constitutional principles.
The signs of risk to civil liberties have been abundant: a dubious Information
Awareness Office in the Defense Department with the self-professed goal of
‘‘total information awareness,’’ led by former Iran-Contra conspirator John M.
Poindexter; reports that the CIA will place agents in nearly all of the FBI’s fifty-
six counterterrorism offices in U.S. cities;36 resistance from the Justice Depart-
ment toward congressional requests to review the use of new antiterrorism pow-
ers, like the U.S.A. Patriot Act, passed in such haste in 2002 that many lawmakers
had not even read the proposal before casting their votes in favor;37 a distin-
guished visiting scholar from South Asia on his way to a seminar at the Brookings
Institution snatched off the streets of Washington, D.C., by immigration offi-
cials;38 the arrest and indefinite detention of Americans without trial and without
access to legal counsel.39 Here is a rich oversight agenda in itself.
Motivation
Nothing is more important to effective oversight than the will of individual law-
makers or executive overseers to engage in a meaningful examination of intelli-
gence programs. ‘‘Determination is the key. Members [of Congress] have to be
willing to break arms and legs,’’ emphasizes a staffer with three decades of experi-
ence on the Hill.40 ‘‘Not too many are willing,’’ he concludes. In 2003, a former
special assistant to DCI William J. Casey urged former lawmakers and other
officials on the Kean Commission (investigating the 9/11 attacks) to pursue their
responsibilities with utmost seriousness, in a ‘‘helicopter-raids-at-dawn, break-
down-the-doors, kick-their-rear-ends sort of operation’’41—although, with their
reputation of trying to elude overseers themselves, this is hardly the approach to
oversight that he or his former boss encouraged in the 1980s.
While such exhortations make an important point, one would almost settle
just for a more serious participation of lawmakers in oversight hearings. For the
period from 1975 to 1990, a study on the quality of intelligence oversight in pub-
lic hearings found that although members will show up (along with the network
television crews) for ‘‘firefighting’’ sessions dealing with scandals, attendance at
hearings of a more routine, police-patrolling nature was spotty—only approxi-
mately one-third of the total SSCI and HPSCI membership, on average, during
these years. Citing Woodrow Wilson’s adage that ‘‘Congress in committee-rooms
is Congress at work,’’ the study concluded that ‘‘a good many legislators failed
to show up for work.’’42 The current HPSCI staff director claims, however, that
70 percent of the lawmakers on that panel (the Goss Committee) have been
attending hearings in recent years.43
Among those who did show up at hearings in the 1975–90 study, the quality
of the questioning of CIA witnesses varied greatly. Senator Barry Goldwater
(R-Arizona) turned the questioning away from intelligence and back toward the
imperfections of Congress, declaring that ‘‘this place has more leaks than the
men’s room at Anheuser-Busch.’’ Some other members, though, engaged in a
thorough probing and even harsh criticism of Agency operations. Yet, by and
large, congressional questioning has leaned more toward the advocacy side of the
ledger, except when scandals have been the focus; then a majority of members
escalate their degree of questioning to difficult (‘‘hardball’’) interrogations.
Former HPSCI member Tim Roemer (D-Indiana) frets about the level of
commitment to intelligence accountability in today’s Congress. ‘‘We’ve gotten
away from the Church Committee emphasis on oversight,’’ he suggests.44 ‘‘There
aren’t even oversight subcommittees on HPSCI or SSCI anymore.’’ Another
expert offered a similarly pessimistic evaluation. Since the 9/11 attacks, the lead-
ing intelligence agencies ‘‘have managed to fend off the most important reforms
advocated by the House and Senate intelligence committees,’’ concluded retired
Army Lt. Gen. William E. Odum, a former NSA director.45 A Washington Post
editorial observed that the ‘‘Congress has stood by in an alarming silence.’’46
Even director(s) of central intelligence (DCI) have been critical of oversight
flaccidity. ‘‘Congress is informed to the degree that Congress wants to be
informed,’’ testified former DCI William E. Colby, pointing out that several law-
makers had expressed little interest in being briefed by the CIA.47 Recalled
another DCI, Adm. Stansfield Turner: ‘‘I believe the committees of Congress
could have been more rigorous with me [during the Carter Administration] . . .
it would be more helpful if you are probing and rigorous.’’48 Were he alive, no
doubt DCI Casey would disagree—with scatological emphasis. Several lawmak-
ers also have quite a different view from Colby and Turner, preferring the role
of advocate over adversary. For them, the president and the DCI know best in
this sensitive domain; better to follow their lead than to second-guess and per-
haps harm America’s efforts against terrorism and other threats. Efficiency
trumps accountability.
Reporting Requirements
Related to secrecy is the issue of what the intelligence agencies should tell the
Congress, and when. Lawmakers now have, in theory at least, access to all infor-
mation that the secret agencies provide to the executive branch, with the excep-
tion of the President’s Daily Brief. In reality, Congress frequently has to throw a
fit to make the agencies responsive to the requests of lawmakers, although cer-
tainly the degree of access accorded SSCI and HPSCI far outshines what over-
seers on Capitol Hill received prior to 1975.
As a means for guaranteeing a more systematic flow of information to over-
seers about intelligence operations, Congress has established formal reporting
requirements—some in statutory form, others written or oral agreements
between SSCI and HPSCI leaders and the DCI. Lawmakers and intelligence offi-
cers cleave into two camps on this subject. Some believe that reporting require-
ments, such as the prior-notice stipulation for covert actions (except in times of
emergency), are indispensable points of leverage for keeping Congress up-to-
date. Others balk at what they see as excessive involvement in the fine workings
of intelligence by members of Congress, leading to an unwarranted surcharge on
the time of intelligence officials who could otherwise be dealing with terrorism
and other threats—‘‘micro-management,’’ in the favorite slight used by critics of
any form of oversight they oppose (often all forms).
For proponents of robust accountability, reporting requirements are a must
for keeping the oversight committees informed. Otherwise, intelligence manag-
ers might brief lawmakers merely when they were so inclined, or when forced
to by scandal. Better to have important operations automatically brought to the
attention of overseers, who might otherwise never know about them. Obviously,
reporting requirements should not be excessive in number and should focus on
important activities. The eighty-seven reports that were due on May 1, 2002, to
HPSCI from the intelligence community seem excessive; but at the same time,
a 92 percent delinquency rate in providing those reports reflects poorly on the
community’s attitude and efforts to communicate well with lawmakers.58
The purpose of oversight is not to stifle the vital work of the intelligence agen-
cies, but rather to preserve civil liberties, maintain budget discipline, and bring
to bear—as former SSCI member (and defense secretary) William S. Cohen has
put it—‘‘the combined wisdom of both branches.’’59 Reporting requirements
help ensure the sharing of information with Congress to allow this pooling of
wisdom. If one is dead set against a role for Congress in intelligence matters,
though, one is likely to endorse national security adviser Poindexter’s character-
ization of lawmakers and their reporting requirements as nothing but an ‘‘out-
side interference.’’60
Co-optation
The danger always exists that lawmakers will ‘‘go native.’’ Like ambassadors
abroad accused of taking on the coloration of the country where they are in resi-
dence (‘‘localitis’’) rather than the country they represent, HPSCI and SSCI
members and staff can come to identify more with the intelligence agencies than
with their roles as detached and objective supervisors. ‘‘They are awful nice to
[overseers],’’ recalls former HPSCI chair Hamilton, ‘‘invite them to the CIA, give
them a nice dinner, court them, seduce them.’’61 Congressional members and
staff who come out of the intelligence community might be especially prone to
favoring their old agencies. As in the case of HPSCI chair Goss, a majority of
staff members on the two Intelligence Committees have had earlier careers in
one or another of the secret agencies. A remarkable number of SSCI and HPSCI
staffers also take up (or resume) positions in the intelligence community after a
tour of duty on the Hill, DCI Tenet most conspicuously.
For the most part, though, co-optation seems less of a problem than the per-
vasive philosophy among lawmakers (especially in the Republican Party)62 —that
Congress should pay deference to the executive branch on matters of national
security. Occasionally, some staffers do exhibit an inability to criticize their for-
mer agencies; but, just as often, the Committees have benefited from having
staffers who can tell whether their former colleagues in the intelligence commu-
nity are playing it straight with Congress or spinning. Still, it would be prudent
for the committees to recruit a higher percentage of non-intelligence profession-
als to provide ballast on their staffs, even though this would involve some train-
ing costs.
When SSCI and HPSCI were created, co-optation was very much on the
minds of congressional leaders. Senators included a special provision in SSCI’s
founding language [Senate Resolution 400, Sec. 3 (b), 94th Cong., 1976] that
required a rotation of members off the panel after eight-year periods of ser-
vice—a provision later adopted in the House. This rule, so the thinking went,
would help eliminate the development of cozy ties between lawmakers and intel-
ligence officers. The growing consensus, however, is that rotation has actually
harmed oversight because, just as members are becoming experienced and expert
in arcane intelligence matters, they must depart the Committee.
Further, since one can never count on serving as committee chair in a rotation
system (one may have to rotate off before arriving at the top), the incentives for
working hard to learn the subject matter are diminished. Even those who do rise
to hold the chair generally occupy that position for only a couple of years,
although GOP leaders waived the eight-year limit to allow Porter Goss (R-Flor-
ida) a fourth term of leadership on HPSCI. Other observers insist, nonetheless,
that it is valuable to have a large percentage of representatives flowing through
the two Intelligence Committees, not only to guard against co-optation but also
to disseminate throughout the legislative chambers expertise about this impor-
tant and poorly understood aspect of American government. ‘‘It’s better to have
people with fresh eyes [on the Committees],’’ reasoned former Senator Fowler
in favor of rotation (2003). On balance, though, having continuity and experi-
ence on the Committees seem to overshadow the benefits of rotation. The eight-
year ceiling should be razed, or at least raised.
Conclusion
Intelligence oversight is a subject that is richly textured. It encompasses the
supervision of a vast range of secret activities and thirteen major agencies. Over-
sight since 1975 has been relatively robust compared to earlier years, yet it falls
far short of goals espoused by the Church Committee and other panels that have
promulgated intelligence reform. Officials in the executive branch have been des-
ultory in their oversight duties. And while lawmakers have responded responsi-
bly to fire alarms—carrying out probes into domestic spying, improper covert
actions, counterintelligence vulnerabilities, and major intelligence failures—they
have done less well in the day-to-day police work that might uncover weaknesses
in the first place and eliminate the need for hurry-up ex post facto firefighting.
There have been admirable efforts at oversight by individual members of both
branches; and now and then the supervisory committees have worked well as a
whole, as when SSCI and HPSCI, under chairmen David L. Boren (D-Okla-
homa) and Larry Combest (R-Texas) labored aggressively to improve the per-
formance of the intelligence agencies; or, more recently, inside the executive
branch, when Brent Scowcroft, chairman of the President’s Foreign Intelligence
Advisory Board (PFIAB), insisted in 2002 on a hard-hitting review of intelligence
organization (though his report has never been released to the public). Mostly,
however, intelligence oversight since 1975 has been a story of discontinuous
motivation, ad hoc responses to scandals, and reliance on the initiative of just a
few members of Congress—mainly the occasional dedicated chair—to carry the
burden. Absent still, despite the recommendation of one study after another, is
a comprehensive approach to intelligence review that mobilizes most (if not all)
members of SSCI and HPSCI, an approach that includes a systematic plan of
police-patrolling without waiting for fire alarms. Responding after the fact to
intelligence failures in this dangerous world is not good enough; overseers must
try harder to prevent surprises like the 9/11 attacks from occurring in the first
place.
What are the ingredients for better intelligence oversight? Of foremost impor-
tance is greater devotion to police-patrolling instead of waiting for fire alarms,
which in the closed world of intelligence are unlikely to sound anyway until a
major scandal or disaster strikes. Further, lawmakers need to pay closer attention
to an administration’s threat-assessment decisions, its balance between human
and technical collection, its data-mining capabilities, the perspicacity of its ana-
lytic reports (with more external critiques by academicians—so-called A-team,
B-team drills), charges of politicization, and efforts to achieve institutional and
computer jointness to enhance all-source fusion.
Truly meaningful oversight would also more closely scrutinize covert action,
especially with respect to the beguiling assassination option and efforts by the
Department of Defense to develop its own capabilities in this area. One would
expect to see, too, a renewed focus on counterintelligence: appraising the merits
of an MI5-like unit in the United States; reviewing barriers to another Ames,
Hanssen, or Walker; and building protections against hostile electronic penetra-
tions of the new computer integration. Among other issues lawmakers need to
examine more closely are the merits of greater authority for the DCI, to over-
come the powerful centrifugal forces in the community. On the civil liberties
side, overseers must also revisit the deeply flawed Patriot Act, the procedures of
the Foreign Intelligence Surveillance Act (FISA) Court, and the rights of Muslim
Americans.
Effective oversight depends as well on the development of a more systematic,
comprehensive five-year plan for oversight, to include the welding together of
existing intelligence laws into an Intelligence Charter comparable to the National
Security Act of 1947, along with clear annual statements about the expectations
of lawmakers regarding each of the intelligence missions. Better incentives must
be created to encourage the involvement of officials in oversight, such as public
praise by the White House and congressional leaders, as well as the granting of
key committee assignments on Capitol Hill for lawmakers who have demon-
strated skill and devotion to oversight. It would be useful, further, to establish
more regular meetings between rank-and-file overseers and the DCI.
Sensible oversight would rely on fewer reporting requirements, but serious
penalties for bureaucrats who fail to honor reasonable deadlines. Moreover, con-
gressional jurisdictional lines for oversight need to be restructured, so that SSCI
and HPSCI are given more authority over the full intelligence community, in
place of the tangled strands that currently exist with the Armed Services, Judi-
ciary, and Homeland Security Committees. Vital, too, are measures to make the
government less secretive, including more SSCI and HPSCI opening hearings,
more online reports about the activities of the oversight committees, and fewer
classification actions by the executive branch. The two oversight committees
should return to the use of bipartisan staff in the Congress and pursue the
recruitment of more legislative staffers with backgrounds outside the intelligence
community. Finally, PFIAB and IOB should recruit individuals better prepared
Notes
1. Senator Bob Graham (D-Florida ) in ‘‘The Lehrer News Hour,’’ Public Broadcast-
ing System (PBS) Television, USA, October 17, 2002.
2. Loch K. Johnson, ‘‘Inside the Aspin-Brown Commission on Intelligence,’’ Paper,
Annual Meeting, American Political Science Association, Boston (September 1, 2002).
3. Lee H. Hamilton and Jordan Tamam, A Creative Tension: The Foreign Policy Roles
of the President and Congress (Washington, D.C.: Woodrow Wilson Center Press, 2002):
56.
4. Wyche Fowler, interview with author (Washington, D.C.: May 9, 2003).
5. Joel D. Aberbach, Keeping a Watchful Eye: The Politics of Congressional Oversight
(Washington, D.C.: Brookings Institution): 2.
6. Mathew D. McCubbins and Thomas Schwartz, ‘‘Congressional Oversight Over-
looked: Police Patrols and Fire Alarms,’’ American Journal of Political Science 28 (February
1984): 166.
7. Ibid.
8. Morris S. Ogul and Bert A. Rockman, ‘‘Overseeing Oversight: New Departures and
Old Problems,’’ Legislative Studies Quarterly 15 (February 1990): 14.
E3; CNN.com, ‘‘Pentagon Takes Quiet Aim at Terror,’’ AP Report, November 13, 2002;
Priest, The Mission (New York: Norton, 2003).
32. Quoted by Dana Priest, ‘‘CIA Killed U.S. Citizen in Yemen Missile Strike,’’ Wash-
ington Post, November 8, 2002b, 1A.
33. James Risen and David Johnston, ‘‘Bush Has Widened Authority of C.I.A. to Kill
Terrorists,’’ New York Times, December 15, 2002, 1A.
34. Frank Church, ‘‘Covert Action: Swampland of American Foreign Policy,’’ Bulletin
of the Atomic Scientist 32 (February 1976): 7–11; Frank Church, ‘‘Do We Still Plot Mur-
ders?’’ Los Angeles Times, June 14, 1983, 5.
35. Loch K. Johnson, ‘‘Congressional Supervision of America’s Secret Agencies: The
Experience and Legacy of the Church Committee,’’ Public Administration Review 64
(January–February 2004): 3–26.
36. Dana Priest, ‘‘CIA Is Expanding Domestic Operations,’’ Washington Post, October
22, 2002a, A1.
37. Patrick Cohen, ‘‘9/11 Law Means More Snooping?’’ New York Times, September 7,
2003, A15; Harry F. Tepker, ‘‘The USA PATRIOT Act,’’ Extensions, A Journal of the Carl
Albert Center, University of Oklahoma (Fall 2002): 13.
38. George Lardner Jr., ‘‘Brookings Scholar Is Detained by INS,’’ Washington Post, Jan-
uary 30, 2003, A1.
39. Anthony Lewis, ‘‘Marbury v. Madison v. Ashcroft,’’ New York Times, February 24,
2003, A21; Michael Ignatieff, ‘‘The Burden,’’ New York Times Magazine, January 5, 2003,
24ff.
40. Loch K. Johnson, author’s interview with senior staffer (Washington, D.C.: Febru-
ary 4, 2003).
41. Herbert E. Meyer, ‘‘A Memo to the 9/11 Commission,’’ National Review, January
6, 2003, online edition at www.nationalreview.com.
42. Loch K. Johnson, ‘‘Playing Ball with the CIA: Congress Supervises Strategic Intelli-
gence,’’ in Congress, the Executive, and the Making of American Foreign Policy, ed. Paul E.
Peterson (Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 1994): 56.
43. Timothy R. Sample [HPSCI staff director], author’s interview (Washington, D.C.:
January 29, 2003).
44. Tim Roemer, author’s interview (Washington, D.C.: February 5, 2003).
45. Jim McGee, ‘‘Spies,’’ CQ Homeland Security (Washington, D.C.: Congressional
Quarterly, 2003): 3
46. Cited by Steven Aftergood, ‘‘Silence on the Hill,’’ Secrecy News (Federation of
American Scientists Project on Government Secrecy 2004, January 5, 2004): 2.
47. U.S. House, Hearings on Congressional Oversight of Covert Activities (Permanent
Select Committee on Intelligence, 98th Cong., 2d. sess., September 20, 1983): 29.
48. U.S. House, Hearings on H.R. 1013, H.R. 1317, and Other Proposals Which Address
the Issue of Affording Prior Notice of Covert Actions in the Congress (Permanent Select
Committee on Intelligence, April-June, 1987): 66.
49. William H. Jackson Jr., ‘‘Congressional Oversight of Intelligence: Search for a
Framework,’’ Intelligence and National Security 5 (July 1990): 115; L. Britt Snider, Sharing
Secrets with Lawmakers: Congress as a User of Intelligence (Washington, D.C.: Center for
the Study of Intelligence, Central Intelligence Agency, 1997).
50. James Currie, ‘‘Iran-Contra and Congressional Oversight of the CIA,’’ International
Journal of Intelligence and Counterintelligence 11 (Summer 1998): 203.
51. Thomas K. Latimer, ‘‘U.S. Intelligence and the Congress,’’ Strategic Review (Sum-
mer 1979): 48.
52. Ken Guggenheim, ‘‘Tenet Defends CIA’s Pre-9/11 Efforts,’’ Washington Post, Octo-
ber 17, 2002, A1.
53. Senator Richard C. Shelby, ‘‘Remarks,’’ Congressional Record (September 24, 2002).
54. Loch K. Johnson, author’s interview with senior staffer (Washington, D.C.: Febru-
ary 6, 2003).
55. Loch K. Johnson, author’s interview, SSCI senior staffer (Washington, D.C.:
December 18, 2002).
56. Neil A. Lewis, ‘‘Senator Insists C.I.A. Is Harboring Iraq Reports,’’ New York Times,
October 4, 2002, A12.
57. Johnson, e-mail communication to the author (October 4, 2002).
58. Walter Pincus, ‘‘Overdue Intelligence Reports,’’ Washington Post, December 1,
2002, A1.
59. William S. Cohen, ‘‘Congressional Oversight of Covert Actions,’’ International
Journal of Intelligence and Counterintelligence 2 (Summer 1988): 162.
60. U.S. Congress, Senate Select Committee on Secret Military Assistance to Iran and
the Nicaraguan Opposition and House Select Committee to Investigate Covert Arms
Transactions with Iran (the Inouye–Hamilton Committee), (Hearings, Vol. 8, 100 Cong.,
1st Sess., 1987): 159.
61. Russ Baker, ‘‘Chill on the Hill,’’ Nation, October 14, 2002, 13.
62. Loch K. Johnson, ‘‘Playing Ball with the CIA: Congress Supervises Strategic Intelli-
gence,’’ in Congress, the Executive, and the Making of American Foreign Policy, ed. Paul E.
Peterson (Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 1994), 49–73.
— 79 —
issued it in 1952. This brief document emphasized the role of the Service in the
‘‘Defense of the Realm’’ and its duty to behave non-politically. The Service was,
nevertheless, responsible to the home secretary, and its director-general had a
right of access to the prime minister. The Security Service Act 1989 made no
change to these constitutional arrangements—the Service was accountable only
to ministers and not to Parliament. However, the Act did provide an explicit
statutory basis for the Service’s work. This satisfied the objection that it was
unable to conduct surveillance or gather personal information without violating
human rights.
It became apparent that the UK would be found to be in breach of the Euro-
pean Convention on Human Rights (ECHR) unless legislation was introduced.
Although the ECHR permits restriction of rights such as respect for private life
(Article 8 of the Convention) where necessary in a democratic society in the
interests of (inter alia) national security, this is with the important precondition
that the restrictions must be authorized by law.2 The prerogative basis of the
Maxwell-Fyfe Directive was insufficient for this purpose, because it could be
changed without reference to Parliament and established no formal legal limits
or controls. Moreover, the Convention system required there to be some legal
mechanisms, even if these were not courts proper, for dealing with complaints
about abuses and violation of rights. The 1989 Act introduced a tribunal and a
commissioner, each with limited powers and jurisdiction—a model followed in
the 1994 Act and later modifications under the Regulation of Investigatory Pow-
ers Act 2000. The government estimated—correctly as it turned out in later chal-
lenges—that these mechanisms would satisfy the Convention system. The mere
passing of the 1989 Act, although it came after the events in question, was treated
as sufficient reason by the Convention organs to take no further action in two
cases brought involving alleged surveillance and recording of personal details by
the Security Service.3
GCHQ—the signals intelligence agency—came to public attention in the
mid-1980s, largely because of a protracted labor dispute4 and disclosures about
wartime code-breaking, but it lacked a statutory remit until 1994. The Secret
Intelligence Service (SIS or MI6) was not even officially acknowledged to exist
until 1992. Both these agencies were created5 and operated under the royal pre-
rogative. The Intelligence Services Act 1994 provided a statutory charter for
them. Unlike the previous legislation, this act acknowledged the concerns over
lack of parliamentary oversight by also creating for all three agencies a statutory
committee of parliamentarians, drawn from both houses of Parliament (the
Intelligence and Security Committee).
from espionage, terrorism, and sabotage, and from the activities of agents of for-
eign powers. There is also a reference to a controversial area of work, although
one that is currently dormant—‘‘counter-subversion,’’ concerning ‘‘actions
intended to overthrow or undermine parliamentary democracy by political,
industrial or violent means.’’ In addition, the Service has a function to safeguard
the economic well-being of the UK from external threats and (under the Security
Service Act 1996) to assist in the prevention or detection of serious crime—a
matter for which the police are primarily responsible.
These provide a broad base for the collection, storing, analysis, and dissemi-
nation of information. Section 2(2) of the 1989 act requires the director-general
to ensure that there are arrangements limiting the collection of information to
that necessary for the proper discharge of the Service’s role or for preventing or
detecting serious crime. This may be some safeguard to the over-wide collection
of personal information. Nevertheless, thousands of files are held on individuals.6
Under s.2(3) (unpublished), arrangements are to ensure that such information
is not disclosed by the Service for employment purposes except in accordance
with ministerial provisions. The Service may also conduct surveillance within the
limits imposed by the Regulation of Investigatory Powers Act 2000. Other execu-
tive functions, such as arrest, legally sanctioned detention and questioning of
suspects (even in cases of terrorism or espionage), and prosecution are in the
hands of the police and the Crown Prosecution Service.
The Security Service is responsible to the home secretary, although opera-
tional control is in the hands of the director-general. In view of the politically
sensitive nature of its role in the domestic arena, there are two important statu-
tory restrictions that limit its work.7 The first limits collection of information to
what is ‘‘necessary for the proper discharge of its functions’’ and likewise disclo-
sure. The second requires that: ‘‘the Service does not take any action to further
the interests of any political party.’’
According to an official publication the main task of the Secret Intelligence
Service:
Under the Intelligence Services Act (ISA) 1994 s. 1(1) its functions are: ‘‘(a) to
obtain and provide information relating to the actions or intentions of persons
outside the British Islands; and (b) to perform other tasks relating to the actions
or intentions of such persons.’’ However, the ISA limits the functions of the SIS
in a way that reinforces ministerial control of the Service:
ers report annually to the prime minister on their work, and their reports are in
turn laid before Parliament. It is likely, having regard to a Strasbourg decision
under previous legislation, that these review and complaints procedures satisfy
the European Convention on Human Rights.17
The funding for all three agencies falls under the Single Intelligence Account,
by which Parliament approves their expenditure. In 2002–3 this was £893m. The
security and intelligence coordinator is the relevant accounting officer. Audit is
handled by a combination of the comptroller and auditor-general (who has a
statutory right to disclosure of details from the agencies) and the Intelligence and
Security Committee (the remit of which extends to expenditure).
Three parts of the intelligence structure are outside the statutory frame-
work—the Defense Intelligence Staff (DIS), the Joint Intelligence Committee
(JIC), and the Intelligence Assessments Staff.18 The role of the first two especially
has come under close scrutiny as a result of events surrounding the use of intelli-
gence in the public justification of the UK’s involvement in the war in Iraq.19 The
DIS is part of the Ministry of Defence and supports the armed forces by analyz-
ing information, from open and covert sources, and providing assessments both
for them and for the Joint Intelligence Committee. The head, the chief of defence
intelligence (who reports to the minister of defence) is also responsible for coor-
dination of intelligence throughout the armed forces. The Joint Intelligence
Committee sits at the hub of the intelligence machine, in the Cabinet Office,
formally connecting it with government. It is responsible for tasking the agencies
(especially SIS and GCHQ) and for providing intelligence assessments, based on
the agencies’ output, which are circulated within government, including the rele-
vant ministers.20 The JIC membership meets weekly and includes not only the
heads of the security and intelligence agencies, but also senior officials from the
Cabinet Office (the JIC chairman, chief of the assessments staff, security and
intelligence coordinator, and the head of the overseas and defense secretariat),
the Foreign Office, the Ministry of Defence, the Home Office, the Department
of Trade and Industry, and the Treasury.
The chairman of the JIC is a senior Cabinet Office official, who has direct
access to the prime minister. This arrangement was introduced following the
Falklands War, where intelligence assessment failures within the Foreign Office
were credited with the failure to predict Argentinean intentions. There is also
within the Cabinet Office a security and intelligence coordinator, whose job is to
advise the secretary of the cabinet on the funding needs of the agencies and their
effective functioning.
remains with the prime minister as head of the government. This is reflected in
provisions that are unique in UK legislation, giving the heads of the agencies a
right of direct access to the prime minister.21 This right reflects the fact that the
agencies are not simply conventional departments of state responsible to a secre-
tary of state (minister). Although the Acts also refer to responsibility to a depart-
mental minister—in the case of the security service to the home secretary, and
in the cases of the SIS and GCHQ to the foreign secretary—the prime minister
has traditionally assumed overall control and acted as the government mouth-
piece on intelligence matters.
Relations between the agencies and the responsible ministers are quite differ-
ent from the conventional one between a minister and his or her department.
The agency heads—the director-general of the Security Service, the chief of the
SIS, and the director of GCHQ—are named in law as having day-to-day respon-
sibility. This is contrary to the prevailing constitutional tradition in Britain
whereby ministers are legally responsible and officials are anonymous and, legally
speaking, invisible. The rationale is undoubtedly to provide a safeguard of the
services’ neutrality in party political terms. Indeed, political neutrality is explic-
itly addressed by provisions that require the heads of all three agencies to ensure
that the services do not take any steps to further the interests of any UK political
party.22
Moreover, there was formerly an important non-statutory convention that
reinforced the principle: the secretary of state would receive advice from the head
of the agency but would not see the intelligence on which it was based. As we
shall see, there are good reasons, based on events surrounding the second Persian
Gulf War, to question the extent to which these principles still hold true.
In its annual reports the Intelligence and Security Committee has expressed a
concern that ministers should be collectively more directly involved in oversee-
ing decisions of the agencies. In theory the Ministerial Committee on Intelligence
Services looks at the policy of the agencies and approves the annual budgets and
National Intelligence Requirements under the prime minister’s chairmanship.23
In practice, the Ministerial Committee seems to be if not moribund at least in
hibernation (it did not meet between 1995 and 2000), although the same group
of ministers did meet regularly with security officials post–September 11.24
Although the inactivity of the Ministerial Committee may give the picture of
agencies responsible to the relevant departmental minister but otherwise left
largely to their own devices, this would be misleading in view of the heightened
importance of intelligence post–9/11. It may be a case, rather, that the formal
structure has been overtaken by events. Nevertheless, the Committee’s report for
2002–3 expressed concern that the relevant ministers did not see all JIC assess-
ments as a matter of routine.
Some actions involving the services require explicit ministerial approval by
and material collected by the Agencies to inform the public on matters such as
these’’ but that it was ‘‘imperative that the Agencies are consulted before any of
their material is published’’ and that this process was not fully followed with the
February 2003 dossier.28 A second concern was the misleading emphasis placed
upon the claim contained in the September 2002 dossier that weapons of mass
destruction could be deployed by Iraq within forty-five minutes. The ISC found
this should have been explained in more qualified terms.29 Most telling of all,
however, was Lord Hutton’s conclusion that the JIC chairman and staff may have
been indirectly (or, as he put it, ‘‘subconsciously’’) influenced to make state-
ments that were more definitive than was usual in intelligence assessments in
compiling the dossiers with a view to publication.30 While acquitting ministers
of duplicity, or officials of malpractice, this nevertheless clearly highlights the
dangers of politicization.
A further report by a Committee of Privy Counsellors chaired by the former
cabinet secretary, Lord Butler, largely affirmed these points about the public use
of intelligence. Controversially the use by ministers of intelligence was omitted
from the committee’s terms of reference, leading to a boycott by the main oppo-
sition parties. Nevertheless, the report emphasized the need for the chairman of
the JIC to be above ministerial pressure and criticized the informal style of policy
making on Iraq by the ministers in the Blair government.31
Parliamentary Accountability
Britain was relatively late in moving to a system including parliamentary over-
sight, largely because of government objections about the nature of ministerial
responsibility at Westminster. According to the official argument at the time of
the 1989 Act, insuperable difficulties lay in the way of true answerability of min-
isters to Parliament for how they exercised their control over the agencies: the
detail of how accountability worked could not (it was said) be revealed without
compromising necessary secrets. Parliament and the public therefore lay outside
the ring of secrecy and had no alternative but to put their trust in ministers, who
were within it.
Scrutiny within existing parliamentary mechanisms had long been thwarted:
a convention had grown up of refusing to answer parliamentary questions from
MPs on matters concerned with the agencies or touching on national security;32
nondisclosure of the money spent by the services had been condoned through
the ‘‘secret vote,’’ where a global figure, without explanation or breakdown of
the details, was approved annually;33 and, despite occasional protests,34 the work
of the agencies had received no attention from parliamentary select committees.
It was notable, however, that Westminster-style ministerial responsibility had
not prevented reform in Canada and Australia. In Canada’s case the Canadian
Security Intelligence Service Act of 1984 created a non–parliamentary committee
(the Security Intelligence Review Committee) with a range of oversight and com-
plaints functions, alongside an inspector-general who reported to ministers on
the performance of CSIS.35 In Australia a statutory parliamentary committee was
established with oversight of ASIO (the security service),36 although other agen-
cies (ASIS, the intelligence agency, and DSD, the signals intelligence agency)
remained outside this scheme until recent reforms.37
Eventually the obstacles were overcome in the UK also. In 1994 the Major
government acceded to the call for scrutiny by a committee representing a cross-
section of parliamentary opinion. The Intelligence and Security Committee,
established under the 1994 Act, comprises nine members drawn from both the
House of Commons and the House of Lords, whose task is to examine the expen-
diture, policy, and administration of all three security and intelligence services.
ity for security and intelligence agencies earlier than any other. At the other end
of the experience range was Yvette Cooper, a new Labour MP with no previous
experience of government or parliamentary committees, and one of the youngest
parliamentarians from the 1997 intake. She left the Committee during 1999–
2000 on being promoted to ministerial office (ministers are debarred from mem-
bership of the Committee49). To all appearances the Committee had been
constructed to work in a bipartisan fashion, in view of the fact that the previous
chairman continued in office although he was a member of the parliamentary
opposition following the May 1997 election. It was also representative of a range
of different parliamentary interests, including those highly skeptical of the entire
process.
The Committee was reconstituted after the 2001 election, due largely to indi-
viduals leaving Parliament, although four of the nine members from the previous
Parliament remain. Tom King had retired and was replaced in the chair by Ann
Taylor, a Labour MP who was a former chief whip (a senior government business
manager in the House of Commons). Her nearest security-related experience was
chairing a cabinet committee on drugs policy.
The Committee’s working method was to begin by familiarizing itself with the
agencies by meeting heads of the services and by reviewing agencies’ premises.
Officials seem to have been, if anything, keen to establish a new source of legiti-
macy for their work with a committee representative of Parliament, rather than
just the government. The services themselves were in a transitional period fol-
lowing both the ending of the Cold War and also the transition to peace in
Northern Ireland. In this context no doubt the Committee could be seen as a
useful ally in battles within government over budget priorities. In any event good
working relationships seem to have been established quickly.
From the start the Committee has been proactive. In an early report it warned
that it expected to be ‘‘properly and promptly informed’’ by the agencies of their
activities, rather than merely responding to requests for information.50 (Recent
evidence of this practice emerged when the Committee indicated that it had
received regular briefings on WMD in Iraq before and during the 2003 war.51) It
follows a published annual program of work, as well as considering topics that
may emerge on ad hoc basis. It has tended to meet frequently (often weekly dur-
ing the parliamentary session). Typically it interviews several dozen witnesses
each year, and takes part in international liaison and exchanges, both by visiting
oversight agencies abroad and receiving such visits (these have included many
European and former Eastern bloc countries, the United States, and the other
Commonwealth states). It also conducts about ten visits to agencies’ premises
each year (these have included periodically visiting the controversial NSA facility
at Menwith Hill).
The Committee is supported by a clerk (whom it interviewed and appointed)
and clerical assistance; neither was provided for in the 1994 Act but the govern-
ment has recognized the need to make available the necessary funding. The Com-
mittee’s staff are vetted and security cleared.
A key issue has been the acquisition by the Committee of an investigative
capacity. It might be argued that, in view of the Committee’s limited remit,
investigation as such was unnecessary, since this would venture into operational
matters. Nevertheless, the Committee argued that, compared to the oversight
arrangement in other countries, it lacked direct ability to investigate the agencies’
activities and that a power of independent verification would give added author-
ity to its findings and so strengthen public confidence in the oversight system.52
The government conceded the issue without making a formal change to the pow-
ers of the Committee.53 The result was a compromise in that the Committee
stopped short of calling for the creation of an independent statutory investigator,
such as an inspector-general, but the government has agreed that the agencies
would cooperate with an investigator who works for the Committee. The
appointment is a part-time one. The incumbent is a retired deputy chief of
defence intelligence.54 Defense intelligence is not within the Committee’s statu-
tory remit and, thus, the Committee was able to appoint someone with intelli-
gence expertise but without loyalty to one of the agencies overseen under the
Act.
The investigator is ‘‘tasked’’ by the Committee as part of its annual program
of work to investigate and report to it on certain topics. It is important to stress,
however, that the investigator is not a substitute for an inspector-general. He or
she has no statutory powers. The investigator allows the Committee to conduct
the same type of investigation as previously, but without the members needing
to immerse themselves in detail to an unnecessary degree. Material may also be
excluded at the agencies’ request from the investigator’s report to the Commit-
tee. The Committee has argued that this facility encourages frankness on the part
of the agencies.55 However, it is curious in view of the fact that the Committee
itself works within the ring of secrecy. In essence the arrangement allows the
Committee to be satisfied that someone responsible to it can confirm the accu-
racy of information it has received without members seeing for themselves all
the details. What is not provided for in this scheme, but is a feature of inspector-
generals’ powers elsewhere, is the ability to initiate audits to sample an agency’s
operational work.
It is clear that the Committee is also working well beyond its strict legal remit
in terms of agencies overseen. The Committee has encountered no apparent
opposition in investigating the work of the Joint Intelligence Committee and the
Security and Intelligence Co-coordinator, parts of the intelligence machinery
which, although closely linked to the agencies, are outside the statutory frame-
work.56 Similarly, it has taken evidence from a number of government depart-
ments that are in effect the security and intelligence agencies’ ‘‘customers,’’ that
is, the users of intelligence produced by them.
A recent instructive example that shows the ability of the Committee to con-
duct an in-depth and independent investigation is the report on intelligence and
threat warnings preceding the Bali bombing of October 12, 2002.57 On the face
of it the report went considerably beyond the statutory remit of the Committee,
since it concerned specific intelligence available in relation to a specific event.
Moreover, in the conduct of its inquiry the Committee examined all the relevant
intelligence, intelligence assessments, and travel advice available before the
attack—that is, it was given access to intelligence files as well as interviewing wit-
nesses. The explanation is that the initiative for the inquiry seems to have come
either wholly or in part from the government itself, which wanted to be able to
substantiate the claim that no specific warning of a threat had been received that
should have been made public. To make this claim credible it was necessary for
it to be investigated by an independent body. Hence, it was the foreign secretary
who announced to the House of Commons that the Committee was conducting
an inquiry and that all material would be made available to it.58
The most controversial investigation by far that the ISC has conducted was
into intelligence and intelligence assessments before the Iraq war. Although the
initial impetus came from the ISC itself, the investigation was subsequently
endorsed by a parliamentary resolution, and the prime minister promised full
government cooperation. The report, published in September 2003,59 is discussed
in greater depth in chapter 2. In summary, however, it concluded that the gov-
ernment had not put political pressure on the JIC. The ISC’s conclusion, based
on interviews with all senior ministers and officials (including the prime minister
and the foreign secretary) and on detailed analysis of the various intelligence
assessments and the successive drafts of the dossiers, was that the published
material had not been politically tampered with. Nevertheless, in some important
respects the Committee was critical. It warned that ‘‘It is vital that the JIC’s and
the Agencies’ credibility and effectiveness are not degraded or diminished by the
publication of their product in an inappropriate manner.’’60
What does this show about the Committee? First, it demonstrates that it has
an impressive ability to operate in a bipartisan fashion even in dealing with issues
that have momentous political consequences. This may be due in part to its
operating in private—had public hearings been held they would inevitably have
invited ‘‘grandstanding’’ as undoubtedly occurred in both the Foreign Affairs
Select Committee investigation and in the later Hutton Inquiry. However, pre-
cisely because the Committee worked in private and did not fully publish its evi-
dence (although much more was passed to and later published by Hutton), this
inevitably contributed to a perceived lack of legitimacy. This point was ironically
underscored by evidence to the Hutton Inquiry that Geoff Hoon (the defence
secretary) had insisted that Dr. David Kelly (the scientist from his department
who subsequently committed suicide) should undergo public examination
before the Foreign Affairs Committee because his earlier, private, appearance
before the ISC lacked legitimacy.61
Second, the ISC’s investigation shows that despite its limited formal powers
the Committee can be successful in winning the cooperation of the agencies and
getting to the facts. Of course, the government’s own interests were served by
cooperating fully, as it hoped that an independent report would deflect criticism.
It is a testament to the Committee, however, that although the Hutton inquiry
later picked over substantially the same ground with copious disclosure of docu-
ments and high profile public cross-examination of the witnesses (including live
remote testimony from the chief of SIS), it reached essentially similar conclu-
sions. In the politically charged atmosphere of claim and counter-claim sur-
rounding the war it is not surprising, though, that the ISC inquiry failed to
achieve public acceptance as a definitive account. Where a public inquiry by a
Law Lord could not do so a committee of parliamentarians was hardly likely to
succeed.
Despite these prominent investigations, there are also some glaring omissions
from the published work of the Committee. Foremost among these is its silence
on the allegations of the former Security Service officer David Shayler, finally
convicted in 2001 under the Official Secrets Act of 1989 for his revelations con-
cerning the agency, and his counterpart from MI6, Richard Tomlinson.62 The
allegations of incompetence and abuse made by these two insiders have received
no public investigation. The reason is apparently that the Committee did not
wish to encourage ‘‘whistle-blowers’’ who break the law. Instead, it has taken a
close interest in the personnel policies of the agencies. The unstated implication
is that the Shayler and Tomlinson cases are instructive only because of the failure
to handle them in-house, rather than because of the substance of the allegations.
And yet if the Committee is prepared to listen only to officially sanctioned evi-
dence, it is arguably depriving itself of a valuable source of information.
The Intelligence and Security Committee can be counted a success on several
levels. First, at a presentational level, the existence of the Committee has largely
assuaged calls for more public accountability of the security and intelligence
agencies. It is true that there remains the constitutional objection that the Com-
mittee is not responsible to Parliament as such. For this reason the Home Affairs
Committee has continued to call for the Intelligence and Security Committee to
be replaced with a parliamentary select committee.63 However, even it has con-
ceded that the existing Committee is a significant improvement on the previous
arrangements and has paid tribute to its work.
Second, the Committee has plainly succeeded in establishing generally good
working relations with the security and intelligence agencies. Only three exam-
ples stand out of friction or conflict, or of any attempt by the agencies to frustrate
or obstruct any line of investigation. The retiring chairman noted (in a letter to
the prime minister) that SIS apparently found it ‘‘more difficult’’ to be frank with
the Committee than did the other services.64 The Committee has failed in its
repeated attempts to gain access to the full, unpublished reports of the judicial
commissioners. The government has opposed this in principle, although, as a
compromise, the Committee has met the commissioners.65 Finally, in its Iraq
investigation, the Committee criticized the lack of candor of the secretary of state
for defence (which it called ‘‘potentially misleading’’) in initially failing to dis-
close the misgivings of some officials within DIS about material included in the
September 2002 dossier.66 These are the only disputes that have surfaced publicly
over access to information.
It is significant, perhaps, that the government evidently trusted the Commit-
tee sufficiently to ask it to investigate matters that involved access to considerable
operational detail (and which were therefore well outside the Committee’s statu-
tory entitlements)—the handling of the Mitrokhin Archive and of intelligence
prior to the Bali bombing—and to cooperate in its inquiry into intelligence
before the Iraq war. Moreover, the Committee has succeeded in behaving in a
nonpolitical fashion so that its criticisms of the agencies have generally been
responded to in a constructive fashion. Equally, it has proved a safe environment.
There have been no leaks of information from the Committee to the press—
something that would have severely damaged working relations with the agen-
cies.
The Committee has worked well despite its relatively weak powers. This may
be in part because the agencies were aware that withholding information in
accordance with the strict terms of the Act would inevitably have produced pub-
lic and parliamentary calls for increased investigative powers. Nevertheless, in
view of the current controversy about intelligence analysis and reporting, this
may be an opportune moment at which to extend the statutory framework to all
parts of the intelligence establishment and to bring defense intelligence, the JIC,
the intelligence assessments staff, and the security and intelligence co-coordina-
tor formally under the wing of the Committee.
Conclusion
So far as the legislative oversight scheme as a whole is concerned, there are a
number of broader defects, which can be briefly mentioned.
In the UK tradition the legislative framework is very permissive toward the
executive. The only points at which there is relative precision concern the need to
provide legal ‘‘cover’’ for potential violations of individuals’ legal rights (mainly
relating to personal privacy and property). Elsewhere the legislation lacks detail.
It is startling to find, for example, that the key term ‘‘national security’’ is not
defined with any precision. The legal implication is that the agencies are able
to move flexibly into new areas of work without seeking explicit parliamentary
approval.
Although there is complex scheme of statutory commissioners and a tribunal
to deal with complaints, the absence of successful complaints over more than a
decade in which variations on this scheme have been in operation is telling.
Common experience of large public organizations in other spheres of life is that
they simply do not achieve this degree of perfection in their relations with mem-
bers of the public. It suggests here that the statutory balance may be excessively
protective of state security as opposed to individual rights.
A clear gap within the UK scheme is the absence of an independent inspector-
general with powers to initiate audits of the agencies’ work. An office of this kind
could be designed to provide reassurance of legality, propriety, and effectiveness
that a haphazard complaints system and part-time judicial commissioners do
not. It would benefit both ministers and Parliament.
Although much has changed since the 1980s, it remains the case that Parlia-
ment as such exercises little direct scrutiny of the agencies or their budgets. This
may change. Experience of the Intelligence and Security Committee suggests that
it could move to become a select committee in the proper sense with relatively
little disruption.67 The pressing need after September 11 and the Iraq war to
enlist political and public support for the agencies and to strengthen the legiti-
macy of their work may make such a move attractive to the government, also, in
due course.
On paper the UK scheme appears to be one of weak oversight because of con-
siderable influence of the executive and the lack of parliamentary ownership of
oversight arrangements. The government holds the reins in appointing members
of the ISC, and in controlling their access to information and over the published
form of their reports. As with so many things in Britain’s unwritten constitution,
however, appearances can be deceptive. No independent person would recom-
mend these arrangements as a model to other countries, and the legal framework
could certainly be improved, but in a stable democratic system they work tolera-
bly well.
Notes
1. See Lord Denning’s Report, Cmnd. 2152 (1963).
2. See chapter 3 in this volume.
3. Resolution DH(90) 36 of December 13, 1990. Ironically, the two complainants,
Harriet Harman and Patricia Hewitt, are now both ministers in the Blair government.
4. The decision to prevent officers there from belonging to a trades union was unsuc-
cessfully challenged in the courts: Council of Civil Service Unions v. Minister for the Civil
Service [1985] AC 374. The ban was lifted by the Labour government in 1997.
5. The Secret Service Bureau, the forerunner of both MI5 and the Secret Intelligence
Service (MI6), dated from 1909: C. Andrew, Secret Service (London: Sceptre, 1986), 121
ff.
6. In 1998 the Security Service had 290,000 personal files, of which 20,000 were active;
13,000 of these related to UK citizens (divided approximately equally between terrorism
and the service’s other current interests, espionage weapons-proliferation and serious
crime): H.C. Debs, vol. 317, cols. 251–4, 29 July 1998. The Secret Intelligence Service
(MI6) held 86,000 files (75 percent closed) of which approximately half related to UK
citizens, although they were not files whose subject matter was individuals: Annual Report
of the Intelligence and Security Committee for 1997–98, Cm. 4073 (1998), para. 52.
7. Security Service Act 1989, s. 2(2).
8. National Intelligence Machinery, 6.
9. ISA 1994, s. 1(2).
10. ISA 1994, s. 3(1)(a).
11. s. 3(1)(b).
12. s. 3(2)(a). GCHQ’s functions can also be exercised under s. 3(2) ‘‘in the interests
of the economic well-being of the United Kingdom in relation to the actions or intentions
of persons outside the British Islands’’; and ‘‘in support of the prevention or detection of
serious crime.’’
13. See Jeffrey Richelson and Desomond Ball, The Ties That Bind, 2nd ed. (Sydney:
Allen and Unwin, 1990).
14. ISA, ss. 2 and 4.
15. RIPA, s. 59
16. RIPA, s. 65
17. Esbester v. UK, App. No. 18601/91, April 2, 1993
18. For details see: National Intelligence Machinery (2nd ed., 2001).
19. See chapter 2 in this volume.
20. The standing terms of reference of the JIC are published in National Intelligence
Machinery (2nd ed., 2001), 19.
21. SSA, s. 2(4) and ISA, ss. 2(4) and 4(4).
22. SSA 1989, s. 2; ISA 1994, ss. 2 and 4.
23. Intelligence and Security Committee, Annual Report for 1999–2000, Cm. 4897
(November 2000): para. 19.
24. Intelligence and Security Committee, Annual Report for 2001–2, Cm. 5542 (June
2002): para. 10.
25. RIPA 2000, Part 1. In practice, the home secretary, foreign secretary, Northern Ire-
land secretary, the secretary of state for defence, and the second minister in Scotland.
26. Under the Anti-Terrorism Crime and Security Act 2001 and the Immigration Act
1971.
27. See chapter 2 in this volume.
28. Intelligence and Security Committee, Annual Report 2002–2003, Cm. 5837 (June
2003): para. 82.
29. Intelligence and Security Committee, Iraqi Weapons of Mass Destruction—
Intelligence and Assessments, Cm. 5972 (2003): paras. 86, 112.
30. Report of the Inquiry into the Circumstances Surrounding the Death of Dr. David
Kelly C.M.G., H.C. 247 (2003–4): para. 467. www.the-hutton-inquiry.org.uk
D uring his 1976 trial for attempting to bomb the home of a Montreal super-
market executive, Robert Samson acknowledged he had done worse as a
member of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police (RCMP) Security Service.1 Given
immunity from prosecution, Samson revealed details of a break-in at the offices
of the L’Agence-Presse Libre du Québec. This set in train events that led the
Canadian government to establish a public inquiry under Justice David Mc-
Donald into the federal police force. Five years later the Commission produced a
comprehensive report that recommended severing the Security Service from the
RCMP and establishing a new civilian security intelligence service in its stead.2
In many respects, the Canadian Security Intelligence Service Act that estab-
lished the new agency in 1984 constituted a blueprint for change and a model law
for establishing agencies with coercive or intrusive capacities. It largely followed
McDonald’s blueprint with one critical exception. It did not establish a perma-
nent joint standing committee on security and intelligence with full purview over
all of Canada’s security and intelligence organizations and functions.3 Some
twenty years later, the neophyte Liberal government of Paul Martin has, in
attempting to address the ‘‘democratic deficit,’’ acknowledged the need for such
a committee.4
This chapter examines the formulation of the model law initiated by the
McDonald Commission and how Canada’s security and intelligence community
— 99 —
has subsequently developed and been scrutinized by internal and external review
bodies and legislative committees. The discussion has two starting points. A cen-
tral focus of the conference on which this book is based concerned an attempt
to compare and contrast parliamentary oversight models with the congressional
form. Though Canada is a constitutional monarchy with a parliamentary system
of government, it has developed as a hybrid system, relying heavily on both Brit-
ish and American constitutional and institutional ideas. These have both had
important implications for Canada’s oversight systems. Second, the way Cana-
da’s security and intelligence community has developed is the result of several
factors. These include its experiences in wartime; its geopolitical position and the
threats it perceives; its close ties with Britain, other dominions, and the United
States; and its own value system.
It is not possible to examine here all aspects of how Canada scrutinized its
security and intelligence community during the last quarter century. Instead, the
chapter focuses on certain key events. It examines the lessons that can be drawn
both from Parliament’s five-year review of the CSIS Act and the Security
Offences Act, and also its recent adoption of the Anti-terrorism Act. While the
latter was ostensibly in response to the terrorist attacks on the United States on
September 11, 2001, this chapter argues that other rationales were afoot. It also
provides an assessment of the measures taken by the new Liberal government to
restructure Canada’s security and intelligence community and the new forms of
oversight now in the offing. By way of a conclusion, it reflects upon the capacity
of Canadian oversight and the likelihood of weaknesses being overcome.
accompanied by the Security Offences Act. This legislation gave the RCMP the
primary role in investigating an undefined number of security offenses. In the
case of politically motivated violence, the CSIS Act did nothing to remove the
forces’ obligation to prevent such violence.6 In fact, it is difficult to envisage how
this duty could be implemented without specific intelligence gathering.
The Canadian Armed Forces are primarily concerned with the collection of
defense intelligence about the military capabilities and intentions of foreign
states and other entities. The auditor-general, however, has recently identified
three units within the Department of National Defence involved in domestic
intelligence gathering.7 The National Counter-Intelligence Unit uses such invest-
igative techniques as communication intercepts, physical surveillance, and search
warrants. The Canadian Forces Information Operations Groups conduct signals
intercepts to support the Canadian Armed Forces or the Communications Secur-
ity Establishment (CSE). Finally, the Canadian Forces Joint Imagery Centre coor-
dinates the collection of images in the support of domestic or international
operations of the Canadian Armed Forces.8 Also operating in the domestic
sphere is the Financial Transactions and Reports Analysis Centre. This agency
was involved in countering money laundering, primarily by organized crime,
prior to September 11, 2001, but was given a new mandate to prevent and deter
terrorist financing under the Anti-terrorism Act.
Unlike its G8 partners, Canada has never had an intelligence agency dedicated
solely to gathering intelligence abroad using human sources or providing an
external covert action capacity,9 though there have been repeated calls for Can-
ada to develop a foreign intelligence service.10 Its ability to gather intelligence
abroad still rests on CSIS’s limited but expanding capacity to collect security
intelligence outside Canada,11 its signals intelligence agency, diplomatic and mili-
tary personnel abroad, open sources, and the sharing of intelligence by foreign
agencies.
The CSE’s forerunner originated during the Second World War and quickly
became a valued member of the UK/USA signals intelligence partnership. Estab-
lished through secret executive orders, it has remained Canada’s most secretive
organization ever since.12 Not until the mid-1970s was the organization even
acknowledged by government. Only within the last ten years has it been indepen-
dently reviewed and placed under a legislative mandate. Like the agency itself,
the position of commissioner for the CSE was initially established by executive
order. To date the commissioner has never been called before Parliament to dis-
cuss the office’s annual report. Nor has Parliament considered in any depth the
legislation subsequently adopted to establish the agency, the review body, and
their respective mandates. Canada’s capacity to analyze all-source foreign intelli-
gence has traditionally rested on organizations within the Privy Council Office
(PCO) and the Department of Foreign Affairs.13 These intelligence analysis cen-
ters have only recently received adequate resources and their work has never
been reviewed by any independent body.
Traditionally, the responsibility for providing the country with security and
protecting it against the range of threats—both man-made and natural—has
been spread across a wide range of agencies and departments. The new govern-
ment under Paul Martin has undertaken a major reorganization of the sector. A
central feature of this reorganization is the elimination of the Ministry of Solici-
tor-General and its replacement by the Ministry of Public Safety and Emergency
Preparedness Canada headed by the deputy prime minister. In addition, the
minister has been given responsibility for leading the cabinet’s planning and pol-
icy making for the entire security and intelligence sector. Of critical importance
is a shift in attitude towards the perception of threats. Previously, traditional
national security threats were viewed separately. Now man-made threats are per-
ceived under the same rubric as those stemming from natural sources. This real-
ization is particularly apparent in the public health sphere where both forms of
threats readily elide. Significantly, there has never been a body independent of
the Executive that has had purview over the entire security and intelligence
sector.
job. Thus, it would recommend additional powers the RCMP Security Service
never possessed. On the other hand, it believed that when organizations had
coercive or intrusive powers, there should be commensurate checks and bal-
ances. Of critical importance here was the notion that intelligence organizations
should have enabling legislation explicitly defining their mandates and limiting
their activities. Only in this way could the principle of everyone being account-
able to law be maintained. Further, the Commission believed such legislation
should clearly provide a system of accountability, control, and review that would
ensure particular ministers were responsible to Parliament for the coercive and
intrusive actions provided by such organizations.
To achieve these objectives, the Commission believed it was necessary to
remove responsibility for gathering security intelligence from the RCMP. Several
factors underpinned this premise. First, the commissioners held that the RCMP
was not suited to providing this function because of the education and modes of
recruitment and training individual officers received. Second, they considered
that wrongdoing in the security sphere had brought not only the Security Service
into disrepute but also the entire national police force. Finally, and most impor-
tantly, they held that in fulfilling their normal duties, police forces in a demo-
cratic state needed to have independence of action from political masters and
discretion about when to invoke the criminal sanction. Thus, the Commission’s
approach was to have a separate civilian security intelligence service with no
coercive powers, only those needed to investigate and analyze threats to Canada’s
security. Its responsibilities would end with reporting about the nature and
implications of threats to other arms of the Canadian government. The RCMP
was not to be removed from the national security arena altogether. Rather its
responsibility was to be limited to post-intelligence activities where intelligence
officials and political masters wanted the criminal sanction invoked or persons
detained pending removal from the country.
The Commission also believed the new security intelligence service should be
placed in a comprehensive system of accountability, control, and review.
Accountability was to be achieved by making a specific minister responsible to
Parliament for the new organization. There would no longer be a case for ‘‘plau-
sible deniability’’ of domestic intelligence functions. Furthermore, the head of
the new service, who had responsibility for managing day-to-day operations, was
to report directly to the minister. Significantly, the head’s tenure was to be lim-
ited so that the government could avoid falling vulnerable to J. Edgar Hoover–
like characters. Executive control was to be exercised by providing the minister
with clear authority to give the head instructions. While a lower threshold than
that employed in criminal investigations would be used, the most intrusive
investigative techniques were to fall under judicial controls by requiring the ser-
vice to obtain warrants. Two review mechanisms that were external to, and inde-
We agree that, ideally such a committee could be of benefit. But there are many
practical difficulties involved. A parliamentary committee would likely duplicate
much of the efforts of the Security Intelligence Review Committee (SIRC). Further,
Criticism was such that the government decided to start afresh. The new bill
followed most of the Pitfield Committee’s recommendations and was finally
adopted by Parliament in August 1984. It reflected the McDonald Commission’s
blueprint in many respects. It established a new civilian agency headed by a
director who could only serve two five-year terms. The Service’s mandate and
functions were carefully spelled out and limited to collecting intelligence about
particular threats and warning the federal government of their implications. It
had no powers to thwart the threats it investigated or to force anyone it inter-
viewed to answer questions. A broader investigatory mandate than the RCMP
Security Service’s authorized it to see personal health records and to intercept
mail. While its primary role was to collect security intelligence—defined in terms
of threats to the security of Canada and Canadian interests—it also had a limited
role in collecting foreign intelligence. While it was not restricted as to where it
could collect security intelligence, it was forbidden to collect foreign intelligence
outside Canada.
The agency was also placed within the recommended framework of account-
ability, controls, and review mechanisms. The solicitor-general was specifically
given responsibility for the Service and authorized to provide the Service with
directions. While the director had day-to-day responsibility for control and man-
agement, the incumbent was made accountable to the minister for the Service’s
actions and obliged to consult with the deputy solicitor-general on its policies
and operations.
The legislation also established two review bodies, one within the executive
branch of government, the other independent of it. The role of the internal body
was primarily one of compliance. In this regard, the inspector-general of CSIS
was charged with certifying that the Service had operated within the law and
according to policy directives. The annual certificate the office produced is sub-
mitted to the deputy solicitor-general but not made public. By contrast the exter-
nal body, the Security Intelligence Review Committee (SIRC), has a wider remit
to check for compliance and to consider efficacy issues. In addition to these
reviews, which may be initiated on its own volition or at the request of the minis-
ter, SIRC investigates complaints against the Service and instances where security
clearances are denied. The Act did not make, as the McDonald Commission had
recommended, this body directly accountable to both the responsible minister
its face, its inclusion in such a highly controversial act was sensible and necessary.
However, it appears that no one in 1984, not even the Pitfield Committee that
recommended it, had reflected on the implications it would have for Parliament
and the difficulties that body might have in fulfilling its mandate.21
as the Parliament had intended. Nor could it ascertain the degree to which SIRC
functions overlapped with those of the inspector-general. Despite these difficul-
ties, the staff of the Special Committee was able to demonstrate that SIRC had
not followed basic social science research techniques in one particular report.
Though SIRC admitted it was not one of their better reports,24 the analysis left
an uncomfortable question mark hanging over the Special Committee because it
could not confirm whether the techniques used by SIRC were atypical or com-
monplace. Another roadblock affected the Committee’s work but was of its own
making. The Committee shied away from directly asking federal court judges
questions about their role for fear of establishing undesirable precedents con-
cerning the separation of powers. Consequently, it relied on staff interviews with
the federal court’s administrative staff.
The Special Committee used a variety of techniques for obtaining needed
information. Such traditional methods as holding public hearings and question-
ing witnesses formed the Committee’s public face. However, because only a lim-
ited number of issues could be raised during such procedures, these were
augmented with staff interviews and requests for written government responses
to additional questions. Even so, many requests were denied on ‘‘national secur-
ity grounds.’’
Not surprisingly, one of the central recommendations of the Special Commit-
tee was for the government to treat security and intelligence as a special case.25
In order to ensure appropriate access to classified information, it recommended
that Parliament establish a small permanent standing committee. This commit-
tee would have its members work under an oath of secrecy, have security-cleared
staff, and meet in secure premises, sometimes in camera.
The Special Committee also recommended that the government draft a
national security act covering the various components of Canada’s security and
intelligence community. Three objectives underpinned this recommendation.
One was to spur government to respond to earlier recommendations to revise
such legislation as the Official Secrets Act and to provide elements of the com-
munity with enabling legislation that had hitherto relied on executive orders.
Another was to focus Parliament’s attention on the functions, capacities, and
performance of the entire security and intelligence community. Finally, it was
designed to provide all the various components of that community with some
modicum of oversight.
the RCMP argues that their involvement in national security is for ‘‘criminal law
enforcement purposes,’’ it openly admits these units are intelligence led (RCMP
2003). The CSE also received new powers. Before its adoption the CSE had no
authority to intercept communications entering or leaving Canada. The agency
may now do so under certain conditions. The role of the Financial Transactions
and Reports Analysis Centre of Canada was also expanded and enabled by the
legislation. Prior to the act’s adoption its focus was on money laundering. It now
has the authority to detect and deter terrorist financing. None of these new intru-
sive and coercive powers received any concomitant increase in review and over-
sight. The lessons of the McDonald Commission appeared to have been
forgotten. So too did warnings of emergency legislation overstaying its welcome.
now principally responsible for intelligence work: CSIS, the RCMP, and the
Criminal Intelligence Service of Canada. In addition, the new Ministry of Public
Safety and Emergency Preparedness Canada has responsibility for the Office of
Critical Infrastructure and Emergency Preparedness, formerly in the Department
of National Defence, and a new Border Services Agency. This agency has brought
together the intelligence and investigative arms previously with Citizenship and
Immigration Canada and the Customs Service. In all the deputy prime minister
will now have seven deputy heads reporting directly to him or her.
Ostensibly, the minister of national defence has always been accountable to
Parliament for Canada’s signals intelligence and communications security pro-
grams provided by the CSE and other elements of National Defence. However,
the traditional system of accountability is unusually convoluted. Because chiefs
of the CSE have not—like directors of CSIS—been deputy heads, incumbents
have reported to the minister of national defence via two separate channels:
through the deputy head of the Department of National Defence on administra-
tive matters; and through the security and intelligence coordinator in the PCO
for policy and operational concerns. Because of the cabinet responsibilities and
the fact that the security and intelligence coordinator is now specifically the dep-
uty prime minister’s deputy, it appears that this position will also acquire some
responsibilities for aspects of these programs.
As part of its structural and policy changes, the government has publicly
encouraged Parliament to establish a Permanent Standing Committee on
National Security with its membership drawn from the various parliamentary
parties.28 To this end it has committed to providing parliamentarians with a con-
sultation paper. However, when it subsequently announced measures to attend
to the ‘‘democratic deficit,’’ it referred to a ‘‘committee of parliamentarians.’’29
To date no one appears to have noticed either the impact of this subtle but sig-
nificant difference or its implications for future ongoing parliamentary responsi-
bilities.
By implicitly recognizing that it was Parliament’s right to decide which com-
mittees to establish and that it could only propose a particular course of action,
the Martin government clearly recognized that a Permanent Standing Commit-
tee on National Security would be a parliamentary body with all the rights and
privileges resting with Parliament under the constitution. Significantly, Parlia-
ment delegates to all standing committees the right to call for ‘‘people, papers
and records.’’ Authority to do this in the case of the House of Commons rests
on Standing Order 108. The powers contained therein are considerable. They
permit committees to subpoena witnesses, to place them under oath, and to hold
them in contempt for failing to answer questions or to produce records. In the-
ory, the powers also include the right to arrest and incarcerate those held in con-
tempt. Parliament, in conducting business within its own precincts, is not limited
by either the laws of Canada or conventions unless it has specifically bound itself
in statute law. Thus, it is not restricted in the documents it may see, as ordinary
citizens are, by what might be released under the Access to Information Act or
which might be constrained by the Privacy Act. Similarly, it is not bound by the
Security of Information Act. Nor is it restrained from talking about matters that
fall under the sub judice convention. In this regard, it should be noted that Par-
liament’s choosing not to insist on the release of documents, or not discussing a
particular matter before the courts, is quite different from being bound not to
do so.
There are good examples in comparable jurisdictions of parliamentary com-
mittees scrutinizing security and intelligence activities. In both New Zealand and
Australia such committees have a statutory basis. New Zealand specifically estab-
lished a parliamentary committee under the Intelligence and Security Committee
Act 1996 to examine the policy, administration, and expenditure of each security
and intelligence agency. Both the prime minister and the leader of the official
opposition are members along with three other persons. The Act specifically con-
firms their role as members of Parliament and requires procedures to follow the
Standing Orders of the House of Representatives. Individual membership rests
on the endorsement of the House but may be terminated by the prime minister,
who chairs the Committee. The Act also requires security procedures to be fol-
lowed by the Committee with the prime minister’s department providing secur-
ity-cleared staff to the Committee.
Australia recently established the Joint Parliamentary Committee on ASIO,
ASIS, and DSB under its Intelligence Services Act 2001. This legislation replaced
the Permanent Joint Committee on ASIO. The new committee has broader pur-
view and can scrutinize the effectiveness and propriety of the key Australian
intelligence organizations. It is obliged to submit an annual review of administra-
tion and expenditure to Parliament but may instigate other investigations to be
reported on separately. The Act specifically confirms the right of the Committee
to call the agency heads before it and obliges the inspector-general of intelligence
to appear when summoned.
A ‘‘committee of parliamentarians’’ signals quite different arrangements from
these parliamentary committees. It may suggest that the government envisages a
model similar to the Intelligence and Security Committee, established under the
UK Intelligence Services Act 1994. This is not a parliamentary body but an off-
spring of the executive branch drawing on parliamentarians for membership. If
a British model were to be followed, committee members would be appointed
by (and removed by) the prime minister, would be subject to the Security of
Information Act, would have only limited powers to obtain information, and
would report to the prime minister, rather than to Parliament.30
In addressing the ‘‘democratic deficit,’’ Prime Minister Martin has committed
his government to improve both the effectiveness of Parliament and the research
capacities of both political parties and their individual members. There is to be
greater funding for parliamentary committees and more resources for the Library
of Parliament, the body providing nonpartisan research and advice to commit-
tees and individual MPs. These are all very positive and much needed initiatives.
With regard to the Standing Committee on National Security the government
has promised to make its members privy councillors. This has important impli-
cations as privy councillors must swear an oath of office requiring them to keep
secret what they encounter as the result of their office. This should be sufficient
to ensure that members do not leak classified information to other MPs or jour-
nalists. If a member of the Committee were to leak classified information, he or
she could be held in contempt of Parliament. This might result in losing the
rights and privileges of parliamentary membership. As this would prevent MPs
from doing an effective job, it should prove to have a more cautionary effect
on behavior than the mere threat of criminal sanctions under the Security of
Information Act, which would likely be the case with a mere committee of parlia-
mentarians.
Since the Anti-terrorism Act adoption, the RCMP has become more involved
in antiterrorism efforts, requiring the Force again to be broadly engaged in intel-
ligence gathering and analysis. Several events that have occurred since the Sep-
tember 11, 2001, attacks have given cause for public concern and have raised
again the need for greater oversight of the Force’s national security activities. The
Mahar Arar case is of particular importance. During a stopover in New York
when returning from Tunisia to Canada, Arar was arrested and deported by U.S.
authorities. Though traveling on a Canadian passport and wanting to return to
Montreal, he was sent via Jordan to Syria, his birthplace. There he was incarcer-
ated and tortured. Though he was forced to make a false confession, the Syrian
authorities could find no connection of Arar to terrorism and eventually released
him some 375 days after his original detention. It appears that a Canadian intelli-
gence organization provided U.S. authorities with information alleging his con-
nection to al Qaeda. The former government tried to limit political damage by
restricting inquiries to SIRC and the commissioner for complaints against the
RCMP. An RCMP raid on the home and offices of an Ottawa Citizen reporter
who had written a story on Arar based partly on a leaked document (O’Neill,
2003) led to her being charged under the Security of Information Act and to
considerable media attention. As a result, the current government has since been
forced to undertake two initiatives. The first is the establishment of a public
inquiry into the Arar case under Justice Dennis O’Connor. Its terms of reference
include the requirement to make recommendations concerning how best to pro-
vide an independent review mechanism for the RCMP’s national security activi-
ties. The other initiative is to commit Section 4 of the Security of Information
Act to a parliamentary review. It is to be recalled that the Official Secrets Act was
revised and renamed under the Anti-terrorism Act. Hence, it was already due for
parliamentary consideration when the three-year review of that Act commenced
in December 2004.
An unrelated matter has had important consequences for national security
oversight. During the previous administration, substantial advertising contracts
were awarded to Quebec organizations with close ties to the Liberal party, appar-
ently for little return. These events have since been reported on by the auditor-
general in scathing terms and have raised again the need for whistle-blower pro-
tection.31 The new government has not only acceded to another public inquiry
but has tabled the Public Servants Disclosure Protection Bill. It is important to
recall that Jane Shorten claimed the CSE had breached its mandate in the 1990s
when it spied on trading partners and intercepted and retained the transcripts of
conversations between a foreign embassy receptionist, who was Canadian, and
her gynecologist. Then her only recourse was to reveal what she perceived as
wrongdoing to the media. Though the new legislation would exclude intelligence
agencies from the provisions of the Act, it would still require agency heads to
establish similar procedures for their organizations.
Conclusions
It is perhaps useful to recall what a former U.S. director of central intelligence
told the CSIS Act Review Committee during its visit to Washington in 1990.
When asked for his views on congressional oversight, he said:
When it was first introduced, we fought it all the way. But now we wouldn’t do
without it. When the Agency is falsely maligned by the media there’s someone to
call who can put the record straight. And when the Administration doesn’t respond
to budgetary requests, there are other folks on the Hill who understand our needs
and can go to bat for us.32
Together these innovations will elevate the status of security and intelligence on
the national political agenda and may tweak Parliament’s interest.
Arguably, to be beneficial to both intelligence bureaucrats and those charged
with preserving the democratic fabric, oversight must depend on two variables:
the types of organizations involved and how they go about their business; and
their legal remits and reporting relationships. In an insightful article on the con-
gressional system, Mathew McCubbins and Thomas Schwartz posited that effec-
tive oversight is best performed through a combination of two organizational
forms.33 These they call respectively ‘‘fire alarms’’ and ‘‘police patrols.’’ They
argue that the former are more likely to be conducted by inherently political
bodies such as legislative committees because they need to be seen to resolve
issues that alarm the media and public. By contrast, they posit that ‘‘police
patrols,’’ the everyday sort of scrutiny needed to ensure that organizations oper-
ate effectively and efficiently, are less likely to attract legislative bodies because
there is little political currency to be garnered. Furthermore, they seldom have
the time, resources, and in-house expertise to provide such necessary but mun-
dane functions.
Canada has historically relied on review bodies working in secure environ-
ments with security-cleared staff to perform the ‘‘police patrol’’ forms of scrutiny
that routinely check for organizational efficacy and propriety. Some like SIRC
are independent of the executive branch; others such as the inspector-general of
CSIS are within it. But in every instance their purview is limited to a single intel-
ligence organization, a significant weakness given the cross-departmental nature
of security and intelligence. SIRC, for example, has a proactive capacity to con-
duct routine checks on the efficacy and propriety of CSIS, but no mandate to go
further afield. Though these bodies have full access to the agencies they monitor,
they sometimes are thwarted in using their powers, as inspectors-general of CSIS
have found. Similarly, because they are limited in how they report, their capacity
to draw public or media attention to an issue—and hence to call responsible
ministers fully to account—is limited.
A further weakness in the system is that there are few real opportunities to
evaluate how well these bodies perform and whether they have adequate support
staff with institutional expertise. While the special committee that reviewed the
CSIS Act found SIRC’s research capacity to be wanting in one case, it could not
tell whether this was atypical. Similarly, the review body dealing with the RCMP
has found itself ill-equipped in the national security sphere. Since 1990, there has
been but one independent study to evaluate the capacity of review bodies in the
security and intelligence sector; significantly, this did not consider matters of
organizational capacity, performance, or due economy. Initiated by the auditor-
general after the post–September 11, 2001, budget increases, this concluded that
the monitoring of compliance with law and ministerial direction varied widely.34
Only with CSIS was there any independent capacity to review the compliance of
the Service. It also observed that there was no independent review capacity cover-
ing the various National Defence units involved in domestic intelligence collec-
tion. The same was true for the Customs and Revenue Agency and the Financial
Transactions and Report Analysis Centre of Canada.35
Though the Senate has performed useful investigations into Canada’s count-
erterrorism capabilities and the capacity of its national security sectors, these
have been of an ad hoc nature.36 There has been no effective legislative committee
that could deal either with the ‘‘fire alarms’’ that have arisen or check whether
those performing ‘‘police patrols’’ were acting effectively.37 Such committees as
have existed—even when performing a statutory duty—have often been
thwarted from fulfilling their mandate by an executive branch intent on restrict-
ing necessary access to documents and people. Admittedly, this inadequacy rests
partly with Parliament in not ensuring that committees work under oath, in a
secure environment with adequate security-cleared staff.
A new effective oversight system encompassing fire alarm scrutiny with that
of police patrols is now in the offing. Some form of permanent parliamentary
oversight mechanism with real access to classified information will soon be put
in place. It is far from clear, however, whether this will be a truly independent
parliamentary body or merely a committee of parliamentarians working for the
executive branch. If it is to attend to the democratic deficit, only a parliamentary
body can effect true ministerial accountability. Also unclear is the breadth of the
remit it will have. If it is to scrutinize Canada’s security and intelligence commu-
nity effectively, it will need a broader purview than the British Intelligence and
Security Committee possesses. As recent events there reveal, important areas lie
outside its purview—the Joint Intelligence Committee and the Defence Intelli-
gence Staff, to name but two bodies not covered by British legislation. As well, it
will need to consider not just whether organizations comply with Canadian laws
and policy directives but whether they have the capacity to fulfill their mandates,
whether they have performed as expected, and whether they are operating with
due economy as Paul Light has advocated.38 To do this it will have to work closely
with the review bodies now in place doing the police patrol work. Today, Juve-
nal’s question—Who will watch the watchers?—is as pertinent as when first
posed.
Notes
1. Jeff Sallot, Nobody Said No (Toronto: James Lorimer & Company, 1979), 94–95.
2. McDonald Commission, 1981, Second Report, Volume 2: 754–76.
3. McDonald Commission, 1981, Second Report, Volume 2: 896–905.
gence,’’ Intelligence and National Security 11(2) (1996): 279–305; Stuart Farson, ‘‘In Crisis
and in Flux? Politics, Parliament and Canada’s Intelligence Policy,’’ Journal of Conflict
Studies 16 (1) (1996): 30–56.
24. Stuart Farson, ‘‘The Noble Lie Revisited,’’ 203.90
25. House Of Commons, Special Committee on the Review of the CSIS Act and the
Security Offences Act, In Flux but not in Crisis (Ottawa: House of Commons, 1990): 203–
215.
26. Ronald J. Daniels, Patrick Macklem, and Kent Roach, The Security of Freedom:
Essays on Canada’s Anti-Terrorism Bill (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2001);
David Daubney, Wade Deisman, David Jutras, Errol Mendes, and Patrick Molinari, Ter-
rorism Law and Democracy, How is Canada Changing following September 11? (Montréal:
Les Édition Thémis, 2002); K. Roach, September 11: Consequences for Canada (McGill
Queens University Press, 2003).
27. Jim Bronskill, ‘‘Government ignores calls to amend ‘seriously flawed’ Official
Secrets Act,’’ Ottawa Citizen, December 18, 2000.
28. Prime Minister of Canada, Changes to Government [Online] (Ottawa, Government
of Canada, 2003).
29. Privy Council Office Ethics, Responsibility, Accountability: An Action Plan for Demo-
cratic Reform–February 4 2004.
30. See chapter 5 by Ian Leigh in this volume.
31. Office of the Auditor-General of Canada, Report [Online], (2003): Chapters 3–5).
32. Parliament does not record hearings held outside Canada. The quotation is from
the author’s personal notes.
33. Mathew McCubbins and Thomas Schwartz ‘‘Congressional Oversight Overlooked:
Police Patrols versus Fire Alarms,’’ American Journal of Political Science 28(1) (1984):
165–79.
34. Office of the Auditor-General of Canada, Report (2003).
35. Though the Auditor-General’s Report mentions the Department of Foreign Affairs
and International Trade, and Citizenship and Immigration Canada, it does not consider
how these are reviewed. The role of the Privy Council is not considered by the report.
36. Senate of Canada, Special Committee of the Senate on Terrorism and Public Safety,
Terrorism (Ottawa: Ministry of Supply and Services Canada, 1987); Second Special Com-
mittee of the Senate on Terrorism and the Public Safety, Terrorism (Ottawa: Ministry of
Supply and Services Canada, 1989); Special Committee on Security and Intelligence,
Report (Ottawa: Senate of Canada, 1999); Senate of Canada, Standing Senate Committee
on National Security and Defence, Canadian Security and Military Preparedness (Ottawa:
Senate of Canada, 2002); Senate of Canada, Standing Senate Committee on National
Security and Defence, Defence of North America: A Canadian Responsibility (Ottawa: Sen-
ate of Canada, 2002); Senate of Canada, Standing Senate Committee on National Security
and Defence, For an Extra $130 Buck . . . Update on Canada’s Military Financial Crisis: A
View from the Bottom Up (Ottawa: Senate of Canada, 2002); Senate of Canada, Standing
Senate Committee on National Security and Defence, The Myth of Security at Canada’s
Airports (Ottawa: Senate of Canada, 2003); Senate of Canada, Standing Senate Committee
on National Security and Defence, Canada’s Coastlines: The Longest Under-defended Bor-
ders in the World, 2 Volumes (Ottawa, Senate of Canada, 2003).
37. Stuart Farson, ‘‘Parliament and its Servants: Their Role in Scrutinizing Canadian
Intelligence,’’ Intelligence and National Security 15(2) (2000): 225–56.
38. Paul Light, Monitoring Government: Inspectors General and the Search for Account-
ability (Washington D.C.: Brookings Institute, 1993).
— 119 —
the secret agencies are well-behaved, and the political system is stable and
mature. The preconditions for making intelligence accountable are among the
most favorable in the world. If democratic oversight is not possible here, it is not
possible anywhere.
So it should come as no surprise that Norway does have a model for intelli-
gence oversight. The main characteristic of this model is a strong emphasis on
legislative (as opposed to executive) oversight, or rather on oversight conducted
on behalf of the legislature, by the Committee for Oversight of the Intelligence,
Surveillance and Security Services (Utvalget for kontroll med etterretnings-, over-
våknings- og sikkerhetstjeneste). This Committee is appointed by and reports
directly to Parliament, but the seven members are not members of Parliament.
The oversight they conduct is of a legalistic and professional rather than a politi-
cal nature, and their mandate, as laid down by parliamentary statute, focuses on
the observance of the rule of law.
Within this mandate, the Committee has extensive investigative powers. Its
oversight covers the whole of the Norwegian intelligence machinery, which con-
sists of the Intelligence Service, the Police Security Service, and the National
Security Authority, but the extent and intensity of the oversight varies as regards
the three agencies. Oversight of the Police Security Service is strict, while that of
the Intelligence Service is more marginal. The oversight is primarily of an ex-
post-facto nature, and the agencies are forbidden from consulting with the Com-
mittee about future operations.2 The major part of the Committee’s work takes
place through regular inspections, during which the agencies are required to
present documents, answer questions, and give briefings. The Committee can
initiate inquiries, and it also deals with complaints from individuals and organi-
zations.
This model of oversight has now been in operation for some nine years, and
on the whole it seems to be working well. In its early days, the Committee uncov-
ered one major ‘‘scandal,’’ which resulted in the forced resignation of the head
of the Police Security Service as well as the minister responsible (see the following
discussion). Since then, there has been less controversy, but rather a steady and
continuous oversight that seems to have gained the acceptance of the agencies,
as well as the approval of Parliament and the press. In a small country, with a
moderate-sized intelligence community, this has created the preconditions for
an acceptable degree of political and administrative accountability. Indeed,
within the limits set by the Committee’s statutory mandate, it is difficult to envis-
age a stricter oversight regime, without at the same time seriously endangering
the effectiveness and efficiency of the secret agencies.
The legislative oversight of the Norwegian intelligence machinery is supple-
mented by executive control and oversight of a more traditional administrative
nature, less visible to the public and more concerned with the effectiveness, effi-
ciency, and quality of the agencies. There is little coordination between the exec-
utive and the legislative oversight procedures, and results from the former are
seldom channeled into the latter.
Background
The Norwegian Secret Services
The Norwegian secret services consist of three agencies, the Intelligence Service,
the Police Security Service, and the National Security Authority. The organiza-
tional structure reflects the traditional distinctions between intelligence, counter-
intelligence, and other security tasks, as well as between ‘‘military’’ and ‘‘civilian’’
agencies.
The Norwegian secret services were formed by Norway’s position during the
Cold War, as a NATO member on the strategically sensitive northern flank, bor-
dering upon the former Soviet Union, and with close military ties to the United
States. The services are from a comparative perspective naturally quite small, but
in relationship to the size and apparent stability of the country they are still
rather large and well developed. As in other Western democracies, the challenges
facing the services have been profoundly influenced by the breakup of the Iron
Curtain and the new threats to national security and stability arising over the last
decade.
The Intelligence Service (Etterretningstjenesten) is formally a military agency,
though most of the staff is civilian. It is organized as part of the Armed Forces,
and reports to the chief of defence and the minister of defence. Its mandate is to
gather and analyze intelligence from abroad, and the main task has traditionally
been that of electronic signal intelligence. It operates a number of listening sta-
tions and vessels for electronic naval monitoring of the Russian Northern Fleet,
including the nuclear deterrence force based on submarines stationed on the
Kola Peninsula, just across the border. Unknown to Parliament and the public,
the financing of this quite large organization was, up until the early 1990s, for
the most part (more than 90 percent) covered by the United States and NATO.
Today, it is financed nationally. During the last decade, the tasks of the Intelli-
gence Service have both grown and to some extent changed, reflecting new
requirements for a broader range of intelligence information.
The existence and activities of the Intelligence Service have traditionally been
shrouded in deep secrecy, and while this has changed somewhat recently, it is
still by far the most secretive of the services. A statutory basis for the Intelligence
Service was established for the first time by parliamentary legislation as late as
1998.3 The Act states that the mandate of the Service is to gather intelligence
on, and counteract, external threats to national security and other vital national
by the Cold War and by a broad consensus that vital national interests were best
served by leaving the agencies to themselves. As in many other countries, the
government effectively argued that the idea of parliamentary oversight was
inherently alien to the concept of running secret services, and this was broadly
and tacitly accepted by all political parties, with the futile exception of the small
and marginal Socialist Peoples Party (which was itself subject to quite extensive
secret surveillance). On the whole, Parliament was kept outside the ‘‘ring of
secrecy,’’ and most MPs were perfectly comfortable with this.
inquiry into the intelligence machinery can produce results that are in the long
term beneficial both to the agencies and to society at large.
will also fall within the competence of the Committee. In practice the oversight
is closely related to the three agencies, and the detailed procedures in the Instruc-
tions are also tailored to each of these.
The main purpose of the Committee’s oversight is to safeguard the interests
of individuals under the rule of law. According to article 2 of the Act the first
aim is to prevent ‘‘any exercise of injustice against any person.’’ This is modified
in the Instructions, which states that, as a general rule, the oversight should not
include activities directed against persons who are not resident in Norway, nor
activities ‘‘involving foreign citizens whose residence in Norway is associated
with service for a foreign state.’’ In other words, the idea is to protect Norwegian
citizens on native soil and other individuals living their private lives here. Activi-
ties directed against foreign agents (and indeed Norwegians abroad) are as a
main rule not covered. The Committee may however also conduct oversight in
such cases, ‘‘when special grounds so indicate.’’
The Committee’s oversight is primarily concerned with preventing ‘‘injus-
tice,’’ which should be read as a legal criterion, allowing it to investigate, for
example, illegal surveillance or wiretapping. But the Committee shall also con-
duct a more discretionary test of proportionality, and may criticize any means of
intervention against individuals that exceed those ‘‘required under the circum-
stances.’’ Thus, the Committee may, for example, criticize the denial of a security
clearance, even if it is within the legal powers of the agency concerned.
Another part of the oversight mandate according to the Act is to ensure that
intelligence and security activities ‘‘do not involve undue damage to civic life,’’
and that they are kept ‘‘within the framework of statute law, administrative or
military directives and non-statutory law.’’ The reference to ‘‘civic life’’ is rather
vague. The reference to legal rules is more concrete: it refers to other legal restric-
tions on the agencies and gives the Committee the competence to raise cases that
do not necessarily involve individual rights. However, one difficulty is that the
rules governing the agencies are rather wide and discretionary, thus giving few
criteria for any sort of extensive oversight.
According to Caparini,8 intelligence oversight bodies generally aim to assess
one of two things—either the ‘‘efficacy’’ of the intelligence service or the ‘‘propri-
ety’’ of its activities. The Norwegian model of legislative oversight is almost
entirely focused on ‘‘propriety’’ and leaves ‘‘efficacy’’ to the executive. The Com-
mittee has neither the competence nor the qualifications to evaluate the intelli-
gence and analysis supplied by the secret agencies, nor to question their
effectiveness and efficiency. Such evaluations are left to executive oversight pro-
cedures, and (to a lesser extent) to the Office of the Auditor-General.
Another restriction on the Committee’s oversight is that (as the main rule) it
is not concerned with operations outside of Norwegian territory. This effectively
means that most activities of the Intelligence Service are not covered. The Intelli-
gence Service may eavesdrop on the Russians as much as it likes, and should it
happen to recruit agents abroad, or conduct other kinds of secret operations on
foreign soil, these will normally not be reported to the Committee.
A somewhat different restriction on the Committee is laid down in the last
paragraph of section 2, which states that the purpose is ‘‘purely monitory,’’
which means that the oversight shall be ex post facto, and that the Committee
may not instruct the agencies, nor be used by them for consultations (more on
this later).
The Committee’s oversight is primarily directed against the secret agencies as
such, and not against the relevant ministries or ministers. The main purpose is
to prevent injustice, and to ensure respect for the rule of law in the agencies—not
to question how central government makes use of them, through instructions
and political signals. This is reflected in the fact that the Committee’s otherwise
wide powers of inquiry do not apply to the requiring of documents and informa-
tion from ministers, nor from civil servants working in the ministries. The
(debatable) idea behind this is that oversight of ministers should formally be a
task for Parliament itself, and not for a Committee of professionals, acting on
behalf of Parliament. Should the Committee, however, find indications that the
agencies have been misused for political purposes by the ruling party, for exam-
ple to spy on the opposition, this would certainly be seen as falling within the
heart of the oversight mandate.
tigate a given case, though so far it has not done so, but it may not interfere in
the way in which the Committee conducts its oversight. The model is partially
copied from that of the Parliamentary ombudsman, and the members should in
principle be regarded as a kind of ‘‘intelligence ombudsmen.’’
Just how professional and politically neutral the Committee should be has
been the subject of some debate. When the first committee was appointed in
1996, the procedures allowed for each of the main parties represented in Parlia-
ment effectively to choose their own candidates, and all the members had some
affiliation to a political party. Most of them had formerly held some kind of
political office. This system was soon criticized, and in 1998 Parliament changed
the procedures, so that new members are nominated by the Presidium (the
Speakers). This in effect means that appointments are subject to broader consid-
erations and compromises, taking into account the need for professional exper-
tise.9 On later occasions, three ‘‘professional’’ and politically neutral members
have been appointed—a former diplomat, a judge, and a professor of history. At
the same time, two of the original members have been reappointed, and two
others chosen amongst former politicians. The result is a strange mix of ‘‘politi-
cal’’ and ‘‘professional’’ expertise, which in practice seems to work rather well.
When the Committee was first appointed in 1996, there was an unwritten
political understanding that the chairman should belong to the opposition. But
this was abandoned in 1999, when a politically ‘‘neutral’’ former diplomat was
appointed the new chairman. Amongst those members who are still chosen on a
more political basis, care is however still taken to ensure that they reflect the
main political interests represented in Parliament. Most importantly, the Com-
mittee has always had a member from the Socialist Peoples Party, a party which
has traditionally been critical of the secret services, and which has itself formerly
been subjected to extensive surveillance. There is a quite broad (if not complete)
political consensus that this is vital in order to ensure the legitimacy of the over-
sight procedures.
The secretariat of the Committee is small. It consists of an office secretary
and two part-time legal secretaries, drafted from the office of the Parliamentary
ombudsman. Their professional training is that of handling legal cases, particu-
larly citizens’ complaints, and they are neither investigators nor intelligence
experts. The Committee also has the right to engage expert assistance, but this
possibility of further professionalizing oversight has only been used moderately.
The limited staff resources clearly restrict the Committee’s ability to conduct
more extensive inquiries and investigations as well as its ability to be proactive.
There is a certain discrepancy between the tasks laid down in the mandate and
the resources allocated to the Committee. To some extent this is intentional. Par-
liament does not suffer from lack of money, and it would have been easy within
the same oversight framework to give the Committee a professional staff of five
or ten persons. But this would in effect have made it a completely different insti-
tution, and would have resulted in rather more intense oversight of the agencies
than Parliament deemed necessary.
more extensive access to classified information than is necessary for the purposes
of the oversight, and that it shall have regard to the need to protect sources and
information received from abroad. This puts the Committee under a constant
obligation to evaluate what kind of information is really needed in order to con-
duct efficient oversight within the mandate. But it is not formally a legal restraint
on the right of access, since the Instructions also state that disputes over access
shall be decided by the Committee itself, subject to a right for the agency to for-
mally protest.
During inspections of the agencies, the Committee will have discussions with
the intelligence and security officials present, and the members may ask them
questions on the cases under investigation. This is how the Committee gathers
by far most of its oral evidence, and it is done rather informally. The Committee
has the legal powers to formally summon witnesses, but these rules have so far
never been applied in practice.
the agency. The Committee has no authority to instruct the agencies to take spe-
cific action, but it may express its opinion, and may make a recommendation to
reconsider the case.
According to the Act, the Committee shall also ‘‘on its own initiative deal with
all matters and factors that it finds appropriate to its purpose, and particularly
matters that have been subjected to public criticism.’’ Each year a number of
inquiries are initiated by the Committee itself—eighteen in 1997, fourteen in
1998, five in 1999, seven in 2000, ten in 2001, and twelve in 2002. The emphasis
that special attention should be given to matters that have been the subject of
public criticism reflects the fact that traditionally ‘‘scandals’’ concerning the
secret agencies are often first uncovered by the media. In practice, all serious
allegations raised by the media will be looked into by the Committee. Usually,
they are found to be unsubstantiated, and when the Committee reports this to
Parliament, the legitimacy of the oversight process is such that this will normally
quell public criticism and distrust. In this way, the work of the Committee has
so far also served to bolster the legitimacy of the agencies.
the report describes the findings of the regular oversight procedures (inspections
held, complaints received, the number of inquiries). Usually the Committee sim-
ply indicates the results—for example, the number of complaints that have given
rise to comment. But sometimes cases are described in more detail, and usually
so if the case has been the subject of public debate.
The prohibition against reporting classified information is absolute, but if the
Committee finds that it is vital for Parliament to be given classified information
in a specific case, it shall ‘‘bring this to the attention’’ of Parliament. This requires
a delicate act of balancing, since the existence of such information could itself be
considered classified, but it is in principle workable. It is then a question for
Parliament itself whether it wants to investigate the case further. The same proce-
dure applies ‘‘if there is a need for further investigations of factors concerning
which the Committee itself is unable to make any progress.’’ This would be the
case if a thread pursued by the Committee leads from the agency concerned into
the domains of the Ministry, over which the Committee does not itself have for-
mal powers of inquiry.11
The reports of the Committee are published as parliamentary documents, and
reviewed by the Standing Committee on Scrutiny and Constitutional Affairs, fol-
lowed by plenary debate.12 The Standing Committee may inquire further into
matters raised by the Committee, and to some extent it has done so, though only
twice so far by itself conducting hearings and investigations.13 On the whole the
political attention given to the reports has varied widely from year to year,
reflecting the contents of each report. The regular oversight activity of the Com-
mittee is usually of limited interest to the MPs. But when the Committee reports
on controversial cases, Parliament easily gets excited. So far this has happened
approximately every second or third year.
mittee that could function both as ‘‘a breakwater and an auditor,’’ with the man-
date both to oversee the service and to give advice, especially on cases that might
be politically sensitive. This idea was later turned down by the Ministry of Justice,
which stated that an oversight body with the double function of auditor and
advisor would risk becoming ‘‘co-responsible for activities which it must later
investigate.’’
When the Intelligence Oversight Committee was established in 1995, there
was never any suggestion that it should act as an advisor or a ‘‘breakwater’’ for
the agencies. Instead the need for critical independence was stressed, and it was
laid down in the Act that the purpose should be to conduct retrospective over-
sight, and that the Committee cannot give instructions to the agencies, nor be
used by them for consultations.
Awareness of the prohibition against consultations is high both in the Com-
mittee and the agencies, and it is unthinkable that they should seek prior
approval on operations. At the same time there is a grey zone between consulta-
tions and discussions, and especially so in an oversight arrangement that relies
on frequent inspections and close contact. The atmosphere during inspections is
seldom adversarial, nor is it meant to be so. This is recognized in the preparatory
works to the Act, and the instructions of the legislator are to find a proper bal-
ance. Experiences so far indicate that the parties have managed to do so.
The principle of retrospective oversight is difficult to maintain fully when it
comes to operations that run for some period of time. Cases of secret surveillance
may take years and include a number of decisions. Should the Committee have
to wait until the case was finally closed, this would clearly be unsatisfactory. This
is recognized in the Instructions, which state that even if the Committee should
‘‘normally’’ abide by the principle of subsequent oversight, it may nevertheless
‘‘require access to information on current matters, and submit comments on
such matters.’’ Again, this calls for a balance to be struck. When in 2001 the
Committee presented an evaluation of the oversight arrangement to Parliament,
it highlighted the ‘‘tension’’ between subsequent oversight and the right to
inquire into current cases. The Committee pointed out that this had often
required difficult decisions to be made and indicated that there had been
instances of disagreement between itself and the agencies. But on the other hand
it stated that it is probably impossible to regulate this in a more precise manner
than is already done, and that discretionary decisions must necessarily be made
based on the facts of the individual case. This was approved by Parliament.16
the Lund Commission had presented its awesome report on the past activities of
the secret agencies, which was still being reviewed by Parliament. Tensions were
high. At the same time allegations were raised in the media that the Police Secur-
ity Service had been secretly surveilling the Lund Commission and investigating
one of its members. The auditee had been spying on its auditors.
The allegations were scrutinized by the new Committee, which to a large
extent found them to be true. The Committee’s highly critical report to Parlia-
ment led to the immediate resignation of the head of the Service.17 Soon after,
the prime minister was forced to sack the minister of justice, and later on both
the permanent secretary and the director general of the police department
resigned.
For the Police Security Service, the Furre case was a disaster. The legitimacy
of the Service was already weakened by a number of lesser scandals, and by the
findings of the Lund Commission. The Furre case came on top of this, and it was
commonly held that it left the Service with its spine broken. It took a major
reorganization and several years of confidence building for the Service to regain
a degree of legitimacy, and it was arguably not until September 11, 2001, that
this process was concluded.
For the new Oversight Committee, the Furre case was at first sight a great
success. Just half a year into operation, it had managed to uncover a real security
scandal, and it received the full backing of a broad majority in Parliament and a
united press. In hindsight, the Committee’s success was not unconditional. In
the agencies, and indeed amongst not a few politicians, it was a tacit but not
uncommonly held opinion that the Committee had acted rashly, and had made
the case more controversial than necessary. This is open to argument. But it is a
fact that the Furre case made the Committee start out in an adversarial mode,
which might be well suited to the handling of serious scandals, but ill suited to
efficient regular day-to-day oversight of a skeptical intelligence community. It
took the Committee years of consolidation to gain an acceptable degree of con-
fidence within the agencies.
sensitive information, keeping proper archives, and so on. Of the many com-
plaints only one or two each year give rise to critical comments.
According to the reports, the Committee has put a lot of effort into checking
the general procedures of the Service, especially regarding registers and archives.
This kind of oversight is time-consuming and not very glamorous, but it is of
practical importance, and has resulted in a number of substantial improvements.
Only a few of the many individual cases considered by the Committee are
described in any detail in the annual reports, and these are usually cases which
have already received some kind of public attention.
One of these cases followed the expulsion from Norway in March 1998 of
five Russian diplomats suspected of espionage. The case received intense media
attention, and the more so when a ministry official told the press how he had
acted as a double agent, helping the Police Security Service. This coincided in
time with the presentation of a White Paper on the future organization of the
Service, and allegations were raised in the media that the Service had timed the
expulsion, and leaked the details, in order to appear in a positive light prior to
the debate on its future. These allegations were looked into by the Committee,
which cleared the Service by stating in the annual report that the case had been
handled according to purely professional standards.18
In 2001 the Committee reported on a more controversial case, involving the
investigation by the Service of a journalist suspected of being a former Stasi
agent, which after three years was finally dropped for lack of evidence. The Com-
mittee did not comment on the substance of the case, but it criticized several
aspects of its handling by the Service, including failures of routines for seized
material, deficient internal information routines, and deficient information given
to the suspect and his defense lawyer.
In 2002 the Committee reported on how the Service had conducted surveil-
lance on demonstrators during a World Bank Conference in Oslo. The Commit-
tee did not explicitly criticize the Service, but it highlighted and discussed the
distinction to be made between legitimate political demonstrations and criminal
behavior. In the same year the Committee also reported on its inquiry into press
allegations that the Sami minority population had been subject to surveillance
on ethnic grounds. The Committee was skeptical of the grounds for surveillance
in two of the registered Sami cases, but it found no evidence that they were based
on ethnic considerations.
After a rough start with the Furre case, both the Committee and the Service
were eager to normalize relations, and in the annual report for 1997 it was stated
that these were now constructive. In later reports the Committee has repeatedly
praised the Service for the way in which it responds to the oversight, and there
seems to have been no major disputes. According to the reports, the Service has
never tried to deny the Committee access to relevant information, and usually
complies fully with its comments and opinions.
which also concerned the more fundamental question of how far oversight
should go. The row started during an inspection, when the Committee uncov-
ered a letter that the Intelligence Service had obtained from the minister of
defence in early 1997, giving it permission to withhold information from the
Committee if considered necessary for the protection of national or foreign
sources. Such information will normally fall outside of what is necessary for the
purposes of the Committee’s oversight under the mandate, but the letter was still
in pretty clear violation of the Committee’s rights of access under the Act. The
Committee reacted strongly to the letter. A protest was sent to the ministry, fol-
lowed by a request for access to certain correspondence between the Intelligence
Service and foreign agencies. The Service and the ministry responded negatively.
The incident was reported to Parliament in the annual report for 1998,
although just by one short sentence, since the ministry refused to declassify the
case. The one sentence was however enough to arouse the attention of Parlia-
ment and the press, and after some haggling, the relevant documents were
declassified and given to the Standing Committee on Scrutiny and Constitutional
Affairs. During the subsequent parliamentary review a broad majority sided with
the Intelligence Service, and the Oversight Committee was in effect reprimanded
for having exceeded its mandate.19 A new unwritten procedure was introduced
that gives the Intelligence Service the right to decide whether information
demanded by the Committee is really relevant to the purposes of oversight. In
such a case the Committee retains the right to bring the question before the min-
ister, and if need be before Parliament. This awkward procedure applies only to
the Intelligence Service, not the two other agencies, and has so far not been used.
For the Committee the lack of backing from Parliament came as an unpleas-
ant surprise. The political reaction can be explained partly by the strong position
enjoyed by the Intelligence Service in parliamentary circles (the Police Security
Service would never have been able to stand up against the Committee in such a
way). But it also illustrated the fact that the political climate had changed by the
late 1990s, replacing the earlier oversight euphoria with a concern shared by
many MPs that intelligence oversight had perhaps been carried a step too far,
and that the time had come to set some limits.
After the final parliamentary debate on the incident, in June 1999, a mutual
need was felt in the Committee and the Intelligence Service to repair and nor-
malize relations, which coincided in time with the appointment of several new
members to the Committee. Both parties applied some effort, and in 2000 the
Committee could report to Parliament that relations had ‘‘improved consider-
ably.’’ Since then no further disputes have occurred, and judging by the latest
annual reports oversight of the Intelligence Service seems now to be of a more
constructive and substantial nature than before.
A case mentioned in the latest report can illustrate this. It concerns a large
new radar installation, the Globus II, erected by the Intelligence Service in Vadsø,
in the far north, which went into operation in 2002. In the press there have been
frequent allegations that the radar is not under national control, and that one of
its main purposes is to be a part of the planned U.S. shield against nuclear mis-
siles (the National Missile Defense, or NMD). After inquiries and an inspection
of the radar, the Committee could report that its operation was under strict Nor-
wegian control, and that it was anyway technically unsuitable as part of the
NMD.
Following the 2001 presentation to the European Parliament of a report on
the so-called Echelon network of electronic surveillance,20 the Committee has
discussed this issue with the Intelligence Service on several occasions. According
to the reports, the Service states that it has no information on Echelon, and does
not participate in any such kind of network. It has however added that many
countries may have the technical capability to conduct such electronic surveil-
lance.
On the whole, oversight of the Intelligence Service seems to have improved
and matured lately. Although it will remain limited, due to the Committee’s
mandate, there is probably still potential for further improvement, which could
well fit in with the Service’s current ambition of becoming a more modern insti-
tution for the provision of a broader range of intelligence.
Executive Oversight
The executive oversight of the intelligence and counterintelligence agencies is not
as regulated as are the legislative procedures, and it is mainly conducted within
the traditional administrative structures, under which the agencies are subordi-
nate to the ministries, led by the ministers, who function both as heads of their
ministries and as members of the cabinet. Thus, the Police Security Service is
under the control and oversight of the Ministry of Justice, the National Security
Authority under the control and oversight of the Ministry of Defence, and the
Intelligence Service subordinate both to the chief of defence and to the Ministry
of Defence.
There is little coordination between the legislative and the executive proce-
dures for intelligence and security oversight, and the Intelligence Oversight Com-
mittee does not receive reports or information from the executive bodies. The
main reason for this is probably the rather different nature of the two arrange-
ments. The legislative oversight process is primarily directed against preventing
injustice, and focuses on the rule of law and the propriety of the agencies’ activi-
ties. To some extent it may help the agencies to uncover and redress faults and
failures, but its main function is to protect citizens’ rights, and ensure some
degree of political accountability in the system. Executive oversight arrangements
on the other hand are primarily focused on the effectiveness and efficiency of the
agencies and function as an internal audit. They are not designed to foster politi-
cal accountability, and results very seldom reach Parliament or the public. To
some extent they may create internal, administrative accountability, in the sense
that officials are held to account by their superiors, or (rarely) by their ministers,
but this is not the main purpose, which is to improve quality, not to administer
blame.
This clear partition of functions between legislative intelligence oversight
(propriety and accountability) and executive intelligence oversight (effectiveness
and efficiency) is a main characteristic of the Norwegian model.
Conclusions
If the Norwegian model may be summarized in one phrase, it is: Strong oversight
within limits. Apart from a certain lack of staff resources, the model created for
intelligence oversight on behalf of Parliament fulfills most criteria for evaluating
the strength and substance of such arrangements. It is independent, it has a pro-
active capacity, the membership reflects both professional standards and the
spectrum of party politics, it has good access to sensitive information as well as
the ability to maintain necessary secrecy, and after the first seven years of opera-
tion it has developed a satisfactory degree of institutional maturity and expertise.
It is accepted by the agencies concerned, and approved by Parliament and the
press.
The limits inherent in this oversight arrangement are intentional, and
reflected in the statutory mandate of the Committee. The oversight is primarily
concerned with the rule of law, and the protection of the individual rights of
national residents, as well as the protection of democratic governance against
undue influence by the secret services. Within these limits oversight is effective,
and designed not only to uncover major ‘‘scandals,’’ but also to deal with lesser
incidents of misconduct or bad administrative judgement. The preventive effect
of the Committee’s oversight is probably the single most important outcome of
the arrangement, and it has certainly contributed to a greater awareness of the
rule of law within the agencies.
The efficiency, effectiveness, and general quality of the secret services falls out-
side the legislative oversight model, and this is left to executive oversight proce-
dures, which are on the whole of a somewhat ‘‘weaker’’ nature, as well as less
visible, and less liable to result in any kind of democratic accountability.
The substance and intensity of the legislative oversight varies as regards the
three secret agencies. The Police Security Service is subject to rather strong over-
sight, and to some extent the same applies to the National Security Authority.
Most of the activities of the Intelligence Service fall outside of the legislative pro-
cedures. The model is primarily one of counterintelligence oversight, rather than
of intelligence oversight.
The present oversight model was constructed in the mid-1990s, during a
period of parliamentary obsession with oversight and accountability in general,
and intelligence oversight in particular. Since then there has been a certain shift
in the political climate, a tacit reaction to the new oversight regime, as illustrated
in the 1998–99 dispute between the Committee and the Intelligence Service. The
shift is not dramatic, nor has it really reduced the capability of the Committee
to conduct its tasks. But it means that the Committee cannot automatically rely
on parliamentary backing, unless it demonstrates that comments and criticism
are well founded. And it means that future extensions of the oversight mandate
and procedures are not on the agenda.
In a comparative perspective the Norwegian oversight model is strong, and in
a national historical perspective it is also at an all-time high. The main challenge
today is not to extend the system further, but rather to perfect it within the exist-
ing framework, and to maintain the present high alertness and the awareness of
the need for intelligence oversight and accountability.
Notes
1. Marina Caparini, Challenges of control and oversight of intelligence services in a lib-
eral democracy, Paper presented at the Workshop on Democratic and Parliamentary Over-
sight of Intelligence Services (Geneva, October 2002)
2. The word ‘‘oversight’’ does not readily correspond to any Norwegian term, and
indeed even in English the exact definition seems to be rather vague. In Norwegian the
term most used is ‘‘kontroll’’ (control), which in Norwegian usually implies a retrospective
perspective, describing an activity of scrutiny or inquiry, an audit, taking place after some-
thing has happened, with the purpose of holding someone (preferably the right person)
accountable, and resulting in some kind of evaluation, followed by approval or criticism.
The word ‘‘oversight’’ seems to cover this (though it is sometimes used differently). In
this context the point should be not to read any exact meaning into the word ‘‘oversight’’
as such, but rather to describe what kind of oversight the relevant Norwegian authorities
conduct.
3. The Intelligence Service Act of March 20, 1998.
4. Trond Bergh and Knut Einar Eriksen, Den hemmelige krigen. Overvåkning i Norge
1914–1997, Volume II (Oslo: Cappelen Akademisk Forlag, 1998), 525–38. See also Fredrik
Sejersted, Kontroll og konstitusjon (Oslo: Cappelen Akademisk Forlag, 2002), 339–40.
5. Dok. nr. 15 (1995–1996) (Lund-rapporten).
6. Sejersted, Kontroll.
7. NOU 1994:4, 22–24.
8. Caparini, Challenges.
9. In accordance with Norwegian traditions, care is also taken to see that both sexes
should be represented on a roughly equal basis. In the current Committee, three of the
seven members are women, two of them ‘‘politically’’ appointed and one ‘‘professionally’’
(a judge).
10. James G. March and Johan P. Olsen, Democratic Governance (New York: Free Press,
1995), 164.
11. So far this has only happened once; the Furre case, Dok. nr. 16 (1996–97).
12. For those few familiar with the Norwegian language, the reports can easily be found
on the homepage of the Parliament, www.stortinget.no, by looking under ‘‘Saker’’ (cases),
and then going on to ‘‘Dokumenter’’ (documents). The reports are normally given the
number ‘‘16,’’ and the typical reference will be ‘‘Dokument nr. 16 (2000–2001).’’
13. In 1997 (the Furre case), Innst. S. nr. 235 (1996–97) and 2003 (the Ellingsen case),
Innst. S. nr. 273 (2002–2003).
14. March and Olsen, Democratic Governance, 164. March and Olsen present this as a
general problem in all democratic oversight procedures, but one which is particularly
acute when it comes to intelligence oversight. ‘‘Special legislative committees to audit
intelligence services come to see the information world from the point of view of the
services.’’
15. Bergh and Eriksen, Den hemmelige krigen, 56, and Sejersted, Kontroll, 288.
16. Innst. S. nr. 225 (2000–2001).
17. This is the only time that the Committee has submitted a special report to Parlia-
ment. Submitting the report presented a problem, since it contained information classi-
fied at the time. The Committee solved this by making Parliament aware of the report’s
existence, and this created enough political pressure for the Ministry of Justice to declas-
sify the information. The report was then handed over to Parliament, cf. Dok. nr. 16
(196–97) and Innst. S. nr. 235 (1996–97).
18. Dok. nr. 16 (1998–99), 6.
19. Innst. S. nr. 232 (1998–99).
20. The Report on the existence of a global system for the interception of private and
commercial communications (Echelon), presented to the European Parliament 11 July
2001.
— 145 —
.
vices (Wojskowe Słuzby Informacyjne—WSI), both covering foreign and domestic
intelligence tasks, had to be dissolved. Actually, two new organizations have been
established, the Agency for Internal Security (Agencja Bezpieczeństwa Wewnetrz-
nego—ABW) and the Foreign Intelligence Agency (Agencja Wywiadu—AW).
Only the UOP was dissolved;9 the military services remained virtually unscathed.
In so doing, the undercover community, it seems, has once again proved that it
can resist reform projects initiated by ‘‘irresponsible’’ politicians.10 This chapter
aims at analysis of the accountability of security and intelligence services in
Poland. One must keep in mind that the process of redesigning the services is
formed by Poland’s transition processes to democracy, which are plagued by the
communist police state heritage.11 In these processes, the services are both an
object of change and an actor of change. In order to capture this dual role the
notion of ‘‘security complex’’ is introduced.
that the statute of April 6, 1990, incorrectly defines the competences of the UOP,
especially with regard to economic investigations.29 Others commented that the
UOP sections dealing with organized crime unduly overlapped with, and sub-
stantially weakened, parallel structures in the state police.30 Similar views have
been expressed concerning the remit of the newly established ABW.31
Executive Control
According to the statute of May 24, 2002, the chiefs of civilian agencies rank
equally high as secretaries of the state and answer directly to the prime minister.
It means that their rank is equivalent to deputy ministers. The prime minister
can nominate them after consulting with the president, his cabinet’s Collegium
.
for Secret Services (Kolegium do Spraw Słuzb Specjalnych) and the Sejm Commis-
.
sion for Secret Services (Sejmowa Komisja do Spraw Słuzb Specjalnych). The
prime minister is also responsible for the tasking of the services.
According to the statute of July 9, 2003, the director of the WSI answers to
the minister of defense. The minister can nominate the WSI’s director after con-
sulting the same bodies previously mentioned. The minister is also responsible
for the tasking of the WSI.
The Collegium for Secret Services is a body of the Council of Ministers (the
cabinet), formed according to the statute of May 24, 2002. The Collegium is
designed as a consultative and advisory body programming, overseeing, and
coordinating the activity of the services. The tasks of the Collegium include gen-
erating opinions on the appointing and dismissing of chiefs of services, setting
up instructions and action plans for the services, providing opinions on detailed
draft budgets, and projects of legal acts concerning the services. The members of
the Collegium also assess the performance of the services, including the matters
of organizing the exchange of important information among various branches of
the government and issues of protection of classified information. The Collegium
is chaired by the prime minister and run by the secretary; it is composed of the
minister of the interior, the minister of foreign affairs, the minister of defense,
the minister of finance, and the national security advisor to the president. The
sessions of the Collegium are also attended by chiefs of the ABW, the AW, the
WSI, and by the chairman of the Sejm Commission for Secret Services.32
To the author’s knowledge, the government does not possess independent
means to check upon the work of the agencies, similar to the task of an inspector-
general. However, though officially there are no individuals appointed or commit-
tees or boards established that would be mandated with control and supervision
of intelligence activities, there were cases when individuals trusted by the president
or the prime minister, or a relevant minister, were tasked with external, thorough
scrutinizing of certain operations of the services. Such persons’ mandate was not
official and they were reporting to their superiors on an informal basis.33
According to Article 7 of the statute on the ABW and the AW of May 24,
2002, the chiefs of the agencies, no later than three months before the end of
each calendar year and each within his competence, shall present the prime min-
ister plans of action for the next year. Similar regulations affect the WSI, but the
tasking and reporting takes place under responsibility of the minister of defense
(article 4 of the statute of July 9, 2003).
Formally, there are two bodies responsible for the coordination of intelligence
services. Apart from the Collegium for Secret Services, there is the Government
Intelligence Community (Wspólnota Informacyjna Rza du—WIR). The WIR, as
an auxiliary body of the prime minister, is designed to provide national intelli-
gence assessments with regard to external security. These assessments are inter-
departmentally agreed upon and drafted from a broad governmental perspective
that cuts across ministerial boundaries.34 The chief of the AW chairs the WIR.
.
Additionally, the Supreme Chamber of Control (Najwyzsza Izba Kontroli—
NIK; a body reporting only to the Sejm) is entitled to perform auditing. The
scope of this is limited to financial probity of the civilian services. The issue of
any sensitive types of operations that might require explicit approval by members
of the executive is, it seems, formally unregulated.
Parliamentary Oversight
Despite widespread recognition of the severe heritage of the old system’s secret
services, it was not until April 1995 that, by virtue of the amended Sejm resolu-
tion48 of July 30, 1992, the parliamentary Commission for Secret Services was set
up. The tasks of the Commission include assessing projects of legal acts concern-
ing the services, providing opinions on the directions of their work, issuing opin-
ions on appointments of particular persons as chiefs and deputy chiefs of the
services, and examining the chiefs’ annual reports. The Commission assesses
draft budgets for the services and examines reports on budget implementation.
It also analyzes the cooperation between the services and other bodies of state
administration and examines complaints concerning activities of the services.
Although one may find these words unduly harsh, similar opinions are often
expressed.
The opposition in the present Parliament claims that the Commission is dom-
inated by party politics and provided many examples when its initiatives were
simply voted out by the representatives of the ruling coalition. It also appears
that the most sensitive investigations have been responsive to events (usually
raised by the media57) rather than programmed well in advance. According to
Miodowicz, the present scope of democratic supervision of the services has dete-
riorated if compared to the situation a few years ago.58
The main difficulty for the Commission stems from the fact that the services
obviously play a power game over their ‘‘territory.’’ The working relations with
the intelligence agencies are not satisfactory. According to the opposition mem-
bers of the commission (most notably Macierewicz and Wasserman) the agencies
attempt to frustrate the due course of the most sensitive investigations. Wasser-
man said that the chiefs of the agencies often present their own interpretations
of the laws on the legislative oversight in order to prevent the Commission’s
access to some kinds of data: ‘‘Actually, they let us know what they want us to
know.’’59 Wasserman claims that the actual powers of the Commission are very
limited, because it may issue opinions and recommendations only. The only
efficient instrument available for the opposition members of the Commission is
of an informal nature—to brief the media in order to arouse the pressure of
public opinion on the chiefs of the services. This seems to work, at least to a
certain extent.
All objections notwithstanding, the recent public image of the Commission
seems to be quite good. There are many examples where the Commission was
invoked as the appropriate body for the clarification of controversial issues dur-
ing the pungent clashes of opinions over the conduct of the intelligence agen-
cies.60 This is partly due to the proactive stance of the opposition members of the
Commission.
In general, it holds true that the strengths and weaknesses of the system of
control and accountability stem from the poor running of the Polish state. It is
riddled with corruption, partisan politics, incompetence, and an immature civil
service. Speaking in systemic terms, the main lines of conflict lie along the infor-
mal, oligarchic, parasitic power and influence groups exhibiting a façade of Pol-
ish democracy, versus dispersed groups committed to the rule of law, democracy,
and civil society.
Undoubtedly, there is legislative intelligence oversight in Poland. Is it strong
or weak in the sense Lawrence Lustgarten and Ian Leigh express?61 They charac-
terize strong oversight by the following: The body concerned: (1) is independent
from the executive; (2) has a proactive capacity; (3) has a membership that
reflects the spectrum of party politics; (4) has full access to information about
the security or intelligence agency’s activities; (5) has the ability to maintain
secrecy where necessary; (6) has institutional expertise; and (7) has adequate sup-
port staff. Let us deal with these items now.
1. The Polish Sejm Commission is formally the body independent from the
executive.
2. Its proactive capacities are granted.
3. Its membership reflects the current balance of power in the Sejm. The pro-
portionality of membership accounts for the majority of the ruling coali-
tion members in the Commission and the actual, often mechanical, voting
out of many initiatives of the opposition members, therefore diminishing
All the same, one may wonder whether, at least under the present post-commu-
nist predicament, the seven conditions proposed have enough ‘‘resolving power’’
to adequately portray specific post-communist predicaments; for example, to
differentiate between skillful formal-bureaucratic performance focused on pay-
ing lip service as opposed to actual adherence to principles of the rule of law.62
Conclusions
The Polish secret services have not been used for brutal wars abroad nor for par-
tisan repression at home. Instead, they have been abused in an unsystematic and
politically very pluralistic fashion. The undercover community has shown itself
to be a sort of pool of resources for the pursuit of party politics and the unfolding
of oligarchic power networks that managed to anarchize the Polish state.
One could hardly say that the move from a closed and repressive apparatus
toward a democratically accountable government service is completed. It is
increasingly often asserted that Poland does not have an intelligence policy that
is truly in the interest of society.63 However, it seems that the tearing down of
the inappropriate practices is beyond the power of any democratic institution in
present-day Poland. The main safeguards that prevent the use of the agencies by
the members of the government against their domestic political opponents are
the Sejm Commission and those groupings within the parliamentary opposition
that tend to preserve a rather tough anti-communist stance. Another safeguard
is the general sensitivity of the public toward these kinds of abuses. However, all
this largely depends on the attitude of the private media. Since the end of 2002,
the media (except the public TV, which is under informal, yet firm, control of the
present government) has become much more proactive in responding to various
abuses of power.
It becomes more and more clear that another thorough reform is needed not
only of the services and other official parts of the security complex, but also of
the oversight system. Without achieving this, the services cannot become an
instrument that may be systematically employed for pursuit of the public good.
Fourteen years since the beginning of the systemic transformation, the bal-
ance between advantages and disadvantages of continuation of the secret services
personnel is far from being settled. The game over the shape of the Polish
democracy is not finished yet. In fact it is not even clear who has the upper hand.
Notes
1. This chapter relies mostly upon open sources, i.e., legal acts, official documents,
data available in the media and accessible via the Internet, including the official websites
of the secret services and the Sejm (the lower house of the Polish Parliament). It also
draws from data accessible at a website run by an anonymous group of former officers of
the now dissolved Office of State Protection (www.republika.pl/uop12lat). In addition,
the author interviewed the former chief of the UOP, Col. Zbigniew Nowek, and two
opposition representatives in the Sejm Commission for Secret Services, Antoni Macierew-
icz and Zbigniew Wasserman. What is more, the author talked to a number of former and
active politicians (MPs and government ministers included), and to a few former and
present secret services staffers as well as activists of anarchist organizations (targeted by
the services). The latter sources prefer to anonymous.
2. K. Williams and D. Deletant, Security Intelligence Services in New Democracies: The
Cases of Czech Republic, Slovakia and Romania (London: Macmillan and School of Sla-
vonic and East European Studies, UCL, 2000): 1.
3. Social democratic party (Sojusz Lewicy Demokratycznej—SLD). He was also post-
communist cabinet coordinator of the secret services. Since 2002, he has been director of
the newly established Foreign Intelligence Agency (Agencja Wywiadu—AW).
4. Z. Siemiatkowski, interviewed by M. Barański (Nie, July .26, 2001): 5.
5. See, e.g., M. Dukaczewski, interviewed by A. Walentek (Zycie Warszawy, December
4, 2001); A. Kapkowski, interviewed by R. Walenciak (Przegla d Tygodniowy, February 18,
1998): 3.
6. See, e.g., A. Celiński, interviewed by M. Barański (Trybuna, April 26, cited in
.
Gazeta Wyborcza, April 28, 2003a, b): 2; J. Hausner, Akt oskarzenia (Polityka, June 21,
2003): 38–40; A. Macierewicz, Kursanci z Moskwy i Tel Awiwu (Nasza Polska, March 20,
2002): 1, 13; Z. Wasserman, interventions in a discussion (Nowe Państwo, No 1, January
2002): 16–20; Z. Wasserman, interviewed by M. Stychlerz-Kłucińska (Tygodnik Solidar-
ność, August 15, 2003): 6–7.
7. The number of scandals revealed to the public is huge. One prominent example is
the case of the so-called Colonel Lesiak group, a special team organized within the UOP
and tasked with infiltration and disintegration of some of right-wing political groupings
in the first half of the 1990s (see, e.g., Marszałek 1998, 1999). Another symptomatic case
is illegal international arms trade pursued by the Military Information Services in the
mid-1990s, revealed only in 2002 (see, e.g., Marszałek 2002, 2003). This case was investi-
gated by the Sejm Commission for Secret Services, which produced a report confirming
press accounts and accused the WSI of many irregularities including cheating by one
prime minister. The Commision discovered that networks used in this illegal trade origi-
nated in the 1980s. (see Raport speckomisji . . . 2003).
.
8. See, e.g., Opcja, przyszłość polskich słuzb specjalnych (Warszawa: Instytut Problemów
Bezpieczeństwa; SLD—Rada Krajowa, Zespół ds. Cywilnej i Demokratycznej Kontroli
Słuz.b Specjalnych, 2001).
9. After the UOP was dissolved, about four hundred employees were fired, i.e., 9 per-
cent of the total of the Office’s personnel.
10. See, e.g., J. Paradowska, Pod niespecjalnym nadzorem. Polityka, April 13, 2002):
25–26.
11. See M. Łoś and A. Zybertowicz, ‘‘Is Revolution a Solution? State Crime in Commu-
nist and Post-Communist Poland (1980–1995)’’ in The Rule of Law after Communism,
eds. M. Krygier and A. Czarnota (Aldershot: Ashgate, Dartmouth 1999), 261–307.
12. See Regulamin Sejmu Rzeczypospolitej Polskiej, ‘‘Uchwała Sejmu Rzeczypospolitej
Polskiej z dnia 30 lipca 1992 r. Załacznik do obwieszczenia Marszałka Sejmu Rzeczypos-
politej Polskiej z dnia’’ (29 maja 2002 r. Monitor Polski, No. 23 pos. 398, 2002, art. 142).
13. See M. Łoś and A. Zybertowicz, ‘‘Is Revolution a Solution? State Crime in Commu-
nist and Post-Communist Poland (1980–1995)’’ in The Rule of Law after Communism,
eds. M. Krygier and A. Czarnota (Aldershot: Ashgate, Dartmouth 1999), 261–307; M. Łoś
and A. Zybertowicz, Privatizing the Police-State: The Case of Poland (London: Macmillan,
New York: St. Martin’s Press, 2000).
14. See, e.g., T. Lis, Co z ta Polska (Warszwa: Rosner & Wspólnicy, 2003); A. Zybertow-
icz, ‘‘Sztuka zapominania: państwo policyjne jako nierzeczywistość,’’ in Świat historii, ed.
Wojciech Wrzosek (Poznań: IH UAM, 1998), 429–39; compare T. Rosenberg, The
Haunted Land (New York: Vintage Books, 1996).
15. The Polish lustration law obligates individuals holding high public offices to reveal
their work for or secret cooperation with the communist secret services. The individuals’
declarations are published in the Official Journal of the Government (Monitor Polski).
The law does not lead to any negative consequences for individuals who have stated truth.
The consequences arise only for those who lied, i.e., only for those individuals whom the
Court of Appeal has legitimately found to have provided untruthful declarations. Their
names are published and these individuals cannot occupy public posts for ten years.
16. Ustawa z dnia 11 kwietnia 1997 r. o ujawnieniu pracy lub słuz.by w organach bez-
pieczeństwa państwa lub współpracy z nimi w latach 1944–1990 osób pełniacych funkcje
publiczne (Dz. Us. 1997, No. 70 pos. 443).
17. See, e.g., T. Lis, Co z ta Polska (Warszwa: Rosner & Wspólnicy, 2003).
18. See Łoś and Zybertowicz 2000, 127; compare Siemiatkowski 1998, 108.
19. Z. Siemiatkowski, a Sejm speech presenting the cabinet’s project of secret services
reform delivered on March 13, 2002, www.sejm.gov.pl; accessed January 4, 2004.
20. See, e.g., J. Maloj, Machina (nadal) postsowiecka (Nasza Polska, January 21, 1998);
see other thirteen articles of the author published in this weekly between February and
.
May 1998; A. Zybertowicz, W uścisku tajnych słuzb: upadek komunizmu i układ postnomen-
klaturowy (Komorów: Antyk, 1993): 52–56.
21. Ustawa o Urzedzie Ministra Obrony Narodowej z dnia 14 grudnia 1995 r. (Dzien-
nik Ustaw 1996, No. 10, pos. 56).
22. Published in Dz. Us. 2003, No. 139, pos. 1326.
23. Chief of the WSI from 1997 to 2001.
24. Poland joined NATO in 1999. See T. Rusak, interviewed by E. Łosińska (Dziennik
Polski, September 12, 2003); compare J. Jakimczyk (Jednostka 3362. Rzeczpospolita, July
16, 2003).
25. See, e.g., W. Cieśla and J. Jachowicz, Big Brothers, czyli wojna agentów (Gazeta
T his chapter addresses the main features, concerns, and ongoing progress
concerning the intelligence system and legislation of Argentina1 in its search
for democratic legitimacy. Since the recovery of democracy in 1983, there has
been both public and political concern about the role of intelligence. This feeling
was due to the history of military rule in Latin America and particularly to the
role played by intelligence agencies ‘‘. . . in short, integrally associated with the
human rights abuses which characterize most authoritarian regimes most of the
time.’’2
In efforts to revamp the intelligence sector and establish strong legitimacy, it
was necessary to leave behind the history of abuses, lack of controls, and distrust.
During the decades of building democracy, the main efforts focused on the
development of a legislative framework able to trigger a reform process. In
November 2001, the National Congress passed the National Intelligence Law
establishing the national intelligence system. The law defines the organization,
activities, objectives, and scope of the intelligence policy; creates a national intel-
ligence agency, a criminal intelligence agency, and a military strategic intelligence
agency; establishes a mechanism to authorize interceptions of communications
in conjunction with the judiciary; and sets the standards for parliamentary over-
sight,3 including secret budget and expenditure control.
A key senior advisor of the Senate recently described five essential prerequi-
sites that guided congressional debate on the intelligence legislation: (1) to have
a legal framework capable of generating a context for developing intelligence
— 160 —
Decree No. 950 of 2002, providing regulations for the provisions of the
National Intelligence Law
Decree No. 1088 of 2003, approving the bylaw applicable to intelligence per-
sonnel
Decree No. 1273 of 1992, providing regulations for the provisions of the
Internal Security Law
Personal Data Protection Law No. 25326 of 2000
Decree-Law No. 5315 of 1956 and Law No. 18302 of 1969, establishing a
regime for ‘‘Reserved or Secret Expenditures’’
Argentina has several intelligence agencies5 at the national level, including civil-
ian, military, and police/security forces components. Within the executive there
are the following organizations:
ligence. This article also states that military intelligence production is to be car-
ried out by an agency comprising the intelligence agencies of the armed forces,
under the authority of the minister of defense.
The Internal Security Law constitutes a significant improvement in terms of
a legal framework for domestic security with relevant content related to intelli-
gence. For the first time in Argentina, this law established the foundation of the
system for planning, coordination, control, and support of the national police
effort committed to guarantee internal security. The law defined internal security
as the:
factual situation under the rule of law in which liberty, life and property of the
inhabitants, their rights and guarantees and the full validity of the institutions of
the representative, republican and federal system established by the national Con-
stitution are protected (article 2).
A cabinet minister has authority for the direction and coordination of the activi-
ties undertaken by the federal police and the security forces’6 intelligence compo-
nents. Furthermore, to avoid uncertainty about the role of intelligence in internal
security, article 16 provides for a Directorate of Internal Intelligence, the organ
through which the minister exerts power in this field. A significant provision of
this law applies to congressional oversight. Title VII provides for parliamentary
control of internal security and intelligence, creating for the first time in Argen-
tina a permanent congressional Joint Oversight Committee on Intelligence and
Internal Security, composed of six senators and six deputies with the mission to
supervise and control all internal security and intelligence activities and organi-
zations.7
Although the area was not at the top of the agenda of controversial issues, the
main topics of debate were the scope of congressional control over intelligence
activities and agencies as well as legislation governing the intelligence sector.
Some controversy resulted from the fact that although article 46 of the National
Defense Law provided for the drafting of several related bills, including one to
govern the intelligence system with the addition of congressional oversight, it
was only after fourteen years that consensus was reached and an intelligence law
was passed by Congress in 2001.
As Garreta explains, from the 1960s until the National Congress passed the
intelligence law, a secret normative framework for state intelligence, designed by
the armed forces and based upon the so-called national security doctrine, was
functional but neither democratic nor public.8 Meanwhile, since 1983, an intelli-
gence sector with doubtful legitimacy, though headed by a civilian appointed
by the president, was characterized by duplication between the several intelli-
gence agencies, denoting a lack of coordination and featuring a squandering of
new millennium began with active but silent parliamentary work of consensus
building, the final result being the enactment of a law in November 2001.
human rights and the minister of defense have, respectively, authority over the
intelligence agencies within their departments. Considering the fact that these
agencies are at the same time part of the national intelligence system, these min-
isters do not necessarily exert much influence in the daily activities of these agen-
cies.
The National Directorate for Criminal Intelligence, pursuant to article 48 of
the law and in accordance with the provisions of article 16 of the Internal Secur-
ity Law, ought to play a significant role in the national intelligence system in
terms of the functional direction and coordination of intelligence activities of the
so-called national police effort—including the national police and security
forces, and the twenty-three provincial police forces—in all matters related to
internal security. Decree No. 1273 is clear about the responsibilities of the head
of the Criminal Intelligence Directorate, outlining in article 5.6 the scope of the
direction and coordination functions regarding the activities of the intelligence
elements already mentioned. These functions include the planning, setting of
priorities, preparation, and formulation of requirements regarding collection of
information and intelligence production. In the field of military intelligence, arti-
cle 6 of Decree No. 950 gives powers to the National Directorate for Strategic
Military Intelligence to coordinate actions regarding the armed forces intelli-
gence agencies. For the purpose of producing strategic operational intelligence
and tactical intelligence needed for the planning and conducting of military
operations and specific technical intelligence, the military intelligence agencies of
the army, navy, and air force armed forces are respectively under direct control
of the chief of each force.13
There is one type of intelligence operation that requires explicit approval by
members of the executive. The secretary of intelligence can request a written and
grounded judicial approval to carry out interceptions of communications for
intelligence or counterintelligence activities.14 For these operations, the
Secretariat of Intelligence has a Directorate for Judicial Observations, the only
organ of the state legally allowed to perform these duties under permission or
instructed by competent judicial authorities (article 21). In principle, relations
with foreign intelligence services are one of the specific duties of the Secretariat
of Intelligence; under article 13.4, the secretary of intelligence is responsible for
the direction and articulation of relationships with the intelligence agencies of
other nations. Within the executive there are no specialized independent means
of checking upon the work of the intelligence agencies, such as an inspector-
general office, a commissioner, an executive oversight body, or a supervisory
committee.
As explained in the following discussion control, oversight, and accountability
arrangements comprise other notable elements within the legislative and the
judiciary. Although it appears to be an infrequent mechanism, citizens are able
As stated in article 4.4, agencies are not allowed to reveal or divulge any kind
of information acquired when performing their functions and related to any
individual or company, whether public or private, unless so required by justice.
Article 16 specifies that intelligence activities and agencies, their personnel, docu-
mentation, and databases, shall be assigned a classified security grading in accor-
dance with the interests of internal security, national defense, and foreign
relations and that the access to such information shall be authorized in a case-
by-case basis by the president or the official to whom this authority has been
expressly delegated.
Those members of the intelligence agencies, as well as any person who, due
to his responsibilities or circumstances, has access to intelligence information,
are obliged to maintain secrecy and confidentiality; those who infringe this obli-
gation will be subject to penalties.16 In this regard, article 13 of Decree No. 950
states that by way of an internal resolution each agency of the system shall spe-
cifically record the formal and written notification of these responsibilities for
each agency member. Article 2 of Decree No. 950 clearly specifies that the intelli-
gence agencies shall frame certain activities—obtaining information, collecting
intelligence, or keeping data on individuals—as inexcusable under the provisions
of the Personal Data Protection Law, specifically its article 23.17 The fulfillment
of these provisions shall be a matter of directives and controls by the head of
each agency. Domestic intelligence activities raise major concerns among politi-
cians as much as in the society; however, provisions contained in the law regard-
ing criminal intelligence are great improvements on establishing limits to
intelligence collection from within.
Consistent with constitutional guarantees,18 article 5 of the National Intelli-
gence Law stipulates that telephone calls, mail, telegraph, facsimile, or any other
system for sending objects or transmitting images, voice, or data, as well as any
kind of information, files, registries and/or private documents or documents to
which the general public have no access are inviolable unless so required by jus-
tice. The decision to include limitations to the intelligence activities was an issue
that underwent several ups and downs during the legislative debate. Having
selected to draft a detailed bill, the group of legislative advisors that prepared the
first drafts were able to inscribe several clauses, all of them ending in a full title
of the law devoted to the protection of the rights and guarantees of the inhabi-
tants. These sets of operational principles represent a clear advantage in terms of
the exercise of democratic control over the intelligence sector.
national executive power shall include in the ruling of Law No. 24156 on finan-
cial administration and control systems of the national public sector, a new line
named ‘‘intelligence’’ under the topic ‘‘services for defense and security,’’ group-
ing the whole budget corresponding to the intelligence activities in whatever
jurisdiction it may have originated. Although on legal grounds, secrecy is main-
tained for obvious reasons, the global figure is public and is subject to a budget
process similar to that of any other department or agency. Decree No. 950 also
establishes that both the National Directorate for Criminal Intelligence and the
National Directorate for Strategic Military Intelligence shall submit their budget
requirements to its superior hierarchy, and shall be responsible for the spending
of the specific budget for intelligence.
The process for auditing of intelligence expenditures within the government
is ruled by article 39 of the National Intelligence Law, which states that these
expenditures made during the fiscal year shall be recorded in a monthly affidavit
signed by the responsible officials belonging to the respective organism or office;
that shall be considered a receipt by the general accounting office.
The intelligence agencies report to the ministries as established by law. Article
13 states that the Secretariat of Intelligence shall provide to the Ministry of
Defense the information and intelligence needed to contribute to military strate-
gic intelligence production, as set forth by article 15 of Law No. 23554, and to
the Interior Security Council the information and intelligence needed to contrib-
ute to criminal intelligence production, as set forth by article 10, paragraph (e)
of Law No. 24059.19 Article 13.9 of the National Intelligence Law specifies that
the Secretariat of Intelligence shall prepare the annual report of intelligence
activities to be presented to the Joint Congressional Oversight Committee. Based
upon article 33, the executive—the Secretariat of Intelligence—has to submit to
the Joint Committee the national intelligence plan and the curricula of the
National Intelligence School. For the purpose of congressional budget and
expenditure control and oversight, the executive is obliged to submit to the Joint
Committee all the information needed, as set forth by article 37. Each year the
executive reports to Congress on its administration policies, programs, and activ-
ities of the previous fiscal year. This public report has a two- to three-page long
chapter prepared by the Secretariat of Intelligence. This practice began in the
mid-1980s. In the chapters on the defense and justice, security and human rights
ministries, respectively, there should be contents related to their intelligence
offices.
roles granted to the heads of the Ministry of Justice, Security and Human Rights
and Ministry of Defense within the intelligence system itself. Indeed, the roles
and responsibilities of the three intelligence agencies are clearly described. The
scheme provides that the two minor agencies be accountable predominantly to
the major agency—who holds the status of the highest agency of the system—
leaving aside the natural accountability of an office to the head of the department
where it belongs. The secretary of intelligence is indeed the chief advisor to the
president on intelligence matters, being at the same time the head of the system.
This special relationship, which is not different from that existing before the
enactment of the National Intelligence Law, reflects a centralized system in which
the producer and consumer roles are not clearly shaped.
The defense and domestic security legislation in force has several clauses
related to intelligence; it appears that the whole intelligence community com-
prises not only the intelligence system established by the National Intelligence
Law, but also what can be called ‘‘subsystems,’’ one for internal/criminal intelli-
gence and another for military intelligence. The creation of a criminal intelli-
gence agency meets the need to give full legal recognition of intelligence within
the state to delineate the interface between intelligence policy and domestic
security policy. The history of abuses, repressive state, and internal dirty wars
indicated that any exclusion or blurring concept of domestic intelligence could
pose a threat to society. In fact, applying the principle of separation of law
enforcement and intelligence poses the problem of excluding those intelligence
activities carried out by a government for the purposes of gaining information
and analysis to be aware of the general situation of domestic security/insecurity
and holding them unaccountable. Executive civilian control over those activities
is a prerequisite in order to avoid intrusion in privacy from, misuse of, and
abuses by police intelligence. Within the boundaries of domestic security policy,
civilian control is achieved through the coordination and tasking of the domestic
intelligence elements. In this case, the mission of those intelligence activities car-
ried out within the country, within its society, is strictly limited to those legiti-
mate and legally accepted and defined objectives, as stated by the National
Intelligence Law. The new system can be considered a combination of a central-
ized-prone pattern at the top, with a decentralized-prone pattern at the immedi-
ate second level, in which the principle of division of labor between the
intelligence agencies20 is effective. As a hybrid, a silent struggle may take place for
the actual control of those specialized intelligence agencies between the various
ministers with jurisdiction over agencies in charge of intelligence functions as
well as the secretary of intelligence.
The concept of civilian ministerial responsibility over the intelligence agencies
has not been exercised fully in the fields of domestic and military intelligence.
Issuance of directives and control over personnel, budget, and expenditures has
not been a priority although there were legal foundations for this several years
before the National Intelligence Law was enacted. A fifty-year tradition of a
strong and centralized national intelligence agency under the presidency, and the
frequent interruptions of democratic rule, are significant reasons that explain
this behavior.
During the transitional government of the congressionally appointed Presi-
dent Eduardo Duhalde (January 2002–May 2003), the Intelligence Secretariat
was headed first by Carlos Soria, former chairman of the Joint Special Committee
in charge of monitoring the judicial investigations of the terrorist bombings
against the embassy of Israel and the AMIA building. Subsequently, another con-
gressman with experience in the fields of defense, security, and intelligence legis-
lation, Miguel Angel Toma, was appointed to that post. According to the press,
these changes were confirmation that the agency continues to respond to the
aspirations and fickleness of political interests, rather than to the needs of its
important strategic role.21Notwithstanding these factors, the National Intelli-
gence Law is an important improvement because its clauses upgrade the already
existent agencies focused on criminal and military intelligence respectively.
ished with the enactment of the new law. The previous congressional experience
lacked independence from the executive and with the new law was granted pow-
ers that gave full access to information about the security or intelligence agency’s
activities. The National Intelligence Law provided for a minimum scheme for the
work of the Joint Committee based on these requirements:
Consistent with articles 33.4 and 37.4 of the law, the Joint Committee annually
submits a secret report to the executive, as well as to both chambers of Congress.
Article 36 states that no public document issued by the Joint Committee must
reveal information that may harm intelligence activities and affect domestic
security and national defense. Astonishingly, the law makes no reference to a
public report to be periodically issued by the Joint Committee. As of this writing,
the Joint Committee had not yet issued its first annual report, which is in prepa-
ration.
At this writing, the Joint Committee has not been active long enough to raise
conclusions about its pros and cons. Although its membership reflects the spec-
trum of political parties, in terms of check and balances the prevalence of the
majority may lessen the work of the Joint Committee with the presidency of the
Committee being held by a member of the Justicialist party. It is important to
note that the powers to exercise control and oversight of intelligence budget and
expenditures granted by law have no precedent in the modern history of the
country. As Senator Daniele says, only after the enactment of the 2001 National
Intelligence Law 25520 can it be affirmed that the needed powers are available to
engage fully in parliamentary control. The proactive capacity of the Joint Com-
mittee has yet to be proven.
Recent Trends
A resolution issued by the Anti-corruption Office25 asked for more transparency
in the management of secret accounts and considered that intelligence legislation
has weaknesses as far as requirements of registry of expenditures, specialized
control, public access to information, and in relation to the judicial control of
the legality of those acts as well as to access on the part of the judges to relevant
information for their cases.26 It is important to mention that this resolution
included a draft proposing several amendments to the 2001 National Intelligence
Law 25520.
In May 2003, President Nestor Kirchner (elected in 2003) posted Sergio Ace-
vedo—a member of Congress representing the province of Santa Cruz, which is
that of the president—as intelligence secretary. Recently, Acevedo stressed the
need to exclude the agency from acting in support of judicial investigations and
to assign this role to criminal intelligence. He considered this a matter of legisla-
tive reform.27 As a relevant precedent, President Kirchner exercised, by decree,
executive control on the declassification of information concerning the judicial
investigation of the AMIA bombing, allowing several top intelligence officials to
answer any judicial inquiry. By October 2003, a ‘‘secret reform’’ of the intelli-
gence secretariat was leaked to the press. According to a newspaper report,28 it
consisted of a dismissal of 160 agents, to be followed by a new internal structure
and profile and by new curricula and professors for the National Intelligence
School. Also, to avoid past practices of increasing secret expenditures, the execu-
tive would submit to Congress the real figure for the 2004 secret budget, in com-
pliance with the National Intelligence Law. According to the same report, the
directorate for Judicial Observations, belonging to the Secretariat of Intelligence,
and in charge of the interception of communications, would be transferred to
the judiciary. For this purpose, in the near future the president will submit a bill
to Congress.
Conclusions
Voices of warning have been raised concerning ‘‘. . . [t]he possibility [that] exists
that democratically elected civilians may not in fact be interested in controlling
the intelligence apparatus in the new democracies.’’29 Argentina has gone
through a long process to develop a legal and democratic framework for the
intelligence sector. A remarkable political will was present notwithstanding the
serious political and economic crises that the country suffered during recent
years. Several conclusions can be made about following the approach suggested
for this study:30
The new legislation has not been in force long enough to make an evaluation of
its benefits or weaknesses. The severe social and economic crisis suffered by
Argentina after December 2001 appeared to be a worst-case scenario for achiev-
ing results in the field of congressional oversight on intelligence. The improve-
ments in the intelligence legislation must not be seen as a panacea. Taking into
account that the two ministerial intelligence agencies are in an embryonic stage,
the intelligence system is still under construction. In any case its history is still
to be written.
Nevertheless there are several aspects not covered by legislation, such as an
independent supervision mechanism at the executive level, a detailed process for
raising complaints, and a specific procedure for granting authorization to con-
duct other intrusive techniques. There are other aspects to change, such as the
predominance of the executive over the intelligence sector in spite of the new
legislation. Surely a better law is desired; but the 2001 National Intelligence Law
25520 was the one approved after a broad-spectrum political consensus was
reached. The ability to exercise all those functions granted by law will be an indi-
cator not only of the political will to oversee the intelligence sector, but also of
the maturity of Argentina’s democracy. It still remains to be proven if there exists
political willingness among legislators to exert effective oversight and among
executive officials to improve intelligence reform.
Several Argentinean authors, all sharing similar involvement in the legislative
debates since the 1990s,31 agree in their writings and speeches that this period is
a unique opportunity to shape a new intelligence culture, leading to a new and
democratic interface between policy and intelligence anchored in confidence,
professionalism, mutual learning, and adaptability, with clear roles and responsi-
bilities and under strict controls. The intelligence sector of the new century
appears to be markedly different from previous decades and from that of the
period of military rule. Nevertheless, there is a long way to go to establish a new
culture and practices in the intelligence sector in general and in the oversight
function in particular.
Notes
1. According to article 1 of the National Constitution, Argentina adopts the federal
republican representative form of government. The president of the nation is the head
of the nation, head of the government; and he is politically responsible for the general
administration. Article 44 [Legislative Power] states that the legislative power of the
nation shall be vested in a Congress composed of two chambers, one of deputies of the
nation and the other of senators for the provinces and for Buenos Aires City.
2. Thomas C. Bruneau, ‘‘Controlling Intelligence in New Democracies,’’ International
Journal of Intelligence and Counterintelligence 14 (3) (June 2001): 331.
3. The terms ‘‘oversight,’’ ‘‘review,’’ and ‘‘control’’ are used hereafter as stated by
Marina Caparini in Challenges of Control and Oversight of Intelligence Services in a Liberal
Democracy, paper presented at the Workshop on Democratic and Parliamentary Oversight
of Intelligence Services (Geneva, October 2002), 5; and Hans Born, Democratic and Parlia-
mentary Oversight of the Intelligence Services: Best Practices and Procedures, paper presented
at the Workshop on Democratic and Parliamentary Oversight of Intelligence Services,
(Geneva, October 2002), 9–10.
4. Jaime Garreta, ‘‘El Diseño de un Nuevo Marco Jurı́dico Regulatorio para la Activi-
dad de Inteligencia del Estado en la Argentina,’’ Security and Defense Studies Review 2 (2),
(2002): 270.
5. In accordance with their authority to collect information or not, these agencies can
be classified into two types: organs, those agencies with no collection means; and organ-
isms, agencies with collection means which can perform all the steps of the intelligence
cycle.
6. The National Gendarmerie and the Argentine Coast Guard.
7. Article 35 specified that: ‘‘The committee shall verify that the performance of the
agencies and organizations referred in article 33 is adjusted strictly to the constitutional,
legal and regulating norms in force, stating the strictly observance and respect of the
National Constitution individual guarantees, as well as of the measures contained in the
Human Rights American Convention, known as ‘San José de Costa Rica Agreement’ and
included in our legal arrangement through the law No. 23.054.’’
8. Garreta, El Diseño, 269.
9. Eduardo Estevez, Argentina’s Intelligence after Ten Years of Democracy: the Challenge
of Reform and Congressional Oversight, paper, Intelligence Resource Project, Federation of
American Scientists (Washington, D.C., 1993).
10. An order to update intelligence files given by the Ministry of Interior and executed
by elements of national and provincial security forces was leaked to the press, triggering
that decision as a matter of democratic control.
11. The law comprises fifty-three articles arranged in ten titles—general principles,
protection of rights and guarantees of the inhabitants of the nation, intelligence agencies,
national intelligence policy, classification of information, interception and seizing of com-
T his chapter analyzes the system of oversight and accountability with regard
to the National Intelligence Service (NIS).1 The NIS is the premier intelli-
gence/security organization in the Republic of Korea (hereafter South Korea)
with responsibility for internal and external national security. The NIS was for-
merly known as the Agency for National Security Planning and before that began
operation as the Korean Central Intelligence Agency.
An analysis of oversight and accountability of intelligence cannot be under-
taken without setting the NIS in its political, legal, and historical context. This
context highlights the remarkable progress of reform of the security establish-
ment in South Korea since democratization. A sustained period of military-
backed rule lasted from 1961 to 1987. The sheer size of the security establish-
ment, erected in the service of an extensive definition of national security, led
some observers to question the possibility of democratization. However a
democratization process, instituted in 1987–88, has been successful—there have
been repeated National Assembly elections, local autonomy was introduced in
1995, and Korea’s fourth presidential election in succession took place in 2002.
As part of this process the military and security establishment has been subjected
to legal and organizational reform and to popular scrutiny.
However, this context also highlights the powerful position that the intelli-
gence service held in Korean politics, a position that is still evident. Although
— 180 —
democratic reforms have constrained the formerly extensive role of the security
services in some areas, the NIS continues to play an evident role in the Korean
polity. There is reason for this: requirements for national security with regard to
North Korea are a factor in the significant NIS role in domestic affairs. The con-
tinuing external threat from North Korea has ensured that security issues and
thus intelligence organizations have remained central in post-authoritarian poli-
tics. However, NIS legal and paralegal operations are in evidence in the overall
political process and are evident in the mainstream political process. A number
of political corruption scandals in South Korea appear to involve NIS personnel
at both high and low level. These legal and paralegal activities highlight the need
for effective oversight.2
An analysis of the context of South Korean politics highlights the fact that
problems with intelligence agency operations cannot be traced to weak oversight
alone. The strength of the executive, the extensive national security legislation,
the role of ‘‘network’’ or unofficial politics, and the politics of national security
are other factors which provide the context for NIS power and a lack of oversight
that the existing system of parliamentary oversight cannot be expected to
remedy.
Context
To understand the role of intelligence agencies and their oversight it is necessary
to understand the role of political power and its effect on law in South Korea.
The development of political power in South Korea saw the creation of a power-
ful intelligence establishment. This dominated the development of law in South
Korea.
South Korea became a sovereign nation in 1948. A period of democracy last-
ing from 1948 to 1961 ended in a military coup. From 1961 to 1987 the military
effectively ruled South Korea. During this period the role of the intelligence
establishment was massively expanded. National security was a priority. North
Korea and most domestic dissent was regarded as a national security threat.
Following the military coup of 1961, which terminated the democratic period
of Syngman Rhee (1948–1960) and Chang Myon (1960–61), the South Korean
concept of national security drew on the Japanese notion of ‘‘Rich nation, strong
army’’—industrial development as the guarantor of military capability, social
cohesion, and thus national security. Labor was repressed and excluded. Busi-
nesses were also controlled and threatened in the development of ‘‘national capi-
talism.’’ Other civil society groups were tightly regulated, as was the media.3 In
the early 1970s South Korea’s ‘‘managed democracy’’ was replaced by a national
security state due to a domestic political crisis coupled with the worsening exter-
nal situation (increased North Korean activity and Nixon’s planned withdrawal
from direct U.S. involvement in East Asian security). The need to marshal society
in the Heavy Industry ‘‘Big Push’’ of the 1970s, another component of national
security, also played a role.4 The existing large security establishment was
expanded and its power increased, a power that remained intact until democrati-
zation.
Thus during the 1970s, the state erected a national security infrastructure of
incredible scope and power centered around a strong executive. The security ide-
ology of Park Chung Hee, which involved disinformation, propaganda cam-
paigns, and the militarization of society remained an influential one even after
his death. Groups opposing national development and the adoption of a strong
front toward North Korea—and the two were often viewed as combined—were
defined as subversive; for example, labor and student organizations. The subse-
quent repressive regime of Chun Doo Hwan (1980–1987) built upon this system.
The military remained the backbone of the political system, and the intelligence
apparatus operated throughout the political system.5
The legal system developed in the shadow of national security politics. Laws
did not function as guarantors of individual or collective rights. Law was subor-
dinated to political authority and the strategy of the moment. The National
Security Law (NSL), inherited from Syngman Rhee, contained an extensive
definition of national security, with severe penalties for generously defined ‘‘anti-
state’’ activity. Most anti-government actions and expressions could be con-
strued as ‘‘aiding the enemy’’—that is, North Korea. A series of subsequent laws
set strict limits and penalties on a wide range of political behavior which could
be deemed a threat to national security, or—very closely linked to this—a threat
to social/political order.
Despite this unpromising context South Korea democratized in 1987. Remark-
ably successful economic development had given rise to various groups in civil
society such as the middle class and strengthened others, such as trade unions,
student groups, and activist groups. Although still weak compared to the strong,
pervasive state, these groups could at times effectively mobilize to force political
change: Sustained protests by the civilian opposition forced Chun Doo Hwan to
institute a genuine democratization process.6 President Roh Tae Woo was elected
in 1987; followed by Kim Young Sam, elected in 1992; Kim Dae Jung, elected in
1997; and Roh Moo-hyun, elected in 2002.
viding the backbone. The Korean Central Intelligence Agency (KCIA), founded
in 1961, had responsibility for domestic and international intelligence-gathering
and anti-subversion, and stood as the main organization investigating crimes of
subversion as defined in the NSL and other security legislation. Built up from the
3,000-strong Army Counter Intelligence Corps, by 1964 the KCIA had 370,000
employees.7 It grew into a power base in its own right during the late 1960s and
1970s, with each of its directors challenging for influence in the government
structure. In 1979 the then head of the KCIA, Kim Chae Kyu, assassinated Presi-
dent Park Chung Hee (in power from 1961 to 1979), after which the KCIA
underwent a name change to the Agency for National Security Planning (ANSP)
and reform under President Chun Doo Hwan. Its authority re-emerged in the
1980s, though this time not as an independent power grouping but under the
president’s wing, as it had been in the early 1960s.8 The agency in its various
forms has had twenty-seven directors, twenty of whom have come from the mili-
tary.
Chun Doo Hwan’s military coup in 1980 led to an increased role for military
intelligence in the form of the Defence Security Command (DSC), Chun’s initial
power base. Chun had headed the DSC under President Park Chung Hee and
used it as a platform from which to mount a coup in 1979–80, following Park’s
death.9 Modeled on the example of centralized political organization set up by
the Nationalist Chinese in Taiwan, the DSC had been created to monitor activi-
ties inside the military itself and to prevent external subversion of the military.
In practice, through its Directorate 2, the DSC expanded into the surveillance of
political parties, universities, and the media.10 Almost every media organization
contained DSC officials.11 Finally, in 1970 the Combat Police Organization Law
established a combat division to counter infiltration and engage in riot duties.
Although subsidiary to the military and intelligence agencies, the division consti-
tuted a powerful grouping within the state.12 Generally, ‘‘the police constitute(d)
a highly centralized national paramilitary force directly linked to the President
of the Republic.’’13 Chun Doo Hwan expanded the combat police from 20,000 to
120,000 during the 1980–1986 period.14
haps one sign of the changes lies in the number of former members of the mili-
tary and ANSP who have joined opposition parties and who can comment and
provide evidence on intelligence operations. The ruling party has also predictably
taken in former members of the ANSP but also former radicals who were subject
to the agency’s attentions in past decades. Further, the actions of the ANSP have
become more open to scrutiny by the media. As the subsequent sections will
demonstrate, some security service operations have been exposed through a
series of public scandals involving the presidency, the ANSP/NIS itself, and the
political elite.
These scandals highlight the fact that there are important areas of NIS struc-
ture, remit, and operations, which could be the subject of reform. While the
debate over reform often provokes political disagreement, the idea that the NIS
requires some level of reform often stretches across the political spectrum.
Executive Control
The nature of executive control cannot be understood without reference to the
South Korean Constitution. The executive (the presidency) has significant
power. The power stems from the scope for executive decisions, particularly in
the area of appointments to government and the legal system. The legislature
(the National Assembly) has limited powers, although it can check the executive
in certain areas. The judiciary is to some extent overshadowed by the executive.
Whilst in national terms the presidency can become a ‘‘lame duck’’ administra-
tion due to perceived policy failure, crisis, and National Assembly and media
pressure, the executive remains a powerful force in the day-to-day operations of
government and state administration.
The main problem is that executive control of the NIS is strong in formal and
informal terms. The head of the NIS is appointed by the executive (the presi-
dent). Until recently the legislature (National Assembly) had no role in this. The
legislature now holds confirmation hearings but cannot block an appointment.
The NIS head can be removed by the president. The head of the NIS is a legal
person. The president receives intelligence briefings directly from the director-
general of the NIS. The president appoints a national security advisor, a cabinet-
level post, which is not subject to assembly approval.
What is also important is that the heads of the Office of National Tax Admin-
istration (ONTA), the National Police Agency (NPA), and the NIS were/are not
only appointed by the executive, they remain/ed personally close to the executive.
These posts remain executive appointments. The minister of justice is also
appointed by the executive and this official controls/influences whether the
between the executive and the agency often remain personalized and secret.
What one might term network politics is influential. There is a lack of clarity in
roles and responsibilities and reporting. This is a subject of repeated calls for
reform.
Independent Supervision
At present independent supervision of the NIS is weak. There is an Intelligence
Committee in the National Assembly, which oversees the main issues relating to
NIS operations (see the discussion that follows). However, there are no indepen-
dent committees or boards mandated to control and supervise NIS operations.
There is a government proposal to place the NIS under the remit of the Board of
Audit and Inspection, but this alone is not sufficient to ensure that professional
standards are maintained and efficient methods of operation are developed. Sig-
nificantly, many of the noticeable debates concerning the role of the NIS arise
from a nonspecific source such as National Assembly members, media reports,
and the actions of civil society groups.
There used to be a lot of second and third rate information first reported in the
media and then repackaged and delivered to the committee. —GNP Intelligence
Committee member Hong Joo-pyo39
with powers was approved by the National Assembly. Its mandate ran until 2003
when its term expired. The Commission examined eighty suspicious deaths
under previous authoritarian governments, many allegedly involving the intelli-
gence agencies. This commission had more power than the Intelligence Commit-
tee. However, it did not have power to subpoena witnesses or government
officials. Nevertheless, fifty-three cases were completed, including twenty-four
convictions of agents of the KCIA and ANSP (previous forms of the NIS).
Twenty cases were left unresolved. According to members of the Commission,
the police, military, and NIS were uncooperative in producing relevant witnesses
and documents.43
Civil Society
South Korea has a tradition of vigorous civil society activity. Many civil society
groups have highlighted the lack of accountability of the Korean political system
generally, and of the National Intelligence Service in particular. Such groups
include the left-leaning Peoples Solidarity for Participatory Democracy (PSPD)
and Lawyers for a Democratic Society. The media, including mainstream news-
papers, have continually highlighted issues concerned with NIS accountability,
efficiency, and probity (including the role of serving and former NIS officers in
corruption scandals).45
In international terms, a range of organizations have focused their attention
on the operation of the NIS and the NSL, including Amnesty International and
Human Rights Watch. Amnesty International has particularly focused on the use
of the National Security Law and has produced a series of reports highlighting
the issues of the law’s extremely wide remit, its use to control political dissent,
and the cases of individuals sentenced under the NSL.
Civil society agencies in effect function as an ad-hoc form of accountability.
These groups, particularly the media, have often successfully pressured for inves-
tigations and prosecutions, on issues such as corruption and human rights. Of
course civil society activity itself raises general and specific problems: Civil soci-
ety groups are self-appointed; they are not themselves rigorously accountable.
Further, civil society groups are not a permanent regularized system of account-
Conclusions
The issue of NIS accountability to government and the public functioned as a
major issue in Korean politics before the 2002 presidential election and in its
aftermath.46 The issues of corruption and illegal telephone tapping were high on
the agenda and the subject of media and civil society and opposition political
comment. The new president, Roh Moo-hyun, promised reform of the NIS and
its operations. Thus, the continuing debate about intelligence reform highlights
the issues of NIS organization and accountability addressed in this report.
South Korea has made important progress in the areas of human rights,
reform of the actions of police and intelligence agencies, and oversight and con-
structive criticism of these agencies. This is particularly impressive given South
Korea’s political and legal history, which saw the military and the security and
intelligence establishment wield enormous power from the 1960s until the late
1980s. Despite the criticisms made in this chapter, the reforms that have taken
place in South Korea are, in this context, especially remarkable.
However, at present the system of oversight of the NIS within the executive,
the legislature, and the judiciary is weak. There is no credible independent struc-
ture of oversight. The main official oversight body is the National Assembly’s
Intelligence Committee. This body has a cross-party membership and has often
been vigorous in its criticisms. However, its powers are limited, it cannot reason-
ably be characterized as proactive, and its institutional capacity is limited. The
Committee’s powers should be strengthened.
Outside the legislature accountability and oversight could be increased by
strengthening existing bodies. During the presidential campaign it was suggested
that the Bureau of Audit and Inspection (BAI) could be involved in the manage-
rial and financial evaluation of NIS operations.47 The BAI is an independent con-
stitutional agency, which undertakes financial and performance audits of central
and local government agencies, government invested agencies, and agencies that
request audits. It reports to the executive and the National Assembly, and it can
recommend remedial action and reparation. However, this alone will not be suf-
ficient to develop a system of efficient tasking and coordination, and BAI
involvement should be restricted to matters of general public sector efficiency.
The BAI should not have access to classified intelligence product.
Procedures could be developed to ensure that Constitutional Court decisions
on national security related matters are given priority. The National Human
Notes
1. Website of NIS is www.nis.go.kr/app/eng/index [accessed March 19, 2005].
2. And also within East Asian political culture itself. Although there has been exten-
sive debate concerning the extent to which Western normative concepts of rights can be
applied to Asian nations (the ‘‘Asian Values’’ debate) the East Asian region does have an
indigenous discourse asserting rights of expression and association and so forth.
3. Yunshik Chang, ‘‘From Ideology to Interest: Government and Press in South Korea
1945–1979,’’ in Korean Studies: New Pacific Currents, ed. Dae-Sook Suh (Centre for
Korean Studies, University of Hawaii, 1994).
4. Joungwon Kim, Divided Korea: the Politics of Development (Cambridge, MA, and
London: Harvard University Press, 1976); and C. I. Eugene Kim, ‘‘Emergency Develop-
ment and Human Rights: South Korea,’’ Asian Survey 18 (4), (1978): 363–78; and S. J.
Kim, The State, Public Policy and NIC Development (Seoul: Dae Young Moonwhasa, 1989);
Edward A. Olsen, ‘‘Korea Inc: the Political Impact of Park Chung Hee’s Economic Mira-
cle,’’ in The Two Koreas in World Politics, eds. Tae-Hwan Kwac’, Wayne Patterson, and
Edward A. Olsen (Institute for Far Eastern Studies, Kyungnam University, 1983).
5. Young Whan Kihl, ‘‘Korea’s Fifth Republic: Domestic Political Trends,’’ Journal of
Northeast Asian Studies 1 (2) (1982): 38–55.
6. For an account of the South Korean democratization process see Chalmers John-
son, ‘‘South Korean Democratization: the Role of Economic Development,’’ Pacific
Review 2(1) (1989); and S. J. Han and Y. C. Park, ‘‘South Korea: Democratization at Last’’
in Driven by Growth: Political Change in the Asia-Pacific Region, ed. J. W. Morley (New
York: ME Sharpe,1993).
7. Kim, Divided Korea, 234.
8. Jonathan Moran, ‘‘The role of the Security Services in Democratization: An Analy-
sis of South Korea’s ANSP,’’ Intelligence and National Security 13 (4) (1998): 1–33.
9. Kim, The State, 1989.
10. Far Eastern Economic Review 1(4), 1993.
11. Author interview with K. Kaliher, Chief of Research, Office of the Special Advisor
to the C-in-C, United Nations Command, 8.11.1994. The opinions expressed were per-
sonal and not official. The DSC was dominated by members of the Hanahoe society, led
by Chun.
12. S.Y. Lee, ‘‘The Call for Reform of the Korean National Police Force,’’ in Korean
Public Administration and Policy in Transition Vol. One—Governmental Institutions and
Policy Process, eds. K.W. Kim and Y. Jung (Seoul: Korean Association for Public Adminis-
tration/Jangwon, 1993), 303.
37. Confidential author interview with trade union federation official, Seoul, February
1999.
38. Regional ties and networks have played a powerful role in Korean politics, particu-
larly the ‘‘T-K faction’’ a group of army officers, bureaucrats and other officials from
Kyongsang province. Military officers were also bound into alumni networks by graduat-
ing in the same year from the Korean Military Academy. See Se-Jin Kim, The Politics of
Military Revolution in Korea (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina, 1971) and Mark
L. Clifford, Troubled Tiger: Businessmen, Bureaucrats and Generals in South Korea (New
York: East Gate Press/ME Sharpe, 1994).
39. Jung-min Lee, ‘‘Intelligence Committee ends strike,’’ Joongang Ilbo, 5.6.2003.
40. Chung-hoon Chang, ‘‘Interrogation chambers to be closed,’’ Joongang Ilbo,
16.11.2002.
41. Jung-min Lee, ‘‘Intelligence Committee ends strike,’’ Joongang Ilbo, 5.6.2003 and
Seoung-hee Park, ‘‘Roh rebuked for choice of leader at spy agency,’’ Joongang Ilbo,
24.4.2003.
42. Cited in a review by National Assembly member Hee-ryong Won, of the opposition
Grand National Party.
43. N. Wook, ‘‘Commissions find tough going at end of Kim term,’’ Joongang Ilbo
16.8.2002 and N. Wook, ‘‘Death probe unit has no regrets,’’ Joongang Ilbo, 16.9.2002.
44. Amnesty International, ‘‘Republic of Korea (South Korea) Summary of Concerns
and Recommendations to Candidates for the Presidential Elections in December 2002.’’
ASA 25/007/2002, 18; and Amnesty International, ‘‘Republic of Korea (South Korea) Ter-
rorism Prevention Bill,’’ 25/003/2002 and Amnesty International, Korea (Republic of) in
Amnesty International Report 2003 POL/10/003/2003 [available at www.amnesty.org].
45. Author interviews with member of the PSPD, Seoul, March 1999.
46. J. Nam and Sang-il Lee, ‘‘Both candidates vow to curb NIS,’’ Joongang Ilbo,
3.12.2003.
47. Nam and Lee, Ibid.
48. Korea Herald, ‘‘Controversy erupts over National Security Law’’ Korea Herald,
23.4.2003.
49. C. Yoon, ‘‘Police to expand intelligence units,’’ Joongang Ilbo, 29.7.2003.
50. Yoon, Ibid.
I n the post-Soviet era, many states experienced massive changes with the end
of the bipolar aegis that had gripped the world. One of these states was South
Africa, which clearly underwent a revolution: in its society, its politics, its strate-
gic posture and position, and its very system of governing. One of the areas
where this is most evident is that of national security and intelligence, as has been
indicated by the continued evolution of the security and intelligence structures
of the Republic of South Africa (RSA). This change was first acknowledged on
October 21, 1994, when Minister of Justice Dullah Omar announced—in con-
junction with the release of a government White Paper on Intelligence—the
intended new structure of South Africa’s secret services. This was followed in
December 1994 by three new acts restructuring the intelligence and security ser-
vices, as well as the mechanisms for control, coordination, oversight, and
accountability. These changes were crucial to the furthering of a peaceful settle-
ment between the former apartheid government and the former liberation
groups. The new intelligence dispensation that was established in 1994 aimed, in
addition, to develop solutions for many of the problems cited in other intelli-
gence and security services.1
In representing a transitional state, moving from (in its case) white-minority
rule to universal suffrage and multi-party democracy, South Africa retains a leg-
acy from its past which has led to it both rejecting certain paths and options due
to their (imagined or real) association with that past, while retaining other
aspects of the past in the current dispensation. South Africa’s intelligence over-
— 199 —
sight and accountability mechanisms today evolved out of the intelligence dis-
pensation that existed under the apartheid regime; as such, they have both
unique characteristics for a democratic system and the failings and foibles of a
transitional state following liberation.
Understanding South Africa’s intelligence dispensation today requires an
appreciation of where it has come from.2 The evolution of South Africa’s intelli-
gence oversight and accountability parameters and structures has been neither
linear nor constant. At times in South Africa’s republican (since 1961) history, it
has had strong and clear executive accountability, while at other times the execu-
tive has sought actively to blur the lines (at the least) between its command-
authority and command-responsibility and the activities of the intelligence ser-
vices; this has been the case both before and since the 1994 transition.
During the period 1978 to 1990, under the leadership of first P. W. Botha and
later F. W. de Klerk, South Africa was a security state. While nominal political
authority and power rested with the elected cabinet ministers, the State Security
Council (SSC) was the true center of power; executive/cabinet responsibility for
intelligence and its three main agencies (South African Police Security Branch,
Directorate of Military Intelligence [DMI], and Bureau of State Security [BOSS,
later the National Intelligence Service]) was governed by the SSC through a
number of pieces of legislation (the most important being the 1972 Security
Intelligence and State Security Council Act), and military intelligence (DMI)
dominated. Indeed, while in some ways apartheid-era intelligence was character-
ized by poor coordination of intelligence, corruption, mismanagement, and
poorly defined briefs, in other ways a highly efficient intelligence and national
security system was developed, in which all government efforts were driven by
the Total National (later Counter-revolutionary) Strategy and the National
Security Management System which underpinned it,3 which oversaw the war
against the liberation movements.4 The relationship of Parliament to the intelli-
gence brief was virtually nonexistent under apartheid—with the National Party’s
total dominance of governing, there was virtually no parliamentary oversight of
intelligence under apartheid.
While that transitional period can now be said to be over, many of the prob-
lems of the transition remain. One clear legacy is its impact on not only the state
but also on the state of mind of the individuals responsible for intelligence and
security matters. There has been a lack of trust inherent in the new dispensation:
lack of trust between individuals (not just ‘‘old guard’’ and ‘‘new guard’’ but also
between the various individuals affiliated with one liberation group or party who
now find themselves working together), lack of trust in the institutions (serious
concerns exist over the functions of the National Intelligence Agency, as will be
discussed), and lack of trust in the intelligence itself—deriving from both of the
other two points and, perhaps worst of all, leading to (at times) a total politiciza-
tion of the intelligence process, with both the intelligence product becoming
politicized and the political leadership developing parallel-but-independent
intelligence structures because of their own professed lack of trust in the state
structures.
In this sense, while the institutions of oversight and accountability for the
intelligence function would appear to be strong on the surface, upon further
examination these can be found to be weak and problematic at best. That being
said, serious moves—in the form of new legislation and the establishment of new
oversight-and-accountability-related mechanisms—are being made currently to
make up for such serious shortfalls. In all of these senses, therefore, South Africa
is today—more than ten years into the post-apartheid era—faced with a continu-
ing sense of fractiousness, factionalism, lack of trust, and even corruption in its
intelligence structures. Nevertheless, it is both a product of the decisions that
were made concerning its (the intelligence structures) transformation at the end
of apartheid, and in far better shape than many other intelligence communities
that have undergone transformation.5
Given South Africa’s apparent prosperity and order against the backdrop of the
rest of sub–Saharan Africa, it is an attractive target—whether for illegal immigra-
tion or more serious threats—to others in the region; thus, a number of external
security issues impact on the domestic security of the RSA. The 1994 White
Paper on Intelligence recognized this (‘‘new global political, social and economic
problems are filtering South Africa’s borders’’), while also expressing strong con-
cerns about increased ‘‘foreign intelligence activities in South Africa.’’12 In addi-
tion, the twinned issues of domestic reconciliation coupled with internal
development were crucially linked to the abilities of the intelligence agencies in
South Africa to provide warning and assessment information to the government.
However, the politicization of the intelligence process, in many respects, coupled
with the continuing lack of national reconciliation—even now, a decade after
the end of apartheid—has meant that the intelligence processes in the country,
including the agencies, command and control, and oversight and accountability,
have been stunted and indeed, in some cases, stillborn in their abilities to truly
serve the national interest.
Through all of these negotiations, it was hoped that eventually, as Mike Louw
(then director-general of the NIS) stated, South Africa could have ‘‘an intelli-
gence service at peace with itself.’’13 In order to accomplish this, Louw went on
to say, ‘‘the watchwords must be control, accountability and supervision. Too
many people equate us with other secret organizations. We need to establish our
own identity.’’14
problems with legislation and oversight in this area, as compared to the Cana-
dian and Australian models that were most often seen as the correct approach.
The South Africans’ favorable comparisons to both the Canadian and Australian
models were frequent in both discussions and in the literature and legislation,
with the Canadian Security Intelligence Service Act and the Australian Security
Intelligence Organization Act frequently cited by the officials involved in the
policy-formulation process in South Africa.
tion, originally was to have the mandates, areas of responsibilities, and a code of
conduct for the intelligence services written into the new constitution (similar to
sections on the national defense force and the police service), it was decided that
the constitution would support only the existence of intelligence services, and
defer to the legislation governing these services in this area only. As such, while
the SANDF and SAPS are the only statutory security services in South Africa
under the terms of the constitution, the president was authorized under sections
187(1) and 196(1) to establish ‘‘what intelligence services are required.’’ How-
ever, this lack of a clear definition of South Africa’s intelligence services, as com-
pared to a concrete delineation of the police and defense force, is indicative of
the problems that the constitutional assembly encountered in debating the role
of the intelligence services and their placement in the constitution: when compar-
ing the final constitution to the interim constitution, there has been a devolution
of clarity in defining the roles, mandates, and related issues of the intelligence
services. These should have been clearly defined in the constitution, especially
given not only their specialized capabilities but also the fact that ongoing events
relating to the post-transition intelligence services have clearly indicated that
problems exist in their use by the executive. Minimally, there should have been
a well-defined link between the constitution and the code of conduct for intelli-
gence personnel contained in the White Paper on Intelligence. Although these
missions were clearly defined in the Acts of Parliament relating to intelligence,
these same acts allow sufficient latitude for these services to be utilized by the
executive and its directorship as desired in particular situations.
To counter this possibility, section 185 of the constitution indicates that the
intelligence services must be monitored, coordinated, and controlled largely in
conjunction with those principles laid out in the National Strategic Intelligence
Act, the Intelligence Services Act, and the Intelligence Services Control Act,
including multi-party parliamentary oversight of the services, civilian oversight
through an inspector-general, and coordination of all intelligence (including
defense and police) activities in South Africa. Furthermore, the security services
have been prohibited, under section 187(7), from attempting to influence, posi-
tively or negatively, the political process.
Ultimately, it was determined that the new mission of the South African intel-
ligence community (see figure 11.1) would be to safeguard the constitution;
uphold individual rights enunciated as fundamental rights in the constitution;
promote the interrelated elements of security, stability, cooperation, and devel-
opment, both within South Africa and in the region of Southern Africa; assist in
the achievement of national prosperity while making an active contribution to
global peace and other globally defined priorities for the well-being of human-
kind; and promote South Africa’s ability to face foreign threats and to enhance
its competitiveness in a dynamic world.15
Chief, National
Co-ordinated Foreign National Commissioner
Information National Provincial
Intelligence Defence
(Intelligence) Management Intelligence
Research Force
Bureau Forum Co-ordinating
Council
Committees Provincial Secretariats South
(PICOC) of Safety and Security African
National (MECs) (9) Police
Intelligence CoS Service
Agency* Intelligence*
National Crime
South African Investigation
Secret Service*
Service* National Inkatha Freedom Pan-Africanist
Party Party Congress
National
Intelligence Oversight and
Training Trewits KwaZulu-Natal Revolutionary Accountability Structures
Academy (Teenrevolusionere Police Service/ Watchdogs /
Strategie Caprivi Trainees MKAPLA
* Members of the National Intelligence Co-ordinating
Committee (NICOC) (permanent or ad hoc basis)
Intelligence Agency (NIA). It comprised those former members of the NIS, ANC
Intelligence, the Pan-Africanist Security Service, the Transkei Intelligence Ser-
vice, the Bophutatswana Internal Intelligence Service, the Venda National Intelli-
gence Service, and any other members of any intelligence service either attached
to a political organization or operating in the independent homelands or self-
governing territories.17 Although the new agency included members from all of
these services, a percentage of these former members instead became members
of the new South African Police Service rather than intelligence.18
While many would have thought that the NIS should have been disbanded
due to its links with the old order, many in the ANC argued for its retention due
to a number of factors, the most important being the NIS contribution to the
compromises that led to the settlement between the government and the ANC.
As well, the NIS possessed assets and capabilities that the ANC would not want
to lose, including sources; information on both the white right wing and extrem-
ists in political rivals such as Inkatha; technological capabilities; and greater pro-
fessional training than those in the ANC. Finally, while it was not stated openly,
the NIS also possessed information of great interest to the ANC: information on
the ANC itself, its leaders and cadres, which it accrued through the placement of
‘‘moles’’ and other penetration exercises into the ANC and PAC ranks. The NIS
could have inflicted considerable damage on the Government of National Unity
by loosing this information.19 The structure was left intact through a mutual
agreement reached between the NIS and ANC prior to the elections so that the
‘‘constant flow of intelligence should not be disrupted’’ in order to ensure ‘‘a
balance between continuity and change.’’20 Similarly, the principle of ‘‘effective
management’’ was established to ensure that those serving at the upper manage-
ment positions would be competent and not simply political appointees; this
would also prevent the disruption of the intelligence process by affirmative
action programs.21
The mission of the NIA—as the domestic intelligence service—was defined in
the White Paper as being to ‘‘conduct security intelligence within the borders of
the Republic of South Africa in order to protect the constitution,’’ with an overall
focus being ‘‘to ensure the security and stability of the State and the safety and
well-being of its citizens.’’22 This means that the NIA carries out counter-intelli-
gence and counter-terrorism operations domestically, acting alongside the SAPS
to detect, deter, and prevent terrorism, insurgency, foreign espionage, and other
activities that could undermine the state.23
In addition, the former Crime Combating and Investigation Division of the
South African Police, established in April 1991 with the merger of the SAP Secur-
ity Branch and the Crime Investigation Division, was disbanded in July 1994. In
its stead, the South African Police Service National Crime Investigation Service
(NCIS) was created, solely concerned with crime intelligence and no longer with
issues of national security.24
gather, correlate, evaluate, and use foreign military intelligence, and supply foreign
military intelligence relating to national strategic intelligence to [the National Intel-
ligence Coordinating Committee] . . . gather, correlate, evaluate and use domestic
military intelligence excluding covert collection except when employed for service
referred to in section 227(1)(e) of the constitution . . . and institute counter-intelli-
gence measures within the National Defence Forces.
Rather than fully disband—and reject—the old apartheid structures, the GNU
decided to keep and reform the national coordinating structures, at both the
national and provincial levels. While questions remained as to the need for such
a system, it soon became apparent that the country’s level of violent crime—
including criminal violence, the ‘‘taxi wars’’ of the mid-1990s, and increasing
politico-religious-criminal activities such as Muslim vigilantes in the Western
Cape Province—and external infiltration meant that the GNU was concerned to
retain the ability to share intelligence quickly across the national and provincial
structures. A more cynical view would also say that once the ANC came into
control of much of the national security apparatus which had existed under
apartheid, it was loathe to give it up.
Whatever the case, the reforms to the old structures meant that a newly
formed Cabinet Committee on Security and Intelligence (CCSI), in cooperation
with other cabinet committees, would direct security policy; within this struc-
ture, it was plain from the transition of power that the old securocrats had been
removed and new individuals appointed at all managerial and ministerial levels
by the GNU. The new National Intelligence Coordinating Committee (NICOC)
was authorized to oversee the coordination of the intelligence services, to investi-
gate the activities of any service that appeared to contravene its mandate, and to
provide intelligence information to the TEC and its other sub-councils. It reports
to the president through the CCSI and comprises the National Intelligence Coor-
dinator, the director-general of each service (including the NCIS and Defense
Intelligence) and, on an ad hoc basis, the inspectors-general, the deputy directors
of each services, and parliamentary representatives. NICOC has the following
specific and inherent functions, among others:
Similar to NICOC, at the provincial levels there exist Provincial Intelligence Co-
ordinating Committees, chaired by provincial coordinators. In conjunction with
the position of the provincial Members of Executive Councils (MECs) for Safety
and Security, and Provincial Secretariats for Safety and Security coordinating and
overseeing SAPS activities at the provincial level, a clear national security struc-
ture emerged, which (as noted earlier) reflects closely the apartheid-era NSMS
structures. It was felt that a strong national security system was required to
ensure coordination, accountability, and the continuous flow of essential intelli-
gence to the executive.
A further mechanism for such coordination, but outside the formal chain of
responsibility, was established through the appointment of an advisory board for
the directors-general of both the NIA and SASS as mandated in section 31 of the
Intelligence Services Act. The function of these bodies is to advise the director-
general on the use of their powers.33
In addition to these formalized structures of coordination, a number of
agreements were reached between the security services on sharing intelligence in
pursuit of domestic security issues. The most important of these was a memoran-
dum of understanding concluded between SAPS, the NIA, SASS, and the SANDF
on May 10, 1996, which would ensure the sharing of information relating to
combating organized crime. Included in the memorandum is a provision to
establish a National Management Forum attached to NICOC, which will coordi-
nate the anti-crime strategy between the security agencies.34
Finally, for accountability purposes, the civilian services are directly responsi-
ble to the Office of the State president, originally through the deputy minister
who reported to the minister of justice (although this has now been replaced
by a minister of intelligence); in the case of Defence Intelligence and the NCIS,
responsibility flows respectively through the SANDF chief of staff (Intelligence)
and the defence secretary in consultation with the minister of defence, and the
SAPS national commissioner in consultation with the minister of safety and
security and secretary for safety and security to the president.
Questions were raised early on, however, on the sanctity of the Committee’s
secrecy, given that a number of parties sitting on the committee were deeply
implicated (to varying degrees) in allegations of links to so-called ‘‘third-force’’
and other destabilizing activities aimed at the new democratic process; this was
especially the case with Deputy Minister of Safety and Security Joe Matthews, the
Inkatha Freedom Party (IFP) representative on the JSCI, who was closely linked
with IFP attempts at resurrecting their intelligence capacity.44
A recent and welcome move has also been the requirement for the Committee
to ‘‘within two months after 31 March in each year, table in Parliament a report
on the activities of the Committee during the preceding year, together with the
findings made by it and the recommendations it deems appropriate, and provide
a copy thereof to the president and the Minister responsible for each Service’’; it
was furthermore required to ‘‘furnish Parliament, the president or such Minister
with a special report concerning any matter relating to the performance of its
functions.’’45
Further, a code of conduct has been written into the Intelligence Services Act
as an additional mechanism of oversight and accountability. This code emerged
out of discussions between the ANC and NIS in which the ANC wanted detailed
guidelines with real regulatory powers which spelled out the rights of operatives,
how to handle sources, and so on. The NIS argued that this would make intelli-
gence work extremely difficult, possibly even endangering operations and agents;
it wanted a code which would bind agents as little as possible.46 The compromise,
written into the purview of the minister responsible for the intelligence brief,
became the code of conduct. It includes provisions that all members of the secret
services shall adhere to the basic principles of their profession, as well as the poli-
cies, regulations, and directives of their respective services; shall respect the
norms, values, and principles of a democratic society including the basic human
rights of individuals; shall strive to be responsible in the handling of information
and intelligence, and shall at all costs prevent the wrongful disclosure of national
security interests; shall commit themselves to the promotion of mutual trust
between policy-makers and professional intelligence workers, as well as coopera-
tion with all the members of the intelligence community; and will conduct
themselves in their personal life in a manner which will not prejudice their orga-
nization, their profession and fellow craftsmen, or the facilities entrusted to
them.47 Breaches of this code and other guidelines were laid out very specifically
in the Intelligence Services Act;48 should violations or misconduct occur, the
director-general of each service is mandated with presidential authority to
‘‘charge any member with misconduct,’’ to establish a board of inquiry following
an unsatisfactory explanation from the individual in question, and to sentence
that individual should he or she be found guilty; these powers could be used
extra-territorially should the offense occur outside of South Africa’s borders but
still fall under the purview of the Intelligence Service Act.49 Finally, the code had
the function of authorizing intelligence officers to disobey any orders that con-
travened either the code or other statutes on operational capabilities.50
At the same time the Intelligence Services Control Act created the positions
of inspectors-general for the services (NIA, SASS, Defense Intelligence, NCIS),
to whom the director-general of each service is accountable. The Office of the
Inspectors-General includes an investigation arm, a legal section and an informa-
tion resource center. The inspectors-general are to review the activities of the
intelligence services and to monitor their compliance with policy guidelines and
other established mandates and principles. They are allowed full access to docu-
ments, budgets, reports, and all other classified information; each director-
general is mandated to ensure that all matters of interest and concern having
to do with the services is brought to the immediate attention of the inspectors-
general.51
A worrying sign overall is that in the eight years of the new intelligence dis-
pensation, the post has only been occupied twice briefly, with each incumbent
resigning soon after taking office. This, in addition to the continued ‘‘tinkering’’
with the mandate and role of the inspector-general (IG) in the legislation, would
appear to indicate a serious concern over this one key—indeed, crucial—area of
oversight.
The role of the IG changed further with subsequent legislation: first, in a seri-
ous change from the previous, the Intelligence Services Control Amendment Act
1999 stated that there would now be ‘‘one or more Inspectors-General of Intelli-
gence,’’ rather than the previous dictate of ‘‘for each Service an Inspector-
General.’’52 It also stipulated that the IG could be approved by ‘‘at least two
thirds’’ of the members, rather than the previous ‘‘majority of at least 75 per
cent’’—relating clearly to the failures to appoint an IG successfully.53 The IG’s
purview was also expanded in section 6 of the Act as being ‘‘to receive and inves-
tigate complaints from members of the public and members of the Services on
alleged maladministration, abuse of power, transgressions of the laws and poli-
cies referred to in paragraph (a), corruption and the improper enrichment of any
person through an act or omission of any member.’’54 In relation to this, it was
stipulated that an IG ‘‘shall have access to any intelligence, information or prem-
ises under the control of the Service in respect of which he or she has been
appointed. . . . No access to intelligence, information or premises . . . may be
withheld from an Inspector-General on any ground.’’55
These problems were thrown into an even starker light when the subsequent
Intelligence Services Control Amendment Act 2002 deemed that there should
only be one inspector-general of intelligence—once again pointing to the diffi-
culty in appointing even one, let alone multiple IGs. The IG’s overall mandate
was again expanded ‘‘(a) to monitor compliance by Service with the constitution,
National Crime
South African Investigation
Secret Service*
Service*
It is clear that the new intelligence structures in South Africa are the product
of great negotiation and discussion; while these appeared to achieve initial suc-
cesses, over the course of the mid- to late 1990s, the scandals, questionable (and
sometimes outright illegal, as in allegations of NIA spying on the leadership of
the National Party and the SAPS in the mid-1990s) activities, and ongoing failure
to secure all the instruments of oversight has meant that South Africa’s intelli-
gence services are very much in crisis—and show little sign of recovery. During
the 1990s, South African intelligence suffered from numerous scandals—
including accusations of ‘‘bugging’’ each other; spying on political opposition
parties; spying on friendly governments’ diplomatic missions; the unlawful and
suspicious deaths of at least two leading intelligence figures; allegations of collu-
sion with the so-called ‘‘third force’’ of former apartheid and former ANC intelli-
gence and special forces operatives engaged in destabilizing the country;
collusion with the country’s top bank-robbers, themselves alleged to be former
members of an ANC Special Forces unit; and other scandals.67
As mandated in the 1994 Intelligence Services Act, the directors-general of
each agency are responsible for ensuring not only that all national security intelli-
gence, collection methods, sources, and the identities of members are protected
to the fullest extent from unauthorized disclosure, but as well to ensure that ‘‘no
action is carried out that could give rise to any reasonable suspicion that the
Agency or Service . . . is concerned in furthering, protecting or undermining the
interests of any section of the population or any political party or organiza-
tion.’’68 This politicization is really notable in three regards:
Aiming to match the current political climate, both through the placement
of ANC loyalists in key positions within the intelligence services and from
those within the services wishing to simply meet the anticipated expecta-
tions of the political leadership (the least problematic of the three).
(Somewhat following from the first) ensuring factional integration within
the intelligence services between old enemies. Early on in the integration
process, there were strong concerns regarding not only the independence of
the public service from ANC party policy, but as well an increasing degree
of dissatisfaction within the public service and an increasing number of res-
ignations. Reports of ‘‘factionalism’’ within the NIA emerged, indicating
that similar problems that existed within the ANC during exile have not
been solved, but rather enhanced with the power such individuals and fac-
tions have found in their new positions; this is in addition to the not-sur-
prising division between the old and new guards. These problems appear to
persist.69
Finally, the development of parallel intelligence structures for political pur-
poses due to a total lack of trust in the national intelligence functions—
Overall, this raises serious questions regarding the separation of policy surround-
ing intelligence from that of ANC party policy itself: the two must remain sepa-
rate and distinct for obvious reasons. As one government source stated to the
author in the late 1990s:
No government can rule effectively without having the power to ensure that the
leadership of the government departments will act according to the political will of
the government. The old civil service was full of personnel who had no commit-
ment to fulfill the will of the new government—should we have left them in an
untransformed civil service?73
Ironically, this has led—it could be argued—to the re-emergence of the domi-
nance of ‘‘securocrats’’ within the South African government, albeit this time
ANC ones.
Conclusions
Is South Africa to be held to higher standards than other countries? A severe
critique—and this is a severe critique—would say yes, if for no other reason than
that the architects of South Africa’s new intelligence dispensation stated that they
would hold themselves to far higher standards than not only the system that they
looked to replace, but also international standards for the field. The professions
of the ANC intelligence professionals in the period before and during the TEC
process, as well as those sentiments enunciated in the White Paper on Intelli-
gence, were toward the highest standard of quality, transparency, accountability,
control, and oversight; regrettably, any clear assessment of the current state of
South Africa’s intelligence dispensation would note failings (and worse) in each
of these areas.
In assessing the South African experience and dispensation, only a barely
passing grade should be granted to South Africa in terms of the strength of its
accountability and oversight mechanisms for intelligence. The intelligence ser-
vices are barely independent from the executive—indeed, in some senses they
could be seen as slaves to the executive’s policies and interests. The oversight
mechanisms remain fragile and bare; while Parliamentary oversight has strength-
ened over the last decade—in terms of its membership, staff, access, and proac-
tivity—the continuing failure to appoint a lasting inspector-general for the
intelligence services is a glaring void in oversight.74
If a balance can now be found between the ANC domination of the govern-
ment and public service—which bears with great importance on the absolute
necessity for clear coordination and accountability within the security services—
and the concerns of the professionals who serve in these agencies, a peaceful and
stable environment will be developed for an equitable future within the country’s
intelligence community. As has already been seen from the decade of the new
dispensation, clear problems exist in coordination between services and coopera-
tion not only with each other but also with the political leaders of the day. This
problem must be solved to ensure a peaceful future both within the services and
within South Africa itself.
Notes
1. This chapter results in part from interviews conducted with official and private
sources in South Africa, Canada, Britain, Australia, and the United States during 1994–
2000. As most of these interviews were confidential in nature, I have tried to indicate
general sources for such information in this chapter. Where this has not been possible,
no reference will be cited.
2. An extensive understanding of the apartheid intelligence and security structures can
be drawn from Kenneth W. Grundy, The Militarization of South African Politics
(Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1986); and Kevin A. O’Brien, ‘‘The Use of Assas-
sination as a Tool of State Policy: South Africa’s Counter-Revolutionary Strategy 1979–
1992,’’ Terrorism and Political Violence. Part I: 10:3 (Summer 1998): 34–51 and Part II:
13:2 (Spring 2001): 107–42; Annette Seegers, The Military in the Making of Modern South
Africa (London: Tauris Academic Books, 1996). As well, see Republic of South Africa
Report of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission 1:2 ‘‘Historical Context: Gross Human
Rights Violations in Political and Historical Perspective’’: www.polity.org.za/govdocs/
commissions/1998/trc/1chap2.htm, and all further chapters in the Report; and National
Party of South Africa, Second Submission of the National Party to the Truth and Reconcilia-
tion Commission: www.truth.org.za/submit/np2.htm.
3. South Africa was run with every element of society geared towards fighting the
war—resulting in the total and integrated coordination of every sector of society into a
nationally-managed security architecture (whose aspects would include the military,
political, social, welfare, economic, etc.) to oversee the implementation of this ‘‘total
national strategy.’’
4. Annette Seegers, The Military in the Making of Modern South Africa (London:
Tauris Academic Books, 1996), 126–32.
5. On the evolution of the South African security establishment at the end of apart-
heid, see Robert d’A. Henderson, ‘‘South African Intelligence Under de Klerk,’’ Interna-
tional Journal of Intelligence and Counterintelligence 8:1 (Spring 1995); and the author’s
Conclusions
— 225 —
and accessible. This spurred the governments of various states that are parties to
the European Convention of Human Rights (ECHR—forty-six European mem-
ber States in 2004, whose services mainly functioned on the basis of executive
decrees and directives) to enact or improve legislation concerning their intelli-
gence and security services. The United Kingdom, Norway, Sweden, and the
Netherlands, for instance, all have made these legal changes. The growing, if
modest, influence of the ECtHR on the democratic oversight of intelligence and
secret services is a significant development, for it implies a slowly expanding
body of pan-European legal norms for oversight beyond the nation state itself.
The politicization of intelligence is another recent development addressed in
this volume (see chapter 2 by Peter Gill), in terms of the actions of the UK and
U.S. governments, which led the invasion of Iraq in 2003. The governments of
both countries were accused of politicizing or ‘‘cooking’’ intelligence to create a
stronger case for war against Saddam Hussein. This selective use of intelligence,
runs the argument, enabled the second Bush Administration and the Blair
Administration to market a doctrine of preemptive (or, more accurately, preven-
tive) war to block the further development and proliferation of weapons of mass
destruction (WMDs).1
One can argue that intelligence is always politicized to a certain extent, in that
intelligence is supposed to support the decisions and policy priorities of political
leaders. Indeed, the collection and analysis of information is inherently meant
for use in policy formulation and implementation. Otherwise intelligence would
simply be irrelevant to the political leadership. As a general trend, however, an
excessive politicization of the intelligence services may be partially a product of
the recent democratization of intelligence oversight. The greater role for parlia-
ments and their oversight committees in the review of intelligence activities,
along with the removal of the total blanket of secrecy that historically surrounded
the intelligence agencies, may have resulted in an increase in the political and
public pressures on these agencies.
Democratically elected governments can no longer simply refuse to comment
on intelligence issues; governments now are increasingly forced to use complex
media strategies to win over both parliaments and the media to their cause,
including the use of the infamous ‘‘spin doctors.’’ The danger might be that the
politicization of intelligence will lead to increased public cynicism, mistrust, and
paranoia, which in turn might harm citizen trust in the intelligence services and
the political system. The question remains as to whether the politicization of
intelligence is caused by the processes of democratization and expanding over-
sight in this secret world, or the fact that political leaders have always politicized
intelligence but such actions are only now visible because of the recent democra-
tization of intelligence oversight.
................. 11310$
human rights protection. (non-MPs) but appointed by the Committee about
Parliament. future operations.
(D) 1995 Overviews, legality, policy, Commission scrutinizes the Parliamentary oversight body; 9 MPs No. No legal duty.
Poland administration, and international services’ draft budget and its as member max, appointed by
CH12
cooperation of services. Effectiveness implementation. parliament. All members undergo
is not checked. security vetting.
(E) 1994 Its oversight purview includes The Committee does not oversee Parliamentary oversight body; Yes No legal duty.
South legislation, activities, administration, the intelligence services’ budgets committee consists of 15 MPs,
Africa financial management, and per se, but its purview includes appointed by president. Members are
expenditure of the services. financial management of the vetted.
services.
05-16-05 11:38:28
(F) 1994 It examines and comments legislation, The Committee has no budget Parliamentary oversight body of 12 No No legal duty.
South effectiveness of the Services. It holds powers. members, put forward by political
PS
Korea hearings on individuals nominated for parties.
senior positions in the NIS.
(G) (1989) Finance, administration and policy of Committee scrutinizes the Parliamentary oversight body of 9 No. No legal duty
United 1994 MI5, MI6, and GCHQ with a view on finance together with the Public members drawn from both Houses of
Kingdom efficiency. It does not check legality Accounts Committee but has no Parliament, appointed by the prime
authorization power. minister
(H) 1974 Reviews all intelligence agencies. Both oversight committees Two congressional oversight Yes, on both Yes, except in times of
United Approves top intelligence possess authorization and committees, consisting of 20 (House) committees acute emergency, in
States appointments. It checks both legality appropriation powers. and 17 (Senate) congressmen, which the agencies can
and effectiveness of the services. appointed by House and Senate delay reporting for 2
PAGE 230
leaders days
Balancing Operational Efficiency and Democratic Legitimacy 231
all layers of society. So, how, if at all, could these behemoth organizations be
contained and put under democratic oversight?
The secret services in these regimes acquired enormous powers, even after the
turn to democracy, as Andrzej Zybertowicz argues in chapter 8. To fully under-
stand the intricate relationship between the nascent Polish democracy and that
nation’s intelligence services, one must understand the concept of a ‘‘security
complex’’ in Poland. According to Zybertowicz, it consists of the main three
secret and intelligence services, along with private security and detective organi-
zations and former secret collaborators of the communist services who remain
active in business, the media, and politics. In addition, the security complex
includes other state institutions that are authorized to collect information, such
as border guards, custom services, and the Ministry of Finance’s units dealing
with tax crimes. After 1989, many security and intelligence services were either
closed or forced to drastically downsize their personnel. In some cases, 75 per-
cent of the personnel were fired. Many of the former communist functionaries
found their way into new services. For example, according to Zybertowicz, two-
thirds of the newly established Polish security service’s staff came from the old
services.
The parliamentary oversight body in Poland was only set up in 1995, and its
members are from both the ruling and opposition parties, with the chairman
drawn from the opposition. Zybertowicz explicitly points out the danger of hav-
ing many of the alleged functionaries of the former communist intelligence ser-
vices active in politics, either as high-level government officials or as members of
Parliament. According to him, this development brings with it the danger that
the principal-agent relations may become blurred or even reversed. It can also
create a situation in which the services can blackmail their principals. During the
1990s, the services frequently came forward with accusations that specific leading
politicians—including a prime minister—had been spying for the former com-
munist security services.
During the ‘‘Junta’’ dictatorship in Argentina, the security services were used
for the brutal repression of any form of opposition and were integrally associated
with human rights abuses. Since the move to democracy in 1983, relevant
reforms have come a long way (as disclosed in chapter 9). The Argentinean
National Congress only legalized the entire intelligence system in 2001. Having
previously experienced a repressive secret services apparatus, the lawmakers
explicitly forbade the services from conducting repressive activities, having com-
pulsory powers, fulfilling police functions, or conducting criminal investigations
without explicit authorization. The lawmakers also forbade the services from col-
lecting and keeping data on individuals because of their race, religion, political,
or union affiliations. The 2001 legislation also established a parliamentary over-
sight committee with far-reaching oversight powers (see table 12.1). Notably,
secret expenditures are subject to congressional oversight and approval.
Until 1987, South Korea was a military dictatorship and could be character-
ized as a ‘‘national security state.’’ The essence of a security state is that nearly all
aspects of public, economic, and political life are regarded as national security
issues. The military and the security and intelligence services of South Korea
played a key role in upholding this security state. They controlled businesses,
repressed labor and student organizations, and tightly regulated other civil soci-
ety groups. As a result of its size, resources, and networks with politics and soci-
ety, it was and continues to be a powerful force with a major influence on
politics. After South Korea’s transition to democracy in 1987, the problems with
reforming the National Intelligence Service (NIS) cannot be attributed solely to
weak parliamentary oversight. Intertwined with a strong executive, the role of
unofficial political networks, and the politics of national security legislation, the
security services are strong and cannot be checked by parliamentary oversight
alone. To this day, the executive controls the services without a transparent sys-
tem of checks and balances. According to Jonathan Moran (in chapter 10), one
of the persistent problems facing South Korea is that the president and his family
allegedly used the secret service for their own political and commercial benefits,
including illegally wiretapping members of the opposition as well as journalists
and businessmen. The main challenge in South Korea today is not that the secret
and intelligence services are out of control, but that they are too closely con-
trolled by the presidential office, without parliamentary checks. Moreover, exec-
utive control exists without a clear system of tasking and directing, relying
instead on an informal network of politicians. The parliamentary intelligence
oversight body is weak, reflecting the National Assembly’s weak power base vis-
à-vis the executive. The strong position of the executive and the services might
also be explained by the continuous threat from North Korea. One might argue
that on the Korean Peninsula the Cold War still continues, perpetuating a
‘‘security state’’ environment.
After peacefully shedding the apartheid regime, the reform and control of the
intelligence and secret services in South Africa was not an easy task. In 2004, a
decade after the democratization processes started, many transition problems
still remain. According to Kevin O’Brien (chapter 11), the main obstacle is the
lack of trust between individuals in politics and intelligence, between the old and
the new guard within the intelligence service itself, and a lack of trust by the
general public toward intelligence. Unfortunate, too, is the fact that the intelli-
gence process already seems to be politicized, with the political leadership devel-
oping parallel independent intelligence structures.
Nevertheless, the progress in overseeing and reforming the secret services has
seen some notable advances. In 1994, the ANC and the last apartheid govern-
ment decided to disband the existing security services, in favor of establishing a
new agency (which included former apartheid intelligence officers, ANC intelli-
gence members, and intelligence services of other liberation movements). Fur-
ther, in 1994, at the beginning of South Africa’s transition to democracy, the
government enacted new laws with respect to the intelligence services and their
oversight. Through these laws, various means of supervision were created, such
as a multi-party parliamentary oversight committee, an independent inspector-
general, and a code of conduct for intelligence personnel. The parliamentary
committee, whose members are appointed by the president, has a broad man-
date, including the review of administration, expenditure, financial management,
and functioning of the services. The committee has access to all information
(except sources, methods, and current operations); it can propose new legisla-
tion; and it may order investigations and hold hearings. However, although these
oversight procedures may look strong on paper, they are weak and problematic
in practice. According to O’Brien, the intelligence services are not independent
from the executive and can be seen as willing servants of the executive’s policies
and interests. Presently, the key issue is to find a balance between ANC’s domi-
nation in government and the integrity and independence of the professionals
working in the intelligence services.
To summarize, democratic oversight of intelligence and security services in
transition states is an ongoing concern. For the most part, intelligence oversight
seems to be dominated by the president or government, which gives leeway for
politicization or misuse of the services by the executive. In most of the selected
transition states, political neutrality of the services and respect for human rights
are codified in intelligence legislation and in codes of conduct for service profes-
sionals. Independent parliamentary oversight bodies are being created. On paper
these structures look very promising, but an analysis of the reality of intelligence
oversight reveals that many challenges still lie ahead.
Good Practices
What makes an intelligence oversight body strong and effective? The answer to
this question depends on the goals one has in mind. As previously mentioned,
oversight refers to maintaining public accountability over the services, without
the sense of taking over a government’s responsibility for directing, tasking, and
judging the priorities of the intelligence services. This process of accountability
can only succeed if the overseers have the necessary legal authority and will to
exercise meaningful review. Without legal powers, financial resources, and staff,
an oversight body is deemed to be a ‘‘toothless’’ institution, no match for a gov-
ernment or its intelligence services. Yet, conversely, is it possible that oversight
might hinder effective intelligence gathering and analysis through legislative
................. 11310$
(C) Yes, very independent. Can investigate what it chooses Unlimited access to all No leaks from the Committee Small secretariat (One
Norway within its mandate. documents. since its establishment in 1995. administrative assistant and two
lawyers working on a half-time
basis).
CH12
(D) Commission members have often Commission lacks investigative Very much dependent on the Occasionally Commission The Commission possesses a
Poland been accused of being too deeply powers. Criticized for lacking own discretion of the services. members have leaked information permanent administrative staff of
connected to the services. initiatives. to the press. three people. The staff performs
only administrative tasks.
(E) Committee members are Committee has broad and By law unlimited access to Negligible—scandals have Ample.
South appointed by president based on intrusive powers. information except on sources. occurred frequently during the
Africa parliamentary first ten years of the Committee’s
05-16-05 11:38:33
proportionally—and report to the existence.
president, who reports to
PS
Parliament.
(F) The Committee reflects the Meager use of its investigation Access guaranteed by law, Adequate. The Committee is very small and
South weakness of the National powers. negligible performance by the not well resourced.
Korea Assembly vis-à-vis the executive. Services to grant access.
(G) Behaves independently, although Can investigate what it chooses Yes, some ‘sensitive’ material can No leaks from the Committee Only one investigator.
United appointed by and reports to the within its mandate. be refused. since its establishment in 1994.
Kingdom PM.
(H) Yes, very independent. Yes, e.g. Joint Committee inquiry Total Access. Leaks are rare. Ample.
United into 9/11.
States
PAGE 237
238 Who’s Watching the Spies
can decide to inquire into whatever subject it chooses. The research indi-
cates that the oversight bodies of the countries studied here have the capac-
ity to initiate investigations on the basis of complaints or as a result of
its own conclusions. However, in Poland and South Korea (two transition
states), the respective oversight bodies rarely use their investigative powers.
3. Do the overseers have access to classified documents? The oversight com-
mittees in most countries have full access to secret documents, although
some access is denied in the case of information related to sources, meth-
ods, and ongoing operations. Rarely, if ever, would an overseer need access
to the names of agents or sensitive modus operandi—highly classified and
compartmented information.
4. Are the oversight committees able to maintain secrets? Though in many
countries the argument is used that parliamentarians cannot keep secrets
and that the Parliament, as an open institution, is ill suited for discussing
secrets, the country studies here suggest that oversight committees have
displayed a capacity to maintain secrecy. Leaks have rarely occurred. As a
matter of fact, the U.S. case study indicates that the executive branch leaks
far more, for political purposes, than the legislative branch.
5. The issue of support staff refers to whether the oversight body has adequate
personnel to conduct meaningful research and to help carry out inspection
visits, hearings, and investigations. Especially valuable are experts and
investigators who are familiar with intelligence and security services. The
results show that most oversight bodies have limited resources and staff.
Apparently, the creators of the selected oversight bodies have been hesitant
to set up a counter-bureaucracy responsible for reviewing the intelligence
bureaucracy.
In addition to these good practices, perhaps the best practice is for democratic
intelligence oversight to become a norm for all government, with a substantial
role for parliament and a solid statutory foundation. The intelligence services
themselves are likely to benefit from this approach, for it can contribute to the
thoughtful crafting of intelligence operations and, even more importantly, pro-
vide them with legitimacy. That is a vital result in a free society.
Notes
1. The second Bush Administration and others used the phrase ‘‘preemption’’ as
though it were interchangeable with the phrase ‘‘preventive war,’’ although in fact the two
are distinct strategic concepts. The doctrine of preventive war assumes that war with
another nation is inevitable; therefore, it is better to begin the war straight away rather
than wait until the adversary grows stronger. Despite its use of the term preemption, the
second Bush Administration’s planning about Iraq appeared to be dominated by preven-
tive war thinking. Used more precisely, preemption refers in contrast to a nation’s deci-
sion to conduct a quick strike against another threatening nation, based on reliable
intelligence that the adversary is about to launch an attack [See James J. Wirtz and James
A. Russell, ‘‘U.S. Policy on Preventive War and Preemption, The Nonproliferation Review
(Spring 2003), 113–23.] Whatever definition one prefers, these doctrines underscore the
increasing importance of intelligence in foreign and defense policy.
2. Compare with Lawrence Lustgarten and Ian Leigh, In from the Cold: National
Security and Parliamentary Democracy (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1994), and Hans Born,
Philipp Fluri, and Anders Johnson, Parliamentary Oversight of the Security Sector: Princi-
ples, Mechanisms and Practices, Inter-Parliamentary Union Handbook nr. 5 for Parlia-
mentarians (Geneva: IPU and Geneva, 2003).
3. Compare, Hans Born and Heiner Hänggi, ‘The Double Democratic Deficit’ Parlia-
mentary Accountability of the Use of Force under International Auspices (Aldershot, UK:
Ashgate Publishers, 2004).
— 241 —
files government
Argentina and, 169 and Iraq invasion, 16–22
ECtHR on, 39–40, 42–48 and knowledge/power model, 16
the United Kingdom and, 81, 96n6 and oversight, 22–27
Financial Transactions and Reports Analy- Government Communications Headquar-
sis Centre, Canada, 101, 110, 116 ters (GCHQ), UK, 27, 79–80
fire-alarm model of oversight, 59–61, functions of, 82, 96n12
238–39 Government Intelligence Community
Canada and, 115–16 (WIR), Poland, 150
ECHR and, 37–38 Government of National Unity (GNU),
Ford administration, 66, 70 South Africa, 201, 207, 210, 218
Foreign Affairs Committee (FAC), UK, 22, Graham, Bob, 70
24 Grand National Party, South Korea, 188,
foreign intelligence 191
Canada and, 101 Greece, intelligence reform in, 4
South Africa and, 208 grievance, 6, 59
Foreign Intelligence Agency (AW), Poland, Guantanamo Naval Base, 5
146, 148, 150 Gulf War, Second. See Iraq War
Foreign Intelligence Surveillance Act Gun, Katherine, 33n95
(FISA) Court, U.S., 74
Foreign Office, UK, 27 Hamilton, Lee H., 58, 72
forty-five-minute claim, 18–22, 24 Hanahoe society, 185
Fowler, Wyche, 58–59, 73 Hanssen, Robert P., 66
Franks Inquiry, UK, 32n74 Harman, Harriet, 95n3
Freeh, Louis, 62 Hellfire missiles, 65
Furre Case, 133–34 Hersh, Seymour, 64
Hewitt, Patricia, 95n3
G10 legislation, 41 Hewitt, Steve, 100
General Direction of Military Reconnai- Hewitt and Harman v. UK (No. 1), 44–45
sance, Poland, 146 Hewitt and Harman v. UK (No. 2), 46–47
General Intelligence Law Amendment Act, Holimisa, Bantu, 222n70
South Africa, 204, 215 Homeland Security Council, U.S., 5
Geneva Centre for the Democratic Control Home Office, UK, 27
of Armed Forces, ix Hoon, Geoff, 92–93
Germany House Permanent Select Committee on
Federal Constitutional Court, 42, 52n39 Intelligence (HPSCI), U.S., 61–62, 68,
G10 legislation, 41, 42, 51n35, 52n39 71, 73
Klass v. FRG, 41, 42 Howard, Michael, 30n3
loyalty test for teachers, 38 Hughes-Ryan Act, U.S., 64
system of intelligence oversight in, human intelligence (HUMINT)
52n43, 124 Butler report on, 26
Gill, Peter, 12–33 Senate Intelligence Committee on, 26
Gilligan, Andrew, 22, 24, 27–28 the United States and, 61
Globus II, Norway, 138 human rights, 226
Goldwater, Barry, 69 in Argentina, 160
Goss, Porter, 72 discourse, in East Asia, 196n2
Goss-Graham Committee of Inquiry, 61, versus national security, 35–36
69 in South Korea, 193–94
Intelligence Services Act, South Africa, 204, Joint Intelligence Committee (JIC), U.S.,
213, 215, 217 63
Intelligence Services Act, UK, 9, 79–81 Joint Oversight Committee, Argentina,
and South Africa, 203–204 163, 170, 172–73, 175
Intelligence Services Control Act, South powers of, 173
Africa, 204 Joint Parliamentary Committee, Australia,
Intelligence Services Control Amendment 112
Act, South Africa, 204, 212, 214–15 Joint Standing Committee on Intelligence
Intelligence Services Council on Condi- (JSCI), South Africa, 211–16
tions of Service, 215 role of, 212
Interception of Communications Act Joint Terrorism Analysis Centre, UK, 5
(IOC), UK, 40 Jong Joo-pyo, 192
Interior Security Council, Argentina, 170 judicial oversight
internal security, Argentina and, 163 in South Korea, 192
Internal Security Law, Argentina, 161–63 in the United Kingdom, 82
international cooperation, the United judicial restraint, 36
Kingdom and, 82 Justice Department, U.S., 68–69
International Covenant for Civil and Polit- Justicialist Party, Argentina, 173, 175
ical Rights, 190
Juvenal, 116
investigative hearings
in Argentina, 174
in Canada, 109 Kala v. Turkey, 52n48
investigative powers, recommendations Kay, David, 17
for, 236–38 Kean Commission, 61, 68
Investigatory Powers Tribunal, UK, 82–83 Kelly, David, 24–25, 27–28, 93
Iran-Contra scandal, 58, 61, 70 Kim Chae Kyu, 183
Iraqi National Congress, 18 Kim Dae Jung, 182, 185, 188, 192–93
Iraqi Survey Group, 17, 26 Kim Deok, 184–85
Iraq War, 58, 228 Kim Ki-seop, 188
ISC and, 92 Kim Young Sam, 182, 184–85, 188
politicization of intelligence and, 12–33 King, Tom, 89–90
the United Kingdom and, 83 Kirchner, Nestor, 176
Israeli site bombings, Argentina, 164, 172, Klass v. FRG, 39, 41–42
174 Koh, Harold Hongju, 65
Italy, intelligence reform in, 4 Kola Peninsula, 121
Iwanicki, Stanislaw, 148 Korean Central Intelligence Agency
(KCIA), 180, 183, 186
J-2 Intelligence, Argentina, 162
Koslowski, Krzysztof, 150
Johnson, Loch K., 57–78, 225–39
Ko Young-Koo, 192, 195
Johnson, Lyndon B., 64
Kruslin v. France, 40
Joint Coordinating Intelligence Committee
(JCIC), South Africa, 201–202
Joint Intelligence Committee (JIC), UK, Labour Party, Norway, 123
79, 86 Lawyers for a Democratic Society, 193
chairman of, 83 Leander v. Sweden, 44, 46–47
cooperation with oversight, 91–92 least restrictive alternative, 6
function of, 83 Lee Jong Chan, 185
and Iraq invasion, 16–17, 20 legal reform, 4–5
and media, 27 ECtHR and, 40–41
Dr. Hans Born, Senior Fellow, Geneva Centre for the Democratic Control of
Armed Forces, Geneva, Switzerland, h.born@dcaf.ch
Dr. Iain Cameron, Professor in Public International Law, Faculty of Law, Uni-
versity of Uppsala, Uppsala, Sweden, Cameron@jur.uu.se
Mr. Eduardo E. Estévez, Member of Asociación para Polı́ticas Públicas; former
advisor to the Interior Security Secretariat, Ministry of Justice, Security and
Human Rights, Buenos Aires, Argentina, eduardoestevez@hotmail.com
Dr. Stuart Farson, Lecturer, Political Science Department, Simon Fraser Univer-
sity, Vancouver/Surrey, Canada, farson@sfu.ca
Dr. Peter Gill, Reader in Politics and Security, Liverpool John Moores Univer-
sity, Liverpool, United Kingdom, p.gill@livjm.ac.uk
Dr. Loch K. Johnson, Regents Professor of Political Science, University of Geor-
gia, Athens, United States, johnson@arches.uga.edu
Dr. Ian Leigh, Professor of Law, Co-director of the Human Rights Centre,
Department of Law, University of Durham, United Kingdom, Ian.Leigh@durham
.ac.uk
Dr. Jonathan Moran, Senior Lecturer in Criminology and Criminal Justice, Uni-
versity of Glamorgan, Pontypridd, Wales, United Kingdom, jmoran@glam.ac.uk
Dr. Kevin O’Brien, Senior Policy Analyst, RAND Europe, Cambridge, United
Kingdom, obrien@rand.org
Dr. Fredrik Sejersted, Attorney at Law, Office of the Attorney-General, Oslo,
Norway, fredrik.sejersted@regjeringsadvokaten.no
Dr. Andrzej Zybertowicz, Director, Sociological Institute, Copernicus Univer-
sity, Torun, Poland, ertowicz@umk.pl
— 255 —