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The ‘Birth’ of Nordic Peacekeeping

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DOI: 10.4324/9781003319115-10
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Introduction
As noted in the introduction of this volume, the Nordic countries appear elevated
to exemplary promoters of peace in the global diplomatic space in addition, or due,
to being seen as constituting a uniquely peaceful region. Originating in the con‑
text of the rise of totalitarianism in the 1930s, the peace narrative found renewed
popularity in the Cold War with additional dimensions being added, framing “(…)
Scandinavia and the Nordic countries as an island of democratic order and peaceful
compromise (…)” (Kurunmäki and Strang, 2016: 10). United Nations peacekeep‑
ing becoming one of these additional dimensions between the 1950s to the late
1980s, the Nordic states emerged as promotors of peace via their contributions of
funds and of tens of thousands of troops for the United Nations interventions in
the Gaza Strip, Congo and Cyprus. Throughout most of the period, Nordic peace‑
keeping research offered discrete support to this narrative (i.e. Andersson, 2007;
Eide, 1976: 240–263; Galtung and Hveem, 1976: 264–281; Goldschmidt, 1971;
Jakobsen, 2006, 2016: 741–761; Johansson, 1997; Persson, 1995: 337–354; Zet‑
terberg, 2007: 50–60). As did ofcial publications by the different Nordic armed
forces with the added weight of being ofcially sanctioned.1 Furthermore, ofcial
memory politics have mirrored these by way of museums, monuments and national
commemorations, such as, for example, veteran days and veteran ID cards, across
the Nordic region.2 Additionally, both veteran organisations and the transnational
UN Association has also rallied behind the ofcial narrative(s) with events and the
publication of memoirs, journals, home pages and online photo albums revolving
around modes of reminiscence (i.e. Jensen, 2005; Gustafsson, 1988; Marki, 2007;
Reiemark, 2006; Sköld, 1990; Thorsen and Reiemark, 2006). Finally, popular
histories have also become another form of amplier of the Nordic peacekeep
ing narrative(s) (i.e. Sørensen et al., 2006). Although the Nordic participation in
the US‑led invasions of Afghanistan and Iraq has generated a growing body of
critical Nordic research regarding Nordic participation in military interventions
(i.e. Bennike, 2020; Mäki‑Rahkola and Myrttinen, 2014; Svedberg and Kronsell,
2012; Skjelsbaek, 2001), the UN interventions during the early Cold War—the
‘birthplace’ of the Nordic peacekeeping narrative(s) —have yet to be examined
empirically.
8 The ‘Birth’ of Nordic
Peacekeeping
Can It Withstand Closer Scrutiny?
Martin Ottovay Jorgensen
150 Martin Ottovay Jorgensen
Against this backdrop, this chapter therefore takes a rst step towards scrutinis
ing the ‘birth’ of Nordic peacekeeping as part of this volume’s broader examination
of Nordic peace. Specically, it focuses on the rst United Nations intervention,
the United Nations Emergency Force (UNEF) which was deployed to initially
Egypt, along with its twin operation the United Nations Suez Clearance Operation
(UNSCO), for a few months and then the Gaza Strip from 1957 to 1967. Examin
ing both the geopolitics of UNEF/UNSCO and everyday interactions between units
from the Nordic contingents and the Palestinian and Bedouin communities in their
areas of deployment, I seek to realise two aims. Firstly, I aim to start an empirically
grounded discussion on Nordic peacekeeping that moves beyond ofcial and com
memorative narratives by linking to the international scholarship on peacekeeping
and peacebuilding concerned with both (Nordic) geopolitics and ‘local’ experi
ences of insecurity in everyday life (i.e. Al‑Qaq, 2009; Autesserre, 2016; Cunliffe,
2013; Higate, 2007; Razack, 2004). Secondly, I seek to connect this dialogue on
Nordic peacekeeping to the broader discussion on Nordic peace of this volume
from the position that one cannot be understood without the other.
Conceptually, I turn to the scholars Marsha Henry and Paul Higate who work
across peacekeeping research, critical military studies and military sociology. Per
tinent here, Henry and Higate offer an analytical framework that empirically links
geopolitics to how its everyday manifestations often translate into experiences of
insecurity for those living in areas that become ‘mission areas’. This has to do with
how, they suggest, the dominant powers of global geopolitics and their interests
inform not only when different interventions are set up, how long they last and
how they are paid for but also the logics and rationales behind their workings in
the different ‘mission areas’, and, therefore, the different zones, enclaves and their
ever‑changing spaces within the ‘mission areas’. While the geopolitical aspect
may be self‑evident, Higate and Henry (2009: 3) explain that interventions revolve
around “(…) space, how it is seen, the ways it is recongured by peacekeepers
going about their security work, and, crucially, the impacts these spatial‑security
practices have on those living and working in missions.Thus placing the sol
diers of the various UN contingents and the members of the ‘local’ communities
in the same analytical space, Higate and Henry link, and grant, their experiences
equal importance. Accordingly, they see ‘mission areas’ as complex assemblages
in which both encounters and the space(s) in which they take place are “(…) un
derstood differently by different people and can be contested, uid and uncertain”
(Higate and Henry, 2009: 16). As such, the ways in which people interact with
each other are shaped by their different circumstances and how these cut across,
for example, intergenerational national, communal and familial as well as personal
experiences and memories. UN soldiers, Higate and Henry suggest, will likely
interact with members of local communities and their living spaces against the
backdrop of their own military socialisation and thus how “(…) the conditions of
possibility generated by military‑cartographic ways of engaging these particular
spaces are necessarily limited and may default towards the use of force (…)” (Hi
gate and Henry, 2009: 66), thus often creating “(…) spaces of both symbolic and
material insecurity (…)” (Higate and Henry, 2009: 21). UN soldiers, however, they
The ‘Birth’ of Nordic Peacekeeping 151
point out, are also a heterogenous group, formed by national traditions and norms,
and recognised as such by the ‘local’ communities (Higate and Henry, 2009: 141).
Altogether, Henry and Higate thus offer a exible means to explore the linkage be
tween the geopolitics of the intervention context, how it is paid for, which nations
send troops, their understandings of the ‘mission area’ in which they serve and its
communities, and, not least, how local communities see and interact with them the
incoming troops.
To explore both geopolitics and everyday interactions within the Nordic sections
of UNEF’s ‘mission area’, the two sections of the chapter use different sources.
Focused on the geopolitics of UNSCO and UNEF, the rst section draws on un
published records from the two UN Secretariat departments in New York (the UN
Field Ofce and the Ofce for Special Political Affairs), the Suez Canal Company,
the Suez Canal User’s Association, Svitzer (a Danish salvage company involved in
UNSCO), UNSCO and, not least, published records in the American ‘Foreign Rela
tions of the United States’ series. Although governmental records from the Nordic
national archives would need to be added for further research, these materials en
able a good rst look at the context of the intervention and its Nordic dimensions.
Exploring the everyday interactions between Nordic soldiers and members of the
Palestinian and Bedouin communities, the second section relies on unpublished
records from UNEF and EIMAC (the Egyptian Israeli Military Armistice Commis
sion, a UN corps of military observers active in the Gaza Strip) as well as published
UN soldiers’ memoirs, diaries and letters. Ideally, Norwegian, Danish, Finnish and
Swedish contingent records would also have been used. Again, this chapter is not
an ill‑advised attempt to provide the ‘denitive’ history of Nordic peacekeeping
in article form. More important here is how the UNEF and EIMAC records were
created as products of military practices with built‑in silences that require our at
tention (for more on silences in records and archives see Stoler, 2009; Trouillot,
1995). Indeed, Palestinians and Bedouin predominantly gure in the records as
difcult employees, instigators of ‘incidents’, etc. Altogether, these materials thus
offer a solid foundation for what hopefully becomes the opening of an empirically
grounded exploration of Nordic peacekeeping.
As noted above, the chapter initially examines the formation of the twin opera
tion of the UNSCO and the UNEF before it begins to explore everyday interactions
between Nordic contingents and Palestinian and Bedouin communities in the Gaza
Strip.
The Geopolitics of UNSCO and UNEF
In line with Henry and Higate’s argument on the role of geopolitics, the rst in
tervention of the UN—the records and the other sources suggest when brought
together—was deeply connected to the geopolitics of oil, the cohesion of the
North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO) and the Western dominance of the
UN system before decolonisation. The unwillingness of the British and French
to lose inuence in the Middle East led to a military conict with Egypt in late
1956, which led the Egyptians to block the Suez Canal and thereby cut the ow of
152 Martin Ottovay Jorgensen
Middle Eastern oil to Western Europe. Among other initiatives, the United States,
along with Canada and the (Swedish) UN Secretary‑General, Dag Hammarskjold,
secured support for the twin operation to let oil ow to Western Europe again and
to allow the British, French and Israeli forces to withdraw from Egypt. The Nordic
states proved vital for the intervention in that they both deployed the necessary
technical and military expertise and lent it their status as small states.
From its opening in 1869, the Suez Canal served European imperial needs of
trade, communication and military infrastructure. After the Second World War, the
canal also became energy infrastructure as most of Western Europe shifted from
coal to oil. Oil from Iran, Kuwait and Saudi Arabia came to provide 43% of the
Western European oil needs in 1947 and no less than 85% in 1951 (Marsh, 2007;
Painter, 2009; Romero, 2015). In 1951, however, the Iranian nationalisation of its
oil production and the guerrilla war against the British in the Suez Canal Area by
Egyptian military units seeking to overthrow the Egyptian king threatened West
ern Europe’s oil supply. In response, the pro‑western UN Secretariat planned to
internationalise the Suez Canal with a UN force in “(…) the recognition of spe
cial interests of States whose vital lines of communication are dependent on free
passage of shipping through the Suez Canal.”3 The plan was not realised, as a
1954‑ agreement between the British government and the new Egyptian military
government (which had taken over power in 1952) offered a workaround, though it
required the withdrawal of all British troops from the canal area by 1956. However,
Western Europe’s vulnerability remained as the oil coming via the canal still covered
more than two‑thirds of Western European oil needs in early 1956.4 Moreover, the
tension between the United Kingdom, the United States and Egypt increased well
into 1956 after the former rejected the latter’s request for World Bank loans to build
a dam wall to electrify its economy and forced Cairo to turn to Moscow for weap
ons, trade deals and dam nance. Causing panic in the capitals of Western Europe,
Egypt also nationalised the canal company. In turn, Washington obliged its allies to
join two conferences to form a canal user association, which would have amounted
to a non‑military version of the 1951 UN idea and, in the view of the internation
ally renowned Danish expert of international law, Max Sørensen, a direct violation
of Egypt’s sovereignty and incompatible with the existing canal treaty from 1888,
ignoring Egypt as the holder of sovereign rights in that the canal was Egyptian
territory.5 Nordic and British shipping companies also found the plan impractical.6
The Danish and Norwegian governments were less critical, however.7 Aside from
being two small members of the still young NATO alliance, both governments also
knew how dependent their economies were on the British economy and, not least,
the Suez Canal. In 1956, Norway was the second largest canal user by tonnage as
80% of its canal tonnage was Kuwaiti oil shipped to the United Kingdom while
Denmark was the tenth largest canal user.8 Not content with diplomacy, however,
the United Kingdom and France joined up with Israel to invade Egypt. In response
to the invasion, Egypt blocked the canal by sinking 50 ships. Additionally, pro‑
Egyptian military units in Syria also reduced the ow of oil to Western Europe
from Iraq by 50% by blowing up some of the pipelines. Saudi Arabia, Kuwait
and Iraq also cut their production by an average of 48%.9 Moreover, Saudi Arabia
The ‘Birth’ of Nordic Peacekeeping 153
ended its oil sales to the United Kingdom and France, and forced its American
partners to do so also (Bamberg and Ferrier, 2000: 83). In other words, the United
Kingdom and France invaded a sovereign nation, caused a Western European oil
supply crisis, created a conict within NATO and risked nuclear war, all to avoid
further loss of inuence in the Middle East at a time the US elections were coming
up and the Soviet Union was invading Hungary.
While the Nordic governments had to take a cautious stance, the US president,
Dwight Eisenhower, angrily declared that “(…) those who began this operation
should be left to work out their own oil problems to boil in their own oil so to
speak.10 Accordingly, the United States took different steps. Firstly, the United
States not only kept the United Kingdom and France waiting for loans from the
International Monetary Fund but also stalled the would‑be oil relief coordination in
the Middle East Emergency Committee (which was set up during the oil crisis in
1951). Secondly, the United States sent the Soviet Union a message that was impos
sible to misunderstand, deploying naval vessels between British and French vessels
off the Egyptian coast in addition to having ghter jets do overights and placing its
aircraft carrier groups around the world on 12‑hour combat readiness and its global
network of air force bases on 5‑minute combat readiness.11 Lastly, and crucially,
the Americans and Canadians secured support from a majority of the delegations
at the UN General Assembly for a UN intervention proposal, with the Swedish UN
Secretary‑General, Dag Hammarskjold, and his closest American staff (Jorgensen,
2016). Known as two separate undertakings, the de facto single intervention were
designed to reopen the Suez Canal, to re‑establish the Western European oil supply
and get the British, French and Israeli forces out of Egypt and the Gaza Strip. Plac
ing themselves rmly in the West, the Nordic states supported the proposal, joined
the group of Western countries that paid about 99% of the UN’s loan to nance
UNSCO and UNEF and offered vital technical and military support.12
UNSCO’s clearance efforts only saw Danish involvement, however. The salvage
company, Svitzer, was chosen to join efforts with the Dutch salvage company, L. Smit
en Co’s Internationale Sleepdienst, as Smit Svitzer Suez Salvors. Well‑ received
in Copenhagen (and Amsterdam), the decision was less so in Oslo since the UN
Secretary‑General had allowed the use of British and French salvage vessels from
the invasion force as well as Swedish, Italian and West German sub‑ contractors but
rejected a Norwegian company.13 Ultimately, there was relief in the capitals across
Western and Northern Europe as well as Northern America when UNSCO declared
the canal open a month faster than planned, a fact shared widely in Western media to
rebuild the condence of Western markets and lower the oil price.14
The politics of manning UNEF were also delicate. As the host nation, Egypt
had to approve the different contingents. Seeing Finland and Sweden as neutral,
Egypt accepted both contingents (Burns, 1962: 203–204), unaware that Sweden
was adopting NATO military standards and acquiring American nuclear technol
ogy (Makko, 2012; Nilsson, 2010; Nilsson and Wyss, 2015). However, Egypt
rejected the forces of Norway and Denmark, seeing both states as too Western
as well as supportive of the ill‑advised Canal User Association. Predictably,
and with US support, the UN Secretary‑General rebutted Egypt, insisting all or
154 Martin Ottovay Jorgensen
none of the Nordic contingents would be part of UNEF (Burns, 1962: 202–204).
The Nordic contingents thereby joined UNEF with those of Brazil, Colombia and
Canada on the one hand and India, Indonesia and Yugoslavia on the other, ensuring
that two‑thirds of UNEF consisted of contingents from Western and pro‑ Western
states and around a third from non‑aligned states. The Western inuence also
showed in how the US Air Force ew in most of the contingents to the Suez Canal
Area via NATO air bases in Italy, Portugal and likely also Turkey.15 Once in the
canal area, UNEF gradually enabled the withdrawal of the British and French inva
sion forces, which ran in tandem with UNSCO’s work to clear the canal. The Israeli
forces in the Gaza Strip, however, remained and Egypt therefore put pressure on
the UN and the United States to have UNEF enter the Gaza Strip, thereby creating
the conditions for a partial realisation of the 1951 plan to protect Western European
trade and oil supplies by internationalising the Suez Canal (Jorgensen, 2016).
When judged upon the basis of the accessed records, the UNSCO/UNEF twin
intervention should not be seen as the rst UN peacekeeping operation and in sup
port of Egypt as an invaded state, but rather a Western salvage operation with vital
Nordic involvement in both the literal and geopolitical sense. And as per Henry
and Higate, the dominant powers’ concerns informed not only the making of the
intervention and its nances, logistics and rationales. These elements, and the Nor
dic involvement therein, would also inform the interactions between the UNEF
contingents and the communities of the Gaza Strip.
Exploring the (In)security Practices of the Nordic
UNEF Units, 1957–1967
While recognising that more work needs to explore the differences between Dan
ish, Norwegian, Swedish and Finnish contingents’ military cultures, norms and
practices, the following exploratory undertaking will make clear that the Nordic
units were at the centre stage of UNEF, from its arrival through its early stages to
its consolidation and its eventual withdrawal, for better and worse.
Memoirs and various publications by different Scandinavian UN soldiers and
the Canadian force commander show how the Nordic contingents, the Danish and
Norwegian in particular, were deeply steeped in Western orientalist discourses.
In a broader sense, both Denmark and Norway were strongly inuenced by Great
Britain in the 1940s and openly pro‑Israeli (see for example Arnheim and Levitan,
2011; Mariager, 2006, 2009, 2012; Waage, 2000). Concretely, it is also telling that
several of the outward‑bound Danish units were lectured to by a British former co
lonial military ofcer prior to their deployment. One topic was on “(…) Egyptian
characteristics and how to engage the local population” (Jensen, 2005: 3) by, for
example, forcing them into the gutter. Rather than using, for example, the profes
sional Indian units, the Canadian force commander, General Burns, also had the
Danish and Norwegian joint contingent of volunteers collaborate with the British
invasion forces (whose commanding ofcers he personally knew from the Second
World War) in the Suez Canal Area on both the coordination of withdrawal in
several towns and the purchase of vehicles, supplies, petrol and rations for UNEF
The ‘Birth’ of Nordic Peacekeeping 155
(Burns, 1962: 228–231; Engholm, 1996: 204–211; Jensen, 2005: 49–68; Kjeldsen,
1958: 7–40; Kristiansen, 1962: 22–23). Tellingly, the British ofcers thanked the
Danish‑Norwegian contingent for the “(…) harmonious ways (…)” (Burns, 1962:
238) of collaborating. Against that backdrop, many may well have perceived the
British soldiers as partners versus the Egyptians and Palestinians, who in published
diaries and letters often appear lumped together as ‘Arabs’, emotional and speakers
of an unfathomable language (Jensen, 2005: 3–10; Kjeldsen, 1958: 12).
Once in the Gaza Strip in March 1957, the UNEF Commander continued in the
same way. He not only ignored the resemblance of the UN force to the British impe
rial security forces in Palestine, which for most years between the First World War
and the Palestinian Revolt in 1936 (Hoffman, 2013; Hughes, 2013; Johnson, 2015;
Kroizer, 2004; Sinclair, 2009), had elded an external and multi‑national military
force with light infantry, mobile reconnaissance units and light patrol aircraft for
aerial surveillance. He also disregarded how both Palestinians and Bedouin had
been subject to three months of Israeli aggressive occupation when he chose an un
necessarily antagonist route by appointing Western—and not Indian, Indonesian or
Yugoslav—military governors in the larger towns, such as the Danish‑Norwegian
commander in Gaza City (the main town of the Gaza Strip), and set up headquar
ters in the most symbolic of all buildings in the Gaza Strip, the heavily fortied
former Israeli and British garrison and prison in Gaza City. As if to drive this point
home, UNEF also had loudspeaker vans in the larger towns proclaim that it was
now in control (Burns, 1962: 231–261; Engholm, 1996: 231; Jensen, 2005: 89;
Kjeldsen, 1958: 54; Sköld, 1990: 81). Predictably, not only the prisoners, most of
whom were political prisoners left by the Israeli forces, protested (Burns, 1962:
231; Jensen, 2005: 89; Kjeldsen, 1958: 54; Sköld, 1990: 81). Several demonstra
tions also spread across Gaza City. In the following days, shots were red at the
compounds of one of the Danish platoons and of the UNEF commander at night.
In the daytime, the rallies also grew tenser with stone throwing, UN units xing
bayonets on their ries and ring warning shots and, crucially, causing the death of
a demonstrator. On the third day, the Danish‑Norwegian battalion needed the as
sistance of the Brazilian battalion as all its units were engaged, with some soldiers
even rushing out in kitchen outts or underwear. Making matters worse, UNEF’s
Swedish Chief of Staff subsequently banned both larger meetings and demonstra
tions in any form in the Gaza Strip, thus effectively expanding UNEF’s control
over an already diminished public space (Burns, 1962: 261–272; Jensen, 2005: 91–
94). To prevent further escalation, Egypt sent back its Governor‑general to retake
control of the Gaza Strip a few days later, compelling UNEF to reorganise its pos
ture (Burns, 1962: 261–272; Jensen, 2005: 91; Kjeldsen, 1958: 58–59). To be sure,
the Danish‑Norwegian troops had been at the centre of the growing tension with
the Palestinians in Gaza City because they—rather than other Western units such
as, for example, the Canadian and Swedish units that were deployed in the town
of Rafah to the south—had been stationed there. However, the Yugoslavians were
also in Gaza City, at least for a while, as the UNEF Commander sent them back to
Egypt after Yugoslav soldiers had cheered the Egyptian and Yugoslavian leaders
along with the demonstrators (Burns, 1962: 261–272; Jensen, 2005: 91–94).
156 Martin Ottovay Jorgensen
Rather than seeing UNEF take control of the entire territory at strategic inter
sections and natural ‘chokepoints’ as the British had done in the Mandate era, the
Palestinian pressure forced UNEF’s commander to deploy his infantry and recon
naissance units to the de facto border between Israel and the Gaza Strip, the Ar
mistice Demarcation Line (ADL) and set up a no‑go zone 100 m wide in daytime
and 500 m wide at night. While UNEF did not engage in counterinsurgency (as had
the British from 1936 onwards) (Hughes, 2019; Swedenburg, 2003), the UN zone
was a signicant de facto land grab since the Gaza Strip was both overpopulated
and only between 5 and 8 km wide (and 40 km long). Within a few months, UNEF
had also grown to nearly 6,000 troops, compared to the approximately 2,000 troops
the British Mandate government had in all of Palestine until the Palestinian Revolt
in 1936. Furthermore, UNEF’s ADL regime of mobile patrols day and night and a
grid of 72 stationary unfortied observation towers with overlapping lines of sight
and a eld telephone network along the 59 km border conned the Palestinian and
Bedouin communities in the Gaza Strip behind a much tighter‑knit real‑time sur
veillance regime than the British ever set up.16
In other words, UNEF’s contingents represented a further militarisation of the
Gaza Strip, which, as argued by Henry and Higate, would engender different ex
periences of insecurity both near the ADL and further into the Gaza Strip. On the
ADL, Danish and Norwegian soldiers not only wounded and detained several Pal
estinians and Bedouin while on patrols in their ‘area of responsibility’ within the
rst three months of arriving in the Gaza Strip. More critically, they also killed two
Palestinians and two Bedouin. Whatever the circumstances of these ‘incidents’ (as
they are called in the UN records), they engendered pain, anger and insecurities
in the affected Palestinian and Bedouin communities, adding further strain to the
already tested relationship between UNEF, and the Palestinian and Bedouin com
munities both within and beyond their ‘mission area’ (Jorgensen, 2016: 237–241).
Another way in which UNEF units, including those from the Nordic contingents,
engendered insecurity was through the detention of Palestinian peasants, land
workers and youth most of whom were doing little more than planting, inspect
ing, harvesting and picking fruits and vegetables, picking grass for animal feed
or looking for missing livestock near the UN observation posts on the ADL.17 For
the most part, the Nordic UN units understood the importance of the work of the
mostly poor Palestinian peasant families and agricultural workers and let them
get on with their work, irrespective of whether they had moved into the UN zone
or not. After all, it would have been quite apparent that the area was both suffer
ing from an unemployment rate of more than 80% and unable to feed its original
inhabitants and the more than 200.000 people displaced as refugees there in 1948
(Baster, 1955: 323–327). Relatively frequently, however, Nordic (and other) units
would detain people in circumstances that created uncertainty, anger, frustration
and fear in light of Palestinian experiences and memories. In some instances, Pal
estinians would launch formal written complaints on being detained on their own
land as well as UNEF’s use of their land. On occasion, however, Palestinians also
responded violently to these encounters in ways that reected the growing pressure
on the gender norms of a society in which the gure of the Palestinian man had
The ‘Birth’ of Nordic Peacekeeping 157
struggled to defend nation, community and family in and since 1948. In one case, a
young woman charged a UN soldier with her grass knife when detained. In another,
several Palestinian men rallied together a group of villagers to chase a UN vehicle
to free a detained female relative (for more on gender dynamics on Palestine see for
example Fleischmann, 2000; Greenberg, 2010; Jacobson, 2004).18 The UN records,
which must be corroborated with the records kept in Nordic archives in subsequent
research, appear to portray the Nordic units as rather vigilant in terms of detain
ing people. While it must be noted that the Nordic contingents were tasked with
securing the more densely populated central and northern parts of the Gaza Strip—
likely on account of the UNEF Commander’s preference for these contingents—
their countries’ positive view of Israel as a ‘modern’ and democratic island in what
was racialised as a ‘traditional’ and autocratic region also guided their practices
on the ADL. For example, UNEF records show how Swedish soldiers racialised
Egyptians and Palestinians by both lumping them together as ‘Arabs’ and label
ling Palestinians ‘Ali Babas’ or ‘fugitives’ in incident reports, thus coproducing
Western orientalist discourses. In the same vein, UNEF records also offer plenty of
off‑duty ‘incidents’ with Danish and Norwegian soldiers fraternising with Israelis
on the ADL and in kibbutzes in Israel; Danish soldiers detaining Palestinians after
conversations with Israeli border forces’ without checking the validity of their ac
cusations; or Finnish soldiers taking wounded Israeli soldiers back to their bases
several kilometres into Israeli territory, outing UNEF restrictions on entering Is
rael.19 The Finnish contingent withdrew from UNEF in 1958 but also created prob
lems. In one such case two Finnish soldiers in a patrol camp near an observation
tower got drunk and went to look for young women for sex in a nearby Palestinian
village. Linking to the gender dynamics of the Gaza Strip, the two soldiers kicked
and punched a young male villager and a disabled male villager who condemned
them for looking for young women before a dozen angry male villagers beat them
with sticks and chased them away to protect the two above‑mentioned male vil
lagers and their female relatives.20 Looking beyond day‑time incidents, UNEF’s
night‑time patrols also got into altercations with Palestinians using the cover of
darkness to bring back vegetables from their former lands and/or steal irrigation
pipes or vegetables from Israeli settlements or even phone cables from UNEF’s
eld telephone network. Others shot at soldiers or attacked the Nordics with Israeli
or Egyptian mines removed from active mineelds (as was Bedouin practice) and
were in some cases killed.21
From early 1958 onwards, however, both Israeli and (Nordic) UNEF units re
ported fewer incidents on both sides of the ADL.22 This likely reected how the
UN force had had to reduce the intensity of its patrol regime after several reduc
tions in troop numbers (the Finnish and Indonesian contingents left in 1958 and
the Swedish contingent in 1960): For example, the Danish‑Norwegian battalion’s
patrols in their sector were cut from multiple hourly patrols to just one in 1960 and
1961.23 More importantly, however, several Egyptian socio‑economic and political
initiatives reduced the pressure on the ADL from the late 1950s by: exempting the
Gaza Strip from tax; accepting the creation of Palestinian nationalist bodies such as
Fatah; expanding the Egyptian‑led Gaza Strip border guards from 2,000 to 3,600
158 Martin Ottovay Jorgensen
with an increased ratio of Palestinians; and establishing a migrant worker scheme
for Palestinian men in the Gulf states (Cossali and Robson, 1986; Sayigh, 1997).
Although these policies enabled thousands of previously unemployed and refugees
to nd work in the Gaza Strip or migrant work in the Gulf states, they failed to
change the underlying precarious conditions, leading more Palestinian men into
militancy in the 1960s. To reduce the risk of this, the Egyptian administration set
up a constitution and a political council in 1962, a Gaza Strip branch of the newly
formed Palestinian Liberation Army in 1964 and a recruitment drive to enlist Pales
tinians to ght in its proxy‑war with Saudi Arabia in Yemen (Cossali and Robson,
1986; Ferris, 2015; Sayigh, 1998). However, the militarisation of everyday life
extended far beyond UNEF’s presence and activities on the ADL.
Across the Gaza Strip, Palestinians would see UNEF units travelling between
camps, training areas, bases and observation posts in vehicle types ranging from
smaller 2‑person jeeps to trucks weighing several tonnes. In most instances, the
drivers from the different UNEF contingents were trained and skilled, sober, as
well as observing rules and trafc conditions on the major and minor roads. In oth
ers, however, they were not, driving while drunk or without training, experience or
sufcient awareness, hitting and killing either children and youth who were play
ing in public spaces including roads (due to overcrowding) or adults who through
their work or refugee rations provided for their families. The rate of accidents re
mained a problem for years.24 Operating in the central areas of the Gaza Strip,
soldiers from the Nordic contingents were also part of engendering this form of
insecurity.25 Even more signicant than the trafc accidents, however, was UNEF’s
inability to prevent Israeli forces from creating not only eeting experiences of
insecurity but a permanent borderscape of insecurity and immobility. From UNEF
records, it seems that some of the Israeli patrols lost their bearings momentarily
while others intentionally crossed the ADL to either test response times or send
‘messages’ to UNEF, the Egyptian forces and the Palestinian militants about Is
rael’s border vigilance. In other cases, Israeli settlers also managed to cross into
the Gaza Strip, in some cases attacking villages and homes close to the ADL with
hand grenades, kidnapping people or stealing animals.26 Additionally, the Israeli
strategy on conning people in the Gaza Strip also involved maritime vessels that
cut off Palestinian shing boats and ghter jets that would overy the Gaza Strip
at 50–200 m in altitude often daily, and occasionally in groups of up to 21 planes.27
Bringing Higate and Henry together with the realities inside everyday life in
the Gaza Strip, it seems fair to suggest that the Gaza Strip residents may well have
seen UNEF, including its remaining Nordic contingents, as both unable to prevent
the Israeli suppression of the Gaza Strip and engendering eeting sensations and
longer experiences of insecurity.
Conclusion
Within the context of the broader edited volume, this chapter set out to pro
vide an empirical exploration of the ‘birth’ of Nordic peacekeeping, which has
been shrouded by myth, commemoration and memory. The aim was to start an
The ‘Birth’ of Nordic Peacekeeping 159
empirically grounded discussion on Nordic peacekeeping linked to the interna
tional scholarship concerned with both geopolitics and ‘local’ experiences of
insecurity in everyday life. The second aim was to link Nordic peacekeeping to
the broader discussion. To this end, the chapter used the analytical framework of
Marsha Henry and Paul Higate and a broad range of published and unpublished
records. A few initial observations seem in order.
As should be clear, UNSCO and UNEF was very much about restoring the oil
supplies of Western Europe and restoring trust amongst the members of NATO
following the invasion of Egypt but has since became known as the rst peace
keeping operation of the UN. The Egyptian request to have UNEF deployed to
the Gaza Strip unintentionally partly realised the 1951 plan to put in place an
international force to safeguard the Suez Canal. Once in the Gaza Strip, a space
already deeply militarised by Egyptian and Israeli military forces following its
creation in 1948, UNEF further militarised the territory. Moreover, both the Nor
dic governments and contingents, it must be noted, appear to have been central
actors in this process throughout. To be sure, this different history of the ‘birth’
of Nordic Peacekeeping requires further exploration, discussion, and reection
within Nordic academia on the one hand and the (different) Nordic political and
military sphere(s) on the other.
As noted by philosopher of history Frank Ankersmit (2007: 186), “(…) big
problems have long histories; and as long as we remain in the dark about these
histories we shall be unable to deal with them.” Let us begin to make sense of the
‘birth’ of Nordic peacekeeping, what it means today and where this will lead.
Notes
1 I.e. Swedish International Forces in the Service of Peace: International Missions Un‑
dertaken by the Swedish Armed Forces (Malmö, Sweden: Bokförlaget Arena, 2006).
2 The Nordic countries have museum exhibitions and monuments that in various ways
touch upon UN peacekeeping in, for example, the Norwegian Defence Museum and the
Danish UN Museum.
3 ‘Memorandum of Peace and Security Suez Canal Area’ 14 December 1951, Suez
Canal Area 10 Dec 1951 – 15 April 1957, S‑1066‑0001‑0007, Ofce of Special Political
Affairs, UNA.
4 Suez Canal User’s Association Report, 19 February 1957, Indgået korrespondance vedr.
Suezkanalen til Dir. J. Aschengreen, Danmarks Rederiforening ‑ ØK, 1956–1958, pakke
51, Danish National Archive (DNA).
5 Memo of telephone conversation between A. P. Møller and the Danish Foreign Ministry
13 September 1956, J. Ch. Aschgreen 1956 m. , 1956–1958, Korrespondance fra Red
eriforeningen vedr. Suez, DNA.
6 Memo of telephone conversation between A. P. Møller and the Danish Foreign Ministry
13 September 1956, J. Ch. Aschgreen 1956 m. , 1956–1958, Korrespondance fra Red
eriforeningen vedr. Suez, DNA.
7 “Memo to the Danish Foreign Ministry’s Department for Political and Juridical Affairs”
13 September 1956, J. Ch. Aschgreen 1956 m. , 1956–1958, Korrespondance fra Red
eriforeningen vedr. Suezkanalen, DNA.
8 Letter from the Norwegian Foreign Ministry to the Norwegian Shipping Association 9
August 1956, Indgået korrespondance vedr. Suezkanalen til Dir. J. Aschengreen, Dan
marks Rederiforening ‑ ØK, 1956–1958, pakke 51, Danish National Archive (DNA).
160 Martin Ottovay Jorgensen
9 Suez Canal User’s Association Report, 19 February 1957, Indgået korrespondance vedr.
Suezkanalen til Dir. J. Aschengreen, Danmarks Rederiforening ‑ ØK, 1956–1958, pakke
51, Danish National Archive (DNA).
10 Foreign Relations of the United States, Historical Documents, 1955 1957, Suez Cri
sis, July 26 December 31, 1956, Volume XVI, Memorandum of a Conference with the
President, 30 October 1956, (dok. 435).
11 Foreign Relations of the United States, Historical Documents, 1955 1957, Suez Crisis,
July 26 December 31, 1956,
Volume XVI, Telegram from Joint Chiefs of Staff to Certain Commanders, 6. No
vember 1956 (dok. 533).
12 UN A/3719.
13 RA, Svitzers Bjergnings‑ Enterprise A/S (05089), Materiale vedr. Suez‑rydningen,
Avisudklip, Kasse 569, Børsen: Svitzers Bjergnings‑ Enterprise A/S (05089), Materi
ale vedr. Suez‑rydningen, Avisudklip, Kasse 569, Politiken 22.12.1956, RA, Svitzers
Bjergnings‑ Enterprise A/S (05089), Materiale vedr. Suez‑rydningen, Korrespondance
A‑K, Kasse 559, Memorandum af telefonsamtale mellem Goth‑Bendtzen i New York
og Svitzers Hovedkvarter i København 4. december 1956, RA, Svitzers Bjergnings‑
Enterprise A/S (05089), Materiale vedr. Suez‑rydningen, Korrespondance KO, Kasse
560, Brev fra Goth‑Bendtzen til Hector Kiær 21. december 1956, RA, Svitzers Bjergnings‑
Enterprise A/S (05089), Materiale vedr. Suez‑rydningen, Korrespondance K‑O, Kasse
560, Brev (nr. 5) fra Hector Kiær til GothBendtzen 28. december 1956 og RA, Svitzers
Bjergnings‑Enterprise A/S (05089), Materiale vedr. Suez‑rydningen, Korrespondance
K‑O, Kasse 560, Brev fra Goth‑Bendtzen til Hector Kiær 7. januar 1957.
14 RA, Svitzers Bjergnings‑ Enterprise A/S (05089), Materiale vedr. Suez‑rydningen,
Korrespondance A‑K, Kasse 559, Brev til Svitzer fra FN 8.12.1956, RA, Svitzers
Bjergnings‑Enterprise A/S (05089), Materiale vedr. Suez‑rydningen, Korrespondance
A‑K, Kasse 559, Brev til Svitzer fra FN 11.12.1956 og RA, Svitzers Bjergnings‑
Enterprise A/S (05089), Materiale vedr. Suez‑rydningen, Korrespondance K‑O, Kasse
560, UN Department of Public Information, UN Press feature 175‑G.
15 “United States Airlift for the United Nations Emergency Force” undated, Brazil Folder,
Field Operations Division, S‑0530‑0271, UNA.
16 “EIMAC Incident Report” 4 April 1957, Complaints and Investigations April 1957–
June 1957, Gaza Strip, Area Files, Political Affairs, EIMAC, S‑0375‑0073‑0003, UNA,
“EIMAC Incident Report” 14 May 1957, Complaints and Investigations April 1957–
June 1957, Gaza Strip, Area Files, Political Affairs, EIMAC, S‑0375‑0073‑0003, UNA.
17 “Incident Report” 16 December 1957, Complaints and Investigations July 1957–
December 1957, Gaza Strip, Area Files, Pol. Affairs, EIMAC, S‑0375‑0067‑0001
and “Incident Report” 19 December 1957, Complaints and Investigations July 1957–
December 1957, Gaza Strip, Area Files, Pol. Affairs, EIMAC, S‑0375‑0067‑0001.
18 “Incident Report” 1 July 1957, Complaints and Investigations April 1957–June 1957,
Gaza Strip, Area Files, Pol. Affairs, EIMAC, S‑0375‑0073‑0003, UNA, “Incident Re
port” 1 October 1957, Complaints and Investigations July 1957–December 1957, Gaza
Strip, Area Files, Pol. Affairs, EIMAC, S‑0375‑0067‑0001, UNA, “Incident Report”
3 January 1958, Complaints and Investigations January 1958–June 1958, Gaza Strip,
Area Files, Pol. Affairs, EIMAC, S‑0375‑0067‑0002, UNA and “Cable from UNEF
Commander to Undersecretary of the UN”, 4 April 1959, Middle East, UNEF/UN
EFCA, Code Cables, Incoming, S0370‑0032‑0002, UNA, “Incident Report” 5 June
1957, Complaints and Investigations April 1957–June 1957, Gaza Strip, Area Files,
Pol. Affairs, EIMAC, S‑0375‑0073‑0003, UNA, “Incident Report” 8 June 1957, Com
plaints and Investigations April 1957–June 1957, Gaza Strip, Area Files, Pol. Affairs,
EIMAC, S‑0375‑0073‑0003, UNA, “Incident Report” 14 June 1957, Complaints and
Investigations April 1957–June 1957, Gaza Strip, Area Files, Pol. Affairs, EIMAC,
S‑0375‑0073‑0003, UNA, and “Complaint” from Civilian Claimant to UNEF, 24 May
The ‘Birth’ of Nordic Peacekeeping 161
1967, Land Claims, Claims outside Contracts, Contracts, Leases, Insurance and Claims,
Privileges and Immunities of UNEF, Legal Affairs, Chief Administrator Ofcers Files,
S‑1773‑0000‑0004, UNA.
19 “Incident Report” 2 May 1957, Complaints and Investigations April 1957–June 1957,
Gaza Strip, Area Files, Pol. Affairs, EIMAC, S‑0375‑0073‑0003, UNA, “Incident Re
port” 8 June 1957, Complaints and Investigations April 1957–June 1957, Gaza Strip,
Area Files, Pol. Affairs, EIMAC, S‑0375‑0073‑0003, UNA, “Incident Report” 20 Au
gust 1957, Complaints and Investigations July 1957–December 1957, Gaza Strip, Area
Files, Pol. Affairs, EIMAC, S‑0375‑0067‑0001, UNA, “Incident Report” 12 March
1958, Complaints and Investigations January 1958–June 1958, Gaza Strip, Area Files,
Pol. Affairs, EIMAC, S‑0375‑0067‑0002, UNA and “Incident Report” 31 May 1958,
Complaints and Investigations January 1958–June 1958, Gaza Strip, Area Files, Pol.
Affairs, EIMAC, S‑0375‑0067‑0002, UNA.
20 Incident Report” 27 July 1957, Complaints and Investigations July 1957–December
1957, Gaza Strip, Area Files, Pol. Affairs, EIMAC, S‑0375‑0067‑0001, UNA.
21 “Incident Report” 6 April 1957, Complaints and Investigations April 1957–June 1957,
Gaza Strip, Area Files, Pol. Affairs, EIMAC, S‑0375‑0073‑0003, “Incident Report”
14 June 1957, Complaints and Investigations April 1957–June 1957, Gaza Strip, Area
Files, Pol. Affairs, EIMAC, S‑0375‑0073‑0003, “Incident Report” 27 August 1957,
Complaints and Investigations July 1957–December 1957, Gaza Strip, Area Files,
Pol. Affairs, EIMAC, S‑0375‑0067‑0001, UNA. “Incident Report” 22 October 1957,
Complaints and Investigations July 1957–December 1957, Gaza Strip, Area Files,
Pol. Affairs, EIMAC, S‑0375‑0067‑0001, “Incident Report” 9 February 1959, Com
plaints and Investigations July 1958–April 1959, Gaza Strip, Area Files, Pol. Affairs,
EIMAC, S‑0375‑0067‑0003, UNA and “Incident Report” 19 March 1959, Complaints
and Investigations July 1958–April 1959, Gaza Strip, Area Files, Pol. Affairs, EIMAC,
S‑0375‑0067‑0003, UNA.
22 DANOR BN IV, “DANOR BN IV ‑ April‑October 1958” (DANOR BN, United Na
tions Emergency Force, 1958); DANOR BN VI, “DANOR BN VI April 1959–
October 1959” (DANOR BN, United Nations Emergency Force, 1959); DANOR BN
VII, “DANOR BN VII October 1959‑April 1960” (DANOR BN, United Nations
Emergency Force, 1960); DANOR BN VIII, “DANOR BN VIII ‑ April‑October 1960”
(DANOR BN, United Nations Emergency Force, 1960); DANOR BN IX, “DANOR
BN IX October 1960‑April 1961” (DANOR BN, United Nations Emergency Force,
1961); Alina Korn, “From Refugees to Inltrators: Constructing Political Crime in Is
rael in the 1950s,” International Journal of the Sociology of Law 31, no. 1 (2003): 1–22.
23 DANOR BN IX, “DANOR BN IX ‑ October 1960‑April 1961.”
24 “Message on Motor Accident Rate in UNEF” from Force Commander to all contingents,
8 April 1960, Accidents 1959–1962, UNEF, UN Field Operations Service, S‑0534‑0245,
UNA.
25 “Summary Roll of Trafc accidents 1956–1960”, Fatalities, Trafc Accidents, UN Field
Operations Service, S‑0534‑0240, UNA.
26 “Incident Report” 27 June 1957, Complaints and Investigations April 1957–June 1957,
Gaza Strip, Area Files, Pol. Affairs, EIMAC, S‑0375‑0073‑0003, UNA.
27 “Incident Report” to Chairman EIMAC from UN Military Observer”, 12 April 1957,
Overights, Complaints & Investigations, General Subject Files, EIMAC, Pol. Affairs,
S‑0375‑0060‑0007, UNA, DANOR BN IV, “DANOR BN IV ‑ April‑October 1958.”,
“Weekly Report for period 16 to 22 April 1960” from Chairman EIMAC to Chief of
Staff UNTSO, 22 April 1960, Weekly Reports 1960, Reports, EIMAC, Pol. Affairs,
S‑375‑0028‑0006, UNA, “List of weekly correspondence EIMAC for the period 26
September–2 October 1964”, Summary of UNEF Reports, Complaints and Investiga
tions, EIMAC, Pol. Affairs, S‑0373‑0027‑0005, UNA, “Summary of UNEF Reports
for 27–31 March 1965”, Summary of UNEF Reports, Complaints and Investigations,
162 Martin Ottovay Jorgensen
EIMAC, Pol. Affairs, S‑0373‑0027‑0005, UNA and “Summary of Complaints for 4–10
February 1967”, Summary of Complaints 1966, Complaints and Investigations, EI
MAC, Pol. Affairs, EIMAC, S‑0375‑0022‑0001, UNA.
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Article
Full-text available
This article explores, through a case study the nature of ‘imperial policing', its myriad problems, and the issues confronting the chiefs of the Imperial General Staff as they sought to maintain security against falling budgets and increasing nationalist unrest across a variety of theatres in the period 1919–39. In particular it examines the significance of Charles William Gwynn's (1870–1963), short book Imperial Policing (London: Macmillan, 1934), especially his observations about managing unrest in Palestine in 1929. This work and the official manual of the same title were not the first to offer advice about the containment of civil unrest or the neutralising of insurgency, but it was perhaps one of the most influential of the interwar period and was candid about some of the problems that confronted British forces in the empire. Military Aid to the Civil Power (MACP) was rarely if ever popular with the army, but Gwynn's work at least drew attention to a problem that the army was frequently forced to confront. Several studies have, in recent years, applied scholarly analyses to the tactical and operational issues of MACP, but it is harder to find investigations into the command of ‘imperial policing’, where senior officers had to maintain internal security in regions across the empire with very limited resources under the spotlight of unsympathetic politicians and international media. The relative success of that effort is explored in this article.
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Cambridge Core - Military History - Britain's Pacification of Palestine - by Matthew Hughes
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Denmark became a staunch supporter of UN peacekeeping during the cold war because it simultaneously served its interests and values and this winning combination meant that it relatively quickly became internalized as part of Denmark’s foreign policy identity. Denmark turned its back on UN peacekeeping when NATO took over from the UN in Bosnia in 1995. Since then Denmark has prioritized NATO- and US-led operations. The Danish shift was driven by the interest in supporting the Western great powers as well as an altruistic desire to improve United Nations Protection Force’s (UNPROFOR) dismal humanitarian record in Bosnia. This belief was also generated by the positive lessons learned from Denmark’s pioneering use of tanks in UNPROFOR. This tank deployment and subsequent participation in NATO and US-led missions created a new warrior identity. This identity and the Danish interest in maintaining a close relationship to NATO’s great powers make a major Danish return to UN peacekeeping unlikely.
Article
Nasser's Gamble draws on declassified documents from six countries and original material in Arabic, German, Hebrew, and Russian to present a new understanding of Egypt's disastrous five-year intervention in Yemen, which Egyptian president Gamal Abdel Nasser later referred to as "my Vietnam." Jesse Ferris argues that Nasser's attempt to export the Egyptian revolution to Yemen played a decisive role in destabilizing Egypt's relations with the Cold War powers, tarnishing its image in the Arab world, ruining its economy, and driving its rulers to instigate the fatal series of missteps that led to war with Israel in 1967. Viewing the Six Day War as an unintended consequence of the Saudi-Egyptian struggle over Yemen, Ferris demonstrates that the most important Cold War conflict in the Middle East was not the clash between Israel and its neighbors. It was the inter-Arab struggle between monarchies and republics over power and legitimacy. Egypt's defeat in the "Arab Cold War" set the stage for the rise of Saudi Arabia and political Islam. Bold and provocative, Nasser's Gamble brings to life a critical phase in the modern history of the Middle East. Its compelling analysis of Egypt's fall from power in the 1960s offers new insights into the decline of Arab nationalism, exposing the deep historical roots of the Arab Spring of 2011.
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This article presents the first comparative study of US policy towards two European neutrals, Sweden and Switzerland, in the late 1940s and early 1950s. During this period, Sweden and Switzerland were integrated into the Western security regime through a series of diplomatic, economic and technological steps until certain parts of the Swedish and Swiss armed forces were hard to separate from their NATO counterparts. This pioneering multi-archival study shows not only that US policy towards the neutrals was coordinated in order to make them conform to US security demands (a fact previously unnoticed by historians), but it also points towards another surprising and previously unknown conclusion - which the article calls ‘the armed neutrality paradox’. The article argues that the transfers of military technology to Sweden and Switzerland, which were needed to make their neutrality credible, effectively undermined the very credibility that they were supposed to ensure. This technology became a conduit of foreign influence reaching straight into the nerve centre of the armed neutrals, and the more ubiquitous and advanced the technology got, the less control over its use the governments seemed to have. US policy, together with the efforts of the neutral governments to increase security, spawned this paradox.