By Corine Hegland, National Journal
© National Journal Group Inc.
Tuesday, Feb. 12, 2008

John Schafer is a good person to know when you want a beer. An amiable, talkative character, he started traveling the world at the age of 21, when fellow graduates of Minnesota's Bethel University asked him to come along as their security guy for a trip to work with Haitian orphans. He had no experience, but he was large and could, when necessary, look fearsome. In Haiti, he found that he liked security work, along with the travel and good causes, and after a four-year stint in the Army, he managed to make a career of it. Working mostly for nonprofits, many of them small, he has seen much of the globe in his 42 years -- Cuba, Guatemala, and Venezuela in this hemisphere; Afghanistan, Pakistan, and Turkey in Asia; and Egypt and Sudan in Africa -- and he has the stories to tell for it. In addition, he's a generous contributor to the bar tab.

	More than 330 aid workers have lost their lives since 2002, mostly through deliberate attacks.

Schafer is also a good person to know when you (or someone you know) are in trouble, might be in trouble, or are going to a place where there could be trouble. A couple of years ago, he traded his peripatetic lifestyle for a desk job in Washington as the first security coordinator for InterAction, a coalition of 165 U.S.-based aid groups, or as they seem to be called everywhere these days -- nongovernmental organizations, or NGOs. In his small, windowless office on 16th Street NW, he sits on the hub of a far-flung network covering the world's hot spots. He knows what happened yesterday in Kenya, who has transportation resources in Afghanistan, and who's got a security problem in Somalia.

Three kinds of Americans tend to work in conflict zones: soldiers, diplomats, and aid workers. Soldiers and diplomats deal with the threat of violence by prominently displaying guns, either their own or, in the case of the State Department, those of private security companies such as Blackwater Worldwide.

Aid workers, on the other hand, have to find a more nuanced approach. "If we're trying to reduce infant mortality in a community, we can't do home visits to women [if we are] with armed guards," said Michael O'Neill, the director of security for Save the Children. "We'd alienate the population we're trying to serve."

Historically, aid groups relied on their neutrality and good intentions to safeguard their workers. Over the past decade, though, as formerly stable countries fell into civil wars and more charity groups went into humanitarian relief, they have found themselves operating in complex situations where security guarantees are hardly reliable. Violent incidents against aid groups doubled after 2001, from about 30 incidents in 2002 to 60 or 70 in 2006, according to a study by New York University and the Overseas Development Institute. More than 330 aid workers have lost their lives since 2002, mostly through deliberate attacks.

Many of those deaths took place in Afghanistan and Iraq. The two countries combined have seen more than 200 humanitarians killed since hostilities began, although nearly 100 international NGOs continue to operate in each.

By total incidents, though, Afghanistan and Iraq aren't the most dangerous places for NGOs right now. That dubious honor goes to Somalia, Sri Lanka, and the Darfur region of Sudan, where hijackings and kidnappings are commonplace. In early February, Doctors Without Borders pulled its international staff out of Somalia after three of its employees were murdered. Two Red Cross volunteers were killed in Sri Lanka last year; in 2006, 17 aid workers from a French NGO were forced to kneel on the floor before being shot through the head. Carjacking is a near-daily event in Darfur.

In response to the increasing violence, InterAction hired Schafer in 2006 to help its members safeguard their employees. "Don't be fooled by that chummy having-a-beer thing," said O'Neill, who works closely with him. "Good security management is about sharing information and building relationships, and John's been around for a long time."

Part of Schafer's job consists of keeping people abreast of current threats. He receives daily communiques from his NGO, U.N., and government contacts, and synthesizes them into situation reports for his constituents. His primary focus, however, is helping the NGO community develop security approaches that rely on more than goodwill. "There is a worldview that says, if you do good things, good things will come back to you and so you don't have to spend money on security," he said. "Unfortunately, that doesn't work."

The cornerstone of Schafer's approach to danger is avoiding it in the first place. Staying out of troubled areas isn't always an option, of course, because that's where people who need help often reside. Aid groups can, however, avoid specific threats and craft security plans and policies to head off problems. By the end of 2008, all of InterAction's members will have in place minimum security standards that address everything from contingency plans and crisis-management protocols to policies on ransoms and the use of armed guards. The U.S. Agency for International Development already requires some grantees to have such measures in place.

All aid groups say that their first line of defense still rests with goodwill, by way of getting local support for their work. "The basis of our security is gaining consent to operate in an area from all the stakeholders on the ground," O'Neill said. "Our mission is to make a lasting change in the lives of children. That resonates in the heart of the most-hardened rebel leader." In one region of a war-torn country, for example, Save the Children has gained the tacit consent of two warlords who, while fighting with each other, have given permission for the charity's activities to proceed.

Beyond that, security specifics vary with the group and the place, as the NGO community is too large to hold a unified policy. More than one-fifth of America's $23 billion in foreign aid is channeled through U.S.-based nonprofits, which receive another $18 billion from private donations, according to USAID statistics. In recent years, a couple of dozen large NGOs have hired security directors like O'Neill, but smaller groups don't have the budgets to do so. For some of those groups, Schafer acts as a de facto security coordinator, helping them stay apprised of incidents and devise plans appropriate for their projects.

In some cases, NGOs do hire private security companies, but they don't use the high-profile guards that the State Department favors. Often they're "using a local company to provide guys drinking tea in front of the compound," Schafer said.

Once a group decides to contract with armed guards, it has to devise rules for those guards. Most private security companies follow the U.S. military's rules of engagement. In Iraq, for example, Blackwater guards can respond to dangerous situations by firing warning shots or trying to disable vehicles. Those policies have kept State Department personnel safe -- no diplomats have died on Blackwater's watch -- but they have also alienated Iraqis. "For us, that's not ever going to be an option," said Trevor Hughes, the security director for the International Medical Corps, a nonprofit based in California. "Everything we are involved with has to be in line with the ethos of humanitarian work."

If somebody tries to steal satellite phones, vehicles, or computers, for example, an NGO might want its guards to hold fire. The stolen goods are expensive, but are they worth taking a life? "That's the whole issue of armed guards right there," Hughes said. "What is a humanitarian organization willing to do?" Keeping that ethos in mind, he says, IMC does "everything in our power to build multilayered security strategies short of using weapons."

Foreigners in Iraq nearly always work with armed guards, but that's not always the case in other countries, such as Afghanistan and Pakistan, where they are sometimes targeted by terrorists who want to drive a group out of the country. In those places, NGOs tend to rely more heavily on local staffers, taking precautions where needed to conceal affiliations with foreign employers. That means no business cards, no stationery, no IDs, and the judicious use of cellphones. "At some roadblocks, [the men will] take the phone and call the last number," said John Reid, the global security manager for Development Alternatives, a for-profit development group. "If an English-speaking voice answers, that's a problem."

In Iraq, local NGOs take their security a step further by downplaying their very existence. "You'll find staffers showing up [at an office] once or twice a month so that [the group] doesn't look very active," said Rahman Aljebouri, an Iraqi-American who started an Iraqi-based group, the Iraq Civic Action Network, in 2006 after becoming frustrated with the security limitations on his work for international NGOs. Only one of Aljebouri's employees reports regularly to the group's office in Baghdad; the rest work by phone and Internet. When they conduct projects in other cities, they shun hotels in favor of private homes.

In Darfur, where 13,000 humanitarian workers operate, hijacking and robbery are more common threats than murder. Western Darfur is also a staging ground for Chadian rebels who need vehicles, money, and satellite phones. Humanitarian organizations offer a one-stop shop for all three: "There's no Toyota dealer in Darfur," Schafer said. As a result, attacks on aid groups spike before and after rebel offensives. According to the United Nations, 142 U.N. and humanitarian vehicles were stolen in Darfur last year, and armed men invaded 75 humanitarian offices. In addition, 12 aid workers were killed, and 118 kidnapped.

Some groups use armed guards in Darfur, but many try to prevent hijacking there and elsewhere by avoiding dangerous roads and planning for possible encounters. "Roadblocks don't pop up out of nowhere," Hughes said. "You already know where that's a threat and avoid that route." If his staff encounters a blockade anyway, he advises them to build a rapport with the men who stopped them, offering water and explaining their medical mandate. "One of the greatest things about being in the medical profession is that we serve everyone," he said. "If you're a doctor stopped at a roadblock, they're going to remember that their sick child or wife will be treated by you."

Sometimes violent attackers will take vehicles and goods regardless of precautions. Other times, however, they just want a bribe. Groups try to avoid extorted gratuities lest they create an ongoing market for them, but patience and negotiations aren't always enough to get out of paying one. If an impasse persists for a few hours, Hughes coaches employees to say that they understand that the government requires a fee to proceed but they need a receipt signed by a boss. At that point, he says, the attackers generally either get a superior, let the workers go, or, sometimes, write a receipt.

Kidnapping is the most prevalent danger in Somalia, where abductions are a time-honored fundraiser and attention-getter. "If one clan is being favored for contracts, another clan might kidnap somebody to get attention," Schafer said. Two Doctors Without Borders employees were abducted in December, and two staffers for CARE International were taken in May. Most groups don't pay ransoms as a matter of policy, so as not to encourage future kidnappings; but securing the release of their employees sometimes requires delicate talks about other possible concessions.

Robert Klamser, head of Crisis Consulting International, a Christian nonprofit specializing in hostage negotiations, recounted a case in an undisclosed country where warlords kidnapped a number of workers from an aid organization. The warlords, it turned out, were angry with aid organizations because earlier they had given another group permission to drill water wells, but that group had left the area without doing so, causing the warlords to lose face. As a result, when the second, unrelated, aid group arrived, the warlords kidnapped its staff.

"It turned out that this second NGO also drilled water wells and was happy to do so there," Klamser said, "but they didn't want to do it in response to extortion." The ensuing negotiations consisted of separating the abductions from the area's very real water problems. The abductees were freed, the warlords got their wells, and the NGO was able to say it was responding to a local need.

Most groups don't publicize quickly resolved incidents, because they want to avoid inspiring future attacks. Their silence, however, makes it harder for other groups to avoid similar ambushes. In both Iraq and Afghanistan, NGOs exchange security information through a shared national office. In other places, Schafer, together with his new assistant, might be the only regular information conduit between organizations. They're good, but they're only two people, and nearly 250,000 humanitarians are working overseas.

During the 2006 Lebanon war, a handful of security directors who happened to be in the country at the time, including O'Neill and Hughes, started an ad hoc security group that rapidly grew from six people to 27. The group shared incident reports, contacts, and updates on such things as which bridges had been bombed the night before. It was the first time that humanitarian workers hit the ground with a coordinated security response.

When the next crisis hits, the NGOs are planning to formalize the Lebanon group by immediately bringing in a full-time security coordinator to convene meetings; share information; orient newcomers; and interface with the U.N., which has a new policy of working together with NGOs on security. Because Schafer is the guy with the contacts and experience to rapidly make sense of a trouble spot, they're hoping that he'll be the one hitting the ground. Schafer, said O'Neill, "is the linchpin."

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