Making Peace Possible

NO. 167 | September 2020

PEACEWORKS

After the Agreement

WHY THE OVERSIGHT OF PEACE

DEALS SUCCEEDS OR FAILS

By Aly Verjee 
NO. 167 | September 2020

Making Peace Possible

The views expressed in this report are those of the author alone. They do not necessarily reflect the views of

the United States Institute of Peace. An online edition of this and related reports can be found on our website 

(www.usip.org), together with additional information on the subject.

© 2020 by the United States Institute of Peace

United States Institute of Peace

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Washington, DC 20037

Phone: 202.457.1700

Fax: 202.429.6063

E-mail: usip_requests@usip.org

Web: www.usip.org

Peaceworks No. 167. First published 2020.

ISBN: 978-1-60127-828-9

PEACE 

PROCESSES

ABOUT THE REPORT

This report examines the institutions established to monitor and oversee peace 

agreements, how such institutions are designed and function, and why they succeed 

or fail, based on case studies from Indonesia, Sierra Leone, Sudan, and South Sudan. 

The project was supported by the Center for Applied Conflict Transformation at the 

United States Institute of Peace.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Aly Verjee was a visiting expert and then senior adviser at USIP from 2017 to 2019, a 

senior adviser to the Intergovernmental Authority on Development mediation for South 

Sudan from 2014 to 2015, and deputy and then acting chief of staff of the Joint Monitoring and Evaluation Commission from 2015 to 2016, overseeing the implementation 

of South Sudan’s 2015 peace agreement.

Cover photo: Indonesian president Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono (left) greets former 

Aceh rebel leaders with the head of Aceh Monitoring Mission, Pieter Feith (second 

from right), during an August 14, 2006 conference. (Photo by Dita Alangkara/AP)
USIP.ORG 1

Contents

3 Introduction

7 Sierra Leone: The Commission for the Consolidation of Peace

10 Aceh: The Aceh Monitoring Mission

13 Sudan: The Assessment and Evaluation Commission 

16 South Sudan: The Joint Monitoring and Evaluation Commission

19 Findings and Recommendations
2 PEACEWORKS | NO. 167

Summary

The journey to peace does not end once a peace agreement is signed. Almost 

every modern peace treaty establishes some form of institution—a committee, 

commission, or board—to monitor implementation of and compliance with the 

agreement’s provisions. Though the form and precise mandates of these monitoring institutions vary, the drafters of peace agreements often vest significant powers 

and far-reaching mandates in them. Despite their prominence and their potentially 

critical role in keeping agreements on track, however, relatively little is known 

about how these institutions are designed and where and why they are successful.

This report examines four monitoring and oversight mechanisms established in 

Sierra Leone, Indonesia, Sudan, and South Sudan and considers the retrospective analyses of those who worked on and with these commissions. Based on 

these case studies, six areas are identified for mediators, negotiators, and peace 

agreement implementers seeking to design future monitoring mechanisms. 

Such monitoring and oversight institutions need credible, full-time leadership to 

succeed. Planning for monitoring and oversight must start early enough that valuable time at the start of implementation is not lost, particularly where agreements 

are already tenuous. Ensuring continuity between the peace agreement mediators 

and the monitoring entities can help provide essential context and understanding 

as the monitoring process unfolds. Monitoring and oversight mandates should be 

realistic and matched with appropriate resources so that the activity is meaningful and the institutions can propose or pursue corrective measures if warranted. 

Clear lines of accountability and reporting procedures can help these institutions 

to improve their credibility. Finally, rather than exclusively focusing on short-term, 

technical benchmarks, monitoring and oversight should be conducted with a long 

time horizon to be able to contribute to a broader consolidation of peace.
USIP.ORG 3

Peace processes do not end once negotiations conclude and agreements are signed. 

As important as the negotiations are, the most critical phase of any peace process is 

arguably what follows the talks: implementation. As part of the implementation phase, 

almost every modern peace agreement establishes some form of institution—a committee, commission, or board—to monitor and oversee implementation of, and determine 

compliance with, the agreement’s provisions. The precise mandate and powers of these 

entities vary. Some monitoring and oversight mechanisms (MOMs) entail only light-touch 

monitoring—for example, periodic reporting on the status of implementation to the 

national government or international organizations. Other MOMs conduct active, day-today oversight of a comprehensive range of agreement provisions. In the event of serious 

problems or crises, they may intervene to correct course or countermand the deleterious 

actions of other parties. Many peace agreements vest significant powers in the monitoring mechanisms and often allocate them key roles in sustaining the peace agreement.

The widespread inclusion of provisions establishing third-party monitoring mechanisms in peace agreements suggests that both the mediators and the negotiators 

of an agreement see a need for such mechanisms to be established, even if their 

intentions for and expectations of these institutions vary considerably. While the most 

Sudanese vice president Ali Osman Mohammed Taha, left, and John Garang, chairman of the Sudanese People's Liberation Army, share a joke

before they sign the Comprehensive Peace Agreement on January 9, 2005 in Nairobi, Kenya. (Photo by Karel Prinsloo/AP)

Historically, peace 

agreements focused 

primarily, if not 

exclusively, on security 

arrangements. 

[But] as the logic of 

conflict resolution 

has evolved toward 

agreements that are 

more thematically 

comprehensive, so too 

have the requirements 

for [monitoring and 

oversight mechanisms].

Introduction
4 PEACEWORKS | NO. 167

important factors in any agreement’s success almost 

certainly are the political commitment of the parties to 

that accord and how well it addresses the structural 

causes of conflict, the mandate, form, and performance 

of any MOM specified in an agreement matter in the 

broader evaluation of a peace process.1 Despite their 

customary inclusion in peace agreements, how such 

MOMs are designed and function, their composition, 

and their role in the success or failure of a given peace 

agreement are topics rarely investigated. If Scott 

Sagan’s claim of institutional isomorphism—namely, that 

“modern organizations and institutions often come to 

resemble each other [in their roles, routines, and rituals] 

. . . not because of competitive selection or rational 

learning but because institutions mimic each other”—is 

correct, then understanding how MOMs are designed 

and function should have broad implications for the 

work of peacemakers.2

Historically, peace agreements focused primarily, if not 

exclusively, on security arrangements. Therefore, they 

concentrated on the technical monitoring required to 

determine compliance with a cessation of hostilities 

or ceasefire.3 As the logic of conflict resolution has 

evolved toward agreements that are more thematically comprehensive, so too have the requirements for 

MOMs, although much of the same logic of ceasefire 

monitoring has been thought to apply to more generalized oversight processes.4

Five key roles can be discerned for MOMs. First, at a 

basic functional level, monitoring bodies play a reporting, monitoring, or verification and oversight role with 

regard to the status of the peace agreement’s implementation. Monitoring, as Jane Boulden writes, “is the 

process of gathering information about a particular 

activity,” and in this way is distinct from verification, 

which is the process of assessing parties’ compliance 

with their commitments.5 Verification, however, is only 

one subset of oversight, which implies a much broader 

purview of investigation, analysis, and assessment of 

both compliance and performance. While the depth, 

frequency, and accuracy of monitoring, verification, 

oversight, and reporting may vary, MOMs can measure 

both political commitment (e.g., whether party A honors 

its pledge to end hostile propaganda against party B) 

and technical agreement performance (e.g., nine out 

of twelve laws were reformed by the required date 

specified in the agreement). The nature of reports and 

reporting may be mandated by the peace agreement, 

determined independently by the MOM, or determined 

by international bodies such as the UN Security Council 

or the African Union Peace and Security Council.

Second, like ceasefire monitoring bodies—to which the 

practice of peace agreement oversight can be traced—

MOMs can reduce uncertainty between parties historically suspicious of one another and therefore serve 

as an agreement safeguard.6 Madhav Joshi, SungYong 

Lee, and Roger Mac Ginty note that such “safeguards 

are often the first mechanisms to be established,” 

although as “(usually temporary) institutional mechanisms that are facilitative of the implementation of the 

peace accord and work to protect the peace accord.” 7

By acting as a reliable third-party source of information, 

monitoring bodies can address existing asymmetries in 

information between (former) enemies.

Third, many peace processes require ongoing dialogue and negotiation to make or sustain progress 

and to overcome challenges, including ambiguities or 

inconsistencies in agreements or problems that may 

have not been foreseen at the time an agreement was 

finalized. MOMs can provide a forum for continuing 

negotiations or the framework to engage in new talks. 

Although their formal mandates may not prescribe this 

As the logic of conflict resolution has evolved toward agreements that are more thematically comprehensive, 

so too have the requirements for [monitoring and oversight mechanisms], although much of the same logic of 

ceasefire monitoring has been thought to apply to more generalized oversight processes. 
USIP.ORG 5

task, by default, monitoring bodies may have to be 

solution oriented and conduct mediation by another 

name. This may be particularly necessary when other 

interim institutions established by a political settlement 

are only in the formation stage, are distrusted by the 

parties, or are dysfunctional.

Fourth, MOMs can serve a signaling function to a 

broader public, both domestic and international. Sean 

Molloy and Borja Paladini Adell argue that monitoring 

mechanisms can “offer the general public insights into 

the progression, regression or inertia of the peace 

process.”8 Therefore, in their reporting, statements, and 

general activities, monitoring institutions may provide 

both real-time and early warning signals as to the prevailing trends of implementation.

Fifth, MOMs can play a key role in ensuring that peace 

agreement implementation remains inclusive. Much of the 

inclusivity debate has focused on process-related norms 

of the inclusion of actors in agreement negotiations.

9

If inclusivity is considered critical to fostering the legitimacy and sustainability of formal negotiations, it follows 

that during the implementation period of an agreement, 

inclusivity remains vital to retaining legitimacy.10 If, as 

Roger Mac Ginty argues, “implementation becomes 

something that is done to [people] rather than a process 

in which they are full participants,” advocating for inclusivity in negotiations may be inadequate if implementation 

processes—and the mechanisms designed to oversee 

such processes—remain exclusive.11 Joshi, Lee, and Mac 

Ginty argue for the potential of monitoring bodies to be 

inclusive, noting that such entities are “in many cases  . . . 

the most inclusive and representative of the institutions 

[established by peace agreements] due to the vertical 

integration of various actors and the horizontal distribution of such mechanisms.”12 Nick Ross presents empirical 

evidence for the inclusive possibilities of MOMs, categorizing four distinct modalities: a requirement for official 

monitoring bodies to consult with civil society, monitoring 

and verification conducted by individual civil society organizations (CSOs) or groups of CSOs, the representation 

of civil society in inclusive commissions, and civil society 

participation in international monitoring missions. And he 

notes that “peace agreements have increasingly included 

a role for civil society in the monitoring and verification of 

both ceasefires and thematic agreements.”13

These five functions are normative. But there is also 

skepticism about the role of MOMs. Arist von Hehn 

observes that “external monitors almost inevitably have 

insufficient capacity to monitor the situation without 

plunging into local networks.”14 Mac Ginty notes that 

“peace accord monitoring bodies risk becoming yet 

another arena of competition in a peace process,” and 

focuses his concern for competition on the monitoring 

body’s assessment.15 And whether these commissions 

are inclusive or not, to date there is little clear evidence that the participation of civil society in the work 

of MOMs contributes specifically to more successful 

implementation of their mandates.

Mandate and intended purpose are just the beginning 

of any discussion of monitoring and oversight. This report considers both the application of these theoretical 

purposes of MOMs and practical questions related to 

the quality, composition, and activities of these institutions. Drawing on interviews conducted in 2018 and 

2019 with former participants in and close observers 

of these MOMs and on the author’s direct experience 

serving with a MOM, this report considers four examples of third-party MOMs, from Sierra Leone, Indonesia, 

Sudan, and South Sudan, that were established over 

the decade and a half from 1999 to 2015. These cases 

were selected as roughly contemporaneous examples 

that each took different approaches to inclusion, from 

formal civil society and noncombatant participation to 

more exclusive approaches, and that differed as well 

in institutional leadership, composition of membership, 

and institutional mandates and agendas. 

All of these MOMs held important, if sometimes loosely defined, responsibilities in the peace agreements 

that called for their creation. Most received substantial 
6 PEACEWORKS | NO. 167

international political and financial backing and were led 

by senior national and international political and diplomatic figures. All the peace agreements considered in 

this report featured the strong involvement of the respective regional organizations: the Economic Community 

of West African States (ECOWAS) in Sierra Leone, the 

Association of Southeast Asian Nations (ASEAN) in Aceh, 

and the Intergovernmental Authority for Development 

(IGAD) in the cases of both Sudan and South Sudan, all 

of which were expected to play key roles in or alongside 

the oversight bodies. All the MOMs were created outside 

the framework of the United Nations, despite there being 

concurrent UN peacekeeping missions in three of the 

four cases, and historically, the UN would have been the 

default agency for monitoring compliance with peace 

agreements if the UN Security Council determined a 

threat to international peace and security existed.16 With 

the hindsight now possible (all but one of these MOMs 

are no longer operating), the effectiveness and value of 

these institutions can be assessed from a longer-term 

perspective. The results are mixed, as both insiders and 

external observers attest.17

In each of the following case studies—from Sierra 

Leone, Indonesia, Sudan, and South Sudan—a brief 

account of the conflict and peace process in each context is followed by a recap of the mandate of the MOM

and the key existing literature of the time, then a discussion of the insights derived from the participant and 

observer interviews conducted more recently for this 

report. Some of the key distinguishing characteristics of 

the four commissions examined here are described in 

table 1, including the nature of the mandate, leadership, 

and composition of each body.

Table 1. Common Features of Four Monitoring and Oversight Mechanisms

Commission for 

the Consolidation 

of Peace

(Sierra Leone)

Aceh

Monitoring

Mission (Aceh)

Assessment

and Evaluation 

Commission 

(Sudan)

Joint Monitoring 

and Evaluation 

Commission 

(South Sudan)

Reporting and monitoring function Yes Yes Yes Yes

Verification function Yes Yes Yes Yes

Oversight function Yes Yes No Yes

Independent/nonpartisan chair No Yes Yes Yes

Independent/nonpartisan members 

(other than the chair)

Yes Yes Yes Yes

International membership No Yes Yes Yes

National membership Yes No Yes Yes

Civil society membership Yes No No Yes
USIP.ORG 7

Sierra Leone: The Commission 

for the Consolidation of Peace

Civil war in Sierra Leone began in 1991. The 

Revolutionary United Front (RUF) aimed to overthrow 

the government, and after a coup d’état in 1992, an 

initial peace agreement in 1996, and a further coup 

in 1997, which also elevated the RUF, a subsequent 

peace process between the civilian government of 

Sierra Leone and the RUF led to the signing of the 

Lomé Peace Agreement in March 1999.18 The Lomé 

agreement was a power-sharing accord that installed 

the commander of the RUF as vice president of Sierra 

Leone and granted a general amnesty to combatants in 

return for a cessation of hostilities and disarmament by 

the RUF. While the Lomé accord was ultimately ill-fated—conflict had resumed by 2000—the agreement did 

create two implementation and oversight mechanisms: 

the Commission for the Consolidation of Peace (CCP) 

and the Joint Implementation Commission (JIC).19

Article 6 of the Lomé agreement charged the CCP with 

“the overall goal and responsibility for supervising and 

monitoring the implementation of and compliance with 

the provisions of the present Agreement relative to the 

promotion of national reconciliation and the consolidation of peace” and gave it the authority ”to inspect any 

activity or site connected with the implementation of the 

present Agreement” and to make “recommendations for 

improvements or modifications . . . to the President of 

Sierra Leone for appropriate action.” Article 6 also called 

Ahmed Tejan Kabbah (right), then president of Sierra Leone, sits next to Foday Sankoh, a leader of the Revolutionary United Front, at a dinner for 

heads of states arriving for peace talks in Togo on July 6, 1999. (Photo by Clement Ntaye/AP)
8 PEACEWORKS | NO. 167

on the CCP to notify the president of “failures of the 

structures to perform their assigned duties.”

The JIC consisted of members of the CCP, the guarantors, and other international supporters of the agreement, and was chaired by the regional organization the 

ECOWAS. Its function was to make “recommendations 

deemed necessary to ensure effective implementation 

of the present Agreement . . . without prejudice to the 

functions of” the CCP.

20 Thus, at least from the text of 

the Lomé agreement, the CCP had the more expansive 

mandate. Further, the JIC met only quarterly, while the 

CCP served as the day-to-day oversight entity. The 

CCP was also one of the first MOMs anywhere in the 

world to formally require civil society involvement in the 

peace agreement’s oversight process. Of the five commissioners, two were to be appointed by civil society, 

one by the armed opposition, one by the incumbent 

government, and one by the parliament. 

Despite this inclusive design, however, the CCP was 

set back from the outset by its partisan leadership. 

Sierra Leone president Ahmad Tejan Kabbah appointed Johnny Paul Koroma, a former rebel leader, chair 

of the CCP. Koroma had formed the Armed Forces 

Revolutionary Council (AFRC), which at one time 

was allied with the RUF in its fight against the Sierra 

Leonean government. But, as Chris Mahony and Yasmin 

Sooka have argued, the appointment of Koroma 

alienated the CCP from the RUF “due to disintegrating 

relations” between the former AFRC and RUF allies 

and led to the CCP not being “predisposed towards 

ensuring accommodation of RUF interests (such as an 

examination of what caused them to take up arms in the 

first place) and representation within the Commission.”21

Dennis Bright, a former CCP commissioner who, despite 

his civil society background, was the government 

appointee to the commission, argues that because of 

its partisan political leadership, from the outset the CCP

“was politically and financially marginalized by both the 

government and the international community,” but that 

over time, the commission “attracted greater attention 

and financial support” and “pared down its scope to 

focus on confidence-building at all levels as a strategy 

for enhancing the peace process.”22

Scholarly assessments of the CCP have been largely 

negative. In his writing about Sierra Leone’s peace 

processes and its numerous commissions, Jeremy Levitt 

included the CCP in his argument that “these commissions . . . have had minimal impact for innumerable 

reasons, including official corruption, structural and technical inefficiencies, and untimeliness.”23 Arthur Abraham 

notes there was no time frame for the implementation of 

the work of the CCP, while David Francis observes “the 

serious drawback” of the time limit of the CCP’s mandate, writing that the body was “economically irrelevant” 

for the purposes of a power-sharing agreement.24

Nearly twenty years later, Bright reflected that

although the government proposed me as their representative, they did not set up a channel for me to report 

to them. We did not have the capacity to act. Mandates 

are one thing, reality on the ground differed. We needed 

SIERRA

LEONE

Freetown

Lungi Lunsar Koidu

Kenema

Kailahun

Kambia

Kabala

Bo Shenge

LIBERIA

GUINEA

Atlantic Ocean

Area 

enlarged

50 miles

50 km

Sierra Leone

Adapted from artwork by Rainer Lesniewski/Shutterstock
USIP.ORG 9

a bigger structure. When we needed to do things outright, 

we had to resort to the UN [mission] for support. It was not 

very easy to access government. The CCP should have 

played a key role in the JIC but we did not—our chair 

affected our participation in the process. There was no 

serious feedback from him. [The CCP] would have looked 

different if we had had someone else as chair. 

With regard to inclusion, Bright stated that it “also has 

drawbacks—you have to find something for every party 

involved, and that isn’t always easy. The presence of 

civil society [in the CCP] put a break on the belligerent kind of discourse, but it doesn’t mean we were all 

thinking the same way.”

For another former commissioner, one who represented 

civil society on the CCP, the commission “wasn’t inclusive”:

We had no women in the commission, no disabled as 

a result of the war. People were thinking largely about 

warring factions. But we felt we [as civil society] had something to offer, and we had had a huge engagement in the 

peace process. When we got to the CCP, there were many 

turning points. . . . [Koroma] always presented himself as 

if he was in charge. He didn’t take our conclusions very 

seriously. He thought the institution was under his control. 

[Koroma] used the CCP to set himself up for power. We 

could have been very powerful, but the real power was 

with the RUF and Koroma.

Other observers agreed that the RUF’s role in the 

country, and Koroma’s role in the CCP, were critical. 

Said one analyst in 2018: 

The CCP wanted to do more. But oversight was restricted 

because the RUF was still dominant. The country did not 

have money to fund those activities. At the same time, it 

was good to have the rebels there [in the CCP]. Because 

the commander [Koroma] was involved, it quelled his involvement in the rebel movements, in a situation everyone 

knew was fragile.

Interviewees suggested that the CCP could have 

done more if it had been backed more systematically. Resource constraints were a common complaint, 

particularly in comparison to the resources extended 

to the UN peacekeeping mission, but also to other 

entities established by the Lomé agreement, such as 

the Truth and Reconciliation Commission. Mahony and 

Sooka note that the staff of the CCP consisted only of a 

driver, an accountant, and a messenger.25 As the former 

civil society commissioner stated: 

The CCP was not going to do very much. It was not 

properly resourced. We wanted to have a decentralized 

structure, but it is impossible for a few people to be 

everywhere. We didn’t have the resource base to do 

more, which suited the RUF. But the commission did make 

some good moves: we created some awareness around 

the peace process, and we were recognized as a point of 

reference in the process. Wherever we went in the country 

we were received enthusiastically.

Bright concluded, “We know about this classical superstructure [of monitoring and oversight] but, we have to 

ask ourselves, is it peace for the ordinary man?” For 

Bright, the CCP’s biggest achievement was a practical, 

hands-on activity outside its formal mandate—the Bo 

conference of April 2000, a trust-building meeting that 

occurred between combatants—rather than any formal 

task of monitoring and oversight. As Bright observed 

about the conference, “I can’t remember a time when 

the insurgents had had to meet on Sierra Leonean territory. The precedent had been set. It is possible to see 

the other side. A little bit of confidence was built.”26

Four key conclusions can be drawn from the case of 

the CCP. First, a powerful mandate did not automatically translate into substantive action. Second, greater 

inclusivity in the commission’s membership did not 

overcome other structural problems, such as a lack 

of resources or politicized leadership. Third, while 

Koroma’s appointment as chair did not aid the achievement of the commission’s mandate, the attention of a 

potential spoiler may have been diverted. Finally, institutions such as MOMs can be repurposed and make 

unforeseen contributions, such as to reconciliation.
10 PEACEWORKS | NO. 167

Aceh: The Aceh 

Monitoring Mission

Historically an independent country, Aceh was incorporated into what became Indonesia during the period of 

Dutch colonialism. The Free Aceh Movement, known 

as the Gerakin Aceh Merdeka (GAM), emerged in the 

1970s and aimed to achieve Aceh’s secession from 

Indonesia.27 After twenty-five years of conflict between 

the central government and GAM, peace talks began in 

2000. Agreements reached in 2000 and 2002 failed 

to hold. It was not until 2005 that a Memorandum of 

Understanding (MOU) between the government of the 

Republic of Indonesia and GAM (also known as the 

Helsinki Agreement) was reached.28 In this agreement, 

GAM relinquished its claim to independence and agreed 

to demobilize its forces and surrender its weapons. The 

Jakarta government agreed to permit Aceh a high degree of autonomy over its internal affairs, including fiscal 

powers to raise and spend its own revenues; to withdraw 

some military and police personnel; and to grant an 

amnesty to GAM members. The agreement established 

the Aceh Monitoring Mission (AMM), comprising monitors 

from both EU and ASEAN countries.29 While Acehnese 

and Indonesian officials participated in the work of the 

AMM, they were not formal members, nor did they have 

decision-making roles in the AMM’s work. Civil society 

likewise was not formally part of the mechanism. Some 

observers felt the AMM could have engaged more widely with civil society and that the engagement it did make 

was left too late in the life of the mission.30

In the years since the peace agreement between the government of Indonesia and the Free Aceh Movement, Aceh’s capital, Banda Aceh, shown 

here, has grown significantly. (Photo by Taufik Kelana/Shutterstock)
USIP.ORG 11

Under articles 5.1 and 5.2 of the MOU, the AMM had 

the mandate to monitor the implementation of the commitments of the parties to the MOU, and specifically to

• monitor the demobilization of GAM and the decommissioning of its armaments;

• monitor the relocation of nonorganic military forces 

and nonorganic police troops;

• monitor the reintegration of active GAM members;

• monitor the human rights situation and provide assistance in this field;

• monitor the process of legislation change;

• rule on disputed amnesty cases;

• investigate and rule on complaints and alleged violations of the MOU; and

• establish and maintain liaison and good cooperation 

with the parties.31

While the AMM was rapidly established in September 

2005, just days after the Helsinki Agreement was 

reached, its mission was brief, and it concluded its work 

just over a year later, in December 2006. Accounts offered shortly after the conclusion of the mission’s term 

were largely positive. The former head of the AMM, 

Pieter Feith, wrote in 2007 that “crucial to the successful start of the mission was that the parties asked the 

contributing countries to be present in Aceh from the 

day the agreement was signed” and that “the mission 

members were constantly in contact with the parties 

and civil society representatives, proposing new ideas 

and running a substantial public information campaign. 

This was important to create confidence and build trust 

between the parties.”32 In a 2007 study, Kirsten Schulze 

cited several reasons for the AMM’s success, including 

the commitment of the parties to the peace process, 

the leadership and impartiality of the AMM, the quick 

implementation of the agreement’s amnesty provisions 

and security arrangements, and, controversially, the 

AMM’s lack of focus on the human rights provisions of 

the agreement, “which made it possible for the AMM

to complete its mission in the sensitive context of 

Indonesian domestic politics.”33 Similarly, Patrick Barron 

and Adam Burke noted in 2008 that the AMM’s narrow 

approach “may have been advisable” in the context of 

Aceh as a means to keep the government of Indonesia 

“sufficiently comfortable with the proceedings.”34

Participants and observers interviewed in 2018, 

reflecting on the experience of the AMM, expressed 

more mixed views, challenging some of the earlier, 

positive evaluations of the AMM. As one former GAM

member said, “The AMM was good, but left too early.” 

Another said, “Feith was good, but the AMM should 

not have left Aceh until all points were [implemented].” 

Another commentator argued that “the AMM was a 

success in terms of its narrow mandate . . . but [was] 

not a success in terms of the context. Everyone knows 

that there were more weapons, perhaps 16,000, post 

peace-process. [The AMM] was very [stuck] to the 

number [of weapons mentioned in the agreement]. 

They could have done more.” An Acehnese political 

observer reflected that 

the AMM was a strong point of the MOU. But we needed 

to establish a transition system for the monitoring, [perhaps] an office of five to ten members to follow up. Now, 

50 miles

50 km

Indian 

Ocean

Malacca

Strait

NORTH

 SUMATRA

MALAYSIA Banda Aceh

Meulaboh

Sigli Bireuën

Blangkejeren

ACEH

Medan

Langsa

Lhokseumawe

Area 

enlarged

Aceh

Adapted from artwork by Rainer Lesniewski/Shutterstock
12 PEACEWORKS | NO. 167

the level of trust is low, but [people] don’t bother to do 

anything because they are happy with peace. We agreed 

on some timelines [in the Agreement], but ten years later 

they have not happened. Is that a success?

As another Acehnese explained, “The AMM had done 

a good job [in] 2005–6 on security . . . [delivering] a 

quick response. . . . In terms of the political issues, 

AMM has not satisfied us.” Directly refuting Schulze’s 

belief that the AMM was successful because it downplayed the human rights dimension of its mandate, he 

went on: “Is the monitoring of an agreement really successful if it only monitors some things, and not others?”

While, as Feith pointed out in his 2007 article, it is 

always difficult to find an appropriate time for a mission to leave, the reflections of Acehnese a decade 

later suggest that even when early progress is made, 

there is an ongoing role for monitoring and oversight 

beyond the initial period of implementation. Barron and 

Burke made this point in 2008, noting that some felt 

the AMM could have worked more collaboratively with 

other international actors with a longer-term footprint in 

Aceh, and that it was “unclear how much the post-AMM

institutional infrastructure . . . was planned in a cohesive way.”35 A formal, near identical follow-on mission 

may not always be feasible or desirable in light of the 

financial and logistical limitations of implementation and 

questions concerning the consent of the host state. 

Without an agreed-on transition strategy, however, an 

abrupt end to monitoring may also be problematic. 

Indonesia, and Aceh in particular, remains vulnerable 

to destabilizing grievances, as interviewees in Aceh in 

2018 conveyed and others have agreed.36

Five key conclusions can be drawn from the case of 

the AMM. First, the rapid establishment of a MOM can 

sustain an agreement’s momentum at a critical juncture. 

Second, credible leadership matters. Third, downplaying certain aspects of the mandate may improve the 

likelihood of achieving other aspects of the mandate 

but may diminish the MOM’s overall credibility. Fourth, 

MOMs without national members that do not systematically consult widely may lose citizens’ broader trust. Fifth, 

monitoring is a process as well as an activity, and initial 

achievements may fade if there is no strategy for monitoring compliance with commitments in the longer term.
USIP.ORG 13

Sudan: The Assessment and 

Evaluation Commission 

Sudan’s civil war was arguably the longest running 

in Africa. In 2005, after nearly half a century of conflict, the government of Sudan and the predominantly southern Sudanese Sudan People’s Liberation 

Movement/Army (SPLM/A) signed the Comprehensive 

Peace Agreement (CPA), mediated by the IGAD.37 For 

a six-year period, from 2005 to 2011, the CPA established a government of national unity in Khartoum; a 

semi-autonomous Government of Southern Sudan; 

and provisions on security arrangements, power and 

wealth sharing, and constitutional reform. It also provided for a referendum on the continued unity of Sudan 

and southern Sudan, a vote that eventually led to the 

secession of South Sudan and its establishment as an 

independent state in 2011. The CPA called for a dedicated separate MOM, to be known as the Assessment 

and Evaluation Commission (AEC). The agreement 

stated that the AEC:

shall be established during the Pre-Interim Period to 

monitor the implementation of the [Comprehensive] Peace 

Agreement and conduct a mid-term evaluation [i.e., by 

2008] of the unity arrangements established under the 

Peace Agreement. . . . The Parties shall work with the 

[AEC] during the Interim Period with a view to improving 

the institutions and arrangements created under the 

Agreement and making the unity of Sudan attractive to the 

people of South Sudan.38

A woman walks through the ruins of the market in Abyei, Sudan, on November 27, 2008. Once a thriving city on the north-south border, Abyei was 

destroyed during sectarian violence six months earlier. (Photo by Evelyn Hockstein/New York Times)
14 PEACEWORKS | NO. 167

The AEC consisted of equal representation from 

the government of Sudan and the SPLM/A, as well 

as representatives of IGAD states and international 

supporters of the peace process. Its first chair was the 

Norwegian diplomat Tom Vraalsen, who was succeeded by the British diplomat Sir Derek Plumbly in 2008. 

Its secretariat was entirely international, and, as one 

former AEC staffer offered in retrospect, this limited 

the insights the AEC could glean. “We should have had 

more [Sudanese] staff in substantive roles,” this individual said. Another former AEC official thought that the 

AEC could have done more to be inclusive in its engagement with Sudanese outside of the commission. 

“It might have been useful to have had greater civil 

society consultation in our mandate. . . . While we were 

pretty inclusive politically, we didn’t have inclusion in 

other areas. We didn’t have someone dedicated to 

media, for example. But when you have a thinly staffed 

secretariat, these are the choices.”

Writing in 2007, John Young argued that the AEC “did 

not meet the expectations of those who initially proposed it.”39 For Young, the weakness of the AEC was in 

its mandate, its authority, and ambiguities about its line 

of reporting:

Concern was expressed that the AEC does not have 

sufficient authority, and having investigated a breach in the 

agreement, has no means to ensure the guilty party would 

act on it or suffer consequences. It was also not clear to 

whom or what body the AEC should report, since the present 

system where it reports to the presidency is widely held to be 

ineffective. The argument was made . . . that the AEC should 

report to IGAD, and although there is no provision in the CPA 

that suggests such recourse, Tom Vraalsen, Chairman of the 

AEC, presented a report to the IGAD Council of Ministers 

in their meeting of 13 April 2007 in Nairobi on matters pertaining to his work at that body’s request.40

One diplomat reflected in 2006 that a mistake had 

been made in not creating greater institutional continuity between the IGAD mediation and the AEC by 

ensuring that the former mediator, Lazaro Sumbeiywo, 

was not also part of the AEC. As the diplomat commented, Sumbeiywo was left out “in spite of the good 

that [Sumbeiywo] could have done [in] providing 

continuity, and making sure that the AEC was following 

through or being the conscience of the sides in terms 

of implementing the Agreement.”41 And by 2010, a year 

before the CPA concluded, a donor evaluation “found 

insufficient technical support for the AEC.”42

In retrospect, those who served on and worked with 

the AEC also had mixed views about the commission’s 

overall performance. Interviewed in 2018, a former 

diplomat assigned to Sudan during the CPA noted that 

the AEC “quickly became less relevant. Nobody questioned whether it was likely to work. These elaborate 

structures, do they work in the field?” And as a former 

senior official to the AEC noted:

We could have had more continuity between Naivasha 

[site of the IGAD talks] and our work, to understand why 

things were written the way they were. It was always 

going to be difficult . . . we didn’t receive anything [from 

the talks]. . . . But when it came to the mandate, it was 

not necessarily to have been a good thing to have had 

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USIP.ORG 15

more specificity, because that allowed for us to be a bit 

more flexible. A lot of what these institutions need to do is 

theatre, successful theatre, a contribution to getting to 2011 

[when the CPA was due to conclude].

For another representative to the AEC, “The formal 

meeting [was] not the most important part of our work. 

What you do before and after is what mattered. So 

some of the African members [of the AEC] attended 

the meetings pro forma, but had no clear agenda while 

they were there.” Reflecting on the change between 

the first chair of the AEC, who had a reputation for 

bluntness, and the second chair, who took a more 

subtle approach, the representative noted that the AEC 

did not have a compulsory reporting function. AEC 

reports and minutes of meetings had to be agreed to 

by the parties and thus were necessarily restrained. 

The former AEC representative speculated whether it 

would have made a difference had the AEC been able 

to report directly to the UN Security Council, insofar as 

the UN Mission in the Sudan (UNMIS) was also reporting on the implementation of the agreement. For his 

part, the former senior official noted that “there was 

always going to be a problem with parallel institutions.” 

He observed that as head of UNMIS, the UN Special 

Representative of the Secretary-General, rather than 

the AEC chair, was perhaps the prime international 

figure in Sudan, but that the UN had a different set of 

concerns, many of which were tied to the operational 

realities of managing a large peacekeeping mission. 

The issue, the former official continued, was a division 

of labor. “The UN was never really proactive,” he said. 

As an example of the AEC’s utility, the former official 

provided two illustrations: the controversial census 

of 2008 and the contested area of Abyei, which was 

claimed by both Sudan and South Sudan. We had “an 

emergency meeting on the census, which helped the 

parties climb down. With Abyei, there was a flare-up, 

a real crisis. Our intervention worked, at least for a 

time, to prevent further escalation.” With respect to 

Abyei, the quick action of the AEC contributed to a 

timely de-escalation of a volatile situation. In May 2008, 

after the Sudan Armed Forces and associated militias 

attacked and looted Abyei town, AEC chair Plumbly 

organized an immediate visit of the commission, including representatives of the parties, to understand the 

situation on the ground. Seeing the situation firsthand 

led to an early agreement between the parties to restore security. In both examples, the census and Abyei, 

the AEC clearly exceeded its sparse mandate in the 

CPA, but its interventions were ultimately accepted by 

the parties. In a sense, therefore, the AEC “reinvented 

itself,” the former official said. 

However, this reinvented purpose was not necessarily 

sustained throughout the period of implementation, nor 

was it felt equally throughout the country. As another 

former representative to the AEC noted:

I agree at the outset there was a useful role for the AEC to 

play. [But as time went on], particularly after the mid-term 

report of the AEC [in 2008] there was a gradual transition. The AEC was a weak commission with not a lot of 

independence. And there was a limited presence outside 

of Khartoum. . . . Opening the AEC office in Juba was a big 

step. [By the later stage of the agreement], I don’t know if 

the AEC made a difference at that time. I don’t know if we 

needed a repurposed AEC at that point.

Five key conclusions can be drawn from the case of 

the AEC. First, the AEC suffered from a weak mandate 

and ambiguous lines of reporting. Second, the AEC 

was under-resourced in terms of both the scope and 

diversity of its personnel. Third, there was a lack of 

continuity between the CPA mediation and the implementation process. Fourth, more positively, effective 

leadership from 2008 allowed the AEC to build strong 

relations with both parties to the CPA, and to intervene 

in crises. Fifth, noting that Darfur was at the center of 

international attention for much of the CPA implementation period, the AEC helped keep international actors 

focused to some extent on CPA implementation, at 

least until 2010.
16 PEACEWORKS | NO. 167

South Sudan: The Joint Monitoring 

and Evaluation Commission

South Sudan became independent from Sudan in 2011. 

In December 2013, violent conflict in Juba, the capital 

of South Sudan, led within days to a full-blown civil war 

between the government of South Sudan and dissident 

factions of the national army and local militias.43 IGAD 

quickly launched peace talks. After twenty months of 

on-again, off-again negotiations, the Agreement on 

the Resolution of the Conflict in South Sudan (ARCSS) 

was reached in August 2015.44 The agreement called 

for the establishment, within fifteen days of the signing 

of the ARCSS document, of a Joint Monitoring and 

Evaluation Commission (JMEC), to “be responsible 

for monitoring and overseeing the implementation of 

the [Agreement] and the mandate and tasks of the 

[Transitional Government of National Unity], including 

the adherence of the Parties to the agreed timelines 

and implementation schedule.”45 The JMEC was to 

oversee the work of all the transitional institutions 

established by the ARCSS and recommend and report 

corrective action in the case of “serious deficiencies” in 

the implementation of the agreement. The commission 

was required to report to both national and international bodies, including the African Union Peace and 

Security Council and the UN Security Council. It was 

to be “chaired by a prominent African personality” and 

was to have an “independent secretariat” with its own 

dedicated funding.46

A man carries the flag of South Sudan through the streets of Juba on July 8, 2011, the day before South Sudan officially became an independent nation. 

(Photo by Tyler Hicks/New York Times)
USIP.ORG 17

Ethiopia, as chair of IGAD and leader of the mediation, 

also led the process to select and appoint the first 

chairperson of JMEC. It took several months to develop 

a short list of candidates. Festus Mogae, president of 

Botswana from 1998 to 2008, became the top choice 

and, after a process of consultation with the other IGAD 

states, was offered and accepted the position. Mogae 

was selected for several reasons. First, he was seen 

as a highly competent leader who had left power after 

two successful terms in office. Second, as a trained 

economist and former civil servant, he had a technocratic bent, while also having been in politics. Third, 

because he was a former president, some felt that 

South Sudan’s president, Salva Kiir, would respect him 

and take him more seriously than he would a figure of 

ambassadorial or envoy rank of lesser stature. Finally, 

Botswana was far removed from the regional politics 

of the Horn of Africa and was not perceived as biased 

toward the position of one faction or another, or toward 

any of the regional countries. However, more than 

three critical months passed before Mogae could begin 

the JMEC’s operations in-country. It was not until late 

November 2015 that the JMEC took meaningful action 

and convened its first meeting.47

The JMEC was “joint” in the sense that its membership 

was exactly half South Sudanese and half international. 

It included representation from civil society, youth, the 

business community, and women’s groups. At least on 

paper, the JMEC seemed to have some potential. As 

one former representative to Sudan’s AEC observed, 

“JMEC learned some of the AEC lessons in design,” 

notably in the specificity of its mandate and in allowing 

its chair to report independently of the parties. Two 

members of the IGAD mediation secretariat (including 

the author of this report) were appointed to senior 

positions at the JMEC, providing a degree of institutional memory and continuity.48 The government of South 

Sudan, however, strenuously opposed the institution 

of an oversight mechanism from the outset, arguing 

in August 2015 that “the provisions of [the ARCSS] 

makes JMEC the governing authority of the Republic of 

South Sudan. Neither the government nor the National 

Legislature will have a role to play.”49 The government 

quickly targeted JMEC’s personnel, including both 

Mogae and his secretariat, and Mogae expressed 

concern for his safety several times. As Kate Almquist 

Knopf has observed, however, neither the IGAD member states nor the United States took sufficient action 

to back the JMEC when it was attacked, “fostering the 

parties’ disregard for these mechanisms.” 50

There were at least four reasons for this lack of broader political backing for the JMEC. First, the relative 

regional unity of effort that brokered the ARCSS diminished significantly after August 2015, when the principal negotiations ended. Second, with the shift from 

negotiations outside the country to implementation 

within South Sudan, many diplomatic representatives 

in Juba were worried about antagonizing their host 

government on this matter. Third, in an attempt to maintain relations with the government, Mogae was initially 

restrained in response to the government’s attacks 

and did not succeed in pushing the region to give 

JMEC its unequivocal backing. Fourth, few international 

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18 PEACEWORKS | NO. 167

organizations recognized at the time just how precarious South Sudan’s peace agreement was. By the time 

crisis arrived, it was too late for an effective oversight 

mechanism to impel a change of direction.

With the effective collapse of the ARCSS in July 2016 

and South Sudan’s return to full-blown conflict only 

eight months after the JMEC first started operations, 

the balance of monitoring shifted significantly toward 

security and ceasefire violations and was therefore 

the purview of the separate ceasefire monitoring 

commission established by the ARCSS. Eventually the 

JMEC repurposed itself as a mediator. With IGAD’s 

South Sudan mediation office largely disbanded, 

JMEC staff effectively served as the secretariat for the 

renewed IGAD mediation process, known as the High 

Level Revitalization Forum, which led to a revised 

peace agreement in September 2018. Though that 

agreement remains imperiled, it has endured longer 

than its antecedent.51

Ultimately, however, the JMEC did not meet expectations. It allowed itself to be dictated to by the parties. At 

an early stage, it permitted deviations from the text of 

the ARCSS, for example with respect to the ministerial 

selection process in December 2015, which signaled to 

the parties that further deviations would be tolerated, 

or at least not resisted. The JMEC rarely took or recommended corrective action. Though Mogae made some

robust calls to the international community, demanded 

accountability, and set in motion the events that led to 

the resumption of the peace process, he was a parttime, frequently absent chair.52 He did not move quickly 

to build the institution and was not able to resist the 

many pressures on him; he was probably better suited 

to the role of mediator rather than monitor.53 

Once the government of South Sudan knew Mogae 

could be intimidated, its fear of the JMEC’s power 

waned, and steadily, many of the provisions to make 

the JMEC a more inclusive institution were co-opted or 

resisted. For example, in an effort to suppress critical 

voices and boost the number of meeting attendees in 

favor of government views, numerous attempts were 

made to replace independent civil society representatives with individuals more sympathetic to government 

positions. Similarly, acquiescing to demands from 

some IGAD member states that certain positions in the 

secretariat were to be held by individuals they favored 

or wished to reward meant that JMEC lost much of 

the potential to be internally coherent. With many of 

the donor nations agreeing only to second personnel 

rather than let the JMEC hire its own senior experts, 

institutional loyalties and lines of reporting were divided rather than flowing unequivocally to the institution’s 

chair. Overall, as one former representative to the 

commission put it, with the JMEC there was always “a 

persistent sense of missed opportunity.”
USIP.ORG 19

Findings and Recommendations

Each of these case studies shows the potential of MOMs, 

often beyond the formal mandates laid out in their 

founding peace agreements. In Sierra Leone, the CCP

provided a formal role for civil society to continue to express its concerns even after the peace talks were over, 

and it was able to convene former combatants in a way 

few had thought possible. In Aceh, the AMM oversaw 

some demilitarization and decommissioning of arms, as 

required by the Helsinki Agreement. In Sudan, the AEC 

played a de-escalatory role in several crises during the 

CPA, and ultimately the agreement held for the full six 

years required. In South Sudan, the JMEC played a key 

role in establishing the foundation for new peace talks 

and helped mediate a revised peace agreement. 

But the case studies also show the deficiencies and weaknesses of such institutions in practice. In Sierra Leone, 

Aceh, and South Sudan, each of the MOMs retreated from 

its formal mandate, either because of a lack of resources 

(Sierra Leone), or because of political sensitivities (Aceh, 

South Sudan), or because of the character, capabilities, 

or deliberate judgment (or some combination of these 

three factors) of the institutional leadership (all cases). In 

Sudan, the lack of specificity in the oversight role of the 

AEC meant it was relatively limited in how much it could 

do to shape events, but its full-time leadership meant 

strong relationships could be built over time. In Aceh, too, 

impressions of the AMM leadership were largely positive, 

although the brevity of the mission detracted from its 

achievements. In Sierra Leone, the membership of the 

commission, rather than its chair, was its strength, although 

ultimately the partisanship of its top official limited its potential for effectiveness. In Sierra Leone and South Sudan, 

broad mandates for the MOMs did not prevent the peace 

agreements from failing, nor were they sufficient for either 

the CCP or the JMEC to mitigate its respective crises.

While the nature and practice of inclusion varied across 

all four cases, with Sierra Leone and South Sudan 

both formally including civil society in their commissions, while Aceh and Sudan did not, the presence or 

absence of formal civil society representation did not 

necessarily have a decisive impact on the trajectory of 

any case. Where resistance to inclusion did occur, such 

as in the JMEC, it was only one of numerous challenges that arose.54 Where inclusion did make a positive 

difference, perhaps, was in encouraging broader 

consultation outside the walls of the respective commission, though in the cases of Aceh and Sudan, it 

was incumbent on the largely international staff of the 

commissions to undertake inclusion, and the results 

were mixed. However, there are also potentially negative aspects to inclusion, including greater vulnerability 

to political or factional influence from other parties, 

as happened in South Sudan, and when inclusion is 

understood as code for political accommodation, as 

happened for some in Sierra Leone.

Determining whether an oversight mechanism is 

successful is inextricably linked to the broader course 

and fate of the peace process. Sufficient political will 

and the interests of the parties to a conflict to honor 

their commitments remain paramount. In isolation, the 

performance of a MOM will rarely be a decisive factor 

in the consolidation of peace or a return to conflict. 

However, better-performing institutions—as in Aceh—

are more likely to make a lasting contribution to an 

effective peace process, and poorly performing institutions may only worsen the prospects for lasting peace. 

At the same time, even when MOMs perform well, their 

overall contribution may be limited if the environment 

in which they operate is unsupportive. If a MOM’s recommendations for corrective action are made but not 
20 PEACEWORKS | NO. 167

pursued by the parties or supported by the regional 

and international community, the MOM is likely to be 

weakened. If robust support is not forthcoming when 

the work of a MOM is deliberately undermined or obstructed by the parties, the MOM will be diminished, as 

the case of the JMEC demonstrates.

The circumstances of every conflict and peace process 

will be different. However, for mediators and negotiators seeking to design future MOMs, there are at least 

six cross-cutting issues to consider.

First, leadership matters. A credible, competent 

senior leader with integrity, one who is present full 

time, is needed to drive the institution forward. Partisan 

leadership, as in Sierra Leone, will make it difficult for 

the institution to gain credibility, and part-time oversight 

is likely to be less effective, as in South Sudan.

Second, preparations need to begin before the 

agreement is signed. It is notable that the rapidity 

with which the AMM was established was a key factor 

in sustaining both the momentum of the Helsinki 

Agreement and the sense that the situation on the 

ground was truly changing, and in communicating that 

the AMM was serious about its work. It is critical that 

monitoring and oversight institutions get off to a good 

start, to show that they have clear intent and purpose 

and sufficient resources to truly monitor the agreement of concern and, if necessary, to help keep it on 

track. The delays in establishing the JMEC in South 

Sudan and the lack of resources available for the CCP

in Sierra Leone meant that each institution struggled 

to leave its mark from the outset of the peace agreement’s implementation, and by the time they were 

operational, they struggled to catch up, if indeed they 

ever did.

Indonesian president Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono (center), his deputy Jusuf Kalla, (right), and the Parliament Speaker Agung Laksono (left), watch the televised signing in Helsinki of the peace agreement between the government and Acehnese rebels on August 15, 2005. (Photo by Dita Alangkara/AP)
USIP.ORG 21

Third, MOMs benefit from continuity with the mediation that came before them. It is much more challenging to start from scratch. In the cases of Sierra Leone, 

Aceh, and South Sudan, intimate knowledge of the 

mediation process was an aid to the establishment of 

the follow-on mechanisms and, to a degree, to their ongoing work. The leadership of the AEC largely lacked 

this institutional memory, which made implementation 

and understanding of the highly complex CPA even 

more difficult, particularly as the signatories had greater 

knowledge of the intent and nature of the provisions 

than did those who were charged to monitor them.

Fourth, realistic mandates matter. While broad and 

expansive mandates may be appropriate in some 

cases, without a concomitant matching of expertise, 

capacity, and resources, such mandates are unlikely to 

be achieved. It is even more crucial that the parties to 

the agreement accept the powers of the MOM. This is 

a point for negotiators to focus on before the agreement is concluded rather than haggling over it during 

implementation. At the same time, an overly limited or 

ambiguous mandate can devalue the purpose of monitoring and oversight. Retreating from certain points 

of an institutional mandate as prescribed by a peace 

agreement may also be problematic, particularly in the 

early stages of implementation. With the knowledge 

that many peace processes do falter, it seems logical 

that mediators and peacemakers should attempt to 

design and include institutions that have the power 

to take corrective action during the implementation 

period, when warranted, while recognizing that these 

institutions cannot solve every problem.

Fifth, there need to be clear lines of accountability.

It should be clear to whom MOMs are responsible, both 

internally and externally. The institution’s chair should 

have sufficient autonomy to take action, particularly 

in the matter of independent reporting. At the same 

time, lines of reporting should not be interwoven when 

multiple and potentially overlapping institutions are 

being established, both within the set of transitional arrangements initiated by a peace agreement and within 

the broader international institutional architecture. 

This may be particularly important in countries where 

a UN peacekeeping mission is operating concurrently 

(as was the case in Sierra Leone, Sudan, and South 

Sudan).

Finally, accept a long-term commitment. As has also 

been observed with regard to ceasefire monitoring, 

the success of broader monitoring and oversight may 

require that these institutions and their backers have 

a lengthier involvement.55 The work of these commissions is unique and does not necessarily end with the 

calendar end of the agreement, even if that is the point 

at which an official mandate is extinguished. While a 

formal exit plan for the MOM may be possible to devise 

and agree on in some circumstances, thinking about 

the post-agreement phase is necessary in all cases. 

In some situations, a formal follow-on mechanism may 

be appropriate and possible. In others, the monitoring 

body could consider transferring certain aspects of 

reporting and monitoring to civil society. It could aid 

whatever monitoring efforts or intentions already exist 

by formally securing the consent of the relevant parties 

to, and supporters of, the agreement to such future 

activity. Such planning must be adaptive and should 

consider how institutional memory and documents can 

be appropriately saved and made accessible for future 

mediators and negotiators, as well as citizens, particularly when the risk of conflict recurrence remains high.
22 PEACEWORKS | NO. 167

Notes

The author is grateful for the research assistance provided by Min Jung Kim in Washington, DC; Lukman Age in Banda Aceh, 

Indonesia; and Ibrahim Sorie Marah in Freetown, Sierra Leone.

1. Roger Mac Ginty, “No War, No Peace: Why So Many Peace Processes Fail to Deliver Peace,” International Politics 47 (2010): 

145–62; Jasmine-Kim Westendorf, Why Peace Processes Fail: Negotiating Insecurity after Civil War (Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner, 

2015); Stefan Wolff, “The Making of Peace: Processes and Agreements,” Armed Conflict Survey 4, no. 1 (2018): 65–80; and 

Stephen John Stedman, Donald Rothchild, and Elizabeth M. Cousens, eds., Ending Civil Wars: The Implementation of Peace 

Agreements (Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner, 2002).

2. Scott Sagan, “Why Do States Build Nuclear Weapons? Three Models in Search of a Bomb,” International Security 21, no. 3 (1996): 74.

3. Wilton Park, “Report on Wilton Park Conference 597: Monitoring and Verifying Peace Agreements,” Wilton Park Paper no. 151, 

2000; and Jane Boulden, “The Verification and Monitoring of Peace Accords,” Disarmament Forum 49 (2000): 45–52.

4. Aly Verjee, “Ceasefire Monitoring in South Sudan 2014–2019: ‘A Very Ugly Mission,’” Peaceworks no. 150, United States Institute 

of Peace, August 2019, www.usip.org/publications/2019/08/ceasefire-monitoring-south-sudan-2014-2019-very-ugly-mission.

5. Boulden, “The Verification and Monitoring of Peace Accords,” 45.

6. Michaela Mattes and Burcu Savun, “Information, Agreement Design, and the Durability of Civil War Settlements,” American 

Journal of Political Science 54, no. 2 (2010): 511–24. 

7. Madhav Joshi, SungYong Lee, and Roger Mac Ginty, “Built-in Safeguards and the Implementation of Civil War Peace Accords,” 

International Interactions 43, no. 6 (2017): 995.

8. Borja Paladini and Sean Molloy, “More Inclusive Monitoring of Peace Agreement Implementation: Barometer Initiative in 

Colombia,” in “Navigating Inclusion in Peace Processes,” ed. Andy Carl, Accord 28 (March 2019), www.c-r.org/accord/inclusion

-peace-processes/more-inclusive-monitoring-peace-agreement-implementation-barometer.

9. Corinne von Burg, “On Inclusivity: The Role of Norms in International Peace Mediation,” Swisspeace, March 2015 , www.swisspeace.ch

/publications/essentials/on-inclusivity-the-role-of-norms-in-international-peace-mediation; Thania Paffenholz, “Can Inclusive Peace 

Processes Work?,” Inclusive Peace & Transition Initiative and the Graduate Institute of International and Development Studies, 

April 2015, www.inclusivepeace.org/sites/default/files/IPTI-CCDP-Can-Inclusive-Processes-Work.pdf; Colette Rausch and Tina Luu, 

“Inclusive Peace Processes Are Key to Ending Violent Conflict,” Peace Brief no. 222, United States Institute of Peace, May 5, 2017, 

www.usip.org/publications/2017/05/inclusive-peace-processes-are-key-ending-violent-conflict; and United Nations, “Guidance for 

Effective Mediation,” July 2012, http://peacemaker.un.org/guidance-effective-mediation.

10. Véronique Dudouet and Stina Lundström, “Post-War Political Settlements: From Participatory Transition Processes to Inclusive 

State-Building and Governance,” Berghof Foundation, December 2016, 9–10, www.berghof-foundation.org/fileadmin/redaktion

/Publications/Papers/IPS_Synthesis_Report_web.pdf. 

11. Roger Mac Ginty, No War, No Peace: The Rejuvenation of Stalled Peace Processes and Peace Accords (New York: Palgrave 

Macmillan, 2006).

12. Joshi, Lee, and Mac Ginty, “Built-in Safeguards,” 1001.

13. Nick Ross, “Civil Society’s Role in Monitoring and Verifying Peace Agreements: Seven Lessons from International Experiences,” 

Inclusive Peace & Transition Initiative, January 2017, 9–10, www.inclusivepeace.org/content/civil-society-monitoring-verifying

-peace-agreements-seven-lessons.

14. Arist von Hehn, The Internal Implementation of Peace Agreements after Violent Intrastate Conflict (Leiden: Brill, 2011), 96.

15. Mac Ginty, No War, No Peace, 96.

16. The UN Mission in Sierra Leone was mandated to cooperate with the government of Sierra Leone and the other parties to the 

peace agreement in the implementation of the Lomé Agreement. The UN Mission in Sudan had a mandate to support implementation of the Comprehensive Peace Agreement, and also reported on the status of implementation of the agreement. The 

UN Mission in South Sudan saw its mandate revised to require it to support the Joint Monitoring and Evaluation Commission 

(JMEC), and it sat as a member of the JMEC.
USIP.ORG 23

17. The JMEC in South Sudan was reconstituted following a 2018 peace agreement.

18. For further background on the conflict in Sierra Leone, see Arthur Abraham, “Dancing with the Chameleon: Sierra Leone and 

the Elusive Quest for Peace,” Journal of Contemporary African Studies 19, no. 2 (2001): 205–28; Abiodun Alao and Comfort 

Ero, “Cut Short for Taking Short Cuts: The Lomé Peace Agreement on Sierra Leone,” Civil Wars 4, no. 3 (2001): 117–34; Yusuf 

Bangura, “Strategic Policy Failure and Governance in Sierra Leone,” Journal of Modern African Studies 38, no. 4 (2000): 551–77; 

Ismail Rashid, “The Sierra Leone Civil War and the Remaking of ECOWAS,” Research in Sierra Leone Studies 1, no. 1 (2013); and 

Helga Malmin Binningsbø and Kendra Dupuy, “Using Power-Sharing to Win a War: The Implementation of the Lomé Agreement 

in Sierra Leone,” Africa Spectrum 44, no. 3 (2009): 87–107.

19. “Peace Agreement between the Government of Sierra Leone and the RUF (Lomé Peace Agreement),” July 7, 1999,

https://peacemaker.un.org/sierraleone-lome-agreement99.

20. “Lomé Peace Agreement,” art. 33.

21. Chris Mahony and Yasmin Sooka, “The Truth about the Truth: Insider Reflections on the Sierra Leonean Truth and Reconciliation 

Commission (TRC),” in Evaluating Transitional Justice: Accountability and Peacebuilding in Post-Conflict Sierra Leone, ed. 

Kirsten Ainley, Rebekka Friedman, and Chris Mahony (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2015), 241–64.

22. Dennis Bright, “Implementing the Lomé Peace Agreement,” Accord 9 (September 2000), www.c-r.org/accord/sierra-leone

/implementing-lom%C3%A9-peace-agreement.

23. Jeremy Levitt, Illegal Peace in Africa: An Inquiry into the Legality of Power Sharing with Warlords, Rebels and Junta (Cambridge: 

Cambridge University Press, 2012), 82.

24. Abraham, “Dancing with the Chameleon”; and David Francis, “Torturous Path to Peace: The Lomé Accord and Postwar 

Peacebuilding in Sierra Leone,” Security Dialogue 31, no. 3 (2000): 363, 365.

25. Mahony and Sooka, “The Truth about the Truth,” 38. 

26. Bright, “Implementing the Lomé Peace Agreement,” 38.

27. For further background on the conflict in Aceh, see William C. Younce, Indonesia: Issues, Historical Background and 

Bibliography (New York: Nova Science, 2001), 19–23; Kirsten E. Schulze, “The Free Aceh Movement (GAM): Anatomy of a 

Separatist Organization,” Policy Studies no. 2, East-West Center, 2004, www.eastwestcenter.org/publications/free-aceh

-movement-gam-anatomy-separatist-organization; Patrick Barron, Samuel Clark, and Muslahuddin Daud, “Conflict and Recovery 

in Aceh: An Assessment of Conflict Dynamics and Options for Supporting the Peace Process, Social Development Notes no. 

22, World Bank, 2005, https://openknowledge.worldbank.org/handle/10986/11220; and Edward Aspinall, Islam and Nation: 

Separatist Rebellion in Aceh, Indonesia (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2009).

28. Edward Aspinall, “The Helsinki Agreement: A More Promising Basis For Peace in Aceh?,” Policy Studies no. 20, East-West 

Center, www.eastwestcenter.org/publications/helsinki-agreement-more-promising-basis-peace-aceh.

29. Pierre-Antoine Braud and Giovanni Grevi, “The EU Mission in Aceh: Implementing Peace,” Occasional Paper no. 61, European 

Union Institute for Security Studies, December 2005, www.iss.europa.eu/content/eu-mission-aceh-implementing-peace.

30. Christine Beeck, “Re-paving the Road to Peace: Analysis of the Implementation of DD&R (Disarmament, Demobilization and 

Reintegration) in Aceh, Indonesia,” BICC Brief no. 35, Bonn International Center for Conversion, 2007, 32 , www.bicc.de/uploads

/tx_bicctools/brief35.pdf; Patrick Barron and Adam Burke, “Supporting Peace in Aceh: Development Agencies and International 

Involvement,” Policy Studies no. 47, East-West Institute, 2008, 28.

31. “Memorandum of Understanding between the Government of the Republic of Indonesia and the Free Aceh Movement,” arts. 5.1 

and 5.2, https://peacemaker.un.org/indonesia-memorandumaceh2005.

32. Pieter Feith, “The Aceh Peace Process: Nothing Less than Success,” Special Report no. 184, United States Institute of Peace, 

March 2007, www.usip.org/publications/2007/03/aceh-peace-process-nothing-less-success.

33. Kirsten Schulze, “Mission Not So Impossible: The Aceh Monitoring Mission and Lessons learned for the EU,” Friedrich Ebert 

Stiftung, July 2007, http://library.fes.de/pdf-files/id/04786.pdf.

34. Barron and Burke, “Supporting Peace in Aceh,” 29.

35. Barron and Burke, “Supporting Peace in Aceh,” 27.

36. Sana Jaffrey, “Sustaining Peace: Making Development Work for the Prevention of Violent Conflicts. Case Study: Indonesia,” 

report prepared for the UN-World Bank Joint Study on Conflict Prevention, 2017. 

37. For further background on the conflict in Sudan, see Douglas Johnson, The Root Causes of Sudan’s Civil Wars: Old Wars and 

New Wars (Bloomington, IN: James Currey, 2016); and Robert O. Collins, A History of Modern Sudan (Cambridge: Cambridge 

University Press: 2008).
24 PEACEWORKS | NO. 167

38. “The Comprehensive Peace Agreement between the Government of the Republic of the Sudan and the Sudan People’s 

Liberation Movement/Sudan People’s Liberation Army,” Machakos Protocol, art. 2.4, https://unmis.unmissions.org/sites/default

/files/old_dnn/cpa-en.pdf.

39. John Young, “Sudan IGAD Peace Process: An Evaluation,” Sudan Tribune, May 30, 2017, 17, www.sudantribune.com/IMG/pdf

/Igad_in_Sudan_Peace_Process.pdf.

40. Young, “Sudan IGAD Peace Process,” 3.

41. United States Institute of Peace and the Association for Diplomatic Studies and Training, “Sudan Experience Project Interview 

no. 16,” 2006, www.usip.org/sites/default/files/file/resources/collections/histories/sudan/16.pdf.

42. Netherlands Ministry of Foreign Affairs, “Aiding the Peace: A Multi-donor Evaluation of Support to Conflict Prevention and 

Peacebuilding Activities in Southern Sudan 2005–2010,” January 12, 2010, www.government.nl/ministries/ministry-of-foreign

-affairs/documents/reports/2010/12/01/summary-aiding-the-peace-a-multi-donor-evaluation-of-support-to-conflict-prevention

-and-peacebuilding-activities-in-southern-su.

43. For further background on the conflict in South Sudan, see Alex de Waal, “When Kleptocracy Becomes Insolvent: Brute Causes of 

the Civil War in South Sudan,” African Affairs 113, no. 452 (July 2014): 347–69; and Kate Almquist Knopf, “Ending South Sudan’s Civil 

War,” Council Special Report no. 77, Council on Foreign Relations, November 2016, www.cfr.org/report/ending-south-sudans-civil-war.

44. For further background on the negotiations of the 2015 peace agreement in South Sudan, see Zach Vertin, “A Poisoned Well: 

Lessons in Mediation from South Sudan’s Troubled Peace Process,” International Peace Institute, April 2018, www.ipinst.org

/wp-content/uploads/2018/04/1804_Poisoned-Well.pdf; and Sarah M. H. Nouwen, Laura M. James, and Sharath Srinivasan, eds., 

Making and Breaking Peace in Sudan and South Sudan: The Comprehensive Peace Agreement and Beyond (Oxford: Oxford 

University Press, 2020).

45. “Agreement on the Resolution of the Conflict in the Republic of South Sudan,” August 17, 2015, chap. 7, https://peacemaker.un

.org/node/2676.

46. After September 2018 and the reconfiguration of Agreement on the Resolution of the Conflict in South Sudan (ARCSS) to become 

the Revitalized ARCSS, the JMEC was also modified to become the Reconstituted JMEC. All of the provisions concerning the JMEC 

were retained in the Reconstituted JMEC.

47. JMEC, “JMEC Issues Plan for Implementation of the Peace Agreement,” December 16, 2015.

48. Abdeta Dribissa Beyene, who had served as the mediation’s chief of staff, was appointed JMEC chief of staff and served in that 

position from November 2015 to January 2016 before resigning because of intimidation.

49. Government of the Republic of South Sudan, “The Reservations of the Government of the Republic of South Sudan on the 

IGAD-Plus ‘Compromise Agreement on the Resolution of the Conflict in the Republic of South Sudan,’” 6. 

50. Knopf, “Ending South Sudan’s Civil War,” 13.

51. Aly Verjee, “South Sudan’s High-Level Revitalization Forum: Identifying Conditions for Success,” Peace Brief no. 228, United 

States Institute of Peace, August 2017, www.usip.org/publications/2017/08/south-sudans-high-level-revitalization-forum.

52. See, for example, JMEC, “Statement by the JMEC Chairperson to the AU Peace and Security Council,” January 29, 2016; JMEC, 

“Statement by H. E. Festus G. Mogae, Chairman of JMEC, to the 31st Extraordinary Summit of IGAD on 12th June 2017,” June 12, 

2017, www.jmecsouthsudan.com/index.php/jmec-statements/item/146-statement-by-h-e-festus-g-mogae-chairman-of-jmec

-to-the-31st-extraordinary-summit-of-igad-on-12th-june-2017; and JMEC, “JMEC Calls On UN Security Council to Revisit 

‘Consequences’ for Ceasefire Non-Compliance,” January 25, 2018, www.jmecsouthsudan.org/index.php/press-release/item

/252-jmec-calls-on-un-security-council-to-revisit-consequences-for-ceasefire-non-compliance.

53. Mogae stepped down as chair of the JMEC in September 2018.

54. Esra Cuhadar, “Understanding Resistance to Inclusive Peace Processes,” Peaceworks no. 159, United States Institute of Peace, 

March 2020, www.usip.org/publications/2020/03/understanding-resistance-inclusive-peace-processes.

55. Wilton Park, “Report on Wilton Park Conference 597.”
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Making Peace Possible

NO. 167 | September 2020

Almost every modern peace agreement establishes some form of monitoring and oversight 

mechanism to report on the implementation of and compliance with the deal’s provisions. 

These monitoring committees, commissions, and boards are often key to an agreement’s 

success or failure, yet little comparative analysis of such institutions is available. Drawing on 

case studies from Sierra Leone, Indonesia, Sudan, and South Sudan, this report offers an 

assessment of the monitoring and oversight mechanisms established after the peace agreements in these four countries. It describes the strengths and limitations of the monitoring 

institutions and how each addressed the challenges of inclusion. The reflections of those 

who served on and closely observed these commissions round out the most important 

lessons to consider for those designing future monitoring mechanisms.

• Nonviolent Action in Myanmar: Challenges and Lessons for Civil Society and 

Donors by La Ring, Khin Sandar Nyunt, Nist Pianchupat, and Shaazka Beyerle 

(Special Report, September 2020)

• Curbing Corruption after Conflict: Anticorruption Mobilization in Guatemala by 

Walter Flores and Miranda Rivers (Special Report, September 2020)

• North Korean Phone Money: Airtime Transfers as a Precursor to Mobile 

Payment System by Yonho Kim (Special Report, September 2020)

• Lessons Learned in the Search for COVID-19 Ceasefires by Tyler Jess 

Thompson (Special Report, September 2020)

• How to Engage the Enemy: The Case for National Security Diplomacy with 

North Korea by Van Jackson (Special Report, September 2020)

OTHER USIP PUBLICATIONS