The Rule of Law

Kabul, 2011.

We had another briefing today on the rule of law.  It's quite big out here. The law of armed conflict, international law, criminal law.  In a country where the judicial system is riddled with apathy and corruption and the political system is twisted by patronage and nepotism that may seem more than a little ironic.  That said, I don't think any of us with more than a passing knowledge of Afghanistan will be that surprised by the inherent contradiction.    I think the point is, that by setting an example, the Afghans can be inspired, coerced and (probably) forced to accept some sort of minimum base line.  I will watch that development with great interest...As if that's not enough of a Sisyphean task, persuading the Taliban to acknowledge any set of laws will be a bigger challenge.  Despite a self-professed prohibition on the use of women and children as combatants, we have seen a marked increase in their use.  Yesterday we had an incident where an 8 year old girl was given a parcel and told to take it to the policemen.  As she complied, the taliban then remotely detonated the explosives contained within, killing the girl but no-one else.  

This comes in swift succession to other incidents using women and children as both unwitting and witting accomplices, last week, Afghan police revealed 4 boys, all under the age of 13 who had been recruited in Pakistan for suicide bombings.  Meanwhile, a woman was one of two suicide bombers (the other being her husband) who carried out an attack on Saturday.  Stopping a suicide bomber is hard enough.  Identifying women and children as potential bombers is practically impossible.  This is an example of another law.  The law of unintended consequences.   In much the same way as the insurgents switched from open combat to IED emplacement as they suffered losses and defeats, they have again switched tactics.  As ISAF make some, limited, but genuine progress in establishing security it becomes increasingly more difficult for the insurgents to attack coalition forces, hence they switch targets to civilians, as demonstrated by the attack on the Intercontinental Hotel this morning and Logar hospital at the weekend.  As it becomes harder for groups of fighting age males to actively engage ISAF troops in conventional, mujahadeen-style, attacks, they start to use proxies such as small children, as demonstrated yesterday.  So whilst we, quite rightly, attempt to prosecute this war according to a set of laws, not everyone out here is bound by such conventions.  

As well as the statute laws, what makes matters worse, is that we appear to are governed by a whole host of other laws.  I am not talking about those ethereal made up laws - like Boyles Law, Ohms Law or Keynes Law.  I am talking about the ones that affect us on a day to day basis.  Like Sod's law, Finagles Law and Sturgeons Law.  We all know Sods Law, the big brother to Murphys Law, which states whatever can go wrong, will go wrong - and I am not just talking about dropped toast landing buttered side down.  This being Afghanistan, we have Finagles Law, whatever can go wrong, will go wrong - at the worst possible time.   It's like running out of ammo, just as you get back to base, only to find out you are in the middle of a suicide attack.  Typical.  Here in Kabul there are three laws in particular I would like to draw your attention to.  Those of Messrs Sturgeon, Parkinson and Rothbard are particularly apposite.  Sturgeon's Law states 90% of everything is crap, Parkinson's Law states that work expands to fill the available time and Rothbard's that everyone specialises in their own area of weakness.  

If ever there were a set of laws that should be applied to Afghanistan, that's them

War of the Worlds

I haven't finished talking about the reunion yet.

Do you ever feel like you don't belong?  Not simply a stranger in a foreign land, where things are different but recognisable, but an alien in another world, surrounded by new, unimaginable things.  Do you look at things that have meaning and worth to their owners, but seem ridiculously irrelevant to you, or worse, do those same objects appear bright and shiny?  Do you covet them?   Do you feel as if you did not originate from the same place as everyone around you and you are there, at best, under sufferance, at worst as an invasive species. Like Wells'  Martians - at once vital, intense, inhuman, crippled and monstrous.  That's how I felt.  For a long time.  

I'm still not sure where I do belong.  As I get older, more and more, I feel that gulf of space.  Over time it seems to widen.  Imperceptibly, but absolutely.  Moving further and further apart from a time and place where I did belong.  Watching it slowly disappear.  Spying on the lives of my childhood friends through the medium of Facebook, I empathised with those aforementioned aliens rather than with my friends.  Their minds may not have had as little meaning to me as those of the beasts that perish, but their lives fascinated me, drawing me in, and with my "intellect, vast and cool and unsympathetic I regarded their earth with envious eyes, and slowly and surely drew my plans against them".  Like the beings in War of the Worlds, across the gulf of Space, I watched them, believing their stories of fame and fortune and glory.  Two decades ago I knew these people, laughed with them, cried with them.  I loved them and hated them. Then and now.  I knew them as children and I knew them as people. I wanted their world.  So I went.

But over the course of the evening my curiosity waned, my jealousy evaporated.  They were the same.  We were the same.  Older.  Fatter. Richer.  No wiser.  No happier.  In reality, most were miserable about some facet of their lives.  Regardless of geographical proximity, it seemed they all envied something others appeared to have.  We all had our red weed and our black smoke.  The stars we had seen as children had turned out to be way too high.  Like Wells' books, this story too has an epilogue.  When I look back on the significance of my personal invasion, I too have an "abiding sense of doubt and insecurity".  My invasion did not result in the creation of my own utopian world, where I could truly belong.  It left me empty and confused.  I also think I can feel a cold coming on...

The Nature of the Beast

Others.  They move among us,  yet we do not see them.  

They wade through this sea of swarming humanity.  Waters which, ebbing and flowing, part miraculously,  finding another course. No spoken command, simply an unconscious recognition that the merest lapping contact would pollute irrevocably.  Yet we do not see them.

Their faces, featureless, blurred and indistinct, pass unnoticed and instantly forgotten, leaving nothing but an inexplicable feeling of disquiet.   Their eyes, missing souls, seek out the dark corners of ours, recognising the darkness within, enviously watching the brief but bright fire within us, whilst they burn, long and cold leaving nothing but ash. Yet still we do not see.

They have seen the ends of days and the valley they walk through has no shadows, only death. They are dark angels and they know no fear.  Where they tread, addiction and betrayal grow, despair and chaos thrive.  Bridging the gap between their world and ours, they touch lives, leaving no marks, but initiating a slow spiral descent towards an inevitable, apocalyptic end.  Yet still we do not see them.

In isolation, they prey on the weak, feeding on misery like carrion. Offering neither salvation nor redemption, they exsanguinate life.  Recognising their destructive power they avoid contact with their own.  Attracted by the stench of addiction and betrayal, they come.  Unable to resist,  they congregate, gorging on a feast of manipulation and exploitation. 

That is the nature of the beast.  I see them.  

Are we winning yet?

Afghanistan, 2011.

Every morning, (early every morning) I go into an operations room.  I am supposed to be getting an update on everything that has happened in the seemingly fleeting moments that I have been asleep - and you would be surprised how much can happen in that very short period when I am snoring.  I like to start bright and breezy, so I usually ask "Are we winning yet?"  Now, I may mean it in an ironic, kind of sarcastic, maybe funny way and it usually gets a little laugh (we are easily pleased).  The Battle Captain (the guy or girl who is overseeing things) then usually launches into a brief designed to tell me as much as possible in as short a time as possible.  I pretend to understand everything they have told me, then I go and confidently tell a whole other bunch of other guys, most of what I have just been told (or at least my interpretation of it).  They in turn go and repeat it to other people and so it goes on.  I know its nearly time to go to bed when I go to a brief and someone tells me all the things I started telling people at the start of the day.   (Probably the subject for another email).

Anyway, back to the war (or the insurgency as it is formally known - again, probably the subject of another email.  The insurgency formerly known as the war?).  So I am asking the question.  No one actually answers though.  Who decides?  On what criteria?  Every day I report to someone on the number of dead and wounded.  Ours and theirs.  The list goes a little like this...

? x US/UK/ISAF (delete as applicable) KIA.

? x UK WIA,

? x ANSF (AFG National Security Forces) KIA or WIA

? x LN (Local nationals) K or W

? x INS (Insurgents) KIA or WIA

? x Detainees

I am not going to comment here on the priority or importance attached to each category (another email perhaps?) Lets focus a little. So how do we win? Is it just a battle of attrition, ie, we kill more of them than they kill of us.  That's simple. 

1 x US KIA vs 16 x INS KIA = ISAF win.  Yes? No? 

Where do the 15 x LN dead enter the equation?  Or the children, who, to punish their parents have had their hands and/or feet placed in boiling water? 

If we place so much concrete and so many barricades around a police headquarters that the INS attack a bank instead, killing LNs instead of ANSF have we won?

There is a programme here designed to take weapons off people.  So when we have disarmed the population have we won?  I doubt it, because we are also running a programme to arm the population.  Seriously.  I'm not making it up.

In a country where people trade suicide bombers like baseball cards, where people sell their own children to be used as suicide bombers and where police chiefs release known INS becuase they are of the same tribe can we ever win?

Does it matter whether we win or not.  Probably not, because in 2015 we are all going home.  I am pretty sure that when we go, the politicians will declare a victory.  NATO will have enabled the Afghans to be masters of their own destiny.  The politicians will claim we have trained, enabled and handed over a competent, professional police, judiciary, military.  We will have enabled good governance and the spread of the rule of law.  I am not sure it's all true.  All I know for sure is that when we do go home we will leave behind more concrete and fewer people.

Memorial Day

Afghanistan 2011.

Yesterday was Monday.  It was a Bank Holiday in the UK.  In the United states it was Memorial Day.  Memorial Day is a United States holiday observed on the last Monday of May that is the American equivalent of Remembrance Day.  On November 11th the US have Veterans Day, which is slightly different.  Memorial Day actually used to be known as Decoration Day and was first observed by freed Southern Slaves in South Carolina in 1865, to remember the fallen Union soldiers of the Civil War. The recognition of the fallen victims slowly grew to honour all Union soldiers and it was extended after World War I to honour all Americans who have died in all wars. Sadly, Memorial Day in the US now often marks the start of the summer vacation season and, what began as a ritual of remembrance and reconciliation after the Civil War, has become increasingly devoted to shopping and national sporting events. 

Here in Kabul at 0930 every morning there is a NATO briefing session.  Every Monday, at the end of the brief, we all stand to attention and a presentation is played showing pictures of all the dead Coalition soldiers.  To accompany each image someone reads out the name, rank and age of each casualty. There were a lot of casualties this week.  The Americans lost the equivalent of one soldier every day this month.  The toll doesn't end there.  This Monday, this Memorial Day, we had a two minute silence and the US also remembered soliders who died by their own hands since returning from Afghanistan. Nationally, the number of those who've committed suicide on returning from operations, nearly doubled from 80 in 2009 to 145 last year.  Almost all of them were from the Natuional Guard and Army Reserve, the equivalent of our Territorial Army.  The two minute silence yesterday was particularly poignant.  I am going to use somebody elses words here because mine are simply not adequate enough.  The words come from the First Two Minute Silence held in London on 11 November 1919 which was reported in the Manchester Guardian on 12 November 1919:

"The first stroke of eleven produced a magical effect. The tram cars glided into stillness, motors ceased to cough and fume, and stopped dead, and the mighty-limbed dray horses hunched back upon their loads and stopped also, seeming to do it of their own volition. Someone took off his hat, and with a nervous hesitancy the rest of the men bowed their heads also. Here and there an old soldier could be detected slipping unconsciously into the posture of 'attention'. An elderly woman, not far away, wiped her eyes, and the man beside her looked white and stern. Everyone stood very still ... The hush deepened. It had spread over the whole city and become so pronounced as to impress one with a sense of audibility. It was a silence which was almost pain ... And the spirit of memory brooded over it all"

Ten Dollar Taliban

Afghanistan.  Just arrived. 2011

As all military theorists know, Sun Tzu said "So it is said that if you know your enemies and know yourself, you can win a hundred battles without a single loss.

If you only know yourself, but not your opponent, you may win or may lose.  If you know neither yourself nor your enemy, you will always endanger yourself. "  

Without lecturing, I thought it might interest you to know a little more about the Taliban.  So here goes.  Taliban 101.  

Taliban means "student" in Arabic.  Referring of course to the Quaran.  Ish.  The Taliban's extremely strict and anti-modern ideology has been described as an "innovative form of sharia combining Pashtun tribal codes," or Pashtunwali. Hmmm.  Innovative.  That's one word for it.  Pashtunwali is a very honourable amd worthy code (I have included the basic tenets at the bottom of this email).  If we all lived by this code (ish), the world would indeed be a better place.  The problem is, it has been corrupted and misinterpreted. Also contributing to the mix is the jihadism and pan-Islamism of Osama bin Laden (never a good thing).  Under the Taliban regime, Sharia law was interpreted to forbid a wide variety of previously lawful activities in Afghanistan. One Taliban list of prohibitions included: pork, pig, pig oil, anything made from human hair, satellite dishes, cinematography, and equipment "that produces the joy of music", pool tables, chess, masks, alcohol, tapes, computers, VCRs, television, anything that propagates sex and is full of music, wine, lobster, nail polish, firecrackers, statues, sewing catalogs, pictures and Christmas cards.  They also got rid of employment, education, and sports for all women.  They banned dancing, clapping during sports events, kite flying, and characterizations of living things, no matter if they were drawings, paintings, photographs, stuffed animals, or dolls. Men had to have a fist size beard at the bottom of their chin, conversely, they had to wear their head hair short - and the police checked.  Public executions, whippings and beatings were commonplace.  Nice bunch.

The Taliban are the baddies.  Not all the baddies.  There are others, but they sort of fall under that headline Taliban.  Broadly speaking we (military) categorise them into three types.

On the extreme right we have the ideological group.  Their goal is an Islamic fundamentalist state governed by strict interpretations of Sharia law.  These are what we call the irreconcilables.  It is unlikely that this group of Taliban will ever allow freedom of religion, expression, women or speech.  Let alone anything else.  Led by Mullah Mohammed Omar (who is believed to be in Pakistan), funded by the drug trade, Pakistan and Saudi Arabia (to name a few) and supported by Iran and Pakistan.  These are bad guys.  Really bad guys. The primary mission of the task forces I work with is to kill or capture these people.  They are targetted, tracked, monitored and eliminated.  Seriously.  Using guided missiles, snipers, night raids and high risk arrests we aim to remove these people from the battlespace.  And we do.  Very successfully.  Daily.

At the other end we have the so called "ten dollar Taliban" or even the "two dollar taliban".  These are farmers, migrants, unemployed or bored individuals who pick up an AK47 and have a go.  They fight because the poppy harvest is over, because they need to provide food for their family, because the local Taliban leader coerces and threatens them or just because they like to fight. (It's like that over here!).  The NATO solution here is to invest.  Heavily.  We are (mostly the US) spending billions, and I mean billions.  Organisations here provide advice to farmers to improve crop yields, we provide crops as an alternative to poppies including pomegranites, date/fig trees and others.  We build roads and schools and hospitals, we build power plants, hydroelectric dams, bridges and infrastructure.  Cash for work programmes offer alternative employment for useful work such as road building, ditch digging and irrigation projects.  The Taliban leadership however respond by cutting off the noses and ears of workers who participate in these programmes, blowing up the infrastructure, targeting schools and schoolchildren and attacking construction sites.  Our conventional soldiers therefore respond by patrolling, protecting and reassuring.  By putting themselves in danger every day, they show the population that they can have a safe environment in which to live and work.  By providing security we can allow these individuals an alternative to fighting and thus remove them from the battlespace.  By training huge numbers of police and Afghan army we hope they can provide themselves with long term stability and security without the need for us to stay here.

In the middle we have the rest.  The solution here is simple.  We tip them one way or the other.  They either participate in society in some way - and we have formal reintegration processes to allow fighters to return to society - or we kill them/drive them away.  We aim to polarise everybody and once they have made their intention clear we deal with them in an appropriate manner.

It sounds pretty simple, and it actually is.  It also sounds pretty brutal, and again, it probably is.  It might even work.  There are problems though.  We can't operate in Iran and we can't operate (much) in Pakistan.  So the insurgents, especially the senior insurgents, just hop over the border, where they sit, issuing orders and proclamations..  Hmmm.  What to do about that?  The Madrassahs in Pakistan turn out hundreds of indoctrinated suicide bombers every year.  Young men who have been brainwashed and drugged enough to believe that it is glorious to blow yourself up in crowded streets or school playgrounds.  The Taliban also hate foreigners.  Outsiders in their country.  Us. They try and kill us as frequently and as spectacularly as possible.  They love what we call complex attacks - A few days ago one of our bases was attacked.  A suicide bomber drove a vehicle to the gate and exploded himself.  At the same time the guard towers were attacked with rocket propelled grenades and small arms fire.  As the police and soldiers at the gate were dealing with the incident, and the guard towers were occupied, four men wearing suicide vests ran through the entrance to try and enter the compound and kill as many coalition forces as they could.  Simultaneously an Aghan police ambulance arrived at the gate.  In the confusion, the guards were about to let the ambulance in when that too exploded as the four suicide bombers in the back had detonated prematurely. 

These are problems that can't be solved with money and these are problems that are made worse by killing, as that just produces more fuel for the militant propaganda machine to recruit more bombers, and more support from fringe states for their "oppressed brethren".  If anyone knows what we can do about that I would be glad to hear it...

Pashtunwali.

Melmastia (hospitality) - Showing hospitality and profound respect to all visitors, regardless of distinctions of race, religion, national affiliation as well as economic status and doing so without any hope of remuneration or favour. Pashtuns are considered to be the most hospitable people in the world. A Pashtun may go to great lengths to show his hospitality.

Nanawatai (asylum) - Derived from the verb meaning to go in, this is used for protection given to a person who requests protection against his/her enemies. The people are protected at all costs, in many cases even people running from the law must be given refuge until the situation is clarified. It can also be used when the vanquished party is prepared to go in to the house of the victors and ask for their forgiveness. (Its a peculiar form of chivalrous surrender, in which an enemy seeks "sanctuary" at his enemy's house).

Badal (justice) - To seek justice or take revenge against the wrongdoer. This applies to injustices committed yesterday or 1000 years ago if the wrongdoer still exists. Justice in Pashtun lore needs elaborating: even a mere taunt (or "Paighor") is regarded as an insult - often, shedding the taunter's blood is the only acceptable redress (and if he isn't available, then his next closest male relation). This in turn may lead to a blood feud that can last generations and involve whole tribes with the loss of hundreds of lives. Probably not

Tureh (bravery) - A Pashtun must defend his land/property, family and women from incursions wherever he or she might reside. A Pashtun should always stand brave against tyranny and he should always be able to defend his property, family, women and the honour of his name; killing the offending party is an acceptable recourse for an attack on any of these.

Sabat (loyalty) - Loyalty must be paid to one's family, friends, and tribe members. Disloyalty is extremely shameful in Pashtun culture, and a Pashtun's family, friends, and tribe members are also shamed if one is disloyal.

Imandari (righteousness) - A Pashtun must always strive towards thinking good thoughts, speaking good words and doing other good deeds. Pashtuns must behave respectfully towards all creations including people, animals and the environment around them. Pollution of the environment or its destruction is against the Pashtunwali.[

Isteqamat - Trust in  Allah.  The notion of trusting in the one Creator generally comports to the belief in only one God (tawheed).

Ghayrat (self honour or dignity) - Pashtuns must maintain their human dignity. Honour has great importance in Pashtun society and most other codes of life are aimed towards the preservation of one's honour or pride. They must respect themselves and others in order to be able to do so, especially those they do not know. Respect begins at home, among family members and relatives.

Namus (Honor of women) - A Pashtun must defend the honor of Pashtun women at all costs and must protect them from verbal and physical harm.

The Lottery of life.

All life is a lottery.

In my wallet I have four tickets for the EuroLottery.  You know, the one which would make 100 lucky winners millionaires.  I have them in my wallet because I haven't checked them yet.  I haven't checked them yet, because I know I haven't won. It's not just me though.  When questioned, most people who buy a lottery ticket never expect to win anything.  In scientific terms, normal decision models, based on the premise that most people want to maximise value, mean buying a lottery ticket is irrational.  This is backed up in all sorts of ways.  In the UK, the probability of dying between Monday and Friday is actually greater than the probability of winning the lottery.  Actuaries state that you should buy your ticket on a Friday evening, or, even better, a Saturday morning, so as not to waste a pound in case you die.  I feel this misses the point somewhat.  In an homage to that old saying, "it's not the winning, it's the taking part".  By buying a ticket, there is a thrill, a frisson of excitement, anticipation at the thought of what might be.

If....

The purchase of the ticket allows me to indulge my fantasy of wealth beyond reasonable expectation.  Beyond measure even.  I am paying for pleasure, buying a dream.  The gain, in entertainment value, of the ticket more than outweighs the pecuniary loss, and, therefore the rational, logical imperative to not buy a ticket.  I like the idea that I may have won, more than I like the reality of knowing I haven't.  In many ways, it is much better value to never check the ticket, and maintain the secret pleasure of knowing I might yet be a winner.  In this way, I need never buy another ticket again - so I really will be making myself richer.  Indeed, by checking, and discovering I am a millionaire, I may be doing myself harm. Many big lottery winners confess to being afflicted by anomie, a dislocation from friends, family and life, resulting in alienation, purposelessness and in some cases, suicide.  So, if Camelot announce the fact that there are still unclaimed millions, I may leave it a little while, to savour the possibility. Actually, I know there is a six month limit on claims, but this is months away, so for now, I will keep my ticket, unchecked, in my wallet for a little while longer. But I will check it.  Eventually.  Who knows?  I might be a winner.

Wishful thinking

Kabul 2011.

July.  Already.  That was quick. I suppose it depends on your perspective as to whether it has come around quickly or not.  Ask my wife and she will say it has taken an eternity.  Ask my children and they will probably have no concept of how long I have been away. Ask me, and it depends on the time of day, week, activity levels or whether lunch was good or not.  July is significant for many things, mainly for the fact that I can now say that "next month I go home", but out here, apparently, it's not all about me, July is also the month that "transition" starts.  Actually, transition is due to start during the Afghan solar month of Saratan, which ends on 22 July, but let's not split hairs.  Transition is the process of handing over control from coalition to Afghan security forces and officials.  Under this process, the Afghan military forces and civilian officials will take ever increasing responsibility for their own affairs and, more importantly, their own security.  It is due to start simultaneously in seven areas of Afghanistan.  Currently the areas scheduled for transition include Mazar-i-Saharif, (scene of the bloody and vicious murder of the seven United Nation employees in April), Herat (scene of multiple suicide and armed attacks) and Lashkar Gar (volatile hotbed of insurgency in Helmand Province).  Good luck.

10 000 US troops are due to leave Afghanistan by the end of 2011, with 33 000 more to follow next summer.  Canadian combat troops completed their last operation on 30 June, before pulling out. David Cameron has announced we will start our drawdown "in line with the US".  This is from a total of 150 000 coalition troops that have been battling with the Taliband-led insurgency for over 10 years, all of whom are due to completely drawdown by 2014.  We must be winning?  Really. The attack on the Intercontinental Hotel this week has shown just how fragile the security situation is here, striking at one of the most heavily guarded sites in the heart of the capital.  Afghan security police and troops were involved in a five-hour gun battle with Taliban militants that only ended with intervention from a US helicopter gunship and coalition special forces, neither of which are available to the Afghan government once we leave.  A UN report stated yesterday that insurgent attacks were up 51% countrywide in the past three months when compared to 2010.  A US backed campaign to prosecute corruption has silently died a death in the face of opposition from President Karzai and a campaign of assassination of officials and infiltration of security forces has gutted the governments ability to act.  The investment of national treasure in Afghanistan has been immense. Billions of dollars have been spent here, and thousands of US, UK and coalition lives lost.  The clumsy efforts to reach out to the Taliban for talks and a half-baked peace deal, after years of refusal to do so, the indecent speed at which we appear to be running for the exit and the fragility of the general situation here do not bode well and bring into question the value of that investnment.  Even if, Inshallah, the security forces hold, then the poverty, corruption and lack of governance, coupled with a dramatic drop in foreign funding which will inevitably accompany any western withdrawal, will surely precipitate a collapse.  As if that weren't enough internally, regionally, China, Pakistan and Iran are lining up as new players in another round of the "Great Game", the Victorian power struggle that lies at the heart of many of the problems in the area.

The common perception is that the Taliban will be back, in strength, as soon as the foreigners leave.  In fact they are back already in many areas, with a network of shadow governors and corrupt government officals waiting to see which side to back.  Interestingly, and perhaps ironically "Captive Nations Week" is at the same time as the start of transition - the third week of July.  This is observed in the US and aims to raise public awareness of the oppression of nations under the control of Communist and other non-democratic governments. I am starting to wonder just how free and unoppressed the Afghan people will be when we all leave.  I wonder if, in 2015, we and the Americans will be able to look towards Afghanistan with pride having liberated it from its non-democratic taliban government?  I would like to think, that like my immediate future, the Afghan people, have something to look forward to.  I suspect that's just wishful thinking.

I guess that's why they call it the blues.

Kabul.  Second day back after R and R.

Last night, for the first time since I got to Afghanistan over 3 months ago, I was scared.  Proper scared.  It was scary when I arrived initially, but I wasn't scared.  Not like this. I have arrived back in Afghanistan after 2 weeks back in the UK on my mid-tour R and R.  I am now firmly ensconced in a very dingy, cramped, cold, noisy and, to my mind, very exposed, tent on the edge of the airfield at Kabul International Airport.  To prove my fears were founded, just as I got into bed - which was the top bunk of what I still feel is a very high bunk bed - we were rocketed.  Three times.  As I lay on the dusty floor, shivering in my boxer shorts I thought  "I'm scared".  Not scared of dying, although that, of course, would be bad and would probably lead to trouble...  More scared of dying in a stupid way, or in an undignified state of dress, or without being to fight back.  As time passed and I became more cold and less certain of my own miserable demise I started to think.  To be honest there's not much else you can do.  Unfortunately, lying on a sandy floor in your pants whilst being rocketed is not exactly conducive to positive thought. I thought - I miss my wife, I miss my children, I miss my parents.  I miss my bed and I miss my friends.  I miss cars, I miss cheese and onion crisps and I miss going to bed and not worrying about getting killed in the night.  I even miss N and her funny grumpiness. (Probably in that order) I am certain that my fears and subsequent thoughts were all down to the fact that I had just had two weeks R and R back in sunny old Blighty. Those days, seeing friends, kissing my wife and holding my children, made me realise what I had to lose. I kind of knew it on Day 1, but it's easy to push it away before you arrive, then when you arrive you don't have time to think.  Having subsequently spoken to a number of people, they have all experienced, to a greater or lesser extent, the same feelings following their R and R.  Strangely, they all relate it to Baby Blues.  A depression following an event of joy.  There is probably some deep seated psychological psychosis there, but let’s leave that for another time.

Anyway, having taken 3 days to get round to finishing this email, I can tell you the feeling has almost (almost) entirely dissipated.  Routine and reality have kicked in and not even the suicide bombing at the hospital the next day has produced feelings in anywhere near the intensity of that night.  The corny bit is, as I was lying there (won't mention the pants again), with the explosions of the rockets sounding like a storm I couldn't get a song out of my mind. (Still humming it in my head now)

Time on my hands could be time spent with you
Laughing like children, living like lovers
Rolling like thunder under the covers
And I guess that's why they call it the blues 

Everything changes.

It has been exactly one year since I returned from Afghanistan.

Just writing that down seems incredible to me.  The plane carrying me back to the UK touched down in Oxfordshire 365 days ago.  UK to Afghanistan and back with just 180 days travel time in between. A lifetime of experience separating the two. It was only a year ago but it seems so much longer.  At the same time it also feels like only yesterday.  Superficially, everything seems fresh in my mind, I think I can still remember things clearly, but when I concentrate and focus they start to blur, details are lost, names forgotten, places evaporating, shimmering like heat haze above the sand they stood on.  In my mind I can still remember blinking in the sun that first day in country. If I shut my eyes I can still see the barren desert, the high hills, the uniforms, the people, the weaponry, the constant never-ending movement of men and machinery, all with one deadly purpose.  At night, in the silence, I imagine I can still hear the endless, relentless barrage of noise.  The aircraft engines turning, the generators throbbing and the constant, incessant heat, the heat that seared your throat every time you took a breath. I vividly remember all of this but can't explain any of it to anyone.  Those I love weren't there, and it means nothing to them.  Those that were there, aren't here now.  I miss it.  I miss what it meant.  I miss the focus it brought, the clarity of purpose, the singularity of being.  I'm not saying I want to go back, because I don't.  I want it to mean something though, and it doesn't.

When I got back it was as if nothing had changed.  Mostly because it hadn't.  Nothing has changed.  But it has.  As I was waiting for my flight home from Camp Bastion, we watched coverage of the riots in the UK. London was burning and, as a Nation, we appeared powerless to prevent it.  Mobs were roaming the streets, robbing, looting, destroying.  From Afghanistan, we looked on in wonder and disgust and shame.  Would we merely swap the dusty roads of Helmand for the dirty streets of Hull?  A friend of mine who works in Birmingham described how she would get off at New Street station dressed in a business suit, accompanied off the train by youths in hoodies with baseball bats.  All off to the city for very different days.  The juxtaposition of this ordinary life carrying on as normal set against the anarchic chaos of the riots resonates with me.  Last year I was carrying a weapon 24 hours a day, seeing death manifest itself in so many ways, attempting to repair the fabric of a foreign society, whilst 3000 miles away my countrymen were tearing the fabric of their own apart.  Now I am shopping in Sainsburys.  One year on, I am watching one of the most spectacular Olympiads ever, in a city and a country where we, superficially at least, are united behind an ideal and I am missing a country riven by them.

Everything changes.

The Young British Soldier

There are many ways to die in Afghanistan.  Road-side bombs, rocket attacks and ambushes are all every-day risks, acknowledged and accepted by everyone in uniform out here.  The spectre of capture is one which even the most battle hardened soldier prefers to ignore.  We may have the most sophisticated weaponry, surveillance and communication equipment available but it is all of little use if we are unlucky enough to fall into enemy hands.   For all our technological advancement the enemy hasn't changed much since we were here last in the 19th century.  When Rudyard Kipling visited the North-West Frontier the bodies of captured British soldiers were routinely subjected to horrifying mutilations by the Afghans.  Back then, soldiers believed it was far better to take your own life than fall victim to the Afghans.  

This week I observed the "Personnel Recovery Operation" for 20 year old Highlander Scott MacLaren of D Company 4 Scots.  What started out as a massive Search and Rescue Mission tragically became a recovery mission. Witnesses have claimed that Highlander MacLarens body was paraded around like a trophy by his Taliban captors and  David Ridley, the Wiltshire and Swindon Coroner, recorded that Highlander McLaren had been ‘assaulted, tortured and ultimately executed’ by insurgents. No one will ever really know why he left the relative safety of his camp and comrades.  In the same way, I know we will never know what actually happened to Highlander MacLaren.  Whatever the truth, I can't help but hope that, if I am ever in the same situation I can follow the advice of Rudyard Kipling, writing in 1895, in a prophetic and apposite poem entitled "The Young British Soldier" - the last verse of which reads:

When you're wounded and left on Afghanistan's plains,
And the women come out to cut up what remains,
Jest roll to your rifle and blow out your brains
An' go to your Gawd like a soldier.
Go, go, go like a soldier,
Go, go, go like a soldier,
Go, go, go like a soldier,
So-oldier ~of~ the Queen!

Touchy Feely

Afghanistan 2011

For a little while I have wanted to write an email on the subject of touching.  Bear with me.  I know it sounds a bit odd.  I have tried a few times, but it just keeps getting confused with lots of other things. A couple of things have happened that have, for one reason or another, delayed this email, but more recent events have made it seem more important that I write it.

When I arrived here I quickly noticed the Americans are very touchy.  I mean they touch each other.  Handshaking, patting shoulders and backs, high fives etc.  It seems that they initiate some sort of bodily contact at any and every opportunity.  Admittedly they are not as touchy as the Afghans, who touch each other all the time.  It's very odd (and quite normal) to see two male soldiers or policemen walking around holding hands.  (I can't quite imagine S, D and K all walking round holding hands - but hey, times change fellas...).  Anyway, people all seem to be touching each other a lot more than I am used to.  

It's very strange being surrounded by people but not having any contact with them.  You could, probably, come out here and not touch anyone for the duration of your tour.  How strange is that?  Too strange obviously.  That's why people manufacture contact.  Sometimes good, sometimes bad.  Thousands of testosterone filled males, a few females and enforced, extended physical isolation.  Never a good recipe. Horrifically, there was a gang rape out here last week, and reports of sexual assault are common. This is obviously the dark side of things but I can see where it comes from, even if I don't understand how it ends up resulting in that.  I don't want to focus on that line, I am on about the good stuff.  I miss it.  I am trying to explain how it feels to not have any cuddles, I miss playing with the children.  I miss holding hands.  I miss waking up in the night and there being someone there.  I am not going to get all mushy on you, just trying to explain.  OK.  Got that?  Right. Well keep it in the back of your mind and read on.

Yesterday another British soldier died.  Their death takes the UK service personnel death toll to 364.  Almost 365.  One a day for a year.  That's a lot.  I know some people would say one is a lot but it's not.  364 is a lot.  This soldier died in hospital in the UK having been flown home from here.  As soon as they died it was news.  What wasn't reported was that by the time they flew home, they were already a quadruple amputee.  This was not reported in the media.  Because they weren't dead, it wasn't newsworthy enough.  Personally I think losing all four limbs is newsworthy, but I don't sell papers.  Almost every day we have amputees.  I don't think anyone realises the scale of the injuries inflicted every day.  I didn't.  When the soldier died they became news.  I am not sure what that says about us, the media or the world.  Maybe something for a future email?

Just as an aside, when you have finished reading this email, go to the link below.  This page lists every service man or woman killed in Afghanistan since the invasion in 2001.  If you have time, just look through it.  If not, start at the top of the page and put your mouse on the down arrow on the scroll bar at the side. See how long it takes to reach the bottom...

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-10629358

Anyway, here's another link.  When I heard about the soldiers injuries I wondered what sort of life they would have.  I couldn't imagine being completely dependent on other people for the rest of my life.  Maybe they would have gone on to do amazing things, maybe they would have been an incredible example of positivity in the face of adversity.  Personally, I can't imagine never giving anyone a cuddle again, not holding my children, never being able to stroke someones face.  I can't comprehend the thought of not being able to hold the ones I love one more time.  Maybe that's why people here seem to crave human contact more. 

Maybe I just need a hug.