Twenty years ago

On 1 May 1991 I got off the train at Totnes station along with about one hundred others, bundled onto waiting buses. The buses disgorged us on to the parade ground at Britannia Royal Naval College Dartmouth and we hastily formed into platoons alongside those that we’d be spending the next seven months with. Operation Granby, the liberation of Kuwait, was in the final throes, the cold war was still very much present and the Royal Navy was then, as now, engaged in operations globally. Our main focus was the North Atlantic where we were postured for defence against a Soviet submarine threat, although we had patrols in the West Indies, Falklands, Persian Gulf and Asia.

There was no expectation that 20 years on I’d be sitting in Kabul, wearing the camouflage uniform that seems to have been a major part of my life for the latter half of my career.

I stood there with my suitcase and civilian bergen listening as our Divisional Senior Rate gave us our billeting instructions, before trudging up the hill to our accommodation block. Dartmouth is built on the steep river valley, and I recall that the only flat area was the parade ground in front of the college building. A whole new world opened up to me, with an arcane language known only to initiates, some of which baffles even my British colleagues never mind the others out here. My first mistake was addressing that Div Senior using the wrong terminology, fortunately it didn’t go downhill from there.

Over that seven months we lost a number of our peers; some to injury, some to second thoughts, some who weren’t suitable, but eventually, in December we marched up the steps and in through the main doors. Each of the officer training colleges has a significant ritual that marks the completion of that first stretch of training, before going on to whatever our own specialisations needed. In my case on the third of January I reported to the ship that I’d spend the next phase of my training in. She was already 11 years old and she’s still in commission, the last of her kind.

Many of the things I learned at Dartmouth remain with me, tempered by experience and other learning since then. Some have been discarded as no longer relevant to either me, or the service. Mistakes have been made, and learned from. Successes have been chalked up. Fortunately more of the latter than the former, and I’m still doing something I enjoy.

Today, I’m a long way from the sea, as are many of my RN colleagues, from the most junior to the very senior. The parade ground at Dartmouth is a distant memory, but those new colleagues starting the summer term are just embarking on their journey. Some of them will end up here in Afghanistan.

My day was spent in the machinations of the strategic headquarters. A lofty organisation that as a young Midshipman I had no delusions about being part of. Rubbing shoulders with those who in my early years were firmly on the other side of the conflict we trained for. Rubbing shoulders with those who we’ve trained with since Dartmouth, with exchange officers in the staff. But I’ve done lots of things that were unexpected, and my career has taken a number of turns that I wouldn’t have envisaged on that muggy afternoon.

Many challenges, some mistakes, much learning, no regrets. I’d do it all again in a heartbeat.

Clunk, click every trip

A flashback to my childhood, but this time not a reference to the seatbelt.

Magazine into my pistol, click…  Magazine into my rifle, click…

We’ve already looked over the daily threat brief, discussed actions in the event of an incident, checked personal first aid kits and where the vehicle trauma kit is. Body armour secure, ballistic eyewear and headgear on, gloves on.

Clamber into the vehicle, lock in and then we’re off. Out through the gate and into the traffic.

Kabul traffic is amazing. There are regulations but I’m just not sure that anyone has heard of them. The majority travel anti-clockwise around the roundabouts, but a determined minority work the other direction. Most drive on the right, some prefer to drive on the left, overtaking, undertaking weaving all over the lanes in an indeterminate manner. Traffic police, at least I think they’re traffic police, take their lives in their hands and try to direct what’s going on. To the uninitiated it looks like a futile activity as cars swerve round them or at times stop, the driver opens the window and has a chat with the officer.

Constant chatter inside the vehicle, making sure that everyone has a good picture of what’s going on all round; parked car ahead, cyclist crossing from left to right, kids approaching the roadside and about to run out into the traffic, horse and cart coming the wrong way down the road. Working together to spot the opportunities to make progress and reduce our risks.

We pass shops selling clothes and food, we pass a school, a hospital. All things that in another context would be very familiar. We pass the very unfamiliar; knee deep rubbish piled on the pavement with goats nibbling at it. We see the incongruous, a woman in a burkha walking down the road, with high heeled shoes showing beneath the hem, her companion in a skirt that wouldn’t be out of place in a London office.

The chaos of people going about their daily lives, providing for families, making the most of the opportunities. In truth we are what’s incongruous, armoured cars full of men and women carrying rifles.

As we head for our destination the adrenaline pumps and it could easily be addictive, but the purpose is not the drive, it’s the destination. For me it’s frequently the airport but easily one of the Ministries or one of the other ISAF camps in Kabul and its surrounding area. We go from the drive into discussions about the economy, justice, farming or liberalising the mobile telephone network. After our discussions it’s back into the armoured vehicles and on the road again.

Contrast, culture and big mountains

There is no such thing as ”Afghan culture”, instead there is a fascinating blend of people, approaches, beliefs and relationships.

In the UK our perception of Afghanistan is dominated by the main body of our people in the South West, Kandahar and Helmand provinces.  We see very little coverage of elsewhere in the country.  Afghanistan ranges from the flat, arid desert of the West to towering mountains in the East.  It was from Afghanistan that Babur, the first of the Moghul Emperors started the dynasty that would come to dominate the Indian sub-continent for three hundred years until finally supplanted by the British Raj.  It served as an arena for the cold war of the 19th Century between the British Empire and that of Russia, known as the Great Game.  The country has a lot of proud history, and that carries forward into the environment that ISAF operates in today.  A major criticism of the Taliban regime was that the history was not well known, a consequence of originating in a refugee population struggling to survive during the Russian occupation of the country.

ISAF has divided responsibility for the reconstruction effort into six regional commands.  South and Southwest are centred around Kandahar and Helmand provinces, West is centred around Herat, near the borders with Iran and Turkmenistan, North based at Mazar-e-Sharif near the borders with Uzbekistan and Tajikistan, and East which is based at Bagram to the North of Kabul and borders Pakistan.  RC Capital encompasses Kabul itself.

The character of the country is defined by the mass of the Hindu Kush, extending from the Pamir mountains, foothills of the Himalayas, in the East and creating a barrier running across the country.  The range separates the main blocs of population, and in the past led to a great deal of autonomy.  The government of the Raj never really moved any further North than Kabul and Herat with Imperial Russia having more influence in the Northern cities.  Flying around the country really rams home the impact of the mountains, in an hour long flight we cross brick red desert, snow bound villages and rolling grassland.

The population in the South and Southwest is predominantly Durrani Pashtun, the language is Pashto and the terrain is relatively flat. The altitude is about 1000m above sea level, and the climate is quite dry.  The main city in the area is Kandahar, which served as the capital of the Taliban regime, whilst the bureaucracy of government was based in Kabul.  In the West the population is of Persian and Turkmen descent, the majority speaking Persian.  Traditionally more sophisticated Herat was a centre of learning and arts.    Both Herat and Kandahar sit in fertile farming land and were home to the orchards supporting the Afghan fruit growing industry.  Most of our training in the UK is based around interaction with the Durrani population.

In the North the population is predominantly Tajik, Uzbek and Hazara with the main languages being Uzbek and Dari.  Mazar-e-Sharif was reputed to be the most liberal city in Afghanistan until the emergence of the Taliban regime.  The economy is predominantly agricultural although there is a growth of mineral exploitation.  The south of the region remains in the Hindu Kush descending rapidly into the plains of the Eurasian Steppe, divided into fields of wheat, and grazing land for herds of cattle.

The East is home to the Ghilzai Pashtun and is almost exclusively mountainous.  Maps just contain the words ”numerous scattered villages”, many of which are a handful of buildings perched on the slopes with small subsistence farms.  At the higher altitudes the terrain becomes glaciated and uninhabited.

The geography and the ethnic makeup of the population create a complex political environment, efforts to create a democratic system run up against tribal and ethnic loyalties, memories of Russian occupation and indeed the longer term memory of the Raj.  There are also memories of the period following the Russian withdrawal, infighting within the Mujahideen leading to an environment where the Taliban would be welcomed, despite their efforts to impose their culture by force across the whole country.  Embedding effective governance is difficult and takes a lot of engagement from our civilian counterparts and those of us in the military.

The differences in terrain and culture mean that it’s a complex challenge that we deal with.  Discussions one day centre around what crops are appropriate in the South West and how individual farmers can get their produce to the market, the following day around how industrialised wheat and livestock markets in the North fit into the national food distribution alongside the transportation network, that can be followed by how the economic incentives to encourage mineral exploitation might bring other infrastructure benefits to the population.

The devastation of the education system wrought by the Taliban is being replaced, but ISAF need to remain sensitive to the different needs and cultures, Herat had a very well developed public education system, the University in Mazar-e-Sharif resisted closure until after the second massacre in that city in 1998.  That contrasts with the need for very practical education in animal husbandry highlighted by British vets in Helmand.  What is being put in place has to reflect the needs of the population on a local level.

When I phoned my Commanding Officer to ask for an opportunity to come out here I didn’t anticipate working on such a rich and diverse range of issues, and across quite so many boundaries.  Understanding the differences and making them work for us, rather than against us, is hard but ultimately fascinating and stimulating.  Lots of learning has already happened for me, and I’m sure that will continue in coming months.

Christmas thoughts

Well that’s Christmas, been and gone for us while those back home have Boxing Day before the oddly unproductive period until New Year.

I tried several times to write before Christmas, but ended up sitting staring at a blank page for lengthy periods. Having only been here a month it’s been quite an odd experience. I left the UK a couple of weeks after retailers really got into Christmas, and many were pretty engaged with their own preparations. It’s almost as if I’ve had part of the experience at home, yet others here have their flights home in a couple of weeks and unlikely to even see the aftermath in the UK.

The supply chain, and the air-bridge, are pretty heavily loaded before Christmas, with an effort to get many home for either end of deployment or their Rest and Recuperation breaks. There is an upsurge in mail, and pressure to get that out to everyone in good time. I brought a couple of small parcels out with me, and a couple of parcels arrived for me as well, although I’d taken a fairly pragmatic view that parcels would arrive when they arrived. We also each received a package from UK4U, funded by donations and sponsorship by a number of the companies that those involved in Defence would recognise.

Christmas dinner is a big focus for many out here, and a lot of effort goes into it. Out in the British areas it’s supplied from the MoD, although here in a NATO compound we’re not included in that supply chain, but we still had a ”traditional meal”, although the general consensus was that it’s not the same without a glass of wine. In all honesty it was probably the best turkey I’ve had in a long time. Seeing a message from a friend about his glass of Rioja did get a fairly fruity reaction.

All that said it’s not a day off, while it was a quiet day in terms of operations there were patrols out all round Afghanistan, and we were at work at our usual time. Things happened that don’t make the news, some will never be able to start a day in the same way that they did yesterday. The knowledge of that is never comfortable, and being Christmas Day made it that bit more challenging. We’re all professionals though and one has to put on the mask and get on with the job, including playing a part in making the day as special as it can be.

It’s inevitable that people are going to miss home at times like this, but the improvements in communications that I blogged about last week do make it possible to be in contact. Those using the welfare phone system got an extra 30 minutes of free calls this week, and the ability to buy more minutes at a lower rate than usual. It still leaves a bit of a void after the call, but it’s a very welcome opportunity to catch up, and find out how the hastily arranged present was received.

But it’s back to normal today; working on plans for operations, setting objectives for patrols and working out how we get to other places at the right time, on the right day, despite the best efforts of the theatre transport system.

Making contact from Afghanistan, or elsewhere

Every time I’ve deployed the opportunity to communicate with family and friends at home has been different. While it’s far easier to communicate now that brings both benefits and challenges.

My first experience was in 1991, with a three month training deployment, known then as the Dartmouth Training Squadron. We had no personal communication at sea, and when we got alongside there were three phone lines into the ship, of which only one might be available. The main method was hand-written letter. As soon as we got alongside anywhere the Commanding Officer went ashore with his diplomatic duties, and the mail sacks were carried onboard, closely followed by a replenishment of food. I can remember the tension in the air as the mail was brought to the messdeck and handed out. The relief, excitement or disappointment depending on what one received.

Ten years later we had one or two telephones in a ship, that could be used to phone home even when we were at sea, but competition for time was high, and when we operated outside the UK we were contending with time differences. In the ship we managed the issues and let people get their calls home, we allocated a 20 minute phone call every week and accounted for it. We probably shouldn’t have done, but in the command team we felt it was valuable. It was certainly a learning experience, we had problems we hadn’t anticipated as the tensions of separation suddenly became more pronounced and apparent.

Comments during a phone call that in the past would have been problems dealt with and reported in a letter suddenly took on a whole different complexion when they were ”here and now” rather than ”been and gone”. One very significant point was call quality, for families used to toll quality the experience of a time delayed, noisy conversation was a challenge. The service became formalised and our experiences were useful, passing the lessons to others. We also experimented with email from sea, although the process was very clunky and needed a manual intervention. These services weren’t there for the purpose, they were put on board to support the command and control of the ship, but we made a bit of an effort to use them for the benefit of the ships company.

All of this served to reduce the distance between the sailor and his, or her, family. There were tensions and difficulties, but the benefits were recognised and the ability to deliver improved communications across all three services became an important issue with a lot of very high level interest. Including the odd parliamentary question, one of which was an outcry over the fact that 20 minutes was less than a prisoner in the UK justice system was allowed.

We now have a service in all of our ships and main bases overseas that offers access to toll quality telephones, and internet access on shared PCs. Further out into the Patrol Bases there are satellite phones, but access to PCs for internet use is more restricted. Some also have pretty ready access to the internet for official purposes, making use of email quite straightforward.

One thing that has been formalised is Operation Minimize, the services are cut off when there is an operational reason to restrict contact. It comes without warning, and can cut off mid sentence. The main reason that it’s implemented is a British casualty, either a death or a Category A wounding. Walking in to the welfare cabin and seeing the sign on the door causes a lump in the throat and a sudden weight in the pit of the stomach. The knowledge that someone, somewhere is about to get a fateful knock on the door brings home the import of what we do.

Despite all of these advances it can be difficult to actually make contact, I’ve seen comments on Twitter about the length of time between conversations, and how difficult that can be. It’s particularly hard for those whose loved ones are out at the sharp end day in, day out. It’s a very different dynamic to the one where a conversation ends with “I can’t call for a couple of days” and I’m not sure which is worse for those back home. I’ve thought about whether I should say it or not, telegraphing that I’m going out rather than just keeping quiet. On balance, for us, it makes sense to set the expectation, but that’s not right for everyone. In many cases the simple phrase would also give far more away about operational security than it does for me.

The immediacy of voice and internet communication doesn’t detract from the importance of actually getting handed an envelope or a package. There was a familiar burst of anticipation when an envelope arrived a few days ago, Christmas cards and some photographs from my family. There is also something very special about the sense of community across the services, with friends offering to send things out, as well as asking if there is anyone here who would appreciate getting a package. I’ve also seen the comments about it elsewhere So I can sit here in the knowledge that there are a few on the way for me, and I look forward to receiving them. At the same time I know that there are parcels being sent to others who otherwise might not get much.

Contact with home isn’t easy for anyone, but in my opinion it certainly beats what we had before.

Surreal existence in the middle of a conflict

I’ve now been here just shy of two weeks, and I’m managing to get a grasp on how the HQ works. One of the best approaches for coping with that is to have a lot of patience, and a wry smile. The ISAF force is made up of representatives from some 47 nation and I think every one of them has someone here. The major troop contributors are well-known, but there are some that are unexpected to say the least; Mongolia bring 47, Armenia have 40, Montenegro have 31. Those numbers contrast with our own 9500 and the US having by far the most with ten times our own contribution.

It makes the site here in Kabul a pretty interesting, and infuriating, place. It’s also easy to forget what’s going on elsewhere, particularly in the South where the UK is the lead nation, and the South West where the majority of our forces are operating. These are also where the most intense activities are taking place.

There are many different military cultures to deal with, and reconciling them can take some effort. Even those nations that work together often have their differences. Within the UK it’s often a point that the Navy and Marines have different cultures from the Army and the Air Force. It’s amplified a lot out here.

There are practical issues when we all do things in slightly different ways. In a routine road move the occupants of a vehicle will have subtle, and not so subtle, differences in how they react to an incident. We employ people of roughly equivalent ranks in different ways, so looking at someone’s badges is no assurance of what they’re capable of doing.

The most challenging issue for me is where authority lies for things. How far down the hierarchy are people trusted to get on with things, and indeed how comfortable people are when given the authority. In the British system we push authority as far down the hierarchy as possible, trusting big decisions to very junior people. It’s not always like that, and balancing ”getting things done” with ”being aware of the sensitivities” can take some effort, particularly when one is very aware of what’s going on at the pointy end.

The camp itself is fascinating, a blend of accommodation offices for the Headquarters staff, offices for each of the national support teams here to manage HR, stores and communications to our home nations, and the life support aspects of a location that houses a great many people in a very small space. Pretty much everyone shares rooms, and in my block some 130 of us share 5 showers and 5 toilets. Privacy is non-existent, and indeed some nations have a very different view of acceptable levels of privacy anyway. Many of the buildings are surrounded by concrete blast walls, intended to reduce the damage of the rockets and mortars that are donated by the insurgency on occasion. With the dust coating everything and the close proximity it can be a fairly restrictive existence. For me that’s a challenge, I’m an ”open space” kind of person, and not being able to look more than 50 or so yards in any one direction is quite uncomfortable. It’s been described as prison by more than one person since I got here. There is the occasional glimpse of the mountains surrounding the city, but that’s about it. I’m looking forward to getting out, seeing new things and some scenery and engaging with the sharp end again. Hopefully that will not take too long to arrange.

Each of the National Support Elements has its own character, and the usual suspects band together. ANZAC Cove supports the sizeable Australian and New Zealand contingent, the Nordic Palace has the flags one would expect outside. The Turks and the Greeks aren’t next door to one another and the American building is the biggest. The camp is also well served by a range of coffee shops and cafes. It all feels very surreal, and a little fraudulent, to sit after lunch with a coffee in the garden discussing operations where people are likely to be injured or worse, after we’ve tasked them.

It’s an odd existence. It could be very easy to get complacent and forget why we’re here, and forget about the risks that the people we task are taking. On the other hand we also see the outcomes, which does act as a reminder of what we’re doing, and why.

I’m lucky, I’ll get out of this place regularly, others are stuck here for 12 months or more.

First impressions

So I’m here, in the chair, responsible… My predecessor is now home, having made sure he got on the transport to the airport I had that sudden realisation that everything we’d discussed for the previous couple of days was now my problem. It’s always the same at handovers, trying to take in a lot of information very quickly, from the mundane day-to-day, where the laundry is and how to arrange transport, to the intricacies of who speaks to whom, how to influence their conversation and decisions and what the best routes are to achieve that. Exciting stuff, and I’m looking forward to my time doing it.

So my first impressions of Afghanistan.

Dusty, very dusty.. I know that there are mountains surrounding the city, but I can’t see them. There is a hint of a horizon, but that’s about it. I appreciate that’s a fairly trivial issue, but it strikes me as an interesting comparison. We know there is something else out there, but we can’t quite make it out.

Kabul isn’t risk free, but it’s slightly more benign than elsewhere. In the UK we hear most about the experiences of Task Force Helmand, operating somewhere that is much higher risk.

Driving through the city I’m struck by how busy and chaotic it is. I’m not entirely convinced that there are any rules for the traffic police to enforce. Getting through takes time, patience and good situational awareness by the drivers. It’s quite something to see the range of vehicles on the road, the ubiquitous Toyota four-wheel drive, battered and elderly saloons, jingly trucks interspersed with bicycles and horse and cart.

On the routes I’ve been on there is very obvious poverty, quite a lot of destruction, open fires. It’s taking a bit of getting used to, trying to appreciate what it is that’s going on, recognising that it’s all a series of small steps. One of the challenges is recognising where things are improving, recognises what can be built on, and learning where things aren’t going as expected.

Despite all of my training there is still a lot to learn, in fact I think I’ll be learning for the time that I’m here. I can only hope that what I do while I’m here adds to the improvements, rather than detracts.

The camp itself is also something to behold, but it’s probably better to discuss that in another post.

On a more prosaic note, I’ve been glad that I’m not in the UK this last week, given the weather. During the days it’s been quite warm, although a lot cooler at night. In the last two days it’s taken a distinctly chillier turn though, to the extent that I’ve put my shemagh, hat and gloves into my daysac to have with me.