War From the Ground Up (26 page)

The Dhofar conflict exemplifies the importance of the strategic relationship between tactical activity and its political context. The campaign was not going particularly well before 1970: the communist forces based in Yemen were swelling, and the province of Dhofar remained politically very unstable. The main reason for support for the communist cause was that the government did nothing for its people. Elderly Sultan Said Bin Taimur was not liked by many of the tribes, whom he treated badly. When he was deposed in a coup in 1970 and replaced by his son Sultan Quaboos, many of the tribesmen who had fought against the government joined the new Sultan's cause against what they saw as the godless communists. With very few exceptions, most of the
firqa
were ex-insurgents themselves, a key indicator of the importance of the change in political context.

This change of political context was a strategic opportunity, exploited by successful operational changes in the campaign after 1970: first, the introduction of the SAS to train indigenous forces; second, the abandoning of the practice of bombing all insurgents, and burning their homes and villages, with complete prohibition by 1972. Third, most crucially perhaps, there was no coherent doctrine of civil development pre-1970 (indeed Said bin Taimur routinely rejected the suggestions of his advisers to invest in civil development), whereas it was Sultan Qaboos's main promise to all his people after 1970 and perhaps the strongest leverage to get people to reject the insurgents, who offered nothing so tangible
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(which by counterpoint exemplifies why official corruption is such a problem in Afghanistan, and to my mind is a significantly more relevant issue than the insurgency in terms of future state stability).

Another key lesson from Dhofar is that counter-insurgency does not require a large-scale overt presence of foreign troops. A small contingent
of British troops, who fought as officers integrated into the Omani forces, as opposed to in discreet units, proved successful, while not ‘taking ownership of the problem', the key concern with large-scale interventions.

Counter-insurgency post-1945 has also been practised by powers that are not liberal democracies; to ignore that experience is to be partial. Sometimes the methods used, even in recent conflict, have gone beyond what liberal powers would deem acceptable; but those powers, using a form of counter-insurgency, have achieved their aims nonetheless. Some insurgencies have simply been destroyed. For example, in terms of contemporary counter-insurgency, the Sri Lankan government and Russia both subdued two long-running insurgencies against the Tamil Tigers and Chechen separatists using methods which resemble conventional warfare in terms of means used. There are obvious criticisms that can be levelled against these approaches on moral grounds, namely the gross human rights violations involved in both cases. However, the idea that counter-insurgency is the application of fixed principles to any problem involving an insurgency without adaption to that specific political context is incorrect.

In summary, counter-insurgency doctrine allows the strategist to access a wide range of tools that have been successfully used in various historical circumstances. Those tools do not, however, have any intrinsic meaning outside a political context, past or present. Disregard of this caveat is at the core of the confusion about how to deal with contemporary conflicts on the ground. Confusion stems from the belief that operational approaches, and in particular counter-insurgency, are comprehensive solutions rather than tools.

Without wanting to get overly drawn here into technical doctrinal debate, Major Shaun Chandler and I have argued in the
British Army Review
that kinetic (violent) effects and non-kinetic (non-violent) effects, the current official terms of British military doctrine, do not exist as such.
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They are not categories of effects, but categories of means, which are inert tools; it is how they are used and interpreted that has an effect. No tool inherently possesses the ability to deliver an effect. Thus effects are simply that—effects, usually on people—they are neither ‘kinetic' nor ‘non-kinetic'. However, the default idea that one should ‘balance' violent and non-violent means in counter-insurgency is commonplace. Why, in the abstract, should one arbitrarily want to balance the use of two tools? The requirement to balance, if any, depends on the problem.

Kinetic means can be a powerful way positively to influence people (i.e. not by terrorising them, but the opposite, by attacking that which terrorises them). If a village is broadly supportive of the Afghan government, but is being intimidated by a particular group of alien insurgents, it matters not how many leaflets one gives them, or schools one builds; they will still be intimidated and will not subscribe to the Afghan government narrative. If the insurgents who intimidate them are killed or captured, change can come about. When Major Shaun Chandler was commanding a company of Gurkhas in 2010, in a remarkable episode, a group of locals actually came to one of his checkpoints to applaud after a contact in which an insurgent had been killed. This insurgent was part of a group that had been making the villagers' lives a misery, not least by indiscriminately planting bombs in the village which had killed children (and badly wounded some of our soldiers too). Conversely, in many other circumstances, the use of violent force, even if proportionate and targeted, may be a bad option. To seek the intervention of a local powerbroker may be the best solution.

The deduction is that means, violent and non-violent, do not have an intrinsic ability to influence people in a given way. A mistaken belief that they do can lead to artificial compartmentalisation which frustrates their more imaginative use in any number of combinations in time and space. Moreover, to compartmentalise operations as either ‘kinetic' or ‘non-kinetic' is simply an inefficient use of resources (i.e. as soon as one decides to have a ‘kinetic effect' on a target audience, non-kinetic tools are excluded, and vice versa).
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The effect is the essence; all activity should point to it. This might be summarised in a particularly pithy piece of tactical direction I came across in 2010: ‘Can I, should I, must I?'
⁶³
‘Can I' is a legal question about rules of engagement; ‘should I' is about the effect—does the potential action support the purpose of the wider operation; ‘must I' is a practical moral question which seeks especially to keep potential civilian casualties to a minimum. This last question may seem obvious, but in reality can be the most demanding, and most ambiguous, in that the people who typically are required to answer it are junior commanders in vicious contacts, who have to balance the need for ‘courageous restraint' with responsibility for their own men.

The key in counter-insurgency is to match actions and words so as to influence target audiences to subscribe to a given narrative. The tension
between ‘enemy-centric' and ‘population-centric' counter-insurgency introduces an artificial and unnecessary distinction. They are both categories of means, and should rather be used, potentially in combination, in a way that corresponds with the political context. In a fragmented political environment that requires flexibility, to mix and match means to suit particular localities. To insist that one method is, in the abstract, superior to the other would be to frustrate such pragmatic flexibility.

Pragmatism in the application of any operational approach helps to distinguish means from ends: while doctrinal principles are important to construct any operational approach, their attainment should not be goals in themselves. Strategy must not start by forcing the actual political problem presented by the conflict into preconceived categories, such as conventional war or counter-insurgency, and then apply in a literal manner the corresponding doctrine to the problem. The reverse sequence should be applied. Strategy should start by considering the political problem on its own terms and then pragmatically draw upon doctrine to create a tailored operational approach to that particular problem.

The application of counter-insurgency doctrine can be compared to that of a sales technique. One may be the best salesman, and apply the technique, but if the product is poor, one will still struggle to make the technique work. Strategy is about dialogue between the product and the relevant technique which adjusts both (or at least makes recommendations to adjust the product). A technique itself is an inanimate tool. To limit strategic discussion to criticism of operational methods can be like a bad workman blaming his tools, or even a good workman blaming his tools rather than considering whether his task is appropriate for the tools he has.

Clausewitz's theme of pragmatism in operational thought, which associates method with political intention through the centre of gravity, draws together what makes sense in both Nagl's and Gentile's arguments. An operational approach must work on the ground and the army must win the wars it fights; but for that to happen, it needs to operate within a properly forged political context, and that is the role of strategy. The next chapter takes the Borneo Confrontation of 1962–6 as an extended case study of this theme.

This chapter presents an extended case study to illustrate the theme of pragmatism in the construction of operational approaches discussed in
Chapter 6
. From the British perspective, the Borneo campaign is usually regarded (incorrectly) as an appendix of the Malayan Emergency 1948–60. The conflict, termed from the British perspective either the ‘Borneo Confrontation' or the ‘Indonesian Confrontation', provides an independent and valuable example of the utility of a pragmatic mentality in the construction and application of strategy. British strategy understood the problem on its own terms: both policy and operational approaches were adjusted relative to one another to formulate, and continuously review, a coherent campaign plan.

Throughout this case study the term British, for simplicity, is used to refer generally to all of the Commonwealth troops who fought in the campaign. Australian, New Zealand and Malaysian troops played an important role. Their respective governments were also actors in their own right. There is not space here for a full narrative, and the emphasis of this case study is on the quality of pragmatism in British strategic thinking. To that end the Commonwealth dimension of the conflict is significantly simplified.
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I have also used evidence to support my account of combat on the ground largely from the history of my own regiment. This is simply because I have had better access to ex-Gurkhas who served
in Borneo and the relevant records from the Gurkha Museum. I do not mean in any way to sideline the role played by other units, British and Commonwealth, and indeed Indonesian, in the campaign.

British Secretary of Defence Denis Healey's verdict to the House of Commons upon the successful conclusion of the Indonesian Confrontation was that ‘in the history books it will be recorded as one of the most efficient uses of military force in the history of the world'.
²
Between 1962 and 1966 British and Commonwealth forces had been engaged in an armed confrontation against Indonesia, fought for the most part deep inside the jungles of Borneo. By 1964, 30,000 troops were committed in what was a major British combat operation. Yet contrary to Lord Healey's prediction, and despite some excellent specialist works, their exploits have been largely forgotten, failing to emerge from below the jungle canopy into the light of general knowledge. A short narrative is necessary.

For the British government, the Confrontation had its origins in the context of decolonisation and Cold War. Malaya had been granted independence in 1957 and Singapore in 1959. In colonial terms, Britain still retained interests on the island of Borneo in Sarawak, North Borneo (Sabah) and Brunei. The British plan was to federate these entities with Malaya and Singapore as ‘Malaysia'. In the event Brunei did not join. Malaysia was born in September 1963, but Singapore left in 1965. In Cold War terms, Britain wanted to retain basing rights in Malaysia, particularly in Singapore. Britain had commitments to the region as a member of the anti-communist South East Asia Treaty Organisation (SEATO), which had been set up in 1955 following the Geneva Conference and Manila Pact in 1954.

The Indonesian President Ahmed Sukarno was hostile to both the ‘imperialist' British presence in South East Asia and the concept of Malaysia. He hoped to assimilate the whole of Borneo into Indonesia (the other, much larger, territory of the Island of Borneo, Kalimantan, was already part of Indonesia). This was to be achieved by a policy of
Konfrontasi
. J. A. C. Mackie in
Konfrontasi: The Indonesia-Malaysia Dispute 1963–1966
(1974) states that at this stage the meaning of the policy was uncertain. The term had been coined at a press conference on 20 January 1963 by the Indonesian Foreign Minister Dr Subandrio who, when asked what it meant, stated: ‘Confrontation does not include war, because it can be carried on without war'.
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Michael Leifer in
Indonesia's Foreign Policy
(1982) describes
Konfrontasi
in terms of ‘coercive diplomacy', which had worked in the earlier Indonesian assimilation of West Irian (also known as West New Guinea, West Papua, or Irian Jaya), a remnant of the Dutch East Indies, in 1961–2. Sukarno played on US fears of alienating Indonesia and losing it to communism. The result was a UN settlement that demanded Dutch withdrawal. Leifer also stresses the other, equally important, purpose of
Konfrontasi
: it was a means for President Sukarno to stabilise his political position by binding together ‘in adverse partnership' the two potentially antagonistic elements of his power base: the army and the Indonesian Communist Party (the PKI).
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The pattern of the Confrontation falls into four phases. In the first phase, Indonesia provided aid to the rebels who led the Brunei revolt of December 1962, although this was soon suppressed by British troops flown in from Singapore. In the second phase, from April 1963, Indonesian regular army officers led guerrilla ‘volunteers' from Kalimantan on raids across the border, mainly into Sarawak. While lethal, these raids remained few and generally involved small numbers of less than platoon size. Their purpose was to back up Indonesia's negotiating position in the spring and summer of 1963, which opposed the formation of Malaysia. This period involved a rather complex series of events which will not be discussed here, but which involved the UK trying to establish Malaysia against Indonesian pressure, with other key actors involved, including the US and the UN.
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