Tag Archives: Olympics

A Paper of Command: Countering war fatigue with MORE militarism.

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 Gordon Brown leers out from above his little blurb at the beginning of the Report of Inquiry into National Recognition for our Armed Forces.

That distant rumbling you hear is Orwell’s carcass sharting oily gruel. Yes, the title and the purpose of this ‘Command Paper’ is an attempt to ‘give the appearance of solidity to pure wind’. And damn the fall-out.

It’s a beauty, this document, a blueprint for militarism and for a buttressing of war myths. In effect it is an argument, made at length on the public tab, to counter a perceived drifting apart of the British population and the military. To counter this seperation by militarising comprehensive schools, for example, or by popularising ideas favourable to war as well as a fact-light perspective on those thrust into them.

In his opening comments, Brown makes some interesting points. The thrust of his argument is that neither the government nor the military can successfully recondition the military alone; rather, that effort needs  a combination of voluntary bodies, institutions of profit, those who run cadet units and those who organise military charities.

He says it is vitally important that those who do the job of war-fighting in distant places must know that the people at home grasp what is happening and why.

Now, to me the people at home understand fairly well what’s going on in Afghanistan and it is precisely this understanding which makes the wars unpopular. Even if people do not have a theoretical handle on imperialism, they understand that the reasons for being in Afghanistan are lies, that the war has been ineptly carried out, that a withdrawal is overdue, and that the troops are dying to save blushes in Westminster. None of this is obscure, and as I’ve said before the occupation of Afghanistan is a safe conversational topic to bounce your boots off.

Judging by the recommendations in the paper it has a rather different purpose. Rather than informing people of what kind of work service people do and rather than bridging a gap between our society and the military which the public funds and populates, the report aims to push a particular agenda and a suitable narrative.

The tactics include an expansion of cadet units in schools as mentioned, a relaxing of media regulations so that Commanding Officers can seek out photo opportunities around their garrisons and a greater emphasis on service people visiting schools (their own in particular).

Something worth considering here is that clearly a day off to visit your old school will be considered baksheesh, a reward. No service person who’s had a rough time in the mob is going to be despatched to St. Trinians for a day out. Those who go and give an hour or so of spiel will be pliable and will be vetted carefully. So whether or not the report argues that this ‘outreach’ is carried out as a separate initiative from recruiting programs, the view presented to school kids will be glowing.

For senior officers there is a proposed initiative to give half-day seminars on Defence to CEO’s of corporations with the rest of the day to be taken up with visits to barracks, ships and airbases. For very senior officers, the report suggests, there should be lunches with leaders of industry.

All of this, it is repeatedly stated, should be carried out in uniform where possible.

The reader will also be given a fascinating insight into the military’s grasp of media. Goods stuff is to be jumped upon, friendly hacks and editors are to be groomed, journalists are to be embedded and flown out to witness operations which have PR value. Not surprising, but interesting to read as pure policy suggestions. Another recommendation is that once a journalist in theatre has ‘earned the trust’ of a commander, they should be given more freedom to report. Nothing like a bit of favourably skewed reportage chaps. No matter how choppy an amateur I am, I must surely be able to lay a claim to being a better journo then these drip-feeders. At least I do my own research.

The report also includes a touch of prophetic humour. It laments – bear in mind the report was published in 2008 – that with only the Red Arrows were booked in for the Olympics, it would be a tragedy if the Armed Forces failed to capitalise on so great a stage. Thankfully to a number of leaders in industry – not least G4S – that chance came about, which must be a potent bragging point for brigadiers over their long lunches with boards of directors.

 

 

All roads lead away from London and sometimes people walk down them the wrong way.

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‘Twas the proud, unthankful,  schismatical, rebellious and bloody city of London’

A excerpt from ’A People’s History of London’ written by John Rees and Lindsey German, published by Verso 2012..

The Rat’s Nest

For a solid 28 years I vowed I would never live in London. I flitted through the city in my twenties and its airports served as a conduit for most of my misadventures overseas.

I never used the Tube until I went to undergo the selection process for the army. As I negotiated my way through that terrifying pipe in the summer of 2004, I disliked the place and did not know that my military path would lead me back to live here at 30 years old; a writer, cad and activist of some description.

Yet here I am, not far from where my father worked in his late twenties, in the at once awful and delightful sprawl of London. A crash landing if ever there was one.

The city provides every emotion over the course of a day; excitement at the diversity, history and opportunities, horror at the long crush of the commute to my secret scheming place, disgust at the lack of greenery and straight-talking, northern accents and so on.

Despite my half-joking concerns there is more to  the place then the slack-jawed, skinny-jeaned, penny farthing-mounted toffs of the Bloomsbury crowd. There is squalor and poverty imposed almost directly on top of astonishing affluence. I have seen this particularly in the west, but it’s apparent everywhere.

On my daily walk from the tube to work, I see BMW’s and Merc’s parked outside epic five storey houses whose elegant sash windows face the stark housing blocks across the road.

What, I pondered at first, the fuck is this about?

 

War

The wars continue, and the imperialists – despite Iraq, Afghanistan and Libya – favour more of them. The noise around Iran has diminished in favour of Syria, which is merely a change of tactics, rather than a lessening of ambitions against Tehran.

Moreover, the east has undergone its own military intervention. The failure of G4S, the odious private security company, to provide enough half-trained bodies for the Olympics has seen a massive deployment of soldiers – some fresh from Afghanistan – to the Stratford and surrounds. This is all in addition to the intended 3,500 troops, the missiles, the drones, the snipers, the Hesco fortifications, the aircraft carrier, the sonic weapons and more.

Recently I accompanied Brian Whelan – the journalist who blew the whistle on the Rapier missile installations – to film down by the Olympic site.

We were confronted by G4S minions and later by uniformed soldiers. A Royal Logistics Corps bloke and two Royal Anglians. On seeing the camera, one Anglian – a private of about 35 – told us we couldn’t film. ‘You a Viking or a Poacher?’ I asked him, referring to the two battalions of his regiment. The familiarity threw him.’…err, I can’t tell you that…’ He stammered, and that was the end of our exchange.

My unrequited, combative leanings

I’m all for peace, but I do love a ruck.

Fortunately, I have found a superb MMA gym to train in. It’s cheap by London standards and very well-equipped and provides me with Muay Thai, submission grappling, a nifty line in yoga and more.

My first fascination was with Muay Thai, but the wrestling has me. Arguably, wrestling is the dominant part of mixed martial arts. The two variants of wrestling are a complete and rewarding diversion from my past kickboxing/boxing.

My preference in practical terms is freestyle wrestling – which allows grabbing of the opponent’s legs – but the purely upper body-based Greco-Roman style is also fascinating given I’ve never really trained in the vertical clinch.

The sheer physical grind is amazing and has kept me sore, humble and focused. The boxing sessions will add a more familiar burn in the lungs.

Projects

After recent structural changes, my book is progressing very quickly and my editor is as happy- clappy as he could be at this stage. I’m told there needs to be some work on Voice, but that the book as plenty of poke, with the anti-war element being a departure from the norm and the key hook. I can’t wait to send it to the MOD, but until then let the wankers stew.

My other project will be a similar expose of military, Rupert-shaped dumb-fuckery, albeit in a non-literary format, and has been a pleasure to work on so far. We’ve assembled a brilliant range of testimonies, and a solid outfit to make it a reality.

I’m now considering my second book based on the rafts of utterly shit military books on the shelves at the moment. For the title I’m thinking along the lines of… Joe Glenton… Shadow Warrior…

Reflections on…

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I guess I’m free-writing, but maybe there is a place for it.

It’s early of the clock and it is already seems as light outside as it has been during daytime for six months.

This summer is hanging back; it doesn’t seem to want to arrive. It might turn out to be a big year in Britain; we have an imperfect storm brewing and I will be at its epicentre if it hits.

The hole I’ll never live in – London – has me in its gravity and the Olympics is looking like an arms fair arranged in layers; soldiers and cops equipped as soldiers will be on the ground,  HVM and Rapier missiles on the rooftops, drones and sniper teams in Merlin helicopters on over-watch. No doubt the satellites will be tuned in to London as well.

I am going through my bastard book line by line and tweaking – taking some advice, ignoring other bits – to get this tome finished. I have to say that bar a few structural issues the first three chapters have fallen into place – thank god for editors, though not for absolutely everything they say. But I am itching to get down to London and get guerrilla.

It’s about eight years since I joined the Army, six since Afghanistan. I was home on R and R for my 24th birthday and my 30th just passed. Eight years from civilian, through soldier, to political creature. Maybe that’s why I’m reflecting; maybe it’s my age, or maybe it’s the lack of a real rest-stop that’s got me all melancholy. But I need some action and now I’m one of those ‘independent revolutionaries’ my activism trigger finger is getting a bit tingly.

The point is this year has not been the year expected or hoped for, I’m sure that’s the case for a lot of people. Maybe it’s because in 2011 everything – literally, everything – erupted. The Arab Spring (I still don’t like that name), then Libya, more cuts stuff, Occupy, Afghanistan kept going downhill (massacres, shootings, Koran burnings) and on and on and then this year:

Nothing or at least nothing like last year.

I don’t pray – because my lull has been filled with the at-times odious Hitchens’- but I do hope. I hope that in the next few weeks this summer is going to turn into an angry scorcher, and London start to reek of dissent and people start to push hard and the class begins to move.

The old hands on the Marxist left say short-termism is dangerous in the struggle and can lead to frustration, angst and anarchism and other ailments and they may be right.

But who can say what will happen down London town this year?

Hmmm…