Modern Counter-Insurgency 9781315248769, 9780754626367

Table of contents :
Cover
Half Title
Title Page
Copyright Page
Table of Contents
Acknowledgements
Series Preface
Introduction
Part I The British Experience
1 David A. Charters (1991), 'British Intelligence in the Palestine Campaign, 1945-47', Intelligence and National Security, 6, pp. 115-40
2 Raffi Gregorian (1994), '''Jungle Bashing" in Malaya: Towards a Formal Tactical Doctrine', Small Wars and Insurgencies, 5, pp. 338-59
3 Raffi Gregorian (1991), 'CLARET Operations and Confrontation, 1964-66', Conflict Quarterly, 11, pp. 46-72
4 Randall Heather (1990), 'Intelligence and Counter-Insurgency in Kenya, 1952-56', Intelligence and National Security, 5, pp. 57-83
5 Keith Jeffery (1987), 'Intelligence and Counter-Insurgency Operations: Some Reflections on the British Experience', Intelligence and National Security, 2, pp. 118-49
6 Tim Jones (1996), 'The British Army and Counter-Guerrilla Warfare in Transition, 1944-52', Small Wars and Insurgencies, 7, pp. 265-307
7 Tim Jones (1997), 'The British Army and Counter-Guerrilla Warfare in Greece, 1945-49', Small Wars and Insurgencies, 8, pp. 88-106
8 Caroline Kennedy-Pipe and Colin McInnes (1997), 'The British Army in Northern Ireland 1969-1972: From Policing to Counter-Terror', Journal of Strategic Studies, 20, pp. 1-24
9 John Newsinger (1992), 'Minimum Force, British Counter-Insurgency and the Mau Mau Rebellion', Small Wars and Insurgencies, 3, pp. 47-57
10 John Newsinger (1995), 'From Counter-Insurgency to Internal Security: Northern Ireland 1969-1992', Small Wars and Insurgencies, 6, pp. 88-111
11 David A. Percox (1998), 'British Counter-Insurgency in Kenya, 1952-56: Extension of Internal Security Policy or Prelude to Decolonisation?', Small Wars and Insurgencies, 9, pp. 46-101
12 Richard Popplewell (1995), '''Lacking Intelligence": Some Reflections on Recent Approaches to British Counter-Insurgency', 1900-1960', Intelligence and National Security, 10, pp. 336-52
13 A.J. Stockwell (1987), 'Insurgency and Decolonisation during the Malayan Emergency', Journal of Commonwealth and Comparative Politics, 25, pp. 71-81
Part II The United States Experience
14 Christopher C. Harmon (1992), 'Illustrations of "Learning" in Counterinsurgency', Comparative Strategy, 11, pp. 29-48
15 Wray R. Johnson and Paul J. Dimech (1993), 'Foreign Internal Defense and the Hukbalahap: A Model Counter-Insurgency', Small Wars and Insurgencies, 4, pp. 29-52
16 Carnes Lord (1992), 'American Strategic Culture in Small Wars', Small Wars and Insurgencies, 3, pp. 205-16
17 John D. Waghelstein (1994), 'Ruminations of a Pachyderm or What I Learned in the Counter-insurgency Business', Small Wars and Insurgencies, 5, pp. 360-78
Part III The Soviet and Russian Experience
18 Alexandre Bennigsen (1983), 'The Soviet Union and Muslim Guerrilla Wars, 1920-1981: Lessons for Afghanistan', Conflict Quarterly, 4, pp. 301-24
19 Rod Paschall (1986), 'Marxist Counterinsurgencies', Parameters, 16, pp. 2-15
20 Carl van Dyke (1996), 'Kabul to Grozny: A Critique of Soviet (Russian) Counter-Insurgency Doctrine', Journal of Slavic Military Studies, 9, pp. 689-705
Name Index

Citation preview

Modern Counter-Insurgency

The International Library of Essays on Military History Series Editor: Jeremy Black

Titles in the Series: Modern Counter-Insurgency fan Beckett

African Military History John Lamphear

Macedonian Warfare Richard Billows

Warfare in China to 1600 Peter Lorge

Warfare in Europe 1650-1792 Jeremy Black

World War I Michael Neiberg

Warfare in the Middle East since 1945 Ahron Bregman

The Army ofImperial Rome Michael F. Pavkovic

The English Civil War Stanley Carpenter

The Army ofthe Roman Republic Michael F Pavkovic

Warfare in Latin America, Volumes I and II Miguel A. Centeno

Warfare in South Asia from 1500 Douglas Peers

United States Military History 1865 to the Present Day Jeffery Charlston

The American Civil War Ethan S. Ra/use The British Army 1815-1914 Harold E. Raugh, Jr

Medieval Warfare 1300--1450 Kelly De Vries

The Russian Imperial Army 1796-1917 Roger Reese

Medieval Warfare 1000--1300 John France

Medieval Ships and Warfare Susan Rose

Warfare in the Dark Ages John France and Kelly DeVries

Warfare in Europe 1792-1815 Frederick C. Schneid

Naval History 1500-1680 Jan Glete

The Second World War Nick Smart

Byzantine Warfare John Haldon Warfare in Early Modern Europe 1450--1660 Paul El. Hammer Naval History 1680-1850 Richard Harding

Warfare in the USA 1784-1861 Samuel Watson The Armies of Classical Greece Everett Wheeler

Warfare in Europe 1919-1938 Geoffrey Jensen

The Vietnam War James H. Willbanks

Warfare in Japan Harald Kleinschmidt Naval History 1850-Present, Volumes I and Andrew Lambert

Warfare in China Since 1600 Kenneth Swope

n

Warfare in Europe 1815-1914 Peter H. Wilson

Modem Counter-Insurgency

Edited by

Ian Beckett University ofNorthampton, UK

First published 2007 by Ashgate Publishing Published 2016 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OXI4 4RN 711 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10017, USA Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business Copyright © Ian Beckett 2007. For copyright of individual articles please refer to the Acknowledgements. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any fonn or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data Modern counter-insurgency. - (The international library of essays in military history) I.Counterinsurgency 1. Beckett, 1. F. W. (Tan Frederick William) 355'.0218 Library of Congress Control Num ber: 2006935181

ISBN 9780754626367 (hbk)

Contents Acknowledgements Series Preface Introduction

PART I 2 2 3 4 5

6 7 8

9 10 11

12

13

vii ix xi

THE BRITISH EXPERIENCE

David A. Charters (1991), 'British Intelligence in the Palestine Campaign, 1945--47', Intelligence and National Security, 6, pp. 115--40. Raffi Gregorian (1994), '''Jungle Bashing" in Malaya: Towards a Formal Tactical Doctrine', Small Wars and Insurgencies, 5, pp. 338-59. Raffi Gregorian (1991), 'CLARET Operations and Confrontation, 1964-66', Coriflict Quarterly, 11, pp. 46-72. Randall Heather (1990), 'Intelligence and Counter-Insurgency in Kenya, 1952-56', Intelligence and National Security, 5, pp. 57-83. Keith Jeffery (1987), 'Intelligence and Counter-Insurgency Operations: Some Reflections on the British Experience', Intelligence and National Security, 2, pp. 118--49. Tim Jones (1996), 'The British Army and Counter-Guerrilla Warfare in Transition, 1944-52', Small Wars and Insurgencies, 7, pp. 265-307. Tim Jones (1997), 'The British Army and Counter-Guerrilla Warfare in Greece, 1945--49', Small Wars and Insurgencies, 8, pp. 88-106. Caroline Kennedy-Pipe and Colin Mclnnes (1997), 'The British Army in Northern Ireland 1969-1972: From Policing to Counter-Terror', Journal of Strategic Studies, 20, pp. 1-24. John Newsinger (1992), 'Minimum Force, British Counter-Insurgency and the Mau Mau Rebellion', Small Wars and Insurgencies, 3, pp. 47-57. John Newsinger (1995), 'From Counter-Insurgency to Internal Security: Northern Ireland 1969-1992', Small Wars and Insurgencies, 6, pp. 88-111. David A. Percox (1998), 'British Counter-Insurgency in Kenya, 1952-56: Extension ofInternal Security Policy or Prelude to Decolonisation?', Small Wars and Insurgencies, 9, pp. 46-101. Richard Popplewell (1995), '''Lacking Intelligence": Some Reflections on Recent Approaches to British Counter-Insurgency', 1900-1960', Intelligence and National Security, 10, pp. 336-52. A.J. Stockwell (1987), 'Insurgency and Decolonisation during the Malayan Emergency', Journal of Commonwealth and Comparative Politics, 25, pp. 71-81.

3 29 51 79

107 139 183

203 227 239

263

319

337

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PART 11

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THE UNITED STATES EXPERIENCE

14 Christopher C. Harmon (1992), 'Illustrations of "Learning" in Counterinsurgency', Comparative Strategy, 11, pp. 29-48. 15 Wray R. Johnson and Paul J. Dimech (1993), 'Foreign Internal Defense and the Hukbalahap: A Model Counter-Insurgency', Small Wars and Insurgencies, 4, pp. 29-52. 16 Carnes Lord (1992), 'American Strategic Culture in Small Wars', Small Wars and Insurgencies, 3, pp. 205-16. 17 John D. Waghelstein (1994), 'Ruminations of a Pachyderm or What I Learned in the Counter-insurgency Business', Small Wars and Insurgencies, 5, pp. 360-78.

351

371 395

407

PART III THE SOVIET AND RUSSIAN EXPERIENCE 18 Alexandre Bennigsen (1983), 'The Soviet Union and Muslim Guerrilla Wars, 1920-1981: Lessons for Afghanistan', Conflict Quarterly, 4, pp. 301-24. 19 Rod Paschall (1986), 'Marxist Counterinsurgencies', Parameters, 16, pp. 2-15. 20 Carl van Dyke (1996), 'Kabul to Grozny: A Critique of Soviet (Russian) CounterInsurgency Doctrine', Journal ofSlavic Military Studies, 9, pp. 689-705.

Name Index

429 453 467

485

Acknowledgements The editor and publishers wish to thank the following for permission to use copyright material. Taylor & Francis Ltd for the essays: David A. Charters (1991), 'British Intelligence in the Palestine Campaign, 1945--47', Intelligence and National Security, 6, pp. 115--40. http:// www.tandf.coukljournals; Raffi Gregorian (1994), '''Jungle Bashing" in Malaya: Towards a Formal Tactical Doctrine', Small Wars and Insurgencies, 5, pp. 338-59. http://www.tandf. coukljournals; Randall Heather (1990), 'Intelligence and Counter-Insurgency in Kenya, 195256', Intelligence and National Security, 5, pp. 57-83. http://www.tandf.coukljournals; Keith Jeffery (1987), 'Intelligence and Counter-Insurgency Operations: Some Reflections on the British Experience', Intelligence and National Security, 2, pp. 118--49. http://www.tandf.coukl journals; Tim Jones (1996), 'The British Army and Counter-Guerrilla Warfare in Transition, 1944-52', Small Wars and Insurgencies, 7, pp. 265-307. http://www.tandf.coukljournals; Tim Jones (1997), 'The British Army and Counter-Guerrilla Warfare in Greece, 1945--49', Small Wars and Insurgencies, 8, pp. 88-106. http://www.tandf.coukljournals; Caroline KennedyPipe and Colin Mclnnes (1997), 'The British Army in Northern Ireland 1969-1972: From Policing to Counter-Terror', Journal of Strategic Studies, 20, pp. 1-24. http://www.tandf. coukljournals; John Newsinger (1992), 'Minimum Force, British Counter-Insurgency and the Mau Mau Rebellion', Small Wars and Insurgencies, 3, pp. 47-57. http://www.tandf.coukl journals; John Newsinger (1995), 'From Counter-Insurgency to Internal Security: Northern Ireland 1969-1992', Small Wars and Insurgencies, 6, pp. 88-111. http://www.tandf.coukl journals; David A. Percox (1998), 'British Counter-Insurgency in Kenya, 1952-56: Extension ofInternal Security Policy or Prelude to Decolonisation?', Small Wars and Insurgencies, 9, pp. 46-10 I. http://www.tandf.coukljournals; Richard Popplewell (1995), '''Lacking Intelligence": Some Reflections on Recent Approaches to British Counter-Insurgency', 1900-1960', Intelligence and National Security, 10, pp. 336-52. http://www.tandf.coukljournals; AJ. Stockwell (1987), 'Insurgency and Decolonisation during the Malayan Emergency', Journal of Commonwealth and Comparative Politics, 25, pp. 71-81. http://www.tandf.couk/journals; Wray R. Johnson and Paul J. Dimech (1993), 'Foreign Internal Defense and the Hukbalahap: A Model Counter-Insurgency', Small Wars and Insurgencies, 4, pp. 29-52. http://www.tandf. coukljournals; Carnes Lord (1992), 'American Strategic Culture in Small Wars', Small Wars and Insurgencies, 3, pp. 205-16. http://www.tandf.coukljournals; John D. Waghelstein (1994), 'Ruminations of a Pachyderm or What I Learned in the Counter-insurgency Business', Small Wars and Insurgencies, 5, pp. 360-78. http://www.tandf.coukljournals; Carl van Dyke (1996), 'Kabul to Grozny: A Critique of Soviet (Russian) Counter-Insurgency Doctrine', Journal of Slavic Military Studies, 9, pp. 689-705. http://www.tandf.couk/journals.

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Every effort has been made to trace all the copyright holders, but if any have been inadvertently overlooked the publishers will be pleased to make the necessary arrangement at the first opportunity.

Series Preface War and military matters are key aspects of the modern world and central topics in history study. This series brings together essays selected from key journals that exhibit careful analysis of military history. The volumes, each of which is edited by an expert in the field, cover crucial time periods and geographical areas including Europe, the USA, China, Japan, Latin America, and South Asia. Each volume represents the editor's selection of the most seminal recent essays on military history in their particular area of expertise, while an introduction presents an overview of the issues in that area, together with comments on the background and significance of the essays selected. This series reflects important shifts in the subject. Military history has increasingly taken a cultural turn, forcing us to consider the question of what wins wars in a new light. Historians used to emphasise the material aspects of war, specifically the quality and quantity of resources. That approach, bringing together technological proficiency and economic strength, appeared to help explain struggles for mastery within the West, as well as conflicts between the West and non-West. Now, the focus is rather on strategic culture - how tasks are set and understood - and on how resources are used. It involves exploring issues such as fighting quality, unit cohesion, morale, leadership, tactics, strategy, as well as the organisational cultural factors that affect assessment and use of resources. Instead of assuming that organisational issues were driven by how best to use, move and supply weapons, this approach considers how they are affected by social patterns and developments. Former assumptions by historians that societies are driven merely by a search for efficiency and maximisation of force as they adapt their weaponry to optimise performance in war ignored the complex process in which interest in new weapons interacted with the desire for continuity. Responses by warring parties to firearms, for example, varied, with some societies, such as those of Western Europe, proving keener to rely on firearms than others, for example in East and South Asia. This becomes easier to understand by considering the different tasks and possibilities facing armies at the time - when it is far from clear which weaponry, force structure, tactics, or operational method can be adopted most successfully - rather than thinking in terms of clear-cut military progress. Cultural factors also play a role in responses to the trial of combat. The understanding of loss and suffering, at both the level of ordinary soldiers and of societies as a whole, is far more culturally conditioned than emphasis on the sameness of battle might suggest, and variations in the willingness to suffer losses influences both military success and sty les of combat. Furthermore, war is not really about battle but about attempts to impose will. Success in this involves far more than victory on the battlefield; that is just a pre-condition of a more complex process. The defeated must be willing to accept the verdict of battle. This involves accommodation, if not acculturation - something that has been far from constant in different periods and places. Assimilating local religious cults, co-opting local elites, and, possibly, today, offering the various inducements summarised as globalisation, have been the most important means of achieving it over the years. Thus military history becomes an aspect oftotal history; and victory in war is best studied in terms of its multiple contexts. Any selection of what to include is difficult. The editors in this series have done an excellent job and it has been a great pleasure working with them. JEREMY BLACK

Series Editor University of Exeter

Introduction In 1896 one of the adherents of what has been characterized as the 'British Imperial' school of military thought, T. Miller Maguire, commented on what he regarded as the obsessions of the rival 'continentalist' school within the British army, 'While looking at the stars, we may tumble in a ditch, and while lost in wonder at how to move effectively from Strasbourg, Mayence and Metz towards Paris with many divisions of cavalry and armies consisting each of from three to eight corps, we may forget how to handle a few battalions in the passes of the Suleiman Range or in the deserts of Upper Egypt' (Bailes, 1981). It was by no means a new phenomenon that Miller Maguire identified. Back in 1763, William Smith writing of the prospects of the coming campaign against the Ottawa chief, Pontiac, in the Ohio valley had remarked to a friend, 'The war will be a tedious one, nor can it be glorious, even tho' attended with success. Instead of decisive battles, woodland skirmishes - instead of Colours and Cannons, our Trophies will be stinking scalps. Heaven preserve you, my Friend, from a war conducted by a spirit of murder rather than of brave and generous offence' (Parkman, 1908, p. 62). In much the same way, the celebrated military theorist ofthe mid-nineteenth century, Baron Henri de Jomini wrote ofthe French war against guerrillas in Spain between 1808 and 1814, 'I acknowledge that my prejudices are in favour of the good old times when the French and the English Guards courteously invited each other to fire first - as at Fontenoy - preferring them to the frightful epoch when priests, women and children throughout Spain plotted the murder of isolated soldiers' (Jomini, 1862). In part, the problem of reconciling conventional armed forces to a counter-guerrilla role has arisen from the perception of most armies that they exist primarily to wage major conventional wars. The US Army, for example, fought over 1,000 separate engagements against hostile Indians in the continental United States between 1866 and 1890 but there was a continuing tendency to regard the army's only fixed mission of policing the moving frontier as an irrelevance and a tiresome distraction from matching European military theory (Utley, 1977; 1978; Gates, 1983). In fact, the army fought the Indians as if they were conventional military opponents. Despite, or rather because of, the frustrating experience of countering guerrillas in the Philippines between 1900 and 1902, the army was evidently relieved to turn to the study ofthe more professionally rewarding fields of St Mihiel and the Argonne after the First World War. Less than one per cent of successive editions offield service regulations in the 1940s dealt with counter-guerrilla operations. The army's special forces had to struggle for recognition within the US military establishment long after their creation in the 1950s. Similarly, the US Marine Corps, which had gained considerable experience in combating guerrillas in the Caribbean and Central America in the inter-war period, resulting in the production of the Small Wars Manual in 1935, had become so immersed in its Second World War amphibious role that the manual had been all but forgotten (Paschall, 1985; Schaffer, 1972). Indeed the thrust behind a new counter-insurgency doctrine in the early 1960s was from civilians rather than the military, the army remaining largely wedded to a doctrine predicated on

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conventional operations in Central Europe (Blaufarb, 1977; Cable, 1986; Krepinevich, 1986; Shafer, 1990). Consequently, one US general officer in South Vietnam in 1970 was recorded by a researcher for the Rand Corporation as saying, 'I'll be damned if I permit the United States Army, its institutions, its doctrine and its traditions, to be destroyed just to win this lousy war' (Jenkins, 1972, p. 3). As suggested in the essays by Carnes Lord (Chapter 16), John Waghelstein (Chapter 17) and Christopher Harmon (Chapter 14), lessons have been learned in the United States but largely outside the higher echelons of the military establishment. It has not been however, just a matter of institutional conservatism and a preconceived notion of the nature of 'real war'. The difficulty also lies in the distinctly unglamorous implications of a form of conflict, as both Smith and Jomini implied. Results will not be obtained quickly and, in many cases, success cannot be measured in conventional military terms of decisive battles won. What have been described as 'uncomfortable wars' also confront soldiers with political and societal pressures to a far greater degree than other forms of conflict (Galvin, 1991). In short, to utilize the imagery of Christopher Marlowe, guerrilla conflict is no short cut to a triumphant ride through Persepolis. Indeed, the author ofthe classic British manual, Small Wars: Their Principles and Practice, Charles Callwell, wrote back in 1896, 'The crushing of a populace in arms and the stamping out of widespread disaffection by military methods, is a harassing form of warfare even in a civilised country with a settled social system; in remote regions peopled by half-civilised races or wholly savage tribes, such campaigns are most difficult to bring to a satisfactory conclusion, and are always most trying to the troops' (Callwell, 1906, p. 36). Yet, arguably, guerrilla warfare has always been the most prevalent form of conflict. It was certainly so in the twentieth century, if not before. Particular scorn has always been reserved for the British Chief of the Imperial General Staff, Sir George Milne, who remarked in 1926 that the First World War had been 'abnormal' (Bond, 1980, p. 36). In fact, the apocryphal 'real soldiering' on the frontiers of empire, to which regulars were supposedly eager to return in 1918, did actually represent the collective experience of the inter-war army. What might be termed low-intensity conflict has been no less the principal fare of the British army since 1945. While British soldiers died on active service somewhere in the world in every year between 1945 and 1997 - with the exception of 1968 - the only significant conventional experience comprised 35 months of British participation in the Korean War, involving no more than five infantry battalions at anyone time; 10 days at Suez in 1956; 25 days ofthe land campaign of the Falklands in 1982; and 100 hours ofland operations in the Gulf in 1991. To a lesser degree, much the same could be said of the experience of the French, United States, Soviet/Russian, Indian and even Israeli armies since 1945. A survey in 1983 catalogued 147 guerrilla or terrorist groups existing or having existed in Europe since 1945, 115 in Asia and Oceania, 114 in the Americas, 109 in the Middle East and 84 in Africa. This provided a staggering total of 569 different groups although, of course, many were small and obscure and of little account in either national or international politics (Janke, 1983). Since 1983, many more groups have emerged, the continuing proliferation of such organisations suggesting that low-intensity conflict is still perceived widely as an effective means either of achieving power and influence, or of bringing a cause to the notice of the national or international community. Moreover, while the end of European decolonisation and the collapse of the Soviet Union, which actively supported 'wars of national liberation' , have together removed the motivational impulse that generated much conflict between the

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late 1940s and the late 1980s, insurgency is as prevalent as ever, especially where the state system has remained underdeveloped as in many parts of Africa, Asia and Latin America. New ideological, political and commercial imperatives encouraging intra-state conflict and insurgency have emerged amid the breakdown of the international bipolar political system and the emergence of identity politics and of many more non-state actors. Indeed, between 1990 and 1996 alone, there were at least 98 conflicts worldwide, but only seven of these were waged between recognized states (Beckett, 1999). Islamic fundamentalism for example, which might be regarded more as an ideology than an expressly religious conviction, has emerged as one such new imperative to violence. Examples range from the struggle against the Soviets in Afghanistan between 1979 and 1998 to the continuing conflicts in the Philippines, Indonesia, Palestine, Algeria, the Sudan, Kashmir, Chad and, of course, Iraq, though some of these conflicts may also be characterized in other terms. Thus, low-intensity conflict remains a crucial challenge in the contemporary world. Moreover, the potency of the challenge of guerrilla warfare changed substantially during the twentieth century with the emergence by the 1940s of revolutionary guerrilla warfare, as it now tends to be called. Fairly obviously, the feature of guerrilla warfare that remained constant over the centuries was the tendency for groups to operate in difficult terrain - mountain, desert, forest, swamp, and jungle - of which they often possessed local knowledge denied to their opponents. Moreover, they often enjoyed a degree of popular support among local inhabitants. They were generally more mobile than their opponents and would undertake hit and run raids that enabled them to inflict damage, yet also evade their opponent and prolong the struggle. On occasion, such conflict was merely brigandage, but guerrilla warfare was generally understood as the natural recourse of indigenous groups in opposition to occupation or oppression, either where a conventional army had ceased to exist, or had never existed. Guerrilla warfare was clearly a strategy of the weak in the face of a stronger military power though, by the eighteenth century, it was appreciated that conventional armies might also benefit from adopting irregular tactics in certain circumstances, and raising irregular units or partisans in support of conventional operations. Prior to the twentieth century, however, few theorists or practitioners made any direct connection between guerrilla warfare and political change though, increasingly, some groups and individuals began to harness guerrilla tactics to the pursuit of overtly political aims in the first half of the twentieth century. The fusion of traditional guerrilla tactics with political and, especially, ideological objectives marked the emergence of revolutionary guerrilla warfare or insurgency, best defined as a campaign fought by a minority group within a state to gain political power through a combination of subversion, propaganda and military action. Political, socioeconomic, and psychological measures, not least the mobilization of the population and the use of propaganda and subversion, enhanced tactics in a way that enabled insurgent groups to challenge successfully much more powerful conventional forces. Though revolution might result from insurgency, some distinction should be made not only between revolution and insurgency, but also between insurgency and 'people's war' since insurgency enabled relatively small groups to access power. It should be noted, however, that those insurgencies most likely to succeed were those enjoying substantial external assistance and a ready refuge across an international frontier. Initially, most of the new style insurgent groups immediately before and after the Second World War still fell within the classic tradition of rural action in difficult terrain. By the

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mid 1960s, however, the focus switched from rural to urban insurgency in recognition of the changing nature of the world as a result of increasing urbanization and industrialization. The transition from guerrilla warfare to insurgency was not dependent, therefore, upon the size of any particular group, but upon the intention to bring about fundamental political change through a political-military strategy of organized coercion and subversion, and, usually, also the attempt to mobilize a mass political base. While insurgents might routinely employ terror or intimidation in tactical terms, they have rarely done so at the strategic level. Consequently, it can perhaps be argued that terrorist groups which emerged as a separate phenomenon in their own right alongside urban guerrilla groups in the late 1960s and early 1970s, even if motivated by a similar ideology to insurgent groups, have tended to employ premeditated violence perpetuated without constraint and, often, as a means of displaying political symbolism without the intention of taking over the state apparatus themselves and without any attempt to mobilize popular support. Urban insurgency itself, however, was not notably successful in the 1960s and 1970s, leading increasingly to the tendency towards a combination of rural and urban action through the last two decades of the twentieth century. Some difficulties of definition can be seen in the essays on Northern Ireland by Caroline Kennedy-Pipes and Colin McInnes (Chapter 8) and John Newsinger (Chapter 10). Many analysts in the 1950s and 1960s such as David Galula, John Pustay, J.J. McCuen and Sir Robert Thompson tended to identify a specifically Maoist model as the pattern of modern insurgency based upon the theory of protracted warfare evolved by Mao Tse-tung in China in the late 1930s and 1940s (Galula, 1964; Pustay, 1965; J.J. McCuen, 1966; Thompson, 1966). In reality, this was modified by other exponents of insurgency such as the Vietnamese, Truong Chinh and Vo Nguyen Giap, or implicitly rejected by others such as Che Guevara and Regis Debray, who evolved a so-called 'foco' theory of revolutionary warfare based on their experience of fighting with Fidel Castro on Cuba in the 1950s, and the Brazilian exponent of urban insurgency, Carlos Marighela. Nonetheless, the essential characteristics have remained relatively constant since 1945 for all that the precise motivation of insurgent groups may have varied, as well as the environment in which they have operated. Bard O'Neill for example, has suggested seven main categories of insurgency, namely anarchist, egalitarian (equating to Marxist), traditionalist (equating largely to Islamic), pluralist, secessionist, reformist, and preservationist (O'Neill, 1990). Similarly Stephen Sloan has suggested that the four principal features of modern insurgency as a whole have been the primacy of politics, the significance of psychological operations, the resort to protracted war, and the employment of unconventional forces and tactics (Sloan, 1999). In many respects, this states the obvious, but it is right to note the emphasis upon the prolongation of conflict for there have certainly been some very long running insurgencies in the modern world. For all practicable purposes, the struggle for control of China, ending in the victory of Mao Tse-tung, endured for 23 years to 1949; that for South Vietnam for 28 years to 1973; and that for Eritrean independence for 31 years to 1991. Negotiation finally ended intermittent guerrilla conflict in Guatemala in 1996 after 34 years, while a tenuous cease-fire has been in place in Western Sahara since 1991 after 25 years of conflict between Morocco and Frente Popular para la Liberacion de Saguira el Hamra y Rio de Oro (Popular Front for the Liberation of Saguiet el Hamra and Rio de Oro or POLISARIO). Insurgent conflicts have continued between the communist government and hill tribes such as the H'mong in Laos since 1976 and also

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between the Kurds and successive Iraqi governments for all practical purposes from 1961 to 1991. While some within Uniao Nacional para a Independencia Total de Angola (National Union for the Total Independence of Angola or UNITA) reached an accommodation with the Angolan government in 1997, many of Jonas Savimbi's followers continued the struggle after losing the civil war in 1975, having previously fought the Portuguese for nine years, until his death in 2002. The 'Troubles' have affected Northern Ireland since 1969, albeit with a supposed cease-fire since 1997. Similarly, although the Malayan Emergency of 1948-60 was widely regarded as a successful counter-insurgency campaign, when the state of emergency was finally revoked, insurgent groups still remained at large in the jungle along the frontier with Thailand. Indeed, the veteran leader of the Malayan Communist Party, Chin Peng, only emerged from the jungle to reach an agreement with the Malaysian authorities in 1989. Notwithstanding new motivational impulses however, and the fact that insurgents are increasingly better armed, perhaps more fanatical and in some cases, better attuned to the information revolution than in the past, it is still the case that much remains the same in terms of the basic requirements for successful insurgency. Insurgency remains a highly political act arising from some sense of grievance, or upon the exploitation and manipulation of grievance. An insurgent leadership is still likely to be better motivated than the rank and file. Insurgency will still be the recourse of those initially weaker than their opponents and, though perhaps less protracted than in the past, its ultimate success may still largely depend on substantial external support. Above all insurgency is still invariably a competition in government and in perceptions of legitimacy. Insurgency also implies an attempt to establish a political infrastructure based on some form of mass organization in order to cultivate popular support. There have been cases in which insurgents attempted to bypass the lengthy political preparation of a population recommended by Mao and by those who have espoused a broadly Maoist model of insurgency, and thus follow a shorter route to power. The most obvious examples are the rural focos inspired by Guevara and Debray in Latin America in the mid-1960s as a result of a flawed interpretation of the unique combination of circumstances that enabled Castro to succeed on Cuba between 1956 and 1959. In the same way, the belief in the ability of a small insurgent elite to exploit a minimum level of discontent and act as a catalyst for wider popular insurrection without consciously building a mass political support organisation characterized the approach of the urban guerrilla groups inspired by theorists such as Marighela and Abraham Guillen, a Spaniard who influenced urban insurgents in Uruguay, in Latin America in the late 1960s and early 1970s. None of these groups however, succeeded. The Maoist model itself has not always been successful. It failed in Malaya, the Philippines, Thailand and Peru, in the latter case after 17 years of preparation before Sendero Luminoso (Shining Path) actually launched its declaration of a 'people's war' in May 1980. It follows however, that those insurgencies that have been ultimately successful have been those capable of organizing a sufficiently durable political infrastructure to sustain a prolonged conflict. The advantage of prolonging insurgency is equally beneficial to either offensive or defensive insurgency, the former implying the seizure of power in a state, and the latter the expulsion of an invading or occupying force, or secession. One reason for the prolongation of conflict in the Maoist model of insurgency was that the ultimate aim was always to build a conventional army capable of undertaking large scale military operations in a third, mobile phase of war, following on from the two earlier essentially political phases of the conflict.

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Building a conventional army, as did Mao and the North Vietnamese, however, has not always guaranteed success when the aim of prolongation has been to raise the military and political costs for the incumbent authorities. Indeed in many respects, for the insurgent, survival alone is sufficient reward. It has also always been possible to wage an effective urban campaign with far fewer insurgents than a rural campaign but, in the past, urban insurgencies have always proved vulnerable. Since insurgency feeds upon, and is sustained by, real or manipulated political and/or socioeconomic grievances, the actions by which existing governments and their armed forces seek to combat insurgency and to prevent its resurgence, the status quo ante is impossible to achieve in terms of a successful counter-insugency campaign. Equally, commitment to government may rest on no more than the provision of services. Indeed there may well be a substantial proportion of a population essentially uncommitted to either government or its opponents at the moment insurgency begins. As it has been frequently said, all politics are local and control and security rests at the lowest local level. Whatever the degree of support for it, insurgency can only be realistically tackled through a primarily political response. Where initial support for insurgency amongst an uncommitted population depends upon the exploitation of particular grievances, then attention to those grievances on the part of government may perhaps be more significant than the perception of winning and losing. Clearly, government needs to project a viable political and socioeconomic programme that offers significantly more future promise than that of the insurgents. Yet the ability of government to address fundamental grievances may be part and parcel of that wider perception of winning and losing. Generally it is accepted that the population's overall sense of security is the key whatever other tangible rewards may be on offer from one side or the other and indeed, without security it may not be possible to deliver other rewards. During the Malayan Emergency (1948-60) for example, an ultimately successful surrender and reward programme was instituted in the belief that 'the only human emotion which can be expected to be stronger than fear among a terrorised population with very little civic consciousness is greed' (Carruthers, 1995, p. 94; Ramakrishna, 2002). To win a counter-insurgency campaign therefore, implies establishing sufficient legitimacy to incorporate a critical mass of the population within the government camp. Establishing or re-establishing legitimacy will also imply promoting a sense of credible security as a basis for governance. In essence, this is a matter of 'winning hearts and minds', a phrase first apparently originated during the Malayan Emergency by the British High Commissioner and Director of Operations, Sir Gerald Templer, who also remarked on one occasion that, 'the shooting side of the business is only 25 per cent of the trouble and the other 75 per cent lies in getting the people of this country behind us' (Beckett, 2001, p. 102). It has been suggested on occasions that 'if you have them by the balls, their hearts and minds will follow', but, while this may convey an element of truth, the reality is that victory will go to those who are best able to meet both security concerns and basic aspirations. Most models of counter-insurgency therefore, recognize the imperative of putting into place sufficient reforms and mechanisms to ensure that the insurgent challenge will be neutralized and will not recur. In that regard for example, the suggestion by the US Assistant Secretary of Defence, John McNaughton, in 1965 that the US aim in South Vietnam was 70 per cent to avoid humiliating defeat, 20 per cent to keep South Vietnam out of the hands of the Chinese,

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and only 10 per cent to allow its people to enjoy a better, freer life, suggests just how far US policy fell short of what was required to succeed (de Groot, 2000). The means by which the overarching objective of establishing or re-establishing legitimacy can be achieved are varied but the political nature of the response is paramount in most models. Sir Robert Thompson's celebrated five principles of counter-insurgency were the recognition of the need for political action: the requirement for civil-military co-operation, the need for co-ordination of intelligence, the separation of the insurgent from the population through the winning of hearts and minds, the appropriate use of military force, and implementing lasting political reform. The 'Max Factors' evolved by Max Manwaring and John Fishel suggest seven dimensions in which success or failure is determined, namely host government military actions, action against subversion, unity of effort, the retention of external support for host governments, the struggle for legitimacy, the separation of insurgents from the population and the reduction of external support for the insurgents. Anthony Joes has suggested a twofold approach in shaping the strategic environment and isolating the insurgents. Shaping the environment requires redressing legitimate grievances, deploying sufficient troops to restore order, and excluding external support. Separation of the insurgent from the population requires adherence to the rule of law, co-ordination of intelligence, food and weapons control and the use of amnesties. Similarly, Joseph Celeski has suggested 'logical' lines of operation as government institution-building measures, employment and reconstruction, diplomatic and political measures to achieve legitimacy, military and security operations, the development of civil defence forces, closing of frontiers and interdiction, information and psychological warfare operations, civil-military co-operation and humanitarian aid (Thompson, 1966; Manwaring and Fishel, 1992; Joes, 2004; Celeski, 2005). Beyond recognition of the political nature of insurgency, it is certainly the case that a second basic requirement of a successful counter-insurgency strategy is the recognition of the need to ensure co-ordination of the military and civil response; a third, the need to ensure coordination of intelligence. A fourth requirement is the separation of the insurgents from their base of popular support either by physical means or by a government campaign designed to win the allegiance of the population. Indeed physical separation has often been pursued by the revival of the late-nineteenth-century technique of resettlement of the population within protected communities. A fifth requirement is the appropriate use of military force against those insurgents separated from the population. Finally, long-term reform addressing those political and socioeconomic grievances that have contributed to the insurgency is necessary in order to ensure that it does not recur. Despite the reluctance to confront these kinds of demands after 1945, the British and most other major armies actually had aresidue of experience on which to draw (see essays on Britain, France, Germany, Japan, the United States and Soviet Union in Beckett, 1988). Lessons had been transmitted from one generation of soldiers to another even if wholly informally. Indeed, particular national traditions had developed in the nineteenth century that could be readily adapted to the twentieth. The early-eighteenth-century Spanish general, the Marques de Santa Cruz, and the mid-nineteenth-century French general, C.M. Roguet, had commented on the techniques of counter-guerrilla warfare in surprisingly modern terms. However, modern counter-guerrilla warfare and modern counter-insurgency theory is essentially a product of late nineteenth century origin and rests on the experience gained in the expansion of European colonial empires. The British for example, fought 35 maj or campaigns between 1872 and 1899,

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none of them in Europe. The enemies and the difficulties in fighting them were immensely varied, but the lessons were eventually analysed and codified by Callwell in 1896. A similar study by the Dutch captain, Klaas van der Maarten, based on the campaigns in the Dutch East Indies, appeared the same year. Four years later, an essay by Louis-Hubert-Gonzalve Lyautey provided a succinct summary of the pacification method known as tache d 'huile (oil slick) pioneered by Joseph-Simon Gallieni in French Indo-China and Madagascar, which Lyautey himself was to apply to Morocco after 1912. It is fair to say that these texts were essentially about colonial policing and, though guerrilla warfare itself was beginning to change in the inter-war period, military authors like Sir Charles Gwynn, whose Imperial Policing, was published in 1934 or the authors of the US Marines's Small Wars Manual generally failed to notice the growing politicization of such conflict. Too often soldiers stressed only a military response to guerrilla warfare. Thus modern technology, such as airpower and gas, had been quickly pressed into service against guerrillas. While the Second World War naturally focused renewed attention on 'real war', many armies found themselves in the business of actually promoting irregular warfare in German-occupied Europe and Japanese-occupied South-east Asia. However, they tended to regard this as traditional partisan warfare and there was certainly a direct revival of the tradition by the Soviet Army on the Eastern Front. There was a slowness to adapt to the new challenges posed by politically, and especially, communist-inspired insurgency after 1945. Nonetheless most armies had either a recognizable doctrine or at the very least, established principles, that could be readily adapted. Campaigns like that of the British in Malaya between 1948 and 1960 became models of flexible adaptation of older principles (see essays on Britain, France, the United States, Portugal, Rhodesia, South Africa and Latin America in Beckett and Pimlott, 1985). Lessons learned from early experiences of the new form of revolutionary guerrilla warfare can be traced in the two essays by Tim Jones (Chapters 6 and 7), dealing with the British observers of the Greek Civil War and the early years in Malaya, and in the essay on Malaya (Chapter 2) by Raffi Gregorian. Generally speaking, those armies that have prospered against modern insurgency by developing an adequate counter-insurgency theory are those that have recognized the need for a political rather than a military response. It can be noted for example, that of the 'five principles' of counter-insurgency suggested by Sir Robert Thompson, the first four were essentially political. More often than not, the British were more successful than other armies in meeting the challenges they faced, but this was not always the case. The urban environment posed more difficult problems for the British in campaigns such as that in Cyprus between 1955 and 1959, Aden between 1963 and 1967 and Northern Ireland after 1969, precisely because of the greater proximity of the media. In fact, liberal democracies generally need to tread the thin line between imposing appropriate security measures and impinging upon the democratic rights of their citizens. As suggested above, urban guerrilla warfare and even terrorism have not generally proved a mortal danger to a healthy society since the use of indiscriminate violence by the urban guerrilla or the terrorist has tended to draw most ordinary citizens into greater support for the authorities. This makes it difficult for democratic societies to eradicate the threat altogether but violence may be reduced to what might be regarded as an acceptable level. Counter-insurgency requires the evolution of a strategy that takes into account the political, civil and military dimensions of the conflict. The political dimension of counter-insurgency

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campaigning may frequently be complex, not least through the international aspects. In the case of the Malayan Emergency for example, the British authorities gained considerable advantage from the fact that the only international frontier was that with the friendly state of Thailand, which was in any case remote from the 'front'. By contrast, although Cyprus was an island, the British campaign there was bedevilled by the involvement of the Greek and Turkish governments through their respective communities. In much the same way, British efforts in Palestine between 1945 and 1947 were hampered by the interest ofthe United States in the conflict, as well as the added complication of mandated status of the territory under the United Nations as successor to the League of Nations. The United States itself was in a difficult position vis-a-vis the South Vietnamese government between 1965 and 1973 - it was considered politically undesirable to impose a joint command that might smack of colonialism and the US command arrangements were also sufficiently complicated in their own right as to jeopardize co-ordination of effort. Cleary, acting through a host government brings its own special problems, as is evident in contemporary Iraq. Some additional light is thrown on the political complexities of counter-insurgency in the essays by Anthony Stockwell on Malaya (Chapter 13) and David Percox on Kenya (Chapter 11). Ideally there is close co-ordination of the counter-insurgency effort at all levels of the political, military and civil response. The British have tended to favour the kind of committee structure established in Malaya where a Federal War Council included the Director of Operations, Chief Government Secretary, Commissioner of Police, Defence Secretary, Director of Intelligence and Army Commander with executive committees down to district level similarly comprising the significant military, political and civil heads. Sir Gerald Templer was appointed both Director of Operations and High Commissioner in January 1952 and the same solution pertained on Cyprus where Field Marshal Lord Harding was appointed both Governor and Director of Operations in September 1955. Similar pro-consular powers were conferred on Antonio de Spinola in Portuguese Guinea in May 1968 and there have been similar situations where a single individual has effectively overseen the counter-insurgency response such as Ramon Magsaysay during the latter stages of the Huk insurgency in the Philippines in the 1950s and Prem Tinsulanonda in Thailand in the 1980s. It might be suggested that close political control is unhelpful where for example, it bears on decisions as to the levels of force deployed, as was evident in the case of United States military deployment in South Vietnam or, in the case of Rhodesia in the 1970s, where the prevailing political assumption was that it was the size of the white rather than the black population that limited the extent of potential mobilization. Here, the needs of the economy precluded full mobilization so that the Rhodesians rarely had more than 25,000 men in the field, the greatest effort being the 60,000 briefly deployed for internal elections in April 1979 (Beckett, 2001). Inevitably, political decisions also need to be taken with respect to the presence of insurgents across an international frontier. The Portuguese were certainly implicated in the attempt to land a force of exiles in the Republic of Guinea in November 1970 (Cann, 1977). The Rhodesians had few qualms at launching operations inside Mozambique as in August 1976 and May 1977. Rather more covert 'Claret' operations were also mounted by the British into Indonesia during the Malaysian Confrontation between 1962 and 1966, the 'Golden Rules' initially specifying an incursion of no more than 5,000 yards though this was subsequently extended to 10,000 yards and, on occasions, to 20,000 yards along a notoriously ill-defined frontier as indicated by Raffi Gregorian's essay (Chapter 3).

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Ultimately it is not uncommon for the outcome of insurgencies to be decided by political considerations well beyond the control of the military and irrespective of the actual military outcome on the ground. Similarly, it can be argued that the French military had almost completely destroyed the Front de Liberation N ationale (National Liberation Front or FLN) in Algeria by 1960, but President Charles de Gaulle had already decided to quit French Algeria. Equally, the Portuguese were still largely in control on the ground at the time of a coup and revolution in Portugal in April 1974 while considerable international pressure on Rhodesia in the course of 1979 undermined the undoubted success of the military campaigns there. Turning to the civil dimension of counter-insurgency, the essence of winning hearts and minds is arguably the ability to separate the insurgent from the population. Particularly with respect to the proximity of international frontiers, the control of infiltration is vital. A measure of Rhodesia's growing difficulty, for example, was that by their own estimates, insurgents operating inside Rhodesia rose from 300 to 400 in July 1974 to 700 by March 1976 and to 2,350 by April 1977. A physical barrier of the so-called cordon sanitaire of border minefields was attempted, covering 537 miles of the frontiers with Zambia and Mozambique, but rains washed away the mines, large animals blundered into unfenced areas and there were too few men to maintain adequate patrols (Cilliers, 1985). Similarly, infiltration into South Vietnam was never successfully closed off either by the aerial interdiction campaign or the McNamara Line. Nonetheless, physical barriers have been of assistance, as was the case in French Algeria and also in the successful campaign waged by Omani security forces assisted by the British in the Dhofar province of Oman between 1965 and 1975 (On Algeria see Clayton, 1994; Heggoy, 1972; Alexander, Evans and Keiger, 2002; Alexander and Keiger, 2002; Talbott, 1981; Paret, 1964. On Dhofar see Akehurst, 1982; Arkless, 1988; Fiennes, 1975; Jeapes, 1980; Perkins, 1988; Pimlott, in Beckett and Pimlott, 1985, pp. 16-45; Thwaites, 1995). A second common solution has been resettlement, an idea with nineteenth-century roots. It was certainly successful in Malaya with the establishment of 509 'new villages': 410 housing 423,000 people were already completed by the end of 1952 at a cost of £ II million. It was successful however, because the Chinese 'squatter' population was socially and economically disposed towards the policy. Overthe longer-tenn it should be noted that it was soon abandoned with respect to the jungle aborigines in 1954, forts in the deep jungle becoming a substituted focus for nomadic settlement (There are many accounts of Malaya and the new villages but see Stubbs, 1988 and Coates, 1992). The Portuguese senzalas do paz and aldeamentos were far from successful, embracing perhaps 20 per cent of the native population in Angola and 15 per cent in Mozambique (On the Portuguese see Cann, 1997). This applied equally to 'protected villages' in Rhodesia and, most notoriously, in the case of strategic hamlets in Vietnam, the sheer scale of the programme in ultimately embracing 12,750 strategic hamlets, went well beyond anything that could be realistically achieved. Beyond physical control, the means employed to win hearts and minds have been enonnously varied. The record of the campaign in Kenya against the Mau Mau between 1952 and 1959 has been recently called into question in tenns ofthe application ofthe 'stick', which included the 'villagisation' of a million Kenyans, an issue first raised by John Newsinger (Chapter 9) (See also Anderson, 2005, and Elkins, 2005). The use of the 'carrot' was extensive, with an agrarian refonn programme that freed Africans from many of the previous restrictions on growing cash crops, the introduction of new breeds of cattle, and the establishment of new cooperatives. In terms of the psychological battle too, anti-Mau Mau oaths were administered by

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government-sponsored witch doctors to counter those of the insurgents in much the same way that there was a struggle in Rhodesia between the security forces and insurgents to control spirit mediums. The presentation of the government message in terms of propaganda is an essential part of the process and there have been creative information campaigns in many instances, not least the one implemented by Magsaysay in the Philippines in the 1950s as indicated in the essay by Wray Johnson and Paul Dimech (Chapter 15) (See also Greenberg, 1987; for British efforts see Carruthers, 1995). The employment oflocal forces is also an integral part ofthe business of winning hearts and minds. The Malayan Home Guard established in the new villages in July 1951 was regarded as sufficiently reliable to be entrusted with sole defence of the villages from May 1956 onwards. Equally, a Kikuyu Home Guard was created in Kenya in March 1953, ultimately being assumed to have accounted for 42 per cent of all casualties inflicted on the Mau Mau as well as being guilty of many excesses in the process. Of course what matters in the final analysis is that military or political actions do not undermine the message being conveyed by winning hearts and minds policies; the creation of perhaps 1.2 million internal refugees in South Vietnam between December 1965 and June 1967 owed much to US andARVN military operations. Similarly, any notion of a 'shoot to kill' policy may substantially undermine efforts to woo insurgents into capitulation through amnesty and reward programmes (Ramakrishna, 2002). The purely military dimension of counter-insurgency begins with the assessment of the appropriate level of force, a matter of some significance in terms of the wider necessity to win hearts and minds. As suggested by the current debate regarding Kenya during the Mau Mau insurgency, the traditional British reliance upon 'minimum force' has been questioned, but what matters is that the security forces act within the bounds of legality, which may imply a raft of emergency regulations provided those extended boundaries are widely publicized and understood. The more usual British approach has been to expand the police rather than the army, itself suggestive of the notion that the army is ideally deployed in support of the police and not as a substitute for it. Clearly, such practises as 'reconnaissance by fire', 'search and destroy', and 'harassment and interdiction fire' as utilized by US forces in South Vietnam are always likely to be counter-productive in a civil and political sense. Moreover, such methods or the' cordon and search' utilized by the British on occasions as in Palestine or Kenya are not likely to be militarily productive. The maximum use of the firepower or airpower available, indeed, is really only applicable to more open or less populated countryside. It is a lesson that the Soviet army and its Russian successor has never assimilated as suggested in the essays by Alexandre Bennigsen (Chapter 18), Rod Paschall (Chapter 19) and Carl van Dyke (Chapter 20). Mobility, however, is always a requisite and the increasing use of helicopters from the 1950s onwards has been of great significance, provided that these have not become simply a substitute for manpower on the ground. The Rhodesian deployment ofheli-borne 'fire forces' was extremely effective, whereas US forces in South Vietnam tended to be 'heli-bound'. Generally speaking small unit operations have been most productive, particularly where based upon good intelligence. The latter is crucial to effective counter-insurgence and is most often produced by a proper co-ordination of intelligence agencies as well as the imaginative use of appropriate reward systems. In French Algeria however, intelligence was often gained through the use of torture as in the 'Battle of Algiers' in 1957, again ultimately counter-productive in

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terms of France's international reputation. Examples of lessons learned in intelligence can be found, particularly in the British experience, in the essays by Keith Jeffery (Chapter 5) and Richard Popplewell (Chapter 12) and those on Palestine and Kenya written respectively by David Charters (Chapter 1) and Randall Heather (Chapter 4). Inevitably, whether won or lost, counter-insurgency campaigns place great strains upon armed forces. The requirements of counter-insurgency certainly intervene in normal training patterns for conventional conflict though they may also provide useful exposure to active service conditions for those who have seen little by way of combat, as suggested by the way in which the United States rotated its officers through South Vietnam and the Soviet Union its troops through Afghanistan. As already mentioned however, retaliation under trying circumstances will only assist an opponent's propaganda machine, while morale may suffer, as certainly occurred with US forces in South Vietnam. An equal risk in some cases has been that the armed forces have become politicized by the experience of counter-insurgency. Elements of the French army became so committed to the retention of a French Algeria that they not only lowered their threshold of restraint in their determination to win, but also attempted a coup in Algiers in April 1961 in opposition to de Gaulle's policy of withdrawal. Similarly, elements of the Portuguese army overthrew its government in April 1974. As already indicated, frustration may derive from the inability to achieve demonstrable results. There have been various measures used in past insurgencies to try to calculate progress in counter-insurgency. Based on his Malayan experience, Sir Robert Thompson always suggested the number of arms captured by the security forces the best measure of success. In Vietnam, there was the notorious 'body count' and the Hamlet Evaluation System (HES) intended to provide a practical means of assessing progress towards winning hearts and minds. It will be recalled that from June 1967 to December 1969, results were tabulated on the basis of subjective A-F ratings by district senior advisers using 37 multiple-choice questions per hamlet per month. From January 1970 onwards, objective reports by advisers were converted to the A-F rating system through a mathematical technique known as Bayesian probability analysis. While the new means of calculating progress emphasized certifiable facts and there were distinct improvements over the earlier period, hamlets could still be rated as satisfactory without being secure from communist infiltration. Thus, by 1971 some 97 per cent of the population was considered secure or relatively secure but there had been no fundamental change in political attitudes on the part ofthe rural population towards the Saigon government (Hunt, 1995; Bergerund, 1991). There is no universal blueprint for success in what remains a most difficult form of conflict to counter. Insurgencies are by no means pre-destined to succeed although the balance did shift to some extent towards insurgent groups in the period of European decolonization between the 1940s and 1960s. On the other hand, there have been many successes for armed forces but, on average, the mean period for successive counter-insurgency campaigns since 1945 has been a duration of nine years. Certain principles of counter-insurgency have emerged of general applicability. It must be said that most of those principles have been a product of British experience and this is reflected in the balance of essays in this volume (On the British experience, see also Mocktaitis, 1990 and 1995).

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References Akehurst, John (1982), We Won a War:The Campaign in Oman, 1965-75, Wilton: Michael Russell. Alexander, Martin and Evans, Martin and Keiger, John (eds), (2002), The Algerian War and the French Army, 1954-62, Basingstoke: Palgrave. Alexander, Martin and Keiger, John (eds), (2002), France and the Algerian War, London: Frank Cass. Anderson, David (2005), Histories of the Hanged, London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson. Arkless, D C (1988), The Secret War: Dhofar, 1971-72, London: Kimber. Bailes, Howard (1981), 'Patterns of Thought in the Late Victorian Army', Journal of Strategic Studies, 4, pp. 29-45. Beckett Tan F.W. and Pimlott, John (eds), (1985), Armed Forces and Modern Counter-Insurgency, London: Croom Helm. Beckett, Ian F. W. (ed.), (1988), The Roots of Counter-Insurgency: Armies and Guerrilla Warfare, 19001945, London: Blandford. Beckett, Ian F W (1999), Encyclopaedia of Guerrilla Warfare, Oxford: ABC-CLlO, p. xv. Beckett, Tan F W (2001), Modern Insurgencies and Counter-Insurgencies, London: Routledge, p. 102. Bergerud, Eric (1991), The Dynamics of Defeat, Boulder, CO: Westview Press. Blaufarb, D S (1977), The Counter-Insurgency Era, New York: Free Press. Bond, Brian (1980), British Military Policy between the Two World Wars, Oxford: Clarendon Press, p. 36. Cable, Larry (1986), Conflict of Myths, New York: NY University Press. Cann, John (1977), 'Operation MarVerde: The Raid on Conakry', Small Wars and Insurgencies, 8, pp. 64-81. Cann, John (1997), CounterInsurgency in Africa: The Portuguese Way of War, 1961-74, Westport, CT: Greenwood Press. Callwell, Charles (1906), Small Wars: Their Principles and Practice, London, 3rd edn., p. 26. Carruthers, Susan (1995), Winning Hearts and Minds: British Governments, the Media and Colonial Counter-Insurgency, 1944-60, London: Leicester University Press, p. 94. Carruthers, Susan (1995), 'Two Faces of 1950s Terrorism: The Film Presentation of Mau Mau and the Malayan Emergency', Small Wars and Insurgencies, 6, pp. 17-43. Cilliers, J.K. (1985), Counter-Insurgency in Rhodesia, London: Croom Helm. Clayton, Tony (1994), The Wars ofFrench Decolonisation, London: Longman. Celeski, Joseph (2005), 'Operationalising COIN', Hurlbert Field, Report 05-2. Coates, John (1992), Suppressing Insurgency, Boulder, CO: Westview Press. Elkins, Caroline (2005), Imperial Reckoning, New York: Henry Holt and Co. Fiennes, Ranulph (1975), Where Soldiers Fear to Tread, London: Hodder and Stoughton. Galula, David (1964), Counter-Insurgency Warfare: Theory and Practice, New York: Praeger. Galvin, John (1991), 'Uncomfortable Wars' in Max Manwaring, (ed.), Uncomfortable Wars Boulder, CO: Westview Press, pp. 9-18. Gates, J M (1983), 'Tndians and Tnsurrectos', Parameters, 13, 1, pp. 59-68. Greenberg, Lawrence (1987), The Hukbalahap Insurrection, Washington: United States Government Printing. de Groot, Gerry (2000), A Noble Cause? America and the Vietnam War, Harlow: Longman, p. 125. Heggoy, Alf (1972), Insurgency and Counter-Insurgency in Algeria, Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Hunt, Richard (1995), Pacification: The American Struggle for Vietnam s Hearts and Minds, Boulder, CO: Westview Press. Janke, Peter (1983), Guerrilla and Terrorist Organisations: A World Directory and Bibliography, Brighton: Harvester Press.

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Jeapes, Tony (1980), SAS: Operation Oman, London: Kimber, Jenkins, Brian (1972), The Unchangeable War, Santa Monica: Rand [Corp.], p. 3. Joes, Anthony James (2004), Resisting Rebellion, Lexington: University Press of Kentucky. Jomini, Baron (1862), The Art of War, Philadelphia: [Greenwood Press, reprint 1990], pp. 34-35. Krepinevich, Andrew (1986), The Army and Vietnam, Baltimore and London: Johns Hopkins University Press. Manwaring, Max and Fishel, John (1992), 'Insurgency and Counter-Insurgency: Toward a New Analytical Approach', Small Wars and Insurgencies, 3, pp. 272-313. McCuen, II (1966), The Art of Counter-Revolutionary Warfare, Harrisburg, PA: Stackpole. Mockaitis, Thomas R. (1990), British Counter-Insurgency, 1919-60, London: Macmillan. Mockaitis, Thomas R. (1995), British Counter-Insurgency in the Post-imperial Era, Manchester: Manchester University Press. O'Neill, Bard (1990), Insurgency and Terrorism: Inside Modern Revolutionary Warfare, Washington: Brassey's Defence, pp. 17-21. Paret, Peter (1964), French Revolutionary War from Indochina to Algeria, New York: Praeger. Parkman, Francis (1908), The Conspiracy ofPontiac, London: Arnold, TT, p. 62. Paschall, Rod (1985), 'LIC Doctrine: Who Needs It?', Parameters, 15, 3, pp. 33-45. Perkins, Major-General Kenneth (1988), A Fortunate Soldier, Oxford: Brassey's Defence. Pimlott, John (1985), 'The British Army :The Dhofar Campaign, 1970-75', in Beckett and Pimlott, (eds), Armed Forces and Modern Counter-Insurgency, London and Sydney: Croom Helm, pp. 16-45. Pustay, John (1965), Counter-Insurgency Warfare, New York: The Free Press. Ramakrishna, Kamar (2002), 'Bribing the Reds to Give Up: Rewards Policy in the Malayan Emergency', War in History, 9, 3, pp. 332-53. Schaffer, Ronald (1972), 'The 1940 Small Wars Manual and the Lessons of History', Military Affairs, 35, pp. 46-51. Shafer, D.M. (1990), Deadly Paradigms, Leicester: Leicester University Press. Sloan, Stephen (1990), 'The Changing Face of Insurgency in the Post-Cold War Era: Doctrinal and Operational Implications' in A.l Joes, (ed)., Saving Democracies: US Intervention in Threatened Democratic States, Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, pp. 67-80. Stubbs, Richard (1988), Hearts and Minds in Guerrilla Warfare, Singapore: Oxford University Press. Talbott, Jon (1981), The War Without A Name, London: Faber. Thompson, Robert (1966), Defeating Communist Insurgency, London: Macmillan. Thwaites, Peter, (1995), Muscat Command, London: Leo Cooper. Utley, lM. (1977), Frontier Regulars, Bloomington: Indiana University Press, pp. 44-58 Utley, lM. (1978), 'The Contribution of the Frontier to the American Military Tradition' in lP. Tate, (ed.), The American Military on the Frontier, Washington, pp. 3-24.

Part I The British Experience

[1] British Intelligence in the Palestine Campaign, 1945-47 DAVID A. CHARTERS

... the Palestine Police had within its C.I.D. the finest intelligence system in the Middle East. 1 You never have enough intelligence, but we had virtually none. 2

These two quotations offer an intriguing historical conundrum. They both refer to the same subject, in the same place, at the same time. The authors of the quotes speak with the authority of first-hand experience; they were there. Yet clearly they cannot both be right. It is the search for an explanation of this obvious dichotomy that informs the purpose of this study: to illuminate the operations of the British intelligence services in Palestine, 1945-47, and to determine the extent to which those operations contributed to the outcome of the British counter-insurgency campaign. That campaign ended in defeat, with the British withdrawal in 1948. The aphorism that 'defeat is an orphan' aptly describes the historiography of the Palestine campaign. Although the political and diplomatic aspects have been studied at length/ the counter-insurgency campaign has been all but ignored by military historians and strategic analysts. 4 When the intelligence dimensions of the campaign are examined, the paucity of the literature becomes even more pronounced. s THE INSURGENCY AND THE BRITISH RESPONSE

Three insurgent groups mounted the violent challenge to British rule in Palestine after 1945. The Palmach, a rural-based guerrilla army of some 1,500-3,000 members, carried out most of the actions attributed to its parent organization the Haganah, the military arm of the Jewish Agency. The other two groups, the Irgun Zvai Leumi and the Lochmei Heruth Israel (often referred to by the British as the 'Stern Gang'), were smaller, organized respectively as a partisan resistance army and a cell-structured secret society, and based predominantly in the major cities. Their individual strategies differed considerably. Collectively, however, their attacks on the government structure, the security forces, and the economy (particularly the railways and the oil· industry), and their propaganda confronted the British with a 'two-front' war: a strategic political and

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psychological battle for legitimacy - the right to rule, and a tactical paramilitary battle for control - the ability to rule. 6 By August 1947, Britain had lost both battles, and shortly thereafter decided to withdraw from Palestine. The British had tried to contain the insurgent challenge on both 'fronts'. At the strategic level, the British directed their diplomatic efforts, in conjunction with the United States, toward bringing the Jews and Arabs to a peaceful resolution of the Palestine dispute, in a manner that would also further Britain's long-term interests in the region (access to oil, bases, and the Suez Canal). When diplomacy failed to resolve Britain's conflicting objectives, Britain turned the problem over to the United Nations. But Britain rejected the UN's solution (partition) which was recommended in a special committee report at the end of August 1947. Plagued by rising violence in Palestine and an economic crisis at home, the government opted to abandon the Palestine Mandate. This fruitless search for a solution meant that, during the 1945-47 period, the British government effectively had no policy by which to guide the administration of Palestine. This being the case, the British fought on the second front - the tactical battle for control - without benefit of a strategy. Upon taking up his appointment in November 1945 the High Commissioner was told that his mission was 'to keep the peace in Palestine'. 7 That was hardly a mandate to defeat the insurgents; indeed, it meant just 'holding the ring' until the government produced a policy or a solution. Consequently, the security forces operated largely in a 'reactive' mode, leaving the initiative in the hands of the insurgents. Viewing the period in its entirety it is possible to discern four distinct operational phases, which reflected changes in the tactical situation on the ground and in operational policy. To the extent that they also reflected shifts in the political/strategic debate in London, the changes fell short of presenting a strategically integrated campaign. In fact, by March 1947, Isecurity force operations were completely out of step with the British government's diplomatic initiatives. More important, British operations, which included hundreds of large- and small-scale searches, raids and patrols, as well as covert special operations and the imposition of martial law, were unable to break up the insurgent organizations, and thus could not prevent the escalation of violence and the erosion of public security. By August 1947 the security forces had lost the tactical battle for control of Palestine. 8 The British defeat in Palestine can be attributed to a variety of factors; I have argued in my book (see note 4) that Britain's economic crisis and its changing imperial/strategic position provide the essential backdrop to the decision-making about Palestine.--It is in this context that Britain's

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inability to control events in Palestine emerges as an important factor. That loss of control, too, can be traced to more than one cause, the undoubted skill of the insurgents and the absence of an appropriate counter-insurgency doctrine being two of the more important. But students of counter-insurgency have long since come to emphasize the importance of intelligence in defeating the insurgents and winning the battle for control. 9 INTELLIGENCE PRODUCERS

The Palestine Police Force was the principal intelligence producer, although the task involved only 'a fraction of force's 20,000 regular and auxiliary personnel. The Political Branch of the Criminal Investigation Department (CID), the branch responsible for counter-insurgency intelligence, consisted in 1946 of only 80 policemen and clerical staff out of a total CID establishment of 627. It consisted of three operational 'desks' (Jewish, Arab and European Affairs) and a records branch. The Jewish Affairs section, headed by Assistant Superintendent Richard Catling (and from 1946 John Briance), was itself divided into three sub-sections: political intelligence, terrorism and illegal immigration. Most of the branch was concentrated at CID headquarters in Jerusalem, but there were detachments with the CID in each of the force's six districts.1O Of comparable importance was the Defence Security Office (DSO), the local 'station' of the British Security Service (MI5). Charged with 'Defence of the Realm' against espionage, subversion and sabotage, both in Britain and in its territories overseas, MI5 had developed the Defence Security Offices through the 1930s into an effective system of local security intelligence collection and assessment in those territories. After the Second World War, demarcation agreements with the Secret Intelligence Service (MI6) allowed the Security Service to operate without restriction in British or former British territories. 11 There, in 1945-46, the Defence Security Officer Sir Gyles Isham directed a staff of eight to ten intelligence officers at headquarters in Jerusalem, with four to six Area Security Officers stationed in the major urban areas: Jerusalem, Jaffa (including Tel Aviv) , Haifa, Gaza and Nablus. The DSO's task was counter-intelligence; in this regard it was responsible for the security of British personnel, installations and information. It was also to maintain a close liaison with both police and army intelligence. It reported to the E2 (Overseas) Division of MI5 in London. 12 The British Army had its own intelligence staffs in PalestiQe, but they were not normally involved in collecting intelligence independently; instead, the army relied on the Palestine Police to provide tactical intelligence on the insurgents. The head of GSI, the army headquarters intelli-

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gence branch, was Lieutenant-Colonel The Hon. Martin Charteris. 13 Army formations and units, from division to battalion level, maintained their own small intelligence staffs. The Army's Field Security Sections, part of the Intelligence Corps, played a more active, visible security intelligence role. Their responsibilities included: controlling civilian access to military formations and installations, security of materials and information, vetting and dismissal of civilian labour, civil-military relations and monitoring of rumours and anti-British propaganda, and gathering useful background information or intelligence for the local brigade or divisional headquarters. Field Security often conducted operational or special intelligence tasks. Field Security personnel were also supposed to serve as liaison between commanders and staffs in formations and GSI, Defence Security Office, civil and military police. A section normally consisted of a captain and at-least 13 other ranks and was virtually self-contained formation. In Palestine, five sections were operating at anyone time. Three had permanent geographical mandates correspond- . ing approximately to the military sectors, while the other two were integral to the army divisions and moved with them. 14 The Special Investigation Branch of the Royal Military Police, though not an intelligence organization, bears mentioning since within the context of investigating criminal offences within Army installations and units the branch conducted some intelligence work related to internal security, such as investigation of weapons thefts.15 Of the myriad of 'theatre-level' intelligence organizations which developed in the Middle East during the war, only one, the Combined Services Detailed Interrogation Centre (CSDIC) appears to have been directly involved in the counter-insurgency campaign in Palestine. Based at Fayid in the Canal Zone, the CSDIC had been established in 1940 for indepth interrogation of prisoners and spies captured in the theatre. In February 1946 Army headquarters in Palestine gave permission for GSI and the CID to use the centre jointly for interrogation of captured insurgents. It was a small unit, at least in the post-war period: in August 1947, its establishment was only three officers, and ten other ranks. In 1946, its commander was Major W.B. Sedgwick. 16 On paper, the British intelligence community in Palestine might appear to have comprised an impressive array of forces. In practice, it was beset by many problems which impeded its efficiency. Before dealing with those, however, let us briefly examine the intelligence process itself. INTELLIGENCE PRODUCTION

While no 'model' ever fits reality perfectly, it is widely accepted that the 'intelligence cycle' concept does provide a useful intelligence framework

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for examining the intelligence process. This essay employs a four-phase model: direction, collection, production and dissemination. Direction

Close co-operation between police and the army in counter-insurgency operations was a well-established principle by the time the Palestine campaign began. 11 The command structure in Palestine reflected this fact. A Central Security Committee, the mandate of which covered the entire range of security policy matters, had been established to facilitate cooperation in this field between the civil authorities and the security forces. It met regularly, chaired by the High Commissioner, and consisted of the Chief Secretary, the Inspector General (IG) of Police (the head of the Palestine Police Force), the senior officer of GSI (Army Intelligence), and the Defence Security Officer. Because of the traditional British preference for maintaining the legal 'fiction' that insurgency was merely a pubUc order - and hence, police - problem,18 the IG represented the security forces. Consequently, the General Officer Commanding British Troops, Palestine (GOC) , who actually commanded all of the security forces, including the police, was not a member. Nevertheless, he attended as required, frequently. Moreover, there is no evidence to suggest that his views were not heard nor given serious consideration. The Central committee's counterpart at the District level, by contrast, was chaired by the local (Area) military commander, and included the District Commissioner (his political adviser), the District Superintendent of Police, the Area Security Officer, and an Army intelligence officer. They forwarded their recommendations to the higher committee for approval. 19 The security committees, both central and district, served as joint operational planning forums. The urgency of the situation at the time determined the frequency of meetings: weekly, daily or otherwise. The format was always the same: a member of the CID political branch would brief the committee on the intelligence 'picture' ,covering the period since the last meeting; the committee would then formulate plans based on the available intelligence. According to former CID officers John Briance and Richard Catling, there were also joint intelligence meetings, involving GSI and the DSO, once or twice per week.20 So there were forums for establishing intelligence requirements and giving direction to the process, but it is not at all clear that they fulfilled that function. Collection: Sources and Methods

The CID political Branch used the traditional array of criminal investigation sources and methods for intelligence collection, including: inter-

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ception of communications (mail, telephone and telegraph), captured documents and equipment, forensic evidence, plain-clothes surveillance, informers and double agents, 'in-depth' interrogation, and 'listening in' on suspects in jail cells. Former Political Branch officers assert that they used informers successfully to penetrate the insurgent groups. The Irgun leader Menachem Begin, however, claims that informers betrayed the Irgun on only three occasions, all of which were discovered. 21 Begin may be right, although the evidence suggests at least a degree of success on the part of the security forces. Both the police and the army developed and exploited highlevel personal contacts with influential members of the Jewish community. For their own reasons, the Jewish Agency and the Haganah were prepared to forestall Irgun and Stern Gang operations, and occasionally provided information to the security forces in that regard. They did this with the apparent knowledge and approval, however reluctant, of key Jewish leaders, including David Ben-Gurion and Golda Meir.22 According to General Sir Richard Gale, then commanding 1st Infantry Division in Northern . Palestine, Abba Hushi, port manager and secretary ofthe Labour Council in Haifa, friend and influential political ally of Ben-Gurion, was one such reliable high-level source. 23 The army and police used the CSDIC for 'in-depth' interrogation of a small number of insurgents (the police did not have an interrogation centre of their own in Palestine). CID interrogators, who were invariably the 'case officers' conducting the particular investigation, used 'source sheets' as the basis for questioning; compiled from CID files, the sheets provided interrogators with all information available on the individual under investigation. What 'in-depth' interrogation consisted of at that time is not clear. While one former officer emphasized patience and preparation, inevitably former insurgents have charged that interrogation involved brutality and torture. 24 The Branch also 'tailed' VIPs and journalists who were trying to contact the underground, in hopes that they would inadvertently lead the police to the insurgents. Apparently, this method met with little success. 25 Army units assigned to internal security duties carried out ~ constant routine of patrols, roadblocks, observation posts, and snap searches in their assigned sectors. These operations were intended to . serve principally a deterrent function - to prevent or disrupt insurgent operations. But they also fulfilled an intelligence requirement; they allowed the soldiers to become familiar with their areas, thereby helping the flow of 'background' information to the intelligence staffs.26 Typical activities of this sort included checking the identification of all males of military age, searches of passengers and baggage at bus and railway stations, and random searches of buildings on patrol routes. In the wake of any incident, units supplemented these tactics with searches of all vehicles and their occupants at roadblocks. 27

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Field Security Sections, by contrast with line battalions and units, were 'dedicated' to intelligence collection. Their sources included units and formations themselves, who were supposed to pass along any information relating to breaches of security as well as any civilians having contact with the military units and bases, and documents relating to political or paramilitary activity. 28 The DSO collected both political and 'military' intelligence, from a variety of sources, some of which, in the absence of hard evidence, can only be surmised. Prominent among these were insurgent publications, such as underground newspapers and propaganda broadsheets. The army and the police clearly forwarded to the DSO captured documents and details of arms thefts and the capture of weapons from the insurgents. Reports describing insurgent radio broadcasts in detail suggest that the DSO had some form of monitoring capability. Security Officers had the opportunity to interrogate captured insurgents. Finally, the DSO's detaiied reports on subtle trends"within the Zionist movement and even the insurgent groups indicate a degree of inside knowledge that can come only from well-placed sources; while no details are available, the recruitment of informers and the placing of agents would have been a normal part of the DSO's operational mandate. 29 Production and Diseemination Each organization handled this phase separately, and by different means. According to former Branch officers, the Branch was responsible for collation, assessment, and distribution of political and operational intelligence. Branch officers collected information at district level, and forwarded it to CID/Branch headquarters for the production phase, where it was collated with information from other sources (Army, DSO). The Branch had its own centralized records section, but certain records, such as lists of wanted persons, were also held at district level for easy reference by officers on duty. Although the frequency is not clear, branch staff produced reports on a regular basis for the briefings of the head of the CID (who in turn briefed the IG of the police) and of the Central Security Committee. Likewise, at district level, the police had to provide intelligence reports for operational planning sessions with the army, which occurred as the need arose. 30 From the end of September 1945, the DSO produced monthly summaries. These reports were quite comprehensive,usually consisting of several sections: general - which provided an overall assessment of the political and security situation; security - which covered all aspects, including personnel, information, materiel, rumours, morale, press and propaganda, numbers of detainees, and losses ' and recoveries of arms;

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political - analysis of political trends with the Zionist movement; and a monthly diary of events bearing on the political and security situation. The security and political sections often contained 'warning' intelligence regarding possible insurgent activities. 3! These summaries, in whole or in part, presumably comprised the Defence Security Officer's input for the intelligence portion of the Central Security Committee meetings, as well as for the regular meetings between the DSO and the army's GSI branch. The Field Security Sections Security Reports, issued weekly from the spring of 1946, covered the same ground as the DSO summaries, but at a more local unit/sector level. Individual items of information on matters of operational or security interest were normally passed immediately to the headquarters of the division or brigade responsible for the sector. The Security Reports themselves received wide distribution within the Army Intelligence staffs in Palestine. 32 For line units and formations, the passing, receiving, and processing of intelligence was part of the operational routine. Although the army emphasized the need to pass along information quickly to influence press coverage of incidents, it is clear this also served a vital intelligence function. There were four categories of reports, graded by urgency and in detail and quality of the information they contained. 33 It appears that except in the event of such major incidents or operations, battalion and equivalent units did not produce detailed intelligence summaries as a matter of course. By contrast, brigade intelligence staffs produced summaries on a weekly or bi-weekly basis. They then passed these up to divisional or district headquarters, and also to the other brigades in the formation, whence the information flowed back down to battalion level commanders and their intelligence officers. 34 Divisional intelligence staffs compiled the brigade summaries, and information from other sources, into regular reports (weekly or less frequently) for distribution to all divisional units, to the district headquarters, to other divisions, and to army headquarters. Divisional and district level summaries usually were detailed and lengthy, regularly covering the same subjects as the DSO reports. Where appropriate, these were supplemented by special summaries or reports on subjects of operational interest. In addition, divisional headquarters issued messages to army headquarters and to all units under command when 'warning' intelligence was received. 35 Ultimately, all reports and summaries produced by field formations and units reached GSI at army headquarters in Jerusalem. There, the intelligence staff integrated them with reports from DSO, the police and other sources, to produce the 'Fortnightly Intelligence Newsletters'. The contents were similar to that in the DSO monthly summaries. 36 The proportion devoted to political-matters was high, and this apparently was

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a deliberate policy. GSI's head, ColonelCharteris, believed that one of his principal tasks was 'to, make sense for the soldiers out of the tangle of the Palestine Problem, so that they may see things in their true perspective'.37 He felt this was necessary because the troops, who were in Palestine temporarily and who regarded their security duties as an interference with 'proper soldiering' (training for war), had neither the time nor the incentive to study the political problem. The Newsletters were supposed to fill the gap.38 What the foregoing shows is that the security forces possessed the formal structures and procedures required for production and distribution of intelligence. For a variety of reasons, however, this system was unable to produce intelligence with the accuracy and timeliness required for effective operations against the insurgents. THE INTELLIGENCE PRODUCf: AN ASSESSMENT

Given the limitations of the research sources, it is difficult to provide a definitive assessment of the intelligence product. However, the evidence from the reports themselves, from the use made of them for operations, and the results that ensued therefrom is suggestive in several ways. First, it appears that there was an 'intelligence failure' ,39 of significant proportions. Second, the reasons for the failure were not simply that groups such as the Irgun were superior to the British in 'the clash of brains', as Menachem Begin has argued. 40 Rather there were institutional, procedural and political obstacles to effective intelligence collection, production and exploitation. Finally, this essay will show that the failure exerted a detrimental influence on the source of security force operations, and,thus on the outcome of the campaign itself. Intelligence Failure: Dimensions of the Problem

Failure occurred at the levels of both strategic intelligence (dealing with broad intentions and capabilities) and tactical (or operational) intelligence (specific detailed information about immediate plans, operations and targets). There were, of course, some successes at both levels as well. There was also a failure in criminal intelligence, the information presented as evidence in court to obtain the conviction of insurgents for offences under the law. The essence of British counterinsurgency 'strategy' and practice, at least since 1945, has been to defeat insurgency through effective administration and use of the law as the principal weapon of social control. That is not to suggest that it has always been successful, but it does highlight the importance of criminal intelligence. Indeed, some would argue that the true measure of successful

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counter-insurgency is not the number of insurgents killed or captured, but the number convicted of criminal offences in regular courts.41 The security forces acquired strategic intelligence of adequate quality on the Haganah, but not on the Irgun or Stern Gang. That standard/of strategic intelligence made possible more effective operations against the former than against the latter groups. More often than not, however, the security forces were unable to turn the- strategic intelligence they had into tactical/operational intelligence that would allow them to forestall insurgent operations or to identify, locate and apprehend the perppetrators. As one former army officer put it: 'Sometimes you got a terrorist, sometimes you got something you weren't looking for; more often you got nothing'. 42 The Haganah's semi-clandestine existence, and its co-operation with the British during the war, gave the security forces an edge in intelligence collection on the organization. Although they overestimated its size, they had relatively accurate information on its structure and general procedures. 43 This allowed the security forces to locate and apprehend with relative ease many of the Haganah and Palmach commanders selected for arrest and detention during Operation Agatha, at the end of June 1946. The British were also well informed about the Haganah's strategic intentions. In January 1945 the GHQ Middle East Joint Intelligence Committee issued an assessment which anticipated two phases of Jewish resistance to British policy in Palestine. In the first of these, the JIC expected the Jewish population to use passive resistance to paralyse the Palestine government and to impede the operations of the security forces, coupled with the use of violence to resist searches for arms and to support illegal immigration operations. This corresponded almost exactly to the Haganah's strategy from October 1945 to June 1946. Even more notable for its accuracy was the annex to the assessment, which analysed the anticipated role of Zionist propaganda in such a campaign. It predicted: that propaganda would attempt to influence world opinion, particularly in the United States; that it would consist of efforts to discredit the Palestine government, the civil and military authorities; and that it would describe British measures as illegal and aggressive, contrary to Britain's obligations under the Balfour Declaration and the Mandate, and to the will of the Jewish people. 44 In short, the British correctly anticipated propaganda trends based on perceptive analysis of recent experience. This was not their last accurate forecast. They interpreted accurately the Haganah's efforts in 1945 to create a united resistance movement in co-operation with the other insurgent groups, and received warning of the movement's intention to begin its campaign with a 'single serious incident' .45 None the less, this was insufficient to permit the security forces to prevent that incident; indeed, the evidence suggests that the co~ordinated

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attacks of 31 October/1 November 1945 took the sedurity forces by surprise. Nor was this the only occasion the security forces were caught off guard in spite of early warning. In May 1946 the Defence Security Office accurately forecast a revival of insurgent activity on a major scale in June. This was followed up by specific warnings on the eve of the attacks to patrol and protect the lines of communication, particularly the railway bridges. 46 The insurgents reached and damaged or destroyed every target, including the bridges. The Irgun and the Stern Gang posed an intelligence problem of a considerably greater scale. The two organizations were much smaller, more selectively recruited, and hence more secure from penetration. Unlike the Haganah, they had never had a legal existence, and had not cooperated with the British during the war. So British information on them was poor; the lIC's 1945 estimated of 3,000 Irgun members47 was about three times as large as Irgun's active membership. In June 1946, during the planning of Operation Agatha, General Barker admitted that . .. our intelligence regarding them [Irgun and Stern]. is insufficient to permit of any preconceived plan for their extermination ... The fact that the whereabouts of the five officers who were kidnapped ... is still unknown shows how negative is our intelligence on which to act.48 At that time Barker did not expect the intelligence situation to improve, and his expectations were borne out. 49 That said, the security forces carried out a number of successful operations; indeed on those rare occasions when intelligence was good, the outcome was never in doubt. In January 1946, for example, the security forces were able to exploit specific 'warning' intelligence to mount patrols in the anticipated target area and thus forestall the attack. Searches after the attack turned up a large cache of weapons and explosives, and 'valuable information', as well as leading to detention of suspected insurgents (including one wounded in the. attack).50 Searches carried out during the Martial Law period in March 1947 led to at least 60 arrests, including 24 members of the Irgun and Stern groups. Although this did not stop terrorism, the rate of insurgent operations fell by more than 50 per cent during the next three months. 51 These successes, however impressive, were the exception to the rule. Most searches yielded meagre results, and at least one in four produced none. Moreover, the security forces were demonstrably unable to collect and produce intelligence sufficient to prevent costly assaults on themselves (attacks on police stations for example) or on other vital points. Several sources have suggested that the Palestine Police received information, well in advance of the ·-event, which indicated that the insurgents were

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planning to attack the government offices in the King David Hotel. That may be correct, although it is noteworthy that neither the CID report nor other contemporary documents relating to the bombing suggest that the Police received any such warning. A message from the 1st Infantry Division to Army Headquarters, 21 June 1946, which states that the 'Irgun will attempt to sabotage military offices and installations by introducing explosives ... Report refers particularly to Jerusalem' (my emphasis), comes the closest to warning of an attack on the King David, but is obviously unspecific on a number of crucial details. 52 If this was the only warning received, clearly it was not enough to prevent the disaster. The statistics on detentions and prosecutions - a measure of the effectiveness of criminal intelligence - are equally telling. Violent crimes, many of them related to the insurgency, increased significantly from 1945. Yet, of the more than 2,000 suspected insurgents and sympathizers placed in long-term detention, only 168 were convicted in the courts of offences relating to insurgent activities. 53 Against the rest, more than 90 per cent, there was insufficient evidence to proceed to prosecution; their involvement in insurgent actions could not be proven. Intelligence Failure: Sources of the Problem

On the basis of available evidence it is difficult to establish with certainty the locus and causes of this failure. Indeed, such evidence as there is points to several explanations, each persuasive and potentially significant in its own right. As the primary intelligence producer, the CID Political Branch deserves first attention. Although the Palestine Police had a higher proportion of CID personnel than any normal police force at the time, they were not organized to deal effectively with the insurgency. Of the 627 CID members, the Political Branch had only 80; Jewish Affairs accounted for only a proportion of the latter. None of the remainder in the district CID was assigned specifically to political work. Owing to lack of incentive, the risks and difficulty of the work, and the inability to produce significant results over long periods, they tended t6 ignore political investigation. Consequently, the ordinary CID was underemployed while the Political Branch was chronically overworked. Furthermore, police stations requiring plain-clothes officers to exploit important intelligence had to apply to district headquarters, a process which inevitably delayed operations. The manpower shortage in the branch, which reflected the manpower problem afflicting the force as a whole, had serious implications for intelligence collection and processing. By 1945 branch activities had expanded to such an extent that the CID officers -did not have enough time to follow up on political intelligence reports, thereby

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creating a significant lacuna in the intelligence cycle. Furthermore, the 1946 Wickham Report on the Palestine Police suggests that, except for some excellent officers and NCOs, the political branch was not staffed to a high quality. There were few in the branch with more than three years' service and, owing to a shortage of competent instructors, even good candidates could not be assured of proper training. 54 Nor was the financial picture particularly sound. In spite of the high demand for intelligence, criminal investigation - the heart of counterinsurgency intelligence work - had a low funding priority. The government postponed and underspent purchases of scientific equipment for the CID, and of a new radio system for the force. The forensic laboratory and the records section lacked suitable accommodation. Nor was there within Palestine a secure interrogation centre for detailed questioning of captured insurgents. As noted earlier, this forced the police to use the CSDIC in Egypt. Out of a police budget of £6 million for 1946-47, only £50,000 was allocated to investigative/intelligence work. Moreover, evidence suggests that the Political Branch encountered some difficulties in 'servicing' their informers with prompt and adequate payment from secret service funds. 55 There is also some question whether the Inspector General from 1946 to 1948, Colonel William Nicol Gray, gave sufficient priority to the CID's intelligence work. It is not appropriate to fix blame upon anyone individual, and even if it were, to assign it wholly to Colonel Gray would be unjust, and probably historically inaccurate, since he inherited a situation which was already problematic. None the less, as the IG during the most critical period, he must bear some of the responsibility. Gray's appointment was controversial. The Palestine government had requested an experienced policeman to replace John Rymer Jones, who was returning to the Metropolitan Police. But the Colonial Office criteria weighed heavily in favour of a military man, and when the only acceptable police candidate withdrew, Colonel Gray, a Royal Marines officer who was highly recommended, got the post. News of his appointment, Home reports, 'came as a shock to all ranks'.s6 From the outset the force viewed his appointment with suspicion. Some felt it reflected the British government's preoccupation with the military aspects of the insurgency. Even in retrospect, some of the leading policemen think Gray was the wrong man for the job. They feel that he was too concerned with 'firepower and mobility' to give appropriate attention to the intelligence aspect. In. his own defence Colonel Gray points out that his mandate was to build up the strength of the police force, a task for which his experience in training and leading young men would be most valuable. 57 Again, it must be said that the force's intelligence problems were not of Gray's making, and they persisted in spite of efforts to_ ~9rrect them.

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The structural problems of the police had political and cultural dimensions as well. Jewish hostility to the .British administration and its policies isolated the Jewish and British communities from each other. One former DSO officer points to this separation as a barrier to British intelligence collection efforts,58 and there is support for this thesis in contemporary sources. In a letter to Montgomery in March 1947, General Dempsey told the CIGS that In England there are I suspect just as many murders as in Palestine. In England the murderer is caught because the people ... are on the side of law and order and assist the police. In Palestine the people do not assist the police and the murderers are not caught ... The people not being on our side the police find it difficult if not impossible to get evidence. 59 The police needed the co-operation of the Yishuv (the Palestinian Jews) to obtain the intimate details of groups and their activities that were essential to prevent or respond effectively to insurgent operations and to collect criminal intelligence after an incident. The Jewish community largely refused to co-operate with the police in such matters. Even if support for the insurgents was not always whole-hearted, there was reluctance to betray them. A language barrier reinforced the political one, further isolating the police. Less than 4 per cent of the British police spoke Hebrew. The force could not resolve this problem by recruiting since, as Colonel Gray points out, 'You can't suddenly recruit! a lot of police efficiently into a multi-language society ... a British constable who doesn't speak Hebrew isn't going to get very far' .60 Thus, the police could not see and hear all of the warning signs of impending insurgent activity. They were also left on their own to collect criminal evidence, since the Yishuv would not come forward to assist the prosecution of their own people. This problem could not be alleviated by relying on the Jewish members of the regular police. First, they were few in number: 725 out of a total strength in 1946 of 7,301, all but 40 serving in the ranks. Until mid-1946, there had been no regular Jewish policemen 'on the beat', a lapse that Colonel Gray set about immediately to change. 61 Second, insurgent intimidation and infiltration rendered the few Jewish members of the CID unreliable from a security standpoint. Living unprotected in the Jewish community, they succumbed to pressure from the insurgents and, caught in a dilemma of conflicting loyalties, some Jewish policemen began to work for both sides. The police took no special precautions to deal with the problems and as a result, 'security was a nightmare. If you wanted to keep anything secret you did not tell anybody ... nothing passed to a Jewish officer could be kept from the Jewish Agency or the Haganah' Y

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Menachem Begin claims that the Irgun knew in advance about security force operations and the evidence confirms some extraordinary breaches of security: Top Secret documents were stolen from the police and the security of at least one major search operation was compromised. Penetration was not confined to the police, however, Jews serving in government and military installations also acted as spies for the insurgents. 63 The insurgents extended violent intimidation to the CID and the police as a whole. They carried out 13 attacks on police stations, including the bombing of CID headquarters in Jerusalem and Jaffa, causing a total of 160 casualties. They assassinated thirteen policemen; and at least 50 more were killed or wounded in other incidents. 64 Given all of the foregoing, it is hardly surprising that police intelligence efforts were not adequate. The difficulties experienced by the police exerted a negative impact not only on intelligence collection, but on army-police co-operation in intelligence and operational matters generally. British counter-insurgency doctrine then, as now, emphasized the need for a harmonious working relationship between the army and the police, the latter being the principal intelligence service. Most former army officers and policemen felt that day-to-day relations in Palestine were satisfactory; but it is clear from both contemporary sources and subsequent observations that army-police relations were in some respects neither close nor harmonious. At the heart of the problem lay, first, a clash of operational styles, approaches to the problem. The policeman, Simon Hutchinson suggests, sees the insurgents as highly organized, dangerous criminals and thus favours the methodical approach - evidence, written statements, photographs - which is likely to frustrate his army colleague although it is far more likely to produce results in court months later. 65 The army, however, usually views the insurgents as a military force to be destroyed by military means, and has no patience for methodical intelligence methods. In Palestine, the army's operational focus required both 'warning' and 'tactical' intelligence. CID procedures, however, were oriented to collection of evidence after the commission of a crime. This set the stage for a clash of 'organizational cultures' which has been described perceptively by Major-General Sir Anthony Farrar-Hockley, then a co~pany commander in Palestine: The fundamental problem is that the army is not called in until the police are exhausted. Then you have the worst of all possible situations - the police are played out and feel that their efforts have not been appreciated, and the military come in with a superior attitude that they are going to restore order ... The upshot is that you start off in a muddle, with poor intelligence, without proper understanding of the other person's situation - this was very obvious in Palestine. 66

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Taken to extremes, this occasionally meant keeping the police uninformed when planning operations, either by developing deceptive cover plans to mislead them or by informing and involving them only once operations were under way. However, such practices did not meet with universal approval within the army. 67 Some policemen were equally critical of the army which, in the words of John Briance, 'didn't know what it was doing ... Big operations are fine for the military. But intelligence is a police responsibility'.68 Richard Catling was more philosophical. He asserts that much of the army's criticism of the police could be attributed to the fact that the army had never felt comfortable with the intelligence task. Moreover, he argued, army-police co-operation was still a relatively new idea, so it is not surprising there were contrary views. 69 It would be misleading, in any case, to suggest that there was no co-operation between the two forces. Army units assisted and advised the police on the physical security of their stations, and the two forces conducted joint operations as a matter of routine. Both forces made efforts to share intelligence experience and knowledge. 70 Still, as late as May 1947 efforts were under way to improve civil-military liaison over intelligence in Palestine. 71 So, it is difficult to escape the conclusion that the army and the police never established the kind of working relationship that would give appropriate direction to the intelligence task. But the army's attempts to 'go it alone' fared little better. The 'educational' role that Colonel Charteris envisaged for GSI was commendable and important. As Keith Jeffery points out, troops at all levels need to be 'sensitized' to the political and social context in which they are operating, since this will contribute to good operational practices.72 At the very least, this may prevent excesses and egregious gaffes and mistakes. Colonel Charteris clearly worked hard at this task. GSl's 'Fortnightly Intelligence Newsletters' were full of insights, often quite perceptive, on the suble nuances. of Yishuv politics and opinion. However, they offered few and unremarkable insights on the insurgents, and these often were buried in a mass of trivia. 73 As such, the Newsletters had little operational value. Furthermore, to the extent that they provided estimates at all, GSl's Newsletters had a mixed record at best. Occasionally GSI simply produced bad estimates: Newsletter no. 16, issued on 9 June 1946, on the eve of the resistance movement's offensive, discounted reports that predicted an early resumption of terrorism, and suggested that there was a 'good chance' this would not occur.74 General Gale has since criticized GSI for inaccurate intelligence on the Jewish Agency and the Haganah, to which he attributes the arrests of many innocent persons during Operation Agatha. 75 His criticism is only partly justified. The _CID Political Branch, not GSI, drew up the arrest lists for that operation, and many

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Haganah and Palmach members were apprehended. Yet, it is clear that GSI's voluminous, intimate knowledge of the Yishuv was not enough to permit refining of the target lists. There was a tendency to overestimate the size of the Haganah. Consequently, some 2,000 of those arrested had to be released after only a brief detention owing to lack of evidence. This suggests that in trying to 'make sense' of the Palestine problem in the larger context, GSI lost sight of its more important and appropriate mission: facilitating the development of raw information into 'operational' intelligence through evaluation, analysis and interpretation. This process requires experience, which in turn demands prolonged service 'in country'. It may be fair to suggest that GSI, which was subject to manpower turnover as much as the rest of the army in Palestine,16 could not retain experienced analysts long enough to ensure that the task was done properly. But it was even more a question of priorities, and GSI's seemed to reflect the army's ambivalent attitude toward intelligence work and the institutional strictures that flowed therefrom. The British Army has never been comfortable with the intelligence task. Attempts before the First World War to create a separate Intelligence Branch in the War Office and a field Intelligence Corps met with erratic success. After the war, both were run down again. The corps was reborn in July 1940 and by the end of the war it totalled 11,000. But there was no provision to retain it after the war. The efforts of the Director of Military Intelligence and the corps' Colonel Commandant to place the corps on a permanent footing met a stone wall of resistance. The issue was not resolved until 1948 when the army approved the creation of a permanent corps, initially to consist only of 'other ranks'. 77 The reasons for the army's indifference towards the intelligence task are several, rooted deeply in the army's institutional character based on the regimental system: anti-intellectualism on the part of 'fighting' soldiers; resentment of the influence of the early intelligence branches outside their fields of responsibility; the tendency of many in the 'officer classes' to distrust or dislike the 'less gentlemanly' aspects of intelligence work. This set in motion, Hinsley argues, a vicious circle; soldiers came to regard intelligence as a professional backwater, appropriate only for officers with linguistic abilities who were otherwise unsuitable for command positions. The activities of such men - of average or below average professional competence - tended thus to confirm existing prejudices against intelligence work. The army, like the other services, viewed the intelligence task as little more than the collection of facts, and most intelligence staff were engaged in routine, unimaginative work. 78 From time to time, men of genuine talent were attracted to the intelligence task and an enhanced product or process resulted, but in the period before 1939 at least, they were the exceptions to the rule.

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There was another factor at work in this period to which Hinsley draws attention. The army was an apolitical institution, both by tradition and out of concern that no precedent be established whereby politicians could interfere in its professional domain - the conduct of war. So, it avoided involvement in those activities which were the domain of the civil authorities, particularly those of the Foreign Office. A Foreign Office representative chaired the Joint Intelligence Sub-committee of the Committee of Imperial Defence, and the committee meetings reinforced the principle that the Foreign Office must have 'not only a monopoly in collecting-, analysing and advising on the use of political intelligence but also, at least in peacetime, the last word in assessing the political significance of even military information'. 79 A tendency to defer to the Foreign Office in the realm of political intelligence in peacetime may have influenced the British Army's attitudes towards the counter-insurgency intelligence mission. The army regarded peace and war as distinctly different conditions and treated intelligence accordingly: the military role in intelligence was important in wartime only; in peacetime, it was a largely civilian task, espedally where political intelligence was concerned. But the low-intensity conflicts which engaged the army almost continuously after 1945, like those of the inter-war period, represented neither war nor peace in traditional terms. Moreover, the nature of such conflicts was such that political and operational intelligence could not be compartmentalized separately. What counter-insurgency required from the army and from the civil authorities -was a new way of looking at and responding to the intelligence problem. This was not necessarily apparent in 1945. Nor was previous experience of counter-insurgency, such as the Irish campaign, a particularly useful guide. Even as the Irish insurgency grew, the army left intelligence work largely to the police and secret services, and was slow to appreciate that it had a role to play in intelligence collection. 80 The army could have learned valuable lessons from this unsuccessful campaign, but it declined to do so. In fact, the key treatise on counter-insurgency in the inter-war period, Sir Charles Gwynn's Imperial Policing, a book familiar to any staff college graduate, and recommended reading for officers assigned to post-war Palestine, explicitly avoided discussion of the Irish experience. Gwynn appears to have recognized the value of a unified intelligence effort, but could not conceive of a viable role for military intelligence other than as an adjunct to the police. SI So, in spite of the valuable contribution of intelligence during the Second World War, the British Army entered the post-war period with its attitudes towards intelligence little changed from those of the pre-war era. In Palestine, the army deemed intelligence to be largely a police responsibility. The army's counter-insurgency manual, 'Notes for

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Officers on Internal Security Duties' did not discuss the subject. Moreover, official army thinking discouraged soldiers from undertaking 'duties of a detective or secret service nature'. 82 In short, the army was not indoctrinated into the practice of 'spying' on a civilian population. Given these strictures and a history of professional indifference, it is hardly surprising that neither GSI nor the field formations and units pursued operational intelligence with much vigour or success. Although the evidence is insufficient for a definitive assessment of the quality and accuracy of DSO intelligence, there is reason to believe that it was better equipped than GSI to produce effectively. As noted earlier, in 1946 the DSO accurately predicted the revival of insurgent activity that the GSI Newsletter discounted the day before it occurred. This difference in performance might be attributed to several factors. The DSO staff were on permanent posting to Palestine; many had lengthy service in the country, knew it well, and could speak the languages. They were based in all of the main cities, where they could observe and listen. As experienced intelligence officers with experience and stability in their postings, they were probably better able to evaluate accurately the information they acquired. 83 Even if this admittedly limited assessment is correct, it adds only marginally to our knowledge of the intelligence process in Palestine. Perhaps all that could be said with certainty about the DSO is that, however good it was, it could not by itself compensate 'for the deficiencies in the intelligence system as a whole. Intelligence Failure: Operational Impact

The operational impact of the intelligence failure was significant. This essay has already suggested some of its features, but they bear further elaboration here. The security forces mounted many operations with little or no intelligence. Consequently, a large proportion of these either failed to prevent insurgent action, or produced no results in terms of captured insurgents, weapons, explosives, documents or other evidence. Even when information was available beforehand, it usually was·not specific enough to permit a precise operation. The result, as suggested earlier, was a 'hit and miss' success rate. Intelligence was so poor that fewer than one long-term detainee in ten was convicted of a crime. Many persons arrested during operations had to be released after only brief detention because of either genuine innocence or a lack of sufficient information to warrant long-term detention, even if their involvement in insurgent activity was suspected. This, of cour~e, was a manifestation of a much larger problem not just peculiar to Palestine: that the threshold of proof in security intelligence is much lower than that demanded by criminal law in the courts. From the public order perspective, it meant that security forces

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operations had no deterrent effect; as John Briance commented, 'it was like bailing the sea with a bucket. Arrest twenty, twenty more would appear'.B4 Moreover, as the statistics for 1946-47 show clearly, the rate of insurgent operations actually increased during that period, and the insurgents were able to deliver costly blows against the railway, the oil industry, and the security forces themselves, eventually forcing the British to evacuate non-essential personnel, and to resort to Martial Law. In February 1947, the Colonial Secretary was forced to concede that the British administration in Palestine had become 'virtually a besieged garrison'.ss Barely six months later the loss of control was virtually complete and the administration had all but ceased to function. B6 CONCLUSIONS

Menachem Begin, in his memoir of the insurgency, described the intelligence contest as 'the decisive battle in the struggle for liberation'. B7 To the extent that this claim overlooks the significant political dimension of the campaign, it simplifies what was a complex process. But it is not completely without merit; at the operational level, intelligence failure meant operational failure. The security forces could neither enforce the law or contain the insurgency. Together, these factors contributed to the erosion of public order, and ultimately, of British control in Palestine. In short, intelligence failure was a direct cause of the British defeat. The source of the failure lay principally in the complex of problems which beset the Political Branch of the Palestine Police CID. Some were indigenous to the force and the Branch itself: allocation of manpower, equipment and workloads; priorities in tasks and training. Other problems were exogenous: the ruthless skill of the insurgents and their secure base of support within the Jewish population, which ensured a lack of co-operation and thus the isolation of the police. Equally important, the security forces received no political guidance for their counterinsurgency campaign. Consequently, the police and other services had to plan and conduct intelligence activities in a strategic vacuum. Regardless of origin, the result of these problems was the same. Far from being 'devastatingly effective against terrorism' ,88 as Home alleges, the Branch could not collect, process, disseminate and exploit accurate intelligence sufficient to defeat or contain the insurgency. Unfortunately for the British, this failure occurred at the core of their counter-insurgency effort. For reasons of size, tasking, professional and institutional orientation, the other intelligence organizations - GSI and the Defence Security Office were unable to fill the intelligence gap l~ft by the police.

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NOTES 1. Edward Home, A Job Well Done: Being a History of the Palestine Police Force 19201948 (Leigh-on-Sea, Essex: Palestine Police Old Comrades Benevolent Association, 1982), pp.477. 2. Lieutenant-General Sir Roger Bower, brigade commander in Palestine 1945-46, interview with author, 27 May 1976. 3. The important scholarly works on the politics and diplomacy of post-war Palestine include: Ritchie Ovendale, 'The Palestine Policy in the British Labour Government 1945-1946', International Affairs, Vol. LV (1979), and 'The Palestine Policy of the British Labour Government 1947: The Decision to Withdraw', International Affairs, Vol. LVI (1980); Alan Bullock, Ernest Bevin, Foreign Secretary 1945-1951 (London: Heinemann, 1983); Michael 1. Cohen, Palestine and the Great Powers 1945-1948 (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1982); and, WiIliam Roger Louis, The British Empire in the Middle East 1945-1951: Arab Nationalism, the United States, and Postwar Imperialism (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1984). 4. David Charters, The British Army and the Jewish Insurgency in Palestine 1945~7 (London: Macmillan, 1989), is the first book-length scholarly analysis of the counterinsurgency campaign. The remaining published literature on the military aspects is scant: one divisional history, a handful of articles and book chapters, passing mention in political histories and memoirs, and an essay introducing a selection of documents. No official history has been written and none is contemplated. 5. The most significant gap is in the records of the Palestine Police Force, which was the 'lead agency' in counter-insurgency intelligence. Although large collections remain in the British Public Record Office and the Israeli State Archives, there are very few documents relating to the intelligence task itself. Some were destroyed during the insurgent attacks on the headquarters of the Criininal Investigation Department (CID). According to Home, p.478, the rest were burned deliberately during the British evacuation from Palestine. Other documents which might have shed light on the Force's intelligence activities were 'Destroyed Under Statute' by PRO. The records that remain provide only the barest outline of police intelligence work. Military intelligence documents are much more plentiful, but for reasons which will be discussed later these are not very helpful. The Defence Security Office - the MI5 station in Jerusalem - left relatively few records in the public domain; those that exist, however, are quite useful. But, apart from occasional references to intelligence matters, scattered at random through other collections official and private, the documentary trail effectively ends there. Wherever possible, interviews and correspondence with former police and army officers were used to fill in some of the gaps in the written record. These, however, were subject to the usual limitations of the memory after 30 years, and to the natural reluctance of some to discuss such matters in any detail. 6. The English language literature on the insurgency is extensive, but the quality varies considerably. Yehuda Bauer, From Diplomacy to Resistance: a History of Jewish Palestine 1939-1945 (New York: Atheneum, 1970; repr. 1973) provides a balanced account of the evolution of the Haganah and the Palmach during the war. Menachem Begin, The Revolt, Story of the lrgun (London: W.H. Allen, 1951) and J. Bowyer Bell, Terror out of Zion: Irgun, Lehi, and the Palestine Underground 1929-1949 (New York: St. Martin's Press, 1977) are essential but heavily-slanted reading. See also Y. S. Brenner, 'The Stem Gang, 1940-48', Middle Eastern Studies, Vo!. 2, No. 1 (October 1965), a useful survey of the group. For a more detailed analysis of the organization, strategies, and operations of the three groups, see Charters, op. cit., Ch. 3, pp.42-83 and notes pp. 216-24. 7. 'Extract from note on points raised with Secretary of State by the High Commissioner' , 14 November 1945, 75872 Part VI, CO 733/46l. 8. See Charters, op. cit., Ch. 4, pp.84--131, Appendices Ill, IV, V, and notes, pp.225-6. 9. Keith Jeffery, 'Intelligence and Counter-Insurgency Operations: Some Reflections on the British Experience', Intelligence and National Security, Vo!. 2, No. 1 (January 1987), p.ll8.

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10. Moffatt, 'Criminal Investigation Department', in 'Report by Sir Charles Wickham' [on the Palestine Police Force], 2 December 1946, 75015/82A, CO 5371/2269; Home, pp.469-70; John Briance, interview with author, 3 March 1977. Briance served as a senior officer in the Political Branch during the period under study. 11. Christopher Andrew, Secret Service: The Making of the British Intelligence Community (London: Heinemann, 1985), p.363; Nigel West, MI6: British Secret Intelligence Service Operations, 1909-1945 (London: Weidenfeld & Nicolson, 1983), p.124; Jeffrey T. Richelson and Desmond Ball, The Ties That Bind: Intelligence Cooperation Between the UKUSA Countries (London: Alien & Unwin, 1985), pp. 17-18. 12. Defence Security Office Palestine, War Diary 1945-6, WO 169/19758, 23031; N. West, A Matter of Trust: MI51945-72 (London: Weidenfeld & Nicolson, 1982), pp. 14, 19-9; A. W. Cockerill, Sir Percy Sillitoe (London: W. H. Alien, 1975), p.187; Briance, interview, 3 March 1977; Miss J.S.M. Dannatt, interview with author, 17 February 1978. Miss Dannatt served as an Intelligence Corps lieutenant in the DSO, 1945-46. 13. The Hon. M. M. C. Charteris, 'A Year as an Intelligence Officer in Palestine', Middle East Society Journal, Vo\. 1 (1946), pp. 15-23; The Rt. Hon. Sir (now Lord) Martin Charteris, letter to author, 9 November 1976. In neither source was Charteris forthcoming about GSI. Nor is anything on organization and duties to be found in the HQ Palestine G Branch war diaries. On this, see also, Amikam Nachmani, 'Generals at Bay in Post-War Palestine', Journal of StrategiC Studies,Vo\. 6, No. 4 (December 1983), pp.72, 81-2, note 48. 14. GHQ Middle East Forces, 'Directive no .. 245 - Internal Security', 23 June 1945, W0169/19510; 3 Field Security Section, Middle East Forces, war diary 1945, WO 1691 21414; J. Haswell, British Military Intelligence (London: Weidenfeld & Nicolson, 1973), pp.167-8, 210-2; Colonel (ret'd) F. G. Robson, Curator, Intelligence Corps Museum, letter to author, 30 April 1986. . 15. A. V. Lovell-Knight, The Story of the Royal Military Police (London: Leo Cooper, 1977), pp. 275-89. 16. See F.H. Hinsley, et al., British Intelligence in the Second World War: Its Influence on Strategy and Operations (London and Cambridge: HMSO, 1979), Vo\. I, pp. 205, 282- . 3; 'Policy - Palestine Detachment', CSDIC/MEF, notes for February 1946, May 1946, GSI GHQ Middle East Forces, War Diary, WO 169/22882; entry for 19-24 December 1946, Diary of Major-Geneal H.E. Pyman (Chief of Staff Middle East Land Forces), Liddell Hart Center for Military Archives, Pyman Diary 6/1/1, December 1946, and 'War Establishment Strengths of GHQ MELF and Ancillary Units as at 1 August 1947', Annexure A to CINC's Conference, 7 August 1947, 'Size, Role and Location of GHQ', 7 August 1947, Pyman Diary, 6/1/8 August 1947. Among those taking part in the discussions regarding the use of CSDIC was Maurice Oldfield, then a Iieutenantcolonel in Security Intelligence Middle East, later to become head of MI6. 17. Jeffrey, p.121; see also G. (Training) Branch, GHQ Middle East Forces, Middle East Training Pamphlet no. 9, Part 13 'Notes for the Officers on Internal Security Duties', May 1945, WO 169/19521. 18. Charles Townshend, Britain's Civil Wars: Counterinsurgency in the Twentieth Century (London: Faber & Faber, 1986), pp. 13-23. 19. Government of Palestine, A Survey of Palestine: Memorandum Submitted to the AngloAmerican Commission of Inquiry by the Government of Palestine (London: HMSO, 1946), Vo!. 2, p. 582; HQ 21 Area, 'Operational Instruction no. 21',21 November 1945, WO 169/19821; GSI HQ Palestine, Short Handbook of Palestine (Jerusalem, April 1944), p.7, copy in Private Papers, Mr John Briance, London; Minutes of the meetings of the Central Security Committee, 1946-7, in the Papers of General Sir Alan Cunningham, Box IV, File 1, St. Antony's College, Oxford. The Minutes do not show the Defence Security Officer or the head of Military Intelligence as regular attendees. Also, interviews with Briance and Sir Richard Catling, 3 March 1977,28 May 1976 respectively, and Mr R. W. D. Pawle, formerly personal secretary to the High Commissioner, 18 Mary 1978. 20. Briance and Catling interviews. 21. Ibid.; Mr H. Bennett-Shaw, interview with author, 2 February 1977 (Shaw served in the Political Branch). According to Snaw telephone calls were intercepted at the central

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CID HQ (Jerusalem) and at district CID offices. See also Begin, pp. 97-102. 22. Minutes of Security Conference, 25 April 1947, Cunningham Papers, IV/l. Brigadier J.M. Rymer Jones, IG of the Palestine Police 1943-46, claimed in an interview with the author, 5 March 1977, that a source inside the Zionist leadership passed the minutes of every Jewish Agency meeting to Richard Catling - a claim that Catling does not make himself. 23. Minutes of Security Conference, 27 September 1946; 3rd Parachute Brigade, 'Intelligence Summary - Jewish Settlements', January 1947, WO 2611216 attests to Hushi's willingness to 'assist police or military authorities'; see also General Sir Richard Gale, Call to Arms (London: Hutchinson), pp. 163, 166-9, and interview with author, 6 July 1976. The police, however, were sceptical of Hushi's motives, and so were the Haganah. On the latter's suspicions, see Stewart Steven, The Spy-Masters of Israel (New York: Macmillan, 1980), pp. 18-19, 22. 24. Briance, interview, 3 March 1977; Catling, interview, 14 Feb. 1979; on torture charges, see Yaacov Eliav, Wanted, trans. Mordecai Schreiber (New York: Shengold Publishers, 1984), pp. 85-94. The incident described took place before the period under study. 25. Minutes of Security Conference, 20 December 1946. 26. War Diaries, October-November 1945, 6 Airborne Division, 3rd Infantry Brigade, W0169/19685, 19703; 185 Infantry Brigade, 'Report on Operations in Jerusalem 19 January and on Subsequent Dates', War Diary, January 1946, Appendix Fl, WO 1691 23006; 1st Kings Dragoon Guards, 'Operational Order. no. 6', 21 April 1946, War Diary, WO 169/23147; Brigadier Maurice Tugwell, interview with author, 3 November 1976. Tugwell was intelligence officer in 3rd Parachute Brigade, 1947. 27. 185 Infantry Brigade, War Diary, January 1946, Appendix D3 'Operational Instruction No. 2', 10 January 1946 and Appendix D9 'Schedule of Anti-Terrorist Measures 28-31 January 1946', WO 169/2300. 28. 3 Field Security Section, War Diary, 1945, 1946, WO 169/21414, 24120. 29. Defence Security Office, War Diary, 1945, 1946, WO 169119758, 23031. At least one of the Area Security Officers, Major Desmond Doran, had a reputation among the Stern Gang as a skilled interrogator: see 'Avner', Memoirs of an Assassin, trans. Burgo Partridge (London: Anthony Blond, 1959), pp. 12-13, 82-83. 'Avner' incorrectly places Doran in the police, but that may have been his 'cover'. The monitoring task may have been carried out by the military intercept station at Sarafand, described in A. G. Denniston, 'The Government Code and Cypher School Between the Wars', Intelligence and National Security, Vo!. 1, No. 1 (January 1986), p. 61. Denniston implies that it was still operating in 1945. 30. Briance and Catling interviews. 31. Defence Security Office, War Diary, 1945, 1946. 32. 3 Field Security Section, War Diary, 1945, 1946. 33. HQ 6 Airborne Division, '01 no 4. - Passing of Information', 17 October 1945, Appendix D to War Diary, WO 169119685. 34. See, for ego 1st Guards Brigade, 'Intelligence Summary', no 15, 16, 12 June, 3 July 1946, WO 169/22989; 9 Infantry Brigade, 'OI no 13', 23 January 1947, Appx. B to Quarterly Historical Report, WO 261/208. 35. See 1st Infantry Division, 'Weekly Intelligence Review', Nos 22-11 (April-June 1946), 'Special Intelligence Summary no. 1', 4 April 1946, 'Letter re: IS Incidents', 29 April 1946, WO 169122956-57; HQ South Palestine District, 'Intelligence Summaries', No. 21-23, January-March 1947, WO 261-171. Much of the information on political affairs and other issues came from GSI, the police or DSO. 36. See HQ British Troops Palestine and Trans-Jordan, 'Fortnightly Intelligence Newsletter', Nos. 2-17, November 1945 to June 1946, WO 169/19745,23021-22. 37. Charteris, pp. 17-18, 20. 38. Ibid. 39. On this subject, see M. Lowenthal, 'The Burdensome Concept of Failure', in A. C. Maurer, et al. (eds.), intelligence: Policy and Process (Boulder, CO: Westview Press, 1985), pp.43, 50-51. --

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40. Begin, pp. 99-100. 41. Jeffery, pp. 141-3; see also Townshend, pp. 13-15, 18-23, 33-5; Sir Robert Thompson, Defeating Communist Insurgency: Experiences From Malaya and Vietnam (London: Chatto & Windus, 1966), pp. 52-4. 42. Major-General Anthony Farrar-Hockley, interview with author, 13 September 1976. Farrar-Hockley had served as a company commander in the Parachute Regiment in Palestine. 43. lIC (45) 338 (0) (Revised Final) 'Joint Intelligence Sub-Committee Report - Middle East Policy', 31 July 1945, Annex to Joint Planning Staff Report (45) 145 (Final) 'Middle East Policy', 3 August 1945, in COSC Minutes, 8 August 1945, CAB 79/37; 1st Guards Brigade, 'Structure and Organization of the Haganah', in 'Intelligence Summary No. 15', WO 169/22989. But, the nc estimate overstated the combined strength of the Haganah and Palmach. The other assessment was based on documents seized during the search of Birya settlement 27 February 1946. For details of content of documents, see undated official communique, 75156/151A 1946 Part 1, C0733/456. Nachmani, p.75, takes a skeptical view of the intelligence value of these papers, but apart from citing an excerpt quoted during testimony to the Anglo American Commission, he does not appear to have seen the documents themselves. 44. Joint Intelligence Committee, GHQ Middle East Forces, 'Probable Jewish Reactions and the Potential Threat of Jewish Forces in Palestine in Certain Eventualities', 11 January 1945, CAB 119/147. The second phase, as described in the document, did not occur until the period November 1947 to May 1948 and is thus not relevant to this analysis. 45. CID Report, 24 April 1945, copy in Telegram, Gort to Stanley, 27 April 1945, 75156/ 1511, CO 733/457; Great Britain, House of Commons, Command Paper no. 6873, 'Palestine: Statement of Information Relating to Acts of Violence', (1946), pp. 3-5. 46. DSO, 'Monthly Summary No. 8', May 1946, WO 169/23031; 1st Infantry Division, '01 no. 4', 15 June 1946, WO 169/22957; 3rd Infantry Brigade, 'Message', 15 June 1946, WO 169122995. 47. nc, 'Probable Jewish Reactions ... ', 11 January 1945. 48. Lt.-Gen. E. Barker, 'Military Action to be Taken to Enforce Law and Order in Palestine', 22 June 1946, p.1, Cunningham Papers, V/4. 49. Entries for 7, 11 January 1947, Pyman Diaries, 6/112. 50. HQ 185 Infantry Brigade, 'Report on Operations in Jerusalem'. 51. CM, 20 March 1947, CAB 128/9; CP(47)107, 'Report by Chiefs of Staff: Palestine Imposition of Martial Law', 26 March 1947, CAB 129/18; Colonial Office, Monthly Reports, April-June 1947, C0537/2281; entry for 24 April 1947, Pyman Diaries, 61114; see also Appendix Ill. The 78 arrests reported by the Chiefs of Staff probably included some made subsequent to the Martial Law operation itself. 52. 1st Infantry Division, 'message' to MILPAL (Army HQ), 21 June 1946, Appx J99 to War Diary, WO 169/22957. If this message was intended to warn of an attack on the hotel, then it tends to confirm the accounts in Home, p. 299, and in T. Clarke, By Blood and Fire: the Attack on the King David Hotel (New York: G. P. Putnam's, 1981), p.147, and the recollection of Rymer Jones. It would also be consistent with Begin's claim in The Revolt, p.212, that the Irgun initiated planning for the attack in the Spring of 1946. The other relevant documents are: 1. P.l. Fforde, 'CID Report on the King David Outrage', 16 August 1946, and Irgun Zvai Leumi, 'The Truth About the King David', 22 July 1947, both in CO 537/2290. 53. Crime statistics for 1945-6 in Government of Palestine, Survey of Palestine (1946), Vol. II, Chapter 15, Table 4, and Supplement to Survey of Palestine: Notes Compiled for the Information of the United Nations Special Committee on Palestine (Jerusalem: June 1947), p.81; detention statistics in Bruce Hoffman, The Failure of British Military Strategy Within Palestine 1939-1947 (Tel Aviv: Bar-Han University Press, 1983), p.80, based on official sources; prosecution statistics (1 August 1945 to 22 April 1947) in United Kingdom Information Office, Britain and Palestine (Ottawa: May 1947), p.22. Briance makes the point that the police could not count on captured insurgents turning 'King's Evidence' in court.

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54. 'Wickham Rep9rt'; Government of Palestine, 'Draft Estimates, 1945-46', 75005, C0733/450; Catling, interview. On manpower strength problems and recruitment, see Palestine Police, 'Annual Administrative Report 1946', CO 814/40; 'Police Force - Recruitment of Other Ranks', 1945-47, 75015/558 C0733/451, C0537/2268; 'Palestine Police - Recruitment Propaganda, 1946', 75015160 C0733/451. 55. 'Wickham Report'; Government of Palestine, 'Draft Estimates, 1945-46'; 'Annual Report of the Accounts and Finances, 1945-46, 1946-47'. CO 814/40; 'Establishment of Interrogation Centre for Examination of Terrorists, 1946', CO 537/1838; interviews, Briance, Catling, Colonel W. N. Gray, 23 July 1976, and Shaw. Gray was the IG of the Police 1946-48. See also Begin, pp. 97-8. 56. Home, p.557; 'Police Vacancy - Inspector General 1945', 75015--52, CO 733/451. 57. Home, p.557; Bernard Fergusson, The Trumpet in the Hall 1930--1958 (London: Collins, 1970), p.202; interviews with author: Briance; Catling; Shaw; Rymer-Jones; Gray. 58. Dannatt, interview with author. 59. Dempsey to Montgomery, 4 March 1947, Pyman Diaries, 6/1/3; see also G. Branch, HQ Palestine, 'Fortnightly Intelligence Newsletter', No. 6, 5--18 January 1946, Appx. 1734 to WO 169/23021. 60. Palestine Police, 'Annual Administrative Report 1946'; Gray, interview with author. 61. Ibid. The 7301 figure was calculated from establishment figures, plus recruits and minus wastage (casualties, retirements, resignations, transfers). 62. Briance, Catling, Shaw, Gray interviews. 63 . HQ Palestine, War Diary, October 1945, WO 169/19745; 1st Infantry Division, 'Weekly Intelligence Review no. 11', 24 June 1946, W0169/22957; Telegram, Cunningham to Creech-Jones, 7 August 1947, E7273, F0371-61784; Minutes of Security Conference, 15 August 1947, Cunningham Papers, IV/l; Government of Palestine, Supplement to Survey of Palestine (1947), p.86, estimates that the Irgun had a lOO-member 'intelligence group', some of whom were employed in government and military establishments. E. Dekel, Shai: The Exploits of Haganah Intelligence (London, New York: Thomas Yoseloff, 1959), pp. 127-35, 142-7, 313-9, 334-59; Begin, p.99; Bethell, pp.248--9; Letter, Y. Medad, National Studies Institute, Jerusalem, to author, 31 October 1978. The Times (London), 20 August 1984, contains an account of a Lechi 'mole', who worked in the transport section of army headquarters in the King David Hotel. 64. See Charters, op. cit., Appendix Ill. As some casualties were listed only as 'security forces' without specifying army or police, the figures cited in the text should be considered a low estimate. 65. S. Hutchinson, 'The Police Role in Counter-Insurgency Operations', JRUSI, Vol. 114, No. 4 (December 1969), pp. 57-8. In his report on the Palestine Police, veteran policeman Sir Charles Wickham described terrorism as 'crime in its most highly organized form', which the police should deal with by 'an intensification of their normal procedure and operation'. 66. Interview with author. 67. Letter, Goulburn to HQ 1 Infantry DivisionINorth Palestine District, 21 June 1946, WO 169/22989; see also, 3 Infantry Division, 'Directive no. 2 - Combined Ops Police and Mil', 23 January 1946, WO 169/22967; HQ Palestine, '01 no. 67',17 June 1946, WO 169/23022; 1 Infantry DivisionINorth Palestine District, '01 no. 7', 28 June 1946, WO 169/22957; interviews with author: Tugwell; Major-General H.E.N. Bredin, 28 June 1977; Lieutenant-General Sir Napier Crookenden, 9 June 1976. 68. Interview with author. See also the comments by a Palestine Police Officer during the Arab rebellion, quoted in Jeffery, p.122. 69. Interview with author. 70. HQ Palestine, '01 no. 67 - Military Cum Police Operations', 17 June 1946, WO 1691 23022; HQ Palestine, Combined Military and Police Action (June 1947), pp. 8--9, copy in the Private Papers of Mr John Briance, London, HQ 3rd Infantry Division, 'Directive no. 6', and 'Directive no. 7 - Wireless Communications - Coordination . with Palestine Police Network', 25 February 1946, WO 169/22967; HQ 9th Infantry

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71. 72. 73. 74. 75. 76. 77.

78. 79. 80.

81. 82. 83.

84. 85. 86. 87. 88.

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Brigade, '.Internal Security Instruction no. 5', 2 March 1946, WO 169/23003; '1 Div Intelligence Course Programme', 17-:-30 January 1946, 1st Infantry Division, War Diary, January 1946, Appendix J9, WO 169/22956. Entry for 31 May 1947, Pyman Diaries, 6/1/5; see also Home, pp.560-61. Jeffery, p.141. See the Newsletters in WO 169/23021-22. Appendix J37A, War Diary June 1946, WO 169/23022. Interview with author. Turbulence in the post-war period and its impact on the operational readiness of formations and units in Palestine is discussed in Charters, op. cit., pp. 145-9. See Thomas G. Fergusson, British Military Intelligence, 1870-1914: The Development of a Modern Intelligence Organization (Frederick, MD: University Publications of America, 1984); Haswell, pp.62-63, 67, 79-80,157-60; Hinsley, Vol. 1, pp.7, 9, 11, 288. See also John Cloake, Templer: Tiger of Malaya: the Life of Field Marshal Sir Gerald Templer (London: Harrap, 1985), pp. 171-2. Hinsley, pp. 10-11. Ibid., pp.6, 8; see also Franklyn A. Johnson, Defence by Committee: The British Committee of Imperial Defence, 1885-1959 (London: Oxford University Press, 1960), pp. 243-4, 293-4. Eunan O'Halpin, 'British Intelligence in Ireland, 1914-1921', in Christopher Andrew and David Dilks (eds.), The Missing Dimension: Governments and Intelligence Communities in the Twentieth Century (Urbana, IL: University of Illinois Press, 1984), pp.73, 76; see also Charles Townshend, The British Campaign in Ireland: the Development of Political and Military Policies 1919-1921 (London: Oxford University Press', 1975), pp. 50-52, 55, 90-92, 125-27. Sir Charles Gwynn, Imperial Policing (London: Macmillan, 1980), pp.21-3, 28-32; 'Notes for Officers on Internal Security Duties', (1945), WO 169/19521; Bower, interview with author. War Office, 'Guerrilla Warfare', December 1944, issued to Middle East Forces, 14 March 1945. The DSO War Diary for 1946 indicates that after the war the DSO itself was subject to a degree of manpower turbulence; it also seems to indicate that the DSO HQ staff included a number of MI6 officers on cross-posting. Other information from Dannatt, interview with author. Interview with author. CO(47)59, 'Memorandum by Secretaries of State for the Colonies, and for Foreign Affairs', 13 February 1947, CAB 129/17. See Telegram, Cunningham to Creech-Jones, 7 August 1947, CO 53712299. Begin, p.l00. Home, p.555.

[2] 'Jungle Bashing' in Malaya: Towards a Formal Tactical Doctrine RAFFI GREGORIAN

In a seminal work, Tom Mockaitis argues that until the 1960s British counter-insurgency methods were not based upon a formal, written doctrine. Instead, they were passed on from one generation to another through a form of oral tradition. The methods themselves derived from three broad principles which he identifies as: minimum force; close cooperation between civil and military authorities; and adoption of 'a highly decentralized, small-unit approach to combating irregulars'. I It was only in the Malayan Emergency of 1948 to 1960 that 'all three [principles were first] present in fully developed form'.2 The victory in Malaya was not, Mockaitis asserts, 'the product of trial and error worked out in that one campaign;' rather it was based upon 'the gradual rediscovery of time-honoured methods'.3 Doctrine formalisation was a distinct development of the Malayan campaign. Establishment of a jungle warfare school, publication of a tactical manual, methodical gathering and exploitation of intelligence, and operations research were all used for the first time in a counterinsurgency by the British during the Emergency. As such, Malaya was a doctrinal watershed not only because of the collective presence of the three principles, but because such innovations profoundly affected British and Commonwealth operational styles for years to come. Yet was there anything in particular about the Malayan campaign which lent itself to such innovation?

British Jungle Tactics Prior to 1948 The British and Indian armies had fought in jungles for years before the onset of the communist insurrection in Malaya in 1948. Campaigns in the 1870s, 1880s, 1890s, 1920s, and 1930s in Africa, India, and Burma had exposed generations of the Indian and British armies to jungle operations. Many of the exigencies of jungle - or 'bush' - warfare were already known to the British by the turn of the century: limitations on tactical formations; short ranges of engagement; need for irrlmediate action when fired upon; operations of a prolonged nature; the primacy of ambush tactics; use of trackers; requirement to operate in small units

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and a correspondingly heavier responsibility for junior 1eaders.4 As early as the Third Burma War of 1885-86, the Commander-in-Chief of the Bengal Army, General Sir Frederick Roberts (later Field-Marshal Lord Roberts) was issuing instructions for counter-ambush drills. Although they often competed with a predilection for strong columns and 'elastic square' formations,5 small unit formations, patrols and ambushes were a generally accepted means of operating in the jungle long before the Malayan campaign. In fact, as Tim Moreman explains in his 1992 article on frontier warfare, the Indian Army developed, disseminated, and implemented 'a carefully thought out training regime for hill warfare' which included aspects of 'bush' warfare. 6 For example, during the Moplah rebellion of 1920-21 in south India,7 Indian Army troops conducted 'drives' through rebel areas in the hopes of pushing them into one area. This tactic was only partially successful so battalions were given a general area of operations in which their constituent platoons had specific areas of responsibility. Within these areas the troops harried the enemy with ambushes and patrols and cut off their food supplies. These methods proved effective, forcing large numbers 'of the rebels eventually to give themselves up to the authorities. 8 A similar course of action was followed during the Burmese rebellion of 1930-32, when both small mobile columns and large drives were used to hunt down the rebels. 9 Jungle fighting experience, however, was not retained or disseminated in any formal way. In the British Army 'learning [about counterinsurgency methods] was transmitted more by individuals than by official literature' , but 'an almost unbroken string of internal security operations allowed effective methods and principles to develop and be passed along informally.' 10 Officers to command such campaigns 'had to be selected either because they had gained previous operational experience or because they were thought to be men of such high calibre that they would instinctively know what to do when confronted with problems on the ground.' 11 .Despite the fact that in 1941 there were a few officers experienced in jungle warfare, mass mobilization for World Warn, and the subsequent deployments of much of the British and Indian armies to Iraq, Syria, India, and Africa in 1940-41, meant what little organic wisdom that did exist was too diluted to be of any use. Indeed, one brigade commander in the division tasked with the defence of Malaya and Burma wrote that 'No one had any experience of jungle, except a few senior officers whose experience was confined to 'Shikar' [i.e., hunting].'12 Trained officers and NCOs were in short supply and many were dispersed to form cadres for wartime units.13

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As war with Japan loomed in the Far East, the majority of British and Indian troops on the Malayan Peninsula remained unprepared for operations in the jungle. Training, equipment and combat experience of troops in Malaya were better suited to the desert operations of the preceding two years than to the jungle. 14 In any case, British and Indian troops were told that the jungle was impenetrable to modem armies and therefore most operations would be confined to the few roads and their adjacent areas. Prior to the Japanese invasion, however, the 2nd Battalion The Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders (21A&SH), had discovered that despite the conventional wisdom it was possible to operate in the jungle, away from roads, and trained accordingly. When the Japanese came down the Malayan Peninsula in January 1942, the 2/A&SH was the only British unit that conducted effective jungle operations during the retreat to Singapore. 15 In their prewar training, Argyll officers emphasised the need to move speedily through the jungle in order to maintain the· initiative. The battalion's primary method of operation was to move in patrol elements as small as three men (known as 'Tiger Patrols') with the purpose of fixing the enemy and then encircling them. 16 As it transpired, this tactic was almost identical to the one used by the Japanese in their assault down the Malayan Peninsula and later adopted by the British 14th Army in Burma. The battalion also developed a 'Battle Drill' wherein various forms of tactical movements were standardised so that 'no decision was required of commanders other than to go right or left "flanking." '17 Making the jungle a friend was achieved by 'living in [the jungle] for days at a time, not only by large parties but by small groups of three or four officers or NCOs' .18 In the aftermath of the fall of Singapore and the Japanese drive into Burma, the pressing need for every available man at the front meant that it was practically impossible to retrain men in the methods found to be effective against the Japanese. 19 As the shattered British and Indian forces regrouped near the border of India for the inevitable Japanese invasion, the situation seemed hopeless. The arrival in March 1942 of Lieutenant-General William Slim (later Field-Marshal Lord Slim) as commander of 1st Burma Corps (and in October 1943, 14th Army) heralded the resurrection of the British effort in the Burma theatre. As the situation stabilised, Slim made an immediate appreciation of the strengths and weaknesses of both the Japanese and his own troops, and set about rectifying the training, equipment and operational deficiencies of his command. Slim's memorandum of the situation included several points that would come to be applied in operations against the insurgents in Malaya: appreciation by the individual soldier that the

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jungle can be used to his advantage, and that the enemy does not have a monopoly on its military exploitation; and that 'patrolling is the master key to jungle fighting. '20 In contradistinction to the large manoeuvre elements fighting at the time in Europe, the jungle environment of Bunna necessarily brought the basic unit of operations down to the company or platoon leve1. 21 Despite the obvious need to improve British and Indian jungle fighting techniques, measures to do so were not undertaken until after the 1943 Chindit operation and the disastrous battle in the Arakan. In June 1943 the Infantry Committee, India, investigated the issue and made recommendations to improve the level of readiness of British and Indian infantry battalions. One of the recommendations acted upon was for the creation of a jungle warfare training establishment and programme through which all recruits must go prior to moving to the front. 22 Beginning in 1944 several military training pamphlets (MTPs) on jungle fighting were prepared for 14th Army to aid in the new training regimen. 23 Of these, the two that enshrined the methods known to best the Japanese opponent in the jungle were MTP No.51, Preparation for Waifare in the Far East and MTP No.52, Waifare in the Far East. 24 In an appendix to MTP No.51 written by Slim, \le compared the Japanese to a red ant: 'tough, mobile, industrious, disciplined, callous, and vicious'. But 'he was stupid' and had weaknesses that could be exploited. He was prone to repeat his mistakes over and over and became confused when confronted with the unexpected.25 To combat 'the Jap', the soldiers of 14th Army needed to be expert shots, who fired only when a target was visible. This was doubly important: not only did the Japanese try to provoke their enemy into giving away their positions, it also placed an enonnous strain on ammunition resupply in a theatre where most supplies had to be manhandled over long distances. Men needed to be as self-sufficient as possible, experts in 'junglecraft,' patrolling, and ambushing. They also had to be prepared to fight in any direction as warfare in the jungle could be confused and isolated bands needed to be able to act on their own. In short, superior training and initiative was 'all-important in jungle fighting', creating a requirement for superior quality junior leaders.26 Both MTP No.51 and MTP No.52 stressed the importance of weapons training for all ranks. Not only was it important for soldiers to be experts with their personal weapons, but cross-training on other weapons was to be encouraged as well. MTP No.51 declared that every man should be able to handle the 2in mortar (the basic platoon support weapon) 'skillfully,' as well as other weapons such as the grenade cup

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discharger (i.e., rifle grenade);27 MTP No.52 echoed this sentiment, calling for troops to be able 'to fire all section weapons from the hip' and to use the bayonet. 28 As part of the Infantry Committee, India's recommendation, the British established a Jungle Warfare Training School at Saugor. There battalions underwent a three-week course prior to moving up to the front. 29 Training was progressive, beginning first with individual 'junglecraft' and moving up to unit exercises. In training up to the company level, which was given the most stress in the MTPs, patrolling, junior leadership and weapon training were emphasised, but so too were physical fitness, compass work, anti-malarial discipline, and familiarisation of all ranks in wireless communications. Training regimens included acclimatisation through actual living in the jungle for long periods, and movement through the jungle at night was practised. Most importantly, aerial resupply drills were conducted, including varied use of white phosphorous and coloured smoke grenades to mark dropping zones (DZS).30 The state of jungle warfare expertise in the British and Indian Armies was high by the time of the Japanese surrender. Publication of MTPs incorporating lessons learned and application of those same lessons in a formal training programme was, for the British Army, a relatively novel concept. Some of the credit for this change belongs to the Indian Army, which provided the bulk of the troops in the Burma theatre. Through a combination of nearly constant active service and a generally more professional attitude, that institution traditionally had been more reflective and responsive to changes on the battlefield than its British counterpart. Slim's influence in this area is more than just happy coincidence: he served for many years in Gurkha regiments of the Indian Army. Following the Japanese surrender in 1945 much of the British Army's jungle warfare capability dissipated with the loss of Burma veterans through demobilisation and Indian independence in 1947. The Jungle Warfare Centre was closed down and the only formal way left to convey jungle warfare techniques lay in the MTPs. Even the four Gurkha regiments that transferred to the British Army in 1947 were generally unprepared to fight in the jungle. Woefully understrength and demoralised as a result of their transfer, the strength of each Gurkha battalion in 1947 was only about 300 men, due in large part to the shoddy way in which the Gurkhas were presented with their options to join the British Army, stay in the Indian Army, or leave the service. The effects of what came to be called the 'opt' were devastating. 31 Not only were the battalions understrength, but with relation to the unforeseen,

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impending Emergency, the loss of the jungle fighting experience of Burma veterans who did not transfer to the British Anny, as well as the requirement to recruit and train units back to strength, meant that the 'learning curve' for Gurkha regiments was steep for the initial period of the Emergency. 32

The Insurgents' influence on tactics At an international communist conference held in Calcutta in February 1948, communist organizations were purportedly exhorted to begin anned struggle against imperialism in Southeast Asia. 33 In April 1948 the military ann of the Malayan Communist Party (MCP), the Malayan Races Liberation Anny (MRLA), intensified its terror campaign by murdering European planters and foremen on rubber plantations and tin mines, and by attacking the police, anny and government. This, in essence, was the beginning of the open insurgency and in June 1948 the Federation of Malaya Government declared a state of Emergency. Initial anny and police operations had the effect of catching the poorly-prepared MRLA and Malayan Communist Party (MCP) offbalance. In response, the MRLA established bases near jungle weapons caches, many of which had been prepared with British-supplied weapons to fight the Japanese in 1945. These bases were often located near Chinese squatter camps from which the MRLA could obtain supplies and information from a network of supporters known as Min Yuen. Quiescence during the MRLA reorganisation led the Security Forces to premature optimism about termination of the campaign. The number of incidents, which had been running at about 200 per month during 1948, dropped to about 100 per month in 1949. 34 By late 1949 into early 1950, having built an organisation capable of conducting protracted insurrection, the MRLA increased its level of operations to the point where incidents were occurring at 400 per month, or twice their 1948 rate. 35 As per its Maoist politico-military orientation, the MRLA had a hierarchy of military-type units that ranged from terror and sabotage sections in populated areas, to village guerilla and local units, up to regular units of company strength. Food supplies and intelligence were provided by the political organisation and the Min Yuen, meaning that MRLA camps in the jungle had to be within 'a few hours' walking time from the populated areas.'36 With practically no radio communications, the MRLA relied primarily on couriers to carry instructions and messages. Its lines of communication between the populated areas and the jungle camps were therefore a point of weakness.

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Largely because of organisational and military weaknesses, the chief offensive tactics of the MRLA were the ambush and terror attack. MRLA weaponry consisted almost exclusively of British-supplied and captured Japanese small arms from World War 11, and practically no weapons from outside Malaya were ever supplied to the communists. And, unlike the Vietcong who conducted numerous mortar and rocket attacks against their opponents and protected their base areas with numerous mines and booby traps, the MRLA had no stand-off attack weapons and made infinitesimal use of minesY Jungle camps were generally not made defensible and were protected only by sentries. In 1951 internal dissent combined with continued lack of political or military success led to a new MCP strategy. Known as the 'October Directives', the strategy lessened the importance of military action in the struggle, and permitted only selective, platoon-level attacks for morale, propaganda and weapon procurement purposes. MRLA units split into smaller groups and withdrew deeper into the jungle to rest and retrain. 38 By further distancing itself from its support structure, the MRLA not only began to lose touch with the population, but it was also forced to increase reliance on jungle cultivations and dumps to provide food. The cultivations were often easily observed from the air and were a giveaway of MRLA presence in an area, and the -food dumps could be ambushed. Though militarily weak, the MCP and MRLA did have some advantages over the Security Forces. Besides substantial support within the Chinese community, they also had intimate local knowledge and over three years of experience at subversive warfare against the Japanese. 39 Perhaps the MRLA's greatest advantage was the Malayan jungle, which during the period of the Emergency covered more than 80 per cent of the country. 40 The Malayan Jungle That the insurgents could carry on their struggle for so long was due to their tenacity, viciousness, and cohesion. They were also greatly aided by the jungles in which they hid. Thus the insurgents's organisation and methods of operation, along with the cover of the rainforests, were important determinants of the British response. The dense jungle provided covered approaches and withdrawals for attacks and vast areas in which to hide. Because there were so few roads through the jungle, the main means of movement for the Communist Terrorists (CTs) was on animal tracks. Such movement was less laborious than cutting across country, but it also invited ambush.

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To the British or Gurkha soldier as well as the Malay Chinese unfamiliar with the jungle and untrained in its ways, it was a distinctly frightening place. 'To them the jungle seemed predominantly hostile, being full of man-eating tigers, deadly fevers, venomous snakes and scorpions, natives with poisoned darts, and a host of half-imagined nameless terrors.'41 For jungle-trained troops, though, the jungle is the 'perfect medium for attack, for it offers a universal covered approach' .42 In Spencer Chapman's classic work, The Jungle is Neutral, about his three years in Malayan jungles during World Warn, the author wrote that: The truth is that the jungle is neutral. It provides any amount of fresh water, and unlimited cover for friend as well as foe - an armed neutrality, if you like, but neutrality nevertheless. It is the attitude of mind that determines whether you go under or survive. 43 By most accounts, the jungles of the Malay Peninsula are foreboding places. Under a canopy of trees that often grows to a height greater than 150 feet, there is a world of near twilight during the day, oppressively still and clammy, and enervatingly hot by midday. The average noon temperature is 90°F and varies little throughout the year. Running moreor-less down the middle of the peninsula is a spine of jungle-covered mountains with elevations as high as 7,000 feet. The eastward side of this range receives monsoonal rains from October to the end of March; the south-west from late May to September. Heavy rains with little wind occur during AprillMay and October - the transition in the monsoonal flows. The mountains have a strong effect on the air currents over the peninsula, and that combined with cloud formation, monsoons, and humidity levels limits safe flying to just a few hours in the morning. In the forests covering highland areas, temperatures at night can be surprisingly cool, rendering soldiers wearing sweat-soaked cotton clothing into shivering wretches. As night comes to the jungle, the darkness becomes almost impenetrable to the human eye, and an enormous cacophony of animal and insect noises rises to startling levels. Movement through virgin, or 'primary' jungle, called ulu in Malay, is not terribly difficult but visibility is only out to 25 to 30 yards. Ranges of engagement are largely determined by the visibility. Patrols moving quietly in order to come upon unsuspecting CTs, might cover only 1,000 yards in an hour. Movement through secondary, or belukar, jungle is extremely difficult. Secondary jungle is a tangled, thick mass of creepers, vines and similar undergrowth that sprout up when cleared,

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primary jungle is abandoned. It is in belukar that a machete is needed to hack a path, and in either belukar or swamp a reasonable rate of advance might be 200 yards in an hour - exhausting work to say the least. Visibility is practically nil in such jungle. Because ulu and belukar restrict visibility, there is a correspondingly greater emphasis placed on hearing and smelling to detect an enemy.44 The environment dictated British tactics as much as the insurgents did. Not only were ranges of engagement restricted by the limited visibility, but so too were the number and intensity of those engagements. Pitched battles rarely occurred. The norm was usually a quick exchange of fire followed by pursuit of a fleeing enemy. Jungle foliage generally limited tactical patrol formations to single file. Arrowhead, file or skirmish line formations were impracticable except in a rubber estate.

Resurrecting Tactical Doctrine: 1948-1951 To find and destroy the CTs in their jungle lairs, HQ Malaya District in July 1948 authorized an ad hoc unit formed and led by local veterans of Force 136, the Special Operations Executive unit that operated in Malaya during the war. Additional manpower included local guides and interpreters and some Gurkha volunteers with jungle experience. It was hoped that the Force 136 veterans's knowledge of the jungle and the CTs's methods, gleaned from having served with them in the war, would prove effective in locating the CTs for the Army. Known as 'Ferret Force', it had some small, initial successes, but there was room for improvement. 45 A Burma veteran and perfectionist from the 6th Gurkha Rifles, Lieutenant-Colonel WaIter Walker, was detailed to whip them into shape. Following a demonstration of Ferret Force in rnid-1948 at which he was a witness, an impressed General Sir Neil Ritchie, Commanderin-Chief of Far East Land Forces (FARELF), ordered Walker to set up a jungle warfare school that would train expected reinforcements. 46 Ritchie disbanded Ferret Force at the end of the year after the new school had been established; he believed Ferret Force 'would have become redundant because the jungle training of the ordinary troops should have improved to such an extent' by that time. 47 Ferret Force under Walker did, however, succeed in resurrecting some important tactical precepts that would later become standard operating procedures throughout the Security Forces: use of native trackers, 'small aggressive patrols' and a 'Civil Liaison Corp~ of interpreters and experienced locals ... attached to army units.'48 In serving as a sort of testbed for

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tactics and methods, Ferret Force had been more than a mere stopgap measure. 49 Walker established the new school in Tampoi Barracks, an abandoned lunatic asylum with accommodation for two battalions near Johore Bahru, northwest of Singapore. 5o The number of officers on the instruction staff ranged from 15 to 18, the number of ORs ('Other Ranks' - enlisted men in US parlance) from 80 to as high as 200. 51 The Jungle Warfare School, or its formal title, the FARELF Training Centre, or FTC, was responsible for: ... studying, teaching and perfecting methods of jungle fighting, [and to] raise the standard of jungle warfare among the Armed Forces in FARELF, and thus contribute in some measure to a speedier conclusion of the hostilities against the bandits in this country. 52 Several hundred students might be trained during anyone quarter, but in at least one instance in the first phase of the Emergency, training at the school was curtailed during a period of intensive operations; members of the instruction staff used this period to visit units in the field. 53 Besides British and Gurkha soldiers, FTC also trained members of the Malay Regiment and the Malay Police Force, and almost from its inception trained soldiers from other Southeast Asian countries. 54 Walker had just a little over two weeks in which to set up the new jungle warfare school before his first students - a company of Grenadier Guardsmen - were due to arrive in country. Over the period of a fortnight Walker assembled a group of officers and NCOs experienced in jungle warfare, wrote instructional precis, and ran the instructors through the course curriculum. 55 From its inception the FTC trained cadres from battalions arriving in theatre. Two courses were run, one for officers and another for .NCOs. When a cadre's level of training met Walker's approval, it then returned to its battalion which was then put through the same course the cadre had just been passed. 56 Officers took back to their battalions copies of the precis which Walker had drawn up, and in this way the 'doctrine [was] spread and the troops ... trained.' 57 The schooling consisted of ' 167 hours of practical instruction, 10 of demonstration, 12 of lectures, and 6 of discussion. Of the 167 practical hours, 110 were given over to 4~ days in the jungle, 24 to a preliminary day in the jungle, 16 to immediate-action drill, 8 to jungle navigation, 4 to motor-transport ambush, 3 to observation and tracking, and 2 to jungle marksmanship.'58 Special section formations for the jungle were re-introduced. 59 Movement through the jungle was taught as paths and

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tracks invited ambush. The immediate-action drills for counter-ambush or for attacking CT camps was inculcated so that responses were immediate. In the concluding 4~-day patrol exercise the presence of CTs in the area of the FTC added a sense of realism; indeed, on several occasions patrol exercises contacted the enemy and inflicted casualties. 6o FTC quickly became an important fixture in the Security Forces' counter-insurgent apparatus. Within just a few months of its founding, FTC was running specialist courses for support weapons such as the 3in mortar and began offering courses in tracking both with and without dogS. 61 FTC staff and students also evaluated weapons and equipment such as: flamethrowers, silenced Stens, new jungle boots, the pattern1944 jungle web equipment, No.68 wireless set, ponchos, 'artificial moonlight trials' [i.e., starlight scopes], etc. 62 Of greater moment in terms of doctrinal development in the British Army was both the recognition and acceptance that 'the FTC teaching covered the requirements for a common doctrine,' especially in the technique of ambush and counter-ambush. 63 Although one officer stated that 'the FTC very quickly got out of touch ... [it is] the place where minor tactics are taught, and anything new should come from there.' 64

'Deep Jungle' Operations Not all tactical doctrine was being developed at the FTC. Security Force activity forced some MRLA units into deep jungle where they preyed on aborigines for food and labor. It was the Special Air Service (SAS) regiment's mission to go after these deep jungle CTs. Indeed, Brigadier 'Mad Mike' Calvert, who helped train and lead the Chindits in Burma, was instrumental in reforming the SAS in 1950 - at the time called the 'Malayan Scouts' (SAS) - specifically for this purpose. 65 But to fulfill this mission required the ability to reach the aborigines in some very remote and inaccessible areas. Since there were only a few light helicopters with inadequate payload capacities in Malaya at this time (1950/51),66 the only way of reaching areas of operation was by an arduous overland journey. Upon arrival at the designated spot, a clearing would be made and a rough airstrip for light aircraft fashioned, and by this method the police and SAS were kept supplied with the essentials. In January 1952 during a practice parachute drop over a paddy field, a dropping error led some troops to fall into the jungle with just a few casualties. The SAS decided to experiment with intentional drops in the

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jungle and determined it was a viable option for insertion into ulu. The theory behind 'tree-jumping,' as it was known, was that the parachutist's body would crash through the canopy and his 'chute would get hung up in the tree tops; he would then lower himself to the jungle floor by a knotted lOO-foot rope carried for that purpose. 67 As one can imagine, although a mostly effective expedient, it was a detested and for three SAS troopers - fatal exercise that was not abandoned until late in the campaign after some serious casualties and the advent of larger, more powerful helicopters. 68

Formalising Tactical Doctrine in Malaya, 1952-1954 As Director of Operations, General Sir Gerald Templer introduced new methods of doctrinal development eventually incorporated into a formal counter-insurgency doctrine in the 1960s. The most important of these was the commissioning of a new manual and the use of operations research in identifying and enhancing the best counter-guerrilla techniques. As early as 1950, the General Officer Commanding (GOC) Malaya, Major-General Boucher, was inquiring 'if there was a requirement for a pamphlet on jungle warfare. '69 The brigade commander in North Malaya already issued a small pamphlet on jungle warfare to incoming units. It was generally agreed, however, that all the points which would be in a jungle warfare pamphlet for issue throughout Malaya were already covered at the FIC and hence, unnecessary.70 General Tempier's assessment of the need for such a pamphlet did not agree with the earlier one: Since assuming my appointment as High Commissioner and Director of Operations in the Federation of Malaya, I have been impressed by the wealth of jungle fighting experience available on different levels in Malaya and among different categories of persons. At the same time, I have been disturbed by the fact that this great mass of detailed knowledge has not been properly collated or presented to those whose knowledge and experience is not so great. This vast store of knowledge must be pooled. 7l To rectify this deficiency, Templer ordered a manual drawn up that would encapsulate the 'wealth of jungle fighting experience' in such a way as to fit in the pocket of a soldier's 'jungle greens' .72 In due course, Major-General Sir Hugh Stockwell, GOC Malaya in 1952, sent for the obvious choice: Lieutenant-Colonel WaIter Walker. Walker, in command of 1st Battalion, 6th Gurkha Rifles (1/6 GR) at the time and having some success in eliminating the CTs in his area, was anxious to

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return to his command in as short a time as possible. 73 Ensconced in an office provided for him by General Stockwell, he drafted in two weeks a manual based upon the precis he had drawn up for the FIC and revisions made as a result of operational experience in command of 1/6 GR. 74 The resulting work was published that same year by GHQ Malaya under the title The Conduct of Anti-Terrorist Operations in Malaya, and quickly 'became the troops' bible' and was much sought afterJ5 Substantially larger than the MTPs produced for the Burma campaign, 'ATOM,' as the manual was called, was a handbook laid out in a clear, concise fashion that detailed essential information for fighting the CTs. Besides general material on the government, people, climate and terrain of Malaya, there were also descriptions of the MCP and MRLA, their methods of operation and organisation, and the same again for the Security Forces. Details on training, patrolling, ambushing, immediate actions drills, attacking CT camps, hand signals, rations, equipment,· tracking, intelligence, navigation, air supply, wireless communications and many more items, strongly resembled MTPs Nos.51 and 52 and the curriculum of the FIe. The availability of ATOM in Malaya was especially helpful in raising the level of training among the British battalions, whose ranks were so frequently turned over by National Service. 76 Templer thought 'it was largely as a result of the publication of this handbook, and of its subsequent editions, that we got militant communism in Malaya by the throat.'77 The efficacy and quality of Walker's first edition of ATOM can be seen in two ways. First, in the fact that two more editions were published - in 1954 and 1958 - but neither of these contained any significant changes or additions with the exception of some new information on helicopter drills and landing zones. Second, that publication of such a timely and useful manual was a harbinger of a new, more formal approach to tactical doctrine can be seen by the use of ATOM as a model for a similar manual in the contemporary MauMau revolt in Kenya. 78 Besides ATOM, Templer's other major contribution to the formalisation of tactical doctrine was the establishment of an operational research team on the Director of Operations staff.79 The purpose of this team was 'to analyse incidents and contacts and extract from them not only statistics and patterns, but lessons to be applied in future operations'.8o The Scientific Adviser to the Commander-in-Chief Far East Land Forces had under him four small sections. These were: Operational Research Section (Malaya) consisting of two officers and some NCOs; Operational Research Section (Psychological Warfare)

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which had two civilian officers, clerical staff and Chinese interpreters; Operational Research Section (Korea) with two officers attached tu the British brigade in Korea; and two officers and supporting staff formed the Operational Research Section (FARELF).81 It was ORS (Malaya) which most concerned itself with tactical matters. The primary source of the section's data came from a new patrol report called Form ZZ. Form ZZ was written by the commander of every patrol that made contact with the enemy, and included a sketch map of the contact. Information supplied by the patrol commander included: who saw whom; who fired first; with what weapon; at what range; action taken by the CTs and the patrol; location and set-up of the CT camp, etc. 82 It is difficult to discern if any of the scores of memoranda put out by the ORS (Malaya) were subsequently incorporated into either the FTC curriculum or later editions of ATOM. 83 The head of the OR sections in FARELF, David Pike, states operational research showed that the size of patrols was generally too large (often as many as 18 men). The exigencies of the jungle and CT habits meant only the first and last man in a patrol ever got to use their weapons; the rest were little more than potential targets. 84 There is some evidence that battalions discovered this same fact and were covering more area using a larger number of smaller patrols. 85 ORS also produced general statistical and forecast data - e.g., it took roughly 1,800 hours of patrolling to net one CT - and information for optimising ambushes and attacks on CT camps.86 In some of the firsthand accounts it appears that suggested techniques - such as following streams to look for camps - were followed, but in no case is this ever attributed to operations research. In several instances, however, reference is made to the successful employment of drills learnt at the FTC and incorporated into ATOM. 87 The importance of marksmanship is a recurring theme in many of the reports, as the CTs offered only fleeting targets which placed a premium on a quick, aimed, first shot. This theme surfaces in the prefaces to all three editions of ATOM, in which Templer exhorts the troops to improve their marksmanship and improve the contact-to-kill ratio. Derivative information from Form ZZ and daily patrol reports was used in one very important way: to create logs that could be used by battalion intelligence officers to discern patterns and locations of CT activity within a particular district. From this information the military intelligence officer could deduce the probable positions of CT camps or of avenues of travel in the jungle, in essence becoming his own operations research cell. 88

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Conclusion

Within a very brief period from the beginning of the Emergency in June 1948, British military authorities in Malaya took measures to go after the MRLA in the jungle. Although initially forced into an operational strategy consisting mostly of large-sweeps in the absence of good intelligence, tactically the Army reverted to tried and tested methods of jungle patrolling and ambushing learned primarily from fighting the Japanese in Burma. This is seen from Walker's use of military training pamphlets prepared for Burma. Along with Walker's own Burma experience and that gleaned from Ferret Force, the MTPs formed the basis of the curriculum at the FTC. Most infantry units discovered that it was the small-scale patrolling and ambushing which yielded the best results and eventually constant patrolling and ambushing, combined with increased intelligence in conjunction with food denial operations broke the back of the insurgency. There were no major changes in tactics and the only innovative methods introduced were tree-jumping by the SAS and the use of helicopters. With Templer, a flurry of activity on the tactical level matched that at the political, strategic and operational levels. A manual was produced, ATOM, that was based almost exclusively upon Walker's curriculum at the FTC. Widely disseminated, sought after, and emulated, ATOM may well have been the first case of a manual being issued by the British during a counter-insurgency. Templer also introduced operational research as a permanent fixture to the campaign. Although the precise effect of operations research on tactical doctrine appears to have been limited, the Operational Research Section's work produced some interesting observations about the effectiveness of different weapons, methods, and techniques. It also was a furtl;ler sign of Templer's insistence on the gathering and exploitation of intelligence as a primary weapon against the insurgency. Patrolling and ambushing remained the key elements of the tactical doctrine in Malaya, but these were based upon 'time-honoured methods'. The major difference between the Malayan campaign and, say, the Moplah or Burmese rebellions, was that in Malaya a specialised training school and a written manual, based upon experience, was promulgated and disseminated at the time. Basic methods of patrolling, ambushing, and using contact reports for intelligence were disseminated not just to British forces in other theatres, but also to Commonwealth countries that trained and fought in Malaya. 89 This is reflected in Australian, South African and Rhodesian manuals of the 1960s and 1970s. For example, the Australian manual Patrolling and Tracking

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calls for detailed patrol reports 'with systematic recording of patrol infonnation extracted from patrol reports' monitored on a map and maintained by the intelligence section. With a few adaptations, both ATOM and Form ZZ patrol contact reports formed the basis of Rhodesian counter-insurgency doctrine. The locally modified methods were subsequently taught by the Rhodesians to the South Africans and Portuguese. 90 The immediate legacy of creating a formal tactical doctrine was seen less than three years after the end of the Emergency. In the undeclared war in Borneo between Britain and Indonesia known as 'Confrontation' (1963-66), the first Director of Operations relied heavily on ATOM and the FIC in drawing up the winning strategy.91 The Director of Borneo Operations was none other than Major-General WaIter Walker. Why was Malaya the time and place all these improvements occurred? First, the innovations were part of a general pattern of development in the British armed forces wherein the use of intelligence and scientific analysis were retained on a permanent basis and integrated into planning and operations. 92 Second, Templer's appointment as Director of Operations in 1952 was fortuitous in that his extensive exposure to both intelligence and scientific analysis during the war had convinced him of their utility. He applied what he so learned to the Malayan situation. Finally, the jungle itself lent itself particularly well to fostering British counter-insurgency doctrine. Terrain, climate, and the insurgents's tactics all required troops to operate in small units for extended periods often without benefit of communications. Although artillery and aerial bombardment were used against discrete targets, of necessity the most useful weapons were infantry small arms. The principle of minimum force was enforced by the fact that targets were few and fleeting. Jllese circumstances placed an enormous burden on junior officers and NCOs with a concomitant need for tactical flexibility - what Mockaitis identified as the 'highly decentralized, small-unit approach to combating irregulars' .93 It is this last point which has been the hallmark of British counter-insurgency and peace operations ever since. NOTES [The author wishes to express his gratitude to the Trustees of the Liddell Hart Centre for Military Archives for permission to quote from papers held in the Liddell Hart Centre for Military Archives.] l. Thomas R. Mockaitis, British Counter-Insurgency, 1919- 1960 (NY: St Martin's Press, 1990), pp.13-14.

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2. Ibid., p.l13. 3. Ibid. 4. Charles E. Callwell, Small Wars: A Tactical Textbookfor Imperial Soldiers (London: Greenhill Books, 1990, reprint of 1906 ed.), chapter on 'Bush Warfare,' pp.34873. 5. Callwell, p.355. The seeming paradox between Callwell's perception of jungle warfare principles and tactics and his advocation of old-fashioned square formations is explained by the actions of the enemies for which such a formation was prescribed - the poorly armed native who tended to rush the British forces. In the jungle, though, Call well states that the predominant tactic of an opponent is to fire a volley at fairly short range and to make good his escape. 6. 'As more Indian troops saw service overseas [aJ ... detailed, general training manual suited to "savage" campaigns was published widening the scope from just frontier operations to bush warfare outside of India' [i.e, Frontier Warfare and Bush Fighting 1906 (Calcutta, 1906)J. Tim Moreman, 'The British and Indian Armies and North-West Frontier Warfare, 1849-1914', Journal of Imperial and Commonwealth History 2011 (Jan. 1992), pp.57-9. 7. The Moplahs are a chiefly Muslim people who live on the Malabar coast of India in a hilly, jungle-covered area of the Nilgirri Hills. 8. Brig.-Gen. 1. Evatt, DSO, Historical Record of the 39th Royal Garhwal Rifles; VoU, 1887-1922 (Aldershot: Gale & Polden, 1922), pp.126-30; Lt.-Col. P. Chaudhury, 9 Gurkha Rifles: A Regimental History 1817-1947 (New Delhi: Vision Books, 1984), p.100. 9. Maj.-Gen. Sir Charles W. Gwynne, Imperial Policing (London: MacMillan, 1939, 2nd ed.), pp.31O-30. . 10. Mockaitis (note 1), p.188-9. 11 . Frank Kitson, Low Intensity Operations: Subversion, Insurgency, Peacekeeping (Hamden, CT: Archon Books, 1974), p.I77. . 12. Maj.-Gen. S. Woodbum Kirby, et at, The War Against Japan; Volume II: India's Most Dangerous Hour (London: HMSO, 1958), Appendix 2, 'The State of Training of brigades forming 11 th Indian Infantry Division in December 1941', pA41. 13. In Kirby, War Against Japan, Appendix 2, p.440, Brigadier Ballentine wrote that 'during the six months July to December 1941, each battalion threw off some 250 men, culminating in their sending, on the point of departure for Malaya, 45 VCOs [Viceroy Commissioned OfficersJ, NCOs and potential NCOs to form their respective training companies at the training centres.' 14. FM Sir William Slim, Defeat Into Victory (London: Cassell, 1956), p.1l8; cf, Kirby, War Against Japan, Vol.II, Appendix 2, pA40. 15. Brig. I. MacA. Stewart, History of the Argyll & Sutherland Highlanders 2nd Battalion (The Thin Red Line), Malayan Campaign 1941-42 (London : Thomas Nelson, 1947), pp.I-7. It should be noted that, like most of the hapless troops of 11th Indian Infantry Division in the Malaya campaign, the 2/A&SH were outflanked at a roadblock by the Japanese on at least one occasioIl. 16. Ibid., p.3. 17. Ibid. 18. Ibid., pA. 19. Slim, Defeat into Victory, p.32. 20. Ibid., p.142. 21. Ibid., p.542. 22. Kirby, War Against Japan, Vol.II, pp.385-7, 389-90. 23. In his Battlefor Burma (NY: Holmes & Meier, 1979), E.D. Smith quotes the official history as saying that 'By the end of 1944, jungle warfare became respectable in training manuals' (p.174) 24. Great Britain, War Office, Military Training Pamphlet No.51, Preparation for Warfare in the Far East, June 1945, 2nd ed. (MTP No.51); Great Britain, War

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25. 26. 27. 28.

29.

30.

31. 32. 33.

34. 35. 36. 37.

38. 39.

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Office, Military Training Pamphlet No.52, Waifare in the Far East, 1944 (MTP No.52). Lt.-Gen. Sir William Slim, 'Jungle Fighting in Burma' , Appendix B to MTP No.51, p.33. Slim, 'Jungle Fighting', p.34. MTP No.51, p.lO. The weapons of a section (about 8 men) in the British Army in Burma included the bolt-action No.J Mk.llI* Lee-Enfield rifle, submachine-guns ('Tommy' gun, Sten gun, or Owen gun), grenades, and the section support weapon, the Bren light machine-gun. A shorter, jungle carbine version of the Lee-Enfield was introduced late in the war for use in Burma, and became the standard rifle in Malaya. Denis Sheil-Small, Green Shadows: A Gurkha Story (London: Kimber, 1982), pAl; Bryan Perrett, in Canopy of War: Jungle waifare, from the earliest days of forest fighting to the battlefields of Vietnam (Wellingborough, Northants: Patrick Stephens, 1990), states that the [(a)] school was set up at Gudalore in the Nilgari Hills. MTP No.51, p.20. If the Japanese detected a routine in the use of phosphorous or a particular colour of smoke for signalling supply aircraft, the Japanese would use their own smoke to misdirect the drops, just as the Vietcong and NVA were to do against the Americans in Vietnam 20 years later. For a detailed discussion of the 'opt', see Lt.-Col. John P. Cross, In Gurkha Company (London: Arms & Armour Press, 1986), pp.I6-22. E.D. Smith, Counter Insurgency Campaigns: I , Malaya and Borneo (London: Ian AIlan, 1985), p.25. Anthonx Short, The Communist Insurrection in Malaya, 1948-1960 (London: Frederick Muller, 1975), ppA5-49. British intelligence believed that the timing for the Malayan uprising had been spawned at this conference. Public Records Office (hereinafter PRO) Will" Office (hereinafter WO) 208/3931 GHQ FARELF correspondence with MI2, 1949-1950. Michael Carver, War Since 1945 (NY: Putnam's, 1981), p.17. Carver, War Since 1945, p.18. Sir Robert Thompson, 'Emergency in Malaya,' in Sir Robert Thompson, (ed.) War in Peace (NY: Harmony Books, 1982), p.88. John Coates, Suppressing Insurgency: An Analysis of the Malayan Emergency, 1948-1954 (Boulder, CO: Westview Press, 1992), p.50. Coates states that mines were 'used to harass the security forces on less than a dozen occasions in twelve years' . (p.50) In only one instance have I found a mention of booby traps in a firsthand account of the campaign, and none of mines. See Charles Alien, The Savage Wars of Peace: Soldiers' Voices 1945-1989 (London: Michael Joseph, 1990), p.2l , where Philip Longbon, an other rank in the Devonshire Regt. in 1949-50 calls the Communist Terrorist a w ' onderful booby-trap merchant. He used what we called a chola branch, which was a water vine with spikes, and bamboo stakes in the ground with razor-sharp edges [i.e., panjis] that would give you a terrible wound.' Short (note 33), p.321. One of the ironies of the Malayan campaign was the fact that not only had the British supplied the Communist Terrorists with many of their weapons (the rest consisting primarily of captured Japanese origin) in their joint struggle against the Japanese, but in some cases had also helped train members of the predominantly Chinese MCP. Chin Peng, for instance, was among the students at Special Training School No.lOI (STS No.lOl) in Singapore. Set up just prior to the Japanese invasion, STS 101 trained Europeans and Chinese in guerrilla warfare and sabotage with the intention of .staying in Malaya should the Japanese take over. See F. Spencer Chapman, The Jungle is Neutral (NY: Norton & Co., 1949). Chapman helped run STS No.lOl and later operated behind the lines in Malaya with the Malayan People's Anti-Japanese Army (MPAJA - the predecessor of the MRLA).

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40. Rubber estates and tin mines covered approximately 15 per cent of the land, and because the Communist Terrorists (CTs) contacted workers in the estates, skirmishes occurred in such terrain. The plantations were not adequate for hiding camps, though, and hunting down CTs required going into the jungle that began at the edges of these estates. 41. Chapman (note 39), p.125. 42. MacA. Stewart (note 15), p.2. 43. Chapman (note 39), p.126. 44. Lt.-Col. Rowland S.N. Mans, MBE, 'Jungle Patrolling', Marine Corps Gazette, Vo1.47 (March 1963), p.47. 45. Gregory Blaxland, The Regiments Depart (London: Kimber, 1971), pp.81-2; There were supposed to be 20 operational units of 15 men each, organized into six groups. The make-up of the units included men fluent in a local language, Dyak trackers from Borneo, Malay policemen, liaison officers, and Gurkha soldiers. Short (note 33), pp.132-3; Coates (note 37), pp.146-8. 46. AlIen (note 37), p.12; interview by author of Gen. Sir Walter Walker, KCB, DSO, in Dorset (20 Jan. 1993); cf. Tom Pocock, Fighting General: The Public and Private Campaigns of General Sir Waiter Walker (London: Collins, 1973), pp.87-8. 47. PRO/WO 208/3931 Letter from Lt.-Col. H.N. Blair, the Black Watch, GSO 1 (Int) GHQ FARELF, to Lt.-Col. c.H. Tarver, DSO, M12, War Office, London dated 31 Aug. 1948. A similar letter, dated 17 Sept. 1948, states thatFARELF believed that Ferret Force was having 'a most salutary effect on the terrorists who dislike them intensely because, according to a terrorist announcement, they probe too deep and stay too long.' 48. Coates (note 37), p.147. It is my contention, not Coates's (though he may agree) that Walker was responsible for most of the tactical standard operating procedures adopted by Ferret Force. See Pocock (note 46) on Walker's training methods for Ferret Force, pp.86-7. 49. This aspect had a parallel in Israeli Unit 101, which in 1953 developed valuable techniques later incorporated by Israeli paratroopers. See Eliot A. Cohen, Commandos and Politicians, p.24. Similarly, the first Chindit operation also served as a proving ground for jungle warfare doctrine. As already mentioned, the entire army in the Burma-India theatre adapted lessons drawn from the 'Special Force' as per the recommendation of the Infantry Committee, India. Smith notes that ex-Chindits ran the jungle warfare courses in India, see Battle for Burma (note 23), pp. lO, 175. 50. Walker interview (note 46); PRO/WO 268/116, Quarterly Historical Reports, . FARELF Training Centre, Quarter Ending March 1949_ A few years later the school V'y'as moved to Kota Tinggi, where it still exists today as a Malaysian training schooL The .British eventually set up a new Jungle Warfare School in Brunei. See PRO/WO 231/~8 'Notes of a Conference Held by GOC at Malaya District on 11 July 1950', Appendix 'A,' pp.8-9; Lt.-CoL John P. Cross, Jungle Warfare: Experience and Encounters (London: Arms & Armour Press, 1989) pp.182-5 . 51. PRO/WO 268/116 FTC Quarterly Historical Reports. 52. PRO/WO 268/116, FTC Quarterly Reports, Quarter Ending March 1949, p.2. 53. This occurred in the last quarter of 1949. See WO 268/116, FTC Quarterly Report Ending Dec. 1949. Walker relinquished command of the FTC in Nov., handing over command to Lt.-CoL J.H. Law, Cameronians. 54. In the first quarter of 1949, for example, a course was run for officers of the Siamese armed forces and Siamese Police (PRO/WO 268/116). Later, courses would be run for others as well, including contingents from the Army of the Republic of Vietnam (ARVN) - see Cross, Jungle Warfare, pp.107, 182. 55. Walker interview (note 46). 56. See, e.g., Richard Miers, Shoot to Kill (London: Faber, 1959), p.3l, on the cadre and battalion training of the South Wales Borderers, and Lt.-CoL Rowland S.N. Mans,

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57. 58. 59.

60.

61.

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MBE, 'The Ambush', Marine Corps Gazette, Vo1.47 (Feb. 1963), p.40, on his training experience as a rifle company commander. Walker interview (note 46). Riley Sunderland, Army Operations in Malaya, 1947-1960 (Santa Monica, CA: RAND Corp., 1962), pA5. 'Many students', wrote Walker in his appraisal of the first report on the FfC, 'have stated that they did not know that the basis of all trg in the jungle is for a sec to work in 3 gps. This simple battle-craft org is admirably fitted for all types of fighting for it gives three echelons:' (i) A recce or scout element; (ii) A gp of supporting fire (Bren); (iii) A gp of riflemen, or stens (reserve).' (PRO/WO 268/116 FIC 1st Quarterly Historical Report, p.3) This structure, presumably adopted in Bunna, is reminiscent ofthe small 'Tiger' patrols used by the 2/A&SH in Malaya in 1941--42. See MacA. Stewart (note 15), p.3. See, e.g., Mans, 'The Ambush' (note 56), pAO, in which he states 'our predecessors [at the FIC] had in fact killed a CT on their final training patrol.' An Australian patrol exercise made contact with a CT accompanied by a dog in which the latter was wounded(!). Lt.-Col. James Molan, 'The Malayan Emergency: Malaya, 1955-1960' in David Homer (ed.), Duty First: The Royal Australian Regiment in War and Peace (Sydney: Allen & Unwin, 1990), p.113. The use of dogs does not seem to have enjoyed much success, yet it remained a fixture of operations throughout most of the campaign. Miers (note 56) claims that dogs sometimes couldn't even follow 'obvious visual [CT] trails' (pp. 101--4); Maj. Oldfield was even more condemnatory: The addition of war dogs as an ancillary weapon in no way balanced the loss of trained soldiers. Though highly trained in combat and pursuit and completely fearless, these dogs suffered from an incurable lack of discrimination, and would chase any running man regardless of his politics or business. So it was that in the early stages of their employment it was the Bn who suffered more casualties than did the enemy. These dogs were first and foremost an opportunity weapon, and as such the difficulty was to have them and their handlers in the right place at the right time. [(Maj. J.B. Oldfield, The Green Howards in Malaya (1942-1952); The Story of a Post-war Tour of Duty by a Battalion of the Line (Aldershot: Gale and Polden, 1953), pp.107-8)].

62. 63. 64. 65. 66.

Iban and Dyak headhunters from Sarawak were brought in early on as trackers and small groups were pennanently attached to each battalion, proving quite popular with the British troops (Miers, note 56, p.104). Later, after enough British tracker teams had been trained at the FIC, the Ibans and Dyaks were fonned into a single unit called the Sarawak ·Rangers. From the start, however, the Gurkhas preferred to use their own men. Having grown up in a country where tracking animals was essential for survival, Gurkha troops were - and are - extremely sensitive to their surroundings, whatever environment it may be (Walker interview, note 46). This work was later incorporated into G (Operational Requirements & Analysis) Branch of HQ FARELF. PRO/WO 231/38, pp.5--6. PRO/WO 231/38, comments of Brig. Dunbar, p.8. For infonnation on the refonning of the SAS, see Tony Geraghty, Inside the Special Air Service (NY: Methuen, 1980), pp.25-9, and John Strawson, A History of the SAS. Regiment (London: Seeker & Warburg, 1984), pp.154-9. Helicopters became increasingly important as larger, more powerful types were introduced. The first helicopters (S-51 'Dragonfly') in the theatre were small and their lifting capability and flying hours severely limited by the humidity and turbulent monsoon weather. Use was restricted mostly to casualty evacuation (CASEV AC in British military jargon), transport of senior officers, and removal of dead CTs for identification. The latter function was particularly welcome by the troops, who otherwise had to carry out the dead bodies - not a pleasant task in a hot,

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67. 68. 69. 70. 71. 72. 73.

74. 75.

76.

77. 78.

79. 80. 81. 82.

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humid climate. In 1952 Britain received under the US Mutual Defense Assistance Program 10 Sikorsky S-55s which later went to Malaya as part of No.848 Royal Navy Sqn. The S-55. could carry ten men which made them useful for tactical work. (Lt.-Cdr. Trevor Blore, RNVR, 'The Queen's Copters', Marine Corps Gazette, Vo1.38 (July 1954), p.54; Smith, p.35; Air Headquarters, Royal Air Force, Malaya, Singapore, 'Report on the Performance Trials of the S.55 Helicopter in Malaya', 9 March 1953, copy in Stockwell Papers). Miers, South Wales Borderers (SWB) in Malaya, describes in Shoot to Kill his work with Lt.-Cdr. Stanley, CO 848 Squadron, in developing a tactical use of helicopters wherein large numbers of troops were ferried to cut-off CTs in conjunction with well-planned, rehearsed attacks on CT camps (Miers, note 56, pp. 112, 117ff., 147-8. Ch. 10 is devoted to the SWB's work with 848 Sqn.). Improvements in lowering gear were made over time; see Strawson, History of the SAS Regiment (note 65), pp.285-6. Lofty Large, One Man's SAS (London: Kimber, 1987), p.22; The three fatalities resulted from a malfunction of the abseiling gear. Strawson (note 65), p.286; Geraghty, Inside the Special Air Service (note 65), p.30. PROIWO 231/38 , p.9. PROIWO 231138, p.9. Gen. Sir Gerald Templer, in his foreword to the 1st ed. of The Conduct ofAlltiTerrorist Operations in Malaya (Kuala Lumpur: GHQ Malaya, 1952). John Cloake, Templer. TIger of Malaya: The Life of Field-Marshal Sir Gerald Templer (London: Harrap, 1985), p.242; 'jungle greens' were what British soldiers called the combat fatigues with which they were issued in Malaya. Walker interview; letter from Walker to author, dated 12 Feb. 1993; for some insight as to the effectiveness of Walker's command of 116 GR, see Liddell Hart Archives, King's College London (hereinafter LHA) Stockwell Papers 7/4, 'GOC MALAYA - DWEC Courses', Letter from Lt.-Col. W.c. Walker ... to Col. c.c. Graham, DSO, OBE, Brigade of Gurkhas, Ref 3735/0ps/9, dated 12 July 1952; cf., Charles Messenger, The Steadfast Gurkha: Historical Record of 6th Queen Elizabeth's Own Gurkha Rifles, Vol.3 1948-1982 (London: Leo Cooper, 1985), pp.25, 27-34, and Pocock (note 46), pp.90-9. Letter from Walker to author, dated 12 Feb. 1993. Cloake (note 72), p.242; apparently it was a publication difficult to obtain outside of Malaya. In one case, a battalion commander of the Royal Australian Regiment, having been alerted for service in Malaya, sent a staff officer from Australia to Malaya specifically to obtain copies of ATOM to prepare better for his unit's impending tour. Discussion with Dr Peter Dennis, Australian Official Historian for the Malayan Emergency, Australian Defence Force Academy, Canberra, 25 March 1993. Lt-Gen. Sir Geoffrey Boume' s (Director of Operations after Templer) preface to the 2nd ed. (1954); cf. Henniker, p.298, and Oldfield (note 61), pp.25--6, 46, 107, 113 on the substantial manpower necessary to keep a National Service battalion trained. Cloake (note 72), p.242. PROIWO 2761159, Letter from Gen. Sir George Erksine to GHQ FARELF, 11 Aug. 1953, cited in Mockaitis (note 1), p.184. It was the CIGS FM Sir John Harding, former C-in-C FARELF, who brought ATOM to the attention of Erskine during a visit by the former to Kenya. Cloake (note 72), p.242. Ibid. Letter to author from David F. Bayly Pike, Scientific Adviser to the C-in-C F ARELF, 1953-56, dated 4 Sep. 1993. Cross, In Gurkha Company (note 3), p.51 ; Oldfield (note 61), pp.128-9; the text of a Form ZZ patrol report is reproduced in ibid., pp. 129-3 1.

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83, One historian has suggested that the most likely venue for tactical operations research would have been in what were called 'Notes and Information on Training Matters', or NITM. The NITM was an irregularly-issued, short training bulletin that was usually anecdotal and didactic in nature (conversation with Dr David Charters, Director of the Centre for Conflict Studies, Univ. of New Brunswick, I1 May 1993). Although he claims the passage of time has clouded his memory somewhat, David Pike thinks that there was a relationship between the work of his sections and the NITMs, as well as with the later editions of ATOM. Letter to the author, dated 8 Jan. 1994. 84. Pike letter, 4 Sept. 1993. 85. Oldfield (note 61), p.20; Coates (note 37), pp.159-60. 86. Operations Research Memoranda, 1952-54, in LHNStockwell Papers, 7/4; Miers (note 56), pp.149-50; Pike letter (note 81), 4 Sept. 1993. 87. Imperial War Museum 86/3/1, Papers of Major I. S. Gibb, 1st Seaforths, typed memoirs entitled 'A Walk in the Forest: being an account of the experiences of a junior army officer in South East Asia from 1945 to 1950', pp.96-7; Mans, 'Jungle Patrolling' (note 44), p.48; Miers (note 56), pp.46-7 , 121-2. This would not be surprising to Walker, who when asked if he ever used operations research material in preparing ATOM or in any other instance, replied 'Not really because I had produced it [information on lessons learnt] in the first place' (Walker interview). 88. Miers (note 56), pp.43, 197-8, 200. 89. See, e.g., Australian Military Forces, Patrolling and Tracking, n.d., esp. p.59, which calls for detailed patrol reports; South Africa, Anti-Terrorist Operations Manual (Boulder, CO: Paladin Press repr. 1986); Rhodesia, Rhodesian SAS Combat Manual (Sims, AK: Lancer repr., 1981). 'c' Squadron, Rhodesian SAS was raised for, and initially served in, Malaya. 90. Letter to author from Lt.-Gen. R.F. Reid-Daly, dated 13 Oct. 1993. Reid-Daly served in the Rhodesian SAS squadron that served in Malaya. He later rose to command the Rhodesian SAS. See also A.J. Venter, 'War in Rhodesia: An Exclusive Interview with Lt.-Gen. G.P. Walls, OLM, MBE, Commander Rhodesian Army', Soldier of Fortune, Fall 1976, pp.21-2. 91. Pocock (note 46), p.137; Julian Thompson, Ready for Anything: The Parachute Regiment at War, 1940-1982 (London: Weidenfeld, 1989), pp.298-9. Lt.-Col. (later Maj.-Gen.) Eberhardie, CO 2 Para in Borneo, disagreed with some of the tactical instruction, but by and large most British units in Borneo followed the tactics taught at the Jungle Watfare School in Brunei. 92. Peter Gudgin, Military Intelligence: The British Story (London: Arms & Armour Press, 1989), Chs. 2 and 3; passages about the office of the Chief Scientific Adviser in Bill Jackson and Dwin Bramall, The Chiefs: The Story of the United Kingdom Chiefs of Staff (Washington, DC: Brassey's, 1992); Terry Copp, 'Scientists and the Art of War: Operational Research in 21 Army Group', RUSI Journal 136/4 (Winter 1991), pp.65-9. 93. Mockaitis (note 1), p.14.

[3] CLARET Operations and Confrontation, 1964-1966

by Raffi Gregorian During the period 1963 to 1966, Britain fought an undeclared war against Indonesia in the jungles of Borneo. The war was over Indonesia's political and military effort to destabilize the newly-formed Federation of Malaysia with the purpose of annexing Sarawak:, Sabah and Brunei. As expressed by the Indonesian president, Achmed Sukarno, this policy was called Konfrontasi, or 'Confrontation.' British and Commonwealth forces fought a highly successful campaign against Indonesian incursions into Borneo (East Malaysia), Malaya (West Malaysia) and Singapore. Although unknown to the public at the time, the British and Commonwealth forces went onto the offensive in Borneo from August 1964 until three months before the formal cessation of hostilities on 11 August 1966. The offensive took the form of top secret, cross-border operations and raids code-named CLARET, and proved to be an integral factor in the successful conclusion of the military campaign. It would be specious to credit Sukarno's fall from power in March 1966 solely to the military failure of Confrontation. It is equally specious to ascribe this fall only to domestic reasons. I Knowledge of CLARET helps to bridge the gap between these two schools of thought. CLARET was a politico-military tool employed in response as much to political situations as it was to military ones; This article will examine in some detail the circumstances which made CLARET a necessity, the political nature and extent of the operations, and its sensitivity to political changes.

THE ROOTS OF CONFRONTATION Field Marshall The Lord Bramall, who commanded a British battalion during the campaign, calls Confrontation "the war. that shouldn't have happened.''2 His rationale is that since Malays, Borneans and Indonesians have so much in common there was no need for any kind of conflict. Like many others, Bramall places the blame for Confrontation squarely on the shoulders of President Su~arno ofIndonesia.3 Sukarno carried out a policy of confrontation not only against the nascent Federation of Malaysia but with all of the polities he considered to be "Necolirns."4 The progression of his policy resulted in an eventual cessation of much-needed foreign aid from the United States, alignment with the People's Republic of China, withdrawal from the United Nations, runaway inflation, expansive political turmoil in Indonesia and, of course, Confrontation with Malaysia and its allies Great Britain, Australia and New Zealand. Sukarno's reasons for Confrontation were varied and complex and this article is not directly concerned with them. However, a little background is necessary to understand how and why CLARET came to be. British commit-

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Conflict Quarterly ment to Malaysia during Confrontation had its roots in the Malayan Emergency of 1948-1960. In 1957, during the latter stages of the Emergency, the British signed treaties which committed them to the defense of their soon-to-beindependent colonies of Malaya and Singapore. In 1959, the same was done for the protectorate of Brunei. Wishing to assure a racial balance between predominantly Chinese Singapore and the Malays of the surrounding colonies, and to create a stable polity following independence, Britain initiated a drive to federate Singapore with the Malayan states, Brunei, Sabah and Sarawak. The British were further committed to the area through their participation in the Southeast Asia Treaty Organization (SEATO), which it joined in 1954. And in addition to these "compelling moral and political reasons for a British presence," there was also pressure from the United States to maintain deployments east of Suez.s Thus, during Confrontation the British government's "strategic gaze was finnly fIxed outside Europe and especially east of Suez."6 Defense resources allocated east of Suez did not keep pace with the increasingly important commitments to the area. The Sandys Defence White Paper of 1957, which was to lead to Britain's increased reliance on a nuclear deterrent, resulted in the end of national service and the re-birth of a highly professional, but much smaller, regular army. Despite the increased quality of the all-volunteer force, it was stretched to its numerical limits during the mid1960s, especially by commitments in South Arabia and Borneo. "Of the Army's 60 battalions, more than 24 were committed to overseas operations, and 20 to the Rhine Army."? There is little wonder, then, that when the Director of Borneo ~9Perations (DOBOPS) requested troops and helicopters during the fIrst 24 months of the campaign, Whitehall found it difficult to comply. There is some reason to suspect, therefore, that Sukanio believed the British were unable or unwilling (or both) to provide security for the fledgling Federation of Malaysia. Plans and announcements for the creation of a federation of Malay states with Borneo, Brunei, Singapore and Sabah were made well before Sukarno advanced any opposition to the plan. His interest in disrupting Malaysia only manifested itself after the Indonesian campaign to oust the Dutch from West !rian came to a successful conclusion toward the end of 1962. There was little coincidence between the end of the one campaign and the beginning of the next, both of which were similar in the "Indonesian ambivalence between' diplomacy and struggle' as the twin poles ofpolicy."8 Sukamo claimed that Malaysia was a neo-colonial dupe of Great Britain. Although he was very much an anti-imperialist, there were also elements of megalomania in Sukarno's pursuit of 'Maphilindo,' an acronym referring to a conglomeration of Malaya, the Philippines and Indonesia which would, of course, be ruled from Jakarta and its president for life, Achmed Sukarno. The British-sponsored Federation of Malaysia and a continued British presence because of SEATO and other commitments thus posed a threat to Indonesian hegemony of the area. Besides his revolutionary tenets and his desire for control of the Malay and Philippine archipelagos, there was also an element of necessity in pursuing an adventurist and confrontational foreign policy which diverted attention from 47

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Winter 1991 domestic problems within Indonesia. Ironically, it was Sukarno who. created the economic muddle which Indonesia was to become over the next few years, as he associated more closely with the Indonesian Communist Party (PKI), cut off Indonesia from US aid and aligned the country on a 'Jakarta-Peking' axis. Sukarno's power was predicated on the need for an external enemy. This eventually became his undoing as Confrontation with Malaysia proved a failure. Unable to produce results abroad, having alienated his anti-communist generals, and with the economy a shambles, Sukarno eventually fell and Confrontation ended soon after. THE INITIAL BRITISH RESPONSE TO CONFRONTATION The Brunei Revolt, which broke out on 8 December 1962 with very little warning to the security forces, was aided and abetted by Indonesia, though its actual involvement probably did not go beyond the provision of training and materiel to the rebels.9 Nonetheless, it marked the beginning of a new poliCy toward the territories to the north of Kalimantan, the Indonesian section of Borneo. Even though the main part of the rebel force was defeated in a few weeks, remnants of the insurgency remained at large for several months before they were finally killed in the jungles around Brunei. During the manhunt which followed the revolt, Indonesia began to intensity its political and military attacks against Malaysian Borneo. The attacks were perpetrated by guerilla bands recruited from Borneo, Malaya and Singapore and leavened with leaders from the Indonesian Army (TNI) and Marine Corps (KKO). Major General Walter Walker, who was in command of the security forces tasked with the mopping-up of the rebels, believed that Indonesia was poised to play a much larger military role in Borneo. Indeed, even before Yassin Affendi, the military leader of the revolt was killed on 18 May 1963, Indonesia had already begun to step up its efforts to foment further uprisings in Borneo. On 12 April 1963, a party of men attacked the police station near Tebedu in the first division of Sarawak:. The security forces initially did not know who was responsible for the raid, although it was known that at least some of the raiders were members of the Clandestine Communist Organization (CCO), an arm of the predominantly Chinese Sarawak Communist Party. The specterof a repeat of the Malayan Emergency was likely in Walker's mind as he planned his response. As he had been a successful brigade commander in one of the Emergency's last and most effective operations, he was well suited to the task at hand. The pillars of his Borneo strategy ,drawn from his earlier experience in Malaya, were to win the 'hearts and minds' of the natives, maintain close liaison with civil and police powers and emphasize intelligence gathering.lO Shortly after the raid on Tebedu, evidence came to light indicating that the operation had been conducted by Indonesian soldiers. This obviously changed the nature of the threat to Borneo considerably. Walker believed the Indonesians' strategy to be the active support of dissidents within Sarawak. A report by the recently augmented Special Branch showed the CCO to be bigger

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Conflict Quarterly and stronger than originally thought earlier in the year. The CCO insurgents, who were stationed in Kalimantan and called Indonesian Border Terrorists (lBTs) by the security forces, were believed to number about 1,500 at this time. They were supported by an unknown number of Indonesian regulars, mostly concentrated opposite the First and Second Divisions of Sarawak. They even feared at one point that the Sultan of Brunei ' s bodyguard, the Brunei Regiment, might itself become the vanguard of a new insurgency . Walker's warnings to General Headquarters, Far Eastern Land Forces (FARELF) were now given heed and a few reinforcements were deployed from Singapore and Hong Kong to BorneoY A crackdown on the CCO was undertaken, and a surprise operation mounted to confiscate all 8,500 licensed guns in Borneo retrieved a full 8,000. 12 No doubt this helped to forestall any planned insurrection, but a significant internal threat remained along with a growing external threat in the form of deep incursions into Borneo from Kalimantan. The task of thwarting the incursions was enormous: there were only five battalions initially available to cover a frontier stretching for more than 1,000 miles - a land mass as large as England and Scotland. Indonesian raids into Borneo continued to increase over the summer of 1963 while the Prime Minister of Malaya,.Tunku Abdhul Rahman, attempted to reach a political agreement with Sukarno and the Philippines' PresidentMacapagal in Manila. At the same time, in August 1963, a large, uniformed force raided deep into the Third Division of Sarawak, near Song, and over a period of days were defeated by ambushes of the 2/6 Gurkha Rifles. Prisoners taken by the Gurkhas revealed that Indonesian regular army officers and non-commissioned officers provided the leadership for the force of lBTs. lBTs stepped-up their activity as the date for Malaysia's federation in September approached. On 16 September, Sarawak and Sabah became independent prior to joining the federation but Brunei opted to remain a British protectorate. On 28 September, the Indonesian response to federation was felt in the Third Division of Sarawak at the longhouse in Long Jawi where six men of the 1/2 Gurkha Rifles, three policemen and 21 Border Scouts were stationed. The latter were part of a force of natives recruited, trained, armed and uniformed to act as the 'eyes and ears' of the security forces in thelonghouses. This small party fell victim to a raiding party of approximately 200 Indonesians supported by 300 unarmed porters. The Indonesians had been in the lorighouse for two days before attacking, a fact which later led.to a restructuring of the Border Scouts. The Gurkhas held out by themselves, the rest were taken prisoner or killed. Five of the security forces' men were killed and seven of the Border Scouts, who had been taken prisoner by the Indonesians, were murdered. In a series of ambushes, the rest of 1/2 Gurkha Rifles were able to kill 33 of the raiders . and scatter"many more in the jungle, where they presumably died of starvation. 13 This raid had two important results, one of which was that the Indonesian murder of the Border ScoutS· alienated the natives in the border area and evaporated what little support the Indonesians had enjoyed up to that point. The

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Winter 1991 other result was that the Border Scouts were taken out of uniform and reorganized to stress an intelligence-gathering role. They carried on with their normal, peacetime occupations, which for many included cross-border barter trade. As such they became an extremely valuable intelligence source for CLARET and complemented well the reconnaissance tasks now being conducted by the 22nd Special Air Service Regiment (22 SAS) in the border areas.

THE SPECIAL AIR SERVICE IN BORNEO The SAS proved to be one of the winning elements of the military campaign in Borneo, and was an intrinsic part of later cross-border operations. The SAS had been reactivated during the Malayan Emergency, where its longrange reconnaissance, linguistic, 'hearts and minds' and raiding qualities came into their own. The successful conclusion of a short - albeit arduous campaign in Oman (1958-59) further proved the efficacy of the SAS's special skills. Because of its experience and training in special operations, signalling, medicine and linguistics, the regiment was admirably suited to its assigned tasks in Borneo. Troopers generally operated in patrols of four men and lived for months at a time in a particular village or longhouse, building a trust with the natives, as well as an 'eyes and ears' capability with the locals and Border Scouts. The result was that information was passed by the natives to the local SAS patrol, who then transmitted it to their squadron headquarters. This arrangement meant that the majority of Indonesian incursions were detected despite the paucity of troops. Armed with this border intelligence, and with the skilful use of a limited number of helicopters, the security forces were able to ambush raiders on their return to Kalimantan. SAS patrols' familiarity with areas near the border also meant that they were in the best position to conduct cross-border reconnaissances when finally authorized. Their role in CLARET became reconnoitering enemy bases and lines of communication, and then leading raiding or ambush parties to these targets. If contact was made when patrolling, the SAS's standing order was to 'shoot-and-scoot;' that is, to disengage as quickly as possible. In the early part of the campaign 22 SAS found themselves stretched very thinly indeed. With only one squadron in Borneo initially, and its value proven to Walker's satisfaction, measures were taken to train other units in the SAS role. The Guards Independent Parachute Company, the Gurkha Independent Parachute Company and 'C' Company, 2nd Battalion the Parachute Regiment, were all converted to the SAS role. Eventually SAS squadrons from Australia and New Zealand were also deployed in Bomeo. 14 By 1964, the investment that Walker had made in the 'hearts and minds' strategy began to pay substantial dividends in intelligence. The people were also reassured by the quick and effective response of the security forces to the attack at Long J awi. Once notified of the incursion, the Gurkhas were able to guess accurately at the likely withdrawal routes of the raiders and ambush them all the way back to the border using various helicopter landing zones (LZs) and 'roping

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Conflict Quarterly areas' which had been cut at 1,000 yard intervals along the frontier for that very purpose.

THE INDONESIAN INCURSIONS INCREASE In December 1963 two more large incursions occurred, one on the western end of Sarawak and the other in Sabah at Kalabakan. Men from the 3rd Battalion, Royal Malaysian Regiment, who had been sent to Borneo (now known as East Malaysia) following federation in September were stationed at Kalabakan. Because of poor security, one of their company positions was successfully assaulted by Indonesians. Although they fought back courageously, they lost heavily in the first burst of fire. The raiding party did not escape, however, and over the next few days more than two-thirds of their number - who turned out to be Indonesian marines (KKO) - were killed or captured by the security forces. 15 Although it was an embarrassing defeat for the Malaysians, the extent of the damage was down-played to keep Malaysian dignity intact; Malaysians now felt fully involved in the military side of Confrontation. 16 Even so, 1963 ended with the Indonesians holding the initiative, as they could still cross the border when and where they pleased. In January 1964 troops from the Royal Leicestershire Regiment operating in the Fifth Division of Sarawak discovered a recently vacated camp set up for 500 men. Following the tracks from the camp, a section of Leicesters came upon another camp with 60 men still in it. They immediately attacked, killing several of the enemy and putting the rest to flight. I? Other Indonesian activity of the period included Indonesian P-51 Mustangs and B-25 Mitchells 'buzzing' towns in Sarawak, and a thwarted attack on Kuching, the capital of Sarawak. On the political front, Sukamo announced a 'cease fire' in January, which was followed by a United Nations mission of enquiry to Borneo to see if the people of Sarawak and Sabah had really wanted to join the Federation of Malaysia. The mission concluded that they did, but Sukamo rejected its fmdings, even though the mission had been at his insistence. In response to the inimicable fmdings of the UN mission, the Indonesians increased their military activity and dramatically altered their tactics. Between March and May 1964, Indonesian agents or sympathizers set off 13 explosions in Singapore. On 6 March, men from the 2/10 Gurkha Rifles encountered elements of the 328 Raider Battalion, an Indonesian regular army unit. On the 31st of the same month, the 2/1 0 Gurkhas fought with a strong force from the 'Black Cobra Battalion,' another regular unit. Both episodes turned into fierce fire-fights, unlike previous encounters with mTs. In the latter case, SS-11 wire-guided missiles fued from helicopters were used to extricate the Indonesians from caves. 18 The Indonesians were now employing their best regular infantry, marines and paratroops as attacking units, mostly in company size, sometimes larger. 19 For the British forces, the conflict had changed from a platoon commander's war to a company commander's war, as evidenced by increased defenses for forward bases and the size of patrols needed to cover an area. 51

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In May, Sukarno increased the bellicosity of his words when, in a speech on National Resurrection Day, he summoned a nation-wide mobilization of "volunteers to fight Malaysia." In June another attempt to solve the conflict by diplomatic means failed in Tokyo, whereupon Sukarno then vowed to "crush Malaysia" by "cock-crow on the 1st of January 1965."20 His words were followed by actions which, over the next few months, seriously escalated the conflict, threatened open war, and eventually resulted in a new British strategy to respond to the growing threat. At about the same time that the Tokyo talks broke down, a large Indonesian force attacked a bivouacked patrol of the 1/6 Gurkha Rifles near Rasau, in the First Division. The Indonesians began "choosing known bases and helicopter LZs as their targets," signalling that they had changed their tactics. 21 In early July intelligence sources indicated that the Indonesians were sending reinforcements to those areas in Kalirnantan that fronted the First Division. On the other end of the frontier in the Tawau area of Sabah, a growing number of marine commandos were seen, amphibious landing exercises were reported, and the Indonesians tried to jam the security forces' wireless communications. CCO and Indonesian agents became more active in East and West Malaysia, but external acts of aggression dropped over all during July and early August. 22 Walker believed that major enemy activity was imminent. He was proven correct when, on 17 August, a combined force of guerrillas and Indonesian marines made a seaborne landing on the Johore coast of Malaya (West Malay·sia). Its objective was to link up with Chinese communists and other sympathizers, and begin a revolution. The Indonesians' assessment of the political situation in Malaya proved to be wildly inaccurate, as the local people actually helped the security forces to round up the insurgents. Nonetheless, the action could only be seen as a further escalation of Confrontation. The seaborne landing was followed by an airborne landing on 2 September, which was also successfully thwarted. On 4 September, violent race riots broke out, incited by Indonesian agent provocateurs.13

CLARET Most published sources that mention CLARET are ambiguous about when cross-border operations were first authorized. This is understandable since the most explicit sources are regimental histories which deal almost exclusively with the activity of a particular battalion's tour in Borneo. In Fighting General, Tom Pocockindicates that CLARET was not authorized until August 1964, after the first Indonesian incursion into West Malaysia. Pocock tied authorization for CLARET to a visit to Borneo by Fred Mulley, the Deputy Secretary of State for Defence and Army Minister in the summer of 1964. Walker supposedly convinced Mulley of the need for cross-border raids to keep the Indonesians off-balance. Mulley reportedly agreed with Walker, promising to pass on this information to Denis Healey, who had recently become Secretary of State for Defence. Presumably, Healey then raised the matter before the full Cabinet, which gave its assent based on the growing threat indicated by the seaborne landing and the Indonesian buildup opposite the First Division.24

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Conflict Quarterly However, in works published since Fighting General, evidence is given that SAS and Gurkha troops were operating across the border before August 1964, perhaps as early as Mayor June.25 In an article published in Australian Outlook, David Homer cites a cable sent in April 1964 from the then British Prime Minister, Sir Douglas Alee-Home, to the Australian Prime Minister, Sir Robert Menzies, informing the latter that "British and Malaysian security forces in Borneo were to be permitted to cross the Indonesian border in hot pursuit for a distance of up to 3,000 yards.''26 No doubt this authorization had been given in light of the presence of Indonesian regular units inside Borneo in March 1964. Clarification of the seeming contradiction betweenPocock' s and Dickens' version on the one hand, and Horner's on the other, comes from Major General R.W.L. McAlister, who tells of one company of the 2/10 Gurkha Rifles which was held as battalion reserve for 'special operations.' "Special operations was the [term] initially used to denote 'cross border' operations (later given the codeword CLARET). Great secrecy surrounded these operations; only the CO and one selected company per battalion were, at this time [c. July 1964], to be fully aware of special operations planning and execution.''27 The 'special operations' men may have been responsible for the relative lull in border incursions in July and August, as the ability to cross the border in 'hot pursuit,' combined with the extremely effective use of helicopters to move blocking forces rapidly made deep penetrations less and less likely to succeed. Indonesian activity before the seaborne landings in Malaya had been mostly confIned to "brief night raids or ambushes close to the border, mainly to support their claims that they were responding to requests for assistance from the local population.''28 CLARET was part of a new strategy designed to stop Indonesian incursions by forcing them onto the defensive. Policy-makers deemed that on no account was the public to know of this change in strategy, and so CLARET was conducted with the utmost secrecy. The nature of the first CLARET operations, which began in August 1964, were not at fIrst recognized by the Indonesians for what they were, but rather were seen, quite possibly, as "extensions of routine ambushing carried out a mile or two farther south" of a very ill-de(med border. "It is doubtful whether the Indonesians realized they were seeing the beginning of a new Commonwealth strategy," as their staff structure and communications were relatively poor and unable to construe any coherence to the activity.29 Cross-border raids of an offensive nature was the true purpose of CLARET. 'Hot-pursuit' does not fall into that category. Raids on enemy targets inside Kalimantan appear not to have started until after the seaborne landing of 17 August; but the SAS, and perhaps the 'special operations' companies, had already been conducting reconnaissances of possible targets throughout the spring and summer of 1964. When the Indonesian landings in Malaya occurred, the security forces were able to conduct appropriate retaliatory raids almost immediately.' Even so, the pace of operations was relatively slow throughout the autumn and winter of 1964-65, as Walker insisted on thorough reconnaissance and planning before he would even consider a raid. Even then the Director of Operations confmed CLARET raids to a stringent set of restrictions which he

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Winter 1991 drew up in order to ensure secrecy and effectiveness. Known as the 'Golden Rules,' they were: -

Every operation will be authorized by DOBOPS. Only trained and tested troops will be used. Depth of penetration must be limited and the attacks must only be made to thwart offensive action by the enemy. - No air support will be given to any operation across the border, except in the most extreme of emergencies. - Every operation must be planned with the aid of a sand table and thoroughly rehearsed for at least two weeks. - Each operation will be planned and executed with maximum security. Every man taking part must be sworn to secrecy, full cover plans must be made and the operations to be given code-names and never discussed in detail on telephone or radio. Identity discs must be left behind before departure and no traces - such as cartridge cases, paper, ration packs, etc. - must be left in Kalimantan. - On no account must any soldier taking part be captured by the enemy - alive or dead. 30

The Golden Rules were faithfully followed. Available sources indiqate that operations followed months of reconnoitering, planning and rehearsing every possible detail, including fields of fire for machine-guns, silent plotting for artillery and mortar fire, approach routes, etc. The degree to which all crossborder operations were subject to high-level review and approval was remarkable. "Reconnaissance patrols were to be decided by the brigade commander, who would notify [the division commander], but other cross-border operations were to be determined by the Director of Borneo Operations on the basis of recommendations from [the division commander] and his brigade commanders, on SAS advice, and on intelligence available."3l Since no soldiers, alive or dead, were to be left behind, casualties during CLARET operations could pose a real problem. Fortunately for the security forces there were very few. Bodies of any dead or wounded had to be carried back to the border before being evacuated by helicopter. Only one instance of a helicopter 'casevac' (casualty evacuation) from Kalimantan is recorded. There are at least two cases of soldiers being lost across the border, but in neither case is there any indication that the Indonesians ever found the bodies. Walker attributes the Sl,lccess of operations and the minimal number of casualties to his insistence on training.32 One of the first CLARET strikes was carried out in August 1964 by the 1/2 Gurkha Rifles, who were stationed in the Fifth Division of Sarawak and western Sabah. Opposite their battalion front, only a few thousand yards into Kalimantan, was an enemy .post near Nantakor. After a reconnaissance carried out by the SAS had revealed that the post was held by troops ofthe 518 Battalion, the Gurkhas began planning and-rehearsing for a raid on the unsuspecting enemy. In early September General Walker approved the plan for the operation. 54

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Conflict Quarterly The raid was successfully executed: the Gurkhas pushed the enemy completely out of their camp, which was searched and then burned. 33 Throughout the autumn of 1964, security forces, consisting mostly of SAS and Gurkhas, began to strike at the enemy in their once inviolate bases near the border. But military and political activity outside Borneo threatened to escalate the conflict. The revelation that the British had drawn up plans to destroy the Indonesian navy and air force following the airborne landing in September and another seaborne landing in October, made all-out war more likely. Due to increasing isolation in the United Nations because of Malaysian complaints about Indonesian aggression, Sukamo moved in November and December toward a closer alignment with Communist China, which only a month earlier had exploded its first nuclear bomb (20 kilotons). The Australians' increasing concern over a possible Indonesian threat to Papua New Guinea led to the dispatch of Australian troops to Borneo and the institution of a form of selective service.34 In January 1965 Sukamo pulled Indonesia out of the UN and aligned himself with the People's Republic of China. The British government believed the sea and air strikes would unnecessarily escalate the conflict and so ruled them out. To stop a possible invasion of Borneo, the government instead authorized Walker to increase the depth of CLARET operations to 5,000 yards, eventually increasing it to 10,000 yards as a further response to the Indonesian threat toward the end of the year. 35 By the end of 1964, Indonesia had massed a growing number of its best troops opposite the First Division of Sarawak while the KKO marines in the Tawau area, and on Sebatik Island - through which the international border ran - were increased to a full brigade, virtually trebling the Indonesian strength along the border. 36 With 12,000 Indonesian troops already in border garrisons, British intelligence predicted that by February of 1965, there would be well over 22,000 soldiers in about 50 regular companies and 20 irregUlar companies along the border. The build-up was carried out concurrently with a restructuring of the Indonesian command system by General Maraden Panggabean, who regrouped those units ranged against Borneo into the 'Number 4 Combat Command,' with Col. Supa'rgo as its director of operations.3? Study of enemy activity during this period revealed a "steadily rising graph of border violations north and south of Biawak," which was on the road leading to the capital of Sarawak, Kuching.38 Company-sized actions were taking place on both sides of the First Division border, which Walker claimed reached the same level of ferocity as the war in Burma against the Japanese. 39 Reports worried Walker that the Indonesians' main parachute force was being held in readiness. With most of the activity taking place opposite the First Division, Walker feared that the Indonesians might be planning a general assault with Kuching as its fmal objective.40 Despite the increasing operational depth of raids, CLARET operations still remained few in number. Walker insisted that only troops who had completed at least one tour could take part, meaning that few, if any, of the recently arrived reinj'orcements were eligible. The careful and repeated reconnaissance and planning needed also kept the number of operations low. So too did Walker's rationale for CLARET raids: the Director of Operations saw 55

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Winter 1991 CLARET only as a deterrent measure, so that when he was given authorization in January 1965 to increase the depth of operations up to 10,000 yards, he allowed raids "not as a pre-emptive offensive nor even with the expectation of causing serious-disruption, but as psychological rapier-thrusts to make Supargo think defensively and take his mind off other things [Le., an offensive into the First Division]."41 Walker's CLARET strategy was part of an evolving British counterinsurgency doctrine. According to Tom Mockaitis, this doctrine was an outgrowth of 'imperial policing' between the wars and of the campaigns in Palestine, Malaya, Cyprus and Kenya and was based on three broad principles: "minimum force, civil-military cooperation, and tactical flexibility."42 Consequently, Walker would sometimes relax the pressure on the fudonesians when he deemed that the enemy casualties were too high.43 As the winter monsoons approached, Gurkha battalions remained very much on the offensive against the Indonesians. The 2/2 Gurkha Rifles in particular enjoyed a series of successes against the Indonesians opposite them in the Second Division, although there was only one major assault on an enemy camp, in October. That action had been a 'tITe assault' with machine-guns on the enemy camp near J ambu. The original idea for the raid had been turned down by Walker on "political grounds," but the battalion commander, Lt. Col. Neill, persisted and was eventually given the green light. 44 Many of the security forces' actions were fairly small in this period, however, as most cross-border activity seems to have been contmed to reconnaissance patrols.45 At the beginning of 1965, Sukarno moved closer to Communist China and the threat to the First Division increased. To blunt this, several carefully planned and rehearsed major CLARET operations were ordered. In January, the 2/10 Gurkha Rifles near the north end of the First Division carried out a close reconnaissance of the enemy post at Sadjingan, a village of less than 100 Dyak . tribesmen which lay 5,000 yards west ofBiawak. The British futelligence NCO in Biawak, with information from his Border Scout interpreter, traders and paid agents, found that 50 men of the 1Nl's 428 Raider Battalion were stationed in the village. Fortunately, the soldiers lived in a separate hut from the Dyaks and so presented an easy target for an assault and supporting ambushes. The successful raid eventually resulted in a temporary cessation of Indonesian use of the Koemba River as a resupply route.46 In early 1964, an fudonesian force built a military base at Long Medan opposite the Fifth Division, and sealed up an old trade route for buffalo and salt. This action disconcerted natives on bOth sides of the border, but they were powerless to prevent it. The locals appealed to the commander of 'c' Company, 1/2 Gurkha Rifles, to help them. Capt. J ackman, OC 'C' Company, wanted to assist: enemy troops from Long Medan had frred rockets and mortars toward his base in October and he wanted to hit them back. He pinpointed the enemy position at LongMedan through various reconnaissances and other intelligence. Jackman then asked the Battalion CO for permission to launch an attack against Long Medan. "Soon I was visited by the-Brigade Commander, Brig. Gen. Harry Tuzo ... then by [Walker] and finally by the C-in-C himself," related Jackman.

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Conflict Quarterly "Each commander asked for more information about the enemy, which meant each visit heralded a trip across the border to have another look at the camp." One reconnaissance in January 1965 even involved taking a movie fllm of the objective. A careful plan was drawn up and by the end of January the attacking force of 148 Gurkhas crossed the border. One part of the force assaulted the actual camp while the other elements ambushed likely routes of reinforcement and provided supporting fire for the assault team. Later intelligence confirmed that 50% of the Indonesian garrison had been killed in the action and the area abandoned by the survivors. The villagers were extremely grateful, as they could atlast return to their buffalo and salt trade. And, "although the Indonesians continued to operate along that strip of the border until the end of Confrontation, not once did they set foot over it again, nor did they re-occupy Long Medan."47 Despite such successes, the Indonesians opposite the First Division were not deterred by CLARET. They were taking losses, however, and some of their lines of communication were becoming insecure, especially river-borne traffic. That Borneo had become a major theater of operations was demonstrated by the visit of the Chief of the Defence Staff, Lord Mountbatten, and the Government's Chief Scientific Adviser, Sir Solly Zuckerman, in February. The visit had two major results, the first being a change in "attitudes to the Borneo campaign .. . in London. At last it was no longer an embarrassing military sideshow but a .. . conflict of the utmost importance."48 The British believed the 'Jakarta-Peking' axis could prove to be a major threat, especially as events were heating up in Vietnam, Laos and Cambodia. The second result was a new priority in supplying equipment to the forces in Borneo. Whereas Walker had been deprived of much of what he needed before the visit - he had been accused of over-stating the threat - he now got more (but not all) of what he needed. 49 In particular, weapons such as the US 'Claymore' anti-personnel mine, the M-79 grenade launcher, seismic intruder device and Armalite carbine (AR-15) were added to the firepower of the security forces in Borneo. Better rations and the introduction oflightweight rain gear from Australia also improved the soldier's lot, so that when the tempo of Confrontation increased in mid-1965, the security forces .were much better equipped to carry out offensive operations.50 These were fortunate and timely changes as the long-awaited enemy offensive into the First Division was about to begin.

THE INTENSIVE PHASE On 12 March 1965 Major General George Lea took over from Walker as Director of Borneo Operations. Lea inherited a "miniature army, navy and air force complete in all its arms and appendages from the infantry soldiers on the frontier to organizations for pay, welfare and public relations in the rear," in all, a force numbering some 20,000 men. 51 The force had grown considerably since 1964 in responseto the_Indonesian build-up, and the arrival of several more British and Malaysian battalions during the six month period prior to Lea's arrival necessitated a slight change in the command structure of the security forces. Where there had been only a few battalions stretched over the frontier 57

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Winter 1991 divided into three brigades, the all-important First Division ofSarawak was now given its own brigade when reinforcements arrived and the troops were less thinly spread (see Order of Battle). Lea, like Walker, expected the Indonesians to mount a major operation of some sort, else they would not have amassed a strong force of their best troops opposite the First Division. He needed time to take stock of the situation and to consider what should be done with CLARET. "In the meantime [the enemy] was not being hit at all, which would surely encourage him to further aggression."52 Lea ordered a slight increase in the tempo of CLARET activity by allowing the SAS to take offensive action during the last two days of their reconnaissance patrols - but only against targets which "offered a realistic chance of success."53 It became apparent six weeks after Lea became DOBOPS that CLARET was not a completely effective deterrent. Towards the end of March 1965, the 1st Battalion, the Argyll & Sutherland Highlanders handed over their sector of the southern part of the First Division to the 2nd Battalion the Parachute Regiment. The Argylls had had a busy tour as there had been numerous and fairly large Indonesian incursions, often of company size. Within days of the changeover, 2 Para was meeting the enemy all over its battalion area and discovered Indonesian activity throughout March and April indicating that the Indonesians were planning an attack on the 'B' Company position at Plaman Mapu.54 It was evident to the operations staff of the 17th Gurkha Division headquartered on Labuan Island that something major was planned. Their intelligence had shown that an Indonesian engineer battalion was operating near the frontier and was improving routes up to the border, and that amongst the many Indonesian units opposite the First Division, there was a battalion of Indonesian paratroopers (RPKAD) near the southern end of the division.

At 0505 hours on a "very dark, wet, rainy night," two companies of Indonesian paratroopers, with a third company in reserve, attacked the 'B' Company base at Plaman Mapu. Unlike previous attacks, this one avoided the longhouse and went straight for the company base which was lightly held by a weak platoon of "cooks and bottle-washers."55 The RPKAD had some initial success in hitting a mortar and machine-gun, but the British paratroopers quickly recovered and fought off their attackers, inflicting heavy casualties.56 The enemy had attempted to overrun a company base, and by so doing had signalled that they had decided to raise the stakes in Confrontation. The Indonesians were still full of fight after Plaman Mapu and their activity remained at a high level throughout May, with 2 Para fighting off a major incursion against Mongkus late in the month. The tactical situation was intolerable to Lea and he felt that the Indonesians should be forced to stay well away from the border. But ho~?

The ideal target was undoubtedly an enemy force before it struck, but since such forces were assembled in the rear areas and spent the minimum time near the border [the security forces WOUld] be lucky to get timely enough warning. Additional

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Conflict Quarterly targets must be selected, the most promising being routine enemy movements on tracks or rivers whenever Intelligence indicated and topography suited, so Lea's policy became the art of the possible. 57 If Lea needed another indication that the Indonesians had escalated Confrontation, he got it on 26 June when a combined force of TNI and IBT troops managed to penetrate into the heart of the First Division and attack several civilian targets near the 18th Milestone Police Station on the main track through the area. Besides killing several policemen, the raiders deliberately killed men, women and children from loyal ethnic Chinese families in the area, apparently in an attempt to terrorize and intimidate them into helping the CCO. In reaction to the raid on the police station, Lea ordered many of the ethnic Chinese in the area to be rounded-up and resettled in order to protect them and cut off CCO sympathizers from the CCO and IBTs.58 Lea's response to Indonesian actions was to authorize an "intensified series of CLARET strikes to make absolutely clear to the Indonesians that their proper place was behind their own frontier."59 When the 2/10 Gurkha Rifles arrived at Bau in July 1965 for their third tour, they were "ordered to step up the offensive action and seek entirely to eliminate the current threat to Sarawak by dominating the area up to 5,000 yards over the border, to the extent that the enemy's forward bases became untenable, and to follow this up by further forcing the Indonesians to retreat to the 10,000 yard line from where meaningful incursions simply could not be mounted."60 The 2/10 Gurkhas' first major operations were not to begin until August, as there was to be no skimping on reconnaissance, planning or training. Failure was unacceptable for the same reasons it had been when CLARET first began almost a year earlier6 1: the British did not want it known that they were operating in Kalimantan. Heavy losses for either side would be hard to keep secret for long. The 2/10 Gurkha Rifles began their effort to create a 10,000 yard cordon sanitaire in August with Operation SUPER SHELL, a mUlti-company operation involving two assaults simultaneously. While one part of the force overran an Indonesian camp with an infantry assault, the other part of the force conducted a fire assault against the first camp's support base further down river. The result was that the Indonesians ceased to use the Koemba River as a supply route, and were forced instead to cut an overland track. This too was discovered by the Gurkhas, but an ambush was not at first authorized because of the numerous successes being scored by security forces up and down the border of the First Division. Lea wanted to maintain pressure on the Indonesians, but it was to be a steady pressure. The ambush of the track was eventually authorized by West Brigade's ~ommander, Brigadier Cheyne, in late September. The ambush, conducted shortly after its authorization, was code-named Operation HIGH HURDLE. This too was a success as the enemy abandoned another of his base areas and fell back to a river line some distance back, "thus surrendering 10,000 yards of border jungle to Gurkha patrols."62

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Winter 1991 Other battalions on CLARET operations scored similar successes. The 1/2 Royal Green Jackets (King's Royal Rifle Corps), commanded by Lt. Col. E. D. Bramall, conducted two major raids in August. Early in the month, 'A' and 'C' Companies attacked a large enemy camp at KepalaPasang. "This particular group of enemy never again showed any offensive inclination at all ... from then on concentrat[ing] exclusively on their own defence, later abandoning the camp.'>63 Another 'c' Company attack, this time on an enemy camp in Mankau, had virtually the same effect as the previous attack. The camp was not destroyed but the enemy suffered many casualties and pressure on it was stepped up by ambushing the lines of communication with its battalion and flank companies. "Intelligence soon revealed that Mankau, the main enemy camp on [1/2 Royal Green Jackets'] front, had also turned on the defensive."64 The 2/2 Gurkha Rifles, whose previous tour had seen many CLARET successes, was also quite active in this period. They launched a two-company ambush of a river, which was used extensively by the Indonesians, killing 27 of the enemy in just the one operation.65 "In the meantime, no track or river was safe from the risk of such casualties.'>66 It was clear that such river ambushes, small though they may have been, hurt much more than the loss may have indicated. "The main Indonesian supply line [i.e., rivers] suddenly became insecure and in need of urgent, widespread and unwelcome troop redeployment to guard it," admitted one Indonesian officer. The overall result of this series of intensified CLARET operations was that "Mongkus was the enemy's last major incursion into the First Division in 1965.'>67 In July and August alone, West Brigade had killed nearly 300 of the enemy, almost all during CLARET operations.68 Indeed, CLARET was succeeding so well that ... at least one Indonesian local commander sent a runner across the border to his opposite number informing him that he was withdrawing some fifteen kilometres back: 'We got a message saying, "I will not disturb you. I've withdrawn back to this village. I'm carrying out no more offensive operations against you. Please leave me alone."'69 Meanwhile, in Indonesia, the domestic situation was rapidly deteriorating. Sukarno's vow to crush Malaysia by the beginning of 1965 had not come to pass and his wooing of the Communist Party of Indonesia, the PKI, was increasing along with his closer ties to the People's Republic of China. Confrontation was not succeeding as had the campaign against the Dutch in West Irian. Despite the cost of the war and a growing sterling crisis in London, the British continued to persevere in their defense of Malaysia, much to Sukarno's surprise. In response to Indonesia's pursuit of Confrontation and closer ties with Communist China, the United States cut off much-needed financial aid, which by the end of the summer was causing unprecedented inflation and the country teetered on economic collapse.7o A failed coup attempt by the PKI on 30 September set off a series of events which eventually culminated in the end of Confrontation. In the weeks that followed the coup attempt, chaos reigned as the Indonesian "Army, mostly headed by anti-communists, tried to regain control. With more pressing problems at home, the army 60

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Conflict Quarterly chiefs shifted their attention from the campaign in Borneo and began their bloody efforts to eradicate the PKI. Political and diplomatic signals from Indonesia at this time were confused and British evaluation took a long time. Lea decided to call a temporary halt to CLARET and assumed a wait-and-see attitude with regard to developments in Jakarta. This respite, known to the SAS as a 'be kind to Indos' period, was terminated in November, when the Indonesians sent an incursion force into the Katibas Basin of the Third Division. "Whether that conformed to General Suharto' s policy or stemmed rather from local enthusiasm, General Lea took no chances and let slip the dogs of war.'>71 On the Kalimantan side of the border, the British and Gurkha troops fought several fierce actions, the SAS even launching an unprecedented, full-squadron attack.72 The 2/2 Gurkha Rifles conducted four operations, two of which were mUlti-company ambushes of enemy river and land lines of communications.73 The 2/10 Gurkha Rifles, not to be outdone, carried out two major operations, both against troops of the 'J' Battalion of the Diponogoro Division. Operation TIME KEEPER was an attack on an enemy garrison located on top of Gunong Tepoi, a strongly defended complex sited for mutual support with other garrisons and covered by artillery and mortar support. In this deployment the 2/10 Gurkha Rifles were able to carry the position, hold it against enemy counter-attacks with the help of 5.5 inch and 105mm artillery-fire, then withdraw in good order 4,000 yards to the border.74 The First Division remained the main area of operations for both the British and the Indonesians but there was still activity toward the eastern end of the frontier. In the area where Sarawak and Sabah join, the 1/2 Gurkha Rifles had a busy time while they tried to dominate the enemy's side of the border. Throughout the second half of 1965 and into January 1966, the battalion continued to prevail over the enemy in the valley between Long Bawan and Long Medan following the raid on the latter target. In a series of minor actions, the Gurkhas each time out-maneuvered the Indonesians. Although each operation only gained limited tactical success, the combination of these raids produced a strategic pressure which forced the Indonesians to withdraw from all of their forward positions - some 17 camps or posts - mainly because of the risk of ambushes or direct hits from the one 105mm gun supporting the 1/2 Gurkha Rifles. "By the end of 1965, the Indonesians had withdrawn some 10,000 yards, and the Gurkhas followed them up, maintaining contact and observation. During this period every rifleman in 'C' Company spent at least half of his time actually living in Kalimantan.''7S

ON-AGAIN, OFF-AGAIN By the end of November, at least 120 Indonesians had been killed by troops of West Brigade during the renewed CLARET operations, while the security forces had 10sUmly one killed. Lea wanted as little killing as possible given the political situation in Indonesia, where, beginning in December, wholesale slaughter of communists and others was carried out by the Indonesian army. So, although he was unsure if he was making the right decision, Lea 61

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Winter 1991 ordered another 'be kind to Indos' break.76 Even though December was relatively uneventful in terms of activity by Indonesian regulars, some IBT activity did occur. Lea "drew a clear distinction between [the regulars and the communist IBTs]"77 noting that the IBTs would never give up, even when Confrontation ended, because life for the communists in Indonesia had become decidedly unhealthy. The illdonesian army, on the other hand, had no such problem and presumably would give up when ordered.78 But the Indonesians once again changed their tactics. January 1966 was another quiet month as no major raids crossed the border in either direction. But the SAS and similar units continued to patrol in Kalirnantan to "check that the enemy was as quiescent as he seemed. "79 Towards the end of the month, British intelligence warned of an imminent attack from Sentas, across the border from Tebedu. "Brigadier Cheyne was for once able to order a pre-emptive strike in the manner originally envisioned for all CLARET operations."8o An attack was mounted but was only partially successful, as the expected incursion was made the following month from an enemy camp further down river. The force comprised approximately 70 men, mostly RPKAD, the rest, about 20, being Chinese IBTs. It was remarkable that the raiders penetrated as far as they did given that the security forces had managed for the most part to establish their cordon sanitaire of 10,000 yards. Involvement by the CCO was the key to their success since they had local contacts who knew the area well. The raiders almost reached Serian before being discovered and then were gradually eliminated over a period of several weeksY In response to the enemy's action, Lea again ordered offensive raids to be carried out. ill the Bau and Serian areas of the First Division, the 1/10 Gurkha Rifles had the task of moving back across the border. During January, crossborder action in the area by 42 Commando, Royal Marines, and its attached company of 2/10 Gurkha Rifles, was restricted for political reasons. When the 1st Battalion became fully operational on 8 February, it sent two companies across the border for ten days of reconnaissances-in-strength to see if the Indonesians had used the lull to creep forward again and discovered that they had. Along the Koemba river, the enemy were once again moving men and supplies to their camps in and around Silaus as they had done before 2/2 Gurkha Rifles had made the river insecure. With some months' respite, due to the political constraints placed on CLARET, as well as the change-over of battalions, once again diesel-engined craft, landing craft and longboats plied the Koemba. 82 The 1/10 Gurkha Rifles received authorization to ambush the Koemba following the Indonesian incursion of 16 February. Toward the end of that month, they laid a two-company ambush along the river and its approaches and their patience was rewarded by the substantial target of a diesel-engined craft. The ambush was kept in place for the rest of the day and they hit two more boats which were on their way to fmdout what the firing was about. In this one action the Gurkhas accounted for at least 37 killed before they withdrew to their side of the border. Although artillery sound-ranging devices and further patrols 62

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Conflict Quarterly revealed that another stretch of the Koemba was still being used for troop and materiel movement, political developments "now precluded further ambushing. "83 Indeed, elements of the battalion had just completed an extremely close reconnaissance of the enemy base at Kindau which indicated that a new regular division had arrived in the area. The whole battalion was in Kalimantan on 25 March and four of its five companies were in the process of surrounding the base when they received word to break off the assault. All they were allowed to do before retreating to the border was to launch a fire assault by supporting artillery.84 In late March 1966, secret 'peace feelers' were sent to Kuala Lumpur. Even though incursions by IBTs continued throughout the peace negotiations, Lea did not feel the need to authorize new CLARET raids. Reconnaissance activity in Kalimantan to give the security forces warning of possible attacks continued, to be sure,85 but the secret war between the Commonwealth and Indonesian regulars now drew to a close. Confrontation continued, but more in the form in which it began: incursions by IBTs with a leavening of Indonesian regulars, who were then hunted down and eliminated. A face-to-face meeting between Indonesian officers representing General Suharto and members of the Malaysian government occurred on 25 May 1966, and three days later all crossborder activity by the security forces ended. CLARET came to a close three months before a formal cessation of Confrontation was ratified on 11 August. 86

CLARET: AN APPRAISAL In the limited and politicized wars fought since 1945, even tactical decisions could have a strategic or political effect. The Borneo campaign was a good example of the "need for close and continuous control of military operations in the light of ... political implications."87 The decision to authorize cross-border raids was made at the highest levels of the British government, which was subsequently able to turn CLARET off and on like a faucet, depending on the political situation.88 There seems to have been a direct correlation between Indonesian politico-military action and the intensity of CLARET activity. the best example of which was the 10th Gurkha Rifles' CLARET raid of March 1966. In response to secret peace-feelers, the battalion-sized raid was halted in mid-operation. The British and Malaysians wished to avoid any unnecessary escalation of Confrontation for a number of reasons. Because Britain, Malaysia and Australia were able to demonstrate to the rest of the world that Indonesia was clearly the aggressor in Confrontation, Indonesia's virtual isolation was assured. It is doubtful, however, whether this feat of diplomacy could have been achieved if cross-border raids had been made public, regardless of Malaysia's right to protect herself in such a manner. There was also the possibility that should operations become a matter of public scrutiny, then their very success could have hampered de-escalation of the conflict, since Indonesian prestige would have been on the line. As events transpired, Indonesia was able to disengage more easily because the illusion was maintained that they had not suffered militarily.

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Winter 1991 But how exactly did CLARET contribute to the ending of Confrontation? It may have increased the division between Sukarno and the army officers who played such a key role in his overthrow. Sukarno possibly never knew about British activity in Kalimantan (i.e., CLARET), or that by August 1965 his soldiers were no longer operating in East Malaysia.89 The heads of the army would not have been keen to expose their military failings to Sukamo. The fact that CLARET operations were almost always successful in tactical terms, that they were in nearly every case completely deniable by the security forces, and that virtually fool-proof covers were invented for every operation, all perpetuated the myth that the war was still being fought on the Malaysian side of the border. The Indonesian army generals were not willing to disturb this fabrication as it made them out to be more successful than they really were. There is reason to believe, therefore, that lack of success by the Indonesian army was viewed as 'foot-dragging' by its political opponents, especially thePKI, which in turn may have expanded the rift between Sukamo and Suharto and forced the latter to act in the aftermath of the attempted COUp.90 Secrecy was one of the keys to CLARET's successful contribution to ending Confrontation. The ability to keep CLARET a secret may have been a situation unique to Borneo. The frontier was in most cases accessible only by helicopter or small boat and the military was able to maintain a strict control over the use of these forms of transportation near operational areas. Walker, and then Lea, did not allow combatant troops any closer to 'civilization' than company or battalion bases, almost all of which were near the border. And as many of the combatants spoke the little-known language of Gurkhali, anyone attempting journalistic or other investigative work about the border area had to rely on the security forces for both information and transportation. Security remained excellent all-around. At FARELF headquarters in Singapore, 'need-to-know' was so strictly adhered to that men working next to each other for months might never know what the other was working on.91 It was due primarily to these factors that secrecy was maintained. As a military tool, CLARET seems to have been most effective between June and November 1965 when Lea ordered the intensive series of strikes following the attack on Plaman Mapu and the raid on the 18th Milestone Police Station. This phase was unlike the previous 11 months of CLARET, when W alkerused operations as 'rapier-thrusts.' CLARET was most successful when the enemy was forced, by a concerted military effort, to defend himself and to pull back 10,000 yards or more .from the border, whence viable raids simply could not be launched. It is noteworthy that every time pressure was eased the Indonesians went back on to the offensive, as occurred in October 1965 when Lea imposed his 'be kind to Indos' break. Many of the campaign's chroniclers have had a tendency to compare Confrontation with the war in Vietnam,92 which is understandable for contemporary commentators but rather specious for more recent analysts. Although there are some striking similarities between the two wars - a long, hard-todefend frontier and an internal and external threat, for example - there are some

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Conflict Quarterly

very important differences. For the most part the natives of Borneo wished to be part of the federation, as was demonstrated by the UN mission of early 1964; indeed, the majority of the security forces' successes would not have been possible without the willing assistance of the border tribes. This was not the case in South Vietnam where the majority of the rural population felt, at best, indifferent to the government, and at worst, openly hostile. The government of South Vietnam was unable and unwilling to provide its rural population with real protection from the Viet Congo Fumbling efforts at 'hearts and minds' only made matters worse and the war continued to escalate. The leadership of the UStrained South Vietnamese forces was extremely poor and opportunities to destroy the Viet Cong were missed. The British-led security forces in Borneo, on the other hand, had excellent leadership and superb soldiery. They were able to stop the external threat, while the police and Special Branch handled the internal threat. The Americans and South Vietnamese did not seriously attack the internal threat until the late 1960s,93 by which time the war had moved into a more conventional phase. Politically, the secrecy of CLARET allowed the Indonesians a facesaving way of backing down once military aggression proved fruitless. Militarily, CLARET was able to stop the Indonesians. Both tactically and strategically, CLARET is an excellent example of 'war as a continuation of policy by other means.' It was successful because of strict control by policy-makers and because the operations were conducted by highly-trained, physically fit, wellled, and motivated troops. The Borneo campaign was, according to Denis Healey, a "textbook demonstration of how to apply economy of force, under political guidance for political ends.''94

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2 MALA YSIAN & 1 GURKHN BRITISH BATALLIONS

FRONT OF 81 MILES, 500 MILES OF COAST

'EAST BRIGADE' HQ, MALAY ASIAN BDE/'TAG' (TAWAU) SABAH

KALIMANTAN

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FOURTH & FIFTH DIVs, SARA WAK / BRUNEI

'CENTRAL BRIGADE' HQ, 51 GURKHA BDE (BRUNEI)

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FRONT OF 442 MILES 2 BATTALIONS

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DIRECTOR OF BORNEO OPERATIONS (,DOBOPS') MAJ. GEN. W. WALKER ('til3/1965 then) MAJ. GEN. G. LEA (LABUAN)

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FRONT OF 181 MILES 5 BATTALIONS

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to the more unorthodox ideas derived from wartime experiences and espoused by 'forward thinkers'; ideas that by 1952 were incorporated into new Anny doctrine which subsequently became the basis for 'modem' counterguerrilla warfare. British soldiers fought 'modem' guerrillas in several countries before World War n, but because they were the exception rather than the rule in

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tenns of the type of irregulars that usually faced the Anny, few of its officers were perceptive enough to realise that tactical innovation may be required to cope with them in future. In the light of the Irish COIN campaign of 1919-21, some soldiers advocated concepts like the resettlement of sections of the population as a way to protect them from attack, and also using small units to mimic some of the modern guerrillas' tactics. Indeed, some short-lived experimentation to the latter end was undertaken in Ireland as well as in the Malabar during 1921. But it was not until the Bunna revolt in 1932 and 1933 that both these measures were implemented together for any length of time. Despite this progress though, the fact that most Bunnese rebel groups fought in a 'traditional' manner and proved relatively easy to defeat meant that the British Anny as a whole did not afterwards identify the need to rethink its customary 'Imperial-policing' practices. A similar set of circumstances also prevailed during the Palestine RebeUion of 1936 to 1939. Thus, by the time that World War II began, few soldiers questioned or sought to alter the Anny's time-honoured IS policies, which after all had been tried and tested successfully against most irregulars to date. 6 The Anny's counter-guerrilla strategy was to encircle targeted areas, and its favoured tactics involved large numbers of troops undertaking 'drives' towards 'stop-lines' provided by their colleagues or geographical features, 'sweeps' across an area, or searches within a perimeter 'cordon' of men. In addition, large unit 'columns' of a company (80-100 men) or more were often deployed against reported 'contacts'. However, when faced with irregular small units operating in jungles, forests or mountains, the Anny could also adopt a parallel course of action designed to take account of the situation, sending small units such as company sections or platoons (20-50 men) from picquets or columns for short periods ranging from several hours to a day or so (and, very infrequently, up to five days). Raffi Gregorian argues that counter-guerrilla small unit operations were 'generally accepted' by the Anny, but they were often conducted by native levies rather than by British troops/ and though they were sanctioned frequently in India, prior to 1944 the British Anny as a whole continued to favour large scale/unit counter-guerrilla operations. Moreover, it certainly had not embraced the concept central to accepted 'modern' counter-guerrilla practice, namely prolonged small unit area-patrolling and ambushing from bases, utilising any available infonnation (hereafter referred to as 'modern counterguerrilla patrolling'). But, while historians have asserted that those Britons involved in IS duties after the Second World War simply 'acted in accordance' with prewar doctrine and lore 8 - and naturally many did so some particularly perceptive men realised that age-old IS methods were incapable of dealing with tactically astute modern guerrillas and (as will be

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seen) they suggested inter alia the refinement of small unit counter-guerrilla tactics as a way to combat them.

The Impact of Wartime Experience on Counter-Guerrilla Thought,

1944-45

During World War 11, numerous British units known as 'special forces'such as the Special Air Service [SAS] - utilised modern guerrilla tactics themselves and were approved of at the highest level. Indeed, in 1944 the Burma Chindits' 'long-range penetration ... (which combined these tactics) with conventional attack and defence' were said to be so highly regarded in the Far East theatre that there 'the whole Army was Chindit-minded'. This is not to say that such ventures were approved of by all British army commanders and Whitehall staff, many of whom disliked the notion of 'special operations'.9 But such unorthodox activities gave members of British special forces and those familiar with them an opportunity to learn about modem guerrilla war and, potentially, to identify some of its practitioners' vulnerabilities. Further, details about short-duration patrol and ambush were in the War Office's 'jungle warfare' Training Pamphlets 51 and 52, and these were widely circulated at this time. Moreover, some of the most forward-looking British officers stationed in India during the war studied unconventional warfare, and although the North-West Frontier retained its importance as a main training ground for army units seeking to hone IS techniques, the climate of informed opinion in India shifted so much so that 'to label an officer "Frontier-minded" now was to condemn him'.1O By 1944 the Journal of the United Service Institution of India had even published some far-sighted articles that proposed replacing traditional IS 'mobile columns' with 'commandos' or helicopter-borne paratroops who could fight the guerrilla 'at his own game'.ll Although it is likely that such innovative counter-guerrilla thinking was not widely espoused in Britain in 1944, not least because of the Army's more pressing wartime duties, some War Office personnel shared the view that changes in counter-guerrilla methods were overdue. At the request of the Directorate of Military Operations, the Training branch produced a draft Training Pamphlet 90 on 'Snow and Mountain Warfare' in August 1944. This necessarily encroached on familiar IS ground, and its authors argued that the Army required 'picked men of the paratroop-commando type (for) ... deep penetration tasks in cooperation with inf(antry) ... (and) in the postwar period, for cooperating with civil forces in the task of seeking out and destroying illegal organisations and bandits in the most difficult country'. Indeed, the Mountain Warfare Committee unequivocally urged a wholesale reorientation of Army training which had been 'too much

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influenced by ... the North-West Frontier of India' .12 Soon after this progressive line of argument was enunciated, War Office Intelligence officers made at least two studies of guerrilla war. These likewise identified the potential value of counter-guerrilla small unit operations, including 'pseudo-guerrillas' that would feign guerrilla status. The reports also argued, however, that the key to locating and defeating guerrillas lay in enhancing soldiers' mobility by means of air-supply drops, (as opposed to improving their tactics and use of intelligence). Moreover, in spite of acknowledging that traditional-style large scale/unit operations by Axis forces had failed to crush partisan guerrillas during the War, the reports did not seriously question the value of encirclement tactics. 1l Still, some War Office personnel had accepted that there was room for tactical improvement, and they had set an important precedent by referring to Second World War experiences as a possible source of fresh counterguerrilla ideas. As the war ended during 1945, the higher echelons of the Secret Intelligence Service [SIS] also sought to utilise wartime experience of 'unconventional war', and despite the numerous critics in government circles of the Special Operations Executive [SOE], the SIS employed some of its recently disbanded members, in order to retain a repository of wisdom on the subject. This afforded the Army a new and potentially valuable source of advice about matters relevant to the IS arena, which could complement assistance provided by other agencies, such as the Security Service. Further, an SOE veterans organisation was set up to 'ensure that in some future emergency people with special talents and expertise could be contacted and assembled quickly', and even in May 1946 the War Office still retained several dozen operatives on its books. This SOE expertise offered another possible resource to soldiers undertaking postwar IS duties if they required their help. I~ In spite of the SAS's disbandment by 1946, one of their former commanders, Lt-Colonel Brian Franks, also appears to have organised a similar network of SAS veterans who could be drawn on for use in future wars. And, along with Brigadier 1. Mike Calvert, from autumn 1945 he pressured the top brass to study wartime special forces with a view to assessing how the SAS might be used in postwar conflicts, including counter-revolutionary situations. The War Office Directorate of Military Operations backed the idea, and by April 1946 a Directorate of Tactical Investigation enquiry was underway. A British Army officer corps characterised before the war as 'cynical and yawning with boredom' was increasingly subject to and more ready to accept changes. And although ideas about IS procedures would not be altered over night because of the innate institutional conservatism of the British Army (and the War Office's

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September 1946 report on the future role of special forces argued that an Established SAS regiment was not required at that time),15 the war had sown the seeds of new thinking about guerrillas and IS that would gradually grow after 1945. In the aftermath of the war the Army successfully crushed traditional irregular opponents by traditional large scale/unit means in southern IndoChina, Iraqi Kurdistan, and Burma. And although it failed to eradicate some modem guerrillas active in the Dutch East Indies during 1946,16 these posthostilities commitments did not indicate to the Army that there was any pressing need to fundamentally question its current IS wisdom. However, as the first postwar insurgency (featuring political subversion, terrorism and guerrilla war) broke out in the autumn of 1945 in the UN Mandate of Palestine, Britain's traditional search-and-arrest cordons, curfews and column patrols, as prescribed by existing training and doctrine,17 proved woefully inadequate for dealing with Zionist urban terrorism and modem guerrilla warfare.

The Palestine Campaign, 1945-47 A detailed account of the Palestine COIN campaign can be gleaned from other sources and will not be related here,18 but those aspects of counterguerrilla warfare development that have been neglected merit attention. Colonel Mike Dewar has noted that the Army 'failed to translate' its recent experience of 'urban warfare ... into the context of a terrorist campaign', 19 but as the Army confronted Greek Communists in Athens during December 1944 the War Office furnished the GHQ Middle East Forces (which covered Greece) with its most up-to-date analyses of guerrilla warfare. The GHQ forwarded these to Palestine, noting that 'guerrilla war is closely related to IS operations' .20 Thus, as insurgency emerged from September 1945, a reexamination of War Office reports that had commended the potential value of experimentation with 'pseudo-guerrilla' and other small unit operations could have given the GOC Palestine, Lt-General John D' Arcy, some valuable pointers when devising his counter-guerrilla campaign. But, in the event, while D' Arcy made a study in November 1945 of past IS campaigns - including Ireland - he failed to draw any useful guidance from them, and he concluded that there was 'no precedent and little help in our ... long history of Imperial-policing' .21 Clearly the British were trying to learn from past experience at the outset, but, as yet, those in authority on the ground had not recognised the potential worth of unusual wartime ventures as a source for fresh tactical thinking. Some of them realised that the repressive military/security methods applied against the Palestinian Arabs during the 1930s were

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inappropriate for fighting the more sophisticated Zionist irregulars who practiced modem guerrilla war,22 but the supporters of 'hard-line' measures like extended curfews and extensive urban cordon-and-searches grew ever more vocal as the insurgency continued unabated during 1946. The champion of strong-arm policies from June 1946 onwards was the CIGS-elect (later CIGS) Field-Marshal Bernard L. Montgomery. His approach was coloured by his first-hand knowledge of the IRA and in particular the Arab rebels of the 1930s. He and the C-in-C Middle East Land Forces, General Sir Miles Dempsey, pressed the Cabinet to introduce the full gamut of traditional IS methods, including the prolific use of mobile columns, ariny-controlled zones, and an increase in the number of hangings for its supposed deterrent effect. The Cabinet in fact sanctioned further city cordons during the summer of 1946, but when they produced few 'tangible results' it rejected the introduction of more 'robust methods' .23 While the CIGS and his cohorts advocated repression as a military/ security panacea, and most army units carried out familiar IS operations without making any major innovations, at least one commander who has been ignored until now was prepared to experiment with new tactics early in 1946. The GOC 3rd Infantry Division, Major-General Lashmer 'Bolo' Whistler, drew on wartime experience to suggest '''commando''-type patrols' in areas prone to insurgent attack, and in February 1946 he ordered his men to adapt their operations accordingly.24 While the Army HQ was already attempting to 'learn lessons' systematically by circulating them 'to all ranks' via its Operational Orders and Instructions, and through periodic 'IS Discussions' ,25 Whistler's innovation would have proven valuable only if the HQ's staff knew about it and were convinced that a general shift in tactics was warranted. In view of the paucity of intelligence available at the time it is likely that the new patrols would not instantly have had any major success, and so the initiative probably would not have been readily adopted by Whistler's traditionalist comrades. Nonetheless, in the face of continued COIN failure in Palestine, during mid-January 1947 the Cabinet backed the authorities there in taking 'all possible steps' to defeat the insurgents. And in spite of the traditionalists urging the Palestine High Commissioner, General Sir Alan Cunningham, to sanction greater repression, he was 'completely at variance' with the CIGS over military/ security policy, and he came down on the side of his more forward-looking associates who were engaged in a 'search for novel action'?6 Although it is still unclear who originated the idea of attempting to make significant tactical innovations, Cunningham was their driving force during the winter of 1946-47. By November 1946 he was emphasising the importance of police COIN activities, and he attained advice about these from Sir Charles Wickham, who was also involved in COIN as the Head of

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the British Police and Prisons Mission to Greece (BPPM). There is no available evidence that the High Commissioner or his colleagues then tried to refine their security forces' methods in the light of concurrent counterguerrilla developments in Greece, (which from September 1946 included a greater emphasis on small unit operations - to be recounted later). But it is at least a possibility, and Cunningham was certainly aware of the situation in his Middle East Forces theatre neighbour at that time.27 At the end of 1946 Cunningham approved of more army small-unit operations, over and above the routine of patrols, security checks and large scale searches (as was suggested by the War Office's 1944 reports). From Christmas 1946 to March 1947 army 'anti-terrorist slipper' patrols laid ambushes for a few hours in selected locales, using any information to hand, and the new GOC, General Sir Evelyn Barker, recognised that the 'very small-scale raid based on sound intelligence is likely to catch more' insurgents than large scale/unit operations. 28 The latter continued to be implemented through 1947 at the insistence of the CIGS and other exponents of the old school of Imperial-policing, but in March the High Commissioner followed up the limited small unit advances made by the army in Palestine to date by giving his blessing to the formation of a new unorthodox COIN police unit. And not only did this signal a departure in police methods,29 but the support afforded it by the War Office Directorate of Military Operations reflected the wider and growing interest of the British military in such forces during this period. After the war a spate of British books and journal articles on 'unconventional war' appeared, and while some writers advocated age-old IS procedures, other officers serving during 1946-47 called for the development of small unit counter-guerrilla operations based on the 'lessons of the War' .30 One Lieutenant 'Turk' Westerling did just that in the Dutch East Indies during the summer of 1946, using his special forces expertise to plan intelligence-based small unit patrolling and ambushing against bands of nationalist modern guerrillas. 'Differences of opinion (with his) ... British superiors' about his method of eliciting information from the populace - by publicly beheading insurgents (!) - ensured that many frowned upon his exploits.31 But such challenges to the 'received wisdom' about counter-guerrilla war may have inspired others to think about it in new ways. Some Britons fighting in Palestine early in 1947 certainly were open to the idea of adapting wartime special forces experience to COIN, and though the War Office did not assign the SAS Territorial Regiment then being formed a COIN role, (as Calvert et al had desired),J2 some War Office personnel warmed to the idea of refining IS tactics in the light of unconventional wartime activities. The Cabinet's declared openmindedness about future military/security

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policy from January 1947 was crucial for creating the atmosphere in which a fresh approach could be undertaken, and the High Commissioner soon oversaw major changes in the police force. These included a project undertaken by February 1947 by the Police Inspector-General Ca former Royal Marine commando), Colonel W. Nicol Gray, who assigned one of his top officers, Major Bernard E. Fergusson (an ex-Chindit and SAS commander) to investigate the possibility of tactical changes. Fergusson asked the War Office Directorate of Military Operations for assistance, and although its staff had not initiated this contact - implying that they did not have any plans for radical changes themselves - they enthusiastically agreed to help. During March 1947, their Director, General A. D. Ward, organised a task force of men with SAS, SOE and SIS experience who had been 'engaged in similar operations on ... the terrorist side' during the War. Three former SAS men arrived in Palestine by April 1947 and set about organising lO-man undercover police squads (half of whose members had seen special forces action) who were to gather intelligence and ambush insurgents. The fact that many had operated as guerrillas themselves during the war may have given them an insight into the way that their enemies would act, but political pressure to achieve swift results meant that they received insufficient time for tactical reflection and training. Indeed, one squad leader, Captain Roy Farran, (lately of the SAS), was accused of murdering a teenager during May 1947, and his much-publicised trial led to the squads' disbandment. 33 But in spite of this setback Colonel Gray informed at least one army GOC, Major-General Richard N. Gale of the 1st Infantry Division, that he favoured extending the scope of the experiment across Palestine. The High Commissioner approved, and 'for the first time ... army patrols left main roads and tracks (and) efficient ambushes in constantly changing locations were placed' Y This was a marked improvement on much previous counter-guerrilla practice in Palestine, and the army HQ even omitted traditionalist instruction about large mobile columns from its latest IS pamphlets.l' Traditional IS policies and doctrine were not discarded wholesale in favour of the new approach, however, and during 1947 they continued to be used with the support of the CIGS and War Office staff who wished to distance themselves from the embarrassing Farran episode. 36 In addition, by mid-1947 the War Office Military Training Branch was completing its ongoing review of IS policy and it produced drafts of a new manual that was designed to supercede existing doctrine written in the 1930s. This was meant to incorporate any new ideas that had emerged from India (where exercises simulating guerrilla warfare were conducted during 1946) as well as 'the Middle East' theatre (which included Palestine and Greece), and one draft 'IS Duties' booklet noted that 'methods must never be stereotyped'.

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Furthermore, its authors recognised that counter-guerrilla operations nowadays were 'more often (done by) .. . platoons than (by) companies'. Yet the War Office's training specialists reiterated the fact that traditional tactics were 'usually successful',37 and so they probably thought that the Palestine stalemate was caused either by inept or insufficient application of customary IS measures. Indeed, in contrast to the attitude of the Directorate of Military Operations they failed to embrace the idea of small unit innovations like those being devised in both Palestine and Greece during winter 1946-47, and so in the short term at least the Army 's IS training would not be altered by the War Office.

Covert Counter-Insurgency in Greece, 1945-49 Britain's secret COIN role in Greece has been neither openly acknowledged by the UK government nor properly studied before, but the Army provided opinions and advice about counter-guerrilla action there from the time that a communist insurgency emerged during the winter of 1945-46. Early in 1945 a British Military Mission to Greece (BMM[G]) had begun to reconstruct the Greek National Army (GNA), and in doing so it gained many new counter-guerrilla 'lessons' .38 During 1945 most communist 'KKE' irregulars fought like traditional imperial gunmen, and the British GOC, General Ronald M. Scobie, compared the situation in Greece to 'the Frontier' . 39 That October the BMM[G]'s commander, Major-General Stuart B. Rawlins, recommended that the GNA be trained in familiar 'Mountain Warfare' tactics, and the UK Land Forces Greece HQ suggested instruction on the use of mobile columns and curfews. In addition to these traditional measures, it favoured the adoption of an unusual counter-guerrilla strategy of targeted area 'clearance' followed by a 'holding' operation undertaken by 'National Guards .. . in each area as ... freed'. But, because no long-term holding commitment was envisaged by the HQ staff their concept was flawed. Likewise, their favoured tactics of 'sweeps' and 'drives' were inadequate for dealing with the modem guerrilla war being waged by some communist irregular groups from the spring of 1946 onwards. 40 Indeed, Major Edgar O'Ballance has criticised the British for consistently underestimating the potency of what they termed the 'bandit' threat. Yet, some British officers compared the KKE's fighters to Greece's wartime partisan guerrillas: 1 indicating that they appreciated that they were facing more than mere brigandage. And the Mission's key weakness from 1946 would prove to be the consistent faith of some of its senior officers (notably General Rawlins) in familiar IS ideas. As a modem guerrilla war gathered momentum in the Greek mountains

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by the summer of 1946, some informal advice on GNA deployments was given by BMM[G] officers, though as yet they had not been given any official role in COIN operational planning. But, when Montgomery visited Athens during June 1946, he argued that the Mission should be assigned just such a task, and in July the BMM[G] proposed major military offensives following 'normally accepted principles' .~2 Indeed, the new British GOC, General Keith Crawford, referred to the 1936-39 Palestine example to recommend an increase in the GNA's manpower to a ratio of three to one over the KKE forces, indicating his desire to make traditional large-scale methods work.43 Traditionalism was clearly a British byword at this point, both on the ground and in the corridors of Whitehall. Still, General Rawlins recognised that the Greeks' current 'scorched earth' conventional warfare methods (such as massed artillery and tank barrages of suspected enemy areas, following the example of the Nazis' anti-partisan operations) would not crush the guerrillas.~ Moreover, in the light of the continuing failure of the GNA to stem the communist army, by the end of the summer of 1946 some Britons looked to the Second World War in an effort to draw fresh tactical inspiration. General Rawlins and the RAF Group stationed in Greece both saw air support as a way of enhancing the mobility of the GNA and improving its chances of making contacts with the KKE's irregulars, (as some of the War Office's analysts had done in 1944).~j More importantly, the BMM[G] studied unconventional warfare too, and by October 1946 it was sponsoring the creation of a new unorthodox counter-guerrilla force. While surviving records are very few and have been 'weeded' due to their extremely sensitive nature, making it difficult to identify the originator of this innovative proposal, it is likely that the BMM[G]'s traditionalists were steered in this new direction by soldiers in Greece who possessed recent special forces experience. Some BMM[G] officers had served during the war in groups like SOE Force 133, and in addition 'odd little pockets of the SAS . . . survive(d)' the official disbandment of the regiment by 1946, and 'on a strictly unofficial basis one group was sent off to Greece to serve . . . They continued to wear SAS insignia, and many of them subsequently became entangled' in the COIN campaign there. 46 It seems more than likely that the SAS (which had fought in Greece during 1944 and 1945), along with units like the wartime commandos and SOE, inspired the BMM[G]'s October 1946 support for an unorthodox GNA force of 3,000 'Commandos'. Indeed, the Mission suggested that it should undertake two distinctive tactical roles, namely 'deep patrolling', and operating as a vanguard force in large scale offensives - as the SAS had done during the latter stages of the war.~7 The War Office backed the formation of the new Commando force, in spite of the CIGS voicing his

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misgivings about creating 'private armies' - illustrating his consistent scepticism about the need to develop counter-guerrilla warfare. Indeed, during December 1946, on his next visit to Greece, Montgomery compared the situation there to that pertaining in Palestine and he asserted that the firm use of normal Mountain Warfare tactics would lead to the eradication of every last Greek communist!48 In spite of Montgomery's inability to see the need for major tactical changes by the end of 1946, he nonetheless argued that in view of the GNA's lack of success the British should be allowed to advise on COIN military/security operations. By the New Year he had arranged for the BMM[G] to begin covert counter-guerrilla planning, and he gained the Cabinet's approval for this in mid-January 1947, indicating its willingness to support whatever action was deemed necessary to defeat the insurgent opposition, as was the case too in regard to Palestine. In readiness for their new COIN advisory role BMM[G] officers studied wartime special forces (probably focusing their attention on the SAS, SOE and British commandos), and in December 1946 they organised 'guerrilla war exercises' (mirroring those also done in India during that year). The BMM[G] planners then displayed considerably more inventiveness than either the CIGS or even their own commanding officer, proposing to clear guerrilla-affected areas not only by large scale offensives (which can disturb guerrillas' plans and movement) but also by using 'pursuit' Commandos and air-supported light infantry. Clearance was to be followed by a lengthy 'holding' period before an eventual return of the 'cleared (areas) ... to the Civil Power'. What later became known as a 'Clear-and-Hold' strategy is crucial for counter-guerrilla success, (and in fact it had been used by the British Army before, during the Moplah revolt in India, 1920-21, and during the Burma rebellion, 1932-36). There is no evidence in the few remaining records to suggest that the Mission's analysts referred to any such historical precedents whilst developing this strategy,49 but it is clear that by 1947 the BMM[G] was formulating a more astute counter-guerrilla approach than that adopted in Greece hitherto. From early in 1947 the BMM[G] additionally sponsored a complementary 'counter-organisation' security plan, designed to destroy the guerrillas' underground support infrastructure. This was to be achieved by relocating sections of the population away from districts most prone to attacks by irregulars to those where they could be better protected. Again its origins are unclear, but initially the British were scathing about the lack of welfare aid provided for the evacuees. However, as new resettlement 'security camps' and social support measures were introduced by the Greeks the British commended the idea of 'population concentration' accompanied by what later would be termed 'civic action'. (The concept of

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concentration had been adopted by the British during several previous wars, notably the South African War, though civic action in conjunction with resettlement was not introduced until the Burma campaign during 1932-33. Again there is no evidence that the BMM[G] was aware of such schemes50 ). Nevertheless, the initiative marked an advance in postwar British counterguerrilla thinking, although like the Burmese precedent its significance was not immediately appreciated by the Army's training staff and doctrinemakers in London. At the start of 1947 the BMM[G] finalised its plans for a renewed GNA campaign and additionally organised new Commando training courses. Further, in January the Cabinet authorised scores of British soldiers to secretly advise the GNA in 'forward areas' on its operations. 51 However, before they had been given much of a chance to make an impact, at the start of March 1947 the Foreign Secretary, Ernest Bevin, cut short their clandestine COIN mission. In view of Britain's growing economic crisis, he had convinced the Americans that Britain could no longer afford to support the Greeks financially, and also that only massive US assistance could prevent Soviet interference in the Near East. Thereafter, throughout much of the rest of 1947, the BMM[G] waited for the USA to organise its aid programme for Greece, and in doing so it 'lost touch' with the operational situation. 52 Nonetheless, some British plans that had been drawn up prior to March 1947 were utilised during that spring by the Greek security forces, and their operations involved the mass arrest of up to 15,000 KKE suspects, followed by month-long drives led by a Commando vanguard. However, the GNA failed to develop Commando 'deep patrolling' further at this point and their large scale counter-guerrilla offensives faltered during the summer of 1947. Soon after, in spite of the BMM[G]'s current inactive status in regard to COIN, the C-in-C Middle East Land Forces, General Sir John T. Crocker, berated it and the War Office for lacking any novel ideas about how to improve their Greek ally's ongoing campaign, although the Mission did urge the GNA to enhance its mobility and intelligence-gathering capabilities. 53 Further, the Foreign Office wondered whether better methods might emerge from a study of the Chindits and wartime guerrillas, while the British military in Greece received advice from the SIS as well. 54 It is therefore more than likely that the War Office once again was exposed to unorthodox counter-guerrilla thinking at this time. Indeed, the War Office's Directorate of Tactical Investigation was revising the Army's IS doctrine during 1947. But this does not appear to have been modified either in the light of Greek experience or proposals for new thinking. The Directorate's draft manuals certainly made no reference to population relocation, civic action or other fresh initiatives. On the contrary, during the middle of 1947 the War Office was sent a report on

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counter-guerrilla warfare exercises that had been held in India, and it was expressly meant to be utilised during the IS review. Although the paper correctly pointed out that there was now 'little hope of holding a ring ... (designed to encircle) modem guerrillas', and it suggested using smaller airsupported 'columns' against them - incidentally echoing the recent thoughts of some BMM[G] men - the analysts in India still espoused Frontier-style large mobile columns, along with short duration small unit patrols from mountain picquets. Moreover, they dismissed the 'ambush of guerrillas' by the Army as a fanciful notion because of the guerrilla's mobility, and in line with the CIGS' concerns they rejected the idea of forming 'elite ... commandos' for counter-guerrilla operations. Thus, the report did not lead to any swift changes in War Office IS training. And while it was designed also for use by those units fighting guerrillas in places like 'the Balkans',55 (indicating its authors' awareness of the Greek situation), it would not have encouraged any new thinking among British advisers there. As the Americans put the finishing touches to their aid programme during the autumn of 1947, they pressured the British to maintain a united front against the communist threat. And contrary to recent assertions, by December the Cabinet had agreed to allow some British soldiers to renew their covert advising in the following year. 56 Indeed, the BMM[G] reviewed current Greek operational policies in readiness for this and its officers pointed to the value of more unorthodox military action (as their Middle East Forces neighbours in Palestine had done a few months before). They suggested sustained 'Commando ... deep patrolling', as well as retraining for most of the GNA as 'highly efficient bandits [sic] ... (with every) subunit (seeking) to obtain accurate information' about the KKE's forces. 57 This represents another advance in British postwar counter-guerrilla thought and, furthermore, the British sought to improve things in practice, by following the procedure adopted in Palestine a few months before and appointing 'expert' advisers to the Commandos. Indeed, one of them (who transferred to Greece at the end of 1947) was former SAS officer Major Alistair McGregor, who had led one of the three Palestine police undercover squads. In spite of this bold initiative, however, major progress on the ground was not achieved at this juncture, as the Greek top brass reaffirmed the widespread and long-held belief that a 'section or platoon would be incapable of looking after itself' against guerrillas. And although late in 1947 the Greeks authorised more independent patrolling for periods of up to several weeks duration, they emphasised that their Commandos should be used mainly as a vanguard force in major operations, and British traditionalists like Rawlins and Montgomery accepted this.58 Nearly all historians have asserted that by 1948 the Americans had taken over 'Allied' planning of COIN operations in Greece. 59 But in spite of

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tontemporary propaganda to this effect, by the new year the British War and Pmeign Offices were preparing nearly 100 men with 'battle experience' as covert advisers for Greece. Some were well-versed in unconventional war, us well as in traditional IS methods, and they included former SAS men specifically chosen by the War Office as field advisers for the Greek Commandos. 60 Early in January 1948, the BMM[G] received a directive that 'very purposely ... (had been drawn up by the British and Americans to be) as loose as possible ... (in order to) avoid ... limiting the British ... (solely) to (their publicly announced role of arranging the) organisation and training' of the GNA. In actual fact the directive secretly afforded them a 'full role' in operational advising, which thereafter was covered-up successfully (for several decades!) by the Allies. 61 Indeed, the American army mission chief, General James A. Van Fleet, answering media queries, indicated that his men 'appear(ed) to be in charge of operations', but appearances were deliberately deceptive. By April 1948 there were up to 175 British advisers and 25 of their American counterparts covertly overseeing operations. 62 These were based on joint Allied plans that for the time being aimed at confronting the communists' conventional army, which by 1948 had transmutated the insurgency into a classic 'civil war' between two competing 'governments' and 'regular armies' .63 Major-General Ernest E. Down had replaced RawIins as BMM[G] commander by the end of March 1948 and he urged his officers to devise better counter-guerrilla tactics than the failed policy of encirclement. But as the Allies concentrated on defeating the KKE's conventional forces rather than its guerrillas during the spring and summer of 1948, there was a 'gap between intention and action'. Then, following major GNA successes, in September 1948 the Americans took over Britain's responsibility for COIN operational advising.64 Hence, General Down and his men were not given an adequate opportunity to refine counter-guerrilla tactics further. Nonetheless, he recommended to the Chiefs of Staff that if Britain encountered a similar conflict elsewhere it should implement a Clear-and-Hold strategy and conduct continuous offensive operations with a great number of infantrymen supported by the 'maximum use of airpower'. And the Chiefs agreed with his conclusions about the 'lessons' of Greece. 65 In November 1948 Field-Marshal William J. Slim became the new CIGS, and having been a supporter of unorthodox units like the Chindits and V Force during the War, he seems to have been more open to unusual ideas in regard to IS than his predecessor. Indeed, during March 1949 Slim visited Greece and urged the GNA to Clear-and-Hold using Commandos and air support. 66 He evidently shared the view gaining ground within certain quarters of the British military establishment that a new approach to counter-guerrilla war was required to fight modern guerrillas. And some

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historians have asserted that the Allied strategy used in Greece by 1949 was adopted in Malaya toO.67 Although the War Office does not appear to have collated lessons from Greece in any systematic manner so that they could be applied more readily to other guerrilla wars, when another communist insurgency emerged in Malaya by summer 1948, two battalions that were based in Greece - the 1st Suffolk and 1st Bedford Regiments - were soon sent out to Malaya to bolster the British COIN effort there. In addition, many NCOs who were to serve in Malaya for several years were said to have fought in Greece with the partisans during the War and, (like some SAS soldiers) some of them reportedly had been 'on all kinds of silent, curious missions' in Greece. Furthermore, despite some historians' assertions to the contrary,68 the British utilised their experience to implement some new and potentially valuable COIN lessons in the Far East - a fact that doubtless has been ignored to date because of the clandestine nature of the British COIN effort in Greece. The Development of Modern Counter-Guerrilla Warfare in Malaya,

1948-52 Details of the Malaya COIN campaign and the production of a new COIN doctrine by the British have been related by other historians. 69 But whilst trying to avoid repetition, there are certain areas of the story that have been neglected until now that shine a new light on developments in Malaya. Malaya's MCP communists embarked upon an insurgency in the spring of 1948, and like the Greeks and Chinese they sought to advance from guerrilla to conventional war and to 'liberate' targeted areas. By the middle of 1948 the British faced both small bands engaging in modern guerrilla war and larger irregular units,70 and the army responded with both large scale/unit and small unit operations. By at least April 1948 some Gurkha companies had begun laying short counter-guerrilla ambushes, which they had developed over recent years as part of their patrol 'special operations' .71 The army in Malaya also practiced 'sub-unit ... jungle warfare' patrolling of one to three days duration, which was regarded as standard practice in the Far East theatre by this time. But the extent to which the British Army as a whole accepted a 'small-unit approach' has been overstated by historians. 72 During May 1948 the GOC Malaya, Major-General D. Ashton L. Wade, ordered distribution of the War Office's 'Notes for Training in Duties in Aid of the Civil Power in the Malayan Union' (written c.1945), and the army's 'normal training' at that time included not only short small-unit patrolling but also what were regarded by the GOC as more 'orthodox' operations, such as sweeps, drives and movement in large columns. 7]

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Early in June 1948 the Gurkha CO, Major-General Charles H. Boucher, took over as GOC, and as the insurgency gathered momentum he and the Cin-C Far East Land Forces (FELF), General Sir Neil M. Ritchie, set about devising a COIN plan. In addition, Ritchie identified the need to organise periodic meetings of security agency representatives 'to consider lessons'.74 And at the outset, he, Boucher and some of their colleagues sought guidance for their planning from other IS campaigns, notably Greece and China. Although 'in 1948 little was known of the techniques of communist revolutionary warfare', and the Malaya Security Service has been criticised for failing to warn of the MCP revolt,?5 its chief, John D. Dalley, had told the authorities - including Ritchie - in June 1947 that the MCP might 'act in precisely the same manner as (communists) in other countries' .76 Further, in May 1948, Malcolm MacDonald, the Commissioner-General for South East Asia (responsible for regional anti-communist security action, and in close contact with Ritchie) was informed by the Foreign Office that 'the new policy ... for Communist Parties in South East Asia (is) to adopt the same general tactics as they have been employing since 1946 in Western Europe'.77 Such advice may well have drawn Ritchie's attention to Greece, whilst in any case he had family living there, and his new chief of staff, Brigadier John M. Kirkman, had served there prior to his FELF posting. By mid-1948 Ritchie certainly had 'studied the lessons' both of the Greek and Chinese conflicts and had drawn some 'useful conclusions' .78 Dalley has asserted that in May 1948 he additionally pointed out to Ritchie and MacDonald that ethnic Chinese 'squatters' occupying the jungle 'fringes' were vulnerable to coercion by the MCP, and that he recommended their removal from these areas, not simply to afford the proper administration of the land as civil government officials wanted but also as a counterorganisation measure that could deprive the guerrillas of vital resources like food. Dalley later complained that his novel proposal was 'ridiculed' by civil administrators and 'local commanders', although not by Ritchie (who would have been aware of the Greek precedent).79 Indeed, by the autumn of 1948 several top army officers in Malaya had come round to this view, agreeing that population relocation offered better prospects for 'pacification' than the more common British practice of building roads through 'disturbed' areas as a basis for restoring order in them (as exemplified in the NW Frontier).80 In view of Dalley's study of other communist groups outside Malaya during 1947 it is quite probable that he was aware of French population relocation measures in Indo-China,81 and furthermore, like Ritchie, of its most striking and innovative recent example in Greece. Further, although there do not appear to be any records of secret contacts between General Boucher and the current BMM[G] commander, Major-

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General Ernest Down, it is plausible that these may have occurred in June 1948. Boucher had served in Greece during 1945-46 and doubtless he was aware of the COIN effort there. He was familiar with Down too, having spent a month with the 2nd Indian Airborne Division before taking over its command from him. And when Ritchie was analysing other communist movements and seeking 'lessons' from them at this time, the BMM[G] would have been best placed to provide details about the Greek campaign. Indeed, General Boucher told not only the news media but also his HQ Malaya staff that his knowledge of the Greek communists qualified him for the COIN task in Malaya, and the War Office stood by his assertion. Yet he had never fought modern guerrillas, and he was more used to the traditional sort of irregular that he had encountered in the prewar Frontier and in Greece during 1945. However, the latter were 'almost certainly ... not' in his mind when he declared that the MCP were 'far weaker in technique' than the Greek communists,82 and evidently he was referring to the KKE insurgents who were active during 1948. This indicates that like some of his senior colleagues Boucher too was made conversant with the current Greek situation, a fact that has been ignored because of the secret nature of Britain's COIN involvement there, and also because only a relatively small circle in the Far East were actively studying developments in GreeceY In mid-1948 General Ritchie advocated familiar counter-guerrilla 'sweeps', having witnessed them in Burma during 1947, and also being aware of their usage in Greece and China. Boucher and the War Office's officials argued that they would force the guerrillas back into the jungle, break up their bands, and cut their links to the MCP underground. 84 To these ends too the RAF was to assist by conducting napalm air-strikes which, notably, had been undertaken for the first time ever in COIN during June 1948 in Greece under the covert direction of the RAF's advisers there. 85 Ritchie also used his knowledge of other counter-guerrilla operations (particularly those in postwar Burma) to suggest the rather unusual tactic of 'small columns' operating from 'firm bases' against irregulars. 86 But even more novel was a proposal to form an unorthodox counter-guerrilla 'Jungle Guerrilla Force'. General Boucher has been credited with seeing 'the need for a force which could harry the insurgents', and Ritchie certainly supported the idea by July 1948, The new unit was to utilise and hone the 'lessons of various special forces', and apparently these included not only those of World War 11 (like the SOE and Chindits) but probably the Greek 'Commandos' as well. For the new 'Ferret Force' was meant to duplicate their distinctive dual tactical roles, 'ferret(ing) . . . out' guerrillas by independent deep patrolling and also acting as a vanguard force in large scale operationsY During the summer of 1948 the Malaya HQ in fact contemplated an

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experiment in extended patrolling of up to three or four months duration, which would have been a major advance towards modem counter-guerrilla patrolling by the British Army. And already in the winter of 1947-48 some Greek Commandos had been extending the length of their deep patrols to several weeks and even months, providing a precedent for those senior officers in Malaya who were pondering the 'lessons' of Greece and other IS campaigns. However, there was a long-held and widespread belief among military men in both Greece and Malaya that infantry sections were incapable of successfully undertaking independent deep patrols into 'guerrilla country' for prolonged periods, and so the current overall climate of opinion was against significant tactical innovation. The concept of protracted small unit area-patrolling therefore took some to catch on in both COIN wars, and another factor militating against change in Malaya was the supposed 'impenetrability' of the Malayan jungle. Hence, in the summer of 1948 HQ Malaya asserted that small-unit independent jungle patrols could not be sustained for more than three weeks. And the HQ instead backed the standard one-week patrols advocated by the Ferrets' newly-appointed chief instructor, Lt-Colonel WaIter Walker, (who had fought on the North-West Frontier and also in wartime and postwar Burma).88 Over and above Boucher's and Ritchie's use of 'lessons' from Greece, Burma and China, there are numerous similm:ities between the founding of the Ferret Force and the Palestine undercover police squads in 1947. Although there does not appear to be any evidence that these were studied by the Army in mid-1948, parallels between the two situations once more illustrate the extent to which new counter-guerrilla thinking was burgeoning within the British military. The new Ferret groups totalled 320 personnel and were organised as sub-units of 16 men each, led by ex-SOE operatives. The C-in-C FELF and GOC Malaya evidently shared with the Palestine authorities a hope that their new COIN force's leaders could utilise their wartime experience of fighting with partisan guerrillas to devise better counter-guerrilla methods. There was a common desire also to deploy their new resources swiftly in an attempt to achieve some quick morale-boosting success, and as a consequence the Ferret Force, like its Palestinian predecessor, did not have much time for tactical reflection. Hence, the Ferret groups initially undertook three to four day patrolling in the jungle 'fringes' from the middle of July 1948, and thereafter they additionally acted as a vanguard in sweeps as and when required by commanders on the ground. Finally in regard to parallels with the Middle East, the War Office's current Director of Military Operations, the forward-looking General A.D. Ward, loaned his support to the Ferret Force, as he had to the new Palestine police squads. 89 This indicates that in spite of the traditionalism pervading the Service Department, the more progressive (nay adventurous) elements

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within it were consistently encouraging refinements in counter-guerrilla warfare and were making some headway. Most historians assert that from the middle of 1948 onwards those fighting in Malaya 'proceeded with (COIN measures) disparately and almost intuitively', without any real strategic vision or plan. 90 But while this may have seemed to be the case because some policies initially were not implemented or did not deal with the insurgents effectively, in fact senior army officers drew up strategic plans based not upon intuition but on the 'lessons' of other conflicts. During August and September 1948 General Ritchie held conferences with senior officers to review 'lessons' and he alluded to 'CHINA and GREECE'. Following the examples set there they decided to try to isolate the communist irregulars from the popUlation, by forcing them into the jungle. And to this end Ritchie urged Boucher to emphasise to field commanders the importance of forming their own 'Ferret element' and of deploying a "'framework" of troops upon which to build up ... Striking Forces'. The C-in-C FELF stated that the framework's airsupplied 'light forces' should patrol specific areas for two to three weeks at a time, and to stay within them in order to build up intelligence as well as to help control squatters and guerrilla food sources. 9 ] The army's plan incorporated some key modern counter-guerrilla policies, and while further refinements of the patrolling technique were required 'lessons' were being 'learned' even at this early stage. Indeed, the British authorities in the Far East stressed the need to utilise any of the local inhabitants' knowledge of unconventional warfare to improve techniques, and in mid-August 1948 Colonial Office and Army administrators in Whitehall considered asking the Australians to provide men with experience of 'special operations' for service in Malaya. At this juncture Ritchie preferred to rely on men with local knowledge and experience for counter-guerrilla operations (as the Greeks did in spring 1947). But London clearly was anxious to provide specialist COIN assistance to the army in Malaya. And furthermore, the War Office approved of the Malaya authorities' plan, underlining the importance of preventing the MCP from establishing any 'liberated areas' that could be linked together to overthrow the State, and recognising that the anti-communist venture being undertaken would be a protracted one.92 These War Office staff undoubtedly based their views on the model communist 'national liberation struggles' underway in Greece and China, just as senior army officers in the Far East were doing. Although the Malaya authorities are said to have had only a 'dimly perceived' notion of the importance of squatters to the insurgents, by October 1948 the army top brass had identified the need for a long term programme of counter-organisation relocation also. For 18 months thereafter bureaucratic inertia prevented much progress in this respect,93 but

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the principle was recognised. Further, the formation of a protective village 'Home Guard' was authorised in August 1948, and soon afterwards the FELF HQ stressed that it was vital for 'the civil administration to follow up and take over cleared areas' - another crucial point that had been demonstrated recently in Greece. This panoply of new-fangled counterguerrilla measures in conjunction with a Clear-and-Hold strategy (like that recommended to the Chiefs of Staff by the BMM[G]'s commander, General Down, in October 1948)94 was devised by Ritchie, Boucher and their staffs as a result of the British Army's consecutive postwar IS commitmentsparticularly in Greece and Burma - and for the first time ever both wellknown and relatively unfamiliar counter-guerrilla methods were being sponsored at the start of a major British counter-rebellion campaign. General Ritchie realised too that if counter-guerrilla improvements were to be adopted across the board in Malaya then a new means of disseminating ideas was required, for 'in practice standardisation of methods takes time' .95 Thus, he ordered Colonel Walker to found a Far East Training Centre that could train officers and NCOs in 'Ferret'/patrol techniques, which was in itself an advance in terms of British preparations for counter-guerrilla war. Soon Walker and other Burma War veterans were training contingents of army and police officers in one-to-seven-day small unit patrolling, and as nearly half of the army officers in Malaya had fought in wartime or postwar Burma they readily adopted the type of patrol and air-supply procedures that had been pioneered there. However, some reinforcements arriving in Malaya were more accustomed to 'cordon-and-search ... (and) anti-riot drills', and 'lessons' drawn from the Palestine episode. They based their initial COIN training on traditional IS wisdom, along with the War Office's Malaya 'Notes' and 'Jungle Jottings, 1945' which stressed short duration patrolling. For the rest of 1948 much of the army's training was done 'on the job' by officers without experience of 'jungle warfare', and whilst by 1949 the 'majority of British troops were national service-men', few of those officers who attended the early two-to-six week Jungle Warfare Courses made the time between operations to pass on current thinking about tactics to their colleagues and subordinates. 96 In this situation, many of those who were planning operations at a local level utilised their knowledge of conventional warfare or 'Imperial-policing ... on the Frontier ... Middle East' or even South Africa, to use sweeps, drives or large mobile columns. 97 Indeed, numerous platoon patrols mounted during 1948 were conducted in order to gather information for the drives and sweeps that continued throughout that year and the next. 9& Nevertheless, Walker has noted that by September 1948 he was arguing that large scale offensives were a 'waste of time', and Ritchie and Boucher did recognise that the communist guerrillas, like their comrades elsewhere, would not be

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crushed by the 'orthodox methods' being used to 'keep the enemy on the move' and to break up its larger units. Rather, Ritchie contended, a 'permanent "framework'" of patrols was 'right in principle', and once this was put in place 'operations in general (would) involve smaller numbers of troops and big sweeps (would) become rarer ' .99 By the end of 1948, many units already were learning from their lack of success and from the Ferrets' example. They dropped sweeps and drives 'in favour of small patrols operating within very restricted areas ... for (more) protracted periods' of up to three weeks. 100 And while Ferret Force was dissolved in December 1948 'with the complete support of the War Office traditionalists', it had been Ritchie's intention to do this once widespread 'jungle warfare' training was underway. In fact, numerous ex-Ferret members contributed to this by 'spread(ing) the doctrine' produced thus far to the rest of the army from January 1949.101 In another echo of the Palestine undercover police initiative, pseudoguerrilla 'Chinese squads' were being set up by 1949 as well. A local government official, John C. Litton, was responsible for organising special police 'Chinese Assault Teams' that 'dressed as Communists' and laid short ambushes for them while patrolling at the jungle fringes. 102 And with Malaya HQ also deciding in December 1948 to distribute 'lessons' from its 'periodical review of operations' to all units as a supplement to their own 'Learning Notes' ,103 by 1949 much of the army in Malaya was preparing to move from traditional methods towards the gradual development of modern counter-guerrilla warfare. At the end of 1948 the War Office Directorate of Military Training also requested monthly 'lessons summaries' from HQ Malaya, and a 'pamphlet on lessons' from the Far East theatre HQ,I04 indicating its willingness to adapt Army IS training in the light of experience. Similarly, the Cabinet Overseas Defence Committee recognised the importance of trying to include lessons in the Directorate's forthcoming 'IS Military Training Pamphlet', which it had been working on since 1946. And the recent appointment of the progressive Field-Marshal Slim as CIGS may have encouraged the War Office's heightened attentiveness to 'lesson-learning' too. Indeed, some of its intelligence staff dealing with Malaya in 1948 pointed out that Palestine showed that it was 'usually ... impossible' to defeat guerrillas by orthodox large-scale operations. 105 It would take time for many traditionalists in both Britain and Asia to reassess their long-held IS ideas, however, for often 'men go on thinking in an old pattern even when its logical foundations have been destroyed' .106 Indeed, while (what became known as) the Malayan Races Liberation Army (MRLA) fielded both large and small units against the British in 1949, some local commanders 'continued unceasingly' to execute sweeps and drives,

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and Boucher and the new Police Commissioner, Colonel W. Nicol Gray (with COIN experience from Palestine), reaffirmed their worth for unsettling the MRLA. Still, in January 1949 they urged wholesale training in Ferret patrolling, and from then on 'more orthodox ... sweeps were abandoned (by more units) in favour of patrol operations (on the model prescribed by Ritchie), a given area being sub-divided ... for platoon ... intensive patrolling for a given period'. By spring 1949 this was being extended to two or even three weeks on the ground, and the Training Centre followed suit later on.W7 During March 1949, at the same time that Slim was backing expansion of the Greek Commandos,108 HQ Malaya 'decided to develop . . . (the army's) tactical technique (further) and maintain patrols in the jungle for considerably longer'. The Malaya High Commissioner, Sir Henry Gurney (also appointed due to his Palestine experience, following a glowing testimonial from Sir Alan Cunningham), noted in May 1949 that recent studies of wartime and postwar 'underground' movements undertaken in Malaya revealed various 'lessons', including the need for resettlement and 'counter-guerrillas' like the Greek 'Commandos'. And as it had done in mid-1948, the Malaya HQ once more considered experimenting with prolonged small unit patrolling of two months or more (as some Greek Commando units were doing in 1948-49). But again the army HQ erred on the side of caution and it arranged for trials with jungle patrols lasting for only half that time,l09 which was still a step in the right direction. During March 1949, the forward-looking War Office Directorate of Military Operations (possibly at Gurney's behest) additionally asked General Ritchie if it could assist him by raising a 'commando or guerriIla type' force led by ex-SOE men, reinforcing its support for similar units in Greece and Palestine. And although Ritchie asserted that he had adequate resources to undertake a Clear-and-Hold strategy already,110 the War Office's proposal predates the formation of an SAS line (rather than Territorial) regiment for COIN duty by more than a year. Around this time too, the SIS (with War Office connivance) was organising clandestine 'stay-behind' forces, such as Italy's 'Gladio' groups, for guerrilla resistance in the event of Soviet invasion. Furthermore, the SIS used 'a number of paramilitary experts from wartime days', including former SOE members, to train. guerrillas fighting in Albania, the Ukraine and Baltic States, assisted by 'small bands of commandos [sic]'.1ll Hence, although there were still many Britons who opposed military unorthodoxy in 1949 it was coming more to the fore, and its proponents were making steady progress. In April 1949 General Boucher assisted the nominal operational commander, Colonel Gray, in producing a paper on future requirements. These included 'intensive patrolling' and ambushing, especially in guerrilla

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food-supply areas, as well as resettlement, and sweeps and drives against big MRLA units,m These continued for the rest of the year, In and with steady operational commitments, some officers new to Malaya remained unaware of or unreceptive to the Training Centre's instruction, which included a touring 'demonstration platoon', and War Office doctrine like 'The Jungle Book, 1943', and Military Training Pamphlets 51 and 52, These suggested information-gathering and 'long range penetration' patrolling from bases for a day or so, ambushing, and experimentation generally, Yet patrols of four or five days length were considered exceptional, and the Training Centre itself did not yet espouse the new thinking about prolonged patrolling lasting for a month or more,1I4 Another hindrance to progress on the ground was the fact that resettlement (as had been the case in Greece) initially was delayed due to 'complacency, red tape ' " and (Malay) opposition to change', Consequently, it did not really take off until the winter of 1949-50,11; Notwithstanding these impediments to progress, in July 1949 the army hierarchy in Malaya stressed that they 'must try anything that appears to be a good idea (and) , , , NOT allow, , , tactics and methods to become stereotyped' ,"6 Indeed, in that month the War Office at last printed its new 'Notes on Duties in Aid of the Civil Power, 1949', and unlike its previous IS doctrine it did not highlight the importance of 'drives', Further, it had accepted the value of 'Home Guards', counter-organisation, and small unit actions, so as to combat the 'New Pattern' of rebellion inspired by wartime 'undergrounds' ,Ill Clearly some of the general lessons of Greece, Palestine and Malaya had been incorporated by the War Office, but much of its traditional wisdom remained, and the 'Notes' did not herald any major doctrinal rethink as yet. This is understandable in view of the newness of some of the counter-guerrilla concepts devised at this time, and unsurprising because of the conservative nature of the British military, Nonetheless, a debate over tactics was evidently raging in Whitehall during 1949, for supplementary passages were soon being written for the 'Notes' and it was not widely circulated within the Army during 1949, Further, the argument featured in some influential British military journals,1I8 though in Malaya itself large operations increasingly were viewed as secondary in importance to 'saturation or platoon fighting patrols' ,119 Gray, Boucher and Ritchie hoped to clear the MRLA relatively swiftly by these means, but when the Greek communists were defeated in October 1949 HQ Malaya noted that their Malayan comrades would not be subdued quickly unless they too shifted to conventional fighting in a 'civil war', At that point the new C-in-C FELF, General Sir John Harding, supported sustained small unit patrols of the guerrilla 'feeding and breeding grounds' at the jungle's edge, along with resettlement, in order to Clear-and-Hold the

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country. And furthennore Boucher and his staff 'decided to develop ... (the) tactical technique and maintain (section) patrols in the jungle' for periods of up to two months. The GOCurged all unit commanders to move towards modern counter-guerrilla patrolling, though the lack of available intelligence, operational commitments and some officers' faith in age-old methods meant that progress was patchy. 120 Nevertheless, in January 1950 a Commanders' Conference agreed with the GOC that future 'operations (should) ... be carried out on a system of "saturation patrolling" by platoons for several weeks at a time in the jungle fringes, supplemented by major offensives with "Striking Forces"', along with resettlement and better policing.12I Subsequently, Field-Marshal Slim claimed that he had 'always been' of this view, because such measures were 'found in similar operations' . 122 This more than likely referred to those that he had witnessed recently in Greece. General Boucher argued as well that while local COs were still free to orchestrate operations as they saw fit, it was vital that they all dance to the HQ's 'tune'. And he wondered whether a 'pamphlet on jungle warfare' should be written to ensure this.123 This was an opportunity to encourage a more unifonn tactical policy in Malaya, but in the event it was spurned and no new doctrine was produced at this juncture. Presumably the consensus among senior officers was that the Training Centre was best placed to furnish them with the relevant infonnation, (including the War Office's forthcoming and long-awaited Notes), and indeed all new reinforcements were supposed to be instructed in patrol, ambush and other action drills by the Training Centre henceforth. However, training was severely disrupted in the first quarter of 1950,124 and often the knowledge that officers and NCOs had gained about small unit operations was lost for good because of a 'constant change(over) of units'·Ys Another hindrance to progress turned out to be the appointment in February 1950 of a temporary GOC to replace the ill Boucher. MajorGeneral Robert E. Urquhart soon visited units 'to discuss operations', but because Boucher was expected to return within six mnths, Urquhart's ideas on counter-guerrilla warfare do not seem to have been properly considered in London. But Boucher did not recover, and so by mid-1950 Urquhart was told to carry on and did so for two years! And having served in India from . 1938 to 1940, and then during the war in North Africa and Europe,126 he had a bias for large scale operations. Additionally, his · leading adviser, LtGeneral Sir Francis Tuker, had fought in the same theatres as. Urquhart during the War, as well as in Mesopotamia between 1919 and 1920 and on the Frontier in the 1930s. Steeped in IS orthodoxy he reportedly argued against small unit experiments in patrolling and criticised the Training Centre's instruction on it. Hence, in the spring and summer of 1950 the

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GOC and his fellow traditionalists advocated big encirclements, incorporating patrolling within them, which 'would ... not have appealed' to General Boucher.127 And while the War Office's revised Notes were 'issued down to platoon' level in Malaya early in 1950, the need to refine small unit tactics was not underlined in them. Indeed, new officers emerging from the traditionalist bastion of Camberley who went to the Far East had not been taught any Malayan lessons either. 128 In spite of the ongoing debate about policy, at the start of 1950 General Harding, a fan of the wartime SAS and other special forces, took up a suggestion from Field-Marshal Slim and asked the War Office Directorate of Military Operations to form what the Chindits had called a 'long-range penetration squad' for deep patrolling. In February 1950, one of their former commanders, Lt-Colonel J. Mike Calvert, who was well known in Whitehall due to his persistent pressure to re-establish the SAS for use in counter-guerrilla wars, was tasked with investigating the potential roles of a new force and reporting within six months. 129 To this end too the War Office now accepted an Australian offer of advice from a Military Mission of eight 'experts' who had carried out guerrilla operations from 1943 to 1945 in New Guinea. They visited Malaya during July and August 1950. 110 Another advance made in February 1950 was the War Office's dispatch of films about air-supply to HQ Malaya, 131 and even more progressively it approved the C-in-C FELF's request for an Operational Research Group that could help with the perfection of tactics and weaponries from June 1950. 132 This was a COIN first for the Service Department, as was its support for Gurney and Harding's suggestion to appoint a 'supremo' who could coordinate military/ security operations more effectively and oversee improvements. (This proposal was reminiscent of General Alexandros Papagos' appointment as Commander-in-Chief in Greece, although he was given very broad politico-military powers; a measure supported by General Down and Whitehall by October 1948).113 Several 'expert' candidates with IS/guerrilla experience were considered as 'Director of Operations', but Slim and the War Office went for their second choice, Major-General Sir Harold Briggs,· who had led the IS campaign in Burma from 1946 to 1948. 114 However, while charged with 'directing' operations, he was not given overall command of all security and civil agencies, and so Briggs' power to effect change was limited.l15 Details of the 'Briggs Plan' are well known, but less so is the fact that he relied upon civil and military advisers to help write it early in April 1950, and it bore more than a passing resemblance to Boucher's January recommendations to Clear-and-Hold, using resettlement, intelligence-based rather than 'prophylactic and will o'the wisp patrolling', as well as major operations. Briggs though was familiar with similar practices from interwar

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and postwar Bunna, and he recommended encircling drives and other policies on the basis of 'past experience' y6 Soon afterwards, the Secretary of State for War, John Strachey, who compared the Malaya situation to Greece and China, declared that the Briggs Plan would result in victory. m Yet in spite ofthe fact that there were far fewer large MRLA units active during 1950, sweeps and drives continued to be taught, executed and supported at the highest level by the anny in Malaya, despite their lack of 'tangible results'. Hence, the Briggs Plan at first had the effect of boosting the traditionalists in the anny HQ and in the War Office, and to some extent this retarded the growth of new thinking about counter-guerrilla warfare during the summer of 1950.138 In contrast to the current position in Malaya, during May 1950, after 'lengthy consideration', the Cabinet Overseas Defence Committee decided that all colonial governments, military Commands and training institutes must be provided with copies of the Colonial Office's new booklet, 'IS: Lessons of the Malaya Emergency'. It included lessons on resettlement, protective 'Guards', and 'counter-guerrillas', as well as most of the other aspects of IS covered by the War Office's latest Notes. 1W And although no radical new blueprint was being expounded, Whitehall was making an unprecedented effort to prepare civil and military authorities for their IS duties in the light of recent experience, and innovation was being encouraged in the corridors of power. Some contemporary military literature also reflected this trend. HO In view of the lack of progress made against the MRLA by July 1950, Briggs met his senior officers to discuss 'tactical methods'. They felt that Boucher's January edicts had been followed, but agreed that lately the emphasis had been on major operations. Lt-Colonel Calvert proposed a reorientation towards 'very small patrols' of two or three men, operating in the jungle for long periods from bases and setting ambushes. This evoked 'considerable disagreement', but while most supported patrols at the jungle fringes and acknowledged that the Training Centre's courses 'covered the requirements for a common doctrine' on this (and at least one Sub-District HQ had produced its own pamphlet for this purpose) they did not press for any new universal doctrine. Instead the brigade commanders wanted to retain their right to act as they saw fit in their own locales and to rely on 'anything new' coming to their attention from the Training Centre and its touring cadre. But in addition to developing patrol drills, the Centre still taught traditional tactics, and when the top brass rejected the notion that 'further control be exercised by (HQ) MALAYA ... to ensure the fullest use is made of operational lessons' another chance to popularise and build on fresh counter-guerrilla thinking was wasted. Indeed, Briggs' staff continued to advocate sweeps and drives to push the MRLA into the jungle,141 and

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while it takes time for new concepts to be accepted and adopted within any complex organisation like an army, General Briggs' first 'lesson-learning' initiative failed to make much ground. Nevertheless, the War Office's Director of Tactical Investigation, Lt-General Richard N. Gale, read about the Conference, and as an exponent of experimentation in Palestine he drew on it to update War Office doctrine on 'anti-bandit tactics'. The resulting 'Tactics in Malaya' report of October 1950 incorporated Calvert's suggestions, and subsequently it was circulated to military colleges including Camberley.142 Additionally, Malaya veterans gave lectures there soon afterwards,143 while units heading East were given new counter-guerrilla forest training and by 1951 'Company commanders were flown out to Malaya to attend (two month) jungle warfare courses.' 144 By then new officers were undoubtedly much more aware of the nature of modern guerrilla war, and although some felt more comfortable with traditional IS wisdom and applied it 'in country', many developed a more modern counter-guerrilla approach in their own districts. The trend towards modernism was reinforced in August 1950 when the War Office approved Calvert's recommendation for an SAS force that could do modern counter-guerrilla patrols from 1951. Further, he suggested the reestablishment of the SAS for use in future counter-guerrilla wars, but the War Office shied away from this due to fears about encouraging 'private armies'. (An 'unofficial SAS' contingent was organised by Major Alistair McGregor et at. ready to fight in Korea in 1950, as one had done in Greece). So, the Malaya Scouts (SAS) were to consist of a maximum of only 150 men, many of whom were SAS and SOE veterans of the war, along with some who had fought in Greece. And perhaps in the light of their recent escapades the new force was made answerable directly to the C-in-C FELF who had proposed them, rather than to the War Office. 14) Still, the Australian Mission to Malaya backed Calvert's 'unorthodox methods', and he also sought inspiration from previous out-of-the-ordinary counter-guerrilla operations, offering the command of two of the new SAS squadrons to Major McGregor and Captain Roy Farran. McGregor swiftly organised his group, but while Farran accepted Calvert's offer this was blocked by the War Office. It was felt that 'however desirable from the military point of view' his Palestine record could cause London 'considerable . . . embarrassment' .146 Nonetheless, this is another striking example of how Britons involved in COIN drew on wartime special operations and postwar COIN experience to improve counter-guerrilla techniques, with the SAS once more being central to this process. Other innovations made during the summer of 1950 included 'Low Altitude Air Supplying' and the use of electronic warfare measures against MRLA radio traffic. 147 And following an Australian suggestion to utilise the

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'deception' expertise of former SOE agents, several men with 'wide experience of covert deception' were sent to Malaya at Harding's request, in spite of opposition from Briggs.148 Furthermore, in September 1950 General Briggs himself expressed concern that 'framework' patrolling was being 'abandoned, sometimes for long periods to permit ... large scale operations', and he reassigned reserve Striking Forces to this task. Moreover, 'improvements in tactics and technique (we)re under constant examination' and in mid-November 1950 Briggs issued a Directive demanding six-week-long area patrolling by 'small controlled units with a view to ambushing in the fringes' .149 Harding backed the policy and by 1951 some two-thirds of the army was engaged in this way.I,O Although sweeps continued to be used as well,I'1 the army in Malaya was well on the way to generally accepting the worth of a modern counter-guerrilla approach. In January 1951 the SAS began its modern counter-guerrilla patrolling. Although it was for some time in a 'precarious position' with the War Office because of the unruly behaviour of some soldiers, the new Director of Military Operations, Brigadier R. W. McLeod (who had commanded the SAS in 1944 and 1945), encouraged its endeavours. Some 'senior officers (however, still) ha(d) a strong dislike' for independent deep patrols, and so they employed the SAS as a vanguard in their big operations. I,2 But in spite of such actions, in April 1951 Anny delegates at a meeting of various IS agencies stated that the Malaya authorities were taking the right steps to achieve success,I,3 and from spring 1951 'everywhere active patrolling ... (was) carried out and ambushes laid'. Other 'improved methods' included the growing use of Surrendered Enemy Personnel as pseudo-guerrillas, booby traps,I,4 and with resettlement advancing apace the more extensive use of food-controls, such as 'food-restricted areas (for) . . . creating intelligence' by obliging 'underground (suppliers) ... to surface'.155 Along with COIN political measures this array of modern counterguerrilla activities started to pay dividends by 1951. Although the MRLA's attacks peaked in that year, and they murdered High Commissioner Gurney, the security forces achieved more and more small unit successes,l56 and the foundations for slow but sure progress were being laid. Indeed, Gurney's death spurred on the debate within Whitehall about whether to appoint a COIN supremo. By December 1951 the new Prime Minister, Winston Churchill, considered several IS-experienced candidates for this post, and in January 1952 General Sir Gerald Templer was chosen.I'7 General Templer knew about COIN from Ireland and had fought the Arabs in interwar Palestine. He had also studied unconventional warfare at the War Office during 1940,1'8 and as the Director of Military Intelligence and then as Vice-CIGS, between 1946 and 1951, he was briefed about IS developments in Burma, Greece, Malaya and elsewhere. 159 As both new

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High Commissioner and Director of Operations he was able to set about reinvigorating the efforts of all COIN agencies from February 1952, as well as reviewing ongoing programmes to assess their effectiveness and identify where improvements could be made. During 1952 some COs still deployed the SAS in major offensives against the few remaining large MRLA units that 'normal security force patrols' had not eliminated. But modern counter-guerrilla patrols of around 15 men made up the bulk of operations, and they accounted for some 35 per cent of all 'contacts'. Indeed, 'big operations in the jungle (had become) .. . most unpopular ... throughout Malaya' ,160 and General Templer supported the SAS's trials with parachute insertion and rappelling,161 as well as the growing use of 'Q'/' Ranger' pseudo-guerrilla 'gangs'162 This positive attitude towards innovation bore more fruit during the summer when Captain H. Latimer experimented with a reduction in military action in his locale for three months, along with intensified intelligence-gathering and food-control, followed by relaxed security and control measures combined with renewed military operations. This 'target manipulation' was soon repeated country-wide, and in conjunction with 'systematic framework operations applied in concentrated form', the counter-guerrilla cause was being steadily advanced. 163 Over and above such progress at the local level, General Templer took immediate steps to boost the COIN effort as well. Clearly unhappy with the current GOC, he arranged for a former colleague, Major-General Hugh Stockwell (who had fought in Burma during the war and in Palestine after it), to take over by June 1952. 164 Indeed, he asked whether Urquhart had had any influence on the Training Centre's instruction in tactics and techniques, and he urged its staff to refine their training. 165 By February Templer also had requested a new Operational Research Section from the War Office to help devise better methods and weapons, and later he ordered all junior commanders to fill out 'ZZ' forms detailing patrol contacts so that the ORS (Malaya) could 'collate all the ... information ... draw conclusions' and propose changes. l66 He additionally got the Chiefs of Staff to sanction a scientific team to develop booby traps, electronic warfare and other 'exotic' technologies, and he set up a study into the potential operational value of helicopters. Further, he acquired assistance from several intelligence experts,t67 and with the military hierarchy in Britain helping in all these matters, evidently the modern approach to counter-guerrilla war was becoming more established by 1952. General Templer additionally travelled the country with 'four ... wise men' to try to pick up new ideas, and soon he realised that there was a vast 'wealth of jungle fighting experience available' that had not 'been properly collated or presented to those whose knowledge and experience (wa)s not

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so great'. Hence, in May 1952 he asked whether there was 'any system of sucking the brain(s) of COs of units who .. . had .. . better success than others', and he decided that a 'common tactical doctrine' should be written and distributed throughout Malaya. 168 The GOC was ordered to organise this, and Colonel W. Walker was tasked with producing material on military tactics for the new 'ATOM' COIN manual. Some of its passages 'strongly resembled' the War Office's Military Training Pamphlets 51 and 52, which had been used at the Training Centre. 169 But Major-General R. M. M. Lockhart was made responsible for overseeing future tactical and training developments, and in itself the ATOM was a major step forward. Some 6000 copies were sent to the army and police in July,I7Oand it complemented COIN courses held, for the first time from August 1952, for every security force unit. ATOM too was a real doctrinal advance, focusing on both the political aspects of the conflict, and on Clear-and-Hold action, notably resettlement, food-controls and sustained small unit area-patrol and ambush from bases utilising available information. And although it did not advocate a wholesale shift to modern counter-guerrilla patrolling and still recommended large scale operations to harass the enemy, the shortcomings of these methods were pointed OUt. 171 Indeed, Raffi Gregorian's assertion that ' there were no major changes in tactics' in Malaya and 'patrolling and ambushing were based upon "timehonoured" methods' 171 crucially ignores both the process of development of small unit tactics into modem counter-guerrilla patrol operations by the British between 1944 and 1952, and particularly the gradual acceptance by the Army of new practices in preference to the large scale/unit tactics that were at the heart of its traditional and favoured approach to fighting guerrillas in all its prewar counter-rebellion campaigns. 17J By 1953 the ATOM manual was used across Malaya, and by that spring it was in addition being applied 'almost word for word' in Kenya. Although it would take time for the British Army as a whole to adopt the modern counterguerrilla war approach, the ATOM was accepted by the military establishment in Britain, and it was utilised by the UK and numerous other countries across the world from the 1950s onwards .m The production of a new modem counter-guerrilla and COIN doctrine was the culmination of nearly ten years of 'learning' by the British Army and its COIN partners. And while it was in Malaya that many advances were made, not least in terms of 'operational research ' and formal preparations for combatting guerrillas,175 many 'lessons' learned by 1952 had their origins elsewhere. The formation of British special forces during the Second World War proved to be of great significance for the advancement of counter-guerrilla thought and practice, with the SAS being crucial for tactical developments in Greece and Malaya. Indeed, the

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Regiment's history requires revision in the light of Britain's covert COIN commitment to Greece, as does that relating to British 'small wars' in general. In retrospect it was somewhat fortuitous that the Army was pitted against modern guerrillas in one commitment after another from 1945. But soldiers in widely dispersed locations learned from each others' experiences, assisted by some elements of the military establishment in London, and the neglected Greek campaign proved central to the development of policies in Malaya, which in turn laid the basis for modern counter-guerrilla warfare as we know it today. NOTES My grateful thanks go to the many people and organisations who assisted me with financial support and furnished me with invaluable information through interviews, correspondence and archival sources during my research. The Author thanks the Trustees of the Liddell Hart Centre for Military Archives for permission to quote papers in their possession and copyright. 1.

2. 3.

On operations in Indo-China, Iraq, Burma, Dutch East Indies, India, Palestine, Greece, Eritrea, Malaya and Somaliland - T.L. lones, 'The Development of British CounterInsurgency Policies and Doctrine, 1945-1952' (PhD, Univ. of London 1992) pp.81-6; and on Greece, ChsA,6; 'The Evolution of the British Army's Counter-Guerilla Tactical Policies, 1945-1950' (unpub. paper for Inst. of Historical Research Military History Seminar 1991) passim. Also on 'modem guerrilla war', for example, B. Singh and K. Mei The Theory and Practice of Modern Guerrilla Waifare (London: Asia House 1971) pp.3-7. For instance, T. Mockaitis, British Counterinsurgency, 1919...{50 (London: Macmillan 1990) passim.

4. 5. 6.

7.

8. 9.

10.

A. Porter, European Imperialism, 1860-1914 (London: Macmillan 1994) p.5. For example, Notes on Imperial Policing, 1934 (London: War Office 1934) Royal Military Academy Library, Sandhurst. On pre-1944 anti-British campaigns, T.L. Jones PhD, Ch.2; Mockaitis (note 3). Several historians have argued that Ireland 'marked the difference between traditional and modem guerrilla war ' , such as, A. Selth, 'Ireland and Insurgency - the Lessons of History', Small Wars & Insurgencies 2/2 (Aug. 1991) p.301. Some army officers drew on the Irish campaign to set up the Special Night Squads in 1930s Palestine, and units like the Special Operations Executive (SOE) and Commandos of World War n, which in turn influenced some COIN policy-makers from 1945, T.L. lones PhD, ppA5,70--3. Interwar IS operations in, T.L. lones PhD, Ch.2; B. Pimlott 'The British experience' in LF.W. Beckett (ed.) The Roots of Counter-insurgency Armies and Guerilla Waifare, 1900-1945 (London: Blandford 1988) p.17. On the Army and small.unit action, Raffi Gregorian '''Jungle Bashing" in Malaya: Towards a Formal Tactical Doctrine ' Small Wars & Insurgencies 5/3 (Winter 1994) p.339; War Office (WO) Military Training Pamphlet (MTP) 51 ' Preparation for war in the Far East' (lune 1945), W0279/99, Public Record Office, Kew (PRO). Unless stated, records are at the PRO. Regarding attitudes to LS . soon after the War, for example, P. Darby, British Defence Policy East of Suez 1945-73 (London: OUP 1973) pp.J7,45, 50. Cf. T.L. lones PhD, pp.86-8. For details of wartime unorthodox forces, for instance, I. Strawson, A History of the SAS Regiment (London: Secker 1984) pp. 19-20; P. MacDonald, The SAS in Action (London: Sidgwick 1990) p.IO; and also for Mountbatten's observation about the Chindits' influence, Brig. I .M. Calvert, Prisoners of Hope (London: Corgi 1973) pp.15, 23, 85. WO MTP 51, W0279/99 ; MTP 52 'Forest, Bush and lungle Warfare' (1942), and MTP 56 ' Mountain Warfare' (1943) noted by Maj.-Gen. R.c. Money, Mountain and Snow Warfare Committee report, to WO Directorate of Military Training (DMT), 3 Oct. 1944,

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11. 12. 13. 14.

15.

16. 17.

18. 19. 20. 21. 22.

23.

24. 25.

SMALL WARS AND INSURGENCIES W032110993. Also refer to Gregorian (note 7) for MTP 52 (1944) pp.341-2. British views about the Frontier are in A. Swinson, The North- West Frontier (London: Corgi 1969) p.390. Articles on future IS action in the Jnl of the United Service Institution of India (lUSH) included, Anonymous 'Commandos and Waziristan' 309 (Oct. 1942), pp.351-3; Lt-Col. F.e. Simpson, 'Frontier warfare in retrospect and prospect' 313 (Oct. 1943) pp.381-5. Maj.-Gen. R.e. Money, Mountain Warfare Committee Interim Report, to WO DMT, 14 Aug.1944, and MTP 90 (May 1945), W032/10993. The Army also used familiar IS measures in Palestine, 1942--44, see TL. Jones PhD, pp.92-7. WO Directorate of Military Intelligence (DMI) MI14, 'German guerrilla and underground resistance' (Nov. 1944), 'Guerrilla Warfare' (Dec. 1944), in Army HQ Palestine (HQPaI.) Papers, W0169f19521. On MI6, MI5, and SOE, N. West, The Friends-Britain's Posrwar Secret Intelligence Operations (London: Weidenfeld 1988) p.lO; J. Bloch and P. Fitzgerald British Intelligence and Covert Action (London: Junction Books, 1983) p.30; M. Baigent, R. Leigh, and H. Lincoln The Messianic Legacy (London: Corgi 1987) p.315. On the WO and SOE, WO Organisation Table SOE, Amendment 2,5 May 1946, W02121213. On the SAS and the WO, Brig. J.M. Calvert, interview at Special Forces Club, London, 10 April 1991; and his unpub. paper to the author, 'COIN Policies', 20 March 1991; A. Kemp The SAS: Savage Wars of Peace. 1947 to the Present (London: J. Murray 1994) pp.3, 5; interview, 26 May 1996; WO Directorate of Tactical Investigation (DTI), 'Control of Special Units & Organisations', 20 Sept. 1946, to Directorate of Military Operations, (DMO), W02321l OB. Regarding army officers' intellectual outlook before and after World War H, S. Bidwell and D. Graham, Firepower: British Army Weapons and Theories of War, 1904-1945 (London: George, Alien & Unwin 1982) p.293. On the Army's conservatism, W. Snyder, The Politics of British Defence Policy (Ohio: E. Benn 1963) pp.130-3; B. Bond British Military Policy between the rwo World Wars (Oxford: Clarendon Press 1980) p.38. Re those fighting the British, TL. Jones PhD, pp.80-5; and, for example, M. ElliotBateman, 'The Conditions for People's War' in idem. (ed.) Revolt to Revolutioll (Manchester UP 1974) p.282; 1.B. Bell The Myth of the Guerilla (NY: Knopf 1971) p.70. For definitions of 'insurgency' see, TL. Jones PhD, pp.1l-24; B.E. O'Neill, Insurgency and Terrorism (Washington: Brassey's 1990) passim. On pre-insurgency IS training, for instance, GHQ Middle East Forces (GHQMEF) notes, July-Aug. 1945, WOI69115850; B. Hoffman, The Failure of British Military Strategy within Palestine, 1939-47 (Jerusalem: Bar Han Univ. 1983) pp.l7-19. Notably D.A. Charters The British Army and the Jewish Insurgency in Palestine, 1945-47 (London: Macmillan 1989) passim. Col. M. Dewar, War in the Streets (London: BCA 1992) p.50. On Greece, for instance, Brig. E.D. Smith, Victory of a Sort (London: R. Hale 1988) passim. Regarding the WO and GHQMEF, GHQMEF notes/memos, 31 Jan., 14 March, May 1945, WOl69/1952 1. Gen. J. D'Arcy, letter, 26 Nov. 1945, WO I 6911 9745. For instance, I Ulster Rifles, on the IRA, Quis Separabit (1946) p.l38; EJ. RookeMatthews 'Memoirs' (Typescript 1958) Ch.9, 92/3711, Imperial War Museum, London, (IWM); Lt-Col. J.E. Margerson, Diary (1946) p.64, South Wales Borderers and Monmouthshire Regimental Museum, Brecon, Powys. For the views of Montgomery and his supporter, the CINCMELF, Gen. Sir M. Dempsey, see FM B.L. Montgomery, The Memoirs of Field-Marshal Montgomery (London: Collins 1958) pp.423,467; COS(46)95, 19 June 1946, CAB79/49; DO(46) 145, 19 Dec. 1946, W0321l0260; CIGS to CINCMELF, 27 June, CINCMELF to CIGS, 4, 10 July, CIGS to CINCMELF, 18,19Dec.,CINCMELFtoCIGS, 16 Nov. 1946, 15 Jan. 1947, W0216/194. Maj.-Gen. L. Whistler, Directive No.6, 2S Feb. 1946, WOI69/22967. Lessons such as MELF Operational Instruction (01), Training No.25, Nov. 1945, W01691l9522; King's Own Hussars, 'Lessons Learned - Road Blocks', Nov. 1945, Diar); 1945-48, Queen's Own Hussars (QOH) Regimental Museum, Warwick; King's Dragoon Guards Regimental War Diary, 1945-46, 21 Feb., 10 April 1946, 1st Queen's Dragoon Guards HQ, Cardiff.

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27.

28.

29. 30.

31. 32. 33.

34. 35. 36. 37.

38.

39.

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Views of the Cabinet, CIGS and High Commissioner (HC), in DO(47)1 , IJan., CM(47)6, 15 Jan. 1947, CAB13115; HC memo to Secretary of State for the Colonies, (SSC), 16 March 1947, C0537/2299; Colonial Office (CO) notes, 3 Jan., CO to HC, 10 Jan. 1947, Cunningham Papers, 5/4, Middle East Centre (MEC), St Anthony's College, Oxford. Other critics of traditional IS methods included HQ 6th Airborne Div., notes, 22 July, and HQ Palestine, notes, 20 July 1946, W0275113. Wickham Report, Nov. 1946, C0537/2269. Cunningham in, CO to HC, to Jan. 1947, Papers, 5/4, MEC; HC Memo to SSC, 16 March 1947, C053712299: up to 20 Palestine policemen were transferred to the BPPM in Greece, 1945-48, E. Home (Palestine police) letters, 21 Aug. 1990, 18 Feb. 1991. Operations in, e.g., HQPaI. Intelligence Summary (lSUM), 13 Jan. 1947, W02611171 ; 12 Jan. 1947 in, Diary of Evellls, 1945-48, Airborne Forces Museum, Aldershot, Hampshire; KOH Diary, Dec. I 946/Jan. 1947, QOH; 17121st Lancers Quarterly Historical Report (QHR), 31 March 1947, Queen's Royal Lancers HQ, Grantham, Lincs. GOC and HC views on them in, HC note, Jan. 1947, Cunningham Papers, 5/4, MEC. On urban cordons, CP(47)59, 13 Feb. 1947, CAB 129117. Re the new police COIN units, B.R. Hoffman 'Jewish Terrorist Activities and the British Government in Palestine, 1939-47' (PhD, Oxford 1985) p.13!. Those urging the Army to learn from the last War included Maj. P.N.M. Moore, 'The Other Side of the Kampong', Arm)' Quarterly 52/2 (July 1946); Cap. J.E. Heelis ' Lessons of Guerrilla Warfare' JUSII328 (July 1947). Also see, for instance, CoL R. Laycock, 'Raids in the late War and their lessons ', Jlll of tile Royal Ullited Service lllstitutioll (JRUSI) 92 (Nov. 1947). For more traditional ideas, Anonymous, 'Internal Security' , JUS1I322 (Jan. 1946); Major H. Crocker, ' Dacoits in Burma', Fightillg Forces (Aug. 1947). For other examples, T.L Jones PhD, p.155, and also refer to G. Blaxland, The Regiments Depart (London: Kimber 1971) pA7. Lt R.P.P. Westerling, Challenge to Terror (London: Kimber 1952) pp.31 , 50-I , 62- 74, 85-91; P. Dennis, Troubled Days of Peace (Manchester UP 1987) pp. 199-200. On 21 SAS Artists (Territorial) Regt, J.G. Shortt, The SAS (London: Arms & Armour 1981) p.18 ; P. Young, The Artists alld the SAS (London: 21 SAS [Territorial Regt] 1960) pp.44, 53; Kemp, Savage (note 15) pS On the police squads, Maj. BE Fergusson, The Trumpet ill the Hall (London: Collins 1970) pp.28 , 72, 142, 184, 210- 11 , 221-6; Capt. R. Farran, Willged Dagger (London: Collins 1948) pp.347-51, 375-81; Maj. A. McGregor, interview, 16 May 1996; Charters (note 18) pp.73, 87, 150-2, 167, and 'Special operations in counter-insurgency: The Farran Case, Palestine, 1947' JRUS/ 124 (Spring 1979) pp.58-60; B. Lapping, The End o.f Empire (London: Granada 1985) p.129; WO/CO correspondence, Feb.-March 1947, C0537/2270; PaL Chief Sec., H. Gurney, note, 25 June 1947, Cunningham Papers 211, MEC; HC to SSC, 5 Jan. 1948, C0537/3872. CoL Gray, letter to Maj.-Gen. Gale, 14 April ; 1st Inf. Div. IS Instruction No.5, 14 April 1947, W02611180. Operational details in, for example, HQPaL ' Survey of Operations', 30 June 1947, W0261/568. HQPaIJHQ Police, 'Combined Military & Police Action', June 1947, W0275/13. Brig. Calvert interview, 10 April 1991. WO prewar doctrine included 1934 'Notes', and 1937 'Duties in Aid of the Civil Power', Ministry of Defence Whitehall Library, London. On the WO review, CO notes for Cabinet Overseas Defence Committee, 26 May, 20ct. 1947, C05371253 I; 1I July, 2 Sept. 1947, and CO/WO correspondence, Aug. I 947-Jan. 1948; WO 'IS Duties' (1947) Draft No.l , pp. l, 19,21,29,36-52,67,73-7, 80; Draft No.2, pp.2, 18, C0537/197 I. On the counterguerrilla investigations in India, T.L. Jones PhD, pp.221-4. On Greece, see below. On the BMM(G), Gen. K.N. Crawford, Land Forces Greece (LFG) Command Review, 17 April 1946, W0169/22879; Prime Minister WS. Churchill, to FO, 12 June 1945, RI0452IF037 1/48272; J. Iatrides, Greece ill the 1940s (London: UP of New England 1981) p.147. Gen . R. Scobie in FO note, H. Macmillan, to PM Churchill , 4 Feb. 1945, R25431F0371148252.

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298 40.

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Gen. S. Rawlins in, British Ambassador Sir C. Norton, to FO, 20 May 1945, R76461F0371/58962. LFG views in its Weekly ISUM, 15 Jan. 1945, WO 17017570; Report, 30 April 1945, W0170nsS5; HQ note, 31 July 1945, W017017531. BMM[G] thinking in its, Reports, 3 Nov. 1945, WOI78/58; 8 Nov. 1945, W0202l892; K. Matthews (BBC), Memories of a Mountain War (London: Longman 1972) p.132. On the operational situation, LFG reports, 14 May 1945, F02861l175 .29; 26 Oct. 1945, W026 1177 1. 41 . Critics of the BMM[G] include Maj . E. O'Ballance, The Greek Civil War (London: Faber 1967) p.129. British views of the KKE bands in Smith (note 20) p.236. 42. BMM[G]'s role in, G. Alexander, Prelude to the Truman Doctrine (Oxford: Clarendon Press 1982) p.214; W.H. McNeill, The Greek Dilemma (London: GolIancz 1947) p.17!. Montgomery's views in, Norton, to FO, I July 1946, R97351F037 1158697; FO memo, 24 July 1946, RI09461F037 1158699; S.G. Xydis, Greece and the Great Powers (Thessaloniki: Inst. of Balkan Studies 1963) p.362. BMM[G] on operations, Gen. Rawlins memo, 21 July 1946, F037 I1 5885 I; Alexander, supra, p.214. 43. Gen. Crawford's views in, Notes on the GNA, 90ct. 1946, W02611771. [Crawford was not the Head of the BMM[G] as per D.H. Close, The Origins afthe Greek Civil War (Essex: Longman 1995) p.200, but the LFG Commander). 44. Rawlins Memo, 14 Nov.; BMM[G] note, 31 Aug. 1946, R-IF037l/58705. 45. Regarding the War and air-supply, RAF Group Notes, 7,1 I Oct. 1946, AIR241752; Xydis (note 42) pp.432-3; Col. J.c. Murray (US Army adviser in Greece) 'The anti-bandit war in · Greece' in T. Greene (ed.) The Guerrilla alld HolV to Fight Him (NY: Praeger 1961) p.83. For War Office reports see note 13. 46. Unfortunately the WO destroyed nearly all records of the Army's covert activities in Greece. On the BMM[G) and the SOE, Calvert interview (note 15); WO Organisation Table SOE, Amendment 2, 5 May 1946, W0212/213, which records 16 'Home/Miscellaneous' SOE staff; Capt. M. Ward, Greek Assignments, 1943-48 (Athens: Lycabettus Press 1992) pp.209, 257. Re the SAS and its ventures, Kemp, The SAS at War (London: Murray 1991) p.229; Savage p.3, and interview (both note 15). Also see, J. Cooper Olle afthe Originals (London: Pan 1991) pp.l20, 168. These operations have been ignored hitherto, for example, J. Ramsay, SAS - The Soldiers' Story (London: Macmillan 1996), and details that are coming to light only now will be included in a future work. 47. On SAS operations in wartime Greece, for instance, C. Chant, The Handbook of British Regiments (London: Routledge, 1988) p.265. The GNA 'Commando' forces are described in BMM[G) Reports, 21 Feb. 1947, W0202/947; Progrep. on GNA. Jan. 1947, W0202/946; GREEKMIL. to TROOPERS, 26 Dec. 1946, W026 11772; Murray, ibid.; Xydis (note 42) pp.362, 531; FO note, Feb. 1949, R21641F037 1178486; M. Campbell et al. The Employment of Ai/power ill the Greek Guerrilla War (Alabama: Aerospace Studies Inst. 1964) p.23. 48. Montgomery's views are in Asst Under-Sec. M.S. Williams, FO, memo for Foreign Sec. E. Bevin, 6 Dec. 1946, RI7376IF037 1/58716; Montgomery (note 23) pp.457-8. 49. On the Chiefs of Staff (COS) and planning, COS(46)181, 11 Dec. 1946, CAB79/54. The BMM[G]'s activities and ideas are in, Gens. Rawlins/Crawford memo, 4 Dec. 1946, W02611771; BMM[G]/Greek General Staff Joint Memo, Il Dec. 1946, and 2 Jan. 1947 notes; Gen. Rawlins note to LFG Brig. J.M. Kirkman, Dec. 1946, W0202/893; Col. Murray in Greene (ed.) p.107. For BMM[G] plans see, RAFHQ report, 1 June 1947, AIR46/62; BMM[G] note, 30 Jan. 1947, W026 1/637; WO DMO M03- Maj. R.E. Austin 'The Official History of the BMM[G), 1945-52' (WO, 1952), W0202/908, and MoD Library, London; BMM[G] report, 10 Feb. 1947, W0202/893; COS(47)30, 21 Feb. 1947, DEFE4/2; 00(47)1, I Jan. 1947, CAB 13 1/4; COS(47)15, 27 Jan. 1947, DEFE4/1. 50. Resettlement in Greece is discussed by A.E. Laiou, 'Population movements in the Greek countryside during the Greek Civil War' in L. Baerentzen (ed.) Studies in the History o.fthe Greek Civil War (Copenhagen: Museum Tusculanum 1987) pp.63-9; J.Y. Kofas Intervention and Development (Pennsylvania: State UP 1989) pp.94-6; and D. Eudes, The Kapetanios (London: NLB 1972) p.277, who contends that it was a British initiative. On British support for it, Gen. Rawlins to WO, 22 July 1947, W0202/893; Charge D. Reilly, to WO, 17 July 1947, R9984IF0371/67005. British resettlement and civic action pre-1939

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51. 52.

53.

54.

55. 56.

57. 58.

59.

60.

61.

62.

299

are detailed in T.L. 10nes PhD, pp.39--40, 57-61; Gregorian (note 7) p.339. Also on Sir 10hn Anderson, Governor of Burma and architect of the counter-rebellion there from 1932, see D. Campbell, War Plan UK (London: Paladin 1983) pp.56, 62. Regarding the army mission's Top Secret COIN tasks, DO(47)1, 11an. 1947, CABJ34/4; BMM[G] report, 30 lan. 1947, W02611637; CM(47)30, 20 March 1947, CAB 12819; and on Commando training, BMM[G] History, W0202/908. On Bevin and talks with the US, BMM[G] Progress Reports (Pragrep), 22 lan., 21 Feb. 1947, W0202l947; 10 May 1947, W0202/948; lune 1947, W0202/894; IP(47)5, 251an. 1947, DEFE4Il; MoD Directive, (Dirve), 4 March 1947, R31921F0371/67029; Bevin minute, 18 Feb.; FO Under-Sec. C. Warner, to UK PM C. Attlee, 29 March 1947, F0800/468; L. Wittner, US Intervention in Greece, 1943-49 (NY: Colombia UP 1982) pp.223-6. COIN plans in, RAF Report, 30 April 1947, AIR241760; RAF minutes, 17,31 May, 11 lune, 5,14 luly 1947, AIR46/62. GNA operations and BMM[G] views about them, BMM[G] memos, 25 April, and April 1947, W0202/893; RAF Report, 11 June 1947, AIR46/62: Lt-Col C.H.T. MacFetridge, A Memoir of Greece in 1948 - A Year of Crisis (As co!: The Author 1987) p.7; BMM[G] Monthly Report, Sept. 1947, W0202/948; COS(48)38(0), 17 Feb. 1948, DEFE51l0. For criticisms of the WO/BMM[G] by Gen. Crocker, to MoD, 9 Aug. 1947, W032/11436; COS(47)1l0, 251uly 1947, DEFE4/6. FO views on the approach required in, FO minutes by DJ. McCarthy, 5 Sept.; D. Balfour, 10 Sept. 1947, R129121F0371167004; 3 May 1947, R63761F037 1167 I 35; E. Bevin, DO(47)78179, II Oct. 1947, CAB 13114; to MoD, 10 Oct. 1947, F0800/468. SIS in, RAF Delegation to Greece, W/Cdr P. Broad, minutes, 211une 1947, AIR46/30. For the WO 'IS Duties' drafts, see note 37. The Indian Army's report by 25 Experimental Infantry Brigade, 'Mountain Warfare against a guerrilla enemy', lune 1947, is in W0231134. It was sent to the WO DMT, but it is unclear if it was used in Greece. Cabinet decisions in DO(47)78179, 11 Oct. 1947, CAB 13114; E. Bevin to MoD, 10 Oct. 1947, F0800/468. On COIN advisers refer to Wittner (note 52) pp.232-6; H.lones, A New Kind of War (NY: OUP 1989) pp:88, 91-8. Cf. assertions such as by T.D. Sfikas, The British Labour Government and the Greek Civil War, 1945-49 (Keele UP 1994) pp.191-2. BMM[G]'s suggestions about operations in, BMM[G] Command 'Review of the AntiBandit Campaign', 22 Oct. 1947, W0202l893, AIR46/62. Maj. McGregor, interview. For the Greek General Staff's and senior British army officers' views about operations, D.G. Kousou1as, The Price of Freedom (NY: Syracuse UP 1953) pp.255-7; C. Falls, 'The Greek Army and the Guerrillas', Military Review 28 (March 1948) p.75. On the USA's supposedly predominant COIN role, for instance, H. Vlavianos, Greece, 1941-49: From Resistance to Civil War (London: Macmillan 1992) p.236; 1.0. Iatrides, 'Britain, the US and Greece, 1945-49' in D.H. Close (ed.) The Greek Civil War, 1943-50 (London: Routledge 1993) pp.203, 207. Its actual, secondary role, is noted also by D. Blaufarb, The Counter-insurgency Era (NY: Free Press 1977) pp.22-3. WO activities in, BMM[G] History, W0202l908; GHQMELF QHR, 20 March 1948, W02611548; H.lones (note 56) p.158; and on the SAS (former SAS officers and advisers in Greece 1948) Col D.G.C. Sutherland, letter, 8 May 1996; Maj. McGregor interview (note 58). Also re the FO, Lt-Col C.H.T. MacFetridge (adviser in Greece 1948), interview at the Army & Navy Club, London, 29 June 1989. Draft Directive on COIN advising sent to BMM[G] in, Gen. Cracker to CIGS, 31 lan. 1948, W0216/679; COS(47)161, 22 Dec. 1947, DEFE4/9. COSIWO views about advising in, COS(47)163, 30 Dec. 1947, DEFE4/8; MoD to UK Delegation in Washington DC, 7 lan.; FO notes, 51an. 1948, PREM81798. On the careful concealment of the British COIN role, COS(48)l27 (0), 10 lune 1948, DEFE5/11. See also notes 62, 63 on its implementation. Gen. 1.A. Van Fleet in Wittner (note 52) p.244. On the true role of the USIUK in COIN operations see, Gen. W. Livesay (US army mission chief), to BMM[G], 15 lan. 1948, W0202/895; WO draft Brief to BMM[G], Jan. 1948, W0202/894; COS(48)9, 19 Jan. 1948, R9251F0371172238; COS(48)20, 10 Feb. 1948, R23961F0371172239; WO

174

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300

SMALL WARS AND INSURGENCIES Paramilitary Establishments, 19 Jan. 1948, W033/264I ; WO Brief, 14 Feb. 1948, R2405IF0371172240; H. Jones (note 56) pp.121, 127, 158-9; MacFetridge (note 53) p.2

63.

64.

65.

66. 67.

68.

69. 70. 71. 72.

73.

74.

and interview (note 60). For operational plans, BMM[G] QHR, 21 Feb. 1948, W0202/950; Report, 18 Feb. 1948, R2495IF037 1/72332; Dirve., April 1948, AIR46/62; COS(48) 22, 13 Feb. 1948, DEFE4110; BMM[G] Report on the GNA, 20 May 1948, W0202l892; 20 Aug. 1948, W0202/893; Col. A.C . Short! (British Military Attache) Intelligence Review OR), to FO, April, IR, 15 May 1948, R6329, R6706IF0371172212; COS(48)92, 5 July 1948, DEFE4/4. On the KKE anny's conventionalisation, D.H. Close and T. Veremis, 'The Military Struggle, 1945-49' in Close (note 59) pp.109-12. On Gen. Down, Col. Shortt IRs, 15 May 1948, R67061F03711722 12; I Nov. 1948, RI2583IF037 117241; Gen. Crocker to CIGS, 31 Jan.; CIGS to Chief of the Air Staff, 5 Feb. 1948, W0216/679: and on Down's tactics, MacFetridge p.7, interview, and letter, 30 June 1989; G. Wallinger, FO minute, 23 March 1948, R44021F0371172241; Col. Shortt in RAF Report, 30 April 1948, AIR461l871; COS(48)38(0), 17 Feb.; COS(48)64(0), 24 March 1948, DEFE5/l0; H. Jones (note 56) pp.139,152-3. On US/UK roles from Sept. 1948, CINCMELF notes, I Oct.; to WO, 16 Oct. 1948, W0202/899: British advisers continued to be involved in GNA training during 1949. Gen. Down's 'Appreciation of the Anti-Bandit War in Greece', Oct. 1948, RI2202IF037 1172248; and COS's views, COS(48) 127(0), 10 June 1948, DEFE5/l1; COS(48)155, 19 July 1948, AIR811258; COS(48)129. 22 Oct. 1948, R131181F0371172249. See also, H. Jones p.184. CIGS Report, FM Sir w.J. Slim, 18 March 1949, W02161702; DO (49)27, 25 March 1949, CAB13117; notes, 22 March 1949, R2119IF037 1178348. Slim had written 'Jungle fighting in Burma' and recommended soldiers to 'experiment in new tactics' by 1945, MTP 51 App. B, W0279/99. On Malaya and Greece, A. Campbell, Guerrilla (London: A. Barker 1967) p.305; Sir R.G.K. Thompson Rel'olufiollary War ill World Strategy (London: Seeker 1970) p.68. Army transfers in, Lt-Col T.J. Barrow et al. 'The Story of the Bedfordshire & Hertfordshire Regiment, Vol.2· (TS) p.711, Luton Museum, Bedfordshire; T.L. Jones PhD, pp.273--4. On NCOs in Malaya, N. Ascherson '42 Royal Marine Commando, Malaya, 1951-52' in, A. Walker, Six Campaiglls (London: Leo Cooper 1993) p.4. On the supposed lack of British application of lessons, P.E. Stanborough, 'War by Committee' (M.Litt. Oxford, 1987) p.53; H. Miller, JUllgle War ill Malaya (London: A. Barker 1972) p.20. E.g. Gen. 1. Coates, Suppressillg Illsurgency - All Analysis of the Malayall Emergellcy, 1948-54 (Boulder, CO: Westview 1992); T. Mockaitis, 'The Origins of British Counterinsurgency' , Small Wars & lilsurgencies 1/3 (Dec. 1990) pp.209-25; Gregorian (note 7). On the communist threat, R.L. Clutterbuck, COllflict and Violellce ill Sillgapore alld Malaysia, 1945-83 (Singapore: G. Brash 1984) p.170; Coates (note 69) pp.43, 51 , 61-2: Coates notes that the average communist unit numbered 50. 'Special operations' in, 1/6 Gurkha Rifles (hereafter GR) QHR, 30 June, ISUMs, 10,15, 19 July 1948, W0268/68I; 3 Aug. 1948, W02681783. Army training and action prior to mid-1948, 1st King's Own Yorkshire Light Infantry, IS Trg. Instn., Jan. 1948, W0268/624; N. Mal. Sub-District (S/D) QHR, 31 March 1948, W0268/584; 1/l0th GR Ops Directive, June 1948, W0268/58I. The Army's predilection for large scale/unit operations is underestimated by Mockaitis, 1919--60 (note 3) pp.13-14, and Gregorian (note 7) pp.338-9. For the GOC's ideas, Maj.-Gen. D.A.L. Wade notes, 19,24 May 1948, W0268/553; letter, 22 Feb. 1991. See also A. Short, The Commullist Illsurrection ill Malaya (London: F. Muller 1975) pp.117, 136. For an example of a major cordon-and-search operation see Commissioner-General S.E. Asia, M.1. MacDonald, to Gen. Ritchie, 15 July 1948,25/9/2, MJ. MacDonald Papers, U. of Durham Library (UOD). 'Notes for Duties in Aid' had been written for India and distributed in 1945, see MTP 51 , W0279/99. Re Ritchie and Boucher's discussions, Gen. D.A.L. Wade, A Life 011 the Line (Kent: DJ. Costello 1988) pp. 149-50. Ritchie on the collation of lessons, June 1948, in G(Ops)FELF QHR, 30 Sept. 1948, W0268/8.

175

Modern Counter-Insurgency BRITISH ARMY AND COUNTER-GUERRILLA WARFARE 75. 76.

77. 78.

79.

80.

81. 82.

83. 84.

85.

86. 87.

88.

301

On communism, Coates (note 69) pp.29; on the Malaya Security Service, pp.25, 41. J.D. DalIey, Notes of Conference, 26 June 1947, Dalley Papers, Ms.lnd. Ocn.254, Rhodes House Library, Oxford (RHO); MJ. MacDonald to CO, c.23 June 1948, 23/8/32-35; Officer-Administering-the-Govemment (OAG), Sir A.C. Newboult, minute, 10 July 1948, 22/2170; MacDonald to SSC, 7 Sept. 1948, 1612119, MacDonald Papers, UOD. Coates (note 69) p.26. On Ritchie and Kirkman see, T.L. Jones PhD, pp.383. Gen. Ritchie on Greece and China in, CINCFELF Report, 6 Sept. 1949, WOI06/5884. Also on 'lessons', R. Sunderland, Army Operations in Malaya. 1947-60 (Santa Monica. CA: RAND Corp. 1964) pp.30, 83-4. 1.D. Dalley, letter, 3 July 1965, British Association of Malaya Papers, 1119, Royal Commonwealth Soc., Cambridge (RCS). Also see H.S. Lee to SSC, 28 May 1950, C0537/6090; Colonial Annual Report 1948 (CAR) p.210; A. Hoe and E. Morris, Re-enter the SAS (London: L. Cooper 1994) p.25. For army officers' views, Proceedings of the Federal Legislative Council of the Federation of Malaya (1948-49) (PFLCM) pp.B395-6; Ritchie Report, WOI06/5884; A. Humphrey 'Talk to the Far East Centre. Oxford, 22 May 1979' (TS), Ms.Pac.s.llS, RHO; Lt-Col J.P. Cross, 'The Role of the Brigade of Gurkhas in the British Army' (TS 1982) p.B26, Gurkha Museum, Winchester (GMW); Short (note 73) pp. 179, 182. On Indo-China in 1946, J. McCuen, The Art of Counter-Revolutionary Warfare (Harrisburg, PA: Stackpole 1966) pp.107, 181. Gen. Boucher's experience and views are noted by his chief of staff during his service in Greece, Lt-Col w.w. Stewart, letter, 13 Feb. 1991; and by his GS02, HQ Mal. (1948) Sir N. Short, letter, 26 Feb. 1991. On Boucher's actions also see, Coates (note 69) p.31. In regard to Down, K.c. Praval, 1ndia's Paratroopers (New Delhi: Thomson Press 1974) pp. 106-7. WO support for the GOC in, Lt-Col C.H.T. MacFetridge letter, 16 June 1990; N. Barber The War of the Running Dogs (London: Collins 1971) p.65. For references to Greece by other personnel in Malaya, for example, Combined Intelligence ISUM, 15 July 1948, W0208/3217; J.c. Litton Circular No.2, 2 Aug. 1948, Litton Papers, MS.IO.s.I13, RHO. For references to other IS campaigns, PFLCM 1948-49 pp.B212, 312-13, 395-6. Re Ritchie, CP(48)190, 19 July 1948, CAB129128; Report WOl06/ 5884. On Boucher, R. Stubbs, Hearts and Minds in Guerrilla Waifare (London: OUP 1989) p.70; J.B.P. Robinson, Transformation in Malaya (London: Seeker 1956) p.212. Operations in, for example, Communist Terrorism in Malaya (Kuala Lumpur: Govt Printer 1952) p.4S. On the RAF's use of napalm in Greece, Sfikas (note 56) p.225; Col. C.M. Woodhouse The Struggle for Greece. 1941-9 (London: Granada 1976) p.237. On Malaya, Robinson (note 84); R.W. Komer, The Malaya Emergency in Retrospect (Santa Monica, CA: RAND Corp. 1972) pp.26, 48,188; F. Wallace, 'A Miscellany' (TS 1983), MS.lO.s.27S, RHO. Ritchie, Directive to GOC, 26 June 1948, W0268/8; Cabinet Malaya Committee (CMC) Review, 14 April 1950, CAB 1341497. On operations in postwar Burma, 1. McEnery, Epilogue in Burma (Kent: Spellmount 1990) pp.97-103. On the GOC and the creation of Ferret Force, with Ritchie's backing, Weasal (Anon.) 'Ferret Force', Malaya I (Sept. 1952) pp.21-4; Sir R.G.K. Thompson, Make for the Hills (London: Leo Cooper 1989) p.88; letter, 21 Feb. 1991; MacDonald to Ritchie, 19 July 1948, 22/3/5, MacDonald Papers, UOD. Regarding the 'various' influences on its founders, T. Pocock, Fighting General (London: Collins 1973) p.86. On the War's influence, for example, C. Alien, Savage Wars of Peace (London: M. Joseph 1990) p.49; R. Heussler, Completing a Stewardship (Westport, CT: Greenwood 1983) p.l7l; H. Fairbum, State Chief Police Officer, to CO, 15 Feb. 1950, Fairbum Papers, MS.l0.s.262, RHO. The Ferrets are also compared to the Greek Commandos by L.E. Cable, A Conf7ict of Myths (NY UP 1986) p.77. For the Ferrets' role, for instance, HQFELF to WO, 9,18 Aug. 1948, W0268/8; C. Messenger, The Steadfast Gurkha (London: L. Cooper 1985) pp.13-16; Weasal (supra) ibid.; Short (note 73) pp.132-3. HQ Malaya's tactical studies are in, Short (note 73) p.133; G(Ops)FELF QHR, 30 Sept. 1948, W0268/8; 212nd GR QHR, 30 June 1948, W0268/674. On the reasons for short

176

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302

SMALL WARS AND INSURGENCIES

duration patrols, Messenger (note 87) p.l7; 1st Seaforth Highlanders Intelligence Log I, Oct. I 948-April 1949, 17 Dec. 1948, Queen's Own Highlanders Regimental HQ, Inverness (SHQOH). 89. Regarding the Ferret leaders and operations, J.C. Litton Circular 3, 27 Feb. 1949, Papers, RHO; HQ lohore SID Conference notes, 24 Sept. 1948, 2nd GR, 133, GMW. On the WO DMO, T.L. Jones PhD, p.277. Several hundred Palestine police and civil officials went to Malaya during 1948. 90. Most recently, for example, Coates (note 69) pp.82, 145. 91. The CINCFELF's and other officers' views are in, Conference Agenda, 19 Aug.; Conf. notes, and Directive, 23 Aug. 1948, W0268/8; HQ Johore SID Conf. notes, 24 Sept. 1948, 2nd GR, 133, GMW; M. MacDonald to CO, 17 Aug., 25/9/13; and the WO's views in, WO Memo 'The Military Situation in Malaya', 18 Aug., 25/9/31, MacDonald Papers, UOD. Unfortunately available records do not specifically detail lessons from China or elsewhere. 92. Regarding specialist COIN assistance, SSC to MacDonald, 15 Aug., 25/9/10-11; MacDonald to CO, nd, 25/9/12,15; British Defence Coordination Committee, Far East (BDCC) Minutes, 20 Aug., 25/9/20-21; MacDonald to SSC, 23 Sept. 1948, 25/9/37, MacDonald Papers, UOD. Re the Greeks' attitudes, Close and Veremis in Close (note 59) p.106. 93. Criticism such as Coates (note 69) p.82. Details of relocation and its nature in, M. MacDonald, Broadcast, 6 Oct. 1948,27/1/80; to He, 16 Feb. 1949, 27/4171, MacDonald . Papers, UOD; Short (note 73) pp.86, 174--7; K.S. Sandhu, 'Emergency Resettlement in Malaya', in R. Nyce and S. Gordon (eds.) Chinese New Villages in Malaya (Kuala Lumpur: MSRI 1973) pp.xi, xxxvii; R. Sunderland, Resettlement and Food Control (Santa Monica, CA: RAND Corp. 1964) pp.vii, 27. 94. Malaya Home Guard scheme in, DO(48)16, Aug. 1948, DEFEll/32. On Clear-and-Hold, FELF Sitreps, 28 Sept., 3,11 Nov. 1948, W0268/9; COS report, 21 April 1950, CAB 134/497; CINCFELF Conf. notes, 23,28 Sept. 1948, W0268/8; loint Report by OAG, Sir A. NewboultlGOC, Maj.-Gen. C. BoucherlPolice Commissioner, Col. W. Gray, 16 Sept. 1948, DEFE11I33. On Gen. Down and the COS see note 65. 95. Coates (note 59) pp.30,34. 96. On the Far East Training Centre (FTC), D. Charters, 'From Palestine to Northern Ireland' in idem and (eds.) Armies in Low-IlIlensity Conflict: A Comparative Analysis (London: Brassey's 1989) p.204; Gen. Sir W. Walker, letters, 2,25 Feb. 1991 ; 3rd Gren. Gds Trg Instn. No.3, 16 Oct. 1948, W0268/667; and on the lack of circulation of ideas, Sunderland, Army (note 78) p.44, and Burma, pp.vii, 3,27,31,99-103, 166. Cf. Walker in Gregorian (note 7) pp.347, 357. Sunderland assumed that reinforcements lacked IS preparation, but see A.G. lones 'Training and Doctrine in the British Army since 1945' in M. Howard (ed.) The Theory and Practice of War (London: Cas sell 1965) p.318; Lt-Col T. Winnington, 3 Gren. Gds Trg.lnstn., 7 Sept. 1948, W0268/607; Gen. A. Wade, letter, 22 Feb. 1991; HQ Mal. Dirve in Brig. R. lones, 14 Aug. 1948, 2nd GR, 133, GMW. For Camberley IS instruction from 1948, including Palestine 'lessons', Maj.-Gen. H. Stockwel\, 'Lecture on IS' (c.1948) Stockwell Papers, 6/29/1, Liddell Hart Centre for Military Archives, London (LHC); Charters, Armies (supra) pp.191, 239. On-the-job training in, for instance, 112nd GR QHR, 30 June 1948; 1110 G.R. Ops. Dirve., June 1948, 2nd GR, 133, GMW; J.P. Cross, Jungle Warfare (London: Guild 1989) p.l75. Air supply is mentioned in CAR 1948 (note 79) p.186. 97. On conventional war, for example, Stubbs (note 54) p.70. On Imperial-policing, Brig. A.E.C. Bredin, The Happy Warriors (Dorset: Blackmore Press 1961) pp.l23-4; Lapping p.l68; AOC, Sir A.C. Sanderson, Air HQ Mal. Report, 9 May 1949, AIR24/8435. 98. Patrolling for information such as in, J/6th GR ISUMs, 3 I Oct., 12 Dec. 1948, W0268/681. 99. Walker, letter, 23 Jan. 1991. GOc/CINCFELF in, CINCFELF Conf. notes, 28 Sept.; GOC Outline, 23 Sept.; G(Ops)FELF QHR, 30 Sept.; FELF HQ notes, 15 Dec.; G(Trg.) 'Lessons', 8 Nov. 1948, W0268/S; Commander's Conf. notes, 13 Dec. 1945, W026SI7; HQ Mal. QHR, 2 Oct. 1948, W0268/554; Ritchie Report, WO I06/5884. On the actual communist threat then, HQ Mal. Review, 30 June 1949, W020S/4104.

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303

100. Regarding operations, N. Malaya S/D ISUM, 14 Sept. 1948, W02681774; HQ Johore S/D, 0122, 5 Oct. 1948, 2nd GR, 133, GMW; HQ Singapore QHR, 31 Dec. 1948, W0268/696; TL Jones PhD, pp.282,285. 101. On the WO traditionalists, P. Mead, Orde Wingate and the Historians (Devon: Merlin Books 1987) pp.l43-4; and WO views about Ferret Force, Cable (note 87) p.77. On the Ferrets' disbandment and training duties, Pocock (note 87) p.88; 212nd GR ISUM5, 2 Aug. 1949, W0268/652; I Malaya Regt. QHR, 31 Dec. 1949, 2nd GR, 133, GMW. 102. Chinese Assault Team (CAT) details in, J.c. Litton Circular No.3, 27 Feb.; CAT Diary 1949; 'Chuk Pa Operation' report, 19-22 Feb. 1949, J.c. Litton Papers, RHO; RAF OSUM, 7 July 1949, AIR24/1929. 103. Lessons in Commanders' Conf. notes, 13 Dec. 1948, W0268/607; 12 Jan. 1949, and Johore S/DQHR, 31 March 1949, W0268/582; 4Q.O.H. QHRs, 31 Dec. 1948,31 March 1949, W0268/597,798; Il7th GR QHR, 30 June 1949, W0268/683. 104. On the WO DMT, G(Ops)FELF QHR, 31 Dec. 1948, W0268/9; Commanders' Conf. notes, 13 Dec. 1948, W0268/609. 105. Re the ongoing IS doctrine review, TL. Jones PhD, pp.267-68,287. On the WO DM!, MI2 'Some notes on Malaya', 27 Aug. 1948, W0202/32 18. Slim was appointed on I Nov. 1948. 106. A.J.P. Taylor, The Struggle/or Mastery in Europe (Oxford: OUP 1958) ppA09-IO. 107. Boucher, Gray and the WO back large scale operations in Short (note 73) p.137. Examples in, Malaya HQ Review, 30 June 1949, W0208/4104. Boucher and Gray on small unit action, Commanders' Conf. notes, 12 Jan. 1949, W02681774; minutes, 4 April, and Johore S/D QHR, 31 March 1949, W0268/582. Examples in Coates (note 69) p.178. FTC tuition in QHR, 31 March 1949, W02681l16; R. Fraser 'Report on Jungle Warfare Course', 12 Feb. 1949, MS.Brit.Emp.t2, RHO. 108. On Slim, the WO, and Greece, see note 66; TL. Jones PhD, pp.250-1. 109. HQ Mal. 's tactical studies are in, HQ letter, 28 March 1949, in QHR, 31 March 1950, cited by Sunderland, Army (note 78) p.1l3; Short (note 73) p.133. Gurney on lessons, HC's Dispatch 5, to SSC, 30 May 1949, C0537/4773; HC, in O.H. Morris, CO, notes, 2 Feb., 21 April 1949, C0537/4750,475I. On Cunningham's role, SSC to MacDonald, 1I July 1948, 23/8179, MacDonald Papers, UOD. 110. WO proposal in J. Paskin, CO draft telegrams, 1,2 April 1949; CO Private Sec. WF Dawson, to WO DMO Sec. W Geraghty, 4 April 1949, C05371 4751. Ritchie in, MacDonald to SSC, 20 April 1949, DEFEIlI32; CO memo, April 1949, DEFEII/33; Maj.Gen. D. Dunlop note, 12 July 1949, W0268/582; Hoe and Morris (note 79) pAl. Ill. On the SIS, WO and stay-behind forces, Brig. Calvert interview (note 15); BBC 'Newsnight', March 1991. (There are unreleased WO/COS reports on 'Irregular Warfare' and an 'Unconventional Warfare Command', for 1950-51, in the PRO. Calvert recalled that the SAS took over 'Resistance' training thereafter). On guerrilla missions, 1. Prados, Presidents' Secret Wars (NY: Morrow 1986) ppA0-7, 56-7. 112. Gray's role in, Acting-Commissioner B. O'Connell, letter, 14 Aug. 1949, British Assoc. of Malaya Papers, IlI/8, RCS. His and Boucher's ideas in, 'A Paper on the Security Situation', 5 April 1949, DEFE1I/32; CO memo, April 1949, DEFE1lI33; HC to SSC, Il April 1949, C0537/475I. 1l3. Examples in, lI2nd GR report, 22 Dec. 1949; Dirve. No.2, 10 Feb. 1950, 2 GR, 133, GMW; TL. Jones PhD, pp.307-17. 114. FTC training in, W Hayter, The Second Step (London: Hodder 1962) p.211; QHRs, 5 Oct., 31 Dec. 1949; and doctrine, QHR, 30 Sept. 1949, W02681l16; WO MTP 51, W0279/99. On the FTC touring unit, CINCFELF telegram, 5 Sept. 1949, W0268/11. 115. The importance of counter-organisation resettlement is noted in, for example, 2nd GR QHRs for 1948,30 April 1949, W0268/674; HQ Mal. IR8, 23 Dec. 1948, W0208/4104. On its slow progress, Col. Gray to Air Ministry, 21 Feb. 1950, W0216/333. 1l6. Commanders' views in, Conf. notes, 12 July, 26 Aug. 1949; Johore S/D notes, 30 Sept. 1949, and Maj.-Gen. Dunlop notes, 12 July 1949, W02681 582. One innovation made in the spring of 1949 was the use of Surrendered Enemy Personnel (SEPs) for tracking. See RAF OSUM, 12 May 1949, AIR241l928; RAF Progrep. Nov. 1949; OSUM, 8 Dec. 1949, AIR24/1934.

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117. WO Notes on Duties in Aid of the Civil Power, 1949 (London: War Office 1949) pp.4-14, 18-24,34-7,42-3, MoD Library, London. 118. For criticism oflarge offensives, for instance, Maj. W.N. Seymour, 'Terrorism in Malaya', Army Quarterly 53 (April 1949) p.l12. And support for them, Lt-Col A.B. Oatts, 'Guerrilla Warfare', JRUSI94 (May 1949) p.l94. The WO Notes were not circulated in Malaya until 1950, see note 128 below. 119. Re developments in patrolling, for example, Sunderland Army (note 78) pp. 139-40; Maj. T Phillips Diaries (1987) pp,433, 459-60,87/2/11, GMW; 2nd Coldstream Gds QHR, 30 Sept. 1949, W0268/609; TL Jones PhD, pp.306-8, 313-19. 120. Hopes for a rapid victory in, HQMaL IR61, 29 Dec. 1949, W02081 4104; Ritchie in, MacDonald to SSC, 20 April 1949, C0537/4751. Harding in, note, Aug. 1949, C0537/5974; M. Carver, War since 1945 (London: Weidenfeld 1980) p.l8. On operations, HQ MaL IRs, 18 Aug., 15 Sept. 1949, W0208/4104; Boucher, in Johore S/D, 0147, Sept. 1949, AIR241l93 I; 16126 Field Arty. QHR, 30 Sept. 1949, W0268/604. Details of small unit action in, for instance, 2 Gds Bde OIs, 24 Oct., 8 Nov. 1949, Malaya Ops. Orders 1949, B 1125, Suffolk Regiment Museum, Bury St Edmunds, (SRM); TL. Jones PhD, pp.317-19. HQMal. on Greece, Review, 31 Dec. 1949, W0208/4104. Greek re-education camps inspired those set up in Malaya from mid-1949 too, W/Cdr KJ. Henderson 'The Experiment at the Taiping Rehabilitation Camp' (1950) 14/3, KW Heussler Papers, MS.BE.s,480, RHO. 121. GOC Conf. notes, 11 July 1950, W0231/38; Conf. notes, 48th Gurkha Bde QHR, 31 March, and notes, 27 Jan. 1950, W02681781; Ops. Dirve 1,9 Jan. 1950, W0268/672; COS(50)84, 2 March 1950, C0537/5974. 122. Slim in CM(50)1, 19 April, and in Lt-Col Brownjohn, WO, note, 26 June 1950, CAB I 341497; Slim to E. Shinwell, MoD, 4 May 1951, C053717263. 123. Boucher re operations, 48th Gurkha Bde notes, 9 Jan. 1950, W0268/672; and on a manual in, Gen. Urquhart, Notes of Conf. 1I July 1950, W0231138. 124. 'Lessons' of army units and FTC in, for example, '2nd Bn the Scots Guards, Malaya 1948-51' (TS 1951) Guards Bde HQ, London, pp.23, 31, 41; FTC QHR, 14 April 1950, W02681117; R.A. Ruegg, The Wind of Change in Malaya and North Borneo (TS 1985) p.14, MS.lO.s.290, RHO. 125. Coates (note 69)p.33; Commanders' Conf. notes, 29 March 1950, W02681781. 126. Gen. Urquhart's approach is detailed in Pocock (note 87) p.93; Communist Terrorism (note 84) pp.86-7; Communist Banditry in Malaya (Kuala Lumpur: Govt Printer 1952) p.72; Commanders' Conf. notes, 27 Feb. 1950, W02681781. His visit to discuss action is in, 1st Seaforth Highlanders Intelligence Log 2, April 1949-July 1950, 17 March 1950, SHQOH. His role in J. Baynes, Urquhart of Arnhem (London; Brassey's 1993) pp.l85, 204. 127. Regarding Gen. Tuker's position, Calvert interview (note 15); 'COIN policies'. For other officers' views, Pocock (note 87) p.93; Brig. E.D. Smith, East of Kathmandu (London: L. Cooper 1976) p.28; J.P. Cross, In Gurkha Company (London: Arms & Armour 1986) p,43. Large operations in, for instance, I Suffolk, Ops. report, 23 March 1950, Malaya Operations, Jan.-Aug. 1950, B 1127, SRM. Boucher's outlook re operations is in T. Phillips Diary, p,459, GMW 128. WO Notes in, I Suff. notes, Lt-Col LL Wight, 'Imperial Policing and Duties in Aid of the Civil Power, 1949', 27 April 1950, B 1127, SRM; Ritchie Report, WO 106/5884; Lt-Col D.S. West, WO DMT, 'Tactics in Malaya', 25 Oct. 1950, and GOC Notes on Conf., 1I July 1950, W0231138. On the Staff College, MJ. Dunnington (Librarian) letter, 9 Oct. 1990, and copy of Staff College 'IS Pamphlet Contents' page; lecture notes, March 1950, Maj.Gen. H. Stockwell, Papers, 6/2912, LHC. 129. On the CINCFELF and WO see, CO note, 16 Feb. 1950, C0537/5974; WO DMO note, 19 May 1950, DEFE11I36; and on Calvert, interview (note 15); 'COIN Policies'; Miller (note 68) pp.69, 72. 130. Australians in, Sec. of State for War (SSW) note, 12 Oct. 1950, CAB 134/497; TL Jones PhD, p.339. 131. Air-supply in, Annual Report of the Federation of Malaya. 1950 (ARFM) (Kuala Lumpur: Govt Printer 1950) p.l44.

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132. WO Ops. Research, CINCFELF to WO, 11 May 1950, FlOI61F0371184477. 133. For supremo details see, CINCFELF, in VCIGS to CIGS, Feb. 1951, W0216/835; COS(50)20, 2 Feb. 1950, C0537/5974; HC to J. Paskin, CO, 17 Jan.; to Harding, 13 Feb. 1950; Air Marshal H. Lloyd, to ACM J. Slessor, 7 March 1950, W0216/333; Hoe and Morris (note 79) p.87. On Papagos' role refer to his 'Guerrilla Warfare' in FM. Osanka (ed.) Modern Guerrilla Waifare (NY: Free Press of Glencoe 1962) passim; and British views, Sfikas (note 56) p.229; Woodhouse (note 84) p.236. 134. On Briggs' selection, CIGS to CINCFELF, 24 Feb., I March 1950, W0216/333; CIGS to T.I. Lloyd, CO, I March 1950, C0537/5994. For other candidates, T.L. Jones PhD, p.326. 135. Briggs' powers in, MoD note, l7 March 1950, C0537/5974; J.B. Oldfield, The Green HOlVards in Malaya (Aldershot: Gale & Polden 1953) p.24. 136. On the writing of the Briggs Plan, Thompson, Make (note 87) pp.92-3. Re military policy, for example, Gen. Briggs, 'Outline for future anti-bandit policy in Malaya', 10 April 1950, C0537/5975; Director of Operations (DOp) 'Report on the Emergency in Malaya, April I 950-Nov. 1951', Nov. 1951, AIR2017777; FA. Godfrey, 'The Malaya Emergency, 1948-60' (TS 1978) pp.5-IO, RMAS Papers, 7807-20, National Army Museum, London (NAM). Cf. Gen. Boucher's thoughts on p.287-8 of this text. But note too that Briggs' regimJ;Jilt fought in interwar Burma, where small scale resettlement was done, Mockaitis (note 3) p.1l8; R. Sunderland, Organising the Counterinsurgency Effort (Santa Monica, CA: RAND Corp. 1964) pp.vi, 33. And when he wrote about 'problems specific to Malaya', he did not include resettlement, DOp Report, Nov. 1951, AIR2017777. 137. SSW in, note, IS May 1950, CAB 134/497. 138. On the MRLA and large operations, for example, Cross, Company (note 127) p.43; Oldfield (note 135) p.61; GOC Notes of Conf., II July 1950, W023 1138; RAF Review, I Oct. 1950, AIR2017777. FTC in, I Suff. 013, 27 Jan. 1950, W0268/612. 139. Regarding the CO's IS guide, J.c. Morgan, CO notes, 18 May 1950; J.M. Martin, CO note, 22 Feb. 1950, C0537/5382; COS(50)l44, 8 Sept. 1950, DEFEll/38. Pamphlet in, SSC Circular, 11 July 1950, DEFEIII48. 140. Proponents of small unit operations included Maj. R.E.R. Robinson 'Reflections of a Company commander in Malaya', Army Quarterly 61 (Oct. 1950) pp.80--7; FO. Miksche, Secret Forces (London: Faber 1950) pp.67, 151, 157, although he also backed traditional methods on pp. 169-70. 141. Conf. details in, GOC Notes, 11 July 1950, W023 1138. 142. WO DMT, Lt.-Col D.S. West, 'Tactics in Malaya', 25 Oct. 1950, W023 1138; report also cited in Gregorian (note 7) p.348. For the Training Branch's view of WO doctrine, Lt-Col A.M. Fraser, US Marines, 'British operations against guerrillas in Malaya', to US Naval Attache UK, 15 Aug. 1950, 70/2/3, Royal Marines Museum, Southsea, Hampshire (hereafter RMM). 143. Bredin (note 87) pp.l49-52. 144. Training in, Allen (note 87) p.33; and on courses, Coates (note 69) p.45. 145. On the SAS, Calvert interview (note 15); 'COIN policies'; FELF to WO, 17 May 1950; R. Menzies, Australian PM, to C. Attlee, 26 May 1950, DEFEll/36; CINCFELF to WO, 2 Dec. 1951, W0216/494; and for example, Maj. C.L.D. Newell, 'The SAS', British Army Review 1 (Sept. 1955) pp.41-2; Kemp, Savage (note 15) pp.!l, 13, 18, and on Korea, pp.9-1O; and Greece, McGregor interview; Hoe and Morris (note 79) pp.47, 62-4. 146. On Calvert, Farran and the SAS, Kemp, ibid. p.19; McGregor interview (note 58). For the Australian Mission's view, SSW.Note, 12 Oct. 1950; CMC Minutes, 17 Oct. 1950, CAB 134/497; M. MacDonald to CO, 22 May 1950, DEFEIl/36. 147. Fraser report, 70/2/3, RMM. 148. GHQFELFto MoD, 2 Aug. 1950; COS to CINCFELF, 4 Aug. 1950, DEFEllI 38; COS to BDCC, 30 Nov. 1950, DEFEll/42; and on Briggs/Harding, COS Committee minute, w.G. Elliot, 13 July 1950, DEFEIl/37. Unfortunately the records do not provide details of the deception techniques involved. 149. Briggs, to CIGS, 24 Oct. 1950, W0216/835; RAF Review, I Oct. 1950; Briggs to BDCC, 250ct. 1950; DOp Dirve., 15 Nov. 1950, AIR201 7777; and for example, Short (note 73) pp.229-30, 247. On lessons, BDCC to MoD, 13 Nov. 1950, C0537/5975.

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150. Harding, to MoD, 13 Nov. 1950, CAB 1341497. Regarding patrols and ambushes, for instance, 2nd Coldstream Gds, Clothed All in Green-o (Malaya: Regiment Printer 1950) p.8; 40 Cdo. 'In Malaya Notes', June 1950,70/2/3, RMM; 1st Suff. 'Ambush report', 6 July 1950, Malaya OIs 1950, B 1123, SRM. 151. Large operations, such as, ARFM 1951 p.5; E.D. Smith, COIN Operations 1: Malaya alld Borneo (London: I. Alien 1985) p.25; Oldfield (note 135) pp.61-5. 152. On the SAS, DOp Progrep, I May 1951, AIR2017777; GHQFELF to WO, 22 Dec. 1951, W0216/494; Kemp Savage (note 15) pp.ll-12; Capt. J.M. Woodhouse, 'Some personal observations on the employment of special forces in Malaya', Army Quarterly 66 (April 1953) p.69. On officers using large operations, Maj. J.L. Hillard, 'Tactics in Malaya' ibid. 62 (April 1951) pp.79, 82-3; Short (note 73) p.248; and for example, 40 Cdo. Diary, Jan. 1951,70/2/3, RMM. 153. CO 'Record of Conf.' , 4 Sept. 1951; SSC Speech, April 1950, C05371 6941; SSC Reply, 21 June 1951, C053717265; C. Jeffries, The Colonial Police (London: M. Parrish 1952) p.21O. 154. On patrol/ambush action, DOp Progreps, 15 Feb., CAB 130165; I May 1951, AIR2017777; FELF Sitreps to WO, March-June 1951, DEFE11/44; 1st Suff. War Diary, 1951, B1I24, SRM; SSC Reply, 26 June 1951, C0537/7265; and for instance, OIdfield (note 135) pp.43, 68-70,90. Booby traps and SEPs in, 40 Cdo. Diary, May, Oct. 1951,7012/3, RMM. 155. Food control from June 1951 in Stubbs (note 84) pp.ID5-7, Ill, 166; DOp Progrep, 31 Aug. 1951, AIR2017777; Dirve 14, 11 June 1951, C0537/7262; HCIDOp memo, 4 June 1951, DEFElI/45. On previous measures, T.L. Jones PhD, p.346. 156. For example, Short (note 73) p.472; Maj.-Gen. R.M.M. Lockhart, DOp, 'The situation in the Federation of Malaya', 26 Nov. 1951, C053717263. 157. On Templer, J. Cloake, Templer: Tiger of Malaya (London: Harrap 1985) p.204. For the debate over a supremo, T.L. Jones PhD, pp.346--8. 158. Templer's past in, Cloake, ibid. pp.59, 61,68,70, 165, 171; Stubbs (note 84) p.l44. 159. Re Templer as YCIGS, Cloake (note 157) p.181. And his other influences, Templer interview, 30 March 1977, pp.5, 11, 13, in D.L. L1oyd-Owen Papers, 8011-132-2, NAM; Barber p.l97; T.L. Jones PhD, pp.349-50. 160. SAS in, RAF OSUM, 14 Feb. 1952, AIR23/8564; Kemp Savage (note 15) pp.22-6. Small unit patrols such as in, 1st Suff. War Diary April-Dec. 1952, B 11 28, SRM; Coates (note 15) pp.l61-3. Major operations are outlined in, for instance, 1st King's Regt. 'Reports on Ops- JACKPOTIJACKPOT MINOR, PANCAKE, CROSSBONES, PHANTOM', MKlII2113-16, Tameside Local Studies Library, Stalybridge, Cheshire; Col. G.G. Elliot, 'Malaya 1952' notes, Elliot Papers, LHC. 161. As devised by Maj. McGregor, interview (note 58); Kemp Savage (note 15) pp.23-5. 162. 26th GR Inf. Bde, Trg Instn 3,14 Feb. 1952; 1/2th GR Ois, 23 Feb., 5 April {952, 2nd GR, 133, GMW; I st Suff. War Diary, 30 Jan. 1951, B 1/24, SRM. 163. Latimer's initiative is noted in Clutterbuck (note 70) pp.211-19; The Long, Long War (London: Cassell 1966) pp.96-7, 117, 121-2,226; 'Operation HAMMER' Orders, 3 Oct. 1952, W.B. Tucker Papers, MS.IO.s.l25, RHO; Coates (note 69) p.I73. 164. Templer's actions in, Cloake (note 157) pp.21D-13. Re Gen. Stockwell, WO to FELF, 12 March 1952, W0216/630; Communist Terrorism (note 84) p.155; T.L. Jones PhD, p.387. 165. Templer on GOC, Coates (note 69) p.I17. FTC in A.E. Young, Police Commissioner, 'Malayan Police Force Training Programme', Spring 1952, C01022/68. 166. ORS(Malaya) in COS Cttee Sec., C.H. Everett, note, I Feb. 1952, DEFEIlI47; ARFM 1952 pp.4-5; Lt-Col C.R. Nicholls, ORS Memo 4/52, 6 Nov. 1952, W029 III 724; Memo 5/52, Dec. 1952, W029111725; Memo 1153, Jan. 1953, W029111726. For details of ZZ forms, Oldfield (note 135) pp.l28-33; also in Gregorian (note 7) p.35 1. 167. Report of Scientific Team, Or Cockburn, to HC; C.H. Everett, COS memo, 9 Oct. 1952, DEFEI 1149; and on infrared alarms, listening devices, microphones, magnetometers, etc., ORS Memo 4/52, Nov. 1952, W029 1/1724; also ORS(Singapore) Memo 23, ID Nov. 1952, W0291/1835. On helicopters, HQMal. GSOI(Plans), note, 29 April 1952, W0216/542; COS(52)90,275,404, 20 June, 20 May, 19 July 1952; MoD message, 20 June 1952, AIR2017418. Intelligence arrangements in, ARFM 1952 p.6; Miller (note 67) p.93.

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168. Templer in, Clutterbuck Long (note 163) p.84; Coates (note 69) p.117; Templer, Foreword, The Conduct of Anti-Terrorist Operations, Malaya, (1952) [or ATOM] (Kuala Lumpur: GHQ Malaya 1952). 169. Templer, Foreword, ATOM; Coates ibid.; Gregorian (note 7) p.350; Gen. Sir W. Walker, letter, 25 Feb. 1991. 170. Lockhart in, HC Statement, 4 June 1952, C0102217. ATOM, Coates ibid. 171. For details of COIN courses, DOp to G(Ops)HQMal., 'Notes for District War Executive (DWEC) Committees', 26 Aug.; DOp Staff, notes, I Aug.; DWEC Directing Staff, 'The machinery of command for planning', and 'loint plan with appreciation', Aug. 1952, Stockwell Papers, 7/4, LHC. Also see ATOM passim. 172. Gregorian (note 7) p.352. 173. The Army adopted its favoured large scale/unit methods at the start of each major campaign this century, from South Africa to Ireland, Somaliland, Mesopotamia, and the Frontier. It only devised better small unit tactics when they had failed to crush the rebels, as in the interwar Malabar, Burma and Palestine; see T.L. Jones PhD, Ch.2 passim; Mockaitis 1919-60 (note 3) passim. 174. ATOM in Malaya, Olqfield (note 135) pp.25-6; Cloake (note 157) p.242. ATOM in Kenya, for example, C.N.M. Blair, Guerrilla Walfare (London: MoD 1957) p.vii; Darby p.55; Or. D. Charters, letter, 9 May 1990. Elsewhere, for instance, Lt-Gen. Sir G. Boume 'The direction of Anti-Guerrilla Operations', Brassey's An/luaI1964 (London: Brassey's 1964) p.78; Gregorian (note 7) pp.352-3. 175. See also, Gregorian, ibid.

[7] The British Army, and Counter-Guerrilla Warfare in Greece, 1945-49 TIM lONES

Most British postwar counter-insurgency [COIN] campaigns have been extensively studied, but the British Army's active contribution to the fight against Communist insurgency in Greece has been neglected.! This is because its covert activities there have never been publicly acknowledged; at the time because Stalin appeared to the British to be a threat to Greece, and they sought to avoid giving him any excuse to intervene there; and later because the rift between the Greek Right and Left could have been exacerbated by such revelations. Further, due to the sensitivity of this subject area there are relatively few available public records on it. Nevertheless, this article aims to outline both the British Army's counterguerrilla role in Greece and its contribution to victory there by 1949. The political situation in Greece during the early postwar years is still the subject of historiographical debate 2 and it lies outside the scope of this study. But the emergence of an insurgency by the winter of 1945-46 .and its evolution into a classic civil war by the turn of 1947-48 needs to be charted, along with the concurrent British response to this.

British Influence over Greek Internal Security [IS] Policy during 1945 By 1945 there were numerous British and Allied military formations in Greece, and on 1 January 1945 'X' British Liaison Unit [BLU], (which had been working with Greek partisans), was reorganised as a British Military Mission to Greece, [BMM(G)]. It comprised about 300 officers and 1,000 other ranks [ORs], at first under the command of Brigadier C. E. A. Firth, then Major-General G. R. Smallwood. 3 The Mission was soon tasked by Prime Minister Winston Churchill with offering 'advice and assistance' on the organisation, supply and training of a Greek National Army [GNA]. It was to be trained to repel both conventional attack from other States, and to assist the police and gendarmerie (or 'National Guard') in 'dealing with [the endemic problem of] guerrilla bands' and 'quell[ing] a[ny] major revolt' .. The Mission's commitment would draw the British Army into the GNA's future COIN effort, and while Greeks were primarily responsible for planning and executing IS operations, (along with Americans from late

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1948), British soldiers became influential counsellors and advisers to the GNA, and this experience had a lasting impact on the British Army.5 Soon after the BMM(G) was formed, the GOC Land Forces Greece [LFG), General Sir Ronald M. Scobie, rightly remarked that Greece was 'like the North-West Frontier all over again'. Indeed, his staff recommended traditional IS measures like curfews, and British troops were authorised to uphold law-and-order 'in emergency'. But Field-Marshal Sir Harold Alexander, (the Supreme Allied Commander, Mediterranean), also perceptively suggested systematic clearance of areas affected by armed bands, followed by guards who would 'maintain ... law and order ... thus relieving .. . forces ... to deal with subsequent areas'.6 In April 1945 this unusual 'Clear-and-Hold' proposal was reiterated by LFG HQ, which in addition urged the appointment of an intelligence officer who could analyse information on 'bandits'. Yet in spite of such astute counter-guerrilla ideas, the BMM(G) - which for most of 1945 'nearly had the force of command' 7 - stuck to tried-and-tested British IS techniques in the face of a familiar style of irregular opposition. By March scores of officers and ORs from the BMM(G)'s 1,121 personnel, (drawn from a pool of 96,000 soldiers in Greece), were appointed as GNA trainers on the basis of their 'f[iel]d experience', rather than specific IS expertise. Indeed, in May British 'Mountain Warfare' training units in Greece were disbanded. But, they were replaced by British Liaison Officers [BLO) who could offer IS advice at BLUs, along with British Instruction Teams [BIT) at army colleges, and Mission officers at senior levels. s From 31 July 1945 British units were sanctioned by the Attlee Cabinet to assist local security forces if necessary,9 and thence British troops frequently conducted mobile column patrolling, large scale 'mopping-up', 'drives', and 'sweeping operations' in the mountains of northern Greece. to In spite of Britain's IS assistance to the Greeks, during August 1945 General Scobie expressed concern about the uncoordinated but growing activity of Communist [KKE] guerrillas, and at the end of September the BMM(G) was training the GNA for 'mobile operations and guerrilla tactics' .11 By then Major-General Stuart B. Rawlins was commanding the BMM(G), and . he ensured the implementation of 'Mountain Warfare' training from 3 November 1945. 12 BLOs then offered advice at BLUs established at new Greek Field Divisions, and at 'A', 'B' and 'C' Corps HQs in South/Central, North and North-East Greece respectively.1J The BLOs came from various army units, about half being Royal Artillery and Infantry men, with the former apparently constituting the biggest single group. 14 Thus, they were well schooled in large scale operations and concentrated their IS instruction on this through the winter of 1945-46. However, the Greek security forces failed to deal effectively with armed right-wing and

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left-wing extremists, and some BMM(G) officers argued that current Greek IS tactics could not cope with 'partisan irregulars', (as distinct from mere 'bandits', or brigands). Yet, the Mission Command staff blamed persistent operational failures on inadequate planning security and poor execution, (which actually were partly to blame),15 and so traditional but ineffective IS measures were used against KKE guerrillas for some time without much deeper reflection on tactics by senior British army officers.

The British Response to Insurgency up to mid-1946 Without getting bogged down in the debate over KKE motives during the winter of 1945-46, it seems to have had a dual strategy of constitutional agitation, and secret preparations for revolutionary action that could be undertaken if and when necessary. The politburo certainly sponsored a 'defensive' underground organisation - or 'aftoamyna' - which retained arms and tried to nurture support, and by late 1945 various local cells were engaged in subversion and terrorism. 16 In response to the threat of insurgency, on 15 December 1945 the Greek government made the GNA jointly responsible for upholding law-and-order. And on that day too, in order to avoid handing any Power an excuse to send Communist 'volunteers' to Greece, the BMM(G) received instructions from London that British personnel were not to get involved in operations now.17 At the start of 1946 some Britons reiterated that KKE attacks were more than just brigandage, and in spite of the BMM(G) Deputy-Commander's optimistic assessment that no major 'trouble or disturbances are anticipated in the near future', London was determined to ensure that the scheduled 31 March parliamentary elections would go ahead unhindered. Hence, in January 1946 the War Office authorised BLOs to offer their views on IS policy at the three GNA Corps HQs. Further, at a time of financial retrenchment, the BMM(G)'s War Establishment [WE] rose from 1,121 to 1,454, and the Chiefs of Staff recommended that in future it should train all GNA units in IS and 'modern methods of guerrilla war' .18 As the GNA undertook more and more IS operations in 1946, units from British Troops Greece [BTG] helped by doing 'show-the-flag marches and patrols'. Men of 4th Indian Division reportedly even assisted in the arming of Greek villagers in Macedonia, to protect them from raiders. But British army units were careful to avoid being sucked into the conflict on the ground, and they apparently avoided this while contributing to the successful staging of the March 1946 elections, including the provision of military observers. 19 However, as disorders continued to spread, the Foreign Office expressed grave anxiety about plans to hold a plebiscite on a new Greek Constitution on 1 September 1946. The prospect of any lengthy

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postponement of this was regarded as highly undesirable in Whitehall, for a new Constitution was seen as a prerequisite to political stability, economic recovery and, ultimately, Greek national survival.20 Indeed, in May the British Ambassador to Athens, Sir Clifford Norton, proposed binding British IS advice for the GNA, and the Foreign Office Minister of State, Philip Noel-Baker, went even further and wondered if British forces could be authorised to undertake IS operations. At this point, with less than 15,000 trained Greek troops, General Rawlins urged the quickest possible preparation of the army for IS and,21 when the CIGS designate, FieldMarshal Bemard Montgomery, visited Athens on 24 June, he recommended that 'the training of the GNA [should be assigned] .. . primary importance'.22 To this end, early in July General Rawlins toured north Greece with the Greek Chief of the General Staff [CGS], General K. Spiliotopoulos, whose army was by then mainly responsible for IS tasks. Rawlins reported that terrorism 'deprived ... [the Greeks'] ill-coordinated forces of intelligence . .. essential in coping with small and highly mobile bands' , and that they must improve their co-operation, and carry out operations 'in accordance with normally accepted principles' . In addition to this familiar IS line Rawlins made the rather more novel suggestion that gendarmes should guard cleared areas; though he failed to see the need for any long-term holding. Following his tour, on 19 July 1946 BTG was once more authorised to give active assistance to the Greek security forces, if they faced defeat in the locality, or if Britons or any nearby villagers came under fire . The British military were directed to 'ensure that only the minimum force necessary is used' ,23 and to follow the guidance laid down in the Middle East Forces' [MEF] IS Training Pamphlet 9/13, (which also was used by the MEF's Training Team Number 12 at LFG HQ, and in concurrent COIN operations in Palestine). This traditionalist IS manual detailed inter alia how to implement cordons, searches, check-points, arrests and curfews.24

The Genesis of a Revised Counter-Guerrilla ApprQach Over the summer of 1946 the BMM(G) continued to train the GNA for both conventional warfare and IS duties, using BLUs and BITs attached to the GNA's nine Basic Training Centres [BTC]. However, at this time the BMM(G) was suffering from an acute shortage of manpower, having a War Establishment of 269 officers and 1,173 ORs but an actual strength of only 188 officers and 586 ORs (774 in total).25 Thus, it called on the LFG HQ for extra help, and during July 1946 'preparations were made for a special effort in August and September by British Troops for training assistance to the GNA' . Consequently, plans to patrol 'the whole country' were shelved by

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most British infantry and artillery units, as were joint exercises with 6th Airborne Division in Palestine. Patrolling did continue in some 'out-of-theway localities', and in September 1946 a soldier from the Bedfordshire and Hertfordshire Regiment was shot dead by KKE guerrillas, and an officer attached to a UN relief agency was killed by a mine. But BTG focused on providing the Greeks with advice on IS techniques,26 though some BITs were still short of staff, and ever-growing operational commitments further interfered with the training programme. 27 In view of this situation, and of the pressing need to improve it before the September 1946 vote could be held, (as the Foreign Office consistently emphasised), it appears that some additional aid was provided for the GNA from other British military resources. Up to mid-1946 the British Army's counter-guerrilla approach was traditional rather than progressive, yet by that autumn the BMM(G) was proposing perceptive and forward-looking tactical innovations. 28 And it may well be that this shift in thinking was encouraged by the activities of former SAS soldiers in Greece. They are said to have been sent there 'on a strictly unofficial basis', supposedly to operate through a 'British Military Reparations Committee' to 'arrange payment of outstanding debts' to Greeks who had assisted Allied escapers and evaders during World War IU9 In fact this task was carried out from mid-1945 to mid-1946 by an Allied Screening Commission to Greece [ASC(G)], which early in 1946 was winding down its activities and was directed to complete its work with the 'utmost rapidity' before disbandment in June. That month, Foreign Secretary Ernest Bevin underlined the cost-cutting need to pull British forces out of Greece, if possible by the end of 1946. 30 And it seems that SAS soldiers were 'sent out' clandestinely to Greece not simply to carry out a debt-payment mission which could have been done by other units there. 31 Rather, it is more plausible that with the KKE directing a modem guerrilla war by the middle of 1946,32 an SAS 'independent squadron' offered GNA units training assistance at the time that it was most needed, and did so 'for four years'. As a result of this, the SAS (as well as other wartime special forces) inspired developments in British counter-guerrilla warfare later in 1946. JJ Although public records for the summer of 1946 have been particularly heavily weeded, it is known that early in September General Rawlins visited Greek Corps HQs and recommended company operations from firm bases, instead of the GNA's tank and artillery bombardments of suspected KKE areas.34 By October, he and the new GOC, General Sir Keith N. Crawford, also looked to 'experience in Palestine and elsewhere' in an attempt to glean counter-guerrilla lessons,35 and they supported innovative ideas like airsupplying for the GNA (along with aerial fire-support and reconnaissance). This followed recent wartime practice, and by 18 October a BMM(G) 'Air

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Dropping Supply Course' was under way. J6 But even more forward-thinking was the Mission's contemporaneous proposal to form a new counterguerrilla force , which was undoubtedly inspired by British special forces created during World War Ip7 With the help of air supply, 'Commandotype' companies of 82 men were 'to infiltrate deep into bandit country' for up to a month and carry out 'long-range mountain recce and patrolling' , and 'bandit hunting . .. with the object of locating [a band] .. . keeping it under observation, and containing it until the nearest army formation can be called upon to attack it'. In other words, the 'Commandos', as the British labelled them, were to embark upon 'deep patrolling' , using their enhanced mobility to try to outmanoeuvre the guerrillas, and also act as a vanguard force in large scale operations.l8 Hence, this was a revision of existing tactical policy rather than a complete change. But although the tactical rationale required some refinement to take account of the need for better operational intelligence, this was still an advance. And while the lack of records about the unofficial activities of SAS men in Greece means that it is difficult to judge the degree to which they may have affected the thinking of Mission policy-makers, the proposed roles for the GNA 'Commandos' mirrored those of both the early British Commandos and of the later SAS . Indeed, bearing in mind the support given to wartime resistance groups - including the Greeks - by the SAS , SOE and other British special forces, it is interesting to note too that by November 1946 the Greek General Staff proposed a call-up of ex-partisan fighters for the new Commando force. 39 Further, in December 1946 Brigadier John M. Kirkman at MELF GHQ noted that success depended upon the 'implementation of measures progressively evolved since ... this summer' ,40 again indicating that significant developments had been made at this time. By 19 November 1946 Generals Rawlins and Spiliotopoulos were at the War Office in London to discuss military policy, and on 28 November the British Chiefs of Staff agreed that at least 3,000 men should be organised into Commando columns. Two days later, Field-Marshal Montgomery arrived in Athens to oversee changes to the GNA,41 and he urged that it should be retrained 'to fight an irregular enemy in mountainous country'. To this end he supported valuable innovations like the greater use of air support and light infantry, and the Commandos. But he harboured ambivalent feelings about 'private armies', and he viewed them not as a springboard for major changes in tactical policy, but as a way of invigorating age-old methods like 'encirclements' and 'sweeps ' .42 Although it is not clear whether the CIGS was aware of the supposedly non-existent SAS, he emphasised that Britons ought not participate in any future operations, and a Directive to this effect was drafted by the LFG HQ on 24 December 1946.43

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By December 1946 the BMM(G) and the GGS were holding discussions on 'tactical doctrine' like 'Exercise . .. SAFEGUARD', and on 11 December they produced a joint policy paper. It proposed major intelligence-based, airsupported offensives by 'highly mobile infantry ... mountain artillery and recce units', including Commandos. These were to be directed by a Combined Services HQ (and single Commander-in-Chief), and once an area was cleared of guerrillas the National Guard were to hold it. 44 Although the strategy, tactics and organisation outlined were not yet sufficiently developed to bring about the defeat of the KKE guemllas, they laid the foundations for a shift in emphasis towards more counter-guerrilla small unit patrolling, and they are a noteworthy advance on previous British IS thinking. Also on 11 December, the Chiefs of Staff recommended that the BMM(G) be allowed to give advice on COIN operations unfettered, and the British set about organising more specialist teams to train the GNA in ground/air operations, Commando tactics and 'Irregular Warfare ' techniques.45 Then, on 1 January 1947, the CIGS pressed his case in the Cabinet Defence Committee for a greater British COIN involvement in Greece. While he accepted a cost-saving cut in BTG down to only four battalions by 1 April, Montgomery was adamant that the British should 'train, equip and maintain' the GNA, and that the BMM(G) should be allowed to press IS advice on it. Evidently his arguments were accepted,46 because on 13 January 1947 an IS conference was held at Cairo, and on the following day General Rawlins received a new directive to replace that of 23 October 1945. This authorised the BMM(G) to covertly 'give the ... greatest possible assistance' to the Greek security forces, and to this end its War Establishment was to be raised again from the end of the month by 413, to 341 officers and 1,524 ORs, (1,865 in all). On 21 January 1947, following another IS conference held at the War Office the day before, Rawlins was instructed to send his men to Greek 'field units', and to ensure that the GGS acted upon British advice. If they did not, he was to request that the CINCMELF have words with them!47 The GNA plan for 1947 was approved by the British Chiefs of Staff on 27 January, and it involved a three stage Clear-and-Hold strategy. The first phase was to be retraining and reorganisation of the security forces, assisted by BLUs, and various special teams including Mountain Warfare Instruction Teams, BIT intelligence officers, and an 'Army-Air Cooperation Training Team' under Major 1. D. G. Walker-Brush. The second phase would feature novel 'counter-organisation' action against the KKE underground (or 'YIAFKA') consisting of population relocation, along with huge encirclement clearance operations incorporating the armoured and artillery assaults still favoured by the GGS. They would be followed by a holding commitment by a new 'Home Guard'. In the last phase, once a

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Corps area was considered 'clear', it would be returned to civil government contro1. 48 Hence, in spite of some flaws, such as the Greeks' predilection for conventional warfare tactics, there were some unusual and potentially valuable counter-guerrilla aspects to this plan.

The Ebb and Flow of British Influence on COIN Policy during 1947 British advisers 'in the field' got little chance to develop such ideas further, however, for on 28 January 1947 Montgomery voiced concerns that they may be drawn into the fighting, which would 'be most dangerous' in international political terms. Hence, h.e recommended their withdrawal to Athens. This was not done immediately, but instructions were issued on 12 February underlining that Britons must not partake in COIN operations. 49 Moreover, with the Chancellor of the Exchequer, Hugh Dalton, pressing Bevin to axe overseas spending, the Foreign Secretary Ernest Bevin sought to draw the USA into a burden-sharing role in Greece. Although the Cabinet supported Britain's own expanded commitment on 30 January 1947,5° by 18 February Bevin pondered whether to withdraw British financial support for the GNA from 1 April, in view both of the Greeks' 'dalliance' in regard to implementing changes, and in order to bring 'matters to a head' with the Americans. But it was not until 3 March, when Bevin was ill and exhausted, that Dalton at last got his agreement to halt British financial aid. Thereafter, Bevin concentrated on trying to embroil the US in an 'Allied' COIN effort in Greece,>l and on 4 March the War Office directed GHQMELF to impose restrictions on British advisers while the new arrangements were being worked out. Henceforth, they were ordered to curtail their operational advising in forward areas. 52 Thereafter, the Mission apparently gradually 'lost touch with the operational situation', with its advisory capacity in this respect being 'virtually non-existent' .53 Yet, in spite of the new restrictions, some of Britain's army top brass evidently felt that the IS situation was so bad that it warranted a broad interpretation of the new directive. Although advisers ought not venture into combat zones, the Ministry of Defence proposed on 6 March that BLUs remain at 'B ' and 'C' Corps HQs, and it contacted the BMM(G) about this two days later. As a result, Foreign Office officials were confused as to whether BLOs could give operational advice or not. While opposing this in principle they noted that there seemed to be no 'hard and fast' line, and later in March the chief of staff at GHQMELF commented that Rawlins' view seemed 'close to the wind but fair'. On 26 March the Foreign Office asserted. that 'the advice of the British experts concerning overall strategy ... is [still] of the greatest value to the Greeks',54 and even in June Ambassador Norton reported that the BMM(G) was

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advising on 'broad principles [and] ... the detailed working out of ... longterm plans'. He noted, however, that this was the result of personal initiatives by Mission members and it was not official government policy!55 Indeed some Britons put themselves at considerable risk to assist the Greeks, for in May there was another lethal incident involving British soldiers reported by 'Captain FORD and the remaining survivors' of this.56 During spring 1947 the Mission sought to identify why GNA operations continued to net poor results, and it sent questionnaires to BLUs to get their opinions on this. In July, General Rawlins and the BTG (which now incorporated LFG as well) blamed faulty execution, lack of manpower and intelligence, and difficult terrain. Thus, they clearly did not grasp that the fundamental problem was the unsuitability of the tactics used. Indeed, the British Military Attache, Colonel A. C. Shortt (among others), criticised his colleagues for supporting failed policies and, in particular, for not appreciating 'the importance of ... [uprooting the YIAFKA] "cells" ... [that provided] the bands with supplies, information [and] recruits' .57 In spite of this, on 4 July Rawlins asked the War Office if it would send him a new directive once the American army group in Greece were ready to assist them. But, as part of ongoing cutbacks, on 23 July it reduced the BMM(G)'s War Establishment to 1,144.58 The day afterwards, the Service Department also expressed surprise that at least one British officer was still engaged in operations alongside the GNA, and it noted that 'it would appear that [the] Mission has omitted to recall him' !59 However, this was less a slip of the collective mind as part of a concerted, surreptitious effort to help the Greeks in particular areas of deficiency, notably in Commando and 'Combined Operations and Irregular Warfare' training. 60 In August 1947, the new CINCMELF, General Sir John T. Crocker, encouraged the BMM(G) to think of ways of improving GNA 'organisation, and tactical methods/training'. And while he criticised Rawlins for being 'too optimistic as to [its] condition and abilities,' he nonetheless recommended on 25 August that the Chiefs of Staff grant the BMM(G) Command freedom to 'use their judgement in allowing officers and men to move freely among units in forward areas'. Further, it should also 'not be precluded from giving advice on operations and plans providing the importance of avoiding implicating HMG in any decisions was borne in mind' .61 The Chiefs and the War Office agreed, as did the Foreign Office provided that the US shared this responsibility, with all its 'political implications' .62 Indeed, despite the assertions of most historians, the Americans did not take on the burden of COIN operational advising alone from this time onwards. 63 Rather, on 2 September 1947, the top American official in Greece. Dwight Griswold, invited the British to join 25 US Army officers in advising the GNA in future, and on 19 September the War Office

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and Chiefs approved of this in principle. 64 The American request relieved some of Bevin's fears about extending the British COIN mission,65 and by 11 October he sought to assist the BMM(G)'s preparations for a renewal of its operational advisory role by sending Indian Army and other 'officers with guerrilla experience to the Mission'. Furthermore, he astutely suggested that experience of guerrilla warfare 'in occupied territory during the war' should be utilised during the Mission Command's current review of Greek COIN policy.66 By that time Rawlins had been invited to an 'Allied' commanders' conference on counter-guerrilla lessons, and American officers made it clear that they favoured encirclements. 67 Rawlins still believed that these had some value, but on 22 October he argued that guerrillas must be 'continually hunted [by) ... vigorous aggressive patrolling [on] ... the best possible information ... [by] Compan[ies) ... platoon[s] and section[s],. Indeed, he advised that 'the bulk of the Greek Army [be deployed] ... in the hills ... like highly skilled [guerrillas] ... [with] the object of every infantry ... unit and sub-unit [being] to obtain accurate information, to gain contact [with bands] ... harass ... [and] utterly destroy [them]'. The British still needed to hone their proposed methods, but this was a significant and percipient shift in tactical emphasis by the BMM(G) Command staff, and a major step forward in British counter-guerrilla thought. General Rawlins added that 'the ideas outlined ... are generally accepted but [are) too rarely applied [as) ... few [Greek) commanders will order any form of deep patrolling because they feel that a section or platoon would be incapable of looking after itself'. Likewise, he noted that 'the importance of consolidating a ... [cleared) area is not always appreciated' by the Greeks. 68 Theoretical advances therefore had to wait for Greek and American acceptance to become reality, and from October 1947 onwards the American Military Aid Group [AMAG] 'came into repeated disagreement [with the BMM(G)) over ... training, operations and administration' .69 Consequently, the AMAG began advising GNA divisions from 3 November 1947, and a fortnight afterwards it set up a Joint Greek-American Planning Staff which for a short time 'overshadowed the BMM[G], .70 The Foreign Secretary, Bevin, reacted to this development by seeking to merge the British and American 'missions, for an independent British advisory role was 'not politically acceptable to HMG'. The War Office and Chiefs of Staff were determined to ensure that the BMM(G) should have a major say in policy, however, and on 17 December Bevin gained US agreement to coordinate their operational assistance. Two weeks later, he promised that Britons would have the 'same responsibilities and freedom of movement' as members of the newly-constituted Joint United States Military Advisory and Planning Group [JUSMAPG), and that they would

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be sent out to the field once the Americans were ready. Thereafter, Bevin resisted pressure from the Chiefs to allow Britons to do this beforehand, so that they could update their training plans, stating that Britain would not 'run risks' alone.71 In anticipation of a change in its status, the BMM(G) created a Joint Operations Room, and BITs prepared for an operational advisory role. In addition, Rawlins pressed the GGS to reorganise the Commandos, asserting that they had been 'incorrectly employed' on the whole, (although some GNA commanders were using them for 'continuous offensive operations' lasting for a month or so by this stage).72 The British Minister of Defence, A. V. Alexander, even suggested sending reinforcements from Palestine to bolster the Allied COIN effort in Greece. 73 But the crux was to get American .approval of fresh advisory arrangements so that they could get on with the job, and on 7 January 1948 the Chiefs of Staff reiterated the need for urgency in this respect. 74 The Resurgence of British Influence in COIN Policy-making during

1948 By 15 January 1948, the commander of the Joint US Military Advisory and Planning Group (JUSMAPG) General William S. Livesay, requested the 'closest possible collaboration' from the British, and he felt that they 'should take ... [thei]r full share of advising on ops'. Indeed, General Crocker reported that 'the Americans fully recognise that our knowledge and experience can add a useful contribution in this sphere.' Thus, they jointly drew up a directive that was 'as loose as possible and avoided limiting the British Mission purely to organisation and training', though they were 'careful to word it so that no impression could be given in American [political] circles that the British were concerned in policy affecting the dispersal of American dollars'. The directive ostensibly made the JUSMAPG responsible for advising on logistics and operational planning. But the British were to play a central role in all aspects of GNA activity, and this fact was covered up thereafter by the Foreign Office. 75 At that point the JUSMAPG had 45 personnel ready to assist the GNA with operations,76 and in the interim the War and Foreign Offices had arranged for at least 46 officer and 50 OR combat veterans to join the BMM(G) by March. They were to undertake a 'continuing study and appraisal of the developing situation' and offer 'stimulating and aggressive advice'. On 19 January the British Military Attache, Colonel Shortt, complained to the War Office that there were not yet enough 'officers with the particular type of active experience required'. But the BMM(G) HQ had a strength of 183 officers and 731 ORs, along with 11 officers and 62 ORs

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at 'B' Corps BLU, and 17 officers and 85 ORs at 'C' Corps BLU. This gave a total of no fewer than 175 covert British advisers, which was at least three times more than the US contingent. Among the British COIN task force were specialists assisting the reconstituted Greek 'Raiding Forces' (which incorporated the Commandos), based at the Vouliagmeni Training Centre near Athens.17 They included distinguished SAS soldiers like Captain (later Major) Alistair McGregor and Lt-Colonel D. G. C. Sutherland, who were chosen by the War Office because of their particular service records, which in Sutherland's case included wartime SBS operations in Greece. They were joined also by a group of 'experienced Commando officers' under Brigadier R. J. F. Tod, who had fought in Greece during 1944 as weIl.78 The War Office was supporting the unorthodox in counter-guerrilla warfare at this juncture, and from 19 January 'the first observer teams, after being fully indoctrinated by British and American officers, went out into the field' 79 British advisers outnumbered and often outranked their American colleagues, and so they provided most Allied advice during the spring and summer of 1948.80 In February the BMM(G) also got command of the remaining BTG forces for IS purposes, and many British soldiers put themselves in the front-line to aid the Greeks, with at least one BLO being killed, in a mortar attack on 10 February 1948Y During this period British advice concentrated on conventional rather than counter-guerrilla war because of the Communists' shift in emphasis to the former strategy by 1948.82 And while details about their advice are scant, in mid-March BLUs received a top secret draft operational plan from the War Office that contributed to their input into the planning of Operation 'Dawn'. It lasted for three weeks from 15 April, and it featured counter-organisation mass arrests and huge encirclements, implying that British planners accepted that they could be appropriate in the circumstances. But, the BMM(G) also recognised that the GNA only inflicted losses on the Communists during 'Dawn' when they stood their ground, and its Command staff did not consider it a great success.83 By then Montgomery and Crocker had concluded that General Rawlins had been 'too long mixed up with this difficult problem, [and that] ... a fresh brain is wanted'. Thus, the BTG CO, Major-General E. 'Eric' Down, took over at the BMM(G) by 27 March 1948,84 and he gave it a 'n ew lease of life'. Indeed, a year before, BTG had noted the failure of German 1941-44 anti-partisan operations, and Down now called for his planning staff to take account of the 'complications of guerrilla warfare'. Although conventional fighting was coming more and more to the fore, he realised that the guerrilla problem needed to be addressed too, and he appreciated that encirclements were not effective against KKE guerrillas. Instead, he favoured more ' hunting .. . groups [for] ... relentless chasing of small bands . . . in the hills' .85 But, as the civil war raged on, the counter-guerrilla task

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was relegated in importance, and the Mission does not seem to have developed its thinking much further in this regard. Indeed, while Down was 'virtually ... Advisor-in-Chief on tactical matters in the field', and his men spearheaded Allied advising on conventional operations, by June he and the JUSMAPG Commander, Lieutenant General James A. Van Fleet, fell out over both operational methods and priorities. The rift gradually widened and, on 2 July, the War Office recommended that in order to retain American cooperation the BMM(G) should be subordinated to the JUSMAPG. The Chiefs of Staff blocked this while the summer offensive went on. But by 1 October 1948 the British agreed that the JUSMAPG should assume full responsibility for 'all operational matters ... [of] policy or higher direction ... [and] tactical training', and henceforth the Americans predominated in this regard. 86 Prior to the curtailment of the Mission's role, the Chiefs of Staff assessed the Greek COIN effort, and they concluded that if Britain 'were faced with this problem, we should base ops on the maximum use of airpower' in support of the Army.81 This was a shift in tack from interwar British thinking on IS operations, and General Down's own study of the anti- Communist war written in October was equally perceptive. He argued that if the British were to deal with guerrillas in future, they must adopt a Clear-and-Hold strategy and, over a lengthy period of time, deploy large numbers of troops from strategic bases with air support. The Chiefs of Staff and the War Office agreed with him,88 and this represents a significant shift in high-level British thinking about counter-guerrilla warfare.

British Thinking about Counter-Guerrilla Warfare in Greece by 1949 Although the BMM(G) was meant to confine its assistance to the GNA to 'basic training', and most British advisers did withdraw from field HQs from October 1948, once more there were 'one or two exceptions'. Small BITs operated with Commandos and other units in 'A' Corps until December, and General Down continued to offer his views on policy to the Greeks, often to Van Fleet's chagrin. As a result, on 23 December 1948 the Chiefs of Staff decided to order Down to stay out of operational matters. 89 Yet in spite of the fresh restrictions, the BMM(G) continued to offer advice at the Vouliagmeni Centre, and during January 1949 BLO Touring Teams accompanied Raiding Forces and American advisers into operational areas. 90 The Mission stressed the need 'to patrol constantly in order to obtain information and security', and evidently their contribution to this sphere was appreciated by their partners, for in February a revised agreement again afforded the British a say in tactical training and planning. However, the BMM(G) noted that the 'US view tends to predominate', and with Van Fleet

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preferring the British to 'take no active part in operations', early in March 1949 General Down directed that henceforth Britons should not take on any operational role. 91 Thereafter, the Americans took over all Allied COIN operational responsibilities, and the GNA concentrated on defeating the Communists' conventional forces. The British Army consequently had few further opportunities to make an impact on Greek counter-guerrilla policy before the Communists conceded defeat in the civil war in October 1949. But the BMM(G) maintained its Raiding Forces training throughout that year, and it emphasised the need for prolonged intelligence-based patrolling and 'small unexpected raids ... deep' in guerrilla areas.92 Additionally, during March 1949, the new CIGS, FieldMarshal Sir William Slim, visited Greece and pointed out that the guerrilla problem was still a serious one that demanded a major commitment of airsupported small unit patrols. And, shortly after, General Down reiterated that Raiding Forces were 'the best troops for eliminating small groups of bandits ... [by] continuous and relentless' pursuit operations.93 Clearly there was within the British Army a growing belief that a new counter-guerrilla strategy and tactics were required to confront the modem guerrilla threat. Notwithstanding the fact that it would take several years for this to filter through the Army as a whole, (as exemplified in Malaya), the Greek experience helped lay the foundations for a new British approach to counter-guerrilla war.94 Furthermore, the Army contributed greatly to the ultimate success ofthe GNA by ensuring that it did not collapse in the face of KKE guerrilla and conventional campaigns. The BMM(G) and other Britons provided key advisory and other operational support at crucial times, bolstering and stabilising the GNA (along with their American colleagues) when this was most needed. The British also developed new counter-guerrilla policies and forces that fully proved their worth by 1949, notably special forces and air support. And in spite of widespread assertions that it was the Americans who saw the Greeks through to their eventual victory, without covert British assistance (which resulted in several fatalities) it is debateable whether this could have been achieved. Thus, the British Army deserves much credit for its quiet COIN in Greece, which ranks as one of its least recognised but also most significant postwar campaigns. NOTES The Author thanks the Trustees of the Liddell Hart Centre for Military Archives and the numerous other repositories for permission to utilise their collections. I. See T.L. lones, The Development of British Counter-Insurgency Policies and Doctrine, 1945-52 (phD, Univ. of London 1992) Ch.4; 'The British Army, and counter-guerrilla warfare in transition, 1944-52', Small Wars and Insurgencies 7/3 (Winter 1996) pp.265-307 passim.

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2. For instance, cf. H. Richter, British Intervention in Greece (London: Merlin 1985) and E. O'Ballance, The Greek Civil War, 1944-49 (London: Faber 1966). 3. On the BMM(G), Maj. R.E. Austin, War Office [WO] Directorate of Military Operations [DMO] 3, 'The Official History of the BMM(G), 1945-52' (WO, 1952) W0202/908; Allied Forces [AFHQ] notes, Jan. 1945, WOI70/4069, 7570, Public Record Office, Kew. Unless stated, all records are at the PRO. 4. BMM(G)'s role in AFHQ to GREEKMIL., 12 Jan., R12081F0371/48247; to BMM(G), 12 May 1945, W0204/8739. GNA tasks, Sir D. Laskey, Foreign Office [FO] minute, 20 Jan. 1946, R9111F0371158850; BMM(G) War Diary [WD], Feb. 1945, W0178/57; WO 'Instructions for the formation of the GNA', June 1945, W0202/892. On Churchill, PM to Foreign Secretary, 7 Jan. 1945, R493 11F037 lJ48245. Re the IS situation, W.H. McNeill, The Greek Dilemma (London: Gollancz 1947) p.189; Richter (note 2) pp.8, 147. 5. See Jones, Small Wars (note 1) pp.279-88, 291-5 6. Gen. Scobie in H. MacMillan to PM, 4 Feb. 1945, R25431F037 1/48252. LFGHQ in, Weekly Intelligence Review [IR], 15 Jan. 1945, WO 17017570. FM Alexander to FO, 25 Jan., R26311F0371/48253; to PM, 17 Jan. 1945, W0214/44. 7. LFG views to WO, 30 April 1945, WO 17017555. On the BMM(G)'s influence, for instance, McNeill (note 4) p. 17 I. 8. On BMM(G) trainers and their roles, LFGHQ note, 26 March 1945, W0204/8748; Ambassador Sir R. Leeper to FO, 5March 1945, R43851F0371148259; BMM(G) WD, June ; 'Instructions for the formation of the GNA', 4 June 1945, W0170/57. Re Mountain Warfare units, AFHQ notes, May 1945, WO 1701407 1. 9. LFG Operational Instruction [01] #20, 31 July 1945, WO 1701753 1. 10. On operations, for example, Anglo-Greek Info. Service #43, 15 Aug. 1945, RI44221F037 1148278; LFG notes, 31 July 1945, and Combined Monthly IR [CMIR], Sept. 1945, WOI7017531; HQ 'D' BLU report, 8 Se pt. 1945, WOI78/62; BMM(G) note, 3 Nov. 1945, W0178/58; BMM(G) notes, 8 Nov. 1945, W0202/892 ; CMIR, Jan. 1946, WOI7017640. Re British IS action before 1945, T.L. Jones, Small Wars (note I) pp.273, 297-8. 11. Gen. Scobie on the KKE, to FM H. Alexander, 4 August 1945, Scobie Papers, 82/17/1, Imperial War Museum, London, [IWMJ. BMM(G) views, 'GNA Organisation', 30 Sept. 1945, W032/11436.

12. BMM(G) Trg Conf. notes, 3 Nov. 1945, W0178/58; History, W0202/908. 13. There was also initially a BLU with the new National Guard, and two in the Aegean Islands: see BMM(G) Postings of Officers, I Nov. 1945-20 Jan. 1946, and Monthly Newsletter #1 , Jan. 1946, W0178174; Notes, 8 Feb. 1946 W017017658; 18 Aug. 1946, W0202/893. 14. BMM(G) Postings, ibid; BMM(G) Staff List, Jan. 1946, WOI78174. 15. On Greek irregulars, Brig. E.D. Smith, VIc/ory of a Sort (London: R. Hale 1988) pp.157, 190: on the use of British IS measures, p.183. British views of irregulars, K. Matthews. Memories of a Mountain War (London : Longman 1972) p.132: on the action deemed necessary, HQ 'D' BLU report, 8 Sept. 1945, W0178/62. 16. On the KKE, for example, Col. C.M. Woodhouse, Apple of Discord (Reston, VA : W.B. O'Neill 1985) p.234; Richter (note 2) pp.248, 261 ; G.M. Alexander, Prelude to the Truman Doctrine (Oxford: Clarendon 1982) p.98. On the aftoamynalYIAFKA, O.L. Smith, 'Selfdefence and Communist policy, 1945-7' in L. Baerentzen (ed.) Studies in the History of the Greek Civil War (Copenhagen: Museum Tusculanum 1987) p.161. 17. Perception of an external Communist threat in, COS note, 2 Jan. 1946, R3471F0371158667. On the directive to BMM(G), Leeper note, 16 Jan. 1946, R8681F037 1/58669. 18. On the KKE, Consul T. Rapp to FO, 2 Jan. 1946, R9311F037 1158750; Scobie, note, 9 Jan. 1946,8211711 , IWM. Dep.-Cdr. Brig. H. Wood, 'IS-Greece', 25 Feb. 1946, W0178/64. On the Greek elections, 10th Inf. Bde. WD, Jan.; Rawlins in, Norton note, 20 May 1946, R76741F037 1/58692. WO action in, BMM(G) note, 8Jan. 1946, WOI78174; COS in, SirO. Sargent, Under-Sec. of State, FO, memo, 20 Feb. 1946, R19921F037lJ58673 . 19. GNA action in, LFGHQ note, 4Oct.l946, RI51921F037 1/58852. British operations in, 10th Inf. Bde. WD, 26 Jan. 1946, WO 17017750; 13th Inf. Div. 015, 24 March 1946, WD, May, and 23rd Armoured Bde, report, 27 March 1946, WO 17017707. On Indian troops, Greek

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20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26.

27. 28. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33. 34. 35. 36. 37. 38.

39. 40. 41. 42. 43. 44.

103

News Agency, 13 Feb. 1946, R23491F0371158675. Re the elections, Athens Press Summary, 18 May 1946, R80821F0371158693. For instance, FO Note, 27 May 1946, R7806IF0371158692. Noel-Baker in FO Note, ibid. Norton to FO, 9 May 1946, R70981F0371158690. Rawlins in, Norton, note, 20 May 1946, R76741F0371158692. GNA in, GOC LFG, Gen. K.N. Crawford, to GHQMELF [Middle East Land Forces] 40ct. 1946, W02611771. CIGS in Norton to FO, 1 July 1946, R97351F0371/58697; also, HQ 13th Inf. Div. Quarterly Historical Report [QHR] 30 Sept. 1946, W0261/655. Rawlins tour, Notes, 11 July, R1I31IF0371/66997; 24 July 1946, R109461 F0371/58699. New directive in LFG 0130.19 July 1946, W02611771. On Greece, 1st Field Regt RA, OIl, 28 Aug.1946, W02611714. On MEFtraining, GHQMEF Dirve. #245, 13 April 1946, W0169/22879. For details of Palestine policy and doctrine, Jones, Small Wars (note I) pp.269-73. BMM(G) training in, Greek General Staff [GGS)/BMM(G) Minutes of Joint Conf., 31 July, and BMM(G) Monthly Progress Report on the GNA [MPR), to 20 Dec. 1946, W0202/946. On the BLUs, MPRs to 20 July, to 20 August 1946, W0202/945. Training plans in, BMM(G) MPR, July 1946, ibid.; and action, HQ 13th Inf. Bde Trg Istn #3, 27 July, and QHR, 30 Sept. 1946, W0261/655; LFG QHR, 30 Sept. 1946, W02611771. Fatal attack on British soldier near Naoussa on 13 Sept. in, for example, LFG QHR, 30 Sept.; and on UN officer on 9 Sept., GREEKMIL. to MIDEAST, 14 Sept. 1946, W02611771. On BTCs, MPR, to 20 Sept. 1946, W0202/945. Re operations, LFGHQQHR, 30 Sept. 1946, W02611771. See Jones, Small Wars (note I) pp.274--5. A. Kemp, The SAS at War, 1941-45 (London: J. Murray 1991) pp.229-30; idem, The SAS: Savage Wars of Peace, 1947 to the Present (Ibid. 1994) pp.3, 5. ASC(G) in, WDs, July 1945-May 1946, WO 17017558,7654; Dirve., 12 Dec. 1945, W0l7017558; 01, 5 Jan. 1946, W017017654. Bevin in, CM(46)54, 3 June 1946, R85811F0371158695. Kemp, SAS (note 29); interviews, 16, 26 May 1996; Gordon Stevens (SAS researcher), interview, 9 June 1996. KKE action, for example, Smith in Baerentzen (note 16) p.l75. See Jones (note 28); Tim Jones, The Secret History of the SAS (forthcoming book). Rawlins in Crawford to GHQMELF, 4 Oct.l946, R151921F0371158852. Athens Embassy to FO, 10 Oct.l946, RI51921F0371/58852. On air support, Air Cooperation Conf. note, 12 Oct. 1946, in BMM(G) QHR, 31 Dec.; and air supply, BMM(G) MPR on Supply & Transport Corps, to 20 Oct. 1946, W0202/946. See also Jones Small Wars (note I) pp.274, 298. See Jones, ibid.; Jones, Secret History (note 33). On the GNA Commandos, BMM(G) MPR, to 20 Dec. 1946, W0202/946; Brig. H. Wood, 'Enlistment of Reservists', to GGS, 3 Dec. 1946, W0202/893; LFGHQ Conf. notes, 2,4 Dec. 1946, W026 11772; LFGHQ to WO, 29 Dec. 1946, and GHQMELF to MoD/COS, 15 Jan.1947, (which gives total projected manpower as 3280), W032/11436. Also see Jones (note 28) pp.267-8, 274. On British support for partisans, see Jones, ibid. pp.267-8, 274; esp. re Greece, for example, 1.D. Ladd, SBS - the Invisible Raiders (Trowbridge: David & Charles 1989) pp. 116--27. Re the GGS, BMM(G) MPR, to 20 Nov. 19.46, W0202/946. Brig. J. Kirkman, LFG, to BMM(G), 27 Dec. 1946, W0202/893. Jones (note 36); S.G. Xydis, Greece and the Great Powers (Thessaloniki: Inst. of Balkan Studies 1963) pp.361, 432-3,531. British ideas in, BMM(G) MPR, to 20 Dec. 1946, W0202/946; LFGHQ Conf. minutes, and Brig. H. Wood note, 2 Dec. 1946, W02611772; Assistant Under-Sec. M.S. Williams, FO, to Bevin, 6 Dec. 1946, R173761F0371/58716. Brig. J. Kirkman, 'Role of British Troops', 24 Dec. 1946, and LFG QHR, 31 Dec. 1946, W02611772. Plan in Joint Memo, Maj.-Gen. Vimblis [GGS)/Brig. H. Wood, [BMM(G)), 11 Dec. 1946 (addenda, 2 Jan. 1947), and Brig. J. Kirkman to Raw1ins, 27 Dec. 1946, W0202/893;

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45.

46. 47.

48.

49. 50. 51.

52. 53. 54. 55. 56. 57.

58. 59. 60. 61.

62. 63.

SMALL WARS AND INSURGENCIES

BMM(G) report, Jan. 1947, W0202/946. Also on a C-in-C, RAFHQ report, II June 1947, AIR46/62. British COS in, COS(46)181, 11 Dec. 1946, CAB79/54. On training, BMM(G) G(Ops & Trg) QHR, 31 Dec. 1946, W0202/946; BMM(G) Revised W.E., Dec. 1946, and Brig. C.D. Steel, BMM(G) Revised WE, 30 Jan. 1947, W0261/637; LFG to WO, 29 Dec. 1946, W032/l1436; BMM(G) Official History, W0202/908. DO(47)1,2, 1,2 Jan.l947, CAB 13114. New Directive, to Rawlins, 14 Jan. 1947, in, Gen. Sir H. Pyman Papers, 6/1/2, Liddell Hart Centre for Military Archives, London, [LHC]; Brig. C.D. Steel, BMM(G) memo, 30 Jan. 1947, W0261/637; COS(47)30, 21 Feb. 1947, DEFE4/2. Increase in the BMM(G), Revised w.E., 30 Jan. 1947, W02611637; CM(47)30, 20 March 1947, CAB128/9. On IS Conf.'s, Brig. J. Kirkman, LFG QHR, 31 March 1947, W02611637. Plan details in Joint Memo, W0202/893; COS(47)15, 27 January 1947, DEFE4/1. On the YIAFKA see Jones, Small Wars (note 1) pp.275-6; Field-Marshal G. Papagos, 'Guerrilla warfare' in EM. Osanka (ed.) Modem Guerrilla Waifare (NY: Free Press 1962) p.236. On the Home Guard (or 'MAY'), Rawlins, 'Note on MAY', Nov. 1946, R9984IF0371167005; Crawford note, 4 Oct.1946, W0261n71. On new training teams, BMM(G) to BLUs, 23 Jan. 1947, W0202/947; BMM(G) Revised WE, 30 Jan. 1947, W02611637. CIGS to CINCMELF, 28 January 1947, Pyman, 6/l/2, LHC. LFG 0138 'IS', 12 Feb. 1947 and LFGHQ QHR, 31 March 1947, W0261/637. For example, H. Dalton, High Tide and After (London: E Muller 1962) pp.l88-9, 193-8; CM(47)14, 30 Jan. 1947, CAB 128/9. On Bevin and Dalton, E. Barker, The British between the Superpowers (London: MacMillan 1983) p.81; Xydis (note 41) p.474. Re the dating of events in Da1ton's Diary #35, Dalton Papers, British Library of Political & Economic Science, London, see R. Frazier, 'British and American policy with regard to Greece, 1943-7' (PhD, Univ. of Nottingham 1989) pp.318-19; cf. Jones PhD, (note I) pp.215-18. On talks with US, COS(47)161, 22 Dec. 1947, DEFE4/9. MoD directive, in FO notes, 4 March 1947, R3192IF0371167029; 8 April 1947, R5911/ F0371167030; GHQMELF QHR, 30 June 1947, W0261/547. Brig. C.D. Steel, note, 31 May 1947, R8467IF0371/67030; Mil. Attache, Col. A.C. Shortt, IR, 15 May 1948, R6706IF0371n2212. MoD, note, 6 March, and FO, R. Selby, note, 21 March 1947, R3192IF0371/ 67029. FO also in Head of Southern Dept., M.S. Williams, note, 26 March, Min. of State, H. McNeil, note, 8 April, and Sir O. Sargent, note, 30 April 1947, R5911IF0371167030. Ambassador Norton to O. Sargent, FO, 22 June 1947, R8467IF0371/67030. CoS, MELF, to CGS, 26 May 1947, Pyrnan (note 47), 6/l/3, LHC. Questionnaires in, Lt.-Col. P. Flowers, notes, 25 April 1947, and Gen. Rawlins to WO, 22 July 1947, W0202/893. BTG QHR, 7 July 1947, W0261n59. Col. Shortt, 'Note on AntiBandit Operations', spring 1947, and to FO, 21 May 1947, R7338IF0371/67075. For other critics of the BMM(G) see Jones PhD (note I) pp.224-7. Rawlins in GHQMEF QHR, 20 Sept. 1947, W0261/547. WO action, BMM(G) WE, Personnel-Officers, 23 July 1947, W0202/949. WO to COS, 24 July 1947, Pyman (note 47), 6/ln, LHC. For instance, BMM(G) MPR, 20 May 1947, and G(Ops & Trg) QHR, 30 June 1947, W0202/948; Brig. C. Steel, report, Sept. 1947, and BMM(G) QHR, 30 Sept. 1947, W0202/949; BTG QHR, 30 June 1947, W0261n59; Jones, Secret History (note 33). CoS Meeting, and Gen. Crocker to CIGS, 18 Aug. 1947, Pyman (note 47), 6/1/8, LHC; GHQMELF, to MoD/COS, 9 Aug. 1947, W0321ll436; COS(47)II0, 25 Aug. 1947, DEFE4/l1. On BMM(G) studies at this time, RAF MPR #34,31 Aug. 1947, Ops Record Book 1947, AIR24n60. For similar criticisms by the FO see, for instance, minutes by UnderSec. DJ. McCarthy, 5 Sept. 1947, D. Balfour, 10 Sept. 1947, R12912IF0371167031. TROOPERS (WO) to MIDEAST, 27 Aug. 1947, Pyman (note 47), 6/l/8, LHC; YCIGS, Gen. FE.W. Simpson, note in COS(47)1l0(l), 25 Aug., and JPS(47)lll, 22 Aug. 1947, DEFE4/6. E.g., C. Tsoucalas, The Greek Tragedy (Middlesex: Penguin 1969) p.109.

199

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64. On the US and the BMM(G), L.S. Winner, United States intervention in Greece, 1943-49 (NY: Colombia UP 1982) pp.232-6; H. Jones, A New Kind ofWar(NY: OUP 1989) pp.91 - 8. COSIWO in COS(47)121, 19 Sept. 1947, DEFE417. 65. C. Norton, note, I Oct.J947, R133621F0371/67151; T.D. Sfikas, The British Labour Government and the Greek Civil War, 1945-49 (Keele: Ryburn 1994) pp.191-2. 66. Bevin note, II Oct. 1947, PREM8/527; in DO(47)78,79, II Oct. 1947, CABI31/ 4; to MoD, 10 Nov. 1947, F0800/468. 67 . Rawlins, Record of Conversation, 21 Aug. 1947, W0202/976. American thinking on operations in Jones (note 64) p.88. 68. Rawlins, 'Review of the Anti-Bandit Campaign', 22 Oct. 1947, drafts, AIR46/62, W0202/893 . 69. Jones (note 64) pp.90, 104. 70. FO minute, J.A. Turpin, I Nov. 1947, RI53231F037 1167053; O'Ballance, Greek Civil War (note 2) p.l 56; Winner (note 64) p.236; Jones (note 64) p.108. 71. BevinlCOS on advising in COS(47)157, 161, 16,22 Dec., DEFE4/9; COS (47)163, 30 Dec. 1947, DEFE4/8 ; MoD, to UK Joint Service Mission USA, 7 Jan. 1948: and on movement, FO memo, O. Sargent, 5 Jan. 1948, PREM81798. 72. British preparations in BMM(G) QHR, 31 Dec. 1947, W0202/985. Gen. Rawlins to Lt.-Gen. D. Yiadjis, GGS, 29 Dec. 1947, W0202/976. GNA action in, for example, C. Falls, 'The Greek Army and the guerrillas' , Military Review 28 (March 1948) p.75; Jones, Small Wars (note I) p.278. 73. Sfikas (note 65) p.207. 74. COS(W)549,7 Jan. 1948, PREM81798. 75. Gen. W.S. Livesay, to BMM(G), IS Jan. 1948, W0202/895; WO Brief (draft), to BMM(G), IS Jan. 1948, W0202/894; Gen. J. Crocker, to CIGS, 31 Jan. 1948, W0216/679. On FO action, Maj.-Gen. H. Pyman, to WO DMO, Maj.-Gen. H. Redman, 27 Sept., and COS to YCIGS, Maj .-Gen. G. Templer, Sept. 1948, 611/20, LHC; Jones, Small Wars (note I) pp.278, 299. Pursuant to this policy, in Nov. 1948 the FO were 'adamant' that Britons like Rory O'Connor should not be presented with Greek decorations, Gen. Pyman, to Gen. Down, BMM(G), 3 Jan. 1949, Pyman (note 47) 611/23, LHC; Jones, Secret History (note 33). 76. COS(48)9, 19 Jan. 1948, DEFE4110. 77. BMM(G) History, W0202l908; COS(48)20, 10 Feb. 1948, R23961F0371172239; WO Brief, 14 Feb., R240S1F0371172240; GHQMELF QHR, 20 March, W0261/548; Maj .-Gen. Pyman, note, 3 March, 6/1/14, LHC; WO Order of Battle, Miscell. Special and Secret Establishments, 19 Jan., W033/2641; and on the Commandos, BMM(G) MPR, to 20 Feb. 1948, W0202/9S0. Col. Shortt, to Col. Price, WO M[ilitaryJI[ntelligenceJ 3, 19 Jan. 1948, RI2S7IF0371172207; Jones, Secret History (note 33). 78. Maj. A. McGregor, interview, 19 May 1996; Lt.-Col. D.G.C. Sutherland, letter, 8 May 1996; 'Awards' - Maj . D.G.C. Sutherland (Black Watch), 9 Jan. 1946, WO 178174. Also on Brig. Tod see, W. Seymour, British Special Forces (London: Sidgwick 1985) pp.40, 44; Jones, Secret History (note 33). 79. COS(48)9, 19 Jan. 1948, DEFE4/10; BMM(G) MPR, to 20 Feb. 1948, W0202/950. 80. BMM(G) Directive, to BLUs, April 1948, AIR46/62; Jones, Small Wars (note I) pp.278, 299; Jones (note 64) p.lSS; D. Blaufarb, The COIN Era (NY: The Free Press 1977) pp.22-3. SI. On BTG, COS(4S)24, IS Feb., DEFE4/ll; BMM(G) QHR, 31 March 1948, W0202/9S0. BLO in, GHQMELF QHR, 20 March 1948, W0261/548. S2. Jones, Small Wars (note I) p.278. 83. WO plan, COS(48)22, 13 Feb. 1948, DEFE4/l0; RAF, to BLU, 19 March 1948, AIR46/30. BMM(G) role in, COS(48)3S(O), 17 Feb. 1948, COS(48)64(0), 24 March 1948, DEFES/IO. BMM(G) on operations, QHRs, 20 May, W0202/982; 20 Aug. 1948, W0202/893. 84. On Rawlins and Down, Col. Shortt, lR, IS May 1948, R67061F037 1172212; CINC MELF, to CIGS, 31 Jan. 1948, and CIGS to Chief of the Air Staff, S Feb. 1948, W0216/679. 8S. On Down and the BMM(G), Gen. Pyman, note, 3 March 1948, and WO to GHQMELF, 4 March, Pymanm (note 47), 6/1114, LHC; note, IS Sept. 1948, Brief for CINCMELF visit, 22 Sept., and BMM(G) BGS(Plans & Ops) to CoSMELF, 6 Sept. 1948, Pyman, 6/1/20, LHC; Shortt IR, 1 Nov. 1948, R12S8S1F0371172241 ; Gen. Down in G. Wallinger, FO notes, 23

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86. 87. 88. 89. 90. 91.

92. 93. 94.

SMALL WARS AND INSURGENCIES

March, R4402IF037In2241; in 1. Tahourdin, to WOI FO, 26 Aug., R105561F0371n2245; Down to Gen. Van Fleet, JUSMAPG, 5 July 1948, W0202/895; Lt.-Col. C.H.T. MacFetridge, A Memoir of Greece in 1948 (Ascot: The Author 1987) p.26; interview at the Army & Navy Club, London, 29 June 1989 (Lt.-Col. MacFetridge was a BLO in 1948). Re British advice, GHQMELF Report to 20 Sept. 1948, W0261/549; Agreement, I Oct. 1948, W0202/895; CINCMELF notes, 1 Oct., and to WO, 160ct. 1948, W0202/899; Jones, PhD (note I) pp.225-6. WO view in COS(48)91, 2 July 1945, DEFE4!l4. CINCMElCOS in, COS(48)127(0), 10 June 1948, DEFE5!l1. Gen. Down, 'Appreciation of the Anti-bandit war in Greece', Oct. 1948, RI22021F0371n2248; Jones (note 64) p.l84. COS/WO views, COS(48)129, 22 Oct. 1948, DEFE5/8. On movement of advisers, C. Norton, to FO, IS Nov. 1948, R132771 F0371172250. On advice, BMM(G) QHR, 31 Dec. 1948, W0202/988; Col. Shortt, note, 13 Dec. 1948, RI43541F037In2252. Down and COS in, COS(4S)224, 23 Dec. 1948, R1001F0371n8481. Training in, BMM(G) MPR, to 21 Nov. 1948, and to 20 Feb. 1949, W0202/95 I ; note, c.Dec. 1948, RI 33731F0371n2232. Activities in, Brig. J.R.c. Hamilton, WO, to Peck, FO, 17 Jan. 1949, R7101F0371n8481; Jones, Secret History (note 33). On operations, BMM(G), to WO, 10 Jan. 1949, R901F0371n8357. Re advising, Agreement, 7 Feb., W0202/899; C. Norton, to FO, 22 Feb. 1949, R21191F037In8348. British and American views in, Agreement note, 10 Feb., W0202/895; Down, in Peck, FO note, 3 March 1949, R26571F03711 78481. For the the make-up of the BLUs during 1949, W033/2655,2657,2663. Regarding operations, BMM(G) MPR, to 20 May, W0202/952; BMM(G) QHRs, 30 Sept., W02021953; 31 Dec. 1949, W0202l954. Field-Marshal Slim, report, 18 March, W0216n02; COS report, 22 March 1949, R2119IF0371nS348; Jones, Small Wars (note I) pp.278, 300, Gen. Down in BMM(G) 'Coordination of policy', Minutes of Con£., 26 April 1949, W0202/980. Jones, Small Wars (note 1) pp.279-95.

201

[8] The British Army in Northern Ireland 1969-1972: From Policing to Counter-Terror CAROLINE KENNEDY -PIPE and COLIN McINNES This article examines the experiences of the British Army in Northern Ireland during the years 1969-72. Most analysts agree that this was a difficult and controversial period for British troops in Ireland. We argue that there were very particular reasons why the Army found Northern Ireland a problematic theatre of operations. In particular we point to the fact that although the Army was experienced in counter-insurgency, it was during these years in Ireland limited in the application of its expertise by at least two factors. First, in the initial period from 1969 to early 1970 the 'troubles' were not actually about counter-insurgency but about the policing of an ethnic conflict, something we point out which was entirely different to the colonial conflicts that had formed British military thinking. In 1969 in Northern Ireland, the problem was not about counter terrorism because there was no terrorist organisation to counter, rather there was a violent resistance to the demands of a popular movement motivated by civil rights. The IRA was not a threat, at least, not yet. The Army was deployed to act as 'policeman', but with 'traditions' formed in the colonies which ran counter to normal policing. These type of tactics we argue aided the emergence of the paramilitaries, providing the defunct IRA with new impetus. Second, we argue that in this early phase, the Army was politically in a uniquely difficult position in Ireland. Specifically, we argue that the continued existence of the Northern Irish Parliament - Stormont - caused problems for the command and control of the British security forces. In addition to the fact that the Catholic community in the Province regarded it as an illegitimate body, for many on the mainland Stormont was an increasingly discredited institution. Yet, the Army was deployed to shore up this failing institution while political reforms were implemented and was therefore alienated from the Catholic community who saw the Army as merely a tool of the oppressive Stormont regime. The end point of this political reform process was not made clear and British politicians vacillated over the wisdom of implementing direct rule.

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2

THE JOURNAL OF STRATEGIC STUDIES

This meant, as the article demonstrates, that the Army was operating in a climate of political uncertainty which was compounded as both Northern and southern Irish politicians (although for very different reasons) disputed Westminster's direction of troops. This caused security policy to fluctuate and again was a factor which aided the re-emergence of the IRA. In the first section we discuss the British Army's 'style' of counter-insurgency warfare whilst the second section actually examines the Army's deployment in Northern Ireland and looks at how and why tactics used successfully in other places failed to resolve the conflict.

The British Army's 'Way in Warfare' When the British Army was deployed to Northern Ireland in August 1969, it was with a long history of confronting imperial rebellions, colonial counter-insurgencies and terrorist campaigns. Indeed for much of the preceding hundred years the British Army had been as much an imperial police force engaged in what Major-General C. E. Call well termed 'small wars' against irregular forces as an army fighting general wars against modem, high technology armies. I In this respect therefore Northern Ireland was no novel development, but rather the latest in a string of 'small wars' since 1945 where the Army had faced complex political situations in which covert groups used irregular andlor terror tactics to destabilise the government and undermine authority, in areas as diverse as Palestine, Kenya, Borneo, Cyprus and most recently Aden. Implicit in this is the assumption that the British Army had an identifiable method for dealing with 'small wars' which was accepted by and disseminated through the Army. Reality however is somewhat more complex. Although analysts such as Mockaitis have identified certain consistencies of approach within an evolutionary framework\ this did not have the status of formal doctrine. Indeed Brian Holden Reid has argued that, until very recently, the British Army had a distinct aversion to theorising about war at the higher levels and to constructing a formal doctrine for war.3 Mockaitis himself recognises that one of the strengths of the British Army was its ad hoc approach to colonial conflicts - that rather than being tied to a doctrine developed in the artificial atmosphere of the Ministry of Defence or Staff College, the British Army adopted a more pragmatic approach, adapting its methods to the particular circumstances of each conflict. 4 The consistencies identified by commentators such as Mockaitis therefore are not the product of a formal doctrine, centrallyproduced by the General Staff and passed down to commanders in the field. Rather it is more akin to what Liddell Hart described as a 'way in warfare', or what has more recently been termed 'strategic culture'.5 Strategic culture

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suggests that operational practice is the product of deep-seated beliefs about the nature and conduct of war, which are in turn derived from factors such as history, geography, political beliefs and organisational structures. Beforehand, however, it is necessary to identify three limits to such an analysis. First, although a general pattern may be identified, this does not mean that it occurred in all circumstances. Every operation had its own distinctive and unique circumstances and the British Army prided itself upon its pragmatism and flexibility rather than being tied to a formal doctrine. Second, the analysis and dissemination of lessons from previous conflicts was often haphazard due to the lack of a doctrine process (especially one above the tactical level). Officer training at Sandhurst in the late 1960s and 1970s for example included no discussion of counterinsurgency warfare other than a very narrowly-focused section on military tactics. The syllabus for promotional exams (particularly the key Captain to Major exam which was necessary for entry to staff college) did not progress beyond a superficial examination of Malaya and Thompson's five principles,6 while there was no attempt to integrate experiences in Northern Ireland with those of the counter-insurgency campaigns being fought simultaneously in Oman. Without a centralised doctrine process, different units learnt slightly different lessons and therefore approached situations differently. In particular, the strong regimental ethos of the British Army may have contributed to very different attitudes amongst certain regiments. The third problem is that, although the 'troubles' in Northern Ireland spread to rural areas such as Fermanagh and South Armagh, the emphasis of the early years was very much on the major cities of Belfast and Londonderry. Although the Army had some experience of crowd control from the days of imperial policing, and had confronted urban terrorism in Aden, Nicosia and Jerusalem, much of its post-war experience was with guerrillas operating in inaccessible areas of the countryside such as the jungles of Malaya and forests of Kenya. Its successes had, by and large, been against poorly-armed rural insurgents in the Third World, and its methods to a certain extent reflected this. It had proven much less successful against urban terrorism. It is nevertheless possible to identify two general features which characterised the British Army's conduct of counter-insurgency and counter-terrorist campaigns between 1945 and 1969. The first of the features concerning the Army's approach to counterinsurgency is that the civilian authorities remained in control rather than the Army, and the emphasis upon a co-ordinated politico-military campaign. Close co-operation between the civilian authorities, the poiice and the Army was emphasised and was usually achieved through a committee system bringing together representatives of the three at both national and regional levels. These committees were chaired by civilians. Overall control of the

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emergency was usually the responsibility of the High Commissioner, General Sir Gerald Templer's appointment in Malaya as both High Commissioner and commanding general being an exception to this general rule. Martial law was avoided. Instead emergency legislation was passed giving the police and Army greater powers within a civil context. These powers could be quite considerable, including powers of detention, of search and arrest and restrictions on freedom of movement. Some of these powers clearly came close to or even transgressed western liberal notions of human rights. Similarly, although physical torture was not formally sanctioned (witness criticism over excess brutality by police in Kenya) psychological torture was condoned. Part of the reason for this approach was the realisation as early as the 1950s in some areas of the Army that modern insurgencies could not be won by military means alone, and the consequent emphasis upon developing a co-ordinated politico-military strategy. Military aims were subordinated to a broader political strategy aimed at winning the 'hearts and minds' of the people. This was in stark contrast to the days of imperial policing where rebellions were seen as military problems to be dealt with primarily (and often solely) by military means. Insurgency and terrorism however were seen as political problems with a military dimension. The second general feature which can be identified concerns the Army's tactical approach. This is best characterised by the Army's adherence to the use of minimum necessary force, by its devolved command structure and by the significance and generation of intelligence. The use of minimum force can be traced back to the Hunter Committee's report on the 1919 Amritsar massacre. From then on the British Army accepted that excess force and brutality could backfire politically, creating more problems in the long run than it might appear to solve in the short. Post-war counter-insurgency campaigns demonstrated a remarkable commitment to this prima facie 'unmilitary' principle. For most armies in most circumstances, bringing maximum force to bear at the key point is a cardinal principle of war. But for the British Army's counter-insurgency operations, minimum force was the rule of the day. This is not to say that minimum force was always used, nor that all Army officers were comfortable with this. Nor should 'minimum force' be confused with no force. But the British Army did generally exercise restraint in the use of force, recognising that they were fighting a campaign where the political side-effects of the use of force could grossly outweigh any direct military benefits. The second characteristic is that of devolved command. Although the Army often began a campaign in large units (battalion or even brigade size), its operations tended eventually to be devolved to smaller units, with local commanders in charge of local

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operations. Company and platoon actions became the norm, particularly once the initiative had been seized. It is also worth noting that, despite the attention recently paid to Special Forces (especially the SAS), their role in post-war counter-insurgency and counter-terrorist operations was marginal. Instead infantry units performed the majority of operations and were central to the military campaign. Preferred tactics included cordon and search, patrols and 'villagisation' whereby whole communities would be moved so that they were physically separated from the insurgents. Behind this lay the concept of turning 'black' areas where insurgents or terrorists could freely operate into 'grey' where the Anny began to establish control and finally into 'white' where security forces (police and Army) had re-established control and which were free of incident. Finally the Army began to recognise the importance of intelligence in dealing with a covert enemy organisation. The key provider of intelligence however was not the Army but the police, especially Special Branch. In particular the police's local knowledge enabled them more easily to generate background information as well as to conduct more specialist operations. Although the Army might generate intelligence through its own means, co-operation with the police was the key element in countering a covert enemy. Background to Deployment

Political violence in Ireland was not new in 1968 but the explosion of ethnic conflict in the cities of Northern Ireland took the British government by surprise. They were reluctant to become embroiled in the affairs of the Province and sought to avoid any form of military entanglement. This was hardly surprising. Anglo-Irish relations had been dogged by the Catholic struggle for independence and the subsequent demands by the Protestant settlers to remain under British authority.7 Until 1968, the British government had believed that the Irish problem had been solved. The partition of Ireland which took place in 1920 with the Government of Ireland ActS had in deference to Nationalist demands established a Irish Catholic state in the south whilst Protestant desires had been at least in part satisfied through the creation of a separate Northern Irish government to govern the six counties of Ulster in the north.9 Yet, the creation of the six counties whilst dealing with immediate Protestant demands to remain within Britain, created another problem. This was that within the six counties enclaves of Catholics opposed partition. Many Catholics in the north refused to accept the legitimacy of the new Northern Irish government. Many boycotted local government and Northern Institutions. 1O The Catholic communities were distinguished by their desire

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for a united Ireland, an allegiance to the Pope and a dislike of the connection to the mainland. This reluctance to accept the apparatus of the north was compounded by the actions of a Protestant Government who had little desire to cede any fonn of power to Catholics. Protestant dominance in the north was ensured through the suppression of what the Catholic community perceived as basic rights such as the banning of nationalist flags. lI The Catholic community looked south to the newly-free Irish state for support. The government in Dublin asserted through its constitution a right to rule the north whilst the Irish Republican Army (IRA) waged a continual battle with both Irish governments declaring both illegitimate. At times the minority in the north rebelled against the rule of Stormont, most noticeably during the 1930s and the full weight of the Northern Irish security forces were used to ensure rebeHion was suppressed. 12 The Northern Irish government had established a range of security forces, almost entirely drawn from the Protestant classes to ensure order most notably, the RUC and the reserve force of the B-Specials.13 In times of severe civil unrest Stormont called upon Westminster to maintain order through the use of British troops such as in 1935. 14 A small military garrison was maintained by the British in the north. This symbolised the British connection with the Province and it was used to support the indigenous police forces of the Province. (Britain maintained a strategic presence in the Province not only in support of the Northern Irish government but also because of the importance attributed to the importance of the Northern Irish naval bases during wartime. 15 ) The history of the Province from the 1920s until the 1960s was one of uneasy coexistence between the dominant Protestant majority and the hostile Catholic minority. From the mid-1920s until 1968, there were 18 deaths caused through political and inter-ethnic conflict. 16 Despite inter communal tensions, by the 1950s, the Province settled into a period of fairly peaceful coexistence between its two communities. Any threat from the IRA had also subsided, after its abortive campaign in the border area during the 1950s, which had targeted police stations and the British Army bases in the north. This campaign had failed because the Northern Irish authorities had responded with various initiatives, not least the use of internment without trial. By the end of the decade the IRA had virtually given up its battle to attain a united Ireland and had fallen into disarray.17 The mainland government contented itself with a semi-detached position which allowed Storrnont to run the Province. This is important because it helps explain at least in part why the British government was so reluctant to deploy troops in 1969. During the 1960s, the uneasy settlement produced in the 1920s began to unravel, sparked by the growing demand for civil rights within the Catholic community in the Province. The Northern Irish Premier, Terence O'Neill,

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attempted to oversee a programme of limited reform which would have granted Catholics a greater degree of equality in employment and housing legislation. These reforms ran into the growing expectations of a more literate, educated and ambitious Catholic mood of assertion 18 and the reluctance of parts of the Protestant community to countenance change. Catholic assertion took the form of orchestrated protest and the growth of the civil rights movement, which initially found expression through a series of marches. These demands for reform were in turn challenged by the Protestant classes who saw both their livelihood and government undermined by the demands of a nationalist minority for economic and cultural rights. Protestant fears mounted throughout the late 1960s. The first bloody encounter between the communities occurred in Londonderry on 5 October 1968 when civil rights marchers clashed with the Police, many of whom were in the Reserve Force - the B or Ulster Special Constabulary (USC).19 In April 1969 some of the British garrison in the Province were ordered to protect public installations after attacks on electricity pylons and water mains. 20 At this stage, the British Government made clear that troops would only perform what was described as a 'passive role' and would use only 'minimum force' in the event of an attack. 21 This was important given the Army's traditional approach detailed above. Between April and July 1969 violence escalated between the two communities and the security forces of the Province, the RUC and the BSpecials proved unable to meet the task of separating the two warring groups. In April, Catholics stoned a Protestant march in Londonderry and the RUC's Reserve force stormed the Catholic area known as the Bogside. The 'siege of the Bogside' sparked rioting elsewhere in the Province. Residents of Catholic areas erected barricades and retaliated against the police through the use of petrol bombs. In time-honoured fashion Stormont requested that the government on the mainland allow British troops to be deployed to support its forces. This request was not unexpected and the British Cabinet had actively spent some time immediately before the crisis considering what the ramifications of such a deployment might be. 22 The Labour government formed the Northern Ireland Cabinet Committee to consider its options vis-a-vis Ireland. They considered a range of future scenarios all of which were pessimistic and the worst of which predicted war between the north and south of Ireland. During these discussions deep irritation was expressed that Stormont had not taken advice given over a prolonged period to ensure that greater levels of policing had been established in the Province. 23 Concern was also expressed over what a military presence on the streets of the Province would mean for Stormont. During the winter of 1968, contingency plans had been drawn up making provision for governing the

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Province in the event of the dismissal of the Stormont government. 24 Specifically, British officials recognised that any form of military intervention would bring additional political responsibility for Westminster, not least the prospect of Direct Rule. This the British wished to resist believing that if the Protestant community rebelled, it would take at least 20,000 troops to police the Province. The British Cabinet also worried over what legal remit could be used for the deployment of troops into the Province. The justification which was eventually formulated by the Attorney-General was one in which the troops could be deployed as 'common law constables'. This would later cause significant problems as common law constables did not usually carry weaponry, but was a good example of the British government's determination to keep the deployment of soldiers as 'ordinary' as possible. On 12 July 1969 rioting broke out in Londonderry as Protestants marched to commemorate the victory of the Battle of the Boyne in 1690. A detachment of 150 troops had already been moved to the city and placed on standby but the Northern Irish police managed to retain control. By August however, the police force was exhausted and faced with yet more marches and more rioting. The British Army had been alerted to the possibility of their involvement and plain-clothes officers made trips into Belfast and Londonderry to reconnoitre the areas of trouble. 25 There was some worry over the use of troops on the streets not least because soldiers had little training in crowd control, although it was felt that the experience of certain commanders in Cyprus would help.26 Serious rioting broke out on the Shankill Road on 3 August. At a meeting at Stormont that afternoon, the Northern Irish government made a contingency request to Whitehall for clearance so that troops could go in at once. Acting independently, the General Office Commanding (GOC) LtGeneral Sir lan Freeland sent a precautionary contingent into Belfast and for a few hours 60 men of 2nd Battalion The Queen's Regiment were stationed at the City Police HQ in East Belfast. Freeland was ready to commit these troops but Wilson and Callaghan felt that before troops could be committed onto the streets, the B-Specials, the reserve force, should be used.27 The 3 August log of 39 Brigade (the Ulster force) noted that there was ' no question of committing troops until all methods exhausted by police'.28 The wisdom of this was questionable as the B-Specials was a predominately Protestant force with a history of antagonistic relations with the Catholic community. As it turned out deployment of the B-Specials did in fact fuel a further rift between the forces of law and order and the Catholic communities. Yet in early August the British remained reluctant actually to commit forces and somewhat strangely in the first days of August, with General Freeland pleading for reinforcements, the Ministry of Defence

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actually reduced the numbers of troops in the Province. The 1st Battalion The Light Infantry was sent to Kenya for routine training. It was replaced by 1st Battalion The Royal Regiment of Wales which was three quarters of the former unit's size?9 On 14 and 15 August 1969 British troops were sent into the troubled areas of Londonderry and Belfast. In Londonderry 400 troops of 1st Battalion The Prince of Wales's Own Regiment of Yorkshire moved first to relieve the police. (The police had actually been reinforced from other parts ofthe Province but still proved inadequate to the task.) Troops were initially employed in defending the Catholic areas against further attacks. The BSpecials were withdrawn and the Catholic areas welcomed the troops in preference to the Protestant dominated forces of the Province. The initial success of British troops in restoring a semblance of order masked complicated constitutional questions between the two governments over the control of the troops. Government ministers still contended that the deployment was a temporary one and wished to avoid the implications of an extended use of soldiers. In particular the Cabinet wished to avoid any impression that the troops had been 'given' to Stormont. Initially Stormont had been adamant that British troops should be placed wholly under its command. The British Cabinet resisted any such idea and in August 1969 after the decision had been taken to deploy troops, the British and Northern Irish governments issued a communique (Cmnd. 4154) outlining the details of the division of responsibility over security issues in the Province. The security forces in Ulster were subordinated to the GOC who was responsible to the Minister of Defence. The Ulster Special Constabulary (USC) was to come under the GOC's control when it was involved in riot control as opposed to 'normal' policing' at which point it would be under the instruction of the RUC. This represented a compromise. Westminster was not prepared to deploy forces without retaining operational control of security but was at this stage unwilling to remove all input by Stormont into issues of security for fear of undermining the Northern Ireland government. All of this was designed as a holding operation until a reformed RUC could resume full control of the cities and return it to normal policing. British troops would remain on the streets as reforms were quickly implemented for policing the Province in a way that was more acceptable to the Catholic community. This included the aim of abolishing the Special Powers Act, emphasising political impartiality, and ensuring that responsibility for prosecutions was removed from the police and put in the hands of a Director of Public Prosecutions. All of this activity in the field of security mirrored the attempt to ameliorate the political situation through the recognition of Catholic rights. Yet there was an inherent paradox in British actions which became

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apparent two months after the deployment of British troops when the Hunt Report was published. The Hunt Committee had investigated the structure of policing in the Province. 30 The findings of the committee had greatly discredited both the RUC and the USe. Both forces were criticised as too old fashioned and the USC in particular was criticised for its sectarian composition which was not unlike a Protestant paramilitary force. The government disbanded the USC and replaced it with a locally recruited part time force - the Ulster Defence Regiment - through the UDR Act of 1969. The Hunt committee also recommended that the RUC be removed from any paramilitary role in an attempt to secure its acceptance by both communities. The aim was to make the Province adopt the English model with a liberal policing doctrine, such as that established by Arthur Young in Malaya. 31 In some respects the British tried to avoid mistakes or errors that they believed had been made in other areas. For example part of the original impetus for disarming the RUC had stemmed from the belief that it was imperative to avoid the militarisation of the police as had occurred in Palestine in 1946.32 The disarming of the RUC in particular was an attempt to establish a neutral unarmed police force. Yet the problem was that Stormont was not regarded as 'legitimate' by the Catholic community. In 1969, the British view was political reform could along with normal policing change that equation. In the meantime the Army would separate the communities whilst the necessary reforms took place. The Army was given complete responsibility for riot control. The point of this was to prevent the long term deployment of British troops and enable Northern Irish forces to resume control. This is the paradox, normal policing in the Province could only be resumed if backed up by a British military presence. At first this combination of political reform and military reassurance appeared to be effective on the ground and some immediate problems were resolved. After the riots had been quelled the task was to separate the warring communities. The Army had taken complete responsibility for riot control and it was hoped that in this respect experiences in the colonies would help. But what soldiers had been trained in was the formal drill of the box formation to receive bricks and stones. This old drill was practised for Ulster; dannart wire was taken out, banners unfolded, the riot act was read and then the baton men would go forward and lay a line of white tape across the road with a banner saying halt or you will be shot. One soldier recalled the use of a banner in Arabic telling the rioting crowds to step back. 33 All of this was rather bizarre and said much about the lack of preparation for military command of urban riots within the UK. Apart from control of rioting another task was to keep the communities apart. One such initiative was the construction of the so-called Irish Berlin Wall. This was a 'wall' consisting of corrugated iron, barbed wire and lookout posts intended to

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demarcate the boundaries between Catholic and Protestant areas. The idea was that this would be policed by soldiers to prevent attacks. 34 A more complicated issue was that of the barricades which had been erected at the edge of Catholic areas to prevent the possible incursions by Protestant forces. The British government believed that in principle these areas should not be barricaded to the Police and on 8 September the Royal Engineers were drafted in to dismantle them. Army officers were used in Catholic areas to negotiate away the barricades and in many instances the Catholics again welcomed the British troops whilst still remaining hostile to the RUC. 35 Rather ironically given the historic opposition to the British presence in Ireland, in December 1969 Nationalist MPs made it clear in the House of Commons that only British military personnel were acceptable in performing military functions in the Province and asked that other bodies should be prohibited from military or quasi-military tasks.36 Yes, yet the issue for Catholics at this stage was more one of civil liberties rather than nationalism. Such was the confidence of the British that some form of 'normalisation' could take place that by February 1970, three of the eight Army units sent into the Province had returned home. 37 It is perhaps worth noting that this was in line with the hope in the early days of August 1969 that the police could quickly return to normal duties. Initially then soldiers were not involved in a military campaign, but a limited operation to restore peace. The confidence of the politicians in the Army appeared to have been vindicated with a so-called honeymoon period at the end of 1969. By early 1970 the situation had changed from one of policing ethnic conflict to one of countering a formidable urban guerrilla movement with the re-emergence of the IRA behind the protests of the Catholic demonstrators. In this period between the autumn of 1969 and the summer of June 1970 the newly re grouped IRA had taken took control of West Belfast. Some analysts argue that the British military facilitated this. It has been argued that the British military could have done more to ensure control of the cities and prevent the emergence of the paramilitaries, not least it was argued they should not have negotiated with Nationalist leaders over the removal of barricades in Catholic areas. J8 Yet this is unfair, as far as the military was concerned the deployment into Ireland was initially a limited one with a restricted remit. The GOC Freeland was roundly criticised for his statement made on 6 April 1970 that the' Army might not stay long ... or be allowed to stay long.'J9 It was not envisaged, at this stage, by the politicians that this would be a military campaign. Attention was in this early period concentrated on police reform. Yet once the IRA had emerged, normalisation was abandoned and the British forces were the only ones capable of countering the IRA. Here was the crunch, the methods needed to

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defeat the IRA were bound to alienate the Catholic community which had initially welcomed the Army. Until the beginning of 1970 there had been little indication that the IRA would pose a major problem for the security forces. During the initial phase of military deployment in the summer and autumn of 1969, the IRA had been notable only by its absence. IRA had become synonymous with 'I ran away' as members of the Catholic communities saw little indication that the IRA could or would help the defence the Catholic areas. The IRA had (after a considerable period of internal feuding) split into two organisations at the end of 1969. The Officials called for the creation of a united Ireland under the auspices of a Socialist workers republic while the Provisionals (PIRA) or the rebels had rejected such a resolution and called for a reinvigoration of the armed struggle with the British. The Provisionals unlike the Officials were not wedded to any notion of Marxism and pledged themselves to the freeing of the north. 40 Tactically the Provisionals aimed to use the British military presence to gather support in the minority community for the goal of unification. This tactic was demonstrated during Spring 1970. In April during a junior Orange march the Catholics attacked the Belfast New Barnsley estate which was inhabited by Protestants. This was the first time that Catholics were brought into direct conflict with the Army. The Army tried to prevent the Protestants from being driven out of their homes. The Provisional IRA organised the attack, whilst the Army used tear gas to break up the attackers. In June and July the Provisionals were responsible for the deaths of six Protestant men and the Army was sent in to raid the Falls, a predominantly Catholic area. A full-scale gun battle broke out and the area was placed under curfew and houses were searched for weapons. This was the first use of such of a tactic which had been' routinely utilised in the colonies. The curfew applied to the whole of the Falls area of about 50 streets, 2,000 troops combed the Catholic area. 41 These tougher tactics were implemented by the new Conservative government which had been elected on 18 June. The new government immediately took the step of introducing new legislation which included mandatory jail sentences for rioting or those found guilty of causing a breach of the peace. 42 This was the first major event which helped alienate the Army from the Catholic population. July in the Province always had the potential for trouble because of the marching season but tension rose in the Province as a result of the new action by the Conservatives. On 12 July Unionists marched in commemoration of the Battle of the Boyne and troops found themselves on policing duty once again. No fewer than 11,500 troops policed the area for the march accompanied by 3,500 policemen and 3,700 members of the UDR. It is at this point that the conflict turned from one of sectarian civil

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violence into one more complicated and even more volatile: Catholics versus Protestants but also Catholics versus the historic enemy - the British Army. The British Army were caught again in the trap of Irish history, faced with an urban guerrilla enemy it had not intended to fight and one that claimed to share the ambitions of the nationalist community. At this point the struggle was no longer about civil rights but nationalist aspirations. The imposition of the Lower Falls curfew had precisely the effect of allowing the Provisionals to claim that the historic British enemy was again flexing its muscles on Irish soil. British tactics were presented as a strategy of repression exercised purely against the Catholic communities. Despite the obviously counter-productive nature of the searches in terms of Nationalist sympathies, the use of house searches continued throughout the next year. This illustrated perfectly the problem which the Army found itself in. It was still expected to take action in aid of the civil power and at the same time it was also expected to stem the increasing tide of IRA activity. The British forces were left in an alien urban environment with a complex ethnic situation to police and a 'hidden' enemy to fight. There was therefore at this stage two problems of adaptation for the Army. The first was a change away from 'policing' to counter-terrorism. This led to several problems in adaptation, not least the reaction of the minority community to the switch. The British had to contend with the historical legacy of British troops in Ireland. In August 1969 this appeared to have been temporarily overcome but it re-emerged in a potent form as soon as the Army switched roles. The British Army had engaged in a guerrilla war in Ireland against the IRA during 1918-21. This conflict appeared to have left no imprint on the British Army of the 1970s, but it still retained its power over the Catholic community in the north. For example in 1970, the nationalist MP, Gerry Fitt raised objections to the words and behaviour of the GOe when the GOC had stated that 'He said that the British Army would shoot to kill persons involved in riotous situations and that the British had superior fire power'. Gerry Fitt argued that this type of language and military threat had been adopted in Ireland centuries ago and done little good'.43 There was also very little account taken of local sensitivities. Specifically in the early months of 1970, Nationalist MPs claimed it was tactless to say the least to deploy the Royal Scots regiment, which was brought in to deal with the fighting on the Ballymurphy estate. For Nationalists this smacked of Protestant triumphalism as every July the Orange Lodges invited 20-30 Scottish Orange bands to visit and march in the Province. The use of the Royai Scots showed little sensitivity to local conditions.44 . It was the 'contentious' military presence that was used by the PIRA to wean support away from the process of reform to that of opposition. This

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was seen very clearly in the spring of 1970. The IRA has had an enduring aim of ridding the island of Ireland of the British presence. It did not hope to gain an outright victory over the British military in 1970 but to achieve a political victory as in 1920-21. The PlRA deliberately set out to portray the struggle as a colonial one in line with those in Aden, Malaya and Cyprus. Britain was depicted as a colonial oppressor whilst the PIRA sought to emulate the tactics of Britain's erstwhile opponents, in particular the EOKA in CypruS. 45 In 1970, for example, the PlRA used snipers to shoot soldiers, picking them off from behind the cover of the crowd, hoping to kill the same number of troops as had been killed in Cyprus. The Army did have a wealth of experience in dealing with colonial counter insurgency in places such as Borneo, Kenya, Cyprus and Malaya. All of this expertise was brought to bear on the Province from 1970 onwards; the curfew, searches and the use of special legislation were resonant of previous campaigns. In the short term this ran counter both to the project of normalising the processes of the Province and to appeasing Nationalist sentiment into accepting reform of the political system. The counter-subversion methods which had been used successfully in places such as Malaya were inappropriate in the Province for reasons which appear obvious in hindsight but which were anything but obvious in 1970-72. One of the first tasks of a counter subversion campaign is to successfully isolate the paramilitaries or terrorists from the communities in which they operate. Ideally the influence of the paramilitary over the civilian population should be destroyed and as far as possible the retaining of control in each area should be sought. 46 There were in these early days initiatives taken by the Army to set up boys clubs in the Catholic districts and establish local networks for community contacts. 47 These were set up as small scale local initiatives such as· the counter-gang schemes which had been employed successfully in other campaigns. Yet alongside these attempts to 'win over' the Catholic population military measures taken by the Army succeeded in driving the Catholic population into a considerable measure of support for the IRA. The imposition of the curfew and house searches of 1970 were classic examples of this. As the historian J. J. Lee has argued, the searches might have been carried out with relative restraint in military terms but it did not look that way to the residents of the Falls Road. 48 On 14 January 1971,700 troops were used for a detailed search of Catholic homes and were met by rioting. 49 This merely reinforced the ethnic divide in the province as no Protestants suffered this treatment. The fundamental problem was that, whereas in successful counter-insurgency campaigns these military measures had been employed within an overall political strategy which competed effectively for the 'hearts and minds' of the people, in Northern Ireland there was no such coherent strategy. The

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Anny attempted small local initiatives, but without a Province-wide strategy which could convince Catholics of Stonnont's legitimacy, these initiatives could only have limited impact, and at the beginning of 1971, the Anny Council of the Provisional IRA authorised attacks against the British Anny,50 clearly indicating the changed nature of the 'troubles' and the Anny's new position of counter-insurgency rather than 'peacekeeper'. The escalation of tension led to the adoption of more robust measures by the Anny which again were based on experiences gained in previous colonial encounters. In particular, the British government in 1971 suspended the writ of habeas corpus and introduced internment without trial. Internment had been used extensively in previous British campaigns throughout the colonies and in military tenns it has been claimed that the use of internment was a striking success in Ireland. A total of 342 men were arrested immediately and held in special prisons by the Anny. However the operation was not carried out without major problems and embarrassments for the Government. Many of those who had appeared on the list for internment had had prior warning of the operation and left town - not least several newspapers had carried adverts calling for new prison warders to be employed immediately pI The intelligence provided by the RUC and given to the Anny proved to be outdated with some of those on the list found to be dead or blind. 52 This reflected a large part of the problem which the Anny faced in its confrontation with the PlRA. The military were aware of the centrality of good intelligence gathering, but whereas in previous successful counter-insurgency campaigns this was turned to advantage by close Police-Anny working relations, in the Province, the actual conduct of intelligence gathering remained out of their hands. The RUC, and its Special Branch officers were prevented as a matter of policy from providing infonnation to Anny commanders, while the RUC infonnation anyway was terribly out of date. As it transpired internment was a massive propaganda victory for the PIRA. The fact that no Protestants had been lifted allowed the Nationalist paramilitaries to depict the whole operation as anti-Catholic. In addition, the British Anny suffered further controversy when it became apparent that they had used a technique known as 'interrogation in depth' to question some of those interned. Twelve of the men arrested underwent a fonn of interrogation which had been developed in Cyprus and Aden. These techniques attempted to manipulate the prisoner through sleep deprivation and sensory sound deprivation. Military sources claimed that these had been very successful allowing a number of members of the PIRA to be identified and had further frightened other internees into providing infonnation.53 But these techniques clearly posed problems in a liberal democracy which purportedly supported notions of human rights. In other words the Anny

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was finding that tactics and techniques which had been acceptable overseas in the 1940s and 1950s were not so in a Western liberal democracy. The Anny's interrogation techniques and the use of internment proved an embarrassment for the government on the mainland, and the Cornpton Inquiry was set up to deal with allegations of abuse by the Anny.54 Reports of the illtreatment of prisoners was covered in the press and in 1972 the new Secretary of State for Northern Ireland, William Whitelaw, declared that the Anny would have to find less provocative tactics. In the longer tenn Britain was indicted by the European Commission on Human Rights for the use of torture and five of the techniques used on the first batch of detainees were pronounced illegal by Lord Gardiner's commission. In the short tenn, military patrols were scaled down and no-go areas reappeared with a consequent lessening of infonnation for the Army on PIRA activities. Colonel Michael Dewar, himself a serving Anny officer at the time, commented that in a colonial situation it was acceptable to impose curfews, to issue identity cards, to control food supplies and even to move the entire population of a village ... If (a) riot persisted, fire was opened at a selected individual. This usually had the desired effect. 55 In Northern Ireland, however, such tactics were politically unacceptable. Nevertheless, some analysts have argued that the problem in Northern Ireland was not that colonial lessons were misapplied but that they were not applied thoroughly enough. 56 It has been argued that to have been really effective, internment should have been applied more ruthlessly and that half measures should have been avoided. Equally, it is claimed that the reduction of Anny patrols in 1972 was a fundamental error as it allowed the IRA to regroup and consolidate. 57 It is also pointed out by some analysts that the use of infonners did significant damage to EOKA in Cyprus and in Kenya. Equally the British had a degree of success in Malaya, Kenya, the Dhofar Campaign (Oman) and with the 'conversion' of the captured enemy.58 This view holds that a major opportunity was lost in these early years to quash the PIRA and reinstate nonnal government because tried and tested techniques were not applied with sufficient vigour and consistency. Yet this shows a fundamental misunderstanding of the problems of the ethnic conflict in Ireland and the complicated nature of Anglo-Irish relations in the twentieth century. A rigorous and unremitting military approach would not have been appropriate in 1969, not least because in 1969 itself there was no PlRA to fight. It was also widely recognised on the mainland that the Stonnont government had made major errors in dealing with the Catholic minority which needed redressing. British Anny involvement in Northern Ireland did not start off as a counter-insurgency campaign but as one of policing. Even when it became apparent that the IRA had re-emerged, the

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British government hoped that through a combination of reform and the use of the Army, the paramilitaries could be marginalised. Military methods such as the curfew and internment only fuelled Catholic alienation. It is difficult to see how much tougher the Army could have been given the political remit for reform. It is also important to note that the British took the view (which is still widely held) that the PIRA fulfilled some form of deviant nationalism which could be prised away from more moderate nationalism and eventually completely marginalised. Hence the notion was widely held that that the law could be applied in the Province in an impartial manner. All of this of course side-stepped the issue of what exactly it was that the British could provide that would pacify Nationalist sentiment. In colonial confrontations in the post war period on the whole the prize that the British had been able to hold out was that of 'independence' and this had contributed significantly to securing defeat of the Communists in Malaya and of the rebels in Borneo. 59 This was simply not on offer in Ulster. Even the more limited power-sharing arrangements agreed at Sunningdale in 1972 proved impossible to implement because of Unionist protests. Therefore once the political agenda had moved from civil rights in the 1960s to nationalism in the 1970s, the British government was unable to offer a reform package acceptable to both communities, and therefore unable to compete effectively for Catholic hearts and minds. In pursuit of the political appeasement of the Nationalist community, politics dictated that the Army could not always operate the type of urban counterinsurgency strategies that its officers would have liked. When Direct Rule was introduced in 1972, a move which was roundly welcomed by Nationalists as ridding the Province of Stormont, the Army was instructed to 'respect' the no-go areas. It was hoped that the PIRA would hold to its ceasefire and begin a constructive dialogue with the British. During the 13-day ceasefire, Whitelaw negotiated with PIRA leaders.60 Militarily this 'pause' was regarded as a disaster by the British Army. They believed that behind the barricades the Provisionals were recruiting and regrouping. This proved to be the case and after the end of the ceasefire violence once again escalated and on 21 July three large bombs went off in Londonderry. The Army insisted that in response the no-go areas should be 'retaken'. Operation 'Motorman' as it was known was the biggest military operation for the Army since Suez. It was planned to use 27 battalions and an additional brigade headquarters. 61 The idea was to retake the areas of Londonderry and Belfast which were not open to the security forces and to establish a military presence there. Unlike the internment operation both Protestant and Catholic areas were targeted. A final complicating factor was the existence in the south of a

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government sympathetic to the Nationalist aspirations in the north. The Nationalists in the north therefore had an alternative point of reference to that of both Stormont and Westminster. The Dublin government shared through its constitution the aims if not the methods of the Nationalists to secure a united Ireland. And the sentiments of the southern Irish had to be taken into account when dealing with the IRA, not least because of the permeability of the border. During the summer of 1969 the British feared intervention by the southern Irish into the conflict. Lynch, the Irish Premier, announced the setting up of field hospitals in the south, the provision of emergency accommodation at army bases in Finner and Kildare south of the border and called on the UN to intervene and send a peacekeeping force into the Province. 62 Lynch also announced the mobilisation of the first-line reserve defence forces. This was in preparation for the mobilisation of a joint Irish-British military force which the Irish Minister for External Affairs had suggested could be used in the North. 63 The British however rejected the idea of any UN intervention and also shunned the idea of a joint British-Irish force. These moves alarmed the British who although they did not ever seriously think that a war with the south was likely, nevertheless, wanted to avoid embarrassing and public confrontations with Dublin. This did lead in some ways to the more careful and perhaps in military terms more cumbersome avoidance of certain tactics. For example, in the early days the Army wanted to cross into the Republic but this was never fully carried out for fear of offending southern sentiment.64 In the longer term the operation of the IRA across the border and the inability of the Army to operate hot pursuit also caused problems but in the shorter term the more dangerous proposition for the British in the north was the fact that Southern Irish support for the minority in the north made it less likely that they would be reconciled to the restructuring of the Stormont regime. This in fact remained a key problem which was that the insurgents were not just antiBritish but anti-Unionist which meant that until 1972 the Army was fighting the PlRA in support of the institution of Stormont that Nationalists simply would not accept. Conclusion The British Army was deployed to Northern Ireland in 1969 as part of a two-pronged policy of political reform and military reassurance. In linking the political dimension with the military, the deployment therefore seems initially to be very much in character with traditional British approach to counter-insurgency detailed earlier in this article. But this is to miss a fundamental point about the Army's deployment in 1969: the Army was not deployed on a long term basis as the military element of a co-ordinated

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politico-military campaign such as was seen in Malaya. Rather the Army was sent to Northern Ireland in what was originally envisaged as a shortterm deployment to aid the police and reassure the Catholic community. There is therefore no sense of a military campaign in 1969, and in this light the Army's failure to prevent the re-emergence of the IRA and the development of no-go areas in Catholic communities is perhaps understandable. Through 1969-70 however the Catholic agenda began to change as political reforms faltered and the IRA grew in strength. Alienated from the Protestant-dominated government in Stormont the Catholic community turned to the IRA, and civil rights issues were replaced by more nationalist concerns. The Army therefore found its initial, short-term role of reassurance rapidly evolving into a longer-term security role. As with previous colonial emergencies, in Northern Ireland civilian authorities remained in charge. In Northern Ireland, however, the situation was complicated both by the confused relations between Westminster and Stormont on security issues, and the fact that Stormont remained illegitimate in Catholic eyes. It therefore proved impossible to devise a coordinated politico-military strategy which would woo Catholic support away from the IRA and which at the same time retained Protestant support. Nor could the Army work closely with the local police force, as it had in colonial emergencies, because working in tandem with the Protestantdominated RUC would alienate the Army from the Catholic community. Indeed the Army was positively welcomed into Catholic areas in 1969 because it was not the police. The Army's role of reassuring the Catholic community meant that it could not be too closely associated with the RUC, but its traditional approach to such internal security matters required it to work closely with local police forces, not least to gain intelligence. As the situation developed, so the Army found itself increasingly in the position of replacing the RUC, whose inadequacies were highlighted not least in the Hunt Report. Although this resolved the dilemma concerning relations with the police facing the Army in 1969, it did not solve the problem. As the Army's role was now one of maintaining internal security,65 so it was inevitably associated with Stormont and therefore alienated from the Catholic community. Nor did it have the local knowledge and intelligence network to replace the police. Finally, and perhaps most important, it created a situation where with troops on the streets, Ulster was clearly different from the rest of the United Kingdom. The politics of difference could therefore be exploited by the PIRA. Nor did u~e emergency legislation introduced to the Province help the general situation except in a narrow tactical sense. Although martial law was not declared, the new legislation further alienated the Catholic community and proved embarrassing in a liberal-democracy with intense media coverage.

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At a more tactical level, the initial problem facing the Army was one of crowd control. Experience of this was limited. Although crowd control had been a key concern for imperial policing, post-war insurgencies had focused much less on this problem. Although some insurgencies had contained an urban element (most notably in Palestine, Cyprus and Aden), crowd control had figured only occasionally in these situations. Aware of the problem, the Army had sent observers to Northern Ireland immediately prior to the outbreak of the troubles. But there is considerable evidence of a steep learning curve in terms of equipment and tactics. Once the Army's role developed however, so more traditional tactics such as cordon and search were used. Although these may have been tactically sound, producing the discovery of weapons caches for example, the failure to link these tactical successes to a broader politico-strategic plan which addressed nationalist concerns meant that, at a strategic level, they backfired in further alienating the Catholic community. Army tactics were further hampered by a lack of intelligence, characteristic of the early stages of such conflicts, and in this instance not helped by poor relations with the local police force. This was most clearly seen in the problems associated with internment. Nevertheless two traditional features of the Army's counter-insurgency style were very much in evidence, namely minimum force and devolved command. Upon deployment, minimum force was emphasised from the Home Secretary downwards and was reflected in operational practice. Early crowd-control techniques for example saw soldiers deployed without rifles, and it was only when the IRA began to use snipers behind the cover of a riot that the Army reacted with more guns on the street. Similarly, the Army in Northern Ireland emphasised the role of officers 'on the spot' in decision-making, and the importance of relatively junior officers commanding small groups of men. The Army was deployed to Northern Ireland in 1969 not in a counterinsurgency or counter-terrorism role, but rather in one of military reassurance for the minority Catholic community. As the situation developed, however, the Army's role began to change in terms so that by mid-1970 it was clearly in a counter-insurgency/counter-terrorism campaign, even if it chose to describe it in terms of internal security. Its traditional approach to this was hampered however by two distinct features. First, for the Catholic community Stormont was the problem not the solution. As the agenda shifted in 1970 from one of civil rights to nationalism, so Stormont was increasingly unable and unwiHing io reaci with a political strategy capable of wooing Catholic hearts and minds. The Army was in a position whereby, in defending Stormont, it alienated itself from the Catholic community. A further problem at least in the early days was that for the Catholic community in the north, there was always an

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alternative point of political reference in the Irish Republic. Although this became less significant after 1970, in the early months of the deployment, the British Cabinet feared a confrontation with the southern Irish government. The Army was therefore unable to exploit the counter-insurgency strategy, developed from Malaya on, of splitting the insurgents from their supporters because of the lack of a convincing political alternative for the Catholics. With the Catholic community alienated from the government and security forces, Army operations backfired. Tried and tested tactics such as cordon and search were seen as provocative; indeed the very presence of security forces was seen as so provocative in certain areas that they were effectively abandoned to the PlRA. This occurred most notably in West Belfast. A second problem facing the Army was the inadequate local police force. In successful counter-insurgency campaigns, close Army-police relations had been a key element. But in Northern Ireland at the onset of the troubles, such co-operation was problematic. The RUC was drawn almost exclusively from the Protestant community, and was closely associated with Stormont. The B-Specials in particular were viewed by the Catholic community as extremely partisan. The Army could not co-operate with the police and retain the confidence of the Catholic community, but if it did not co-operate closely with the police experience suggested that its success would be limited. The Army was therefore caught in a dilemma which was only resolved in a military sense by it taking over responsibility for all policing aspects of security situations in 1972. That year proved to be the bloodiest year of the troubles, but it also proved a watershed. The Army successfully reasserted control over large areas of Belfast and Londonderry with Operation 'Motorman' and the character of the campaign shifted from one of policing to a more recognisably counter-terrorist campaign with a strong military element. Control of the security situation was taken away from the police and given to the Army which was now pitched directly against the nationalists. The result was one of the most ferocious phases of the troubles, and one in which the Army called the tune.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENT The authors would like to thank Brian Holden Reid for his comments on this draft and Sally McInnes for her assistance.

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1. C.E. Call well, Small Wars - Their Principles and Practice (London 1896). For a list of conflicts involving the British Anny between 1945 and 1969, see Henry Stanhope, The Soldiers; An Anatomy of the British Army (London: Hamish Hamilton 1979) pp.343-7. See also Michael Dewar, Brush Fire Wars: Minor Campaigns of the British Army since 1945 (London: Robert Hale 1987 rev. ed.) pp.l86-7. 2. John Pimlott, 'The British Army' in lan F.W Beckett, and John Pimlott (eds.) Armed Forces and Modern Counter Insurgency (London: Croom Helm 1985) pp.I6-24. Thomas R. Mockaitis, British Counter Insurgency 1919--60 (London: MacmiIlan 1990) and British Counter-Insurgency in the Post-Imperial Era (Manchester UP 1995). 3. Brian Holden Reid, 'Is there a British Military 'Philosophy?' in Maj.-Gen. J.J.G. Mackenzie and Brian Holden Reid (eds.) Central Region vs Out-of-Area; Future Commitments (London: Tri-Service Press 1990) pp.I-3. 4. Though this does not always mean that the Army was always sensitive to local conditions, nor that it always reacted flexibly and in appropriate manner, as was seen in Palestine, 1945-47. See David Charters, The British Army and the Jewish Insurgency in Palestine, 1945-47 (London: Macmillan 1989) Stephen Peter Rosen, 'Military Effectiveness; why society matters'; Alastair lain Johnston, 'Thinking about Strategic culture', and Elizabeth Kier, 'Culture and Military Doctrine; France Between the Wars.' International Security 19/4 (1995) pp.5-93; Carl G Jacobsen (ed.) Strategic Power USA/USSR (London: Macmillan 1990); David Campbell, Writing Security; United States Foreign Policy and the Politics of Identity (Manchester UP 1992); Desmond Ball, 'Strategic Culture in the Asia-Pacific Region' Security Studies 3/1 (1993) pp.44-74; Colin S. Gray, Nuclear Strategy and National Style (London: Hamish Hamilton,1986); Ken Booth, Strategy and Ethnocentrism (London: Croom Helm 1979). 5. Capt. Sir Basil Liddell Hart, The British Way in Warfare (London Penguin 1932). See Michael Howard, 'The British Way in Warfare; A Reappraisal' in Michael Howard (ed.) The Causes of Wars (London: Counterpoint 1983) pp.l89-207; Brian Bond, LiddeIl Hart; A Study of His Military Thought (London: Cassell 1977); Hew Strachan, 'The British Way in Warfare' in David Chandler and lan Beckett (eds.) The Oxford Illustrated History of the British Army (Oxford: OUP 1994) ppA17-34; David French, The British Way in Warfare 1688-2000 (London: Unwin Hyman 1990); Lawrence Freedman 'Alliance and the British Way in Warfare', Review of International Studies 21/2 (1995) pp.l45-58. 6. R.Thompson, Defeating Communist Insurgency; experiences from Malaya to Vietnam (London 1966) esp, pp.50-2. See also Brian Holden Reid, 'The Experience of the British Army in Northern Ireland' in Y. Alexander and Alan O'Day (eds) Ireland's Terrorist Dilemma (Martinas Nijhoff 1986). 7. Robert Kee, The Most Distressful Country, YoU. The Green Flag (London: Quartet Books 1976). 8. The Government of Ireland Act, 1920, HC, Vo1.123, Dec. 1919. 9. HC, Vo1.l27 cols 1333-4,31 March 1920. 10. Bryan A Follis, A State under Siege; The Establishment of Northern Ireland 1920--1925 (Oxford: Clarendon Press 1995). 11. Richard Rose, Governing Without Consensus An Irish Perspective (Boston: Beacon Press 1971) p.443. 12. Follis (note 10). 13. Ibid. 14. Ibid. 15. lan McCabe, A Diplomatic History of Ireland, 1948-1949 (Dublin: Irish Academic Press 1991) p.l37. 16. Richard Rose, Northern Ireland; A Time of Choice (London: Macmillan, 976) p.21. 17. MLR. Smith, Fightingfor Ireland? The Military Strategy of the Irish Republican Movement (London: Routledge 1995); Tim Pat Coogan, The IRA (London: HarperCollins 1996). 18. See Michael Farrell, Northern Ireland: The Orange State (London: Pluto Press 1980).

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19. Lord Cameron's Report, Disturbances in Northern Ireland (Belfast: HMSO, Cmnd. 532, 1969). 20. See The Secretary of State for the Home Department (Mr lames Callaghan) 21 April 1969 col.32, Official Reports, Fifth Series, Parliamentary Debates, Commons 1968-69, Vol. 782, 21 April to 2 May 1969. 21. lames Callaghan, A House Divided; The Dilemma of Northern Ireland (London: Collins 1973). 22. Ibid. 23. Ibid. 24. Ibid. 25. Ibid. 26. The GOC, Lt.-Gen. Sir lan Freeland had been appointed in late 1968 and had been a commander in Cyprus during the start of the insurgency and had also commanded forces in Kenya, Uganda and Tanzania. 27. The Sunday Times Insight Team, Ulster (London: Andre Deutsch 1972) pp. 108-9. 28. Ibid. 29. Ibid. p.1l2. 30. Hunt Report on Police in Northern Ireland, Cmd 535 (Belfast: HMSO 1969). 31. Robin Evelagh, Peace-Keeping in a Democratic Society The Lessons of Northern Ireland (London: Hurst 1978). 32. See D.G.Boyce, '''Normal Policing"; Public Order in Northern Ireland since Partition', EireIreland 14 (1979) pp.35-52. 33. Desmond Hamill, Pig in the Middle; The Army in Northern Ireland 1969-84 (London: Methuen 1985) p.23. 34. See Robert Moss, Urban Guerrillas (London: Temple Smith 1972) p.103. 35. The residents of the Bogside and the Falls Road told a delegation of the Irish Parliamentary Labour Party who visited in October that the Army was the only protection they could get. Dail Eireann Vol. 241, 22 Oct. 1969, Co1.l426. 36. See Miss Devlin to The Secretary of State, 19 Dec. 1969, cols. 449-50 in Official Report Fifth Series, Parliamentary Debates, Commons, 1969-70, voJ.793, 8 Dec.-19 Dec. 1969, Co1.338. 37. Michael l. Cunningham, British Government Policy in Northern Ireland, 1969-89: Its Nature and Execution (Manchester UP 1991) p.25. 38. See for example the debate on Northern Ireland in the House of Commons on 7 April 1970, Col 262 in Official Report, Fifth Series, Parliamentary Debates, Commons, 1969-70, Vo1.799, 6-17 April, 1970. 39. Ibid. 40. Moss (note 34) p.100. 41. This was the subject of debate in the House of Commons. See 28 Oct. 1970, Col 219 in Official Report Fifth Series, Parliamentary Debates, Commons, 1970-71, Vo1.805, 27 Oct.-6 Nov. 1970. 42. Ibid. 43. 7 April 1970, col. 269-70 in Official Series, Parliamentary Debates, Commons, 1969-70. Vo1.799,7 April 1970. 44. See 7 April 1970, CoI.272, and 273 in Official Report Fifth Series, Parliamentary Debates, Commons, 1970-71 Vo1.805, 27 Oct.-6 Nov. 45. Sean MacStiofain, Memoirs of a Revolutionary (London: Cremonesi 1975) pp.74-97. 46. Evelagh (note 31) pp.58-9. 47. Ibid. 48. J.J. Lee, Ireland 1912-1985 (Cambridge: CUP 1989) p.434. 49. Hami!! (note 33) p.44. 50. M. McGuire, To Take Arms p.95. 51. Callaghan (note 21). 52. Sunday Times Insight Team (note 27). 53. See The Compton Report, Report of the Enquiry into Allegations against the Security Forces of Physical Brutality in Northern Ireland, Arising out of the Events of 9 Aug. 1971 (Cmnd

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4823, London: Nov. 1971). See also The Parker Report, Cmnd 4901 (London: HMSO 1972). 54. Ibid. 55. Lt.-Col. Michael Dewar, The British Army in Northern Ireland (London: Anus & Anuour Press 1985) p.219. 56. Evelagh (note 31). 57. Ibid. 58. Ibid. pp. 149-51. 59. Ibid. pp.48-9. 60. Cunningham (note 37) p.47. 61. Hamill (note 33) pp.1l3-17. 62. Dail Eireann, Vol. 241, 22 Oct. 1969, Co1.1402. 63. Ibid. Co1.l403. 64. David Barzilay, The British Army in Ulster, Vol.l (Belfast: Century Books 1973). 65. For political reasons during this period the campaign was couched by the British Government in tenus of 'internal security' rather than 'counter-terrorism'. It is also interesting to note that perhaps in part because of this, the Anuy tended to see Northern Ireiand as a different category of problem to that of counter-insurgency overseas.

[9] Minimum Force, British Counter-Insurgency and the Mau Mau Rebellion JOHN NEWSINGER In a recent article Thomas Mockaitis argues that it 'would be difficult to exaggerate the importance of the principle of minimum force to British counter-insurgency'. While this doctrine could not prevent 'isolated incidents of brutality at the local level, it did guarantee that campaigns would generally be conducted with restraint'. He refers to what he describes as the two worst incidents in the post-war period, the Farran affair and the Batang Kali massacre, but notes that British counterinsurgency operations 'have generally been conspicuous for the lack of such excesses'. 1 This repeats the argument developed at greater length in his book, British Counterinsurgency 1919-60. Here, once again, he argues that restraint 'has proven to be the principal ingredient in the British formula for success in counter-insurgency' and that where cases of documented abuse did occur, 'these were usually the work of local forces lacking the traditional discipline of the army or the police'. In the book, however, he does acknowledge that the 1950s Kenyan Emergency creates a few problems for his analysis, problems that were not noticed in his later article. The Kenyan Emergency, he writes 'entailed ... greater abuses of power than occurred in other post-war insurgencies' and saw the security forces use 'excessive force', at times behaving with 'outright brutality' and committing 'atrocities'. Nevertheless, he argues, they did attempt 'to adhere to the principle of minimum force'. Most incidents occurred during the first year of the conflict and such behaviour had been drastically reduced by the beginning of 1954. Consequently, he concludes, the Kenyan Emergency 'was, in theory at least, not as great a departure from the pattern of early campaigns as it might appear'. 2 Of course, the phrase 'in theory at least' can and does cover a multitude of sins and Mockaitis's own discussion of the methods used to suppress Mau Mau does much to make this clear. By arguing that the doctrine of minimum force still applied in theory, however, he fails to consider fully the more interesting question of why it did not apply in practice. Pursuit of this question suggests that there are other factors as well as military doctrine that determine whether or not minimum force is applied in counter-insurgency operations. Discussion here will focus on two factors: the first with regard to the use of minimum force at the

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strategic and the second at the tactical level. The Mau Mau rebellion was the result of the coming together of three areas of unrest among the Kikuyu in Kenya: the increasing conflict between Kikuyu squatters and European farmers in the White Highlands, the deteriorating situation of the growing number of landless peasants in the Reserves, and the increasing militancy of the embryonic working class in Nairobi. For most Kikuyu their standard of life in the post-war period seemed to be worsening and this was at a time when improvement was expected. This growing social unrest was closed off from political remedy by the failure of the 1945-51 Labour government in London to challenge seriously the position of the settler community in the country.3 Mau Mau spread throughout the Kikuyu, enrolling the great majority in its ranks and preparing for an eventual confrontation with the colonial authorities. They were pre-empted, however, when on 20 October 1952, the Governor, Sir Evelyn Baring, declared a state of emergency. Over the next 25 days some 8,000 arrests were made in an attempt to crush the movement with one overwhelming blow. Mau Mau was too deeply rooted to be destroyed in this way and succeeding months saw the assembly of armed bands in the forests and the beginning of Britain's most bloody post-war colonial conflict. The rebel cause had considerable support among the Kikuyu and the armed bands, the Land and Freedom Armies, were supported by a network of secret committees, the Passive Wing, that extended throughout Kikuyu districts. This, together with the colonial authorities' initial shortage of police and troops and lack of an effective intelligence apparatus gave the rebels the initiative. Large bands were able to move across open country, to kill collaborators and attack isolated police and home guard posts. Casualties were heavy, but they were easily replaced by fresh enthusiastic recruits fleeing repression and eager to join the struggle. Only a chronic shortage of firearms prevented the rebels from inflicting serious losses on the police and the settler community. As late as January 1954 the Parliamentary Delegation to Kenya complained that Mau Mau influence had actually increased since the Emergency had been declared. Even in Nairobi, 'one of the most important centres in Africa', the MPs reported, 'Mau Mau orders are carried out in the heart of the city, Mau Mau courts sit in judgment and their sentences are carried out by gangsters'. 4 Moreover, there was a danger that the contagion was spreading to other tribal groups. Sir Michael Blundell, the settler leader, was later to recall that in March and April 1954 he had been afraid that the British 'were going to lose the battle for the mind of the African everywhere' .5

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The turning point in the campaign came in late April 1954 with Operation' Anvil'. Some 25,000 troops and police cordoned off Nairobi and proceeded to round up the entire African population for identification and screening. By the end of this particular exercise over 15,000 people, overwhelmingly Kikuyu, had been detained, while thousands more were deported back to the Reserves. According to the GOC, General Sir George Erskine, Operation 'Anvil' gave 'the whole Mau Mau movement ... a shock from which it never recovered' .6 Similar operations were carried out on a smaller scale in other areas. Another important factor in turning the tide against Mau Mau was the programme of compulsory villagisation that was introduced in June 1954. This was modelled on the contemporary resettlement of the Chinese squatters in Malaya but was carried out with considerably more ruthlessness and brutality. By October 1955 over a million people had been resettled in 854 villages where they could be more closely policed. This, together with Operation' Anvil', completely disrupted the Passive Wing of the movement, effectively isolating the Land and Freedom Armies from their supporters, cutting off supplies of food, medicines, weapons and fresh recruits, and penning them back into the forests. Here the rebels were bombed from the air and hunted on the ground. RAF Lincoln aircraft bombed the forest day and night in a largely futile attempt to kill but more successful attempt to terrorise Mau Mau. In one busy period in September 1954, No.214 Squadron carried out 159 day and 17 night sorties, dropping over 2,000 500 lb bombs. 7 At least some ofthe impact of these raids is conveyed in Ian Henderson's account of the last pseudo-gang operations in the Aberdare Range. R On the ground large-scale sweeps by regular troops attempted to find, engage and destroy the elusive guerilla bands, but without any appreciable success. At this point, the pseudo-gang technique developed by Frank Kitson, Henderson and others, began to achieve dramatic results, mopping up what was an already defeated rebel army and hunting down its leaders. The capture of Dedan Kimathi in October 1956, after a lengthy pseudo-gang operation, usefully marks the end of the rebellion. 9 Clearly this was a considerable military success for the British, but how was it achieved? The breaking of the Mau Mau organisation in Nairobi, the villagisation programme, civil-military cooperation, large-scale detention, the pseudo-gang technique, the ferocity of the repression, the construction of an effective intelligence apparatus, the build up of loyalist forces and, of particular importance, social and political reform, all played their part. What of minimum force? This question has to be considered from two points of view. First of all, with regard to the numbers of troops, police and home guards deployed

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and their use of firepower. And second, with regard to the conduct of the security forces during the campaign. On the first count, the Kenyan Emergency was throughout a relatively small-scale campaign against a poorly armed opponent and consequently never required the use of large numbers of troops or of heavy weapons, notwithstanding the shelling and bombing of the forests. The Land and Freedom Armies almost invariably tried to avoid contact with the security forces and the campaign eventually became a matter of hunting them down. The pseudo-gangs were to be decisive in this regard. Is this enough to establish that the campaign was conducted with the minimum use offorce? Not so. What it does indicate is that at least one of the factors that might lead to the abandonment of minimum force was not present. The strength of the rebel forces in numbers, organisation, armament and popular support was not such as to require large numbers of troops and the abandonment of restraint with regard to the use of firepower. The Mau Mau were never this kind of threat. This perhaps indicates a more general point with regard to British post-war counter-insurgency operations: that they were small-scale affairs that never involved heavy fighting of the kind that occurred in Indochina or later in Vietnam. Where conflict on such a scale or of such a kind threatened, for example, in India and Burma, the British withdrew. It is this political flexibIlity that arguably made possible the apparent adherence to the doctrine of minimum force. Nevertheless, it will be argued here that minimum force quite categorically was not a feature of the Kenyan Emergency. Indeed, the campaign can be seen more accurately as characterised by the unprecedented ferocity of the means that were used to defeat Mau Mau. There is still a considerable reluctance to acknowledge this. The beatings, torture, mutilations and executions that were carried out by the security forces in Kenya are usually marginalised in any of three ways: first of all, it is argued, that they were isolated incidents, second that they were unofficial and third that they were not the work of the British Army, but of locally raised forces, either African or settler. Let us look briefly at these excuses. It will be argued here that far from being isolated affairs, these kinds of incidents were, at least in the early stages of the conflict, routine-. Once the Mau Mau were on the defensive and the security forces had the initiative they became less widespread, but certainly still continued. What of the argument that they were unofficial? This neglects both the extent to which they were condoned and covered up and, more importantly perhaps, the unprecedented scale and ferocity of official repression, a scale and ferocity that was a reflection of the extent of unofficial excesses.

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From this point of view unofficial and official repression can best be seen as different sides of the same coin rather than as distinct practices, one of which counts as part of the counter-insurgency campaign while the other does not. Similarly with the argument that they were the work of locally raised forces. These forces played a crucial role in the campaign and their excesses are as much part of its history as the policy of wholesale hangings that was carried out by the authorities. Moreover, when excesses are as widespread as they were in Kenya, they can be legitimately taken as determining the very character of the campaign. With this in mind, it will be argued here that the Kenyan Emergency can best be seen as a campaign where excessive force, both official and unofficial, was central to the eventual British victory. The methods used by the securi ty force in Kenya were described by D. H. Rawcliff, himself a settler, in his book, The Struggle for Kenya as early as 1954. Here he wrote that During the first months of the emergency the beating of prisoners and suspects became almost a routine measure if it was thought that information was being withheld. One young man told the author: 'Its no use beating the beggars; I've beaten them until I was tired of it!' Every European in the security forces knew about these beatings, talked about them, and very often had ordered them or participated in them ... There was a tacit conspiracy involving the Kenya Government, the police and the Press not to reveal or even hint at anything which the outside world would term acts of brutality or callous behaviour towards the Kikuyu. The effort to hush up such things as indiscriminate shootings and the flogging of suspects by the harassed and over-driven forces of the law was surprisingly successful. If it had not been for a few determined individuals who obtained the ear of some members of parliament in London, the authorities would have undoubtedly continued to keep quiet about the facts. However, a report of one appalling case, out of several similar ones, did reach the British Press months after its occurrence. It was so well substantiated that the authorities could no longer ignore it: two Europeans were charged with manslaughter and were later fined. In Kenya, white men are never convicted of murder if their victim is black. 10 Another account, written by Pever Evans, was published in 1956. Here he describes how following the Lari massacre, when Mau Mau overran a loyalist village and killed over 70 men, women and children

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The Home Guards who survived the massacre, or who were not themselves attacked, killed large numbers of people in reprisal during the next few days. . . many of the Home Guards were under European command which was present at and supervised the killings ... How many people were killed in reprisal, shot out of hand in the following days is not known, and no estimate has ever officially been made. There was a series of meetings of settlers in the Rift Valley during subsequent weeks, when two important political figures spoke to private meetings, in an attempt to allay the widespread alarm; they were being asked what was being done to 'hit back'. One of them answered that 'about four hundred people were shot out of hand' and the other agreed with this estimate of the death roll. 1l Of course, RawcIiffe's, and Evans' allegations were either ignored or successfully dismissed at the time as exaggerated and malicious. At any rate such accounts of the Emergency were completely overwhelmed by the weight of propaganda, both official and unofficial, portraying Mau Mau as an atavistic reversion to barbarism, detailing the movement's atrocities and celebrating the struggle against it. Over the years since, however, is' has come to be increasingly acknowledged that the picture the two settlers painted was broadly accurate. Certainly since the publication in 1976 of Anthony Clayton's ground-breaking study, Counter-Insurgency in Kenya 1952-1960 and more recently of Robert Edgerton's Mau Mau: An African Crucible, it is no longer possible to deny seriously the extent to which elements within the security forces carried out excesses. What is still in dispute, however, is whether this conduct was central to the counter-insurgency campaign in Kenya, defined its character so to speak, or whether it can still be meaningfully considered as aberrant, as a side issue. Let us look first at Clayton's brief study. No less than 26 out of 62 pages are taken up with discussing the behaviour of the security forces. He argues that the Army, certainly after Erskine's arrival in the colony, was not involved in significant misconduct, but is absolutely damning with regard to the Kenya Police Reserve (KPR). He details a number of the more celebrated cases: The first cases which came to light included those of IS-year-old Brian Hayward of the KRP, convicted for burning Mau Mau suspects' eardrums with lighted cigarettes, for which he was sentenced to three months hard labour (spent in fact in an hotel on minor clerical work) and a fine of £100; his brother Barry fined £25 for ordering paraffin to be poured on a suspect; Assistant

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Commandant Howell fined £20 for participating in burning a prisoner in the same case; Reserve Police Officer Hvass fined £50 for inflicting illegal and heavy floggings; Sergeant Keats and Reserve Police Officer Rubens fined following their conviction for beating an African to death; Reserve Police Officers Pharazyn and Sawyer charged for torturing a prisoner over a slow fire; Reserve Police Officer Burgess fined for setting a fierce dog on a prisoner ... And these cases were, as Clayton acknowledges, merely 'the tip of the iceberg of unrecorded but widespread roughing up and the frequent kickings or beatings of prisoners practised by the KPR'. 12 In his much fuller account of the Emergency, Edgerton goes further. He argues that not only were suspects and prisoners regularly and routinely beaten and tortured, but that there were also widespread summary executions being carried out. According to Edgerton if a question was not answered to the interrogator's satisfaction, the suspect was beaten and kicked. If that did not lead to the desired confession, and it rarely did, more force was applied. Electric shock was widely used, and so was fire. Women were choked and held under water; gun barrels, beer bottles, and even knives were thrust into their vaginas. Men had beer bottles thrust up their rectums, were dragged behind Land Rovers, whipped, burned, and bayoneted. Their fingers were chopped off, and sometimes their testicles were crushed with pliers ... Some police officers did not bother with more time-consuming forms of torture; they simply shot any suspect who refused to answer, then told the next suspect who had been forced to watch the cold-blooded execution, to dig his own grave. When the grave was finished, the man was asked if he would now be willing to talk. Sometimes suspects were forced to watch while others were killed, often slowly, with knives instead of bullets. In his grim catalogue of atrocities, Edgerton includes extracts from some revealing interviews with settlers and former members of the security forces. An Australian describes how a group of settlers dragged two young Kikuyu to death behind a Land Rover, all the time laughing and joking-about it; 'the nigger wasn't much more than pulp. He didn't have any face left at all'. A former police officer tells of how he shot, out of hand, three Mau Mau suspects who refused to talk and reported them as shot while trying to escape: 'I stuck my revolver right in his grinning mouth ... His brains went all over the side of the police station.' Another former police officer describes beating prisoners to death as part of the screening process in the detention camps: 'At the end of the day my hands

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would be bruised and arms would ache from smashing the black bastards. '13 These atrocities were generally speaking the work of settler vigilantes, the police or the African home guard and most accounts accept that the British Army was not seriously implicated. Michael Dewar, for example, acknowledges that some mistakes were made ('the unpublicised shooting of about twenty Meru Guards after they had been mistakenly taken prisoner'), but argues that despite such incidents the Army 'emerged unsullied from a rather unpleasant and messy business' .14 Of course, the shooting of 20 prisoners out of hand, especially when they are on your side, is nothing to be particularly proud of, but it does seem clear that the Army was not involved in beatings and shootings on anything like the scale of other elements of the security forces. This was not only a matter of better discipline and more professionalism. It also reflected the very low casualty rate suffered by the troops and the fact that the brunt of the conflict was borne by locally raised forces. In his influential firsthand account of the Emergency, Gangs and Counter-Gangs, Frank Kitson discusses why some elements within the security forces, invariably African according to him, took the law into their own hands. These incidents, he argues, were 'very rare', although at the same time they were apparently regular enough to have 'saved countless lives and shortened the Emergency'. Leaving aside this contradiction, Kitson believes that they were, at least in part, the product of frustration. The security forces were seriously hampered in the struggle against Mau Mau by having, 'firmly fastened one of their hands behind their back with a cord of legal difficulties'. The courts were letting the guilty go free. IS This is, one suspects, a perennial complaint in counter-insurgency campaigns, but it seems particularly inappropriate with regard to the Kenyan Emergency. This campaign was remarkable precisely for the ferocity of the legal sanctions imposed against the rebels. The death penalty was introduced and carried out for a wide range of offences:. the administering of illegal oaths, consorting with rebels, the possession of ammunition and firearms and, of course, murder. Between the declaration of the Emergency and April 1956 no fewer than 1,015 Mau Mau prisoners were hanged, over 200 of them for oathing offences. At one time they were being executed at the rate of 50 a month. According to Eric Downton, then the Daily Telegraph correspondent in Kenya, many of these men and women 'received what were virtually drumhead trials' and were hanged after proceedings 'that made a mockery of British justice' .16 The scale of hangings caused some alarm in London, where the Prime Minister Winston Churchill advised 'that care

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should be taken to avoid the simultaneous execution of any large numbers of persons'. He was worried that British public opinion would be disturbed by 'anything resembling mass execution. m The cheapness with which an African life was regarded was reflected both in the numbers hanged and in the derisory fines and punishments imposed on Europeans guilty of, for example, flogging prisoners to death. The two went together. Two things seem clear: first of all that the Kenyan campaign was characterised by widespread beatings, torture, mutilation and shootings and second that this demonstrates that the doctrine of minimum force was not in practice adhered to. Official efforts to curb security force excesses are of less significance in the history of the campaign than the extent to which they were committed, the attempts made to cover them up, the light sentences imposed when they were brought to court, and the scale of the judicial massacre of Mau Mau prisoners that was carried out at the same time. One last point remains to be considered: why was the doctrine of limited force not applied in Kenya? As we have already seen, the doctrine was not abandoned because of the scale of the rebellion or because of the potency of the military threat that the Land and Freedom Armies posed. Instead the answer can be found in the history of the colony, in the history of relations beween the Africans and the white settlers. From the first pacification of Kenya and the establishment of the white settlement, African lives were held cheap. The conquest of the territory was accompanied by the large-scale slaughter of recalcitrant tribesmen. An expedition mounted against the Kikuyu in 1904 killed over 1,500 tribesmen and expeditions mounted against the Nandi in 1905 and 1906 killed over 1,700. After reading reports of an expedition against the Kisii in 1908, the then Colonial Under Secretary, a much younger Winston Churchill complained that 'I do not like the tone of these reports . . . It looks like butchery ... Surely it cannot be necessary to go on killing these defenceless people on such an enormous scale.' IR As far as the men on the spot were concerned however, it was necessary. It was alright for officials in London to worry about such things, but as one officer, Richard Meinertzhagen insisted, 'when stationed with 100 soldiers amid an African population of some 300,000, in cases of emergency where local government was threatened, we had to act, and act quickly.'19 The whites were so few in number that if the African population was to be broken to their will, any resistance had to be bloodily and decisively crushed. Elspeth Huxley, in her account of an idyllic childhood in the colony, The Flame Trees of Thika, could justify

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the flogging of Africans for showing lack of respect on the grounds that respect was the only protection available to Europeans who lived singly, or in scattered families, among thousands of Africans accustomed to constant warfare and armed with spears and poisoned arrows ... The least rent or puncture might, if not immediately checked and repaired, split the whole garment asunder and expose its wearer in all his human vulnerability.20 Even so staunch a critic of the settlers as Norman Leys could still write that 'slaughter' was 'the kindest way of dealing with native risings. ,21 The fear of the African majority that haunted the white settlers from their first arrival into the 1950s became a horrific reality with the Mau Mau rebellion. The counter-insurgency campaign in Kenya was conducted on the ground in the light of this fear and not according to any doctrine of minimum force. 22

NOTES 1. Thomas R. Mockaitis, 'The Origins of British Counter-Insurgency', Small Wars and Insurgencies 1/3, (Dec. 1990), pp.213, 214. .' 2. Thomas R. Mockaitis, British Counterinsurgency 1919-60 (London: Macmillan, 1990), pp. 44, 50-51. 3. For recent accounts of the origins of the rebellion see David W. Throup, Economic and Social Origins of Mau Mau, 1945-1953 (London, 1986 and Athens, OH: Ohio UP, 1988), Tabitha Konogo, Squatters and the Roots of Mau Mau (London: James Currey, 1987) and Frank Furedi, The MauMau War in Perspective {London: JamesCurrey, 1989). 4. Report to the Secretary of State for the Colonies by the Parliamentary Delegation to Kenya: January 1954 {London, 1954), p.7. 5. Sir Michael Blundell, So Rough A Wind (London: Weidenfeld, 1960), pp. 170-1. 6. Gen. Sir George Erskine, 'Kenya - Mau Mau', Journal of the Royal United Services Institution 101 (Feb. 1956), p.16. 7. Philip Anthony Towle, Pilots and Rebels: The Use of Aircraft in Unconventional Warfare 1918-1988 (London: Brassey's 1989), pp.103-4. [Reviewed SW&/2/1 (April 1991), pp. 103-4]. 8. lan Henderson, The Huntfor Kimathi (London: Hamish Hamilton, 1958), pp.59-60, 117. 9. For a good account of the military aspects of the Emergency see Anthony Clayton, Counter-Insurgency in Kenya 1952-60 (Nairobi: Transafrica, 1976). See also Frank Furedi, 'Kenya: Decolonization through counter-insurgency' from Anthony Gorst, Lewis Johnman and W. Scott Lucas (eds.), Contemporary British History (London: Pinter, 1991) and my own 'Revolt and Repression in Kenya: the Mau Mau Rebellion 1952-1960', Science and Society 45/2 (Summer 1981). 10. D. H. RawcIiffe, The Struggle for Kenya (London: Gollancz, 1954), pp.68. 11. Peter Evans, Law and Disorder (London: Seeker, 1956), p.70. 12. Clayton, Counter-Insurgency in Kenya pp.44, 45. 13. Robert S. Edgerton, Mau Mau: An African Crucible (London: Tauris, 1990), pp. 152-53, 155, 159, 185. This is without any doubt the best general account of the Rebellion and Emergency so far. [Reviewed SW & I 113 (Dec. 1990), pp.319-20.] 14. Michael Dewar, Brush Fire Wars (London: Hale, 1984), p.62.

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15. Frank Kitson, Gangs and Counter-Gangs (London: Barrie & Rockliff, 1960), p.46. This is the classic account of pseudo-gang operations in Kenya, but see also W. W. Baldwin, Mau Mau Manhunt (NY: Dutton, 1957) for a firsthand account of pseudogangs operating as death squads. 16. Eric Downton, Wars Without End (Toronto: Stoddart, 1987), p.236. 17. Martin Gilbert, Never Despair: Winston Churchill 1945-1965 (London: Heinemann, 1988), p. 834. 18. G. H. Mungeam, British Rule in Kenya 1895-1912 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1966), p.173. 19. Carl G. Rosberg and John Nottingham, The Myth of Mau Mau (NY: Praeger, 1966), p.15. 20. Elspeth Huxley, The Flame Trees of Thika (London: Chatto, 1959), p.16. 21. Norman Leys, Kenya (London: Hogarth Press, 1924), p.350. 22. For a useful discussion of settler fears in colonial Kenya and Rhodesia see Dane Kennedy, Islands of White (Durham, NC: Duke UP, 1987), pp. 128-47 .

[10] From Counter-Insurgency to Internal Security: Northern Ireland 1969-1992 JOHN NEWSINGER

It has often been claimed that the British have discovered the secret of how to defeat revolutionary insurgency and guerrilla war. They have accumulated a vast amount of experience in innumerable counterinsurgency campaigns conducted both before, during and after the Second World War, campaigns in which a remarkably high degree of success was achieved. An over-extended Empire was kept under British rule before the War, while since, several campaigns have been successfully concluded with the rebels crushed and independence handed over to friendly governments. There is, of course, a huge literature, both academic and non-academic, celebrating this achievement. One recent contribution argues that the exigencies of colonial warfare had long ago led the empirical British to work out practical methods for the suppression of insurgency, but that this body of experience was not actually formalised into a coherent strategy until the postwar Malayan Emergency (1948-60).1 It was out of this conflict that what can be usefully called 'the British model of counter-insurgency' emerged. The key text here was undoubtedly the late Sir Robert Thompson's Defeating Communist Insurgency, a volume written with the explicit intention of influencing the American conduct of their war in Vietnam. Thompson, a former Chindit, had played an important part in the Malayan campaign, first as Deputy Secretary and later as Secretary for Defence and then went on to head the British Advisory MiJsion to South Vietnam. Now, drawing on his considerable experience, he argued that revolutionary war had to be recognised as a war for control of the people, as a competition between rival administrations. The priority for the government was not to kill guerrillas, but rather to secure effective control of the civilian popUlation so as to be able to root out and destroy the guerrilla movement's infrastructure. What this required was an efficient, purposeful administrative machine, together with a strong police force and intelligence apparatus, backed up by the army. Once control had been established over the population and the guerrillas were effectively isolated (fish out of water), then they could be eliminated. With its

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infrastructure destroyed, the guerrilla movement would be unable to replace its losses and would inevitably be driven on to the defensive. Defeat would only be a matter of time. 2 It is worth briefly considering what this competition between the British and the Malayan Communist Party (MCP) actually involved in Malaya. The British compulsorily resettled some half a million people, overwhelmingly Chinese squatters, in heavily policed 'new villages' and regrouped another 600,000 estate workers and mine workers in protected compounds. This massive population movement was accompanied, and indeed made possible, bX the imposition of a police regime. The Emergency Regulations gave the security forces wide powers of search, arrest and detention and allowed the imposition of curfews, bans, collective punishments and food controls. Altogether some 34,000 people were to be detained without trial in the course of the Emergency and thousands more were expelled from the country. Capital punishment was put into effect for a wide-range of offences and by the end of the Emergency 226 rebels had been hanged, a number exceeded only by the judicial massacre (1,070 hangings) that accompanied the suppression of the contemporary Mau Mau revolt in Kenya. New small-scale infantry tactics were developed that enabled the British to exploit their strategic initiative, imposing a rate of attrition on the guerrilla forces that they were not, in the end, able to sustain. Even so, victory was only achieved because of the British success in enlisting the active support of the Malay popUlation against the overwhelmingly Chinese MCP. This was accomplished by increasing prosperity and the speeding up of progress towards independence. Victory was, it has to be insisted, built on this political foundation. 3 How successful were the British in applying this model elsewhere? Despite the triumphalism of many accounts, when we actually come to consider this question it does look as if the vaunted 'British model of counter-insurgency' and the successes it produced are largely a myth. It was designed to address the challenge posed by rural-based insurgencies and, in fact, proved considerably less effective against the urban-based insurgencies encountered in Palestine (1944-48), Cyprus (1954--59) and Aden (1964--67). In these three campaigns the British failed to destroy the quite small guerrilla forces opposing them. The lessons of Malaya were of limited relevance on the streets of Tel Aviv, Famagusta or Sheikh Othman. The gunmen and bombers of the Irgun, the EOKA and the NLF, indistinguishable from the civilian population, were to prove an even more difficult proposition than the uniformed Communist guerrillas operating out of their secret camps in the Malayan jungle or the poorly-armed Mau Mau bands hiding out in the Aberdare forests.

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Moreover, in these campaigns the British signally failed to implement political settlements that were capable of enlisting the support of significant sections of the local population. In Palestine, it proved politically impossible to make use of the Arab majority against the Zionist insurgents; in Aden, the British relied on the support of the sultans and sheikhs of the interior, who were soon revealed to lack any significant popular base; only in Cyprus, where the British allied with the Turkish minority were they able to prevent EOKA from achieving its objective of union with Greece. 4 Far from the British confronting rebellion and insurgency in Northern Ireland during the 1970s with a proven model of counter-insurgency campaigning, what we have is a security establishment that certainly possessed considerable experience, but much of it was of failure. This was to be compounded in Northern Ireland. For the purposes of this discussion security policy in Northern Ireland can be seen to have gone through four stages of development. First, with the failure of the Royal Ulster Constabulary (RUC) to contain the Catholic working class revolt of August 1969 and the beginning of serious inter-communal fighting, the Army was introduced in a peacekeeping role. This was accompanied by a programme of reform that proved to be too little, too late for the Catholic minority and too much too soon for the Protestant majority. The peacekeeping phase was short lived and the troops found themselves increasingly in the position of having to defend the discredited Stormont regime against continuing Catholic protests. Over a comparatively short period the Army became involved in confrontation with Catholic working-class communities, succeeded in effectively alienating them and in this way acted as a recruiting officer for the Provisional IRA. With a strong base of support among workingclass Catholics, the Provisionals proceeded to launch a protracted guerrilla war that achieved its greatest succes with the bringing down of Stormont and the introduction of direct rule in March 1972. The Army dominated security affairs throughout this second stage. What this phase in the development of security policy involved was an attempt to wage a counter-insurgency campaign on colonial lines in what was formally part of the United Ki~dom. The attempt failed and was replaced in the mid-1970s by the policy of Ulsterisation. This third stage involved the abandonment of counter-insurgency for what can usefully be described as an internal security policy, similar to that developed in other European liberal democratic states (Italy, West Germany, Spain) confronted with a guerrilla challenge. While this new strategy has not brought the conflict to a successful conclusion, its advocates argue that it has kept violence in the province at an acceptable

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level. Alongside the development of security policy have been the various attempts to find a political settlement that will not alienate the Protestant community too much and yet wil conciliate the Catholic community enough. This brings us to the fourth stage that is defined by the conclusion of the Anglo-Irish Agreement in November 1985 and developments since. This most recent attempt to lay the basis for an eventual political settlement is still underway. The Downing Street Declaration of December 1993 is its most recent manifestation. Failure to, so far, find the basis for a political settlement has without any doubt been the decisive factor prolonging the conflict and, at the time of writing, it remains to be seen whether this latest attempt will be any more successful. PEACEKEEPING TO CONFRONTATION. 1969-1970

The period between the arrival of British troops on the streets of Belfast and Derry in August 1969 and the breakdown of relations with the Catholic working-class communities was relatively brief. What precipitated army involvement was a Catholic working-class revolt against the Stormont regime that was of historic proportions, a revolt that threatened to escalate into serious inter-communal fighting, into civil war. Initially the role of the troops seemed to be one of putting a stop to inter-communal conflict and many Catholics welcomed their arrival as a relief from the threat of attack by Protestant vigilantes. Once it became clear that they were also committed to defend Stormont against any further challenge then conflict was inevitable. The reforms that Harold Wilson's Labour government pushed through, most notably the disarming of the RUC and disbandment of the 'B' Specials, were too late to defuse a bomb that had, so to speak, already gone off. Even so these measures outraged many Protestants and the first serious challenge the Army faced came from this quarter. In October 1969 during serious rioting on the Shankhill Road an RUC man was shot dead and 13 soldiers were wounded by Protestant gunmen. Eventually the troops were allowed to return fire and killed two Protestants. This outbreak was suppressed with considerable violence by the Army and appeared, as was intended, to have successfully intimidated the Protestant working class, at least for the time being. This success convinced the military that a tough no-nonsense response was the answer to disorder. Moreover, the election of a Conservative government under Edward Heath in early June 1970 saw Labour's commitment to reform superseded by a determination to restore order. 5 While the Army had curbed Protestant violence on the streets, the

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Chichester-Clark government at Stormont still relied on Protestant support for its survival. To maintain this support, action had to be taken to bring the Catholic working-class areas of Belfast and Derry back under control and to root out the IRA, both the Official and Provisional wings. At the same time, the Orange marches, the traditional Protestant provocations, were allowed to go ahead. While this was understandable from Chichester-Clark's point of view (his political survival depended on it), from a security point of view it was disastrous. The Orange parades at the end of June 1970 were accompanied by inevitable clashes between Protestant and Catholic that left six people dead with the Provisional IRA emerging as the defender of the Catholic community. This was followed within days by a large-scale operation on the Lower Falls that completed what had been a gradual process of Catholic alienation from the Army. This was not a routine military blunder but had been given the go-ahead at Westminster level where the Conservative Heath government had just assumed office. The intention seems to have been to teach the Catholics a salutary lesson. The result was to say the least counter-productive. 6 From 3 to 5 July 1970 a curfew was imposed on the Lower Falls while troops carried out house-to-house searches. The operation was conducted with considerable violence that left five Catholics dead and many more injured. The area was deluged in CS gas and enough homes were wrecked and looted to ensure the maximum Catholic outrage. At the same time the troops did seize large quantities of weapons and ammunition. The net effect, however, was to give the Provisional IRA a tremendous boost and in this respect it was 'the first of many pyrrhic victories for the British army in Northern Ireland'. 7 As Michael Dewar, himself a former British officer who served in Northern Ireland, has put it, the events of June-July 1970 were a turning point: It can be argued that the failure to ban the 1970 Orange parades, and the massive arms searches and curfew in the Lower Falls area which followed, was the last chance to avoid the catastrophe that has since engulfed Ulster. The previous August was the watershed, the spring of 1970 the last opportunity for a settlement. Until the spring of 1970, most Catholics regarded the troops as their protectors. The Lower Falls operation changed everything. 8

According to Paddy Devlin, in the weeks that followed the curfew, the Army 'put the boot in with a vengeance'. Almost overnight the population of the Falls 'turned from neutral or even sympathic support for the military to outright hatred'. He and Gerry Fitt saw their own party

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workers in the Dock and Falls constituencies 'turn against us and join the Provisionals,.9 COUNTER-INSURGENCY IN NORTHERN IRELAND, 1970-c.197S

The attempt to implement a counter-insurgency strategy in Northern Ireland came up against three problems: first of all a lack of consistent political direction, second the very real difficulties which the British had already encountered in defeating urban-based insurgencies in the colonies, and third the possibility of actually introducing the necessary Emergency measures in what was still part of the United Kingdom. What resulted was a security policy, vitiated by contradictory political initiatives, that was repressive enough to continue the alienation of working-class Catholics but not repressive enough to actually defeat the Provisional IRA. Added to this was the furore over the then Brigadier Frank Kitson, his attempt at revising British counter-insurgency strategy for a post-Imperial era, and his activities in Belfast from 1970 to 1972. The political background to security force operations in this period demonstrates the extent to which the Heath government failed to come up with a settlement which could provide the basis for victory over the Provisionals. First the Unionists were backed with a policy of repression, then Stormont was suspended, direct rule was introduced and the government actually held secret talks with the Provisional leadership. This was followed by Operation 'Motorman' and the ending of the no go areas, and lastly by Sunningdale and power-sharing, a solution beloved of liberals, but unfortunately bitterly opposed by a majority of Protestants. This catalogue of disaster was largely the responsibility of William Whitelaw, soon to be the first Secretary of State for Northern Ireland (1972-74), a politician who has nevertheless retained, in the circumstances, a quite remarkable reputation for perspicacity.lo Against. this background what is remarkable is that the Army achieved as much as it did in its conflict with the Provisional IRA. There can be little doubt that if the Catholics had been the majority community, the British would have been forced to withdraw in a repeat of the Aden debacle. The British Army found itself operating in an unstable political situation, trying to wage a counter-insurgency campaign against an increasingly effective opponent without recourse to the Emergency measures that had been available in other campaigns. Curfews, bans, internment, collective punishments and reprisals, identity cards, compulsory resettlement, in-depth interrogation, a relaxed attitude towards the shooting of suspected insurgents, and capital punishment have either not been used or, when they have, quickly proved to be counter-

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productive. One example will conveniently demonstrate the kind of repressive measures not available to the security forces in Northern Ireland: if South Armagh were a province in Malaya many of its Catholic inhabitants would long ago have had their homes burned down, their farms and work places destroyed and been either forcibly resettled in heavily policed 'new villages' or deported across the border. Obviously this was politically impossible in contemporary Britain, and, moreover, would only serve to increase support for the Provisionals on both sides of the border. Where colonial-style repressive measures have been used they have generally prQved at best counter-productive, at worst disastrous. We have already noticed the Lower Falls curfew, let us briefly consider three other episodes. Internment, for example, which in every other counter-insurgency campaign was one of the cornerstones of security policy, in Northern Ireland was not only implemented incompetently, but succeeded in dramatically strengthening, not weakening, the Provisionals.ll Whereas in the four months before internment was introduced in August 1971 four soldiers, no policemen and four civilians had been killed in Northern Ireland, in the four months after 30 soldiers, 11 police and UDR members and 73 civilians were ki1ledY The conflict escalated to new levels with Catholic working-class areas in Belfast and Derry, the so-called no-go areas, virtually seceding from Stormont rule and some 26,000 households joining a rates and rent strike. I3 Internment, according to one commentator, blew away 'the last shreds of support for the army within the Catholic population, uniting the whole community in angry solidarity with 'the men behind the wire,}4 While internment was introduced against the advice of the Army, this was a disagreement over timing rather than over strategy .15 This disaster was compounded by the use of in-depth interrogation (torture to the layperson) on a selected group of internees. These techniques had been routinely used in the colonies without any serious inconvenience, except of course to the victims, but once again proved to be a disaster in Northern Ireland, further alienating the Catholic popUlation and discrediting the British government internationally Y' The last major episode in this catalogue was, of course, Bloody Sunday, January 1972, the shooting of 42 unarmed demonstrators (13 killed and 29 wounded, one of whom subsequently died) by 1st Parachute Regiment. The most favourable judgement that can be made of this incident is that it was an attempt to get tough, to teach the Bogsiders a lesson, tha( got seriously out of hand.17 It is worth noticing that some British accounts still proclaim 'Bloody Sunday' a great success. Two 1990s books both claim that the Paras inflicted a serious defeat on the

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Provisionals with perhaps another 15 bodies having to be smuggled across the border and buried in secret. 1S Together internment and 'Bloody Sunday' fuelled a Provisional offensive that was to eventually bring Stormont down. While counter-insurgency proved increasingly problematic as a strategy, on the ground the Army found itself having to take on a policing, intelligence-gathering and even local government role. One of the key elements of British counter-insurgency doctrine is the need for close co-operation between the security forces and the administration, however, in Northern Ireland local government altogether collapsed in Catholic working-class areas. In many areas, the Army had reluctantly become 'the de facto civil authority' .19 Robin Evelegh, a former army officer who served in Belfast in 1972 and 1973, argues quite strongly in his important discussion of Northern Ireland that the British had lost the 'competition in government' in this period: From August 1969 when the Army took over the policing of the Republican areas of Northern Ireland, until November 1972, the people of Republican districts were effectively left to conduct the business of civil government on their own. After much pressing by Brigadier F.E. Kitson, at that time commanding the Army Brigade in Belfast, a single civil servant was appointed in September 1971 as civil representative to the Army in Belfast. He makes the point that accepting that the Catholic population considered themselves Irish rather than British, it followed that 'they would only acquiesce in British rule if they were offered something in return that would reconcile them to a situation which contradicted their natural patriotism.' The reality was that in his battalion area of the Upper Falls with perhaps 70,000 inhabitants 'there was not a single generally available municipal playing area ... with nothing else to amuse them, the bored and unemployed youth of the area found their recreation in throwing stones at soldiers.' Contact between the Government and the Catholic communities was minimal: in January 1975 the points of contact between the government and the 250,000 Catholic inhabitants of West Belfast amounted to six sub-post offices, two Police Stations, four Civil Affairs Advisers (two in any Army fort and two in the Springfield Road Police Station), a public cleansing yard in the Whiterock Road. a welfare office in the Iveagh School, and a Housing Executive Repair Yard in Turf Lodge. It is therefore not surprising that the Republican citizens of West Belfast felt out of contact with civil government

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which, it sensed, had no interest in them, if this was the sum total of its representation in their areas. 20 Another prerequisite for successful counter-insurgency is an effective intelligence apparatus, normally a Special Branch. The problem for the security forces in any guerrilla conflict is not defeating the insurgents in battle but actually being able to find and identify them. This requires intelligence without which the security forces are operating blind. 21 Once again, the Army found itself without intelligence in Northern Ireland, the RUC Special Branch having been discredited by the internment fiasco. To overcome this, the Army tried to develop its own intelligencegathering methods. Kitson had an important part to play in this. While serving in Malaya against the Communists, he had argued that the Army should not rely only on Special Branch, but should make the collection of intelligence part of its own routine. 22 He was given the go ahead to introduce these methods into Northern Ireland. According to the then Chief of the General Staff, General Sir Michael Carver: 'there was no alternative,.23 The most important development was the use of foot patrols to gather 'contact-information', to build up a detailed, comprehensive profile of their areas of operations and its inhabitants. This was achieved by the regular stopping and questioning of the population, vehicle checks and house searches. The mass of information gathered was collated by the Army's own intelligence officers in an attempt to uncover the Provisional. IRA's organisation, membership and operations. 24 The scale of the effort is shown by the number of house searches carried out which increased from 17,000 in 1971 to 36,000 in 1972 and 75,000 in 1973 and 1974. Between 1971 and 1976 some 250,000 house searches were carried out. 25 On any given day up to 5,000 vehicles would be stopped, the driver questioned and the vehicle searched. According to one account between 1 April 1973 and 1 April 1974 an astonishing four million vehicles were stopped and searched. 26 Whatever intelligence was gathered, whatever arms and explosives were found, however many arrests were made, has to be balanced against the conflict and antagonism that such methods generated. Street questioning and house searches had a guaranteed capacity to produce confrontation to which the troops were trained to respond aggressively. While this sort of harassment of the Catholic working class was regarded as a necessary feature of the policy of repression in the early days of the conflict, it came increasingly to be seen as counter-productive. The intelligenc~ acquired by these methods was moreover no substitute for that gathered by an effective Special Branch, through interrogation, the recruitment of informers and the running of agents. Another drawback

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was that intensive patrolling was actually found to be providing the Provisionals with more opportunities for carrying out attacks on the security forces. With the relaxation of the policy of repression by Whitelaw and Merlyn Rees, these methods were superseded by new patrolling techniques and increased covert surveillance of Catholic working-class areas. Kitson was also responsible for refining and developing covert operations in Northern Ireland. This was hardly a new development, but had been a feature of every British postwar counter-insurgency campaign. What was new was that the various undercover operations carried out by the Military Reconnaissance Force (MRF) and other similar detachments, were under Army rather than Special Branch control. This reflected both Kitson's own concern with giving the Army a higher profile and, more importantly, the low regard in which Special Branch was held at this time. Certainly these undercover operations, fighting the guerrillas with their own methods, achieved significant results. Without any doubt they are a key element in any campaign against urban guerrillas. Robin Evelegh actually laments the fact that he was not allowed to put 20 per cent of his battalion into plain clothes and argues that 50 soldiers in civilian dress were more effective than 400 in battledress. 27 Nevertheless covert operations have their own drawbacks. As Charles Townshend has pointed out, this 'mimetic process' holds considerable dangers with an inevitable tendency for the security forces' counter-or pseudo-gangs to themselves resort to assassination. 28 This might not create too many political problems in Kenya where some pseudo-gangs behaved like murder squads, but in Palestine and later in Northern Ireland, it was to provide a propaganda triumph for the insurgents and prove a considerable political embarrassment to the British authorities. 29 How successful was the counter-insurgency strategy? Some accounts have rather optimistically argued that the Provisional IRA was facing imminent defeat at the end of 1974 and was only saved by the ceasefire that continued into 1975.3() There is not enough evidence to support such a conclusion and indeed it is worth remembering that similar claims were made in Cyprus and in Aden. Certainly the Provisionals were under considerable pressure but the belief that they were all but beaten fails to take into account the extent to which urban guerrilla movements with a degree of popular support can recover from setbacks, can regroup, reorganise and continue the struggle. Moreover, it is worth noticing that the dominant republican perception of the ceasefire was that it was a serious mistake from their point of view and had considerably weakened the IRA. Certainly not that it had saved them. 31

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At this point, it is worth briefly considering the Kitson furore. A veteran of counter-insurgency campaigns in Kenya, Malaya and the Oman, in the 1970s Frank Kitson became, for many in the Catholic community and on the British left, the symbol of British repression in Northern Ireland and of the danger of military intervention in Britain. According to Se an MacStiofain, Provisional IRA Chief of Staff from 1969 to 1972, Kitson was 'our deadliest enemy in the North' .32 The fullest statement of the case against Kitson is Roger Faligot's controversial Britain's Military Strategy in Ireland: The Kitson Experiment. This identified, indeed demonised, him as the architect of a comprehensive counter-insurgency strategy that was supposedly being implemented in Northern Ireland. 33 The main problem with this account other than its many inaccuracies and exaggerations is that is regards the conflict as an opportunity for the British state to put into effect new methods of counter-insurgency, to carry out a controlled experiment, rather than recognising much of what went on as desperate attempts to grapple with a situation that was esca~ lating out of control. Certainly Kitson had well-thought out ideas on how to conduct a counter-insurgency campaign in a modern industrial society, but the fact is that he was never in control of security policy (he was a brigadier at this time, and, for example, had his opposition to the introduction of internment overruled) and only some aspects of his strategy were ever put into effect. Moreover, they proved counterproductive and arguably contributed to the deteriorating situation. There is much to be said for Paddy Devlin's judgement that Kitson 'probably did more than any other individual to sour relations between the Catholic community and the security forces'. 34 This was due in good part to his political naIvety, to his misunderstanding of the nature of liberal democracy and miscalculation with regard to how it was politically acceptable for the Army to behave. This somewhat dangerous naIvety was fully displayed in his controversial book Low Intensity Operations (1971, reprinted 1972 and 1973), a volume whose advice successive British governments have wisely chosen to ignore. 35 There is every likelihood, for example, that if Kitson's prescriptions for countering internal subversion in Britain had been acted on, then during the 1984-85 miners' strike, instead of the National Union of Mineworkers being successfully divided and isolated, Arthur Scargill would have found himself leading a united labour movement against a government that had thrown away its legitimacy.

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INTERNAL SECURITY, c .1975-1985

The development of an 'internal security' strategy for Northern Ireland took place while Merlyn Rees was Northern Ireland Secretary (19741976). This involved the so-called Ulsterisation of the conflict by means of two related policies: criminalisation and police primacy. The Army was to be relieved of overall responsibility for the campaign against the Provisional IRA, which would become instead a law and order matter to ' be handled by the RUC with the support of the Army. Those accounts that compare this development with American Vietnamisation of the Vietnam War completely mistake the nature of the change. 36 A counterinsurgency strategy derived from colonial experience was abandoned in favour of an internal security strategy that was believed to be both more appropriate and more effective in an advanced liberal democracy. The high-profile army presence, together with internment, were recognised as factors exacerbating the situation rather than helping to end it. The problem was that the complete arsenal of counter-insurgency measures could not, for political reasons, be deployed in Northern Ireland. The result was that the Army did enough to alienate the Catholic working class, but not enough to successfully intimidate them. Instead a turn to policing and the judicial process would, it was hoped, allow the IRA to be eliminated without at the same time providing them with fresh recruits. 37 The internal security strategy owed more to the European experience combating urban terrorist groups than it did to the colonial experience. Both the West German success against Baader-Meinhof, but more particularly, the much admired Italian success against the Red Brigades were influential in this respect. 38 The strategy was not to achieve a similar degree of success in Northern Ireland for the simple reason that unlike the much smaller organisations on the Continent, the Provisional IRA had a significant degree of popular support and were firmly rooted in the Catholic working-class community. The signal failure of the Catholic working class to help the security forces defeat the IRA was crucial. Moreover, this continued community support inevitably brought the RUC into conflict with sections of the Catholic working class maintaining the cycle whereby state repression created more recruits for the Provisionals than it actually eliminated. Only a political settlement that effectively conciliated the Catholic community could have broken this cycle and this was not forthcoming. While the neW strategy did not defeat the IRA, it was an important factor in successfully containing the Provisionals. Rees took office committed to phasing out internment and, despite

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opposition from the Army, eventually achieved this in December 1975. By this time nearly 2,000 people had been interned. This was followed by an end to special category status for all new prisoners convicted of 'terrorist' offences in March 1976. As Rees subsequently made clear: 'I wished that I might have gone further and ended it for those already sentenced ... but quite apart from the lack of prison cells, there were legal difficulties. ,39 But for these 'legal difficulties', it seems likely that the Wilson or Callaghan governments would have been confronted by the hunger strike that was to face Thatcher. As it was the so-called on the blanket and dirty protests got underway. With the end of internment, the Diplock no-jury courts came into their own. Under Rees and his successor as Northern Ireland Secretary, Roy Mason (1976-79), this was to amount in practice to a replacement of internment by trial by confession. 40 The policy of police primacy was the work of a security review headed by a senior civil servant from the Home Office, John Bourn, that Rees had set up in January 1976. The working party's report, 'The Way Ahead', was to form the basis for future security policy in the province. It involved a decisive rejection of the counter-insurgency strategy still advocated by the Army, and instead initiated an internal security strategy, one aspect of which was the inevitable embrace of a model of paramilitary policing. This outcome reflected the debate that had already taken place in Britain in the early 1970s, which had ended with the police remaining firmly in control of the policing of public order. 41 The new strategy was only accepted very reluctantly by the Army. The reorganised RUC under the new chief constable from 1976, Kenneth Newman, became increasingly effective and this, together with the Army's increasingly sophisticated use of covert and undercover operations, began to have some success in breaking up the Provisional IRA's organisation, eliminating its cadres, curtailing its level of activity and forcing it into the defensive . According to one sympathetic account, the Provisionals were at this time 'slowing losing the war' .42 Rees's successor, Roy Mason, was soon publicly boasting that victory was around the corner. This optimism was misplaced. Once again it reflected a common mistake in assessing guerrilla movements, namely the ability of those movements with some degree of popular support, that have available a pool of fresh recruits, to recover from setbacks. Far from being defeated the Provisionals reorganised into a cellular structure that was more difficult for the security forces to penetrate and met the policy of criminalisation with a counter-policy of politicisation that was to culminate with the hunger strike and Sinn Fein's electoral successes in the 1980s. 43

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One other point requires consideration: was the internal security strategy more successful in undermining support for the Provisional IRA and increasing support for the security forces? While the Army no longer engages in repression on the scale of the early 1970s, nevertheless, according to a recent study of attitudes in the Div~s Flats in Belfast what 'they have either failed to learn or do not care about is that they have to control the everyday acts of harassment and abuse by individual soliders on the ground that do so much in the long run to alienate public opinion.,44 Another factor contributing to Catholic alienation from the security forces (both Army and RUC) was their continued propensity to kill innocent Catholics with no paramilitary connections. According to Brendan O'Leary and John McGarry, between 1969 and 1989, the security forces killed 136 intended or appropriate targets, but 178 unintended or wrongful targets, overwhelmingly Catholics. As they remark, the killing of 149 Catholic civilians, whether by accident or design, 'helps to explain why the security forces are poorly regarded' by the Catholic working class. 45 This would seem to confirm the unsuitability of the Army for internal security operations, but the methods used by the RUC in implementing the new strategy were also such as to continue the alienation of the Catholic working class from the very body that was supposedly earning their trust and support. A growing body of evidence that the police were extracting confessions from suspects by the use of force, confessions which the Diplock courts were then accepting as evidence, was wilful1y ignored by Roy Mason. This scandal was to eventually bring down Callaghan's Labour government in March 1979. Most accounts suggest that Gerry Fitt's decision to vote against the government on a vote of no confidence was prompted by the various deals it had made with the Unionists, but as he made clear in the Commons at the time, the last straw was, in fact, the Bennett Report. The later 'shoot to kill' furore and the attendant Stalker affair further undermined confidence in the RUC. 46 With the. election of a Conservative government under Margaret Thatcher in May 1979, the Army made a last attempt to overthrow the policy of police primacy. The General Officer Commanding (GOC), Lieutenant-General Sir Timothy Creasey was particularly unhappy about how the policy was working. He was a veteran of counterinsurgency operations in Kenya, South Arabia and between 1972 and 1975 had commanded the Sultan of Oman's army in the little-known but successful Dhofar campaign. Soon after his arrival in the province (November 1977) he had made his views clear: A guest at one reception he attended remembered him talking at

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length about the need to 'stop messing around and take out the terrorists'. Asked how he dealt with the matter in Oman, he said they 'just disappeared'. He was told that this might be all right in Oman, with an endless desert in which to bury the evidence, but that in Hooker Street, where he would have to dig up the tarmac, it would not be so easy. 47 Newman and those RUC officers closest to him apparently joked about Creasey's 'Malayan views,.48 Creasey took advantage of the Provisional IRA's success at Warrenpoint on 27 August 1979, when they ambushed and 'killed 18 soldiers, to urge a change of policy. He tried to persuade Mrs Thatcher to reintroduce internment, to allow hot pursuit across the border and to appoint a Director of Operations to control and coordinate both the Army and the RUC. This would have been a decisive return to a counter-insurgency strategy, but the Prime Minister was not convinced. 49 The only concession Creasey secured was the appointment of the former head of the Secret Intelligence Service (MI6), Sir Maurice Oldfield as Security Coordinator. His most important contribution was to be the abortive 'supergrass' initiative. 50 Soon after Creasey was replaced as GOC by a senior army officer, Lieutenant-General Sir Richard Lawson, who was prepared to work within the framework of policy primacy. Mrs Thatcher's endorsement of police primacy was followed by the disastrous episode that ensured continued Catholic working-class support for the Provisional IRA throughout the 1980s: the hunger strike of May-August 1981. The Provisionals' politicisation policy turned the British government's determination to enforce criminalisation against it. While the Prime Minister's intransigence might well have increased her domestic standing, it inflicted serious damage on the progress that the security forces had made towards the end of the 1970s. 51 The government's stand demonstrated a complete failure to recognise the continued support for the Provisional IRA among a section of the Catholic working class and the need to erode this rather than help consolidate and expand it. The hunger strike with its ten martyrs once again increased support for the Provisionals. In many ways, it seemed like a return to the repression of the early 1970s. Certainly James Prior, who took over as Northern Ireland Secretary in September 1981 realised the damage th~t had been done. In his memoirs, he acknowledges that the hunger strike was 'undoubtedly a boost for the Provisional IRA' and created a 'real danger that Provisional Sinn Fein could yet become the leading Catholic party'. Prior also recognised 'that terrorist atrocities ... could only be finally reduced and brought to an end with the help of

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economic as well as political measures since high unemployment inevitably fostered conditions in which terrorists thrive and recruit'. 52 No British government has, however, been prepared for the level of expenditure which such a policy of social and economic reconstruction would require. During the 1980s the conflict increasingly became a small-scale 'dirty war' with RUC and army under-cover squads relentlessly pursuing the Provisionals. The 'mimetic effect' that Townshend warned of inevitably came into play with the 'shoot-to-kill' furore that followed the fatal shooting of six unarmed men in three separate incidents by RUC undercover squads in November and December 1982. Between December 1983 and February 1985 another ten men were shot dead by British Army Special Air Service (SAS) undercover squads. While it has not been proven that there was a shoot-to-kill policy, there was certainly an officially condoned shoot-to-kill practice! As Mark Urban has convincingly shown, this involved a dramatic change in approach by the security forces. He writes that if one accepted the official line then one would have to conclude that the difference between those years when the SAS invariably succeeded in arresting Provisional IRA members including those carrying arms (1978-83) and those years when they invariably shot them including those not carrying arms (1983-85), was that in the latter years the Provisionals had developed a quite suicidal tendency to make threatening movements and gestures when challenged. 53 Once again the effectiveness of these methods has to be balanced against the extent to which they maintain and increase support for the Provisional IRA. Another aspect of the conflict during both the counter-insurgency and internal security phases that requires discussion is the activities of the Protestant paramilitaries and murder gangs (UDA, UVF, UFF). Their role has been important in two crucial respects. First of all, in preventing a political settlement acceptable to the Catholic minority: the Ulster Workers' Council's overthrow of the power-sharing Executive in May 1974 was the decisive instance but the situation continues today.54 Second, there is the murder campaign that the UVF and UFF have carried out against the Catholic community, a campaign that has been responsible for the death of over 500 Catholics, only a comparative handful of whom were republican activists. There has undoubtedly been some limited security force involvement, both official and unofficial, in this murder campaign. 55 More significant is the fact that the strength of the security forces' response to it has been markedly less than its response to the Provisional insurgency. The reasons for this are quite simple: first the security forces have wanted to avoid a war on two

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fronts, against both the Protestant paramilitaries and the IRA. Second, there is an assumption that the Protestant paramilitaries are merely a reaction to the IRA, so that once the IRA has been defeated they will automatically disappear. This ignores the extent to which the activities of the Protestant paramilitaries legitimise the IRA. Moreover, there is evidence to suggest that these activities are at least as much a response to actual or feared British concessions to the Catholic community as they are to IRA violence. The level of attacks on the Catholic population in recent years seems to bear this out. 56 Either way, the Protestant murder gangs have been left with room to operate which they continue to exploit. The failure to respond effectively to the threat posed by the Protestant paramilitaries has been one of the most serious of the security forces' failures in Northern Ireland. TOWARDS A POLITICAL SETTLEMENT? 1985-1992

Even though Margaret Thatcher endorsed the policy of police primacy when she first took office, her stance over the IRA hunger strike together with her strong support for the Union made a strengthening of security measures seem the most likely development under her administration. In fact, the electoral successes that Sinn Fein achieved in Northern Ireland, successes that seemed for a while to actually threaten the overthrow of the moderate Social Democratic and Labour Party (SDLP) as the representative of the Catholic minority, prevented this. Increasing fears of a growing Provisional threat to security in the Republic also contributed. What emerged instead was the Anglo-Irish Agreement of November 1985, a political initiative that was intended to conciliate Catholic opinion and that was imposed in the face of determined Unionist opposition. Debate on the nature and implications of the Agreement was intense with the Unionists condemning it as a betrayal, as a fatal step towards the surrender of sovereignty and a united Ireland, while the British government insisted that it was largely symbolic and that the wishes of the majority in Northern Ireland would always remain paramount, at least on the question of the border. Whatever interpretation one finds most convincing there is no doubt whatsoever that the Anglo-lrish Agreement has provided the context within which the conflict has developed since 1985. 57 How was such a controversial initiative sold to Margaret Thatcher, prompting as it did the resignation from her government of one of her most trusted supporters and advisers, the late lan Gow MP and brutal condemnation by one of her political heroes, Enoch Powell? On the face of it, the Anglo-Irish Agreement seemed to violate all of her instincts. Once again this is a matter of debate with some commentators

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arguing that it was a typically courageous initiative on her part that swept aside vested interests in a determined attempt to resolve the conflict. Her own subsequent repudiation of the policy in her memoirs58 suggests that those commentators, who saw the Agreement as being less her handiwork than that of officials and ministers (Sir Robert f\rmstrong and Douglas Hurd in particular) who were not particularly committed to the Union, were nearer the mark.59 From this point of view it seems most likely that she was persuaded to back the Agreement on the basis of two assumptions: first that Unionist opposition would be half-hearted and easily overcome and second that there would be substantial security benefits. This latter consideration seems to have been decisive. In her own words: 'The real question now was whether the agreement would result in better security.' While the Agreement certainly played an important part in enabling the SDLP to resist the rise of Sinn Fein, as far as security was concerned the results seemed less favourable. Once again in her own words, the security situation 'in the province ... worsened' after 1985. It soon became clear that 'the wider gains for which I had hoped from greater support by the nationalist minority in Northern Ireland or the Irish Government and people for the fight against terrorism were not going to be forthercoming.,60 Once again we see the same problem that has bedevilled British governments since the start of the conflict. Concessions to the Catholic minority, concessions that Margaret Thatcher herself described as largely symbolic, failed to seriously undermine levels of Catholic working-class support for the IRA but at the same time excited intense hostility from the Protestant majority. While the security forces, most notably the RUC successfully withstood loyalist street protests, Protestant fears of betrayal fuelled an escalating campaign of sectarian murder that only served to strengthen the Provisional IRA's raison d'hre. One crucial factor that continued to undermine British efforts at isolating the IRA were the bad relations that existed between the security forces and the Catholic working class. Of particular concern in this regard were the Diplock courts and the activities of undercover army and RUC units. This point was raised several times by Garret Fitzgerald, the Irish Taoiseach, in his dealings with Margaret Thatcher both when she was in opposition and later when she was in office, but to little effect. His own proposals for joint Anglo-Irish policing of Catholic areas which might well have found favour with the minority would have provoked a Protestant explosion that no British government could contemplate. 61 Nevertheless while the security forces might not have ended the conflict during this period, they did continue successfully to contain the IRA. This was itself a considerable achievement and constituted a

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serious setback for the Provisionals. The Provisionals' expectation was that the increased popular support for their cause that had accrued during the hunger strikes would provide the basis for a renewed offensive that would make the British position in Northern Ireland untenable. The successful importation of substantial quantities (an estimated 30 tons) of weapons and explosive from Libya in 1985-86 would enable them to increase security force, especially army, casualties, to a level that British public opinion would not tolerate. This would put an enforced withdrawal on the agenda. Undoubtedly the smuggling in of the arms was a major intelligence failure by both British and Irish intelligence, but the promised offensive failed. IRA attempts to deploy this weaponry for attacks on the security forces resulted in an unacceptable rate of attrition among their own volunteers. The death of eight IRA men, wearing body armour, in an attack on LoughaU RUC station in May 1987 was the most stark instance of this. While the Provisionals would continue to carry out both 'routine' and 'spectacular' attacks against 'soft' targets in Northern Ireland and in Britain, they completely failed in their efforts to regain the initiative and put the security forces on the defensive. According to Brendan O'Brien's recent account, by the end of 1983 the Provisional leadership recognised that their last hopes for a military victory had failed. 62 While neither side possessed the capability of defeating the other, the conflict continued to generate a low level of violence. The grim sequence of events initiated by the Gibraltar shootings of 6 March 1988 demonstrate its intractable nature. The killing of three unarmed IRA members by the SAS (an example of 'big boys' rules') was inevitably regarded as another instance of the security forces murdering their opponents by the Provisionals' working-class supporters. Then ten days later when the three were being buried at Milltown Cemetery in Belfast, the mourners were attacked by a lone loyalist gunman, who killed three people and wounded another 50. When one of these three latest victims was being buried on the 19th, two undercover soldiers, members of a clandestine Forward Research Unit, were seized by the mourners, handed over to the IRA and promptly killed. 63 What seems clear here is the extent to which the undercover war feeds on itself. If the three IRA volunteers in Gibraltar had been arrested instead of shot, one of them 16 times, then subsequent events that left another five people dead and led to a dramatic increase in tension, would never have taken place. As Ian Kearns has argued, one effect of the undercover war 'has been to undermine the benefits of Ulsterisation, to limit the impact of the Agreement and to provide the Provisional IRA with propaganda victories'. 64 The killing of the two undercover soldiers on 19 March was the last

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straw for Margaret Thatcher. She demanded a full security review which she insisted should consider the ending of police primacy, the reintroduction of internment, the banning of Sinn Fein, the introduction of identity cards, the ending of dual citizenship for citizens of the Irish Republic, the relaxation of yellow card instructions and the banning of terrorist spokesmen and women from the broadcast media. These proposals would have involved a decisive change in British strategy with the ending of the internal security approach and a return to counterinsurgency. They would have meant the end of the Anglo-Irish Agreement and would have made possible a rapprochement with the Unionists. It was not to be. Whatever the Prime Minister's instincts might be, her security advisers recognised that such measures would seriously aggravate the situation, escalate the conflict and far from weakening the Provisional IRA would actually strengthen them. The review's actual recommendations involved a strengthening of police primacy and the policy of criminalisation and only satisfied Margaret Thatcher with regard to the much derided prohibition of Sinn Fein spokesmen and women from the broadcast media. Security strategy remained one of containment rather than the pursuit of an illusory military victory. 65 What of developments since Margaret Thatcher's downfall? In an earlier version of this article (written in June 1994) it was argued that the internal security strategy inaugurated by the introduction of police primacy and later given a political underpinning by the Anglo-Irish Agreement had been continued. Indeed, the December 1993 Downing Street Declaration demonstrated that John Major was prepared to go further down the road of conciliating the Catholic minority than any previous government had been prepared to contemplate. Whether this policy would succeed in bringing Sinn Fein to embrace constitutional politics and abandon the armed struggle was left open. If it did then the expectation was that this would precipitate a split in the IRA with a hardline rump attempting to continue the campaign. Developments have proceeded at a far more rapid pace than seemed possible at the time. Nevertheless they do broadly conform to the logic that, it was argued, was inherent to British strategy. From this point of view it is possible to write, at least provisionally, of a British victory. Certainly, the IRA ceasefire of 31 August 1994 demonstrates recognition by the republican leadership that the struggle cannot be won. 66 The British strategy of making it possible for Sinn Fein to enter the arena of constitutional politics seems to be succeeding and for the moment, at least, the protests of the Protestant intransigents seem ineffectual. Whether this will result in a hardline breakaway from the IRA remains

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(at the time of writing) to be seen, but the history of Irish republicanism suggests that such a development is inevitable. If and when this takes place, the likelihood is that the new organisation wiJI encounter a determined security crackdown on both sides of the border reinforced by the hostility of Sinn Fein and the majority IRA in circumstances where its popular base is too narrow for it to sustain a protracted conflict. The only possible outcome for such a hardline reaction would seem to be defeat. The one reservation that has to be made about such forecasts is, of course, that they all too often turn out to be wrong.

NOTES Thomas Mockaitis, British Counter-Insurgency 1919-1960 (London: Macmillan, 1990), sce also David Charters. 'From Palestine to Northern Ireland: British adaption to low-intensity operations' in idem and Maurice Tugwell, Armies in Low-Intensity Conflict (London: Brassey's, 1989). 2. Sir Robert Thompson, Defeating Communist Insurgency (London: Macmillan 1966). See also his autobiography. Make For The Hills (London: Leo Cooper, 1989). 3. For the Malayan Emergency sce in particular Richard Clutterbuck. Conflict and Violence in Singapore and Malaysia 1945-1983 (Singapore: Graham Brash. 1984); Anthony Short. The Communist Insurrection in Malaya 1948-fJO (London: Muller. 1977); Richard Stubbs. Hearts and Minds in Guerilla Warfare: The Malayan Emergency (Oxford: OUP. 1989); and John Cross. In Gurkha Company (London: Arms and Armour Press, 1986). 4. For Palestine see David Charters, The British Army and Jewish Insurgency in Palestine 1945-47 (London: Macmillan, 1989); for Cyprus sce George Grivas. Memoirs (lpndon: Longmans. 1964); and for Aden see Fred Halliday. Arabia Without Sultans (London: Penguin. 1974). 5. Sunday Times Insight Team. Ulster (London: Penguin. 1972). pp.I60-75: Paddy DevIin, Straight Left (Belfast: B1ackstaff, 1994), pp.126-7. 6. Ibid., pp.214-221. 7. Kevin Kelley, The Longest War (London: Zed Press, 1982). p.147. 8. Michael Dewar, The British Army in Northern Ireland (London: Arms and Armour Press, 1985), pp.39-40. 9. Devlin (note 5), p.134. 10. Ken Bloomfield, Stormont in Crisis (Belfast: Blackstaff, 1994). A senior civil servant throughout the Troubles, B100mfield describes Whitelaw as 'infinitely cunning', p.273. 11. Internment played an important part in the defeat of the IRA's 1956-62 campaign. Altogether some 335 men were to be interned. The man responsible for security during this period was the then Northern Ireland Minister for Home Affairs, Brian Faulkner. In his memoirs, he argues that the 'vital factor in stamping out terrorism' at this time was the introduction of internment on both sides of the border. He also makes clear his commitment to capital punishment. The crucial difference, of course, between 1956-62 and the present campaign is that the former lacked popular support while the latter was launched on the back of a Catholic working-class uprising: Brian Faulkner, Memoirs of a Statesman (London: Weidenfeld, 1978), pp.24-5. 12. Desmond Hamill, Pig in the Middle (London: Methuen. 1985). pp.64-5. 13. Ciaran de Baroid, Ballymurphy and the Irish War (London: Pluto, 1990), pp.74-94;

1.

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14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33. 34. 35.

36. 37.

109

Eamonn McCann, War and an Irish Town (London: Pluto, 1980), pp.91-100; Kelley (note 7), pp. 156-9. John Campbell, Edward Heath (London: Cape, 1993), p.427. According to this account Heath and his senior colleagues 'probably spent more time on Northern Ireland than on any other single subject': p.423. Michael Carver, Out of Step (London: Hutchinson, 1989), p.408. John McGuffin, The Guineapigs (London: Penguin, 1974). Eamonn McCann, Bloody Sunday in Derry (Dingle: Brandon, 1992). Charles Alien, The Savage Wars of Peace (London: Michael Joseph, 1990), pp.253-5; Peter Harclerode, Para! (London: Arms and Armour, 1992), pp.288-92. Dewar (note 8), p.m. Robin Evelegh, Peacekeeping in a Democratic Society (London: Hurst, 1978), pp.54-5. Keith Jeffery, 'Intelligence and Counter-Insurgency Operations: Some Reflections on the British Experience', Intelligence and National Security 211 (Jan. 1987), pp. 118-49. Frank Kitson, Bunch of Fire (London: Faber, 1977), p.261. Carver (note 15), p.429. J. Bowyer Bell, The Irish Troubles (Dublin: Gill and Macmillan, 1993), p.342. Keith Jeffery, 'Security Policy in Northern Ireland: Some Reflections on the Management of Violent Conflict', Terrorism and Political Violence 2/1 (Spring 1990), p.27. Bowyer Bell (note 24), p.404. Evelegh (note 20), pp.29-31. Charles Townshend, Britain's Civil Wars: Counterinsurgency in the Twentieth Century (London: Faber, 1986), pp.32-3. William Baldwin, Mau Mau Manhunt (NY: Dutton 1957); David Charters, 'Special Operations in Counter-Insurgency: The Farran Case, Palestine ]947', RUSI Journal 124/2 (Summer 1979), John Stalker, Stalker (London: Penguin, 1988). Patrick Bishop and Eamonn Mallie, The Provisional IRA (London: Heinemann, 1987). pp.217-18; Paul Wilkinson, 'British Policy on Terrorism: An Assessment' in Juliet Lodge (ed.), The Threat of Terrorism (Brighton: Wheatsheaf. 1988), p.38. Robert White. Provisional Irish Republicans (Westport, CT: Greenwood. 1993). pp.138-9; Brendon O'Brien, The Long War (Dublin: O'Brien Press. 1993). p.l72. Sean MacStiofain, Memoirs of a Revolutionary (London: Cremonesi. 1975), p.72. Roger Faligot, Britain's Military Strategy in Ireland: The Kitson Experiment (London: Zed, 1983). Apparently this book was withdrawn for legal reasons. Paddy Devlin, The Fall of the Northern Ireland Executive (Belfast: Blackstaff, 1975), p.119. Frank Kitson, Low Intensity Operations (London: Faber, 1971). Kitson has since revisited his earlier views in his Warfare as a Whole (London: Faber, 1987). For critiques of Kitson's ideas see in particular Townshend (note 28), pp. 16-17. Philip Schlesinger. 'On the Shape and Scope of Counter-Insurgency Thought' in Gary Littlejohn (ed.), Power and the State (London: Sage, 1978); and Richard Davis, 'Kitson versus Marighela: The Debate over Northern Ireland Terrorism' in Yonah Alexander and Alan O'Day, Ireland's Terrorist Dilemma (London: Croom Helm, 1990). Bob Rowthorn and Naomi Wayne. Northern Ireland: The Political Economy of Conflict (Cambridge: Polity. 1988), p.46. See in particular Tom Baldy. Battle for Ulster (Washington. DC: Nat. Def. Univ. 1987). Here he argues most convincingly that British security policy has not developed 'as an evolutionary step in Britain's counterinsurgency efforts refined in areas such as Malaya. Cyprus, Kenya and Aden'. Indeed, British policy here 'deliberately deemphasizes. and at times even contradicts, classic military counterinsurgency doctrine', p.3. See also Paddy Hillyard. 'The Normalization of Special Powers: From Northern Ireland to Britain' in Phil Scraton (ed.). Law, Order and the Authoritarian

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38.

39. 40. 41. 42. 43. 44. 45. 46.

47. 48. 49. 50. 51.

52.

53.

54. 55. 56. 57.

SMALL WARS AND INSURGENCIES State (Milton Keynes: Open Univ. 1987); Adrian Guelke, 'Policing in Northern Ireland' in Brigid Hadfield (ed.), Northern Ireland: Politics and the Constitution (Buckingham: Open Univ. 1992) and John Brewer et aI., The Police, Public Order and the State (London: MacmiIJan, 1988). Leonard Weinberg and William Lee Eubank, The Rise and Fall of Italian Terrorism (Boulder, CO: Westview, 1987); Robert Meade, Red Brigades (London: Macmillan, 1990); Richard Clutterbuck, Terrorism, Drugs and Crime in Europe after 1992 (London: Routledge, 1990). MerJyn Rees, Northern Ireland: A personal Perspective (London: Methuen 1985), p.277. Steven Greer and Antony White, 'A Return to Trial by Jury' in Anthony Jennings, Justice Under Fire: The Abuse of Civil Liberties in Northern Ireland (London: Pluto, 1988), pp.47-65. Richard Vogler, Reading The Riot Act (Buckingham: Open Univ. 1991). pp.92-3. Kelley (note 7), p.285. Bishop and Mallie (note 30), p.256; Liam Clarke, Broadening the Battlefield (Dublin: Gill and Macmillan. 1987), pp.41-3. Jeffrey Sluka, Hearts and Minds, Water and Fish: Support for the IRA and INLA in a Northern Irish Ghetto (Washington, DC: JAI Press, 1989), p.i72. Brendan O'Leary and John McGarry. The Politics of Antagonism (London: Athlone Press, 1993), p.109. Geoff Bell, Troublesome Business (London: Pluto, 1982), pp.1334; James Callaghan, Time and Change (London: Collins, 1987). p.582; D.G. Boyce. The Irish Question and British Politics (London: Macmillan, 1988); and also my 'Ulster and the Downfall of the Labour Government 1974-1979', Race and Class 33/2 (Oct.-Dec. 1991). Hamill (note 12), p.22!. Christopher Ryder. Hamill (note 12), 251-9. For the supergrass initiative see Steven Greer, 'The Supergrass System in Northern Ireland' in Paul Wilkinson and A.M. Stewart (eds.), Contemporary Research on Terrorism (Aberdeen: Aberdeen UP, 1987). According to Joseph Lee, 'British handling of the whole H-block situation was inept to the point of criminality'. The hunger strikes 'did more to unite the Catholic opinion than any other single event since internment in 1971 or Bloody Sunday in 1972': Joseph Lee, Ireland 1912-1982 (Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1989), p.454. See also Garret Fitzgerald, All In A Life (Dublin: Gill and Macmillan, 1991), pA1O. James Prior, A Balance of Power (London: Hamish Hamilton, 1986), pp.18t, 203. 244. For a viewpoint rejecting any link between deprivation and terrorism see Christopher Hewitt, The Effectiveness of Anti-Terrorist Policies (Lanham MD: UPA, 1986). Mark Urban, Big Boys Rules: The Secret Struggle Against the IRA (London: Faber 1992). p.204. See also for widely contrasting views of the SAS: James Adams, Robin Morgan and Anthony Bambridge, Ambush: The War Between the SAS and the 1RA (London: Pan, 1988) and Raymond Murray, The SAS in Ireland (Cork: Mercier Press, 1990). Robert Fisk, The Point of No Return (London: Deutsch, 1975) and more recently Don Anderson, 14 May Days (Dublin: Gill and Macmillan, 1994). See Fred Holroyd, War Without Honour (Hull: Medium Publishing, 1989); Martin Dillon, Stone Cold (London: Hutchinson, 1992). For contrasting views see Steve BTUce, The Red Hand (Oxford: OUP,l992) and Ned Lebour, 'The Origins of Sectarian Assassination: The Case of Belfast' in A.D. Buckley and D.D. Olson (eds.), International Terrorism (Wayne, NJ: Avery, 1980). For useful discussions of the Anglo-Irish Agreement see Paul Teague, Beyond The Rhetoric (London: Lawrence and Wishart, 1987) and Dermot Keogh and Michael H. Haltzel. Northern Ireland and the Politics of Reconciliation (Cambridge: CUP. 1993).

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59. 60. 61. 62. 63. 64. 65. 66.

111

Margaret Thatcher, The Downing Street Years (London: HarperCollins, 1993). She writes: 'In dealing with Northern Ireland, successive governments have studiously refrained from security policies that might alienate the Irish Government and Irish nationalist opinion in Ulster, in the hope of winning their support against the IRA. The Anglo-Irish Agreement was squarely in this tradition. But I discovered the results of this approach to be disappointing. Our concessions alienated the Unionists without gaining the level of security cooperation we had a right to expect. In the light of this experience it is surely time to consider an alternative approach', p.415. For a discussion of her memoirs see my 'Thatcher, The Downing Street Years and Northern Ireland', Irish Studies Review 7 (Summer 1994). More recently Geoffrey Howe has argued in his memoirs, Conflict of Loyalty (London: Macmillan, 1994), that it 'took a gigantic struggle by many farsighted people to persuade her; but although her head was persuaded, her heart was not', p .427 . Arthur Aughey, Under Siege (London: Hurst, 1989). He argues that Thatcher was misled by and relied too much on 'the advice of those who make a habit of being economical with the truth', pp.nO-ll. Thatcher (note 58), pp.403, 405, 407. Fitzgerald (note 51), pp.473, 506-7. O'Brien (note 31), pp.151-3. Dillon (note 55), pp.211-14. Ian Kearns, 'Policies Towards Northern Ireland' in Stuart Croft (ed.), British Security Policy: The Thatcher Years (London: Macmillan, 1992), p.122. Ibid., p.112; Thatcher (note 58), pp.408-412. For differing republican assessments of the ceasefire see Bill Rolston, 'Ceasefire! The IRA Cashes In Its Chips' and Ruairi 6 Bnidaigh, 'Submitting To The Loyalist Veto', Irish Reporter 16 (1994).

[11] British Counter-Insurgency in Kenya, 1952-56: Extension of Internal Security Policy or Prelude to Decolonisation? DAVID A. PERCOX

Despite considerable post-war planning, the British counter-insurgency campaign in Kenya did not constitute a Colonial Office strategy for decolonisation. COIN in Kenya had one purpose: to re-impose law and order, or British control. If for no other reason, this is demonstrated by the initial reluctance of the Colonial Office to intervene. Frequent re-assessments and postponement of the ending of the State of Emergency, and the subordination of socio-economic and political reforms to military objectives, show clearly that decolonisation was not high on the British list of priorities in Kenya. This article questions the relationship between COIN and decolonisation, and the validity of models of British counter-insurgency.

COIN in Kenya as an aspect of 'British COIN Studies' Recent scholarship has highlighted some of the limitations of earlier works on British counter-insurgency [COIN] and internal security [IS] policy, particularly general syntheses. l While these studies provide fresh assessments of British COIN policy, and bring some of the apparent gaps in earlier works to our attention, they in themselves tend to over-generalise and do not, therefore, go far enough in reassessing the applicability of the 'models' or 'syntheses' of what might be called 'British COIN Studies' to individual cases. Frank Furedi, for example, argues that the Colonial Office 'justified the declaration of its emergencies on the ground that its opponents did not represent the aspirations of genuine nationalism', and that 'the emergencies were essentially pre-emptive, designed to neutralise the radical and plebeian wings of anti-colonial movements' thereby 'splitting the nationalist movement so as to consolidate a moderate alternative with which it could easily collaborate'.2 Further to this: 'Like all of Britain's post-Second World war colonial emergencies, that of Kenya was designed to establish a political framework for the management of nationalist resistance. Counterinsurgency was developed to complement a wider strategy of political decolonization.'3 Moreover, rejecting a contemporary assessment that the Colonial Office had

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failed to keep other Whitehall departments adequately informed of 'developments' in the 'colonial territories' where the British had thereby 'drifted into trouble', Furedi claims that 'Emergencies were as much preplanned attempts at the political management of anti-colonial forces as belated responses to an unexpected challenge to the imperial order.'4 To this he adds: The term emergency is itself confusing. [oo.] It had the advantage of allowing Britain to adopt wide-ranging coercive powers while maintaining the pretence of normal civil rule. Above all, emergencies helped create the impression that the issue at stake was that of law and order rather than a political challenge to colonialism. An emergency was called to restore order - by definition it aimed to curb those who caused disorder. Emergency measures allowed colonial governors to label their opponents as law-breakers. At a stroke anti-colonial activists could be transformed into criminals or terrorists. s The inherent contradiction that states of emergency contributed to the 'pretence of normal civil rule' aside, the extent of the foresight by at least the Colonial Office suggested by Furedi's analysis implies that the British were in fact in control even when they had apparently, if momentarily lost it. This even to the point where states of emergency, thus COIN 'military tactics were always subordinated to political objectives'.6 While the absence of political violence in some of the territories where states of emergency were declared (as in British Guiana, for example) adds credence to Furedi's stimulating interpretations, it is difficult to concede that it was not a factor elsewhere, or was at most a subordinate issue. As I will argue, British concerns in Kenya, as demonstrated by IS planning and the subsequent COIN campaign, were not simply centred on a desire to neutralise 'radical' African nationalism which, it should not be forgotten, is in many respects a euphemism for 'violent opposition' - the other side of the colonial repression coin. Tim Jones has added a further interesting dimension to British COIN Studies in respect of military doctrine. As he puts it: Most British postwar counter-guerrilla wars have been well documented but some important aspects of the process by which new tactics and methods were devised at this time have been ignored. [ ... ] From 1944 onwards there was a significant shift in emphasis from 'traditional' methods like those enshrined in the Army's pre-war Internal Security [IS] doctrine, to the more unorthodox ideas derived from wartime experiences and espoused by 'forward thinkers'; ideas that by 1952 were incorporated into new Army doctrine which

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subsequently became the basis for "modern" counter-guerrilla warfare. 7 Essentially, Jones asserts that prior to 1944 the British Army remained mostly in favour of large-scale operations, such as "'drives" towards "stop lines" ... "sweeps" across an area, or searches within a perimeter "cordon" of men. In addition, large unit "columns" of a company (80-100 men) or more were often deployed against reported "contacts'" . Although the Army did occasionally respond to small units of guerrillas by itself adopting small unit tactics, it 'had not embraced the concept central to accepted "modern" counter-guerrilla practice, namely prolonged small unit area-patrolling and ambushing from bases, utilising any available information ... '8 With reference to 'the impact of wartime experience' and via a 'narrative synthesis' of the postwar British COIN campaigns in Palestine, Greece, and Malaya, Jones shows how, by a process of accretion of the ideas of 'forward thinkers' of various ranks of the military and in the War Office, 'modern counter-guerrilla warfare' doctrine had effectively become enshrined by the end of 1952.9 This new 'doctrine', as encapsulated in the 1952 manual The Conduct of Anti-Terrorist Operations, Malaya [ATOM], incorporated the hitherto 'unorthodox' tactics of 'food denial', 'population resettlement', the use of 'special forces' including 'pseudo-guerrillas', and prolonged 'small-unit patrolling'. It is noteworthy that in spite of this 'standardisation' of COIN doctrine in the ATOM (and its widespread use from 1952 onwards), Jones concedes that 'it would take time for the British Army as a whole to adopt the modern counter-guerrilla war approach'.1O While the ATOM was indeed 'being applied' in Kenya from spring 1953 (the Commander-in-Chief [C-inC), General Sir George Erskine, 'requesting additional copies' in August), closer examination of the COIN campaign raises doubts about how far this was "'almost word for word'" .11 In a review offive studies of British COIN, Richard Popplewell suggests that: Britain's success in fighting counter-insurgency [sic] in the period 1948-68 is in itself open to question, and has frequently been overstressed. Britain's achievements in suppressing insurgency were the result not only of counter-insurgency operations, but also of the major political concessions which the British were prepared to make. Most of Britain's successes occurred in the context of the end of Empire when the British were no longer concerned with maintaining their physical presence but with securing the smooth transition to independence and maintaining close relations with the newly independent states and the former metropolis. Where Britain was

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unable to find a political solution to its problems in Palestine and Northern Ireland, no 'hearts and minds' campaign could end the insurgency. 12 The inference, at least, is that in the period 1948-68, generally speaking, British COIN and decolonisation went hand in hand. Thus (or so it seems) without decolonisation and its concomitant 'major political concessions' Britain might not have enjoyed its albeit questionable COIN successes. Moreover: A further problem arises from emphasis on Britain's success. It ignores the question of why the insurgencies were not prevented or at least nipped in the bud. In all the insurgencies which have hitherto been studied, the British Army became involved in force. But this was always a desperate solution from Britain's point of view. The ideal was to neutralize insurgency rapidly by effective use of police intelligence. This highlights a general problem of work on counterinsurgency, namely it pays little attention to political intelligence .... [I]ntelligence failures occurred ... invariably because the British ran their empire on a shoestring and simply could not afford effective police forces. Yet the cases when intelligence alone was responsible for suppressing insurgencies are wholly absent from all current works on counter-insurgency. 13 Although, in fairness to Popplewell, one might expect studies of policing in a COIN context to take greater account of political intelligence, some defence of British COIN Studies to date is appropriate. Perhaps these shortcomings relate as much to the interchangeability of the terms COIN and IS as they do to a distinction between both and, say, counter-subversion. Is it not fair to say, after all, that COIN only truly begins when IS (or public security) has broken down? Should not a clear distinction be made between maintaining IS, or preventing insurgency (or 'keeping the peace') and conducting COIN operations (or 'restoring law and order')? As for intelligence alone suppressing insurgencies or nipping them in the bud, Popplewell is correct in asserting that more work needs to be done. It is uncertain, however, whether his explanation of the dearth he alludes to is wholly fair: The lack of study of the role of British intelligence in counterinsurgency operations is not primarily because its operations are inevitably covert, while those of the army and police are far more open. The chief reason is that works on counter-insurgency to date have had an insufficient geographical and chronological scope. In short, they have failed adequately to look at British India. 14

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Surely, it is not the 'inevitably covert' nature of intelligence-gathering in itself that precludes its broader and deeper study, but, as Richard Thurlow recently explained, 'the cult of secrecy which has hindered a more rapid release of state papers' .15 Indeed, this author can confirm the result of recent enquiries concerning the release to the Public Record Office [PRO] of documents related to Kenya in Colonial Office Series CO 1035 (Intelligence and Security Department). Due to 'the volume of papers requiring processing' [declassification] the whole series has been allocated 'a low priority'. Also, there is no question of 'privileged access' to records still held by the Foreign and Commonwealth Office before they are released to the PRO. 16 No matter what the geographical and chronological scope, it is fair to say that scholars of at least some British COIN campaigns are indeed 'lacking intelligence', if not by their own designs. Given Popplewell's remarks that the example of India 'further shows that comparative works on British counter-insurgency need to lay more stress on local conditions', and that the works he reviews do not 'substantially' contribute to 'broadening our understanding of British counter-insurgency', could it not be argued that the breadth and complexities of such experience and the comparative genre are in fact incompatible? Surely, only by detailed and sustained study of clearly and narrowly defined areas - with maximum documentation available - can understanding, then comparison begin. The utility of 'models' of British COIN might then be further brought into question. In short, general criticisms of comparative studies or syntheses of British COINIIS policy lead the specialist to ask how far these actually apply to a particular case study, and to what extent are generalisations therefore valid? Given the range of these recent re-interpretations and criticisms, it is necessary to test their validity in relation to COINIIS policy in Kenya. It will then be possible to venture some alternative conclusions. Pre-Emergency IS Policy in Kenya The background to the so-called Mau Mau rebellion predated the declaration of a State of Emergency by many years, if not decades. I7 From almost the outset of the occupation of Kenya in the 1890s, the exclusion by European settlers of many Kikuyu from their homeland, a rich agricultural area that became known as the 'White Highlands', and their concentration in a set-aside reserve, meant that their socio-economic life was, by definition, restricted. This, combined with the imposition of a statesponsored system of native administration, via British-appointed chiefs and headmen, and settler domination of Kenyan politics, also meant that the channels for the expression of any grievance were severely limited, if they

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were not effectively closed.1 8 Those Kikuyu who did not eke out a living in the reserve either sought wage labour in the urban areas or for the most part lived as 'squatters' on European farms in the Highlands, working for so many days per year in exchange for the usufruct of as much land as they could cultivate. Meanwhile, mission-educated young Kikuyu pro topoliticians vied unsuccessfully for their share of state patronage. This fragile situation continued for several years, being alleviated by the contraction of settler agriculture during the 1930s Depression, and by the boom brought about by the Second World War, both of which served as a motor for Kikuyu agriculture. But the economic and political resurgence of the settlers by the end of the 1930s and after the war combined with conservation-driven agricultural reforms and the abuse of office on the part of many in the native authorities to drive an ever-increasing wedge between not only the Europeans and the Africans, but also the Kikuyu haves and have nots. The very nature of the political system in Kenya dictated that the moderate would-be political spokesmen of the Kikuyu would be at best ineffective. As matters became increasingly untenable, with increasing urban and rural unemployment, homelessness, and ever-stringent demands on the squatters by the European farmers, an apparent lack of concern, let alone action by the Kenya Government led to the onset of the militant action which culminated in the so-called Mau Mau revolt. 19 Between the end of the Second World War and 20 October 1952, the Kenya Government had to contend not only with increasing crime and general unrest, but also three civil disturbances which in many ways could be said to have been precursors to Mau Mau. The Murang'a peasants' revolt and Mombasa general strike of 1947, and the Nairobi general strike of May 1950 were the culmination of many of the grievances which, in 1952, began to find violent expression through Mau Mau. Most accounts of the Mau Mau Emergency, including the more recent works, conclude that shortages of police manpower and resources, inadequacies in the Kenya intelligencegathering organisation, the late-term isolationism of Sir Philip Mitchell (the pre-Emergency Governor, 1944-52), and the consequent failure to communicate the full extent of the problem to Whitehall, enabled Mau Mau to reach epidemic proportions, necessitating a State of Emergency.2Q That the first detailed intelligence report on Mau Mau, completed in April 1952, took nearly four months to arrive at Government House is indeed damning.21 The extension of this view is that had the Colonial Office been better informed, and earlier, as might have been possible, 'many security and remedial measures could have been taken earlier', saving many lives and, of course, money and other resources. 22 With the benefit of hindsight it is possible to take this all too seriously.

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SMALL WARS AND INSURGENCIES MAP 1 THE HIGHLANDS OF KENYA: THE MAIN AREA OF OPERATIONS AGAINST THE MAD MAU IN KENYA 1952-56

Source: Blaxland, p.268, see note l74.

That mistakes were made does not mean that steps were not taken to cater for IS. It is unlikely that Corfield would have supported Mitchell in reiterating that Kenya's intelligence organisation was 'as good a system, if not better, than most colonial territories', if that were not true. In fact, a great deal of intelligence on Mau Mau was received.23 The problem was related as much to the dissemination and interpretation of intelligence as to its availability and, as Corfield concedes, Mau Mau was a secret society, bound by an oath.24 It should also be stressed, as will be discussed below, that in the early phase of the Kenya Police counter-subversion campaign, the Mau Mau guerrillas were arguably as much a product of state repression as they were its target. But in spite of the flaws in the pre-Emergency intelligence structure, the business of IS had to continue. It is all well and good looking for the telltale signs of the Mau Mau insurgency which the security apparatus failed to acknowledge or respond to appropriately. It should not be forgotten, however, that things 'on the ground' at the time often look different with hindsight, when other information and perspectives have been gathered.

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Prior to the declaration of a State of Emergency and the arrival of 1st Battalion, Lancashire Fusiliers [1 LF], British forces, as such, were not directly involved in Kenya's internal security. The Kenya Government became aware of the existence of Mau Mau in 1948, when Kikuyu labourers on settler farms began to agitate against their conditions. 25 In early 1950, the Special Branch of the Kenya Police CID first reported the existence of the Mau Mau 'secret society' and its oathing campaign, which was promptly made a criminal offence. Accordingly, there were several arrests for 'administering an unlawful oath'. By the end of 1950 there had been 120 convictions. On 12 August 1950, Mau Mau was proscribed by the Executive Council [Ex Co) of the Kenya Government. 26 It seems that even in spite of a 'flawed intelligence service', efforts were being made to nip Mau Mau in the bud; two years before a State of Emergency was declared and COIN operations, as such, began. Until 20 October 1952, Mau Mau was to remain primarily a problem of law and order. However, military plans existed to deal with civil disturbances well before the State of Emergency was proclaimed. With the wartime threat over, the army's principal duties were to revert to the 'classical role of aid to the Civil Power after the latter has found the Police Force insufficient to maintain law and order' .27 It was stressed that the police were not to be supplanted, but should be co-operated with at all times, in order to facilitate the restoration of law and order. 28 The emphasis was very much on imperial policing. Ironically, following a rehearsal for such an eventuality (Exercise 'Small Slam', 28 September 1949), it was reported that the police 'were not able to participate in the scheme' .29 The 'Internal Security Scheme (NairobilMombasa), made it clear that there were 'five possible causes of unrest'. These were: racial and interracial disputes; economic; religious; subversive influence; and inter-tribal disputes. Among the 'seven possible types of unrest' were included 'intertribal fighting (African), and 'attacks by Africans on Europeans and/or European property' . It is clear that ethnic rivalries existed in isolation of any attempts at their institutionalisation. Educated Africans, disaffected African soldiers returned from the war, and African trades unionists, were identified as among those most likely to cause or lead unrest,J° That such persons would ultimately constitute the leadership of Mau Mau needs no further elucidation. While prompted by the Mombasa general strike of January 1947,31 and designed so that the army 'when called upon to do so' would 'assist the Civil Power in the suppression of civil disturbances in the Nairobi sector', such plans were not solely concerned with the major municipalities. If necessary, the army was to 'deal with civil disturbances' in the African reserves. There was an awareness, then, that civil disturbances, if they were

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to occur, might not be confined to one type of location, nor one sector of the community. The plans catered for all perceived eventualities. Moreover, between 29 January and 4 November 1949, there were nine revisions of the IS scheme, to take account of diminished or increased manpower, and the latest intelligence summaries.32 The plans remained largely intact, right up until the declaration of the State of Emergency, when elements of the King's African Rifles [KAR] and the Kenya Regiment [KR], a locally-based, predominantly European volunteer unit, were deployed in conjunction with the Kenya Police operation 'Jock Scott' during the arrests of the suspected Mau Mau leadership.33 The police force was, by this time, evidently insufficient to maintain law and order. Even given the amendments (or updates), the IS scheme's fairly longstanding nature in itself demonstrates a commitment to upholding law and order in extreme circumstances (viz. preventing insurgency) in Kenya. The existence of a similar, if country-specific, IS scheme for Uganda,34 among others, suggests that the approach to preventing insurgency in the Empire, at . least in East Africa, was very deliberate. This is surely the case, regardless of the accuracy or otherwise of intelligence assessments, or limitations on manpower and other resources. What matters is that there were plans to counter a possible threat to internal security, that these were rehearsed and updated, and were far more coherent than the term ad hoc implies. 35 Moreover, although Britain could be said to have been taken by surprise by the extent of Mau Mau subversion, it is equally fair to say that plans existed for such an eventuality. Whether or not they were sufficient, or implemented on time, is another matter. Irrespective of this, given that IS planning represents a state's attempt to pre-empt, if not prevent insurgency, and that the Kenya Government was clearly 'obsessed with the question of security' ,36 the traditional academic view that the British approach to COIN was ad hoc, certainly does not apply to Kenya. It must be stressed, also, that all that was pre-planned at this stage, at least so far as IS/COIN was concerned, was quelling unrest. Political considerations would have to wait until later. By March 1950, IS planning in Kenya had evolved into an 'Emergency Scheme for Kenya Colony' Y The scheme made provision for the setting up of a Colony Emergency Committee [CEC].38 The purpose was clear: The object of this Committee is to maintain law and order and essential services in Kenya as may become necessary in the event of an emergency. The Committee is additional to the emergency organisations in each Province and in Nairobi and Mombasa. It will function only if a stage is reached where an emergency is more than local and some overall control and direction is necessary throughout the Colony or a great part of it.

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The object of the Emergency Scheme mirrored that of the Committee. Factors underpinning the scheme included the possibility that an emergency 'may originate in one or more provinces or towns simultaneously and may eventually affect neighbouring provinces or territories'. Of equal importance was that 'Military resources' were 'extremely limited'. Under the scheme, the authorities in Nairobi, Mombasa, and each province would set up their 'own emergency organisation' if local circumstances dictated, and 'render situation reports twice daily to reach Colony Emergency Committee Headquarters by 10:00 hrs and 19:00 hrs ' . 'Important developments' were to be reported as they occurred 'by the quickest possible means' . The CEC would 'render bulletins on the general or particular situation daily, or more frequently if necessary, to Provincial Commissioners and to the District Commissioner, Nairobi' . 'Internal Security' was to be 'under the direction of the Commissioner of Police, with the assistance of Headquarters, East Africa Command', which would, if requested, 'supply a Military Liaison Officer to be stationed at Kenya Police Headquarters'. The Commissioner of Police would also submit situation reports twice daily, and so on. 39 So, 18 months before the declaration of the State of Emergency, not only were there military plans for the eventuality that there would be a serious breakdown in law and order, but there was also provision for a co-ordinated command and control structure; and this almost two years before the ATOM. As it was, IS arrangements were soon to be tested. The Nairobi general strike of May 1950 saw armoured cars on the streets of Nairobi for the first time. In some of the African locations (administrative sub-districts) teargas was used - also for the first time - to disperse restless crowds.40 This had been provided for in the IS scheme.41 Significantly, firearms were not used. 42 Order was restored within two weeks, the strike broken. 43 Shortly afterwards, John Rankine, Chief Secretary to the Kenya Administration, wrote to Lieutenant-General Sir Arthur H.B. Dowler, thanking him for 'the considerable assistance ... given during the recent strike in Nairobi. [ ... ] The loan of gas grenades and of jeeps was much appreciated'.44 Ironically, it was the very success of the security forces that pushed Bildad Kaggia and Fred Kubai, the strike organisers, to more militant action, first and foremost of which was infiltration of the moderate African (predominantly Kikuyu) political party, the Kenya African Union [KAU], and a mass oathing campaign, including the rural areas, directed from Nairobi. 45 On 10 August 1950 (two days before Mau Mau was proscribed) the decision was taken to set up an Internal Security Working Committee [ISWC].46 The ISWC's first and only pre-Emergency report to the Governor and leading Kenya officials stated:

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A raison d'hre for the committee then was the consideration of proposals to be submitted by East Africa Command for a combined military/civil study period and exercise dealing with the principles and practice of internal security in Kenya, which was to be held during 1951. This intention was later abandoned by GOC, East Africa Command, and after correspondence between the Kenya Government and East Africa Command, changed terms of reference for the committee were settled in October, as being: (1) To assess the internal security risk in Kenya in the light of present conditions and trends.

(2) To review broadly the scope and nature of existing schemes with a view to assessing generally their adequacy or otherwise to meet the risk. 47 The full committee held four meetings between 21 st November, 1950, and 12th November, 1951, and numerous meetings of sub-committees were held. [ ... ] The proceedings of the committee were considerably delayed by the bulk of secret and top secret material which it was necessary for each member to study in turn, as in many cases it was considered undesirable to duplicate papers; by the absences from East Africa at different times of members of the committee in the course of duty or on leave; ... 48 Heather's remark that the ISWC was mainly concerned with 'the potential for trade union disruptions and other threats related to the urban rather than the rural political environment'49 is not borne out by a reading of the report. In the section of the report headed Land Hunger this is made clear: The land available to certain tribes in Kenya is generally insufficient to support them, as at present utilised, at a reasonable standard of living. [ ... ] Africans turn hungry eyes on the [White] Highlands, and many undoubtedly believe that the simple and natural solution of their problem would be to spill over from the Reserves on to the European Farms. To the Kikuyu, in particular, this simple solution appears to be the more appropriate ... It is probable that the spectacle of the large areas of the Highlands ... compared with the congested picture of many of the Reserves, constitutes, at the moment, the most potent cause of hostility against Europeans. 5o Also, as Corfield reveals: In a comprehensive and able review of the general factors which influenced the political scene at the time, the report covered African

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nationalism, communism, ... detribalism, politicians and agitators, European sympathisers (including the Congress of Peoples Against Imperialism), the Press, comparisons with other countries and Indian influence. 51 Particular factors dealt with by the ISWC Report included religious sects, Mau Mau, trade unions, the KAU, Githunguri (the 'Centre of African dissidence'), and tribal background. What the Corfield Report does not show is that the ISWC also reported on Asian factors. But Corfield's most significant omission concerned the section of the ISWC Report which assessed European factors in the risks to Kenya's internal security. As the ISWC saw it: 'Europeans may affect interrial security in three ways: (a) by acting as an abrasive to the other communities; (b) by propagating well meaning but impracticable or misguided advice to Africans; (c) by unlawful actions against the Government or other communities.' It is clear that taking the broad view as it necessarily had to, the ISWC had more to consider than just one 'secret society' which, by 12 November 1951, had apparently done little more than encourage a "'go slow" policy' and 'minor acts of sabotage on farms'. Given the debate into the exact nature of the so-called Mau Mau Revolt (see below), it is worth examining some further extracts from the ISWC Report, in order to clarify how far it went in isolating the IS risks which were later to be embodied in what became known as Mau Mau. In a covering letter to the report, Whyatt emphasised that 'the major problem in Kenya and East Africa generally is social and agrarian and not nationalistic'. Significantly, he stressed: Moreover, we are at present at a stage when improvement in social conditions and such land reform as is practicable could bring about a marked betterment in the attitude to Government and it is for that reason that we can regard such improvement and reform as major security measures. 52 Under the various headings relating to African factors, the report notes: 'an increasing intolerance of interference in the conduct of their affairs by Europeans' ; 'great disparities of wealth between the African peasants on the one hand, and the European and Asian planters and traders on the other'; "'corner boys" ... [who] have little to lose by the disruption of the society they exist in, and provide a permanent nucleus of thieves and malcontents in all the larger towns and in the African land units which have contact with them'; that these issues 'furnish the politicians and agitators with potent

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medicine'; 'a small vernacular press, mainly Kikuyu, which is deliberately and mischievously disparaging of Government and of Europeans'; that Mau Mau 'remains a possible instrument for mischief in the hands of agitators, though one of which the potentialities appear to be waning'; and that 'it remains a fact that the main focus of discontent is at present amongst the Kikuyu'.53 Given the apparent deficiencies in Kenya's intelligence organisation, and that 'much of the intelligence available emanated from the Administration' ,54 the report was not that wide of the mark. 55 What is most important is that the Kenya Government was acutely aware of Kikuyu grievances and the potential threat to IS that they posed; if not the full extent of that threat. As for 'existing security arrangements', the ISWC concluded that they were 'generally adequate to meet the scale of risk which can immediately be foreseen, and that the real issues of policy are rather those preceding the violent state; they are those of ensuring that the elements which lead to violence and the means of achieving any serious disorder are . denied'. It was stressed, however, that the IS schemes 'should, of course, be reviewed from time to time' .56 The ISWC's recommendations included: 'the restriction of local agitators who overstep the mark'; 'appropriate control over publications whether local or imported'; and 'the strengthening of existing legislation relating to arms and explosives' .57 It also recommended distribution of documents relating to the Singapore Riots Inquiry to East Africa Command and the Kenya Police, so that lessons could be leamed. 58 By the time that the ISWC Report was submitted, 'the strengthening of the legislation relating to arms and explosives' was already 'in train', as were arrangements to obtain copies of the Singapore Riots Inquiry Report. The Governor had even prepared a request for a Royal Commission on land use. Unfortunately, because of changes in personnel the ISWC did not meet at the next sixmonth interval, in May 1952, as intended, so the review of IS did not occur. (The State of Emergency was declared a month before the next meeting was due).59 It was ironic that the 'rule of law' prevented the 'restriction of local agitators who overstep the mark'. Intimidation and murder of witnesses by Mau Mau meant that even if a witness had given a statement to the police, leading to an arrest, it was virtually impossible to obtain testimony in court. 60 In spite of all this, in May 1952, the Kenya Police began to conduct a concerted campaign against Mau Mau in the Rift Valley in which 150 Kikuyu squatters were detained, and 10 Kikuyu were arrested. New powers were enacted 'which gave the district commissioners of Kiambu, Fort Hall, Meru, Nyeri, Nanyuki, Nakuru, Naivasha and Laikipia "the equivalent of Supreme Court powers of punishment for certain offences which are

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commonly committed by members of the Mau Mau Society'" .61 In July, a 'Special Bureau' of Special Branch was set up in Nairobi to 'combat' Mau Mau. It 'collected and collated all Mau Mau information and organised action against Mau Mau' Y The following month, it was assigned the task of accumulating evidence against suspected Mau Mau leaders, in preparation for a future arrest sweep.63 It was at about this time that the plans for what would become Operation 'Jock Scott' began to take shape.64 It was also during August that Henry Potter, the newly-arrived Chief Secretary and acting Governor, received two settler delegations demanding that the Administration take emergency powers to deal with Mau Mau. 65 It is significant that the settlers (who, it should be reiterated, were considered by the ISWC to be as much, if not more of a threat to IS than Mau Mau) had, from early 1952 onwards, consistently pressed for 'firm action' .66 Although Potter refused to agree to the settlers' demands, he was concerned enough by the apparent gravity of the situation to inform the Colonial Office of an 'imminent revolution' .67 But, because Mitchell had frequently understated matters, Potter's warnings were dismissed by Whitehall as alarmist. 68 'Jock Scott', the State of Emergency, and the 'revolution' would have to wait until 20 October. Nevertheless, by September 1952,412 people were already in prison for membership of Mau Mau. 69 A further 'mass campaign of arrests' initiated by the police in September led to 547 Kikuyu being placed in 'preventive detention' in the first week. 70 It is significant that such measures were taken prior to the declaration of a State of Emergency.71 It could be asked why an emergency was declared at all? The Countdown to the Emergency In September 1952 the Kenya Government decided that the Legislative Council [LegCo] should convene in order to 'consider special measures designed to check unrest'. These measures included legislation which would deny defence counsel the right to cross-examine prosecution witnesses, introduce corporal punishment for forcibly administering an oath, and give the Kenya Government 'complete control of all printing by presses'.72 The Permanent Under-Secretary of State for Colonial Affairs, Sir Thomas Lloyd's opinion of this was that repressive legislation alone might not be the answer ... fresh and positive measures to remove or alleviate underlying causes of discontent might well be necessary. [ ... ] If the press is to be controlled, then I would prefer it to be done by an Ordinance rather than an Emergency Regulation, a prerequisite of which would be the proclaiming of an emergency for which there is at present no

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justification. [ ... ] I have received ... a note about Malayan practice in some of these matters. It is there suggested that it might be preferable for an emergency to be declared in Kenya thus enabling the making of Emergency Regulations on all these matters. We are, I hope, a long way off anything like a real emergency in Kenya and to declare one would, in my view, merely be to create unnecessary alann. 73

Not everyone shared Lloyd's view. The Prime Minister, Sir Winston Churchill, having read press reports criticising Sir Evelyn Baring's delayed departure to take over the governorship of Kenya, pressed the Secretary of State for the Colonies, Oliver Lyttelton: 'In view of the somewhat alarming tales I have been told about native unrest there, and the Mau-Mau Organisation there, I presume your attention has been directed to the question of his taking up his duties sooner than planned. Let me know about it. '74 In his reply Lyttelton explained that it was Colonial Office policy for there to be an interregnum between governors, allowing the acting Governor time to prove himself, and in order to avoid paying for two governors at the same time. 75 He continued: 'It would have been possible to arrange for an overlap between Sir Evelyn Baring and his predecessor had this seemed necessary and although I do not take a very alarmist view of the situation in Kenya I had been considering whether to ask Sir Evelyn Baring to go out earlier.'76 Three days later, Lyttelton wrote to the Prime Minister explaining that it would be a mistake to send Baring to Kenya before 28 September and completion of the draft legislation 'to strengthen their hands in maintaining law and order', and the announcement of the appointment of the Royal Commission. 77 So far as British military intervention was concerned, Lyttelton, in an oral statement to the Cabinet on 5 October, made it clear that in his view 'the problem in Kenya, at present, is entirely a police and a social· and administrative problem, not a military one'.78 He later wrote to the Minister of Defence: 'I share your view that the military forces already available in East Africa [eight battalions KAR] are adequate to provide any support required by the Kenya Government in preserving Law and Order. I therefore agree that it is unnecessary to bring troops from Egypt for this purpose.'79 Given these views, it was, perhaps, fortunate that troops attached to Middle East Land Forces [MELF], of which East Africa Command was a subordinate HQ, were available, if necessary, to intervene elsewhere in the Empire. That the force existed, however, cannot be attributed to fortune, but caution. Baring did not arrive in Kenya with the intention of proclaiming a State of Emergency. At the beginning of his tour of the reserves he left

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instructions for Jomo Kenyatta, the nominal head of the KAU, to be invited to meet him for talks.80 He abandoned the idea following the assassination of the 'loyalist' Kikuyu, Senior Chief Waruhiu, 'which represented an important blow against the colonial regime' and 'provided the pretext for a new offensive' .81 Immediately, Baring extended the police curfew to the entire Kikuyu Reserve. 82 On 9 October, he contacted Lytteiton, and explained the necessity for a proclamation of a State of Emergency. Kenya was 'facing a planned revolutionary movement', which, if left unchecked, would give rise to 'an administrative breakdown, followed by bloodshed amounting to civil war' .83 The Colonial Office advised the Governor that although the Secretary of State 'was absent at the time of despatch, would wish to consult his colleagues and there might be a delay before his decision would be communicated, ... planning should proceed' .84 Given the delay in Lyttelton's response to Baring, the earlier reluctance in the Colonial Office, as well as in the Kenya Government to declare a State of Emergency, and Baring's initial opinion that 'the emergency was unlikely to last more than a few weeks' ,85 Furedi's assertion that emergencies 'were as much pre-planned attempts at the political management of anti-colonial forces as belated responses to an unexpected challenge to the imperial order' is, in this case, questionable. 86 So too is his suggestion that Emergencies allowed Britain to maintain 'the pretence of normal civil rule' .87 This is especially so if Furedi's earlier remark, that the response to Mau Mau was 'poorly thought-out and panicky' is taken into account. 88 What is clear is that although all the mechanisms, both administrative and military, already existed for the declaration of an Emergency, by the time that Baring informed the Colonial Office of its necessity there was no time for considerations other than suppressing violent opposition to colonial rule and, it should not be forgotten, a nascent civil war. On the same day as he requested permission to proclaim a State of Emergency, Baring convened a meeting of senior administrative, military, and police officers, to assess the likely risks to IS which might arise from the arrests, and 'to consider the forces necessary to deal with such a situation' .89 It was agreed that three companies of KAR should be requested from Uganda to bring the military up to sufficient strength, as well as a British battalion to compensate for shortages in police manpower. At a subsequent meeting of 10 October, attended by Potter and Whyatt, the name 'Jock Scott' was given to the forthcoming operation. 90 Emergency Committees were also set up along the lines laid out in the Colony Emergency Scheme. On 15 October the adequacy of the Colony Emergency Scheme was assessed in the light of the expected 'widespread Kikuyu disturbances and strikes arising from the arrest of their leaders' .91

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Baring did not wait for permission to make military preparations for the Emergency. As a secret telegram from GHQ, MELF to the War Office makes clear: 'Have been informed by Force Nairobi that [the] Kenya Government is planning action against subversive elements in [the] Colony which may result in disorders. Cannibal Force is at 48 hrs notice to move to East Africa.'92 Even by this time, the British authorities were reluctant to intervene. In reply to GHQ, MELF a War Office telegram stated that: 'CANNmAL Force should not repeat not be despatched without [the] specific authority of [the] War Office. Colonial Office are signalling [the] Governor to [the] effect that he should make maximum use of KAR before calling upon CANNmAL Force. '93 By 14 October, Baring had persuaded Lyttelton that a State of Emergency was 'drastic but necessary to prevent deterioration' of the situation in Kenya. 94 Lyttelton also agreed that given that those arrested for 'connection with subversive activities' would include 'certain respected public figures', Operation 'Jock Scott' might give rise to widespread Kikuyu violence, necessitating the pre-emptive despatch of a British battalion from the Middle East. 95 Baring and Lieutenant-General Sir Alexander Cameron, GOC East Africa, considered a British battalion to be necessary on two grounds. At best, the psychological effect of the arrival of British troops might prevent 'riots and bloodshed'. At worst, there would be a 'general uprising' of the whole Kikuyu tribe 'half a million strong', making it a military 'necessity for adequate reserves [to be] in hand before [the] date set for [the] local operation'. It was also considered to be 'only a question of time before unauthorised European retaliation' began, as a result of the 'wanton' Mau Mau attacks. 96 A second battalion was already 'being ear marked and prepared' in case reinforcements should be required. 97 Having been renamed the more politically expedient 'Sterling Force', lLF began to arrive in Kenya on the evening of 20 October, in conjunction with Baring's signing of the proclamation of the State of Emergency.98 Between 20 and 21 October, the Kenya Police, backed up by the military, arrested 89 ofthe 139 suspects targeted under Operation 'Jock Scott' .99 This was about as late in the day as a pre-emptive strike could get.

COIN Operations Begin? The first five months of the State of Emergency did not herald the beginning of COIN operations as such, nor a guerrilla war. The Kenya Government had acted sufficiently quickly that any hopes the Mau Mau leadership may have had for organising a widespread campaign were severely curtailed. The mistake made by Mau Mau adherents, regardless of whether or not it was sanctioned by the leadership, was that if a full-scale rebellion was being

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planned, early, if isolated acts of violence before sufficient strength and arms had been built up, could only serve to draw unwelcome and correspondingly early attention to the movement, certainly in terms of fullscale repression. Significantly, the early Emergency period was marked by a continuing emphasis on the restoration and maintenance of law and order. On the day of the declaration of the State of Emergency, Lyttelton made an announcement in the House of Commons. He explained that the situation in Kenya had 'become progressively worse', that troops had been deployed 'as a reserve', and that 'all action now being taken is by the Police'. He added 'I am leaving for Kenya next week, not to discuss the present measures which ... have my full support, but to see for myself what is happening and to consider, with the Governor, plans for the future development of the Colony.' 100 Mau Mau was still apparently 'a police and a social and administrative problem'. However, the arrests of the Mau Mau leadership were not enough to restore law and order, and did not curtail Mau Mau activities. Although the widespread civil unrest that had been expected did not occur, on the day after Lyttelton's speech, Senior Chief Nderi, another Kikuyu, was murdered while trying to stop a pro-Mau Mau meeting in Nyeri.IOI Six other Kikuyu were murdered on the same day, and on 27 October, Mau Mau killed the first European since the Emergency had been proclaimed. 102 The day after Lyttelton's arrival in Kenya on 28 October, Baring outlined the Kenya Government's plans to combat Mau Mau.I03 So far as COIN was concerned, the aims were to obtain evidence with which to prosecute the 'Class A' prisoners among those initially arrested in Operation 'Jock Scott', to re-establish Government authority in Kikuyuland, and 'digging out the Mau Mau roots which lay in the KISA schools'. 104 The police force was to be expanded in the reserves, and it was also proposed that a form of Home Guard be established among the Kikuyu, so that they could combat Mau Mau themselves. IOS Baring thought that if '20 or so leaders could be put out of the way for a long time, Mau Mau would die, but it was vain to hope for quick success'. Mau Mau was still active, 'oathtaking ceremonies were being held and an unknown number of young Kikuyu had taken to the hills and forests'. Baring therefore revised his initial estimate of the duration of the State of Emergency, which he now thought 'must continue until the end of the year'. Lyttelton agreed, but said that it would be politically difficult to 'hold the position after three months or so if no detainees were brought to court in the meanwhile [sic]'. Far from having the 'breathing space' of an Emergency in Kenya to enable the 'political management of anti-colonial forces', Lyttelton was more concerned that it should be over quickly, in order that he could avoid the embarrassment of Opposition questions in Westminster. 106

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On 11 November, Baring increased the powers of local officials in 11 Kikuyu areas to punish Mau Mau supporters, or anyone who failed to 'make a "reasonable effort" to help the Security Forces' .107 Resident Magistrates were given Supreme Court powers, while many sentences for crimes associated with Mau Mau were increased. New regulations were introduced, enabling the authorities to confiscate cattle and other possessions, to introduce communal fines, and to forcibly remove resident labourers from settled areas and send them back to the reserves. \08 The police and the military had already begun 'extensive sweeps' of the Kikuyu Reserve, a result of which was that by 12 November around 2,000 suspects had been arrested, while 3,775 cattle, and 6,095 sheep and goats had been seized in a 'punitive action' for non-eo-operation with investigations into Nderi's murder.l09 On 14 November, Baring announced that KISA and the Kikuyu Karinga Education Association [KKEA] 'had been dissolved on the ground that they were "societies dangerous to the good government of the Colony'" .110 Towards the end of November, in response to the murder of another European, Meiklejohn, a further 2,200 Kikuyu men, women, and children, along with their livestock and household possessions, were removed from their homes in the Thomson's Falls area, and placed in detention behind barbed wire. 1ll In December, a special 'punitive' tax (also designed to help pay for the Emergency), and compulsory registration were imposed upon the Kikuyu. 112 Again, such measures could hardly be called pre-emptive, their very reactionary nature serving to demonstrate just how little control the colonial authorities in fact had. There were, however, protests about the repressive nature of Kenya Government measures from two unlikely quarters; both based upon the experience of Malaya. On 28 October, Griffith-Jones, Kenya's SolicitorGeneral, argued against collective fines, saying that the 'hearts and minds' approach, used in Malaya to win support for the government, was equally, if not more appropriate in Kenya, where the 'shooting war' aspect of the Emergency was much less pronounced. 113 Even Lyttelton wrote to Baring expressing doubts about the likely effectiveness of communal punishment, which in Malaya had caused resentment amongst the innocent people who had been affected, contrary to the government's desire to encourage local support and the voluntary provision of intelligence information. 114 Lyttelton was also concerned by Opposition criticism of the Kenya Government's proposals and his involvement in the process which, along with other matters, in December 1952, led to 'an Opposition motion censuring his handling of African affairs'; an unprecedented situation in Parliament's history. Nevertheless, Baring's measures were for the most part adopted, reflecting not only the large degree of freedom the Colonial Office gave to its governors, m but the overriding desire in Whitehall to see a rapid

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conclusion of the Emergency. It is clear that the 'lessons of Malaya' concerning the counter-productive nature of blanket repression had yet to be fully taken heed of in Kenya, reflecting more on the panic in the light of the earlier failure to nip the insurgency in the bud than any pre-planned attempt at political control of the situation. But what of 'plans for the future development of the colony'? As early as 28 October, in spite of official insistence that Mau Mau had no economic causes, Baring had announced development plans for Kenya; what he called his 'second prong' in the campaign. 116 Indeed, the State of Emergency, while enabling Britain to adopt wide-ranging coercive powers, also facilitated the implementation of reforms which, if undertaken earlier, might well have averted the crisis preceding the Emergency.ll7 There would be nearly £7 million expenditure on development and reconstruction. This would include road-building and water projects, the construction of schools, community centres, village halls, hospitals, urban housing, and a new airport for Nairobi. In addition it was possible that an oil refinery would be constructed at Mombasa, while 'the Government was ... carrying on negotiations about the granting of oil exploration licences "over a considerable area of the Colony"'. Perhaps most important, there was to be £328,000 for a programme to 'continue general agricultural betterment' .118 With every carrot, however, there is frequently a stick. In spite of Baring's retrospective remark that 'we thought ... if you have a policy in which you are repressing a terrorist movement, you must try and do something that will try and make life tolerable when the thing's over' ,119 the intention at the time was that the Emergency should end before development plans could be undertaken. Baring made it clear that the development plans 'could not be carried out "in an atmosphere of unrest and anxiety"; and said that it was hoped to carry out the ... development schemes in the next 12 months'Yo Of course, Baring hoped that the Emergency would be well over by then. By proposing the introduction of agricultural reforms it was hoped not only to win the 'hearts and minds' of the Kikuyu, but to provide an incentive to prevent other African ethnic groups from participating in Mau Mau. Although analysis of agricultural reform is outside the objectives of the current study, it should be noted that it was not until August 1953 that Vasey, Kenya's Finance Minister, was sent to London to negotiate the funding for the programme.121 By that time there were three British battalions stationed in Kenya, along with HQ 39 Infantry Brigade, in addition to the 5,000-strong East African and Kenyan military contingent, about 12,000 police, and several thousand voluntary Kikuyu Guards. 122 It should also be noted that the £5 million eventually granted for agricultural reform was designated for the whole of Kenya (although Baring restricted it to Kikuyuland), was a one-off payment, and amounted to less than ten per

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cent of Emergency expenditure.123 The plan itself was not published until February 1954.124 Moreover, the Colonial Office fIrmly rejected Vasey's additional request for a grant to expand African education. 125 Educated Africans had already proved to be far too much of a problem. Surely, if such reforms represented a facet of the 'managed' gradual relinquishment of political power, as Furedi and others would contend, the money would have been better spent sooner, as Whyatt had suggested in 1951. 126 After all, money and lives might then have been saved. But of course, that would have represented a victory for Mau Mau; and could never have been allowed to happen. Britain had already suffered far too many successful challenges to colonial rule. That the Emergency provided the pretext for sodo-economic and political reforms is in itself telling. It can never be known how much money and political effort would have been spent on reforms in Kenya if there had been no Mau Mau. Given the emphasis laid by the Colonial Office and the Kenya Government upon restoring order, namely defeating Mau Mau, and the cost of the military and policing aspects of the Emergency, as opposed to ameliorative measures, it is clear that defeating Mau Mau was not just a priority, but an end in itself. The so-called 'phoney war' phase of the Emergency lasted from 20 October 1952 until the end of March 1953.127 Between 20 October and 15 November, the Mau Mau revolt, as such, had allegedly accounted for the murders of seven Africans and a European settler. 128 In response to these sporadic killings the security forces had arrested 8,500 suspected Mau Mau supporters (most of whom subsequently remained in detention), and had 'screened' a further 31,450. 129 In addition, Kikuyu squatters had to contend with being expelled en masse from settlers' farms, as well as '[b]eatings, forced confessions and summary executions' at the hands of some settlers.130 Far from intervening on behalf of the Kikuyu, the Kenya Government was more concerned that such incidents should be 'hushed Up'.13I It was ironic that this disproportionate reaction did not so much counter insurgency as provide the impetus for groups of young Kikuyu to assemble in the forests of the Aberdares and Mount Kenya, and to form loose bands of guerrilla fIghters.l32 Many Kikuyu who had not originally supported Mau Mau felt angrily compelled to join, in response, it should be stressed, to the security forces' and the settlers' repressive measures: 'If one were treated as Mau Mau by police, it looks as if it seemed prudent to become one.' I33 Many others subsequently joined the movement because they believed, ironically, that if Kenyatta was indeed the leader, as the Kenya Government argued, then Mau Mau was probably not such a bad thing after a11. 134 Given that the Emergency itself pushed many Kikuyu to participate actively in a form of armed struggle, some points beg further consideration. 135 First, the gangs of forest fIghters had few and tenuous links

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with the pre-Emergency Mau Mau leadership. 136 Many did not even consider themselves to be actively involved in the so-called Mau Mau uprising, nor, for that matter, did they consider themselves to be members of Mau Mau. Indeed, 'Mau Mau' was the name imposed upon the movement by the colonial authorities. l37 Given that even the origins of the term 'Mau Mau' are unclear,138 it is noteworthy that the forest fighters actually called their movement ithaka na wiathi ('land and moral responsibility', or 'freedom through land'). 139 Furthermore, at one stage, there were up to eight so-called Mau Mau armies operating from the Aberdares alone, with members of geographically-diverse origins. 140 In the Government's eagerness to suppress Mau Mau - dare one say pre-empt an insurgency - by arresting oath-takers and administrators, and punishing thousands of Kikuyu for the crimes of a few, it actually accelerated the onset of the armed conflict which it sought to avoid. (Hereafter, for the sake of simplicity, the term 'Mau Mau' will be retained.) Neither the Kenya Government, nor the security forces were aware of the extent of the inadvertent mobilisation of Mau Mau forces. In his first appreciation of the situation, dated 5 November 1952, General Sir Alexander Cameron reported that most of the young [Kikuyu] men have disappeared from their villages. There have been stories of them assembling in force in the forest areas of the Aberdares and Mount Kenya, but there is little evidence to substantiate this and it seems more probable that they are lying up in the woods and valleys within the reserve. Cameron also aired a less politically-refined view concerning what he termed the 'passive attitude of the Kikuyu': If they had assembled in force and been disorderly in only one place we could have hit them and it is probable that the effect would have spread all over the reserve and brought them to order. As it is we have not yet had an opportunity to use the Governments [sic] strength and to demonstrate that the Government is much more to be feared than MauMau. As it turned out, the very concentration of Mau Mau guerrillas in the forests, in albeit scattered pockets, served Cameron's purposes. Military policy was to 'support with force' the 'loyal' Kikuyu, and to regain the confidence of those who had been compelled to support Mau Mau. It was hoped that this would enable the security forces to obtain the evidence necessary to convict the arrested Mau Mau leadership, and 'those others whom we hope to unearth' .141 Cameron also realised that Mau Mau was 'far more deep-seated' than was previously known, and according to 'the Government experts' , the

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movement would take 'at least nine months to eradicate'. General Sir Brian Robertson, C-in-C MELF, commenting to the War Office on Cameron's appreciation, went as far as to suggest that he 'should not be surprised if it took longer' .142 Far from being concerned with military operations against Mau Mau guerrillas who, in fairness to the security forces, had not yet made their presence felt, the priorities were to obtain the convictions of the detained Mau Mau leadership, and to discourage further action in support of, or by Mau Mau. 143 In the apparent absence of an insurgent army to fight, the emphasis was to remain on IS, rather than COIN: So far as troops are concerned I visualise retaining them in strength in the reserve so long as the emergency regulations are in force. Thereafter I visualise that there may be a further period when we leave something in the reserve but we do a good deal of thinning out. I do not, however, mean I shall keep everything I have now employed so long as the emergency is on. I must very soon withdraw units which have other commitments such as 5 KAR for Malaya and I think it will be quite possible to do this. Robertson agreed with Cameron, the consensus being that the police, once expanded, should be able to deal with matters from January 1953 onwards, when, it was hoped, the Emergency would be at an end; 'sufficient backing' being provided by the remaining elements of the KAR. In spite of this, both Baring and Cameron recognised that, if necessary, the State of Emergency might have to be extended, and that lLF would have to remain. Although reluctantly, Lyttelton was prepared to accept this.l44 By the end of November 1952, apparently to 'save numbers of innocent persons being caught up in the net' ,145 'large-scale sweeps by troops and police' were abandoned 'save in exceptional circumstances', and would be confined to the areas where 'disturbances' had occurred, as in Thomson's Falls, following the Meiklejohn murder. 146 The contradiction of targeting those Kikuyu who failed to take 'reasonable steps to prevent crime committed in their locality', when this could only be, and was measured after the event, is obvious. 147As already noted, even localised sweeps, which also involved the innocent, were to prove counter-productive. At the time, however, avoiding the alienation of the innocent took second place to putting down 'as ruthlessly as is necessary, and no more ruthlessly than is necessary, crimes against law and order'.148 On 15 December it became official policy to evict Kikuyu from areas where alleged Mau Mau crimes had occurred. 149 The policy of punitive sweeps and mass evictions of Kikuyu from Mau Mau crime areas continued unabated into 1953. By the end of February 1953, 58,864 'Africans' had been screened. Although 39,000 were

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subsequently released, 2,249 were held on remand while 17,613 were sent for tria1. 150 From November 1952 to April 1953, between 70,000 and 100,000 Kikuyu were either forcibly evicted, or departed voluntarily from the Rift Valley and Central Provinces, mostly ending up in the already overcrowded Kikuyu Reserve. 151 The evictions only added to the desperation of many young Kikuyu males who, with few prospects in the reserve, began to drift to the relative security of the forests in early 1953. 152 Kenya would soon have its guerrilla war. Command and Control, October 1952-June 1953 From the outset of the Emergency, Attorney-General Whyatt was put in charge of co-ordinating security forces' measures against Mau Mau, reflecting the emphasis on the restoration of law and order. Information was collated, and decisions made by a 'Sitrep' (Situation Report) Committee, chaired by the Governor, and attended by Whyatt and other leading officials 'closely concerned with the campaign' .153 Given that provision was made for a Colony Emergency Committee as early as March 1950, it is difficult to concede that this measure was ad hoc, as has been suggested. 154 The effectiveness of the Sitrep Committee is another matter. There is some confusion concerning its exact nature and purpose; and unfortunately not much information on either. The Sitrep Committee, as envisaged in 1950, was set up to collate information for use in IS operations. Given the lack of any substantive evidence, it cannot be said with any certainty that it did not fulfil this function. The few available references to the committee suggest that its deficiencies lay in its having 'no official status', that it was not 'part of any overall chain of command and it lacked a staff to ensure that its decisions were carried out in the field'; thus, it was 'not of sufficient authority or efficiency to fight a campaign' .155 As shown above, it cannot be said that the early measures against Mau Mau were all that half-hearted. Indeed, it could be argued that until many Kikuyu were pushed into active participation in Mau Mau by the very nature of IS measures, which in turn had added to the unfavourable intelligence situation, there was no campaign to fight. Moreover, given that in the early stages of the Emergency the army acted either in support of the under-manned police, or was widely scattered on defensive duties, it is difficult to conceive of a strategy other than that adopted at the time. 156 It seems that the purported inadequacies of the Sitrep Committee were a substitute for the more fundamental failings, of which Baring was painfully aware. Although Whyatt had supplanted the Police Commissioner as nominal head of IS measures, it is noteworthy, as Hinde conceded in June 1953, that

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'the responsibility for making policy rested with H.E. [the Governor]'.157 No sooner had Baring arrived in Kenya than he began to press the Colonial Office for an expert adviser on intelligence-gathering, to review the situation. Accordingly, Sir Percy Sillitoe, Director-General of MI5, was dispatched to Kenya in late November 1952, and submitted a report to the Governor on 25 November, recommending a thorough restructuring of the intelligence organisation. 158 It would be quite some time before the recommendations could be implemented, let alone show results. 159 In the meantime, Baring hoped to make other improvements. A month after he had proclaimed the State of Emergency, Baring became anxious that it should be brought to a rapid close in order to save the lives of Kikuyu who supported the Government. l60 On 24 November 1952, he requested the appointment of a Director of Operations, in the rank of at least Major-General, similar to that which existed in Malaya. 161 Although both Robertson and Cameron supported Baring's request, the Chiefs of the Imperial General Staff, endorsed by Lyttelton, refused, claiming that the problem in Kenya was not 'parallel' to that in Malaya. As Heather suggests, this 'was not surprising given the 22,000 combat troops committed to Malaya at the time'. Baring would have to be contented with the appointment, at the end of December, of Colonel G. A. Rimbault as 'Personal Staff Officer to the Governor', and as his military adviser. 162 Rimbault had no real authority, lacked seniority and staff, and consequently found it difficult to undertake his principal task of co-ordinating the operations of the security forces. 163 He was not helped, either, by the relative autonomy of the District Administration and the police. l64 Ironically, therefore, COIN policy in Kenya was hindered by the necessarily broader policy perceptions of Whitehall, and the fact that Mau Mau was still perceived as a police problem rather than a military one. Quite how the War Office hoped to prevent the situation from deteriorating into a protracted conflict like that in Malaya is unclear. By the end of 1952, the Kenya Police had found the bodies of 121 'loyal' Africans, including some who had given evidence against suspected Mau Mau members.165 Mau Mau had also murdered three European settlers and one Asian woman. 166 Following a frustrated Baring's appeal direct to Churchill, and the intervention of General Robertson, Lyttelton finally approved the appointment of Major-General W. R. N. Hinde as 'Chief Staff Officer to His Excellency the Governor' on 16 January 1953. By then, two more settlers had been killed. Baring announced Hinde's appointment on 26 January, the same day as 1,500 settlers marched on Government House to protest against the inadequacy of Government counter-measures, following the murders of a further three Europeans two days earlier. 167 The Kenya Government had not been complacent, however. By the time

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Hinde took up his appointment on 1 February 1953,168 Whyatt had been made to relinquish his responsibility for the conduct of the campaign to Potter. New powers had been given to magistrates to commit Mau Mau suspects to the High Court without a preliminary hearing. Also, Provincial and District Security Committees, 'based on the Malayan model' (and envisaged by the Colony Emergency Scheme), had begun to be established in the areas affected by the Emergency, in order that Sitrep Committee instructions could be carried out in the field, and to enable more coordinated local action to take place. 169 Moreover, the security forces had started offensive sweeps of the forest fringes of the Aberdares adjacent to the Kikuyu Reserve, as early as 6 January 1953.170 Hinde was to find himself frustrated in much the same way as Rimbault had been. With no executive authority, he was not in a position to take overall command of the campaign, in spite of his rank. During his first month in Kenya, he prepared an appreciation of the situation, and plan of campaign. By 5 March 1953, when Hinde submitted his appreciation and plan to Baring, 8 Europeans and 106 Africans had been murdered since the Emergency had been declared. For Hinde, the emphasis was to remain on policing, with the military in support, and the policies of food denial and protection of the settled areas were to be rigorously adhered to. He also recommended 'social measures for the betterment of the inhabitants' to go 'hand in hand with military and police measures for the restoration of law and order'. 'We must heed the example of MALAYA [sic] and ensure that repressive measures do NOT result in an unbridgable gap of bitterness between us and the KIKUYU'. There should equally be a substantial scheme of rewards to encourage active participation against Mau Mau, and the provision of information. As well as substantive measures, Hinde proposed 'powerful propaganda', in order to counter any negative 'rumours' or propaganda about the Government and the campaign from any of several sources, and to raise morale generally 'without resorting to false optimism'. If re-absorption of the Kikuyu displaced by eviction and so on into the reserve was impracticable, their 'uncontrolled movement' should be 'reduced to manageable proportions' by increasing the number of 'reception areas and camps' . Although, as Heather has noted, Hinde did not stress that more troops should be sent to Kenya, he was aware of a shortage of police manpower, that the security forces were 'not yet built up to their full strength', and that the army should be released from static defensive duties for offensive operations in the forests as soon as was practicable: 'Time is not on our side.' He hoped this could be done within two weeks. Mau Mau, if left unchecked, would develop and spread. Almost certainly demonstrating a reading of ATOM, Hinde also stressed the importance of the army

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developing the 'bush patrol technique', and that patrols of no more than 15 men should be sufficient for offensive actions in the forests. The problem with the technique at that stage was not so much the size of patrols, as Heather intimates, but the number of patrols that could be deployed given the available men and the size of the area in which they would have to operate. Also, while Hinde did not request military aircraft himself, he did make it clear that although he thought it unnecessary at the time, if offensive action by air should be required 'the soundest plan will be to ask for an RAF squadron'. As Heather concedes, any underestimation of the situation on Hinde's part was due to the inadequacies of the co-ordination of intelligence and command structures - both of which he was aware, and aimed to improve. Significantly, Hinde was also aware that the financial 'shoe' was 'beginning to pinch'.171 More troops would cost more money: Hinde had good reason not to be inclined towards cheque-book counter-insurgency, not only because of financial constraints in Kenya (exacerbated by the Emergency), but, as will be shown below, because not all perceptions in Whitehall at the time were conducive to the retrospectively obvious measure of sending more troops to fight Mau Mau. Perhaps most important, in considering Hinde's apparently lacklustre approach, is to reiterate that overall executive authority rested with Baring, the nominal C-in-C. The problem this presented is apparent from GHQ MELF's response to the letter Hinde sent with his appreciation and plan: I was disappointed to see that H.E. [Baring] has only commented verbally that he is in general agreement with ... [the plan]. What, of course, is wanted is for him to say with which parts he does not agree and, having amended it accordingly, he should give it his formal approval. It would then become his policy and the KENYA [sic] Government plan to which all would work. 172 It would take the intervention of General Sir John Harding, the Chief of the Imperial General Staff [eIGS], to increase the number of troops deployed in Kenya. Having visited the colony in February 1953, Harding reported that: 'More forces are required immediately to give confidence in the ability and determination of the Government to bring the emergency to an early and successful conclusion, and to fill the gaps while the police forces are being developed and expanded.' 173 He recommended the dispatch of two additional battalions and a further brigade headquarters to cater for the wide dispersal of troops. Although Hinde's appreciation of 5 March gave no indication of this, it should be noted that one writer claims that it was actually Hinde who persuaded Harding 'of the need for two battalions' .174 Harding also recommended that Hinde should be given

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executive authority over the 'small emergency committee' that Baring had recommended be established to direct the campaign. 175 Harding, like Hinde, was concerned that unless measures were taken quickly, the 'disease' would spread. He did not want to see 'a growing and costly commitment, as happened in Malaya'. 176 The Treasury, however, in what was and continued to be a familiar pattern, began to express concern, not so much that Kenya should develop into 'another Malaya' , but that the two Emergencies should not receive comparable commitment from the British Government. As one Treasury minute put it: The Treasury do not consider that the United Kingdom Defence Budget should bear the cost, as it does for the Malayan operations, because the operations in Kenya are quite different from the campaign in Malaya (which is in essence one facet of the world-wide anticommunist struggle). [00'] Moreover, the Mau Mau troubles are an internal security problem and quite unlike the Communist rebellion in Malaya. m Harding's opinion that sending reinforcements and 'a few aircraft' to Kenya would bring the Emergency to a close ' within a few months' won the day. The 39 Infantry Brigade, comprising two British battalions, had been in England since October 1952 'to rebuild the strategic reserve'.178 It was dispatched to Kenya in April 1953, arriving shortly after four Harvard aircraft from Rhodesia, which were to be used for strafing and bombing Mau Mau hideouts in the forests.179 Bombing would enable the security forces to strike where the Mau Mau had previously considered themselves to be invulnerable. As if to confirm fears in both London and Nairobi, and to pre-empt the arrival of 39 Brigade, Mau Mau carried out its first major offensive on the night of 26 March 1953. While more than 300 men, divided into smaller groups, hacked and burnt to death 97 men, women, and children, and wounded 29, in the Lari area of Kiambu District, a Mau Mau gang of about 80 attacked a police station in Naivasha, killing two African policemen and a Kenya Police Reserve [KPR] officer, released 173 prisoners, and raided the armoury.l80 The Mau Mau forest fighters had, in what was to prove a rare large-scale offensive action, at long last demonstrated their credentials as a guerrilla force to be reckoned with. . The panic instilled by the Lari massacre and the raid at Naivasha led to a reappraisal of the operational command structure. On 11 April, in a bid to step up the campaign against Mau Mau, Hinde's appointment was changed to that of Director of Operations. 18l This enabled him to issue directives, such as Emergency Directive No.2 ('Chain of Command and Control') on 15 April, whereby the triumvirate (civil-military-police) committee

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structure 'was developed and strengthened at all levels'.182 So far as operations against Mau Mau were concerned, Hinde still had to act 'within the policy prescribed by H.E. [Baring]',183 and in spite of his new appointment, only exercised command over military forces. In the first week of May, following a period of forest warfare training, companies of 1st Battalion, Devonshire Regiment [1 Devon], and 1st Battalion, Royal East Kent Regiment [1 Buffs], began to patrol the forests. 184 On 11 May the 'Devons' made their first Mau Mau 'kill' ,185 but there was little more success that month. At the end of May, troops began to patrol at full company strength (about 80 men); traditions die hard. 186 It was not until 2 June that the security forces achieved a major success against Mau Mau guerrillas, when the army engaged a gang of roughly 100, killing 33 and capturing 16. By the end of June, over 100 Mau Mau guerrillas had been killed. 187 That Hinde did not launch his first co-ordinated large-scale Operation 'Epsom' against Mau Mau in the forests until the start of June, perhaps justified the widespread dissatisfaction with his conduct of the campaign. 188 It also reflected the difficulty of having no overall control of the security forces. As it was, in spite of the 'new organisation', in April 1953 Michael Blundell, an influential settler politician, began to write to Harding to express his dissatisfaction with 'the way in which matters are proceeding out here' .189 Harding took Blundell's advice, and requested a report on the progress of the campaign from General Cameron. At the end of April, Cameron wrote of Hinde: I am disappointed because he doesn't seem to be interested in operations, and has not taken control of them. [ . . ] To sum up, HINDE [sic] is not supplying operational leadership and he is not fruitful of ideas. I find him conventional and slow. He is however valuable as a co-ordinator of the various civil problems related to operations. l90 It is difficult not to get the impression that Cameron, as GOC, and ultimately responsible for the military aspects of the campaign, found in Hinde a convenient scapegoat. Little did he realise that he had helped, effectively, to secure his own demotion as well as Hinde's. Harding had also asked for a report from the new C-in-C MELF, General Sir Cameron Nicholson, who was due to visit Kenya between 11 and 16 May. Nicholson confirmed Blundell's and Cameron's views, and suggested that Hinde 'be replaced with the minimum of delay' .191He also stressed that the replacement should not be 'just another Major-General', but that the status of Director of Operations should be increased. For Nicholson, the situation demanded a 'military governor', reflecting not only his and Cameron's dissatisfaction with Baring as well as with Hinde, but an

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appreciation of the problems presented by fragmentation at the apex of the command structure,l92 Lyttelton had also visited Kenya in May, and accepted the need for a 'first eleven' General, 'someone to dominate operations' . 193 In a move to rectify the situation, on 29 May the War Office announced that East Africa Command was to be established in its own right, and would be directly responsible to the Secretary of State for War. Lieutenant-General Sir George Erskine was to take cornmand. 194 Kenya had already received extra troops, and was to receive a military commander with IS experience. Perhaps now the campaign against Mau Mau would be brought to an early and successful conclusion?

A New Broom: Erskine Takes Command Erskine's appointment as Commander-in-Chief marked the beginning of the gradual upgrading of the Kenya COIN campaign. On his appointment, Erskine asked for overall command of both the security forces and the civil administration. Although it had been recognised in Whitehall that the situation in Kenya was serious enough to warrant the separation of East Africa Command from GHQ MELF, it was still not considered to be on a par with Malaya, and Erskine's request was refused. 195 With less than seven per cent of the geographical area of Kenya affected by Mau Mau, this was consistent with the decision not to declare martial law. 196 Erskine was, however, empowered to declare martial law 'if at any time he thought it was necessary'.197 He arrived in Kenya on 7 June 1953, and, as Baring had done, immediately began a tour of the countryside,198 quickly deciding that martial law was in fact unnecessary, and that he and Baring could 'do the job together' .199 So far as operational command was concerned, it was significant that Erskine's position was clarified by a directive, signed by both Lyttelton and Anthony Head, the Secretary of State for War, stating that the new C-in-C would assume control over 'all Colonial, Auxiliary, Police and Security Forces' .200 Although Erskine was to remain 'in support of the civil power', the significant departures from the earlier situation were his operational command of the police, and the removal of any ambiguity surrounding the military and political conduct of the campaign. 201 With his authority confirmed, Erskine was free to fulfil the role of Director of Operations, a position which had been denied to his nominal predecessor, Hinde. It was not Erskine in himself, therefore, who would make a difference to the campaign, as has been suggested,z°2 but clarification of the C-in-C's powers. It is notable, as illustrated above, that offensive incursions against Mau Mau in the forests had begun as early as January 1953. Indeed, Hinde had stepped up operations as soon as 1 Devon and 1 Buffs had completed forest

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warfare training. He had also initiated a cordon sanitaire, in the form of a one-mile strip surrounding the Aberdare Forest, to heighten security and prevent thefts of crops and livestock by Mau Mau. 203 A month after the deployment of the additional British battalions had shown few results, he had begun full-scale co-ordinated operations. It is unfair to suggest, therefore, that there had been no offensive action against Mau Mau before Erskine's arrival, as has at least one scholar of the Emergency.204 Indeed, it could be argued that had Hinde been given the authority afforded to Erskine, the campaign against Mau Mau might well have proceeded in a similar manner. Erskine would also benefit, as a direct result of his official status, from his decision to retain Hinde as Deputy Director of Operations [DDO], responsible for the operational co-ordination of the administration, army and police via a new body, the DDO Committee. Erskine also retained Cameron as Deputy C-in-C, responsible for the other territories in East Africa Command. 205 Erskine's first impressions of the situation in Kenya went no further than to confirm Hinde's appraisal of 5 March, that the army was 'committed in a protection role and we lack a striking force which can be used offensively' . The difference, which, it should be stressed, was a function of the increase in the status of the Director of Operations, was that Erskine had the authority to propose the creation of such a force. He would redeploy approximately one brigade (less one battalion) 'and use it offensively in a number of planned operations' , in spite of the risk of reducing the defensive capacity of some of the settled areas. He aimed to make plans for the next four months 'with [the] object of hunting [the Mau Mau] gangs and establishing more firmly [the] police and Home Guard'. In order to ensure 'the high pressure of operations', Erskine requested that 5 KAR (due to depart for Malaya) remain in Kenya for six months.206 Thus, with three British and six KAR battalions at his disposal, in addition to the East African Independent Armoured Car Squadron [EAAC] , 156 Heavy AntiAircraft Battery [HAA] of East African Artillery [EAA], and the Kenya Regiment/07 the C-in-C was in a position to 'step up the tempo of offensive operations' .208 Within days of submitting his first impressions to Harding, Erskine forwarded an outline of his planned deployment of forces. 209 Of course, this was exactly what the War Office had hoped for. Erskine immediately set about applying 'special treatment' to the areas worst affected by Mau Mau. While 70 Brigade (comprising the KAR battalions) was left to 'hold the ring' in the Kikuyu Reserve and settled areas, one of three striking forces (39 Infantry Brigade and the Kenya Regiment), with a second striking force (the RAF) in support, was deployed in the forest areas around Fort Hall District (Operation 'Buttercup', 23 June-8 July), which Erskine considered

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'were almost MAU MAU republics' .ZIO At first, the signs were encouraging. On 7 July, Erskine tentatively reported: The general result with FORT HALL District is far greater control by the Civil Administration, police and Home Guard. It is difficult to judge how deep and lasting the effect will be. Much depends on the efficiency of the police and the Home Guard. The police are rather green and the Home Guard vary a great deal from place to place, but are improving. I have insisted that the police should take over after the Army has been operating in strength in a District. This will be timed as a gradual movement to pull the Army out of police duties and concentrate them first by . . . [companies] . . . and later by ... [battalions] ... "in support" of the police. Ihope to achieve this in the FORT HALL District over a period of the next three weeks. zlI For the remainder of July and August, Erskine planned to deploy 39 Brigade in Nyeri District, to the north of Fort Hall, and then in the Aberdare Forest area adjacent to both districts. Throughout July, the army would also provide about 500 men in support of the police during 'search' operations 'to make use of information available and break up organisation and support for Mau Mau which may be generated in Nairobi' .ZIZ Reminiscent of preATOM IS doctrine, Mobile Column 'A' (the EAAC Squadron and elements of 156 HAA), the third striking force, would be deployed in the Meru-Embu District (Operation 'Grouse', 10-15 July), to prevent the spread of Mau Mau to those areas, and subsequently in Rift Valley Province (Operation 'Plover', 18 July-7 August).213 Erskine was guardedly optimistic: I am planning to have the military operations finished by or during October. This would be the end of active military operations in which I am taking the initiative with the Army. The next phase would be Civil Consolidation [sic] in which I shall try to make the police take the initiative while the Army stands back a bit. This is a plan rather than a promise. zl4 Erskine was aware, as was Baring, that if Mau Mau was to be defeated, not only would the police have to be expanded and improved, but money should be made available to finance the projects which the Governor had 'evolved for improving the lot of the African'.215 Both had already considered a '''surrender policy" based on that of Malaya', but had decided to postpone the plan until terms could be offered from a position of strength. 216 Military victory was evidently far from a subordinate consideration. Erskine soon had to agree with Baring that to hope to end 'active military operations' by the end of October was 'a shade on the optimistic

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side'.217 Operation 'Buttercup' had demonstrated to Erskine the difficulty of engaging Mau Mau guerrillas in the forests: The large gangs do not show themselves because I think they realise they would be cracked on the head if they did so. We are by no means certain what has happened to these gangs. We have pushed into the forest to find them, but we have only found the places where they have been in the past. 218 Towards the end of July, he realised that 'Mau Mau units are determined, well organised, well protected and in hideouts deep in the forest and difficult to reach' and their 'supporters in the reserves are numerous'.219 With 'the greater part of five battalions' committed to a policing role, Erskine had to concede that until the 'static' police force was brought up to strength, and a 'striking force of mobile police' was deployed in each district, 'I shall not get disentangled from police support duties and I shall not be able to use my full strength at the gangs in the forest.' Due to the 'considerable time lag' before recruitment and training of the new elements of the police were likely to be completed, Erskine was forced to alter his assessment of the operational situation: 'To sum up therefore there will be a steady improvement up to the end of September and then no change until the end of the year when there should be a marked improvement. '220 During July 1953, an acute decline in the numbers of Mau Mau guerrillas engaged, thus killed or captured in operations, gave Erskine cause for concern. The decline was a result of the wide dispersal of troops, and the guerrillas' increasing familiarity with security forces' tactics. Without enough police to secure the areas that had received 'military attention', the problems were compounded by the army's ongoing commitment to 'protective duties'. This role was crucial to maintain civilian morale, which was seen as 'the key to intelligence and resistance to terrorism', and could not be taken lightly.221 There was only one answer: the military commander's traditional request in the face of adversity - more troops. For Erskine, yet another brigade HQ, and two further battalions 'could make all the difference'.222 Both the Colonial Office and Harding agreed that Erskine 'must have the means to maintain the offensive against the gangs'.223 Not only were extra troops essential, but Harding argued that a further brigade HQ would be necessary if the reinforcements were to be used to the maximum effect: All my own experience of operations in Malaya, confirmed by General Templer since, plus my knowledge of conditions in Kenya gained during my visit there last spring, have convinced me that it is at the brigade level that the vital co-ordination of military, police and

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civil effort must be carried out. [ ... J It was not until we had set up a brigade headquarters in each of the main states in Malaya that we got effective co-ordination and co-operation at that level. Perhaps most important, Harding was convinced that if a third brigade HQ was not sent to Kenya 'the successful conclusion of the campaign against the Mau Mau will be delayed' .224 This was crucial, given the broader policy concerns of the War Office: This, as you know, will more than ever stretch the limited resources of the Army and is a commitment which we shall look forward to getting rid of at the earliest opportunity. Nevertheless, provided ministerial approval is forthcoming I am certain that it is the right course of action and that we should send the extra forces . At the same time you are, I think, aware that we are now in the process of reducing the Army from 435,000 to 400,000.225 With the arrival of 49 (Independent) Infantry Brigade on 22 September 1953, Erskine had the equivalent of 12 battalions at his disposal. By the end of October, each of the three brigades would be deployed in what were termed 'brigade areas'. For the remainder of 1953, 39 Brigade conducted operations in the eastern Aberdares, and Fort Hall, South Nyeri and Thika districts; 49 Brigade operated in the western Aberdares and Rift Valley Province; and 70 Brigade in the Mount Kenya area, Embu, Meru and Nanyuki districts.226 These areas effectively became theatres of war. Both forest regions had been declared prohibited areas, so each brigade area encompassed its own combat zone. Clearly drawing on the ATOM, Erskine had already instituted a policy of cutting tracks of a depth of an average of six miles into the forests. By mounting operations from bases established at the 'head' of each track, it was hoped that the army would maximise the element of surprise. With additional troops the policy was stepped up, necessitating the request, in September, for assistance from the Royal Engineers. They arrived in November, and began in earnest in late December.227 In August, Erskine had clearly been confident that his request for additional troops would be granted, and that the operational situation would improve accordingly. That the security forces, in Erskine's opinion, would soon be operating from a position of strength, was demonstrated by his decision to issue a general proclamation calling on all gangs to surrender. While this was ostensibly intended to demonstrate the Kenya Government's leniency, it goes without saying that mass surrenders by Mau Mau guerrillas would have made the job of counter-insurgency that much easier, and cheaper. The surrender offer was made on 24 August, but by the end of

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September only 66 'terrorists' had surrendered. Erskine was surprised at the 'determination of Mau Mau to continue the struggle in spite of their heavy casualties and the pressure we have brought to bear' .228 It was evident that more pressure was required. Thus, in addition to the forces on the ground, Erskine decided that heavy bombers were required for use in conjunction with operations in the prohibited areas. 229 By the end of 1953, 'real progress had been made in containing terrorism' .230 But, as had often been the case, the very success of offensive action against Mau Mau, brought its own problems. Principal among these was 'NAIROBI itself': The trouble with NAIROBI is that a great many "displaced" KIKUYU who were turned out of the RIff VALLEY or who have deserted from the forest have found their way into NAIROBI. There is no livelihood for them in the Reserve and so the problem is social and economic as well as police. 231 Militarily, the problem was particularly serious: There is evidence that for some time the central direction of Mau Mau came from the City [sic], and though this is probably no longer the case, Nairobi remains an important source of funds, firearms, supplies and recruits for the gangs. As a result, although petty crime is (because of greater police activity) less than for many years, there has been a serious increase of armed robberies and political assassinations, the suppression of which present a problem quite different to that facing the security forces elsewhere. The situation is aggravated by the influx of many thousands of Kikuyu whose removal is essential and re-settlement is being studied. 232 With about 45,000 adult Kikuyu males living in Nairobi, this was no small problem. The situation in Nairobi was also compounded by the Mau Mau forest fighters' classic guerrilla tactic of avoiding as far as possible engaging the security forces directly.233 Erskine was forced to concede: 'I cannot yet see clearly the last stages of this business.'234 Operations in Nairobi between October 1953 and January 1954, had only temporarily disrupted Mau Mau. Within weeks of the arrests of various leading members of the organisation, others moved in to replace them. Daylight attacks by Mau Mau in Nairobi became increasingly frequent. 235 By the end of January 1954, Erskine had worked out the solution to the problem. Throughout February and March 1954, the security forces were to continue to 'bring maximum pressure to bear' on the Mau Mau guerrillas in the forest areas and the Kikuyu, Embu and Meru Reserves. He stressed that by 1 April 'every possible effort must be made to enable the Home Guard

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and Police to hold the Reserve ... with the minimum of military assistance'. This was crucial, given that what was to turn out to be the pivotal operation of the campaign, the 'clean up' of Nairobi (Operation 'Anvil') between April and May 1954, would require four battalions, with a further battalion deployed in support of the police in the Rift Valley and neighbouring settled areas. Erskine recommended the detention of all adult male Kikuyu in Nairobi. Acknowledging that Operation 'Anvil' and subsequent operations in the settled areas would create a large number of detainees, he explained that 'we will want a detention camp of capacity of nothing less than 100,000'. While 'clear and hold' tactics were, of course, in evidence by this time, probably reflecting the circulation of the ATOM, it is significant that what was to prove to be the decisive operation of the COIN campaign mirrored the more traditional tactic of 'cordon and search', albeit unsuccessfully deployed earlier in Palestine. Operation 'Anvil' and subsequent operations in the reserve would prove to be pivotal, but not just in terms of their direct effect on Mau Mau recruitment and supply-lines. For Erskine, the very 'complicated, drastic, and large scale' nature of the operations he recommended necessitated the institutionalisation of 'a clear and simple system of command capable of providing quick decisions'. He recommended the establishment of a 'small "Emergency Cabinet" of not more than four or five members to give overall direction to the anti-MAU MAU effort' .236 Towards the end of February 1954, Harding accompanied Lyttelton during another visit to Kenya. m Erskine had been perplexed by the apparent indecision concerning the future conduct of the campaign, but in consultation with Baring, Harding, and Lyttelton, was able to press for the adoption of his proposals for alteration of the command structure. Lyttelton abolished the Colony Emergency Committee, and replaced it with the War Council, which would comprise the C-in-C, the Governor, the Deputy Governor, and Blundell as the 'unofficial' European representative. 238 Significantly, there were no African members. The War Council, as Erskine had envisaged, would thereafter provide central direction of the campaign, and immediately give guidance to the joint staff tasked in early February to plan Operation 'Anvil'.239 Its creation also enabled the DDO Committee to be dissolved. That body, in spite of Erskine's later praise, had been a constant irritant to the C-in-C, given its tendency to attempt to make policy decisions for which it had no authority.240 New regulations were introduced to enable the collective arrest of all adult male Kikuyu in Nairobi. But the difficulty of providing suitable accommodation for such a large number of detainees by the time of Operation 'Anvil', and the likely harm to the economy of arresting innocent employees and traders along with the guilty, meant that a selective rather

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than wholesale 'pick-up' policy had to be adopted. 241 Erskine's recommendation that 'vagrants and undesirables' (not necessarily Mau Mau supporters) be required to live in 'specially-constructed villages in the vicinity of Kikuyu Guard posts', was also rejected in favour of selective detention. The Provincial Administration and Kikuyu Guard were illequipped to deal with the security risk that mass repatriation to the reserves and the concentration of 'malcontents' into villages would represent,242 The plans for Operation 'Anvil' also suffered a setback due to the abortive mass surrender negotiations which had been initiated subsequent to the capture of the Mau Mau 'General', Waruhiu Itote, on 15 January 1954 (Operation 'Wedgwood'). Erskine could not spare troops for 'Anvil' until they had completed the process of receiving the surrender of a possible 2,000 insurgents. 243 Following the collapse of the negotiations in the second week of April, Erskine immediately launched Operation 'Overdraft' which, capitalising upon the intelligence gained during Operation 'Wedgwood', resulted in the capture of about 1,000 Mau Mau supporters in the reserves. With the security of the reserves sufficiently ensured, Erskine could release troops for Operation 'Anvil', which began at dawn on 24 April 1954.244 Within three days, approximately 10,000 adult males had been detained, while almost 4,000 dependent women and children were 'returned to [the] reserves' .245 By 9 May 1954, when 'the main Anvil operations' were completed, around 19,000 adult males had been detained in three 'screening camps', and over 6,000 of their dependants had been 'repatriated' .246 Ironically, the early success of 'Anvil' in terms of the number of detainees meant that Erskine had to 'slacken the intensity of operations because the available reception and detention camps were full' .247 However, while many of those detained were suspected of 'passive' support for Mau Mau, the police did identify 206 'active terrorists' among them. Among these were Mau Mau members crucial to the insurgency, including 'two oath administrators, four "intelligence" officers, nine treasurers, one courier, 20 cash collectors, nine "other officials" and 129 sentries, guards and gunmen'.248 Mau Mau would not recover from Operation 'Anvil', which marked the beginning of the end of the COIN campaign. (Winning) 'Hearts and Minds'

The planning and execution of Operation 'Anvil' were not only significant in terms of the immediate effect on Mau Mau recruitment and organisational capacity, and the longer-term impact of the formation of the War Council. Many of Erskine's proposals for 'Anvil' and the outcome of the operation were to prove important to the arguably non-military aspects of the COIN campaign. They are particularly significant when considering

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measures taken to 'improve the lot of the African' and the broader debate over decolonisation. 249 The expression 'winning hearts and minds' was in many ways a euphemism. What mattered most was winning - not 'hearts and minds'. In August 1953, when the Colonial Office granted £5 million for agricultural reform, and at the same time rejected the Kenya Government's request for money for the expansion of African education, Lyttelton clarified exactly what the intention of reform was. It was important to 'win the people over' by securing their protection and introducing development schemes, in order to avoid a protracted struggle like that in Malaya. 25D Unlike the public pronouncements of October 1952, there was no mention of development for its own sake, nor of improving conditions for the African per se. This ambiguity again reflected the anxiety in Whitehall that the Emergency should be brought to a rapid conclusion. But reform pressed ahead, the characteristic carrot and stick approach being explained by Erskine: Because other tribes are closely watching to see if the Kikuyu will derive any benefits from Mau Mau ... schemes so far put forward by the Committee on African Advancement have been confined to tribes other than the Kikuyu. [ ... ] Stress in propaganda is laid on the progress achieved by Africans in the untroubled areas of Kenya.251 While Mau Mau remained undefeated it was important, at least so far as the army was concerned, that the 'hearts and minds' aspects of the COIN campaign remained subordinate to military tactics. For the army, the significance of the 'Development Plan' for the 'non-Kikuyu' was that it was only intended to be 'short-term' .252 Moreover, Erskine made it clear that 'Administrative measures' were important to provide 'Incentives to Other Tribes'.253 The 'stick' for the Kikuyu would include measures such as the confiscation of the land of Mau Mau supporters, villagisation, the prohibition of 'all movement out of villages except that of communal labour parties', replacement of 'all Kikuyu in employment outside [the] reserves', and suspension of Kikuyu political activity. The other tribes, in exchange for their non-participation in Mau Mau, would enjoy the 'carrot' in the fonn of 'entry into Kikuyu held jobs', a small increase in wages, 'better living standards for chiefs and headmen', the promise of development funds from the UK, and the 'cheap sale of confiscated Kikuyu cattle' .254 It is notable that the immediate benefits to the 'other tribes' would be provided at the expense of the Kikuyu. More significant, however, is that Erskine's 'recommendations of a political nature' were 'designed to obtain short term results favourable to the military operations' .255 In assessing the relative importance of military victory compared to

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reform in the perceptions of the Kenya Government and Whitehall, it is significant that the draft estimates of the cost of Operation 'Anvil' (nonrecurrent and recurrent for one year), not including the costs of transportation of the detainees, nor the actual military costs of the operation, amounted to £1,580,250. 256 Of course, 'Anvil' actually ended up costing more.257 Conversely, a project to develop African housing in urban areas received a loan of £2 million.258 To put this in perspective, by July 1954 'Emergency expenditure' was running at about £1 million a month. Approximately a third of this was 'for military forces and operations', the rest covered the 'cost of closer administration, the increase in the police forces, the cost of detention and rehabilitation camps, and emergency public works' . Moreover, the figure was expected to be 25 per cent higher for the remainder of 1954. 259 While Erskine's proposals did not herald the introduction of political reform (the arguable precursor to decolonisation), they certainly helped, if they did not directly bring about the granting of the first government ministry to an African in Kenya. In late 1953, Baring suggested to Lyttelton that a means of increasing trust and improving relations between the peoples of Kenya would be to allow them to share 'in the responsibility of government' . As Baring somewhat naYvely put it: 'If men of different races take executive positions in government they will be compelled to work together.' Baring's proposals did not, however, conceive of African political representation in the immediate future. Three Europeans, two Asians, and an Arab were to fill the proposed six new positions in the Government. 260 Discussions with European political representatives began in January 1954, and the Asian community was approached some time between January and Pebruary.261 Plainly, the Lyttelton Constitution of March 1954 was intended to demonstrate the Government's willingness to accept African desires for political representation on a par with the other (and numerically-inferior) Kenyan communities. It certainly reinstated earlier Colonial Office proposals intended to institute a multi-racial polity in Kenya. This was a far cry from decolonisation, though. Surely, a principal aim at the time was to deflect the non-Kikuyu tribes from supporting the political aims of Mau Mau. The Lyttelton Constitution was intended to last until 'the next [Kenyan] general election, which was to take place six months after the Governor had proclaimed that the State of Emergency had come to an end, or on June 30th, 1955, whichever was the later' .262 Obviously, that meant when the security forces had won, and the Kenya Government's negotiating position on political matters would be correspondingly strong. It is noteworthy that by the time the registration of African voters for elections to LegCo began in late 1956, the military campaign against Mau Mau was all but won.

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This interpretation is confirmed by the ban, until 1960, of African political organisations above the district level - designed more to foster political representativeness among the non-Kikuyu African ethnic groups (who largely had not resorted to the radical politics of violence) - in spite of increases in 1956 and 1958, in African representation in the Council of Ministers. Moreover, even as late as 1959, the date for eventual Kenyan independence was 'pencilled in' as 1975, while Lennox-Boyd, Lyttelton's successor, told the House of Commons that 'I cannot now foresee a date when it will be possible for any British Government to surrender their ultimate responsibilities for the destiny and well-being of Kenya. ' 263 Villagisation, another arguable feature of the so-called 'hearts and minds' aspect of the anti-Mau Mau campaign, also pivoted on Operation 'Anvil'. While the District Administration had earlier felt unable to consolidate its position in the reserves sufficiently to impose villagisation, following the success of 'Anvil' the policy began to be officially implemented on a large scale. 264 Hitherto, some Kikuyu apparently loyal to the Government had begun voluntarily to co-operate with villagisation, in order to gain protection from the guard post around which each village was built. 265 Indeed, such co-operation was taken as a 'fair test of loyalty' . 266 But the purpose of villagisation was clearly not just to provide protection for loyal Kikuyu. As early as December 1952, the Commissioner of Police, O'Rorke, had suggested that 'both from the short-term police point of view, and the long-term social point of view, he would like to see all Africans in the Reserves living in villages instead of scattered about as they were at present' .267 Villagisation did enable the introduction of various social improvements, such as the training of Kikuyu women in 'practical hygiene' , and the establishment of schools and churches. It also facilitated agricultural reform, and increased residents' security, it also served a more practical purpose from the security forces' perspective.268 As Erskine had envisaged, villagisation made 'the maintenance of law and order as simple as possible' . 269 Not only could curfews be imposed upon those villagers found, for whatever reason, to be still supplying Mau Mau guerrillas with food, but a whole range of communal punishments and control measures could be more easily imposed. 27o The 'carrot and stick' approach was applied from the outset, by rewarding 'loyal' Kikuyu with economic and social provisions in 'model villages', while those considered to be disloyal were concentrated into 'punitive villages', which remained unclean and under-developed. 27l Anyone who remained 'tardy in moving' into a village had their hut burned down, leaving them little choice but to co-operate. 272 Most important, the effect on Mau Mau of concentrating the Kikuyu into villages, as opposed to leaving them scattered about the reserve, was to force the guerrillas once and for all to remain in the forests,

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where their isolation would be almost total. 273 From then onwards it would be just a matter of closing the military net.

The Road to Victory Following Operation 'Anvil' Erskine redeployed the military, laying particular emphasis upon the areas surrounding Nairobi (Thika, Kiambu, Fort Hall). Simultaneously, operations were conducted in Nairobi, the Rift Valley, South Nyeri, Nanyuki, Embu and Meru.274 By July 1954, the results were encouraging in all areas except Kiambu, where the civil administration and the police still lacked control, and villagisation had hardly been implemented. 27S Further redeployment, completed by 15 August, took account of the problem of Kiambu, and by mid-November Erskine was able to withdraw 1 Buffs from Embu altogether. By the beginning of December, Meru had been almost completely pacified. 276 This left the army free to resume large-scale offensive operations in the forests from January 1955, for which Erskine had instructed Hinde to prepare a plan (Operation 'Hammer').277 The Royal Engineers had spent 1954 cutting tracks and building roads which would facilitate the operations. 278 Erskine was fairly confident, but his 18 months in Kenya had taught him not to be over optimistic: It is impossible to say what the operations in January-March will yield. It may not be much in actual casualties but it will test our arrangements in the Reserve and Settled Areas with only light military assistance at hand. [ . . .] I think the operations in the forests should at least seriously disturb the Mau Mau forest organisation and show that the Reserve and Settled Areas can hold their own.279 Erskine had hoped that these operations would place the security forces in a position of strength sufficient to enable him to make yet another surrender offer towards the end of March 1955. 280 But several factors meant that the Governor would have to promulgate new surrender terms as early as January. Although there had been encouraging reports in December 1954 of a willingness on the part of the guerrilla leadership to discuss peace, this was not Erskine's principal motive. 28J Throughout 1954 there had been a steadily increasing number of allegations of brutality and the practice of 'Summary justice' [sic] against the Kikuyu Guard. Some chiefs and headmen were actually charged with murder. Matters were so serious that there was not only concern that the Kikuyu Guard possessed 'far too much authority .. . the power of "life and death"', but it was feared that some members might defect to Mau Mau, rather than face judicial proceedings by their own side.282 The situation was complicated by charges of perjury

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against some law enforcement officers,283 and the interference of the District Administration with criminal investigations into brutality, which had led to a 'breach' between the police and the Administration, and was one of the principal reasons for Commissioner of Police A. E. Young's resignation three months before his one year period of secondment was due to expire. 284 In September 1954, the War Council had decided to implement a reorganisation of the Kikuyu Guard, then numbering some 25,000, into a reduced, but paid professional force, to begin on 1 January 1955. This would also enable the Government to issue a 'strong and unequivocal warning ... to the loyalist tribesmen making it clear that the Government would not tolerate unlawful practices' .285 In order to prevent Kikuyu Guard defections based upon this instruction, it was quickly decided that an amnesty should be declared for all offences committed before that date. This also left the way clear for the death sentence to be lifted for Mau Mau offences committed before the date of the new surrender offer, thereby removing the main obstruction to mass surrenders.286 The amnesty and the surrender terms were therefore announced simultaneously on 18 January 1955.287 Operation 'Hammer' achieved what Erskine had intended, and accounted for 161 guerrillas either killed, captured or surrendered.288 Its successor, Operation 'First Flute', which ended on 7 April, was more successful, accounting for 277, and raising the monthly 'killing rate' in 1955 to 66, compared to 39 in 1953 and 49 in 1954. 289 Although there was still work to be done, Erskine was convinced that the Emergency had entered its last phase, and suggested that 'it is not optimistic to expect a reduction in the RAF and the Army later in the year' .290 The War Office agreed, and while also prompted by concerns over Erskine's working relationship with 'the civil authorities', Head, the War Minister, had already informed Churchill that 'the operational situation could not be better suited for effecting a change in command, and affords an occasion when the new Commander will have a chance to study the situation and decide on future plans'.291 At last, in early May 1955, Erskine could go home where, from 26 June he was appointed Aide-de-Camp (General) to the Queen. 292 Meanwhile, the surrender terms of 18 January had led to a series of negotiations (Operation 'Chui') conducted with the forest leaders via a small group who had taken advantage of the new offer. 293 In April, Erskine had reported that the situation 'has never been more favourable' although he warned that 'the discussions might break down or be brought to a halt by some unforeseen circumstances' 2.94 Disagreements between the Mau Mau leaders in the forests over the surrender terms provided such a scenario. Towards the end of May, Lieutenant-General Gerald Lathbury, Erskine's successor of three weeks, reported that although 'Chui' was 'bringing in a

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steady stream of surrenders it is clear that they will not by themselves achieve an early end to this emergency' .295 While the period 18 January to 21 May had seen 531 surrenders, the number did not represent the wholesale surrender which had been expected. Lathbury therefore gave orders for Operation 'Gimlet', which had persistently been postponed in view of the 'Chui' talks, to start on 20 May.296 It was hoped that a resumption of offensive action would force many of the guerrillas to decide which was the better course, surrender or death: 'If we hit them hard enough they will be forced to make up their minds. '297 However, in spite ofthe fact that between 18 January and 10 July 1955,979 guerrillas had surrendered (compared to 857 from October 1952 to January 1955), it was estimated that some 5,000 remained in the forests.298 The official withdrawal of the surrender offer on 10 July marked the acceptance that the State of Emergency could not end until the Mau Mau forest fighters had incurred a comprehensive military defeat. Since June 1954, when the British government had agreed to provide' financial assistance to Kenya to offset emergency expenditure,299 the Treasury had consistently pressed for measures to reduce 'the burden on the British taxpayer' .300 Given that the disparity between 'the tax paid in Kenya by a married man with two children in proportion to that paid by a similar person in the UK was £37 to £100, there was clearly considerable room for reducing this disparity' .301 Accordingly, against some resistance in Kenya, the Treasury continued to press for increases in 'local contributions' .302 Of course, Vasey claimed with equal persistence that increases in local taxation would have to be kept to a minimum because of the harm of the Emergency to Kenya's economy. The threat of the complete withdrawal of UK financial assistance, however, proved to be persuasive enough. 303 Moreover, the Treasury, as ever, would call for economies in expenditure, and this usually meant a reduction in the size of the security forces. 304 By August 1955, the success of the renewed military offensive, and civil and police consolidation, along with the progress of the food denial programme, and the near-completion of villagisation, meant that the Mau Mau guerrillas were sufficiently dispersed and isolated for Lathbury to propose reducing the army in Kenya by three battalions. 305 Accordingly, it was announced on 1 September that 3,500 British and African troops, along with a brigade headquarters, would be withdrawn from Kenya over the next four months. 306 With the fragmentation of the Mau Mau fighters in the forests, only then did Lathbury decide to abandon large-scale operations in favour of small patrols, arranging for increased special training to 'raise the standard of forest tactics'. Army units were ordered to concentrate their training on 'silent movement, the use of trackers [surrendered Mau Mau] and tracker

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dogs, and quick and accurate shooting' . 307 It should be stressed, however, that the role of counter-guerrillas, or 'pseudo gangs' as they were called, could be overstated. As Furedi suggests, 'the contribution of the Special Forces to the British war effort only became significant once the Mau Mau had lost the initiative' . 308 While this is not to suggest that less 'traditional' tactics were not, of course, used during the Kenya COIN campaign to good effect, and were no doubt inspired by the ATOM, this example makes it clear that 'modern counter-guerrilla warfare' techniques would still, occasionally, have to give way to the more 'traditional'. The results of the pseudo gangs' patrols were, nevertheless, impressive: by December 1955, Mau Mau's strength in the forests had been reduced to around 2,500, half of what it had been when Lathbury assumed command. 309 But by January 1956, there was still no sign of a surrender. Lathbury attributed this to the likelihood that the remaining gang members had probably committed murder of one sort or another, and would be convicted and hanged if they surrendered, so had nothing to gain by doing so. The other main cause of a failure to surrender was the continued influence of the forest gang leaders, who if left uncaught might potentially pose a threat to future security. As both Erskine and Lathbury had discovered, the guerrilla leader Dedan Kimathi had caused enough problems by impeding the 'Chui' negotiations. For the remainder of 1956 the focus of military activity was therefore to be on hunting the gang leaders. For this, smaller units, including 'pseudo gangs' and 'Special Forces', comprising mainly surrendered Mau Mau, would be used increasingly, with large-scale operations being confined to limited areas. This was not only tactically preferable, but would, Lathbury hoped, enable a further reduction in the British military contingent, in line with the ending of National Service in the UK, and the ongoing reduction in the size of the British Army as a whole. 3lO By the end of July 1956, considerable progress had been made. A further 1,430 guerrillas had been accounted for, and another two British battalions (2,200 troops) had been withdrawn from Kenya. The 'spearhead of the attack' would, thereafter, be left with the Special Forces. Lathbury planned to transfer responsibility for the conduct of day-to-day operations from the army to the police between October and the end of the year. 31l As if poetically, on the morning of 21 October 1956, four years after the proclamation of the State of Emergency, a 'pseudo gang' operation launched two weeks earlier specifically to hunt Kimathi, ended with him being wounded and captured. m With Kimathi's influence curtailed, and remaining guerrilla strength assessed at approximately 450, on 1 November 1956 Lathbury advised that the army no longer had a useful role to fulfil in Kenya. In his special order of the day, of 13 November, Lathbury confirmed that 'we now return therefore to the normal state of affairs in any British

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territory, where the Police are responsible for law and order.'313 On the same day, Baring announced the withdrawal of the army from operations, to take effect from 17 November. Thereafter, responsibility for IS in Kenya would be resumed by the police. The British military campaign in Kenya had come to an end. But the political campaign had yet to begin; and political independence in December 1963 was far from a certainty. Conclusions

Six months before the declaration of the State of Emergency in Kenya the police began to arrest members of Mau Mau, a secret society apparently engaged in minor criminal acts and an illegal oathing campaign. Little, if any, connection was made between the upsurge in Mau Mau activities and the grievances of the many disaffected Kikuyu. Yet, for at least two years the authorities in Kenya, both civil and military, had been aware of those grievances. Indeed, civil and military plans had been made in the event that· African economic and social grievances would lead to colony-wide civil disturbances amounting to a State of Emergency. Baring, for all his talk of 'revolution', in proclaiming the State of Emergency hoped initially that a simple show of force and the arrest of suspected Mau Mau leaders would bring a rapid return to a state of law and order. After all, that was what IS schemes and emergency powers were for. The paradox concerning the law enforcement measures applied against Mau Mau in Kenya was that their repressive and seemingly indiscriminate nature brought about the insurgency which they had been intended to avert. Once Mau Mau had become a guerrilla army, so the security forces in Kenya had to begin to fight an anti-guerrilla campaign. In spite of the ATOM, the application of 'modem counter-guerrilla warfare' doctrine did not necessarily prove to be crucial to the campaign; at least so far as purely military doctrine was concerned. The massive 'cordon-and-search' operation ('Anvil') was the pivotal moment of the campaign. With Mau Mau cut off from all sources of supply, subsequent large-scale operations brought about the fragmentation of the guerrillas in the forests so conducive to counter-guerrilla small unit operations. But this was late in the day indeed. It is true that not all of the British COIN campaign in Kenya involved policing and military operations. But villagisation did as much, if not more to enhance the control and punishment of the Kikuyu, and to isolate Mau Mau, as it did to protect the 'loyalists'. Moreover, only when the military campaign was over were the 'major' political reforms which arguably anticipated decolonisation implemented. At no stage did the British COIN campaign in Kenya constitute part of a Colonial Office plan for

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decolonisation. If the British had lost militarily, historians would today analyse Mau Mau as a successful independence struggle, much as that by the Irgun in Palestine. Because the British campaign in Kenya was successful we can write of decolonisation and the granting of independence. While COIN and decolonisation in Kenya were arguably inter-dependent, the processes were in many ways mutually exclusive. Decolonisation in Kenya was not conducted through counter-insurgency, but after. NOTES I am grateful to Prof J.M. MacKenzie, in the University of Lancaster, Dr J.M. Lonsdale, Trinity College, Cambridge, Dr D.M. Anderson, School of Oriental and African Studies, London, and Prof c.J. Wrigley, in the University of Nottingham for comments on earlier versions of this article. I should also like to acknowledge Crown Copyright for references to state papers held at the Public Record Office, Kew, and to thank the Librarian and Staff at Rhodes House Library, Oxford, and the Trustees of the Imperial War Museum, Lambeth, for permission to cite documents in their care. 1. Frank Furedi, 'Britain's Colonial Wars: Playing the Ethnic Card', Journal of Commonwealth and Comparative Politics 28 (March 1990) pp.70-89, 'Kenya: Decolonization through counter-insurgency', in A. Gorst, L. Johnman, and W. Scott Lucas (eds.) Contemporary British History, 1931-1961: Politics and the Limits of Policy (London: Pinter 1991) pp.141-68, 'Creating a Breathing Space: The Political Management of Colonial Emergencies', Journal of Imperial and Commonwealth History 2113 (Sept. 1993) pp.89-106, and Colonial Wars and the Politics of Third World Nationalism (London: LB. Tauris 1994); Tim Jones, 'The British Army, and Counter-Guerrilla Warfare in Transition, 1944-1952', Small Wars and Insurgencies 7/3 (Winter 1996) pp.265-307; and Richard Popplewell, "'Lacking Intelligence": Some Reflections on Recent Approaches to British Counter-insurgency, 1900-1960', Intelligence and National Security 10/2 (April 1995) pp.336-52. 2. Furedi (note 1, 1990) pp.71, 74. 3. Idem (note 1, 1991) p.141. 4. Idem (note 1, 1993) pp.89-90. 5. Idem (note 1, 1994) pp.l, 192. 6. Ibid. pp.198, 212 (note 1, 1993) p.97. 7. Jones (note 1) p.265. 8. Ibid. p.266. 9. Ibid. passim. 10. Ibid. p.294. The formalisation of British COIN doctrine at the Staff College level has not been ignored. See Thomas R. Mockaitis, British Counterinsurgency 1919--60 (London: MacmilIan 1990) passim., esp. pp.180-91. 11. Jones (note 1) p.294; Mockaitis, ibid. p.184. 12. PopplewelI (note 1) p.337. The books ·reviewed include two collections of essays: David M. Anderson and David Killingray (eds.) Policing and Decolonisation: Nationalism, Politics and the Police, 1917--65 (Manchester UP 1992), which covers Ireland (1914-23), India (1930-47), Palestine (1936-48), Ghana (1940s and 1950s), Malaya (1948-60), Kenya (1939-63), Malawi (1891-1962), and Cyprus (1954-60); and Michael 1. Cohen and Martin Kolinsky (eds.) Britain and the Middle East in the 1930s: Security Problems, 1935-39 (London: Macmillan 1992); Peter Heehs, The Bomb in Bengal: The Rise of Revolutionary Terrorism in India 1900-1910 (New Delhi: Oxford UP 1994); Peter Hopkirk, On Secret Service East of Constantinople (London: John Murray 1994); and the general study 'which draws on nearly all the works in the field', Mockaitis, British

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13. 14.

15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20.

21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26.

27. 28. 29. 30.

31. 32.

33.

SMALL WARS AND INSURGENCIES Counterinsurgency (note 10). It should be noted that Popplewell's remarks apparently betray a misreading of Mockaitis, who is clear on several points: 'The need to use force in a highly selective manner compelled the British to develop a comprehensive counterinsurgency strategy, one that combined limited military action with broad-based social, economic and political reform. Reform attacked the causes of unrest on which the insurgency fed, while military operations provided a shield behind which reform could be implemented. [... ] This progress was not uniform, nor was every campaign an unqualified success. The British were much quicker to grasp the importance of civil-military co-operation than they were to engage in reform. [ ... ] Only when the Second World War made the dissolution of the empire clearly inevitable were the British willing to grant what was for many the ultimate political concession, independence', idem, pp.64-5. Ibid. Ibid. pp.337-8. Popplewell has failed to take account of an earlier comparative work, Charles Townshend, Britain s Civil Wars: Counterinsurgency in the Twentieth Century (London: Faber 1986), which examines Britain's COIN experience on a regional basis (UK, Middle East, Asia, Africa), and although perhaps not as in depth as Popplewell would like, does in fact cover India, pp.127-55. Richard Thurlow, The Secret State: British Internal Security in the Twentieth Century (Oxford: Blackwell 1994) p.391. Foreign and Commonwealth Office, Library and Records Department, letter to author, 17 June 1996. Tabitha Kanogo, Squatters and the Roots of Mau Mau, 1905-1963 (London: James Currey 1987) passim; David W. Throup, Economic and Social Origins of Mau Mau, 1945-1953 (London: James Currey 1987) passim. Bruce Berman and John Lonsdale, Unhappy Valley: Conflict in Kenya and Africa. Book One: State & Class (London: James Currey 1992) pp.2, 13-74; Frank Furedi, The Mau Mau War in Perspective (ibid. 1989) pp.9-12, 22. Keesings Contemporary Archives [hereafter Keesing's] Vol.9 (1952), p.12478; House of Commons Debates [hereafter: HCD], Vo1.505, Col. 389, 'Kenya (Mau Mau Activities)" 16 Oct. 1952; Furedi (note 18) passim; Throup (note 17) passim. Historical Survey of the Origins and Growth of Mau Mau [Corfield Report] Cmnd. 1030 (May 1960) pp.35-7; Richard A. Frost, 'Sir Philip Mitchell, Governor of Kenya', African Affairs 78/313 (Oct. 1979) pp.550-1; Randall W. Heather, 'Counterinsurgency and Intelligence in Kenya, 1952-1956' (PhD, U. of Cambridge 1994) pp.4, 13, 14-19; Throup (note 17) pp.54-5. Corfield Report, pp. 132-3; Frost, ibid. p.551; Heather, ibid. pp.20-1. Oliver Lyttelton, Viscount Chandos, The Memoirs of Lord Chandos (London: The Bodley Head 1962) p.393. Corfield Report (note 21) p.36. Ibid. p.1l7. John Lonsdale, 'Mau Maus of the Mind: Making Mau Mau and Remaking Kenya', Journal of African History 3113 (1990) p.394; M. Tamarkin, 'Mau Mau in Nakuru', Kenya Historical Review 512 (1977) pp.228-9. Bruce Berman, 'Bureaucracy and Incumbent Violence: Colonial Administration and the Origins of the "Mau Mau" Emergency', in idem and John Lonsdale, Unhappy Valley: Conflict in Kenya and Africa. Book Two: Violence and Ethnicity (London: James Currey 1992) p.250; Heather (note 20) pp.I-12; Lonsdale (note 25). 'HQ Nairobi Sub-Area Operational Instruction No. 3',7 Feb. 1949, W02761l02Jl, Public Record Office [PRO], Kew. Unless otherwise stated, primary sources are at the PRO. Ibid. para. 28b. W0276J102/31, W02761l02J32. W0276J102/1. Throup (note 17) pp. 173-4. W0276J102. Throup, 'Crime, politics and the police in colonial Kenya, 1939-1963', in Anderson and

309

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Killingray (eds.) (note 12, 1992) p.141. 34. W0276/103. 35. W0276/102/31 , W0276/102/32; 'Exercise GRAND SLAM', 10/11 Dec. 1949, W0276/102/35.

36. Furedi (note 1, 1991) p.l44 37. W0276/106.

38. Maj. PJ.W. Pedraza (Assistant Secretary, Secretariat Nairobi) p.p. John Whyatt (Member for Law and Order [MLO] and Attorney General [AG]) to Lt.-Gen. Sir H.B. Dowler (General Officer Commanding [GOC], HQ East Africa Command [EAC]), 13 April 1950, ibid. 39. Ibid. 40. Throup (note 17) pp. 10, 194-6. 41. W02761102/1, para.43. 42. Anthony Clayton and David Killingray, Khaki and Blue: Military and Police in British Colonial Africa (Ohio UP 1989) p.1l5. 43. Throup (note 17) pp. 10, 194-6. 44. Rankine to Dowler, 7 June 1950, W0276/102/39. 45. Throup (note 17) pp. 10, 194-6. 46. 'Report of the Internal Security Working Committee', 12 Nov. 1951, W0276/519. 47. Ibid.; see also Corfield Report (note 21) pp.35-6, 115-23. The ISWC report was copied to GOC, HQ, EAC, the Chair of the East Africa Intelligence Co-ordinating Committee, and the Security Liaison Officer [SLO], representing the Security Service [MI5]. 48. W0276/519. The ISWC was Chaired by J.W Cusack (Secretary for Law and Order), responsible to the MLOIAG. Membership included C. Penfold (Director of Intelligence and Security [DIS]), WE Bell (SLO), Maj. P.J.W Pedraza (later replaced by GJ. Ellerton), and representatives for the Chief Native Commissioner (CNC), GOC, EAC, and the Commissioner of Police. 49. Heather (note 20) p.17. 50. W0276/519.

51. Ibid.; Corfield Report (note 21) pp.1l5-6. 52. W0276/519.

53. Ibid. Emphasis added. 54. Corfield Report (note 21) p.115. 55. It is noteworthy that by April 1952, only five per cent of the Kikuyu in Nyeri District (which was to become a Mau Mau 'hotbed') were considered to have taken the Mau Mau oath. See, for example: O'Rorke (Commissioner of Police) to Cusack, 8 April 1952, MSS Afr s 1694, Whyatt MSS, Rhodes House Library [RHL], Oxford. 56. W0276/519.

57. Ibid.; Corfield Report (note 21) p.ll7. 58. W0276/519.

59. Corfield Report (note 21) p.36. 60. Ibid. p.242. 61. Furedi (note 18) p.116. See also statement by Oliver Lyttelton (Sec. of State for the Colonies), 'Kenya (Mau Mau Activities)', HCD 505, cols.388-9, 160ct. 1952. 62. 'Minutes of the Meeting of Legislative Council Committee for the Preservation of Law and Order [LCCPLO] at the Attorney General's Chambers on July 24th, 1952', MSS Afr s 746, Blundell MSS, RHL 63. Heather (note 20) p.30. 64. Ibid. pp.30-1. Unfortunately the PRO does not house documents relating to the planning of 'Jock Scott'. Files W0276/212, 239, 250, and 289 are concerned with the initial execution of the operation, and subsequent 'rounding up' of those Mau Mau suspects not at first caught. Although there is one reference to a 'Jock Scott' HQ Committee as early as 180ct. 1951, this may be irrelevant given that 'Jock Scott' was probably a euphemism for 'joint services', and at that juncture probably meant the ISWC, Secret Memo, GSO I, Colonel, Chief of Staff [COS], W0276/106111, conversation with Dr John Lonsdale, June 1996. Apparently, 'records of the "Jock Scott" Committee [for planning Op. 'Jock Scott']

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65. 66. 67. 68. 69. 70. 71. 72. 73. 74. 75. 76. 77. 78. 79. 80. 81.

82. 83.

84. 85. 86. 87. 88. 89. 90. 9 1. 92. 93. 94. 95.

96. 97. 98. 99.

SMALL WARS AND INSURGENCIES will have been destroyed in Kenya, and not be available anywhere here', letter from Dr Anthony Clayton, RMA Sandhurst, to author, 12 June 1996. Throup (note 17) pp.230-L Furedi (note 18) p.116. John Newsinger, 'Revolt and Repression in Kenya: The Mau Mau Rebellion, 1952-1960', Science and Society 45/2 (Summer 1981) p.167; Throup (note 17) pp.231-2. Throup (note 17) p.lL Kanogo (note 17) p.137. Furedi (note 18) p.116. I am grateful to Dr John Lonsdale for this observation. Sir Thomas Lloyd (Permament Under-Sec. of State for the Colonies) to Lyttelton, 10 Sept. 1952, C0822/437/11. Ibid. Emphasis added. Churchill to Lyttelton, 7 Sept. 1952, PREMI11472. Lyttelton to Churchill, 9 Sept. 1952, ibid.; Lyttelton (note 22) pp.393-4. Ibid. Emphasis added. Lyttelton to Churchill, 12 Sept. 1952, ibid. C0822/437/28. Lyttelton to Alexander (Minister of Defence), 8 Oct. 1952, C0822/437/27. Anthony Clayton, Counter-insurgency in Kenya: A Study in Military Operations Against Mau Mau (Nairobi: Transafrica 1976) p.5, n.9. Rogers (Colonial Office), 11 Oct. 1952, C0822/443, and 'Secret Telegram CIC 87696', GOC, EAC to Vice Chief of the Imperial General Staff [VCIGS], 5 Nov. 1952, W0216/811/3; Berman (note 26) p.252; Furedi (note 18) p.116; Charles Douglas-Home, Evelyn Baring: The Last Proconsul (London: Collins 1978) p.227; Charles Chenevix Trench, Men Who Ruled Kenya: The Kenya Administration, 1892-1963 (London & New York: Radcliffe Press 1993) p.232. Keesing's (note 19) p.12570. Baring to Lyttelton, 9 Oct.1952, cited in Corfield Report (note 21), p.159; C0822/443; 'Corfield Report (Confidential - Not for Publication)" Ch. 17, f.l, Kenya National Archives [KNA], Nairobi, G03/2/73, mimeo., courtesy of Dr John Lonsdale. See also: MSS Afr s 1675, Corfield MSS, RHL; Heather (note 20), p.30; and Cyril Ray, The Lancashire Fusiliers (London: Leo Cooper 1971) p.130. G03/2/73, f3, KNA. Douglas-Home (note 81) p.230. Furedi (note 1, 1993) p.90. Idem (note 1, 1994) p.1. Idem (note 1, 1991) p.147. G03/2/73, f.l, KNA. Ibid. O. Ibid. fA. GHQ, MELF, to War Office, 10 Oct. 1952, W0216/81O. War Office to GHQ, MELF, 10 Oct. 1952, ibid. 'Cabinet Committee, CC(52) 85th Conclusions, Minute 1', 14 Oct. 1952, PREM11/472. Cabinet Memorandum, C(52)332, 'Top Secret Memo by the Secretary of State for the Colonies', 13 Oct. 1952, ibid.; Top Secret Letter, GHQ, MELF, to War Office, 'Personal, for VCIGS, from Major-General in charge of Administration [MGA)', 15 Oct. 1952, W0216/81O. W0216/81O; Lonsdale (note 25) p.408. GHQ, MELF, to War Office, 11 Oct. 1952, W0216/81O. GHQ, MELF, to MoD, 15 Oct. 1952, ibid. 'Top Secret and Personal Telegram 627', and 'Immediate, Top Secret and Personal Telegram 630', Baring to Lyttelton, 17 Oct.1952, C0822/444; Post Office telegram, 21 Oct. 1952, C0822/438; Heather (note 20) pp.30-1, 32-4. It has also been suggested that initially 83 out of 154 suspects were arrested, G03/2/73, ff5, 6, KNA. Heather has rejected Berman's claim that the initial arrests carried out in Op. ' Jock Scotf were 'aimed more at

311

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BRITISH COIN IN KENYA, 1952-56

100. 101. 102. 103.

104. 105. 106. 107. lOS. 109. 110. 111. 112. 113. 114. 115.

116. 117. 118. 119. 120. 121. 122. 123. 124. 125. 126.

127.

95

the African political leadership than at Mau Mau', idem, 'Intelligence and CounterInsurgency in Kenya, 1952-56', Intelligence and National Security 5/3 (July 1990) pp.64--5. It could be argued, however, that Baring 'excluded any person against whom there is no evidence of participation in an organised campaign of violent intimidation' for that reason alone, ibid. (emphasis added). If so, Berman's view stands, as does the argument that, initially, the restoration of law and order, thus the political status quo, was the sole purpose of the declaration of the State of Emergency. 'Kenya (Mau Mau Activities)', HCD 505, col.865, 21 Oct. 1952. G03/2/73, f.7, KNA; Keesing's, p.12569. Heather (note 20) p.37. Keesing's, p.12571; 'Government House Meeting to Discuss Jock Scott Operation, 6:30 pm, 29/10/52' [hereafter: Meeting, 29/10/52], notes of minutes, courtesy of Dr D.W. Throup. Those present at the meeting included: LytteIton, Potter, Whyatt, Davies (CNC), Cameron, O'Rorke, and Hall (Principal, East Africa Section, Colonial Office). Meeting, 29/10/52. 'Class p.: were those considered to be the 'central planners' of Mau Mau, including Jomo Kenyatta, Heather (note 20) p.33. KISA, the Kikuyu Independent Schools Association, was thought to be a recruiting ground for Mau Mau 'terrorists'. By the end of Nov. 1952, this voluntary unit had reached a strength of about 1,400, LCCPLO, 1 Dec. 1952, MSS Afr s 746, RHL. Meeting, 29/10/52. Heather (note 20) p.38; Keesing', pp.12571, 13065. It should be stressed that these powers were granted before the murder of Meiklejohn, on 22 Nov., not 'shortly after', as Heather claims. Heather (note 20) n.19. Keesing's, pp.12571, 13065. Again, the dates and figures differ from those for which Heather provides the same references, idem., pp.38-9. Ibid. Keesing's, p.1306S; Furedi (note IS) p.119. This appears to have been an action subsequent to the wider sweeps that took place between 20 Oct. and 7 Nov. Heather (note 20) p.39. Ibid. pp.39-40. Lyttelton to Baring, 4 Dec. 1952, cited in ibid. p.39. Ibid.; John W. Cell, 'On the Eve of Decolonisation: The Colonial Office's Plans for the Transfer of Power in Africa, 1947', Journal of Imperial and Commonwealth History 8/3 (May 1980) passim; David Goldsworthy, Colonial Issues in British Politics, 1945-1961 (Oxford: Clarendon Press 1971) p.28. For example, in 1947, the intervention of governors in East Africa caused the Colonial Office to abandon plans to introduce a measure of African self-government to the region. 'Lord Howick (EveIyn Baring), Interview with Dame Margery Perham, 19 November 1969', ff.24-5, MSS Afr s 1574, RHL; Keesing 's, p.12573. John W. Harbeson, 'Land reforms and Politics in Kenya, 1954--70', Journal of Modern African Studies 9/2 (1971) p.234; Anne Thurston, Smallholder Agriculture in Kenya: The Official Mind and the Swynnerton Plan (Cambridge UP 1987) p.72. Keesing's, p.12573. MSS Afr s 1574, RHL (note 116). Keesing's, p.12573. Thurston (note 117). Keesing's, p.13066. MSS Afr s 1574, RHL (note 116). Trench (note 81) p.68. Douglas-Home (note 81) p.263. Furedi (note 1, 1991, 1993 and 1994); R.F. Holland, 'The Imperial Factor in British Strategies from Attlee to Macmillan, 1945--63', in idem and G. Rizvi (eds.) Perspectives on Imperialism and Decolonisation: Essays in Honour of A.F. Madden (London: Frank Cass 1984) p.175; W0276/519. Bruce Berman, Control and Crisis in Colonial Kenya: The Dialectic of Domination

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(London: James Currey 1990) p.348. 128. Keesing's, p.12569. Not everyone was convinced that Mau Mau was responsible for all of the crimes committed during the period. O'Rorke, for example, 'said that he did distinguish between ordinary criminals and Mau Mau, but one was cashing in on the other', LCCPLO, 17 Nov. 1952, MSS Afr s 746, RHL. An example of such an incident may well have occurred in late Nov. 1952, when ten Kikuyu attacked two Asian shopkeepers, shouting "We are the Mau Mau", HCD, 508, co1.256, 25 Nov. 1952. As the perpetrators were never knowingly caught, this can, unfortunately, never be ascertained. 129. Keesing's, p.12574. 130. Berman (note 127) p.349; Furedi (note 18) pp. 118-9 (note 1, 1991), pp.147-8; Newsinger (note 67) p.169. 131. Robertson (C-in-C, MELF) to Harding (Chief of the Imperial General Staff [CIGS]), 12 Jan. 1953, C08221468, cited in Heather (note 20) p.41, n.29. 132. Sus an L. Carruthers, Winning Hearts and Minds: British Governments, the Mass Media and Colonial Counter-Insurgency, 1944-60 (London & New York: Leicester UP 1995) p.134. 133. Lonsdale, (note 25) p.396. 134. Ibid. and pA09. 135. Kanogo, 'Rift Valley Squatters and Mau Mau', Kenya Historical Review 5/2 (1977) pp.245-6. For a historiographical analysis of the patterns of recruitment of the forest fighters see Robert Buijtenhuijs, Essays on Mau Mau: Contributions to Mau Mau Historiography (Leiden: African Studies Centre 1982) pp.48--60. 136. Berman (note 127) p.349. 137. Carruthers (note 132). 138. Lonsdale (note 25) p.393, n.2. 139. Ibid. p.416, n.118. 140. Buijtenhuijs (note 135) p.5l. 141. W0216/81l/3. 142. GHQ, MELF (Robertson) to War Office (VCIGS), 5 Nov. 1952, W0216/811/4. 143. W0216/811/3. 144. W0216/811/4. 145. 'Statement by the Secretary of State' (drafted by P. Rogers [Colonial Office]), 25 Nov.1952, C0822/439, cited in Heather (note 20) p.40, n.25. 146. HCD, 508, cols.255-8, 25 Nov. 1952. 147. Ibid. Emphasis added. 148. Ibid. 149. Furedi (note 18) pp.119-20. 150. Heather (note 20) p.46, n.44. 151. Ibid. ppAO-1. 152. Furedi (note 18) p.120. 153. Heather (note 20) p.48. 154. See for example: Clayton (note 80) p.8; Heather, ibid. 155. 'Brief for C-in-C', 6 June 1953, MSS Afr s 1580, Hinde MSS, RHL. 156. Julian Paget, Counter-Insurgency Operations: Techniques of Guerrilla Waifare (NY: Walker 1967) p.91. 157. MSS Afr s 1580, RHL (note 155). 158. Heather (note 20) pp.50-1; Keith Jeffery, 'Intelligence and Counter-Insurgency Operations: Some Reflections on the British Experience', Intelligence and National Security 211 (Jan. 1987) p.125. 159. See Heather (note 20) passim, for details of the evolution of the intelligence organisation. 160. Michael Carver, War Since 1945 (London: Ashfield Press 1990) p.34. 161. Ibid.; Heather (note 20) pp.48-9. 162. Ibid. p.49. 163. Ibid. p.50. 164. Ibid. pp.57-8. 165. Throup (note 33) p.140.

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166. Keesing's, pp. 12569, 13065. 167. Carver (note 160); Douglas-Home (note 81) p.236; Heather (note 20) pp.56-9; Paget (note 156) pp.92-3. 168. MSS Afr s 1580, RHL (note 155). 169. Heather (note 20) pp.50, 56-7, 59. It is noteworthy that the March 1950 'Colony Emergency Scheme', had provided for local emergency organisations if circumstances dictated (see notes 26-8, above). This had become the case after less than three months. 170. Heather (note 20) p.57. 171. 'Appreciation of the Situation by Major-General WR.N. Hinde', 5 March 1953, MSS Afr s 1580, RHL; Heather (note 20) p.62. 172. Maj.-Gen. RA Hull (COS, GHQ, MELF) to Hinde, 18 March 1953, MSS Afr s 1580, RHL. 173. C.0.S.(53)134, Chiefs of Staff Committee, 'Appendix Report by the Chief of the Imperial General Staff on his Visit to Kenya, 19th-24th February, 1953', PREMll/472. 174. Gregory Blaxland, The Regiments Depart: A History of the British Army, 1945-1970 (London: Kimber 1971) p.272. 175. PREM1lI472 (note 173). 176. Alexander (MoD), to Churchill, 5 March 1953, ibid. 177. Top Secret Minute, BancroftlJohnston, 2/3 March 1953, T225177116. 178. Blaxland (note 174) pp.272-3. 179. Ibid. p.273; Philip Towle, Pilots and Rebels: The Use of Aircraft in Unconventional Waifare 1918-1988 (London: Brassey's 1989) p.l01. 180. Blaxland (note 174) p.273; Furedi (note 18) p.122; Heather (note 20) pp.69-73. It is now the consensus that the Lari massacre was not a Mau Mau attack at all, but the result of a 'long-simmering land dispute' between specific parties, David M. Anderson, 'The Lari Massacre', Seminar Paper, U. of Cambridge, Centre for African Studies, 31 Oct. 1995, Berman (note 127) p.349. However, given that many Kikuyu grievances were in one way or another based on the land issue, it could be suggested that the distinction is largely irrelevant. 181. 'Brief for C-in-C', 6 June 1953, MSS Afr s 1580, RHL. 182. Ibid.; Paget (note 156) p.93. 183. Ibid. 184. WJ.P. Aggett, The Bloody Eleventh: History of the Devonshire Regiment. Vol. 3: 1915-1969 (Exeter: Devonshire & Dorset Regt 1995) p.555; Blaxland (note 174) p.274. 185. Aggett, ibid.; B1axland (note 174) p.276. 186. Gregory Blaxland, The Farewell Years: The Final Historical Records of the Buffs, Royal East Kent Regiment, 1948-1967 (Canterbury: Queen's Own Buffs Office 1967) p.70. 187. Heather (note 20) p.95. 188. Blaxland (note 174) p.276; Heather (note 20) pp.81-8. 189. Blundell to Harding, 18 April 1953, W0216/851; Furedi (note 1, 1991) p.150. 190. Cameron to Redman (VCIGS), 30 April 1953, WO 216/851. 191. Furedi (note 1, 1991) p.150. 192. 'Report on the Commander-in-Chief, Middle East Land Forces, Visit to Kenya, 11-16 May 1953', W0216/852. 193. Lytte1ton to Churchill, 27 May 1953, PREMI11472. 194. Furedi (note 1, 1991) p.150; Heather (note 20) p.91. 195. Clayton (note 80) pp.7-8; Heather (riote 20) pp.91-2, n.98. 196. Clayton (note 80) p.8, n.17; Lt.-Gen. Sir George Erskine, 'Kenya - Mau Mau', Journal of the Royal United Services Institute 101 (Feb.-Nov. 1956) p.13, 'Kenya - What is it All AboutT, Journal of the Royal Artillery 83/2 (1956) p.103; Paget (note 156) p.94. 197. Clayton (note 80) p.8. 198. 'The Kenya Emergency, June 1953-May 1955', Report by General Erskine', 23 June 1955, W0236/18; Blaxland (note 174) p.277. 199. Erskine (note 196, 1956a), (1956b). 200. War Office (draft), 27 May 1953, PREMll/472/80; 'Top Secret Directive to C-in-C East Africa', 3 June 1953,75/134/1, Erskine MSS, Imperial War Museum [IWM], Lambeth.

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98 201. 202. 203. 204. 205. 206. 207. 208. 209. 210. 211. 212. 213. 214. 215. 216. 217. 218. 219. 220. 221. 222. 223. 224. 225. 226. 227. 228.

229. 230. 231. 232. 233. 234. 235. 236. 237. 238. 239. 240. 241. 242. 243.

SMALL WARS AND INSURGENCIES Paget (note 156) p.94. Blaxland (note 174) p.277; Douglas-Home (note 81) p.238; Furedi (note 1, 1991), p.150. Heather (note 20) pp.94-5. Furedi (note 1, 1991) p.150. This is surprising given the analysis in Furedi (note 18). Erskine to Harding, 11 June 1953, W0216/853; Blaxland (note 174) p.277. W0216/853, ibid. In the end, 5 KAR remained in Kenya for the duration of the campaign. W0236/18; Paget (note 156) p.94. Blaxland (note 174) p.277. Top Secret Letter, Erskine to Harding, 14 June 1953, W0216/853. Erskine to Harding, 7 July 1953, W0216/855/1; W0236/18. W0216/855/1. Top Secret Telegram 81948, Erskine to Harding, 18 July 1953, W0216/855 . W0216/855/1; W0236/18. W0216/855/1. Baring to Lyttelton, 17 JUly 1953, C0822!692!4; W0216/855/1; Erskine to Harding, 7 July 1953, W0216/855/2. W0216/855/1; Baring to Lytteiton, 30 June 1953, C0822/692!3. C0822/692/4. W0216/855/1. Erskine to Harding, 23 July 1953, C0822/693, as cited in Furedi (note 1, 1991) p.151. Erskine to Redman, 28 July 1953, W0216/856. C(53)238, 'Cabinet Memorandum by the Minister of State for Colonial Affairs' (Henry Hopkinson), 22 August 1953, PREMll/472; Lyttelton to Baring, undated copy, c. Aug. 1953, C0822/692. Erskine to Harding, 23 July 1953, C0822/693, as cited in Heather (note 20) p.103; Baring to Lyttelton, 11 Aug. 1953, C0822/692. PREM1l!472. CIGSIMB/48/6664/3 , Harding to Head, 28 Aug. 1953, PREMll/472. Harding makes no reference to the ATOM, relying instead on his 'own experience' and its confirmation by Gen. Templer. Head to Lyttelton, 17 Aug. 1953, W0216/856. 'The Situation in Kenya', 3 Oct. 1953, W0216/861 ; W0236/18, ff.8-9, paras.28, 31. W0236/18, f.9 , para.32; Col. I.T.C. Wilson et aI., History of the Corps of Royal Engineers. Vol. X (1945- 1960): The Years of Colonial Insurgency (Chatham: Inst. of Royal Engineers 1986) p.163. 'Cabinet Memorandum', 22 Aug. 1953, PREMll/472; W0216/861; W0236/18, para.35. Between July and Sept. 1953,647 Mau Mau fighters had been killed. Since the Emergency had been declared the total was over 2,000, 'Appendix "B", Emergency Statistics', W0276/51I. Air Ministry to Churchill, 30 Oct. 1953, PREMI11472. W0236/18, para.36. 'Situation Report as at the end of September 1953',29 Sept. 1953, W0216/860. W0216/861. 'Appreciation on Future Military Policy in Kenya, 1954' [hereafter: 'Anvil' proposals], Jan. 1954, W0216/863. Erskine to Harding, 9 Nov. 1953, W0216/860. Heather (note 20) pp.129-32. W0216/863. Erskine to Lady Erskine, 28 Feb. 1954, 75/134/1, IWM. Ibid. ; W0236/18, paraA5; LytteJton (note 22) pA07. W0236/18, parasA2, 43. Ibid., paraA6; GDHl3, Maj.-Gen. G.D. Heyman (COS, EAC) to Hinde, 17 Jan. 1954, MSS Afr s 1580, RHL. Moreton to David, 5 March 1954, C0822n96. 'Operation Anvil: Outline Plan by Joint Commanders' , ibid. W0236/18, paraA8; G.w. Croker, M ' au Mau', Journal of the Royal United Services

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244. 245. 246. 247. 248. 249.

250. 251. 252. 253. 254. 255. 256. 257. 258. 259. 260. 261. 262.

263.

264. 265. 266. 267. 268. 269. 270. 271. 272. 273. 274. 275. 276. 277. 278. 279.

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Institute 100 (Feb.-Nov. 1955) p.53. W0236/18, paras.54, 60. Secret Telegram 94717/C of S, Heyman to Redman, 27 April 1954, C0822/796. Acting Governor (Crawford) to Lyttelton, 9 May 1954, ibid. W0236118, para.61. Heather (note 20) pp. 175-6. John Darwin, 'British Decolonisation since 1945: A Pattern or a Puzzle?', in Holland and Rizvi (note 126) pp.187-209, Britain and Decolonisation: The Retreatfrom Empire in the Post- War World (London: Macmillan 1988) passim., summarises and rightly dismisses accounts that British deco10nisation 'exactly followed a master plan laid down in Whitehall'. Lyttelton to Baring, undated copy letter, c. 12 Aug. 1953, C0822/692. W0216/861. Hinde to Erskine, 7 Jan. 1954, MSS Afr s 1580, RHL. 'Anvil' proposals, para.13, (d) (x), W0216/863. Ibid. (d) (iii). Ibid. para.3. 'Operation Anvil: Outline Plan' , Appendix E, C0822/796. Gorell Bames (Ass!. Under-Sec. of State for the Colonies) to Lyttelton, 19 June 1954, T220/386. T220/417. HCD, 530, co1.476, 14 July 1954. Douglas-Home (note 81) pp.271-2. Heather (note 20) p.154. Cell (note 115) passim.; Lyttelton (note 22) p.407. Kenya's pre-Emergency political system certainly did not lend itself to African aspirations. It should be stressed that the numerical formula for the Council of Ministers, adopted under the Lyttelton Constitution was still weighted in favour of Europeans, even though victory over Mau Mau was by no means a certainty, D.A. Low and J .M. Lonsdale, 'Introduction: Towards the New Order, 1945-1963', in D.A. Low and A. Smith (eds.), History of East Africa Vol.3 (Oxford: Clarendon Press 1976) pp.56-7. See also George Bennett, Kenya. A Political History: The Colonial Period (London: Oxford UP 1963) pp. 135-50. By June 1958, whenMau Mau had been defeated, 'Baring was still determined to hold the "politicals"', Furedi (note 1, 1991) p.I44. Bennett (note 262) pp.140-1; Bethwell A. Ogot and Tiyambe Zeleza, 'Kenya: The Road to Independence and After', in Prosser Gifford and Wm. Roger Louis (eds.), Decolonization and African Independence: The Transfers of Power, 1960-1980 (New Haven, CT & London: Yale UP 1988) pp.401-26; Darwin (note 249) pp.191. 198-200; Douglas-Home (note 81) p.283. Trench (note 81) p.265. Baring to Lyttelton, 30 Dec. 1953, C0822/692. Hinde to Erskine, 7 Jan. 1954, MSS Afr s 1580, RHL. LCCPLO, 1 Dec. 1952, MSS Afr s 746, RHL. Trench (note 81) p.265. 'Anvil' proposals, para.29, W0216/863. Maurice K. Akker (Ass!. Commissioner of Police, Nairobi), Memoirs, f.14, MSS Afr s 1784 (20), RHL; Trench (note 81) p.265. Heather (note 20) pp. 179-81. Trench (note 81) p.267. Furedi (note 1, 1991) p.157. W0236/18, para.73. Ibid. para.75. Ibid. paras.77-9. Ibid. para.72. Ibid. para.80. Erskine to Harding, 20 Dec. 1954, W0216/879.

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280. W0236/l8, para.104. 281. Ibid. para.105. 282. Ibid.; Hill (District Officer, Mathira Division) to District Commissioner, Nyeri, 4 Dec. 1954, D. MacPherson (Assistant Commissioner of Police, CID) to Col. A.E. Young (Commissioner of Police), 23 Dec. 1954, MSS Afr s 1694, RHL. 283. Acting Director of Public Prosecutions to Whyatt, 16 Dec. 1954, ibid. 284. Erskine to Harding, 20 Dec. 1954, Erskine to Redman, 29 Dec. 1954, W0216/879; MacPherson to Young, 10 Dec. 1954, Young to Baring, 14 Dec.1954, MSS Brit Emp s 486, Sir A.E. Young MSS, RHL. Young, who had experience of Palestine and Malaya, was seconded from the City of London Police at Baring's request, Baring to Lyttelton, 29 Oct. 1953, C0822/692. In spite of Baring's expressed hope for a Police Force 'strong in quality as well as in quantity', Baring to Lyttelton, 17 July 1953, ibid. Young became increasingly frustrated by an apparent lack of government measures to increase efficiency, and the tendency to release recent police recruits 'into the field' before they had completed their training. 285. W0236/l8, paras.106, 107. 286. Ibid. para.107. 287. Ibid. para. 108; Erskine to Redman, 20 Jan. 1955, W0216/876. 288. W0236/l8, paras. 100, 103. 289. Ibid., paras. 11 9, 121. 290. Erskine to Harding, 12 April 1955, W0216/884. 291. Head to Churchill, 29 March 1955, PREMll/1424. On at least one occasion Erskine had complained to the War Office about the difficulty of getting the 'Civil Departments of Government' to implement his proposals: 'I am sure you appreciate how impatient I get and my only weapon is constant nagging and there is a limit to the amount of this one can do!' Erskine to Redman, 9 Dec. 1954, W0216/879. It seems that the Civil Administration also had cause to complain. 292. 751134/1/6, IWM. 293. 'Report on Operation "Chui''', 28 March 1955, W0216/883. 294. 'Operation "Chui". Report No. 2', 12 April 1955, ibid. 295. Top Secret Telegram 16562/CinC, Lathbury to Harding, 26 May 1955, ibid. 296. Secret Telegram 16528/0PS(K), GHQ East Africa to War Office, I June 1955, ibid.; 'The Kenya Emergency, 3 May 1955 - 17 November 1956', Report by Gen. Lathbury, 14 Dec. 1956, para.17, W0276/517. 297. 'Order of the Day from the C in C, 16475/C of S', 20 May 1955, W0216/883. 298. W0276/517, para.4; Heather (note 20) p.260. 299. Drake (Treasury) to Gorrell Bames, 25 June 1954, T220/386. 300. 'Extracts from Minutes of the Cabinet Committee on Civil Expenditure' CCE(54)7th, 29 June 1954, ibid.; Vasey, Interview with the Chancellor of the Exchequer, 1 July 1955, T220/387. Rising 'internal prosperity' in the UK leading to 'balance of payments difficulties' meant that Britain had to 'limit overseas commitments to the minimum'. The Chancellor told Vasey that it was 'his duty to satisfy himself that Kenya was bearing an adequate share of the burden'. 301. T220/386, (note 299). 302. Ibid., passim.; T220/387, passim. 303. Secret Minute, signed H.B. (Herbert Brittain, Treasury), 27 Jan. 1955, with a hand-written note dated 31 Jan.: ' ... we cannot continue to aid Kenya generously ... if the Kenya Government continues to refuse to contemplate increasing direct taxation', T220/386. 304. For example, when the Treasury accepted that the Kenya Government should pay for an increase in the number of Farm Guards, it proposed a reduction in other local Security Forces 'consistent with the generally improving situation in the country', Drake to Galsworthy (Colonial Office), 5 Oct. 1955, T220/387. In other words, to avoid paying for the increase 305. 'Commander-in-Chief's Appreciation of the Operational Situation in Kenya at the Beginning of August 1955', Report by Gen. Lathbury, W0216/887. 306. Keesing's, p.I4423.

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307. Lathbury to Templer (CIGS), 5 Dec. 1955, W0216/892; Jeffery (note 158) pp. 128- 9; Lt.Gen. Sir Gerald Lathbury, 'The Security Forces in the Kenya Emergency', The Oxfordshire and Buckinghamshire Light Infantry Chronicle (1957) p.83. 308. Furedi (note 1, 1991) p.161. 309. W0216/892 (note 307). 310. 'Appreciation by the Commander-in-Chief East Africa, January 1956', 23 Jan. 1956, ibid. 311. Lathbury to Templer, 30 July 1956, ibid.; 'Appreciation by the Commander in Chief East Africa July 1956',28 June 1956, W0276/4; W0276/517, paras.74-80; Keesing's, p.14859. 312. W0276/517, para.88; Lathbury (note 307) pp.80, 90. 313. 'Order of the Day by Lieutenant-General Sir Gerald Lathbury, KCB, DSO, MBE, Commander-in-ChiefEast Africa, 13 November 1956', W0276/517.

[12] 'Lacking Intelligence': Some Reflections on Recent Approaches to British Counter-insurgency, 1900-1960 RICHARD POPPLEWELL David M. Anderson and David Killingray (eds), Policing and Decolonisation: Nationalism, Politics and the Police, 1917-65 (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1992). Pp.227. £35.00. ISBN 0-7190-3033--L Michael J. Cohen and Martin Kolinsky (eds), Britain and the Middle East in the 1930s: Security Problems, 1935-39 (London: Macmillan, 1992). Pp.231. £40.00. ISBN 0-333--53514--6. Peter Heehs, The Bomb in Bengal: The Rise of Revolutionary Terrorism in India 1900-1910 (New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1994). Pp.324, £17.50. ISBN 0-19-563350---4. Peter Hopkirk, On Secret Service East of Constantinople (London: John Murray, 1994). Pp.43L £19.99. ISBN 9780719-55017-1Thomas R. Mockaitis, British Counterinsurgency 1919-60 (London: Macmillan, 1990). Pp.21O. £40.00. ISBN 0-333--51131-X. The study of British counter-insurgency is almost as old as the problem of insurgency itself. Britain's failure to suppress the IRA during the Irish 'Troubles' of 1919-22 was the subject of contemporary public discussion, which was focused on the ruthless methods used by the Black and Tans, the auxiliaries recruited to support the demoralized Royal Irish Constabulary. 1 The openness of debate about counter-insurgency in Britain contrasts sharply with the secrecy which has hitherto shrouded discussion of British intelligence. Despite this it may fairly be said that no definitive work has yet appeared on counter-insurgency. The most comprehensive account to have appeared on the subject is Thomas Mockaitis's British Counterinsurgency 1919-60, which draws on nearly all the works in this field. This work may thus be used as a yardstick by which to judge the contribution of the other works under review. Before looking in detail at the state of current literature, it is best to state the general conclusions which Mockaitis makes. Indeed, it is clear that Mockaitis is essentially presenting a model of British counter-insurgency operations. Since the British have been more successful than any other power in the world in waging this kind of warfare, Mockaitis implicitly tries to present them as a prescription for others. According to Mockaitis, the key to Britain's success in combating insurgency lay in the careful application of minimum force. Unlike the French in IndoChina and Algeria, and the Americans in Vietnam, the British realized that no insurgency could be suppressed unless they won the 'hearts and minds' of the population as a whole. Thus, while the insurgents had to be defeated in the field, the key to Britain's successes was its readiness to identify and remedy sources of

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popular discontent. This affected the way in which the British applied force. As Mockaitis notes, the British had to ensure that the hearts and minds campaign was integrated with the military effort. This meant that in each insurgency they tried to ensure close co-operation between all branches of the civil government and the military. Rarely did they allow the army to get out of control. 2 When this did happen in Palestine, counter-insurgency operations had little chance of success. Good relations between the army and the civil administration, above all the police, not only reduced popular support for the insurgents, but also facilitated effective military measures. The army could only fight the terrorists if it had good intelligence about them; it could only secure good intelligence if it maintained good relations with the police; and in turn , the police could only gather information about the terrorists if they stayed close to the population. Finally, the army itself had to be prepared to adapt to the ways of the terrorists, understanding their minds as much as those of the police and the ordinary citizen. It had to dispense with conventional methods and display 'extraordinary tactical flexibility'. 3 Mockaitis acknowledges that the British took time to come up with this model of counter-insurgency operations, but believes that they had done so by the time of the Malayan Emergency of 1948-60. Undoub,tedly Mockaitis' model reveals much about how Britain defeated insurgencies. It is less convincing as an explanation of why they failed. An immediate question which arises from reading his work is why the British with all their experience still were unable to suppress political violence in Northern Ireland in the period 1968-94. A general problem with Mockaitis' work is its didactic purpose. The shadow of Vietnam hangs over it, since the author is evidently concerned to explain America's failure in the light of Britain's success. Britain's success in fighting counter-insurgency in the period 1948-68 is itself open to question, and has frequently been overstressed. Britain's achievements in suppressing insurgency were the result not only of counter-insurgency operations, but also of the major political concessions which the British were prepared to make. Most of Britain's successes occurred in the context of the end of Empire when the British were no longer concerned with maintaining their physical presence but with securing a smooth transition to independence and maintaining close relations with the newly independent states and the former metropolis. Where Britain was unable to find a political solution to its problems in Palestine and Northern Ireland, no 'hearts and minds' campaign could end the insurgency. A further problem arises from emphasis on Britain's success. It ignores the question of why the insurgencies were not prevented or at least nipped in the bud. In all the insurgencies which have hitherto been studied, the British Army became involved in force. But this was always a desperate solution from Britain's point of view. The ideal was to neutralize insurgency rapidly by effective use of police intelligence. This highlights a general problem of work on counter-insurgency, namely it pays little attention to political intelligence. Anderson and KilIingray's volume on Policing and Decolonisation shows clearly why intelligence failures occurred, which was invariably because the British ran their empire on a shoestring and simply could not afford effective police forces. Yet the cases when intelligence alone was responsible for suppressing insurgencies are wholly absent from all current works on counter-insurgency. The lack of study of the role of British intelligence in counter-insurgency operations is not primarily because its operations are inevitably covert, while those of the army and police are far more open. The chief reason is that works

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on counter-insurgency to date have had an insufficient geographical and chronological scope. In short, they have failed adequately to look at British India. During the First World War, British intelligence was able to suppress an Indian revolutionary movement which was potentially just as dangerous as any of the future insurgencies which the Empire faced. Furthermore, police intelligence neutralized a renewed terrorist campaign in Bengal in the 1930s, and was primarily responsible for the ease with which the Government of India suppressed Gandhi's Civil Disobedience Campaign in 1942. Admittedly Gandhi did not openly advocate violence, but his protests always brought violence in their wake, and the methods the Indian government used against them did not differ from those used against violent insurgencies. Thus the study of Indian unrest challenges current assumptions that the British had only one model upon which to draw in combating insurgency and, specifically, the idea that the prolonged involvement of the army was somehow inevitable. The case of India further shows that comparative works on British counterinsurgency need to lay more stress on local conditions. In each case the methods of the insurgents and the support they drew from the local population differed. Mockaitis notes in his chapter on 'The Learning Process' that the British fumbled towards the perfect model of counter-insurgency operations which they finally achieved in Malaya. But it is difficult to see what the Government of India could have gained if it had opted for a military solution to most of its insurgencies. Equally, the Government of Malaya did not have the option of fighting its insurgencies through police intelligence alone. It is true that of all the constituent administrations of the Empire, only the Government of India had effective police intelligence at its disposal. None the less, the methods of the terrorists in Malaya, based on the support of part of the Chinese population and on the protection of the jungle, ensured that the army would become involved. A final general problem that can be identified in current works on counterinsurgency relates to ideology. Mockaitis and the authors in Anderson and Killingray's volume agree that insurgency invariably gained ground as a result of bad police intelligence. The British were always caught unawares. But was lack of money to spend on good policing the only reason for this? Is it not also true that in no part of the Empire were the British willing to maintain control over their subjects through an ubiquitous and oppressive secret police? British concern to maintain 'hearts and minds' in the Empire was not just a reflection of the practical need to defeat insurgencies. It is strongly arguable that this reflected two beliefs in the minds of Britain's colonial rulers from at least the second half of the nineteenth century. First, use of extensive domestic espionagewas wrong on purely moral grounds. Second, it was counter-productive since it would only lead to widespread discontent, which was a far worse danger than armed insurgency. These attitudes were undoubtedly entrenched in the minds of the rulers of British India. More study is needed on attitudes in other parts of the Empire. Before going into details of specific insurgencies, the question should be asked to what extent the works under review contribute to broadening our understanding of British counter-insurgency. The short answer is that they do not do so substantially, though they shed light on some of the problems mentioned above. The most interesting new material of substance is contained in Anderson and Killingray's Policing and Decolonisation. This broadens current research into the question of army-police relations in Britain's counter-insurgencies from the Irish Troubles to the Cyprus Emergency.

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What then, are the questions raised by the specific works under review? Perhaps the best approach is to focus not on the individual works, but instead on three chronological periods of British counter-insurgency in the twentieth century. First, the period from 1907 to 1922, which covers the emergence of a revolutionary movement in India and its suppression by 1917, and ends with Britain's failure to defeat the IRA during the Irish Troubles of 1919-22. Second, the period 1922-45, in which the British again had mixed success, failing to suppress insurgency in Palestine, but achieving much in India. Finally, the period of the Cold War from 1945 to 1960, when British counter-insurgency operations are said to have been perfected. All current works on counter-insurgency agree that the first British counterinsurgency campaign of the twentieth century was fought in Ireland against the IRA in the years 1919-22. It is argued that there the British failed to win their first trial of strength against insurgency because of their inexperience. This picture is quite untrue. For over a decade before the Irish Troubles, the British had been combating a powerful Indian revolutionary movement. Neglect of this movement is surprising, because in many ways it was the most serious insurgency which the British had to face in the twentieth century with the exception of the two Irish crises of 1919-22 and of 1969 to the present. Certainly it was the only insurgency which came near to inflicting major damage on the British Empire as a whole. Given the lack of published material on this subject, some background information needs to be given on the crisis in India at the beginning of this century. Despite isolated troubles in the 1890s, revolutionary terrorism really emerged in India in the years after 1907. Within India, the first terrorist acts were mostly confined to the troubled north-eastern province of Bengal or else were conducted by Bengalis. The local police had failed to foresee the outbreak of terrorism and were unable to deal with it in the years before the First World War. The situation in Bengal parallels that of every other counter-insurgency which Britain fought in the first half of the twentieth century. An underpaid and under-strength local police initially proved incapable of providing the government with the intelligence needed to nip the terrorist movement in the bud. A further cause of intelligence failure was the composition of the police. The lower ranks did not have close contacts with the local population, which regarded them with hostility. Once insurrection had broken out, the ordinary police became prey to terrorist pressure and their morale was rapidly broken. By the beginning of the 1910s they were capable neither of obtaining information about the terrorists nor of preventing their actions. Before the First World War the existence of revolutionary terrorism in Bengal and the failure of the Indian Police to suppress it were already of considerable concern to the government. The terrorists had not yet come close to disrupting the functioning of the provincial administration, but nevertheless the British were acutely aware of the limited resources of their civil and military establishment in India; they did not have the manpower easily to contain serious unrest. A more immediate problem in this period was the threat to imperial prestige. In 1912 Bengali terrorists nearly succeeded in assassinating the Viceroy, Lord Hardinge, as he entered Delhi in a procession marking the transfer of the Indian capital to that city. Britain's Indian subjects had not presented such an armed challenge to the Raj since the great Mutiny of 1857-58.

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British concerns about Indian terrorism were heightened because from early on revolutionary groups existed abroad. In 1909 Indian unrest spread to London, when a group of Indian students organized the assassination of Sir William Curzon-Wyllie, an aide to the Secretary of State for India. This was Britain's first political murder of the twentieth century. The Special Branch of the Metropolitan Police, then at an embryonic stage, had no difficulty in containing Indian terrorism in Britain. However, Indian revolutionary societies continued to exist in France, while a far more serious threat developed in Canada, the United States, China and Japan. The North American and Far Eastern organizations were based on the support of Sikhs discontented at discriminatory immigration laws in their new countries. By 1913 the Indian revolutionaries of the Pacific were united in a single organization, the Chadr (Revolt) Party. The aim of Chadr and the less numerous groups in Europe, was to kindle armed insurrection in India at the first opportunity. Even before war broke out the British had begun to take this threat seriously. It was the only occasion before the Cyprus Emergency of 1955-60, when the British Empire was faced with an insurgency that could potentially draw on significant support from abroad. 4 The danger of the smouldering insurgency flaring up out of control increased greatly after war broke out in 1914. Bengali terrorism reached a new intensity. By 1915, it seemed very possible that this province, with its population of almost 80 million, would become ungovernable. The British realized that the consequences for their global war effort would be grave. Britain's predicament in India escaped the notice of neither the Chadr Party nor the German government. At the end of 1914, Chadrrevolutionaries flocked back to India from North America and the Far East. Early in 1915 they tried, with the assistance of the Bengalis, to cause rebellion in the north-western province of the Punjab, the region from which Britain recruited the best units of the Indian Army. The planned insurrection was foiled quite easily by the efficiency of the local police. Chadr's plans might have been far more damaging had the Indian revolutionary leaders bothered to contact the Germans before they struck. This they did not do for no other reason than their own rashness. After 1915, the Chadr movement continued to function in North America and in the Far East, now in close co-operation with the Germans. German plotting against the Raj was at its height in the years 1915--16.5 The Germans planned to cause trouble from two general directions. First, and most importantly, they intended to fuel the terrorist campaign in Bengal by shipping in large quantities of arms and ammunition from the United States and the Dutch East Indies. There is little doubt that the success of this scheme would have tipped the already precarious balance in the terrorist war, which depended largely on the insurgents' lack of weapons. Second, the Germans sent a small expedition comprised of German soldiers and a few Indian revolutionaries to the Amir of Afghanistan. They realized that Afghanistan's neutrality was shaky and that the majority of the Afghan population were fiercely anti-British. The Germans believed that the British would only be able to contain an Afghan invasion coupled with an increase in Bengali terrorism by moving large numbers of troops from the Western Front and from the war with the Turks. German plots against the Indian Empire were ambitious and innovative, yet by the end of 1916 they had manifestly failed, while, starved of support, the terrorist campaign in Bengal was suddenly and rapidly running out of steam. Partly this was because these plans had been executed incompetently, but the intelligence and counter-insurgency operations of the British made at least an

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equal contribution to their failure. British handling of the Indian revolutionary movement shows many interesting similarities and differences with their conduct of counter-insurgency in the future. As in all the other crises covered in the works under review, the British saw reform of the local police as their first priority in containing the unrest. After 1910 all the provinces of India were required to set up small CIDs on modern European lines. In Bengal, elite police intelligence units were at the heart of counter-insurgency operations. Here, however, the parallels with other counter-insurgencies end. In India the government was too short of money to implement any meaningful reform of the rank-and-file police. Even at the end of the terrorist war in Bengal in 1917, the Raj ultimately was dependent for security on the operations of the local CID and Intelligence Branch whose combined strength numbered little over 300 men. Furthermore, the government saw only a handful of British and Indian officers as the core of Britain's anti-terrorist operations, the loss of even one of whom was seen as a major setback. A second feature which distinguished the campaign in Bengal from all Britain's other counter-insurgencies was the absence of the army. Thus the problem of military-police relations which bedevilled all future operations of this kind in the Empire never arose, nor was it foreseen. The Government of India did not call in the army first because they scarcely had any troops to spare in the years 1914--16, and second because they were reluctant to do so. In 1915, the Governinent of India discussed the possible use of the military, but decided that this would be counter-productive as it would only bring a wavering public opinion squarely behind the terrorists. This decision marks the first crucial lesson which the British drew in the conduct of their counter-insurgency operations, namely, that minimum force was essential if they were to maintain the hearts and minds of the local population. If they did not, the battle against the terrorists would be lost before it started. Mockaitis has stressed that concern with 'hearts and minds' distinguished British counter-insurgency operations, which for the most part were successful, from those of the French in Indo-China and Algeria and of the Americans in Vietnam, which failed. He implies that the British succeeded not just because they rarely committed the kind of atrocities which were frequently associated with French and American operations, but also because they actively pursued propaganda campaigns to improve the government's image. This obscures the fact that the British saw many different ways of maintaining public support. In Bengal before and during the First World War, as in Arab Palestine in the 1930s, the British did not have the option of conducting a propaganda campaign. The Bengali press was either indifferent to British rule or antipathetic to it, and in this respect reflected the general view of the population. Government propaganda would only have been seen as provocative. As a result Britain's 'hearts and minds' campaign was of a passive kind in Bengal. It was none the less crucial to defeating the terrorist campaign. First and foremost, the Government of India were determined never to control India through a secret police. Even at the worst stage of the violence, they never considered ruling Bengal through a secret police, and, thanks to the restrained scale of counter-insurgency operations, were never seriously accused of doing so. Second, and more problematic for the Viceroy and his advisers as well as the home government, was the question of whether to impose security legislation in Bengal. Their dilemma reflected that of British governments facing insurgency in the future . They asked whether

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such legislation would alienate the public. In dealing with Bengal the British chose a compromise. They did not declare a state of Emergency but instead introduced the Defence of India Act in the middle of 1915. This allowed the government to intern suspected terrorists without trial for the duration of the war. The government's feeling of vulnerability before public opinion, even at a time of crisis, is revealed by the timing of the Act. It was enacted over a year after the similar Defence of the Realm Act came into force in the United Kingdom. A further feature of Britain's 'hearts and minds' campaign in dealing with the Indian revolutionary movement ofthe First World War is shown by the aims and activities of British intelligence abroad. These operations were conducted jointly from two centres: the Department of Criminal Intelligence (DCI) in Delhi and the headquarters ofthe Secret Service in London. Both were essential to Britain's campaign of minimum force against the insurgents. The British were able to take such a risk within India only because they were convinced that there was no likelihood that the local terrorists could be reinforced from abroad. British intelligence in America, China and Japan had tremendous success in securing precise information about all threats to India throughout the war. Indeed, British Intelligence in America was largely responsible for discovering and destroying German schemes to arm the Bengali revolutionaries. The main reason for the development of British foreign intelligence in North America and in Japan was the existence of the Indian revolutionary movement. Its organization reflected to some degree the nature of this task. It was vital that the Raj should not be seen to have an ubiquitous and repressive secret service either in India or abroad. In 1914 British intelligence in North America amounted to only one regular officer. In 1917, at its largest, the British had only three senior intelligence officers in North America dealing with both the Indian revolutionary movement and German intrigue in general. This is the general picture of the first insurgency which faced the British Empire in the twentieth century. It is wholly absent from all the works so far published on British counter-insurgency and intelligence operations. Unfortunately, it is also largely missing from the two works under review which deal with British India: Peter Heehs's The Bomb in Bengal and Peter Hopkirk's On Secret Service East of Constantinople. Peter Heehs's work is written from the point of view of the terrorists themselves, and above all from the point of Aurobindo Ghose, a figure far better known in today's India than the outside world. Mr Heehs's sympathies with the terrorists are not open to question, which is scarcely surprising since he is an archivist at the 'Sri Aurobindo Ashram' (Saint Aurobindo Religious Retreat) in Pondicherry. None the less he succeeds in describing an accurate picture of the workings of the terrorists and the scale of the problem facing the British. His purpose is not to provide an analysis of Britain's political and security policies. He does, however, provide some interesting local details on police operations. Though coloured in as hostile a light as possible, these are often based on official documents. More questionable is the time frame of his work, which stops in 1910, the date when his hero, Aurobindo, was forced to take political asylum in Pondicherry, the small French enclave in southern India. This decision would surely have been questioned by the Bengali revolutionaries themselves, who generally acknowledged Aurobindo as the father of Bengali terrorism. Mr Heehs makes no attempt to

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discuss the events of the First World War or of the 1930s when Aurobindo's armed disciples once again tried to make war on the Raj. Mr Heehs makes no pretensions about the restricted scale of his work. The same cannot be said of Peter Hopkirk whose On Secret Service ignores the Bengali revolutionary movement almost as much as it ignores British intelligence. Though he claims that the work 'draws on the secret service documents' of the times, it is unclear what these documents are. Certainly he has made no use of the archives of the German Auswiirtiges Amt (Foreign Office), or of the Government of India's Home Department (that is, Ministry of the Interior). In fact, the first two-thirds of the work add little to what has already appeared in Thomas Fraser's unpublished PhD thesis, 'Intrigues of German Government and the Ghadr Party' , which provides information on German plots based in the United States and the Far East, and in Victor Winstone's Illicit Adventure which among other things deals with Germany's attempts to bring Afghanistan into the war. Hopkirk devotes only one line to India's intelligence headquarters, the Department of Criminal Intelligence, and this line, moreover, is drawn from one page of an account of dubious reliability published in the 1920s. He has little more to say about its head, Sir Charles Cleveland, mentioning that he received reports from one particular intelligence officer in North America before the war, and that he may have had information about German intrigues at Kabul. There is a brief note on Ghadr's planned insurrection in the Punjab, but continuing revolutionary activities in India, the Far East and the United States are scarcely mentioned, and what is said is very misleading. For example, he claims that on Christmas Day 1915, the Germans planned to raid the government of India's penal colony in the Andaman Islands and to form an invasion force out of the prisoners. 6 Even a cursory reading of Fraser's work would make it clear that this plot was nonsense, invented by a German double-agent in order to sell the details to the British. In roughly the second third of the book Mr Hopkirk provides the most readable account to date of the activities of German officers in their efforts to cause unrest both in Afghanistan and in Persia, but there is nothing new here. In the last part of the book, he is concerned with the Turkish threat to the Caucasus and potentially to India which emerged in 1918 after the collapse of the Russian Empire. Here there is discussion of 'secret service' though not of British intelligence agencies. There is some interesting anecdotal information of the clandestine activities of British foreign office officials and military intelligence officers in their bids to stem the Turkish menace. This account is very much a patchwork made up from the published memoirs of the officials involved, certainly without any obvious support from archival material. No overall picture emerges of British intelligence operations against the Turks. In fact, the author's choice of material is often open to question. It is difficult to understand why there is no discussion of the structure and aims of British military intelligence on the Turkish front, when this undoubtedly made a major contribution to the war, although readers are treated to a tedious seven-page account of the escapades of a British consular official escaping from Persian brigands, none of whom had any obvious connection with 'secret service'. The quality of research and analysis in Anderson and Killingray's book Policing and Decolonisation is very much better than that in the works of Heehs and Hopkirk. It is not specifically on counter-insurgency, but in most of the cases the police concerned were primarily concerned with such operations.

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Most of the authors of the essays contained in it are aware that discussion of policing the end of Empire can only be distorted unless they address such an important issue as relations between the police and the army. However, with the exception of David Killingray's introduction and Richard Rathbone's contribution on 'Political intelligence and policing in Ghana in the late 1940s and the 1950s', they scarcely touch upon the role of intelligence in counterinsurgency. A full discussion of British intelligence in Ireland is not to be found in Charles Townshend's 'Policing insurgency in Ireland, 1914-23', an otherwise good account of the police incompetence and awful civil-military relations that crippled Britain's counter-insurgency effort in the Emergency. This omission is surprising since the writer is aware of the key role played by the intelligence organizations of both sides in the Troubles. Yet he limits himself to discussion only of the RIC's operations. It would have been easy to find an excellent account of British intelligence in Ireland in Christopher Andrew's authoritative work Secret Service. 7 This means that discussion of British counter-intelligence in Ireland remains limited to its component parts: some have written on the RIC; some have discussed the army; others have started to look at British intelligence. But none has looked at all three. It is clear from Townshend's account of the Royal Irish Constabulary that the British did not have the option of applying the tactics they used in Bengal in the case of Ireland. The RIC were in an even worse condition than the Indian Police when trouble broke out. They not only failed to prevent the Easter Uprising but also provided little help in its suppression. 8 Why the government did so little to prevent the recurrence of political unrest in 1919 is unclear both from Townshend's account and that of Mockaitis. Undoubtedly the government believed that trouble evaporated as soon as the insurgents of 1916 were in custody. There is a clear parallel here with events in India, where terrorism all but disappeared once the police had interned all violent suspects under the Defence of India Act. Unlike in India, where few political prisoners suffered capital punishment, the government thereafter showed crass insensitivity to Irish sensibilities. The hanging of the 1916 rebels is generally acknowledged to have had a decisive impact on Irish opinion, which before the executions had been overwhelmingly against political violence. Britain's lack of concern with Irish hearts and minds continued well into the Troubles. Thus the IRA succeeded where the Bengalis failed; revolutionary sympathies spread to a sizeable portion of the population. The British government's complacency before the gathering storm in Ireland is fully clear from Townshend's article. Remarkably they failed to reform the RIC after 1916. At the end of that year a Home Office specialist reviewed RIC intelligence, yet his recommendations were not taken up. The Crimes Special Branch were denied £30 for a card index unless they could make up the money from cuts elsewhere. RIC police stations were not generally provided with telephones, and remarkably this problem was only looked into in 1918. Partly these problems arose out of government parsimony, and partly from friction between the RIC and the army. The military despised the police, which is hardly surprising after their performance in 1916. But these squabbles contributed to the intelligence disaster of 1919. The army had opposed the establishment of a single intelligence co-ordinator because it might make them dependent on

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the police. 9 Inevitably the British were caught unawares when the IRA began the fight in earnest in 1919. Undoubtedly Treasury tight-fistedness and bad army-police relations contributed to Britain's failure to prevent the Troubles of 1919-22. But it is difficult to avoid the impression that this is only a partial answer which takes too narrow a chronological view of British rule in Ireland. What was the contribution of British ideology? Is it true that the British did not maintain a good intelligence service in Ireland because this would be counter-productive? Did the officials in Dublin Castle share an abhorrence of secret police rule and 'Tsarist methods' with the Government of India? It is almost certain that they did. This is not to say that either the Indian Police or the RIC did not have recourse to informers and police agents. Of course they did. Interestingly, Lord Morley, who had been Secretary of State for both Ireland and India, recalled in 1909 that such undesirables, as he saw them, were more prevalent in Ireland than in India. Morley was a man given to hyperbole, and there is little question but that the political police in both parts of the Empire was run on discreet lines. This is, for example, implicit in Townshend's work, though he does not raise the question of ideology. By the beginning of the 1920s, the lessons of British counter-insurgency operations were ambiguous. In India, the police alone had contained the problem of terrorism. In Ireland this solution had not been available to the government after 1919 when police intelligence had collapsed, helped by a violent push from the IRA, who assassinated most of the RlC's key intelligence officers on a single day. The British did not, however, think of drawing on the Indian experience till it was too late. Indian police intelligence officers, foremost among them (later Sir) Charles Tegart of the Bengal Intelligence Branch, came to assist the RIC only in 1920. This reflected the compartmentalization of the British Empire's constituent governments which was a barrier to the transmission of experience from one counter-insurgency to another right up to the Cyprus Emergency. The lessons of Ireland, however, seem clear with hindsight. Good police intelligence was at the heart of counter-insurgency. This alone could nip trouble in the bud, and this alone could provide the army with the information necessary for effective operations against the insurgents. Of equal importance was the 'hearts and minds' campaign, which was all but non-existent on the government side right up until the last year of the conflict, though highly effective on the part of the IRA. The picture which emerges from the period 1922--47 is that of all the constituent parts of the Empire only the Government of India was able effectively to combat counter-insurgency, whereas operations in Palestine, which were more immediately under the control of London, proved just as dismal a failure as those against the Irish. The extent to which this reflected the relative experience of the local police forces or greatly differing local conditions is debatable. In Palestine during the Arab Revolt and the Zionist terrorism of 1945--47, the British faced their two most difficult insurgencies. Local conditions were very different from those in India and Ireland. In many ways British administration in Palestine continued the practices of the Ottoman Empire, where religious communities had been largely responsible for their own local government. Neither the Ottomans nor the British had the resources needed for strong centralized government in the province. This was reflected in the composition of the police. The Arab community was policed by Arabs and the Zionist, or

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Yishuv, by Jews. This had a major impact on counter-insurgency. During the Arab Revolt the Arab police were useless because they either sympathized with the insurgents or assisted them; likewise in the period 194~7, the Jewish police clearly connived at Zionist terrorism. to In fact, in the initial stages of the Arab revolt, the intelligence operations of the insurgents were much more effective than those of the government. 11 The Zionist terrorists were always to have this edge. Thus local conditions in Palestine made it very difficult, if not impossible, for the British to take measures to anticipate the two insurgencies. Thereafter counter-insurgency operations were difficult because the government was unable to make satisfactory political concessions. The Arabs could be appeased only at the cost of alienating the Zionists and vice versa. The solution to the Palestine problem could only be a political one. The most that counterinsurgency could do was to lessen its intensity. The Arab Revolt was only suppressed by a massive military effort and by the wide scale of use of Jewish police and by strengthening the Zionist community's militia, the Haganah. These methods just prepared the way for the success of the Zionist insurgency. 12 When relations with the Zionists soured in 1945, the British had to face a welltrained army of 38,000 men, many of whom became insurgents. The difficulties which the British encountered in Palestine reflected also the way the insurgents fought. The Arab Revolt was conducted in difficult terrain outside the cities. From the start it was a military campaign which police methods were not suited to fighting. The Zionist Revolt was based on the closed Jewish community in Palestine. It was virtually impossible for the British to combat Zionist terrorism through good intelligence because the activities of the insurgents were so roundly supported by the Yishuv. The British would have had enormous difficulties in fighting the two insurgencies in Palestine even if they had been well prepared to do so. But they were not. Civil-military relations were just as bad as they had been in Ireland. At the start of the Arab Revolt the army was very critical of the soft approach of Sir Arthur Wauchope, the High Commissioner, which they claimed allowed the insurgents freedom of action. In particular, they resented the dispersal of troops in duties which they believed the police should be carrying out.13 This was a feature of all Britain's insurgencies outside India. But the army themselves had made no preparations for fighting insurgencies despite their failure in Ireland. t4 When the Arab Revolt had continued for almost two years, the Government of Palestine finally turned to India for help. They received it in the person of Sir Charles Tegart. Remarkably, none of the writers under review seems aware of his background in the Bengal Intelligence Branch, where he had achieved a heroic stature because of the successful anti-terrorist campaigns he had organized during the First World War and in the 1930s, and because of his courageY Though a well-known figure, he habitually drove his car through the streets of Calcutta at the height of interwar terrorism accompanied only by his Staffordshire terrier . t6 In January 1938 Tegart presented his recommendations for counter-insurgency in Palestine. These partly reflected Indian practices, since Tegart called for the strengthening and improvement of the CID. He also called for the improvement of grassroots intelligence-gathering by greater use of the Arab police. He stressed that only they would be in a position to supply the authorities with reliable intelligence. He further called for the creation of an elite mobile paramilitary police. 17 Finally, Tegart called for the erection of a

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fence all along the border with French-ruled Syria, which had hitherto provided sanctuary to Arab guerrillas. The government put Tegart's proposals into practice over the summer of 1938. 18 Charles Smith in his article 'Communal conflict and insurrection in Palestine, 1936-48' is very critical of Tegart, claiming that his report was 'contradictory and confused'. This is because on the one hand he called for greater use of the Arab police, while on the other calling for greater use of the military. This is based partly on a misreading of Tegart's report and partly on a lack of knowledge of the Government of India's counter-insurgency practices. Tegart stressed in his report that some use should be made of the Arab police rather than no use at all. After all, the rank-and-file police in Bengal were just as demoralized and inefficient as the Palestinian Arab constables, but still played an important part in anti-terrorist activities. Tegart clearly intended that the key factor in good police counter-insurgency should be the elite intelligence officers, a method which had proved very successful in India. Tegart's concern to cut the insurgents off from their French sanctuary also reflected what had happened in India. Until 1914 Bengali revolutionaries like Aurobindo Ghose had been able to escape into the French enclaves at Chandernagore in Bengal and Pondicherry in Madras. Of course Tegart tailored his recommendations to local conditions. By 1938 there was no question but that the Arab Revolt could be ended only by large-scale military action. The arrival of 50,000 British troops in Palestine in 1938 and the increase of the Haganah to 38,000 men during the Second World War effectively swamped the insurgents, whose active members never numbered more than a thousand or so men. 19 But clearly Tegart's methods also took effect. At the beginning of 1939 there was an increasing flow of information about the insurgents. 2o It is difficult to say what lessons the British learned from Palestine, given the specific local conditions of the insurgencies. Smith claims that the experience of the Arab Revolt only led the British into bad habits. Above all they believed that other insurgencies could be suppressed primarily by military methods. They were quickly disabused of this notion when they came to fight the Zionists who, unlike the Arabs who generally fought in the open country, were able to disappear inside the cities. But the question should also be asked how exactly the British could have suppressed the Zionist revolt. It is strongly arguable that no solution was possible by either military or police methods. As Smith notes, in contradiction of his own argument, in 'the absence of good intelligence, the police and the army had little to hit back with except large-scale cordon-andsearch operations mounted in the hope, rather than the expectation of arresting anyone'."21 Smith further argues that the British drew on their previous experience in fighting insurgency but in a negative way. In 1938 they reinforced the Palestine police with an intake of over 1,300 officers from the Metropolis. 22 These included many former 'Black and Tans' who behaved with the same kind of brutality that had distinguished them in Ireland. Their interrogation techniques included beating the soles of prisoners' feet with canes and, more imaginatively, turning them upside down and urinating down their nostrils. There is no evidence that these excesses characterized the British police as a whole. Undoubtedly the British made little attempt to win either Arab or Jewish hearts and minds in Palestine. Collective communal punishment in particular gained them little advantage, though it was a method used right up to the Cyprus

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Emergency. But whether they alienated either community by their methods is open to question. Given the nature of the war, their methods on the whole might be said to have been restrained. If Arab and Zionist sentiment was alienated, this occurred primarily because no political solution was readily available to the Palestine problem. It is significant that modern Israelis who lived through the troubled 1930s and 1940s remember British rule in Palestine as essentially just. It would be a mistake to think that the only lessons to be learned from British counter-insurgency in the interwar period were negative. In India the government effectively defeated a recrudescence of Bengali terrorism in the 1930s. In 1942, effective police intelligence was largely responsible for the Raj's success in squashing Gandhi's Civil Disobedience campaign before it had even started. Police intelligence had targeted all the organizers of the campaign and arrested them at a stroke. Throughout this period the Delhi Intelligence Bureau, as the former Department of Criminal Intelligence was known after 1920, played an important role in monitoring the activities of Communist subversives within India and abroad.23 Unfortunately the activities of the Indian CIDs and Special Branches in the 1930s and 1940s have received very little attention, a deficiency not made up by David Arnold's article on 'Police power and the demise of British rule in India, 1930--47'. Arnold acknowledges that intelligence was vital to the maintenance of British rule in India, but does not say why this was SO.24 He does not mention the terrorist campaign in Bengal nor the existence of the Delhi Intelligence Bureau. What is more, he does not discuss the relationship between policing, intelligence, and ideology in the Empire. These omissions are also a major weakness of his book on the Indian Police. 25 When the British left India in 1947 they had enjoyed a continuously successful experience in combating insurgency in various forms. Indian foreign intelligence had contributed to this struggle, with operations on a global level. But it is still unclear how the British used this experience in its postwar counter-insurgency operations. The post-war period was, however, undoubtedly one of growth in the development of British counter-intelligence. Two general trends have been discerned. First, there was a drive towards the centralization of policing and intelligence on an imperial level which had scarcely existed before. Second, Mockaitis and Killingray agree that by the end of the 1950s, a clear model of British counterinsurgency had emerged, based on the co-ordination of the civil and military authorities in gathering intelligence on the insurgents and upon a far greater concern for public opinion than they had displayed in Ireland and Palestine. Killingray notes that in the process of decolonization, colonial policing 'changed from a local to a metropolitan concern: politicians and officials in London drew upon the experience of policing in one colony to inform the practice in another'. 26 An important feature of this centralization was the increased role of MI5. MI5 had already assumed overall responsibility for political intelligence within the Empire at the end of the First World War, while the SIS was concerned with the rest of the world. Unfortunately, very little is known about MI5's foreign activities in the interwar period. However, by the end of the 1940s its role had clearly become more active. It served not only as a repository of experience for the colonial police, but also played a significant role in setting up Special Branches in many colonies. 27 Another feature of the increased centralization of British policing in the Empire was the establishment of an Inspectorate General

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of Colonial Police under the control of the Colonial Office. Here the aim was to 'inculcate in the colonial police services the methods and standards of policing in Britain' .28 Clearly, the imperial government intended that the colonial police forces should function efficiently as the first stage in an intelligence pyramid centred on London. But the success of these centralizing efforts is very doubtful, given British intelligence's poor performance in preventing insurgency in Malaya, Cyprus and Kenya. The reasons for the increased control of policing from London are clear. First, by the end of the 19408, the British felt the need to combat Communist subversion centred on Moscow with a unified counter-intelligence effort of their own. Second, London was anxious to supervise an orderly retreat from Empire. The police, who had greater contact with the local populations than any other branch of the colonial services, was of key importance in this withdrawal. Unfortunately discussion of these global aspects of Britain's post-war counter-insurgency is not contained in Mockaitis's British Counterinsurgency 1919-60 and does not feature to any significant extent in the articles in Anderson and Killingray's Policing and Dec%nisation, with the exception of Killingray's stimulating introduction. An interesting question which does not emerge from any of the books under review is the connection between policing, the retreat from Empire, and the maintenance of Britain's global influence. On the most obvious level, the British made renewed efforts in the late colonial period to improve the standard of the rank-and-file police. Even though these were only ever partially successful, the intention was clear. The British model of administration was intended to continue as one of a complex of bonds tying former colonies to the former Metropolis. In the context of the Cold War the British saw this as vital. The successor states to the British Empire had to be able to protect themselves against the Communist threat. Thus the process of the end of Empire did not simply end with the withdrawal of British sovereignty. This was apparent in the case of Malaya, where British counter-insurgency operations did not end with Malayan independence in 1957. Less is known about British intelligence's continuing links with the other regions of the Empire. It is significant that when the British left India, the Delhi Intelligence Bureau continued under the same name with the same anti-Communist aims. Many questions remain largely unaddressed about the contribution of British imperial intelligence to counter-insurgency. Did the political police foster fears of Communist involvement in insurgencies? This is the impression gained from Richard Rathbone's article on 'Political intelligence and policing in Ghana in the late 1940s and 1950s', though he believes that the colonial government ignored the scare-mongering reports of its special branch. 29 On the other hand, A.J. Stockwell argues that the Malayan Special Branch took too relaxed a view of the activities of the Malayan Communist Party, and was caught unawares by the guerrilla war which broke out in 1948. 30 Another important question which arises is that of the role of British intelligence based in London in fighting insurgencies which were already under way. For example, the articles on Malaya, Cyprus and Kenya in Anderson's book make no reference to the role of MI5 and SIS. It is true that they are primarily concerned with the police, but can grassroots operations be fully understood without reference to the global picture? For example, during the Cyprus Emergency, it was vital for the British to understand not only the

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activities of the Greek Government but also of the secret groups supporting EOKA within Greece. After all, the insurgency was planned and supplied from Greece. Lack of knowledge about British imperial intelligence must affect our understanding of British counter-insurgency. But it seems quite clear that the undoubted centralization of imperial police intelligence after 1945 had only limited effect in improving the performance of the colonial police. The British were surprised in Malaya, Cyprus and Kenya for the same old reasons that they had been surprised in Ireland and Palestine. In each case, the initial failure to detect the insurgents' preparations and to prevent the spread of the insurgency, stemmed from the inadequacy of the local police. In Malaya, Cyprus, and Kenya the rank-and-file of the force were poorly paid and poorly motivated. Once again, this reflected the financial constraints of the British Empire. No model of counter-insurgency was of use if the British could not afford to pay for it. In Cyprus and Kenya the higher ranks of the police were inexperienced and inefficient. In Cyprus the political climate in the Greek community took a sharp turn for the worse after the Second World War, with the Communists getting increasing support in the towns, and the Right making more forceful demands for union with Greece. Yet the police had failed to monitor the situation. 31 David Anderson notes that 'the government neglected the police force because there was no evidence of unrest in the island, and the force failed to get any inkling of unrest because the government neglected it'. 32 An analagous situation occurred in Kenya. David Catling, a former high-ranking police officer who had experience of counter-insurgency in Palestine, Malaya and Cyprus, argued that the key problems the British faced stemmed largely from the initial failures of the police in 'intelligence-gathering and analysis'. He criticized the governments of Palestine, Malaya, Cyprus and Kenya for their failure to appreciate 'the value of accurate and up-to-date intelligence'. 33 This throws much light on Britain's conduct of counter-insurgency. In every case outside India the British failed to learn the first lesson in counter-insurgency: prevention is better than cure. The initial failure of the police to detect insurgency was accompanied by similar phenomena in both the interwar and the Cold War period. The police in Malaya, Cyprus and Kenya became demoralized and almost incapable of conducting counter-insurgency. As a result the army became involved and, because the army was overstretched in conducting operations which the police should have performed, civil-military relations were invariably bad to begin with. Thereafter, in all three cases, effective counter-insurgency was only conducted when the British managed to co-ordinate the intelligence effort of both police and army. Undoubtedly the British gained from experience once they got into their stride in fighting insurgency. But can a pattern of British counter-insurgency really be discerned? Mockaitis and Killingray believe that by the end of the 1950s, the British were more effective than they had ever been and than any other nation ever was to be in conducting counter-insurgency. In particular, Mockaitis stresses the British reliance on minimum force and concern for hearts and minds. It is difficult to fault this argument. But does it not obscure the more important point that in many ways Britain was not that successful at counter-insurgency, nor could it have been, given local conditions in the

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Empire? What is most significant about Britain's counter-insurgency operations is not its high rate of final success but that it could not prevent insurrection in the Empire in the first place. British counter-insurgency has an important place in the study of the end of Empire. The tactics which Britain used successfully to fight insurgency had an impact on the time-scale of British withdrawal and upon the influence which Britain was able to retain in specific former colonies. Yet Britain's counterinsurgency operations affected only how the British extracted themselves from their Empire. They do not significantly explain why Britain was able to withdraw with so little bloodshed. Ultimately, Britain's success stemmed from the extent to which London was willing to make political concessions to the local populations as a whole. Britain's decision to end the Empire was the main reason for the success of the army and police in fighting insurgency.

NOTES I would like to thank Dr Richard Aldrich of the Department of Politics, University of Nottingham, for his very valuable and well-informed advice during the production of this article. 1. For example, Thomas Mockaitis has drawn on various articles on counter-insurgency in Ireland published in Hampshire Regimental Journal and the Army Quarterly and Defence Journal 1921-22, after Britain's defeat. See Thomas R. Mockaitis, British Counterinsurgency 191~ (London, 1990). 2. Mockaitis, p.63. 3. Ibid., pp.13-14. 4. It is true that in 1936 100 or so volunteers came from Syria to reinforce the Arab Revolt in Palestine. However, they made no significant contribution to the insurgency, and their leader was quickly deported. One of the chief reasons why the British were able to suppress the revolt by 1939 was the insurgents' failure to find sources of arms abroad. See, for example, Joseph Nevo, 'Palestinian-Arab Violent Activity during the 1930s' in Michael 1. Cohen and Martin Kolinsky (eds), Britain and the Middle East in the 1930s: Security Problems, 1935-39 (London, 1992). 5. For a summary of German plotting see T.G. Fraser, 'Germany and Indian Revolution, 1914-18' in Journal of Contemporary History, 12 (1977), pp.255-72. 6. Peter Hopkirk, On Secret Service East of Constantinople (London, 1994), pp.17983. 7. Christopher Andrew, Secret Service: The Making of the British Intelligence Community (London, 1985). 8. Charles Townshend, 'Policing Insurgency in Ireland, 1914-23' in David Killingray and David M. Anderson (eds), Policing and Decolonisation: Nationalism, Politics and the People, 1917-65 (Manchester, 1992), p.29. 9. Ibid, pp. 29-30. 10. Charles Smith notes that many 'Arab policemen were actively helping the rebels. Confidential information on the security forces flowed freely to the guerrillas, to such an extent that both the army and the air force decided to keep the police in the dark about their future actions .. .' Ibid., p.67. 11. Nevo, 'Palestinian-Arab Violent Activity', in Cohen and Kolinsky, op.cit., p.182. 12. See, for example, Meir Pail, 'A Breakthrough in Zionist Military Conceptions: 193639', in Cohen and Kolinsky, op.cit. 13. Martin Kolinsky, 'The Collapse and Restoration of Public Order' in Cohen and Kolinsky, op.cit., p.149.

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14. Ibid., p.150. 15. He is still a figure of hate to modem Bengalis. See Zareer Masani, Indian Tales from the Raj (London, 1987), p.1l5. 16. K.F. Tegart, Charles Tegart, Memoir of an Indian Policeman, Vol. I, Ch. 7. India Office Library and Records, IOLR MSS.EUR.C.235/1. 17. Charles Smith, 'Communal Conflict and insurrection in Palestine, 1936-48' in Anderson and Killingray, op.cit., pp.68-9; Kolinsky, 'The Collapse and Restoration of Public Order', op.cit., p.156. 18. Kolinsky, op. cit., p.158. 19. Nevo, op.cit., p.183. 20. Kolinsky, op.cit., p.161. 21. Smith, op.cit., p.75. 22. Kolinsky, op.cit., p.157. 23. See the Delhi Intelligence Bureau's compilations drawn up by successive Directors of the Department. Sir Cecil Kaye, Communism in India, 1919-1924 (Calcutta, 1971); Sir David Petrie, Communism in India, 1924-1927 (Calcutta, 1972); Sir Horace Williamson, Communism in India, 1927-29 (Calcutta, 1976). 24. David Amold, 'Police power and the demise of British rule in India, 1930-47', in Anderson and Killingray, op.cit., p.44. 25. David Amold, The Madras Police (New Delhi, 1987). 26. David Killingray and David M. Anderson, 'An orderly retreat? Policing the end of empire' in Anderson and Killingray, op.cit., p.2. 27. Ibid., p.lS. 28. Ibid., pp.5-6. 29. Richard Rathbone, 'Political intelligence and policing in Ghana in the late 1940s and 1950s' in Anderson and Killingray, op.cit., pp.84-104. 30. A.J. Stockwell, 'Policing during the Malayan Emergency, 1948-60: communism, communalism and decolonisation', in Anderson and Killingray, op.cit., p.109. 31. David M. Anderson, 'Policing and communal conflict: the Cyprus Emergency, 195460' in Anderson and Killingray, op.cit., p.193. 32. Ibid., pp.193--4. 33. Quoted in David Throup, 'Crime, politics and the police in colonial Kenya, 1939-63' in Anderson and Killingray, op.cit., p.127.

335

[13] Insurgency and Decolonisation during the Malayan Emergency* by

A. J. Stockwell Royal Holloway and Bedford New College University of London

The literature on the Malayan Emergency has focused upon the aims and methods of the Malayan Communist Party (MCP) and aspects of counter-insurgency such as psychological warfare, new villages and food denial operations. Although the significance of political concessions for winning 'hearts and minds' has been regularly stressed, their exact contribution to the defeat of insurgency and the latter's impact upon the timing and manner of decolonisation have been obscured by the absence of the official record. With exceptions, government papers for the period to the end of 1955 are now available. By then the worst of the insurrection was over and Malaya was on course for independence: in June 1954 Templer was succeeded by MacGillivray, the last High Commissioner; in July 1955 the Alliance swept the board at the first Federal elections ana TUIlku Abdul Rahman became Chief Minister; in the last days of 1955 the Tunku and Tan Cheng Lock of the Malayan government together with David Marshall (Chief Minister, Singapore) met Chin Peng and two of his MCP comrades at Baling for talks which proved the national stature of the Alliance and exposed the weakness of MCP pretensions. Certain Colonial Office files from 1955 remain closed either for reasons of state or because they are bound with papers referring to subsequent years. Nevertheless, an analysis ofthe relationship between the insurgency and the policies of the Malayan government can reveal the wider perspectives of Britain's domestic and foreign interests and of the international relations of Southeast Asia and the Far East within which Malayan affairs were viewed by the government in London. I

IMPERIAL STRATEGY AND COLONIAL TACTICS

It would clearly be disastrous if Malaya were ever to meet the same fate as Burma ... It seems to me that in the foreseeable

future we shall be met with strong demands for constitutional

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developments in Malaya which we would be very rash to grant if there was the remotest risk of things developing badly. Hector McNeil, Foreign Office Minister of State, 2 April 1949 1 ... our long-term aim in British South-East Asia is the creation of a self-governing dominion of all these territories within the Commonwealth. I do not, repeat not, think that we can rush the matter. We shall make surer progress if we employ the tactics of gradualism. Malcolm MacDonald, Commissioner General, Southeast Asia, 10 July 19522 Malaya's Imperial Significance After the fall of Singapore in 1942 Britain was determined to return to its South-east Asian possessions. Even in its war-torn state Malaya was a vital asset. Its sterling balances, raw materials and capacity to earn dollars were telling reasons for the re-occupation and retention of the peninsula. The swift rehabilitation of the rubber and tin industries meant that by 1947 it was the empire's greatest dollar-earner. Moreover, Treasury largesse was not required for post-war development - the reason why Malaya has received such scant treatment in D. J. Morgan, The Official History of Colonial Development (London, 1980). On the contrary, the restoration of British rule in 1945-46 did not lead to an in-flow of sterling capital; instead, while Malaya contributed handsomely to the solution of metropolitan problems, its own standard of living fell to a point markedly lower than it had been before the war. 3 Furthermore, the strategic importance of Malaya and Singapore increased rather than diminished after the transfer of power to India, Pakistan, Burma and Ceylon.4 The contiguity of Great Power ambitions in the region distinguished South-east Asia from much of Africa until the later 1950s; Malayan policy became enmeshed with the big issues of imperial defence and the Cold War with the result that the Colonial Office had less of a free hand in this area than in tropical Africa. Though Malaya's value was not in doubt, the cost of its defence became an embarrassment when Britain faced manpower shortages, financial crises and trade imbalances. Neither the Chancellor of the Exchequer nor the Minister of Defence (and Attlee and Churchill each occupied this office for a time) looked kindly upon expenditure on the Malayan Emergency. Policy-making Malaya's wartime and post-war significance obliged the Colonial Office to step up consultations with a number of Whitehall departments and also led to regional co-ordination via the Supreme Allied Commander, the Governor General and, from 1948, the Commissioner General Southeast Asia who was answerable to both the Colonial and Foreign Offices. Colonial policy in general and Malayan policy in particular were no longer the preserve of the Colonial Office, but were formulated during

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interdepartmental official and ministerial discussions in which the Colonial Office was rarely the most senior nor always the most persuasive voice. Within such strategic guidelines the Colonial Office was assigned technical tasks for which its expertise and experience qualified it - tasks like 'native administration' and local government, the design of constitutions with the gadgetry of federalism and multiracialism, the assessment of local opinion and negotiations with nationalist leaders. The British returned to Southeast Asia in 1945 with clear-cut plans to assume direct control over the Malay States, Singapore, Sarawak and North Borneo. Regional consolidation and liberal c,itizenship proposals were major features of a new course designed to draw geographical expressions and plural societies towards nationhood and independence within the Commonwealth. In their tactical arrangements for the pursuit of grand strategy, colonial governments might hope 'to secure acceptance of a reasonable and beneficial delay in order to ensure a more orderly transition', but by early 1954, a committee of Permanent Under-Secretaries was already bending before the winds of change. In a report to Cabinet they strongly advised against obstructing the 'natural course' of constitutional development: Any attempt to retard by artificial delays the progress of Colonial peoples towards independence would produce disastrous results. Among other consequences it would ensure that, when power had eventually to be transferred, it would be handed over to a local leadership predisposed towards an anti-British policy.5 From the West Indies to East Africa, from Cyprus to Singapore, the reassertion of the 'periphery' deflected colonial governments from the precise implementation of metropolitan master-plans.

Local Response The first upset in postwar Malaya came with the Malay campaign against the Malayan Union whose principal terms were a centralist constitution and a common citizenship scheme. However, recognising in its new opponent, the United Malays National Organisation (UMNO), a natural ally against social unrest, the British s\Viftly came to terms with it. Although the Malayan Union was replaced by Federation in February 1948, the radical objectives of regionalism and multiracialism continued to guide the Commissioner General, High Commissioners and Governors despite the disparity between Malaya, Singapore, North Borneo and Sarawak, the cumbersome federal structure in Malaya, the emergence of communal politics and the worsening security situation in the peninsula. In June 1948 the Chinese-dominated MCP took to the jungle following the party's failure to consolidate a working-class alliance through strike action and political infiltration on the 'open front'. As elsewhere in the empire, Britain was under conflicting pressures and set the feat of juggling with local competitors. Malay susceptibilities put a brake upon the very progressivism which ought to have stemmed the flow

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of non-Malay disaffection; for the Cabinet accepted the need to convince the 'workers in Malaya that a non-Communist regime offered them greater opportunities for economic and social betterment that any Communist regime'.6 By the winter of 1951-52 the British appeared paralysed: state powers checked the central direction of counter-insurgency; the military criticised the demoralised police and civil authorities; in London the Colonial Office was the butt of the Foreign Office, the Ministry of Defence and the Chiefs of Staff; the manipulative skills of the colonial regime had so far failed to foster a moderate nationalist movement capable of countering the MCP and bridging the communal divides which insurrection was enlarging day by day. As R. H. Scott, the Foreign Office Chairman of the Cabinet's Far Eastern (Official) Committee, remarked somewhat acidly to J. J. Paskin of the Colonial Office, what the people of Malaya doubted was not Britain's good intentions but its capacity for carrying them out. 7 11

INSURGENCY AND DECOLONISA TION

General Sir Gerald Templer's name was submitted to the King, and he was duly appointed. We had a man and a plan. I could only trace the hand of Providence which must have guided us in this appoint~ ment. No one could have faced this deadly and critical assignment with greater energy, wisdom or courage than he. In a few months I had almost dismissed Malaya from its place in my mind amongst the danger spots. Oliver Lytteiton8 Dien Bien Phu ... was a defeat for more than the French army. The battle marked virtually the end of any hope the Western Powers might have entertained that they could dominate the East. The French with Cartesian clarity accepted the verdict. So, too, to a lesser extent, did the British: the independence of Malaya, whether the Malays like to think it or not, was won for them when the Communist forces of General Giap, an ex-geography professor of Hanoi University, defeated the forces of General Navarre, ex-cavalry officer, exDeuxieme Bureau chief, at Dien Bien Phu. Graham Greene 9 The Man and the Plan

Two large claims have been made on behalf of Templer: (i) he defeated the insurgents, and (ii) he did so in large measure by moving Malaya rapidly towards self-government. Certainly, on at least three counts his appointment to Malaya marked a turning-point in the war: he electrified the civil service, police and military;

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he introduced novel methods of gathering intelligence, propaganda and jungle warfare, and thereby improved the success rate in the shooting war; his appointment as civil and military supremo cut through the state/federal and civil/military red-tape that had strangled so many of his predecessors' initiatives. Even so, the Malaya that he entered in February 1952 was not entirely rotten; counter -insurgency, communist strategy, communalism, constitutional progress and commodity prices, all had a promising side which the new High Commissioner would turn to his advantage. First, he arrived as the Briggs Plan to resettle half a million Chinese squatters and starve Communists of food and intelligence was beginning to bite. Secondly, his appointment came on the heels of the crucial decision by the MCP's Central Committee in October to abandon indiscriminate terrorism, which had alienated local communities, and to concentrate on specific targets as well as upon the political front. (Furthermore, though the British feared its possibility, the MCP did not receive significant aid from either the USSR or the People's Republic of China.) Thirdly, Malayan communalism, though it stood in the way of national unity, also prevented the MCP from winning many recruits from among rural Malays. On the other hand, the insurgency did not develop into a prolonged communal bloodbath of Palestinian dimensions largely because by no means all Malaya's variegated Chinese community sympathised with the MCP; indeed, the anti-communist Malayan Chinese Association (MeA) enjoyed larger membership and funding than UMNO in the early 1950s. Fourthly, in the struggle for the support of the dispossessed and disenfranchised, the authorities were undoubtedly helped by the boom in commodity prices that accompanied the Korean WaLlo In 1948-50 Malaya's economic valuables had been creamed off to the metropole while the Malayan peoples had suffered high prices, low wages and a poor standard of living. Meanwhile, the Federal government had been short of revenue to fund effective counterinsurgency measures. After his visit to Malaya in early June 1950, Secretary of State James Griffiths reported to Cabinet: 'The Federation is in fact rapidly running into a serious financial crisis' .11 Financial problems would return to plague Templer too, but they were alleviated at a low point in the authorities' fortunes, and, as commodity prices rose, so did wages, employment, government revenue and expenditure on social services which may have mitigated the resentment of government felt in the New Villages. Fifthly, as I have argued elsewhere,12 throughout the years of apparent drift - 1948-51 - MacDonald and Gurney had been blazing another, more circuitous trail than that ma,pped in the discarded Malayan Union towards the achievement of long-term stability via constitutional experiments in communities liaison, a Member system, and municipal elections on the basis of an enlarged citizenship which came to fruition during Templer's term. The Directive issued by Churchill to Templer on his departure for Malaya - the Directive which, according to his biographer, 13 was to be Templer's Bible - opened with the declaration 'that Malaya should in due course become a fully self-governing nation'. With his eyes on this goal, Templer

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worked for multiracialism, regional consolidation (in particular merger with Singapore) and federal elections. There was nothing new about his strategy, though the misleading impression is sometimes given, as Sir John Martin has complained about the End of Empire programme by Granada TV, 'that the promise of independence was brought out of a hat when Templer took over during the Emergency' .14 What was new, however, was the supreme power with which Churchill endowed Templer, as Attlee had Mountbatten. Here were men who were willing and able to take decisions. But let us move beyond the personal contribution of Templer to a broader discussion of the relationship between insurgency and decolonisation in Malaya.

Acceleration of Political Advance Labour and Conservative governments proceeded from the conviction that political concessions had to wait upon the restoration of law and order. Although Attlee declared HMG's commitment to Malayan independence, he guaranteed that there would be no 'premature withdrawal' and refrained from issuing a timetable for political advance. Similarly, Lyttelton reaffirmed the principle of self-government within the Commonwealth while making it devastatingly clear on his trip to Malaya in December 1951 that 'the restoration of law and order in Malaya has first priority and political reforms must come after that'. Thus Templer's directive included the following clause: 'His Majesty's Government will not lay aside their responsibilities in Malaya until they are satisfied that Communist terrorism has been defeated and that the partnership of all communities ... has been firmly established' . In 1948 government pitched the transition period between colonial rule and Malayan self-government at about 25 years, that is, 1973 at the earliest. Despite the apparent hold-up of the Emergency this time-scale was regularly abbreviated in order to keep abreast of developments within and outside Malaya and to 'retain the initiative' in the peninsula. Thus, in June 1950 MacDonald persuaded Cabinet (through J ames Griffiths) to think in terms of 15 years, that is 1965. Again, in December 1952 and after less thana year as High Commissioner, Templer proposed a 'tentative timetable' which included the following stages: 1953 1954-55 1955-56 1956-58

elections to elections to a period of elections to

town and local councils State and Settlement councils 'about two years consolidation' the Federal Legislative Council.

There would follow two further years 'at least' before the introduction of any form of national self-government with 'a proper cabinet'. 'This would', he concluded, 'place the earliest possible date for self-government at 1960' . 15 In January 1954, the Cabinet Official Committee surveying the evolution of Empire into Commonwealth was far less precise in its estimate. The pattern of constitutional change which it envisaged for 'the next ten or twenty years' categorised colonial territories in three groups. Smaller

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countries (like the city- and fortress-states and possibly North Borneo, Sarawak and Brunei) may have proceeded to internal self-government without full independence by the end of this period. There was an intermediate group, like Kenya, Tanganyika, Uganda and Sierra Leone, 'where the future course of political development is uncertain'. At the top of the league were candidates for independence and full Commonwealth membership. This group presented 'the urgent problem' because of the 'rapid growth of nationalism and the consequent pace of political development', and comprised the Gold Coast, Nigeria, Central African Federation, a West Indian Federation, and a 'Malayan Federation (including the present Federation of Malaya, Singapore and possibly North Borneo, Sarawak and Brunei'.J6 Six months after this committee had reported, the Malayan landslide started. In June-July 1954 High Commissioner MacGillivray reached an accommodation with the Alliance of UMNO, MCA and MIC (Malayan Indian Congress) on the question of federal elections. Hitherto the authorities had held the Alliance at arm's length but in July 1955 it won 51 of the 52 elected seats on the Federal Council and the Tunku formed his first government. Thereafter the British were in no mood to delay the transfer of power longer than was necessary to settle technicalities relating to the constitution, public services and Britain's continuing role in internal and external security. As John Martin told the Merdeka mission on its arrival at London airport, the British were happy to hand over independence on 'a golden platter'. So breathlessly was Merdeka achieved (31 August 1957) that the 'prerequisites of nationhood' were abandoned in the rush. Power was transferred not to a 'Malaysian' federation but to Malaya alone, and not to a multiracial national movement but to a coalition of three mutually exclusive communal parties. The significance of the communist insurrection in this acceleration is still hard to gauge. Was the unexpected pace after June 1954 a mark of British confidence or panic? Was it a controlled process or did events gather a momentum that swept planning aside? It is at this point that our discussion interlocks with the broader range of British interests in South-east Asia. Graham Greene (whose brother, Hugh Carleton Greene, was Head of Emergency Information Services in Malaya, 1950-51) saw Malayan independence proceeding out of the barrels of Vietminh guns. Indeed, when ministers met in emergency session at 10 Downing Street on Sunday 25 April to consider Dulles' proposal for an Anglo-American military intervention in Indo-China, they agreed, in the reported words of Churchill, that '[t]he effects of a Communist triumph at Dien Bien Phu would be grave and farreaching' and that '[a]t a later stage serious threats of Communist encroachment would develop in Siam and Burma and ultimately in Malaya'. On the other hand, 'grave though these consequences were, it did not follow that they could be averted by precipitate military action on the lines envisaged by the Americans'. As for Malaya, it was felt that '[t]he Americans were ... disposed to exaggerate the immediate difficulties which we should encounter' there. For in contrast to the situation in South-east

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Asia as a whole, security in Malaya had improved vastly and, provided Siam held firm, the peninsula could be 'sealed off' for some time to come against 'infiltration from the north'. Cabinet concluded that military adventure in Indo-China would not, as Dulles argued, prop up the defence of Malaya; on the contrary, Britain's position would be undermined 'if we were compelled to dissipate our resources in other parts of the area' .17 A second challenge to Britain in South-east Asia came from quite a different quarter - the Anglo-American special relationship. Although the British managed to mollify US hawkishness at the Geneva Conference, it was clear in the subsequent months that American 'warmongering' had injured that network of links and fund of goodwill in Asia upon which MacDonald, for one, set such store. In August 1954 the Commissioner General reported from Singapore that, in order to contain communist encroachments and enhance the reputation of the West in South-east Asia, it was imperative to win the active support of 'the Governments and peoples in the region' and beyond in India, Pakistan and Ceylon. MacDonald found fault less with the fundamentals of American policy and much more with 'the statement and conduct of that policy' .18 For at least six years MacDonald had argued in favour of a progressive cglonial policy as a means of facilitating success injoreign policy; constitutional concessions in dependent South-east Asia would win Britain friends in independent Asia. Certainly there were risks: communist military successes, particularly if they penetrated the shield provided by Siam, would disrupt Malayan life and dislocate plans for political advance. On the other hand, a grant of self-government might lead to that deterioration in administration which Communists inside and outside Malaya would readily exploit. Against these disadvantages was set the consideration that 'the gradual steps being taken towards giving Malaya self-government kept the moderate Malayan nationalist politicians on our side' .19 As MacDonald reported to the Chiefs of Staff Committee on 20 October 1954, 'We would quickly lose their confidence if progress towards selfgovernment were delayed' .20 The key to constitutional progress in Malaya after June 1954 (and probably throughout the previous year as well) lay outside Malaya. The British scrambled to do a deal with Malayan politicians not so much because they feared an immediate resurgence of Malayan communism but because they hoped that an expression of trust in 'responsible Malayans' would safeguard British interests in the South-east Asian region as a whole. South-east Asian instability was the spur to constitutional concessions in Malaya; Malayan stability was a factor enabling this process. But who were the 'responsible Malayans'? It is at this point that we must turn to the dynamics of Malayan policy and Malayan politics.

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Malayan Policy and Politics It must be said that at least some senior officers in the Malayan govern-

ment in the 1950s did not place much importance upon the categorical imperative ofDien Bien Phu. For example, Hugh Humphrey, who was the Federation's Secretary of Defence, has written in retrospect: I do not recollect that events in French Indo-China in 1954 and the partitioning along the 17th parallel affected the attitude of the British authorities in the Federation of Malaya towards the local contestants in the federal elections ... the British authorities in Malaya (though not always those in London) accepted that a distinction has to be drawn between a multi-racial population and a multiracial society ... Thus I think we were neutral in the Tunku Abdul Rahman/Onn power struggle, but felt that the Tunku's approach (an alliance of two racial organizations rather than an integrated pan-racial party) accorded better with the reality of two antipathetic racial communities. 21

Such an even-handed approach is not always supported by the documents I have seen. The Malayan Union controversy had provided a forum for the display of communal politics and, from 1948 onwards, great efforts were made, particularly by MacDonald, to foster multiracial politics. He put his faith in Dato Onn who, having failed to open up UMNO to nonMalays, launched the non-communal Independence of Malaya Party (IMP). Onn was ostracised by UMNO and the IMP challenge was held off at the Kuala Lumpur municipal elections in February 1952 by an ad hoc alliance of UMNG and MeA branches. Nevertheless, Templer had little confidence either in UMNO and the MCA as separate parties or in the future of their alliance. The High Commissioner complained of the absence of responsible leadership and of a strongly based centre party. UMNO appeared to be both weak and dangerous; led by a seemingly slow-witted playboy, it was a prey to radical Indonesian elements on one side and increasingly dependent upon the finances and branch organisation of the MCA on the other. Yet the MCA gave the impression of equivocation and was led by Tan Cheng Lock who, in Templer's view, was 'an old dodderer'. The High Commissioner and his Deputy (MacGillivray) stressed in 1952-53 'that the present need was for a strong Malayan centre party with a noncommunal platform' and that 'the only hope for leadership was from a handful of Malays now in senior Government positions'.22 In January-March 1953, MacDonald was privy to the discussions of a group of community leaders who had previously been involved in the Communities Liaison Committee and the ill-fated IMP. These men lamented the existing diversity of political parties, agreed that communal organisations had limited social and cultural roles and that the UMNOI MCA alliance 'is not a helpful movement', and they looked forward to 'the creation of a united and free Malayan nation' . Some Malays, like the Dato Panglima Bukit Gantang and Dato Nik Kamil, who were associates of Onn,

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felt that the time was ripe to hijack UMNO, oust the Tunku and turn the party towards multiracialism. 23 In these meetings were laid the plans for the 'National Conference' of all political parties whose leaders were wellplaced in the Federal Legislative Council and State administrations, enjoyed the sympathy of senior colonial officials and aspired to design amendments to the federal constitution. The Malayan authorities regarded constitutional advance as a lever to 'jolt the local leaders into taking this matter seriously',24 In March 1953 MacGillivray drew the CO's attention to two features of the Malayan political situation. 25 The first was the growing pressure 'for swifter progress towards self-government' which accompanied improvements in the Emergency. 'Strangely enough', he noted, 'the pressure emanates mainly from outside Malaya, but outside pressure makes its impression within.' However, constitutional advance was recommended not solely as a pragmatic response to demands, it was also - and this was MacGillivray's second point - to be employed as an inducement to the worthier elements in Malayan society to play their full part in political life. Pointing out that 'the greatest immediate need is for a wider training ground for the Asian politicians who will, within the next decade, be required to play an increasingly prominent part in the government of Malaya' , MacGillivray observed that at the moment able and younger men were being starved of opportunity. The handful of older Malayan Members in the Executive Council (who had been allotted certain departmental portfolios) were, he wrote, like beech trees, 'they are stately, but nothing is growing under them'. Constitutional concessions were deliberately applied as a mulch to nurture Malayan politics. There was, however, some anxiety lest the staged progress from municipal through state to federal elections allowed disreputable activists to dig in at the local level thereby suffocating national politics and strong central government. In order to prevent such harmful growth, some, like Hogan (Federal Attorney General) advocated compression of the stages and the advancement of federal elections. Middle-class professional people who would be disinclined to seek office at state level might well come forward at the prospect of federal power. The British were erecting a trellis in order to encourage healthy political growth. However, such was the vigour of the Malayan response - with the Alliance's National Convention overtaking the National Conference in constitutional demands and, more notably, in mass support - that by mid-1955 the authorities were preparing to turn over the whole plot to the former and abandon the latter as a sucker to the main stem. Insurgency did not in itself determine the speed and the manner of Britain's departure from Malaya. At least as significant was the AngloMalayan capacity to counter insurgency. This success was not solely due to British military might nor even to British skill in manipulating Malayan politicians. Rather it derived from Anglo-Malayan collaboration. Central to this relationship was the Alliance's roots in Malaya's plural society which were irrefutably demonstrated in the first federal elections. A final and fundamental question yet to be tackled is whether the transformation in

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the collaborative relationship between 1953 and 1955 arose from an actual shift in the balance of Malayan politics or from a major adjustment in the British assessment of those politics.

NOTES

* This paper was given at the Decolonization Seminar at the Institute of Commonwealth Studies, University of London, on 6 February 1986. 1. McNeil writing from the UN to C. P. Mayhew, ParI. U/S FO, 2 April 1949, FO 371176049, Public Record Office, Kew (hereafter PRO). 2. MacDonald, secret telegram to CO, IO June 1952, reporting 'a recent off-the-record discussion with about twenty leading British, Asian and American journalists', CO 1022/61, PRO. 3. See R. Stubbs, Counter-Insurgency and the Economic Factor. The Impact of the Korean War Prices Boom on the Malayan Emergency, Institute of SE Asian Studies, Singapore, Occasional Paper 19, (February 1974), 5. 4. See R. B. Smith, 'Some Contrasts between Burma and Malaya in British Policy in South East Asia, 1942-46', unpublished paper delivered at a symposium held at the India Office Library and Records, 30 September 1985. 5. CAB 129171: C(54)307, 'The Future of Commonwealth Membership: Report by the Official Committee', 21 January 1954, PRO. 6. CAB 128/17: CM(50)37th conclusions, 19 June 1950, PRO. 7. CAB 134/897: FE(0)(52) 1st Meeting, 8 January 1952, PRO. 8. O. Lyttelton, The Memoirs of Lord Chandos (London, 1962),381-2. 9. G. Greene, Ways of Escape (London, 1980), 179. 10. Stubbs, Counter-Insurgency ... , 15ff. 11. CAB 129/40: CP(50)125, 13 June 1950, 'Preliminary Report on Visit to Malaya and Singapore', PRO. 12. A. J. Stockwell, 'British Imperial Policy and Decolonization in Malaya, 1942-52', Journal of Imperial and Commonwealth History, 13, 1 (October 1984) 68-87. 13. J. Cloake, Templer, Tiger of Malaya (London, 1985), 210. 14. Letter to the author, 5 June 1985. 15. Secret, 'Political Talk with General Templer', note of informal meeting in the CO, 3 December 1952, CO 1022/86, PRO. 16. 'The Future of Commonwealth Membership', loco cit. 17. CAB 129/68: C(54)155, 27 April 1954, PRO. Record of two emergency meetings of ministers at 10 Downing Street, Sunday 25 April 1954, to consider American proposal for Anglo-American military intervention. 18. 'Note on Relations with the United States, China and the Colombo Powers', Malcolm MacDonald, 8 August 1954, FO 3711111852, PRO. This was subsequently printed for FO and Whitehall distribution. 19. Top secret, discussions between MacDonald and Chiefs of Staff Committee on conditions in South-east Asia, 20 October 1954 chaired by Sir John Harding, FO 371/111852, PRO. 20. Ibid. 21. Letter to the author, 31 March 1985. 22. 'Political Talk with General Templer', note of meeting in CO, 3 December 1952, CO 1022/86, PRO. 23. 'Note' by MacDonald, 6 April 1953, enclosure 'c' in MacGillivray secret to Lloyd, 7 April 1953, CO 1022/86, PRO. 24. Paskin to Lloyd, 10 December 1952, CO 1022/86, PRO. Paskin is reporting Templer's eagerness to push ahead with the closer constitutional association of the Federation and Singapore which he discussed at a meeting of the Chiefs of Staff on 9 December. 25. MacGillivray secret to Lloyd, 14 March 1953, ibid.

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[14] Illustrations of "Learning" in Counterinsurgency CHRISTOPHER C. HARMON Strategy Department U.S . Naval War College Newport, RI Abstract Makers of strategy are not only responsible for prewar assessments, but must be responsive during war and capable of reassessing their enemy and their approach to the enemy. The record of French , British, and American counterinsurgency campaigns shows that this learning process can be aided by attention to lessons of past "small wars" and even to general principles of insurgency. Such distilled wisdom is difficult to apply to new situations, but the price for inattention to experience may be failure. The ancient Chinese author Sun Tzu and Carl von Clausewitz, the Prussian who wrote some two millennia after him, are history's two peerless theorists on strategy. In some respects they are almost as remote from one another in their ideas as they were in time. For example, both emphasize the absolute necessity for prewar assessment: leaders must make every effort to determine what kind of battle they face and how they plan to prevail. Sun Tzu believes that the supremely calculating commander can, with science and intellect, penetrate the mists of the immediate future sufficiently well to know if he will be victorious, and which means will bring him to that end. But Clausewitz, more skeptical, argues that the "friction" and "fog" of war, and human fallibilities, especially in political and military intelligence, allow no such certainty. The course of modem wars of insurgency does not necessarily resolve this debate, but it does instruct us, and the study of it helps to fairly apportion praise and blame for successes and failures. Mao Tse-dong was an exemplar of prewar and wartime perspicacity, writing in the 1920s and 1930s of how complete power could and would be gained in China by the Communists. On the other hand, few modem counterinsurgency leaders performed such effective assessments, before or during war. Reassessment amidst war is no less important a feature of success. How much more difficult it is to learn while the enemy is seeking your death . As the great powers of the postwar era faced revolutions burgeoning up in their colonies or other areas of national interest, they sought to reestablish their au~ority, but did so with halting steps and occasional stumbles. Their victories were often limited, and their defeats were sometimes devastating. Their records, a source of both pain and pride to them, offer to us today important lessons for success in counterinsurgency. Among these are the critical importance of memory, imagination, and willingness to adapt-in short, the ability to learn. This article is adapted from a lecture given before the college in February 1991. But the opinions expressed herein are the author's, not those of the Naval War College, the V .S. Navy, or the V.S. government.

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This article explores the national experiences of three great powers, France, Britain, and the United States, for illustrations of "learning" in the art of counterinsurgency.

The French Counterinsurgency Experience The expanses of the French empire in African and Asia were an optimum environment for creative strategic thinking. Officers might arrive without any formal study of colonial warfare, which had no place in the curriculum of the French War College. Nor was there available anything like the Small ffilrs Manual compiled by the United States Marine Corps in 1940. Only rarely did French commanders lay down in writing the general principles governing their operations. Paris likewise provided little guidance: distance and primitive communications allowed commanders a freedom from hobbling that would become unimaginable in the micromanaged wars of the latter twentieth century. France was not without experience in counterinsurgency. After 1789, massive popular rebellions had to be suppressed in Brittany, the Vende, and other French regions. Methods developed there, especially a unified, regional approach in which a grid of fortified posts was combined with fast reaction columns, proved to be of great service later in northern Africa. By the end of the nineteenth century, if there had been atrocities and occasional disasters, France had nonetheless conquered, proving in doing so that she could adapt well to the unconventional methods of the non-European forces. The empire built in Africa and in Asia would survive until the post-World War IT period, when the democratic ideals of the allied victors and the aspirations of the indigenous and unrepresented coaxed into retirement most of the major imperialist powers. The man who in the 1840s first gave French arms the flexibility to win success in Algeria, centerpiece of the future African empire, was General Bugeaud. Harsh experience with guerrilla~ in Spain during Napoleon's brief rule left him with no illusions about the suitability of a large, conventional Grande Armee for counterinsurgency amidst a rebellious foreign population. And yet, Bugeaud arrived in Algeria to find "the French army repeating all of the mistakes it had made in Spain. . . . Heavy troop commitments to fixed defensive points, impotence in the face of insurgent raids on the rear and on lines of supply, and a proclivity for punitive raids with heavy columns which often exhausted the French without destroying, or sometimes even finding, the guerrilla army."l General Bugeaud's answer was to adopt certain of the enemy's methods and aim to make his forces "even more Arab than the Arabs." Mobility was vastly improved with a combination of vigorous leadership, lighter packs, restricted baggage trains, and disinclination for weapons heavier than mule or man-portable varieties. Nor did he disdain copying the natives' devastating raids: his military success was in part the result of plunder and subsequent native impoverishment and starvation. Resistance in Algeria ended seven years from his assumption of command. This victory of the mid-nineteenth century indicated that a commander might learn from at least two kinds of experience: that garnered in an earlier guerrilla war (in Spain), and that gained by observation of one's present enemy. In the last decade of that century, France faced another challenge to her adaptivity. Enemies rose in northern Vietnam (Tonkin) and Madagascar. Could methods that mastered the hills and deserts of Algeria succeed in these utterly different regions? In Tonkin, for example, one would not be chasing the enemy in open country so much as struggling for control over densely

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populated rural areas. Two of France's most innovative colonial warriors now stepped forward: Joseph Gallieni and Hubert Lyautey. Master and pupil respectively, they were to serve together in both the Asian and African locales. They developed a new method, one of creeping advances among the population, comparable to the seepage of an oil spot on cloth. Their "oil spot" strategy was a politico-military approach to reducing resistance. Hard-hitting, fast army columns were still necessary, but in the wake of battlefield victories the army did not disappear but carried out a progressive and permanent occupation. And with the garrison came a different army: administrators, teachers, health workers, engineers, etc. These made contact with and gradually took control of more and more of the area's subjects. Each secured area became the base for further advances, and, in Lyautey's words, "civil action and military action proceed with the same alert and certain step.,,2 The thrust of the "oil spot" strategy could not have been more different from conventional war: it was the population, not the enemy army, that was the true object. The method brought France success in Indochina and Madagascar late in the nineteenth century and then, early in this one, in northern Africa too. Here was a politicized form of unconventional war that went farther than General Bugeaud's innovations, largely escaping the clutches conventional war had on the mind. Lyautey later enjoyed telling of his arrival in Tonkin where General Gallieni amazed him by taking away all the technical literature, manuals, and staff regulations he had brought from Paris. "Learning," it seems, sometimes means forgetting. How was it that France ever lost the Indochinese territories held for as many as nine decades? One might argue that France forgot all too well. During the conventional war trials of 1940-1945, much of the flexibility and imagination she had shown evaporated. Post-1945 performance in Vietnam manifested a flagrant neglect of the wisdom of Gallieni and Lyautey about attending to the popUlation, though in modem wars of insurgency it is they who are the "center of gravity," to use language from Clausewitz. The Asian prize was lost for a second reason: a change in the nature of the Vietnamese opposition. Content in the calm comforts of long tenancy in Indochina, France was surprised to find that her enemies had also learned from the colonial wars. They learned, as Mao had, that a government can scatter armed opposition with a single battle or campaign unless partnership in some political entity cements them together. Mao added to political struggle and totalitarian organization the strategy of protracted war. He thus shaped the Chinese peasantry into a political and a military force that could survive defeat and swiftly replace infrastructure lost to battle. Now, communist party leader Ho Chi Minh, strategist Truong Chinh, and military commander Vo Nguyen Giap were adopting Mao's method. Their army was unlike those of colonial days past; its morale and organization were superb, and it profited from the technical and logistical trains of China and Russia. To this Viet Minh challenge the French responded without rethinking. While the enemy emphasized new political forms of war and slow expansion, France only chipped away at the armed guerrilla units, the visible tip of the whole, which continued to grow beneath and even above the surface. In military terms, the Europeans used massive sweeps with regular infantry. These operations usually failed to separate the guerrilla from either the thick jungle or the dense population. Instead of the light mobile columns that had worked in Africa, French commanders were using more conventional, large columns featuring wheeled and tracked vehicles, which, operating on roads and in day-

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light, were utterly predictable to the guerrilla. A French observer said later that if the French Expeditionary Force to Algeria had had tanks and armored personnel carriers it never would have gotten off the beachheads. 3 Another element of the North African success had been the series of fortified outposts from which the population could be both observed and intimidated. Now, apparently, the same idea was applied in a jungle environment where there was no equal field of vision; the small blockhouses became deathtraps for the soldiers posted to them. And yet, extended in a long line across the north the reduce the enemy's use of China and Laos, they had the disadvantage of tying down almost half the available French troops in static defenses. Meanwhile, on the French side of the defensive line, tens of thousands of insurgents deepened their influence over the Vietnamese people. The communists were using their armed propaganda squads and military units in their own version of the "oil spot" method to undermine French authority. If France failed to adapt, militarily or politically, to the new "people's war," the Viet Minh proved themselves able to master the conventional methods of France. At Dien Bien Phu, in 1954, the communists used the entrenching tool, the rifle, and the howitzer to destroy a 15,OOO-man French force. With it French power was lost in Indochina. Failing miserably can seize one's attention. Paris may have reeled back from Asia, but in the very same year she undertook counterinsurgency with new resolve and new strategies in Algeria. The Front for National Liberation (FLN) was undermining a part of the French Union, which was of more than economic and prestige importance. There were 1.2 million Europeans who lived along Algeria's Mediterranean coast, and for that and other reasons the country had been deemed sufficiently important to have been constitutionally incorporated with the mainland. The stakes in this new theater of counterinsurgency were dramatic and large; the French now made the most searching prewar assessments and resultant modifications in strategy. Everything was done differently. Conscription permitted France to field three times more troops than served in Indochina, and thus impose a broad occupation without sacrificing mobile reserves. Broad use was also made of indigenous soldiers, never employed in significant numbers in Indochina. More Algerians ultimately fought with the French than with the FLN. These had a force multiplier effect as well as a salutary political impact. Large scale conventional operations like sweeps were not disdained, but neither were they predictable, road-bound, half-hearted, or done only in daylight. Helicopters, parachutists, and special forces made mobility a weapon the French shared with the guerrilla. Systematic intelligence efforts and relentless unconventional war took the initiative away from the rebels. Nonmilitary programs reflected the well-rounded new style of "revolutionary war," as the French called their innovative doctrine. The Maoist principles that the Viet Minh used to defeat France were studied and turned against the FLN. Each soldier was to understand the political nature of the struggle and be a sort of ambassador of the mainland and a friend and ally in this struggle against a violent minorit'y within the greater French Union. A premium was placed upon civic action, upon aid programs of the nation-building type, and to a limited degree upon land reform. The military results of French revolutionary warfare were so good that rebel units larger than a platoon all but disappeared inside Algeria. Masses of trained recruits and even whole units waiting in Tunisia and Morocco were almost always successfully barred from joining in the struggle by the extraordinary physical barrier system France threw down along the eastern and western borders. To the north lay the Mediterranean coastline, completely controlled by the French Navy. To the south lay only desert,

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patrolled by aircraft and as necessary by French troops. By the end of the 1950s the insurgency was showing signs of asphyxiation. It was thus not military deficiencies but a variety of political factors that cost Paris the struggle, which ended with an accord in 1962. Just as independence for Vietnam, Cambodia, and Laos was never a question in the First Indochinese War, leaving important political cards in Viet Minh hands, now in Algeria, too, the shifting French plans for various forms of trans-Mediterranean integration proved less desirable to Algerians than the FLN calls for total independence. Even limited steps toward a true union of the two peoples were blocked by the Europeans in Algeria who wished to protect their superior position. French malfeasance, such as use of torture in intelligence operations, and maladministration, as with poorly handled population resettlement, combined with the polarizing effects of FLN terrorism to make ties to France ever less desirable and tenable. All this was not to be overcome, even by repeated military successes. There was this difference from the humiliation in Indochina: France left Algeria at least in part by choice. She was not driven out. She might have stayed, and prevailed, had she been willing to leave her troops there for decades. But NAID commitments and the dangerous imbalance in Europe were more important, and President de Gaulle commenced a new policy of much-reduced commitments to Africa. 4 For France, the Algerian war is a study in paradox: largely successful efforts at political learning and military adaptation did not prevent overall failure. For others in the West, the war could-or should have been-instructive. Yet of all the military lessons offered by French performance against the guerrilla, only the helicopter's capabilities seem to have made any impression on outside military experts. The pall of this second French defeat within a generation was taken to be a reason to dismiss the potential lessons to be learned. Certainly American military thinkers ignored this war. They did so for the same reason they ignored the French experience in Indochina even as they inherited the French mantle in Vietnam: "France lost.,,5 The United States was to pay for this glibness and this oversight year after painful year while grappling with the Viet Congo Inappropriate conventional methods and inadequate appreciation for revolutionary war doctrine were to yield a second defeat at communist hands in Vietnam.

The British Experience The British experience with counterinsurgency is among the world's richest. A longstanding empire presented London and its far-flung security forces with continual challenges. The majority of these were well met, yielding up immense political, administrative, and military experience. Periodically, textbooks or monographs or manuals appeared that tried to draw together this experience and make it available to the officers who had to fight the next insurgency. No manual was ever much venerated; to the end the British passed experience down from man to man, more than they burrowed into any library. Several modem British works did receive enough attention in this century to shape the British learning effort. An artillery officer named Charles Call well wrote a superb book at the very end of the nineteenth century called Small Ufzrs: Their Principles and Practice. 6 Call well examined frontier wars and counterinsurgency campaigns the world over, but he drew most of his lessons from British and French colonial conflicts. Callwell did not have the problem of modem revolutionary war to deal with. Most opposition to British rule could be broken by a successful military campaign or two,

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followed by several years more of what he called guerrilla "ambushes and surprises, of murdered stragglers and of stem reprisals" (p. 7) by the colonial power. Then a period of relative quiet usually followed. Insurgents made few Leninist- or Maoist-style efforts to create clandestine political organizations and infiltrate the colonial administrations; this meant that the guerrillas, however popular, could often be separated from the population and defeated in the field. Callwell did emphasize that each foreign war might be different from the last because of the character of the opposition, the general population, and the geography. In southern Africa, for example, the British were facing three radically different problems: the Transkei Kaffirs, the Zulus, and the Boers all fought with Britain in one three-year period, and each used methods of combat dissimilar from the others. The simple lesson he drew from this was to study the opposition and its methods in advance. Like modern guerrillas, the opponents of colonial rule were often very difficult to bring to battle. Yet it was usually necessary to do so. It was important, Callwell argued, that battle, when it did occur, be decisive. "Moral effect" he says "is often far more important than material success." The need to overawe the enemy is a theme of this work and a point both Clausewitz and Mao saw clearly: When they are relatively unorganized and unpoliticized, guerrilla forces could be overawed by a single decisive campaign or battle. Given this emphasis on morale, Callwell wants to see a government take but one strategic posture: the offensive. The commander must seize and maintain the initiative, keeping the morale of his own troops high and that of the insurgent waning. Boldness and vigor are the essence of effective operations. The flying column was perhaps the most widely used and successful colonial tool. Its object was the relentless pursuit of the enemy force. Its character was a combination of self-sufficiency and extreme mobility. Its commander should be not merely willing to cut the connections to home base but glad to do so. The column's size and composition were determined by expectations about the strength of the enemy's forces and also by geography: cavalry worked well in North Africa, but not often in the tangles of Southeast Asia. In Burma, British flying columns numbered no more than 300 soldiers and two guns.? Callwell published at the turn of this century. In the decades subsequent, there were few other studies of counterinsurgency, none so comprehensive. The army published a 1934 title Notes on Imperial Policing, which had wide use in Palestine, where General Dill was suppressing the Arab Revolt. Yet the problem with these texts was their relative disinterest in the nonmilitary side of counterinsurgency. 8 They better reflected frontier war opponents than the new, more politically sophisticated enemies coming to contest British power with varieties of modern revolutionary warfare. So the enemy was changing. And there was a second problem, the lack of easily transmitted doctrine, which often left British commanders, junior officers, and troops feeling their way along. What knowledge accumulated and found informal transmission suffered under the demands of World War II's conventional operations. And after the war the new concern was the defense of Europe against a conventional enemy. What literature did come out did so after the small war at hand, or was not well circulated, or both. So it followed that troops going into, say, Malaya, might have only a pamphlet on the Boer War as a stimulus to thought. Some studies emerged from the Malayan experience, but they weren't in the hands of troops who fought in Kenya. A study of operations against the Mao Mao in Kenya might appear, but be unknown to troops sent into Cyprus. And so on. Nor was there education at home, it seems. According to Thomas Ross Mockaitis,9

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syllabi at the Royal Military Academy at Sandhurst reflect virtually no formal treatment of non-conventional war until 1961, and by then, most of the British counterinsurgencies were over. If the British did not always remember, the good news is that they did learn quickly as each new war presented itself. In the course of a great number of counterinsurgency campaigns , they came to develop, and ordinarily rely upon, essential principles, and these made their way slowly into the bones of the army and the government. There were four primary lessons learned. The first was to use minimum force, and that includes attention to the " hearts and minds" matters. This doctrine developed only slowly. The average army man was not inclined to see subject peoples, even when they too were subjects of his own queen, as his equal. But change did come, perhaps because of modem communications , perhaps because of a particular scandal. Amidst civil disorder at Amritsar in India in 1919, British troops fired time after time into demonstrators trapped in an enclosed eight-acre square. In a House of Commons debate, a very young Winston S. Churchill dissected the potential arguments for firing such volleys and ended strongly critical of the brigadier general who had been in command. Both government and army began to pay closer attention to cases of overuse of force, and there developed growing recognition that public opinion, both in theater and at home, would have something to say about how insurgency would be suppressed . Civil military control and cooperation is the second British principle of practice. It was the inclination of many British officers to seek a declaration of martial law in colonies where the civil order was gravely threatened. But this was resisted in the twentieth century wars, which were as much political as military. The British did their best to avoid unalloyed martial law; they tended to speak of "semi-martial law" in Palestine in the mid-1930s, or, in Malaya of "a state of emergency." And, in truth, there were limits on the departures from the usual civil law. Also, after the Amritsar massacre, no British military officer held a post higher than the resident civil authority; commanders had to function under the authority of the district magistrate. This change marked movement away from the older, colonial wars where there was less civil supervision of the military. The approach was reflected in the next important theater of operations, Burma in the 1930s, where the British conquered, yet still faced guerrilla resistance. In Burma a special commissioner (a civilian) was appointed to each rebel district. He had a military liaison for that district. Directives for operations in Burma read: The formal position is that the special commissioner will state his requirements and the brigadier will do his best to meet them. But in practice, no doubt, joint decisions will be arrived at as to the action to be taken to meet any particular situation and as to the most advantageous disposition of the troops . 10 Intelligence is the third principle . Political and military intelligence are a priority at all levels of the counterinsurgency effort. For example, each British small war begins with an escalation in numbers of police . Police are in one respect more appropriate than soldiers because their traditional expertise in intelligence is useful in a war that is deeply political, and in which the political organs of rebellion, open and clandestine, funnel trainees into the various revolutionary armed forces . So, in Ireland, soldiers would be assigned to police posts to protect and learn from police intelligence. In India, and many other theaters, police headquarters and military

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headquarters were often sited together. In classic British operations in urban locales, the army's role was to screen a town while the police then combed through, section by section, in elaborate patterns of searches and detentions for interrogation. This was done against the Mau Mau in Nairobi, Kenya, just as in Palestine in 1936 and 1945. Fourth and finally, the British drew from their experience the principle of tactical flexibility. They proved willing and able to set aside their textbooks on conventional war, delve into the thin literature of the pamphlets, or the unconventional, draw extensively on personal experience and, as Clausewitz would have advised, draw on secondary experience garnered from colleagues who had been there. One important official in the "Malayan Emergency" was Robert Thompson, British Secretary of Defense for Malaya. Thompson is emphatic about military operations to counter guerrillas: those that are large-scale usually fail. A commander uses the time and talents of a lot of troops, ties up the efforts of officers in planning for days, or weeks, and then launches heavy, concentrated force in an operation that has more often than not become known to the guerrilla. The guerrilla then enjoys a choice: to avoid contact, if he wishes, or to meet on ground he will choose. Results for the counterinsurgent are nearly always meager. Thompson writes that if one wants to catch a tough alley cat, put a tougher cat into the same alley; they will find each other. What conventional armies are want to do, he says, is put a big mean-looking dog into the alley; the dog runs around barking and roiling up the neighbors and never catches the cat. So the British went to cats-tough cats. This meant small patrols of well-trained men who could penetrate rugged terrain to gather intelligence, kill guerrillas, disrupt food gathering and courier traffic, call down artillery or air strikes where appropriate, and above all, make contacts with the population. In Malaya the British used patrols of SAS as sr ,all as four men. These ranged outward from a base where a total of 14 men worked. Ihis number included several patrol teams, guides and/or trackers, interpreters, and liaison from indigenous police or military forces. The best advantage of such patrolling, apart from its particular tactical purposes like reconnaissance, hunting down the enemy in his lair, or saturation of an area, is that patrolling keeps the initiative. II The Malayan war, from 1948 to 1960, well reflects these four tenets of British counterinsurgency theory and practice. Policy called for freedom for self-government in a post-colonial Malaya. The British wanted a democracy, not a dictatorship of the Malay Communist Party. Such a policy required the Maylays to tolerate sharp restrictions on their civil liberties during the 12-year struggle. One could argue this was a bad policystrategy match. No doubt there were bitter remarks about enduring the realities of dictatorship for the mere promise of freedom. But the British continued to promise, and the Maylays did seem to believe them, perhaps because so many other British colonies had recently been given freedom. And in the end both sides of the coalition proved they could deliver. They had achieved what few governments in counterinsurgency wars have done in the century: offering the people a better alternative, a more tangible alternative, to the promises of the revolutionaries. There were "hearts and minds" efforts; indeed the phrase was used in Malaya. But this did not mean all was comfortable and easy. It was formally "a state of emergency." Law did not permit collective punishment and torture, but it was tough: possible detention without trial, and often for long periods; identification cards for the entire adult population; strict control of firearms (unlawful possession could be punished by death); and forcible relocation and resettlement in controlled villages for some populations per-

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meated by the guerrilla. Finally, food control worked effectively in this environment where food sources were somewhat limited. Supervision of market places and restrictions on sales prevented rice purchases by and gifts to guerrillas. 12 Guerrilla units that were not clever enough to deal with these measures slowly starved. Once surrenders began, the decline in the morale of the party only accelerated. At the top of the British administrative structure was the civilian high commissioner. He controlled the commissioner of police. Remarkably, the latter initially had authority over the armed forces. Only when the guerrillas pressed harder did this change. The military was brought out from under police control and joined directly and subordinately to the civil government in a series of committees: the Federal War Council at the top, and beneath that, at state and district levels, the War Executive Committees. Third, the British emphasized political intelligence. With this, they carried out effective arrests; more guerrillas were finished that way than by lethal contacts in jungle warfare. They expertly turned defectors to good purposes: these are the best sources of intelligence, and they are effective as public speakers against the guerrilla cause. Militarily, the British emphasized small patrols, which suited the Phase One operations of the enemy. Aircraft, for their part, were never used to bomb. They did reconnaissance, especially locating jungle clearings where the rebels were growing food. Patrols then followed up sitings and destroyed the located crops and guerrilla bases. Overall, it can well be argued that the British out-administered, more than they outfought the guerrilla in Malaya, although both were done very competently. 13 The British record in counterinsurgency up through the first half of the twentieth century is one that reveals many successes, including'wars in India, Palestine, Kenya, Malaya, and Oman. London at least avoided defeat in two other regions: Cyprus, and that continually boiling pot, Ireland. Only in the second war in Palestine, against the Zionists, did Britain's approach meet defeat. Few Englishmen became as identified with victory over insurgents as Sir Robert Thompson, hero of the Malayan Emergency. As a window into British efforts at adapting the lessons of these wars to the new challenge in the second Indochinese war, we should take note of the advice Thompson offered and how it was received and used. From 1961 through 1965, Robert Thompson was chief of the British Advisory Mission in Saigon. His experience and celebrity assured political access: not only was he a working partner to President Diem of the southern republic, later American President Richard Nixon studied his writings avidly and called him in for personal consultations. Clearly the political men most responsible for facing the Viet Cong challenge were trying to learn from history. But the Vietnamese communist insurgency proved a beguiling and complicated problem, a veritable Gordian knot. Five principles that had guided Thompson in Malaya now dominated his thinking in Vietnam. What were they, and how were they foiled?14 First, one must have a clear political aim-and it should be the establishment of a free and independent and unified country. Unfortunately, Vietnam was complex, far more so than had been Malaya. Unified for only a few decades in hundreds of years, Vietnam had been ruled in the most recent, colonial period as three separate French regions. Even the Vietnamese, North and South, felt themselves different from one another in some ways, and that sentiment was reinforced by the country's peculiar geography. With its Geneva accords of separation and the flood of refugees into the South, 1954 drove home the differences between the two regimes. Finally, the southern object was not unification, but maintenance of its independent, non-Communist status. All of this left whatever appeal nationalism did have to the northern aggressors. This is

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most ironic, for communists are by definition more internationalist than nationalist; they nonetheless believed in and made continual use of nationalist themes. Thompson's second principle was that despite the pressures of insurgency, a government must function according to its own laws. Extreme legal measures might be legitimate; torture or brutality or collective punishment were not. And yet torture, which had rebounded badly against the French intelligence personnel who used it in Algeria, did find a place among the tactics of some southern Vietnamese. American advisors could be sickened by what was done to individual enemies. I5 Second, there was the matter of corruption, driven out by strong leadership in Malaya but prevalent in both the government and armed forces of South Vietnam. Not only American newspapermen noticed; allied advisors like William Corson could be driven to despair by what they saw. Morale was not the only thing to suffer: corruption means another layer of friction to be overcome before anything good can be done. Finally, the principle of legalism was undercut by coups and coup attempts, behind at least two of which there could be seen American, as well as other, hands. A string of such events over two decades made the government seem less like a modern republic than a weak but ham-handed, Latin-style military government. The third principle adopted from Malaya was that the government must have an overall plan. Political, economic, administrative, and security matters must be coordinated. Yet in Vietnam, until the late 1960s, there was no unified plan or single command for pacification operations. Experts not of the Thompson school saw good grounds for decentralization. They believed that a unified plan would ill suit so diverse a country as Vietnam, where not only the people and the geography but also the tempo of war could vary dramatically. Fourth, Thompson advises that a government give priority to defeating the political subversion, not the guerrillas. An insurgency is like an iceberg: only the armed guerrillas at the top show themselves, but it is the depth and breadth of the organization below them that represents their true strength. Americans tended to ignore the political infrastructure and seek to "find, fix, and finish" the guerrillas. Thompson, on the other hand, is credited by participants like the CIA's William Colby for fighting for things we ignored, like rural police forces, and self-defense militias. America and South Vietnam fought the war with the wrong priorities, and critics like Thompson and Colby could not prevail against the mainstream. Fifth and finally, Thompson teaches that in the guerrilla phase of an insurgency, a government cannot be everywhere at once; it must begin by securing base areas, even where that means abandoning some sectors to the enemy. Then, as conditions warrant, the government's forces and presence can gradually move outward in the classic "oil spot" way. But this was never done well in Vietnam; the opposite was, and led to tragic and expensive failure with pacification efforts. Consider as an example the central pier of pacification programs: strategic hamlets. Begun in earnest in 1962, this program was self-consciously modeled on the Malayan example, and Robert Thompson and other British veterans were directly involved. President Diem was totally committed to the effort, and American aid personnel supported him. So what went wrong? Almost everything. 16 In Malaya, those resettled in new hamlets were mostly poor, since it was among the squatters of the jungle fringes that the insurgents had best infiltrated. Lacking proper housing, these folk were not necessarily displeased to move. In Vietnam, this was somewhat the case with refugees from the North, for whom strategic hamlets were a rational and effective form of self-defense against the Viet Congo But

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southern Vietnamese, many of them well-housed and long established, were angry to be uprooted and forced, often without pay, to build new dwellings. Especially disturbed were those whose religion revolved around the suddenly-distant graves of their familial ancestors. In Malaya, moreover, the new settlements were well sited. But in Vietnam, new communities might be placed for partisan political reasons, or on ground that was militarily important but lacking in economic and agricultural advantages for those who had to live there. In Malaya, the oil spot principle dictated a slow-growing program; only 600 strategic hamlets were built to shelter the half-million people resettled. Administration and security were attended to carefully. In Vietnam hamlets were rushed into existence: services might be inadequate; security forces might be negligibly trained, or underarmed, or poorly led, or allowed to wander off and join the Viet Cong; inadequate police work might mean that VC cadre would hold their old places within the new community; corruption often marred administration, as when local officials might charge peasants for building materials or farm supplies that the US Agency for International Development (AID) had supplied free. The program's growth made a parody of the metaphor of the seeping oil spot. No less than 5500 hamlets were put up all around Vietnam in 14 months between 1962 and 1963. The impetus was chiefly with the Vietnamese (though if British or American advisors tried to rein back this rush, there is little record of such effort). President Diem hurried matters because he knew the program promised land reform and population security and a power base for his regime. His brother, Nhu, who had operational responsibility, pressed no less hard. And then there was Nhu's chief lieutenant in the program, Phan Nghoc Thao, who later turned out to be a communist agent. 17 Rather than trying to hold back something Diem and Nhu had made a priority, this clever man used judo, turning the momentum of the effort to his own advantage. Phan Nghoc Thao made the opening of the new strategic hamlets his passion and helped to push the program so fast that problems Malaya had avoided grew and became compounded daily in South Vietnam. There is room for dispute even today about whether the program of strategic hamlets for Vietnam was a bad idea or a good idea badly executed. Certainly the Communists dreaded the program. Their documents of the time reflect the threat it posed to their population control. And hamlets that were successfully established and defended became priority targets for large-unit assaults, with predictably demoralizing effects for others in the region. Many peasants finally obeyed VC orders to move back to their old lands. When they did, the Communists, ever adoptive, cut up the perimeter wire that had been strung against them and turned it into shrapnel for the land mines they made from unexploded American bombs.

American Learning and Experience The United States, unlike France or Britain, has never had an empire. Americans have not even accepted the idea that freedom and empire can go hand in hand; Americans incline to think that the two are mutually exclusive. That is why the debates of the 1890s about taking control of Hawaii, the Philippines, and Cuba reflect expressions of shame as well as pride. The impact of this strategic culture can be seen in American small wars. The object

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of beating the guerrilla has often been linked with the policy of seeing the establishment of a stable, decent, and democratic government. For strategists, the challenge has been to find ways to have influence without being too visible about it, to help with the war without taking over the war to the detriment of the indigenous ally, to help the country without overwhelming the country, to foster self-rule but not at the expense of American interests. The single best American publication on counterinsurgency, the Marine Corps Small UUrs Manual of 1940, reflects all of these challenges and contradictions. That manual's obscurity-only recently has it finally been reprinted-represents an important point in and of itself: America has a short memory for counterinsurgency lessons. The immense experience that went into the drafting of this substantial publication began to disappear immediately as the United States entered full-scale conventional war. Nor was it recovered after 1945. Gradually the copies disappeared, and then the memory. Those who did not forget during World War 11 might have after Korea, a second great conventional war. And after Korea there was renewed attention to the precarious imbalance of power in Europe. In short, there were many good reasons for not devoting effort to learning the art of the small war. And it might be said that our leadership availed itself of most of them. By the early 1960s, under the dual pressures of the Vietnamese communists and the personal interests of President John F. Kennedy, new attention was paid to insurgency. In 1962 the Marines published a new textbook, Operations Against Guerrilla Forces, which retained some but only some of the virtues of the masterful 1940 work. Adherence to a doctrine of minimum force and nonmilitary aspects of insurgency were giving ground to U.S. Army emphasis on firepower. 18 As the analyst John Collins wrote later in the Army journal Parameters, the syllabi of the American military schools in the 1960s required courses in counterinsurgency but ". . . in the least relevant aspects of revolutionary war. School solutions stressed the proper employment of air power, armor, and artillery against insurgents in swamps, while civil programs got short shrift...." As late as 1976, says Collins, one senior service college course required no Mao, no Giap, nothing by Robert Thompson, and no assignments from Sun Tzu's The Art of UUr, though it was recognized as a model for the Communists. 19 Just as Robert Thompson's career reflected the effort to "learn" from one Asian war to the next, one can follow Edward Lansdale to retrace America's approach to counterinsurgency in the post-World War IT period. He too took the lessons he had developed, in the·· Philippines, and ventured with them into Vietnam. An Air Force officer and a sometime-CIA agent, he had been with the U.S. Army and the Office of Strategic Services during World War 11. Prior to the war he worked in an advertising agency in San Francisco. This was a vita as odd as it was broad, and it would prove eminently useful in the Philippines. The general course of America's policy in the Philippines had been to make it selfgoverning and independent. Independence had come in 1946; now the challenge was to make self-government survive and to make it work. Only then would democracy be an effective alternative to the Maoist program of the Huks, a guerrilla organization born in resistance to Japanese occupation and now fighting to remake the Filippino government in its own image. Lt. Col. Lansdale, a military advisor, jointly developed the government's political and military strategies with Defense Secretary Ramon Magsaysay, whose years as a commander of noncommunist anti-Japanese partisans were central to his understanding of how to fight the new war against the Huks. Both men knew that politics and psychology lay at the foundation of success or failure. 20 The Filippinos were hardly inclined to communism, but they were fatigued by

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years of mismanagement, corruption, and inattention from Manila. Thus, the first project was holding elections, for Congress and then for the presidency. The challenge, clearly foreseen by the Small Wars Manual, was to keep the balloting process clean and truthful but without the political liabilities of close American control. One of the solutions developed was the mechanism of a National Movement for Free Elections (NAMFREL), the Filippino observer team system; this has endured and in fact played a prominent role in the 1986 voting for Ferdinand Marcos and Corazon Aquino. Another pillar of effective counterinsurgency would be land reform. If "Land for the Landless" was the Huk slogan, then the republic's answer was to be an "Economic Development Corps," or EDCOR. Its genesis was a good example of the utility of memory for dealing with new problems. It was at one of the informal coffee hours that Lansdale and Magsaysay often held at their homes to solicit the views of talented young officers and politicians. Someone mentioned the old Roman system whereby a soldier could, after a set term in the legions, be given land in the area where he was serving. This was a way for the soldier to be paid and for the border regions to be well-settled by combat veterans with a stake in the security and success of the government. 21 Good politics is a judicious combination of substance and symbol, and EDCOR achieved tremendous success even though it resettled only 5200 people. 22 It quickly became a topic of national conversation; word spread so thoroughly through the Huk camps that the political commissars took special measures to ban talk of EDCOR. Yet defections proliferated. This had other rewards, for as British counterinsurgency experience indicates, nothing is so effective as a defector well used, be it for intelligence or propaganda purposes. The Magsaysay/Lansdale team was adept at both. In military operations, great emphasis was laid on intelligence, psychological warfare, and small unit operations. Noteworthy developments included the Scout Rangers, which used expert trackers and defectors to provide tactical guidance for army forces. Scout Rangers had been used in the Philippines by American forces subduing the islands at the beginning of the century and were later used in Vietnam. The inspiration for introducing scouts into the present war against the Huks belonged to a Filippino who had graduated from West Point. A second development was also a product of memory, rather than invention. "Force X" was a "pseudo-gang," garbed, armed, and trained to imitate the enemy. Such deceptions are difficult but yield volumes of good intelligence, produce lethal contacts, and work like a viral infection, spreading distrust among the real guerrillas. The use of pseudogangs against the Huks was apparently inspired by the ruse of an American officer involved in counterinsurgency in the Philippines in 1901. Frederick Funston was a young brigadier of national guard volunteers from the United States and loyalist Filippinos. He captured a message from Aguinaldo, the insurrectionary leader, demanding transfer of reinforcements from a distant province. Funston determined to oblige his enemy. He selected and specially trained and provisioned 81 of his Filippino scout troops. The unit was given four American officers to play the role of "captured prisoners." Presenting themselves to guerrilla pickets at Aguinaldo's camp as the expected relief column, the force gained entry and captured him. Here was one of the cleanest successes in modern war, and the germ of the idea for the devastatingly effective pseudogangs like Force X a half-century later. 23 When Lt. Col. Lansdale left the Philippines, he did so as a hero: democracy was secure and the Huks were defeated. His government immediately pressed him to work similar counterinsurgency miracles in Vietnam. Lansdale was too smart a man, too imaginative a man, to think that all he had done in this Philippines would translate

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readily into Vietnamese. His method was always a personalist one, and so the differences between these two Asian peoples could hardly have escaped him. An observation he made on his first visit to Vietnam, when he advised the French General Navarre in 1953, stands up well with hindsight: "The people were strikingly different from the Filippinos, but the guerrilla methods of the Communists were all too familiar."z4 The Vietnamese were using Maoist theory and Maoist rural insurgency strategy, as the Huks had. Lansdale felt he understood Mao and had tried to tell officers in the Pentagon about the significance of theory. He had further advised them that to understand the Maoist approach one had to see how Mao "had cribbed his lecture from Sun Tzu, Clausewitz, and Lenin." The result was a whole new set of rules for war, "as different as the difference between [World] Wars I and n. Because so many of us haven't understood the rules, we have lost thousands upon thousands of square miles of real estate, millions of people have been brought under subjection by the enemy, and we have expended great material wealth in the struggle.,,25 Made a member of the joint French-American military training team in Vietnam in 1954, the hero of the Philippines faced an intractable problem: disagreement about the nature of the war. The assessment that Lansdale made was that this was more a rebellion than a problem of northern infiltration, more a political than a military problem, and more an unconventional struggle against small enemy parties than a mission for readying South Vietnam against invasion. Few agreed. Both the French and American advisers were thinking in a conventional war mode, even when dealing with guerrillas. They were wrong without being unreasonable; there was the haunting specter of another Korea-style invasion with the backing of Russia and China. This implied that Korea, not the Philippines, offered the truest lessons to be recalled. And in Korea, as was well known, the guerrilla dimension of war had been swatted away easily. Both the conventional war view and the specter of invasion were to endure for 20 years; many remained fixed on them right up to the end, in 1975, when they believed themselves vindicated by the NVA sweep into the South. In fact, the war should not have and need not have reached such a conventional stage. Until at least 1963 the enemy was fighting a guerrilla war, "Phase One" of three phases, to use Maoist parlance. A better counterinsurgency strategy would have been built upon that overwhelming fact. Instead, Lansdale and his allies found no support. Back in Washington, too, officials and military commanders were not inclined to listen when Lansdale's superior at CIA, William Colby, attended interagency meetings and passed out books by European participants in the small wars of Indochilla and Algeria and Malaya. Colby's point, as he related in the memoir Lost Victory, was that these wars were the proper model for low-intensity conflict in Vietnam. Malaya had succeeded with hundreds of thousands of militia and police, but only some 80,000 army forces. The allied force structure in Vietnam could not have differed more: hundreds of thousands of army forces (Vietnamese and American) with few police in rural areas, and equally few well-prepared militia in the villages. But the Joint Chiefs of Staff (JCS) and others explicitly rejected an approach in which police and militias would be dominant. 26 When Lansdale came to Vietnam, he focused on self-defense militias, other forms of unconventional and special warfare, economic aid, and things political: political reform, political action, political mobilization. Like William Colby, Edward G. Lansdale thought village militias were one of the best forms of political mobilization. He also worked to make the army of South Vietnam change its self-image and its approach to counterinsurgency. France, fighting in Algeria, could in the spirit of revolutionary war order every conscript to be an ambassador for France, and Algerians still might not care to indulge

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them. But Vietnamese troops could move easily among Vietnamese people. Lansdale told them that civic action should not be something for special ARVN units, but "a performance expected of every soldier.,,27 After all, that is how victors as diverse as Mao and Magsaysay had succeeded. Lansdale enjoyed only partial successes in Vietnam. He established a school for psychologic;U operations. Unfortunately, the South Vietnamese personnel had the same problem the U.S. Army did: they were much more interested in the commando side of such efforts. 28 Lansdale began a number of civil action programs, bringing Filippino doctors, dentists, and agronomists in to help the Vietnamese and talk of the improvement in their own country. At the suggestion of a VC defector, he also started a program for placing white-collar workers from the city governments in rural areas for a time. But the D.S. mission proved uninterested. The South Vietnamese personnel could be the same, or ineffectual, or patronizing to the peasants; the Viet Cong's contribution was to recognize the importance of these early versions of "Revolutionary Development" teams by targeting them for assassination. Lansdale was also deeply involved in the effort to resettle the nearly one million refugees who had fled south after the Geneva accords. Ironically, successfully resettling hundreds of thousands did less good than had resettling 5000 in the Philippines. Not only was Vietnam a larger, more complex country, clumsy military operations heavily reliant upon firepower were always producing new rivulets of refugees. If successes were limited they were also mostly political: he never managed to have any true influence over military strategy. That strategy in the early years was the use of the America-advised South Vietnamese army, in large units, in conventional sweeps, during daylight hours. This he could not change, as the following anecdote indicates. In 1961, Ed Lansdale was between two tours in Vietnam, a brigadier general working in the Pentagon on Special Forces issues. President Kennedy read a memorandum he wrote, thought it captured his own concerns, and dispatched General Maxwell Taylor to Vietnam, telling him he wanted Lansdale to be part of the team. What did General Taylor do with this expert in politics, unconventional warfare, and civic action? He told Lansdale to spend his days in country doing a study of the potential expense involved with erecting some sort of fence to "seal off" South Vietnam. 29 Perhaps Taylor was making a point-that South Vietnam had border traffic and external guerrilla sanctuary problems that Luzon Island never knew. If so, the argument was not a good one. During the 1950s, and as late as the early 1960s, even the JCS would admit when pressed that most of the insurgents in the South were indigenous, and so too were most of their weapons. Even after 1959, when infiltration began in earnest, a fence would have been as ineffective as the French line of blockhouses in the first Indochinese war, and for the same reasons. There were other barriers that prevented Lansdale from implementing the kinds of plans that had brought him success in the Philippines. One may have been Lansdale himself. He made American officials and commanders suspicious. There was the fact that Lansdale was an Army officer, but had never gone to West Point. He was an Air Force officer, but rarely wore his uniform. To Army and Air Force alike he was a former intelligence agent who mayor may not still be an Agency man. Finally there was the tremendous mystique of his success in the Philippines, which for some seemed only to raise equal amounts of jealousy and doubt that the experience would be transferable to Vietnam. In short, Lansdale was in a remarkable position: the Vietnamese Communists knew of him and dreaded him, but there was a touch of that in his colleagues, too. To seize the war effort and wrestle it around to where he wished it would go,

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Lansdale had to have power, something like the unofficial power he'd wielded in the Philippines. In his memoirs, he tells of the one chance at appointment to the post of ambassador, the man in control of the entire country team. In a White House meeting, President Kennedy suggested suddenly that Lansdale should be the next ambassador. Inexplicably, he balked. By the time he recovered, the Defense and State departments had rallied to block the appointment and Kennedy's offer was never renewed. 30 There were of course Vietnamese barriers as well. Lansdale had fine relations with Diem and was central to his election as president in 1955. But unlike Ramon Magsaysay, Diem was too much the autocrat. He would listen when Lansdale told him about what it would take to be the George Washington of his country, and he liked the idea. But he listened to a lot of others, especially his brother Nhu, whose politics were instinctively dynastic, not democratic. Moreover, Diem never completely trusted Lansdale; however warm their own relations, the Vietnamese leader knew that many in the D.S. mission favored removing Diem, and of course those fears proved very real in 1963. The qualifications in Diem's commitment to democracy reflected a broader ambivalence among the Vietnamese. Democracy had been part of the birthright of each Filippino; this was not the case in the country of Vietnam. A person's commitments to family, religion, and land might leave little for national political cohesion and less for the idea that such cohesion should come in democratic form. Lansdale might be passionately egalitarian and democratic; powerful Vietnamese generals and government officials might have other passions.

Conclusions Review of these three national experiences in counterinsurgency suggests that there are at least three levels of potential learning. The first is represented by the transmission belts of historical and personal experience: books, doctrinal manuals, schools, and tow kinds of secondary experience Clausewitz suggested should be sought out in observation of foreign wars and conversation with veterans. The British Army and the D.S. Marine Corps are fairly good exemplars of this last method. But experience suggests that few belligerents "keep book" well on their small wars. So little is written down; too much is forgotten; too many lives are needlessly lost. Russell Weigley has argued that the nineteenth century D.S. armed forces never did, for all their experience, create a coherent body of guiding principles for Indian war, for example. He writes further: "Whenever after the Revolution the American army had to conduct a counterguerrilla campaign-in the Second Seminole War of 1835-41, the Filippino Insurrection of 1899-1903, and in Vietnam in 1965-1973, it found itself almost without an institutional memory of such experiences, had to relearn appropriate tasks at exorbitant costs, and yet tended after each episode to regard it as an aberration that need not be repeated.,,31 And yet, as Sun Tzu and Clausewitz warned, it is folly, perhaps suicidal folly, to commit forces in ignorance of how victory will be attained. The second layer of the problem, the second challenge to learn, occurs once a particular war has been joined. In the absence of methodical formal effort to transmit experience, the most adaptive obviously do the best. Paradoxically, adaptation to new circumstances may sometimes be guided by memories of past wars in insurgency. Still more paradoxically, "learning" may require a willingness to "forget," to temporarily set aside certain acquired principles of conventional war. This the commanders and political authorities could not do as, fresh from World War 11 and Korea, they faced a

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Vietnamese enemy playing variations on a Maoist model. But Marshall Bugeaud, General Gallieni, and Ramon Magsaysay, all proven guerrilla war winners, would shock subordinates with just that advice: "to do well here, you must forget what they taught you in staff school and open your eyes.,,32 Finally, there is adaptation from one "small war" to the next. This is particularly trying, as the Vietnam experiences of accomplished men like Robert Thompson and Edward Lansdale show. But Charles Callwell, the authors of the Marines' manual on small wars, and Robert Thompson would not and could not have written had they not believed that many successful counterinsurgency principles do not in fact expire with the war of the moment. The commander who is not mechanistic about wisdom of the past, but innovative with it, as Lansdale and Magsaysay were in drawing upon guerrilla wars of five and fifty years before, can profit immensely. The commander who ignores such wisdom may be doomed to repeat the history of the defeated. To adapt an old saying, the first such repetition is tragedy, the second is farce.

Notes 1. Douglas Porch, "Bugeaud, Gallieni, Lyautey: The Development of French Colonial Warfare," in Peter Paret, ed., The Makers of Modem Strategy (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1986) pp. 378, 390, 396. Other material of interest may be found in the essay of the same title written by Jean Gottman for the earlier edition of this volume edited by Edward Mead Earle in 1943. 2. Quoted in Stephen H. Roberts, History of French Colonial Policy (1870-1925) (London: P. S. King & Son, Ltd., 1929), vo!' 2, p. 560. 3. Quoted by Alistair Home in A Savage UUr of Peace (New York: The Viking Press, 1978),

p. 100. 4. French reassessment is discussed at length in Chapter 7 of W. W. Kulski's DeGaulle and the Ifbrld: The Foreign Policy of the Fifth French Republic (Syracuse, NY: Syracuse University Press, 1966). It is covered far more briefly in John Pimlott's essay "The French Army: From Indochina to Chad, 1946-1984," ran F. W. Beckett and John Pimlott, eds., Armed Forces and Modern Counter-Insurgency (New York: St. Martin's Press, 1985). 5. A somewhat different excuse for ignoring the French experience, one which if true did America no more credit, was reportedly offered by General Paul Harkins, commander of the American military aid program up through 1964. In 1962, when offered a chance to see a dramatic photographic documentary of the Viet Minh fighting at Dien Bien Phu, "Harkins refused to let it be shown to either American advisers or South Vietnamese officers, because it would 'frighten' them to see how well the Viet Minh had fought!" Robert B. Asprey, War in the Shadows (Garden City, NY: Doubleday & Co., Inc., 1975), vo!. 2, p. 1028, fn. 28. 6. Maj. Charles E. Callwell, Small UUrs: Their Principles and Practice, 1899 ed. (London: His Majesty's Stationery Office). 7. In the 1940 U.S. Marine Corps publication Small UUrs Manual there is discussion of flying columns of company size or smaller. Their mission description is pure CallweIl: "too seek out the hostile groups attack them energetically, and then pursue them to the limit." The Manual drew upon Callwell and on other authors. U.S. Marine Corps, Small UUrs Manual (Washington, DC, 1940; reprint ed., Manhattan, KS: MA-AH Publishers, Sunflower University Press, 1972). 8. This point and certain others in the section on British strategies are dependent upon a superb dissertation written at the University of Wisconsin at Madison in 1988 by Thomas Ross Mockaitis, The British Experience in Counterinsurgency, 1919-1960. 9. Ibid., p. 394. 10. Ibid., p. 176. 11. Like British theorists, the U.S. Marines' Small Wars Manual authors recognized that

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garrison duty can be deadening and thus deadly. The manual describes patrolling as "essentially offensive action." In modern revolutionary war it is critical to depriving the guerrilla of the leisure and security he needs to do his political work among the populace. 12. Supervision of marketplaces and restrictions on sales prevented rice purchases by guerrillas and gifts of such foodstuffs to guerrillas. Rebel units not clever enough to deal with these goverrunental measures slowly starved. By contrast, Vietnam was a country richer in food production. Limited attempts to deny guerrillas food had limited results. Responding to this reality, the U.S. Marines demonstrated their intellectual flexibility by adapting the "lesson" of Malaya and doing something different from destroying food caches; they protected the harvests of friendly peasants, who now were able to avoid the "revolutionary tax" guerrillas had always imposed upon the take from the fields . See, for example, Andrew F. Krepinevich, Jr. , The Army and Vietnam (Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins University Press, 1986), p. 174. 13. The British enjoyed one more advantage: the insurgency was seated almost exclusively in the Chinese ethnic population. Yet this should not be taken to be the key to the British victory. The Chinese were in fact only barely a minority, 1.9 million in a country with 2.4 million ethnic Maylays, making them a powerful force, if also one more troubling to the average non-Chinese. Their very numbers raised the real prospect of a full-blown racial war. But the goverrunent handled the insurgency deftly, such that this specter never presented itself. 14. The enumerated five lessons, though not necessarily analysis of their application or failure in Vietnam, may be found in Sir Robert G. Thompson, Defeating Communist Insurgency: Lessons from Malaya and Vietnam (New York: F. A. Praeger, 1966). 15. See for example the recent book by Neil Sheehan, which includes among other accounts a depiction of John Paul Vann's disgust at the depredations of an ethnic Cambodian leader of a Vietnamese Ranger unit: The Bright Shining Lie (New York: Random House, 1988). 16. There are many telling accounts of the reasons for the failure of the hamlets program, including those in works already cited by Robert Asprey and Neil Sheehan, as well as Stanley Karnow, Vietnam: A History (New York: Penguin Books, 1984). One of the most succinct may be read in Anthony James Joes new book The War for South Vietnam (New York: Praeger, 1989, 1990), pp. 60-62. 17. William Colby leaves somewhat open the question about Phan Nghoc Thao's politics: Lost Victory (Chicago: Contemporary Books, 1989). But Dr. Steven Morris of Harvard University's Center for International Affairs is certain of Phan Nghoc Thao's service to the Communist side, taking his evidence from sources such as Truong Nhu Tang, A Vietcong Memoir (New York: First Vintage Books, 1986, ch. 6). Stanley Karnow agrees. 18. See Chapter 9 in Larry E. Cable, Conflict of Myths: the Development of American Counterinsurgency Doctrine and the Vietnam Ubr (New York: New York University Press, 1966). Equally interesting on the early 1960s and the diffidence of American military forces, including the Marines, about serious study of revolutionary warfare is Robert Asprey, War in the Shadows, pp. 1024-1025. 19. John Collins, "Vietnam Postmortem: A Senseless Strategy," Parameters, (March 1978): 9,13. It was not that our armed forces have been oblivious to guerrilla warfare. But what instruction and learning has occurred has tended , whether in 1961 or 1991 , to be oriented toward waging such warfare, as against resisting it. The former well suits certain American foreign policy programs, as during the 1980s when the Reagan administration was engaged on the side of freedom fighters in Angola, Afghanistan, and Nicaragua. But the emphasis on commando operations in offensive war, and on tactical "door-kicking" (as one wag and Special Forces officer describes much of today's instruction) was not as appropriate in Vietnam as would have been training in counterinsurgency. Attention to the latter was strictly limited. Skills at hunter-killer operations or long-range patrolling are different from strengths in police liaison work and other intelligence efforts, study of problems of coadministration with indigenous goverrunent, psychological operations, and comprehension of revolutionary war theory and economic roots of revolution.

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Historian Ronald Specter notes that it was only in 1961 that the Army's Special Warfare School at Fort Bragg introduced lectures on "the economic, social, and political and psychological factors which create revolutionary conditions in a country." And this was done largely at the insistence of the State Department. Ronald H. Specter, Advice and Suppon: The Early }ears of the V.S. Army in Vietnam, 1941-1960 (New York: The Free Press, 1985), pp. 352-353. The aforementioned study of the U. S. Army in Vietnam by Andrew Krepinevich includes other illustrations of the one-sided nature of American unconventional warfare training. In sum, commando training is but one part of the answer to revolutionary warfare. There were of course exceptions to the "rule" against emphasis upon unconventional counterinsurgency, a rule which seemed to hold until the latter 1960s. The most impressive was the Marines' Combined Action Platoons (CAPS) program, in which Americans served alongside Vietnamese, living in the villages and training their self-defense cadre over an extended time. The idea for CAPS was born of a captain's experiment, and blossomed under approval from the corps commander, General Louis Wait, veteran of Marine small unit operations in Nicaragua between the world wars. But before a regional success could grow into a theater success, CAPS was all but suppressed by General Westmoreland, who favored methods that were more conventional and more aggressively offensive. So in the case of CAPS, the best kind of "learning" was occurring in the field, watered by direct and indirect experience, and yet it was plowed under when it should have been brought to harvest. 20. Edward G. Lansdale, In the Midst of wars (New York: Harper & Row, 1972). 21. Cecil B. Currey, Edward Lansdale: The Unquiet American (Boston: Houghton Mifflin Company, 1988), p. 98. 22. The government offered educational training as an alternative to free land, and many defecting Huks chose the former. The aforementioned Currey biography explains that EDCOR's new colonies, meticulously planned, were settled as follows: About one-third of the members would be former Huks, onethird farmers of known loyalty, and another third exsoldiers. This judicious combination made the program different from the ancient Roman model, but, when well adapted, proved no less effective. The melding of loyal poor and exsoldiers with the Huk defectors also helped prevent internal security problems in a way the Vietnamese government never did when it tried strategic hamlets. 23. Aprey, war in the Shadows, vo!. 1, p. 193. 24. Currey, Edward Lansdale, p. 110. While Lansdale was not posted to Vietnam until 1954, his first visit occurred in 1953 at the request of the French commander, General Navarre. He urged Navarre to obtain more forces, especially Vietnamese forces, and more police than troops. Numbers, he said, had been important in both the Philippines and Malaya. Second, he found the French forces overly committed to static defenses, and recommended more mobility. The general did subsequently redeploy some troops into striking and ready reserve forces and try to make more use of Vietnamese, long neglected as commanders of battalion-size units. 25. Letter to his family, quoted by Currey, Edward Lansdale, p. 135. 26. Lansdale, Colby, and Robert Thompson were among those few pushing for such an approach. When the latter recommended change to President Diem in 1961, the JCS view was enunciated by its chief, Lyman Lemnitzer, in a minute that stressed "the importance of keeping the structure in Vietnam a military one." See Colby, Last Victory, pp. 98-99. 27. Major-General Edward G. Lansdale, "Viet Nam: Do We Understand Revolution?", Foreign Affairs, (October 1964), p. 85. When he returned from a later tour in Vietnam, Lansdale wrote a second article for Foreign Affairs that was published in October 1968 under the title "Still the Search for Goals." 28. See note 18. 29. From an account by Roger Hilsman quoted in Asprey, A war in the Shadows, Vol. ll, p. 1019. 30. I have been advised that Lansdale may be the only source for the story that Kennedy offered him the post of Ambassador to Vietnam. I include it nonetheless because (1) the two men

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did evidently respect each other greatly, and Lansdale's stature made him a likely candidate, and (2) because I am not aware of contrary evidence that the appointment was not offered (before a number of eminent witnesses) just as Lansdale said. 31. Russell F. Weigley, "American Strategy from Its Beginnings through the First World War," in Peter Paret, ed., Makers of Modem Strategy (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1986) pp. 411, 436-437. 32. This paraphrase is mine. The Porch and Earle essays in Makers of Modem Strategy include renditions of such statements by the two French commanders, while the words of Ramon Magsaysay are quoted in Lawrence M. Greenberg's monograph for the U.S. Army Center of Military History, The Hukbalahap Insurrection (Washington, DC: U.S. Government Printing Office, 1987), p. 87.

[15] Foreign Internal Defense and the Hukbalahap: A Model Counter-Insurgency WRA Y R. JOHNSON and PAUL J. DIMECH Foreign Internal Defense and Development Dramatic changes in the world geopolitical order since 1989, especially the decline of the Soviet threat, have made insurgency, narcotics trafficking, subversion and terrorism in developing countries the more immediate threat to US national security and foreign interests. Consequently national security strategy and the fundamental assumptions that have provided the foundation for American defence policy since the end of World War 11 are being re examined within the context of post-Cold War challenges. One very important product of this reexamination is the emphasis now placed on regional security strategies and the need to appreciate the socio-economic origins of insurgency as well as tie Washington's interests abroad to the capabilities of the armed forces of other countries. Not surprisingly then, US forces will increasingly be required to support allied and friendly armed forces in maintaining internal stability and engage in humanitarian assistance, disaster relief and other nationassistance activities generally falling within the rubrics of Foreign Internal Defense (FID) and Internal Defense and Development (IDAD). American military involvement in FID and ID AD therefore has significant implications for defence doctrine and strategy and as such has been an integral element of the ongoing debate surrounding what we mean by Low Intensity Conflict (LIC). Foreign Internal Defense, as defined in Joint Publication I-D2, Department of Defense Dictionary of Military and Associated Terms, is 'the participation by civilian and military agencies of a government in any of the action programs taken by another government to free and protect its society from subversion, lawlessness, and insurgency. '1 Practically speaking, this means combating internal threats to the legitimacy of a government and thus the stability of the country, and includes nation-building and other developmental activities designed at least to ameliorate if not eliminate the conditions that foster discontent and precipitate internal challenges to the government. In that the goals

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of FID (US-directed efforts) and ID AD (host-nation-directed efforts) are essentially one in the same, a single rubric - Foreign Internal Defense and Development (FIDD) - is probably more appropriate. Arguments about definitions aside, US involvement in FIDD offers many benefits, not the least of which is low cost. The scope of FIDD, however, goes far beyond the simple transfer of military hardware and services through security assistance programs. Effective FIDD efforts are intended to mitigate the socio-economic grievances which spawn armed conflict and therefore requires cooperation between Washington and host-nation governments to conceptualise and institute reforms that undermine the popular basis for revolutionary insurgency. Consequently, American forces involved in such an enterprise must clearly understand how their actions fit into the diverse mix of economic, political, military, and informational tools employed. More importantly, US FIDD doctrine must be based on sound principles which recognise the uniqueness of every nation's internal situation, thereby effectively supporting civic-action efforts that get at the roots of internal instability. The key to relevant FIDD doctrine and effective application of that doctrine is the ability to perform two essential tasks: First, to assess objectively the conditions contributing to instability and second; deriving a plan based on this assessment. Although other factors such as capabilities and resources usually dominate during implementation; in formulating policy the two outlined above are predominant. Students of revolutionary theory and warfare are often confronted with various models for counter-insurgency: models of success, for example, the British experience in Malaya (1948-60); and models of failure, for instance, the US experience in Vietnam. To the surprise of many, the overall American experience includes several examples of successful counter-insurgency programs, to include the Indian campaigns of the late 1800s and the American participation in suppressing the Hukbalahap insurgency in the Philippines from 1950 to 1956. Although the US Army efforts to suppress the Plains Indians and the Apaches (1876-85), orchestrated by Generals Nelson A. Miles and George Crook, are excellent examples of population relocation through resource denial and elimination of the enemy's sanctuaries respectively; the Hukbalahap insurgency is an even better model to reveal to what extent US policy-makers succeeded in assessing the conditions leading to the insurgency and then formulating an appropriate policy to deal with it. In our examination, we will look at basically four elements: Peasant roots, communist leadership, American perceptions, and finally, US

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policy. In that light, the discussion is topical and therefore not linear in progression. But before we can proceed, it is necessary to clarify one important point: Whether the Huks are referred to as resistance fighters, insurgents, rebels, or simply as members of 'the movement' varies according to the frame of reference (i.e., prewar, wartime, and postwar) and the perspective of the opposition (Philippine, Japanese, or American). For the purpose of this examination, all four terms are used interchangeably. Peasant Roots The necessity to turn to a period prior to the insurrection (mid-1940s to mid-1950s) when discerning the true nature of the Huks is evident in the term 'Huk' itself. Short for Hukbalahap, the acronym for Hukbong ng Bayan laban sa Hapon, these postwar insurgents have anachronistically been referred to as the 'People's Anti-Japanese Army'. Yet in referring to this movement - which formally began several years after the war - as anti-Japanese is understandable as the Huks were not simply the descendants of wartime. guerrillas, but actual veterans. To the government soldiers who opposed them, and to the peasants of central Luzon who formed their basis of support, and to the rank and file members of the movement itself, the Huks of the late 1940s were the same men who formed the resistance movement in March 1942 to fight the Japanese. Yet to focus on the wartime Huks, which has been the norm, fails to suffice - for the Huk's actual roots can be traced to the peasant unrest of the 1930s. And it is more than just coincidence that prewar social turmoil thrived in the same part of the Philippines (Central Luzon: Bulacan, Nueva Ecija, Pampanga, and Tarlac) that later served as strongholds for the Huks during and after the war. In fact, a remarkable consistency is found amongst those who participated in the postwar insurrection, wartime resistance, and the prewar peasant movements. As Benedict Kerkvliet ably points out in The Huk Rebellion; during the war, Filipinos were just as likely to refer to Huks as KPMP (Kalipunang Pambansa ng mga Magsasaka sa Pilipinas, or National Society of Peasants in the Philippines), a peasant organisation formed in the 1930s, as those after the war and today refer to the movement as Hukbalahap.2 Clearly a need exists to shift our inquiry to the period prior to Japanese occupation. Allotment of blame for the upheavals in Luzon prior to the war varies among scholarly works and official documents, however virtually unani-

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mous agreement exists on one root cause: the breakdown of the paternalistic relationship between landlords and peasants. Deterioration began during the Spanish imperial era (1565-1898), but the breakdown reached crisis proportions following US annexation in February 1899. The traditional relationship, often referred to as datuk, had at its core a special, almost familial bond between landlord (datu) and peasant (tao). The datu's claim to land was not legitimate because of purchase and written deed, rather by tradition - usually through inheritance. And the taG was not bound to the land per his counterpart in feudal Europe; he was free to plow the land of any datu who would have him. Moreover, a datu's status was determined not by the productive capacity of his land, but by the number of taG who were sustained by the land and loyally supported the datu. Although a direct correlation existed between productivity and the number of tao, the heart of the datuk was the paternalistic relationship between the datu and his tao. In exchange for a percentage of the tao's harvest (usually 50 per cent) and corvee (that is, unpaid) labor, the datu provided the land and protection from bandits and rival claimants and demonstrated a genuine concern for the welfare of his taG through specific deeds. Datus presided over weddings and provided pigs for holidays and ceremonies. He also paid a portion of the tao's start-up costs (tools and seed) and provided interest-free loans or outright gifts following poor harvests. Those datus who failed to offer similar support were labeled wayang hiya, that is, unscrupulous or disrespectful, and would lose their taG and consequently their status to nearby datus who had utang na loob - obligation. 3 We would be mistaken to view the datuk as an ideal agrarian relationship. It was by no means a leffersonian model, nor even a modern socialist model. In truth, the life of the average taG was quite arduous. His life expectancy was in fact considerably lower than that of his twentieth century descendants. Yet the datuk was an exceptionally stable relationship and survived intact until the early twentieth century, with vestiges discernable even today. In spite of the durability of the datuk, during the 1930s it became apparent (especially in the latter part of the decade) that something was amiss with the traditional pattern in central Luzon - the breadbasket of the Philippines. Incidents of peasant unrest (arson, demonstrations, evictions, etc.) increased substantially. By this time, landlords (datu becoming archaic at this point) did not even bother to maintain the image of patron let alone actually perform as one. This profound change is both described and illuminated by the comments of a prominent landlord of the time, Manolo Tinio:

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In the old days, when I was still small, the tenant-landlord system was a real paternalistic one. The landlord thought of himself as a kind of grandfather to all his tenants, and so he was concerned with all aspects of their lives. That's how my father, Manuel Tinio, was, for instance. My father's tenants thought very highly of him, too. But that system had to change over time as haciendas had to be put on a more sound economic footing. You see, the landlordtenant relationship is a business partnership, not a family. The landlord has invested capital in the land, and the tenants give their labor.4 Manolo Tinio's business-like interpretation of the new relationship with tenants (tao is also inappropriate at this point) clearly indicates what had happened in the Philippines. Although occuring late relative to the remainder of south-east and north-east Asia, Philippine society was enduring the shock of transforming from an economy resting on internal consumption to an export-led capitalistic economy. With emphasis now on the product and associated profit, instead of the producer and his loyalty, landlord concern for the social welfare of his tenants evaporated. The landlord's attendance at weddings and the partial funding of feasts and ceremonies soon fell by the wayside. More importantly, rice loans (rasyon) , pre-planting financing and support during hard times also fell away. As a part of the new business attitude, landlords no longer felt the need to provide for their tenants anything more than the use of the land. Take the rasyon and the other loans, for example. I put a stop to that (sic). If the tenants needed to borrow rice or money, they could go somewhere else to get it. I decided to lend to only a few tenants, if they paid interest on it. But to give rasyon loans and charge no interest, and then sometimes not be paid, is certainly an unbusinesslike way to handle money. Also, I stopped the rasyon because I got tired of seeing or hearing about sad faces. By the time the tenants had paid back their loans after harvest, they didn't have much left. Then they felt hurt. Pretty soon they'd be coming to me or my katiwala (overseer) for another loan. No loans also saved bookwork. 5 As in times past, the tenant farmer of the 1930s was free to leave one landlord in favor of another, but the consequences were far different from before. A tenant exodus posed little threat to the new agrobusinessman. In fact, the loss of tenants. was in some ways positive for the landlord, for it motivated him to mechanise.

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I was enthusiastic about putting machinery to work like the modem farms I'd seen in the US. But the estate of my father was unsettled; none of his relatives knew for sure what lands they would end up owning. So, I had to postpone the use of tractors. The only machine here before the Japanese occupation was a rice thresher, something most big landowners had. Meanwhile I tried to get the tenants to do as I said, impose some discipline on them so that the land would produce better. If you tell a machine to do something, it'll do it. It's not that way with tenants. 6 Leaving one hacienda for another generally failed to bring relief to desperate tenant-farmers as the new economic system prevailed in the Philippines. The experience of one elderly man seeking a better life was typical of the times: I had also heard that there was land available in Nueva Ecija and that it was very fertile. When the conditions with Manolo Tinio became so bad, I went to another landowner. After a couple of years, I went to another and then another. Between 1922 and the mid-1930s I worked for five different landlords, all in this vicinity [Central Luzon]. I kept looking for better conditions: a larger share of the crop, fewer agricultural expenses for me to pay, low interest loans, and a fair landlord. At first I was looking for a landowner who gave interest-free loans like General Tinio [Manolo Tinio's father, Manuel] had done. But that was impossible. The question became how much interest would be charged, from 25 per cent all the way up to 150 per cent. The landlords had us trapped. Most of them did not care whether we farmed or not, lived or died. 7 The shift from traditional paternalism to agro-business and export capitalism produced a major shift in the socio-economic centre of gravity, and not surprisingly, significant social upheaval as a result. The most obvious question at this point then, is whether the government attempted to do anything to alleviate the peasants' circumstances - or whether the government could do anything. Interestingly, with respect to population growth and rice production, the latter kept abreast of and even surpassed the former. Consequently, the problem was not one of availability, but a classic case of distribution - which clearly was within the purview of the government to address. The failure of government officials to intervene, or at least present the appearance of intervening on behalf of the peasants is one of the more conspicuous aspects of this chapter of Philippine history. The recorded response cannot be recanted by government officials -

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American and Filipino prior to 1935 and solely Filipino thereafter - with any pretence of pride in their actions. Although the Americans were able to extend the Manila-based bureaucracy into rural areas, and Philippine officials were able to use this structure beginning with the Commonwealth in 1935 and independence in 1946, rarely did members of the central government function in any capacity that was not blatantly in support of the landed elites. The peasants' comparative disadvantage was therefore virtually insurmountable. Even if we exclude large landowners who served in the national legislature, the vast majority of civil servants and elected officials, then as now, were either family members or financially dependent upon rural landlords. The common peasant could not expect to compete successfully against the landed elites in court or even take advantage of government land policies. The net result was the alienation of the peasant from both his landlord and the land with no opportunity to redress his grievances through the government. His pursuit of an alternative would dictate the nature of popular movements in the Philippines.

Communist Leadership of the Peasant Movement PKP (PARTIDO KOMUNISTA NG PILAPINAS) control of the movement has been almost axiomatic among scholars and virtually all authors of US government studies pertaining to the Huks. Interviews with captured Huk and PKP leaders, however, cast doubt on the validity of this assertion. Therefore, before determining whether US analysts accurately assessed the situation in the Philippines prior to American involvement, further investigation is required. That the hierarchy of the Huk movement (field commanders) at least claimed to be communist is a given; but the degree to which the hierarchy was actually controlled by the PKP and expressed the will of the rank-and-file is questionable. Furthermore, whether those in command were pilots or merely flotsam riding the wave of peasant unrest also is a legitimate question. The answer is vital to understanding the movement as an historic event, though analysts at the time may not have given these questions the attention they deserved. It is necessary, then, to lead with a fundamental premise: the Huk movement was in form and concept, a peasant rebellion with nominal communist leadership. Arriving at this conclusion is justified for two reasons: First, the ideology of the PKP was incompatible with the worldview of the Filipino peasant, and second; the PKP could not put

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into effect its policies when they conflicted with the movement's innate momentum. Unlike the Chinese peasant, whose normative and secular worldview (a syncretism of Confusianism, Taosim and Buddhism) did not pose a serious obstacle to communist ideology, the Christian foundation of Philippine society in general, and the majority of central Luzon inhabitants in particular, most certainly did. Moreover, the contradiction of communist thought and Christian belief was compounded by the fact that the Party's orientation in the Philippines prior to 1968 was in consonance with the Soviet model of emphasis on the urban proletariat, not the peasant. The failure of the PKP to breach the distance between themselves and the 'peasants is evident in the following recollection of a tenant-farmer of Nueva Ecija pertaining to a speech given by Guillermo Capadocia, a PKP leader and principal theoretician: It was a large demonstration. I remember some of us carried red

flags with KPMP emblems. Juan Feleo was there, too. Capadocia also came to help Feleo and others during negotiations with a bunch of landlords who were meeting in the municipal hall in the bayan. He was a nice fellow. We had heard about him and knew he was a labor leader in Manila. That night he spoke at a KPMP rally in the barrio. You know, I didn't understand why he went on that night about how good things were in Russia. It wasn't relevant to our problems. It was also dangerous. The police could have thought we were a bunch of Communists and arrested us. 8 Beyond popular support and conviction, the second issue is one of leadership. Was the PKP centre capable of controlling the direction of the movement? With some degree of certainty, we may reply no. Examples of PKP policy being deliberately disobeyed or simply ignored during the insurgency are numerous. Two of the most noteworthy deal with the very decisions to begin and cease hostilities. It is very important to note that the PKP did not initiate the Huk rebellion. In fact, the PKP decision to endorse the rebellion did not occur until mid-1948, and then only after the ouster of top Party officials. Prior to the PKP endorsement, members of the uprising actually fought in spite of Party admonishments to refrain. A member of the American Communist Party, William Pomeroy, who fought with the Huks, wrote at the time that the PKP was ... disorganized, without unity on strategy and tactics, and with no clear perspective for the period ahead. At best, provincial organizations of the Communist Party, of the Democratic Alliance, of the PKM [Pambansang kaisahan ng mga Magbu-

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bukid, or National Peasants' Movement, the post-war successor to the KPMP] and of the CLO (Congress of Labor Organizations], largely on their own, were giving direction to peasants arming themselves and fighting back against suppression. This condition, in fact, prevailed from mid-1946 until mid-1948, a period of constant and spreading fighting, during which time the leaders of the movement [PKP] called merely for a democratic peace and the restoration of the former state of democratic rights ... Only the heroism and the fighting capacity of the people, with leaders who fought largely on their own initiative, frustrated and turned this phase of the imperialist-ordered suppression into a failure. 9

From 1948 onward, only after those leaders opposing the uprising were removed, can it be said that the PKP actually 'led' the movement. Yet having acquired this role by submitting to the 'general will' of the masses, in a fashion to make Rousseau proud, underscores the tenuous nature of their ascendancy. If the PKP leadership diverged from the course the movement had taken, which was determined by its peasant origins, the PKP would soon find itself on the fringe once again. This was exactly the case in 1953 when, after several years of confronting an effective American-supported counter-insurgency campaign, the remnants of the battered Huk forces were preparing for surrender. The PKP leadership, those who had supported the rebellion in 1948, now found themselves, like their predecessors, deviating from the movement's inertia. In 1954, when Luis Taruc, the Huk's top field commander, surrendered to government officials, the PKP could do nothing but denounce him for abandoning the revolution. Subsequently, those Huks who persevered after Taruc's surrender became little more than criminals and roving bandits while communism would all but cease to exist until 1968 when it re-emerged as the CPP (Communist Party of the Philippines). US Perceptions Having illustrated the peasant roots and form of the Huk rebellion, and its nominal communist leadership, we now turn to ascertaining whether the nature of the movement was understood by American decisionmakers at the time. It is tempting to answer immediately no and attempt to justify this by pointing to the perceived spectre of 'monolithic, Sovietinspired communism'. An historical review of the US efforts in the Philippines, and several declassified documents pertaining to the Huks, however, supports another interpretation. Placed in proper historical

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context, the American perception of the Huks as a threat reflected a remarkably rational pursuit of Washington's national interests and not the 'knee-jerk' reactions we should expect to be precipitated by a 'red scare'. Pragmatic and rational intentions shrouded in effusive sentiment has, nevertheless, characterised US policy in the Philippines since annexation. The two major objectives of the proponents of annexation in the closing years of the nineteenth century were fairly straightforward: to acquire a new market and source of raw materials, and secure a military stronghold to facilitate penetration of the China market. lO Although justified in terms of nineteenth century imperial designs and national interests, both were unlikely to sway the Senate if not draped in a humanitarian cloak intended to persuade the 'progressive' sentiments of the era. The vehicle was provided ably by President William McKinley's stated intention to 'civilize and Christianize' the indigenous population. Never mind the preponderance of Filipino Roman Catholics - McKinley spoke to the Protestant reform impulse of late nineteenth and early twentieth century American Progressives. As it was, annexation succeeded by a single vote. Shortly after annexation, the two goals became one when it dawned on American producers that the economic costs of competing with cheap Philippine sugar and hemp imports far outweighed indigenous economic benefits. In short, the former economic imperative - a new market and source of raw materials - evaporated. The consequences of this discovery were acute: the Americans became the world's first selfliquidating imperalist power, promising eventual independence within the first decade of the twentieth century and formalising this promise with the Jones Law of 1916.1 1 The implication of reluctant colonisation is that the Philippines had no innate value relative to US national interests. The sole value of the islands, therefore, lay in how they could be used to facilitate economic initiatives elsewhere in Asia. The limited, or peripheral nature of American interests in the Philippines has thus characterised USPhilippine relations up to and including the present. When General Douglas MacArthur returned to the Philippines in October 1944, American regional economic interests had been supplanted by pressing security concerns, but this did not change the qualitative value of the islands nor the clear-cut pragmatic fashion in which American interests were pursued. To ensure a pro-American government after' the war, the US - incredibly - dropped its initial efforts to punish wartime collaborators, in order to reclaim the status quo ante bellum. Eventually, of the thousands of Filipinos accused of

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collaboration (including members of the Philippine Constabulary who participated with the Japanese in numerous atrocities), only 156 were ever convicted - a mere 0.27 percent of those formally charged. 12 Although the US did not become actively involved in suppressing the Huks until 1950, an inevitable confrontation was evident even before MacArthur's return. During the Japanese occupation, American-led guerrillas operated in the Philippines as part of the USAFFE (United States Armed Forces Far East), commanded by Lieutenant Colonel Thorpe, US Army. The USAFFE consisted of members of the ancien regime, a fact which by itself serves to explain the initial tensions between the USAFFE and the Huks - especially with regard to the Huk's prewar peasant origins. Tensions were exacerbated by USAFFE resentment of the Huk's aggressive resistance against the Japanese. Although surprising at first blush, it becomes less so when we understand the objectives of American-led forces in the Philippines - primarily intelligence collection and retiring actions. The animosity grew to such a degree that frequent armed clashes resulted. Eventually, Lieutenant Colonel Thorpe issued a general order in 1942 stating that any guerrillas not members of the USAFFE (that is, the Huks), were enemies of the US government.13 Any chance of settling the USAFFE-Huk dispute before the end of the war perished on the eve of the return of US forces when the USAFFE accepted the Philippine Constabulary into their ranks. When the Constabulary, as members of the USAFFE, and other former collaborators were placed in positions of power beginning in October 1944, the alienation of the Huks was assured. And when open hostilities between the two camps surfaced in mid-1946, the Huks, by opposing a pro-US government, became a blatant threat to American interests regardless of the ideology of their leaders. Despite the anti-communist rhetoric prevalent at the time, a formerly classified Department of State aIR (Office of Intelligence Research) report, no. 5209: The Hukbaiahap, clearly indicates that red peril emotions did not cloud the perceptions of senior analysts. The report, dated 27 September 1950, was completed less than six weeks before the decision to provide assistance in support of the counter-insurgency effort and is therefore invaluable for our present purpose. It is especially interesting to note the first paragraph of the aIR, provided below, wherein the 'peasants' long-standing and legitimate grievances' are addressed, and neither mentions the Huks or communism: Peasant agitation in the Philippines is firmly grounded in the peasant's long-standing and legitimate grievances. The basis of

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current peasant problems dates back to the quasi-feudal system that prevailed long before the Spanish arrived in the Philippines. Even then the society was divided into two classes: a small minority of landholding chiefs and aristocrats (datus) and a large majority of landless peasants.14 The next, admittedly lengthy excerpt from the same report, displays an application of the breakdown of traditional patterns and its consequences. Perhaps even more telling is the revelation that analysts of the time were not reluctant to identify pro-American elites and American policies as the target of legitimate peasant grievances: As markets for Philippine products opened in America, the effects of capitalism on the feudal agrarian society of the Philippines sharpened. Production of cash crops on large tenant-operated estates increased. As the caciques [landowners] became richer, they aspired to a more luxurious way of life. As the Americans gradually enlarged the sphere of local government, the landlords gave more time to politics and public life, participated in the government, and gradually acquired a near monopoly of political power. These changes caused the old system to disintegrate. The landlords spent most of their time in Manila or in one of the provincial capitals. The running of the hacienda was left to hired plantation managers, who took a strictly business attitude toward the peasants, pressing them for repayment of loans, charging them for services rendered, and demanding more labor from them. The managers substituted an impersonal efficiency for the easygoing paternalism that had previously leavened peasant discontent. Tenants, as a rule, did not share in the political emancipation of the country. They did not enjoy freedom of speech and assemblage, could not join organizations of their own choosing, and were compelled to vote according to the political affiliation of the landowner. In the divisions of crops and the settlement of disputes, the peasant was defenseless against the landlord. Tenants were forced to buy all supplies from the estate stores, which charged exorbitant prices and often used fraudulent weights and measures. IS The following and final excerpt from OIR 5209 is significant in that it hints at a perceived dichotomy between the Huks and the communists. It describes the wartime formation of the Huks and clearly indicates the US State Department's understanding of the link between the Huks and

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peasant unrest in central Luzon. Also revealing though is the report mentions the Huk communist leadership; the excerpt is from a section subtitled 'The War Period', following and separate from a section on socialism and communism in the Philippines. Some of the landlords took advantage of the reign of terror that prevailed during the Japanese occupation to do away with 'bad elements' and 'breeders of discontent' through hired 'guards'. However, the disintegration that accompanied the occupation also gave the peasants of Central Luzon an opportunity to work off some of their pent-up bitterness. Familiar patterns were lost in the transfer of authority from the landlords and Constabulary to the invader. Once partly freed from their former oppressors, the peasants resorted to violence in pressing their advantage against both the landlords and the Japanese. This movement was 'caught, fostered, and directed by a new organization, the Hukbalahap'. This organization, conceived in December 1941, was formally established on 29 March 1942. Its official name was Hukbo ng Bayang Laban Hapon, meaning 'People's Army to Fight Japan'. Many of its leaders had also been leaders in the Communist Party and in the communist-dominated peasant groups. The Huks grew too through their continued resistance to the Japanese and their emphasis on a program of welfare for the common people. In their activities the Huks united Filipinos without regard to political, religious, or social differences. 16 US Policy The document defining policy towards the Philippines and initiating US assistance in suppressing the Huks was NSC (National Security Council) 84/C. Approved by President Harry S. Truman on 10 November 1950, and declassified in 1975; NSC 84/C is a relatively concise document, consisting of only 28 numbered paragraphs, three of which follow quoted in full. Although NSC 84/C refers more to the movement's communist leadership than to its peasant roots, the recommendations clearly target the latter as the foundation of the movement's organisation. This is especially apparent when we consider the emphasis on political and economic vice military solutions. Paragraph nine is the final entry in a section subtitled 'US Security Considerations'. The secondary emphasis on military intervention is most pointedly outlined, when the document states:

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Military intervention in the Philippine Islands would be justified only on the basis of a clear, present, and over-riding military necessity. Such a necessity cannot now be demonstrated. Although there may be some reason for concern regarding the local security of the United States installations in the Philippines, strengthening of the Joint US Military Advisory Group (JUSMAG), Philippines, has been accomplished and is expected that it will contribute to the internal security of US installations. Present conditions do not indicate a requirement for stationing additional Army units there. 17 The futility of relying on principally military tools to suppress what was essentially a peasant movement had been thoroughly demonstrated in the Philippines prior to NSC 84/C. President Manuel Quezon's 'mailed fist' policy in 1939 against 'agrarian disorder'; Japanese 'zona' raids during the occupation; and President Manuel Roxas 'iron fist' campaign of 1946 all not only failed to suppress the movement, but in fact directly contributed to it. The NSC decision to do otherwise, therefore, reflects not only an accurate assessment of the situation in the Philippines, but prudence as well. Paragraphs 27 and 28 comprise the document's conclusion, stating US objectives and recommendations respectively. The objectives stated in paragraph 28 are consistent with the pragmatic pursuit of American interests, characteristic of US policy throughout the previous halfcentury. The United States has as its objectives in the Philippines the establishment and maintenance of: a. An effective government which will preserve and strengthen the pro-US orientation of the people. b. A Philippine military capability [sic) of restoring and maintaining internal security. c. A stable and self-supporting economy. 18 Four recommendations are outlined in the 28th and final paragraph, the fourth advocating the maintenance of existing policy pertaining to matters external to the Philippines. The first three, however, provide guidance on how to support the Philippine government to achieve the objectives stated in the paragraph 27. The emphasis on political and economic reform is self-evident: To accomplish the above objectives, the United States should: a. Persuade the Philippine Government to effect political,

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financial, economic and agricultural reforms in order to improve the stability of the country. b. Provide such military guidance and assistance as may be deemed advisable by the United States and acceptable to the Philippine Government. c. Extend, under United States supervision and control, appropriate economic assistance in the degree corresponding to progress made toward creating the essential conditions of internal stability. d. Continue to assume responsibility for the external defense of the Islands and be prepared to commit United States forces, if necessary, to prevent communist control of the Philippines. 19

Success or Failure To determine whether the two tasks outlined earlier in this article were successfully met, we must answer three fundamental questions: First, what was the nature of the Hukbalahap? Second, did senior analysts and decision-makers perceive this nature? And finally, did official policy reflect an understanding of the nature of Hukbalahap? The answer to the first question is fairly straightforward - the Hukbalahap was essentially a peasant movement. It emerged from the unrest of the 1930s and was supported by the peasantry, and its ranks filled with peasant fighters. Although ostensibly headed by members of the PKP, the movement was only communist-led when the leaders aligned themselves with the goals of the movement and not vice-a-versa . An affirmative answer to the second question is justified despite the emphasis in NSC 84/C on the Huk's formal leadership. Although some senior analysts and decision-makers may not have grasped the dichotomy between the movement and its leadership, NSC 84/C nonetheless reveals a clear appreciation of the movement's peasant roots and the legitimate grievances which precipitated the rise of the Hukbalahap. Furthermore, the perception of the Huks as a threat to US interests is still understandable despite Cold War paranoia. Finally, NSC 84/C, which contained Washington's official policy towards the Philippines immediately prior to supporting the counterinsurgency effort, reflected the need for political reform and economic assistance, as opposed to military intervention. Such an approach targeted the vitals of the movement - peasant grievances - and was the most appropriate policy in light of the movement's peasant nature. American participation in suppressing the Huks is often acclaimed as a model counter-insurgency operation. Academics and officials, both

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Philippine and American, as well as captured Huk leaders, generally agree on the decisiveness of American contributions in quelling the insurrection in the first half of the 1950s. And though the departure of US forces from Clark Air Base and Subic Bay Naval Base would seem to close this chapter of American involvement in the Philippines, their existence for four decades following the defeat of the Huks is a testimony to the success of US policy, at least insofar as maintaining an American military presence in the region in support of overall American strategic interests in Asia are concerned. Therefore, from the perspective of national interests alone, American operations and programmes in the Philippines following NSC 84/C were quite effective. If the American effort can be summed up in a single word, that word would be 'cheap'. During fiscal years 1951-56, total US assistance economic and military - to the Philippines amounted to approximately $500 million. This was markedly less than the $700 million in postwar reconstruction aid given between 1946 and 1950, and infinitesimal when compared to the $1 billion a month pumped into Indo-China during the height of the Vietnam conflict. Unquestionably, the focus must be on how this assistance was used and not the amount. 20 Of the $500 million mentioned, only $117 million was in the form of military assistance. Yet, it is this arena that must be addressed to understand the success of the Huk suppression. 21 Although at first contradictory to our stated emphasis on political and economic reform, the reason becomes clearer when we examine how the military programme was executed. The hallmark of US military efforts were psychological and not field operations. Psywar (Psychological Warfare) operations such as the EDCOR (Economic Development Corps, the flagship of the counter-insurgency campaign, which offered land to surrendering Huks) were almost surgically precise in attacking the principle grievances of the movement's rank-and-file supporters. The contribution of psywar efforts cannot be overstated, and is all the more evident when we consider the fact that of the estimated 25,000 Huk guerrillas who fought between 1950 and 1955, 6,874 were killed, 4,702 were captured, and 9,458 surrendered. 22 The success of such operations in separating the Huks from their peasant support is revealed in the following excerpt from an intercepted Huk correspondence: Now, whenever we are marching we try to avoid being seen by civilians. Formerly, we could meet them without fear. What is the meaning of this? It now appears that we are the criminals like the Jupanese from whom we used to hide. I am completely convinced,

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based on what I have seen, that most of the masses want peace, even anti-democratic peace, at any price. If such is the case our policy should be based on that, and the [Communist] Party should help the masses attain that peace. 23 Regardless of unequivocal success, the assistance and advice of American advisers should be considered separately from the discussion of policy formation. As anyone who has worked abroad in the service of the US government is aware, actions taken 'in the field' do not always correspond with decisions made within the Washington beltway, and when they do, the reason may not necessarily be adherence of incountry personnel to prescribed guidance. In terms of US efforts to meet the threat of the Hukbalahap, there is reason to suspect the latter. Stated simply, the US effort in the early 1950s may be more of an indication of greater commitments elsewhere (e.g., Korea) than the consequence of deliberate planning and successful implementation of NSC 84/C. In other words, the right thing may have been done for no other reason than limited resources did not allow any other course of action. Major General (retired) Edward G. Lansdale, widely acclaimed the 'guru' of American activities during the Huk insurgency, conveys this notion when recollecting his initial assignment to the Philippines in 1950. My orders were plain. The United States government wanted me to give all help feasible to the Philippines government in stopping the attempt by the Communist-led Huks to overthrow the government by force. My help was to consist mainly of advice where needed and desired. It was up to me to figure out how best to do this. If funds or equipment was needed, I was to remember that the United States was straining its resources to meet the war needs in Korea and that any requests from me would have to compete against higher-priority demands. 24 Lansdale's suspicion of the limited understanding of in-country American officials is furthermore evident in the following passage: In other words, my first hours in the Philippines in 1950 were spent with most of the top level officials of the country that had given this newly independent nation its tutelage in self-rule. All were full of news about the threat the Communist Huks posed the infant nation. Yet, curiously enough, Philippine and American officials barely mentioned the political and social factors in briefing me. They dwelt almost exclusively on the military situation. It was as though military affairs were the sole tangible factor they could

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grasp, like shopkeepers worried about going bankrupt and counting the goods on shelves instead of pondering ways to get the customers coming in again.25 Thus, to determine precisely whether or not the success of the American effort is directly attributable to NSC 84/C is problematic at best, if at all possible, and is beyond the scope of this examination. Although the programmes and reforms of 1950-56 appear consistent with the NSC guidance, the preceding caveat relegates any discussion of policy implementation to the level of a sidenote. The Implications for US Counter-Insurgency Strategy for the Future With the dissolution of the Soviet empire, the nominal ideological centre of gravity for many insurgent groups has been discredited. Consequently, in response, many have turned to radical nationalism and left-wing xenophobia as the new 'generators' of their respective causes. Moreover, as evidenced by the self-destruction of the Yugoslavian state and the ethnic warfare that has resulted, as well as the history of Sendero Luminoso in Peru and the National Liberation Army in Colombia, insurgencies are now as likely to be ethnically motivated as politically. It can be said with some confidence that external powers, to include the United States, will be compelled directly or indirectly to engage in these struggles. The remedy would appear to be to respond to legitimate grievances as a means to diminish the insurgent's popular base; that is, by driving a wedge into the crack created by the loss of a unifying ideology. In those instances where the United States must intervene, for whatever purposes, the key will be to assess the origins of instability accurately and objectively and thus derive a strategy based on this assessment. In Vietnam, it can be argued that America failed miserably; in suppressing the Hukbalahap from 1950 to 1956, as discussed in the first part of this article, US participation was quite successful - though not necessarily for the right reasons. The United States tends to confuse policy objectives in dealing with conflict in the developing world. The confusion often stems from trying to distinguish between what is 'morally proper', and what is 'effective'. In many instances, the two are not synonymous. Worse, perhaps, is the tendency to confuse US objectives with the internal objectives of the country we are ostensibly helping. Whereas the American strategy often reverberates between reform (what is generally morally right) and repression (when and where absolutely necessary), the host-government strategy may exclusively pursue repression, undermining its own legiti-

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macy. A central problem is therefore to persuade the host-government to change its own strategy in favour of democratic reforms which indeed respond to the legitimate grievances of the populace. Unfortunately two general weaknesses in US policy mitigate against successful assessmment of the insurgent problem in any given country and subsequent implementation of a coherent political-military program. First, US counter-insurgency doctrine has its roots in the containment strategy of the Truman Doctrine, formalised by President John F. Kennedy; and second, aversion to committing US combat troops to Third World 'hot spots' as a consequence of the experience in southeast Asia. The former is significant because US mobilisation, national security and foreign policy objectives, and strategies designed to deal with insurgency in the past were (and to an extent still are) largely assumed that insurgencies are generated by external sources, principally the Soviet Union, and Washington's strategy necessarily followed a pattern of extirpating the external source of support and inspiration. Unfortunately, as in Vietnam, the 'true' nature of the revolutionary movement was often overlooked, severely limiting US effectiveness. The latter weakness is important because it still contributes to US reluctance to commit to a long-term, sustained relationship emphasising internal development and reform, within countries facing serious revolutionary threats, for fear of involving US combat forces in battle and thus repeating the Vietnam experience. Yet American success in dealing with the Hukbalahap would seem to indicate an accurate assessment of the roots of the problem can lead to an appropriate response and thereby overcome the weaknesses outlined above. US policy-makers were inclined to focus on communist inspiration for the Huk rebellion, but clearer heads insisted on the peasant origins of unrest and detailed the legitimate grievances requiring redress in NSC 84/C. Clearly, the lesson learned is one of realistic analysis and the application of appropriate instruments, albeit, again, perhaps the right thing was done for no other reason than other alternatives were not viable at the time. Nevertheless, with Soviet communist inspiration out of the picture - at least for the forseeable future - US policy-makers can now dispense with the old paradigms and recognise that conflict in the developing world is fraught with ambiguity and contradiction, requiring a correspondingly flexible response - one based on genuine appraisal of the uniqueness of every nation's internal situation. With respect to avoiding the direct involvement of US combat troops, the lessons of American participation in suppressing the Huks are again illustrative. With US combat forces committed to the Korean conflict, American military operations in the Philippines were almost exclusively

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in the form of psychological operations. The success of EDCOR and other programmes are confirmed in the historical record. Unfortunately, psychological operations have always been considered the stepchild of traditional military art, and the lesson was quickly forgotten. And although psychological operations were extensively employed in Vietnam, the effectiveness was limited at best, and the argument can be made that they were in truth wholly ineffective for mostly cultural reasons. The tragedy is that the Hukbalahap model clearly indicates a successful counter-insurgency campaign can be conducted with American support, but not necessarily with direct American involvement in combat. 26 Yet psychological operations and psychological warfare will only be successful if they are targeted at the root causes, communicated in a comprehensible and culturally credible fashion, and are accompanied by genuine reform. Implications for US Involvement in FIDD The precise relationship between insurgency and peasant origins will always be a source of considerable debate. Moreover, the usefulness of the Huk rebellion as a model will largely turn on whether one perceives the origins of insurgency as internal or external. The point is a crucial. For if a revolutionary movement is judged to be essentially a response to inherent, legitimate grievances, the strategy for dealing with the insurgency must necessarily be drive by democratic reform. If, however, an insurgency is deemed to be a consequence of manipulation by an external source, the strategy must necessarily be driven by means to sever the connection and excluding the foreign power from local situations. Not surprisingly, a fusion of the two is obviously required in those instances where local rebellion is co-opted by external influence. The strategy, therefore, must focus on sources of unrest, but also must target the infrastructure and leadership nodes of the insurgency. From the standpoint of US involvement, increased emphasis on civilmilitary policies emphasising accurate and objective assessment of the causes of instability, policies which focus on internal development and reform as well as internal defense , and policies which are designed to respond flexibly to the contradictions of Third World conflict, will be crucial to meeting the challenges of the post-Cold War era . The precedent for constructive civil-military action can be found within America's own historical development. The US Army experience in developing the American West was not only one of providing security on the frontier, but also providing the manpower and skills for surveys and mapping, road-building, and other nation-building activities.

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Throughout the developing world, the armed forces are frequently the only effective institution of the national government capable of achieving similar developmental goals. Thus the potential for US military forces pursuing a coherent FIDD strategy designed to forge constructive links between the national government and the people and succeed is great. Unfortunately, though a longstanding tradition, US participation in civil-military operations overseas have not been conducted as a part of an articulated strategy. The US Pacific and Southern Commands have taken significant steps toward inter-agency and inter-governmental coordination to articulate civil-military strategies with broad objectives. And the 1987 Memorandum of Understanding between the Department of Defense and the US Agency for International Development formalised a mechanism for inter-agency cooperation in humanitarian relief and humanitarian civic action projects. Regrettably, however, all of these steps are generally within the construct of an ad hoc approach, lacking a unifying legal, bureaucratic, and institutional framework intended to create the conditions for sustained American military action in any given country. On the other hand, US Army Special Forces have conducted FIDD activities on a global basis since their inception with measurable success. Where the FIDD mission has been lacking in special operations, however, is in the appropriate application of airpower for internal defence and development purposes in the developing world. To fill that void, US Special Operations Command has recently pressed for an organic, dedicated force structure specifically to pursue aviation-FIDD initiatives, but has run up against institutional, political, and legal obstacles which might dilute if not doom an otherwise admirable effort to conduct effective aviation-centered civil-military operations as a complement to the ground-based FIDD mission performed by Army Special Forces. Conclusion

The United States has an impressive repertoire of political, military, informational and economic tools to deal with revolutionary movements. However, the roots of Third World struggles are generally deep and intractable, and require long-term, sustained, and co-ordinated policies to affect real change in an effort to deal with insurgency. And in the absence of host nation commitment to genuine reform, the effectiveness of even prolonged American involvement is open to question. For example, over a decade of US involvement and sponsorship of national counter-insurgency programs in El Salvador were, for the most part,

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fruitless until the El Salvadoran government made concessions to the legitimate grievances of the general population and the guerrillas. Nevertheless, building upon the lessons of failed counter-insurgency efforts in the past (Vietnam) and successful ones (the Hukbalahap rebellion), the United States can meet the challenge of future counterinsurgency campaigns with some sense of optimism. The elimination of possible Soviet inspiration and support enables US policy-makers to concentrate on the actual origins of the insurgency and then formulate policies and programmes designed to tear out the heart of the revolutionary movement. The American experience with the Huks is an excellent starting point in the debate for determining how best to meet the challenge. Bibliographical Essay

Numerous monographs exist addressing the issues of revolutionary theory, insurgency and counter-insurgency. Jack A. Goldstone's Revolutions: Theoretical, Comparative and Historical Studies (Chicago, 1985) is an excellent foundation in the theoretical underpinnings of revolutionary warfare. Theda Skocpol's States and Social Revolutions is another. A remarkably insightful work with broad applications for understanding insurgency and US policy is Larry Cable's Conflict of Myths: The Development of us Counterinsurgency Doctrine and the Vietnam War (New York, 1988). Other general works include Human Factor Considerations in undergrounds in Insurgencies by Andrew R. Molnar (Washington, DC, 1965), The Roots of Counter-Insurgency (ed.) lan F. W. Beckett (London, 1988), The Counterinsurgency Era: US Doctrine and Performance by Douglas Blaufrab (New York, 1977), Michael D. Shafer's Deadly Paradigms: The Failure of us Counterinsurgency Policy (Princeton, 1988), and Loren B. Thompsons Low Intensity Conflict (Lexington, 1989). Douglas Blaufarb and Dr George K. Tanham also collaborated on a technical report for the US government analysing the nature of insurgencies and how they should be dealt with entitled Fourteen Points: A Framework For the Analysis of Counterinsurgency (BDM Corporation, 1984). Excellent articles for consideration include Stephen S. Rosen, 'Vietnam and the American Theory of Limited War', International Security 7/1 (Spring 1982), Michael J. Englehardt, 'America Can Win, Sometimes: US Success and Failure in Small Wars', Conflict Quarterly (Winter 1989), George K. Tanham and Dennis J. Duncanson, 'Some Dilemmas of Counterinsurgency', Foreign Affairs 48 (1970), and Jack A. Goldstone, 'Theories of Revolution: The Third Generation', World Politics 32/3 (1990).

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For a clearer understanding of agrarian roots of social unrest and revolution, Eric Wolfs Peasant Wars of the Twentieth Century (New York, 1969) is still an excellent resource. Other works detailing specific movements include Kathleen Hartford and Steven M. Goldstein (eds.), Single Sparks - China's Rural Revolutions (New York, 1989) and Jeffry M. Paige, Agrarian Revolution-Social Movements and Export Agriculture in the Underdeveloped World (New York, 1975). Articles for consideration include Bruce Cummings, 'Interest and Ideology in the Study of Agrarian Politics', Politics and Society 10/4 (1981), Raj Desai and Harry Eckstein, Insurgency - the Transformation of Peasant Rebellion', World Politics 42/4 (1990), and Craig Jenkins, 'Why Do Peasants Rebel? Structural and Historical Theories of Modem Peasant Rebellions', American Journal of Sociology 88/3 (1982). There are excellent sources for understanding the nature of the Huk rebellion and US efforts to suppress their activities. Perhaps the best is Benedict J. Kerkvliet, The Huk Rebellion (University of California Press, 1977). Kerkvliet also wrote an excellent article on the same subject, 'Patterns of Philippine Resistance and Rebellion', Pilipinas 6 (1986). Other choices should include Eduardo Lachia, The Philippines and the United States: Problems of Partnership (New York, 1964), Daniel B . Schirmer and Stephen R. Shalom (eds.), The Philippines Reader (Boston, 1987), In Our Image, America's Empire in the Philippines (New York, 1989) and of course the benchmark work of Edward G. Lansdale, In the Midst of Wars: An American's Mission in Southeast Asia (New York, 1972). Useful government documents include: The Joint Chiefs of Staff, Doctrine for Joint Operations in Low Intensity Conflict (1990), The Joint Chiefs of Staff, Unified Action Armed Forces (1986), The President of the United States, Establishment of the (Counterinsurgency) Group, NSAM No. 124 (1962), The President of the United States, National Security Strategy: March 1990 (Washington, DC, 1990), The President of the United States, US Overseas Internal Defense Policy, NSAM No. 182 (1962), and The Joint Chiefs of Staff, Joint Tactics, Techniques and Procedures for Foreign Internal Defense (DRAFT/1992) . NOTES 1. Joint Publication 1--02, Department of Defense Dictionary of Military and Associated Terms (The Joint Chiefs of Staff, Washington, DC, p .150. 2. Benedict J . Kerkvliet, The Huk Rebellion (Berkeley, CA: Univ. of California Press , 1977), p.72. 3. Ibid., p.8. 4. Ibid., pp .13-14.

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Ibid.,p.14. Ibid. Ibid., pp.15-16. Ibid., pp.50-I. Ibid., p.179. Daniel B. Schirmer and Stephen R. Shalom (eds.), The Philippines Reader (Boston, 1987), p.7. 11. Ibid.,p.35. 12. Ibid., p.83. 13. Kerkvliet (note 2), p.1l5. 14. Schirmer and Shalom (note 10), p.71. 15. Ibid., p.72. 16. Ibid., p.194. 17. Ibid., p.107. 18. Ibid., p.ll0. 19. Ibid. 20 Kerkvliet (note 2), p.244. 21 Ibid. 22 Edward G. Lansdale, In The Midst of Wars: An American's Mission in Southeast Asia (NY, 1972), p.50. 23. Kerkvliet (note 2), p.246. 24. Lansdale (note 22), p.2. 25. Ibid., p.19. 26. The success of psychological operations in 'Desert Shield' and 'Desert Storm' is inappropriate for the purposes of this discussion because the nature of the 1990-1 Gulf conflict was not one of revolutionary insurgency, though it must be stated conclusively that the impact of psychological operations and psychological warfare in the Gulf was substantial, if not decisive.

[16] American Strategic Culture in Small Wars CARNESLORD That the United States has had great difficulty bringing its military establishment effectively to bear in limited conflict situations is hardly a secret. From Vietnam in the 1960s through Grenada and Lebanon in the early 1980s to El Salvador in very recent years, the record of US involvement in contingency operations as well as protracted revolutionary warfare in the less developed world is spotty at best, with serious flaws apparent even in victory.l In general, the United States has reaped a disappointing return in such conflicts from what have often been major investments of its material, moral and political resources. 2 Clearly, several different factors work together to constrain the performance of the American government in low intensity or limited warfare environments - that is, in what is perhaps best called 'small wars'. 3 At the most general and fundamental level is what one may conveniently call American political culture. Not only is our nation formally a democracy; Americans are a deeply democratic people. Democratic or egalitarian attitudes and the manners and morals that flow from them have a great deal to do with the enduring weaknesses of American foreign policy generally, as Alexis de Tocqueville was the first but hardly the last to point out. 4 Less often remarked is the nature and extent of their influence on the way Americans view governments in the less developed world and interact with individuals in less developed societies, where social heirarchies tend to be sharply delineated and personal relationships are more traditional and formal. But other aspects of our political culture also matter in this connection. Beyond democracy, America is heir to powerful traditions of political liberalism - limited government and the rule of law - and of religious enthusiasm and moralism. 5 Finally, Americans are a pragmatic people, tending to seek technical solutions to isolated problems and preoccupied with the here and now at the expense both of the past and the future. This means, among other things, that Americans tend to lack historical memory (critical for under-

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standing other cultures) as well as the future orientation and holistic thinking that are the preconditions for strategy_ American political culture affects US government activities in several ways. In the first place, it is absorbed by government officials from the various institutions of the culture - schools, universities, churches, films, television, the press. Second, it acts on them through the medium of public opinion, which tends to define the outer boundaries not only of what the government can do but even of what it can consider or discuss. Finally, it acts on them in a more direct and authoritative way through the US Congress and the legislative instruments at its disposal. The extent to which American involvement in small wars has been constrained by public opinion and congressional fiat in the years since Vietnam scarcely needs to be emphasised. The anti-war movement aroused by the American debacle in Vietnam shaped the political consciousness of a generation of Americans and ultimately dethroned two presidents. Its effects are still palpable today in our elite cultural institutions, in spite of what would seem to be a growing acceptance in popular opinion throughout the country of the employment of American military power abroad. 6 As for Congress, it mounted in the aftermath of Vietnam what can only be described as a systematic assault on the ability of the president and the national security bureaucracy to engage effectively in low intensity conflict. The War Powers Act, various legislative constraints on security assistance, and congressional oversight of covert action are perhaps the most egregious results of this effort.7 While the executive branch has managed to resist or ignore some of them, it certainly remains seriously encumbered with such legal and quasi-legal baggage. Nor does there seem much prospect for relief, given the continuing partisan divide between legislative and executive branches and the hostility of important elements of the majority party to a strong defence and the projection of American power overseas. Nevertheless, it can be questioned whether these factors by themselves are as decisive as is often assumed in limiting or crippling US government performance in the low intensity arena.8 At least as important, it can be argued, are those constraints imposed by the executive branch on itself. While they are rooted in and reflect aspects of the wider political culture , these constraints derive largely from the nature of the national security bureaucracy and of national security decision-making as they have evolved in the United States since World War 11, and especially over the last three decades. 9 These constraints - an interrelated nexus of attitudes, habits, traditions, and standard operating procedures - form what can usefully be labelled 'strategic culture'. Strategic culture is the product of very disparate influences. Foremost

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among them may be said to be the following: the geopolitical setting in which a nation finds itself; its international relationships; its political culture and social structure; its military culture - military history, traditions, and education; its military and security organisations and their relationship to civilian authority; and weapons and technology. Strategic culture expresses itself in matters as diverse as strategic doctrine, personnel practices, command and control arrangements, and weapons procurement. Offensive orientation, reliance on firepower as distinct from manoeuvre, reliance on surprise and deception - such characteristics of a military establishment usually reflect its key strategic-cultural themes. lo Elusive as the notion of strategic culture may seem to be, the phenomena it tries to capture are real enough, and can prove powerful and persisting in their effects. At the same time, it is important not to overstate the staying power of strategic-cultural attitudes and practices. Traumatic events - particularly military defeat - can reshape a nation's strategic culture very quickly. Organisational reform can also have a radical impact in a reasonably brief time. Consider, for example, the apparent impact of the (relatively modest) congressionally-mandated reform of the Organization of the Joint Chiefs of Staff in 1986 on the planning and conduct of America's military campaigns of the last several years. One also needs to be careful to avoid a deterministic view of the operation of strategic culture. Individuals and individual leadership really can play a decisive role in overcoming cultural patterns in organisations and, indeed, entire nations. Strong individuals at middle levels of military organisations can have a powerful influence; on occasion they are able to create identifiable and persisting subcultures (consider, for example, the case of Admiral Hyman Rickover and the nuclear Navy).11 How does strategic culture affect American performance in low intensity conflict or small wars? The fundamental problem is obvious and massive. What distinguishes low intensity conflict from other forms of conflict is not the scale of violence as such but the fact that violence is embedded in a political context that directly shapes and constrains it. As Clausewitz teaches, all war is the continuation of politics by other means; low intensity warfare is distinguished from other warfare by the extent to which politics dictates not merely strategy but military operations and even tactics. In low intensity warfare, non-military instrumentalities of national power may have an equal or even greater role to· play than military forces. 12 What this means in practice is either that military forces must perform essentially non-military functions, or else that special means must be devised to coordinate and integrate military forces with non-military agencies of government. Either course is apt to be culturally stressing for any military establishment, but all the more so for the United

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States. In addition to its long-standing traditions of military professionalism and civilian control of military activities, the American military (and national security establishment generally) tends to view war and peace as sharply delineated activities rather than as a continuum. The use of force tends to be seen as a last resort, a response to the failure of politics or diplomacy rather than as an instrument of politics or diplomacy. Additionally, the American national security establishment as a whole is not structured in a way that facilitates coordination between the armed forces and other agencies of government. For reasons relating to its constitutional and political history, the US government lacks a powerful centre, at least during periods of relative peace or in the absence of a major external threat. Key agencies such as the Departments of State, Defense, Treasury and CIA enjoy considerable autonomy. 13 In recent years, Congress' challenge to presidential discretion and prerogative in national security affairs has led to a further weakening of executive control, particularly of the Intelligence Community. All of this might be less significant if there existed in the United States a cohesive political class with traditions of service to the nation's military and security forces and an instinctive understanding of the requirements of national strategy, of the sort that ran the British and French empires in the nineteenth century or the Soviet empire in the twentieth. 14 As a general rule, however, America's political elite has shown little knowledge of or interest in 'imperial policing', to use the traditional British term for low intensity warfare. At senior levels of the US government, in any event, there has been little effort to develop doctrines or mechanisms that might provide a strategic framework for the conduct of small wars. The exception that may be said to prove the rule is the so-called 'Weinberger Doctrine', an attempt in 1984 by the former Secretary of Defense to spell out the criteria that should properly be applied in any decision by the United States to commit its military forces to combat abroad: the Weinberger criteria are so demanding as to make it difficult to justify American engagement in any traditional small war. 16 In a surprising reversal of previous patterns, what interest there has been in recent years in the management of low intensity warfare has come from the Congress. The Low Intensity Conflict (UC) Board, a subcabinet-Ievel coordinating mechanism Congress asked to have established in the White House in its military reform legislation of 1986, remains essentially a dead letter, as does the requirement that the President designate a deputy for LIC matters to his national security adviser. Although forced by Congress to accept the creation of a unified command for special operations forces and a new bureau in the Department

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of Defense for special operations and low intensity conflict, the executive branch at the highest levels has consistently opposed institutional reform or other fundamental measures to improve either its strategic competence or its operational capabilities in the low intensity arena. This clearly reflects strong resistance from the relevant bureaucracies, particularly the Department of State, but to some degree also the defence establishment as a whole. But the White House itself has also been reluctant to assume a leading role in LIC in the aftermath of the political turmoil associated with the Iran-Contra scandal. 17 What problems does all this create for the strategic direction of small wars? In the first place and probably most importantly, military contingency planning remains almost totally divorced from the civilian national security agencies, and subject only to very restrictive review by civilian officials within the Department of Defense. This has consistently caused difficulties in the area of US dealings with the political leadership of the countries involved (notably, the establishment of the Endara government in Panama in the early days of Operation'Just Cause'). It has also led to consistent neglect of civil-military planning issues both during and after combat operations. The US did not adequately anticipate the problem of breakdown of law and order in Panama City during Operation 'Just Cause', or plan for the reconstitution of Panama's security forces, political system and economy (the same failure occurred in Grenada). 18 In the second place, US intelligence capabilities are not well configured to support low intensity warfare. 19 This is particularly true of short-notice contingency operations (the absence of adequate maps in Grenada has been widely remarked), but remains a problem even in protracted conflicts such as El Salvador, due to an overemphasis on sophisticated technical collection assets as opposed to the human intelligence networks that are critical to the successful conduct of revolutionary war. Third, the process of planning for security assistance to friendly governments suffers not only from congressional micromanagement but also from persistent disconnects between diplomatic and military requirements and an excess ofbureaucratisation. 20 Because low intensity conflict (especially in the form of protracted revolutionary war) is neither peace nor war in the ordinary sense of the term, no one is clearly in charge. Absent strong direction from the national level, there are essentially two ways of coping with such situations. The first is to put the military in charge, but force it to perform many non-military or non-combat functions (the French in Algeria21 ) . The second is to create ad hoc, hybrid civil-military structures under proconsular civilian leadership (the British in Malaya22 ). In spite of some

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experimentation with the second model (the CORDS programme) in Vietnam,23 the United States has tended toward the first alternative in practice, although as a matter of policy it has generally understated the military role and overstated contributions by other agencies to the conduct of low intensity operations. The first model has the advantage of simplicity and of maintaining a military discipline and spirit in an environment that too easily tolerates bureaucratic business as usual. It has the disadvantage that it asks more from soldiers than they are customarily able to perform, and threatens to distract them from their more properly military missions. Which model is chosen has much to do with the prevailing military culture of a society. The United States military as it exists today is very largely a product of its decades-long confrontation with the Soviet Union. It is probably fair to say that the Soviet threat as seen by the US military establishment was fundamentally a military threat, one posed either directly to the United States by Soviet strategic nuclear forces or to America's allies in Europe and Asia by Soviet conventional forces. (Consider by contrast the French military, which in the 1950s came to see 'revolutionary war' in the less developed world as the central threat posed by Soviet Communism and revised its military doctrine to reflect this perception.) Accordingly, the basic mission of US military forces has been seen as the deterrence of or defence against the Soviet threat so understood; other missions, including containing Soviet imperial expansion, have been considered strictly secondary.24 This may well have been an entirely proper ordering of national priorities, but it has clearly created - more accurately, reinforced - a military culture oriented to major weapons systems, high technology, and large (not to say apocalyptic) wars waged with little regard to the political context in which they occur. 2S If this analysis is correct, it appears to follow that a dominant role for the American military in small wars is to be neither desired nor expected. While the focus of American military attention will of necessity shift away from high-intensity warfare with the Soviet Union, the new paradigm will be mid-intensity warfare with adversaries such as Iraq or North Korea, where conventional forces and high technology will continue to dominate the battlefield. In recent wars in Panama (1989-90) and the Persian Gulf (1990-91), it is true, the unconventional dimension of US military capabilities was brought convincingly to bear; but the upgrading of those capabilities that made this possible owed more to congressional pressure than to cultural readjustment, and resistance to a central role for special operations forces or recognition of the importance of the low intensity challenge continues to be deeply rooted in the military establishment's institutions and senior leadership.

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Several other factors, however, need to be considered. In the first place, contrary to a certain persisting stereotype, today's officer class in the United States is better and more broadly educated than at any time in the past. In terms of general understanding of the international politicalmilitary environment or ability to operate effectively in a foreign society, it can by no means be assumed that military officers are less well-equipped than, say, the typical foreign service officer. Moreover, the military culture has unique advantages in terms of the planning and execution of highly complex operations. Habitual attention to the relation between strategy and resources, recognition of the importance of doctrine, discipline in execution, accountability: all of these features sharply distinguish the military from civilian national security organisations and are not easily replicated outside a military organisational context. It is undoubtedly unrealistic to expect today's military to accept full responsibility for the small wars mission. There is still a powerful current of feeling within the military at all levels, deriving principally from the Vietnam experience, which regards low intensity warfare as a political tarbaby - a high-risk enterprise that typically lacks genuine national commitment and jeopardises the institutional standing of the defence establishment as a whole. 26 Without revisiting the historical debate over responsibility for the American defeat in Vietnam, it seems fair to say that while there is certainly justification for the view that the nation's political leadership blundered badly in that conflict, there were also serious shortcomings on the military side. Whether these were traceable to a failure to appreciate the nature of revolutionary warfare or to a mOre general disregard for the basic principles of strategy, or a combination of both, is not a question that need detain us here, important though it undoubtedly is.27 The fundamental point is that it is far from clear that the Vietnam War was simply unwinnable. More recent experience - the ten year conflict in El Salvador - shows that the American military was able to recover from its Vietnam amnesia and make significant progress in correcting the shortcomings of its earlier effort, even in the absence of a major national commitment or firm strategic direction from Washington. It is at least arguable that much more could have been achieved by relatively modest improvements in the military (or security-related) effort on the ground. 28 It is not unreasonable to expect the US military to digest these lessons over time and take a more positive attitude toward the small wars mission. After all, the United States is very unlikely ever again to involve itself directly in a Vietnam-like counterinsurgency situation. At the same time, it is becoming increasingly difficult to justify structuring the US military establishment around exclusively large-war missions. The cases

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of Grenada and Panama show how a small war can be not only low cost but high payoff, both in a strategic and a political sense. Even a protracted small war need not raise the spectre of Vietnam if rules of engagement are reasonable, strategic objectives are understandable and attainable, costs are contained, and the supported government is politically palatable. The inadequacy of the US effort in El Salvador had much to do with the very low ceiling on US military advisers permitted in country at a given time; but this ceiling was a creature of the administration itself, and there is ample reason to believe that Congress and the American people could have been persuaded to support a much larger involvement. Improved coordination of the military and non-military instruments of national power will remain the key to improved American performance in small wars. How is this to be achieved? A good case can be made for the solution that is contrary to established wisdom on this subject - that is, expansion of the military's responsibility in areas usually considered peripheral to its primary war-fighting mission. The most important such areas are intelligence, information, civil administration or civil affairs, and security assistance. Experience indicates that US civilian organisations are unlikely to provide adequate support for these functions in low intensity operations, especially in the relatively benign international environment we can expect to exist in the decades immediately ahead. At the same time, though typically neglected by military organisations, these functions can and have been effectively performed by them. In its campaigns in Panama and the Persian Gulf, the American military turned in highly creditable performances in the areas of psychological operations and civil affairs, in spite of some problems in planning and in inter-agency coordination. 29 In the intelligence area, the problems that were in evidence during the 1991 Gulf War derived very largely from the persisting institutional failure of the Central Intelligence Agency to provide effective support to military operations or to function as part of an integrated national or theatre strategy. Notwithstanding a notoriously failed experiment in military human intelligence collection a decade ago, it can be argued that such a capability remains an important desideratum. In addition, a serious re-examination needs to be undertaken of the use of military special operations forces for covert action. As regards security assistance, there is at least a respectable case to be made for consolidating overall responsibility for the funding and administration of such programmes in the Department of Defense, and improving professional military education and training and military career patterns to reflect the importance of the security assistance mission. A few remarks need to be made in conclusion concerning the changing face of low intensity warfare in the post-Soviet world.

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The new international situation clearly alters American requirements in this area in fundamental ways. Reports of the death of low intensity conflict as an operational concept are perhaps premature. 30 Nonetheless, it is indisputable that the delinkage of small wars from Soviet global ambitions that has been taking place over the last several years means that the US will henceforth be worrying less about deep involvement in protracted revolutionary warfare in the developing world. In general, the military dimensions of US involvement in such conflicts will certainly decrease, while other dimensions (notably law enforcement) will become more prominent. As a consequence of this, the centre of gravity of low intensity warfare properly speaking will shift from insurgency/ counterinsurgency to contingency operations, both violent and otherwise (e.g., humanitarian relief and rescue missions of various kinds). This development will provide a welcome opportunity to reformulate a doctrine of low intensity conflict that more plausibly defines the operational spectrum in a world free of the spectre of global revolution, and to reexamine fundamentally the role of US military forces abroad relative to other agencies and instrumentalities of the American government. Expanding military responsibility for key political-military missions, as suggested above, may well make sense from several perspectives as one outcome of such a re-examination. The world we are now entering holds many question marks, and is plainly going to force a rethinking of many of the most cherished assumptions underpinning American national security policy. This kind of world is bound to have a corroding effect on American strategic culture as we have known it throughout the era of the Cold War. By this very token, however, it offers a unique opportunity to free ourselves from some of the intellectual and institutional shackles that culture has forged. NOTES 1. See Richard H. Shultz, Jr., 'Low-Intensity Conflict: Future Challenges and Lessons

from the Reagan Years', in Robert L. Pfaltzgraff, Jr. and Richard H. Shultz, Jr., US Defense Policy in an Era of Constrained Resources (Lexington, MA: Lexington Books, 1990). 2. A schematic assessment of US performance in low intensity conflict is provided by John M. Collins et al., US Low-Intensity Conflicts 1899-1990, Readiness Subcommittee of the Committee on Armed Services, House of Representatives, 101st Cong., 2nd Sess. (Washington, DC: US GPO, 1990), pp. 69-74. 3. The phrase was originally popularised by C.E. Callwell's classic treatise on British imperial warfare, Small Wars - Their Principles and Practice (1st ed., London 1896); it was later taken up by the US Marine Corps and appeared as the title of a manual published as late as 1940. It has recently enjoyed a modest revival. See, e.g., Eliot A. Cohen, 'Constraints on America's Conduct of Small Wars', International Security 9/3 (Fall 1984), pp.151-81.

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4. De Tocqueville's often-quoted remark - 'a democracy is unable to regulate the details of an important undertaking, to persevere in a design, and to work out its execution in the presence of serious obstacles; it cannot combine its measures with secrecy, and it will not await their consequences with patience' (Democracy in America, Vo1.1, Ch. 13) - is particularly pertinent to the problems associated with American involvement in revolutionary warfare. 5. For the religious dimension in particular see Everett C. Ladd, 'The American Ideology', paper presented at the American Enterprise Institute conference 'The New Global Popular Culture', 10 March 1992, and Samuel P. Huntington, American Politics: The Promise of Disharmony (Cambridge, MA: Harvard UP, 1981). 6. Bruce W. Jentleson, 'The Pretty Prudent Public: Post Post-Vietnam American Opinion on the Use of Military Force', International Studies Quarterly 36/1 (1992) 49-74. 7. See generally Barry M. Blechman, The Politics of National Security: Congress and US Defense Policy (NY: OUP, 1990). A good discussion of the covert action issue is Gary J. Schmitt and Abram N. Shulsky, 'The Theory and Practice ofthe Separation of Powers: The Case of Covert Action', in L. Gordon Crovitz and Jeremy A. Rabkin (eds.), The Fettered Presidency: Legal Constraints on the Executive Branch (Washington, DC: American Enterprise Inst., 1989), pp.59-8l. 8. For a discussion of the limits of public opinion considerations in government decisionmaking in this area, see David W. Tarr, 'The Employment of Force: Political Constraints and Limitations', in Sam C. Sarkesian and William L. Scully (eds.), US Policy and Low-Intensity Conflict (New Brunswick: Transaction Books, 1981), pp.49-67. 9. This argument is elaborated in Carnes Lord, The Presidency and the Management of National Security (NY: The Free Press, 1988); see esp. pp.1-1l. 10. For further discussion of the concept of strategic culture, see Carnes Lord, 'American Strategic Culture', in Fred E . Baumann and Kenneth M. Jensen (eds.), American Defense Policy and Liberal Democracy (Charlottesville, VA: UP of Virginia, 1989), pp.44-63, Colin S. Gray, Nuclear Strategy and National Style (Boston: Hamilton Press, 1986), Yitzhak Klein, 'A Theory of Strategic Culture', Comparative Strategy 10/1 (1991) 3-23, Joseph Rothschild, 'Culture and War', in Stephanie G. Neuman and Robert E. Harkavy (eds.), The Lessons of Recent Wars in the Third World, Vol.2 (Lexington, MA: D.e. Heath, 1987), pp. 53-72. 11. See generally Edgar H. Schein, Organizational Culture and Leadership (San Francisco: Jossey-Bass, 1986). On Rickover see John F . Lehman, Jr., Command of the Seas (NY: Scribner's, 1988), pp. 1-38. 12. See, e.g., US Army Training and Doctrine Command, Analytical Review of Low Intensity Conflict, Joint Low Intensity Conflict Project Final Report, Vol.1 (Ft. Monroe, VA: Army Training and Doctrine Command, 1986), pp.1-2. 13. Lord, The Presidency and the Management of National Security, pp.28-57. 14. For a discussion of British and French strategy during the nineteenth century, see, e.g., Woodruff Smith, European Imperialism in the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries (Chicago: Nelson-Hall, 1982). 15. The relative success the British have enjoyed in dealing with colonial and revolutionary warfare is particularly remarkable in view of the virtual absence of doctrine and institutional memory concerning such matters within the British defence establishment , at least until relatively recently; characteristic mistakes tended to be made at the beginning of particular conflicts, yet the learning curve was steep. See Thomas R. Mockaitis,. 'The Origins of British Counterinsurgency', Small Wars and Insurgencies 1/3 (Dec. 1990), pp.209-25. Bruce Hoffman and lennifer M. Taw, Defense Policy and LowIntensity Conflict: The Development of Britain's' Small Wars' Doctrine During the 1950s, RAND ReportR-4015-A (Santa Monica, CA: RAND Corp., 1991). 16. For a trenchant critique see Samuel J. Newland and Douglas V. lohnson 11, 'The Military and Operational Significance of the Weinberger Doctrine', in The Recourse to War: An Appraisal of the Weinberger Doctrine , ed . Alan Ned Sabrosky and Robert L. Sloane (Carlisle Barracks, PA : Strategic Studies Inst., US Army War College, 1988), pp. 115-42.

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17. Further, as Seth Cropsey has remarked of the NSC LIC deputy, '[d]espite occasional pressure from Congress, both the Reagan and Bush administrations have so far resisted this innovation for good reason. The ability to coordinate policies of the different cabinet-level departments and direct their actions is, after all, one of the president's few relatively unchecked powers. The president is not going to surrender effective authority over foreign policy to a staff assistant, nor would he likely allow such an individual to instruct his cabinet officers.' See Seth Cropsey, 'Barking Up a Fallen Tree: The Death of Low-Intensity Conflict', The National Interest (Spring 1992), p.56. A desire to protect presidential prerogatives may also account for the White House refusal to give cabinet rank or directive authority to the first director of its Office ofN ational Drug Control Policy. 18. See generally John T. Fishel, The Fog of Peace: Planning and Executing the Restoration of Panama (CariisleBarracks, PA: Strategic Studies Inst., US Army War College, 1992). 19. Michael H. Schoelwer, 'The Failure of the US Intelligence Community in Low-Intensity Conflict', in Loren B. Thompson (ed.), Low-Intensity Conflict: The Pattern of Warfare in the Modern World (Lexington, MA: Lexington Books, 1989), pp.145-64; B. Hugh Tovar, 'Intelligence Assets and Special Operations', in Frank Bamett, B. Hugh Tovar, and Richard Shultz (eds.), Special Operations in US Strategy (Washington, DC: National Defense UP, 1984), pp. 167-90. 20. For a detailed critique of current practice see Regional Conflict Working Group, Commission on Integrated Long-Term Strategy, Commitment to Freedom: Security Assistance as a US Policy Instrument in the Third World (Washington, DC: USGPO, May 1988). 21. See generally John E. Talbott, The War Without a Name: France in Algeria, 1954-1962 (NY: Knopf, 1980). 22. See generally Robert Jackson, The Malayan Emergency: The Commonwealth's Wars, 1948-1966 (London: Routledge, 1991), Richard Stubbs, Hearts and Minds in Guerrilla Warfare: The Malayan Emergency, 1948-1960 (New York: OUP, 1989),R.W. Komer, The Malayan Emergency in Retrospect: Organization of a Successful Counterinsurgency Effort, RAND Report, R-957-ARPA (Santa Monica, CA: RAND Corp., 1972). 23. While it is true that the civilian head of the CORDS programme was formally brought into the military chain of command in the theatre, the overall effect was 'greater US civilian influence over pacification than had ever existed before': Robert W. Komer, Bureaucracy at War: US Performance in the Vietnam Conflict (Boulder, CO and London: Westview Press, 1986), p.1l8. See also Thomas W. Scoville, Reorganizingfor Pacification Support (Washington, DC: US Army Center of Military History, 1982). 24. William J. Olson notes that one of the reasons why the US military has not been able effectively to deal with LIC situations is because the military has been planning for different threats: the American concern for communist aggression that developed after World War II 'has created institutions, planning systems, force structures and training designed to respond to the possibilities of major war with the Soviets and a policy aimed at using our strength so developed to deter such possibilities. All of this has imparted momentum or inertia to a way of institutional response. It is extremely difficult to shift such an orientation, and more so if one factors in the distinct likelihood that the effort to change this focus will not produce more and better attention to LIC, for example, but will simply reinforce isolationist sentiments and a major retrenchment. Few institutions are willing to sacrifice themselves or programmes that have represented institutional life for a generation for efforts that are alien or likely to represent a loss of function. Blind attempts to effect changes in such an environment are likely to elicit an equally blind, negative reduction even if the changes are logical, realistic, and inexpensive.' 'Low Intensity Conflict: The Institutional Challenge', in Max G. Manwaring (ed.), Uncomfortable Wars: Toward a New Paradigm of Low Intensity Conflict (Boulder, CO: WestviewPress, 1991), p.47. 25. For a discussion of the institutional problems involved in preparing for two funda-

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26.

27.

28. 29. 30.

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mentally different types of war, see Eliot A. Cohen, Citizens and Soldiers: The Dilemmas of Military Service (lthaca, NY: Cornell UP, 1985), pp.87-116, as well as Cohen, 'Constraints on America's Conduct of Small Wars', International Security 9/2 (Fall 1984), pp. 151-81. Bruce Hoffman by no means overstates the matter in saying that 'any thought - much less dialogue - on Vietnam in particular and LIC in general was systematically purged from the American military' after the American withdrawal from Southeast Asia in 1975; it is especially striking that all the material on counterinsurgency housed at the JFK Special Warfare Center and School at Ft. Bragg, NC, was destroyed at the express direction of the senior Army leadership. Bruce Hoffman, An Agenda for Research on Terrorism and LIC in the 199Os, RAND Paper, No.P7751 (Santa Monica, CA: RAND Corp., 1991),p.2. Representative of the sides in the debate over this question are Andrew F. Krepinovich, Jr., The Army and Vietnam (Baltimore and London: Johns Hopkins UP, 1986), and Harry G. Summers, Jr., On Strategy: A Critical Analysis of the Vietnam War (N ovato, CA: PresidioPress, 1982). The best assessment to date remains A.J. Bacevich et al., American Military Policy in Small Wars: The Case of El Salvador (Washington, DC: Pergamon-Brassey's, 1988). Dept. of Defense, Conduct of the Persian Gulf Conflict (Washington, DC: USGPO, July 1991), pp.52-4; Proceedings of the Symposium on Civil Affairs in the Persian Gulf War (Ft. Bragg,NC: JFK Special Warfare Center and School, Oct. 1991). Seth Cropsey, 'Barking Up a Fallen Tree: The Death of Low Intensity Conflict', The National Interest (Spring 1992), pp. 53-{)O.

[17] Ruminations of a Pachyderm or What I Learned in the Counter-insurgency Business JOHN D. WAGHELSTEIN During the 30 years I spent (some have said misspent) in the Counterinsurgency/Special Operations/Security Assistance arena I learned a few things. Whether they are of any lasting value depends on whether insurgencies and countering them becomes as arcane a study as say alchemy . Unfortunately, there appears to be no cessation in men's desires, or at least some men's, to shoot their way into political power. If past is prologue. the demise of the Soviet-Havana-Managua connection will be replaced by some other entity to abet political science as it is practised on the Darkside. Or more likely, given the diminished importance of outside ;sponsorship, some new variation with drug-derived financing, will provide gainful employment for the next generation of counter-insurgency practitioners. And then there's always the rekindling of those long-buried but unextinguished ethnicity embers to provide slaughter and other forms of excitement. If that's an accurate prognosis, possibly some of my hard-won experience may have some utility. To establish my bona fides, my assignments included seven tours in or in support of US Southern Command, based at Quarry Heights, Panama, (SOUTHCOM) and two in Southeast Asia. I have been fortunate to command Special Forces at every level from a detachment to group, I served in the Dominican Republic 'as a Military Training Team Chief (1964), in Bolivia as a battalion adviser/instructor (1967-68) and in El Salvador as Mll..GROUP Commander (1982-83). As Aide and Executive Officer to the C-in-C in the Southern Command (1974-77) I visited every country in the region several times. Additionally, I was lucky enough to wangle four teaching assignments that gave me the opportunity to pass on to others what. I had learned about the occult. There is one major caveat. None of the pearls of wisdom about to be imparted are directly applicable without thorough analysis and appropriate modification because each insurgency is unique and defies accepting those solutions that worked elsewhere. Blindly trying to apply 'lessons learned' has resulted in failures on both sides. Having made the obligatory warning, I truly believe there are some general guidelines or

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tenets that can be derived and applied to counter-insurgency operations, in either a direct or supporting role. These are: 1. Contrary to the US Defense Department's usual way of doing things. smaller is better. 2. Objective analysis is tough to do if you are part of the problem. Tied to this concept is the almost insurmountable effect of inertia. Even if you are right, rice bowls are often more important than the truth. 3. Human Rights is easy. Let us start with smaller is better. Our first serious foray into the Latin American counter-insurgency business occurred in Venezuela in the 1960s. President John F. Kennedy" s response to President Romulo Betancourt's pleas was to send in Special Forces trainers to help the 'Vennies' to put the guerrillas out of business. We helped train light infantry or Casador (Hunter) battalions to take the fight to the guerrillas. There was a problem involving timely and useful intelligence. It was not that the Venezuelans lacked sources of intelligence: There were, in fact. some 20-odd organisations that were gathering, processing and disseminating intelligence. The problem was they were not talking to each other. We helped them set up an intelligence fusion centre to process information. Additionally, we supplied some equipment. some weapons and some Psychological Operations advice. This latter support enabled the government of Venezuela to portray the insurgency as a puppet of Castro' sCuba. The guerrillas also demonstrated a penchant for tenninally stupid stunts when they murdered some unarmed National Guardsmen on a train in 1963. This atrocity helped turn public opinion against them. Betancourt's leadership, guerrilla ineptitude and a little US support worked and in the end the enemy was trounced. In the long run American help was appreciated while the Venezuelans could take full credit for their success. Some of us thought the idea of minimum involvement with maximum results looked like a pretty good costeffective model. Another example of keeping it small and effective took place in Bolivia in 1967_ As a result of the crisis created by Che Guevara's little adventure, the Bolivian government and the US Embassy asked Washington for a massive infusion of hardware including aircraft, artillery, tanks and armoured personnel carriers. Quarry Heights' information copy of that message led to a meeting to determine the Southern Command's position. An overage in grade Lieutenant Colonel named Red Weber opined that the Bolivians were not likely to achieve

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results with more hardware they could neither use nor maintain and he recommended a low-tech solution. What SOUTHCOM did provide was a IS-man Special Forces Mobile Training Team (MTT) to train a Bolivian Ranger Battalion. Within two weeks of graduation of the battalion both Che and his dream of creating 'other Vietnams' were dead. The US decision to go with a small MTT was due. no doubt in part. to the already sizable involvement in Vietnam. There was not much of a lobby anywhere in the hemisphere for another large counterinsurgency commitment. Che' s hope that the USA would respond with a typically massive Gringo-like intervention showed the other guys could also screw up. The US response was measured. small and. with the benefit of twenty-twenty hindsight. correct. That we could succeed with an essentially military response to Che' s purely military threat. by the way, was the major weakness of the Castfoesque insurgencies of the 1960s and early 1970s. Because the Cubans and their 'wanna-bees' were unwilling to make the investment in infrastructure and other preparation. they were unable to tap into the civilian population for wider support. In Bolivia the Indians Che and company were trying to r~'"Tllit had already had their revolution (1950-52) and viewed the Cuban-led adventurers as a threat rather than a solution. Besides the dummies spoke Spanish not Quechua or Aymara. and Cuban Spanish at that. There were some other positive aspects of the counter-insurgency support effort in Bolivia. We did not take over the war, as sometimes tended to happen in those days. and our presence remained at a level that did not embarrass the Bolivians. The level of material support focused on what they really needed and not what they and the Embassy thought they needed. And by the way. our clients' appetite for high-tech IZizmos was at least as much our fault as theirs. After all. we had created . little defense departments in our image all over the post-World War II world. In dumping obsolete or obsolescent equipment. an appetite for gadgets had been created that could not be maintained and for the most part were ill-suited to the kind of war that the guerrillas were conducting in the countryside. Boots. rations, uniforms. small arms. crew-served weapons and radios we did provide were sufficient to equip the infantry units that would do the job. Massive infusions of what was. for most Latin American militaries, hi-tech stuff. was counterproductive and wasteful. But everyone knows the true measure of a military's importance is the amount of hardware and the number of troops you can parade on Independence day. Nevertheless it was a given that when the Latinos were faced with an insurgency. they would initially press for more stuff, reflecting the conventional view of

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hardware rather than seeking more and better training in unconventional tactics. I concluded somewhere along the way that fewer but better trained troops were the solution to the armed guerrilla in the sierra. Years later, I was able to implement some of these ideas in El Salvador's counterinsurgency campaign. The desire for more 'stuff was still out there as was our desire to supply it. In 1982 the Defense Department vested interests were still trying to push more helicopters, artillery and hardware on the Salvadorans who were more than happy to accept. I remember that in the Vietnamese experience, the giving and taking reflected more than simply bureaucratic pressures at work. In the giving and taking the bonds between the patron and client are tightened and it becomes tougher to exercise pressure to change. The sponsor has less leverage to reform the social, political, economic or military aspects of a struggle if there is a large and apparently open-ended or endless commitment. America wrote a cheque on its national treasury in Southeast Asia and found it had less say about how things should go than the expenditure of its human and material treasure should have warranted: In Latin America we were able to keep it cheap in part because priorities were elsewhere. For those of us in that side-show arena this was a blessing and we were able to keep it small and still win. The point that almost everyone was missing was that in an insurgency the heans and minds of the target population was still the only piece of 'key terrain' that was important. In order to secure it, the military needed to be out among the population, on patrol, in small numbers, showing the flag and talking to the villagers, not flying over them at 5,000 feet. I was able to keep the number of helicopters at a minimum and pressed that the infantry battalions become more accustomed.to walking to work. And we were able with minor success to hold off on high-performance aircraft and heavier artillery for the same reasons. These goodies were counterproductive, roadbound, led to 'collateral damage' and stressedout our clients' already wobbly maintenance systems. In El Salvador, I was fortunate to have as my boss Ambassador Dean Hinton. His understanding of the correlation between efficiency, human rights and hardware was such that he provided a heat-shield against those technobuffs in Washington who constantly pushed hardware over other considerations. Once again it was cheap, low-tech stuff - rations, boots and radios - that helped to make the El Salvadoran Armed Forces (ESAF) effective in the field. Even more important than hardware, the training of both the units and the junior leaders remained the key. In that regard we operated under

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