‘‘Why not me?’’

A recent veteran of the Afghan conflict describes the pain of watching comrades fall and insists tha

When life is reduced to the barest necessities in the cloying dust of the Helmand summer – eat, sleep, fight, survive – certain, otherwise everyday things take on a special significance. Imagine our disappointment when we realised that the Taliban were ranging their mortars in on the makeshift lavatories in the corner of the compound. When a man can’t even relax during his ablutions, nothing is sacred. Much has changed since I came home at the end of 2007 and some progress has been made, but few can have escaped the knowledge that British, Afghan and now American forces are sustaining ever heavier casualties.

I was perhaps fortunate that when I was in Afghanistan the Taliban retained suicidal aspirations of simply defeating Isaf troops in open fighting. With fewer men and resources (although proportionately not that much less than spinning politicians would have us believe), we launched nothing on the scale of Operation Panchal Palang (Panther’s Claw, the current push in central Helmand). But over seven months we engaged in a series of smaller, concurrent set-piece operations against the Taliban, and sustained casualties in every one. On one gruelling, 72-hour slog north early in the tour, we lost 12 men over 100km through injury and one was killed – less than 10km per man. In another op some months later (which, even in the context of the current campaign in the region, was grossly under-resourced), my unit lost a third of its fighting power in less than a week, two young men killed and another elsewhere in the province in simultaneous operations.
It is not easy for those back home to gauge the effect such casualty rates have on the troops still fighting. The domestic news media tend to concentrate on fatalities, which come in sudden bursts during the early kinetic phases of deliberate operations or in single mass-casualty incidents, as claimed the lives of five men of 2 Rifles in Sangin. What often goes unreported is the further casualties, the scores who, in the same time frame and in similar incidents, have lost limbs and eyes and who are also removed from the battle, and the slow but sure effect on those who remain behind – the last glimpse of their comrades being the sight of the medical evacuation Chinook carrying them away, and then getting back to the task at hand, only that bit more difficult than it was before.

My experience was that soldiers cope remarkably well in the midst of an operation. Units are galvanised by loss, bonded even more closely by the shared experience and more determined to fulfil the mission. The emptiness, the draining combination of fatigue, hunger and adrenalin comedown that gnaws at the tail end of every infantryman’s slog can be magically held at bay that bit longer by the motivating memory of the guy who just got injured, or worse – but only for so long. It is in the quieter, more reflective moments that grief and anger and loss intrude. Back at camp, exhausted after one such operation and having thought nothing would be more welcome than my cot bed, I couldn’t sleep a wink between the two empty bed spaces that had belonged to my fellow platoon commanders, both by then tucked up in hospital corners in Selly Oak recovering from their injuries.

Perhaps the hardest moments on tour are the repatriation ceremonies, life in the otherwise safe and comfortable Camp Bastion coming to a respectful stop as the flag-draped coffins are solemnly loaded on to the Hercules to begin their long journey home. Standing to attention by the runway, ranks of soldiers – some of whom have known the dead in private grief, others who have never met them sharing in the corporate loss – will stand immaculately to attention and squint into the sunset as the pilots perform a final, mournful fly-past.

Grief is a particularly private emotion and there are few private spaces in a hastily prepared defensive compound. I noticed that the younger soldiers, often the more fearless in battle, found it hardest. The average age of my team was maybe 22. Some had never known death and retreated confused into iPods and long silence. In such moments, the smallest of brotherly gestures, the shared last packet of sweets, the unexpected brew, made all the difference.

Up in Sangin, our tour drawing tantalisingly to a close, we spent the most difficult months of all not on an operation, but almost under siege, losing both British and Afghan National Army comrades in the frustrating, oppressive, morale-sapping drip, drip of the defensive battle. A fellow captain, a few years older than myself, with whom I’d been sharing cigarettes hours earlier, in fractionally the wrong place
on the roof during a later attack. The youngest guy in the team, barely 19, and only a few steps behind me and the interpreter as we charged forward and were all sent sprawling by an incoming rocket. The anger and frustration mount, but so, with each loss, does the haunting thought: “Why not me?”

And then, hardest of all, back home. Trying to joke with friends over new prosthetic limbs, raising pints in pubs to guys you promised you’d be sharing them with. We harden ourselves for what may come on tour; soldiers know and accept the grim bottom line unique to their profession. But no matter how rough and tough most of us no doubt think we are, there can be few who have fought and lost who don’t, as I invariably do, fight back a tear every time we hear the “Last Post” played.

Patrick Hennessey is the author of “The Junior Officers’ Reading Club” (Allen Lane, £16.99). Between 2004 and 2009, he served as a platoon commander and then company operations officer in the Grenadier Guards, making tours to Iraq in 2006 and Afghanistan in 2007

This article first appeared in the 20 July 2009 issue of the New Statesman, King and Country

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The New Times: Brexit, globalisation, the crisis in Labour and the future of the left

With essays by David Miliband, Paul Mason, John Harris, Lisa Nandy, Vince Cable and more.

Once again the “new times” are associated with the ascendancy of the right. The financial crash of 2007-2008 – and the Great Recession and sovereign debt crises that were a consequence of it – were meant to have marked the end of an era of runaway “turbocapitalism”. It never came close to happening. The crash was a crisis of capitalism but not the crisis of capitalism. As Lenin observed, there is “no such thing as an absolutely hopeless situation” for capitalism, and so we discovered again. Instead, the greatest burden of the period of fiscal retrenchment that followed the crash was carried by the poorest in society, those most directly affected by austerity, and this in turn has contributed to a deepening distrust of elites and a wider crisis of governance.

Where are we now and in which direction are we heading?

Some of the contributors to this special issue believe that we have reached the end of the “neoliberal” era. I am more sceptical. In any event, the end of neoliberalism, however you define it, will not lead to a social-democratic revival: it looks as if, in many Western countries, we are entering an age in which centre-left parties cannot form ruling majorities, having leaked support to nationalists, populists and more radical alternatives.

Certainly the British Labour Party, riven by a war between its parliamentary representatives and much of its membership, is in a critical condition. At the same time, Jeremy Corbyn’s leadership has inspired a remarkable re-engagement with left-wing politics, even as his party slumps in the polls. His own views may seem frozen in time, but hundreds of thousands of people, many of them young graduates, have responded to his anti-austerity rhetoric, his candour and his shambolic, unspun style.

The EU referendum, in which as much as one-third of Labour supporters voted for Brexit, exposed another chasm in Labour – this time between educated metropolitan liberals and the more socially conservative white working class on whose loyalty the party has long depended. This no longer looks like a viable election-winning coalition, especially after the collapse of Labour in Scotland and the concomitant rise of nationalism in England.

In Marxism Today’s “New Times” issue of October 1988, Stuart Hall wrote: “The left seems not just displaced by Thatcherism, but disabled, flattened, becalmed by the very prospect of change; afraid of rooting itself in ‘the new’ and unable to make the leap of imagination required to engage the future.” Something similar could be said of the left today as it confronts Brexit, the disunities within the United Kingdom, and, in Theresa May, a prime minister who has indicated that she might be prepared to break with the orthodoxies of the past three decades.

The Labour leadership contest between Corbyn and Owen Smith was largely an exercise in nostalgia, both candidates seeking to revive policies that defined an era of mass production and working-class solidarity when Labour was strong. On matters such as immigration, digital disruption, the new gig economy or the power of networks, they had little to say. They proposed a politics of opposition – against austerity, against grammar schools. But what were they for? Neither man seemed capable of embracing the “leading edge of change” or of making the imaginative leap necessary to engage the future.

So is there a politics of the left that will allow us to ride with the currents of these turbulent “new times” and thus shape rather than be flattened by them? Over the next 34 pages 18 writers, offering many perspectives, attempt to answer this and related questions as they analyse the forces shaping a world in which power is shifting to the East, wars rage unchecked in the Middle East, refugees drown en masse in the Mediterranean, technology is outstripping our capacity to understand it, and globalisation begins to fragment.

— Jason Cowley, Editor 

Tom Kibasi on what the left fails to see

Philip Collins on why it's time for Labour to end its crisis

John Harris on why Labour is losing its heartland

Lisa Nandy on how Labour has been halted and hollowed out

David Runciman on networks and the digital revolution

John Gray on why the right, not the left, has grasped the new times

Mariana Mazzucato on why it's time for progressives to rethink capitalism

Robert Ford on why the left must reckon with the anger of those left behind

Ros Wynne-Jones on the people who need a Labour government most

Gary Gerstle on Corbyn, Sanders and the populist surge

Nick Pearce on why the left is haunted by the ghosts of the 1930s

Paul Mason on why the left must be ready to cause a commotion

Neal Lawson on what the new, 21st-century left needs now

Charles Leadbeater explains why we are all existentialists now

John Bew mourns the lost left

Marc Stears on why democracy is a long, hard, slow business

Vince Cable on how a financial crisis empowered the right

David Miliband on why the left needs to move forward, not back

This article first appeared in the 22 September 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The New Times