Time to talk to the Taliban

Lord Malloch-Brown has hit the nail on the head

I have a piece in the magazine tomorrow on Gordon's "goats" - the acronymic offspring of his "government of all the talents", announced with great fanfare by Brown prior to entering Downing Street in June 2007 - who have, in recent months, slipped their ministerial tethers to graze in pastures new. Lords Jones (Trade and Investment), Darzi (Health) and Malloch-Brown (Foreign Office) have all resigned from government. The latter fired a parting salvo at his soon-to-be former bosses, the Prime Minister and the Foreign Secretary, in an interview in this morning's Daily Telegraph, in which he claimed British forces in Afghanistan were under-equipped: "We definitely don't have enough helicopters. When you have these modern operations and insurgent strikes what you need, above all else, is mobility." He has since been forced to backtrack, issuing a rather embarrassing clarification in which he said that there were "without doubt" sufficient resources in place in Afghanistan.

But whether or not there are enough helicopters in Helmand is a distraction from the bigger issues at stake - for example, why are we still in Afghanistan nearly eight years after 9/11? What is the current mission? What is our exit strategy - if, that is, we even have one? Can we actually 'win' in Afghanistan? Don't expect such questions to be put to ministers, though, as Britain's lobby correspondents have a notoriously weak grasp on foreign policy (in fact, on any aspect of government policy outside of their narrow, Westminster-based, politician-focused remit.)

The media-generated row over choppers for our boys has overshadowed the real significance of Lord Malloch-Brown's frank remarks on Afghanistan in the Telegraph. The Foreign Office minister responsible, and former United Nations Deputy Secretary-General, acknowledged that, in the long run, "the definition of victory [in Afghanistan] includes allowing elements of the Taliban support group back into the political settlement".

His controversial admission come hot on the heels of Afghan President Hamid Karzai's own plea to Western governments earlier this month to develop a new strategy for his country which involves talking to the Taliban at the highest levels - even to their top leader, Mullah Omar.

In the past, the Brown government has hinted that it would consider engaging in negotiations with the various insurgent groups across Afghanistan, including the Taliban, but, as far as I can see, nothing meaningful ever came of it. So will we now see a new push for peace? Fat chance. Those on the right and the pro-war left (dare, I presume, my neocon friends over at Harry's Place?), who wrongly argue that to even talk to the Taliban is "appeasement", still seem to sadly dominate this debate. But former U.S. Secretary of State under George Bush Snr, James Baker, said it best: "You don't just talk to your friends, you talk to your enemies as well...Talking to an enemy is not in my view appeasement."

Hawks often provocatively ask those of us who oppose the war in Afghanistan: what would you do instead? It's time to turn this question on its head. As even President Obama's own National Security Adviser acknowledged last year, in a report for the Atlantic Council, "Make no mistake, Nato are not winning the war in Afghanistan". So I ask the hawks: as we sink further and further into the Afghan quagmire, and as defeat stares us in the face, what will you do instead? In order to "win" in Afghanistan? Or even to turn the corner? Simply send more helicopters or finally acknowledge the Churchillian adage that to jaw- jaw is better than to war- war?

Mehdi Hasan is a contributing writer for the New Statesman and the co-author of Ed: The Milibands and the Making of a Labour Leader. He was the New Statesman's senior editor (politics) from 2009-12.

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For the first time in my life I have a sworn enemy – and I don’t even know her name

The cyclist, though, was enraged. “THAT’S CLEVER, ISN’T IT?” she yelled. “WALKING IN THE ROAD!”

Last month, I made an enemy. I do not say this lightly, and I certainly don’t say it with pride, as a more aggressive male might. Throughout my life I have avoided confrontation with a scrupulousness that an unkind observer would call out-and-out cowardice. A waiter could bring the wrong order, cold and crawling with maggots, and in response to “How is everything?” I’d still manage a grin and a “lovely, thanks”.

On the Underground, I’m so wary of being a bad citizen that I often give up my seat to people who aren’t pregnant, aren’t significantly older than me, and in some cases are far better equipped to stand than I am. If there’s one thing I am not, it’s any sort of provocateur. And yet now this: a feud.

And I don’t even know my enemy’s name.

She was on a bike when I accidentally entered her life. I was pushing a buggy and I wandered – rashly, in her view – into her path. There’s little doubt that I was to blame: walking on the road while in charge of a minor is not something encouraged by the Highway Code. In my defence, it was a quiet, suburban street; the cyclist was the only vehicle of any kind; and I was half a street’s length away from physically colliding with her. It was the misjudgment of a sleep-deprived parent rather than an act of malice.

The cyclist, though, was enraged. “THAT’S CLEVER, ISN’T IT?” she yelled. “WALKING IN THE ROAD!”

I was stung by what someone on The Apprentice might refer to as her negative feedback, and walked on with a redoubled sense of the parental inadequacy that is my default state even at the best of times.

A sad little incident, but a one-off, you would think. Only a week later, though, I was walking in a different part of town, this time without the toddler and engrossed in my phone. Again, I accept my culpability in crossing the road without paying due attention; again, I have to point out that it was only a “close shave” in the sense that meteorites are sometimes reported to have “narrowly missed crashing into the Earth” by 50,000 miles. It might have merited, at worst, a reproving ting of the bell. Instead came a familiar voice. “IT’S YOU AGAIN!” she yelled, wrathfully.

This time the shock brought a retort out of me, probably the harshest thing I have ever shouted at a stranger: “WHY ARE YOU SO UNPLEASANT?”

None of this is X-rated stuff, but it adds up to what I can only call a vendetta – something I never expected to pick up on the way to Waitrose. So I am writing this, as much as anything, in the spirit of rapprochement. I really believe that our third meeting, whenever it comes, can be a much happier affair. People can change. Who knows: maybe I’ll even be walking on the pavement

Mark Watson is a stand-up comedian and novelist. His most recent book, Crap at the Environment, follows his own efforts to halve his carbon footprint over one year.

This article first appeared in the 20 October 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Brothers in blood