Borderline madness

Why do we continue to act as though Afghanistan and Pakistan are western-style nation states?

It was just the one short paragraph that did it. "Pakistan has no interest in a stable Afghanistan that might be friendly with India and demand back parts of Pakistan that used to be Afghan. The Afghan government does not recognise the Durand Line as the border and Afghanistan was the only country in the world not to recognise Pakistan at its creation in 1947."

That brief summary, in a report by the excellent Christina Lamb of the (now paywalled) Sunday Times, contains volumes about what has become an interminable conflict from which we have no idea how to extricate ourselves. For these are volumes that have been left covered in dust and, except by the odd lonely scholar, were last thumbed in imperial times, when soldiers, chancers and red-faced colonial administrators may have ventured east for the wrong reason -- to conquer -- but often learned a little more about the world in which we never cease to intervene and meddle than do today's politicians, with their tourist and gap-year-level appreciation of the complexities of Asia.

There is an international border between Pakistan and Afghanistan, goes the reasoning. On one side lies a country that is notionally our ally in what we no longer call "the war on terror", while on the other is a state we are supposedly and confusedly trying to help. So why is our ally trying to "look both ways", as David Cameron put it?

Why do Pakistan's rulers not bring to heel "their" Taliban and "their" Pashtuns, we ask? The latter do know that they are Pakistani, is the assumption; after all, are they not on that side of the border?

None of this is so obvious, however, to the inhabitants of these areas, separated in 1893 by an agreement negotiated by the British diplomat Sir Mortimer Durand, after whom the boundary line is named, but widely viewed as having been imposed on them by those it affected.

As far as they are concerned, their ancestral lands do not recognise a division that originated merely in the desire to provide the Raj with a buffer zone against warlike tribes and the reach of the Afghan amirs.

Faith in borders

In the west our borders are fixed, in fact and in our minds. The Iron Curtain may be a memory, but Americans are so vigilant about their country's limits that anyone with a Latino appearance in Arizona is now liable to be stopped and asked to prove that they are not an illegal immigrant from Mexico. The leading members of the protectionist, inward-looking EU declare, "Ils ne passeront pas." And the coastlines of the British isles have long been its castle ramparts. They announce where nation states begin and end.

Any questions about whether particular groups should be contained within these lines on the map, such as those posed by Spain's Basque "problem" or the United Kingdom's troubles in Northern Ireland, are treated as essentially internal affairs.

Never mind that the territorially defined nation state is a relatively recent invention. They are the units of our geopolitical identity. We expect international frameworks to be built around and on them, and we presume every other country to have the same faith in and attachment to this unit of definition as we do.

But this is blindness in the face of reality for at least two reasons. Many of the world's countries are only a few decades old. The area that is now Pakistan, for instance, may have been home to civilisations when Angles and Saxons were still labouring with wattle and daub, but it was never a "nation" until 1947. Saudi Arabia came into existence only in 1932, after the al-Saud had conquered their rivals in the Nejd and then ousted the Hashemite rulers of the Hejaz. Taiwan has been a separate state only since the Kuomintang were defeated by the Communists in China.

Moreover, the creation of rigid national boundaries often sundered long-established but more fluid arrangements, frequently stranding populations in countries of which they had little desire to be a part.

The province of Papua is in Indonesia because that country considers itself heir to all of the Dutch East Indies; but if its inhabitants had ever had a free choice in the matter, they would certainly have chosen either independence or unification with Papua New Guinea.

The Malay sultanates in the southernmost parts of Thailand and northern parts of Malaysia originally had a tributary arrangement with Bangkok, rather than being part of the Siamese state. Happily, most find themselves on the right side of today's border as a result of a treaty with the British in 1909. The roots of the insurgency in Thailand's south lie in the fact that one historic sultanate does not. As Clive J Christie put it in A Modern History of South-East Asia: Decolonisation, Nationalism and Separatism: "This division provides a classic example of an ad hoc colonial arrangement that has since hardened into a permanent international frontier."

A bad case of patriotism

Hardened is the word, and a tragic one for nations denied their own states by these newly permanent frontiers, as in the case of the Kurds, or most of their historic lands, as with the Armenians. It is also a tragedy for those marooned as persecuted minorities -- in Cambodia, for example, the Muslim Cham, remnants of the old kingdom of Champa, were particularly targeted by Pol Pot's genocidal regime.

But it should also be a word of warning for those policymakers who see borders between countries boldly drawn on maps and assume that they always delineate as sharp a distinction in nationality as the Channel does between the English and the French.

In the areas divided by the Durand Line, no such assumption should be made. There are many reasons why it may be right to say that Pakistan has been looking both ways with regard to the Taliban and even more radical groups operating on both sides of its north-west frontier. But given that a section of its population has doubts about whether it should be part of Pakistan and not, like the Taliban and most Pashtuns, part of Afghanistan -- or even a state independent of both countries -- it should come as no surprise that this should be one of them.

Would these people die for their country? You'd have to work out which country you were talking about for a start -- or if that was a question that even had any relevance to them at all.

Sholto Byrnes is a Contributing Editor to the New Statesman
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Is defeat in Stoke the beginning of the end for Paul Nuttall?

The Ukip leader was his party's unity candidate. But after his defeat in Stoke, the old divisions are beginning to show again

In a speech to Ukip’s spring conference in Bolton on February 17, the party’s once and probably future leader Nigel Farage laid down the gauntlet for his successor, Paul Nuttall. Stoke’s by-election was “fundamental” to the future of the party – and Nuttall had to win.
 
One week on, Nuttall has failed that test miserably and thrown the fundamental questions hanging over Ukip’s future into harsh relief. 

For all his bullish talk of supplanting Labour in its industrial heartlands, the Ukip leader only managed to increase the party’s vote share by 2.2 percentage points on 2015. This paltry increase came despite Stoke’s 70 per cent Brexit majority, and a media narrative that was, until the revelations around Nuttall and Hillsborough, talking the party’s chances up.
 
So what now for Nuttall? There is, for the time being, little chance of him resigning – and, in truth, few inside Ukip expected him to win. Nuttall was relying on two well-rehearsed lines as get-out-of-jail free cards very early on in the campaign. 

The first was that the seat was a lowly 72 on Ukip’s target list. The second was that he had been leader of party whose image had been tarnished by infighting both figurative and literal for all of 12 weeks – the real work of his project had yet to begin. 

The chances of that project ever succeeding were modest at the very best. After yesterday’s defeat, it looks even more unlikely. Nuttall had originally stated his intention to run in the likely by-election in Leigh, Greater Manchester, when Andy Burnham wins the Greater Manchester metro mayoralty as is expected in May (Wigan, the borough of which Leigh is part, voted 64 per cent for Brexit).

If he goes ahead and stands – which he may well do – he will have to overturn a Labour majority of over 14,000. That, even before the unedifying row over the veracity of his Hillsborough recollections, was always going to be a big challenge. If he goes for it and loses, his leadership – predicated as it is on his supposed ability to win votes in the north - will be dead in the water. 

Nuttall is not entirely to blame, but he is a big part of Ukip’s problem. I visited Stoke the day before The Guardian published its initial report on Nuttall’s Hillsborough claims, and even then Nuttall’s campaign manager admitted that he was unlikely to convince the “hard core” of Conservative voters to back him. 

There are manifold reasons for this, but chief among them is that Nuttall, despite his newfound love of tweed, is no Nigel Farage. Not only does he lack his name recognition and box office appeal, but the sad truth is that the Tory voters Ukip need to attract are much less likely to vote for a party led by a Scouser whose platform consists of reassuring working-class voters their NHS and benefits are safe.
 
It is Farage and his allies – most notably the party’s main donor Arron Banks – who hold the most power over Nuttall’s future. Banks, who Nuttall publicly disowned as a non-member after he said he was “sick to death” of people “milking” the Hillsborough disaster, said on the eve of the Stoke poll that Ukip had to “remain radical” if it wanted to keep receiving his money. Farage himself has said the party’s campaign ought to have been “clearer” on immigration. 

Senior party figures are already briefing against Nuttall and his team in the Telegraph, whose proprietors are chummy with the beer-swilling Farage-Banks axis. They deride him for his efforts to turn Ukip into “NiceKip” or “Nukip” in order to appeal to more women voters, and for the heavy-handedness of his pitch to Labour voters (“There were times when I wondered whether I’ve got a purple rosette or a red one on”, one told the paper). 

It is Nuttall’s policy advisers - the anti-Farage awkward squad of Suzanne Evans, MEP Patrick O’Flynn (who famously branded Farage "snarling, thin-skinned and aggressive") and former leadership candidate Lisa Duffy – come in for the harshest criticism. Herein lies the leader's almost impossible task. Despite having pitched to members as a unity candidate, the two sides’ visions for Ukip are irreconcilable – one urges him to emulate Trump (who Nuttall says he would not have voted for), and the other urges a more moderate tack. 

Endorsing his leader on Question Time last night, Ukip’s sole MP Douglas Carswell blamed the legacy of the party’s Tea Party-inspired 2015 general election campaign, which saw Farage complain about foreigners with HIV using the NHS in ITV’s leaders debate, for the party’s poor performance in Stoke. Others, such as MEP Bill Etheridge, say precisely the opposite – that Nuttall must be more like Farage. 

Neither side has yet called for Nuttall’s head. He insists he is “not going anywhere”. With his febrile party no stranger to abortive coup and counter-coup, he is unlikely to be the one who has the final say.