Strife

The Academic Blog of the Department of War Studies, King's College London

You are here: Home / Archives for Book Review

Book Review

Book Review: ‘Breaking Hate’

by Isabela Betoret Garcia

 

Christian Picciolini. Breaking Hate: Confronting the New Culture of Extremism. Hachette Books, London, 2020. ISBN 978-0316522939. Pp. 272. Hardcover, £22.85.

Stories about the alt-right rarely have happy endings. Many associate the movement with white supremacists, those men and women who have left a path of violence and death in their wake. Connotations of ‘white supremacy’ tend to include men marching in a university campus in well-tailored trousers and neat haircuts chanting propaganda, such as the ones that marched in Charlottesville; or perhaps the young men who perpetrated unspeakable acts of violence in houses of worship, like Dylann Roof did in Charleston when he massacred nine people or the Christchurch Mosque Shooting where 51 were murdered. The image conjured up is that of hate, a hate that is so unforgiving to those in its path that it does not invite any kind of compassion. Yet, that is exactly what author and activist Christian Picciolini asks of us in his latest book: Breaking Hate.

Picciolini was born to Italian immigrants, in Illinois; by the age of 14 he had joined one of the most violent racist groups in the United States, the Chicago Area Skinheads. By 16 he had become the leader of the group, as well as formed a white supremacist punk band, W.A.Y (White American Youth). Even though he left the movement at 22, he had spent eight years helping it grow. Such a drastic U-turn came, he claims, from interactions he had with the people he had been conditioned to hate – black, Jewish, and homosexual people – and finding some common ground which left him unable to justify his hate. After leaving his former violent life, having spent some years in a dark space of apathy and depression by his own admission, he began to do what became his life’s calling: telling his story. His first book, White American Youth: My Descent into America’s Most Violent Hate Movement— and How I Got Out, focused on his life. Picciolini seemed to understand that for people to truly believe that his theory of de-radicalisation could work, they had to understand how he had come to believe in them himself.

Breaking-Hate: Confronting the New Culture of Extremism serves both as a culmination and as a new chapter. A culmination in that it is not only a collection of stories of men and women Christian has helped de-radicalise; it also allows Christian to share the steps of extremist disengagement he has come to believe. With each new chapter, however, it becomes clear to the reader that there is much work to be done, and that extremism really is an embedded cultural problem.

Christian’s proposal is clear: No one is born into hate, and violent ideologies are not what lead people down the road of extremism. When someone encounters what he calls ‘potholes’ in life, they will be in danger of never fulfilling their sense of identity, community, and purpose (ICP). De-Radicalisation is a contested concept with no single accepted process, and many doubt the effectiveness of it. In the field of de-radicalisation many scholars such as Daniel Koeher have pointed to ideology as a key aspect in the road to radicalisation. Picciolini’s theory differs significantly. It is when they trip on their search of ICP that extremism may find them, but ideology itself is the last step. Only by listening to their stories and identifying these potholes, presumably extraordinary patience and compassion, one can extend a hand to bring them back to a normal life. The process he uses includes 7 steps: Link, Listen, Learn, Leverage, Lift, Love, Live. These steps are meant to form a link with the subject, understand how their path in life brought them to radicalisation, help them make amends, and eventually life free. Though his argument is fascinating and compelling, Picciolini does not spend much time discussing alternative theories of de-radicalisation that have an ideological basis, which would lend more credibility to his argument.

“The answer is love”: the message could not be more clear (Image credit: Christian Picciolini)

The structure of the book relies on the reader connecting with the stories told within. From veterans and men recruited in prison, to a former ISIS fighter, to a seventeen year-old girl caught in a scam that seemed to lead all the way to the 2016 Presidential election— the stories Christian relates are raw and tender. They are simultaneously full of sorrow, anger, and hope. Yet there are underlining reminders that even if disengagement is successful, the subjects of the book may be atoning for their actions for the rest of their lives.

The message of the book is, for the most part, effectively conveyed and persuasive. Because most of the subjects Christian examines in the book were part of the Alt-Right we might ask if ideology truly does not matter as much as other experts say in the de-radicalisation process, and the book would benefit from exploring other theories for Picciolini to more effectively defend his own. The book’s persuasiveness does rely on the author himself, and on the anecdotal evidence he provides of the cases present in the text, which could be more effective if paired with quantifiable evidence of the success of his methods. Upon closing the book, however, a reader will likely reconsider any previously held notions on the psychology of radicalisation which rely on ideology and be willing to consider compassion, and in this point the book is undeniably successful.

Picciolini admits to sometimes almost losing patience, hope, and control when trying to help extremists disengage. But here is where he comes to the most important lesson of all: see the child, not the monster. This is not meant to excuse the actions of extremists because of the abuse they may have suffered, the severe lack of ICP that delivered them into the arms of hate. But rather to remember that basic premise, that no one is born into hate; and if they find their way into it, they can find their way out.

Isabela first completed a Foundation Programme in International Relations and is now a third-year War Studies and History BA. She also works as an International Relations and Politics Tutor for King’s Foundations. She is Mexican-Spanish and lived most of her life in Mexico until she moved to London, and this background has given her a keen interest in migration. She is also interested in how the every-day has become politicised through media, and what this means for the future of journalism and politics. You can follow her on Twitter @isa_betoret.

Book Review: ‘The Hidden History of Burma’

by Anna Tan

 

Thant Myint-U. The Hidden History of Burma: Race, Capitalism and the Crisis of Democracy in the 21st Century. Atlantic Books, London, 2019. ISBN 978-1-78649-790-1. Pp. xi, 288. Paperback. £10.78

 

The case for peace in Myanmar (Burma) has been a tiring and relentless one. The biggest myth of all is that Burma was set to have a bright future during the dawn of its independence from the British Empire. Thant Myint-U in his latest work “The Hidden History of Burma” (2020) reminds us that the reality is far more complex. The colonial legacy of the state’s institutions and its impact on the plethora of ethnic groups across Burma’s periphery would continue to haunt its present-day problems. Most notably among these are the Rohingya crisis and Burma’s half-century struggle for democracy. The colonial era’s martial race policy stands at the forefront of these problems. Despite the great academic legacy left behind by the colonial era, Thant argues, the state was considerably weak at the time when General Aung San founded the nation. This meant that whatever great that was embedded within Burma was either purged or became stale during years of poverty. Moreover, Ne Win’s failed anti-imperialist revolution – or the pursuit of the ‘Burmese Way to Socialism’ – would further exacerbate this situation.

Towards the end of the 20th century, the socialist layer of the nation-state’s operational ideology gradually peeled away; leading to some form of a free-market system and one that according to Thant can best be described as ‘crony capitalism’. Yet, strikingly, Burma’s political reforms of the early 2010s had originally envisioned an alternative future. Here, the implementation of neoliberal policies and a non-state intervening would complete the country’s transition to a free-market system, to follow the steps of congested and inequality-ridden cities we so very often see across South East Asia today. In this regard, those easily combustible issues surrounding race and inequality are left out. The state itself does not even seem to be cognizant of it. Neither is any consideration given to the idea that one’s ethnicity can be fluid. As a result, state formation and attempted conflict resolution is stuck in a vicious cycle of bureaucracy, electoral politics, and red-tape; further fuelled by a strange concoction of neoconservatism and a fixed primordial perception regarding race and ethnicity amongst parties and actors across the political spectrum.

The blame for the sustained civil strife across various parts of the country is shared among all parties, both at home and abroad. It is Thant’s insider narrative in the book that made me realise how it is bizarre that China’s ambitions for Burma re-emerged. Initially thwarted by the reformist government of Thein Sein, those intentions came back centre stage after the conflict in Rakhine escalated to the point of genocide. Unfortunate decisions made by Aung San Suu Kyi’s National League for Democracy (NLD) during peacebuilding efforts that followed their victory in the 2015 elections inflamed this situation, particularly after the Myanmar Peace Centre – consisting mostly of Thein Sein staffers – was dismissed. However, this jarring moment in history is to this day a wasted opportunity that not many in the country paid much attention to. Indeed, the urban population were very much distracted by the economic promises of the new NLD government. With more shopping centres and shinier airports in the making, less visa restrictions, and an increase in free travel, it seems that it is the bourgeoisie that gets to enjoy better, more instant luxuries. I can speak from experience that testimonials by the (upper-)middle-class of Burmese society certainly reflect this sentiment. A justifying bulwark against any criticism towards the NLD government, these promises led to ample opportunity for the resolution of civil strife in the country getting squandered; thereby further darkening a future that looks more bleak than ever.

Internationally, the foreign policy of Western governments in addressing Burma’s human rights abuses provides no room for complexity and mixed bureaucratic responses by organisations such as the United Nations over the past decade have led to drastic consequences in the peace processes throughout Burma. Their involvements with the country’s democratisation efforts and entrance into the global economy were exclusively pivoted around Aung San Suu Kyi. This narrative of the ‘lady against the generals’ paid very little attention paid to the influence of ludicrous cross-border conflicts, war economies, and the incentives of various factions – be it within the state or of the rebel groups. The former president’s sudden and wide embrace of the West was short-sighted to the extent that it made light of the impact that the participation of Ethnic Armed Organisations (EAOs) along the Sino-Burmese border could have. Suu Kyi’s government furthermore underestimated the repercussions of Western isolation on the peace deals made during the ‘21st Century PangLong Conferences’. Above all else, the young population especially, and sadly, do not seem to be able to tell the difference between the story of Burma: is it one of Suu Kyi or one of inclusivity.

Though merely stating facts, Thant’s description of the contemporary political processes in Burma is at times specked with instances that were darkly astonishing, oftentimes unintentionally comical. One of these moments includes the time when John Yettaw handed Suu Kyi the Book of Mormon, making it all the more surreal. Nevertheless, there are parts where Thant could have elaborated further, such as the impact of U Nu’s policies on the racial and social integrity of a briefly democratic Burma prior to Ne Win’s coup in 1962. However, the country’s complex web of layers stands masterfully explained in the book.

Lost is the potential of this beautiful country, so rich in natural resources, in which a deeply troubled rural citizenry resides which knows war not as an exception but as the norm. 

Most importantly, Thant demonstrates that the story of Burma’s fight for democracy is not so much as black-and-white, not a clear David-and-Goliath spectacle that we are made to believe most of the time. A particularly challenging part recounts the solemn story of a certain lady named Moe. Driven into destitution by the cascade of events following the Bush-era sanctions that shut down garment factories, her life led from unemployment to sex trafficking, only to discover herself with a diagnosis of HIV/AIDS after a hazardous, painful journey back home. These same sanctions were supported by several pro-democracy and human rights activists at home and abroad. These activists were also part of the same force that blocked the Global Fund’s humanitarian aid that was supposed to relieve HIV/AIDS and malaria outbreaks in Burma of the early 2000s, thereby cutting off all remaining hope for people like Moe. Indeed, Moe’s life is not an uncommon one for the precariat of Burma, whose rights, needs, and welfare seem to be left out of the picture entirely. While the nation emphasises the virtue of personal sacrifice for the greater good pivoted around the leader; the vast majority have little more to give. Lost is the potential of this beautiful country, so rich in natural resources, in which a deeply troubled rural citizenry resides which knows war not as an exception but as the norm. Not a glimmer of hope seems to remain in a country where Burmese identity is defined by race and ethnicity.

That is not to say that are no memorable and beautiful moments. During the peak of the Rakhine crisis in 2016, the compassion of a Buddhist monk in Rakhine that offered refuge and food to displaced civilians of the Buddhist and Muslim creed and traumatised by the violence raging outside will give any reader a chilling feeling of awe as the pages turn. The man was confronted by protesters outside his monastery for housing Muslims together with Buddhists, arguing that the protestors would have to go through him if they wish to ransack the monastery and commit violence inside. An anomaly of a preacher who truly practices a rare act of compassion could perhaps make one faintly wonder just ‘what if?’.

What kind of a future Burma will head towards we still do not know. But as Thant puts, it is truly hard to be optimistic at present. Yet understanding Burma is imperative still, in a way, as the story should provide us to rethink how Western democracies interact with authoritarian and transitory regimes in the future. It should also provide a brutal lesson for us, when aiding and advocating for democracy in contested states, to jettison the idea that one-dimensional foreign policies that prescribe a dose of sanctions followed by the introduction neoliberalism will do the trick of healing an infinitely complex, deeply conflict-ridden nation towards peace and prosperity.

This piece was originally published on the author’s personal blog, which you can find here

Anna Tan is a postgraduate student for MSc Global Affairs at King’s College London. Her research is focused on how Western human rights diplomacy affects democracy and authoritarianism in the Asia Pacific. She has previously worked for UNDP Myanmar and the American Red Cross, and is a member of the Programme Committee of the Conflict, Security and Development (CSD) Conference 2020 hosted by the Department of War Studies and the Department of International Development (DID). Anna holds a BSc in Neuroscience. You can follow her on Twitter: @AnnaTanGTW

Book Review: ‘Dying to Serve’

by Kamaldeep Singh Sandhu

Maria Rashid, Dying to Serve: Militarism, Affect, and the Politics of Sacrifice in the Pakistan Army. Stanford University Press, Stanford, California, 2020. ISBN 978-1-5036-1198-6 Pp. 267. Paperback. £19.41

Dying to Serve: Militarism, Affect, and the Politics of Sacrifice ...

Are military deaths in an armed conflict avoidable and prodigal or are they a necessary and sacred sacrifice required for the protection of the state and society? Maria Rashid’s new noteworthy book, Dying to Serve: Militarism, Affect, and the Politics of Sacrifice in the Pakistan Army, carries this sensitive and difficult debate forward through a study of the Pakistan military’s relationship with its soldiers and citizens. The Pakistan military’s use of religion and the idea of ‘shahadat’ (martyrdom) as a motivator for training, fighting, and dying for the nation are well established (p. 33). This book is a comparative study of narratives provided by the Pakistani state and military on the one hand and the subject soldier and his family on the other.

Pakistan is one of those states that thrive on a strong military spirit. This militarism establishes war as normal and necessary and, in turn, demands sacrifices from its subjects. Dying to Serve is an attempt to understand the mechanisms through which such sacrifices are made sacred by the military narratives of heroism, and meaningful, glorious, and honourable deaths. This mechanism, in turn, extracts legitimacy and unquestioned support from the citizenry. The book explores this phenomenon through the dead soldiers, considered as heroes, mourned for long periods by communities, and taken as social examples. The author also briefly examines the same through retired and disabled soldiers.

In Rashid’s own words, ‘the book examines the role of affect­—such as grief and its accompanying notions of death, dying and sacrifice as well as feelings of attachment, pride, and fear—in maintaining the military’s hegemony in Pakistan’ (p. 9). The study is based on fieldwork conducted in five villages in the Chakwal district of Punjab over a period of thirteen months where the author interviewed more than one hundred people.

The author begins the book by examining the Youm-e-Shuhada (Martyrs’ Memorial) and Youm-e-Difah (Defence Day) ceremonies, described as ‘spectacles of mourning’ (p. 23) that define the narrative and valorise military service. The story proceeds by comparing the narrative of Chakwal as the ‘land of the valiant’, a name the district has earned through its martial tradition since colonial times, versus its location in the Salt Range of Northern Punjab that lends it to an economic dependency on the armed forces for providing the main source of employment. The district is located between the valleys of Indus and Jhelum Rivers and its terrain is partly covered with scrub forest, featuring plains interrupted by dry rock. Approx. 96 per cent of agricultural demand for water is met by rainwater, which naturally leads to ‘gurbat’ (poverty) and ‘bhukh’ (hunger) amongst the inhabitants. It is from this economic deprivation that the author questions the authenticity of the ‘martial tradition’ narrative.

The author begins with the process of military training, where the bonds of kinship are broken to develop affective relationships with fellow soldiers, who signify their new family, and group leaders who stand in for father figures (p. 97). The affection thus sculpted by love and loyalty for the regiment and determination to uphold its honour prepares them to kill or die in combat. It highlights the depersonalisation that soldiers experience along with a sense of emotional distancing, a silencing from others who can no longer understand or relate to what soldiering is about (p. 106). The story also highlights how the military commands the right to ask you to die or kill in its name as a response of love, loyalty, and attachment of familial connections reimagined according to the concerns of the state (p. 207).

Rashid talks of the families of the dead soldiers gripped with grief, guilt, and regret who, yet, have to put on the mask of a social reality scripted with the themes of ‘pride in the act of sacrifice for the motherland and a belief in eternal life’ in order to make sense of the death of their loved ones. They must also accept the money and benefits offered because, after all, it was for material needs that the tribute to the nation was risked in the first place (p. 138). It explores the mechanisms through which a violent and preventable death is transformed into a necessary, honourable, and meaningful sacrifice (p. 149).

One chapter, in particular, brings out the hollowness of this narrative. Describing the disabled soldiers as ‘the bodies left behind’, Rashid argues that although in reality the maiming is socially induced as a result of modern war and armed conflict, it is managed by the military within some perfunctory and feeble attempts at promoting narratives of empowerment, pride in resilience, and sacrifice for the nation (p. 169). The author argues that the military’s ability to depict service and sacrifice as noble and draw foot soldiers from society will be sustained as long as ‘war’ is imagined to be glorious, and the dead to be heroes; whereas in reality, it is merely a viable source of ‘pakki naukri’ (permanent employment) (p. 217).

The author has articulated militarism and its effect accurately in the context of the Pakistan Army. It is a must-read for all, especially those who once believed in the narrative of militarism and the sanctity of military deaths but were confused when the layers of this social construct began to peel off. While Rashid provides a new humbling and soothing perspective on this issue, the one place the book falls short is in providing definitive answers or an equally acceptable alternative belief system.

Despite being a case study on the Pakistan Army, which has played a dominant role in state formation over the years, the arguments made here are applicable to the phenomenon of militarism across the globe. Hardly any society collectively calls its military deaths avoidable or unnecessary.

When viewed through Charles Tilly’s famous cyclic aphorism ‘war made state, and the state made war’ the comparison of narratives highlighted in the book holds firm within the context of ‘state makes war’. However, as this axiom shows that war is inevitable and ultimately perpetuated through the imperfection of human thoughts, whether the same arguments still hold when the ‘war makes state’ and the state merely takes advantages or is victim of its inevitability, remains debatable.

Kamaldeep Singh Sandhu is a PhD Candidate in the Defence Studies Department at King’s College London. His research interests include South Asian security, military culture, and defence diplomacy. An alumnus of National Defence Academy, Pune, Army War College, Mhow and The Royal Military Academy Sandhurst, he has served as an Officer with the Indian army’s Parachute Regiment for ten years and currently serves as an Officer in the Reserve Army, UK. You can find him on Twitter at kamal_sandhu78.

Book Review: ‘Blinking Red: Crisis and Compromise in American Intelligence after 9/11’

Reviewed by Ioana Ilie

 

Michael Allen, Blinking Red: Crisis and Compromise in American Intelligence after 9/11. USA, University of Nebraska Press, Potomac Books, Inc., 2013. ISBN: 978-1-61234-823-0. Pp. 280. Paperback. £13.99.

 

Michael Allen’s book Blinking Red attempts to be the authoritative legislative history of the U.S. Intelligence Reform and Terrorism Prevention Act (IRTPA) of 2004. Following the shock of the 9/11 attacks and the subsequent public demand to ‘do something’, a reorganisation of the intelligence community was overdue. Having been considered, debated, and researched for a long time beforehand, a reform was finally in the works. The reform resulted in the creation of two institutions – the National Intelligence Director (DNI) and the National Counterterrorism Center (NCTC). Blinking Red is an account of the legislative process surrounding IRTPA while also depicting the great sense of urgency to make the U.S. safer post-9/11, that was bestowed upon the U.S. government. More striking, perhaps, is Allen’s focus on the personalities and interpersonal relationships that shaped this bill. Individuals such as Scott Palmer (the House Speaker’s chief of staff), for example, who made significant efforts to revive the legislation even after the 2004 re-election because he truly believed in it and its importance. Or, then Director of Central Intelligence, George Tenet who made the position he held more powerful due to his charismatic personality. The book also gives the reader a real taste of the internal and external pressures under which policymakers had to work. Pressures from the President, especially before the re-election campaign, and from groups such as The 9/11 Families for a Secure America are just a couple of the many examples put forward in Blinking Red.

Allen’s position as the legislative affairs officer for the Homeland Security Council in the White House gave him access to many high-level officials and meetings. The book brims with information, that Allan either acquired himself as an eyewitness; or through interviews. In this context Blinking Red is an invaluable resource for students of government and intelligence studies, as the reader develops a good understanding of the working relationship between the legislative and executive branches of government. The book is also very readable despite its handling of complex legislative procedures and the many actors involved. Chapters like ‘Dirty Bombs’ are true page-turners due to their vivid description of political intrigue.

The 9/11 Commission Report was put together by the 9/11 Commission, formally known as the National Commission on Terrorist Attacks Upon the United States, which comprised of ten members, five Republicans and five Democrats. While Allen does not address this point specifically in his book, the even split between Democrats and Republicans is an important display of unity and compromise at a time of great partisan division. It can perhaps also be interpreted as an attempt at objective reporting on a divisive and controversial topic. Its main recommendations, put forward in the Executive Summary, fall into two categories – ‘what to do’ and ‘how to do it’. The ‘what’ can be summarised as a strategy, one that aims to match the means to the ends. The Commissioners proposed a three-pronged approach: ‘attack terrorists and their organizations, prevent the continued growth of Islamic terrorism, and protect against and prepare for terrorist attacks.’ In terms of ‘how’, the report calls for a better organised government and the need ‘to build unity of effort across the U.S. government.’ The Commissioners gave five suggestions towards achieving that. The first, to bridge the foreign-domestic divide by establishing a NCTC. The second, to work towards ‘unifying the intelligence community’ under a DNI. The third, to create a ‘network-based information sharing system’ in order to improve the inter-agency counterterrorism effort. The fourth, to spare no effort in ‘unifying and strengthening congressional oversight’. Finally, the fifth, to ensure the ‘strengthening the FBI and homeland defenders.’[1]

However, theory did not translate into practice, as Allen clearly argues towards the end of the book. What ended up being implemented was rather disappointing for many who expected a reform of the intelligence community. Instead of having a DNI who could easily and quickly move money and people across the intelligence community in order to meet the new threats of the post-Cold War world, the DNI was given a vague job description and limited powers. In fact, Allen gives an illuminating account of how differently officials – from the President, to the Senate, and the DNIs themselves – saw the job of the DNI.

The law gave the DNI some authority over budget and personnel but not enough to be the unifying leader of the intelligence community. Indeed, one cannot help but wonder how effective an intelligence director can be without being involved on a strategic and operational level. Allan argues, that in the end, the DNI is only as strong as the President allows him or her to be, a situation which does not inspire continuity or stability. While President Bush believed in a strong DNI, President Obama was not sold on the idea and was against the strengthening of the DNI role. Ever-hostile towards the intelligence community, President Trump also doubts the need for a DNI.[2]

At the centre of the book lies the discussion about the DNI, what he or she should be able to do and how. The reader gets real insight into many different opinions and demands that needed to be considered and managed when formulating the bill. Chapters such as ‘The Devil in the Details’ and ‘Attackers’ describe the difficult task of reaching a compromise, and the clash of ideas between three main groups: the group that was interested in a strong DNI, which was mainly the White House; the group that was interested in strengthening the Director of Central Intelligence (DCI) instead, opinion voiced by the CIA and many of its former DCIs; and finally a third group, which was not interested in creating either a DNI position or a NCTC. This was the view of the Department of Defence, as well as Rumsfeld’s, arguing that such a drastic reform would only hurt the military in the field in the middle of two raging wars. Such big differences settled in a short amount of time (about four months from the time The 9/11 Commission Report was published until IRTPA was passed) resulted in a weak law. In order to get enough votes and to please all conflicting sides, the language of the bill was left intentionally vague.

‘Americans should not settle for incremental, ad hoc adjustments to a system created a generation ago for a world that no longer exists’[3], warned the Commissioners. However, four months later the U.S. settled exactly for that.

 

Ioana Ilie is a recent War Studies and History graduate from King’s College London. She is passionate about Anglo-American foreign policy and grand strategy as well as geopolitics and intellectual history.You can follow her on Twitter @ioana_a_ilie

Notes:

[1] National Commission on Terrorist Attacks upon the United States. The 9/11 Commission Report. Executive Summary. [Washington, DC] :[National Commission on Terrorist Attacks upon the United States], 2004.

[2] NPR, http://www.npr.org/sections/parallels/2017/02/16/515590646/wheres-the-director-of-national-intelligence. Accessed 30th of October 2017.

[3] National Commission on Terrorist Attacks upon the United States. The 9/11 Commission Report. Executive Summary. [Washington, DC] :[National Commission on Terrorist Attacks upon the United States], 2004.

Image Source

Banner: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Aerial_view_of_the_Pentagon_during_rescue_operations_post-September_11_attack.JPEG

 

Bibliography:

National Commission on Terrorist Attacks upon the United States. The 9/11 Commission Report. Executive Summary. [Washington, DC] :[National Commission on Terrorist Attacks upon the United States], 2004.

NPR, http://www.npr.org/sections/parallels/2017/02/16/515590646/wheres-the-director-of-national-intelligence. Accessed 30th of October 2017.

 

 

Book Review: “What Went Wrong in Afghanistan?”

Reviewed by: Millie Radovic

Gurcan, Metin. What Went Wrong in Afghanistan?: Understanding Counter-Insurgency Efforts in Tribalized Rural and Muslim Environments. Helion and Company, 2016. ISBN: 978-1-911096-00-9.

 

The term ‘Counter-Insurgency’, also known as COIN, has in the post-9/11 era become synonymous with Afghanistan. Nearing its sixteenth year, the NATO-led campaign to defeat the Taliban insurgency that followed the US invasion in 2001, is not short of critical literature. In Metin Gurcan’s What Went Wrong in Afghanistan?, the author tackles several questions: Why have so many efforts in Afghanistan been futile? Why has this been such a persistent conflict? And, what are we missing in our current understandings of the Afghan state and society? His answer to all these is Tribal Rural and Muslim Environments (TRMEs) and it is their characteristics that he goes on to analyze.

As a seasoned veteran in the practice and theory of Western military interventions, Gurcan uses his personal experiences of growing up in a rural Muslim environment in Turkey and working in Afghanistan as a military consultant between 2000 and 2008 to introduce a new perspective on COIN strategy – the primacy of tribalism. In other words, he argues that TRMEs are the defining feature of Afghanistan[1]. While conventional literature deems these ‘ungoverned’[2], he contends that they very much are regulated by their own norms, rules, and structures. In the first chapter, Gurcan defines TRMEs and outlines their key characteristics in relation to the state, family, Islam, justice, and violence. Thereafter, he uses this framework to examine modern Afghan history, and finally outlines the implications that TRMEs have on the nature and success rates of NATO-led COIN efforts in Afghanistan.

Gurcan’s key contribution to the current modern literature on Afghanistan is his emphasis on the importance of tribal order, a unique prevalence of Islam, and a rural landscape. Tribal order, as he defines it, “is a particular form of socio-economic and political control that completely rejects other belief systems introduced by the outsiders into the traditional way of life.”[3] He highlights that tribal orders are not resistant to adaptation and change, but that any transformation must be on their terms and that the very core tenets of their modus operandi do not change. Therefore, “any political solution disregarding the fact of territorial identities of the tribes or violating them may be confronted by strong reactions from the tribes.”[4] Gurcan’s well-defined framework of the Afghan tribal order and its relationship with society lends a perspective into Afghan society that is often undermined or ignored in COIN literature, and implies that our failures in COIN have been fashioned by our misunderstanding of the local environment. For example, Gurcan observes that state borders are meaningless for tribes[5], how in TRMEs “authority not reasoning comes to the conclusion about correct action”[6], yet that also “battles between tribes are never fought so fierce that one side attempts to annihilate the other completely”[7]. His observations challenge common value-based perceptions of what the social structure of a state ought to be.

Another highlight of Gurcan’s book is his poignant use of anecdotes and hypotheticals. He immerses the reader in the milieu of a local Afghan in the middle of the insurgency. His continual use of hypotheticals to explain the mentality of tribal leaders, or to explain the dilemmas of ISAF commanders, and show the importance of interpreters offer a candid picture of the Afghan environment.

The niche theme suggests that the target audience is not broad, but aims at a readership that has already in some way engaged with COIN and Afghanistan before. If this indeed is the case, many of components of the book are arguably redundant and unnecessary. For example, the second chapter spends much unnecessary time on outlining the geography, demography and modern history of Afghanistan. If an informed audience is assumed, then the section itself is excessive. It gathers commonly known facts into a chapter to conclude that these factors have had four commonly known impacts on rural Afghanistan. Such impacts are the removal of tribal structures from governance, the emergence of new networks of political Islamists under the Taliban’s flag, the development of violence as a ‘norm’ in settling socio-political and economic issues, and the destruction of traditional economic structures making room for warlordism.[8] Meanwhile, in the final chapter, Gurcan states that he will address ‘generally unknown’ issues of COIN strategies in Afghanistan. However, much of it reads like a compilation of existing work on counterinsurgency theories – those of David Galula, David Kilcullen, and John Nagl – together with contemporary literature on Afghanistan and the Taliban. However, Gurcan’s first-person insight into Afghan society makes this book authentic.

Finally, all of Gurcan’s arguments on how we have misunderstood Afghanistan are convincing, yet his angle of analysis is so narrow that he straps himself into a policymaking straightjacket. By stressing local level understanding as the sole most important component of COIN efforts, Gurcan avoids broader overarching factors. His understandings of corruption, even norms, and security and justice appear solely defined by his experience of Afghanistan. This eliminates any value-based judgment of the issues and – as he admits himself – setting this book up for a problem-structuring, but not problem-solving narrative. As such, in order to yield results, this book must be accompanied by multiple other readings on the issues he refers to and a thorough knowledge of the COIN campaign in Afghanistan. Nevertheless, with vast tactical implications, What Went Wrong in Afghanistan is an essential contribution to the literature on COIN in Afghanistan. It is yet another reminder that as books like Gurcan’s improve our understanding of Afghanistan, our efforts must begin capitalizing on them.

Millie Radovic (@millie_radovic) is a final-year British student reading for a BA in International Relations at the Department of War Studies in King’s College London.

Notes:

[1] Gurcan, Metin. What Went Wrong in Afghanistan?: Understanding Counter-insurgency Efforts in Tribalized Rural and Muslim Environments. Helion and Company, 2016. p.15

[2] See Mills, Greg. “Calibrating Ink Spots: Filling Afghanistan’s Ungoverned Spaces.” The RUSI Journal 151, no. 4 (2006): 16-25; Rabasa, Angel. Ungoverned territories: Understanding and reducing terrorism risks. Vol. 561. Rand Corporation, 2007; Schetter, Conrad. “7 Ungoverned territories.” The Spatial Dimension of Risk: How Geography Shapes the Emergence of Riskscapes 27 (2012): 97.

[3] Metin, What Went Wrong in Afghanistan? (2016). p.33

[4] Ibid. p.35

[5] Ibid. p.52

[6] Ibid. p.39

[7] Ibid. p.50

[8] Ibid. p.91

Feature image credit: Tomas Munita for The New York Times at http://www.nytimes.com/2007/10/05/world/asia/05afghan.html