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Feature – Et Tu Cod? Reliving Fishy Fantasies

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by William Reynolds

 

“Everybody would just love to see one of them sunk…that’s what we’re here for! Sink the bloody things!”

– Royal Navy crewman interviewed on HMS Bacchante (1975)

“Gunboats? Threatening the civilian citizens of NATO ally over fish? Have you lost your fucking minds?”

–Victoria Freeman, Twitter (2020)

Introduction

Although separated by 45 years and vast differences of opinion, the two statements above accurately reflect what can only be described as a clash of competing fantasies currently taking place on social media. A recent article in The Guardian highlighting the readied usage of four Royal Navy vessels to patrol British waters in the case of a No Deal between the European Union (EU) and United Kingdom (UK), and its comparison to the Cod Wars, has proliferated commentary on the case of fish and how best to manage them.

Immediately after The Guardian’s publication, a number of well-respected academics and practitioners waded into the debate. Sir Lawrence Freedman, also alluding to the comparison made, reminded us that Britain ‘lost’ all three of the Anglo-Icelandic fishery disputes, coined the Cod Wars (1958-61, 1972-73 and 1975-76). Elisabeth Braw couched the news in deterrence terms, referring to it sounding “like a parody”. By contrast, the various jingoistic calls for force through attacking retweets of MP and Chair of the Defence Select Committee Tobias Ellwood’s exasperation very much mirrored Brexit MEP Robert Rowland, who in 2019 called for any foreign fishing vessel in British waters be “given the same treatment as the Belgrano!”

In reality, and perhaps a consequence of the lack of nuance on social media, both ‘sides’ support arguments that can only be described as simplistic in the extreme. First, and foremost, the Cod Wars are not an appropriate comparison for the current situation around UK waters, and The Guardian article has much blame to shoulder for alluding to the connection. Whilst the operational, day-to-day activities that took place during the successive ‘wars’ may offer some insights into the UK-EU tensions, strategically both cases are in very different places. Secondly, the narrative regarding the ship deployments itself is false. Rather than being seen as deployment in response to the tensions, the Fishery Protection Squadron should instead be seen for what it really is, an expansion of already conducted duties by default.

The Cod Wars – A ‘storm in a teacup’

As seen from the commentary on social media, the Cod Wars have clearly captured the imagination of the British public in lieu of raising tensions vis-à-vis fishing around the UK and a Brexit Deal. It is somewhat fitting that the term ‘Cod Wars’ was in fact coined by Fleet Street in September 1958. As yet again, it is the British media who is raising its ghost for today’s issue. However, the comparison is deeply flawed. If one had to identify the core elements of the three Cod Wars, themselves individually distinct in character, it would be the asymmetry of commitment between Iceland and Britain and the political environment, both international and domestic, that these conflicts occupied.

Asymmetry of commitment played a huge role in the dynamics and eventual outcomes of the three Cod Wars. The already struggling British trawling industries of the mid-1950s, and by extension the communities in Hull and Grimsby, were heavily reliant on the fisheries within fifty nautical miles of Iceland, with such an extension reported in 1971 by the Under-Secretary to the FCO Anthony Royle as likely to lead to a decrease in catches by forty to sixty per cent. Whilst the First Cod War’s (1958-61) extension to twelve nautical miles from four was worrying, it was the Second War (1972-3), and the fifty mile extension, which really started to hurt the industry. By the Third Cod War (1975-76) it was understood that a 200 nautical mile limit, which was the planned final extension by Iceland, would kill the industry altogether.

HMS Mermaid ‘Riding Off’ ICGV Baldur during the Third Cod War (Image Credit: Caledonian Maritime Research Trust)

However, the British fishing community as a whole only contributed to around one per cent of the entire British economy during the period of the Cod Wars. By 1956 the trawling industry was no longer profitable to the British state, Britain did not fear damage to the British economy as a whole, rather localised mass unemployment, which was still a fair concern. Thus, preventing the communities from automatically going on social welfare benefits (the Dole) by default was the key objective of the British state. In contrast, the fishing industry was viewed as a real existential issue for the Icelanders. Around 89% of Iceland’s export involved the industry, and there were very real fears that overfishing would see this collapse. Nor was this fear unfounded, when herring suddenly disappeared from Icelandic waters in the mid-60s, it led to a drop in real per capita income by sixteen per cent. It was with no embellishment that a Panorama team based in Iceland (1972) stated: “Icelanders are haunted by the fear that one day the fish will no longer be there.”

This asymmetry of commitment permeated all the actions taken by both states, particularly in domestic politics. In essence, whilst the British government was more beholden to its fishing communities, rather than the wider public, the Icelandic government’s legitimacy in the eyes of the entire public was founded on extending its limits and holding them.

The Icelandic population, around 200,000 in 1956 (and smaller than the 300,000 of Hull) supported five viable political parties and five newspapers. Thus, when the Cod Wars ignited, this politically engaged population was like the fuel for a lighted match. Quite quickly, nationalist rhetoric portrayed Iceland as the plucky ex-colony fighting the colonialist power, with each of the conflicts later compared to the Battle of Britain in terms of their cultural significance vis-à-vis a ‘national struggle’. This nationalist sentiment quickly spiralled out of control for Iceland’s Politicians. In 1958, when the British side reached a compromise in Paris, the Icelandic Foreign Minister stated [N]o Icelander will even consider a further discussion about settlement…”. This led the Icelandic representative at Paris to grumble that “everyone in Reykjavik has gone stark staring mad.” Indeed, such domestic pressures would be prevalent throughout each conflict. In 1975 Prime Minister Hallgrimsson felt compelled to deploy the Coast Guard due to domestic ire, despite favouring a negotiated settlement.

Heath and the stubborn cod, from Stuttgater Zeitung, reprinted in Þjóðviljinn newspaper, 30 May 1973 (Image Credit: Herring and Class Struggle)

By contrast, while the British government was often compelled by the British trawling community to deploy ships, the government ultimately held on to control. This was highlighted by the three successive de-escalatory measures, one for each conflict, which, in essence, capitulated to the Icelanders. As the conflicts escalated, successive British governments ultimately decided the fight was not worth the cost, both politically and economically. After all, the wider British public was rather apathetic to each conflict, and economically, that 1%, was a drop in the water. Perhaps the best example of the British government’s ultimate control, despite domestic pressure, was that Tony Crossland, the Foreign Secretary who hashed out the final Cod War agreement, was the MP for Grimsby!

Send in the gunboats! False comparisons invoked by Brexit

Therefore, the driving forces behind the three Cod Wars hold little water when it comes to comparisons with the fishing disputes between Britain and the EU. Without even touching upon the wider political factors such as the North Atlantic Treaty Organisation (NATO) and the Cold War, it is clear that Britain and Iceland were playing with cards, and for a prize, of considerable difference to Britain and the EU in the modern day. Basically, the actors, the geography, the time and space, are all different today.

Chiefly, Britain is now interacting with waters that, even as a member of the EU, are legally its responsibility. Concepts of 12, 24 and 200 nautical miles, as enshrined under the United Nations Convention for the Law Of the Sea (UNCLOS), were still under intellectual development during the three Cod Wars. Today, they are foundational. This change automatically places the UK on a more even footing when it comes to levels of commitment present in order to achieve a favourable UK outcome. Whereas the conflicts with Iceland were ultimately some 1,600km away from London, these waters are figuratively, and legally, Britain’s ‘back yard’. As a result, Boris Johnson’s government has to consider a playing field, with its advantages and disadvantages, which are radically different to his predecessors of Harold Macmillan’s, Harold Wilson’s, Ted Heath’s and Jim Callaghan’s, former PMs at the time of the Cod Wars. One could even suggest the British playing field looks far closer to what Iceland would have seen back in the day. This is not to say the various European states do not have equal concerns, after all, the waters are equally important to them. But in this case, the Britain-Iceland asymmetry in concerns and distance is no longer present, making the comparison poor.

Secondly, whereas the Cod Wars required a ‘deployment’ of naval vessels to far waters, what follows after 1 January 2021 if no deal occurs would, in fact, be an extension by de facto. River class naval vessels who, alongside their forbearers, have been doing Fishery Protection since 1586, and includes medical and technical support for fishermen, search and rescue and liaison with other constabulary forces. Fundamentally, the four River-1 class patrol vessels are doing the exact same job as the Japanese Coast Guard, French Maritime Gendarme and Icelandic Coast Guard, with similar vessels in terms of weaponry and tonnage to boot! British vessels may be naval, but that is a quirk of history rather than a conscious decision.

Collection of similar Patrol Vessels, from left clockwise: HMS Tyne, FS Champlain, ICGV Thor and the JCG Yonakuni (Image Credits: Seaforces.org, NavyRecognition.com, Baird Maritime and J-Hangar.com)

Thus, it is wrong to say that these vessels are being deployed, when in actuality they are already present. Rather, if the waters revert to purely UK jurisdiction after the end of January 2021, their existing commitments will simply expand by de facto. This is not an aggressive deployment of gunboats, ready to ride off French Gendarme and ‘torpedo’ French fishing vessels, it is an expansion of commitment in line with Britain’s responsibility to conduct effective Maritime Governance, including not just Law and Order, but combatting pollution and search & rescue operations. For the UK to not do this would be an abdication of its responsibilities under UNCLOS.

Conclusion

Whilst there are many more factors and arguments that could be drawn upon to highlight the false mindset of comparing the current disputes with the Cod War, it is clear that the core elements of the three Cod Wars, asymmetry of commitment and political environment, are rather different to that of today.

Moreover, not only are the elements different, but the more tangible structural causes are equally different in flavour. This is not a deployment to waters over 1600km away, nor is the UK legally in a more nebulous environment. Furthermore, no deployments are necessitated, as the Fishery Protection Squadron has been in place in these waters since at least the 16th century.

This may all seem pedantic, but as highlighted by the Icelanders, rhetoric matters. If framing it in terms of the Cod Wars, we risk not only underestimating Britain’s natural position but additionally polarising the British population further, as both more nationalist ‘Brexiteer’ sentiments and false fantasies from the opposing, predominantly ‘Remainer’ sider entrench further and clash in increasingly heated discussions. If one lesson can be learned from all this, it is perhaps a more nuanced understanding of the historical case studies that are being used. Just as Brexit is not a rehash of the Second World War, the fishing dispute is not a repeat of the Cod one.

William Reynolds is a Leverhulme Scholar Doctoral Candidate with the Centre of Grand Strategy and Laughton Unit in the War Studies Department, Kings College London. Graduating with a Bachelor’s in War Studies, and Master’s in National Security Studies from the same department, William’s interests have evolved from military history to maritime security and grand strategy, particularly regarding Britain and the Indo-Pacific area. William’s research focuses on British and Japanese interactions in the grand strategic space post-1945. Over the years, William has conducted work with the King’s Japan Programme regarding maritime security in the Indo-Pacific region, with a particular focus on the maritime arena as a domain for interstate interactions. This has included United States Navy carrier and amphibious group deployments, Royal Navy deployments in the region from 1998 and, more recently, Chinese and Japanese Coast Guard procurement, history and interactions in the East China Sea. Outside of University, he has worked as a research analyst for an IED threat mitigation company, with a focus on Europe and Syria. You can follow him on Twitter @war_student.

International Naval Bases in the Horn of Africa: A New Scramble?

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By: James A. Fargher

Confirmed and Suspected International Military Bases. Map created by James A. Fargher

A slow-motion struggle for control over the waters of the Red Sea and the Gulf of Aden is quietly being waged in the Horn of Africa. Global and regional powers alike are jostling for position along one of the world’s most important trade routes. The retreat of Great Britain and France, the traditional European maritime powers, from the area and the determination of Iran and China to increase their influence in the region has turned the Horn into one of the latest theatres for naval competition. Much like their 19th-century colonial forebears, these new maritime powers have helped to spark something of a scramble for African ports.

The Red Sea and the Gulf of Aden have been used as a trade route between East and West since ancient times, although until the modern era it was impossible to complete the journey uninterrupted. The opening of the Suez Canal in 1869, however, revolutionised the pattern of world trade by permitting ships to transit directly between the two seas.

Almost as soon as the canal opened, the world’s maritime powers sought to dominate this new oceanic highway. Egypt, followed shortly afterwards by Britain, France, and Italy rushed to lay claim to the handful of deep-water ports in the region. [1] The acquisition of a harbour by one power had to be matched by the others, lest they fall behind in the race for strategic positions. Each power would then follow this up by laying claims over surrounding countryside to create buffer zones aimed at keeping rival naval bases at arm’s length. [2]

The cycle of territorial expansion was fuelled by mutual suspicion and jealousy and only ended in the late 1880s after the collapse of Egypt’s abortive colonial empire in Africa. The remaining three European powers agreed to establish a status quo by signing demarcation treaties delineating the borders between their possessions.[3] These borders have remained in effect, forming the modern boundaries of Eritrea, Djibouti, Somalia, and its unrecognised breakaway province Somaliland.

After the Second World War, the Europeans began withdrawing their naval forces from the area and relinquishing their colonial possessions. Today, only France has maintained a presence in the region. Even after the colony of Djibouti achieved independence in 1977, the French kept a military garrison outside the capital – the last European outpost in north-eastern Africa.

During the Cold War, the new world powers attempted to fill the vacuum left behind by the Europeans. The Americans maintained a small communications facility in Asmara, then an Ethiopian port, until the pro-Western monarchy was overthrown in 1974 by the Soviet-backed Derg coup.[4] The USSR subsequently established a small base near the Ethiopian coast, consisting of three docks and a storage facility. The base was abandoned following the dissolution of the USSR.

Following the 11 September attacks, the US returned to the region and built a Naval Expeditionary Base, Camp Lemonnier, in Djibouti in 2003. The camp was intended to act as the local headquarters for counter-terrorism operations in the Horn of Africa and Yemen as part of Washington’s War on Terror. Indeed, Camp Lemonnier continues to be used primarily to conduct anti-terrorist airstrikes with its squadrons of UAVs and F-15 fighters.[5] Nevertheless, the base has also become a key position for projecting US power along the southern entrance to the Red Sea.

Other maritime powers have followed suit. In 2011, the Japanese Ministry of Defence confirmed that it was establishing a base for Japanese Maritime Self-Defence Forces (JMSDF) in Djibouti. Ostensibly, the base was built to allow JMSDF units to provide assistance to Japanese nationals in Africa during emergencies, such as evacuating citizens trapped in South Sudan in 2016. However, Japan has also deployed Kawasaki P-1 patrol aircraft to the base – aircraft which are designed for intelligence-gathering and conducting anti-submarine warfare (ASW).

China too, as part of its strategic expansion, began constructing a naval base in Djibouti in 2016. The so-called ‘logistics support base’ is part of China’s ‘String of Pearls’ initiative, which aims to secure ports in the Middle East and Africa which will guarantee Chinese access to raw materials. This Chinese naval base is also undoubtedly part of a wider Chinese strategy to expand its power-projection capability and influence in key areas. In response to the Chinese, Japan announced in 2016 that it would be expanding its own base to accommodate C-130 transport aircraft and armoured vehicles.

Moreover, Iran has attempted to establish a permanent naval presence in the Red Sea and the Gulf of Aden to increase its own regional influence. For the first time in its history, the Islamic Republic deployed a small flotilla of surface ships to the Red Sea in 2011.[6] Iranian submarines have since been sent on patrols through the sea, and Iran even formed a Gulf of Aden anti-piracy task force in 2014.[7]

Iran is also suspected of using Red Sea ports to smuggle weapons to Hamas in Gaza via Africa.[8] These rumours, along with overt Iranian attempts to support the Houthi insurgency in the ongoing Yemeni civil war, have caused Saudi Arabia and the United Arab Emirates (UAE) to look for bases in the region to counteract Iran’s growing influence. As of January 2017, Saudi Arabia has finalised an agreement to construct a military base in Djibouti. Satellite imagery acquired by defence analysis firm IHS Jane’s indicates that the UAE, on its part, is constructing a large naval base in Assab, one of Eritrea’s main seaports, complete with a combat air wing. In February 2017, the UAE also secured a lease agreement with Somaliland to construct a military base in the port city of Berbera, once the protectorate capital of British Somaliland.

The geography of the Red Sea and Gulf of Aden region means that it will remain a strategic chokepoint as long as trade continues to flow between Europe and Asia. As rising global and regional powers expand their blue-water capabilities, they have triggered a race for naval bases in the Red Sea region. In this way, the modern struggle for ports mimics the scramble for African territory held amongst the European powers in the late 19th century.

James A. Fargher is a doctoral candidate in the Laughton Naval History Unit in the Department of War Studies, specialising in British naval and Imperial history. 

Notes:

[1] Richard Hill, Egypt in the Sudan, 1820-1881 (Oxford University Press, 1959), 141.

[2] Diary Entry, 20 January 1885, The Gladstone Diaries, 275.

[3] ‘Agreement between the British and French Governments with regard to the Gulf of Tajourra and the Somali Coast,’ in Ian Brownlie and Ian Burns, African Boundaries: A Legal and Diplomatic Encyclopaedia (London: C. Hurst & Co. Publishers, 1979), 768.

[4] Ibid.

[5] Shashank Bengali, ‘US military investing heavily in Africa,’ Los Angeles Times, 20 October 2013.

[6] ‘Israel anger at Ian Suez Canal warship move,’ BBC News, 16 February 2011.

[7] ‘Iran Navy counters pirate attack against oil tanker in Red Sea,’ BBC News, 4 Mach 2014.

[8] Stratfor, ‘Eastern Africa: A Battleground for Israel and Iran,’ Report, 29 October 2012.

Feature image credit: http://www.africom.mil/media-room/article/25177/cutlass-express-15-us-djibouti-building-partnerships

Attacks on undersea cables: a Victorian legacy

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By: James Fargher

ETC Cables
The Eastern Telegraph Company’s undersea network, 1901. Source Wikimedia

In October 2015 The New York Times reported on heightened US concerns about Russian submarines near undersea internet cables.[1] Citing unnamed intelligence officials and diplomats, the article highlighted growing fears that Russian submarines could sever the cables which pipe 95% of the internet around the world.[2] The piece prompted a flurry of interest in this possible new threat to global electronic traffic,[3] [4] but attacks on undersea communications cables have actually been a common tactic used in naval warfare since the 19th century. Beginning with the invention of the telegraph, networks of undersea wires have been used by the global powers as nervous systems to link together far-flung military forces, territories, and business interests. Naval attacks on these undersea cables have proven to be a successful tactic in previous conflicts.

Invented by Samuel Morse in 1837, the electrical telegraph was the Victorian equivalent of the Internet. Developed during a time when the maximum speed of information flow was as fast as a galloping horse or the speed of a sailing ship, the telegraph revolutionised the world with the ability to communicate more-or-less instantly. By the 1840s webs of telegraph wires had been laid across Europe and North America,[5] but they were vulnerable to being tapped or severed by armies during wartime. The only real way of preventing attacks on the wires was to lay them as cables along the bottom of the sea, coated with gutta-percha, a tough plastic substance produced from Malaysian trees, to insulate the copper wires from saltwater. [6]

Undersea cables could be intercepted by enemy ships, however, as was demonstrated in 1850 when hours after the first cable was laid across the English Channel, it was inadvertently snapped by an unsuspecting fisherman.[7] Armouring the cables with iron or steel could protect them from sea creatures, but ships’ crews could still haul up the lines and saw through them, potentially cutting off whole territories from the world telegraph network. This threat became increasingly serious throughout the 19th century, with the growing realisation that the Powers were becoming dependent on telegraph wires to project global power.[8] Britain in particular relied on a network of undersea cables to connect London with its sprawling Empire and to coordinate the fleet which was deployed in a series of naval stations around the world.[9] So seriously did the British take the security of the cable network, that Whitehall developed a near-obsession with developing an ‘all-red’ routes of telegraph wires which only touched the seabed or British territory so that they could not be interrupted by the enemy in wartime.[10]

Although the cables remained relatively safe in deep water, such as the mid-Atlantic, they were vulnerable in shallow waters, such as the English Channel, the Mediterranean, and the North Sea where they could be dredged with grappling hooks.[11] The imperial Russian Black Sea fleet, for example, drew up plans to sever the cable running between Gibraltar and Alexandria during an international crisis with Britain over Afghanistan in 1885, which would have severed all electronic communication with India, South Africa, Singapore, and Australasia.[12] Cables were also exposed whenever they surfaced, either at their destinations, such as Porthcurno in Cornwall, or at the electronic booster stations needed to repeat the signals over long distances. These booster stations were often located in the naval bases that Britain established around the world, such as Aden, Simon’s Bay, and Gibraltar, but sometimes were located on undefended islands such as the Falklands.[13] Indeed, following the recommendations first made by the Carnarvon Commission in 1879, huge amounts of money were spent in fortifying the most important stations (Aden in particular), to defend the dockyards and communications nodes.[14]

One of the first instances in which undersea cables were actually attacked came during the 1879-1883 War of the Pacific between Chile and Bolivia and Peru. Chilean naval forces severed the main cable which connected Lima to San Francisco, effectively cutting off Peru from much of the world’s telecommunications and disrupting American and British media coverage of the war.[15] More worryingly for the British, during the 1898 Spanish-American War, the US Navy cut through several British-owned cables connecting Cuba with the international network, despite the fact that Britain remained neutral during the conflict and despite protests from London.[16]

The most well-known case of cable cutting, however, came in 1914, hours after Britain declared war on Germany.  Shortly after the midnight expiration of Britain’s ultimatum to Germany, CS Alert steamed out of Dover and out into the North Sea on 5 August. By morning, she had fished up and severed the five undersea telegraph cables connecting Germany with the outside world.[17] Cut off from her colonies and from neutrals outside of Europe, Germany was forced to rely instead on wireless transmissions to communicate with her naval and colonial forces stationed abroad, as well as with her diplomatic missions overseas. These transmissions were intercepted and decoded by the Admiralty in London,[18] which also dispatched cruisers to systematically knock out the German transmitter stations in Africa and the Pacific and the German squadrons attempting to attack British booster stations.[19] But the most significant achievement came in 1917, when the Admiralty intercepted the famous Zimmerman telegram sent wirelessly from Berlin to the German ambassador in Mexico, with instructions to persuade the Mexican government to declare war on the United States. The decoded message was presented to the Americans, and the Zimmerman telegram became one of key factors which pushed the US Congress to declare war on Germany in April 1917.

Cables were also regularly cut in the Second World War, although the submarine added a new dimension to cable warfare. As early as 1924, the Admiralty warned the government that submarines were capable of severing even the wires laid along the seabed.[20] Although Allied cables remained relatively safe from attack in the Atlantic during the war, British cables and repeater stations came under attack from the Imperial Japanese Navy in the Indian and Pacific oceans. The British, in turn, developed midget submarines capable of severing communications cables. XE4, for example, successfully cut the cable connecting Saigon with Hong Kong in July 1945.[21]

Since the Second World War, there have been no deliberate instances of navies cutting undersea communication cables, although cables have been tapped by submarines.[22] As attacks in the past have demonstrated, it is relatively easy for small craft to locate and destroy the undersea wires. Even today cables are routinely broken by natural forces and by accident, including an incident in February 2012 when a civilian ship dropped anchor in a restricted zone off Mombasa harbour, slicing through the fibre optic cable providing internet service to all of East Africa.[23] Although undersea cables have not been attacked since 1945, given the modern world’s reliance on undersea wires to carry electronic traffic around the world they could prove to be important strategic targets in future conflicts.

 

 

James A. Fargher is a doctoral candidate in the Laughton Naval History Unit in the Department of War Studies, specialising in British naval and Imperial history. See his previous article for Strife on the Origins of British Counterinsurgency Strikes.

 

 

 

Notes:

[1] David Sanger and Eric Schmitt, ‘Russian Ships Near Data Cables Are Too Close for U.S. Comfort,’ The New York Times, 25 October 2015. Web.

[2] Anthony Cuthbertson, ‘US fears Russian submarines cutting undersea internet cables,’ International Business Times, 26 October 2015. Web.

[3] Peter Cooney, ‘U.S. Concerned by Russian operations near undersea cables: NY Times,’ Reuters, 25 October 2015. Web.

[4] ‘Fears over Russian submarine and spy ship patrols near vital undersea internet cables,’ Daily Mail, 26 October 2015. Web.

[5] Daniel R. Headrick and Pascal Griset, ‘Submarine Telegraph Cables: Business and Politics, 1838-1939,’ The Business History Review 75: 3 (2001), 545.

[6] Paul Kennedy, ‘Imperial Cable Communications and Strategy, 1870-1914,’ The English Historical Review, 86: 341 (1971), 728.

[7] Headrick and Griset, ‘Submarine Telegraph Cables: Business and Politics, 1838-1939,’ 546.

[8] National Archives, Kew, FO 78/1785, Foreign Office Records: Turkey, Turkish & Red Sea Lighthouses, 1859-1863,’ P&O Company Secretary to Lord John Russell, letter, 8 September 1859.

[9] Daniel Headrick, The Tentacles of Progress: Technology Transfer in the Age of Imperialism, 1850-1940 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1988), 108.

[10] Archibald Spicer Hurd, ‘An All-British Cable System: Cables as Auxiliary Weapons of Imperial Defence,’ 1899 Foreign and Commonwealth Office Collection, http://www.jstor.org/stable/60231612.

[11] Kennedy, ‘Imperial Cable Communications and Strategy, 1870-1914,’ 732.

[12] Ibid.

[13] Archibald Spicer Hurd, ‘An All-British Cable System: Cables as Auxiliary Weapons of Imperial Defence,’ 1899 Foreign and Commonwealth Office Collection, http://www.jstor.org/stable/60231612.

[14] British Library, London, IOR/MSS Eur/D604/62, India Office Records, Letter from the Undersecretary of State for India to the Secretary of State for War, February 1884.

[15] John A. Britton, Cables, Crises, and the Press: The Geopolitics of the New Information System in the Americas, 1866-1903 (University of New Mexico Press, 2013), 72.

[16] Headrick and Griset, ‘Submarine Telegraph Cables: Business and Politics, 1838-1939,’ 565.

[17] Jonathan Reed Winkler, Nexus: Strategic Communications and American Security in World War I (Boston: Harvard University Press, 2009), 5.

[18] William Storey, The First World War: A Concise Global History (London: Rowman & Littlefield, 2014), 108.

[19] Phillip Pattee, ‘British Naval Strategy in the First Months of the Great War,’ Lecture, 1914: Global War & American Neutrality, National World War I Museum, Kansas City. Web.

[20] Daniel Headrick, The Invisible Weapon: Telecommunications and International Politics, 1851-1945 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1991), 245.

[21] Paul Akermann, Encyclopedia of British Submarines 1901-1955, (Penzance: Periscope Publishing, 2002), 459.

[22] Olga Khazan, ‘The Creepy, Long-Standing Practice of Undersea Cable Tapping,’ The Atlantic, 16 July 2013. Web.

[23] ‘Ship’s anchor slows down East African web connection,’ BBC News, 28 February 2012. Web.

Why Japan should put boots on the ground on the Senkaku Islands

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By Alex Calvo:

A Japanese surveillance plane flies over one of the disputed Senkaku Islands. 13 October, 2011. Photo: Chính Dang-Vu (published under fair use policy for intellectual non-commercial purposes)
A Japanese surveillance plane flies over one of the disputed Senkaku Islands. 13 October, 2011. Photo: Chính Dang-Vu (published under fair use policy for intellectual non-commercial purposes)

Halfway between Japan and Taiwan are the the Senkaku Islands. They are claimed by Beijing under the name Diaoyu and by Taipei with the label Diaoyutai. The islands are prime real estate from a strategic perspective. Despite rumblings to the contrary, Tokyo seems to be sticking to her policy not to deploy ground troops on these islands. This is usually portrayed as a goodwill gesture, an olive branch extended to China, showing how Japan is ready to negotiate in good faith and how she does not see a military solution as the only possible outcome of the territorial dispute over the islands between China and Taiwan. This is a view supported by the mainstream media and many observers.

But China is keeping the pressure on the islands, with constant incidents featuring coastguard (and other state) vessels and trawlers entering Japanese territorial waters around them. And there is not much evidence of any attempt by Beijing to negotiate in good faith. This is in contrast to the approach taken by Taipei, which has reached a fisheries agreement with Tokyo, a practical implementation of President Ma’s East China Sea Peace Initiative.

The policy question now on the table is: should Japan continue to refrain from permanently deploying land forces in these disputed islands? Or should Tokyo instead base ground troops there? While legitimate and considered arguments have been put forward to defend the continued lack of such a military presence, a comprehensive examination of the situation demands a look at both alternatives. The purpose of this short article is to explain and make the case for a permanent land deployment. In particular, the article deals with the impact on the situation of China’s increasing resort to its aerial assets.

When contemplating the different future scenarios involving the Senkaku Islands, we should bear in mind that in addition to conventional operations to invade them, Beijing may land troops on one or more islands, without opening fire on Japanese forces, in order to prompt negotiations on her terms and dare Tokyo to be the first to resort to lethal force to recover them. This could take the form of an airborne landing, against which Japanese Coast Guard units and the rules of engagement (ROEs) under which they operate are not prepared. Helicopters could be deployed conventionally, or clandestinely from hangars in converted trawlers. An incident in December 2012, involving the violation of Japan’s airspace, showed that the reaction time may well not be enough to prevent such an assault. “Chinese aircraft had already left the islands’ territorial air space by the time the Japanese fighters arrived on the scene”.

Furthermore, China may resort to “civilian activists”, who have already taken part in past incidents, including a balloon flight last year, or a mixture of special forces and unarmed civilians. To date the latter have passively accepted arrest and deportation, but they could be employed in other ways.

Photo: Wikipedia
Photo: Wikipedia

For years, and in particular over the last decade, Chinese coastguard vessels, with the cooperation of trawlers, have been provoking their Japanese counterparts, repeatedly violating Tokyo’s territorial waters. In response, Japanese vessels have sought to block the intruders, leading to some ramming incidents. While this has, to a large extent, become part of the East Asian landscape, also occurring in the South China Sea, the advent of a third dimension – of air assets seeking to probe Japanese defences – could be destabilizing. There is a key difference between ships and aircraft: while one can physically block boats without sinking them, using other vessels, it is much more difficult to prevent the passage of an aircraft without downing it. Tools such as water cannons do not work against planes. Thus, the current ROEs are inadequate to prevent an airborne assault on the Senkaku Islands.

The problem goes beyond Japanese ROEs, and may potentially impact Tokyo’s alliance with Washington DC. The United States is treaty-bound to help Japan defend herself, not attack another country. After some doubts, it is now explicitly accepted that the Treaty covers the Senkaku islands. But in practice the bloodless occupation by Chinese forces of one or more islands could stretch the US-Japanese alliance, making it more difficult for Washington to support Tokyo. Washington is bound to help Tokyo defend territories “administered” by Japan, would a lost island still fall under this category? How long does it take for defensive operations to become offensive?

Although the US military is helping Japan develop her own amphibious capabilities, Washington has sometimes appeared reluctant to conduct drills featuring the retaking of an island, seen as too provocative in Beijing’s eyes. Perhaps it is in recognition of this that, in order to lessen the scope for miscalculation, the recently-released Guidelines for US-Japan Defense Cooperation explicitly state that “if the need arises, the Self-Defense Forces will conduct operations to retake an island”.

If the only possible scenario was a conventional seaborne invasion of the Senkaku Islands, it may perhaps make sense to stress a naval ring around the islands, to the detriment of their static defence by means of ground troops. It may make sense to stress offensive versus defensive capabilities, and to avoid tying down too many assets and personnel in a fixed deployment. However, as the saying goes, the enemy has a choice, and history shows that he has a nasty habit of failing to cooperate by doing what he is expected to do.

The same applies to the case at hand. There is no reason why Beijing has to stick to the strategy it has been following over the last decade. It is thus necessary to consider all scenarios, including first of all the possibility of an aerial assault, and second an operation by civilian,or mixed military and civilian forces. In other words, China may either get to the islands by air, thus bypassing the Japanese Coastguard, or send activists (perhaps in conjunction with military personnel), to occupy them. Current ROEs are not prepared to deal with either contingency, and in both cases the lack of a permanent land presence offers an opening for Beijing.

The lack of a “tripwire” – troops on the ground – makes it easier for Beijing to miscalculate: to invade in the hope that Japan will not react and that Washington will not only fail to support her ally but even pressure Tokyo to submit. With troops on the ground, invading means starting a war. Without troops on the ground, it may be seen merely as notching up tension. Democracies often find it difficult to shoot first, and a bloodless unopposed landing may prompt myriad voices to seek appeasement, under the guise of avoiding escalation.

Furthermore, such an operation would not be taking place in a vacuum, but be part of a much wider exercise in propaganda, designed to confound and divide Japanese public opinion and decision-makers, and their Allied counterparts. Beijing may seek to appear “reasonable” and open to bilateral negotiations, while vetoing any possible UN involvement and slamming third parties. She could play the “far away, no essential interests involved” card before the American public. There could even be proposals for an interim joint administration scheme, a mutual withdrawal of forces, or others, designed to effectively remove any Japanese presence from the islands, thus opening the way for their later takeover.

Despite the complexity involved in responding to an occupation of the Senkaku Islands, both in Japan and the US, it is notable that over the last few decades Japanese public opinion has gradually hardened towards China. This makes it unlikely that Tokyo would just accept a Chinese invasion, thus making the retaking of the Islands a political imperative.

Many visitors to Japan often focus on the more informal or fun aspects of the country, from comic books (manga) to extravagant fashion, usually grouped under the label “kawaii”, loosely translated as “cute”. However, beneath beneath this Kawaii façade, or rather coexisting with this, there is another Japan, one with little appetite for appeasement. It is doubtful that any Japanese government would survive a failure to react to a Chinese invasion of the Senkaku Islands, and it is no coincidence to see Prime Minister Shinzo Abe incorporate the Falklands in his narrative.

Therefore, in order to promote peace and reduce the risks of war, Japan should pursue the opposite policy to the one it is currently following. This means permanently deploying ground troops, reconsidering the ROEs under which Japanese forces in the area operate (with particular attention to air incursions), and developing the economy and infrastructure of the Senkaku Islands, thereby linking them more closely at all levels to the Japanese mainland. Given that a landing may feature civilians, in addition to conventional troops, it is necessary to have a police presence, or military units able to deal with both an armed and an unarmed invasion.

This would send a strong signal to Beijing not to expect a bloodless invasion to be successful, thus reducing the scope for adventure. China is less likely to attack if it means drawing first blood and unequivocally appearing as the aggressor. A permanent deployment would also reduce the chances of success for any landing, thus avoiding the need for a much more costly (in blood and treasure) amphibious counterattack. What’s more, it would in no unceratin terms tell Washington and other regional allies like New Delhi, Manila and Hanoi, that Japan is not caving in to Chinese pressure. At the same time it would reassure Taiwan that her flank is secure. By incorporating the Falklands in his political discourse, Prime Minister Shinzo Abe has already made it clear that Japan is not for turning, and the next logical step is to implement a new policy on the ground, leaving as little room as possible for a dangerous miscalculation.

Alex Calvo, a guest professor at Nagoya University (Japan), focuses on security and defence policy, international law, and military history in the Indian-Pacific Ocean Region. He tweets at Alex__Calvo and his work can be found here.  

 

 

 

 

Taiwan’s new ‘Carrier Killer’ shows both strength and weakness

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By Jackson Webster:

Taiwan's new Tuo Jiang class corvette 'carrier killer' (Photo: Wikipedia)
Taiwan’s new Tuo Jiang class corvette ‘carrier killer’ (Photo: Wikipedia)

This January, Taiwan’s navy received the first order of its newest vessel, the Tuo Jiang. The Taiwan Navy has dubbed this twin-hulled corvette a ‘carrier killer,’ and the Taiwanese Minister of National Defence, Yen Ming, has announced his government’s intention to field an entire fleet of the new domestically-developed ships. The ship’s construction is an entirely unsubtle reaction to the People’s Republic of China’s launch of the Liaoning, the People’s Liberation Army Navy’s (PLAN) refitted ex-Ukrainian aircraft carrier. Though it will remain inoperable for at least another 5 years, the Liaoning is regardless seen as a symbol of growing Chinese regional power and extra-regional ambition.

The Taiwanese have given the Tuo Jiang its nickname of ‘carrier killer’ due to its stealth, speed, and armament of domestically-produced guided anti-ship missiles such as the Hsiung Feng III. The tactical concept is that a large fleet of such vessels could sneak up on a carrier battle-group and swarm the enemy ships’ Close-In Weapons Systems (CIWS) with so many anti-ship missiles that the defensive screen of anti-missile fire would prove inadequate. At a top speed of 44 knots (81 km/h) the new vessel is the fastest warship fielded by any Asian navy, and its composite material construction and angular surfaces – designed to deflect radar signals – make this corvette perhaps the most modern platform in the region. Additionally, the shallow draft of a twin-hulled ship is ideal for operating in the littoral coastal waters ofTaiwan, whose government-in-exile has, since 1949, claimed to be the true ‘Republic of China’ (RoC).

Whilst the vessel is an impressive show of domestic engineering, it could have been built in vain due to Taiwan’s inability to prepare for the modern battlespace. The problems facing a Republic of China Navy (RoCN) operation against the PLAN are threefold.

The first is in air power. The Strait of Taiwan is not a large stretch of water: it is only 180km wide at its longest stretch —plenty long enough for Chinese fighter-bombers to operate from bases on the mainland. Additionally, in 2004 the PLA purchased supersonic fourth generation strike fighters in the form of Russian-built Sukhoi 30 MKK2. This platform allows the People’s Liberation Army Navy to eliminate Taiwanese naval forces using an extensive arsenal of ‘access denial’ (A2/AD) anti-ship cruise missiles China has built domestically over the last three decades. These strike aircraft equally cannot be countered by Taiwan because Taipei’s air force possesses no high-altitude interceptors and consists entirely of outdated American-built F-16s and French-built Mirage IIIs, both of which would be outnumbered and outclassed by the PLA.

Secondly, due to the RoC’s lack of air superiority, Taiwanese surface vessels would not be able to exploit the 100km range of the Hsiung Feng guided anti-ship missiles, the primary armament of the Tuo Jiang. The Earth is round. Surface vessels can fire at targets over the horizon but they cannot use radar to locate these targets. Maritime reconnaissance aircraft are needed to acquire targets beyond the horizon. Taiwan only possesses 14 such aircraft, which they would be unable to use in any case due to Chinese air superiority. Above all, this air superiority would be provided by weapons platforms on mainland China, aircraft which do not need to be launched from an aircraft carrier because their operational range is twice the size of the Strait of Taiwan.

Thirdly, the Tuo Jiang itself is extremely vulnerable to air and missile attack. The corvette’s only defensive armament is a single 20mm Phalanx close-in weapons system (CIWS). To protect themselves from missile strikes, carrier strike groups will carry dozens of these weapons. There is a serious doubt as to whether the Tuo Jiang would be able to protect itself from a swarm of Chinese anti-ship cruise missiles (ASCMs), even in large numbers. Taiwan’s Oliver Hazard Perry Class and Chi Yang destroyers, which possess the CIWS systems to defend against Chinese ASCMs, could be fielded in sufficient numbers to protect an anti-carrier strike force of corvettes —the RoCN operates about two-dozen such vessels— but these platforms have one serious weakness: they lack stealth capability. Whilst corvettes could avoid detection by Chinese land-based A2/AD anti-ship missiles, Taiwan’s destroyers would be unable to safely accompany the corvettes close enough to the Chinese coastline to provide sufficient cover. Taiwan could counter this by purchasing more “Frégates Légères Furtives” Lafayette from the French (the RoCN currently operates six), which have a reduced radar cross-section. Unfortunately, there is no guarantee this limited ‘stealth’ would prevent Chinese missiles from targeting the craft as it has never seen combat against advanced radar targeting systems.

Make no mistake, the Tuo Jiang is truly an impressive feat of engineering. It is fast, stealthy, and carries a mission-focused state-of-the-art weapons package. It shows technical prowess, but equally reveals a search for a silver bullet solution in the face of dwindling budgetary commitment to defence in the Taiwanese civilian polity. Taiwan may have acquired the capability to destroy a Chinese aircraft carrier, but this is not what Taiwan needs. The ‘Carrier Killer’ may be a wonderful public relations stunt for the Taiwanese defence establishment, but it is Chinese land-based aircraft, and the missiles these air platforms can deliver, which pose a real threat to Taiwanese surface forces, shipping, and national sovereignty.

Jackson Webster is a native of Manhattan Beach, California, and is currently reading International Relations in the Department of War Studies at King’s College London.