My Life, Our Times

by Gordon Brown

  In the years ahead, Iraq would be a cauldron of recurring turmoil. The country was governed officially by the Coalition Provisional Authority, which answered to the US Department of Defense. But while we were fully implicated in the Authority’s decisions, I found, at least from my vantage point at the Treasury, that we singularly failed to have a decisive effect on its policies. If reconstruction was going to work in Basra and the south – the area we now had responsibility for – Britain, I felt, had to devise its own measures to secure a fragile peace and advance economic development. There now followed six years in which I and ministerial colleagues regularly visited Basra. There was a hope within the Treasury that the broken economy could be turned around. However, while we did everything we could – bringing in some very powerful business advisers, creating public works and jobs, supporting the rebuilding of the port and spending millions – we could never do enough. We were unable to bring the kind of improvement in living standards that would give the local population a big enough stake in their prosperity to stand up to the insurgents and resist a return to violence. There was, in addition, an ever-increasing danger of being viewed not as liberator but as foreign oppressor. As early as 2005, some of our officials, military officers and ministers were already worrying that we were heading towards ‘strategic failure’. By that they meant a number of possibilities: a widespread sectarian conflict or civil war in Iraq; a victory for terrorist groups; or a failure to achieve a stable and secure environment in Basra.

  When I became prime minister, I was of the view that we should end our four-year military presence in Iraq. Privately, I thought we should do so as soon as possible and set myself the task of leaving by the end of 2008. In my Camp David meeting with George Bush in July 2007 he pressed me to stay longer and raise troop levels. I told him I was not willing to see an endless British occupation, and I was clear that while we would not leave until security was improved, our deployments would have to be made in the British interest. Our plan was to scale down and withdraw. In the end, we left only sixteen weeks later than planned – on 30 April 2009.

  In fact, for some time in Basra, we had started to do things differently from the Americans. Nevertheless, I would not explicitly position our departure as a break with the US and refused to convey the impression that we were distancing ourselves from America even at a time when the Iraq intervention was becoming more and more unpopular. There was never, I told my colleagues, going to be any public or private self-satisfaction in our leaving Iraq. At this time I made another decision: not to use our future departure from Iraq as an occasion to draw a contrast with Tony or score points against him either. Amidst all the second-hand accounts of the Labour years, what people sometimes forget is that during all my time in government, whether as chancellor or prime minister, I never engaged in public criticism of Tony. Inevitably there were heated words exchanged between us privately – and, in this respect, I hated what were too many off-the-record briefings to the press about these disagreements from each of our overly loyal teams – but neither Tony nor I ever publicly disparaged the other in government.

  A Cabinet committee document presented to me in July 2007 observed: ‘On paper, Iraq has the machinery of government in place, and security forces over 350,000 strong (Police 160,000, Army 157,000).’ But, it added ominously, ‘behind these outward signs of progress lie deep-seated problems’. The constituent parts of the Iraqi government were not yet working together and they were paying mere lip service to the need for reconciliation between them. 40 per cent of the Iraqi police service was thought to owe loyalty to militias, while other security bodies had become personal militias for ministers or provincial governors. Any gains, I was told, may prove unsustainable. The paper asked: ‘Do we assess that we have reached the stage where the benefits of retaining security responsibility are outweighed by the downsides? Is there any prospect that by holding on, we can hope either to effect further positive change, or to provide the time needed by the Iraqis to meet the challenges themselves?’

  In early 2007, President Bush had announced a major surge under the commander of the multinational force in Iraq, General David Petraeus, putting 20,000 new troops into the country with a mission to recapture lost territory and calm the insurgency. As I entered No. 10, our own mini-surge in Basra – an extra 360 troops deployed in what was called Operation Sinbad – merely confirmed the difficulty of our ‘hold and build’ strategy. My view at this time was that our best and only hope was to dedicate our efforts to preparing Iraq’s provinces for the restoration of Iraqi control.

  By mid-2007 we were up against sophisticated explosives made in Iran and finding it difficult to govern in Basra as the prime minister of Iraq, Nouri al-Maliki, started to press for our departure. Al-Maliki, meanwhile, was not in a strong enough position to lead without relying on the support of a variety of dubious groups, one of them being the Jaish Al Mahdi (JAM) militia, who operated in Basra. So, without my knowing it, security there had become dependent on a shady alliance, which involved the JAM terrorist leader, then in prison, negotiating early release for his members in return for delivering a more peaceful Basra. It took me months to get to the bottom of what was happening. This confirmed in my mind the view – shared by the new Chief of the Defence Staff, Sir Jock Stirrup, whose colleagues were divided two to one in favour of leaving – that the ‘law of diminishing returns’ was firmly in play and that there was an increasing risk that UK forces would become part of the problem, rather than the solution.

  ‘Iraqification’, an ugly term, best explained our objective: while the US led their surge, we planned to transfer control back to the Iraqis, province by province. We were already transitioning from ‘tactical overwatch’ to ‘operational overwatch’. We would then transition to ‘strategic overwatch’ and then get out. We wanted to be seen by the Iraqis as supporting local forces exercising local control. But it was also true that we were increasingly worried by the rate at which military personnel were dying in battle or returning home injured. After the invasion in 2003 when we had lost fifty-three soldiers, deaths had fallen the following year to twenty-two, but in 2005 they had risen to twenty-three, in 2006 to twenty-nine, and we were to lose forty-seven in 2007. General Petraeus thought our position should be ‘in together, out together’, but I told him that autumn that the British task would be limited to creating enough stability to allow us to depart, and no more.

  While the UK and US shared this same overall objective, we sometimes differed on the best means of achieving it. In essence, we tended to favour a more rapid transition to Iraqi control than the US did, not least as a means of forcing the Iraqis to step up to the plate. We agreed with the US that progress on political reconciliation was key to sustaining security gains and building long-term stability, but the US, under pressure to produce tangible results for Congress, were inclined to put greater emphasis than we were on the rapid passing of Iraqi legislation. By contrast, we wanted to avoid an unhelpful short-term focus on superficial benchmarks at the expense of more substantive and sustainable progress, such as reaching genuine consensus on the critical issues and building the political will necessary to ensure that any agreements that were eventually formalised would actually be implemented.

  In line with this we were stronger advocates for holding early provincial elections: while not without risks, we believed elections were key to reconciliation between ethnic factions and maintaining political momentum across the country. They would help correct under-representation in many areas and provide a way into the political process – and away from violence – for those previously outside it. The US, on the other hand, were nervous about holding provincial elections too soon, arguing that they could be destabilising.

  I had told Parliament in July 2007 that UK troop numbers were already down from the initial 44,000 to 5,500. In Basra, our aim was to withdraw in phases, until we had a residual role in which we would only intervene in an emergency from an airbase outside the city. The Bush administration
was worried about this, believing that if we moved forward with the plan too quickly they would be embarrassed during congressional questions on the surge in the autumn. Nonetheless, we evacuated Basra Palace – the base from which we commanded the whole province – in September 2007, handing responsibility to the Iraqis in December.

  Despite disagreement with the Americans, Des Browne, our Defence Secretary, and I agreed that the time between leaving the palace and transferring power to local control should be as short as possible. And by the summer of 2007 – albeit for different reasons, not least his closeness to the Iranians – al-Maliki was adamant that he did not want or require UK military support in Basra for much longer. The Cabinet had already decided in principle on our departure, and the decision on timing was taken in consultation with the military on the ground.

  On 2 October, I made my first visit as prime minister to Iraq, where I announced that UK troops in Basra were to be cut by 1,000 by the end of the year. After that, some 4,000 UK troops would remain, at the Basra airport base. A week later, on 8 October, I was able to announce that British troop numbers would be reduced to 2,500 the following spring. What was not announced was my hope that Britain would leave completely by the end of 2008.

  Our plans were undermined by increased sectarian violence in Basra during March 2008. Al-Maliki decided on 23 March to launch independent military action, going into Basra with 15,000 troops. The operation – ‘Charge of the Knights’ – was aimed at driving the JAM and other Shia militia out of Basra. It was successful. Some saw al-Maliki’s surprise attack on the militias in Basra during March as a blow to the British. However, it was exactly what was needed – an Iraqi-led government, and a Shia-led one at that, ready to take on the Shia terrorists in their midst.

  While we paused our reduction of troops during these attacks, the security position in Basra was to improve significantly over the next few months. What’s more, the Basra Development Commission, an independent body charged with promoting investment and economic development in the region, produced an economic plan in the autumn and local government elections would be held by the end of the year. I also expected the airport to be ready for handover to civilian control by the end of the year.

  On 22 July 2008, I announced that I expected a ‘fundamental change of mission’ for British forces in Iraq early in 2009. Although the 4,100 UK troops would stay in Iraq for the next few months, their focus would be on providing Iraq’s 14 Division with training, which was to be completed by the end of the year. Additional training, including in support of specialist functions and headquarters, would be required in early 2009. We would also have to seek a new agreement with the Iraqi government, requiring significant negotiation, so that our armed forces had a legal basis for operations after December.

  This negotiation with the Iraqis was a long and drawn-out affair. However, before Christmas, we had an agreement. I travelled to Baghdad to meet Prime Minister al-Maliki, and we agreed that UK forces had completed their tasks and would leave the country by the first half of 2009.

  We were right to move towards a limited form of overwatch and leave altogether when we did. Every time I visited Basra, I stood silently in front of the commemorative wall that had been built at the airport for those British soldiers who had lost their lives. I was deeply aware of their sacrifice.

  We finally concluded combat operations in April, but as we wound them down the Conservatives, the media and some of my colleagues pressed for a full Falklands-style investigation. At some personal political cost, I proposed that an inquiry focus on lessons learned and not on apportioning culpability. I suggested that, like the Falklands Inquiry, the proceedings should be held in private. To many this seemed like an attempt at a whitewash or even a cover-up. This was a mistake on my part. To find a way forward, I encouraged Sir John Chilcot, whom we had chosen as the chair, to talk to all the political parties and relevant House of Commons committees to gather a consensus. While a Conservative attempt to make witnesses swear under oath was defeated, we agreed that the inquiry could range as wide as it wanted, criticise anyone it chose and ask witnesses to formally agree to stand by what they said in evidence.

  In setting the course he did on Iraq, I believe that Tony had been intent on preserving the special relationship with America. In doing so, he hoped he would be able to advance the Middle East peace process.

  At the beginning of this chapter I set out some of the conditions that have been debated throughout history under which war can be justified. With the passage of time, the evidence now accumulated allows us to assess whether reasonable thresholds were passed or short-circuited, and what lessons we can learn about how such grave decisions should be made in future.

  I am convinced that if resolutions of the United Nations are approved unanimously and repeatedly they have to be upheld if we are to have a safe and stable world order. On this basis, Saddam Hussein’s continuing failure to comply with them justified international action against him. The question is whether it required war in March 2003. If I am right that somewhere within the American system the truth about Iraq’s lack of weapons was known, then we were not just misinformed but misled on the critical issue of WMDs. Given that Iraq had no usable chemical, biological or nuclear weapons that it could deploy and was not about to attack the coalition, then two tests of a just war were not met: war could not be justified as a last resort and invasion cannot now be seen as a proportionate response.

  We know that even a just war does not necessarily deliver a just peace. When we left Iraq in 2009 it was still one country, with one government and one Parliament, but in the last few years Iraq has again been torn apart by deep sectarian divisions. There is a good reason why it was more difficult to sustain a peace than win a war. Nation-building from the outside is fine in theory but hard in practice. Not every world problem can be solved by America or, for that matter, the West. It was a lesson that was to be impressed upon us with equal force in Afghanistan.

  CHAPTER 14

  AFGHANISTAN: A WAR WITHOUT END?

  No letter of condolence is routine. And letters to a family who have lost a loved one in war are difficult beyond imagining. As prime minister I wrote over 300 letters to parents and partners of those killed in Afghanistan and Iraq between the summer of 2007 and spring of 2010. Every letter was personally painful. By my side as I wrote, I always had four separate notes – a statement of how the soldier had died, a report from their commander on their qualities, a list of their achievements in life, and information about their family and closest relatives.

  It is even harder to write about someone you know only from second-hand reports. I always knew how a letter in itself may offer little consolation at this time of most intense grief, but I thought that over time some comfort might come from knowing the esteem in which the lost soldier was held by colleagues and friends. In every letter there was an offer of further help, which was sometimes taken up. I was determined that each had to be genuinely about the individual and not impersonal. I pored over details about the dead soldier’s bravery in action and their character and qualities.

  In my first weeks in office, aware that my writing was at best difficult to read, I had my letters typed. But I felt the letters lacked a much-needed personal touch and quickly moved to writing in longhand. When the Sun newspaper filed a story in November 2009 from one grieving mother, who complained that I had treated her son with contempt because of my bad handwriting, I was close to tears. In the letter, based on the information I had, it was simply impossible to persuade her that everything possible had been done to save her son, or to demonstrate, even when I later talked to her by phone, that my words were heartfelt. I simply hoped that in some small way the family would be strengthened in their hour of grief.

  In the three years I was prime minister, I was writing such letters every few days. And, after RAF Brize Norton in Oxfordshire was closed for runway repairs in April 2007, just months before I became prime minister, almost every week the body of a sold
ier would be flown back to the military airbase at RAF Lyneham in Wiltshire. After the Falklands, where the majority of our war dead from that conflict remain, the practice had been established that the bodies of all those killed in combat would be repatriated for burial at home, with each death investigated by the coroner at the John Radcliffe Hospital in Oxford. After the move to RAF Lyneham, the route to the special armed forces department of pathology in Oxford was through Wootton Bassett, now Royal Wootton Bassett, a small market town to the south-west of the base, before heading east along the M4. A tradition grew that as the hearses drove along the high street, the local residents would stand in silence to honour our heroes. It was a moving ceremony, a fitting tribute to brave soldiers – and these silent processions filled our newspapers and TV screens, graphically reminding us of the losses we were incurring and adding to a growing sense that this was a war too far.

  Afghanistan had not always been so deadly. In the first four years of our involvement on the ground five British soldiers were killed – only two of whom died in hostile action with the enemy. But in the year before I went to No. 10 – 2006 – thirty-nine were lost and, in the first half of 2007, just before I took over, yet another seventeen were killed. Even this rising and agonising toll of casualties was relatively small compared with what we were about to experience. From mid-2007 to mid-2010, there were 224 deaths in Afghanistan and then in the next year and a half another 109. By February 2010 we had lost more lives in Afghanistan than in the Falklands, and by the time Britain left Afghanistan in 2014–15 a total of 3,400 coalition soldiers had died; 456 – one in eight – were British.