A Guide To Extending Foreign Policy

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Reflecting on parliament's decision to bomb IS assets in Syria I recalled several lectures I attended during my military training. These lectures contained a number of 'lessons learnt' (often the hard way) during past conflicts.

The complexity of the current situation is horrendous and resolution will require the full spectrum of political and diplomatic effort. That said I can't help thinking that our politicians should be required to attend the same lectures, particularly as they are the people who ultimately define what our armed forces are tasked to do.

My thoughts and prayers are with the men and women who protect our nation and of course the people of Syria and Iraq.

The following poem sums up some key lessons.

A Guide To Extending Foreign Policy

“War is the continuation of politics by other means.” - Clausewitz

There are times when action is needed
when you just can’t stand and observe
but if you plan to use Armed Forces
take note these lessons learnt;

Regime change is not your decision
no matter what you might feel.
You have to let the people decide
not grind it in with your heel.

Rich bullies are never respected,
their acts breed envy and hate.
Win the hearts and the minds of a people
and your efforts will carry more weight.

When fighting terrorists or rebels,
you have to comply with the law,
if you break it you may win a battle
but morally you'll lose the war.

Your allies’ views will be different
they may even get in your way.
Tread carefully when taking action
lest the cons do the pros outweigh.

Befriending your enemy’s enemy,
is rarely the best way to go.
If you can’t find an ally you trust
take care; you’re in the wrong show.

You can't hold ground from a plane,
with artillery it's just the same.
If you want to hold on to what's around
you’ll have to put boots on the ground.

If you’re in you must be; all in,
there is no other way,
the reward for a half assed effort
is to be bitten another day.

Yes - war is a messy business
in which everyone gets burnt.
So before you stick your oar in
take heed these lessons hard learnt.

John Carré Buchanan
03 December 2015

The Morning It Snowed

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Living on an Island which celebrates being liberated from German occupation and having witnessed the effects of modern genocide in the Balkans, I recognise the importance of marking the 70th anniversary of the liberation of Auschwitz which takes place today. My heart goes out to all those affected by what happened during the holocaust.

It is a disgrace that whilst the world, quite rightly, remembers the atrocities which took place under the Nazi regime, there are a number of countries in which genocide is occurring today. To our great shame, these atrocities are being allowed to occur by our governments and media who for the greater part turn a blind eye.

This poem, written 3 years ago, is for those affected by genocide wherever and whenever it has occurred.

The Morning It Snowed

His shrunken frame stood tall
She noticed dandruff on his shoulders
And brushing it watched it fall
evoking memories that still appal.

White flakes tumbling to the ground.
hollow eyes peering from windows
seeing where they were bound
as the ash settled all around.

The stench hung on misty air
walking across the courtyard
as quickly as they dare
their heads bowed low in despair.

Smoke belching from the tower
bearing souls away.
Hour after hour
ash settling on the ground like flour.

Yet they survived the Genocide
when the Devil’s dandruff
covered the countryside
leaving its wounds deep inside.

John Carré Buchanan
13 July 2011

Fame

Last night I attended the local Open Mic evening. These evenings have a non-compulsory theme and last nights was; 'when I met someone famous'.

It struck me that, as an expatriate and an Army Officer, I had met a wide variety of 'famous' people, but I had also met many 'people of great value'. In my mind it is the latter group which is more worthy of acclaim. Whilst many famous people do a lot of good in the world it is ordinary people who are often best placed to add extraordinary value.

The following poem is dedicated to the millions of people of great value around the world.

Fame

Oh!
While we're all name dropping I'll have a go,
Queen Elizabeth, King Hussein,
Princes; Charles, Andrew and Pavlos of Greece.
Princesses; Aisha of Jordan, Diana and Anne
Politicians so many, I’ll name but a few;
Maggie, John Major, Ian Paisley - that’ll do.
From TV Kate Adie, John Simpson and Martin Bell
I interviewed Kenny Everett, Dame Jackson and Lord Weatherill.
Then there were sports folk, like Daley and Tessa
and dukes and duchesses, and one contessa
A slack hand full of generals, De La Billiere, Rose, Jackson
Church leaders I’ve met just two;
Robert Runcie and Desmond Tutu.
I’ve hosted bands like ‘The Sweet’,
and met Victor Meldrew.

I could go on but when all’s said and done
they're all just people like you and me.
Some fun to be with, others, just glum.

but the person I remember most,
wore mud streaks on a face like a ghost,
at six she'd lost her parents to a boy with a gun
and roamed dangerous streets alone.

We all have our heroes, the great and the wise
but A list or B list I’ve come to despise,
For when you’re out on your ear
and your folks have been shot
fame does not matter one single jot.

It’s how you treat others, that sets you apart,
true heroes fill the cracks in society
unsung, just getting on
and no one’s as important as;
a child’s dad or mum.

John Carré Buchanan
20 October 2014

Infection - Jihad

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The news is dominated with the rise of IS in Iraq and Syria and to a lesser degree the spread of the deadly Ebola virus from West Africa to Texas. Whilst not related the two news items do bear a number of similarities, not least of which is a spectacular lack of action until things had got out of hand. This chain of thought led me to write the following poem;

Infection - Jihad

I creep, my insipid movement, invisible.
Who would notice me amidst the crowd?
Slowly, as I meet, I become; we,
and in turn; we become a force majeure,
invisible, but our strength grows.
Minute by minute, hour by hour,
the infection spreads
until the time is right.
Then we explode onto the scene,
overwhelm order and normality,
tear at the very fabric of the host
within which we, the disaffected,
hid, rubbed shoulders and spread.
Our aim; 'to dominate',
to destroy all that is not, us.

John Carré Buchanan
01 October 2014

Treaties (1914)

Image Source: Brooklyn Eagle in July 1914

Today marks 100 years since Great Britain declared war on Germany.

'The Great War', sparked by the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand and his wife Sophie, was perhaps the inevitable outcome of a series of alliances and treaties.

The war claimed approximately sixteen million lives, and a further twenty million were wounded. It also set in motion events that would change the social and political landscape of Great Britain for ever. Sadly despite being called 'the war to end all wars' human kind does not appear to have learned it's lessons.

Treaties (1914)

Princip fired twice
and the couple died.
Tempers flared,
war declared,
treaties, alliances kicked in,
allies fell in.
Men fell in,
to the mud,
the gore,
the war supposed to end all war.
At home;
women stepped up.
Land tilled,
bombs filled
and on the fronts
their loved ones - killed.
In a war supposed to end all war.

John Carré Buchanan
03 August 2014

Mogadishu - 09 December 1992

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This poem is a different take on ‘the beach’ theme for the next open mic.

It is a sad fact of life that people have different objectives when undertaking a common venture. This was demonstrated on the 09 December 1992 when the US Navy Seals and Marines landed on a beach near the international airport at Mogadishu as part of Operation Restore Hope.

Prior to the landings the ‘powers that be’ briefed the world’s media and local warlords on the impending operation. This lead to an absurd situation; where highly skilled warriors attempted to make a covert landing on a beach under the glare of the lights and cameras of the world’s media.

It must have been extremely nerve-racking for the men involved.

Mogadishu - 09 December 1992

Silently they cross the sea’s gloss black surface.
The dinghy propelled swiftly through the darkness
towards the shore line.
Beyond the surf;
the matt blackness of the beach rises to dunes,
silhouetted against a moonlit sky.
His heart quickens, this is it,
His mind’s eye sees the next steps;
through the surf, the silent dash across the beach,
senses alert to the slightest sound or movement.
He grabs his gear, readies his weapon,
prepares to tow the boat through the surf,
eyes, ears, vigilant.
A glance left and right to ensure the team is ready
then break from the cover of the inky water
to cross the narrow stretch of sand.
Suddenly his world erupts in dazzling light.
Night vision destroyed, his ears tune in,
voices, running feet.
He prepares for a firefight but this is no enemy.
Questions shouted, cameras, lights.
He stumbles to his feet rushes up the beach
searches for cover.
The media horde chase – press in – shout questions.
Here in the darkness stealth comes to an end.
Here on a beach near Mogadishu
he digs in, his life risked;
for the sake of a photo opportunity.

John Carré Buchanan
20 July 2014

A Tetractys On War

This morning I was introduced to the concept of the tetractys poem.

The tetractys was made famous by Pythagoras and has since become a modern poetry form. The form is based on the number ten which was thought to be a number of power. The name tetractys poetry derives from the fact that the syllable count of the first four lines equals ten.

A tetractys has in total, five lines, each having a syllables count of 1 – 2 – 3 – 4 – 10.

This format gives the poem a triangle shape. The format can be played with to produce "reversed tetractys" and "double tetractys". The following poem is a double tetractys, I hope you enjoy it.

A Tetractys On War

War,
soldiers
clear up failed
diplomacy.
Struggling to stay alive in muddy fields,
whilst politicians, back at home, squabble
like small children
about who
they should
blame.

John Carré Buchanan
01 May 2013

Balance and Power

The Antichrist - Image Source:

Balance and Power

The Sensei said I was too young
The starting age was seven.
But when I lifted him off the ground
he thought he’d gone to heaven.
For here before him was a little lad
with strength enough for two
and with all this pent up power
I didn’t know what to do.

Nothing seemed too much for me
I’d always have a go.
I knew that I could do it
and this knowledge made it so.
To me, my strength
lay harboured in my brain.
If I could see it in my mind
I could lift it like a crane.

It made me pretty dangerous
at play with other lads.
I tended to overdo it
and this concerned my Dad.
So here I was in front of Sensei
being invited to ‘have a go’;
his aim to teach me self-control
by teaching me Judo.

I quickly learnt the basics
as through the belts I rose.
That timing, technique and balance
can any strength oppose.
But there’s one important lesson
The one that’s really key;
It’s better to avoid a scrap
then to engage an enemy.

I learnt all this at age of six
and I watch with desperation
as government after government
sends troops on Operations.
Our Armed Forces are amazing,
They’re brave, well trained and strong.
but they’re ham strung by politicians
who so often get it wrong.

Its not that they’re dim whited
or that they’re often bent,
it’s just that they can’t balance
party line and sense.
They’re so concerned with scoring points
across the Commons floor
That they seem to forget the basic rule;
Is walk away from war.

John Carré Buchanan
04 February 2012

It's What You Scatter

I am breaking with my normal form by posting someone else's thoughts. The following story was sent to me in one of those circular emails. Normally I read and then consider the message and then delete them as I don't like emails with my private email address going to hundreds of other people. but the message in this one caught my attention and I had to share it. I hope you enjoy it;

It's What You Scatter

I was at the corner grocery store buying some early potatoes. I noticed a small boy, delicate of bone and feature, ragged but clean, hungrily appraising a basket of freshly picked green peas.

I paid for my potatoes but was also drawn to the display of fresh green peas. I am a pushover for creamed peas and new potatoes.

Pondering the peas, I couldn't help overhearing the conversation between Mr. Miller (the store owner) and the ragged boy next to me.

'Hello Barry, how are you today?'
'H'lo, Mr. Miller. Fine, thank ya. Jus' admirin' them peas.. They sure look good.'
'They are good, Barry. How's your Ma'?
'Fine. Gittin' stronger alla' time.'
'Good. Anything I can help you with?'
'No, Sir. Jus' admirin' them peas.'

'Would you like to take some home?' asked Mr. Miller.
'No, Sir. Got nuthin' to pay for 'em with.'
'Well, what have you to trade me for some of those peas?'
'All I got's my prize marble here.'
'Is that right? Let me see it', said Miller.
'Here 'tis. She's a dandy.'
'I can see that. Hmm mmm, only thing is this one is blue and I sort of go for red. Do you have a red one like this at home?' the store owner asked.
'Not zackley but almost.'
'Tell you what. Take this sack of peas home with you and next trip this way let me look at that red marble'. Mr. Miller told the boy.
'Sure will. Thanks Mr. Miller.'

Mrs. Miller, who had been standing nearby, came over to help me.
With a smile she said, 'There are two other boys like him in our community, all three are in very poor circumstances. Jim just loves to bargain with them for peas, apples, tomatoes, or whatever. When they come back with their red marbles, and they always do, he decides he doesn't like red after all and he sends them home with a bag of produce for a green marble or an orange one, when they come on their next trip to the store.'

I left the store smiling to myself, impressed with this man. A short time later I moved to Colorado , but I never forgot the story of this man, the boys, and their bartering for marbles.

Several years went by, each more rapid than the previous one. Just recently I had occasion to visit some old friends in that Idaho community and while I was there learned that Mr. Miller had died. They were having his visitation that evening and knowing my friends wanted to go, I agreed to accompany them. Upon arrival at the mortuary we fell into line to meet the relatives of the deceased and to offer whatever words of comfort we could.

Ahead of us in line were three young men. One was in an army uniform and the other two wore nice haircuts, dark suits and white shirts...all very professional looking. They approached Mrs. Miller, standing composed and smiling by her husband's casket. Each of the young men hugged her, kissed her on the cheek, spoke briefly with her and moved on to the casket. Her misty light blue eyes followed them as, one by one; each young man stopped briefly and placed his own warm hand over the cold pale hand in the casket. Each left the mortuary awkwardly, wiping his eyes.

Our turn came to meet Mrs. Miller. I told her who I was and reminded her of the story from those many years ago and what she had told me about her husband's bartering for marbles. With her eyes glistening, she took my hand and led me to the casket. 'Those three young men who just left were the boys I told you about.
They just told me how they appreciated the things Jim 'traded' them. Now, at last, when Jim could not change his mind about color or size....they came to pay their debt.'

'We've never had a great deal of the wealth of this world,' she confided, 'but right now, Jim would consider himself the richest man in Idaho.' With loving gentleness she lifted the lifeless fingers of her deceased husband. Resting underneath were three exquisitely shined red marbles.

The Moral:

We will not be remembered by our words, but by our kind deeds. Life is not measured by the breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath.

- ANON -

9/11

I walked out of a classroom where I had been studying database engineering, conscious that the background noise had changed. On entering the headquarters, I kept hearing words ‘America’ and ‘New York’. Back in the office silent faces were turned to the wall mounted TVs which screened a permanent live news feed. I turned to look at the screen just in time to see the second attack take place.

Within minutes everyone was busy implementing plans that had been outlined to cover such events. All over the country military and government establishments were being cloaked in a huge security blanket which within hours would cover the whole nation. All the while eyes kept flicking to the TV screens which continued to play pictures of the tragedy in New York.

As that day unfolded images were forever scored onto billions of people’s retinas, images that will live with generations of people around the world. The towers slipping into the dust cloud, people jumping, and the tear stained dust covered faces of men and women who were on the streets of New York that day.

The military and civil servants in our headquarters were hardened people, most of them had been involved in preparing, supporting and conducting a wide variety of military operations around the world but this was different. We had all seen the effects of war and terrorism on civilian populations and many of us had witnessed genocide, but attacks on this scale and of this nature were almost unthinkable and there was an air of shock and disbelief.

Whilst the concept behind the attack was not new, (Tom Clancy wrote two books in the mid 90’s in which a passenger aircraft was flown into Congress.) it cannot be denied that the attacks on 9/11 were masterful in their simplicity and almost flawless in their execution. As military personnel we knew that the people who had planned the attacks would be sitting somewhere watching events unfold with a real sense of satisfaction, perhaps even pride. I doubt that even they could have anticipated such a spectacular success. The attack was so monumental and so well publicised that mention the date; 9/11 anywhere in the world and people will instantly know to what you are referring.

Ten years have passed and America and its allies have been in a constant war against an enemy which lives in the shadows; rising occasionally to strike before falling back into the darkness. It is true that America has had its successes most recently with the summary execution of Osama Bin Laden but when all is said and done; two wars have been initiated, hundreds of thousands of people have been maimed or killed; at a cost that would bankrupt many small nations (some would argue it has helped bankrupt the USA). Yet despite this the average American could not put a pin on a map of the world to mark countries such as Afghanistan, Iraq, Syria and Iran.

What is perhaps more worrying is that after all this time most Americans would not even begin to understand why their country was attacked in the first place. You may ask; ‘why do I say this is worrying?’ Well, I believe that the Chinese General and strategist Sun Tzu sums it up about 2400 years ago when he wrote;

“If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles. If you know yourself but not the enemy, for every victory gained you will also suffer a defeat. If you know neither the enemy nor yourself, you will succumb in every battle.”

9/11

Though the smoke and dust are gone,
the souls of three thousand live on.
Two thousand parents taken away;
and three thousand children had to stay.
as four planes of terror crashed
the hopes of years to come were dashed.

Ten years on; a nation greaves
in city streets strewn with leaves.
In quiet suburbs beneath blue sky
people bow their heads and cry.
Images within their minds reside
of the day a nation’s innocence died.

A war on terror was declared
the people of world were scared.
Far off lands were torn to shreds
as troops dragged people from their beds.
Searching for the men who dared
attack a nation so unprepared.

Patriots of the United States
were unaware of all the hates.
They didn’t understand
why people in a far off land
could hate them for the way they act
with so very little tact.

Ten years have passed since the date
when terrorists expressed their hate.
America has waged a war
With dirty tactics we all abhor.
Torture and Extraordinary Rendition
are tools of hatred by tradition.

As they bow their heads and pray
for the souls lost on that fateful day,
may they see the reason it occurred
and realise spreading hatred is absurd.
They say; all men are created equal
Lord; please help them avoid a sequel.

John Carré Buchanan
09 September 2011

Smiles Apart

I met one of my school masters in town today. He retired from teaching a few years ago and returned to Bangladesh with his family.

We had a bit of a chat and he told me that he had returned to teaching, but rather than at a public school he was now teaching street children. These young children were attending school between jobs or instead of scavenging for the next meal. Many of them had no home to return to and lived on very dangerous streets.

We discussed the difference in attitude towards school between the kids he used to teach and those he teaches now. I must admit that having seen kids walking miles to school in a number of countries; what he told me came as no surprise.

I decided I would write this poem to record the difference;

Smiles Apart

The kids sit in the back of the car
A big, posh four by four,
Their mother’s taking them to school
A place they all abhor.

They’re dressed up smart at start of day
and their faces wear a frown.
by break they’ll have their shirt tails out
as tie and socks come down.

They talk in class and muck about
And tease those keen to learn
They have to hear things several times
As they their lessons spurn.

Their homework seems to take an age
and boy don’t they complain
they’d rather play on their x-box
then develop their brain.

These kids are a privileged lot
most eat three times a day
they get to sleep in their own beds
and have toys with which to play.

In other parts of our world
The story’s very different
Some kids live on the streets alone
while society remains indifferent.

These kids have horrific tales,
they’re often all alone,
Two things they have in common.
Abuse; and nowhere to call home.

There are kids who live with kin
and some even go to school
but they work in their spare time
and life is often cruel.

Governments, charities and missions
Offer some poor children schooling
And kids can walk for many miles
Their journey often gruelling.

Some lucky kids have uniforms
They are always smartly worn
and the children pay attention
when the teacher’s in front of form.

These children are all eager
To learn and better themselves
They take nothing for granted
And work as hard as elves.

They wear smiles on their faces
and grasp opportunity by the hand,
they do all they can to better themselves
and stride forth from where they stand.

Many kids of the rich, like their parents,
take for granted the privilege they share.
They moan at the chances they’re given
and with glum faces shout ‘It’s not fair”.

And then there’s the kid in a million
Who grows up with a conscience fair
and devotes their life to poor children;
the ‘have nots’ in need of care.

John Carré Buchanan
19 July 2011