by Hamish Wilson/September 7, 2010

The nature of international efforts to help stabilise regions affected by war is changing.

Lengthy campaigns in Afghanistan and Iraq have left western powers increasingly risk averse and less inclined to take unilateral action. Opinion polls suggest that their constituents are more aware of, and less willing to bear the costs – in both money and lives – of fresh forays abroad, unless the threat is clear and present.

One outcome to be vigorously supported is a renewed determination by allied countries to join forces to rebuild systems of government and restore law and order in war-shattered regions such as the southern Afghan province of Helmand. The advantages are self-evident; less waste, greater impact and a swifter transition of power.

A striking example is the Provincial Reconstruction Team operating in Helmand. Its forms an energetic, multi-national hub for the combined efforts of US, UK, Danish and Estonian personnel, both civilian and military.

In principle it is a strategy that should pave the way for a faster exit, and be more likely to leave behind a population capable of governing and protecting its own.

In practice, integrated stabilisation missions introduce new hurdles that must be overcome to achieve such goals.

The most contentious obstacles appear in the form of international political agendas, which must be carefully calibrated lest they trigger discord on the ground. Other challenges lie in bridging the considerable cultural and institutional differences that divide civilian and military establishments. The difficulty is compounded by civilian organisations increasingly working alongside militaries of countries other than their own.

Efforts can be further hindered by well-intentioned government departments forced to work together in dangerous and difficult conditions. Aligning systems and bureaucracies across the civil service is a mighty challenge at the best of times, let alone amidst the fog of war.

Amidst this increasingly complex and ambitious landscape, the question becomes one of how best to align efforts to increase the effectiveness of international stabilisation missions?

International geo-politics play the trump card. Without concerted political will, any joint mission is doomed to failure. But for those on the ground, for whom foreign policy is well out of reach, the answer may be more personal.

Heroic efforts continue to be made in integrating structures, systems and strategies – a must when the alternative is half a dozen email systems that don’t talk to each other, or conflicting strategies that pit forces against each other.

But the real key to generating unity of effort lies in relationships. In the jungle of organisations, mandates and bureaucracies that increasingly define international stabilisation efforts, personalities matter a lot.

Working with populations affected by war to establish governance and tackle insecurity is extraordinarily complex. It is common – and necessary – for teams to be assembled from a rich mixture of organisations, nationality, language and skills. But they face extraordinary challenges: how to balance the need to use military power to quell an insurgency with the intent to build enduring relations with local populations? How best to work with warlords and local enforcers to secure the peace? When to mentor a government department through a complex reconstruction project, and when to use military assistance to deliver basic services? The tip of the iceberg reveals a relentless array of dilemmas that must be confronted daily.

Success in this multi-lateral environment takes outstanding people, equipped with first-rate skills and the rare talent to work together under extreme pressure. Their ability to forge relationships across sizeable cultural, ideological, religious, political and organisational differences is what forges unity under fire.

And thankfully, it isn’t being left to chance, for good fortune to bring good people of all ilk together. Enlightened organisations are embodying joined-up leadership, charting a joint and strategic direction while at the same time giving their people the space to lead on the ground.

Those in the thick of things should be encouraged by what is working in places like Helmand: building relationships and creating structures that deepen trust and build mutual accountability. The rewards lie in action that is more integrated and more likely to effect change.

It isn’t painless, quick, nor does it even guarantee success. But for international stabilisation missions such as that in Helmand, unity of effort is vital.

by Hamish Wilson/August 6, 2010

‘Good governance’ is an overused phrase in Helmand.

Ive found it all too easy to fall into the trap of thinking that simply hosting a shura – a gathering of tribal elders – constitutes ‘good governance’. Its even easier to make this mistake in a district that hasn’t seen many of them in recent years.

These past months Ive observed the new District Governor – wise and honourable as he appears to be – wrestle with the daunting task of establishing legitimacy and influence over the population of Musa Qal’eh. His lack of tribal or economic affiliation is a mixed blessing. On the one hand he maintains a refreshingly unbiased view of local affairs, yet on the other, he must contrive alliances with the established powerbrokers closely watching from behind the scenes. Navigating this tightrope of Afghan politics requires both dexterity and courage.

Such efforts cannot be left to accident or good fortune. Supporting the new District Governor establish the legitimate face of Government here is – in the view of a colleague – ‘the only game in town.’

And from where I stand, it is a game far from over.

‘This is my first time to come to this place.’ Abdul Rahman told me as we sat in a recent shura hosted by the District Governor. ‘I have come here to ask for help, as my harvest has failed this year, and my family will go hungry.’

Abdul lives 30 minutes walk away – about two kilometres – farming a small plot of land with his wife and five children. I was curious about why this was his first time coming to the shura. “The Taliban will beat me if they know that I have come. We have to come in secret”.

Hours later the shura came to a close and Abdul still had not spoken. “I am too embarrassed” he confided to me, clearly uncomfortable amongst the gathered elders. He then collected his belongings and resolutely set off under the searing midday sun on the dusty trek back to his village. He didn’t say whether he would return or not.

Ive come to notice now when these shuras don’t work. They feel hollow and frail, a performance that fails to satisfy the people or serve their interests. And Ive felt what is possible when they do – a sense of participation, of unity and purpose. Either way, its clear that the shura hall is as important a battlefield as any other.

But Ive also realised that it doesn’t matter what I think. Winning the battle for ‘good governance’ in this district rests squarely on whether people like Abdul Raman feel it is worth it to make the dangerous journey from their homes to air their problems and believe that something will change as a result.

by Hamish Wilson/July 17, 2010

Find yourself downtown Musa Qal’eh and you’ll immediately be struck by its bustling bazaar.

If its early in the morning you’ll find traders hawking all manner of wares from the cracked pavements, waving you inside from the entrances to their simple concrete stalls. There’s over a thousand shops here – in a manner of speaking – and it’s the economic heart of the district.

You’ll find colourful haberdashers, resplendent with beautiful cloth from Pakistan, you’ll pass butchers offering freshly slaughtered goat and chicken, (speckled with merrily feasting flies). You’ll see heavily laden and garishly decorated trucks (jinglys) groaning under the weight of goods purchased in Kandahar by groups of local shopkeepers. You might even find a dingy café or two serving the area’s infamous soft-serve ice-cream. If you can afford it you can buy television sets, hairdryers and fridges, or make calls from the dozen or so satellite phone shops which serve as the district’s telephone service.

Although the district is primarily a subsistence, agriculture based economy, commerce is alive and well for those with a little extra cash or an entrepreneurial flair. And its slowly growing, with 10-20 new shops appearing in the past three months.

If you ask the shopkeepers what they think is important to continue this growth – as we did a few days ago – you’ll be told a consistent message; they want security. For themselves, for their trucks bringing goods up on the notorious desert highway from Gereshk, and for their customers. Things haven’t been great in the past three months in that regard – the summer fighting season has taken its toll on people’s appetite to go shopping. But they will also say that its about providing basic services like reliable power, and finding better ways of managing the municipality.

All told it’s a pretty reasonable request, one that is guiding the government’s redoubled efforts to attract more business to the heart of Musa Qal’eh. The challenge is clear; if the conditions are right, then – as no doubt you will have seen from your brief shopping trip – business can flourish here.

by Hamish Wilson/July 16, 2010

“Good to see you mate. It’s been a long time”. Angus, the district Political Officer and the other half of our Stabilisation Team greeted me as I stepped off the military transport, fresh from two weeks leave. He looked ever so slightly haggard – the usual spring in his step a shade less energetic than I remembered.

But then I waved him off – it was now his turn and he’d earned it. It sounded a tough time, and he gleefully wished me well as he departed. I was just a little daunted at the prospect of coordinating stabilisation efforts across two districts solo.

My first day is a maelstrom, awaking to the deep boom and shudder of an explosion. The nearby bazaar had been attacked using a motorcycle converted into a lethal homemade bomb, killing five innocent civilians. A cowardly, insidious act.

We immediately convened a meeting with the Government – where my worries deepened learning of the District Governor’s absence, away now for over four weeks and leaving precious few officials to deal with such crises. We made plans for the swift repair of the blast site and search for those responsible. We also met with the Afghan National Police to strengthen security around the Governor’s compound.

But things don’t slow down for such an incident, and I am quickly embroiled in a whirlwind of briefings to catch up on the myriad of latest events… the town’s generator has run out of fuel and the contractor has disappeared. Insurgents have launched a campaign of intimidation which must be nipped in the bud. A host of construction projects are demanding my attention (and a new school has been approved for construction). The governor’s council is to be reconvened  There are land disputes to be resolved and I learn that a young girl has been sold to pay for her father’s drug addiction. A recent counter-narcotics themed volleyball match between marines and local students has been an unbridled success (much relief at this news). It goes on.

And endless administrivia sits waiting impatiently. Reports, budgets, reviews, workplans are all buried within a morass of emails.

By midnight, its been a mind-numbing 11 meetings, and my leave is a distant memory. Its been a long first day back in Musa Qal’eh.