16 December 2009 Pharaoh and the Sergeant – Kipling 1897

"...Consider that the meritorious services of the Sergeant Instructors


attached to the Egyptian Army have been inadequately acknowledged ...

To the excellence of their work is mainly due the great improvement

that has taken place in the soldiers of H.H. the Khedive."

(Extract from letter).

Pharaoh and the Sergeant – Kipling 1897

“SAID England unto Pharaoh, "I must make a man of you,

That will stand upon his feet and play the game;

That will Maxim his oppressor as a Christian ought to do,"

And she sent old Pharaoh Sergeant Whatisname.

It was not a Duke nor Earl, nor yet a Viscount —

It was not a big brass General that came;

But a man in khaki kit who could handle men a bit,

With his bedding labeled Sergeant Whatisname”

Today’s mail brought a very welcome box of oranges and grapefruit, courtesy of Gloria’s brother, Shea and his wife Brigitte. We’ll ration them out, one each/day and enjoy them greatly. It was nice having tangerines, navel oranges, kumquats, mangos, and avocados growing in the back yard in Florida. But the tangerine tree produced so prolifically that we could never eat what it grew. Nor could we give them away – everyone we knew had some sort of citrus fruit growing somewhere. The navel orange tree was old and slowing down but provided wonderfully juicy oranges. The kumquat tree provided marmalade one year but most years the fruit was used to amuse the dog. The avocado trees produced only about every third year, but the mango tree was marvelous. We planted it and it rewarded our care with the finest mangos I’ve ever eaten; syrupy, tender, non-stringy, and thin-skinned, with hints of honey in every bite. We miss those trees. But here we have hemlocks, pines, four seasons, and wild turkeys.

We received an amazing package from my sister, Suzanne and her husband Ernie today. It was filled with some seasonal plates and mugs, carefully monogrammed fatwood, a toy for Gloria to decorate her work area, carefully chosen small items to be opened on the appropriate night of Hanukah, and even a gift for Loki. Loki quickly realized what was hers and took it off to enjoy alone. She didn’t offer to share. Obviously Suz chose wisely!

Also in today’s mail, from Diana, Gloria’s niece, two very interesting cookbooks and a new kitchen scale. These followed and already happily received CD of Ozark fiddle tunes.

Gloria saw the neurosurgeon this morning. His verdict, surgery, a micro-decompression. She wants to try to ride it out until after her jewelry design class is over. I hope she can. We three all agreed that now is not a good time for elective surgery. We’ll see how this plays out.

The Obama plan for Afghanistan, much like the Bush plan for Iraq, reminds me all too much of a program I once watched fail, called “Vietnamization.” Our gallant allies in the ARVN were supposed to be trained up to speed and capability so that they could effectively wage war against the much more highly motivated PAVN and allow LBJ and Tricky Dick to bring home our troops. In fact, the entire reason for being in VietNam originally was one of training and advising them in how to slaughter the other side like the big kids do.

There are enough weapons floating around Afghanistan that no one need want. The means to deliver 7.62 mm bullets in an indiscriminant spray ate there for the taking. What the Soviets left behind during their withdrawal has been supplemented by the immense number of weapons we purchased and used to equip the jihadis of the Mujahidin in the last of our surrogate wars with the Soviets. Every male in the mountains can load and fire one if not maintain it well. For the long standing warrior culture of Afghanistan’s tribes, spraying death and making noise count for more than cleaning one’s weapons.

The thrust of our effort to train indigenous Afghan troops will fail, slowly or rapidly, but miserably as have all other attempts to forge tribal bandits and religious enforcers into a real working army. That certainty is guaranteed by the corruption of the national and local governments in Afghanistan and the culture that controls life in those mountains. The religious fanaticism of the Taliban meshes with the willingness of Afghan males to keep their wives and daughters unable to read, bare-foot, and pregnant. The tribalism overwhelms any chance of a working army because no “warrior” will willingly take orders from someone in another tribe. That same warrior will, however, happily call down an airstrike on a rival tribe’s military component of the local militia.

It seems that there has been little progress since Islam swept the “stans.” There has been little since the Mongols ruled the area. And there has been no progress at all since the British were shown the borders.

I’m sure it is politically incorrect to disparage the ability of the Afghan army. It was equally politically incorrect to cast aspersions on the army of South VietNam. It mattered not; the ARVN broke and ran, led by their officer corps. I saw Vietnamization fail. Anyone who really looks hard can see that no matter how much money and manpower we spend to rebuild the Iraqi army, it will likely fall apart along religious lines when we leave their soil. In fact, we’ll be lucky if it really holds together that long.

And “Afghanization?” Well, late night comics and op-ed writers are going to enjoy it. But our edition of Sgt. Whatshisname, who will have worked so hard to try to make an army of a mob, most certainly won’t enjoy it. Perhaps the next generation of politicians may remember the failure. One can only hope so.

Young British Soldier now and then

An anonymous British soldier wrote this and posted it on the internet. As I wrote yesterday, the technology of war has changed but not the cost.

Please use the link provided below to allow you to read the entire piece.  Because it is a graphic, I can't make it entirely legible otherwise.

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-1204317/British-soldier-writes-Rudyard-Kipling-poem-damning-attack-conditions.html

A “gimpy” is a general purpose machine gun.












Over a century after the British first tried to bring their version of civilization to the various tribes and cultures that have never quite achieved nation status; they and we are engaged in the same process. That we call it “nation building” instead of colonialism makes little difference. We’re trying to import western style government and social structures into a place that does not understand or want them. The national government in Kabul is regarded by the tribes in rural Afghanistan as corrupt and sectarian as opposed to Islamic in nature. The Taliban, who previously held national power until driven from supremacy by the early months of the current US incursion, are Islamic fundamentalists and control much of the hinterlands by means of popular support or by means of threats to and attacks upon the populace in the tribal areas. Support for equal rights for women, education for women, land reform, and even freedom of religion, was initially voiced by the People’s Democratic Party of Afghanistan which took power in 1978. This pro-Soviet government was not popular with the U.S., which under the Carter administration began a program of destabilization. Nor was it popular with the tribes in the rural provinces. The tribal leaders preferred Sharia law to secular law, and had then, as now, no interest in land reform, education for women, or any equality of women under law or culture. In December of 1979, the Soviet Union invaded Afghanistan under a dubious support treaty’s authority. Afghanistan has been essentially without government beyond Kabul since then. The tribes still prefer the culture and social structure that allows an Islamic state akin in nature to those of the Caliphate.

There is little any western nation or western agencies can do to change the nature of Afghanistan. We’re pouring money and lives into a vast political and military sink hole. It is time to bring our troops and those of our few remaining allies home. Afghanistan will either stand on its own or fail. The odds are that it will fail, becoming another failed nation like Somalia, Haiti, Sudan, and soon, Iraq. We can’t rescue these states and we can’t prevent their descent into pits of inhumanity and constant conflict.

Kipling voiced the Tommies’ knowledge of a reality their political bosses failed to grasp in the Anglo-Afghani wars. This anonymous Tommy voices that same failure and disconnect in today’s war.

I’ll keep looking to see if I can find similar understanding in the writings of the men and women who make up our armed forces. Certainly there is a disconnect between the bulk of the populace and the war that is still Bush/Cheney’s for a few weeks longer. Obama has the chance to disengage from our current war with Afghanistan, one that will bring us nothing but lost lives and more debt. Or he can decide to engage in futile nation building and expend the lives of our troops to no real end, in a failing state that’s population does not want us there. I’ve made my opinion known to the White House. All of you should as well. I’ll make it easy for you to do so:

http://www.whitehouse.gov/CONTACT/



So that you can see how well the anonymous soldier understood Kipling, here’s the original.

The Young British Soldier - Rudyard Kipling



When the 'arf-made recruity goes out to the East

'E acts like a babe an' 'e drinks like a beast,

An' 'e wonders because 'e is frequent deceased

Ere 'e's fit for to serve as a soldier.

Serve, serve, serve as a soldier,

Serve, serve, serve as a soldier,

Serve, serve, serve as a soldier,

So-oldier ~OF~ the Queen!



Now all you recruities what's drafted to-day,

You shut up your rag-box an' 'ark to my lay,

An' I'll sing you a soldier as far as I may:

A soldier what's fit for a soldier.

Fit, fit, fit for a soldier . . .



First mind you steer clear o' the grog-sellers' huts,

For they sell you Fixed Bay'nets that rots out your guts --

Ay, drink that 'ud eat the live steel from your butts --

An' it's bad for the young British soldier.

Bad, bad, bad for the soldier . . .



When the cholera comes -- as it will past a doubt --

Keep out of the wet and don't go on the shout,

For the sickness gets in as the liquor dies out,

An' it crumples the young British soldier.

Crum-, crum-, crumples the soldier . . .



But the worst o' your foes is the sun over'ead:

You ~must~ wear your 'elmet for all that is said:

If 'e finds you uncovered 'e'll knock you down dead,

An' you'll die like a fool of a soldier.

Fool, fool, fool of a soldier . . .



If you're cast for fatigue by a sergeant unkind,

Don't grouse like a woman nor crack on nor blind;

Be handy and civil, and then you will find

That it's beer for the young British soldier.

Beer, beer, beer for the soldier . . .



Now, if you must marry, take care she is old --

A troop-sergeant's widow's the nicest I'm told,

For beauty won't help if your rations is cold,

Nor love ain't enough for a soldier.

'Nough, 'nough, 'nough for a soldier . . .



If the wife should go wrong with a comrade, be loath

To shoot when you catch 'em -- you'll swing, on my oath! --

Make 'im take 'er and keep 'er: that's Hell for them both,

An' you're shut o' the curse of a soldier.

Curse, curse, curse of a soldier . . .



When first under fire an' you're wishful to duck,

Don't look nor take 'eed at the man that is struck,

Be thankful you're livin', and trust to your luck

And march to your front like a soldier.

Front, front, front like a soldier . . .



When 'arf of your bullets fly wide in the ditch,

Don't call your Martini a cross-eyed old bitch;

She's human as you are -- you treat her as sich,

An' she'll fight for the young British soldier.

Fight, fight, fight for the soldier . . .



When shakin' their bustles like ladies so fine,

The guns o' the enemy wheel into line,

Shoot low at the limbers an' don't mind the shine,

For noise never startles the soldier.

Start-, start-, startles the soldier . . .



If your officer's dead and the sergeants look white,

Remember it's ruin to run from a fight:

So take open order, lie down, and sit tight,

And wait for supports like a soldier.

Wait, wait, wait like a soldier . . .



When you're wounded and left on Afghanistan's plains,

And the women come out to cut up what remains,

Jest roll to your rifle and blow out your brains

An' go to your Gawd like a soldier.

Go, go, go like a soldier,

Go, go, go like a soldier,

Go, go, go like a soldier,

So-oldier ~of~ the Queen!

A Martini, in this instance, describes a service rifle used by the British Army.

http://www.martinihenry.com/



The forecast rains arrived at 1000 today. The temperature has fallen 8 degrees F since 0730. It should bottom out around 40 F. We’re scheduled to go dancing tonight. That always fills me with trepidation although I generally have fun when all is said and done. I suppose it is as much fear of embarrassing myself by missing or failing to properly execute the instruction calls, or to learn them rapidly enough. I still have the social skills of a musician who played for others to dance rather than those that would allow me to become a good dancer.

I’m a bit concerned about the trip back tomorrow. With I-40 closed and traffic detouring to I-26 > I-81, it may be that truckers will choose to run the TN 81>TN 107. US 11 E route that is a shorter but much narrower 2 lane stretch that would route them through the Nolichucky Gorge at its narrowest and most curvy portion of TN 81. A semi driver overturned on that stretch the other night, and was killed. I’d bet excessive speed was a primary factor. The teen ager ejected from the car noted earlier this week died. A memorial was up by the road Thursday. No lessons learned.

And last, also in lessons not learned, I’ve been complaining about color in my photos. Today I finally noticed an incorrect setting that somehow has been escaping my notice.