Confronting the Colonies (19 page)

Insurgencies were clearly an area in which the Colonial Office was the lead department. It could be argued that, given the JIC's Cold War mindset, the Colonial Office were wise to keep their distance, thereby ensuring colonial reports were untainted. But this would have undermined the importance of consensus in the British system. The JIC had to achieve a subtle balance regarding Colonial Office input. Too little input rendered colonial matters neglected. This meant that the impact of some international developments on a colonial insurgency went unforeseen. Where external forces were considered, the roles of internal agency and ideology in uprisings were marginalised in favour of external forces. Yet too much Colonial Office input without room for interdepartmental discussion, such as in the Grey Book, gave JIC appreciations a narrow focus on internal developments, causing the committee to neglect its interdepartmental role and its ability to help guide broader strategic policy.

Progress, however, was another significant theme during this period. The reforms of 1955 directly placed the importance of political and colonial intelligence at the forefront of Whitehall debate. They formed part of the committee's evolution towards the Cabinet Office. Although the reforms undoubtedly led to short-term tension in that the Colonial Office was reluctant to cooperate, they did begin to see improvements in the committee's willingness and ability to consider colonial affairs. Colonial territories began to be included in the weekly intelligence reviews and the period saw a gradual shift away from conventional military appreciations towards an acknowledgement that intelligence crossed departmental boundaries. It was finally recognised that non-defence intelligence was increasingly important in a world characterised by the twin policy contexts of the Cold War and decolonisation. This broadening
of intelligence set the foundations for the scope required today. In the committee's own words, the JIC had realised that

intelligence was no longer a purely military business; it was a matter of national concern spread over the political, economic, and military fields between which there was seldom a clear-cut dividing line […] Few problems fell wholly into the political or military fields; while the few purely political papers were dealt with by the appropriate political department, and purely military papers by the Chiefs of Staff, there was a great advantage in processing subjects of common interest through the Joint Intelligence Committee machinery, irrespective of the proportionate division of interest.
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The JIC was at the forefront of the broader conceptualisation of security so prevalent in the post-Cold War world. Its agenda and output gradually reflected this shift over the course of the committee's dealings with Cyprus. Indicative of increased political and colonial input, assessments of the conventional military threat to Cyprus evolved. Those commissioned and framed by the chiefs of staff gradually subsided to broader assessments including irregular threats and a more accurate balance between international developments and internal security. This reflected not only an expansion of the JIC, but equally the changed priorities within Whitehall itself. It emphasised an important truism which remains relevant today: intelligence assessments are heavily shaped by whichever interests frame the agenda and are involved in the drafting process. It is therefore crucial to think very carefully about which departments are being represented for each particular issue.

ADEN AND THE FEDERATION OF SOUTH ARABIA, 1962–1967

Cyprus gained independence in 1960. In the same year, British Prime Minister Harold Macmillan delivered his famous ‘Wind of Change' speech. In doing so he committed Britain to a ‘rapid process of decolonisation coupled with full political rights for the native populations'.
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Like Cyprus five years earlier however, Aden was deemed an important British territory which, according to the government, ‘would remain essential to our defence interests as long as we could foresee'.
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Sitting on the south coast of the Arabian Peninsula, it overlooked a bustling natural harbour resting in the crater of a dormant volcano. Aden was a strategic port, vital in facilitating the flow of oil between the Mediterranean and the Gulf. The ancient city was also an important base from which to defend Britain's client states elsewhere in the Persian Gulf. It was crucial in projecting power into the Indian Ocean and beyond towards Hong Kong. Indeed, southern Arabia, along with the emirates of the Persian Gulf, ‘represented the last bastion of British political and military influence in the Middle East', and Aden therefore played a key part in preserving Britain's role as a Middle Eastern power.
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This overarching strategic context of Britain's global role framed policy discussions relating to Aden. The twin frameworks of Cold War calculations
and the rise of nationalism, however, were never too far away—although the former was far less prominent than in previous insurgencies, as the superpowers moved towards a period of relative détente after the Cuban missile crisis. Despite the earlier rhetoric however, by 1967 Britain had withdrawn from Aden. London had relinquished the military base and cancelled defence commitments with the rulers of the adjoining South Arabian territories. This would have been utterly inconceivable just a few years earlier. As John Ducker writes, the withdrawal was anarchic, dispiriting and undignified. It ‘left everyone feeling betrayed except the NLF [National Liberation Front] who seized control'.
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In 1959, six states in the Western Aden Protectorate (an area which evolved in the hinterland of the Aden colony) formed a Federation of Arab Emirates of the South. They signed a treaty of mutual cooperation with Britain. By the end of 1962, the number of states in the federation had grown to eleven. This, the British authorities hoped, would increase regional stability, protect the Aden base and ensure British influence. Aden joined in January 1963 and the federation was subsequently renamed the Federation of South Arabia (FSA). This decision, however, outraged nationalists. The merger was followed by unrest and disorder, setting a tone that would last until British withdrawal.

To complicate matters, a revolution in Yemen overthrew the Imamate in September 1962. The country swiftly descended into a bitter and protracted civil war. The Egyptians quickly supported the nascent Republican government. Meanwhile, the Royalist opposition was assisted by Saudi Arabia, indirectly by British covert action and, to an extent, by British mercenaries. The events in Yemen were inextricably linked to those in Aden and the FSA, for British officials perceived the Egyptian presence as a significant threat to Whitehall's interests in South Arabia. As a fiery champion of Arab nationalism, Egyptian President Gamal Abdul Nasser supported Yemeni claims to sovereignty over South Arabia. Along with the United Arab Republic (a temporary union of Egypt and Syria), Yemen had been part of the United Arab States alliance from 1958. In allying with Nasser, the Yemeni imam had hoped to guarantee his country's autonomy from British interests in the south.

It was a short-lived union, however, and was dissolved in 1961. Nasser's foreign policy activism subsequently involved constant manoeuvrings between Egypt and other Arab states including Syria and Iraq, whilst his revolutionary rhetoric placed him in conflict with the more
conservative Arab states—including Yemen. After the imam withdrew from the alliance with Egypt, Nasser sought to convert Yemen into a revolutionary republic similar to his regime in Egypt. The president's adventures culminated in his foray into Yemen in 1962. Success in Yemen was important to Nasser. Following the breakup of the United Arab Republic (UAR), it formed a chance for him to expand his influence in the region and to challenge the British position in South Arabia. The British feared a domino effect: if Yemen fell to revolutionary Republican forces, so too would South Arabia and the Gulf as a whole.
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Egyptian and Republican incursions into FSA territory combined with Egyptian subversion in Aden itself brought about British retaliation.

Following the attempted assassination of the high commissioner in December 1963, a state of emergency was declared in Aden. Deteriorating security across the FSA swiftly followed. With the Egyptians increasingly perceived to be sponsoring the violence, British forces waged a counterinsurgency operation in the hilly Radfan area north of Aden. This was combined with a tricky urban counterterrorism campaign inside Aden itself.

A Labour Government was elected in October 1964. Harold Wilson's foreign policy goals, however, demonstrated much continuity with his Conservative predecessors, seeking to maintain both the Commonwealth and the transatlantic alliance. Under Wilson, Britain continued to pursue a global role and regarded Nasser as a serious threat to the stability of the Middle East. Although the new prime minister initially reaffirmed Britain's commitments east of Suez, Wilson swiftly realised the difficulties this posed given the UK's diminishing capacities. The realities of maintaining the South Arabian base over the long-term were hitting home. Accordingly, the Cabinet Committee on Defence and Oversea Policy concluded the following year that withdrawal was to be Britain's objective. Denis Healey, secretary of state for defence, recalled that ‘the cost of staying in Aden, with an increasingly hostile population armed and supported by Nasser's agents from neighbouring Yemen was out of all proportion to the gain'.
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The British government issued a Defence White Paper in February 1966. Despite confirming that Aden would be independent by 1968, the move angered federal rulers by renouncing defence commitments. The violence escalated dramatically. It encompassed increased attacks on British targets as well as a brutal conflict between the various rebel
groups who sought to gain control once Britain had withdrawn. Like Cyprus, inter-communal violence was problematic not just in creating a difficult counterinsurgency context but also in ensuring that local intelligence dried up. Ultimately, therefore, the British withdrawal in November 1967 was more a disorderly retreat than the planned scaling back of imperial commitments. Aden was decolonisation at its messiest.

Events in the region attracted a great deal of attention from the highest political authorities in London. Indeed, developments proved incredibly divisive across Whitehall. Tension bubbled to the surface most strikingly in fierce debates between the Foreign and Colonial Offices, as decolonisation increasingly muddied the boundaries between those two grand old offices of state.
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Sensitive issues included the nature and level of Egyptian subversion, whether to recognise the new Yemeni regime and the impact of Yemeni developments on Aden. Acrimonious altercations engulfed the backrooms of Whitehall and it is worth remembering that it was within this atmosphere, not one of hypothetical objective analysis, in which intelligence was assessed and disseminated.

The 1957 transition to the Cabinet Office ‘reflected the spread of our [the JIC's] intelligence interest away from the purely military into other fields as well'.
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By 1962 the JIC had become an established Cabinet Office committee with access to high-level policymakers. The committee continued to be served by an array of sub-committees, ranging from the scientific and technical sub-committee to the missile threat coordination sub-committee. It also created its own ad hoc working parties to examine specific issues and recommend reforms. Furthermore, the Joint Intelligence Staff and Heads of Sections continued to support the JIC by drafting assessments and monitoring current intelligence.

The mid-1960s saw a period of further reform to British intelligence. Organisational changes in 1964 increased ‘jointery' in defence management. Such reforms aimed to improve value for money and central control by reorganising the separate service departments into a single ministry. This was designed to increase the relative importance of the Ministry of Defence in relation to the individual armed services.
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Moves towards increased defence integration impacted upon JIC composition. They shifted the balance of the committee in the civilians'
favour. The three service intelligence branches were unified into a new Defence Intelligence Staff (DIS) and therefore, in line with the trend beginning in 1957, the JIC consisted of just two military representatives from the end of 1965. The first was Air Marshal Sir Harold Maguire, the deputy chief of the defence staff (intelligence). A jovial Irishman, Maguire served as the chiefs of staff spokesman. A skilled pilot, he was well-respected as a veteran of the Battle of Britain and had bravely endured three years in a Far Eastern prison camp during the Second World War. The second was the director-general of the DIS, Major General Sir Kenneth Strong. A multilingual and disciplined Scotsman, Strong had had an impressive career in intelligence. During the war, he served as General Dwight Eisenhower's chief of intelligence and the two became firm friends.
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The JIC was further streamlined in August 1966 when the Colonial Office was absorbed into the Commonwealth Relations Office. This signalled the end of 18 years' full-time Colonial Office representation on the JIC. From then on a representative of the Commonwealth Relations Office's Dependent Territories Division attended JIC meetings only when necessary.

Bernard Burrows chaired the JIC for the majority of the South Arabian campaign. Tall and handsome, Burrows enjoyed an eventful diplomatic career and has been described as one of the five most powerful men in the Foreign Office. An old Etonian, the chairman radiated an air of natural authority but was kind and lacked any sense of self-importance. On arrival to the Joint Intelligence Committee, he was already well-versed in Arabian affairs having served in the Gulf for most of the 1950s before moving to Turkey in 1958. Outside of public life, Burrows cultivated an intriguing interest in crop circles and square dancing.
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Burrows's successful chairmanship was sandwiched by that of Hugh Stephenson and Denis Greenhill. The latter headed the committee between 1966 and 1968. Considered skilled in dealing with ministers, he was articulate in argument but avoided causing offence. Greenhill possessed a ‘lugubrious exterior which belied a jocular spirit' and unexpectedly rose to the lofty heights of permanent under-secretary of the Foreign Office.
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