22 May 2015
Postcard from the Falklands frontline
July 2012
At a conference I attended in the late 1980s, shortly before
the collapse of the Soviet Union and the Iron Curtain, a Czech delegate in his
somewhat risqué speech said, “forests in my country are not the same as in
other countries. We have a tree, then another tree, then a Russian soldier,
another tree, another Russian Soldier…” Mount Pleasant airport has even more of
a military feel than Brize Norton, with more forces buildings, high tech
equipment and people in uniform, so their equivalent might be, “here we have a
sheep, another sheep, an anti-aircraft battery, another sheep, a high-tech
comms link, another sheep…”
Next to the airport, rows of matt-green buildings form a drab town, nicknamed the ‘Death Star’, where several hundred military families live. The accommodation was built 30 miles south of Stanley, where most Islanders are, because in the 1980s the authorities worried the soldiers would marry all the local girls and deplete the population. In these boom times in the Falklands (with no unemployment, and the government running a surplus), the reverse seems to be happening in that visitors are marrying locals but staying put, so the Falklands population is rising.
A brief detour to the nearby naval port, before heading to
Stanley, nearly resulted in my being arrested for taking photographs of a
restricted area, until someone pointed out that a similar shot could be found
on Google Earth, but unlike mine, Google’s includes rather a nice shot of a
submarine. We are allowed to continue after I promise to delete the offending
photos.
The road to Stanley is slow and rough, the landscape barren
and windswept, with little to see other than the omnipresent sheep, the very
occasional farm, an impressive 6 turbine wind farm and tussocks of grass. We
pass a very small field of perhaps 50 Christmas trees being grown by a farmer,
which we’re told carries the nickname ‘Falklands forest’, as there are no
naturally occurring trees.
It’s about an hour’s drive from the airport to Stanley and
we can’t help thinking how fit the soldiers must have been to yomp across this
terrain, with 50kg of kit, before immediately going into battle with the
Argentinians. Memories of the war are everywhere, and the Islanders like to
promote their patriotic nature. There’s a large memorial outside the
Secretariat (the seat of the government and civil service), with wreaths to
mark the 30th anniversary of the war, including one from Margaret
Thatcher. We also pass ‘Thatcher Drive’ and plaques in the Cathedral to the
armed forces “who liberated us” and to a crew lost in a downed helicopter.
There are flags everywhere and a favourite sticker of mine, present in many
windows proclaims, “Falkland Islands, British to the Core”. Chatting to a
Chilean shopkeeper (there are about 300 Chileans on the islands, but no
Argentinians), I suggest that the proposed referendum next year might get 90%
support for the proposal to remain British, to which she replies, “I will be
appalled if it does not win 100% of the vote”. Despite her imperfect English
and South American looks, she really does come over as being ‘British to the
Core’.
Our first meeting is in the Secretariat, and we are shown
into the ‘Liberation Room’. There’s a plaque on the wall which reads “In this
room, during the evening of 14 June 1982, Major-General Jeremy Moore accepted
the Surrender of the Military Governor and Commander of the Argentine Armed Forces
who had invaded and occupied the Falkland Islands on 2 April 1982”, above the
framed, signed Instrument of Surrender (see attached photo). Note that the
Argentine commander deleted the word “unconditional” before signing it. The war
had lasted barely two months, including the time to assemble and dispatch the
task force, which seems an incredibly short time. Several hundred soldiers,
sailors and airmen were killed on both sides, but only three islanders.
The easy but mistaken view from the Northern Hemisphere is that the Falklands are still a quasi-war zone, with Argentina threatening just a few hundred kilometres to the west, and the islands’ defence depending on austerity-hit British forces, with 20% fewer soldiers, no aircraft carriers and insufficient ships to repeat what happened in 1982, and it is therefore probably just a matter of time before the islands are taken by, or given back to, Argentina.
In fact, militarily this is a fortress and there seems no
chance of Argentina doing anything more than some cage-rattling oratory and a
very small amount of trade pressure. If the Falklands were to become
Argentinian, it would be as wrong as the Isle of Wight becoming French. It is
hard to imagine a more British place, from the architecture to the food, from
the ethnicity of the people to the government, its laws and its history. It’s
also a very safe place, with almost no crime, great social cohesion and a
belief, or even a worry, that the risk to their future is very much more
political than military. Oil should increase the ability of the islanders to
continue as they are, even if it will change the character of the islands and
the islanders’ way of life and, very likely, seriously annoy Argentina. They
are looking forward to that one.
It’s been a humbling day in many ways. Next time, like
Fawlty Towers, I won’t mention the war. Promise.
# posted by DavidF @ 16:21 
