Authors: James R. Arnold
Jungle of Snakes (20 page)
A Winning Strategy
By British standards, Templer commanded a sizable force including half of the line regiments in the entire British army, all
its Gurkha battalions, and a variety of regiments from the remnants of the far-flung empire, including the King’s African
Rifles and the Fijian Regiment. He intended to wield them differently, moving away from large sweeps and instead concentrating
on keeping units in one area long enough so they could learn the local terrain. Templer also thought that various British
units had acquired valuable experience in jungle fighting and that this knowledge needed to be collected and disseminated
in a systematic way. The result was a booklet entitled “The Conduct of Anti-Terrorist Operations in Malaya.” Based on the
syllabus of the Jungle Warfare Training Centre, it was written in just two weeks. It was a practical how-to compendium describing
techniques for patrolling, conducting searches, setting ambushes, and acquiring intelligence. Printed in a size that fit into
a jungle uniform pocket, “The Conduct of Anti-Terrorist Operations in Malaya,” inevitably given the acronym ATOM, served as
a soldier’s bible. Templer inscribed his own copy with this notation: “It is largely as a result of the publication of this
handbook . . . that we got militant communism in Malaya by the throat.”
10
The improvement in jungle tactics coincided with the insight that the vast, apparently impenetrable jungle actually held a
limited network of trails and that the enemy had no choice but to use them. Communist couriers, food requisition parties,
and organized units carrying out operations had to traverse these trails some time or another. Rather than noisily bashing
about the jungle on useless large-scale sweeps, the British tactic of choice became the setting of an ambush overlooking a
trail, followed by a patient waiting period. Platoons operated along the jungle edge for ten to twenty days at a time. They
spent most of their time watching and listening.
For a superior officer, the notion of passively waiting for the enemy to appear flew in the face of conventional training.
For the soldiers waiting silently hour after hour trying to ignore the leeches, mosquitoes, sleep-inducing heat and humidity,
and fatigue, it was not pleasant. A British officer wrote, “I had grown used to the jungle during the war in Burma, but there
we were always in large parties and in touch either by sound or wireless with the units to our left and right. Also we always
had some idea of where the enemy was. Here we were just a little party of ten men, completely isolated, and the enemy was
God knows where. He might be behind the next bush, or the one beyond that, or he might be a hundred miles away. We never knew.”
11
Most of the time no one passed the ambush site. Yet statistics revealed that on average a soldier on patrol encountered an
insurgent once every 1,000 hours. The same soldier waiting patiently in ambush saw an insurgent once every 300 hours. Typically,
a contact did not occur until after the ambushers had been in position for more than twenty-four hours. An officer tabulated
his accomplishments at the end of his tour. He had spent 115 days in the jungle: “I was with my company when we shot and killed
a terrorist. I set an ambush with a section of my platoon which shot and killed a terrorist. My platoon shot and killed a
terrorist in an ambush while I was on leave. A company operation in which I took part resulted in four terrorists surrendering.
I fired at, but missed, a terrorist who was running away from a camp which we were attacking.”
12
Based on conversations with fellow officers, he concluded that he had experienced a fairly active tour of duty.
Jungle ambush was not comfortable, it was not glorious, but in this war it was the most effective purely military tactic.
Food Denial
The Malayan jungle did not produce enough food to sustain the guerrillas. They needed to obtain sustenance from sympathizers
living outside the jungle to survive. The British knew this and conceived a strict food denial program (what became known
as Operation Starvation) to starve the guerrillas. Weakened by hunger, they would become vulnerable to military operations
or surrender. The food denial strategy proved a devastating measure that eventually defeated the insurgents.
The British carefully followed a three-phase approach to implement the food denial strategy. A months-long intelligence-gathering
operation inaugurated the program. Special Branch officers infiltrated the Min Yuen support organization inside a designated
village. During this time, military patrols deliberately avoided this village. Instead, they operated in adjacent areas in
the hope that their presence would push the terrorists toward the apparent sanctuary of the designated village.
The second phase began the day the strict food rationing began and lasted three to five months. It included house-to-house
searches to seize food stores and the arrest of known Communist agents who had been identified by the Special Branch undercover
agents. Thereafter, security forces tightly guarded the supply convoys that delivered rice to the village. The rice was cooked
centrally by government cooks while armed guards looked on. Within the village, authorities controlled the sale and distribution
of all other food. Meanwhile, the military patrolled the nearby jungle to provide security against insurgent attacks.
The people were told that the restrictions would end as soon as the terrorists had been killed or captured. If all proceeded
as planned, the villagers would tire of this intrusive disruption and denounce the Communist infrastructure. Then, in the
final phase, Communist turncoats would lead Special Branch operational teams, masquerading as Communist terrorists, against
higher-level formations.
THE FOOD DENIAL effort was not airtight. At first many of the village perimeters lacked illumination, making it easy for Communist
sympathizers to throw food and medicine to the waiting guerrillas outside the wire. As perimeter security improved, the sympathizers
turned to other tactics. Villagers smuggled rice by hiding it inside bicycle frames, cigarette tins, or false-bottomed buckets
of pig swill on the supposition that a Malay policeman, because of his Muslim religion, would be unwilling to touch anything
to do with swine. When security forces detected these dodges, the insurgents increasingly turned to using children to smuggle
food.
The soldiers and the police usually harnessed their efforts in tandem. An infantry officer wrote, “The police could not take
on the fighting against the bandits in the jungle, whereas we could not undertake the normal process of maintaining law and
order in the villages and towns and protected areas.”
13
Another infantry officer inspected his men while they were on gate duty at a New Village. Long lines of pedestrians, cyclists,
and vehicles impatiently waited to leave the village while hour after hour the men of the South Wales Borderers performed
meticulous vehicle and body searches. He wrote, “It is not easy to turn one’s battalion into a cross between a body of high-class
customs officials and police detectives, but what I saw that morning confirmed everything that has been said about the adaptability
of the British soldiers.”
14
As the security forces became ever more serious about enforcing food regulations, which meant time-consuming personal body
searches each morning, villagers became understandably more angry about the long lines as they went outside the wire to work
in the fields and jungle. Communist propagandists tried to magnify village grievances, claiming security forces were taking
indecent advantage of females during searches. Although the international press published some of this propaganda, it failed
to deter the British from intensifying their food denial efforts.
The mere possession of food outside the wire risked a penalty of up to five years in prison. The government reduced the number
of stores authorized to sell food, banned tinned Quaker Oats because it was an insurgent emergency ration, restricted the
sale of high-energy foods and medicines, and ordered shop keepers to puncture tins of food in the presence of the buyer so
tropical heat could begin its spoiling process and prevent the food from being stockpiled for the insurgents. Other draconian
measures severely restricted the quantities of tinned meat, fish, and cooking oil permitted in individual households.
While the New Villages were subjected to the methodical imposition of food denial measures, military search-and-destroy operations
in adjacent areas proceeded. Often during these operations the security forces imposed a severe rice ration on the local inhabitants.
Government spokesmen claimed that this ration was “just enough to keep a person in good health.” According to the Chinese
Chamber of Commerce this was not true. The rice ration created “fifty thousand half-starved people, many of whom were too
ill or to weak to work.”
15
Templer and his subordinates were not blind to the human suffering caused by the food denial program. They also considered
other adverse consequences such as the real risk of spawning a repressive governmental bureaucracy and the impact of international
opprobrium. They weighed the operational effect of the food denial policies versus the impact on civilian morale and pressed
ahead. At the same time, the British offered the people an enormous incentive to cooperate. The British called this inducement
the “White Area,” a symbolic cleansing of the red taint of Communism.
White Areas were almost literally the carrot to the stick of Emergency regulations. When a region demonstrated loyalty to
the government and a corresponding dramatic reduction in Communist activity, authorities suspended Emergency regulations including
most especially food restrictions, curfews, limited business hours, and controls over the movement of people and goods. The
inhabitants of the New Villages still had to live within their assigned villages and maintain their defenses. But compared
to their onerous life under Emergency regulations, this was freedom. The government declared the first White Area in September
1953 and during the next two and a half years extended this designation to include almost half the country’s population.
AS TIME PASSED, the operational effects of the food denial program were dramatic. The guerrillas literally began to starve.
They could hardly lean on sympathizers to provide for them since those sympathizers could honestly say that strict rationing,
central cooking, thorough gate searches, and swarming security patrols prevented them from smuggling food to the guerrillas.
When British intelligence pinpointed a guerrilla band on the verge of starvation, security forces flooded the area and food
denial operations intensified. At such times civil life came to a standstill as the security forces imposed curfews of up
to thirty-six hours along with very strict rice rationing. Knowing that the guerrillas would have to move or die, military
forces flooded the area to set ambushes along every possible trail. One such operation in Johore featured three infantry battalions,
five Area Security Units, two Police Special service Groups, and a “volunteer” force of ex-guerrillas. For five weeks these
forces operated in conjunction with strict local food denial and pervasive psychological warfare efforts. They never killed
a single guerrilla, yet their presence led to the collapse of guerrilla morale. Hobbled by hunger, compelled to keep on the
move while dodging patrols and ambushes, the guerrillas initially survived only by operating in ever-smaller groups. This
dispersal led to the breakdown of command authority. In the absence of officers, individuals found it easier to surrender.
As unit disintegration continued, the leaders concluded that further resistance was futile and they too surrendered.
This type of operation could only work in compact, carefully targeted areas where the security forces could completely dominate
the terrain. The Johore operation required an enormous expenditure of effort to capture one guerrilla and receive the surrender
of eleven more. However, it was an operational approach to which the guerrillas had no answer.
The Battle for Intelligence
THROUGHOUT HIS TENURE IN command Templer emphasized the paramount importance of intelligence. “Malaya is an Intelligence war,”
he repeatedly asserted.
1
In the absence of good intelligence, jungle patrolling, no matter how professionally carried out, failed to produce results.
As one officer noted, “No intelligence meant no contacts and no contacts meant no intelligence.”
2
In theory, the police were in the best position to provide useful intelligence. However, until Templer set in train comprehensive
reforms, both police and military intelligence were often inaccurate or useless. A British officer, John Chynoweth, served
with the Malay Regiment. He received a top-secret debriefing of an informer and used the information to plan a patrol. The
result was “the most colossal mess-up of an operation ever.”
3
Only a last-second instinct for restraint prevented Chynoweth from accidently killing innocent villagers. He pondered what
had gone wrong and speculated that the informer might have deliberately denounced the villagers as part of an ongoing personal
feud, might have made a genuine mistake, or might have simply hoped that the patrol would somehow encounter a terrorist and
then he would “earn” his reward. After another eight-day sweep that failed to find the enemy, Chynoweth wrote in June 1953,
“I’m sure this is not the way to get them. We are not fighting an army, but small groups who do not fight pitched battles
. . . Bandits can move many times faster than any of our platoons, are clever and desperate and elusive. The best way is to
get information from villages or surrendered bandits who lead one to a definite camp.”
4
In a conflict where intelligence was king, very little useful intelligence came from the Chinese villages until the government
established secure police posts within the villages. These police stations then became the hub for security and intelligence.
The local police knew who should and who should not be present in a village. Their ability to distinguish residents from outsiders
severely curtailed Communist movement. When the police arrested a Communist sympathizer, or better still an agent or courier,
he or she might divulge useful information allowing the security forces to roll up an entire Communist cell.
As part of their counterinsurgency philosophy that emphasized acting within legal boundaries, the British worked hard to improve
the police. Great Britain had considerable experience in handing over colonial authority to the native people. Part of this
process was to train the police. To help in Malaya, the British summoned experienced trainers from around the Empire including
hundreds of former police sergeants who had served in Palestine. In January 1952 Colonel Arthur Long, commissioner of the
City of London Police, came to Malaya to reorganize the Federation Police and Special Constables. Within a year the Federation
Police had compiled comprehensive lists of Malayan Races Liberation Army personnel and documented the local areas where they
operated. Armed with this specific and precise intelligence, small hunter-killer platoons went after the guerrillas.
In contrast to the regular army units who had bashed through the jungle, the hunter-killer platoons were well-trained units
composed of soldiers who had learned how to operate in the jungle. They were superbly fit in order to operate in the enervating
environment, and first-class marksmen. Their sharpshooting skill was important because shoulder-fired weapons remained the
weapon that inflicted almost all casualties on the enemy. The combination of jungle stamina, fire discipline, knowledge of
the country, and high morale made the men of the hunter-killer platoons implacable foes of the guerrillas. Yet even when nourished
with good intelligence, these platoons still spent hundreds of hours of fruitless searching in order to locate the insurgents.
Then, when contact came, it was fleeting, and “bags” seldom exceeded two or three guerrillas killed.
Another tool in the war for intelligence was a national registration program. Introduced early in the Emergency, it required
every person over the age of twelve to register at the police station to obtain an identity card complete with photo and thumbprint.
Thereafter, they always had to carry this card with them while the police retained a copy. To make the system work the government
had to provide a strong incentive. It chose coercion. People needed to show their cards to obtain a food ration, to build
a home in a resettlement village, to expand their garden plot, and for a host of other daily activities tied to economic survival.
Naturally the civilian population resented all of this but they quickly appreciated that life was easier with rather than
without their cards.
From a security viewpoint, the program was a great success. Registration hampered all Communist movement and activity. But
it was particularly effective in the New Villages, where it helped separate the insurgents from the local populace. In the
New Villages, police established cordons early each morning to screen people as they embarked on their daily routines. The
police detained anyone without a card or whose card showed that they were not local. People who did not appear for work that
day immediately attracted police attention and became the subjects of closer investigation.
Chin Peng and the Communist leadership correctly saw that the registration program was a serious threat and ordered the Traitor
Killing Squads into action. They assassinated the village photographers and registration officials who worked in the program.
The also targeted the rural rubber tappers and rice farmers. Guerrillas seized their registration cards and threatened to
kill them if they reregistered. The police responded with a simple policy change. Each morning they collected workers’ cards
and issued tallies when they left the village. Upon returning, workers exchanged the tallies for the cards. If the guerrillas
had stolen the tally, the worker merely had to reregister. Guerrilla leaders eventually concluded that their efforts to disrupt
the program were counterproductive and abandoned this campaign as part of their strategic reappraisal conducted in October
1951.
Early in the conflict, the British had also begun a reward program whereby they paid set sums for weapons and munitions surrendered
to the security forces and offered a higher inducement for leading a patrol to a guerrilla base. Under Templer’s leadership
the British raised the bounty for killing or capturing Communist insurgents. The largest bounty was placed on the head of
Chin Ping: 250,000 Malayan dollars (£30,000, approximately $83,700) if delivered alive, half that amount if killed. Either
sum was a staggering figure for Malaya. At the time the offer of oversized rewards caused some criticism. Police and government
officials wondered about the justice system’s essential fairness whereby a known murderer, a man who had targeted policemen
and rural administrators, could receive a sum for a few minutes of work betraying his comrades that far exceeded what a loyal
man could ever earn during a lifetime of faithful service.
The commander of the Malayan Races Liberation Army in southern Malaya, Ah Koek, known as “Shorty,” had a price tag of 150,000
Malayan dollars if taken alive or 75,000 if killed. In October 1952 his bodyguard murdered him and delivered his head to obtain
the reward. A newspaper reporter gleefully observed that since Ah Koek was only four feet nine inches tall, this came to almost
$3,000 an inch, probably the most expensive “head price” ever paid. The elimination of a well-known insurgent leader boosted
British morale but had little collateral benefit since most of these men could be readily replaced. More useful than the bounty
was the reward system for actionable intelligence.
Security force officers were constantly surprised at the willingness of Communist turncoats to guide them to their old positions
to kill or capture their former comrades. In part this was a monetary calculation on the turncoat’s part: he received a bounty
to surrender and could collect more by leading productive raids. In part it was a calculus of survival: a turncoat had to
fear the notorious Traitor Killing Squads, which would target the turncoat’s family if they could not eliminate the betrayer
himself. The turncoat judged the best way to preempt retaliation was to kill his comrades before they could pass on information
to these death squads.
End Game
In late spring 1954 Templer left Malaya. In his mind much remained to accomplish. As he departed he famously warned against
complacency, saying, “I’ll shoot the bastard who says that this Emergency is over.”
5
Then and thereafter, Templer was a controversial figure. His brusque, even rude personality did not win him many friends.
Detractors claimed that he merely happened to be the man in charge when the tide turned. Indeed, he did benefit greatly from
decisions made by his predecessors. Still, by any objective measure his success had been extraordinary. In 1951, the year
prior to his arrival, insurgents had staged 2,333 major incidents while inflicting more than 1,000 casualties among the security
forces and another 1,000 against civilians. In 1954 there were 293 major incidents causing 241 security force and 185 civilian
casualties. Guerrilla strength had declined by two thirds from its peak.
Templer had also promoted the expansion of the popular militia called the Home Guard. It was an ambitious effort fraught with
risk, the fruits of which were not apparent until after Templer had left Malaya. Trained by British and Commonwealth officers,
the Home Guard grew from 79,000 in July 1951 to 250,000 by the end of 1953, at which time they defended seventy-two New Villages.
A typical village had thirty-five Home Guards. Assignments rotated among them on a daily basis, so on any one night only five
were on guard duty. At nightfall, the guards drew weapons from the police armory and patrolled the perimeter wire. Their tasks
were threefold: to detect and resist guerrilla attack, to thwart the internal activity of the Traitor Killing Squads, and
to prevent the villagers from smuggling food outside the wire. Although subjected to terrorist intimidation and murder, the
Home Guard maintained a surprising resilience. By the end of 1954 they had received 89,000 weapons and lost only 103. In 1955
they lost 138 weapons out of a holding of 15,000. Still, even this record was unsatisfactory to some Europeans in Malaya who
loudly demanded the Home Guard be disbanded.
Authorities ignored the complaints. It became clear that the degree of loyalty to the government exhibited by the Home Guard
mirrored the attitudes of the villagers. If Communist terror had cowed the villagers, the Home Guard was passive for fear
of Communist reprisal against themselves and their families. When later there was a major guerrilla attack against two New
Villages in Johore in 1956, the Home Guard defended the villages tenaciously—in spite of the fact that many villagers had
assisted the guerrillas—and repulsed the attacks. This was enormously heartening for both the Home Guards and their advocates.
TEMPLER’S DEPARTURE MARKED the end of the Cromwell-like era of one man having both civil and military powers. Templer’s deputy
high commissioner ascended to take over state finances and high policy. Lieutenant General Sir Geoffrey Bourne took command
of the soldiers and police. Under their leadership, the next three years witnessed tremendous progress on both the political
and military fronts.
By the end of 1955, British intelligence estimated that Communist strength had shrunk from a peak of 8,000 armed guerrillas
to around 3,000. Every metric indicated that the food denial policy was working. The local population was increasingly cooperating
with security forces. Their assistance led to the elimination of virtually all Communist forces in South Selango. Likewise,
in the state of Pahang security forces eliminated an estimated 80 percent of enemy forces, thereby creating the largest White
Area in the country. The trend toward victory continued. In 1956 the security forces lost forty-seven killed. By the next
year this total fell to eleven; the year after, ten. In 1959 and 1960 only one policeman died due to insurgent activity.
While losses among the security forces declined, the army and police continued to whittle away at the remaining insurgents.
During 1957 the rate of guerrilla elimination averaged one per day. During the last years of the Emergency this steady rate
of attrition reduced insurgent numbers to some 500 hard-core guerrillas operating in small groups of five to twenty men. They
lived like hunted animals, incapable of meaningful military operations, intent only on survival. They had entirely lost the
initiative. Only two hopes for insurgent victory remained: popular discontent with the Emergency regulations, particularly
the food denial policies, would spawn some kind of popular rebellion, or the government would make a new, colossal blunder.