The Falklands War
In 1982, I was living in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia, overseeing the construction of a factory to manufacture uPVC pipe and fittings for soil, waste and drainage systems, under licence from Hepworth Plastics in the UK.
While I was there, on 2 April 1982, Argentine forces invaded and occupied the Falkland Islands, triggering the Falklands War between Argentina and the United Kingdom. The war lasted 74 days, ending with the Argentine surrender at Stanley on 14 June 1982.
One of the striking things about being in Malaysia at that time was that, in the evenings, local television showed newsreel coverage from both sides. We saw the British version, including BBC reports and British Government statements, and also Argentine coverage from what was then Argentina’s state television channel, Argentina Televisora Color, or ATC — the predecessor of today’s Televisión Pública.
The British reports described the famous RAF Operation Black Buck raids. On the night of 30 April to 1 May 1982, RAF Vulcan bombers carried out an extraordinarily long-range bombing mission against Port Stanley Airport. Official accounts state that the Vulcans operated from Wideawake Airfield on Ascension Island, supported by Victor tanker aircraft carrying out repeated air-to-air refuelling. The RAF later described these missions as among the longest bombing raids ever flown at the time.
The British public were left with the impression that the runway had been put out of action, but reports and later evidence showed it continued to be used.
Argentine television reports told a very different story. They showed that the bombs had not destroyed the runway in the way the British reports suggested. According to what I saw, the Argentinians had created large circular patches of mud on the runway so that, from aerial reconnaissance photographs, it would appear as if the runway was badly cratered and out of action. These “mud pies” could then be cleared at dusk, allowing supplies, troops and equipment to be brought in at night, before the false damage was put back before dawn.
Later accounts support the broader point that the runway was not completely put out of use. Although one bomb did hit and crater the runway, the airfield continued to be used by Argentine Hercules and light transport aircraft, even if its usefulness was reduced.
A few weeks later, I visited the UK and told people what I had seen on Malaysian television: that the Argentine broadcasts showed the runway was not as disabled as the British public had been led to believe. I was laughed at. The assumption seemed to be that the BBC and British Government version must be right, while the Argentine version must be propaganda.
Then, in 1983, the plot thickened. I visited Banjul in The Gambia and was invited to the local air force base for drinks in the officers’ mess. Along the wall above the bar were photographs of RAF pilots and Vulcan bombers. When I asked why they were there, I was told that the Vulcans had called in at Banjul for refuelling on their way south.
I cannot prove exactly how that related to the official Black Buck operation, whose published history places the operational raids from Ascension Island. But the photographs and the explanation I was given stayed with me. It was another reminder that what the public is told during wartime is often only part of the story.
The lesson I took from the Falklands War was not that one side tells the truth and the other side lies. It was more subtle than that. Both sides were trying to shape perception. Both sides had reasons to present events in a way that supported morale and political objectives. And supposedly neutral observers, including respected broadcasters, can still repeat official information that later proves incomplete, exaggerated, or misleading.
That experience taught me to be cautious. News is not always false, but it is not always the whole truth either. Especially in war, what is reported may be as much about maintaining confidence as about describing reality.