I’ve never been one to get drawn into politics. Most of us haven’t. It’s a game best left alone—divisive, noisy, and rarely worth the grief it brings. In the military, and later working in conflict zones, you learn quickly to focus on the job, the people beside you, and the mission in front of you. Not the headlines, not the rhetoric.

There’s an old line, often attributed to Mark Twain: “Never talk about politics or religion in polite company.” For most of my life, I’ve taken that to heart. It’s kept things simple. It’s kept things professional.

But there comes a point when staying quiet doesn’t sit right anymore.

I think many of you will recognise that feeling.

Those of you who’ve served—whether in uniform or alongside it—know what it means to operate in that grey space where decisions aren’t theoretical and consequences aren’t abstract. You know the weight of responsibility, the split-second judgments, and the fact that, more often than not, you’re making calls that others will later dissect from the comfort of distance and hindsight.

That’s why this hits hard.

Over 120 SAS personnel are now reportedly under investigation for operational decisions made in Afghanistan and Syria. Decisions made in complex, high-risk environments—by men trained to do a job most people will never fully understand.

We all know what those environments are like. They’re not courtroom conditions. They’re not neat, controlled, or forgiving. They are chaotic, dangerous, and defined by uncertainty. Yet increasingly, they’re being judged as if they were anything but.

At the same time, we’re seeing continued legal pursuit of veterans from Northern Ireland—men who served during one of the most difficult and politically charged periods in recent history. Many of them did their duty in good faith, under orders, in circumstances that demanded resilience most people will never be asked to show.

Meanwhile, support feels thin on the ground.

The Armed Forces Covenant is meant to mean something. It’s meant to be a commitment—that those who serve, and have served, will be treated fairly and with respect. But from where many are standing, it risks feeling like words on paper rather than something real.

All of this comes at a time when the forces are stretched, underfunded, and facing no shortage of external threats. And yet, instead of backing the people who’ve carried the burden, the system seems increasingly willing to turn back on them.

This isn’t about politics for its own sake. It’s about loyalty, accountability, and where the line is drawn when it comes to those who serve. From the Saxon shield wall at Hastings to the close-knit units that operated in Northern Ireland, Iraq, and Afghanistan, British soldiers have always fought first and foremost for the person beside them. I know from my time as a Royal Marine Commando that comradeship isn’t just a virtue—it’s the foundation everything else is built on.

But how do you stand by the Marine next to you when the very system you serve appears willing to turn against you?

At some point, the question has to be asked: who stands with those who have stood for everyone else?

There comes a moment when keeping your head down is no longer enough—when you have to decide exactly where you stand.

For me, that time has come.

So first a photo, then a question.

This photograph captures something deeply meaningful to me. Standing beside me is one of my closest mates from the Corps, Dave “Bulldog” Beattie. Next to us is my grandson, Evan, and on the far right, my son Steve.

Dave is a veteran of the Falklands War and completed multiple tours in Northern Ireland. My own service also took me to Northern Ireland, both in conventional roles and in a special duties capacity, and I’ve seen firsthand the realities faced by our soldiers in Iraq and Afghanistan. My son, Steve, followed the same path as a Royal Marine, serving in both Northern Ireland and Bosnia.

This image is more than a snapshot in time—it represents three generations of my family, bound not only by blood, but by a shared commitment to service.

With St. George’s Day tomorrow, it does make you stop and reflect. What would I say to Evan if he decided to join the Corps?

I’d tell him that service has always been about standing firm—about loyalty, discipline, and trusting the people beside you. Like a Saxon shield wall, its strength comes from unity, from each person holding their place and protecting the others. But history also teaches that no formation, however strong, can endure if that unity is undermined by those who give the orders to fight.