To those demanding the public dismissal of the soldier responsible for this catastrophic data breach, I say: take a breath. That is not to diminish the scale of the damage, the flawed decisions that followed, or the internal consequences rightly imposed. This incident ranks among the most serious operational errors in recent MOD history – without modern parallel.
It was not the result of a hostile cyber-attack, like the MOD’s Pay-system breach in 2021, nor a deliberate act of exposure akin to Snowden. This was a tragic, unintended blunder with unprecedented consequences: vulnerable lives placed at risk, national integrity compromised, and a costly, secretive response set in motion.
The lessons are many. But perhaps the most important is this: how we respond to failure, especially in fast-moving, high-stakes environments, matters. The MOD team tasked with identifying Afghans eligible for resettlement faced an impossible objective, under extreme pressure, with no historical precedent. Their task was clear but vast: to protect those who had risked their lives for us, now vulnerable to Taliban reprisal. And they had to do it at speed, without a blueprint.
Too often, the instinct within government is not to confront failure, but to reach for blame – to cover up, deflect, or single out individuals. Fear of embarrassment takes precedence over institutional learning. We see this most clearly in defence procurement, where major programmes have spiralled out of control: Nimrod, Ajax, the Queen Elizabeth-class carriers, the Challenger 3 upgrade, and even the nuclear deterrent replacement have all suffered from delays, cost overruns, and muddled oversight.
This is not just a Ministry of Defence problem – it is a deep-seated Whitehall pattern in response to crisis: hide the issue, control the narrative, and minimise accountability.
Look beyond defence, and the trend continues. The Horizon Post Office scandal, the Windrush debacle, the NHS IT programme collapse, and the A-level algorithm fiasco all followed the same trajectory: early warnings ignored, problems denied, internal whistleblowers sidelined, and a culture of bureaucratic inertia and legal defensiveness taking root.
The result? Expensive failures, delayed justice, and eroded public trust. The pattern of cover-up, blame-shifting, and institutional denial is of course not new. What has changed is that failures are more visible, costlier, and harder to contain in the digital age. Yet the system is still built to avoid embarrassment more than to absorb and learn from failure.
Parliament’s instinct to demand a “scalp” while understandable can unintentionally reinforce this culture of secrecy and blame avoidance.
There is often very little tolerance for ministerial mistakes, especially once they become politically or publicly explosive. Ministers are frequently expected to “fall on their sword” – not necessarily because they were personally negligent, but because their resignation serves as a political pressure release valve, allowing government and Parliament to “move on.”
Whilst this does uphold ministerial accountability (the principle that ministers are responsible for everything that happens in their department) the resignation is symbolic, as the underlying problem goes unexamined.
There is a better way – and it’s already being practised within our own Armed Forces. The Royal Air Force champions a “just culture”: a progressive, structured approach to managing human error. In this model, error is not viewed as personal failure, but as an inevitable feature of operating in complex, high-pressure environments. Trust and openness are prioritised. Personnel are encouraged to report mistakes early, learn from them collectively, and build resilience through shared insight.
Instead of defaulting to punishment, this approach promotes reporting, analysis, and institutional learning – recognising that rapid adaptation is essential in today’s volatile operational landscape. That said, this is not a free pass: where there is gross negligence, repeated misconduct, or wilful breach of procedure, accountability must follow. But for honest mistakes made in difficult conditions, the emphasis should be on education, not scapegoating.
The Afghan data breach was not just a massive operational error – it was a missed opportunity to intervene early. It went unreported for weeks, if not months. A broader adoption of the RAF’s culture across the MOD could have encouraged earlier disclosure and allowed mitigation to begin immediately.
As the world becomes more dangerous, our military and intelligence services will face increasingly unfamiliar and high-stakes scenarios. Failures are inevitable. What matters most is how quickly and honestly, we respond. Ukraine’s ongoing ability to adapt rapidly to the changing character of war is a clear example of the mindset we need.
Three Commons committees are now investigating what happened. As they rightly pursue the facts, I urge them to focus not on naming and shaming, but on confronting the systemic and cultural issues that allowed this failure to go unaddressed for so long. That is the only way we’ll be better prepared for the next test, likely far from the Westminster bubble, where human error will again play a part.
Perhaps what makes this breach, so jarring is not just the scale of the error – but the memories it reawakens. It touches a raw nerve in our long, costly, and often incoherent involvement in Afghanistan. From the moment mission creep set in after 2001, shifting from targeting al-Qaeda to state-building in a country we did not fully understand – we stumbled. Years of fighting an insurgency cost hundreds of brave British lives. And in the end, we handed power back to the very insurgents we once sought to defeat, as we panic-evacuated Kabul.
We turned our back on a population of 40 million we once pledged to help – and now struggle to protect even a few hundred Afghans who worked alongside us, many of whom still live in fear for their lives. Afghanistan has become the forgotten country. Its economy is collapsing. Millions face malnutrition. ISIS-K is resurgent. And the nation is edging closer to becoming a Chinese satellite state. Yet there is little international appetite, let alone strategy, to prevent it from sliding further into chaos that might haunt us again. Let’s be honest: no one wants to talk about Afghanistan.
Not until we are forced to – again.