Earlier this summer, I returned to Helmand—a place I know all too well. In 2009, I commanded British forces there during a period of intense violence. Sixty-four of my soldiers were killed, and several hundred more were wounded. The number of Afghan lives lost during that time is unknown, but it surely reaches into the thousands.

For many British soldiers, the Helmand campaign evokes deeply mixed emotions. We deployed to protect the Afghan people, not to kill—yet the killing was relentless. Still, I take pride in the fact that during our time there, we began to turn a corner. Casualties declined, and for a moment, peace felt within reach.

When I returned from my orginal tour to Helmand, then-Prime Minister David Cameron invited me to his first National Security Council meeting. The agenda: whether to stay in Helmand or withdraw. Some senior politicians argued for leaving. Another general and I urged caution—we believed we should hold our nerve. Cameron chose a middle path, setting 2014 as the exit date. The date was fixed, but as the Taliban quipped, “You have the watches, we have the time.”

For the past decade, I’ve led the HALO Trust, the world’s largest landmine clearance charity, whose first –  and largest  - demining programme is in Afghanistan, and returning there was surreal to say the least.

We flew first into Lashkar Gah and drove through Babaji to Chah-e Anjir where I was joined by a HALO supporter who had also fought in the campaign. We stood on the exact spot where his platoon command group was hit by an RPG—two soldiers killed, several wounded.

From there, we travelled to Gereshk and then to Sangin, where half of the soldiers under my command were killed in some of the fiercest fighting. We paused beside the clear waters of the Helmand River, watching HALO’s deminers at work—saving lives in peace where once there was only war. We continued north to the Kajaki Dam, arriving at midday.

In 2008, British forces delivered a new turbine to Kajaki in a meticulously planned operation. The turbine never worked. It sat rusting for years—until last year, when HALO cleared the area of improvised explosive devices. That allowed power lines to be built from the dam to Kandahar. Today, a new turbine hall stands, and electricity finally flows.

Soldiers are taught never to prepare for the last war. Afghanistan isn’t the last war. It’s not even the one before that. Each week brings a new crisis—Ukraine, Gaza, Syria, Sudan. In this age of perpetual emergency, attention spans are short. Who still cares about Afghanistan?

The day I visited Kajaki, NATO allies were meeting to set new defence spending targets. It was also the day after President Trump brokered a fragile ceasefire between Iran and Israel. While military budgets rise, aid budgets are being slashed—threatening HALO’s life-saving work.

As a former soldier, I support responsible defence spending. But military power alone is not enough. Crisis response without prevention is both costly and ineffective. From the Sahel to Myanmar, the world is in a state of omni-crisis. We cannot bomb our way to peace.

HALO employs 10,000 people globally—1,000 of them in Afghanistan. Last year, that number was 2,300, before aid cuts took their toll. This is a false economy. For just $2.7 million a year, four million Afghans can farm their land in safety. That may sound like a lot—until you consider the billions spent annually housing migrants, many of them Afghan, in European hotels and hostels.

In this climate of shrinking aid budgets and shifting political priorities, philanthropy has a critical role to play. Unlike government funding, which is often reactive and constrained by short-term cycles, philanthropic investment can be flexible, long-term, and deeply strategic.

It can sustain essential services when institutional support falters, fund innovation in fragile settings, and empower local organizations to lead. In Afghanistan, philanthropic support can ensure that life-saving work—like HALO’s demining operations—continues uninterrupted.

By backing frontline efforts and investing in resilience, philanthropy can help fill the growing gap between humanitarian need and available resources, ensuring that progress is not only made, but maintained.

I remain in close contact with veterans of Helmand. Many question the meaning of their sacrifice. After so much blood and treasure, how can we now abandon the Afghan people by cutting aid? On 9/11, the world was forced to pay attention to Afghanistan. We cannot afford to make the same mistake again.