Two days after they were paraded as heroes with a story to tell, some of the 15 British sailors and marines captured and released by Iran seemed Sunday to have decided they have a story to sell.
In a highly unusual decision, Britain’s Ministry of Defense — normally tight-lipped, to say the least — acknowledged Saturday that it had agreed to permit them to offer their experiences for sale to newspapers and television stations.
Such transactions are common enough among civilians, some of whom have traded the rights to their stories for considerable sums of money. But the notion of active military service members making a profit from their exploits — particularly when thousands of others serving in Iraq and Afghanistan face daily peril and sometimes death — has reinforced the criticism of the 15 Britons’ seemingly pliant behavior toward the Iranians holding them.
“Our armed forces are, I think, the most respected institution in the country pretty much, and they deserve to be after the job they have done in very difficult circumstances in Iraq and in Afghanistan,” William Hague, the opposition Conservative spokesman on foreign affairs, said in a television interview.
“But if, whenever people have been in a difficult situation, they are going to be allowed to sell their story quickly after that, then I think we are going to lose steadily that dignity and respect for our armed forces.”
Six of the 15 former captives spoke at a news conference on Friday, recounting moments when some of them thought they were about to be executed as they faced psychological pressure to make public “confessions” on state-run Iranian television that they had unlawfully strayed into Iranian territorial waters.
The Ministry of Defense’s decision to allow them to tell the stories of solitary confinement and blindfolding to the public seemed intended to offset criticism in newspapers here that the sailors and marines had succumbed too easily and too quickly to Iranian pressure. The critics said their behavior contrasted markedly with that of service personnel in earlier eras, when captured service members were under orders to provide their captors with only limited information.
“It seems reasonable to at least wonder whatever happened to divulging one’s name, rank and number,” the columnist Marina Hyde wrote in The Guardian.
Opposition even came from the possibly unexpected quarter of Max Clifford, one of Britain’s leading publicists, who, as a well-known agent on behalf of people selling their stories, has done as much as anyone to put the word checkbook into checkbook journalism.
“This is purely a propaganda exercise,” Mr. Clifford told The Press Association news agency. “In the past troops were always stopped from talking about what had gone on.”
“They can control it, and they do control it when it suits them,” he said, referring to the Ministry of Defense. “It didn’t suit them in this particular case.”
The Ministry of Defense said in a statement on Sunday that the sale of stories would strengthen its control over what the released sailors and marines had to say.
“It was clear that the stories they had to tell were likely to have emerged via family and friends, regardless of any decision the navy took,” the statement said.
By allowing them to sell their stories, by contrast, the statement said, the navy and the Ministry of Defense would have “sight of what they were going to say as well as providing proper media support to the sailors and marines in the same way as would have been the case in more ordinary circumstances.”
Mr. Clifford estimated that the sales could earn about $500,000, with the biggest amount likely to be paid to Leading Seaman Faye Turney, the only woman among the captives, who was said by Iranian television to have written letters home criticizing British and American policy.
Mr. Clifford said he had been approached by three or four of the service members about selling their stories.
In some ways, the unfolding saga of the 15 — captured on March 23 in the Persian Gulf — has become a parable for modern Britain in a time when warfare has become intertwined with the battle of perceptions and versions played out on 24-hour television news channels.
During the captivity, British, American and other broadcasters picked up and retransmitted Iranian video of the captives seeming to deny Britain’s official insistence that they were captured while performing a legal search in Iraqi waters.
“The released hostages are behaving like reality TV stars,” Col. Bob Stewart, a former commander of United Nations forces in Bosnia, told The Sunday Times of London. “I am appalled that the Ministry of Defense is encouraging them to profit in this way.”
There is an element, too, of the class distinctions that still stratify some parts of British society. “No one complains if a general writes his memoirs,” said Flight Lt. John Nichol, who was captured and tortured during the Persian Gulf war of 1991. “But there is snobbery about a junior rank telling their story.”
The most poignant criticism came from the relatives of the 140 British service members who have died in Iraq since the invasion in March 2003 and of the 52 who have died in Afghanistan since 2001.
“This is wrong and I don’t think it should be allowed,” Rose Gentle, the mother of a 19-year-old soldier killed in Basra in 2004, said of the decision to allow the sailors and marines to sell their stories.
One of the former captives, at least, had a different view on the sale of stories. “I am not interested in making money out of this,” said Lt. Felix Carman of the navy, the highest-ranking of the 15 captives, who spoke at length during Friday’s news conference. “My main aim is to tell the story.”
“There’s some people who might be making money, but that’s an individual’s decision, that’s very private, but that’s not something that myself or many of the others will do,” he said.
In a highly unusual decision, Britain’s Ministry of Defense — normally tight-lipped, to say the least — acknowledged Saturday that it had agreed to permit them to offer their experiences for sale to newspapers and television stations.
Such transactions are common enough among civilians, some of whom have traded the rights to their stories for considerable sums of money. But the notion of active military service members making a profit from their exploits — particularly when thousands of others serving in Iraq and Afghanistan face daily peril and sometimes death — has reinforced the criticism of the 15 Britons’ seemingly pliant behavior toward the Iranians holding them.
“Our armed forces are, I think, the most respected institution in the country pretty much, and they deserve to be after the job they have done in very difficult circumstances in Iraq and in Afghanistan,” William Hague, the opposition Conservative spokesman on foreign affairs, said in a television interview.
“But if, whenever people have been in a difficult situation, they are going to be allowed to sell their story quickly after that, then I think we are going to lose steadily that dignity and respect for our armed forces.”
Six of the 15 former captives spoke at a news conference on Friday, recounting moments when some of them thought they were about to be executed as they faced psychological pressure to make public “confessions” on state-run Iranian television that they had unlawfully strayed into Iranian territorial waters.
The Ministry of Defense’s decision to allow them to tell the stories of solitary confinement and blindfolding to the public seemed intended to offset criticism in newspapers here that the sailors and marines had succumbed too easily and too quickly to Iranian pressure. The critics said their behavior contrasted markedly with that of service personnel in earlier eras, when captured service members were under orders to provide their captors with only limited information.
“It seems reasonable to at least wonder whatever happened to divulging one’s name, rank and number,” the columnist Marina Hyde wrote in The Guardian.
Opposition even came from the possibly unexpected quarter of Max Clifford, one of Britain’s leading publicists, who, as a well-known agent on behalf of people selling their stories, has done as much as anyone to put the word checkbook into checkbook journalism.
“This is purely a propaganda exercise,” Mr. Clifford told The Press Association news agency. “In the past troops were always stopped from talking about what had gone on.”
“They can control it, and they do control it when it suits them,” he said, referring to the Ministry of Defense. “It didn’t suit them in this particular case.”
The Ministry of Defense said in a statement on Sunday that the sale of stories would strengthen its control over what the released sailors and marines had to say.
“It was clear that the stories they had to tell were likely to have emerged via family and friends, regardless of any decision the navy took,” the statement said.
By allowing them to sell their stories, by contrast, the statement said, the navy and the Ministry of Defense would have “sight of what they were going to say as well as providing proper media support to the sailors and marines in the same way as would have been the case in more ordinary circumstances.”
Mr. Clifford estimated that the sales could earn about $500,000, with the biggest amount likely to be paid to Leading Seaman Faye Turney, the only woman among the captives, who was said by Iranian television to have written letters home criticizing British and American policy.
Mr. Clifford said he had been approached by three or four of the service members about selling their stories.
In some ways, the unfolding saga of the 15 — captured on March 23 in the Persian Gulf — has become a parable for modern Britain in a time when warfare has become intertwined with the battle of perceptions and versions played out on 24-hour television news channels.
During the captivity, British, American and other broadcasters picked up and retransmitted Iranian video of the captives seeming to deny Britain’s official insistence that they were captured while performing a legal search in Iraqi waters.
“The released hostages are behaving like reality TV stars,” Col. Bob Stewart, a former commander of United Nations forces in Bosnia, told The Sunday Times of London. “I am appalled that the Ministry of Defense is encouraging them to profit in this way.”
There is an element, too, of the class distinctions that still stratify some parts of British society. “No one complains if a general writes his memoirs,” said Flight Lt. John Nichol, who was captured and tortured during the Persian Gulf war of 1991. “But there is snobbery about a junior rank telling their story.”
The most poignant criticism came from the relatives of the 140 British service members who have died in Iraq since the invasion in March 2003 and of the 52 who have died in Afghanistan since 2001.
“This is wrong and I don’t think it should be allowed,” Rose Gentle, the mother of a 19-year-old soldier killed in Basra in 2004, said of the decision to allow the sailors and marines to sell their stories.
One of the former captives, at least, had a different view on the sale of stories. “I am not interested in making money out of this,” said Lt. Felix Carman of the navy, the highest-ranking of the 15 captives, who spoke at length during Friday’s news conference. “My main aim is to tell the story.”
“There’s some people who might be making money, but that’s an individual’s decision, that’s very private, but that’s not something that myself or many of the others will do,” he said.
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