Change has to flow from the bottom to the top.
At the heart of this evolution is that whistleblowing is a radicalizing event -- and by "radical" I don't mean "extreme"; I mean it in the traditional sense of radix, the root of the issue. At some point you recognize that you can't just move a few letters around on a page and hope for the best. You can't simply report this problem to your supervisor, as I tried to do, because inevitably supervisors get nervous. They think about the structural risk to their career. They're concerned about rocking the boat and "getting a reputation." The incentives aren't there to produce meaningful reform. Fundamentally, in an open society, change has to flow from the bottom to the top.
As someone who works in the intelligence community, you've given up a lot to do this work. You've happily committed yourself to tyrannical restrictions. You voluntarily undergo polygraphs; you tell the government everything about your life. You waive a lot of rights because you believe the fundamental goodness of your mission justifies the sacrifice of even the sacred. It's a just cause.
And when you're confronted with evidence -- not in an edge case, not in a peculiarity, but as a core consequence of the program -- that the government is subverting the Constitution and violating the ideals you so fervently believe in, you have to make a decision. When you see that the program or policy is inconsistent with the oaths and obligations that you've sworn to your society and yourself, then that oath and that obligation cannot be reconciled with the program. To which do you owe a greater loyalty?
ONE OF THE extraordinary things about the revelations of the past several years, and their accelerating pace, is that they have occurred in the context of the United States as the "uncontested hyperpower." We now have the largest unchallenged military machine in the history of the world, and it's backed by a political system that is increasingly willing to authorize any use of force in response to practically any justification. In today's context that justification is terrorism, but not necessarily because our leaders are particularly concerned about terrorism in itself or because they think it's an existential threat to society. They recognize that even if we had a 9/11 attack every year, we would still be losing more people to car accidents and heart disease, and we don't see the same expenditure of resources to respond to those more significant threats.
What it really comes down to is the political reality that we have a political class that feels it must inoculate itself against allegations of weakness. Our politicians are more fearful of the politics of terrorism -- of the charge that they do not take terrorism seriously -- than they are of the crime itself.
As a result we have arrived at this unmatched capability, unrestrained by policy. We have become reliant upon what was intended to be the limitation of last resort: the courts. Judges, realizing that their decisions are suddenly charged with much greater political importance and impact than was originally intended, have gone to great lengths in the post-9/11 period to avoid reviewing the laws or the operations of the executive in the national security context and setting restrictive precedents that, even if entirely proper, would impose limits on government for decades or more. That means the most powerful institution that humanity has ever witnessed has also become the least restrained. Yet that same institution was never designed to operate in such a manner, having instead been explicitly founded on the principle of checks and balances. Our founding impulse was to say, "Though we are mighty, we are voluntarily restrained."
WHEN YOU FIRST go on duty at CIA headquarters, you raise your hand and swear an oath -- not to government, not to the agency, not to secrecy. You swear an oath to the Constitution. So there's this friction, this emerging contest between the obligations and values that the government asks you to uphold, and the actual activities that you're asked to participate in.
These disclosures about the Obama administration's killing program reveal that there's a part of the American character that is deeply concerned with the unrestrained, unchecked exercise of power. And there is no greater or clearer manifestation of unchecked power than assuming for oneself the authority to execute an individual outside of a battlefield context and without the involvement of any sort of judicial process.
Traditionally, in the context of military affairs, we've always understood that lethal force in battle could not be subjected to ex ante judicial constraints. When armies are shooting at each other, there's no room for a judge on that battlefield. But now the government has decided -- without the public's participation, without our knowledge and consent -- that the battlefield is everywhere. Individuals who don't represent an imminent threat in any meaningful sense of those words are redefined, through the subversion of language, to meet that definition.
Inevitably that conceptual subversion finds its way home, along with the technology that enables officials to promote comfortable illusions about surgical killing and nonintrusive surveillance. Take, for instance, the Holy Grail of drone persistence, a capability that the United States has been pursuing forever. The goal is to deploy solar-powered drones that can loiter in the air for weeks without coming down. Once you can do that, and you put any typical signals collection device on the bottom of it to monitor, unblinkingly, the emanations of, for example, the different network addresses of every laptop, smartphone, and iPod, you know not just where a particular device is in what city, but you know what apartment each device lives in, where it goes at any particular time, and by what route. Once you know the devices, you know their owners. When you start doing this over several cities, you're tracking the movements not just of individuals but of whole populations.
Unrestrained power may be many things, but it's not American.
By preying on the modern necessity to stay connected, governments can reduce our dignity to something like that of tagged animals, the primary difference being that we paid for the tags and they're in our pockets. It sounds like fantasist paranoia, but on the technical level it's so trivial to implement that I cannot imagine a future in which it won't be attempted. It will be limited to the war zones at first, in accordance with our customs, but surveillance technology has a tendency to follow us home.
Here we see the double edge of our uniquely American brand of nationalism. We are raised to be exceptionalists, to think we are the better nation with the manifest destiny to rule. The danger is that some people will actually believe this claim, and some of those will expect the manifestation of our national identity, that is, our government, to comport itself accordingly.
Unrestrained power may be many things, but it's not American. It is in this sense that the act of whistleblowing increasingly has become an act of political resistance. The whistleblower raises the alarm and lifts the lamp, inheriting the legacy of a line of Americans that begins with Paul Revere.
The individuals who make these disclosures feel so strongly about what they have seen that they're willing to risk their lives and their freedom. They know that we, the people, are ultimately the strongest and most reliable check on the power of government. The insiders at the highest levels of government have extraordinary capability, extraordinary resources, tremendous access to influence, and a monopoly on violence, but in the final calculus there is but one figure that matters: the individual citizen.
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