by Edward Lucas
It is hard to avoid the conclusion that Snowden conducted his activities within the NSA in order to be as damaging as possible. Among the so far unpublished material are (by the NSA's account) 31,000 files which show what government customers asked the agency to find out about countries such as China, Iran and Russia, and its assessments of how it could respond. These 'shopping lists' are among the most closely guarded secrets in any intelligence agency. Once you know what the other side needs to find out, you can infer what they already know.65
All this counts as primary damage: to the sources, methods and self-confidence of an intelligence or security agency. But the ripples extend farther. A spy agency's greatest asset is its reputation. Britain's MI6, for example, enjoys free publicity from decades of films featuring James Bond. The real-life business of intelligence has little to do with the stunts on screen. But the brand helps attract able people to work as intelligence officers. A reputation for integrity and skill also makes it easier to recruit sources. If you are pondering whether to trust your life to a foreign country's spies, you will want to have confidence in their ability to keep secrets. It is hard to conceive of a definition of America's national interest that does not include keeping secret the identity of foreigners who trust the country with their views, secrets—and lives.66 But the Snowden fan club, like the cheerleaders for WikiLeaks, takes no account of this. The NSA and other agencies cannot assume that, as Snowden so blithely puts it, there is a "zero chance" that adversaries have seen the stolen documents. They have to work on the assumption that they have done, or eventually will do so.
For all these reasons, the Snowden disclosures have had a catastrophic long-term effect on British and American intelligence. As I have explained above, even the threat of a breach is enough to endanger an intelligence operation. But publishing secrets in the media introduces a whole extra level of risk. It is bad enough if the Chinese and Russian intelligence services have knowledge of (or access to) the programmes compromised by Snowden. But when they are actively publicised, even the dimmest and worst informed terrorist, anarchist or criminal gets the message. Capabilities that work when deployed stealthily become useless once everyone knows about them. Once you learn that a computer screen can be read from far away through an open window, you draw the curtains. Once you know that a computer can plant malware on a mobile phone, or vice versa, you start keeping mobile devices in a lead-lined box. To be sure, the agencies will develop new capabilities. But if your navy has been sunk, it is little comfort to be told that you can always build another one. What are you going to do in the meantime?
The pleas of the Snowden-friendly media that they screen the material before publishing it cut little ice. It is nice of them to take advice, in some cases, from government security sources about disclosures that might be particularly damaging, and even to refrain from making them. Many of the more responsible media outlets have partially redacted the documents they have published, at least protecting the names of intelligence officers. But that does not stop Greenwald from offering the same material elsewhere. His petulant remarks after his partner Miranda was stopped at Heathrow Airport did not suggest a responsible attitude to the secrets he guards. 'I will be far more aggressive in my reporting from now. I am going to publish many more documents. I am going to publish things on England too. I have many documents on England's spy system. I think they will be sorry for what they did.'67 Publishing secret documents is a grave responsibility. Surely the justification should be to expose wrongdoing, not to satisfy personal pique?
The damage was foreshadowed by WikiLeaks—a forerunner of the Snowden disclosures. A German politician, Helmut Metzner, had to resign and faced prosecution when he was outed as the anonymous source mentioned in a leaked American diplomatic cable (he denied wrongdoing and charges of espionage were eventually dropped). America's State Department has spent a great deal of time and money trying to safeguard other individuals whose identities have been wholly or partially exposed in the leaked cables. To be fair, in the versions that WikiLeaks published initially, the names of interlocutors were redacted. But a mixture of carelessness and ignorance meant that the passphrase for the unedited versions of the cables became available. The result is unlikely to have increased foreigners' willingness to meet and speak frankly with American diplomats about even mundane matters.
When intelligence sources, as opposed to mere diplomatic ones, are put at risk the damage is far greater. The stolen documents include the names of many NSA and GCHQ officers. Some of them will have been posted abroad—and may well have had sensitive contacts with locals. If their names and identities become known, then anyone who has met them, say in China, Iran or Russia, is in danger. Snowden says he will not release such material. So why did he steal it in the first place? In any case, as I have argued above, he cannot be sure that it will not leak out, given the amateurish way in which it is safeguarded. That is a profound worry to existing sources, and a grave deterrent to new ones. 68
The disclosures of espionage by American allies damage them too. Diplomatic capital is consumed in issuing new assurances and tokens of friendship, as Australia has had to do with Indonesia. Other agreements may be put on hold. Trust is the most valuable commodity in espionage. Stolen secrets are fragile and perishable commodities. The instinctive desire of every intelligence officer and every spy service is to hoard, not to share. That preserves sources and methods, and makes the next secret easier to obtain. Handing hard-won material to a foreign partner is possible only when you believe that the country concerned is at least as trustworthy as you are yourself. The NSA's failure to keep its secrets has dented America's reputation as a trustworthy partner.
The quite unnecessary damage caused by Snowden makes it hard to believe that his aim was solely to expose wrongdoing. It looks far more likely that he was trying to cripple the NSA and its allies, and to hurt America's standing in the world. Taking a huge cache of documents, and in a way that largely defies description, analysis or mitigation, is not the action of a patriotic whistleblower. It is the behaviour of a saboteur. It is a sign of the desperation now reigning in the NSA that some are willing to offer him an amnesty even now, if he will only hand back the missing files. Nobody can be confident that they have not been seen by others. But at least the agency will have a clearer idea of what was taken, and how.
All this damage, of course, suits Russia. The NSA and other American and allied intelligence and security agencies have been a prime target for the Kremlin since even before the Cold War. The successes have been great: recent triumphs include recruiting the heads of Soviet counter-intelligence at the FBI (Robert Hanssen) and the CIA (Aldrich Ames). Signals intelligence in the 'Five-eyes' alliance of America, Britain, Canada, Australia and New Zealand has been a particular target. Western countries have shifted their attention since the end of the Cold War. The reverse is not the case. The ten Russian 'illegals' arrested in America in June 2010 prompted a lengthy, disabling and so far fruitless search within the NSA for the sources which at least one of them was believed to have recruited there. Was Snowden's decision to do what seems like deliberate damage to the NSA and America mere recklessness and vindictiveness? Or was there another motive, conscious or unconscious, in the background? No definitive answer to that is available on the evidence presently available. But some historical examples are instructive.
Chapter Four: History Lessons
In the 1970s, the nuclear disarmament movement in the West was moribund. People worried more about the energy crisis, militant trade unions, terrorism and other issues. That began to change in 1977, when the Soviet leadership launched a vigorous and successful public campaign in continental Europe against the 'neutron bomb'—an American anti-tank weapon aimed at shoring up the alliance's fragile conventional defences in Europe. The anti-nuclear cause was fuelled further by the NATO decision in 1979 to place Cruise and Pershing missiles in Europe in response to the Soviet deployment of the similar SS20 missiles from 1977 onwards.
As the anti-nuclear movement mushroomed, the Atlantic alliance came under huge strain. Ronald Reagan was seen in Europe as a warmonger and a cowboy. Pro-American governments burned political capital fighting against seductive if simplistic arguments. Surely it was better to have fewer nuclear weapons, not more? Why not try unilateral confidence-building moves to defuse tension, rather than escalate the risk of war by boosting arsenals further? 'Ban the bomb', and the romantic eccentricity of the 'Women's Peace Camp' at Greenham Common near London, had an appeal that the dry arguments for the status quo could not match. Few went as far as the Spartacist League, with their hallmark chant of 'Smash NATO! Defend the Soviet Union!' But the consensus in the peace movement was that America was a bigger threat than the Soviet Union.
The Soviet Union's own role in the anti-nuclear movement is still unclear. Defectors such as Stanislav Lunev (from Russia's GRU military intelligence service) and Sergei Tretyakov (of the SVR foreign intelligence service) have made sweeping claims. Academic studies have been more cautious. After Communism collapsed, a senior member of Britain's CND, Vic Allen, unrepentantly admitted to passing information to the East German Stasi.69 The Soviet Union financed British and other communist parties, which played a role in the 'peace' movements disproportionate to their tiny numbers.70
What is not in doubt is that CND and the like served Moscow's purpose. To be sure, the campaigners said they opposed Soviet and Western nuclear weapons alike. But the focus of their efforts was asymmetric: they could apply political pressure to Western governments, political parties and institutions, whereas their influence in the Soviet bloc was minimal. The Soviet Union enjoyed conventional military superiority in Europe; demanding a 'nuclear-free Europe' in effect meant accepting Soviet hegemony on the continent. 'Peace' was therefore a big Soviet talking point in all international forums and discussions, both from diplomats and from nominally independent but state-funded outfits such as the World Peace Council.
Regardless of their direct or indirect involvement, the information-warfare experts of the Soviet KGB were delighted with the divisive and distracting effects the 'peace' movement was having in the West. Soviet decision-makers relied on the anti-nuclear campaigners in the West to weaken and constrain the resolve of governments there.
Their successors in the Kremlin now see a similar opportunity. Like the anti-nuclear movement of the early 1980s, modern campaigners for privacy and digital freedom see their own countries' flaws with blinding clarity, and ignore those of the repressive regimes elsewhere. They manifest a corrosive mistrust for their political leaders and public officials, to the point that little said by governments carries any weight at all.
It is worth noting that the Snowdenistas go far beyond the anti-nuclear campaigners in their thirst for damage. Disagreeing with your government's actions is one thing. Sabotaging them is another. Imagine, for example, that a British or American anti-nuclear activist got hold of the acoustic signatures of his country's nuclear submarines. These signatures—the noise that the vessels make under water—are among the most closely guarded of all defence secrets. They are distinctive and almost impossible to change. Once you know them, it becomes much easier to track a submarine and if necessary destroy it. Submarines' effectiveness largely depends on their invisibility. So publishing the acoustic signatures of the nuclear submarines would be a simple and devastating way of making them useless—in effect, sabotage.
Such a move would cost the country concerned billions of dollars. It would also tip the strategic balance in favour of countries whose nuclear deterrent remained secret and effective. Even an anti-nuclear newspaper like the Guardian would decry such a move. Yet in effect, that is what Snowden and his allies have done. They have rendered ineffective some of their countries' most expensive and sensitive defence capabilities, while leaving adversaries untouched.
Another lesson from the past concerns the scandal around the Echelon system for collecting information regarding international telecommunications. It was revealed in a series of leaks in the 1990s, eventually prompting a lengthy report by the European Parliament.71 John Schindler, a former NSA analyst who is now a professor at the Naval War College in Rhode Island, sees a parallel. The exposure of Echelon, he believes, was an 'active measure' by Russian intelligence, aimed at stoking distrust between America and its European allies. Without access to classified information, that link is unprovable. But the similarities are startling. Details of the programme were divulged by a disillusioned NSA contractor, Margaret Newsham (who was working for the defence company Lockheed). The story was highlighted by campaigning journalists in the UK and in New Zealand. At first sight the message seemed sensational. America and Britain, together with other close allies, were spying on the rest of the world. They had a global network of facilities which could intercept communications—in those days faxes and telexes, as well as phone calls and the nascent internet. All this seemed to be happening without public consent or political oversight.
The result was fury—especially as one of the journalists involved, Duncan Campbell, claimed that the spying was not just for reasons of statecraft, but also in pursuit of commercial goals. American companies were gaining an unfair advantage over their rivals thanks to the muscle of their intelligence services.
On closer scrutiny, the case largely fell apart. It was exciting to know the code words for the programmes concerned, and to have the supposedly top-secret locations listed, illustrated with maps, photographs and diagrams. The silent fury of the intelligence agencies added another note of drama, as did the self-righteous hysterics of European politicians.
Yet just as with the Snowden revelations, the disclosures were not in themselves surprising. Britain's GCHQ and America's NSA exist to collect electronic intelligence. It is hardly surprising that they strive to fulfil their missions. Nor should their close alliance be a surprise. Britain and America have been cooperating closely since the start of the Cold War (as anyone viewing a James Bond film knows).
The details—the means, nature and extent—of those activities and alliances are indeed secret, but for entirely understandable reasons. Intelligence agencies, as explained above, like to keep the other side guessing. Even seemingly unimportant information about budgets, spending plans, logistics and premises can be useful to the adversary, at a potentially high cost. A secret, once released, may be a shock to the unwitting. But a shock is not necessarily a scandal.
Nor could anyone prove that anything revealed in the Echelon disclosures was actually illegal. International law does not prohibit espionage. The national laws of Britain, America and other countries gave (and give) the intelligence and security agencies a remit, and set up a system of oversight. The remit may be too wide, and the oversight too flimsy (or perhaps vice versa: views differ), but these are matters for the political process to resolve.
Perhaps the gravest charge was that America conflated commercial espionage with statecraft. That would be shocking if true. It would be illegal under American law. It would confer unfair advantages on the lucky US companies that received intelligence titbits from the government, and disadvantage their competitors. It would discredit America's reputation for fair dealing in the eyes of the rest of the world.
It is impossible to prove a negative. Those who believe that the American government and its corporate handmaidens (or Corporate America and its political handmaidens) are capable of any kind of iniquity will not be disabused of their convictions by mere denials, or the absence of facts to support them. But the campaigners against Echelon produced a remarkably thin case to support their contention. It is hardly surprising that American spies may target foreign companies. As Jim Woolsey, the former CIA director, explained in his newspaper article, they may be involved in bribery to gain an unfair advantage, or be breaking sanctions. They may have employees with access to state secrets, either now or potentially. Intelligence agencies are ingenious, curious and adaptive: that is what they are paid to be.
But the gap between spy
ing on foreign companies and handing their commercial secrets to domestic ones is huge. And there is no evidence for it. The most likely explanation for this absence of evidence is that nothing of the kind is going on. Any programme of systematic intelligence sharing with the corporate sector would be simply too risky to contemplate (as well as being wrong). How would it be administered? Who would authorise the security clearances? How much information could be disclosed? And what about the competitors, who in litigious America would be likely to sue the government if they believed they were losing out on access to valuable information collected at taxpayers' expense?
American companies do get plenty of help from their government. They can receive briefings from officials about political and economic conditions abroad (as do executives from any country with an effective foreign service). Favours may be given through indirect channels such as consulting firms, or by hiring recently retired officials from the intelligence community. Abuses do happen. But it is striking that none of the soi-disant whistleblowers from the NSA or elsewhere, and no conscience-stricken corporate executive anywhere, has given the slightest sign, hint or proof of any programme of state-sponsored commercial espionage, either in the Echelon era or now. By contrast, evidence abounds of such espionage by other countries, chiefly China but also, notably, France.
In assessing the effects of Snowden's actions, it may help to imagine how the whole thing could have been done differently. The overwhelming evidence even from the cherry-picked documents released so far is that the NSA is a bureaucratic and rule-bound organisation. So the first thing that an employee or contractor should do when he encounters a breach in the rules is report it. The NSA, like GCHQ, has a system for this. In America, the Intelligence Community Whistleblower Protection Act of 1998 allows intelligence insiders to disclose classified information concerning a 'serious or flagrant problem, abuse, [or] violation of law' to members of congressional intelligence committees. They are obliged to exhaust other channels first, including the NSA's inspector general and the attorney general.
