Technology for nonviolent struggle

Organised nonviolent struggle,
using methods such as strikes, boycotts and noncooperation, is a
possible alternative to military methods. However, compared to
military funding, there has been hardly any financial and
organisational support for nonviolent struggle. Putting a priority on
nonviolent struggle would lead to significant differences in
technological development and scientific method. Research and
development relevant to a number of areas -- especially communication
and survival -- are assessed in terms of their relevance to nonviolent
struggle. The findings are used to suggest how science and technology
used for the purposes of war and repression can be converted most
effectively to serve the purposes of nonviolent struggle.

Brian Martin lives in
Wollongong, Australia. He trained and worked as an applied
mathematician before switching to social science. He has been active
for many years in the radical science, environmental and peace
movements and is the author of numerous works in many
fields.

Email: bmartin@uow.edu.au

Web: http://www.uow.edu.au/arts/sts/bmartin/

Acknowledgments

I thank all the individuals who
offered insightful comments in interviews, seminars and
correspondence, who for the most part must go unnamed. Robert
Burrowes, Mary Cawte and Helen Gillett provided many useful
suggestions on a first draft of the entire manuscript. Mary Cawte was
an essential part of the project that led to this book. The project
was supported by the Australian Research Council. Ellen Elster and
Andreas Speck, members of the executive of War Resisters'
International, provided many insightful suggestions on the entire
manuscript.

Wil Rikmanspoel offered expert
advice on preparing the pdf version of the text.

Much of chapter 5 is adapted from "Communication technology and nonviolent action," Media Development, Vol. 43, No. 2, 1996, pp. 3-9. Chapter 4 in part draws on "Science, technology and nonviolent action: the case for a utopian dimension in the social analysis of science and technology," Social Studies of Science, Vol. 27, 1997, pp. 439-463. Chapter 7 is adapted from a portion of Helen Gillett, Brian Martin and Chris Rust, "Building in nonviolence: nonviolent struggle and the built environment," Civilian-Based Defense, Vol. 11, No. 3, Fall 1996, pp. 1, 4-7.

Prologue

The vision of Aldous
Huxley

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Contents

Notes to
prologue

In 1946, a remarkable essay by
Aldous Huxley entitled Science, Liberty and Peace was
published.[1]
Huxley (1894-1963) is widely known as a novelist whose most famous
work, Brave New World, was published in 1932. He was also a
prolific and eloquent essayist in diverse fields. Science, Liberty
and Peace is filled with insights about the connections between
science, violence and nonviolence. Considering how far in advance of
others Huxley was on this issue, it seems worthwhile examining how he
arrived at his conclusions.

Huxley's essay begins with the
point -- quoting Leo Tolstoy from around the turn of the century -- that
if power in society is mostly in the hands of a few people, then
control over nature through science and technology will serve to
increase power inequalities. Huxley points out that in the 1800s,
armed liberation might have seemed a reasonable prospect: barricades
and sporting rifles could be used to resist the government's cavalry
and cannon. But with the development of weapons of mass destruction,
people's weapons were no longer a match for the violence controlled
by the state. Similarly, modern methods of mass persuasion -- notably
the press and the radio -- become tools for oppressors because they
allow the few to manipulate the many.

Mass production, the very
foundation of industrial society, has aided this process, Huxley
argues. Centralised production is favoured by both governments and
big business, and they put every obstacle possible in the face of
decentralised production. In each of these developments -- weapons,
media and industry -- science and technology have played a crucial
role. The main thrust of science and technology thus has served
oppressors and hindered the expansion of peace and
freedom.

Huxley's analysis of society and
science can be traced back to one guiding principle: that power is
corrupting. Huxley refers to Lord Acton, whose views on power are
best known through the aphorism "power tends to corrupt and absolute
power corrupts absolutely."[2]
If power is corrupting, then all technologies and social arrangements
that allow or promote concentrations of power should be resisted.
Huxley's preferred path is decentralisation, which reduces the
potential for abuse of power.

Huxley favours a society
fundamentally different from the one that existed in 1946. But how
should change occur, given that the overwhelming powers of violence
and mass persuasion are held by what he calls the "ruling oligarchy"?
Huxley believes that nonviolence is the only way forward. He sees
hope in Gandhi's methods, called satyagraha but more commonly
referred to in the west today as nonviolent action, and refers to the
resistance by the German people to the French and Belgian occupation
of the Ruhr in 1923.

Huxley argues for nonviolence as
the only hopeful possibility given the power that science and
technology, via modern weapons, has placed in the hands of
oppressors. Huxley's support for nonviolence can be interpreted as an
independent principle of action to supplement his analysis based on
the corruptions of power. But support for nonviolence is a logical
consequence of an overall analysis based on the idea that power is
corrupting. Nonviolent action, as a method of struggle, allows
widespread participation, gives any individual only limited power
over others, and is most compatible with decentralised activity.
Nonviolent action, then, is the method of struggle against oppression
that is least subject to the corruptions of power.

With his analysis based on the
corrupting influence of power, Huxley is able to make many
penetrating insights. For example, he notes that oil is unevenly
distributed throughout the world. Therefore, it is susceptible to
monopoly control, with wars being fought to acquire and maintain this
control.[3]
The obvious implication is that building an energy system around oil
makes society prone to inequality and war.

Huxley also makes the point that
nuclear power is complex and potentially destructive and therefore a
bad option. He prefers instead the development of regional energy
self-sufficiency, which would minimise the social power held by any
group.

The modern warfare state needs a
strong capital-goods industry and also the capacity to mobilise the
entire population, either in the military or in industry, for war.
Huxley was well aware of this process during World War II. This
universal mobilisation is easiest when the population consists
largely of rootless, propertyless employees who depend on the state
for vital services. Another value of large industry, from the point
of view of the state, is that it is much easier to tax than small
decentralised manufacturing.

Huxley also makes some important
general points. He laments the disastrous effects of nationalism; he
notes that preparation for war is useful to the holders of
centralised political power; and he says that socialist states
combine the worst aspects of centralisation of power.

Most of Huxley's insights are
fully relevant more than half a century after they were first
published. The 1991 Gulf war is only the most recent example of a war
fought over control of oil supplies. Huxley's concerns about nuclear
power and his support for decentralised energy sources were taken up
in a major way beginning in the 1970s. As for the process of
mobilisation for warfare, it is certainly the case that many
populations around the world are even more rootless and dependent on
states than in the 1940s. Huxley's comments about the danger of
nationalism are still relevant today. The cold war is testimony to
his point that mobilisation for war serves the interests of political
elites.[4]

The failures of socialist states are now widely apparent.

On a few points Huxley's vision
was not quite accurate. Today, it is possible that total mobilisation
for war may be less necessary in countries with highly sophisticated
weaponry, which make it possible for a relatively small professional
military force to wage war. This is one development that Huxley did
not foresee. But it is quite compatible with his critique of science
and technology as serving to increase the power of
oppressors.

He was worried about the opening
of the arctic to food production, because it might be monopolised by
Russian and Anglo interests. This has not happened, but something
similar seems to have occurred with the green revolution and the
current attempt by western corporations to control Third World
agriculture through genetically engineered organisms that are
controlled as a form of intellectual property. So even when Huxley's
specific concerns have not been borne out, his general analysis still
provides a fruitful perspective.

Huxley's critique of science and
technology is a deep one. He sees them as having been developed to
serve powerholders. In order to serve liberty and peace, science and
technology must be redirected. Huxley recommends that scientists
boycott harmful work. He also recommends action to foster positive
scientific research. This could be either political action to inspect
or control scientific developments, or action by scientists, for
example to develop regional self-sufficiency in food and energy.
These strategies are still among the most promising ones today. One
additional option could be added to Huxley's list: the development of
a movement for "community science and technology," in which people,
many of whom are outside the formal corps of professional scientists
and engineers, develop and promote science and technology that is
relevant to community needs.[5]
This prospect was not outlined by Huxley, but it is quite compatible
with his vision.

Huxley's far-reaching and
perceptive essay provides an important lesson. It has no footnotes
and only mentions a few sources in passing. It is an essay in the
traditional sense, not a scholarly paper. In a world in which science
and scholarship have become increasingly specialised, jargonised and
professionalised, it is salutory to know that crucial and lasting
insights can be derived from a few sound premises.

The response toScience, Liberty
and Peace was at best lukewarm. Reviewers ranged from the mildly
critical to the openly hostile, generally finding fault with one or
more of satyagraha, decentralisation or the strategy of relying on
scientists to bring about change.[6]
The time was not ripe for developing the link between science and
nonviolence. Huxley's essay is virtually unmentioned in the fields of
both peace research and the critique of science.[7]

In this book I develop ideas about
technology and nonviolence that can be interpreted as a development
and application of Huxley's vision. A recurring theme is that those
technologies that allow people to control their own lives are the
ones best suited to enabling a community to use nonviolent methods to
resist aggression or oppression.

Notes
to prologue

1. Aldous
Huxley, Science, Liberty and Peace (New York: Harper &
Row, 1946; London: Chatto & Windus, 1947). It has been reprinted
by the A. J. Muste Memorial Institute, 339 Lafayette Street, New York
NY 10012, USA.

2. Since
Huxley wrote this essay, several authors have written about the
corruptions of power, including Alex Comfort, Authority and
Deliquency in the Modern State: A Criminological Approach to the
Problem of Power (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1950); David
Kipnis, The Powerholders (Chicago: University of Chicago
Press, 1976); David Kipnis, Technology and Power (New York:
Springer Verlag, 1990); Pitirim A. Sorokin and Walter A. Lunden,

Power and Morality: Who Shall Guard the Guardians? (Boston:
Porter Sargent, 1959). Kipnis' work reports on psychological
experiments that provide strong evidence for Lord Acton's
insight.

3. This
point has also been made by Godfrey Boyle, Living on the Sun:
Harnessing Renewable Energy for an Equitable Society (London:
Calder & Boyars, 1975).

4. This
point was also made most powerfully in the opening of Herbert
Marcuse, One Dimensional Man (Boston: Beacon Press,
1964).

5. For
further discussion, see chapter 9.

6. Some
significant reviews are P. W. Bridgman, "Science and social
evolution," New York Times Book Review, 24 March 1946, pp. 3,
28; R. Brightman, "Science and peace," Nature, Vol. 160, 29
November 1947, pp. 733-734; R. T. Cox, Science, 31 January
1947, pp. 134-135; Anne Fremantle, The Commonweal, 7 June
1946, pp. 197-198; Joseph Wood Krutch, "The condition of man," The
Nation, Vol. 162, No. 14, 6 April 1946, pp. 402-403. I thank Mary
Cawte for tracking down these and other reviews, plus considerable
commentary on Huxley.

7. It is
favourably cited and quoted in Godfrey Boyle, "Energy," in Godfrey
Boyle, Peter Harper and the editors of Undercurrents (eds.),
Radical Technology (London: Wildwood House, 1976), pp. 52-58,
at p. 58.

1 Introduction

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Contents

Notes to chapter
1

Let's begin with two bold
propositions. First, methods of social action without violence can be
extremely powerful -- indeed so powerful as to be a possible
alternative to military defence. Second, technology, which is now
massively oriented to military purposes, can be reoriented to support
nonviolent action.

These two propositions, if
followed through, lead to two striking conclusions. First, nonviolent
struggle, which is normally seen as primarily a social and
psychological process, has vital technological dimensions. Second,
reorienting technology to serve nonviolent struggle would involve a
wholesale transformation of research directions, technological
infrastructure and social decision making.

This is a quick overview of the
task ahead in this book. The rest of this introduction provides a
more measured approach to key ideas. It is useful to begin with
weapons of war.

War has always involved suffering
and death. Centuries ago weapons included swords, bows and arrows,
catapults and battering rams, enough for plenty of killing. Today's
weapons include rifles, tanks, giant battleships, aircraft for
saturation bombing, precision-guided missiles, landmines, and
biological, chemical and nuclear weapons.[1]
Some types of weapons are much more powerful than in the past, while
others are entirely new. It is now much easier for military forces to
kill large numbers of people. Civilians are at much greater risk than
in earlier eras, in part due to the development of antipersonnel
weapons such as cluster bombs.[2]
The rapid developments in technology for warfare over the past few
centuries have relied on the dedicated efforts of scientists and
engineers.

One of the biggest problems with
science and technology is their use in war. In 1975, prominent
philosopher Arne Naess listed 13 "current main grievances against
science" which he considered to be justified and important. Second on
his list was this: "Leading scientists take part in creating new
terrible and ecologically devastating ways of warfare. Scientists
support any state or regime if sufficiently rewarded. Some serve the
State through research on how to torture, and take part in
international teaching on how to torture without organized opposition
from colleagues."[3]

In 1978, 26 individuals associated
with the World Order Models Project, an initiative seeking to develop
visions of and methods to achieve a better world, endorsed a
statement entitled "the perversion of science and technology."
Focussing on the impact of science and technology on the Third World,
the statement listed the following problem as one of the initial four
points: "the employment of 50 percent of all research scientists in
the world in military R&D [research and development]; a
significant proportion of that number for developing the technology
of mass destruction and repression."[4]

In earlier eras, it was possible
to imagine that military technologies could be a source of liberation
as well as oppression. The sword and the rifle can be used not only
by rulers but also against them.[5]
But it is difficult to imagine cluster bombs and nuclear weapons
being used for popular liberation. Modern weapons are mainly of use
by governments against peoples, often against their own
populations.

What is the alternative to
military science and technology? The most common response of the
world's governments is to seek controls, such as treaties against
biological weapons or agreements on numbers of nuclear missiles. Such
reforms are welcome enough but do little or nothing to stem the
development of ever more sophisticated weapons. Indeed, some critics
argue that arms control negotiations serve only to regularise
military races, not to halt them.[6]

Whereas most governments seek only
those limited controls on weapons to which they agree, peace
movements around the world have called for disarmament and totally
getting rid of certain types of weapons, particularly nuclear,
biological, chemical and antipersonnel weapons. Some groups and
movements have pushed for complete elimination of weapons and armies.
Peace movement campaigns have had some obvious successes, such as the
banning of above-ground tests of nuclear weapons, and also have
created a climate of opinion that has sometimes held back aggressive
governments. However, peace movement campaigns have seldom dealt
directly with the complex of scientific and technological operations
serving military ends.

One exception to this is the
movement for "peace conversion" or "economic
conversion."[7] What this means is converting science, technology and industry from
military purposes to civilian purposes, especially to activities that
serve human needs. This might mean converting a gun factory to a home
appliance factory or shifting from research into missile ballistics
to research into public transport. Historically, this sort of
conversion was routine at the ends of major wars. But as military
technology becomes ever more specialised, conversion to civilian
purposes becomes more difficult. Converting production from military
trucks to civilian trucks is not so difficult; converting production
from nuclear submarines to a useful civilian technology is quite a
challenge. The technological dimension to peace conversion is
actually the smaller hurdle. The major obstacle is the political and
economic interests in continuing military production. These interests
have become entrenched since World War II, so that governments
administer what can be called a "permanent war economy."

Peace conversion is a vital part
of any process of changing science and technology so that they no
longer serve to sustain war and repression. But peace conversion can
be only one part of this process, since it provides no alternative
means of directly providing the security that is the stated rationale
for, if seldom the consequence of, military forces. (The deeper
driving forces behind military systems are discussed in chapter
2.)

One alternative to the military is
nonviolent defence. The military option involves professional
soldiers using specially designed instruments of violence to defend
and attack. Nonviolent defence involves all concerned people using
methods of nonviolent action such as rallies, refusals to obey,
strikes, boycotts, sit-ins and setting up alternative institutions.
As a full alternative to military forces, nonviolent defence is also
called social defence, civilian defence, civilian-based defence and
defence by civil resistance. From a nonviolence viewpoint, only some
functions of the military -- notably defending the core values of a
society against attack -- need to have a nonviolent replacement. A
nonviolent defence system would not take up other functions of
militaries, such as internal repression and threatening other
societies.

Methods of nonviolent action can
also be used in campaigns against oppression, such as the
independence movement in India led by Mohandas Gandhi and the US
civil rights movement led by Martin Luther King, Jr. There are
numerous other examples, some of which are described
later.

For those who are accustomed to
thinking about weapons systems or to hearing about horrific wars and
massacres around the world, nonviolent action at first glance may
seem woefully inadequate. Actually, though, it can be an incredibly
powerful technique. The key to nonviolent action is promoting refusal
to consent. Even the most powerful weapons system requires human
decisions to build, maintain and operate it. If manufacturers,
commanders or operators refuse to cooperate, weapons will not be
created or used. There are many examples where this process has
occurred.

Most studies of nonviolent action
have focussed on social and psychological factors, such as how to
mobilise support. This is appropriate, since social and psychological
factors are the keys to successful nonviolent struggle. Nevertheless,
there is a role for technology appropriate for nonviolent defence.
That is the theme of this book.

Consider the vast resources, both
human and material, that have been devoted to military purposes for
many decades. This includes development of weapons systems, training
of large armies, military exercises, military industries, and
orientation of social institutions to military ends. By comparison,
only a tiny effort has been made to improve methods of nonviolent
struggle. Is it any wonder that nonviolent defence is not a
well-developed alternative? Its occasional successes are all the more
remarkable, considering that they are analogous to the success of an
army that had no weapons production, no training, no money and no
planning. The implication of this comparison is that nonviolent
defence should not be dismissed until it has been investigated,
supported and tested on a scale similar to military
defence.

In the next chapter, the
connections between technology and the military are analysed. Chapter
3 gives a brief introduction to the dynamics of nonviolent action.
Chapter 4 introduces the main subject: how technology might be used
to support nonviolent struggle.

Nonviolent struggle potentially
can involve nearly any area one can imagine, from sculpture to
soccer. Since technology is increasingly pervasive, this means that
design and choice of technology for nonviolent struggle also
potentially affects nearly any conceivable area. In many areas, it
seems, no one has even begun to think through the implications.
Chapters 5 to 8 give special attention to the key areas of
communication, survival, the built environment and countering attack.
Other areas that might be examined include art, sport, policing,
prisons, money and jobs.[8] Chapter 9 discusses the implications of nonviolent action for methods
of doing research. Chapter 10 addresses the issue of "policy": how to
move from present-day militarised technology to a technology useful
for nonviolent struggle.

The approach I take is to start
with nonviolent struggle and see what implications it has for
technology. Of course this is not the only way to approach these
issues. Another is to start with a vision of a desired society -- for
example, based on participation, self-reliance, equity and ecological
sustainability, as well as nonviolence -- and then see what technology
is most appropriate to create and sustain it.[9]
But in practice these two approaches are not greatly divergent, since
in most cases the sort of technology suitable for nonviolent struggle
is also suitable for fostering participation, self-reliance and so
forth, though in a few particular areas there may be
incompatibilities. I find it useful for the purpose of clarity to
focus on technology for nonviolent struggle, while noting at various
points the potential role of the same technology for promoting other
values.

Notes to
chapter 1

1. See, for
example, Frank Barnaby, The Automated Battlefield (New York:
Free Press, 1986); Martin van Creveld, Technology and War: From
2000 B.C. to the Present (New York: Free Press, 1989); James F.
Dunnigan, How to Make War: A Comprehensive Guide to Modern
Warfare (New York: Quill, 1983); James F. Dunnigan, Digital
Soldiers: The Evolution of High-Tech Weaponry and Tomorrow's Brave
New Battlefield (New York: St. Martin's Press, 1996); Kenneth
Macksey, Technology in War (New York: Prentice Hall, 1986);
William H. McNeill, The Pursuit of Power: Technology, Armed Force,
and Society since A.D.1000 (Oxford: Blackwell, 1983). On the
continuing danger of nuclear war, see William E. Burrows and Robert
Windrem, Critical Mass: The Dangerous Race for Superweapons in a
Fragmenting World (New York: Simon and Schuster,
1994).

2. Eric
Prokosch, The Technology of Killing: A Military and Political
History of Antipersonnel Weapons (London: Zed Books,
1995).

3. Arne Naess, "Why not science for anarchists too? A reply to Feyerabend,"
Inquiry, Vol. 18, 1975, pp. 183-194, at p. 192.

4. Saul
Mendlovitz and Rajni Kothari, "The perversion of science and
technology: an indictment," Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists,
Vol. 35, No. 1, January 1979, pp. 57-59, at p. 57.

5. Even if
armed liberation is possible, it may not be a promising road to a
better society, since it involves killing, secrecy, centralisation of
power and male domination. The armed liberators often become the new
oppressors.

6. Johan
Galtung, "Why do disarmament negotiations fail?" Gandhi Marg,
nos. 38-39, May-June 1982, pp. 298-307; Johan Galtung, There Are
Alternatives! Four Roads to Peace and Security (Nottingham:
Spokesman, 1984), pp. 131-138; Alva Myrdal, The Game of
Disarmament: How the United States and Russia Run the Arms Race
(New York: Pantheon, 1976). Among other factors, disarmament
negotiations keep control over the agenda in the hands of the
dominant governments and dampen public concern by giving the illusion
that something is being done about the problem.

7. See, for
example, Bonn International Center for Conversion, Conversion
Survey 1996: Global Disarmament, Demilitarization and
Demobilization (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1996); Seymour
Melman, The Demilitarized Society: Disarmament and Conversion

(Montreal: Harvest House, 1988); Judith Reppy (ed.), Conversion of
Military R&D (Basingstoke: Macmillan, 1998); Peter Southwood,
Disarming Military Industries: Turning an Outbreak of Peace into
an Enduring Legacy (Houndmills, Basingstoke: Macmillan, 1991);
and the journal Positive Alternatives, published by the Center
for Economic Conversion, 222 View Street, Mountain View CA
94041-1344, USA.

8. On the
topics of policing, prisons and economics from the perspective of
social defence, see Brian Martin, Social
Defence, Social Change (London:
Freedom Press, 1993).

9. I thank
Andreas Speck for emphasising this point. A theoretical foundation
for this approach is given by Nicholas Maxwell, who argues that most
scientific and scholarly work is based on the "philosophy of
knowledge," which assumes that knowledge is of value in itself.
Maxwell argues that the philosophy of knowledge should be replaced by
a "philosophy of wisdom," in which science is directly geared to
solve major problems facing humanity, such as poverty, repression and
war: Nicholas Maxwell, From Knowledge to Wisdom: A Revolution in
the Aims and Methods of Science (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1984);
Nicholas Maxwell, "What kind of inquiry can best help us create a
good world?," Science, Technology, & Human Values, Vol.
17, 1992, pp. 205-227.

2 Militarised
technology

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Contents

Notes to chapter
2

Sections

Military
shaping of technology

Military
funding and applications

Training
and employment

Belief
systems

Suppression
of challenges

Countervailing
influences

Civilian
applications

Bureaucratic
interests

Popular
resistance

Deeper
links

In order to understand the
potential role of technology for nonviolent struggle, it is useful to
understand the actual role of technology for military purposes. What
is technology?[1] A simple and narrow definition is that technology is any physical
object created or shaped by humans (or other animals). Technologies
include paper, toothbrushes, clothes, violins, hammers, buildings,
cars, factories, and genetically modified organisms. These objects
can be called artefacts. A broader definition of technology includes
both artefacts and their social context, such as the processes,
methods and organisations to produce and use them. This includes
things such as the manufacturing division of labour, just-in-time
production systems, town planning and methods used in scientific
laboratories. This broader definition is useful for emphasising that
artefacts only have meaning within the context of their creation and
use. In this book, the word "technology" refers to both artefacts and
their social context.

Similarly, "science" can be
defined as both knowledge of the world and the social processes used
to achieve it, including discussions in laboratories, science
education, scientific journals and funding. The distinction between
science and technology, once commonly made, is increasingly blurred.
The scientific enterprise is deeply technological, relying heavily on
instruments and associated activities. Just as importantly, the
production of artefacts requires, in many cases, sophisticated
scientific understanding. This is nowhere better illustrated than in
contemporary military science and technology. For example, the
development of nuclear weapons depended on a deep understanding of
nuclear processes, and in turn nuclear technologies provided means
for developing nuclear science. For convenience, I often refer just
to "technology" rather than "science and technology," with the
understanding that they are closely interlinked and that each can
stand in for the other.

In this chapter, I examine
military influences on technology. Some influences are immediate and
obvious, such as military contracts to produce bazookas and cruise
missiles; others are deep and structural, such as military links with
capitalism and patriarchy. My approach is to start with the immediate
influences and later discuss the deep ones. The first section deals
with military funding and applications, training and employment,
belief systems and suppression of challenges. The second section
deals with "countervailing influences," namely factors that resist
military influence on technology: civilian applications, bureaucratic
interests and popular resistance. The final section discusses
connections between the military and social structures of the state,
capitalism, bureaucracy and patriarchy, and how they can affect
technology.

Military
shaping of technology

Military priorities play a major
role in the development of many technologies.[2] Figures 1 and 2 illustrate how this process, which can be called the
military shaping of technology, can occur. Factors such as funding
and employment are pictured as influences from the top ("military
influence/context"). Military applications are shown in the middle
and civilian applications at the bottom. Figure 1 shows the case of
science and technology that are very specifically oriented for
military purposes, such as the computer software in a cruise missile;
there are only occasionally a few civilian spinoffs. Figure 2 shows a
more general perspective, looking at entire fields of science and
technology. In this case, civilian applications are a significant
competing influence.

Figure 1. A model
of military shaping emphasising military-specific science and
technology.

Figure 2. A model
of military shaping emphasising generic science and
technology.

With figure 1, the
military-specific orientation is blatant. With figure 2, it is clear
that both military and civilian purposes may be served by the same
general fields. I now look in more detail at the specific areas of
military funding and applications, training and employment, belief
systems and suppression of challenges.

Military
funding and applications

When money and other resources are
provided to develop certain technologies, obviously this is an
enormously strong influence on what technologies are actually
developed. Military budgets for research and development (R&D)
around the world are huge. They have resulted in an amazing array of
powerful and sophisticated weapons, from land mines to aircraft
carriers.

Occasionally military funding
leads to ideas, methods or products that are useful for civilian
purposes. For example, the computer network called Internet grew out
of a network set up by the US Defense Advanced Research Projects
Agency (DARPA). However, examples like this are quite compatible with
the idea that military funding is a powerful way of shaping
technologies. The influence of funding simply makes it more
likely -- not inevitable -- that the resulting technologies will be
mainly useful for military purposes.

"Funding" is a shorthand for a
more complex process which can be called "military technological
innovation."[3]
There are studies of how military and political elites steer the
process of deciding upon, developing and deploying military
technologies. This research provides insight into the specific
features of military technological innovation in different countries
and situations; it is fully compatible with the basic idea that
military funding promotes and shapes technology to serve military
purposes.

The military is always on the
lookout for anything that can be used for its advantage. There is
money to develop techniques and products. The possibility of
applications has an influence on R&D, by encouraging at least
some researchers to pursue areas where applications are more likely.
For example, some researchers in pure mathematics are more likely to
work in areas where there are possible applications. These
applications might be computational methods, theoretical chemistry,
energy conservation or ballistics.

Sometimes entire fields are shaped
by military priorities. An obvious example is nuclear physics, which
has received heavy military funding and provided jobs for many
researchers. Furthermore, in several countries governments pursued
nuclear power programmes as a means of keeping open the option of
acquiring nuclear weapons or (in the US "Atoms for Peace" programme)
to reposition nuclear technology as "peaceful." The priority on
nuclear weapons and nuclear power has meant that non-military nuclear
physics, carried out in universities, has had a higher priority than
otherwise would have been the case. Military researchers have been
ready to take advantage of any advance from university research.
Without the military and commercial interest in nuclear technology,
it is likely that other branches of physics such as solar physics
would have received greater attention.

Microelectronics and computing are
other fields that were, for many years, driven by military
applications.[4]

For example, the development of sophisticated nuclear weapons makes
heavy demands on computer power. In the early decades of nuclear
weapons, the US nuclear weapons design laboratories -- Lawrence
Livermore National Laboratory and Los Alamos National
Laboratory -- worked closely with computer manufacturers to develop
machines serving their particular requirements for high-speed
numerical computation, and in some cases purchased a large proportion
of the resulting production runs. Some of the choices in the
architecture of supercomputers consequently reflect military
influences.[5]

Since the development of
computers, the field of numerical analysis -- which, in part, deals
with ways to solve problems using computers -- has dramatically
expanded, and there are areas of pure mathematics that take up
esoteric questions related to numerical analysis. Thus, the
development of computers has influenced the research priorities of
some mathematicians; in turn, pure mathematics research relating to
numerical analysis occasionally leads to results that have practical
value.

In this way, possible applications
influence the direction of research. Military applications are one
such application. Thus, although most pure mathematicians do not have
military applications directly in mind, their work may be oriented in
directions making it more likely to serve military
purposes.

The large amount of US military
funding for electronics in the years after World War II actually led
to few transfers for civilian uses.[6]
In recent years, commercial uses have played a larger role in
microelectronics research. Commercialisation is even a goal for some
military-funded research.[7]

In the case of the insecticide DDT
during World War II, military applications served to accelerate
research in one particular direction. As a result of the emphasis on
short-term control of insect pests by chemicals to support the war
effort, research into biological control of pests declined rapidly,
institutionalising a pattern that has persisted long after commercial
interests became the primary influence on pesticide
research.[8]

The social science field of
communication studies in the United States was shaped by massive
military funding and military agendas, especially in the early years
1945-1960. The military's interest in the field derived from interest
in psychological warfare which -- in military terms -- included not just
propaganda but also techniques such as deception, "dirty tricks," assassination, and terrorism. This context was omitted from the
academic face of communication studies. Leading researchers and
research centres received massive military grants. Major military
studies were often later published in academic forums, usually
without acknowledgement of their link to the military. Communication
research was oriented to the goals of domination and manipulation of
mass audiences. The development and use of now-standard survey
techniques also reflected military priorities.[9]

Similarly, research in educational
technology in the US has been heavily funded by the military, with
military priorities of developing man-machine systems. Douglas Noble
argues that computers in classrooms and computer-related procedures
are not neutral tools, but rather reflect military goals. For
example, when educational institutions operate in terms of "instructional delivery systems," this can be said to reflect a
military interest in command and control.[10]

It is worth emphasising that
military shaping of science and technology can occur even when
researchers themselves do not realise that military funding or
applications are influencing their work. It is always possible to
debate the true purpose of any research. For example, in military
research on biological agents, military scientists and administrators
may perceive or portray the research as "defensive" -- designed to
counter biological weapons of opponents -- whereas outsiders may
believe the research is a prelude to (offensive) biological
warfare.[11] This "ambiguity of research" is always present to some degree, since
any technology can be used for a variety of purposes, though more
easily for some purposes than others.

In the following example, "pure" research is taken up by the military.

I did my PhD on the
theory of dense plasma -- the hot, ionised gas found at the centre
of the sun and red giant stars. The work involved the calculation
of the spatial correlations between the electrons and atomic
nuclei making up this plasma. The calculations could be done
mathematically rather than on a computer, but the work was
esoteric, painstaking and even a little tedious.

En route to take up a
postdoctoral position in London, I stopped over at the University
of California in Berkeley to visit one of my thesis examiners. He
congratulated me on the thesis, and then remarked, 'My colleagues
at Livermore are finding it very useful for their calculations of
what happens at the centre of a hydrogen bomb
explosion.'

Aware that Livermore is a
design laboratory for nuclear weapons, I replied: 'Surely not! I
thought of that possibility, but discarded it. My calculations are
only valid for equilibrium systems. A hydrogen bomb explosion is
not in equilibrium.'

'Aha!' he said. 'Of course the
Livermore group use enormous computer programs to do their
non-equilibrium calculations. But they need to check these highly
complex programs by means of mathematical solutions in special
cases. Your calculations are playing that role.'

A feature of this example from
my youthful innocence was that the nuclear weapons scientists were
already using my calculations before they had been published. But
the main scientific application of my thesis which I wished to see
utilised, the correction of an error in existing models of the
solar interior, was only adopted three or four years
later.[12]

Such personal concern to avoid
military uses for one's research is not that common. Much more
typical is a concern to do good science and not worry about
applications. Seldom, though, is it expressed as bluntly as by a
graduate student at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology: "What
I'm designing may one day be used to kill millions of people ... I
don't care. That's not my responsibility. I'm given an interesting
technological problem and I get enjoyment out of solving
it."[13]

Militaries need to ensure that
weapons systems work as desired. Therefore, they set up systems to
ensure compliance to military specifications, or simply order certain
products or services that fit such specifications. These
specifications sometimes have an impact on "civilian" science and
technology. In order to ensure that weapons systems work, the US
Department of Defense enforces regulations covering certain required
standards. Checks are made of standards for the volt and ohm (units
for measuring electrical potential and resistance) either by auditors
or, more recently, by insisting on documentation of procedures. These
standards may then be used in science.[14]

The influence of military R&D
on technological specifications is a more subtle influence than the
direct influence on choice of technologies to produce. It is possible
to delve into the intricate issues of how standards or the form of
civilian technologies have been shaped by military influences. But
whether such influences exist is less important than the obvious
existence of weapons: technologies designed to kill or destroy. The
choice to produce weapons is the key issue. Investigating subsequent
influences on the form or application of related civilian
technologies is an intriguing intellectual puzzle but is not central
to the problem of technology in war.

Training and
employment

Prior to World War II, most
scientific research was carried out by individuals or small groups,
with small budgets. The war and the massive military funding that
accompanied and followed it led to science carried out on an
industrial scale, with big funding, enormously expensive pieces of
apparatus, large teams of workers, managerial systems and centralised
control, with an associated dependence on wealthy patrons, usually
the government. This system of "big science" is ideally designed to
allow control over scientific agendas by state managers, among whom
the military features prominently.[15]

Today, most scientists and
technologists are full-time professionals working for government,
industry or universities. To get to these positions, they first have
to undergo a long period of study and apprenticeship. To obtain a
research post with some degree of authority and influence in a field,
the researcher must proceed successfully through high school,
university, PhD studies and often postdoctoral employment. The
employment situation and the training to get there have a big impact
on the sort of work the researchers do.

Most scientific training promotes
conformity to standard scientific ideas and methods. In school and
university, students are seldom encouraged to question conventional
ideas such as cell structure, quantum theory or bridge design. Most
science teachers simply teach "the facts," including a set of methods
for solving standard problems. They might want in principle to foster
a more questioning approach, but in practice the syllabus is usually
so filled with facts and skills that there is little time to do so.
Students who are good at solving complex problems of the standard
type -- whether this is calculus or chemical analysis -- are given the
greatest encouragement through the system of assignments,
examinations and grades. Those who develop their own methods, or who
question the point of the exercises, are seldom favoured, unless they
are also extremely good at the standard approaches.

By the time students are ready to
begin their research apprenticeship, they have imbibed the current
scientific world view. Research then involves a certain breaking down
of the textbook picture of science, exploring areas where answers are
less predictable and encouraging limited challenges to
orthodoxy.

Although scientific training
promotes conventional orientations to science, a few individuals come
through their education with unorthodox perspectives. However, it is
most difficult to develop a career at variance with standard views,
because there are few jobs that allow this. Most jobs in government
and industry are for applied research and development, or in pure
research very obviously related to applied areas. Researchers in
government agriculture departments might study transport of chemicals
in soils. Chemical companies are likely to employ researchers to
develop more effective pesticides. University researchers typically
have more freedom, but they often rely on industry or government for
grants to obtain equipment and technical support. Setting off in a
research direction divergent from the standard one is not an easy
road.

The military influence comes in at
this level. The military provides jobs for a vast number of
scientists and engineers, perhaps one quarter or even one half
worldwide. Although a few military-funded scientists are able to do "pure research," it is in areas of potential interest to the
military, such as theoretical nuclear physics rather than sustainable
agriculture.

The social location of most
scientists and engineers who are not employed directly by the
military is still quite convenient for military purposes. Most
university and industry scientists and engineers are highly
specialised in their training and work: they cannot readily switch
from mechanical engineering to microbiology or vice versa. They are
generally well-paid, see themselves as professionals and work among
peers. As a group of workers who are mainly highly specialised,
professionally oriented employees, most scientists and engineers are
receptive to doing work where there is ample funding. They are
trained and employed as technicians, namely to solve technical
puzzles, and not to explore in depth who benefits and loses from
their work. The funded research has to be in their field, so that
their specialised skills can be brought to bear; it has to be
sufficiently well funded, in keeping with their professional status;
and it has to be recognised as acceptable by their peers.

The military can take advantage of
this situation. Much military R&D requires highly specialised
skills. The military has plenty of money to pay for research.
Finally, military funding is acceptable to a good proportion of
scientists and engineers. Most corporations are happy to have
military funding, and so are most universities.[16]
Most scientists and engineers are happy to accept whatever funding is
available. There are also some who actively solicit military support,
proposing projects that will appeal to military
funders.[17]

Occasionally, though, there is
opposition by scientists to military research. The most prominent
case concerned the Strategic Defense Initiative (SDI), otherwise
known as "star wars," promoted by the US government. SDI was
announced in 1983 during a massive mobilisation of the peace
movement, and was clearly an attempt to undermine opposition to US
government and military agendas. Thousands of scientists, seeing SDI
as a continuation of the arms race, refused to seek or accept funding
for SDI projects.[18]

However, this was an exceptional
case, and even so there were plenty of scientists who were quite
willing to take money for SDI, often with the rationalisation that
they would use the money for their own research purposes. Critics saw
SDI as both technically infeasible and militarily provocative. Many
of those who signed the pledge against receiving SDI funding were not
opposed to military funding for research in areas not related to SDI;
indeed, many were seeking or in receipt of military
funding.

As noted, SDI was an exception,
linked to the strong antinuclear popular sentiment at the time. In
most cases, there is no attempt at a boycott, and only a minority of
scientists refuse military largesse on an individual level. For
example, the cream of western physicists joined the Manhattan Project
during World War II to produce the first nuclear weapons -- of course
with the honourable motivation of defeating an evil enemy -- and there
has been no shortage of scientists to produce hydrogen bombs,
antipersonnel weapons and instruments of torture. When the Nazis took
power in Germany in the 1930s, there was very little political
resistance from the German physics community even though top
scientists were dismissed and pressured to emigrate.[19]

Groups that might challenge
military priorities in a fundamental fashion, such as peace
movements, some churches, some trade unions and some political
movements, seldom have the resources to fund scientific research,
much less large-scale technological development. The technically
trained labour force is mainly available to those groups that can
afford to pay for it. The military is in an excellent position to do
so. Even when scientists and engineers are working for industry and
universities, or are unemployed, they provide a reserve labour force
of experts of potential value for military purposes.[20]

Belief systems

Technology is shaped in various
ways by systems of belief, or ideology to use another expression. At
a basic level, it is necessary for a considerable number of people to
believe in their society's superiority in order to justify killing
members of other societies, either in defending against attack or in
launching one. Underlying the existence of the military is the
assumption that it is legitimate to use technology to defend a
society by force, including these days mass killing of enemy soldiers
and civilians. Technology is a means to achieve a widely shared
aim.

Belief systems do not arise out of
thin air. Education systems, cultural traditions, enforcement of
ideological orthodoxy and a host of other mechanisms are involved.
How beliefs influence technological development, and vice versa, is
often hard to figure out. This topic is far too big to deal with
fully here, so a few examples will have to suffice.

In the 1920s, most aeroplanes were
made of wood but fully metal construction was heavily researched. The
switch to metal aeroplanes occurred before there was much evidence of
their superiority, arguably because of beliefs about science and
progress. Metal symbolised both science and progress, hence far more
effort was expended developing and justifying metal aeroplanes than
improving wooden ones.[21]

During the Vietnam war, US
planners conceptualised the war in terms of science, technology,
bureaucracy and management. These were all areas in which the US was
superior, hence defeat was unthinkable. The conceptualisation of the
war as technological led to the deployment of sophisticated weapons,
contributed to the enormous human and environmental impact of the war
(two million Vietnamese deaths), and helped obscure the real reasons
for US defeat.[22]

In the case of the Strategic
Defense Initiative, there were massive military funding influences on
scientific research, but just as important were ideological factors.
The massive funding boom for star wars helped to draw corporations
into service to the US military and to weaken opposition to US
military policy, especially by promoting the idea that this was a "defence" system. Thus, although star wars never came close to
achieving its technological ambitions, it "worked" in both economic
and political senses.[23]
On a wider scale, it can be argued that the US Cold War vision of
global power on the basis of automated, centralised control both
shaped the development of computers and was sustained by both the
technology and symbolism of computers.[24]

Suppression
of challenges

Military funding, military
applications and the training and employment of scientists and
engineers are all influences that shape science and technology to be
selectively useful for military purposes. Another influence operates
in a different way, by negative rather than positive reinforcement:
when a development occurs that challenges military priorities, it may
be subject to attack. This process is not always straightforward, so
it is worth looking at a few examples. In each of these cases,
military influence is one among a number of influences on science and
technology.

Lucas Aerospace is a large
corporation based in the UK. Much of its work is for military
contracts, specifically for aircraft. In the 1970s, workers at Lucas,
concerned about loss of employment from declining military orders,
developed an alternative corporate plan.[25] The alternative plan included a number of products that could be
produced with the facilities and skills available at Lucas, but which
were designed to serve "human needs" such as mass transit or mobility
of disabled people. Note that the workers distinguished "human needs" from military contracts.

The management of Lucas
consistently refused to accept any of the workers' proposals,
insisting on managerial prerogatives, and rejecting even those
alternatives that were projected to make a profit. This stance by
Lucas management was not taken at the behest of the military, but it
certainly served military ends (as well as maintaining managerial
control). If initiatives such as those by the Lucas workers had been
successful and imitated widely, they might have been a threat to the
usual acquiescent role taken by industry in fulfilling military
orders, and also a threat to the achievement of military priorities
for technological development.

In the 1980s, the US National
Security Agency (NSA) attempted to put controls on mathematical
research in cryptography, the study of codes. Before publication,
cryptography research was expected to be cleared through the
NSA.[26] In the 1990s, the NSA developed a cryptography system -- including a
computer chip, the "Clipper chip," and an encryption algorithm,
"Skipjack" -- that would allow government agencies to read messages
under certain conditions. Most computer network users strongly
preferred encryption systems -- of which a number were available -- that
could not be easily cracked by anyone. The US government banned
export of encryption systems while promoting the Clipper chip. The
primary stated justification for the Clipper chip was monitoring of
criminals, but the role of the NSA showed the importance of military
priorities. In this case, the alternative, a market of encryption
systems useful for commercial or private purposes, was opposed by
military interests.[27]

Another example is nuclear
technology, in which military and civilian applications have long
overlapped. Nuclear power, inasmuch as it is perceived to be a
civilian technology, helps to legitimate nuclear technology
generally, including nuclear weapons. There are many cases of critics
of nuclear power -- especially scientists and engineers -- who have been
reprimanded, transferred, harassed, slandered and
dismissed.[28]
Another dimension to this issue is the attack on alternatives to
nuclear power, such as cutbacks on funding for solar
energy.[29]

There are not so many examples of
attacks on critics within nuclear weapons programmes, probably
because few weapons scientists are in a position to dissent openly
and still have any chance of retaining their jobs. Andre Sakharov in
the Soviet Union was a prominent critic who was sent into internal
exile as a result. In the United States, Hugh DeWitt, a theoretical
physicist at Lawrence Livermore National Laboratory where nuclear
weapons are designed, has spoken out against government weapons
policies and come under attack within the lab several times as a
result. The importance of such cases is not so much their effect on
the individual dissidents, but the example provided to others who
might otherwise have considered speaking out themselves. Even a few
cases of this sort send a strong message that it is much safer to
work on the job as it is defined from above.[30]
In this way, conformity to military priorities is
maintained.

Countervailing
influences

Military shaping of technology is
not all-powerful, otherwise every technology would be oriented to
military purposes and we would all be wearing combat boots and living
in fallout shelters. It is worth outlining the main influences that
resist or challenge military priorities for science and technology,
namely civilian applications, bureaucratic interests and popular
resistance.

Civilian
applications

This is undoubtedly the greatest
influence, covering as it does influences from a host of other
factors from basic needs such as food and housing to commerce and
culture (including art). Civilian interest groups, including
corporations, governments and consumers, usually want technologies to
serve their immediate purposes. In capitalist societies, cost in the
market is a key consideration. This explains, for example, why most
industries are not designed to withstand a military attack. (Only in
a few countries, such as Iraq, Sweden and Switzerland, are some
factories built underground or otherwise designed with military
threats in mind.) In most countries, there are few stockpiles of
food, goods or strategic minerals beyond what is dictated by the
search for profits. Most road and rail systems are designed primarily
for civilian purposes.

Military influences do have some
influences on all these areas, but civilian influences are usually
much greater. Military influence on technology is greatest in areas
where there is little civilian interest, such as missiles.

Bureaucratic
interests

Within the military and within
military industries, officers, soldiers, managers and workers have
jobs, status, authority, routines, standard ways of thinking, and
emotional commitments. In other words, the current way of doing
things is a way of life. Changes in technology also introduce the
prospect of social changes. These social changes are likely to be
welcomed by some and opposed by others, in ways that don't
necessarily correlate with military efficiency. In other words,
vested interests within various bureaucracies constitute one
influence on technological development.

Sometimes the main vested interest
can be called conservatism, since it manifests itself as resistance
to new technologies. For example, around 1900, when the new method of
continuous-aim firing from ships was proposed, bureaucrats within the
US Navy at first ignored and then did everything possible to
discredit the method and delay its introduction, in spite of the fact
that it was vastly superior to the existing method. The reason for
the resistance was that the new method entailed changes in the
organisation of tasks on board: it changed the arrangements in naval
society.[31]

The introduction of the machine
gun provides another example of military conservatism. It was vastly
more effective than rifles and, because of this, threatened to make
obsolete the traditional training and tactics based on beliefs in the
importance of courage and quality of troops. Plentiful evidence was
available of the superiority of the machine gun in various colonial
wars, but these victories were attributed to white superiority over
native peoples rather than to technological superiority. As a result,
the implications of the machine gun for warfare were not grasped and
integrated into military organisations and planning until well into
World War I, when the suicidal implications of infantry attacks on
positions defended by machine guns eventually became clear. Even in
this situation, hundreds of thousands of soldiers were killed before
commanders were willing to recognise the failure of standard
methods.[32]

Another example is the US-produced
M-16 rifle, which was the result of prolonged bureaucratic
manipulation. Another rifle had been developed, the AR-15, which
attained a high reputation among soldiers. However, Eugene Stoner,
the designer of the AR-15, worked outside the Army's arsenal system,
and thus this rifle was a threat to the bureaucratic status quo. The
AR-15 was subject to numerous design changes imposed by rigid
specifications, many of which were irrelevant to practical
conditions, such as performing in freezing temperatures. The design
changes led to the M-16, which was much heavier, inconvenient and
failure-prone, and led to more deaths in action. Soldiers who were
aware of the problems with the M-16 wrote to their parents who in
turn put pressure on Congress. As a result, the sabotage of the AR-15
was exposed in hearings of Congress.[33]

These examples are distinctive
because strong bureaucratic interests favoured a clearly inferior
technology for the purposes of warfare. However, bureaucratic
interests are present at all times, and on many occasions they favour
superior technology. This means that the adoption of a technology,
whether technically superior or inferior, may have occurred in part
because of bureaucratic considerations.

More generally, it is a reasonable
assumption that military leaders will not voluntarily adopt any
technology that undermines the need or rationale for their existence.
As will be discussed later, even when nonviolent methods of struggle
are superior in terms of reducing the threat from an enemy,
militaries favour military methods. Military strength creates its own
necessity, by posing a threat to other societies and stimulating
military races.

Without actual war, military
technologies would not need to be efficient for warfare, but could
serve other functions, such as maintaining current bureaucratic
systems, creating profits for industry and providing symbols of power
and masculinity. During the Cold War, it has been argued, western
military weaponry became more and more "baroque," namely excessively
expensive and complicated and hence not likely to be particularly
effective.[34]
The Cold War confrontation provided the justification for massive
military expenditures, but there was no practical testing of weapons
designed for war between major industrial powers.

Popular
resistance

Another key factor in
technological development for the military is the unwillingness of
people to support certain methods of fighting. "People" here includes
civilians, politicians, soldiers, military commanders and
engineers.

The role of civilians has been
considerable. Peace movements have campaigned against various sorts
of weapons and, in some cases, against any form of organised
violence. There have been campaigns against nuclear, biological,
chemical and antipersonnel weapons, among others. In many cases these
campaigns are supported by government leaders. The results can be
seen in the limited use of biological, chemical and nuclear weapons
in warfare and in treaties against these weapons. The popular
revulsion against certain types of weapons and warfare is a powerful
factor. But this popular revulsion is subject to change. Before World
War II, aerial bombing was thought to be totally outrageous; the 1937
bombing of Guernica by the German-supported fascists in Spain
generated intense anguish. Yet aerial bombing was adopted by both
sides in World War II. Through a gradual process of expansion from
military to civilian targets, aerial bombing became a much more "acceptable" method of warfare. In the future, it is quite possible
that biological, chemical or nuclear warfare may become seen as
standard procedure, most likely as a result of all-out war. Many
people have worked and continue to work to ensure that this does not
occur, through publicity, international law, and destruction of
stocks of weapons.

Soldiers and officers also have
ideas about what is acceptable in warfare, and these ideas have an
important impact on technological development. In previous centuries,
armies faced each other in set-piece confrontations, in ways that, by
present-day standards, seem incredibly restrained. Then, relatively
few civilians were killed; technologies were designed mainly for
killing soldiers. Today, many more civilians are killed in wars than
soldiers; weapons of mass destruction are designed for this
purpose.

Most people are highly reluctant
to hurt others. Soldiers have to be trained to kill, especially when
the enemy is confronted face-to-face. There is evidence that most
front-line soldiers in World War II and other wars did not fire their
rifles, and that many of those who did fire intended to miss. In many
countries, armies cannot be filled by volunteers; conscription is
needed. Technological development has made it easier to kill at a
distance, without recognising the enemy as a person. Engineers who
design bombers and pilots who fly them can maintain a psychological
distance from the people who are being attacked. It is possible to
see much of modern weapons development as a response to a pressure to
use fewer people in fighting and to reduce the need for face-to-face
combat. In this way, the repulsion most people feel towards killing
is sidestepped. Another way to overcome this repulsion is to train
soldiers using highly realistic simulations so that responses become
automatic. This has been done increasingly in the US military since
World War II, with correspondingly greater psychological impacts on
those soldiers who engage in "intimate" killing, such as in the
Vietnam war.[35]

With modern poisons and other
small weapons, it is now possible for one individual behind enemy
lines -- especially an agent who has joined the other side's armed
forces -- to be more potent than a whole battalion of front-line
soldiers. By planting poisons in water supplies or in the food of
individuals or by just slitting throats, one agent could kill
hundreds of soldiers and cause a crisis in morale. Technological
developments could aid such an approach to warfare. But this has not
been a major R&D focus compared to conventional weapons. One
reason is that it would be difficult to recruit soldiers to undertake
this sort of killing. Also, if adopted by both sides, it would be a
threat to the military command, since agents would target officers
who, in conventional warfare, are least likely to be
killed.

* * *

Taking into account these various
countervailing influences, it is possible to present a more
complicated picture of military shaping of science and technology.
Figure 3 shows some of the influences and some of the
connections.

Figure 3. A
model of military shaping showing a variety of specific influences on
science and technology.

Deeper links

So far in this discussion of
military influences on the development and use of technologies, it
has been assumed that the purpose of the military is simply to defend
societies against aggression. This is the usual picture drawn by
militaries and governments and widely believed by members of the
public. But there is another viewpoint: that the military is tied in
fundamental ways to social structures, especially the state,
capitalism, bureaucracy and patriarchy. In this picture, the military
both supports and is supported by these structures. This has
implications for understanding military-related
technology.

Only occasionally are contemporary
military forces used to engage in combat against military forces of
another country. It is actually much more common for a country's
military to be used against the people of the country itself, most
obviously in military dictatorships. This suggests that militaries
have as much to do with social control -- in the interests of certain
groups in a society -- as with defence against foreign threats. At the
global level, military forces and alliances such as NATO serve to
protect dominant groups from challenge. For example, NATO troops help
to sustain global economic inequality.

The state, in a sociological
sense, can be defined as a community based on a monopoly over
organised violence within a territory, this violence being considered "legitimate" by the state itself.[36]
In modern societies, organised violence is only considered legitimate
when exercised by the police or the military. The state is more
commonly thought of as being composed of the government (including
national and local officials), government bureaucracies, the legal
system, the military, and government-run operations such as schools.
The state maintains itself financially mainly through taxes,
administers services and regulations through government
bureaucracies, and maintains order through the police and the legal
system. In any major challenge to the system -- such as refusal to pay
taxes -- the police and, if necessary, the military are available to
maintain state power. War is a primary impetus behind the rise of the
state. Indeed, war-making and state-making are mutually
reinforcing.[37]

The state must defend against
external threats, to be sure, but internal threats are more frequent
and more complex. Most contemporary states administer unequal
societies, with wealth, status and privilege distributed very
unevenly, usually accompanied by systematic methods to maintain this
inequality, such as class structure and sexual and ethnic
discrimination. The pervasive injustice of societies stimulates
challenges to the status quo. In societies with representative
governments, the usual methods of social control are schooling,
manipulation of perception through the mass media, systems of
legitimacy such as parliaments and courts, and the economic system.
But when these systems are not sufficient to protect the interests of
dominant groups, the police and the military may be deployed, for
example to arrest demonstrators or break strikes.

During the cold war, the
superpowers could justify their massive arsenals by pointing to the
threat posed by the enemy. The cold war is over but military
spending, though somewhat cut back, continues at a very high rate. It
has been widely remarked by commentators that the US Department of
Defense and spy agencies have been desperately searching for new
legitimations for their existence -- favourite rationales are "rogue
states," terrorism and the drug trade. The lack of an overt
justification for a continuing military megamachine provides added
weight to explanations referring to the military's role in
maintaining systems of inequality.

The links between the military and
the state also have implications for technology. A large proportion
of funding for R&D comes from the state. This includes many
nominally civilian areas, such as transport systems, communications,
sewerage, energy and industry. Planners within the state are likely
to prefer technological systems that ensure continuation of state
power.

For example, central provision of
energy, through oil and natural gas supplies and through electricity
produced at large power stations, is ideally suited for allowing
state control or regulation. Taxes can easily be imposed on such
energy operations, since consumers must obtain their energy from a
few large suppliers. Contrast this with a community in which building
design eliminates the need for most energy for heating, town planning
allows most people to walk or ride bicycles, and small local
enterprises provide for energy from the sun, wind and biofuels. With
such a community, there is much less need for strong state
intervention. The energy system is low risk: there is no hazard from
nuclear reactor accidents, large oil spills, or sabotage of
electricity generating plants. There is less dependence on external
supplies, and hence resource control -- and struggles over this
control -- is not so vital an issue. There is no great need for heavy
investment in automobile manufacture or freeway construction, and
hence less need for central regulation or funding in these sorts of
areas. Because the community is largely self-sufficient in energy,
there is less justification for taxing the energy
sector.[38]

As will be discussed in chapter 6,
the conventional high-energy-use system, with its high risks, high
vulnerability to disruption and large economic investments, also
makes it a target for military attack. Thus, military forces are
needed to defend such a system. By contrast, the low-energy
self-reliant system has much less need for military
defence.[39]
This example shows the mutually consistent and reinforcing roles of
the state and the military. The energy system that provides a
convenient vehicle for state intervention and extraction of resources
(taxes) for the state is also one that requires and justifies the
military. Part of the state's extraction of resources is to provide
energy supplies for the military itself. Centralised provision of
energy is convenient for this purpose. By contrast, a system built
around energy efficiency, solar heaters and town planning to reduce
transport doesn't provide much scope for supporting an energy-hungry
military.

From the point of view of the
state, the traditional dichotomies between "peace" and "war" and
between "civil" and "military" are increasingly irrelevant. The
military capacity of a state depends on systems of education and
training, R&D and industry, all ostensibly "civil" arenas.
Especially since World War II, the states of industrial societies
have pursued policies concerning knowledge and production that lay
the basis for technological warfare.[40]

Monopoly capitalism -- built around
large corporations with active intervention by the state in support
of these corporations -- favours technologies that also tend to be
useful for the military. The automobile industry is an example. A
transport system based on large production plants is relatively easy
to adapt for military purposes. This is partly because the plants can
be converted to produce military goods, but more because the plants
are controlled by a few people through large corporate bureaucracies.
This organisational structure is easily influenced to serve military
ends, either through military contracts or through direct
administration in wartime.[41]
By contrast, a production system based on smaller enterprises
producing more bicycles and fewer heavy vehicles, with a great deal
of worker control, is less subject to central control either by
capitalists or military administrators.

The economic system commonly
called communism -- but better described as state socialism,
bureaucratic socialism or state capitalism -- serves military
imperatives even more directly and easily than monopoly
capitalism.[42]
In the case of both capitalism and state socialism, the large scale
of production, the role of the state in regulation and the system of
bureaucratic management of enterprises all favour technological
systems that are compatible with military purposes.

Similar considerations apply to
the role of bureaucracy, which can be defined as a way of organising
work built around the principle that workers are replaceable
cogs.[43]
Bureaucracies are hierarchical, based on a division of labour and
operate using standardised procedures. Most government bodies are
organised as bureaucracies, but so are large corporations, political
parties, churches, trade unions and many other organisations. The
military is perhaps the ultimate in bureaucracies, with its rigid
hierarchy (the ranks) and system of command. Bureaucracy is the basic
organising principle of the state, monopoly capitalism and the
military. The technological systems favoured by bureaucratic elites
are ones that ensure them a continuing role and position of power.
They tend to favour large systems requiring centralised control, such
as centralised welfare systems and large hospitals. The previous
examples of transport and energy illustrate the interests of
bureaucratic elites.

Yet another important social
structure linked to the military is patriarchy, the organised social
domination of men over women. Patriarchy is a pervasive set of
relationships, including male violence against women, control over
reproductive choice, discrimination in employment, devaluation of
child rearing, different social expectations for men and women, and
many other dimensions. It is possible to argue that any system of
unequal power, such as systems of central government and corporate
management, are patriarchal in themselves; in any case, they are
highly compatible with patriarchy, since men control most of the
elite positions and regularly use their positions to maintain male
privilege.

Militaries are notoriously
patriarchal.[44]
Most soldiers and almost all top commanders are men, and most
military forces strongly denigrate human characteristics that are
considered feminine. On the other hand, militaries are designed for
fighting against other men. Women are victims, to be sure, both as
civilian casualties and through being raped in wartime and within the
military itself. But, it may be argued, the function of patriarchy is
to allow some men to dominate other men (as well as women). If men
are mobilised to defend male privilege and male identity against
women, it becomes easier to maintain the role of elites (who are
mostly men).

The overt influence of patriarchy
on science and technology can be found in a number of areas, such as
reproductive technologies and theories of brain lateralisation. In
terms of military technology, though, perhaps the greatest -- if rather
diffuse -- influence is the built-in preference for violence and
technology, which goes to the core of the military role in society.
Violence is commonly associated with masculinity, whereas nonviolence
is seen as stereotypically feminine. (This helps explain the common
but quite false presumption that nonviolence means being passive.)
Also, it is a characteristically masculine trait to be unemotional
and aloof. Technology that allows killing at a distance thus meshes
with a common conception of masculinity.

In recent decades, traditional
forms of male domination in the military have come under threat as
women seek equality within the armed services in some countries.
Furthermore, some military women -- seeing themselves as
feminists -- argue that they bring a different sensibility to the
military role, with their greater ability to relate to local people,
especially women, in UN intervention missions. This suggests that the
conventional picture of militaries as composed of men exhibiting a
traditional masculinity may no longer be adequate.[45]
Women can adopt masculine values and men can adopt feminine values,
and both types of values can be expressed in either positive or
damaging ways. Thus, women can enter the military with the aim of
making it less oppressive, but at the risk of themselves becoming
acculturated to the military ethos of competitiveness, hierarchy,
domination and violence. This struggle between military and feminist
values will also be played out in struggles over choices and uses of
military technology.

This discussion of deep links
between the military and the state, capitalism, bureaucracy and
patriarchy, and implications for science and technology, has only
introduced a few ideas from a topic with many dimensions. [46]
The issues are complex and seldom addressed. Nevertheless, a few key
points are worth stating again. The military and military-inspired
technology are not designed just for defence against foreign enemies,
but are more centrally involved in maintaining social control. This
control is at the service of the state, of economic elites (in
today's societies, most commonly capitalists), of elite bureaucrats,
and of the system of male domination. Understanding the shaping of
science and technology for military purposes thus is not a simple
undertaking, since it ultimately involves analysis of all social
institutions. A possible picture is given in figure 4. Although this
figure encompasses more of the processes involved, its vagueness
reduces its usefulness. For many purposes figure 1, for example, is
more helpful. Models should be chosen because of their value in
providing insight, and sometimes simple -- and hence inaccurate or
incomplete -- models are more helpful.[47]

Figure 4. A model
of military shaping showing a variety of specific influences on
science and technology in the context of social structures. There are
no arrows because the various items are mixed together in a "soup" of
mutual interactions.

In this chapter I have focussed on
military influences on and uses of technology. Another perspective is
that technology is shaped more generally by the structures of the
state, capitalism, patriarchy, etc., with which the military is
largely compatible. So even without a direct military influence,
technology might still be "militarised" -- oriented to military
purposes -- to a considerable extent. This model is compatible with
figure 4. I'm not sure whether it is a better way to understand
what's going on.

Notes to
chapter 2

1. Theories of
technology are discussed in the appendix. The general model adopted
here is that military and other social factors influence but do not
determine technology, and that any specific technology is easier to
use for some purposes than others.

2. General
treatments of the influence of the military on science and technology
include J. D. Bernal, The Social Function of Science (London:
George Routledge & Sons, 1939), chapter VII; Robin Clarke, The
Science of War and Peace (London: Jonathan Cape, 1971); Paul
Dickson, The Electronic Battlefield (Bloomington: Indiana
University Press, 1976); Everett Mendelsohn, "Science, technology and
the military: patterns of interaction," in Jean-Jacques Salomon
(ed.), Science War and Peace (Paris: Economica, 1990), pp.
49-70; Everett H. Mendelsohn, Merritt Roe Smith and Peter Weingart
(eds.), Science, Technology and the Military (Dordrecht:
Kluwer, 1988); Robert K. Merton, Science, Technology and Society
in Seventeenth Century England (New York: Howard Fertig, 1970 [1938]); John U. Nef, War and Human Progress: An Essay on
the Rise of Industrial Civilization (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1950); Merritt Roe Smith (ed.), Military Enterprise
and Technological Change: Perspectives on the American Experience

(Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1985). References to specific areas are
given later. On arms production and trade, see William W. Keller,
Arm in Arm: The Political Economy of the Global Arms Trade
(New York: HarperCollins, 1995); Keith Krause, Arms and the State:
Patterns of Military Production and Trade (Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press, 1992).

3. See for
example Matthew Evangelista, Innovation and the Arms Race: How the
United States and the Soviet Union Develop New Military
Technologies (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1988); Wim A.
Smit, John Grin and Lev Voronkov (eds.), Military Technological
Innovation and Stability in a Changing World: Politically Assessing
and Influencing Weapon Innovation and Military Research and
Development (Amsterdam: VU University Press, 1992).

4. Janet
Abbate, Inventing the Internet (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press,
1999); Paul N. Edwards, The Closed World: Computers and the
Politics of Discourse in Cold War America (Cambridge, MA: MIT
Press, 1996); Paul Forman, "Behind quantum electronics: national
security as basis for physical research in the United States,
1940-1960," Historical Studies in the Physical and Biological
Sciences, Vol. 18, No. 1, 1987, pp. 149-229; Brian Martin, "Computing and war," Peace and Change, Vol. 14, No. 2, April
1989, pp. 203-222.

5. Donald
MacKenzie, "The influence of the Los Alamos and Livermore National
Laboratories on the development of supercomputing," Annals of the
History of Computing, Vol. 13, No. 2, 1991, pp.
179-201.

6. Robert
DeGrasse, "The military and semiconductors," in John Tirman (ed.), The Militarization of High Technology (Cambridge, MA:
Ballinger, 1984), pp. 77-104.

7. Donald
MacKenzie and Graham Spinardi, "The technological impact of a defence
research establishment," in Richard Coopey, Matthew R. H. Uttley and
Graham Spinardi (eds.), Defence Science and Technology: Adjusting
to Change (Chur, Switzerland: Harwood Academic Publishers, 1993),
pp. 85-124.

8. John H.
Perkins, "Reshaping technology in wartime: the effect of military
goals on entomological research and insect-control practices,"
Technology and Culture, Vol. 19, No. 2, April 1978, pp.
169-186.

9. Christopher
Simpson, Science of Coercion: Communication Research and
Psychological Warfare 1945-1960 (New York: Oxford University
Press, 1994). I thank Mary Cawte for drawing this book to my
attention.

10. Douglas D.
Noble, The Classroom Arsenal: Military Research, Information
Technology, and Public Education (London: Falmer Press,
1991).

11. Susan
Wright and Stuart Ketcham, "The problem of interpreting the U.S.
biological defense research program," in Susan Wright (ed.), Preventing a Biological Arms Race (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press,
1990), pp. 169-196.

12. Mark
Diesendorf, "On being a dissident scientist," Ockham's Razor 2
(Sydney: Australian Broadcasting Corporation, 1988), pp. 9-14, at p.
10.

13. Quoted in
Stuart W. Leslie, The Cold War and American Science: The
Military-Industrial-Academic Complex at MIT and Stanford (New
York: Columbia University Press, 1993), p. 238.

14. Joseph
O'Connell, "Metrology: the creation of universality by the
circulation of particulars," Social Studies of Science, Vol.
23, No. 1, February 1993, pp. 129-173. Andreas Speck gives the
additional example that standards for German roads and airport
runways -- such as the width and the strength of the base -- are set by
military criteria.

15. Daniel S.
Greenberg, The Politics of Pure Science (New York: New
American Library, 1971); Gregory McLauchlan, "The advent of nuclear
weapons and the formation of the scientific-military-industrial
complex in World War II," in Gregg B. Walker, David A. Bella and
Steven J. Sprecher (eds.), The Military-Industrial Complex:
Eisenhower's Warning Three Decades Later (New York: Peter Lang,
1992), pp. 101-127.

16. On
university-military links, see Annals of the American Academy of
Political and Social Sciences, Vol. 502, March 1989; David
Dickson, The New Politics of Science (New York: Pantheon,
1984), chapter 3; Jonathan Feldman, Universities in the Business
of Repression: The Academic-Military-Industrial Complex and Central
America (Boston: South End Press, 1989); Daniel S. Greenberg,

The Politics of Pure Science (New York: New American Library,
1971); Stuart W. Leslie, The Cold War and American Science: The
Military-Industrial-Academic Complex at MIT and Stanford (New
York: Columbia University Press, 1993); Christopher Simpson (ed.),
Universities and Empire: Money and Politics in the Social Sciences
During the Cold War (New York: New Press, 1998); Clark
Thomborson, "Role of military funding in academic computer science," in David Bellin and Gary Chapman (eds.), Computers in Battle -- Will
They Work? (Boston: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1987), pp.
283-296.

17. Bruno
Vitale, "Scientists as military hustlers," in Issues in Radical
Science (London: Free Association Books, 1985), pp.
73-87.

18. David
Cortright, Peace Works: The Citizen's Role in Ending the Cold
War (Boulder: Westview Press, 1993), pp. 179-186; Steve Nadis, "After the boycott: how scientists are stopping SDI," Science for
the People, No. 20, January-February 1988, pp. 21-26.

19. Alan D.
Beyerchen, Scientists under Hitler: Politics and the Physics
Community in the Third Reich (New Haven, CT: Yale University
Press, 1977). I thank Mary Cawte for mentioning this
reference.

20. On
scientists as a reserve labour force see Chandra Mukerji, A
Fragile Power: Scientists and the State (Princeton, NJ: Princeton
University Press, 1989).

21. Eric
Schatzberg, "Ideology and technical choice: the decline of the wooden
airplane in the United States, 1920-1945," Technology and
Culture, Vol. 35, No. 1, January 1994, p. 34-69.

22. James
William Gibson, The Perfect War: Technowar in Vietnam (Boston:
Atlantic Monthly Press, 1986).

23. Vincent
Mosco, "The military information society and 'star wars'," in The
Pay-Per Society: Computers and Communication in the Information
Age (Toronto: Garamond, 1989), pp. 131-172, also published in
revised form as "Strategic offence: star wars as military hegemony," in Les Levidow and Kevin Robins (eds.), Cyborg Worlds: The
Military Information Society (London: Free Association Books,
1989), pp. 87-112.

24. Paul N.
Edwards, The Closed World: Computers and the Politics of Discourse
in Cold War America (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1996).

25. Hilary
Wainwright and Dave Elliott, The Lucas Plan: A New Trade Unionism
in the Making? (London: Allison and Busby, 1982).

26. David
Dickson, The New Politics of Science (New York: Pantheon,
1984), pp. 141-145.

27. Lance J.
Hoffman (ed.), Building in Big Brother: The Cryptographic Policy
Debate (New York: Springer-Verlag, 1995).

28. Leslie J.
Freeman, Nuclear Witnesses (New York: Norton, 1981); Brian
Martin, "Nuclear suppression," Science and Public Policy, Vol.
13, No. 6, December 1986, pp. 312-320.

29. Daniel M.
Berman and John T. O'Connor, Who Owns the Sun? People, Politics,
and the Struggle for a Solar Economy (White River Junction,
Vermont: Chelsea Green, 1996); Ray Reece, The Sun Betrayed: A
Report on the Corporate Seizure of U.S. Solar Energy Development

(Boston: South End Press, 1979).

30. Brian
Martin, "Suppression
of dissent in science,"
Research in Social Problems and Public Policy, Vol. 7, 1999,
pp. 105-135.

31. Elting E.
Morison, Men, Machines, and Modern Times (Cambridge, MA: MIT
Press, 1966), chapter 2.

32. John
Ellis, The Social History of the Machine Gun (London: Croom
Helm, 1975).

33. James
Fallows, "The American Army and the M-16 rifle," in Donald MacKenzie
and Judy Wajcman (eds.), The Social Shaping of Technology
(Milton Keynes: Open University Press, 1985), pp. 239-251.

34. Mary
Kaldor, The Baroque Arsenal (London: Andre Deutsch,
1982).

35. Dave
Grossman, On Killing: The Psychological Cost of Learning to Kill
in War and Society (Boston: Little, Brown, 1995).

36. There is a
large amount of writing about various forces that have weakened the
power of the state, including transnational corporations,
international organisations and social movements. Undoubtedly the
state is no longer hegemonic, if it ever was. When it comes to
examining the military, the state remains the dominant influence, but
there is an increasing role being played by mercenaries, militias and
international "peacekeeping" forces. Mary Kaldor, New and Old
Wars: Organized Violence in a Global Era (Cambridge: Polity
Press, 1999) provides an insightful analysis of the recent
transformation of war from state-based invasion-and-defence mode to a
postmodern form with state, paramilitary, criminal and international
actors involved in a mixture of war, organised crime and mass human
rights violations.

37. On the
state and the military, see Ekkehart Krippendorff, Staat und
Krieg: Die Historische Logik Politischer Unvernunft (Frankfurt:
Suhrkamp, 1985), as reviewed by Johan Galtung, "The state, the
military and war," Journal of Peace Research, Vol. 26, No. 1,
1989, pp. 101-105 (I thank Mary Cawte for this reference); Bruce D.
Porter, War and the Rise of the State: The Military Foundations of
Modern Politics (New York: Free Press, 1994); Charles Tilly,

Coercion, Capital, and European States, AD 990-1992 (Cambridge
MA: Blackwell, 1992). For the case of the US, see Gregory Hooks,
Forging the Military-Industrial Complex: World War II's Battle of
the Potomac (Urbana: University of Illinois Press,
1991).

38. Andreas
Speck notes that an alternative interpretation is that centralised
energy systems are more a result of capitalist interests, with big
companies using their control to keep competitors small and
dependent.

39. A
self-reliant system is much more useful in an actual war, since it
cannot be destroyed as easily. The point here is that centralised
systems, through their very vulnerability, provide a stronger
justification for military defence.

40. Maurice
Pearton, The Knowledgeable State: Diplomacy, War and Technology
since 1830 (London: Burnett Books, 1982).

41. For a nice
treatment of different relationships between the state and war
industry in the United States, see Gregory Hooks and Gregory
McLauchlan, "The institutional foundations of warmaking: three eras
of U.S. warmaking, 1939-1989," Theory and Society, Vol. 21,
1992, pp. 757-788.

42. See for
example Carl Gustav Jacobsen, "Arms Build-ups under Socialism: The
USSR and China," in N. P. Gleditsch and O. Njølstad, (eds.), Arms Races: Technological and Political Dynamics (London:
Sage, 1990), pp. 285-294.

43. Fred Emery
(personal communication) provided this convenient encapsulation of
bureaucracy.

44. Cynthia
Enloe, Does Khaki Become You? The Militarisation of Women's
Lives (London: Pluto, 1983); Cynthia Enloe, The Morning After:
Sexual Politics at the End of the Cold War (Berkeley: University
of California Press, 1993); Betty Reardon, Sexism and the War
System (New York: Teachers College Press, 1985); Jeanne Vickers,
Women and War (London: Zed Books, 1993). On challenging this
situation, see Birgit Brock-Utne, Educating for Peace: A Feminist
Perspective (New York: Pergamon, 1985).

45. I thank
Ellen Elster for suggesting these points.

46. Brian
Martin, Uprooting
War (London: Freedom
Press, 1984). It is possible to go further and argue that science and
technology have always been linked with warfare and that this
connection is integral in western societies. See, for example,
Jacques Grinevald, "The greening of Europe," Bulletin of Peace
Proposals, Vol. 22, No. 1, 1991, pp. 41-47. I thank Mary Cawte
for finding this reference.

47. Models are
always simplifications of the object or situation modelled, and hence
inaccurate and incomplete to a greater or lesser degree. Simple
models usually are easier to understand and work with. The question
is, which simplications should be made? See Brian Martin,
Information Liberation (London: Freedom Press, 1998), chapter
8.

3 Nonviolent
struggle

Go to:

Contents

Notes to chapter
3

Sections

Why use
nonviolent methods?

Sabotage

Having looked at militarised
technology, it is intriguing to ask, "what would technology be like
if it was motivated by an entirely different goal?" There are, of
course, many possible nonmilitary goals. The relevant one here is
nonviolent struggle.

To many people it may seem that
military weapons are so sophisticated and powerful that it would be
impossible to stop them except by other weapons. This line of thought
is sensible so far as the weapons are concerned. Its flaw is that
weapons do not operate themselves.[1]

To win a battle or a war, humans
must cooperate. To begin, victory requires that "the enemy" stops
resisting. The enemy army may be defeated and disarmed, but the
population can continue resisting. What then? The people can simply
be killed until they agree to cooperate. If they continue to resist,
then all of them can be killed. End of story. In reality, populations
do cooperate, at least to some degree, well before total
extermination.

But there is another sort of
cooperation required: cooperation by the commanders, soldiers and
civilians in the victorious power. It is impossible to continue to
kill "the enemy" if no one agrees to do it. This is where nonviolent
action comes in. It works, in part, by promoting
noncooperation.

Methods of nonviolent action
include petitions, slogans, rallies, marches, strikes, boycotts,
fasts, sit-ins, setting up alternative institutions, and many others.
Any method not involving physical violence is a possibility.
Nonviolent action can be used by workers seeking higher pay, women
opposing male violence or local citizens opposing a freeway. When
nonviolent action is used systematically to obtain a particular
objective, such as stopping arms shipments to a country or opposing
racial harassment, this will be called nonviolent struggle or a
nonviolent campaign.

As the term "nonviolent action" suggests, the emphasis is on action, not passivity. But the action
has to be nonviolent, meaning that it does not cause physical harm to
others.[2]
Violent actions include imprisonment, beatings, maiming, torture and
killing.

Like any distinction, the
distinction between violence and nonviolence is not always clear-cut.
What about violence against property, such as sabotage? What about "emotional violence"? What about self-immolation? What about a
nonviolent technique that leads to physical harm, such as a strike by
maintenance workers that leads to people being hurt in accidents?
These and other issues have been and need to be debated, since the
answers derive as much from social values as from logic. In any case,
the main distinction is clear enough. Military methods are based
centrally on threatening and using violence against people and
property. Nonviolent methods are built on refusing to cooperate
without causing physical harm to others.

All the available evidence shows
that human beings have no instinctual urge to physically harm other
people.[3] Indeed, cooperation is much more "natural" than
competition.[4]
Without day-to-day cooperation, what is called society would be
impossible.

Military forces have to work hard
to get over the natural resistance that humans have against killing
each other. Most people do not want to join armies, hence the need to
promote nationalistic fervour and, if necessary, introduce
conscription, especially in wartime. To get a person to kill on
command -- as is required in armies -- requires extensive training. To
prevent soldiers from fleeing in the face of battle, stiff penalties,
including summary execution, are used.

As the standard of living rises,
people are less and less willing to be conscripted, and many armies
are becoming fully professional.[5] In this situation, the main motivation for joining up is no longer
compulsion, patriotism or peer pressure, but jobs and careers. When
most of those who join do so because they are unable to obtain other
jobs, this can be called "economic conscription."

Another factor is that most
members of high-technology armed forces do not engage in face-to-face
combat. The vast majority remain behind the lines as planners,
mechanics, cooks, accountants and the like. Even many of those who
are on the "front line," such as pilots and tank drivers, do not see
the eyeballs of those they are trying to defeat. Killing is much
easier at a distance.[6]

On the front line, soldiers may
kill because they have been trained to do so, to protect their
buddies, to maintain their self-image or out of fear of being killed
themselves. Dehumanisation and hatred of the enemy make this easier.
They also make it easier to rally civilians behind the military
effort. Commanders -- both politicians and military chiefs -- regularly
create fear about the danger from the enemy. Aggression by the "other
side" is used as a justification for retaliation, even if the
"retaliation" is vastly disproportionate to what preceded it. German
Führer Adolf Hitler, in justifying the invasion of Poland in
1939, created a fabricated attack by Polish troops. US President
Lyndon Johnson in 1964 used the alleged Tonkin Gulf incident in
Vietnam as the excuse for a massive mobilisation of US
troops.

These examples illustrate that
violence often provides the justification for counterviolence. When
one group or one country uses violence, the other side feels
justified in using violence in return, thereby justifying the
original violence. This process is behind the familiar idea of
military races. In the case of violence, the principle of fighting
fire with fire simply leads to a bigger fire.

Nonviolent action challenges and
undermines the cycle of violence. If one side in a struggle renounces
violence, then soldiers on the other side need not fear for their
lives. As well, the justification for violence is greatly weakened.
This means that it becomes much harder for the commanders on the side
still authorising the use of violence to actually get soldiers to
obey orders to use it.

One of the most famous uses of
nonviolent action was the struggle for independence of India from
Great Britain, waged under the leadership of Mohandas K. Gandhi. This
struggle went on for several decades until independence was achieved
in 1947. Some of the methods used were rallies, marches, boycotts of
British textiles, Indian production of cloth in villages as a symbol
of autonomy, and civil disobedience to laws prohibiting manufacture
of salt. On the Indian side, the independence campaign was largely,
though not entirely, nonviolent. The British, in turn, did use
violence at times -- there were some major massacres of unarmed
civilians, and thousands of Indians killed overall -- but were
remarkably restrained.

Many people attribute this
restraint to the British being particularly kind colonialists. Other
evidence suggests a different view. In Kenya, another British colony,
the independence movement in the 1950s -- called the Mau Mau
rebellion -- had an armed wing. British settlers carried out the most
dreadful violence on the native Kenyans, perpetrating massacres and
setting up dozens of concentration camps in which anyone suspected of
being a Mau Mau was liable to be tortured relentlessly, leading to
numerous deaths.[7]
The obvious explanation for the difference between British behaviour
in India and in Kenya is that the limited armed struggle by the Mau
Mau provided a justification for massive British violence. By
maintaining nonviolent discipline, the Indian independence movement
inhibited British violence.[8]

In both cases, a key element was
public opinion in Britain itself. Within both India and Kenya, more
violence might have been used against the independence movements
except for the political repercussions back home. Massacres of
unarmed civilians in India caused outrage within Britain. However,
massacres in Kenya created less impact because the struggle was -- and
was seen to be -- violent on both sides. Even so, when reliable reports
of extensive torture and deaths in Kenyan concentration camps became
known in Britain, this was a key factor in the granting of
independence. Significantly also, many British troops and commanders
in Kenya were appalled at the violence perpetrated by the British
settlers.

Nonviolent campaigns are largely
struggles for loyalties. First is the loyalty of the people waging
the nonviolent struggle, such as the Indians under British rule.
Initially, only some may support the struggle and only a few may be
willing to take a stand. Using only nonviolent methods allows others
to join in, since anyone can participate in nonviolent actions,
unlike armed force where young fit men are the main participants. If
the other side uses violence against the nonviolent resisters, this
is likely to create outrage in the community and generate increased
support.

When the Palestine Liberation
Organisation endorsed the use of violence to oppose Israeli rule in
the occupied territories, this limited the degree of support from the
Palestinians themselves. Only a few Palestinians participated in
secretly organised violent acts, often against civilians -- commonly
called "terrorism"[9] -- intended
to overthrow Israeli military occupation. In 1987, a spontaneous
unarmed opposition to Israeli rule developed, called the intifada.
Independent of the PLO, it involved rallies, vigils, strikes, tax
refusal, boycotts of Israeli businesses, shop closing,
self-sufficiency through local gardens, home-based schooling when
schools were shut down, and many other tactics. Many Palestinians
threw stones at Israeli soldiers, but otherwise almost all the
methods used were nonviolent. The range of nonviolent methods used
meant that everyone could be involved, for example by observing a
boycott. As a result of the nonviolence of most of the methods, many
more Palestinians became involved in the intifada than had ever been
involved in terrorism, and many more Palestinians supported the
resistance than before, for example including rich
Palestinians.[10]

Nonviolent action is also
effective in winning the loyalty of soldiers on the other side. If
they are opposed only by nonviolent methods, they are less likely to
be willing to obey orders to beat or kill. The fear of being killed
themselves is largely removed, and the justification for killing is
greatly weakened. Many Israeli soldiers were repelled by their
commanders' orders or expectations that they beat unarmed resisters.
Another example occurred in 1986 in the Philippines during the
popular nonviolent resistance to the Marcos dictatorship, in what was
called "people power." Hundreds of thousands of people lined the
street in protest. Soldiers refused to fire on the demonstrators. A
small contingent of troops declared their loyalty to the popularly
elected president Cory Aquino. These troops were "defended" by
massive numbers of nonviolent demonstrators in the surrounding
streets. Pilots sent to bomb the rebel soldiers did not carry out
their mission for fear of harming the nearby civilians.

Nonviolent action thus can be
effective in winning the loyalty of two key groups: the participants
or potential participants in the nonviolent struggle and the soldiers
on the other side. It is also effective in winning the loyalty of a
third group: people elsewhere in the world, especially those in the
country deploying the troops against an unarmed population. Killing
of unarmed civilians is a cause for outrage; military action against
a population using only nonviolent methods is likely to stimulate the
creation of an opposition movement. The intifada quickly won the
sympathy of people around the world for the plight of the
Palestinians, something that years of terrorist activity by the PLO
had never achieved. The massacre of civilians at Sharpeville in South
Africa in 1960 generated enormous opposition to apartheid throughout
the world. By contrast, killings of far more people in the course of
guerrilla warfare seldom lead to any attention or concern at
all.

There are numerous historical
examples of the use of nonviolent action, some of which are mentioned
in later chapters.[11]
For the purposes here, it is only necessary to note that nonviolent
struggle is a possible alternative to armed struggle. Rather than
using violence to subjugate or destroy the enemy, nonviolent struggle
works by building the will to resist and by undermining the will of
the opponent.

Nonviolent methods are widely used
in social struggles. One famous example is the civil rights movement
in the United States, led by Martin Luther King, Jr. Campaigns by
environmentalists, feminists and many others are almost entirely
nonviolent, though sometimes violence is used against
them.

It is possible to imagine
organised nonviolent action as an alternative to military defence.
When a community makes systematic plans and preparations to use
nonviolent action to defend itself against aggression or repression,
this can be called social defence, nonviolent defence, civilian
defence, civilian-based defence or defence by civil
resistance.[12]
Social defence can be considered to be a special application of
nonviolent struggle, namely to defend a community against military
aggression or repression. The community could be a town, an ethnic
group, a country or a transnational organisation.

In reality, no sizeable community
has ever introduced social defence, so discussions about how it would
operate are based on what is known about actual nonviolent struggles.
There are some important differences in the way that nonviolent
defence is conceived. Some see it as a functional replacement for
military defence, focussing on national defence, with the rest of
society pretty much unchanged. This orientation is often associated
with the name civilian-based defence.[13]

A different orientation, indeed almost a different definition, sees
social defence as virtually any form of nonviolent action against
governments, and aims at major social change through nonviolence.
This orientation is adopted by many grassroots activists.

My preference is to define social
defence as an alternative to military defence, but not restrict "defence" to defence of the state. Rather, defence of "community" is
the key, leaving considerable ambiguity in the term community. This
is compatible with the grassroots orientation to social change but
retains an emphasis on defence against military aggression and
repression.

Whatever the definition, there are
some important differences between military defence and social
defence, as suggested by the following table.

	Military defence	Social defence
Means of struggle	Violent action	Nonviolent action
Participants	Mostly professional soldiers, especially young fit men	Potentially everyone
Thing defended	The state; ruling class	Community; a way of life
Method of organisation	Bureaucracy; chain of command	Network, consensus and/or bureaucracy
Characteristic technologies	Weapons	Network communication and community self-reliance

Why use
nonviolent methods?

For those who do not have armies
or sophisticated weapons, nonviolence is likely to be more effective
than violence.[14]
Groups that oppose a military dictatorship, for example, have no
chance of matching the firepower of the state. Militaries have
planes, tanks, missiles and advanced surveillance technologies.
Guerrilla opponents often have little more than guns, and also
usually far fewer soldiers.

Technological developments have
increased the military advantage held by governments over opponents.
In a direct military confrontation, guerrillas will almost always
lose. Their only chance is to use political means to win popular
support and undermine the cohesiveness of the ruling group. Guerrilla
warfare is in practice mainly a form of political struggle with
precisely this aim. Guerrillas can win support by promoting land
reform, opposing exploitation by local elites, carrying out labour to
help the people, and by being honest and frugal rather than
corrupt.

However, the impact of guerrilla
warfare as an oppositional strategy is limited by its use of
violence. Nonviolent methods are more effective in winning support
from the uncommitted population and in causing splits among the
supporters of the regime.[15]

Nonviolent methods are more
participatory and democratic. To use violence usually means that only
small numbers can be involved and that secrecy must be maintained.
Nonviolent methods allow nearly everyone to be involved who wants to
be. Because less secrecy is required, there can be more open
discussion of goals and strategies, thus fostering a more democratic
culture in the opposition movement. Thus, even if those cases where
nonviolence does not undermine rulers as quickly in the short term as
violence, activists with a priority on participatory democracy have
good reasons for favouring nonviolent action.

By fostering greater participation
and democracy in opposition movements, there is a greater chance
that, after a dictatorial regime is toppled, the new society will be
an improvement. A great danger in successful guerrilla struggles is
that the secrecy, centralised command and violence -- not to mention
ruthless annihilation of factional opponents -- will usher in a new
regime in which secrecy, centralised command and violence continue to
be used against opponents. Nonviolence, by allowing women to
participate equally and by fostering a model of courage without
violence, helps to undercut the mutually reinforcing package of
violence and stereotypical masculinity. In addition, nonviolent
methods provide a suitable means to oppose male violence against
women.

Supporters of violence (even as a
last resort) argue that the end -- a better society -- justifies the
means. The contrary view is that the means become incorporated in the
ends and that, for example, secrecy, centralised control and violence
are likely to perpetuate rather than undermine themselves. Ensuring
that the means reflect or incorporate the ends is a safer strategy
for social change. If a nonviolent struggle for change succeeds, the
methods used set a precedent for continuing their use in an ongoing
fashion. If the struggle fails, at least in the short run, the
process may still lay the basis for future nonviolent
struggles.

Finally, nonviolent struggle is
less likely than violence to lead to death and suffering along the
way. Those who practise nonviolence do not cause death and suffering
by their own actions, though it is always possible and sometimes
likely that violence will be used against them. But because
nonviolent methods are less of a threat and because it is harder to
get soldiers or police to attack nonviolent resisters, there is
usually far less violence from the other side. For example, in
Algeria the guerrilla struggle for independence from France left a
million people dead. The death toll in the largely nonviolent
struggle for Indian independence was in the hundreds or thousands,
out of a far larger population than Algeria.

Pacifists refuse to engage in
warfare because they believe it is morally wrong. To use violence
requires a certain arrogance, a belief in the righteousness of one's
cause that warrants the irrevocable step of taking another's life. If
one accepts the possibility that people -- including oneself -- might
change their minds and that dialogue is a path for seeking the truth,
then nonviolence is a suitable process for moral struggle. Violence,
on the other hand, undermines and overwhelms dialogue.

Nonviolent action is compatible
with a pacifist commitment, though not all pacifists support or
engage in nonviolent struggle.[16]
But to support nonviolent action it is not necessary to be a
pacifist. Probably the majority of activists who choose to use
nonviolent methods do so for pragmatic reasons, namely because they
are believe nonviolent action will be more effective and more
compatible with the sort of society they are seeking.

* * *

The question is, "what sorts of
technology would aid nonviolent struggle?" Existing technologies have
been massively shaped by military priorities. What would they look
like if instead they were shaped by a priority on nonviolent
struggle?

Most of the debate about defence
policy is built around the assumption that defence means military
defence, and usually the capacity for military offence as well. Quite
a few supporters of nuclear disarmament want to retain so-called
conventional weapons, such as tanks, submarines, aircraft and
explosives. In the days of the cold war, a key decision in many
countries was whether to be aligned with one of the two blocs led by
the superpowers (the United States and the Soviet Union), whether
instead to become or remain nonaligned, or whether to become neutral
(like Switzerland). Many debates were carried out concerning these
options. A few governments considered "defensive defence," in which
offensive weapons, such as bombers and long-range missiles, would be
eschewed in order to reduce the threat posed to other countries. In
the Third World, guerrilla struggles have been waged for decades and
have been seen as a model by some revolutionaries in the rich
countries.

Although many types of defence
systems have been used and proposed, all but one of them ultimately
rely on organised violence. For each of these, then, violence thus
becomes a key motivator for technological development, as shown by
the following table. Only social defence provides a fundamentally
different incentive.

Defence system	Role of technologists
Nuclear	Making weapons of war, including nuclear weapons
Conventional, aligned	Making weapons of war
Conventional, nonaligned	Making weapons of war
Armed neutrality	Making weapons of war
Defensive military defence	Making weapons of war (defensive only)
Guerrilla warfare	Making weapons of war (mostly small scale)
Social defence	Making tools for nonviolent struggle

The following chapters focus on
technology that can support a social defence system, namely a
community defence system based on nonviolent action.

Sabotage

Sabotage includes such things as
jamming factory equipment, destroying computer files and putting sand
in a vehicle's fuel tank. There is a long history of sabotage in the
workplace, much of it due to workers being bored, alienated or
seeking revenge on bosses.[17]

There is also some use of sabotage in a more directed fashion to
resist repression. For example, some workers in Nazi-occupied Europe
slowed down factory production in various subtle ways, trying to hurt
the Nazi war effort without being easily identified and consequently
punished. There has been some debate among nonviolent activists and
scholars about whether sabotage -- violence against property -- should be
considered violent or nonviolent, as well as whether it is a good
tactic. Here, though, I want to address a different issue: is
sabotage a useful way to push for changes in technologies and the
social arrangements associated with them?

A few writers and activists have
supported a strategy involving sabotage.[18]
This approach has the advantages of encouraging action rather than
passivity, of attacking the direct manifestation of oppression
without hurting people, and of causing economic harm to the owners of
the technology. There are also some severe limitations to this
approach. Because most saboteurs do not want to be caught, using
sabotage fosters secrecy and individualism and makes groups
vulnerable to infiltration. It can alienate potential supporters.
Opponents of monkeywrenching routinely claim that it causes danger to
life and limb, such as to workers in timber mills at risk due to
hidden nails in trees. This rhetoric highlights the importance of not
only being nonviolent but of being seen to be nonviolent.

For the purposes here, a key
problem is that sabotage is negative: by itself, it offers no picture
of a desirable society. The idea of technology for nonviolent
struggle, by contrast, is based directly on such a
picture.

There are some principled
saboteurs, such as the peace activists who hammer missile nose cones,
pour blood on military files or damage rail lines used to transport
nuclear materials, and who after taking action then fully acknowledge
their responsibility and surrender themselves to
police.[19]
These sorts of actions can be thought of as a form of civil
disobedience, with the primary impact occurring through symbolism
rather than economic disruption.

It would be possible to
investigate the most appropriate technologies for engaging in
sabotage, whether carried out covertly or openly, as part of a
grassroots nonviolent struggle against repression, aggression or
oppression -- acknowledging the view by some activists that sabotage is
incompatible with the principles of nonviolent action. I have not
done this here, so this remains an area deserving further
investigation.

Notes to
chapter 3

1. Robots and
other automatic devices do operate themselves to some extent, and
this may be a future emphasis in warfare. But this only moves the
discussion back to the design of weapons. Robots do not design
themselves -- at least not yet.

2. This is a
narrow definition of nonviolence. Some activists and scholars prefer
a broader definition, such as the Gandhian conception of nonviolence
as a way of life and a principled method of challenging oppression
and building a self-reliant and self-governing society. See Robert J.
Burrowes, The Strategy of Nonviolent Defense: A Gandhian Approach
(Albany, NY: State University of New York Press,
1996).

3. Jeffrey H.
Goldstein, Aggression and Crimes of Violence (New York: Oxford
University Press, 1975); Ashley Montagu, The Nature of Human
Aggression (New York: Oxford University Press, 1976).

4. Alfie Kohn,
No Contest: The Case Against Competition (Boston: Houghton
Mifflin, 1986).

5. David
Cortright and Max Watts, Left Face: Soldier Unions and Resistance
Movements in Modern Armies (Westport, CT: Greenwood,
1991).

6. Dave
Grossman, On Killing: The Psychological Cost of Learning to Kill
in War and Society (Boston: Little, Brown, 1995).

7. Robert B.
Edgerton, Mau Mau: An African Crucible (New York: Free Press,
1989).

8. This
comparison of India and Kenya was made by Robert J. Burrowes, The
Strategy of Nonviolent Defense: A Gandhian Approach (Albany, NY:
State University of New York Press, 1996), p. 239.

9. Terrorism as
normally defined refers only to small nonstate actors. Arguably,
terrorism on a far larger scale is carried out by governments. See
for example Edward S. Herman, The Real Terror
Network: Terrorism in Fact and Propaganda (Boston: South End
Press, 1982).

10. Souad R.
Dajani, Eyes Without Country: Searching for a Palestinian Strategy
of Liberation (Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 1994);
Andrew Rigby, Living the Intifada (London: Zed Books,
1991).

11. Numerous
examples are given in Gene Sharp, The Politics of Nonviolent
Action (Boston: Porter Sargent, 1973), the classic source in the
field. See also Jacques Semelin, Unarmed against Hitler: Civilian
Resistance in Europe, 1939-1943 (Westport, CT: Praeger,
1993).

12. Anders
Boserup and Andrew Mack, War Without Weapons: Non-violence in
National Defence (London: Frances Pinter, 1974); Burrowes, op.
cit.; Theodor Ebert, Gewaltfreier Aufstand: Alternative zum
Bürgerkrieg [Nonviolent Insurrection: Alternative to Civil
War] (Freiburg: Rombach, 1968); Gustaaf Geeraerts (editor),

Possibilities of Civilian Defence in Western Europe
(Amsterdam: Swets and Zeitlinger, 1977); Stephen King-Hall,
Defence in the Nuclear Age (London: Victor Gollancz, 1958);
Bradford Lyttle, National Defense Thru Nonviolent Resistance
(Chicago, IL: Shahn-ti Sena, 1958); Brian Martin, Social Defence, Social Change (London: Freedom Press, 1993); Michael
Randle, Civil Resistance (London: Fontana, 1994); Adam Roberts
(editor), The Strategy of Civilian Defence: Non-violent Resistance
to Aggression (London: Faber and Faber, 1967); Gene Sharp,

Making Europe Unconquerable: The Potential of Civilian-based
Deterrence and Defense (Cambridge, Mass.: Ballinger, 1985); Gene
Sharp with the assistance of Bruce Jenkins, Civilian-Based
Defense: A Post-Military Weapons System (Princeton: Princeton
University Press, 1990); Franklin Zahn, Alternative to the
Pentagon: Nonviolent Methods of Defending a Nation (Nyack, NY:
Fellowship Publications, 1996).

13. Gene Sharp
is the most prominent advocate of this perspective.

14.
Nonviolence can also be more effective than violence for those who
do have armies. Many of the points below apply.

15. Stephen
Zunes, "Unarmed insurrections against authoritarian governments in
the Third World: a new kind of revolution," Third World
Quarterly, Vol. 15, No. 3, 1994, pp. 403-426.

16. Some
pacifists oppose social defence because it perpetuates the idea of
the enemy. They believe instead that the goal should be a cooperative
society. Supporters of social defence accept that it is impossible
(or even undesirable) to eliminate conflict and argue instead that
the goal should be to wage conflict using nonviolent rather than
violent methods.

17. Pierre
Dubois, Sabotage in Industry (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1979).
For numerous examples see Martin Sprouse with Lydia Ely (eds.),
Sabotage in the American Workplace: Anecdotes of Dissatisfaction,
Mischief and Revenge (San Francisco: Pressure Drop Press,
1992).

18. The most
notable are David F. Noble, Progress without People: In Defense of
Luddism (Chicago: Charles H. Kerr, 1993) and the radical
environmental group Earth First!, for which key books are Dave
Foreman and Bill Haywood (eds.), Ecodefense: A Field Guide to
Monkeywrenching (Tucson, AZ: Ned Ludd Books, 1988, second
edition) and Earth First! Direct Action Manual (Eugene, OR:
DAM Collective, 1997). See also The Black Cat Sabotage Handbook
(Eugene, OR: Graybill, n.d.) and the magazine Processed
World.

19. See for
example Per Herngren, Path of Resistance: The Practice of Civil
Disobedience (Philadelphia: New Society Publishers, 1993); Liane
Ellison Norman, Hammer of Justice: Molly Rush and the Plowshares
Eight (Pittsburgh: PPI Books, 1989). I thank Andreas Speck for
helpful comments concerning sabotage.

4 Priorities for research
and development

Go to:

Contents

Notes to chapter
4

Sections

Research
proposals

Key factors
approach

Implications

Suppose you have control over lots
of money for research and development and want to spend it in the
best way possible to serve military purposes. What areas have
priority? The usual practice is simply to look at current funding and
to assess which areas are producing valuable results. Some
unproductive areas -- unproductive for military purposes, that is -- can
be dropped, and some new areas can be added, drawn from new funding
proposals.

Prior funding patterns provide
little guidance in setting priorities for science and technology for
nonviolent rather than military purposes since there has been almost
no funding for nonviolent struggle, much less for relevant science
and technology. There has been a little funding for social analyses
of the feasibility of social defence, but that's about
all.

Another possibility is to examine
the use of science and technology in actual nonviolent struggles, and
then to assess whether there are technological improvements that
would aid the struggle. This might involve looking at the use of
radio in Czechoslovakia in 1968 or the role of agriculture and food
delivery systems in Palestine during the intifada. This approach is
valuable in gaining a feeling for particular research projects, but
it does not provide an overview of the areas of science and
technology most likely to be useful for nonviolent
struggle.

Research
proposals

The next possibility is to look at
proposals for research. To get an overview, it is useful to look at
the Dutch book Research on Civilian-Based Defence, which
describes in detail 24 areas for major research projects into social
defence.[1]
Here is a sketch of these projects.

An inventory of organisations
and social structures, such as government bureaucracies,
corporations and pressure groups, examining how an aggressor might
seek to control them and how they might be strengthened to resist
takeover.

An examination of centralised
versus decentralised coordination of social defence, surveying
studies of resistance to the Nazis during World War II, guerrilla
warfare, military strategy and other areas.

Collection of information
about technologies of repression and what can be done to oppose
them. (This is discussed in chapter 8.)

An examination of the
influence of the new information technologies on the capacity for
both repression and social defence. (This is a central theme in
chapter 5.)

An investigation of databases
and personal files, how they might be misused and protected, and
the social effects of measures for dealing with them. (This topic
is dealt with briefly in chapter 5.)

An assessment of the value of
instructions for workers in government bureaucracies on resisting
occupation by an aggressor.

An inventory of key people and
positions in government bureaucracies in relation to social
defence.

A study of the reception to
the idea of social defence, surveying social defence advocates,
media, government bureaucracies, etc.

A study of factors promoting
psychological health, focussing on child rearing and the school
system, and their relevance to willingness to resist
injustice.

A listing and examination of
basic assumptions and unsolved questions in writings about social
defence.

A survey of theories and ideas
of writers on nonviolent resistance and their relevance to
action.

An analysis of Dutch
nonviolent struggle during the 1920s and 1930s and Dutch
resistance to the Nazis.

An assessment of Alex Schmid's
ten conditions needed for the success of social
defence.

An examination of the process
of conversion from military defence to social defence, called "transarmament." (An aspect of this is discussed in chapter
10.)

An assessment of the value to
social defence of Lazare Carnot's method of studying new fields "by stating problems as double negating sentences to come to new
knowledge."

An examination of the idea of
the centre of gravity in a defence system, looking at both theory
and case studies.

An inventory of means of
confrontation, their relationships, their connection to the centre
of gravity, and their relevance to strategic goals.

A study of different social
defence security systems and how building each one up might affect
social conditions after a war.

An examination of Jürgen
Habermas's distinction between strategic action and communicative
action and the relevance of this distinction to social
defence.

An inventory of goals and
weapons of opponents of social defence, and an assessment of
likely conflicts.

An examination of occupations
by military forces since World War II and implications for social
defence.

A study of the political
effects of introducing social defence, including effects on
diplomacy, the economic system and political
structures.

An analysis of spying
("intelligence services"), how it might operate against a social
defence system and how it might be resisted.

An examination of what and how
information might need to be collected as part of a social defence
system; in other words, an examination of social defence
intelligence services.

Most of these research projects
would require years of investigation. Their scope is not revealed by
these brief descriptions. This list hints at the vast amount of
research that could be carried out into social defence. Indeed, given
that the military spends billions of dollars each year on research,
it can be anticipated that a full-scale social defence system might
spawn a similar mass of research. Therefore, the 24 projects listed
here from de Valk's book would only be the barest beginning of a
full-scale social defence research effort.

Most of the 24 projects are social
rather than technological: they deal largely with history,
psychology, politics, ideology, strategy and policy. Only three -- the
third, fourth and fifth as listed -- provide any focus on technology.
This gives an indication of the relative neglect of the technological
dimension in the nonviolence field. Indeed, searching through
writings on nonviolence, there is remarkably little attention to
technology, so it is worth mentioning those few writers who deal with
it.

The earliest and most important
was novelist and essayist Aldous Huxley, whose ideas are described in
the prologue. Then there is leading peace researcher Johan Galtung,
who has made specific suggestions for specific technological
developments that would aid a social defence system, especially in
his 1968 paper "On the strategy of nonmilitary defense: some
proposals and problems." He suggests, for example, that research
could be done into how to design a country's physical equipment so
that it can be sabotaged appropriately. Since Galtung's ideas are so
insightful, it is worth quoting his entire account on this
point.

The task would not be to
blow up a factory completely, but to remove that minimum part
which would cause maximum uselessness. Which part this is and
how much will have to be removed would be a subject of meticulous
calculation, where the availability of substitutes, or substitute
uses of the remaining parts of the factory, would play a great
role. Such calculations are well within the reach of modern,
computerized societies. Thus, in an airplane it would probably not
lead to the removal of the propeller (since the engine could then
be used for other purposes), but of some small, highly specialized
part of the engine, and so on. In the tertiary sectors of society,
it would generally be easier since these sectors (except transport
and communication) are mainly concerned with symbolic activity, so
that the removal or destruction of files, codes, manuals of
procedure, membership files, population data, means of financial
tranactions, etc., should cause a high degree of uselessness.
Transport and communication are also relatively easily reduced in
efficiency. But in the primary sector it would generally be less
easy, since the facilities here are more like territory. However,
pits can be undermined and fields can be rendered useless by
chemical means -- and better technology could make both strategies
time dependent, so that even though the destruction would be
irreversible for the time being, it would still only be temporary.
It might be argued that all the enemy then would have to do, would
be to sit down and wait for usefulness to recur -- but the
counter-strategy against that again would be to calculate the
timing of destruction as well as recovery, or to have options for
repeated destruction.[2]

Richard Wendell Fogg raised a few
relevant points, for example noting the importance of broadcasting to
the population of an aggressor's country.[3]
Eminent nonviolence scholar Gene Sharp devoted a page to general
comments about the need to question standard assumptions about large
technological scale and centralised control over energy, food,
production and transport; he suggested that attention should be paid
to technology with the aim of diffusing social power.[4]
Aside from these authors, though, little had previously been done
before my own work. The contrast with the enormous military research
and development programmes is striking.

There are two obvious groups who
might have been expected to undertake studies of science and
technology for nonviolent struggle. The first is activists and
scholars in the field of nonviolent action. As far as activists go,
there have been untold millions of people who have participated in
nonviolent action, ranging from workers engaging in strikes to
participants in mass rallies, but only some of these have seen their
action as part of a strategic method for social change. The number of
reflective activists and researchers who have striven to improve the
capacity for nonviolent action is much smaller, but is still quite
considerable. Why haven't they examined technology
systematically?

One important reason is that the
most important factors in making nonviolent action successful are
psychological, social, organisational and strategic. Technology
seldom is a crucial factor. In warfare, by contrast, technological
factors are much more obvious and important. It makes sense to tackle
the most important factors first, and so supporters of nonviolence
have concentrated on non-technical dimensions of action. But this
can't be the entire explanation, since technical factors sometimes
are vital, as in the case of communication technology in quite a
number of struggles.

Another factor may be that most
peace researchers (like most other researchers) are cut off from
grassroots movements and more oriented to standard belief systems.
For career and status reasons, as well as funding, they are more
likely to direct attention to military technology than to nonviolent
action, reconciliation and building peaceful societies, with
technological facets of such topics being very low in
priority.[5]

Another reason is that few of
those who have pushed forward the frontiers of nonviolent action have
been scientists or engineers. Peace research is seen primarily as
part of the social sciences, and most writers on social defence have
been trained as social scientists. It is relevant that Galtung, who
has dealt with technical dimensions, was originally a
mathematician.

Yet another possible reason stems
from the contrasting agendas of the two main approaches to nonviolent
action, the principled and the pragmatic approaches. Many of those
who believe in nonviolence as a matter of principle, irrespective of
its immediate effectiveness, also adopt a critical analysis of modern
technology and industry. Gandhi argued for technologies that allowed
for local control, for village industries rather than mass
production. This Gandhian approach contains a strong critique of
technology but, because it is primarily a rejection of sophisticated
technologies, doesn't encourage thinking about selecting, adapting
and developing technologies that might support nonviolent struggle
more effectively.

The pragmatic approach to
nonviolence is based on the view that nonviolent action is more
effective than the use of violence. The approach is, in many cases,
joined with an acceptance -- for the time being at least -- of many
features of current society: industrialism, the system of states,
capitalism, etc. In other words, nonviolent action as a pragmatic
method is commonly used as a method of reform within the present
system, with no plan for long-term transformation of social
structures except the military. As part of this, technology is not
questioned in any fundamental fashion, and hence its capacity for
supporting nonviolent action is not examined.

In this picture, the
transformation of technology to serve nonviolent action falls between
the agenda of principled nonviolence, which rejects much of modern
technology, and the agenda of pragmatic nonviolence, which accepts
most nonmilitary modern technology. Undoubtedly, this picture is much
too simple. There are, after all, many activists and scholars who
support principled nonviolence without rejecting modern technology
and who support pragmatic nonviolence as part of a programme for
fundamental change in social structures. But perhaps there is an
element of truth here that, along with other factors, has contributed
to the neglect of technology for nonviolent struggle.

Another way into this field is to
begin as a scientist or engineer and to become involved with
nonviolence. For decades, many scientists and engineers have been
involved in peace movements, but this has led to little engagement
with the nonviolence movement.

Just as importantly, few
scientists have linked their concerns about war and peace with a
critique of science itself. Critics of science have exposed the use
of science for profit and social control.[6]

There are several reasons why they have given so little attention to
nonviolence.

The first reason is that
nonviolence has a very low scholarly profile. As an intellectual
tool, a critic of science might use political economy, Marxism,
feminism or even postmodernism, but would be unlikely to be even
aware of nonviolence theory. Few of the critics of science have been
involved in campaigns where ideas and writings about nonviolence are
raised.

Another reason is that most
critics of science study what exists and don't spend much time
envisioning alternatives. Exposés of the corporate abuse of
science abound, but there are few investigations of what science
would be like under cooperative economic structures.

Finally, much of the critique of
science has been undertaken from socialist perspectives, which are
primarily built on a critique of capitalism. Socialists seek the end
of capitalism through the capture of state power, whether in a
revolution or through electoral politics. In either case, there is no
rejection of the use of violence. Armed struggle -- especially in Third
World countries -- is usually supported or reluctantly accepted as a
necessity.

These are some of the reasons why
there has been so little investigation of nonviolence by scientists,
engineers or critics of science. The reasons presented here for the
neglect of science and technology for nonviolent struggle are
somewhat speculative. All that is certain is that the topic has been
neglected.[7]

Key factors
approach

So far I have presented several
ways for setting priorities for science and technology for nonviolent
struggle:

look at previous funding
priorities (not useful, since there has been almost no prior
funding);

look at actual uses of science
and technology in nonviolent struggles (useful, but providing
little guidance for priorities);

look at research proposals
(useful, but limited in scope).

Another way to proceed is to draw
up a list of areas important for engaging in struggle and then
determine which scientific fields have the greatest potential of
contributing in those areas. Let me first consider military struggle,
for which the most obvious area is weapons. Many branches of the
physical sciences and engineering are vital for this, from nuclear
physics and chemistry to molecular biology.

But there are other, less obvious,
areas where improved knowledge may be helpful. One important area is
recruitment and retention of skilled personnel. For this,
psychological and sociological studies might prove useful. Other
areas important for military strength are arms manufacture,
transportation, logistics, training, leadership and communication. By
going through all key areas, assessing needs and then assessing which
(if any) fields of science and technology might prove useful, a set
of priorities can be set up for funding research and
development.

Of course, there are other
considerations that affect military funding for science and
technology. These include financial constraints, availability of
skilled and willing scientists and technologists, political support
or opposition, possible civilian spinoffs and arms control treaties,
among others. But the general approach, namely of listing key areas
and seeing which technical fields are most useful to them, still has
merit.

This approach can now be applied
to social defence. The first thing to do is to list key areas
important to a social defence system. This is not so easy! There is
no generally accepted list, and certainly no list designed for this
purpose. So, on the basis of my knowledge of social defence and in
consultation with Mary Cawte, who had just read through many of the
writings on social defence, I wrote down a number of areas. I then
sent the list to a few social defence experts, who suggested
additions.[8]
Here is the list that resulted from this process.

Key factors in a social defence
system

Active factors

Psychological and
organisational factors

morale, unity,
will

knowledge, education,
understanding, analysis, strategy, tactics, evaluation

coordination, decision-making,
organisation, leadership

Physical
infrastructure

communication

survival: food, water,
clothing, shelter, energy, transportation, health

industry, production,
economics

Other factors

skills

self-reliance

allies

constructive programme
(building a nonviolent society)

Reactive factors (including
direct disarmament[9])

anti-nuclear weapons
(countering the threat and effects of nuclear weapons)

anti-biological
weapons

anti-chemical
weapons

anti-conventional
weapons.

It is impossible to give weights
to these factors in terms of their importance, since there is no
theoretical framework available for this purpose. Nevertheless, a
general ranking is possible by looking at studies of nonviolent
struggles. Undoubtedly the greatest attention is given to
psychological and organisational factors, as suggested by the 24
Dutch social defence research proposals.

The priority given to
psychological and organisational factors also can be illustrated by
examining the views of writers on social defence who have examined
the centre of gravity, a key concept proposed by the classic military
strategist Carl von Clausewitz.[10]

Anders Boserup and Andrew Mack, in
their pioneering book War Without Weapons, apply Clausewitzian
strategic theory to social defence. The centre of gravity is the
opponent's central source of strength, which should be the main
target for destruction. The centre of gravity of the defence is
determined by the mode of defence, which is the basis for
Clausewitz's idea of the superiority of the defence over the offence.
Boserup and Mack conclude that for a social defence system, the
centre of gravity is the unity of the resistance: "It is against this
point that the whole thrust of the attack must be directed and to its
preservation that all efforts of the defence must
tend."[11]

If the defence is able to absorb the attack, then its next task is to
mount a counterattack against the centre of gravity of the opponent.
Boserup and Mack say that in the case of military attack against a
social defence system, the centre of gravity of the offence depends
on the mode of attack and that, generally speaking, it will be those
things that allow the offence (for example, repression of the
nonviolent defenders) to continue.

Other social defence theorists
have built on Boserup and Mack's analysis but differed about the
precise nature of the centre of gravity. Gene Keyes, who studied the
Danish resistance to the Nazis, concludes that the centre of gravity
for a social defence system is the morale of the
resistance.[12] Robert Burrowes, in a far-reaching Gandhian approach to social
defence strategy, argues that the strategic aim of the defence is to "consolidate the power and will of the defending population to resist
the aggression" and the strategic aim of the counteroffensive is to "alter the will of the opponent elite to conduct the
aggression, and to undermine their power to do
so."[13]
In Burrowes' model, the centre of gravity is the sum total of social
resources that support the strategy; more specifically, it is the
power of a party to a conflict to conduct the struggle and its will
to do so. Both Keyes and Burrowes say that the centre of gravity for
the offence is the same as for the defence, namely morale for Keyes
and power/will for Burrowes.

Although Boserup and Mack, Keyes
and Burrowes differ concerning the location of the centre of gravity
of a social defence system, they agree that it lies primarily in the
social and psychological facets of the resistance, namely either
unity, morale or will. It certainly is not technology (weapons).
However, technology can be used to bolster unity, morale and
will.

As for factors classified as
physical infrastructure in the list of key factors in a social
defence system, communication technology is probably the most
important because of its close link to psychological and
organisational factors. Only seldom is survival of the population
threatened in a nonviolent resistance,[14]
and industry only occasionally plays an important role. The capacity
to understand, resist, and dismantle weapons of the aggressor is a
topic seldom discussed in the nonviolence literature.

This list of key factors provides
a preliminary way to assess the importance of scientific fields to
nonviolent struggle. For example, consider biology: it can offer some
help in the task of survival, for example via understanding of
ecology, such as knowledge of species not requiring pesticides or
fertilisers (which might be unavailable in event of a blockade) or
fruit-bearing species. Biologists could also provide some insight
into the capability of biological weapons and how to counter
them.

Proceeding in this fashion for all
the key factors leads to the following list.

Relevance of science and
engineering to key elements in a social defence system

biology: survival;
anti-biological weapons

chemistry:
anti-chemical weapons

earth sciences:
survival

medicine:
survival

agricultural science:
survival

physics/mathematics:
communication

computing/electrical
engineering: communication

engineering: survival;
industry, etc.; communication; anti-conventional
weapons

psychology: morale,
etc.

languages:
communication

economics: industry,
etc.

sociology, politics,
philosophy, history, education: knowledge, etc.; coordination,
etc.

Although this list is not
definitive, it gives a good indication of the relevance of various
fields to nonviolent struggle. It is apparent that a number of fields
of science and engineering can contribute to survival (earth
sciences, medicine, agricultural science, most branches of
engineering) and a number of them can contribute to communication
(computer science, electrical engineering, mathematics). But aside
from a few other areas (chemistry can contribute to anti-chemical
warfare; engineering has a crucial role in designing industry for a
social defence system), the bulk of science and engineering has
little to offer to nonviolent struggle.

This conclusion needs an immediate
qualification. Aside from contributions to survival and
communication, the bulk of present-day science and engineering
seems to offer little to nonviolent struggle. It is quite possible
that these fields could be more relevant if they were redirected -- for
example through a change in funding patterns -- from military to
nonviolent goals. In terms of present systems of knowledge, skills
and hardware, the social sciences have a much more important role to
play in supporting social defence than do the natural sciences and
engineering.

In summary, a comparison of
research priorities for military and nonviolent ends shows some
dramatic differences at a number of levels. Research into improving
nonviolent struggle would lead to a much greater emphasis on social
science than does military-related research. Within individual
disciplines, a priority on nonviolent struggle would mean greater
attention to particular fields, such as telecommunications. Finally,
within particular fields, such as telecommunications, a
nonviolence-oriented research agenda would lead to emphasis on
different puzzles.

Implications

A science and technology policy
based on promoting social defence would be dramatically different
from one based on promoting military strength. The following changes
would be among the most significant.

(1) There would be much greater
emphasis given to social sciences compared to natural sciences and
engineering. The implication is that the present situation in which
natural science and engineering receive the bulk of research monies
is, to some degree, a product of military priorities operating in the
past century, and that quite a different balance between the `soft'
and `hard' sciences might eventuate if social defence received the
same investments and priority now given to the military.

Complaints by scholars in the
humanities and social sciences that they are shortchanged in the
struggle for research money typically make appeals to intellectual
worthiness or the importance of culture. The analysis here provides
quite a different argument: that social science -- or, more precisely,
particular branches of social science -- are central to the development
of the capacity of a society to defend itself using nonviolent
methods. (It should be noted that present-day social science has been
shaped by military priorities and that a social science shaped by
social defence priorities might look quite different.)

(2) The effort given to different
research fields would be shifted considerably. For example, particle
physics would be a much lower priority whereas telecommunications and
social psychology would be much higher priorities.

(3) Different particular projects
in any field would be emphasised. Examples will be given in the
following chapters.

(4) Research would be responsive
to and involve the participation of a wide range of community
interests, unlike the present situation where military interests
predominate. This point will be discussed further in chapter
9.

Notes to
chapter 4

1. Giliam de
Valk in cooperation with Johan Niezing, Research on Civilian-Based
Defence (Amsterdam: SISWO, 1993). The background to this book is
described in chapter 10.

2. Johan
Galtung, "On the strategy of nonmilitary defense: some proposals and
problems," in Johan Galtung, Peace, War and Defense. Essays in
Peace Research, Volume Two (Copenhagen: Christian Ejlers,
1976), pp. 378-426, 466-472, quote at pp. 390-391.

3. R. W. Fogg, "A technical equivalent of war," in H. Chestnut (ed.), Contributions of Technology to International Conflict
Resolution (Oxford: Pergamon Press, 1986), pp.
113-120.

4. Gene Sharp,
Social Power and Political Freedom (Boston: Porter Sargent,
1980), pp. 403-404.

5. I thank
Ellen Elster for this point. See Berenice Carroll, "Peace research:
the cult of power," Journal of Conflict Resolution, Vol. 16,
No. 4, December 1972, pp. 585-616.

6. See for
example Hilary and Steven Rose (eds.), The Political Economy of
Science: Ideology of/in the Natural Sciences (London: Macmillan,
1976) and The Radicalisation of Science: Ideology of/in the
Natural Sciences (London: Macmillan, 1976); and the journals (all
now defunct) Science for the People, Science for People
and Radical Science Journal. Unfortunately, the critique of
engineering does not boast an extensive literature.

7. The reasons
are harder to pin down, because there are few definite actions or
motivations to investigate, as in all cases where the issue is lack
of interest and lack of investigation. I think that the reasons
mentioned above are plausible, and have some basis in the writings
and activities of activists and scholars (though I haven't gone into
this sort of detail). By searching for explanations for neglect, it
may be possible to find ways to stimulate greater interest in the
topic.

8. I thank
Robert Burrowes in particular for useful comments.

9. Direct
disarmament is the disabling and dismantling of weapons by people
without the permission of governments and commanders.

10. Carl von
Clausewitz, Vom Kriege [On War] (Berlin: Ferdinand
Dümmler, 1832). The following paragraphs on the centre of
gravity are taken from Brian Martin, "Social defence strategy: the
role of technology," Journal of Peace Research, Vol. 36, No.
5, 1999, pp. 535-552.

11. Anders
Boserup and Andrew Mack, War Without Weapons: Non-violence in
National Defence (London: Frances Pinter, 1974), pp. 148-182,
quote at p. 163.

12. Gene
Keyes, "Strategic non-violent defense: the construct of an option,"
Journal of Strategic Studies, Vol. 4, 1981, pp. 125-151, at p.
133.

13. Robert J.
Burrowes, The Strategy of Nonviolent Defense: A Gandhian Approach
(Albany, NY: State University of New York Press, 1996), p.
209.

14. One case
is the Palestinian intifada, though the resistance is better
described as unarmed than nonviolent.

5 Communication

Go to:

Contents

Notes to chapter
5

Sections
Television

Radio

Cassettes

Newspapers

Leaflets
and the underground press

Telephone
and fax

The
post

Conversations
and meetings

Computer
networks

Communication
in nonviolent action

Assessment
of communication technologies

An effective military depends
heavily on effective communication, including transmission of
commands, coordination of actions, transmission of information about
enemy activities and about the progress of battles, among others. To
serve the needs of military communication, massive investments are
made into research, development and production of communication
systems. For example, specially designed satellites are used to
collect information about enemy installations. Massive computer
systems are used to decipher foreign and domestic telecommunications.
Satellites are also used to detect enemy missile launches, and
special facilities are ready to transmit orders to launch nuclear
attacks. Military communications are designed to be highly secure and
to enable transmission of commands even when some channels have been
incapacitated.

Communication is even more central
to nonviolent struggle, but the type of communication most useful for
nonviolent struggle is quite different than for military purposes. In
the military, the role of the commanding officer is central: that
person must have reliable information and be able to issue commands.
This explains why there is so much attention to maintaining secure
communications to the commander-in-chief in the face of attack.
Extraordinary efforts -- bomb shelters, special telephones, personal
guards -- are used to protect commanders, especially in times of
crisis. Ordinary soldiers are trained to obey, not to take
independent initiatives. Soldiers who disobey orders are usually
subject to severe penalties; in wartime, they may be
executed.

In a nonviolent struggle,
participation must be voluntary: there is no way to force people to
join in. Therefore, the struggle cannot have commanders in the
military sense, since obedience to orders cannot be enforced. A
nonviolent struggle can, however, have leaders. Noted examples
include Mohandas Gandhi, Martin Luther King, Jr. and Aung San Suu
Kyi. In these and other cases, leaders have influence through their
example, intelligence, commitment and charisma. But it is not wise to
depend too strongly on such individuals to provide guidance. Many
nonviolence leaders take a front-line role, participating in civil
disobedience and other confrontations with the opponent. They may be
arrested, imprisoned or killed. In general, they are much more
vulnerable than military commanders, who usually stay away from the
fighting. Therefore, nonviolent activists must be prepared to
continue the struggle effectively in the absence of their most
experienced and knowledgeable members. All of this means that as many
people as possible should be ready and able to analyse the situation,
initiate action, make decisions and in general carry on the
struggle.

For these reasons, nonviolent
struggle is best served by a decentralised, interactive and
cooperative system of communication, decision-making and
action.[1]
This provides a very different set of priorities for science and
technology than military agendas.

The following sections examine a
number of communication media: television, radio, cassettes,
newspapers, leaflets and the underground press, telephone and fax,
the post, conversations and meetings, and computer networks. In each
case, I comment on the value of the medium for nonviolent struggle
and on ways in which this value might be increased. When giving case
studies, I try to provide some context for the role of communication
technology which, in every case, is only one component of a complex
struggle in which social factors are of central importance. The
chapter concludes with a general assessment of the types of
communication technology most likely to be useful for nonviolent
struggle, drawing on theoretical considerations as well as the case
studies.

Television

Television is an enormously
powerful medium. Most people in western societies watch it for many
hours each week. Furthermore, there is a great deal of trust in the
image of reality presented on the TV screen, more than in newspapers
for example.

There is very little opportunity
for participation in the production of broadcast television. It is
essentially an autocratic medium. A very few people make decisions
about content, which is then transmitted to a large audience.
Furthermore, the television image is quite an artificial and
manipulated production. Few people are aware of the tremendous effort
that goes into shaping each moment on the screen. Producing a
high-quality television programme requires a lot of skill, equipment
and money. This means that experienced professionals produce most
programmes, especially the ones that most people prefer to
watch.

For these reasons, television is
ideal for rulers. They can influence popular perceptions by
appointing or controlling a small number of television executives and
producers. Dictatorships are only willing to allow television that is
under their control. It is no surprise, then, that one of the prime
targets in military coups is television stations.[2]
Precisely because it is an undemocratic medium, it is highly useful
to aggressors. Hence, it is important to develop ways to subvert or
disable it when a hostile takeover occurs. Many television
journalists, producers and technicians are sympathetic to popular
movements. If they are aware of methods for nonviolent struggle, they
might well be willing to participate by hindering efforts by
aggressors to control television and by enabling popular concerns to
be broadcast.

Redesigning broadcast facilities
and making advance preparations could aid the use (or interruption)
of television in a nonviolent struggle. For example, broadcast
facilities could be designed so that technicians, staff or even
viewers could interrupt transmission in case of a hostile takeover.
Some means would be necessary to prevent use of this facility in "normal" times, such as the need for a considerable number of people
to enter codes. Broadcast facilities could be designed so that, in
case of emergency, a special signal indicating a hostile takeover was
transmitted along with the picture. Special tapes could be
produced -- dealing with methods of nonviolence, ways to undermine
control of television by aggressors, etc. -- and stored safely for
transmission in case of emergency.

Heavy consumption of broadcast
television makes a society more vulnerable to takeover. For long-term
security based on nonviolent techniques, the role of television
should be reduced. If most people are active transmitters rather than
just receivers of messages, then there is less possibility for
manipulation and central control.

Occasionally, television
broadcasts inadvertently aid nonviolent struggle, as in East Germany.
From 1945, East Germany was ruled by a communist dictatorship. Secret
police monitored activity in all spheres of life. However, West
German radio and television broadcasts were readily received
throughout East Germany, giving an attractive -- indeed perhaps
unrealistically attractive -- picture of life under capitalism. In
1961, the border with West Germany was walled off to prevent
emigration.

Under the Soviet Union's new
policies in the late 1980s, there was no longer a guarantee of armed
intervention to support client states in Eastern Europe. On 11
September 1989, Hungary opened its borders with Austria. East
Germans, by going "on holiday" to Hungary, could escape to the west.
As word spread, including via news on West German radio and
television, the initial trickle of emigration became a torrent. At
the same time, there were public rallies against the regime in East
German cities. Initially attracting only a few people, in the space
of weeks the rallies were attended by hundreds of thousands. News of

the growing open dissent was again provided by West German mass
media. In the face of massive emigration and enormous protests, East
German leaders resigned. The regime collapsed in the face of
nonviolent expression of opposition.[3]

If television is produced locally
for small audiences, its vulnerability to takeover is reduced,
especially if there are numerous independent channels. For the
purposes of nonviolent resistance, a multitude of locally controlled
broadcasts is the direction to go.[4]
But the technical skills and costs to produce high quality programmes
are significant obstacles to such a goal.

Radio

In an examination of nonviolent
struggle, large and powerful radio stations with many listeners are
similar to television stations. They are prime targets for an
aggressor, since they can be controlled by a few people and have an
enormous influence. A long-term goal in developing a social defence
system should be to replace such radio stations by interactive
communication media. In the meantime, preparations should be made to
be able to broadcast resistance messages or, if necessary, shut down
big stations in the event of a threat.

Looking over some of the
historical instances of nonviolent struggle suggests a more positive
role for radio. One case is the collapse of the Algerian generals'
revolt in 1961. In Algeria, an armed struggle for independence from
France was waged from the mid 1950s. It was met by severe repression
by French troops. French president Charles de Gaulle, seeing that
independence for Algeria was inevitable, began negotiations with the
independence movement. French generals in Algeria, bitterly opposed
to this course of action, staged a coup on the night of 21-22 April
1961. There was even the possibility that they might lead an invasion
of France.

Opposition to the coup was quickly
demonstrated in France. There was a national one-hour strike and
massive rallies. After vacillating a few days, de Gaulle made a
passionate plea for troops to refuse to join the rebels. Meanwhile,
in Algeria the rebelling generals failed to gain the support of the
troops, many of whom were conscripts. Troops heard de Gaulle's
broadcast on transistor radios that they had refused to turn in as
instructed. Many soldiers just stayed in their barracks. Others
reported for duty but purposely failed to do it. About one-third of
the fighter aircraft were flown out of the country, never to return.
The coup collapsed after four days without a shot being fired against
it.[5]

The most prominent example showing
the power of radio for nonviolent struggle is the Czechoslovak
resistance to the Soviet-led invasion in 1968. During 1967 and 1968,
communist rule in Czechoslovakia was rapidly liberalised, a process
supported throughout the country. This was a severe threat to the
Soviet rulers, who organised an invasion of the country in August.
Military resistance would have been futile and there was no help from
the West. Instead, there was a spontaneous nonviolent resistance to
the invasion. People poured out onto the streets. They talked to the
invading soldiers and quickly convinced many of them that the
Czechoslovak cause was just.

The Czechoslovak military had set
up a sophisticated radio network to be used in the event of a NATO
invasion. It was used instead by citizens to broadcast messages of
resistance, to warn about impending arrests, to counsel the use of
nonviolent methods, to tell where troops were headed, and to call a
meeting of the Czechoslovak communist party. It took a week before
the radio resisters could be shut down. But the Soviets did not
obtain their initial objective -- setting up a puppet government -- until
April 1969.[6]

The Czechoslovak radio network had
been set up by the Czechoslovak military to survive an invasion from
Western Europe; this network was put at the service of the people's
nonviolent resistance, with spectacular results, especially given
that the full story of the struggle could be heard on the airwaves in
nearby countries. How is it that a technological system designed by
the military for centralised control turned out to be so useful for
nonviolent struggle?

The answer to this question is
that a centralised communication system such as radio, television or
the press can be useful to a nonviolent resistance when there is
virtually complete support for the resistance and, of course, the
system is controlled by the resistance. The Czechoslovak people were
united, from workers to top party officials, against the Soviet
invasion. Therefore, the radio system, in the hands of the
resistance, was a powerful tool. It didn't matter too much which
particular Czechoslovaks were making the broadcasts, because there
was such widespread agreement about the aims and methods of
resistance. For example, when the Soviets brought in jamming
equipment by rail, this information was passed to the radio stations,
which then broadcast an appeal to halt the rail shipment. Rail
workers shunted the equipment onto a siding. It is obvious that if
even a single person listening to the broadcasts had alerted the
Soviets, they could have avoided this delay. Eventually they brought
in jamming equipment by helicopter.

Although a centralised
communication medium such as radio can be useful to a nonviolent
resistance in these special circumstances, the technology of
electronic broadcast remains a vulnerability for the resistance. Once
the Soviets took over the Czechoslovak radio network, this brought
the active, public phase of the nonviolent resistance to a rapid end.
The occasional value of central radio broadcasts to a resistance can
be misleading about the general value of radio, which is likely to be
of more value to an aggressor.

The strengths and limitations of
radio are also suggested by the long history of clandestine
radio.[7] In countries where governments control all mass communication, it is
commonplace for dissident groups to set up their own radio stations,
sometimes broadcasting from a nearby country or sometimes from
secret -- and moveable -- locations within the country. Clandestine radio
of this sort is an indication of the lack of free communication. But
there are many more clandestine radio stations run by governments,
usually by spy agencies. Many of these are "black" stations,
pretending to be from a resistance movement and aiming to destabilise
a government. This means that a large proportion of clandestine
broadcasting is disinformation. Much more can be said about
clandestine radio, and there are some fascinating stories. The
important point here concerns radio stations: sometimes they can be
useful for a nonviolent resistance, but often they seem of greater
use to powerful groups seeking to manipulate public opinion rather
than respond to it.

Big radio -- large, powerful
stations with many listeners -- is only one sort of radio. There are
also a number of other possibilities. Community radio, in which a
station is run with a great deal of participation from local people,
and in which the power and range of the broadcast is limited, is much
more suited to a resistance.[8]
If a city has thousands of community radio stations rather than a
dozen dominant stations, it is much better situated to resist a
takeover. The greater the diversity of stations, the more likelihood
that some of them will be willing to take a stand.

Even more valuable for nonviolent
struggle are radio systems that are cheaper and that transmit to only
a few people. Citizens band or CB radio is mainly used for
person-to-person communication, and is ideal. Even more valuable is
short-wave radio, since it can be received thousands of kilometres
away. It would be impossible to shut down communication out of a
country if every household had a short-wave radio, supplemented by
many "public short-waves," namely short-wave radios available for
anyone to use, like public telephones.

Short-wave radio was important in
the resistance to the Fiji coups in 1987. Fiji became independent of
Britain in 1970. The Alliance Party, led by Ratu Kamisese Mara,
controlled parliament until 1987. In that year, a coalition of the
National Federation Party and the newly formed Labour Party won the
election. Six weeks later, there was a military coup led by
Lieutenant Colonel Sitiveni Rabuka. The coup was justified by the
false claim that the rights of the majority Melanesian Fijians were
under threat; the real effect of the coup was to check the challenge
to the chiefs of Eastern Fiji who had exercised power via the
Alliance Party. But by using the rhetoric of ethnic problems, Rabuka
was able to justify the coup in the eyes of many Fijians and
outsiders.

Censorship of the media within
Fiji was imposed. However, since Fiji is composed of many islands,
short-wave radio is widely used and, after the coup, provided direct
access to foreign news. In the complicated political situation after
the coup, the loyalties of the Fijian people, and also of governments
and people overseas, were wooed. For example, Australian trade unions
banned the loading or unloading of ships going to or from Fiji. The
Rabuka regime applied pressure on the Fiji trade union leaders to say
that their rights were protected; after a few assurances were
provided, the Australian bans were suspended. Meanwhile, Fiji Labour
Party leaders tried to mobilise support from other governments, to
little avail.[9]

One potential limitation of radio
is that it is possible for anyone to listen in. Therefore, using
short-wave radio to send a message could lead to the sender being
tracked down and arrested. But this is more likely if only a few
people have access to short-wave transmitters. The more people who
have access and skills to use the technology, the less likely anyone
is to be targeted. The introduction of public short-waves would
reduce the risk still further.

Even better protection is possible
using packet radio. A computer is attached to a radio transmitter. A
message is typed into the computer, which is then transmitted in
digital form to a receiver. No one can simply "listen in." To
decipher the message, a suitable computer programme would be
required. Even greater security would be provided by putting the
message into code. The packet radio transmission can be sent up to a
ham radio satellite, which saves the message and transmits it later,
perhaps halfway around the world. Packet radio has enormous potential
value to a nonviolent struggle.

One other vulnerability of radio
is electricity. All large transmitters and most small transmitters
and receivers depend on electricity, usually delivered through the
grid. For the smaller systems, this vulnerability can be easily
reduced. Electricity can be provided by generators -- such as an
automobile engine -- or batteries. For example, a laptop computer and
transmitter for packet radio can easily run on batteries. There is
also the possibility of radios running on very tiny amounts of power,
that can be supplied by batteries, solar energy, or just a wind-up
spring such as for a manual alarm clock.[10]
In the 1960s, Victor Papanek and Richard Seeger designed a cheap (9
cent) radio receiver for the Third World, based on a used juice can
and parafin wax.[11]

In summary, there are a number of
ways to make radio facilities more useful to nonviolent struggle. As
with television, radio broadcast facilities could be designed so that
technicians, staff or even viewers could interrupt transmission in
case of a hostile takeover. Broadcast facilities could be designed so
that, in case of emergency, a special signal was transmitted along
with the normal signal indicating a hostile takeover. Special tapes
could be produced -- dealing with methods of nonviolence, ways to
undermine control of television by aggressors, etc. -- and stored
safely for transmission in case of emergency. Information and kits
for building small radio transmitters and amplifiers can be
disseminated. Cheap, simple-to-use, durable and reliable CB and
short-wave radios could be designed and mass produced. The short-wave
radios in particular could be designed for smuggling into countries
with repressive governments. Encryption for person-to-person radio
transmissions can be developed.

Cassettes

Use of audio and video cassettes
creates less of a vulnerability than broadcast radio and television,
since people use different cassettes. Cassettes are similar to books,
in that a relatively few people produce them, but there is a
considerable diversity and lack of central control over producing
them. With inexpensive video cameras, it is now possible for many
more people to produce video cassettes.

Audio cassettes played a role in
the Iranian revolution of 1978-79. The Shah of Iran began his rule in
1953. His regime seemed invincible. With enormous oil revenues, he
created a massive military machine. Secret police terrorized the
population through torture and killings. The regime was actively
supported by the United States government and was not opposed by the
governments of Israel, the Soviet Union or most Arab countries. This
apparently overwhelmingly powerful government was brought down by
mass nonviolent action, triggered by religious opponents. The
speeches of Ayatollah Khomeini, in exile, were circulated on cassette
tapes. Funerals, held forty days after deaths, became protests. When
police opened fire and killed mourners, further funerals were held.
Opponents burned pictures of the Shah in front of spy cameras of the
secret police. Tens of thousands of nonviolent demonstrators were
shot dead by troops. Eventually sections of the military defected,
and the regime quickly collapsed.[12]
(It should be said that although the Shah's regime was toppled
largely by nonviolent methods, the successor theocratic regime led by
Khomeini was also highly repressive.)

In 1991, a video cassette,
combined with television, helped expose Indonesian atrocities in East
Timor. The former Portuguese colony of East Timor was invaded and
occupied by the Indonesian military regime in 1975. There was
continued resistance to the occupiers, both nonviolent civilian
resistance and an armed guerrilla struggle. Indonesian troops were
highly brutal. As well as torture and killings of civilians, the
search and destroy missions against the guerrillas led to widespread
starvation. The United Nations condemned the invasion and occupation,
but never took any action against them.

Indonesian authorities controlled
almost all communication channels. News of resistance and atrocities
against the civilian population only reached the outside world via
travelers or emigrés. A short-wave transmitter in northern
Australia, used to communicate with the East Timorese guerrillas, was
shut down by the Australian government.

In November 1991, foreign
journalists observed a massacre of hundreds of East Timorese engaged
in a nonviolent protest in Dili, the capital of East Timor. One of
the journalists, British film-maker Max Stahl, recorded the events on
videotape, which was smuggled out of the country. This documentation
caused an international scandal. Although there had been many
previous massacres witnessed by East Timorese who later left the
country, these did not lead to much publicity, partly because of
categorical denials by Indonesian authorities. It was the testimony
of foreign, independent journalists and of videotape which turned the
1991 Dili massacre into a public relations disaster for the
Indonesian occupiers.[13]

Newspapers

Large daily newspapers are
enormously influential. Authoritarian governments normally control
newspapers directly or subject them to censorship. This is
illustrated by the case of the Emergency in India. The Indian
government led by Indira Gandhi was widely seen as corrupt and
unresponsive. A mass movement developed around the popular figure of
Jayaprakesh Narayan, and this appeared to provide a political threat
to the government. On 26 June 1975, Indira Gandhi declared an
Emergency. Thousands of people were imprisoned, parliament was
muzzled, and the press was censored. For the first few days, the
electricity supply to key newspapers was cut off. Financial pressures
were applied to those that refused to toe the government's
line.

Control of information was a key
feature of the Emergency. There was enormous resistance to the
government, but groups in different parts of the country knew little
of each other. Major demonstrations, with up to half a million
people, were not reported and hence unknown elsewhere. Some
newspapers capitulated quickly to the censorship requirements,
whereas others resisted in various ways. The international press was
a key force of opposition; correspondents found innovative ways of
getting around censorship. When foreign dignitaries refused to visit
India, this hurt the regime; visits by British political figures
Margaret Thatcher and Michael Foot were used for propaganda purposes
by the regime.

In 1977, Mrs Gandhi called
elections, perhaps believing her own government's censorship-created
propaganda about her support. In spite of continued (though relaxed)
censorship, the opposition Janata Party was elected. Thus the
Emergency came to an end.[14]

Because large newspapers are so
easily controlled by a few owners and editors, they are not a good
communication medium for a social defence system. In the long term,
it would be better to aim at systems of dispersed publication. For
example, wire service stories might be directly received, at low
cost, in numerous small communities. There, any interested person
could select a bundle of stories, compile and edit them if necessary,
and make them available to others -- in printed or electronic form.
Thus there might be many thousands of "editors" from whom a person
could select. As well, the skills required would be made
straightforward enough so that new people could step in without too
much trouble. With such a system, an aggressor could not easily take
over the press. It is also necessary for wire services to be
diversified. At the moment, four international services provide most
stories published by the western press. If, instead, there were
thousands of small international services, control over the
orientation of stories, by whatever means, would be much more
difficult.

However, large newspapers will not
be abandoned or replaced easily or quickly, so in the meantime it
would be useful to have ways to resist aggressors. Printing presses
could be designed so that they could be shut down by operators in the
face of a takeover and so that a special symbol is printed on every
page whenever the press is used against the wishes of the editors and
printers. Wire service terminals could be designed so that messages
go automatically to a range of other locations.

Leaflets and
the underground press

It is easy for an aggressor to
take over a few large printing presses, because only a few people are
required at crucial locations in the process. By contrast, small
local means for printing leaflets, posters and newsletters are
difficult to control. Anyone with a microcomputer and printer can
produce high-quality leaflets quickly and easily. The photocopier is
even more powerful. A handwritten notice can be reproduced in the
hundreds or thousands.

The power of dissident
publications in the resistance to the Nazis in occupied Europe is
described by Jacques Semelin:

The central role of the
underground press in the general development of institutional
resistance must be emphasized. The existence of the underground press
must not be considered as just one element among others in resisting
Nazism. It does not belong in the same category as sabotage,
intelligence activities, protest marches, and so on; nor was the
underground press a simple instrument of counter-propaganda in the
psychological war carried on by rival powers. This press was the
central axis around which internal resistance movements could
organize and develop. It was as if the resistance needed an initial
ideological basis in order to develop combat structures. Early
resisters therefore distributed pamphlets, bulletins, and various
newspapers to formulate the values for which they were fighting
Nazism. The underground press operated out of conviction rather than
from the desire to disseminate information. Its function was not only
to address those whom it wanted to rally to its cause, but even more
to convince and assert a collective self on the basis of which the
new ideological order -- that of the occupation -- could be
rejected.[15]

One vulnerability of small
printing operations is electricity. One solution is to have reserve
power through generators. Another is manual typewriters and
hand-operated copiers using specially-prepared originals, which were
quite common until the 1980s.

In rich countries, photocopiers
are found in almost every office and in a number of homes. Their role
as a basis for community resistance to aggression could be fostered
by setting up communal printing facilities in every street or
apartment block, with access to a number of means of producing and
copying leaflets and newsletters. The more people who have used
equipment to produce information for local use, the more difficult it
becomes for any aggressor to control communication
centrally.

In highly authoritarian states,
such as the old Soviet Union, freely available photocopying was a
mortal danger to the state. Guards were posted over photocopiers to
ensure that no unauthorised copying occurred. This sort of control
inhibited free communication and consequently prevented development
in a number of fields, from science to the economy. By making
production and distribution of information a part of everyday
life -- whether to produce a leaflet for a political meeting, a sports
event or a sale of goods -- the community is very well prepared to
continue communicating in a crisis.

To aid nonviolent struggle, cheap,
durable and reliable copiers could be designed for use in poor
countries. In the case of countries under repressive rule, such
copiers could be smuggled into the country in various ways, by
tourists or through commercial trade. Copiers could be developed that
can be operated even without mains electricity. This might be through
batteries or through an optional muscle-powered system.

Some governments and companies,
concerned about the leaking of vital documents, have sought the
development and introduction of photocopiers that leave some mark on
each copied page indicating its source. Generally speaking, such
technology is far more useful to an aggressor than to the nonviolent
resistance.

Telephone
and fax

The telephone is, in many
respects, an ideal communication medium for nonviolent struggle. It
cannot be used by a single person to send messages to a large number
of passive recipients, but rather it is most suited for conversations
between two people. True, it's possible to have conference calls, but
these become unwieldly with more than a handful of people.

Since telephone is so useful for
communication in a nonviolent struggle, the general aim should be to
keep the system going. Aggressors are unlikely to shut down an entire
telephone system because society depends on it so much -- including the
aggressors. There are some important vulnerabilities in telephone
systems that deserve attention.

First, it is possible to cut off
certain phones, either an individual phone or all those in a whole
building or suburb. Aggressors might want to cut off telephones used
by the resistance, and the resistance might want to cut off
telephones used by the aggressors. In most cases, it would not be so
difficult to get around this problem: people can find other phones.
Furthermore, with mobile phones the lines become less important.
Generally, resisters seek to keep open lines of communication,
including communication with the aggressor, so it is not desirable to
cut off telephones. It would be important to keep in contact with
technicians to encourage them to oppose attempts to shut down
phones.

Second, and more important, is the
possibility of telephone surveillance.[16]
This is quite easy to do, especially with new electronic switching
systems. Surveillance of conversations, however it is done, is
labour-intensive: someone has to listen to the conversations long
enough to make sense of them. This applies even when there are
computer systems with voice recognition that are programmed to keep
track of conversations only when certain key words are mentioned.
Furthermore, the system can be easily foiled if people know the key
words and agree not to use them -- or to use them all the time! -- in
their conversations.

If there are only a few resisters,
surveillance can be used to keep track of them. If, on the other
hand, large numbers of people join the resistance, mass surveillance
becomes impossible.

Surveillance becomes even less
useful if the resistance operates without secrecy, as many nonviolent
activists recommend. If rallies and civil disobedience actions are
announced to the authorities beforehand, surveillance is rather
pointless.

Nevertheless, telephone
surveillance, even when it is quite infrequent and gains little
useful information, is very important psychologically. Many people
are frightened enough to reduce their activism. Therefore,
antisurveillance measures are important. Cordless and cellular phones
should be avoided, since their transmissions can easily be picked up
by radio scanners, as some public figures have discovered to their
embarrassment.[17] One easy method is to use other telephones, especially public
telephones. Another is to use the "call forward" mechanism on some
phones, to bounce a call to a different phone and thus hide the
location or identity of the caller.

As well as such practical
on-the-spot techniques, there are a number of technological
approaches worthy of investigation. Secure methods of putting
telephone messages into code -- encryption -- would make surveillance
more difficult. Telephone systems could be designed so that taps are
impossible without alerting the callers. They might also be designed
so that, in an emergency, no single person could cut off phones. (In
ordinary times, technicians often need to cut off phones for quite
legitimate purposes.)

Another issue is caller number
identification: the ability of the person called to see and capture
electronically the phone number of the caller. Arguably, in some
cases in an emergency it is useful for people to be able to make
anonymous phone calls. On the other hand, the aggressor may try to
disrupt the resistance by feeding lots of misleading information into
the resistance networks, in which case caller number identification
would be useful to the resistance. More investigation and the running
of simulations would help in deciding in what circumstances caller
number identification would be an advantage for a nonviolent
resistance.[18]

Fax machines run on telephone
lines, but are different in two ways: they transmit a printed
document rather than sounds, and the recipient does not need to be
there for the transmission to occur. Fax is a decentralised
communication system and has many similarities to both the post and
computer networks. Generally speaking, fax is quite useful to the
resistance. "Secure" transmissions -- sending a fax that can only be
printed when the receiver puts in a code -- are now possible with some
fax machines. The main improvement for fax would be encryption, so
that messages cannot be intercepted en route.

The post

The postal system is a global
communication network which is generally quite useful for nonviolent
activists. A government seeking to monitor the post cannot hope to
open and inspect every piece of mail without large amounts of labour
and considerable disruption of everyday life. Therefore the usual
procedure is selective monitoring of mail: intercepting, reading and
sometimes confiscating mail sent by or to particular targeted
individuals or organisations. In order to achieve this, it is helpful
for all mail in a country or region to be routed through a single
central post office.

To get around monitoring of the
post mostly requires organisational rather than technological means.
The more that collection, sorting and distribution of mail are done
locally, the more difficult it is for any group to monitor or
intercept the post. Also, the more decentralised are the authority
structures within the postal service, the more difficult it is for an
aggressor to take control using only a few trusted staff. If there
are several, rather than just one, postal services -- such as competing
private carriers -- then it becomes more difficult to take central
control.

It is significant in this regard
that most governments have tried to monopolise postal delivery by
outlawing, heavily taxing or tightly regulating private delivery
services. In the historical development of the post, this was done in
order to raise revenue and to prevent enemies from communicating
without the ruler's knowledge.[19]
This shows that secure and reliable postal delivery -- not easily
monitored centrally -- is of great value to nonviolent opponents of
tyranny.

More fundamental than formal
ownership of postal services is the attitude of postal workers. If
they are sympathetic to the resistance, then they can ensure that
important letters or parcels are delivered without inspection. They
are also in a good position to deliver messages from the resistance
along their delivery routes. It's also possible for the resistance to
avoid interception by using false names and addresses, putting one
letter inside another, and various other techniques.

There are a few technological
systems that are relevant. One is automatic sorting of letters by
postcode. If this is used in some way to help monitor the post, the
machines could easily be disabled. In any case, it would be an
interesting problem to design such equipment so that it provided no
advantage for any group wishing to monitor the post. Another issue is
the surveillance of postal workers using videocameras and other
apparatus. Such surveillance could be used by agents of an aggressor
to detect postal workers supporting the resistance. For the purposes
of nonviolent resistance, it would be best to get rid of technology
that puts workers under surveillance.

Conversations
and meetings

In spite of all the technological
advances, face-to-face conversations remain one of the very best
means of communication. Also quite useful are meetings, whether this
involves 3, 30 or 300 people. The smaller the number of people in a
meeting, generally, the more each person can contribute and the fewer
opportunities there are for manipulation or domination. It may be
worthwhile for an aggressor to send observers or arrange for
surveillance of mass meetings of hundreds or thousands of people. But
monitoring of hundreds or thousands of small meetings becomes
impossible.

It might seem that technology is
largely irrelevant to face-to-face conversations, but this is not so.
Modern technology has greatly increased the capacity for
surveillance, for example by electronic listening
devices.[20]
Investigations are needed into convenient, low-cost ways of avoiding
or foiling such surveillance.

Computer
networks

Computer networks are a powerful
means of communication most suitable for nonviolent
struggle.[21]
Such networks are interactive and cannot easily be dominated by a
small number of users. Information on the network is transmitted by
telephone lines and, indeed, computer networks are very similar to
telephone systems. There are several major differences. First,
computer networks deal mainly with text rather than voice. Second, it
is much easier to save, copy and distribute text via computer
networks than via phone. Third, the skills and investment required to
become a skilled user of computer networks are much greater than to
become a proficient user of the telephone.

The first two factors generally
make computer networks a more powerful means of communication, from
the point of view of nonviolent struggle, than the telephone. The
third factor considerably reduces its value. As the price of
computers declines and the software for hooking into networks becomes
more user-friendly, computer networks will become more and more
valuable as a people's communication technology.

Computer networks -- collectively
called "cyberspace" -- will undoubtedly play an increasing role in
communication in crisis situations. They have been used to send
alerts about human rights violations, to mobilise opposition to
vested interests and to provide information to activists opposing
repressive regimes. For example, computer networks have been used for
communication by the peace movement in former
Yugoslavia,[22]
to resist the 1991 Soviet coup[23]
and to organise publicity about persecution of minority groups in
Iran.

Computer networks have several
vulnerabilities, again similar to the telephone. If the telephone
system is shut down, so is most computer communication. But this is
not so likely because, like the telephone system, computer networks
are used more and more for functions such as commercial transactions.
Therefore, anyone who shut down the networks would risk alienating a
large proportion of the population, including powerful
organisations.

Another key problem with computer
networks is surveillance, namely logging into particular accounts or
intercepting particular electronic messages. The system administrator
in charge of local networks has the capacity to monitor or cut off
the accounts of individuals. Hackers are able to surreptitiously
enter other people's computer files or to read their
messages.[24]
There is also the less elegant method of tapping telephone lines and
deciphering computer-generated data that is being
transmitted.

System administrators are key
individuals in computer networks. If they support the resistance,
then the networks become a powerful tool for resistance. But system
administrators could also serve the aggressor, whether as a result of
sympathy, bribery or intimidation, for example by monitoring messages
from certain individuals or by closing down their accounts.
Therefore, it would be useful to design networks so that the power of
system administrators is limited, either permanently or just in
emergencies.

Another solution to the problem of
surveillance is encryption of messages, namely putting them into
code. There are various ways to do this, including some extremely
powerful encryption techniques that also give a highly reliable way
of verifying the sender's identity: an electronic
signature.

There was an enormous controversy
over the US government's promotion of a system of encryption designed
by the National Security Agency (NSA), a multi-billion dollar spying
enterprise focussing on electronic communication. The NSA's proposed
encryption system -- commonly associated with one of its components,
the Clipper Chip -- relied on a system of coding that could be
deciphered using information obtained from two specified
organisations, given the permission of legal authorities. Some
sceptics, though, did not trust the claims of the NSA, and believed
that the agency designed the algorithm and Clipper Chip so that all
messages could be read by the NSA.[25]

Generally speaking, secure
communication is valuable to a nonviolent resistance, which therefore
would be better served by unbreakable encryption. The most popular
system outside the government is called Pretty Good Privacy or
PGP.[26]
It reportedly has been used by guerrillas in Burma and dissidents in
Russia.

There may seem to be some
contradiction here, in that many proponents of nonviolence argue
against secrecy. For example, they inform police and other relevant
authorities about details of their planned nonviolent actions. They
argue that openness reduces fear and hence the possibility of
violence by authorities, and that this approach is the best way to
win more supporters.

However, this opposition to
secrecy is quite compatible with support for confidentiality and
privacy in other circumstances. The point is that the nonviolent
activists choose to communicate their plans for rallies, strikes or
occupations to others. This is quite different from eavesdropping on
friends having a personal conversation. Encryption of telephone or
computer communication is roughly similar to ensuring the
confidentiality of a private talk.

There are quite a number of
developments that would make computer networks even more effective
for nonviolent struggle. Computer systems could be designed so that
certain powers of the system administrator are overruled when a
certain percentage of users enter a designated command designed for
emergencies. Computer systems designed for business or scientific
purposes could be adapted so that, in the event of emergency,
resistance messages could be hidden within the usual data. Principles
and methods of nonviolent resistance on computer networks can be
developed.

Computer networks can be prepared
for resistance. For example, important data can be stored in remote
locations. Names and addresses of key activists can be protected, for
example by being embedded in larger lists. Contingency plans to use
other computers, other accounts and other networks can be prepared.
Emergency messages and sequences of action can be prepared.
Simulations of resistance communication in emergencies can be run,
and the results used to redesign systems for more effective operation
in such situations.

Communication
in nonviolent action

The acknowledged pioneer of
nonviolent action was Mohandas Gandhi. Gandhi was not a systematic
theorist, but rather developed his ideas in conjunction with his
campaigns, first in South Africa and then in India. Gandhi's writings
and practice provided much of the inspiration for later development
of nonviolent action theory and practice.[27]

Gandhi believed in the power of
truth.[28] He felt that truth could communicate directly to the heart of an
oppressor. He called his method of struggle "satyagraha," which
literally means truth-force but can also be translated as meaning
nonviolent action.[29]

It is possible to go so far as to
argue that the essence of satyagraha is communication: whereas
violence, as a form of communication, is a monologue, nonviolence
tries to turn a conflict situation into a dialogue.[30]
Although this is only one interpretation of satyagraha, it highlights
the close connection between communication and nonviolence. The
connection can also be argued directly in terms of a Gandhian theory
of nonviolent communication.[31]

For Gandhi, truth was not just a
linguistic construction. It had to be present in the lives of its
advocates, through their humility, compassion, good works and
willingness to suffer for the cause of justice. The key issue here is
the power of such truth, or truth-in-life, to achieve a better
society.

How can such truth be
communicated? In his campaigns, Gandhi was always careful to first
try conventional channels, such as making polite requests of
officials to change their policies which were causing suffering or
lack of freedom. If this did not work, he would then, quite openly,
initiate a campaign utilising nonviolent methods, such as marches,
boycotts, or undertaking illegal activities. These methods might be
interpreted as a form of coercion, albeit nonviolent coercion.
Gandhi, though, conceived nonviolent action as a method of
conversion, of "melting the heart" of the opponent. When the
oppressors saw the suffering that was willingly accepted by the
nonviolent activists -- known as satyagrahis -- they would recognise the
satyagrahis' commitment to their cause and be converted to
it.[32]

This was Gandhi's theory, but his
campaigns did not always work this way in practice. Thomas Weber
analysed the 1930 "salt satyagraha" to see if suffering led to
conversion as Gandhi claimed.[33]

In this campaign, Indians challenged the British colonial regime's
monopoly on salt manufacture by marching to Dharasana to take
possession of the salt works there. As they approached the salt works
and attempted to enter, they were arrested or beaten. Over a period
of days, hundreds of nonviolent activists approached the salt works,
and were met by force. The beatings were so bad that hundreds were
taken to the hospital, most with serious injuries. Far from softening
the hearts of the lathi-wielding police, the brutality became worse.
However, the colonial government denied any violence by the police,
saying that the protesters were faking their injuries. Weber
concludes that direct conversion of opponents was a
failure.

Nevertheless, the campaign was a
success because of a different process of conversion. Observing the
operation was a journalist for the United Press in the US, Webb
Miller. His moving reports reached an enormous international
audience, challenging the disinformation of the official reports.
Public opinion in many countries was turned against the British role
in India. It was this conversion process that helped achieve India's
independence.

Johan Galtung's idea of a "great
chain of nonviolence" is quite relevant in this
connection,[34]
as noted by Weber. Galtung argues that nonviolence can work to
persuade opponents via intermediaries: a chain of people, each
similar enough in social location, who communicate the social
concerns. In the case of the salt satyagraha, Webb Miller provided a
link between the satyagrahis and white westerners; in turn, some of
the latter had links with British colonial
decision-makers.

An interesting connection can be
made between Gandhi's idea of satyagraha and Jürgen Habermas's
theory of communicative action, in particular his "ideal speech
situation."[35]
Habermas's ideal speech situation builds on the capacity of all
humans to communicate, to enter dialogue and reach intersubjective
agreement (rather than individually find truth in nature). In other
words, truth for Habermas is obtained through rational discussion in
the absence of domination. This theory, though, provides little
guidance for communication in situations of unequal power. The
confrontation between the satyagrahis and the police at Dharasana in
1930 was very far from an ideal speech situation.

However, the relationship between
the satyagrahis and Webb Miller was closer to an ideal speech
situation: neither had significant power over the other. The cultural
gap between Miller and his western readers was far less than between
the satyagrahis and the British colonial rulers. So it might be said
that Galtung's great chain of nonviolence operates in practice like a
chain of "reasonable speech situations" which, while certainly not
ideal, provide better prospects for the sharing and creating of
truths than the two end points of the chain.

Thus, Gandhi's idea that the
willing suffering of nonviolent activists can communicate direct to
the hearts of oppressors requires considerable modification.
Communication of truth works better when there is no power imbalance,
and this means that communication via intermediaries is often more
effective than direct communication between unequals.

Assessment
of communication technologies

These considerations suggest that
communication technologies that foster or enable dialogue are more
useful for the purposes of nonviolent action than those that inhibit
dialogue. If one side in a dispute controls television and radio
stations, there is no dialogue. Even if a substantial proportion of
the population refuses to listen, the communication imbalance
continues. There is little or no opportunity for listeners to present
their points of view. It is not surprising, therefore, that
dictatorships normally exercise complete control over one-directional
electronic communication media. The value of radio and television to
oppressors is highlighted by the fact that they are often the first
targets in military coups.

The same considerations apply to
communication among those who resist an oppressor. With a
one-directional means of communication, resistance leaders can
certainly get their messages to supporters with minimum effort -- but
these leaders become quite vulnerable to both repression and
cooption. Even more importantly, without dialogue, the resistance
cannot take into account the views of current and possible
supporters, and cannot foster the capacities of others to use skills
and take initiatives.

If the only means of communication
in a society were interactive, network systems -- face-to-face
discussion, telephone, short-wave and CB radio, and computer
networks -- then an aggressor or oppressor would have the greatest
difficulty in controlling the population. Network communication
technologies do not by themselves eliminate hierarchy and
exploitation, but they do aid resistance. The telephone can be used
to issue orders, but it is far too labour-intensive for controlling
large populations. Also, the subordinate can always talk
back.

James C. Scott's idea of public
and hidden transcripts is relevant here.[36]
In situations of domination, such as slavery, aristocrat-peasant
relations and landlord-tenant relations, the public record or
transcript tells the story of the dominators. There is also a hidden
transcript in which the side of the oppressed is revealed. According
to Scott, the oppressed are well aware of their oppression: the
concept of false consciousness is false. The hidden transcript can be
a rehearsal for a challenge to powerholders, a challenge that can
develop quickly when the mechanisms holding back resistance are
weakened.

In the modern world, mass media
are a form of public transcript. The mass media under dictatorships
omit the perspective of the oppressed, who therefore must use other
media -- covert discussions, graffiti, leaflets and clandestine radio,
as well as symbolic communication at funerals, concerts and other "legitimate" events -- to share experiences. This also applies to some
aspects of life in societies with representative government: for
example, police treatment of stigmatised minorities, or oppression
and alienation in working life, are seldom portrayed in the mass
media. Thus, mass media are useful tools for dominators, whereas
network media are useful for developing the voices of the
weak.

Galtung's "great chain of
nonviolence" provides another way to explain the advantage of network
media for nonviolent resistance. With mass media, the chance of a
chain of reasonable speech situations between the oppressed and the
oppressors is limited. With network media, the chance is increased,
and the denser the interlinkings of the communication network, the
greater the ease of dialogical communication.

Several of the examples given in
this chapter support the conclusion that mass media are selectively
useful for oppressors. For example, control over the mass media was
crucial to government and military control in the shutting down and
censoring of the press during the Emergency in India, in the cutting
off of electronic communication during the military coup in Poland
and throughout the continuing occupation of East Timor. Similarly,
control over the mass media was a crucial factor in the Fiji coups
and in the Shah's Iran. But in these two cases the opposition had
access to alternative sources of information, via short-wave radio in
Fiji and cassette tapes in Iran.

On the other hand, some of the
cases seem to contradict the idea that mass media are selectively
useful for oppressors. Radio broadcasts were vital to nonviolent
resistance in the Algerian generals' revolt, the Czechoslovak
resistance to the Warsaw Pact invasion, and the collapse of the East
German communist regime. In each of these cases, a one-directional
medium served a nonviolent resistance to repression. What made this
possible was a short-term congruence between those who controlled the
medium and a dialogue-based mass movement. French conscripts in
Algeria, through their own experiences and interactions, were already
predisposed to refuse cooperation. De Gaulle's broadcast made them
aware that they were supported by the French government and the
French people.

In the case of Czechoslovakia, the
liberalisation of communist rule during 1968 was a mass-based process
that challenged the normal control -- including control of the
media -- by those following the Soviet line. The Czechoslovak radio
system was temporarily a powerful force for the nonviolent resisters,
in a situation where there was a high intensity of face-to-face
dialogue, both among the population and between Czechoslovaks and
invading soldiers. It is also worth noting that capture of the radio
network by the Soviet army decisively ended the active phase of the
resistance.

In East Germany in 1989, the
Communist Party retained control over the local mass media. West
German radio and television provided a window into alternative views,
including news of events in East Germany itself, that fed into the
protest by East Germans, which itself was based on a commonality of
experience.

These cases suggest that
one-directional media can sometimes be useful to a nonviolent
movement against repression, but only under certain conditions. There
must be a strong underlying unity of purpose, itself the outgrowth of
common experience and dialogue. Also, the one-directional media are
used in a challenging mode, against an even more pervasive or
powerful system of persuasion or control.

This conclusion can be summarised
by saying that one-directional media are selectively useful for
oppression and network media are selectively useful for resistance to
oppression.[37]
Technologies are not neutral, but nor are they tied to certain uses
only. Technologies are stamped by the social groups and goals
involved in their creation and application. But the uses of
technologies are not fixed by their creators: users can adapt them to
some extent. For example, the US military originally set up the
computer network that later evolved into the Internet which has
become one of the most participatory media available.

Generally speaking, the greater
the opportunity for users to choose, use and modify the technology,
the greater its potential for fostering popular participation and the
more likely it is to be useful for nonviolent action against
repression. Interactive network media can aid nonviolent action most
of all when they are generally accessible, easy to use, difficult for
dominators to control, and when they encourage widespread development
of appropriate skills.

Notes to
chapter 5

1. Andreas
Speck notes that this same list of values -- decentralised,
interactive, cooperative -- can also be obtained by starting from the
values of a just society.

2. T. E. Finer,
The Man on Horseback: The Role of the Military in Politics
(London: Pall Mall Press, 1962); D. J. Goodspeed, The
Conspirators: A Study in the Coup d'État (London:
Macmillan, 1962); Edward Luttwak, Coup d'État: A Practical
Handbook (London: Allen Lane The Penguin Press, 1968), pp.
111-116.

3. Roland
Bleiker, Nonviolent Struggle and the Revolution in East
Germany (Cambridge, MA: Albert Einstein Institution, 1993).
Andreas Speck points out that there was also a negative side to the
role of West German television. Many leading East German activists
wanted to turn East German into a democracy, even a genuine people's
democracy (as opposed to a dictatorship calling itself a people's
democracy). However, West German television did not broadcast the
ideas of this East German opposition, instead pushing for German
unification under the West German model.

4. Tony Dowmunt
(ed.), Channels of Resistance: Global Television and Local
Empowerment (London: British Film Institute in association with
Channel Four Television, 1993) provides a number of useful case
studies.

5. Adam
Roberts, "Civil resistance to military coups," Journal of Peace
Research, Vol. 12, 1975, pp. 19-36.

6. Royal D.
Hutchinson, Czechoslovakia 1968: The Radio and the Resistance
(Copenhagen: Institute for Peace and Conflict Research, 1969); H.
Gordon Skilling, Czechoslovakia's Interrupted Revolution
(Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1976); Joseph
Wechsberg, The Voices (Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1969);
Philip Windsor and Adam Roberts, Czechoslovakia 1968: Reform,
Repression and Resistance (London: Chatto and Windus,
1969).

7. Lawrence C.
Soley and John S. Nichols, Clandestine Radio Broadcasting: A Study
of Revolutionary and Counterrevolutionary Electronic
Communication (New York: Praeger, 1987).

8. Bruce Girard
(ed.), A Passion for Radio: Radio Waves and Community
(Montreal: Black Rose Books, 1992); Ron Sakolsky and Stephen Dunifer
(eds.), Seizing the Airwaves: A Free Radio Handbook
(Edinburgh: AK Press, 1998); Lawrence Soley, Free Radio:
Electronic Civil Disobedience (Boulder, CO: Westview,
1999).

9. Brian
Martin, "Lessons in nonviolence from the Fiji coups," Gandhi
Marg, Vol. 10, No. 6, September 1988, pp. 326-339.

10. On
micropower radio, see Ron Sakolsky and Stephen Dunifer (eds.),
Seizing the Airwaves: A Free Radio Handbook (Edinburgh: AK
Press, 1998); Lawrence Soley, Free Radio: Electronic Civil
Disobedience (Boulder, CO: Westview, 1999).

11. Victor
Papanek, Design for the Real World: Human Ecology and Social
Change (London: Thames and Hudson, 1985, second edition), pp.
224-227.

12. David H.
Albert (ed.), Tell the American People: Perspectives on the
Iranian Revolution (Philadelphia: Movement for a New Society,
1980); F. Hoveyda, The Fall of the Shah (London: Weidenfeld
and Nicolson, 1980).

13. Andrew
McMillan, Death in Dili (Sydney: Hodder and Stoughton, 1992),
pp. 163-164, 230-232. On the role of nonviolent action in the East
Timorese struggle, see Chisako M. Fukuda, "Peace through nonviolent
action: the East Timorese resistance movement's strategy for
engagement," Pacifica Review, Vol. 12, No. 1, 2000, pp.
16-31.

14. Michael
Henderson, Experiment with Untruth: India under Emergency
(Delhi: Macmillan, 1977).

15. Jacques
Semelin, Unarmed against Hitler: Civilian Resistance in Europe,
1939-1943 (Westport, CT: Praeger, 1993), p. 85.

16. Patrick
Fitzgerald and Mark Leopold, Stranger on the Line: The Secret
History of Phone Tapping (London: Bodley Head, 1987).

17. Thomas
Icom, "Cellular interception techniques," 2600, Vol. 12, No.
1, Spring 1995, pp. 23-27.

18. Caller
number identification also raises issues concerning protection of
personal data. Thus, it is possible that there could be friction
between priorities on privacy and on nonviolent resistance. For a
discussion of potential problems with surveillance in a social
defence system, see Brian Martin, "Possible
pathologies of future social defence systems,"
Pacifica Review, Vol. 7, No. 1, 1995, pp. 61-68.

19. On the
early history of the British post office, including attempts to shut
down alternative posts, see Herbert Joyce, The History of the Post
Office from its Establishment down to 1836 (London: Richard
Bentley and Son, 1893). On postal worker struggles in Britain, see H.
G. Swift, A History of Postal Agitation from Fifty Years Ago till
the Present Day (London: C. Arthur Pearson, 1900). For a
comprehensive history of disputes in the US Congress over what things
should be allowed to be mailed, censorship and wartime controls, see
Dorothy Ganfield Fowler, Unmailable: Congress and the Post
Office (Athens: University of Georgia Press, 1977). On government
attempts to monopolise the post, see Carl Watner, "'Plunderers of the
public revenue': voluntaryism and the mails," The
Voluntaryist, No. 76, October 1995, pp. 1-7. A pilot study of the
post in relation to social defence is reported in Alison Rawling,
Lisa Schofield, Terry Darling and Brian Martin, "The Australian Post Office and social defence," Nonviolence Today, No. 14, April/May 1990, pp. 6-8.

20. See, among
others, Ann Cavoukian and Don Tapscott, Who Knows: Safeguarding
Your Privacy in a Networked World (New York: McGraw-Hill, 1997);
Simon Davies, Monitor: Extinguishing Privacy on the Information
Superhighway (Sydney: Pan Macmillan, 1996); David H. Flaherty,
Protecting Privacy in Surveillance Societies: The Federal Republic
of Germany, Sweden, France, Canada, and the United States (Chapel
Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1989); Oscar H. Gandy, Jr.,
The Panoptic Sort: A Political Economy of Personal Information
(Boulder, CO: Westview, 1993); Simson Garfinkel, Database Nation:
The Death of Privacy in the 21st Century (Sebastopol, CA:
O'Reilly & Associates, 2000); David Lyon, The Electronic Eye:
The Rise of Surveillance Society (Cambridge: Polity Press, 1994);
Gary T. Marx, Undercover: Police Surveillance in America

(Berkeley: University of California Press, 1988).

21. There is a
vast body of writing about the net. Useful treatments of net culture
include Wendy M. Grossman, Net.wars (New York: New York
University Press, 1997); Howard Rheingold, The Virtual Community:
Finding Connection in a Computerized World (London: Secker and
Warburg, 1994).

22. David S.
Bennahum, "The Internet revolution," Wired, Vol. 5, No. 4,
April 1997, pp. 122-129 and 168-173.

23. Bob
Travica and Matthew Hogan, "Computer networks in the x-USSR:
technology, uses and social effects," in Debora Shaw (ed.), ASIS
'92: Proceedings of the 55th ASIS Annual Meeting, Vol. 29
(Medford, NJ: Learned Information, 1992), pp. 120-135.

24. On hacking
see the magazine 2600 and The Knightmare, Secrets of a
Super Hacker (Port Townsend, WA: Loompanics, 1994).

25. For the
dabate over government-sponsored encryption, see Whitfield Diffie and
Susan Landau, Privaacy on the Line: The Politics of Wiretapping
and Encryption (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1998) and Lance J.
Hoffman (ed.), Building in Big Brother: The Cryptographic Policy
Debate (New York: Springer-Verlag, 1995).

26. See for
example Simson Garfinkel, PGP: Pretty Good Privacy (Sebastopol, CA: O'Reilly & Associates, 1995).

27. Richard B.
Gregg, The Power of Nonviolence (New York: Schocken Books,
1966); Krishnalal Shridharani, War without Violence: A Study of
Gandhi's Method and its Accomplishments (London: Victor Gollancz,
1939).

28. M. K.
Gandhi, An Autobiography or the Story of my Experiments with
Truth (Ahmedabad: Navajivan Press, 1927).

29. According
to a constructivist perspective, "truth" is always based on human
interests rather than objective reality, and hence is more
problematical than Gandhi believed. But for this outline of his
ideas, "truth" is used without quotes.

30. See V. V.
Ramana Murti, "Buber's dialogue and Gandhi's satyagraha," Journal
of the History of Ideas, Vol. 29, No. 4, 1968, pp. 605-613. I
thank Tom Weber for pointing out this reference.

31. Robert A.
Bode, "Gandhi's theory of nonviolent communication," Gandhi Marg,

Vol. 16, No. 1, April-June 1994, pp. 5-30.

32. Note that
feminists have criticised the Gandhian emphasis on suffering by
nonviolent activists.

33. Thomas
Weber, "'The marchers simply walked forward until struck down':
nonviolent suffering and conversion," Peace & Change, Vol.
18, No. 3, 1993, pp. 267-289.

34. Johan
Galtung, Nonviolence and Israel/Palestine (Honolulu:
University of Hawaii Institute for Peace, 1989).

35.
Jürgen Habermas, The Theory of Communicative Action, Vol. 1.
Reason and the Rationalization of Society (Boston: Beacon Press,
1984); Jürgen Habermas, The Theory of Communicative Action,
Vol. 2. Lifeworld and System: A Critique of Functionalist Reason
(Boston: Beacon Press, 1987).

36. James C.
Scott, Domination and the Arts of Resistance: Hidden
Transcripts (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press,
1990).

37. In the
appendix, this terminology is explained in the context of theories of
technology.

6 Survival

Go to:

Contents

Notes to chapter
6

Sections
Health

Appropriate
technology

For a society to engage
effectively in a struggle, whether violent or nonviolent, it must be
able to maintain the necessities of life, such as food and shelter.
In industrialised societies, many important systems, including
agriculture, energy, water, transport and housing, have become highly
vulnerable to either military attack or sabotage.

Take the electricity system, for
example: a few bombs or just some calculated breaches of proper
procedures could put large generating plants and transmission
stations out of action. If computer programs that ensure a balance
between electricity supply and demand were intentionally altered, a
system breakdown could easily be triggered.

Fuel supplies are only somewhat
more secure. Oil refineries are perhaps the most vulnerable point: a
few knowledgable workers could put them out of commission. Oil
pipelines and ocean tankers are also easy targets for determined
saboteurs.[1]

Water supplies for many cities are
quite vulnerable to attack. All it would take is destruction of a few
large dams or poisoning of the water supply.

Food supplies are far more
vulnerable to disruption than just a century ago. Production is now
heavily dependent on fertilisers and pesticides; factories producing
these could be put out of action. Biologically sophisticated
saboteurs might be able to spread pests and diseases to major crop
areas. Few people still live on the land; city populations depend on
shipment of large quantities of food from agricultural
areas.

Then there is the transport
system. Disruption of electricity and fuel supplies would be
devastating. Another approach would be tampering with transport
computer systems. City traffic would be reduced to a crawl if traffic
lights were out of action, and air traffic would become much more
risky if automated systems were disrupted.[2]

For a military system, these
vulnerabilities mean that an effective defence must prevent the enemy
from entering the country's territory. A single bomber or missile can
cause enormous havoc. The vulnerability of modern technological
systems thus is a justification for so-called "forward defence," namely powerful offensive capacities, including nuclear weapons as
deterrents. Vulnerability is also a justification for tight internal
security, to guard crucial facilities from saboteurs and to keep
information about both military and civilian facilities secret. Thus,
vulnerable technological systems play a role in promoting two of the
worst features of the warfare society: offensive military capacity
and internal repression.[3]

These considerations in themselves
should be enough to motivate investigation into less vulnerable
systems. In the case of nonviolent struggle they become overwhelming.
Without military forces, there is nothing to physically stop enemy
troops from entering the community, taking over key facilities such
as power stations, cutting off supplies or even destroying the
facilities. Given this possibility, developing resilient systems is
essential.

Actually, the problem of survival
is seldom a telling factor in major struggles. In most wars, even the
most ferocious, no attempt has been made to starve the enemy
population to death. Nevertheless, there are some instructive
examples where survival has played a key role.

After Iraqi troops invaded Kuwait
in August 1990, international sanctions were applied to Iraq,
preventing most imports and exports. Even after the defeat of Iraq
military forces by the US-led coalition in March 1991, the blockade
was continued. The bombing of Iraq in early 1991 destroyed much of
the country's infrastructure, including water purification plants,
electricity generating plants and industry. The continuation of the
blockade -- which also prevented import of food and medicines, in
contravention of international humanitarian agreements -- has led to
enormous suffering and increased mortality and perhaps a million or
more deaths as a result.[4]
This example illustrates the high vulnerability of a westernised
society.

Although economic "sanctions" -- restraints on trade -- are commonly seen as a nonmilitary
alternative to war, they rely on armed force for implementation and
definitely cannot be considered a method of nonviolent action.
Sanctions often are ineffective or counterproductive.[5]

Beginning in 1975, the Indonesian
government enforced an effective blockade against East Timor in order
to combat guerrilla and popular resistance. Since East Timor is half
of a remote island, the other half of which is Indonesian territory,
enforcing the blockade was not difficult, given that no other
government did much to challenge the Indonesian occupation in spite
of repeated United Nations resolutions.[6]

Direct killings and starvation due to the blockade led to the deaths
of perhaps one third of the East Timorese population. In this case,
the blockade has been a potent tool against a largely rural
society.

In 1988, people of the island of
Bougainville in the southwest Pacific declared their independence
from Papua New Guinea. The PNG government mounted a military
operation against the Bougainville Revolutionary Army, supplementing
this with a blockade. The blockade was intended to be total,
preventing even medicines from being brought in. As might be
expected, this has led to considerable suffering on the
island.

In the cases of Iraq, East Timor
and Bougainville, blockades were used to help subjugate an armed
resistance and, in each case, caused hardship and death in the
population. The existence of an armed resistance helped to provide a
public justification for these blockades, however inhumane and
illegal they may be. If the resistance is totally nonviolent, it
becomes more difficult to justify a blockade. Perhaps the best
example of such tactics used against an unarmed resistance is the
Israeli occupation of Palestine, mentioned in chapter 3. During the
intifada, from 1987 to 1993, the Palestinian resistance to the
Israelis was largely nonviolent, though it is more appropriate to
call it unarmed since it was mostly a lack of arms rather than a
principled position that restricted the use of violence. (The
throwing of stones was a commonly used tactic.) The Israeli occupiers
used a variety of harsh methods to quell the resistance, including
beatings, destroying houses and shops, enforcing curfews (often for
days at a time), closing down schools and universities, and
preventing travel. The net effect of these measures made survival
problematic for many Palestinians, for example when economic
sanctions reduced family finances to minimal levels and curfews
prevented movement out of houses for all but a few hours per day. The
Palestinian case is different from that of Iraq, East Timor and
Bougainville both in the lack of a resistance armed with more than
slingshots and stones and in the enormous international sympathy and
support generated by the struggle.

Although a population waging a
nonviolent resistance -- at least one with a capacity to communicate to
the rest of the world -- is unlikely to be starved to death or
otherwise find its very survival at stake, it is prudent to be
prepared for the worst. This is a task for engineers.

Historically, the engineering
profession began with military applications. When a branch of
engineering developed that was concerned with nonmilitary
applications, it was called civil engineering to emphasise the
civilian orientation. Today, there are many branches of engineering,
from mechanical to computer engineering, all of which can be used for
military or nonmilitary purposes. As described in chapter 2, even
ostensibly nonmilitary engineering can often be adapted for military
purposes. There are very few engineers who have even considered what
it would mean to direct their specific engineering talents to
promoting peace.[7]
Presented here are a few preliminary ideas about redesigning
technological systems to make them more suitable for nonviolent
struggle.[8]

It would only take a few dedicated engineers or other experts to test
and develop these ideas.

The water supply, especially one
based on large dams, is highly vulnerable to disruption. Dams could
be designed so that, in an emergency, the water could be released
quickly but safely. In a number of countries that are still
developing their infrastructure, choosing microhydro rather than
large dams would greatly aid resilience against attack. Another
approach is using water tanks and dry toilets to reduce water
requirements from a central supply system which might be destroyed by
an aggressor.

Similarly, producing steel at
numerous minimills, geographically dispersed, provides greater
resilience than having a few large integrated steelworks. Installing
solar and wind power systems throughout the country would mean that
the population could not be held hostage by control over electricity
generating plants. The challenge is to develop technologies that are
efficient and require little maintenance. Of course, economic
incentives are important in promoting such alternatives.

Bridges are often attacked by
aggressors. Building a bridge that would survive any attack would be
impossibly expensive, though designs allowing easy rebuilding would
be possible. Also, bridges might be designed so that saboteurs could
easily be detected. Laser detectors, perhaps?

Similar considerations apply to
housing. In order to be able to reconstruct destroyed buildings,
designs should be simple and straightforward, relying on readily
available materials. Portable homes might be useful for moving people
around the country. There is some research on cheap, effective
housing for the Third World which may be applicable. Research could
be done on materials to make tents long-lasting. Combined with
telecommunications, tent-based activists would be hard to track
down.

In the case of manufacturing,
aggressors often take over plants for their own purposes. To resist,
workers could go on strike, but torture against workers or their
families could be used to break the strike. Another approach is to go
slow and make "inadvertent" mistakes, as done in some factories taken
over by the Nazis in World War II. A technological solution -- raised
by Johan Galtung, quoted in chapter 4 -- is to design the factory so
that vital pieces of equipment can be removed or destroyed.
Replacements could be kept in a safe place, such as another country.
Torture would be pointless, since it couldn't get the factory going
again. Actually, in many modern factories, the technological
sophistication is so great that outsiders would not know whether the
workers were resisting or not.

When hierarchies are flattened and
groups of workers can operate without a boss, the workforce is better
equipped to resist a takeover. Therefore, manufacturing systems that
are tied to empowering the workers may be the best for nonviolent
struggle.

Large-scale monocultures are
vulnerable to disruption. A more resilient food system would include
many local gardens and food-bearing trees. Relevant research here
includes seed varieties robust to lack of fertilisers and pesticides,
nutritious diets from wild natives, and methods for long-term storage
of food.[9]

A transport system highly
resilient to attack can be achieved by designing communities so that
most travel can be accomplished by walking or cycling, in contrast
with systems of roads or rail which can be interrupted by cutting off
fuel. Powered vehicles are very useful for shipping goods, so it
would be valuable to design vehicles that are simple to build and
repair, use fuels that can be easily produced or stored throughout
the community and, perhaps, in an emergency could be powered by human
muscles.[10]
There is likely to be a trade-off between the convenience of
maintaining some forms of motorised transport and their
vulnerability. Thus there is a general challenge to develop motorised
transport technologies that cannot be easily disrupted by an
aggressor.

Health

Many doctors and health workers
have been involved in peace activism over the years,[11]
but only some of this involvement is directly relevant to nonviolent
resistance to aggression and repression. One of the ways that health
professionals today help to oppose repression is by documenting cases
of torture or execution. Governments routinely deny that they are
involved in torture and extra-judicial execution; investigations and
authoritative pronouncements by medical and forensic experts can help
to expose such abuses. Some of the activities of physicians and
medical researchers concerned about violations of human rights
include:

assessing cases of alleged
torture;

exhuming bodies (sometimes
buried months earlier) and determining the cause of
death;

using genetic tracing to track
down relatives of orphans whose parents have disappeared, presumed
murdered;

estimating the number of
casualties in wars;

carrying out psychiatric
assessment of torture survivors;

examining conditions in
prisons;

training health workers in
skills related to the topics above and in the ethics of
collaborating with regimes using torture.[12]

Technologies used for torture are
mostly familiar: batons for beatings; electricity for shock;
cigarettes to cause burns. Occasionally there is some innovation in
torture, such as beatings on the soles of feet (falanga) in order to
inflict pain without leaving physical traces. In such cases there is
a place for research to develop new means of detecting torture.
Turkish physician Veli Lök helped develop a method of detecting
falanga using bone scintigraphy. Courts have used medical reports
based on this method as proof of torture.[13]

As well as exposing abuses by
repression regimes, another and bigger task for health workers is to
promote a healthy society. A society in which people are healthy and
self-reliant in health care is undoubtedly better prepared to resist
aggression and repression. Maintaining health in the face of attack
is a tall order. Aggressors might

assault nonviolent protesters
or bystanders;

engage in forced labour and
torture;

impose a blockade that cuts
off food and medical supplies;

destroy power supplies or
sanitation facilities, increasing the risks of
disease;

lay landmines;

spread diseases, inadvertently
or purposefully;

launch military attack,
including bombing.

When a population uses only
nonviolent methods of resistance, full-scale military attack is less
likely than when there is violent resistance. Nevertheless, it is
important to be prepared for serious health consequences of
aggression. In such a situation, it is unlikely that the conventional
medical system could cope. A large influx of casualties would
overwhelm hospitals. Emergency procedures, familiar to doctors
working in theatres of war, are appropriate.[14]
Disaster planning -- usually the province of civil defence managers -- is
needed for the health sector as well as others.

More generally, many members of
the community need to develop skills in diagnosis and treatment.
Simple first-aid measures are often sufficient, even for some serious
injuries. A society prepared for the adverse health consequences of
aggression might:

make first-aid training a
regular part of nearly everyone's continuing
education;

run medical disaster
simulations, analogous to fire drills;

provide subsidised packages of
basic medical materials to every household and
building;

make widely available
handbooks describing basic medical procedures;

set up decentralised
production facilities for basic medical items such as anaesthetics
and antibiotics;

promote a simple, nutritious,
locally obtainable diet;

support use of effective
alternatives to conventional medicine[15];

engage in ongoing discussion
and debate about self-help and low cost methods of promoting
health.

These sorts of initiatives towards
self-reliance in health care often conflict with the priorities of
industrialised medicine, with its reliance on expert professionals,
expensive technology and drugs provided by transnational
corporations. Industrialised medicine is vulnerable in the face of
attack, whereas self-reliant health care is resilient.

Miriam Solomon, a researcher into
health and democacy, has thought about these issues. She draws
attention to the rhetoric of the World Health Organisation (WHO) "on
primary health care and health promotion, as embodied, for example,
in the Ottawa Charter. That document urges a range of strategies,
including political ones, for developing personal skills,
strengthening communities, improving the social and physical
environments, reorienting health services (away from the medical
model), and incorporating health sensitive public policies in all
sectors." She notes that the same principles that apply to food,
energy and so forth also apply to health.

The decentralisation of service
provision, the shift away from high technology, specialised,
institutionalised curative oriented care, towards community and
individual control over social, political and physical environments,
as well as being consistent with health promotion and primary health
care strategies, would probably also be the best preparation for
social defence. Thus the uncorrupted interpretation of the New Public
Health and the WHO interpretation of Health Promotion are what is
needed for preparing for social defence. They are about giving people
control of their own lives, empowering individuals and communities,
learning skills for becoming politically and socially aware, and
building community cohesion and political constituencies, with
adequate sensitivity to the needs of other environments and
communities.[16]

Appropriate
technology (AT)

Generally speaking, the entire
body of work on community self-reliance is relevant to the task of
building technological systems to ensure the survival of the
population in the face of aggression. Much of this work goes under
the title of "appropriate technology," "alternative technology,"
"intermediate technology" or various other names. There are various
definitions of AT and a host of arguments about AT-related strategies
for technological and social change.[17]
It's not necessary to traverse these definitions and arguments here,
since my aim is to point out some commonalities and differences
between AT and technology for nonviolent struggle.

According to one typical source,
AT covers tools and techniques that:

"1) require only small amounts of
capital;

"2) emphasize the use of locally
available materials, in order to lower costs and reduce supply
problems;

"3) are relatively labor-intensive
but more productive than many traditional technologies;

"4) are small enough in scale to
be affordable to individual families or small groups of
families;

"5) can be understood, controlled
and maintained by villagers whenever possible, without a high level
of special training;

"6) can be produced in villages or
small workshops;

"7) suppose that people can and
will work together to bring improvements to communities;

"8) offer opportunities for local
people to become involved in the modification and innovation
process;

"9) are flexible, can be adapted
to different places and changing circumstances;

"10) can be used in productive
ways without doing harm to the environment."[18]

AT for the Third World includes
simple tools for working sheet metal, organic gardening,
simple-to-construct ox carts, small farm grain storage methods,
techniques of growing tropical fruit trees, methods of fish farming,
hand-dug wells, inexpensive water filtration techniques, local
production of fuel alcohol from agricultural wastes, self-built
stoves, simple windmills, small hydropower, passive solar design,
biogas generators, inexpensive techniques for house building,
low-cost vehicles, community health care techniques, and management
skills for small businesses.[19]

This list highlights the important point that AT is not just about
implements but includes techniques for using them and fitting them
into a wider programme of community development.

It is straightforward to examine
these ten criteria to see whether they are also relevant to
technology for nonviolent struggle.

1) If only small amounts of
capital are required, then technology can more readily be replaced
after destruction by an aggressor. By contrast, hugely expensive
fertiliser plants, electricity generating stations or dams are
obvious targets to be destroyed or taken over.

2) If materials are locally
available, then an aggressor cannot cut off supply. For example, most
oil supplies are imported from another part of the country or world
and hence constitute a source of leverage for an
aggressor.

3) Being relatively
labour-intensive does not directly aid nonviolent struggle. There may
be an indirect advantage, though. If more labour is required and much
of it does not require highly specialised skills, then it is more
likely that there will be work for anyone who wants it, with a
reduction in alienation and social divisions. This in turn would help
unify a community in the face of attack.

4) Affordability to families seems
similar to point 1.

5) If ordinary people can
understand, control and maintain technology, then it is much harder
to hold them hostage via the technology. For example, most people can
learn how to ride and fix a bicycle. Most can drive but not many can
fix more than a few problems with cars. Few can drive a train or fly
an aeroplane, much less fix them. The greater the number of people
who can keep the technology going if necessary, the less vulnerable
the community is.

6) Local small-scale production is
less vulnerable to attack than centralised large-scale production.
Water tanks to collect rainwater can be produced locally; large dams
cannot and hence are a vulnerability in the face of
aggression.

7) Bringing people together to
work aids the potential for nonviolence resistance by fostering
social cohesion. Working together in community gardens seems more
likely to foster solidarity than buying food in a
supermarket.

8) Having local people involved in
technological adaptation and innovation builds skills and commitment
that become highly valuable in case of a threat.

9) Flexibility is an obvious
advantage if an aggressor tries to subjugate a population through
control over technological systems.

10) Low environmental impact seems
to have no direct relevance to survival of a population waging
nonviolent struggle, at least in the short term. For example, if
centrally generated power is not available, local coal or wood
supplies might be used, causing lots of pollution but not necessarily
weakening the resistance. On the other hand, local solar and wind
power might be an alternative without the same environmental
impact.

Thus, most of the ten criteria for
AT are also suitable for selecting technology for nonviolent struggle
and none is incompatible with requirements for nonviolent struggle.
This suggests a high degree of overlap between these two ways of
approaching technological choice. There are a few differences,
though. The ten criteria are mainly aimed at poor countries. In rich
countries, there are some technologies that do not fit AT criteria
but may still be highly useful for nonviolent struggle. For example,
a sophisticated system of telecommunications will aid nonviolent
struggle, especially if designed so that it cannot be readily
controlled or monitored centrally. There are enough technically
trained people in rich countries to allow for some degree of
community control of telecommunications, though in practice many
changes would be necessary to bring this about.

When it comes to the major systems
necessary for survival -- agriculture, energy, manufacturing,
transport -- rich countries mostly have been moving away from criteria
for AT and instead becoming more vulnerable to disruption and
takeover. The AT movement provides a direction for change, and many
individuals and groups have made valiant efforts to move in this
direction, but they have not been very successful in the face of
dominant forces, including the military -- military technology is
seldom AT.

The connection between AT and
technology for nonviolent struggle almost seems too easy. If AT
advocates had been more successful over the years, then technological
systems would be set up for effective nonviolent resistance. Why
should the convergence be so neat? To begin, further study is needed
to determine whether the connection is really as straightforward as
it seems from a preliminary analysis. But there are some general
reasons for the convergence. AT can be considered to be the
technological component of a general strategy of community
self-reliance, which can be treated as a strategy for
development.[20]
The strategy of self-reliance challenges the usual approach of
development from above, which typically involves centralised
governments (often dominated by the military) and harsh economic
control by international agencies, all of which make local
populations subject to both repression and international economic
exploitation. Self-reliance is thus a strategy that aims at
liberation from both repression and oppression. In as much as AT fits
into this strategy, it provides support for nonviolent struggle
against repression and oppression. Of course, AT won't provide
everything useful for nonviolent struggle, but it's a good place to
begin.

In poor countries, most people
have traditionally lived on the land. With their integration into the
world economy, there have been strong pressures to produce cash crops
for export. No longer being self-sufficient in food, this makes the
people more vulnerable to local dictators as well as foreign
aggressors. This form of "development" thus works hand-in-hand with
military systems. In this context, land reform becomes a measure to
foster the capacity for nonviolent struggle. The technology of local
food production is one aspect of this issue, but the key is
self-reliance and local control.

Notes to
chapter 6

1. On energy
vulnerability see Wilson Clark and Jake Page, Energy,
Vulnerability, and War: Alternatives for America. New York:
Norton, 1981; Amory B. Lovins and L. Hunter Lovins, Brittle Power:
Energy Strategy for National Security. Boston: Brick House, 1982;
James L. Plummer, ed., Energy Vulnerability. Cambridge, MA:
Ballinger, 1982.

2. See Colin
Kearton and Brian Martin, "Technological vulnerability: a neglected
area in policy-making", Prometheus, vol. 7, no. 1, June 1989,
pp. 49-60; Peter G. Neumann, Computer-Related Risks (New York:
ACM Press, 1995).

3. Brian
Martin, "Technological
vulnerability,"
Technology in Society, Vol. 12, No. 4, 1996, pp.
511-523.

4. Geoff
Simons, The Scourging of Iraq: Sanctions, Law and Natural
Justice (Basingstoke: Macmillan, 1998, 2nd ed.); Nikki van der
Gaag (ed.), "Iraq: What United Nations sanctions have done" (theme
issue), New Internationalist, No. 316, September
1999.

5. David
Cortright and George A. Lopez (eds.), Economic Sanctions: Panacea
or Peacemaking in a Post-Cold War World? (Boulder: Westview
Press, 1995).

6. The contrast
between UN inaction over Indonesia's invasion and occupation and
UN-sponsored action over Iraq's invasion and occupation is
striking.

7. One who has
done so is David Paterson, "Peace and engineering," in Sandra Sewell,
Anthony Kelly and Leonie Daws (eds.), Professions in the Nuclear
Age (Brisbane: Boolarong Publications, 1988), pp.
201-212.

8. Many of
these ideas come from engineers at the University of Wollongong
interviewed by Mary Cawte and me.

9. Methods used
by farmers to survive the impact of warfare are relevant here. For
example, in Angola farmers intensively cultivated tiny plots, grew
the very hardy grains millet and sorghum, took up hunting and
fishing, saved seeds to sow the next year's crop and adopted mutual
aid systems for planting, weeding and harvesting. Although some of
these practices, such as choosing hardy grains and saving seed,
reduced yields, they were more resilient in times of intense threat
and stress. See David Sogge, Sustainable Peace: Angola's
Recovery (Harare, Zimbabwe: Southern African Research and
Documentation Centre, 1992), pp. 39-41. I thank Rebecca Spence for
providing this reference.

10. Ivan
Illich, Energy and Equity (London: Calder & Boyars, 1974),
argued that in an equitable society, transport speeds should be no
greater than about 15 miles per hour. He favourably referred to the
example of a slow-but-efficient goods vehicle used in Mexico.
Although Illich's strict limit on speeds can be criticised, his basic
analysis is relevant to the task of building a transport system for
nonviolent struggle. Arguably, an equitable system, in which no
segment of the population obtains transport privileges at the expense
of others, is likely to promote the sort of community solidarity so
necessary for waging nonviolent struggle. As well as fostering
solidarity, is it also the case that "slow is beautiful" when it
comes to developing a transport system resilient against
attack?

11. Nick
Lewer, Physicians and the Peace Movement: Prescriptions for
Hope (London: Frank Cass, 1992).

12. An
excellent compendium of materials is Carola Eisenberg and Susannah
Sirkin (directors), Human Rights and Medicine: The Uses of Medical
Skills in Documenting Abuses and Treating the Victims (conference
proceedings) (Department of Social Medicine, Harvard Medical School
and Physicians for Human Rights (100 Boylston Street, Suite #702,
Boston MA 02116, USA), 10-11 April 1992). These proceedings include,
among others, copies of the following publications: Clyde Collins
Snow, Eric Stover and Kari Hannibal, "Scientists as detectives:
investigating human rights," Technology Review,
Februrary/March 1989, pp. 43-51; Paul Wise, Nancy D. Arnison, Gregg
Bloche and Jane G. Schaller, "Operation Just Cause: a case
study in estimation of casualties after war," PSR Quarterly,
Vol. 1, No. 3, September 1991, pp. 138-144; Anne E. Goldfield,
Richard F. Mollica, Barbara H. Pesavento and Stephen V. Faraone, "The
physical and psychological sequelae of torture," Journal of the
American Medical Association, Vol. 259, No. 18, 13 May 1988, pp.
2725-2729; Kenneth S. Pope and Rosa E. Garcia-Peltoniemi, "Responding
to victims of torture: clinical issues, professional
responsibilities, and useful resources," Professional Psychology:
Research and Practice, Vol. 22, No. 4, 1991, pp.
269-276.

13. Veli
Lök, letter to Brian Martin, October 1994.

14. An
excellent practical reference is Hans Husum, Swee Chai Ang and Erik
Fosse, War Surgery Field Manual (Penang: Third World Network,
1995). The authors provide information for emergency operations in
forward clinics and argue that in war zones surgery can be done by
people without formal medical qualifications.

15. Robert
Burrowes suggested the points about diet and alternatives to
conventional medicine.

16. Miriam
Solomon, letter to Brian Martin, 20 January 1992.

17. A
penetrating examination of this area is given by Kelvin W.
Willoughby, Technology Choice: A Critique of the Appropriate
Technology Movement (Boulder: Westview Press; London:
Intermediate Technology Publications, 1990). See also Godfrey Boyle,
Peter Harper and the editors of Undercurrents (eds.),
Radical Technology (London: Wildwood House, 1976); David
Dickson, Alternative Technology and the Politics of Technical
Change (London: Fontana, 1974); Romesh K. Diwan, "Total
revolution and appropriate technology," Gandhi Marg, Vol. 4,
No. 7, October 1982, pp. 631-645; Romesh Diwan, "Appropriate
technology: political and economic obstacles," Gandhi Marg,
Vol. 5, No. 2, May 1983, pp. 65-74; Ivan Illich, Tools for
Conviviality (London: Calder & Boyars, 1973); George McRobie, Small is Possible (London: Jonathan Cape, 1981); Willem
Riedijk, Technology for Liberation: Appropriate Technology for New
Employment (Delft: Delft University Press, 1986).

18. Ken Darrow
and Mike Saxenian (eds.), Appropriate Technology Sourcebook: A
Guide to Practical Books for Village and Small Community
Technology (Stanford, CA: Volunteers in Asia, 1986), p.
7.

19. These
examples are taken at random from Darrow and Saxenian,
ibid.

20. Johan
Galtung, Peter O'Brien and Roy Preiswerk (eds.), Self-Reliance: A
Strategy for Development (London: Bogle-L'Ouverture,
1980).

7 The built
environment

by Helen Gillett,
Brian Martin and Chris Rust

Go to:

Contents

Notes to chapter
7

Architecture and town planning
have a big impact on the willingness and capacity of people to engage
in nonviolent struggle.[1]

By the design of workplaces, people may find it easy to get together
to talk or they may find it easier to remain separate. For example,
if there is an attractive and convenient place to eat lunch, workers
are more likely to get together then; if not, they are more likely to
eat separately. Similarly, the design of housing and layout of
streets have a big impact on communication patterns, such as whether
people speak to their neighbours or visit other people's
homes.

Cultural traditions play a big
role in social behaviour, but town planning and architecture are
quite influential. In high-rise blocks of apartments, without
convenient communal facilities, there is little sense of community.
In typical US suburbs, the dispersed physical layout encourages
families to mostly interact with themselves and perhaps a few
neighbours. In the Israeli kibbutzim, by contrast, the buildings are
originally designed to foster high social interaction, for example in
the communal child rearing. At intermediate possibility is "co-housing," found for example in Denmark, which combines private
living quarters with some collective facilities such a dining
hall.[2]

Transport systems have an
important impact on the capacity for nonviolent struggle through
their effect on community solidarity. The automobile is a major
problem in this regard, since a dispersed, car-dependent society
tends to separate people from each other, putting them in suburbs
remote from work, shops and leisure. Freeways are notorious for
breaking up communities. Automobility for those with access to cars
reduces mobility for those without, causing social inequality and
reducing social solidarity. The transport modes most likely to foster
a sense of community are those which cater for everyone, including
children, the poor and people with disabilities. This means walking
and low-priced public transport.[3]

In facilitating nonviolent
resistance it is desirable that members of a community interact and
communicate with each other in a manner that produces a "sense of
community" which also facilitates organisation of their defence. One
way in which the built environment is likely to aid this is through
the provision of "meeting places." A number of public arenas can be
meeting places, including footpaths and pavement cafes, market
squares, shopping malls, community centres and town halls, fair and
sporting grounds, gardens, parks (especially those containing water
sites), playgrounds, and commons. Though many cities incorporate such
places in their layout, the number, location, design, and style of
public spaces influence community solidarity.

To achieve this, meeting places
should be abundant enough to be easily accessible by members of the
community, preferably within a short walk by local residents. The
provision of meeting places in this way could make high density
housing much more enticing. Suburban housing blocks tend to emphasise
individuals more than communities. Where space considerations limit
housing to high rise apartment buildings, meeting places (similar to
office tea or staff common rooms) could also be contained near, and
open to, the stairwell of each building floor or level.

A preference for higher density
housing is echoed by Edmund Fowler when he discusses deconcentrated
housing. Higher density housing environments foster neighbour
interaction, which can cause tensions and culture clashes, but also
can be valuable toward solving social problems. In contrast,
physically segregated communities lead to diminished social and
political skills and responses, and hence reduced civic
participation. Contact between people is greater with mixed land use
and building age, and short blocks with concentration of use. Under
such combination of private and public life, residents tend toward "looking after their street," and developing networks of trust and
confidence. These conditions deter vandalism and similar problems.
Unfortunately contemporary urban environments are "justified" by
supposedly "objective" economic indicators, such as household incomes
and the number of owner-occupied houses, though, Fowler argues,
servicing and supplying deconcentrated housing costs
more.[4]

Though meeting places may be
instrumental toward nonviolent struggle, when they are in the hands
of private developers, they may be a hindrance to social action.
Owners of enclosed shopping centres may control such things as
opening hours, entry and exit locations, who can lease shops, what
notices can be put on public display, and even who uses their centre.
Likewise, whole sections of the community can be similarly affected
if private developers are given the go-ahead to control walled
suburbs or apartment blocks with security entries. Town planners and
other relevant authorities need to keep these points in mind if they
wish to use meeting places and town layout to promote community
solidarity.

The rise of consumerism and the
growing affluence of western societies have enabled vast numbers of
people to leave the inner city areas for the perceived peace,
security and clean air of the suburbs. Instead of living with the
everyday problems encountered in these inner city areas, such as
poverty, crime, and pollution, and perhaps doing something about
them, many could now afford to simply escape them. The ultimate form
of escape is to be able to buy into one of the walled, permanently
patrolled security estates which are becoming increasingly
common.

Another problem associated with
many contemporary meeting places arises out of public space "misuse"
by street gangs and vandals. One possible way to help solve this
problem is offered by Colin Ward under the term of "unmake." This
concept suggests that, instead of providing youths with just
traditional meeting places such as playgrounds and parks, more subtle
meeting places such as safe "construction sites" or "adventure
playgrounds" are needed to redirect the energies of would-be
trouble-makers. The trick to this idea seems to be the nonobvious
association with conformity and intervention of
authority.[5]

Closely related to design for
nonviolent struggle is design to reduce crime, something that has
been studied and implemented in cities in a number of countries.
Factors that reduce crime, and the fear of it, include lighting,
sightlines, activity generators and visibility by
others.[6]

It seems plausible that many of the approaches used to improve safety
in public places will also help build community interactions and a
sense of individual security that will enhance the capacity to wage
nonviolent struggle.

John Turner argues that a key
issue is whether people build, control or manage their own housing.
He provides many examples from both rich and poor countries. When
housing is centrally planned, specified and built, it is likely to be
more expensive, wasteful of resources, hard to adapt and socially
inappropriate. Expensive, centrally built housing is vulnerable to
vandalism. Centrally controlled housing is more susceptible to
takeover by an aggressor. When people choose and manage their own
styles of housing, they are likely to be more satisfied with it, even
when it is materially far poorer than centrally provided
housing.[7]

Autonomy in housing is linked to
greater flexibility, which is good for nonviolent struggle. The
skills that people develop from building, controlling and managing
their own housing provide resilience in the face of attack. People
will know what to do in case housing is destroyed or services such as
electricity and water are interrupted.

As mentioned in the previous
chapter, having a surplus of housing is a good idea for a community
wishing to defend itself nonviolently. If some dwellings are
destroyed, then there are places for occupants to stay. More
importantly, though, a surplus of housing should mean that no one
need be homeless. A society that ensures housing for everyone is less
likely to be divided socially. Generally speaking, community
solidarity is greater when there is greater equality. This applies to
housing as much as to anything else.

There are numerous examples of
people taking control of their own destinies and creating the type of
neighbourhood or community in which they desire to live. Urban
renewal programs, formulated and imposed from above, have generally
been very expensive and spectacularly unsuccessful. Fowler lists
several examples of people living in run down, depressed, inner city
areas successfully instigating their own urban renewal programs.
These range from the establishment of community gardens to the
renovation of derelict buildings -- whereby the inhabitants contribute
labour rather than capital, which is generally in short supply -- to
secure an improved standard of living. These cooperative efforts can
generate a genuine sense of community. The renewed sense of pride in
their environment and themselves reduces crime rates and other social
problems.[8]

This chapter has provided a number
of examples of the sorts of building design and town planning that
seem likely either to hinder or help nonviolent resistance. A key
factor is community solidarity. Designs that foster cooperative
interaction are the most helpful ones, whether the points of
congregation are inside office buildings, in co-housing complexes, at
street corners or in village squares.

Notes to
chapter 7

1. This chapter
is adapted from Helen Gillett, Brian Martin and Chris Rust, "Building
in nonviolence: nonviolent struggle and the built
environment,"
Civilian-Based Defense, Vol. 11, No. 3, Fall 1996, pp. 1, 4-7,
which also describes military influences on the built
environment.

2. Kathryn
McCamant, Cohousing: A Contemporary Approach to Housing
Ourselves (Berkeley, CA: Habitat Press, 1988).

3. Donald
Appleyard, Livable Streets (Berkeley: University of California
Press, 1981); Ivan Illich, Energy and Equity (London: Calder
and Boyars, 1974); K. H. Schaeffer and Elliot Sclar, Access for
All: Transportation and Urban Growth (Hasmondsworth: Penguin,
1975).

4. Edmund P.
Fowler, Building Cities that Work (Montreal: McGill/Queen's
University Press, 1992). Fowler discusses a number of issues along
these lines; see also Jane Jacobs, The Death and Life of Great
American Cities (New York: The Modern Library, 1969).

5. Colin Ward,
Connexions: Violence -- Its Nature, Causes and Remedies
(England: Penguin Education, 1970).

6. Gerda R.
Wekerle and Carolyn Whitzman, Safe Cities: Guidelines for
Planning, Design, and Management (New York: Van Nostrand
Reinhold, 1995). I thank Nichole Dusyk for suggesting this reference.
Designing the built environment to reduce crime does not preclude
efforts to address poverty, discrimination and social policies that
create crime.

7. John F. C.
Turner, Housing by People: Towards Autonomy in Building
Environments (New York: Pantheon Books, 1977).

8. Edmund P.
Fowler, Building Cities that Work (Montreal: McGill/Queen's
University Press, 1992).

8 Countering
attack

Go to:

Contents

Notes to chapter
8

A population, even one using no
violence itself, is vulnerable to attack using conventional,
biological, chemical, nuclear and other weapons. A well-designed
system for nonviolent struggle therefore must also incorporate civil
defence, namely protection against military attack. There is a large
literature on civil defence, especially against nuclear attack. This
can include fallout shelters, stockpiles of preserved food, emergency
plans, drills, backup systems for electricity and water supply, etc.
In only a few countries, notably Sweden and Switzerland, is civil
defence planning carried out in a systematic and comprehensive
fashion, for example to the extent of having some factories
underground to survive attack. Most civil defence planning is carried
out by governments; in few countries today is there much popular
participation in planning or genuine enthusiasm for civil defence
preparations.

In wartime, civil defence measures
are taken most seriously. Most civilians are willing to use air raid
shelters and to observe blackouts. In a society organised for
nonviolent struggle, some such measures also make sense. However,
many peace activists have been hostile to civil defence
preparations -- especially planning to survive nuclear attack -- because
they are part of a wider military mobilisation of society. The logic
goes like this: a government may be more willing to threaten or
launch a nuclear attack if the country's population is protected by
civil defence and able to survive a counterattack; therefore, civil
defence preparations should be opposed since they make the likelihood
of nuclear war greater. In short, civil defence preparations by an
armed state can be provocative and increase the possibility of
war.

The situation is quite different
for a society that renounces the means for warfare. Civil defence
preparations then are clearly only a means for increasing survival in
the face of attack, not for preparing for war. As noted in chapter 6,
using self-reliant systems is a highly effective way to increase the
chances of survival. Adding civil defence to self-reliance in energy,
water, agriculture and the like makes a lot of sense.

There is another aspect to the
peace movement's hostility to civil defence: it undercuts the common
belief in the movement and the wider society that nuclear war is not
survivable. In peace movement circles it has long been an article of
faith that global nuclear war would mean at least the destruction of "civilisation" and possibly the extermination of the human species.
On the other hand, most civil defence and military planners believe
that nuclear war -- while being a major and perhaps unprecedented
disaster -- could be waged without killing the majority of the world's
population or destroying the capacity of societies to continue
functioning. My own view is that the civil defence and military
planners are probably right. Peace movement exaggerations of the
consequences of nuclear war may serve to make people more worried in
the short term, but can actually be paralysing and certainly make it
more difficult to mobilise people for the long-term struggles to
build alternatives to the military system. Needless to say, these
views are controversial.[1]
My main point here is that supporters of nonviolent struggle should
be willing to consider taking and adapting ideas from the field of
civil defence without being put off by its usual associations with
military planning.

As noted before, most civil
defence planning is undertaken by governments. Furthermore, it is
designed against "foreign" aggression. What is really needed for
nonviolent struggle is defence against any aggressor, including the
government itself. It should be no surprise that governments do not
spend much time helping their populations develop the means to resist
and survive the government's own repressive acts. Nor is there much
study of this. There is much to learn from people's improvised
resistance to attack.

The best study I know of this sort
is Barton Meyers's article "Defense against aerial attack in El
Salvador,"[2]
which gives many specific insights. To survive bombing from El
Salvador's air force, both civilians and guerrillas developed and
used a range of methods. No sophisticated warning systems were
available, so people had to develop their own skills in detecting and
identifying aircraft. When spotter planes were seen, people froze in
place so they wouldn't be seen; any moving target was subject to
attack. When the spotter plane changed course, people would seek
shelter, sometimes setting off a firecracker to warn
others.

Concealment was widely used. Leafy
trees were grown next to houses to hide them. Houses that were partly
destroyed were left unrepaired to hide the fact that they were still
being lived in. At the sound of aircraft, fires were quickly doused;
alternatively, underground ovens were used with long tunnels to
absorb smoke. Radio transmissions were not used by guerrillas to
avoid being intercepted. Peasants wore dark clothing to avoid
detection. They grew crops whose colour was not readily noticeable
from the air and crops that were hidden by other plants.

Shelters were built and disguised.
Natural features, such as forests and ravines, were also used for
shelter. Guerrillas built extensive tunnel systems. In areas subject
to frequent attack, shelter drills were carried out. When the
government army invaded following air attack, guerrillas often would
lead an evacuation of the population, returning later.

The guerrillas, in the face of
heavy air attack, dispersed their forces to groups of 4 to 15
fighters spread out over hundreds of meters. Larger units would have
been more vulnerable to air power. The dispersed fighters were
concentrated only for attacks or briefly at night. Another tactic was
to deploy the guerrillas very near to government troops, where aerial
attack might harm the government's own soldiers.

As well as methods of surviving
attack, other techniques of struggle were used, such as broadcasting
reports of deaths or injuries of civilians due to air attack. Such
human rights appeals were highly effective, and would be even more so
in the context of a purely nonviolent resistance.

There is a great need for many
more studies like that of Meyers, as well as a need to circulate the
findings to people who can use them. Unfortunately, the contemporary
field of disaster studies has neglected the study of war as a
disaster. One factor behind this may be that most war disasters occur
in poor countries whereas disaster studies are largely carried out in
the rich countries which sponsor and provide weapons for these
wars.[3]

As well as knowing how to respond
to aerial attack, there are many other areas in need of
investigation, including firearms, landmines, biological agents,
chemical weapons and nuclear weapons. A first step would be to
provide basic technical information that is accessible to
nonspecialists and which can be used to provide a realistic
assessment of dangers and possibly to expose uses of the
weapons.[4]

Yet another entire field is "repression technology," which includes instruments of restraint,
intimidation, torture and surveillance, ranging from plastic bullets,
chemicals such as mace, leg irons, thumbscrews, drugs for causing
trauma, assassination rifles, batons, electroshock equipment,
telephone taps, vehicle identification, and execution chambers. There
is a large industry devoted to producing and selling such
technologies, yet very little in the way of analysis.

Repression technologies can be
used by police as well as military personnel. While some of these
technologies are designed to kill, others are intended to hurt or
restrain people without killing them. These are referred to as "nonlethal weapons."[5]
Some of these nonlethal weapons are designed to disable lethal
weapons and their support systems, such as bugs to put in fuel to eat
away linings, hydrogen embrittlement of weapons, antitraction
technologies, supercaustics, combustion modifiers and computer
viruses. These could be used, in principle, as part of nonviolent
sabotage. However, the larger category of nonlethal weapons is aimed
at personnel and are designed for riot control or
counterinsurgency.

The term "nonlethal" can be
misleading, since these weapons can kill on occasion, such as when
rubber bullets enter the brain through an eye or when chemical sprays
trigger a fatal allergic reaction. The term "nonlethal" serves a
political function, suggesting that the weapons are a more peaceful
alternative to lethal ones. In practice, nonlethal weapons typically
serve as a supplement to lethal ones, especially in circumstances
when deaths would boomerang on the side causing them. For these
reasons, the term "repression technologies" is frequently more
appropriate.

Steve Wright, a leading authority
on repression technologies, believes there is considerable insight to
be gained about how to respond to them, for example by contacting
people who have been sprayed by riot control chemicals and finding
out practical ways of avoiding or minimising the
effects.[6]
For example, he suggested that

The scientific material on riot
agents often includes advice on decontamination which could be
applied. There is also the work on IRA [Irish Republican
Army] countermeasures which contains a vast store of possible
technology which could be used without their violent ethos. This
includes material on interception of signal intelligence material
using adapted black and white televisions; blocking of surveillance
devices using field animals; detection of helicopters and SAS squads
using stolen NATO infra-red binoculars; etc.[7]

Yet there has been almost no
systematic effort devoted to investigating such techniques.
Information about responses remains fragmented and dispersed. Then
there is the wider task of opposing these technologies at a political
and economic level, by exposing their effects and uses and organising
to stop them. Only a relatively few researchers and activists have
taken up this vital task.[8]

When an aggressor is seen to use
violence against a population that has no weapons, public outrage is
likely to be enormous. Hence, attacks on civilians are often
disguised or denied. This points to the need for systems to monitor,
record and disseminate information showing where the attack comes
from and what the consequences are. (This is similar to the medical
issue of detecting and verifying torture.) It may be -- contrary to my
arguments above -- that not seeking protection may be more effective in
exposing the unscrupulousness of the attackers. But how many people
should be willing to risk or sacrifice their lives in such an
endeavour?[9]
Does it make sense to refuse protection when the attacks come from
high-altitude bombers whose crews can't even see their human targets?
Perhaps measures to protect against attack could be available to
those who want to use them, while volunteers take more heroic stands.
More examination is needed of this challenging issue.

Another important topic is the
effect of repression, including torture, on those who are not direct
victims. When fear is induced, this can weaken nonviolent struggle.
Further investigation is needed into how to overcome the
psychological effects of repression, including the potential role of
technology in achieving this.[10]

Notes to
chapter 8

1. See Brian
Martin, "Critique of nuclear extinction," Journal of Peace Research, Vol. 19, No. 4, 1982, pp. 288-300; Brian Martin, "How the peace movement should be preparing for nuclear war," Bulletin of Peace Proposals, Vol. 13, No. 2, 1982, pp. 149-159 (revised versions of these articles appear in Brian Martin, Uprooting War (London: Freedom Press, 1984), chapters 15 and 16); Brian Martin, "Politics after a nuclear crisis," Journal of Libertarian Studies, Vol. 9, No. 2, Fall 1990, pp. 69-78. See also Michael Curry, "Beyond nuclear winter: on the limitations of science in political debate," Antipode, Vol. 18, No. 3, 1986, pp. 244-267; Barry Richards, "Civil defence and psychic defence," Radical Science 15, 1984, pp. 85-97.

2. Barton
Meyers, "Defense against aerial attack in El Salvador," Journal of
Political and Military Sociology, Vol. 22, Winter 1994, pp.
327-342. I thank Mary Cawte for pointing out this
reference.

3. Barton
Meyers, "Disaster study of war," Disasters, Vol. 15, No. 4,
December 1991, pp. 318-330.

4. Examples of
useful sources of this sort are Christopher T. Carey, "Defense
against the poor man's nuclear bomb: biological protection and
decontamination," American Survival Guide, Vol. 20, No. 6,
June 1998, pp. 32-33, 58-59 and 68; Hugh D. Crone, Banning
Chemical Weapons: The Scientific Background (Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press, 1992).

5. John B.
Alexander, Future War: Non-Lethal Weapons in Twenty-First-Century
Warfare (New York: St. Martin's Press, 1999); Malcolm Dando, A
New Form of Warfare: The Rise of Non-Lethal Weapons (London:
Brassey's, 1996); Nick Lewer and Steven Schofield, Non-Lethal
Weapons: A Fatal Attraction? Military Strategies and Technologies for
21st-Century Conflict (London: Zed Books, 1997); David A.
Morehouse, Nonlethal Weapons: War Without Death (Westport, CT:
Praeger, 1996).

6. Steve
Wright, letter to Brian Martin, 29 March 1994.

7. Steve
Wright, letter to Brian Martin, 17 September 1993.

8. Steve
Wright, "The
new technologies of political repression: a new case for arms
control?" Philosophy
and Social Action, Vol. 17, Nos. 3-4, July-December 1991, p.
31-62; Steve Wright, An Appraisal of Technologies for Political
Control (Luxembourg: European Parliament, 1998). The Campaign
Against Arms Trade, among others, has targeted the repression trade.
See for example "Campaigner's guide to the internal repression
trade," Peace News, March 1996, pp. 7-10.

9. The dilemmas
involved when nonviolent resisters "accept casualties" are dealt with
by Gene Keyes, "Heavy
casualties and nonviolent defense,"

Philosophy and Social Action, Vol. 17, Nos. 3-4, July-December
1991, pp. 75-88.

10. I thank
Andreas Speck for this point.

9 Research
methods

Go to:

Contents

Notes to chapter
9

The content of science and
technology for nonviolent struggle -- that is, the fields studied, the
ideas and the artefacts developed -- is different in a range of ways
from the content of military science and technology, as illustrated
in previous chapters. There is also another and perhaps more profound
difference involved. To effectively serve the purposes of nonviolent
struggle, there must be fundamental changes in the method of doing
science and of testing technologies.

To talk of "scientific method" immediately raises images of formulating hypotheses and undertaking
experiments to test them. A common view of scientific method draws on
Karl Popper's idea of conjectures and refutations, in which the
constant aim is to falsify existing theories.[1] There are also many other images associated with "scientific method," including objectivity of the scientist, rejection of deceit, open
publication of results, and principles such as Ockham's razor
(finding the hypothesis that requires the fewest arbitrary
assumptions).

It is appropriate to talk of "images" associated with "scientific method" because, on closer
scrutiny, "scientific method" turns out to be a convenient myth. It
is a myth because the way science actually proceeds often bears
little resemblance to the official principles of "scientific
method."[2]
For example, scientists seldom reject an established theory because
there is evidence that contradicts it, although this is what is
specified by Popper's falsificationism. When careful experimenters
found an aether drift that should have falsified the special theory
of relativity, the results were simply assumed to be wrong and
ignored for decades. The much touted trait of scientific objectivity
is scarce on the ground: many scientists, particularly elite
scientists, are passionately committed to their pet theories and will
go to amazing lengths to maintain their views in the face of
disconfirming evidence.[3]

The subjective aspects are quite apparent to most practising
scientists.

"Scientific method" is a convenient myth because it portrays science as above and
beyond the ordinary failings of normal society, in which personal
biases, corruption, vested interests, and social structures are seen
to play a significant role. Why should science be different? The "scientific method" promises to transmute the activities of fallible
humans into Truth. Without the blessing of "scientific method," science becomes simply one more human enterprise, with all the
possibilities for serving the purposes of either domination or
liberation. That of course is a central theme in this book. Science
can be shaped to serve either violent or nonviolent methods of
struggle -- just as it can be shaped to serve commercial, democratic or
other values -- and in practice it has been massively shaped to serve
violent ends.

So how would the practice of
science be different with priorities for nonviolent struggle? If the
usual idea of "scientific method" is a myth, then it is necessary to
describe what actually goes on in the doing of science. For my
purposes here, only a broad description is necessary. Most scientific
research is undertaken by full-time professional scientists, most of
whom are employees of governments, corporations or universities. The
practice of science is something that happens among these
professionals in laboratories or on field trips. Very seldom are
non-scientists involved in the doing of scientific research, except
as the subject of experiments.

In the case of military research,
the end product is usually a piece of technology or occasionally an
idea such as a behavioural technique. Technologies are tested by
engineers in laboratories and then by military personnel in special
facilities. The ultimate test is in war. Note that in the applied end
of military R&D, the process moves out of the hands of the
engineering professionals and into the hands of military
professionals. The rest of the population is normally not involved.
There are exceptions, though, such as fallout shelters for survival
of nuclear attacks. Building fallout shelters makes little sense
unless people are willing and able to use them, and this requires
education and training of the entire population.

There are also many cases where
skills and experience are relevant to both civilian and military
tasks, as in the case of pilots who can fly either civilian or
military aircraft and electrical engineers who can set up either
civilian or military power systems. In the case of rifles, some
civilians have an indirect input into military design, since they use
the weapons, or related ones, for nonmilitary purposes such as
hunting. Nevertheless, as a rough generalisation it can be said that
military R&D is largely an in-house process, with minimal
involvement by people other than military scientists, engineers and
personnel. This is because the military enterprise -- at least in the
form it has taken in western high-technology professionalised
forms -- does not require active participation by the rest of the
population. In the case of fuel-air explosives, for example, no
"members of the public" are involved, except as
casualties.

Nonviolent struggle is quite a
different proposition. It is founded on popular support and
involvement. Although not everyone has to participate, a considerable
level of participation is essential to its success. Whereas most
combat soldiers are young, fit men, anyone who wants to, regardless
of age, sex or abilities, can participate in some form of nonviolent
action.[4] Therefore, science and technology for nonviolent struggle, if they
are to be effective, must be developed with the active support and
participation of the ultimate users of the ideas and artefacts. This
means that the "method" of doing science needs to involve more of the
population.

Testing a method of nonviolent
action usually means a field test with a large cross-section of the
population. This might be planting fruit and nut-bearing trees to
make communities more self-sufficient in food or designing factories
so that they can be safely and easily shut down if taken over by an
aggressor. The implication is that R&D for nonviolent struggle,
to be effective, would require close liaison with numerous community
groups, from local gardeners to factory workers. The equivalent of
soldiers testing out a new rifle would be a community testing of a
new communication procedure.

Consider, for example, radio
systems. Military radio systems need only be tested within the
military itself. Radio for nonviolent struggle needs to be tested by
all who are likely to use it. If cheap, reliable and easy-to-use
short-wave systems are to be introduced throughout the society, then
extensive tests need to be carried out with all sectors of the
population, including groups such as children and people with
impaired hearing. The military can develop radio systems and then
recruit or train specialists to operate them. Radio for nonviolent
struggle, by contrast, needs to be useable by all. Therefore, the
design and development phases require input from likely users. In
other words, the development process must be responsive to a wider
section of the population than is the case for military
technology.

Military and nonviolence R&D
are alike in that science and technology are never developed solely
in the minds of intellectuals or in remote labs: there is always a
process of social interaction, including the motivation, funding,
training and applications for R&D. Where these alternatives
differ, in this regard, is in the social groups of greatest
significance to the R&D process.

The so-called scientific
revolution was made possible by combining theoretical work, carried
out by gentlemen philosophers, with practical skills possessed by the
much lower status artisans. Modern science thrives on the
theory-practice interaction. Currently it is shaped predominantly by
links with the state, corporations and the military. An alternative
direction would be created by forging links with grassroots social
action and life. In a sense, this would be an extension of the
original scientific revolution, expanding the constituency of
scientific and technological production beyond professional
scientists and engineers and their primary patrons to the general
public.

The difference in the development
process can be pictured in the following way. For military R&D,
scientists, engineers and military testing are somewhat insulated
from other influences. "External" social influences on military
science and technology exist, to be sure -- examples include strategic
policy, competition for funding, and influence of the peace movement.
But a key "social influence" is actually the very organisation of the
R&D as a professional, in-house enterprise.

In a more participatory process of
R&D for nonviolent struggle, there would be no clear distinction
between researchers and the rest of the population. Of course, some
people may be much more active than others in the process of
technological innovation. But in this model, such innovation depends
vitally on interaction and cooperation with a wide cross-section of
the population. Furthermore, this interaction and cooperation is
likely to lead to contributions by others -- those who in the military
model would be simply users of the technology. This participatory
model of R&D undermines the special role and status of
professional scientists and engineers as the exclusive holders of
expertise about science and technology.[5]

There are some precedents for this
sort of participatory R&D. Citizen groups in Japan -- often with
participation by some scientists -- have investigated environmental
problems, using simple techniques such as talking to people about
local health problems and testing for the presence of radioactivity
by observing specially sensitive plants. Such an approach was more
successful in determining the cause of Minamata disease -- due to
mercury pollution in the ocean -- than heavily funded teams of
traditional scientists using sophisticated ocean sampling and
computer models.[6]

Many parts of the women's health
movement -- most prominently, the Boston Women's Health Book
Collective -- have reassessed available evidence and drawn on their own
personal experiences to provide a different perspective about women's
health, one that is less responsive to the interests of drug
companies and medical professionals and more responsive to the
concerns and experiences of women themselves.[7]

AIDS activists in the US,
concerned about the slow and cumbersome processes for testing and
approving drugs to treat AIDS, developed their own criteria and
procedures and tried them out with drugs, some of which were produced
and distributed illicitly. Their efforts and political pressure led
to changes in official procedures.[8]

These examples show that
nonscientists can make significant contributions to the process of
doing science, and in some cases do better or cause changes in
establishment approaches. However, the issue is not a competition
between scientists and nonscientists, but rather promotion of a
fruitful interaction between them. Scientists, to do their jobs
effectively, need to bring the community "into the lab" and
nonscientists need to learn what it means to do research. In the
process, the distinction between the two groups would be
blurred.

A good case study of the two
models is the debate over encryption of digital communication
described in chapter 5. The military model was embodied, literally
and figuratively, in the Clipper chip, designed by the US National
Security Agency so that authorised parties could decipher any
encrypted messages. Clipper was designed in secrecy. It was based on
the Skipjack algorithm, which remained a secret. Clipper and related
systems were planned for installation in telephones and computer
networks essentially as "black boxes," which people would use but not
understand. If Clipper had been a typical military technology, such
as a ballistic missile or fuel-air explosive, it would have been
implemented in military arenas with little debate (except perhaps
from peace activists) and certainly little public input into the
choice of technology.

At first glance, the participatory
alternative to Clipper is public key encryption, widely favoured by
computer users. But rather than the alternative being a particular
technology, it is more appropriate to look at the process of choosing
a technology. Encryption has been the subject of vigorous and
unending discussions, especially on computer conferences. Different
algorithms have been developed, tested, scrutinised and debated. This
has occurred at a technical level and also a social level. Various
encryption systems have been examined by top experts, who have then
presented their conclusions for all to examine. As well, the social
uses and implications of different systems have been debated. Last
but not least, lots of people have used the encryption systems
themselves. The contrast to Clipper is striking.

Even the more participatory
process used in developing and assessing encryption is still limited
to a small part of the population. This is inevitable, since not
everyone can be involved in looking at every technology. The point is
that the process is relatively open: there are far more people
who have investigated cyptography in relation to public key
encryption than could ever be the case with a government-sponsored
technology such as Clipper. The other important point is that the
participatory process requires informed popular acceptance of the
technology, rather than imposition through government pressure. The
best indicator of the participatory process is a vigorous and open
debate involving both technical and social considerations.

The case of encryption shows that
participatory R&D does not eliminate the role of expertise. What
it does reduce is the automatic association of expertise with
degrees, jobs in prestigious institutions, high rank, awards, and
service to vested interests. Expertise has to be tested in practical
application. Just as an athlete cannot claim current superiority on
the basis of degrees or past victories, so an expert in a process of
participatory R&D cannot rely on credentials, but is always
subject to the test of current practice.

These comments on participatory
R&D are inevitably tentative. By their very nature, participatory
systems are shaped by the process of participation itself, so what
they become is not easy to predict.

Notes to
chapter 9

1. Karl R.
Popper, Objective Knowledge: An Evolutionary Approach (Oxford:
Clarendon Press, 1972).

2. Henry H.
Bauer, Scientific Literacy and the Myth of the Scientific
Method (Urbana, IL: University of Illinois Press, 1992); Paul
Feyerabend, Against Method: Outline of an Anarchistic Theory of
Knowledge (London: New Left Books, 1975).

3. Ian I.
Mitroff, The Subjective Side of Science: A Philosophical Inquiry
into the Psychology of the Apollo Moon Scientists (Amsterdam:
Elsevier, 1974).

4. Obviously,
not everyone is able to participate in every form of
nonviolent action. For example, using a short-wave radio to send
messages requires certain skills and technology. But virtually
everyone can participate in petitions, rallies, boycotts, strikes and
other forms of noncooperation. On participation by people with
disabilities, see Brian Martin and Wendy Varney, "Nonviolent
action and people with disabilities,"
Civilian-Based Defense, Vol. 15, No. 3, Year-End 2000, pp.
4-16.

5. There is a
considerable literature on citizen participation in technological
decision making. See for example Malcolm L. Goggin (ed.),
Governing Science and Technology in a Democracy (Knoxville:
University of Tennessee Press, 1986); Alan Irwin, Citizen Science:
A Study of People, Expertise, and Sustainable Development (London: Routledge, 1995); Frank N. Laird, "Participatory analysis,
democracy, and technological decision making," Science,
Technology, & Human Values, Vol. 18, No. 3, Summer 1993, pp.
341-361; Brian Martin (ed.), Technology
and Public Participation (Wollongong:
Science and Technology Studies, University of Wollongong, 1999);
James C. Petersen (ed.), Citizen Participation in Science
Policy (Amherst: University of Massachusetts Press, 1984);
Richard E. Sclove, Democracy and Technology (New York:
Guilford Press, 1995); Leslie Sklair, Organized Knowledge: A
Sociological View of Science and Technology (St. Albans: Paladin,
1973); Langdon Winner (ed.), Democracy in a Technological
Society (Dordrecht: Kluwer, 1992). However, most of this writing
sees citizens as involved in decision making but not actually doing
research. On science by the people, see Brian Martin,"The
goal of self-managed science: implications for
action," Radical
Science Journal, No. 10, 1980, pp. 3-17; Brian Martin,"Anarchist
science policy," The
Raven, Vol. 7, No. 2, Summer 1994, pp. 136-153; Richard Sclove, "Research by the people, for the people," Futures, Vol. 29,
No. 6, 1997, pp. 541-549. Relevant here are the diverse experiences
in participatory action research, though such "people's research" is
far more likely to be in fields of social analysis rather than
science and engineering. See for example Stephen Kemmis and Robin
McTaggart (eds.), The Action Research Planner (Geelong,
Victoria: Deakin University, 3rd edn, 1988); Robert A. Rubinstein, "Reflections on action anthropology: some developmental dynamics of
an anthropological tradition," Human Organization, Vol. 45,
No. 3, Fall 1986, pp. 270-279; William Foote Whyte (ed.),

Participatory Action Research (Newbury Park, CA: Sage, 1991);
Trevor Williams, Learning to Manage our Futures: The Participative
Redesign of Societies in Turbulent Transition (New York: Wiley,
1982).

6. Jun Ui, "The
interdisciplinary study of environmental problems," Kogai -- The
Newsletter from Polluted Japan, Vol. 5, No. 2, Spring 1977, pp.
12-24.

7. Boston
Women's Health Book Collective, Our Bodies, Ourselves (Boston:
New England Free Press, 1971 and several later editions).

8. Steven
Epstein, `Democratic science? AIDS activism and the contested
construction of knowledge,' Socialist Review, Vol. 21,
April-June 1991, pp. 55-64.

10 Technology policy for
nonviolent struggle

Go to:

Contents

Notes to
chapter 10

Sections

Priorities

Government

Scientists
and engineers

Community
groups

Conclusion

The basic idea of technology for
nonviolent struggle is straightforward. Actually bringing this
alternative about -- doing relevant research and developing, testing
and implementing relevant technologies -- is much more difficult. In
this chapter I discuss priorities for moving towards technology that
serves nonviolent rather than violent struggle.

The term usually used when
discussing priorities of this sort is "policy," in this case
technology policy. The idea of policy, though, has come to refer
primarily to decisions and implementation by governments. Governments
are certainly important players in R&D, but not the only ones.
After discussing priorities, I look at what can be done by three
particular groups: governments; scientists and engineers; and
community groups.[1]

Before beginning, it is worth
emphasising that there are enormous institutional and conceptual
obstacles to promoting nonviolent struggle.[2] Many government and corporate leaders would do everything they could
to oppose development of grassroots capacity for nonviolent action,
since this would pose a direct threat to their power and position.
Furthermore, the idea of popular nonviolent struggle is extremely
challenging to many people given standard expectations that the "authorities" or experts will take care of social problems, including
defence. Therefore, to talk of technology policy for nonviolent
struggle may seem utopian. But if alternatives are ever to be brought
about, it is important to talk about them now. Without vision and
dialogue, there is little hope of building a nonviolent
future.

Priorities

The traditional idea of
technological advance was the "linear model": first there is
scientific research; the results of the research are applied, thereby
producing a technological application; finally, the technology is
taken up in the marketplace. Among those who study technological
innovation, this simple model is pretty much discredited. Innovation
seldom happens this way.

Another model is "market pull." There is a demand for a certain product or service. This encourages
technologists to search for a suitable solution; sometimes this
involves doing directed research.

In practice, the process of
innovation is usually complex. It involves market incentives, new
ideas coming out of basic research, economic and psychological
commitments to current systems, and the particular agendas of
interest groups such as politicians, government bureaucracies,
corporate elites, and various pressure groups. Nevertheless, the
usual models of innovation focus on several key players: government
and the market and their relation to R&D. The "market" is
constituted by those who buy and sell the product in
question.

For weapons, the market has only a
partial relevance, since a large fraction of production is carried
out by governments for their own use. In most capitalist economies,
corporations are heavily involved in weapons production, in which
case the major purchasers are governments. Technology policy for
military defence is therefore primarily concerned with government
funding, regulation and promotion of the process of
innovation.

Technology policy for nonviolent
struggle is different in a fundamental way, aside from the obvious
difference between nonviolence and violence. As outlined in the
previous chapter, the very method of doing R&D for nonviolent
struggle needs to involve all interested members of the community,
since they are the ones who will be on the "front line" in carrying
out nonviolent action. The immediate implication is that the highest
priority should be put on measures that involve as many people as
possible and minimise dependence on groups with special skills or
resources. Accordingly, I now outline four ways of promoting
technology for nonviolent struggle, in order of priority.

1. Implement currently available
technologies

This includes things such as
expanding access to computer networks, teaching workers how to shut
down and start up factory equipment, promoting use of self-reliant
energy systems, and running simulation exercises in neighbourhoods
and workplaces. Such measures do not require any new technologies,
much less any research. However, they would have a strong indirect
influence on R&D. When people learn how to use existing
technology, they often have ideas about how it could be improved,
adapted or replaced. The key point here is to link the use of the
technology to the goal of nonviolent struggle.

For example, when users of
computer networks think about how to communicate in an emergency,
they are likely to ask "what if?" questions. What if an aggressor
coerces the system administrator? What if messages are intercepted
and read? This is likely to lead to pressure for better security,
such as standard use of encryption, and contingency measures for an
emergency. This in turn could readily stimulate research in
particular directions.

When workers think about how to
resist a takeover of their factory, initially they may want to know
how to protect themselves or how to make sure the aggressor can be
resisted with the least risk to anyone's life. Once they learn more
about how the factory operates, they may have ideas about
reorganising production, accounting systems, work arrangements and
the like, all of which could make the workers better able to resist
an attack. This in turn would likely lead to a number of puzzles for
engineers.

Thus, to set top priority on
implementing currently available technologies is likely to lead
directly to demands for finding and implementing different
technologies. The biggest advantage of this approach, though, is that
it can generate support for further measures. Rather than do research
in isolation from the application and hope that people find it
relevant to technology, this approach uses implementation as a way to
mobilise knowledge and skills.

The fundamental assumption is that
since popular involvement is the foundation for successful nonviolent
struggle, popular involvement is also the foundation for the
promotion of science and technology for nonviolent
struggle.

2. Search out and disseminate
existing ideas

Examples here include radios
operating on very low power, medical techniques for diagnosing the
use of torture, and plants that can be readily grown locally for
food. These are areas in which technologies or techniques are
available but not widely known. There are lots of radios available
that operate using mains electricity or conventional batteries, and
there are factories to produce such radios. By contrast, there are
few micropower radios available and relatively few people who know
how to build them. Similarly, some researchers have developed
techniques for diagnosing particular types of torture, but very few
medical practitioners or others know about these techniques, much
less how to apply them.

From the point of view of any
group promoting nonviolent struggle, it is first necessary to search
out these sorts of ideas. Then they need to be tested. Assuming they
are useful ideas, they need to be publicised in the right quarters.
Testing and publicity are interactive. The results of testing can be
the basis for publicity, whereas publicity can lead to testing by
others, or to awareness that others have already developed the same
technique.

The next stage is to begin to
implement these technologies. That takes us back to priority
1.

3. Adapt existing technology

This includes modifying factory
design so that workers can control production more easily (shutting
it down or gearing it up), developing short-wave radio sets so that
they can be used as public phones, and designing dams and power
plants so they are less susceptible to sabotage. The basic idea here
is to use existing technology but to modify it to better serve the
purposes of nonviolent struggle.

In the case of factory design,
this might mean introducing a crucial piece of equipment -- such as a
special computer chip -- that can be easily destroyed, thereby
rendering the factory useless for a period of time until a
replacement could be reconstructed. Depending on the factory, this
might be straightforward or difficult, but in either case it means a
modification of the existing design rather than redesigning the
factory from scratch.

In the case of short-wave radio,
existing sets would need modification for use as public phones, to
make them simpler to use, relatively resistant to weather and
mishandling, etc. Again, the aim is to adapt the technology for
nonviolent purposes.

Adaptation of this sort is not
necessarily easy. It can pose difficult technical challenges. It also
must involve prospective users. The workers must be involved in the
factory redesign process, otherwise the new system may turn out to be
useless or even counterproductive. A public short-wave radio system
has to be tried out by the sort of people who would actually use it.
In the testing that is an essential part of the adaptation of the
technology, many suggestions for improvement and new ideas are likely
to arise. The whole process should be an interactive and iterative
one.

If a modification of technology
turns out to be effective, then it becomes worthwhile to tell others
about it. It becomes an "available" technology that others may want
to use. This takes the process back to approach 2, searching and
disseminating existing ideas.

In reality, there is a lot of
overlap between these two approaches. An existing technology can
seldom be transplanted directly from one situation to another.
Adaptation is usually required. Even factories producing the same
product using the same method are designed in somewhat different
ways. The workers have different skills and experiences. This means
that equipment designed for one factory is likely to need
modifications in order to work effectively in another. Similarly for
short-wave radio. From one community there may be differences in
climate, language, common knowledge, treatment of public facilities
and so forth. Factors such as these need to be taken into account in
designing and implementing any system.

4. Develop new technologies

Examples here include new
varieties of crops that do not rely on artificial pesticides or
fertilisers, new communication systems that are resistant to
centralised control, and new styles of architecture to facilitate
ease of construction and to foster community solidarity. The
challenge to develop new technologies to serve nonviolent struggle
could require scientific investigations. For example, crop planning
for self-reliant communities might lead to puzzles in mathematical
ecology somewhat different from the standard ones. Introducing
computer chips and sensors in walls, appliances and so forth -- called
ubiquitous computing -- might, in some circumstances, be valuable for
nonviolent struggle. How could it be done in a way that gives no
power to any group trying to control the population? Just as whole
branches of current theoretical work in various disciplines have
evolved from the puzzles deriving from practical problems, so it is
likely that the practical problems of nonviolent struggle would give
rise to numerous theoretical investigations.

Compared to using or modifying
existing technologies to serve nonviolent struggle, developing new
technologies requires much more effort and gives less guarantee of
success. Even more important than this, though, is participation in
trying out technology. Implementing existing technology involves the
users immediately. Their responses are essential for making the
technology actually serve the purposes of nonviolent struggle.
Developing new technology, by contrast, is seldom a community-based
enterprise. It often requires specialised skills. Therefore it is
best done in the context of widespread support for nonviolent
approaches rather than as the vanguard of nonviolent struggle.
Without popular involvement, new technologies are likely to simply
sit on the shelf, untested and unknown.

This set of priorities may suggest
that I am hostile to new technologies. Quite the contrary. If, in the
long term, nonviolent methods become established as the only viable
way to struggle, then new technologies are likely to be fundamental
to this process. In a society built around self-reliant communities
with numerous technological systems by which people can undermine
aggressors, violence will be widely seen as counterproductive. So
long as technological systems exist that allow centralised
control -- which includes everything from weapons systems to centrally
controlled communication systems -- the dangers of domination will
persist. So in the long term the development and implementation of
new technologies to serve nonviolent struggle are
essential.

However, this does not mean that
developing new technologies is the best approach in the short term.
In present-day societies, violence and centralised control are
pervasive and relatively few people are dedicated to developing
nonviolent alternatives. The idea of science and technology for
nonviolent struggle is virtually unknown. In this situation, the
first priority is to generate greater involvement in the idea and
practice of nonviolence. Concern about new technologies is more a
distraction than an aid in this, given that there are numerous
existing technologies that can serve nonviolent struggle most
effectively.

I have talked so far about
priorities for introducing technology for nonviolent struggle. I
haven't actually said who will do the introducing. In my view,
there is no single correct answer. Various groups can be involved,
ranging from governments, corporations, engineers, workers and
nonviolent activists.

Government

If even a single government
devoted significant resources to the promotion of technology for
nonviolent struggle, it would have an enormous
impact.[3]
It could, among other things:

sponsor projects to implement
available technologies;

finance searches for suitable
technologies that are not widely known;

organise simulations of social
defence;

publish writings and
advertisements about nonviolent struggle;

endorse the development of
contingency plans for nonviolent resistance;

promote measures for
self-reliance in various fields;

encourage inclusion of the
theory and practice of nonviolent action in schools;

disseminate ideas about
nonviolence to other governments;

offer support -- moral, human
and material -- to nonviolent groups opposing repression in various
parts of the world;

develop plans for nonviolent
resistance within government bureaucracies;

set up institutes for research
into nonviolence.

Governments have two great
advantages when it comes to promoting nonviolence: legitimacy and
resources. Legitimacy is perhaps the most important. If just one
government in the world decided to promote nonviolent struggle, it
would provide an example and inspiration to people everywhere. The
resources controlled by governments are important too: money,
workers, laws, policies. These resources are used now to sustain
military systems. Clearly the same resources would have a giant
impact if devoted instead to nonviolent struggle. But legitimacy is
vital in the use of resources too: laws will be obeyed only if most
people consider them legitimate; government employees can easily
strangle policies if they do not think them legitimate.

The great power of government, via
legitimacy and resources, is the reason why so many groups look to
government to solve their problems. This applies to peace movements
as well as many others. Many of the campaigns of peace movements over
the decades have been aimed at changing goverment policy. Intense
lobbying is carried out; rallies are held to demonstrate the strength
of public commitment; demands are made for government action, such as
a "nuclear freeze" or an end to foreign intervention. But in most
cases these efforts have had little success. Governments are seldom
responsive to peace movements and have seldom shown any interest in
nonviolent struggle. There are several reasons for this.

Most fundamentally, states and
militaries are sustained by each other, as noted in chapter 2. The
foundation of state power is a monopoly over what is considered
legitimate violence, exercised by the military and the police. Even
when the threat of foreign aggression is negligible -- as in
geographically remote countries such as Fiji or New Zealand -- military
establishments are maintained and fear of enemies is fostered.
Militaries are far more likely to be used internally, against the
people who are supposed to be defended, than against foreign
aggressors. This is most obvious in the case of military
dictatorship.

Since the military is an integral,
indeed essential, part of the state, it is inherently unlikely for
the state to fully endorse popular nonviolent struggle as an
alternative to the military. Popular nonviolent struggle might, after
all, be used to challenge the status quo.

This assessment of the link
between the state and the military is useful at a general level, but
it gives too mechanical a picture. The state is not a unified entity:
it contains the government (elected or otherwise), the legal system
and various state bureaucracies to run or regulate functions such as
welfare, education, industry and transport, among others. It is quite
possible for different sectors of the state to promote different
goals. Some governments have sponsored studies of social defence;
some teachers in government schools have developed peace studies;
some government departments have promoted self-reliance; and so
forth. It is certainly possible for parts of the state to sponsor
nonviolent struggle.

The problem is that nonviolence
has a very low profile compared to military approaches. The military
is well and truly entrenched, partly because of its structural
relation to state power.

Peace activists often hope to sway
political leaders by the logic of their arguments. This seldom has
much impact, since politicians are much more influenced by power
considerations. After all, the threat of global nuclear war has never
been enough by itself to persuade politicians to implement nuclear
disarmament.

Peace activists also try to apply
pressure to political leaders through letter-writing, rallies,
mobilisation of voters and civil disobedience. This has a much
greater impact than just logical arguments. Nevertheless, there are
limitations in the strategy of applying pressure. Political leaders
are subject to other pressures, such as lobbying by supporters of the
military. Promises are easy to make and easy to break. When community
activists seek to get the government to take action, they do not take
control of the agenda themselves. Their effort is to get someone else
(the government) to take action, not to take action
themselves.

Finally, even when governments do
take action, they are not likely to promote a process of community
mobilisation. They are more likely to sponsor research, which may
just delay the day when action occurs. They are likely to provide
support for figureheads -- such as prominent investigators -- rather than
for community-level activists.

The experiences with government
sponsorship of research into social defence illustrate the above
generalisations. Supporters of nonviolent action have devoted much
effort to persuading governments to investigate social defence.
Occasionally there have been successes. The governments of Denmark,
Sweden and the Netherlands have sponsored studies.

The experience in the Netherlands
is instructive.[4]
In the late 1970s, a small radical party was part of a coalition
government. A member of this party was made science minister, and
Johan Niezing, Professor of Peace Research at the Free University of
Brussels, was his chief scientific adviser. Niezing has long been
committed to social defence, not for idealistic reasons but because
it seems to him to be the most pragmatic alternative to the horrors
of military methods.[5]
As a result of Niezing's influence, one of the conditions for
continuing the coalition was the acceptance of proposals to fund ten
social defence research projects. A committee, chaired by Niezing,
was set up to oversee the ten projects. But then there was a change
of government. Funding was dramatically reduced so that there was
enough for just one project.[6]

The one project was a study
coordinated by Alex Schmid of Leiden University. Schmid and his
collaborators concluded that an invasion by a determined military
power (specifically, the Soviet Union) could not be stopped by
nonviolent means.[7]

In retrospect, now that the Soviet threat to western Europe has
collapsed in the wake of the largely nonviolent 1989 revolutions in
Eastern Europe, this analysis seems quite shortsighted. Thus ended a
promising possibility for sustained research on social
defence.

(Schmid went on to set up the
Interdisciplinary Research Project on Root Causes of Gross Human
Rights Violations, with the Dutch acronym PIOOM, at the University of
Leiden. This is a vitally important social science enterprise, whose
core funding remains precarious.)

The Niezing committee was
disbanded in 1987; its original proposals, having been updated and
augmented by Giliam de Valk, were published in English in
1993.[8]
Niezing himself played a key role in ensuring that this publication
took place.

These problems with getting
governments to take action serve as a warning. It may be worthwhile
to seek government support for nonviolent struggle, but it is wise to
be aware of the difficulties. For example, at the United Nations, the
most powerful governments obstructed a study of military science and
technology at every stage. The study was endorsed by the General
Assembly, but hamstrung by committee members (selected by
governments) who were military officers or just ignorant. The study
was held back by governments' refusals to provide information or
their antagonism to critical comment, and was continually stalled at
the publication stage.[9]
The difficulties that could confront active efforts to develop
technology for nonviolent struggle -- which might, after all, be used
against government repression -- can be imagined.

In summary, government support for
nonviolent struggle offers the immense advantages of legitimacy and
resources. But in most cases there is likely to be great difficulty
in gaining any support in the first place, due to the close
connection between the military and the state. Furthermore, seeking
government support has the disadvantage of trying to get others to
take action rather than doing it oneself. Finally, governments are
likely to sponsor research that is removed from the
community.

All these features are apparent in
the Dutch experience. The Netherlands government had ample resources
to investigate and promote social defence, but the major political
parties were not interested. It was only by a quirk of politics that
government funds were allocated to social defence. The money was cut
back at the first opportunity and in any case was devoted to research
rather than community action. Even so, the funding gave considerable
credibility to social defence and the proposals from the Niezing
Committee are a valuable resource for future research and
action.

Scientists
and engineers

Many scientists and engineers are
in a good position to develop science and technology for nonviolent
struggle. There are a number of reasons why they haven't done so
already. As described in chapter 2, most funding for science and
technology comes from governments and corporations. Defence is seen
as a matter for the military, and military R&D is a key driving
force for science and engineering. This emphasis on military
priorities filters through to civilian R&D: military priorities
influence the disciplines that are most favoured and the technical
problems that are seen as most significant. As high-status
professionals whose privileges depend on claims to special expertise,
scientists and engineers are seldom encouraged to get involved in
social movements or, more importantly, to redirect their work so that
professional skills become easily taken up by community activists.
There is much more prestige to be gained by taking up the most
esoteric theoretical challenges or constructing and using highly
sophisticated technical apparatus.

If scientists and engineers
were to take up practical problems in nonviolent struggle, they could
have an enormous impact. They bring two great resources to bear:
skills and legitimacy. Their skills are of great practical relevance
in some cases, such as designing telecommunications systems or
building renewable energy systems. In other cases their skills are
not directly relevant to nonviolent struggle in any obvious way, but
even so, the involvement of scientists and engineers would have great
impact because they are the people with the greatest social
legitimacy as experts in science and technology.

The basic ideas of sustainable
agriculture or short-wave radio are known to many people. Applying
these ideas to nonviolent struggle is not so difficult, at least at
the basic level. But if an agricultural researcher or electronics
engineer were to get up and say that these approaches have merit for
nonviolent struggle, this would have a great impact. Scientists and
engineers have credentials and often an institutional affiliation
that gives them credibility.

Some scientists and engineers,
especially those working at universities, have considerable freedom
to choose their research topics. They are in a good position to
undertake projects in support of nonviolent struggle.

I have already described some of
the reasons why scientists and engineers have not already taken up
this sort of work and advocacy. Many of them are heavily funded by
the military or respond to research agendas shaped by military
priorities. More generally, they are trained to be professionals and
discouraged from building links with community groups.

But the social structures of
science and engineering are only part of the problem. The very idea
of science and technology for nonviolent struggle is hardly known.
The peace movement for the most part has only been against technology, namely technology for war. The alternative to bombs and
missiles is seen as civilian priorities such as hospitals, public
transport and housing. The idea of "peace conversion" or "economic
conversion" is to convert military production into production for
"human needs," which means everything from food and clean drinking
water to clothing and books. The idea that technology could be used
to support a nonviolent method of struggle has not been on the peace
movement agenda.

Some scientists and engineers have
played a strong role in peace movements, sometimes forming their own
organisations. They have used their skills to push for disarmament,
for example to argue that a nuclear test ban could be adequately
monitored with seismic detection capabilities. Sometimes they have
tried to organise boycotts of military R&D, most notably in the
case of the Strategic Defense Initiative, commonly known as star
wars, as discussed in chapter 2.

Many scientists and especially
engineers have devoted their skills to goals such as sustainable
agriculture, renewable energy technology, and community
communication. They have worked with community activists to develop
alternatives that empower communities rather than elites.

Thus there is an undoubted
capacity and willingness of some scientists and engineers to use
their skills and prestige to improve and promote nonviolent struggle,
if only this alternative were brought to their attention and seen as
a viable option. There are several ways in which this could happen.
One, perhaps least likely, is that governments begin to fund
nonviolence R&D. Another is that a few scientists and engineers
take up the issue on their own initiative. Finally, popular support
for nonviolent struggle would create a context favourable for
involvement by professionals.

In summary, scientists and
engineers bring two great strengths to the development and promotion
of R&D for nonviolent struggle: their skills and their
legitimacy. On the other hand, they face a number of obstacles,
including employment and funding from governments and corporations
oriented to military approaches, and their professional status which
inhibits building links with community groups.

Community
groups

Compared to governments and to
scientists and engineers, most community groups have few resources
and little legitimacy. Nevertheless, in some ways they face the
fewest obstacles in the task of developing and implementing
technology for nonviolent struggle.

The category "community group" encompasses a range of organisations, including sporting clubs,
service organisations such as Rotary, environmental groups, women's
groups, church groups and trade unions. Just about any voluntary
organisation could be included. Even some businesses and
government-funded bodies might be included as community groups, as in
the case of some small local businesses and libraries. In these cases
it is usually the clients who make something a community
organisation, in the sense that it is based on voluntary
participation from members of the local community.

The concept of "community" is easy
to criticise. Is there really such a thing as "community," over and
above the activities of individuals? Do community groups really
represent local constituencies in any fair way? Is there a
"community" to be defended? Is it worth defending?

Here, community groups are taken
to be relatively small organisations or groupings of people that are
mostly voluntary. Whether they in some sense represent the "community" is not the central issue. The point here is not to
idealise them but to comment on their strengths and weaknesses in
promoting technology for nonviolent struggle.

Although few community groups have
either large resources, legitimacy (for waging nonviolent struggle)
or a concentration of specialist technical skills, they do have one
enormous advantage. They are located at the point where nonviolent
struggle can be waged. Therefore, they can proceed to develop skills
and make preparations without waiting for anyone else. Theory and
practice are much easier to integrate.

An environmental group, for
example, could make an assessment of local dependencies in energy,
transport and agriculture. How well could local people survive if
liquid fuel supplies were cut off? Could they get to work? Could
enough food be supplied and distributed? Could they keep warm enough
in cold weather? To answer these questions, it would be necessary to
do an inventory of local resources, travel patterns, transport links,
contingency plans and so forth. With information in hand, it would
then be possible to make suggestions for improving self-reliance,
such as improving insulation, fostering telework (working locally and
using telecommunications to keep in touch with the main office),
planting local vegetable gardens, etc. Obviously, any such programme
of study and action would require gaining information and support
from local residents.

A local club, such as Rotary, Apex
or Lions, could make a study of local networks and organisations, and
develop plans for resistance. This would involve liaison with many
different groups, from lawyers to supermarket employees and from
librarians to hairdressers. What can each group do? What might they
be willing to do? How can they reach agreement? What are the warning
signs that urgent preparations should begin? What systems of
communication and decision making should be set up? Is it worth
running a simulation?

The workers at a local radio
station could make plans for action in the face of an attack. This
might include preparing tapes to be broadcast in an emergency,
training both workers and outsiders in use of the station's
equipment, setting up plans for broadcasting from alternative
premisses, building links with other radio stations and communication
media, and running simulations.

In each of these cases, and
others, there is much that can be done with existing skills and
resources. Furthermore, in most organisations there are likely to be
some people with specialised skills. As soon as initial plans are
made, an obvious next step is to search for information about what
others have done, including information about relevant technology.
This leads directly into the process of adapting existing technology
to the tasks at hand. If there are difficulties in the process, local
skills may be sufficient to overcome them. Alternatively, or in
addition, help can be sought from engineers or others in order to
tackle special problems.

Thus, when community groups
prepare for nonviolent struggle, it is natural for them to begin with
implementation of existing technology. In other words, they are
likely to proceed with what I argued is the first priority. Unlike
governments and professional researchers, there is little incentive
to undertake research that is unconnected with immediate practical
problems. Nevertheless, the process of tackling these practical
problems will inevitably lead to challenges requiring
R&D.

For community groups, preparation
for nonviolent struggle need not be an abstract enterprise aimed at
resisting a hypothetical invasion. There are more immediate concerns
available. For example, many environmental groups use nonviolent
action to oppose logging, stop freeways and so forth. Furthermore,
building community self-reliance in energy, transport and agriculture
is very much a part of a programme to replace current systems in
order to reduce or eliminate their harmful impacts.

What about service groups such as
Rotary? They can do community networking to gain support for valued
projects. Another motivation is to provide skills about community
networking to other groups, for example in countries under
dictatorial rule.

Community radio stations can come
under threat themselves, for example if they challenge powerful
vested interests. Being prepared to defend against a hostile attack
makes sense even if foreign invasion is remote.

Community groups need not be naive
practitioners. At least some members of some groups will have
knowledge of methods of scientific and social analysis. They can
search available literatures, develop protocols for testing ideas and
evaluating outcomes, and learn from the results of investigations and
projects. Furthermore, the very process of doing community group
projects will develop the skills of participants.

In summary, although community
groups do not have large resources or great legitimacy, they are in a
position to directly undertake the investigation and implementation
of technology for nonviolent struggle. They are likely to tackle the
most feasible projects first, rather than getting sidetracked into
esoteric research.

Conclusion

I have outlined here what I
consider to be the highest priorities for technology for nonviolent
struggle, which generally are the implementation of currently
available technologies first and research into new developments last.
Then I commented on the strengths and weaknesses of action by three
groups: governments, scientific and engineering professionals, and
community groups. There are also other groups that can take action,
such as corporations and various international organisations.
Valuable initiatives are possible from any of these. In each case it
is helpful to be aware of the opportunities and likely
difficulties.

There is a more fundamental
question: how is action by any of these groups to be promoted? After
all, there are only a few isolated initiatives for social defence
around the world. There is no simple answer to the question. Action
ultimately begins with individuals and small groups who decide the
issue is worthy of development. As long as military priorities are
dominant, including the assumption that defence means military
defence/offence, the investment of major resources into nonviolent
struggle is unlikely. But it is possible for the climate of opinion
to change. When this occurs, there will be plenty of things to do.
Until then, those who are committed to the nonviolent alternative can
only do the best they can, in the knowledge that their efforts can
help to create a new climate of opinion.

Notes to
chapter 10

1.
Conventional technology policy literature is not deployed in this
chapter. It is almost entirely oriented to top-down decision making
and provides few insights about policy making for a participatory
system such as social defence. Issues such as the suppression of
innovation by vested interests, the influence of managerial control,
worker opposition and social movements are almost entirely absent
from the conventional policy literature. Innovation from the
grassroots, or more generally any innovation that is noncommercial or
a challenge to state interests, is given virtually no attention. Some
typical sources that fit this characterisation are Rod Coombs, Paolo
Saviotti and Vivien Walsh, Economics and Technological Change

(Basingstoke: Macmillan Education, 1987); Richard R. Nelson (ed.),
National Innovation Systems: A Comparative Analysis (Oxford:
Oxford University Press, 1993); J. E. S. Parker, The Economics of
Innovation (London: Longman, 1974); Ray Rothwell and Walter
Zegveld, Reindustrialization and Technology (Harlow: Longman,
1985). I thank Rhonda Roberts for helpful comments on these points.
See Rhonda Roberts, "Managing innovation: the pursuit of competitive
advantage and the design of innovation intense environments,"
Research Policy, Vol. 27, 1998, pp. 159-175.

2. I thank
Ellen Elster for emphasising this point.

3. For a
vision of government policy for socially beneficial technology, see
Michael Goldhaber, Reinventing Technology: Policies for Democratic
Values (New York: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1986). What is
lacking in Goldhaber's otherwise stimulating picture is a feasible
process for moving towards such a policy.

4. This
account, based on discussions with Johan Niezing, is adapted from
Brian Martin, "Impressions
of the Dutch social defence network,"
Nonviolence Today, #34, September/October 1993, pp. 16-18;
Civilian-Based Defense, Vol. 8, No. 6, Winter 1993-94, pp.
2-5.

5. Johan
Niezing, Sociale Verdediging als Logisch Alternatief: Van Utopie
naar Optie [Social Defence as a Logical Alternative: From Utopia
Towards Option] (Assen, Netherlands: Van Gorcum,
1987).

6. One way
that this cutback was justified was on the basis of a critique of the
Niezing committee proposals by social scientist Koen Koch. For Koch's
views, see Koen Koch, "Civilian defence: an alternative to military
defence?" Netherlands Journal of Sociology, Vol. 20, No. 1,
1984, pp. 1-12.

7. Alex P.
Schmid, in collaboration with Ellen Berends and Luuk Zonneveld,
Social Defence and Soviet Military Power: An Inquiry into the
Relevance of an Alternative Defence Concept (Leiden: Center for
the Study of Social Conflict, State University of Leiden, 1985). I
reviewed it in Civilian-Based Defense: News & Opinion, Vol. 4, No. 4, May 1988, pp. 6-11.

8. Giliam de
Valk in cooperation with Johan Niezing, Research on Civilian-Based
Defence (Amsterdam: SISWO, 1993). The proposals were sketched in
chapter 4.

9. Ulrich
Albrecht, "The aborted United Nations study of the military use of
research and development: an editorial essay," Bulletin of Peace
Proposals, Vol. 19, Nos. 3-4, 1988, pp. 245-259. I thank Mary
Cawte for finding this reference.

Appendix

Theories of
technology

Go to:

Contents

Notes to
appendix

Sections

Essentialist
approaches

Social
shaping of technol ogy

Biased technology

This book is based on the idea
that technologies can and should be developed and chosen because they
are helpful for nonviolent struggle. This in turn is based on a
number of assumptions about the nature of technology.

In chapter 2 on militarised
technology, I argued that the military influences the development of
technology in a number of ways, including through funding,
applications, employment and suppression of challenges, plus via deep
structures including the state, capitalism, bureaucracy and
patriarchy. In later chapters, I outlined a variety of actual and
potential technological developments that would be of special value
for nonviolent struggle. In making these arguments I have assumed
that:

technology is shaped by a
range of social factors;

any given technological system
is more useful for some purposes than others (e.g. military versus
nonviolent struggle);

it is possible to influence
the process of technological development to serve desirable social
goals.

It would be possible to attempt to
justify these three assumptions through a set of abstract arguments.
My approach, however, has been to build an argument -- with plenty of
examples -- based on these assumptions and to implicitly justify the
assumptions by demonstrating the insights available. In this appendix
I continue this strategy by outlining some common approaches to
studying technology and seeing whether they provide useful ways to
tackle the topic of technology for nonviolent struggle. This will
illuminate some of the shortcomings of certain approaches and help
clarify my approach.[1]

Essentialist
approaches

An "essentialist" approach to
technology assumes that it has essential or inherent features. Common
essentialist views are that technology is good, bad, neutral or
inevitable.

Some people think that technology
is inherently good. Military technology provides the best example
that it isn't. Bullets and bombs kill. People who are killed by
bullets and bombs would not see these artefacts as good -- not good for
them, anyway. It is difficult to argue that weapons of mass
destruction are inherently good. In fact, it was the development of
nuclear weapons that made many technologists realise that not
everything they produced was of benefit to humanity.

When people think that technology
is inherently good, they usually make an implicit assumption: the
only choice is between present technology -- all of it, including
stereos, baby bottles and biological weapons -- and no technology at
all. If it is assumed instead that it is possible to make choices
about technology, namely to have some artefacts but not others, then
the idea that "technology is good" collapses. It should be obvious
that the technology-is-good model is of no value in analysing
problems with military technology or developing technology for
nonviolent struggle.

A contrary view, held by a few, is
that technology is inherently bad. This idea is similarly flawed.
After all, some technologies help at least some people: wearing
glasses helps some people to see better, even if the production of
the glasses causes pollution and unpleasant work conditions. It is
only possible to argue that technology is inherently bad if there is
no choice between technologies.

Many people are attracted to the
idea that technology is inherently neutral, believing that it is
either good or bad depending on the way it is used. This is the
so-called use-abuse model: technology can be either used (for good
purposes) or abused (for bad purposes). It is certainly true that
many artefacts can be used for both good and bad purposes. For
example, a computer word processor can be used to produce lists of
dissidents who are to be arrested or killed, or it can be used to
produce articles proclaiming the value of dissent. Computers often
make tasks easier, but they also can lead to people losing their
jobs. But does this mean that all artefacts are neutral?

An alternative perspective is that
particular artefacts are easier to use for some purposes than others.
For example, if you want to clean your hands, soap is more helpful
than a newspaper or a candle. After all, artefacts are designed for
particular purposes. Of course, they might be used for other
purposes. A toothbrush is designed for cleaning teeth, but it can
also be used to clean shoes or even for painting. But a toothbrush is
not very helpful for sweeping the street or eating peas. This point
should be obvious: any particular artefact is not equally useful for
all purposes.

In this sense, artefacts are not
neutral. A pair of dice might be said to be neutral if all possible
rolls from 2 to 12 are possible. But the dice would be called biased
if they gave 12 half the time. In this sort of sense, artefacts are
biased. They potentially can be used for many different purposes, but
they are much easier and more likely to be used for certain
purposes.

This applies clearly to military
technologies. A nuclear explosion can be used to heat a house or fry
an egg, but this is neither the intended nor a convenient use of the
technology. Thumbscrews are designed and used for torture. Their
actual use as paperweights or parts of a sculpture, or their
potential use for medical operations, hardly makes them neutral in
any practical sense.

The idea that technologies are
neutral is usually maintained by taking a broad perspective. For
example, it can be claimed that computers are neutral because they
can be used for beneficial or harmful purposes. But this only means
that sometimes they can be used for beneficial purposes and sometimes
for harmful ones. It doesn't mean that these applications are equally
easy or likely. Nor does it mean that the benefits and harm are
spread around equally.

To pierce the illusion of
neutrality it is only necessary to take a closer look, for example at
the computer built into the nose cone of a cruise missile, enabling
the missile to use altitude readings to assess where it is and to
adjust its course as necessary. The computer is designed to help the
missile reach its target and destroy it. This computer is not
neutral. The idea of neutrality may be attractive to people because
it removes the necessity to think carefully about the values built
into the design, choice and use of technology.

The idea that technology is
neutral provides no leverage for analysing technology for nonviolent
struggle. After all, if technology is neutral, that presumably means
that any technology can be used for nonviolent struggle and there is
no obvious means for choosing between technologies.

Sometimes it seems like
technologies have a will of their own. The telephone and the
automobile have spread throughout society and no one seems able to
stop their use. What is called "technological determinism" can be
interpreted in various ways. It can mean that once a new technology
is developed -- such as guns or nuclear weapons -- it has an inherent
momentum leading to its widespread use. It can mean that there is
general pattern of technological development that is inevitable, such
as the use of steel, electricity or computers.

Simple interpretations of
technological determinism don't stand up to scrutiny.[2] There are plenty of technologies that have been developed but have
never become dominant, such as housing with passive solar design,
supersonic transport aircraft, microfiche publishing and cryonic
suspension. How can it be said that technology determines its own
development when so many technologies are failures? One answer is
that some technologies are "better" and hence more successful. But
this provides a circular argument, at least when the way to determine
whether a technology is better than another is to see whether it is
more successful. Technological determinism provides a convenient
excuse for ignoring the human choices, especially the exercise of
power, in development of technology.

Technological determinism provides
no help in analysing technology for nonviolent struggle. It assumes
that military technologies are dominant due to their own inherent
properties; nonviolent alternatives have not been successful and
hence may be ignored. My entire analysis is based on a rejection of
technological determinism and an endorsement of the view that social
choice is the basis for technological development and that that
choice should become more participatory.

However, by adopting the topic of
technology for nonviolent struggle, it is hard to avoid sounding like
a technological determinist at times. Because the focus is on
technology, it is possible to create the impression that by adopting
a suitable technology, the cause of nonviolent struggle is
automatically advanced. My view is that development and use of
technology is always a social process and, as such, is one of a
number of social locations for promoting or waging nonviolent
struggle.

Social shaping
of technology

Rather than assume that technology
has intrinsic properties -- being good, bad, neutral or
inevitable -- another approach is to assume that technology is a
product of society and reflects or embodies its origins in various
ways. This general approach can be called "social shaping of
technology." It proceeds by examining social influences on the nature
of technology.

An extreme version of this
approach is to claim that large-scale social structures almost
entirely determine technology, for example that capitalist society
leads to technology that serves capitalists.[3] This can be called "determined technology" or "social determinism" and is the converse of technological determinism. This approach
provides an antidote to technological determinism but isn't
particularly helpful when it comes to developing alternative
technologies. If the structure of society determines technologies,
then advocating alternatives to current technologies seems futile
since it doesn't change the process of social determination. In other
words, this approach assumes that the only way to change technologies
is to change the fundamentals of social structure. My analysis
assumes the contrary, that technology is one potential avenue for
intervening to change society as well as technology
itself.

A more moderate approach involves
examining the interaction of social and technical factors on the
development and choice of technology. For example, there have been
studies of compression versus absorption refrigerators, numerically
controlled machine tools, light bulbs and electricity
systems.[4]
This approach has been used in a number of studies of military
technology, some of which were mentioned in chapter 2. It is valuable
for analysis of actual technologies and also for opening up the
possibility that other technologies might have been developed if
different forces had been influential.

One of the most cited examples of
social shaping of technology is the low bridges, designed by Robert
Moses for New York, which allegedly prevented the twelve-foot high
buses from passing underneath and hence prevented those relying on
public transport, especially blacks and poor people, from easily
visiting beaches.[5]
This example has been frequently used to show how social values, in
this case racism, can be built into artefacts, in this case bridges.
Its pedagogical value seems to arise from it being neither too
complex nor too simple, and having an obvious bad guy. Military
technology provides plenty of examples that are almost too simple.
Weapons are designed to kill and destroy. Detailed examples can be
produced by the dozen. Brightly coloured landmines are designed to
attract the attention of children. Tumbling bullets are designed to
cause horrific exit injuries. One can speculate why scholars haven't
raised these sorts of examples more often. Perhaps the social shaping
is too obvious.

Although the social shaping
approach is quite valuable, it has some limitations as actually
applied. Most social shaping analyses look at rejected alternatives
that are fairly similar to their successful rivals, such as the AR-15
rifle that was rejected in favour of the M-16. Postulating
comprehensive wide-ranging alternatives is unusual, possibly because
it requires too much of a jump from the historical record. Certainly
there have been no discussions of technology for nonviolent struggle,
nor even much study of the field of appropriate technology, which
would seem a natural area for analysis.

More fundamentally, the social
shaping approach deals with the social influences on technology and
says little about the actual technologies that exist or might exist.
For example, it is all very well to analyse the social forces shaping
military and civilian communication systems, but what guidance does
this give for assessing which such systems would be useful for
nonviolent struggle? The social shaping approach is restricted by its
focus on influences on technology, which leaves out the
effects of technology. The next stage in the development of
this theory is to look at the ways that society and technology
co-shape each other.

Various more focussed theoretical
frameworks, such as labour process theory,[6] can be applied to technology within the general ambit of the social
shaping approaches. A different angle on technology is provided by "actor-network theory," which is based on getting rid of the
dichotomy between humans and artefacts.[7] In this approach, anything potentially is an "actor": a scientist, a
scallop, a mechanical door-closer, a bullet. The task of the social
theorist is to "follow the actors," namely to watch what they do
without making assumptions about them in advance, and to observe
their networks, namely to see how they create, destroy and rearrange
relationships between themselves. One advantage of the actor-network
approach is that it gets away from the essentialist assumption that
social structures such as the state are ordained categories for
understanding social reality.

There have been a number of
criticisms of actor-network theory.[8]
It tends to overlook groups such as women and the unemployed who are
not prominent in networks associated with technological innovation.
Actor-network theorists often seem to smuggle in concepts of social
structure that they supposedly have jettisoned.

More importantly, social
constructivists seem to restrict their efforts to explaining existing
technology, not taking any stance on whether it is good or bad for
humans nor saying how to go about changing it.[9]

Since actor-network theory builds on actors -- including
artefacts -- that exist, there is no theoretical warrant for examining
technology that might be designed in a social system putting a
priority on nonviolent struggle, especially since social structural
analysis, including the concept of the military, is
avoided.

Biased
technology

A useful framework for analysing
technology for nonviolent struggle is to think of artefacts as
non-neutral, biased, political or selectively useful.[10]
In other words, they are easier to use for some purposes than others.
A key aim of a social analysis of technology then is to find out
which purposes a technology can be most easily used for, and
why.

Most technologies developed by the
military are biased, or selectively useful, for killing and
destruction. This obviously is because the aim of most military
science and technology has been to develop more lethal and
destructive weapons.[11]

It is quite possible to kill or
incapacitate someone without technology. For example, a suitable blow
from the hand at the back of the neck can do this. Mass killing can
occur without technology, but it is much easier -- and more
tempting -- if technology designed for killing is available. Spears,
axes, bows and arrows, rifles and explosives make killing easier.
Admittedly, they can be used for killing animals and other less
lethal purposes, but in many cases they have been specially designed
for battles.

The idea of biased technology
obviously is incompatible with the idea of technology as good, bad or
neutral. On the other hand, the idea of biased technology is quite
compatible with the social shaping perspective. One would expect that
when the military influences the development of an artefact -- such as
designing a radar system or grenade -- it is likely to be selectively
useful to the military. But there are no automatic connections. It is
necessary to examine actual technologies, not just the social shaping
process, to determine which groups can most easily use them. The
Internet had military origins but has turned out to be highly useful
for communication between antiwar activists.

Another way to describe this
approach is to say that technologies embody social values or social
interests. The idea of embodiment suggests that technologies take on
the values of the interest groups crucial to their development and in
turn are likely to be selectively useful to these same interest
groups. For example, nuclear technology was developed by scientists
and engineers working in the service of governments and militaries.
Some of the key characteristics of nuclear weapons and nuclear power
are high potential danger and large scale, both generating a need for
high security and centralised control. These features make nuclear
technology selectively useful to the military and the
state.

The idea of biased technology is
quite common among those who examine technological alternatives, such
as appropriate technology. But it has never been the centre of
popular or scholarly perceptions. The most common popular perceptions
of technology seem to be that it is neutral, good or bad. The social
study of technology has focussed on social shaping approaches; in the
past couple of decades, social analysis of the impacts of
technology has not been nearly as common as analysis of social
influences on technology. There is not even a good name for
the view of technology as biased. To talk of biased technology
certainly counters the idea of neutral technology, but it suggests
that there is something wrong with it: in a general sense, being
biased is not seen as a good thing, even if it is biased in favour of
harmony or biased against torture. Also, to talk of biased technology
suggests that bias could be removed, which is not possible -- the
question is which way technology is biased, and in whose interests.
The meanings of alternative terms such as embodiment or selective
usefulness are not immediately obvious.

Whatever its name, though, this
perspective is quite useful for analysing technology for nonviolent
struggle. This appendix began with the assumption that it is
worthwhile to analyse technologies, including yet-to-be-developed
technologies, according to their value to a system for nonviolent
struggle. Working backwards, it is possible to judge theories of
technology to see how well they serve this purpose. Ideas that
technology or technologies are inherently good, bad, neutral or
inevitable are not helpful at all. Ideas of social shaping have more
potential, but are not well adapted to looking at alternatives to
what exists. Most useful is the idea that technologies embody social
values and are selectively useful for certain purposes. It should not
be surprising that this has been the framework implicitly used
throughout this book!

Notes
to appendix

1. I thank
Sharon Beder for helpful discussions about theories of technology and
Stewart Russell for helpful discussions and a thorough reading of
this chapter. For overviews and critiques of approaches in studies of
science and technology, see David J. Hess, Science Studies: An
Advanced Introduction (New York: New York University Press,
1997); Sheila Jasanoff, Gerald E. Markle, James C. Petersen and
Trevor Pinch (eds.), Handbook of Science and Technology
Studies (Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage, 1995); Sal Restivo, Science,
Society, and Values: Toward a Sociology of Objectivity

(Bethlehem, PA: Lihigh University Press, 1994).

2. For a
critique of technological determinism, see Langdon Winner,
Autonomous Technology: Technics-out-of-Control as a Theme in
Political Thought (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1977). For differing
views by historians, see Merritt Roe Smith and Leo Marx (eds.),
Does Technology Drive History? The Dilemma of Technological
Determinism (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1994).

3. One of
the few works that comes close to this view is David Dickson,
Alternative Technology and the Politics of Technical Change
(London: Fontana, 1974).

4. Donald
MacKenzie and Judy Wajcman (eds.), The Social Shaping of
Technology: How the Refrigerator Got its Hum (Milton Keynes: Open
University Press, 1985).

5. Langdon
Winner, "Do artifacts have politics?," Daedalus, Vol. 109, No.
1, Winter 1980, pp. 121-136. For a critical perspective, see Bernward
Joerges, "Do politics have artefacts?," Social Studies of Science,
Vol. 29, No. 3, June 1999, pp. 411-431.

6. The
classic work, much criticised but immensely influential, is Harry
Braverman, Labor and Monopoly Capital: The Degradation of Work in
the Twentieth Century (New York: Monthly Review Press,
1974).

7. Wiebe
E. Bijker, Thomas P. Hughes, and Trevor J. Pinch (eds.), The
social construction of technological systems: New directions in the
sociology and history of technology (Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press,
1987); Michel Callon, John Law, and Arie Rip, Mapping the dynamics
of science and technology: Sociology of science in the real world
(London: Macmillan, 1988); Brian Elliott (ed.), Technology and
Social Process (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 1988);
Bruno Latour, Science in Action: How to Follow Scientists and
Engineers through Society (Milton Keynes: Open University Press,
1987); Bruno Latour, The Pasteurization of France (Cambridge,
Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1988); John Law (ed.), Power,
action and belief: A new sociology of knowledge? (London:
Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1986).

8. Olga
Amsterdamska, "Surely you are joking, Monsieur Latour?" Science,
Technology, & Human Values Vol. 15, 1990, pp. 495-504; Pam
Scott, "Levers and counterweights: A laboratory that failed to raise
the world." Social Studies of Science, Vol. 21, 1991, pp.
7-35.

9. Langdon
Winner, "Upon opening the black box and finding it empty: social
constructivism and the philosophy of technology," Science,
Technology, and Human Values, Vol. 18, No. 3, Summer 1993, pp.
362-378. See also Stewart Russell, "The social construction of
artefacts: a response to Pinch and Bijker," Social Studies of
Science, Vol. 16, 1986, pp. 331-346, a critique of another
constructivist approach called "social construction of
technology."

10. There
are no central references on this approach. Some representative works
are David Elliott and Ruth Elliott, The Control of Technology
(London: Wykeham, 1976); Ivan Illich, Tools for Conviviality
(London: Calder and Boyars, 1973); Richard E. Sclove, Democracy
and Technology (New York: Guilford Press, 1995); Langdon Winner,
The Whale and the Reactor: A Search for Limits in an Age of High
Technology (Chicago: University of Chicago Press,
1986).

11.
Harvey M. Sapolsky, "Science, technology and military policy," in Ina
Spiegel-Rösing and Derek de Solla Price (eds.), Science,
Technology and Society: A Cross-disciplinary Perspective (London:
Sage, 1977), pp. 443-471 makes this point nicely, commenting that, in
the shadow of weapons development, there is some work "in repairing
battle wounds, in making rations more tasty, and in preventing
machinery from rusting" (p. 459).

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by Brian Martin

Contents

Order printed copies

Summary

Prologue

The vision of Aldous Huxley

Notes to prologue

1

Introduction

2

Militarised technology

SectionsMilitary shaping of technology

Countervailing influences

Deeper links

Military shaping of technology

Military funding and applications

Training and employment

Belief systems

Suppression of challenges

Countervailing influences

Civilian applications

Bureaucratic interests

Popular resistance

Deeper links

3

Nonviolent struggle

SectionsWhy use nonviolent methods?Sabotage

Why use nonviolent methods?

Sabotage

4

Priorities for research and development

SectionsResearch proposalsKey factors approachImplications

Research proposals

Key factors approach

Key factors in a social defence system

Active factors

Reactive factors (including direct disarmament[9])

Relevance of science and engineering to key elements in a social defence system

Implications

Notes to chapter 4

5

Communication

Sections TelevisionRadioCassettesNewspapersLeaflets and the underground pressTelephone and fax The postConversations and meetingsComputer networksCommunication in nonviolent actionAssessment of communication technologies

Television

Radio

Cassettes

Newspapers

Leaflets and the underground press

Telephone and fax

The post

Conversations and meetings

Computer networks

Communication in nonviolent action

Assessment of communication technologies

Notes to chapter 5

6

Survival

Sections HealthAppropriate technology

Health

Appropriate technology (AT)

Notes to chapter 6

7

The built environment

by Helen Gillett, Brian Martin and Chris Rust

Notes to chapter 7

8

Countering attack

Notes to chapter 8

9

Research methods

Notes to chapter 9

10

Technology policy for nonviolent struggle

SectionsPrioritiesGovernmentScientists and engineersCommunity groupsConclusion

Priorities

1. Implement currently available technologies

2. Search out and disseminate existing ideas

3. Adapt existing technology

4. Develop new technologies

Government

by Brian
Martin

Order
printed copies

The vision of Aldous
Huxley

Notes
to prologue

Militarised
technology

Sections

Military
shaping of technology

Countervailing
influences

Deeper
links

Military
shaping of technology

Military
funding and applications

Training and
employment

Suppression
of challenges

Countervailing
influences

Civilian
applications

Bureaucratic
interests

Popular
resistance

Nonviolent
struggle

Sections

Why use
nonviolent methods?

Sabotage

Why use
nonviolent methods?

Priorities for research
and development

Sections

Research
proposals

Key factors
approach

Implications

Research
proposals

Key factors
approach

Key factors in a social defence
system

Reactive factors (including
direct disarmament[9])

Relevance of science and
engineering to key elements in a social defence system

Notes to
chapter 4

Sections
Television

Radio

Cassettes

Newspapers

Leaflets
and the underground press

Telephone
and fax

The
post

Conversations
and meetings

Computer
networks

Communication
in nonviolent action

Assessment
of communication technologies

Leaflets and
the underground press

Telephone
and fax

Conversations
and meetings

Computer
networks

Communication
in nonviolent action

Assessment
of communication technologies

Notes to
chapter 5

Sections
Health

Appropriate
technology

Appropriate
technology (AT)

Notes to
chapter 6

The built
environment

by Helen Gillett,
Brian Martin and Chris Rust

Notes to
chapter 7

Countering
attack

Notes to
chapter 8

Research
methods

Notes to
chapter 9

Technology policy for
nonviolent struggle

Sections

Priorities

Government

Scientists
and engineers

Community
groups

Conclusion

1. Implement currently available
technologies

2. Search out and disseminate
existing ideas

Scientists
and engineers

Community
groups

Notes to
chapter 10

Theories of
technology

Sections

Essentialist
approaches

Social
shaping of technol ogy

Biased technology

Essentialist
approaches

Social shaping
of technology

Biased
technology

Notes
to appendix