James Grimmelmann

Peer-to-peer terrorism

Bad news from the Napster wars: The harder you fight against decentralized networks, the more enemies you create.

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Their hatred is implacable, their forces are decentralized. They seek the protection of remote hosts for their secret bases. Their networks are weblike and personal, difficult for outside observers to penetrate. They use e-mail, encryption and other new technologies to hide their dark doings.

Pay close enough attention to the descriptions of America’s newest enemies coming from Washington’s talking heads, and something starts to seem oddly familiar. Haven’t we heard about these people before? Wasn’t it just a few months ago that we were being warned about their dire plans and the civil liberties compromises required to fight them? But no. That wasn’t about Osama bin Laden at all. That was about … about … Napster?

Strange but true: The rules of engagement in “America’s New War” have a great deal in common with the content wars of the last few years. The RIAA and the MPAA — the FBI and the CIA of the entertainment industries — have been involved in extended legal battles with the music traders and software hackers of the world, and the strategies they have employed show some striking parallels to recent American anti-terrorist strategic thought. Consider:

All security is insecure.

The DeCSS debacle began when a 17-year-old amateur cracked the encryption scheme on DVDs. If there’s an unpenetrated Web server or uncracked content-protection scheme out there, it’s only because no one truly dedicated has tried to break it. As long as the media industries rely on technology-only solutions to protect their content, that protection is purely nominal, falling quickly before the determined hacker.

The harsh lessons of computer security are worth keeping in mind when thinking about terrorism. Systems are large and complex beasts and therefore vulnerable; the United States and its people are perhaps the largest and most complicated system in the world. An attacker has free choice of attacks: The hijackers last week were able to ignore the tight physical security around the World Trade Center by choosing an airplane-based attack instead. Security is what you use to spot your attackers and slow them down long enough for you to respond. Far better to seek out your opponents than to wait for them to come to you.

The front line of the conflict is human intelligence.

Shutting down any loose network — whether it’s a cluster of terrorist cells or a peer-to-peer file-sharing system — depends on closing the knowledge gap between initiates and outsiders. The mere existence of a strong program of infiltration has an enormous deterrent effect: How can you recruit new members with confidence if every potential recruit might be a plant?

There’s no way to just search the Internet for everyone running personal Web servers to share out their MP3s, but with enough dedicated surfers, the media companies have been able to spot most sites big enough to worry about. The result is that people are forced underground: They trade music in smaller networks than in Napster’s day, sacrificing convenience for safer obscurity.

Something similar operates in the realm of anti-terrorist intelligence. There’s no setting on spy satellites or metal detectors to scan for “terrorist,” but enough skilled agents who fit in can track down any terrorist cell that interacts with the outside world. The MPAA had an easier time of it than the CIA will — it’s a lot easier to hire for Internet credibility than it is to hire for radical terrorist credibility — but it’s the credibility, rather than the technology, that opens doors and lets the light of law enforcement in.

If you can’t shut down your enemy, shut down his hosts.

When the MPAA tried to suppress the distribution of DeCSS, it quickly discovered that many of the individual users posting the code to the Web were prohibitively difficult to identify, ruling out direct legal action against them. The MPAA instead targeted their ISPs: legally, the Web hosting companies were obligated to take down DeCSS pages, unless the users were willing to stand up in court and be sued. Through this sidestep, the MPAA was able to sic its lawyers on the people it really wanted to sue, or failing that, make the problem go away.

In declaring that the U.S. government would not distinguish between terrorists and regimes that harbor terrorists, President Bush acted on the same principle. Like the ISPs, the Taliban would prefer to be a bystander in any conflict. By making them liable for the safe harbors they grant, though, Bush transferred some of the weight of U.S. pressure to a more identifiable target — in order to acquire greater leverage against his real enemies.

So far, so good. But though Washington has been quick to copy from Hollywood’s playbook, it also seems reluctant to learn from the ways in which those plays have failed.

Zealous enforcement tactics against old enemies breed new enemies.

Before Napster, few people had strong opinions about the record companies, and their voices were rarely heard. But in the process of hunting down a few college students whose main offense was liking music too much, the RIAA managed to antagonize much of the software community and civil libertarians everywhere.

How did they blow it so badly? By giving its old enemies powerful new arguments, tons of publicity and an impressionable audience to preach to. Those students and music fans started hearing about cartels and Gestapo tactics when they asked why their Napster wasn’t showing any songs today.

It’s hardly any surprise the RIAA didn’t understand how bad the P.R. consequences of a heavy hand would be: The U.S. as a country has a long and bloody history of isolating moderates while it chases extremists.

What will happen if the government of Pakistan is forced to do so much of our dirty work that it destabilizes itself? How much ill will will we harvest once the bombs start falling? And so on. Bold action may sometimes solve present problems, but it carries enormous risk of creating worse ones in the future. More worryingly …

You can make them hide, but you can’t rid the world of them.

Or at least, if you can, the RIAA hasn’t figured out how. Napster went down in flames, but the Napster clones are numerous, thriving, better-hidden and harder than ever to take out.

Flattening your visible enemies inspires your remaining enemies to stay invisible; unless you make them no longer your enemies, they will find a time and a place of their own choosing to emerge from hiding. The best “victory” one can hope for in fighting a decentralized foe is not to eradicate them, but only to suppress their activities.

Try explaining this fact in Washington today, though, and nobody seems to be listening. Has Israel been able to eradicate Hamas? Has Britain been able even to suppress the IRA? For that matter, how well has China done in eliminating Falun Gong? Which raises one last and especially disturbing point, one that ought to go without saying …

Terrorists are not the only people who operate in decentralized secrecy.

There are other peer-to-peer rebels out there, working in secret to change the world — and most of them are what we would normally think of as the good guys.

Think of Afghan dissidents spreading the rhetoric of democracy from Internet cafes. From the perspective of the Afghan government, they look much the same way terrorists who coordinate attacks through e-mail look to us. Think of demonstrators scattering to avoid punitive raids from the police; think of rebel leaders trying to organize a resistance movement. A lot of people will be watching very carefully what the United States does to wage this new sort of war.

On the one hand every new tactic we develop to defend democracy can be turned against the forces of democracy somewhere else in the world. And on the other, every bulwark the Internet provides against the anti-dissent squads somewhere far off and repressive, it provides also against the anti-terrorist branch of the FBI back home.

Technology giveth, and it taketh away. The same filtering software that protects children from pornography is used by repressive governments to “protect” their citizens from critical opinions. The new formats for compressing music designed to sell more CDs instead became the leading techniques for its illicit distribution.

As we prepare to develop ruthless new “weapons” in the fight against global terrorism, it is hard to overstate the need for some reflection on the ways those tactics might eventually be turned against us and those principles we believe in. A strange prospect, perhaps, but then again, until last week, how many people seriously thought of a passenger jet as a weapon of war?

From each according to his IPO

Stalin would have loved Silicon Valley's dot-communists. Too bad they got purged.

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The government has encouraged young people to ignore all other questions in favor of economic progress … for the younger generation, this regulation has in some ways been a very happy one. It has relieved these young people to a large extent of the curses of egotism, romanticism, daydreaming, introspection, and perplexity which befall the youth of bourgeois countries. But its permanent effect cannot be a beneficial one. — George Kennan, “Memorandum for the Minister”

Kennan was analyzing the youth of the Soviet Union in 1932, but he could equally well have been describing the Christmas-rush atmosphere at Amazon.com, or the prelaunch frenzy at Netscape. His memorandum predicted the ultimate collapse of the Soviet Union as a consequence of the inevitable disillusionment of its economically obsessed youth, but his analysis applies just as well to the equally sudden collapse of any number of dot-com companies as their internal unreality engines finally ran out of steam.

“Work hard. Have fun. Make history,” reads Amazon’s employment Web page, offering the helpful gloss that “have fun” is to be interpreted as “We are passionate about what we’re doing. Because of that, we have fun at work, and it makes it easy for us to work hard.” The all-consuming role that world-shaping ambitions are expected to play in defining one’s Amazonian life, both personal and professional, is hard to miss. Tellme, a phone-to-Internet company, proudly advertises to potential employees that its offices are equipped with bunk beds. Especially in the halcyon days of Internet start-ups, such details, with their unmissable implications of sacrifice and grueling labor, were routinely offered as inducements to attract employees, a fact that is curious enough to deserve closer scrutiny.

The conventional line holds that most Internet start-ups were created and staffed by men and women who openly sought (and sometimes achieved) enormous personal fortunes, who preached the power of the market, who were wholly in favor of the accumulation of capital. They believed wholeheartedly in an economy fundamentally built upon private investment. All of which is entirely true, but fails utterly to explain why such self-interested, utility-maximizing capitalists would so joyfully forgo any personal existence other than endless hours staring at their computer screens. The missing element in this psychological portrait is that doing a dot-com wasn’t work, it was revolution. And revolution is a different kettle of fish.

In the glory days of the new economy, suddenly everyone was a revolutionary. The most fanatical free-market capitalists on the planet started thinking of themselves as radicals: Every leveraged buyout or IPO was a bold strike on behalf of humanity, every layoff a liberation from bondage. Tom Frank’s “One Market Under God” provides the most trenchant analysis of this phenomenon, describing such rhetoric as a form of posturing, a co-optation of the language of genuine social change for purely commercial purposes. As Frank pointedly notes, such talk, when it comes from CEOs of Fortune 500 corporations, is highly suspect. But if one looks more closely at some of the words and deeds of the dot-com start-ups, there is something oddly familiar about the imagery and the ideas.

The concept of worker ownership of the means of production hardly began with the invention of stock options; the idea that old economic structures needed to be swept away long predated the new economy. Radical disruptive change, breaking down outmoded materialistic class distinctions, worldwide revolution led by a vanguard of knowledge workers — nothing new here. And any company dedicated to empowering its customers by delivering to them exactly what they needed usually wound up recapitulating Marx’s famous “From each according to his ability, to each according to his need,” albeit in the less felicitous phrasing used for corporate mission statements.

Nor was all of this rhetoric entirely for show. Most e-commerce ventures were attempts to trim out some middleman or other, to remove some expropriating capitalist from the equation. New media companies like Icebox and Pseudo would give their content away. MP3.com would liberate musicians from exploitative recording contracts, freeing them to create their art for the good of all humanity. Open-source software companies would renounce intellectual property and build their business by building community. All knowledge would be available to anyone, anywhere, anytime: In such a world, how could injustice or inequality possibly endure?

Reduced to its essence, the idea goes something like this: The dawning electronic age is replacing physical things with virtual ones. Information intrinsically “wants to be free,” unfettered by silly property restrictions on its transmission and exchange. Therefore, in the glorious future, there will be no property! Think of Napster: You can get anything you want entirely for free, thanks to the selfless cooperation of people just like you. Everyone has all the music he wants, and thanks to some iffily specified mechanism, the musicians are better compensated than they were under the old surplus-value expropriations of the record labels. The abolition of private intellectual property just works.

It’s a screwy syllogism, suspect on any number of grounds — not the least of which is the absurd reality that so many of these new economy entrepreneurs were themselves looking to rake in oodles of cash by giving away things for free — but it has an undeniable immediate appeal, an appeal that has much in common with the collectivization of agriculture that so inspired the revolutionaries Kennan describes. Not that the “dot-communists,” as their detractors termed them, harped much on the connection. “Communist,” after all, is a dirty word, one that summons up images of gray concrete buildings surrounded by endless lines of weary-eyed socialists under the repressive thumb of a dithering bureaucracy.

Then again, if you’d asked a foot soldier of the Revolution in 1932 precisely what sort of a society he was forgoing the “pleasures” of youth to build, endless lines and repressive thumbs would hardly have been foremost among his replies. The conversion of a revolution into a failed revolution is a disheartening process, and for no one is the disillusionment sadder or more shocking than for the revolutionary himself. And however much dot-communism may have owed to its Soviet predecessor while it was in the ascendant, it was on the way back down that the truly telling psychic parallels emerged.

Five-year business plans for 30 percent annual growth in revenue recalled equally unrealistic Five-Year Plans for 30 percent annual growth in pig-iron production. The incompetently handled layoffs that have characterized the death of dot-coms read as farcical repetitions of the tragedies of Stalinist purges. If the Soviet Union bankrupted itself in an unwinnable arms race with the United States, dot-coms spent themselves out of existence trying desperately to carve out enough of a market share to survive their competitors.

In the end, in both Silicon Valley and the former Soviet Union, the hard-line capitalists smelled weakness and moved in, encouraging defections, manipulating the money supply, pulling out the supports. And then they started picking through the wreckage, buying up whole industries at pennies on the dollar while offering hypocritical advice on what should have been done differently.

To a true believer, it’s hard for such advice not to rankle. To you, that “silly ideology” you’re being asked to repudiate isn’t just a bunch of economic ideas; it’s an all-consuming system that justifies the choices you’ve made with your life, both public and personal. A sense of historical inevitability is potent stuff; it frees you from needing to think about the everyday details of life.

That said, as inspiring as the rhetoric of revolution may be, it had a very specific function at most Internet start-ups: to convince the employees that their late nights and lost weekends were sacrifices in the name of the revolution. Come the shakeout, though, they were left scratching their heads and asking precisely why they had given so much of themselves, when all they had to show for their sacrifices were a few nearly worthless scraps of paper, entitling them to some microscopic share of the assets of a defunct entity. Or, as Kennan put it:

The world will see a disappearance of the artificial conditions which now maintain the unlimited self-confidence, mental health, and happiness of the younger Russian generation … introspection and mental perplexity will make short work of his self-confidence, once his faith in the mystic qualities of communism is ruined.

A questionable psychological analysis of the Soviet Union, perhaps, but not a bad summary of the prevailing mood in Silicon Valley. Revolutionaries in every age like to think they are ushering in something unprecedented in human history. And sometimes they are, but revolution itself, in all its forms, has precedent aplenty — including more than a few harsh warnings for those who think that economics and business can forever stand in for the rest of human existence. And this is a trap into which both the dot-communists and their implacably capitalist foes have been known to fall.

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