The Soviet Union’s own role in the anti-nuclear movement is still unclear. Defectors such as Stanislav Lunev (from Russia’s GRU military intelligence service) and Sergei Tretyakov (of the SVR foreign intelligence service) have made sweeping claims. Academic studies have been more cautious. After Communism collapsed, a senior member of Britain’s CND, Vic Allen, unrepentantly admitted to passing information to the East German Stasi.[69] The Soviet Union financed British and other communist parties, which played a role in the ‘peace’ movements disproportionate to their tiny numbers.[70]
What is not in doubt is that CND and the like served Moscow’s purpose. To be sure, the campaigners said they opposed Soviet and Western nuclear weapons alike. But the focus of their efforts was asymmetric: they could apply political pressure to Western governments, political parties and institutions, whereas their influence in the Soviet bloc was minimal. The Soviet Union enjoyed conventional military superiority in Europe; demanding a ‘nuclear-free Europe’ in effect meant accepting Soviet hegemony on the continent. ‘Peace’ was therefore a big Soviet talking point in all international forums and discussions, both from diplomats and from nominally independent but state-funded outfits such as the World Peace Council.
Regardless of their direct or indirect involvement, the information-warfare experts of the Soviet KGB were delighted with the divisive and distracting effects the ‘peace’ movement was having in the West. Soviet decision-makers relied on the anti-nuclear campaigners in the West to weaken and constrain the resolve of governments there.
Their successors in the Kremlin now see a similar opportunity. Like the anti-nuclear movement of the early 1980s, modern campaigners for privacy and digital freedom see their own countries’ flaws with blinding clarity, and ignore those of the repressive regimes elsewhere. They manifest a corrosive mistrust for their political leaders and public officials, to the point that little said by governments carries any weight at all.
It is worth noting that the Snowdenistas go far beyond the anti-nuclear campaigners in their thirst for damage. Disagreeing with your government’s actions is one thing. Sabotaging them is another. Imagine, for example, that a British or American anti-nuclear activist got hold of the acoustic signatures of his country’s nuclear submarines. These signatures—the noise that the vessels make under water—are among the most closely guarded of all defence secrets. They are distinctive and almost impossible to change. Once you know them, it becomes much easier to track a submarine and if necessary destroy it. Submarines’ effectiveness largely depends on their invisibility. So publishing the acoustic signatures of the nuclear submarines would be a simple and devastating way of making them useless—in effect, sabotage.
Such a move would cost the country concerned billions of dollars. It would also tip the strategic balance in favour of countries whose nuclear deterrent remained secret and effective. Even an anti-nuclear newspaper like the Guardian would decry such a move. Yet in effect, that is what Snowden and his allies have done. They have rendered ineffective some of their countries’ most expensive and sensitive defence capabilities, while leaving adversaries untouched.
Another lesson from the past concerns the scandal around the Echelon system for collecting information regarding international telecommunications. It was revealed in a series of leaks in the 1990s, eventually prompting a lengthy report by the European Parliament.[71] John Schindler, a former NSA analyst who is now a professor at the Naval War College in Rhode Island, sees a parallel. The exposure of Echelon, he believes, was an ‘active measure’ by Russian intelligence, aimed at stoking distrust between America and its European allies. Without access to classified information, that link is unprovable. But the similarities are startling. Details of the programme were divulged by a disillusioned NSA contractor, Margaret Newsham (who was working for the defence company Lockheed). The story was highlighted by campaigning journalists in the UK and in New Zealand. At first sight the message seemed sensational. America and Britain, together with other close allies, were spying on the rest of the world. They had a global network of facilities which could intercept communications—in those days faxes and telexes, as well as phone calls and the nascent internet. All this seemed to be happening without public consent or political oversight.
The result was fury—especially as one of the journalists involved, Duncan Campbell, claimed that the spying was not just for reasons of statecraft, but also in pursuit of commercial goals. American companies were gaining an unfair advantage over their rivals thanks to the muscle of their intelligence services.
On closer scrutiny, the case largely fell apart. It was exciting to know the code words for the programmes concerned, and to have the supposedly top-secret locations listed, illustrated with maps, photographs and diagrams. The silent fury of the intelligence agencies added another note of drama, as did the self-righteous hysterics of European politicians.
Yet just as with the Snowden revelations, the disclosures were not in themselves surprising. Britain’s GCHQ and America’s NSA exist to collect electronic intelligence. It is hardly surprising that they strive to fulfil their missions. Nor should their close alliance be a surprise. Britain and America have been cooperating closely since the start of the Cold War (as anyone viewing a James Bond film knows).
The details—the means, nature and extent—of those activities and alliances are indeed secret, but for entirely understandable reasons. Intelligence agencies, as explained above, like to keep the other side guessing. Even seemingly unimportant information about budgets, spending plans, logistics and premises can be useful to the adversary, at a potentially high cost. A secret, once released, may be a shock to the unwitting. But a shock is not necessarily a scandal.
Nor could anyone prove that anything revealed in the Echelon disclosures was actually illegal. International law does not prohibit espionage. The national laws of Britain, America and other countries gave (and give) the intelligence and security agencies a remit, and set up a system of oversight. The remit may be too wide, and the oversight too flimsy (or perhaps vice versa: views differ), but these are matters for the political process to resolve.
Perhaps the gravest charge was that America conflated commercial espionage with statecraft. That would be shocking if true. It would be illegal under American law. It would confer unfair advantages on the lucky US companies that received intelligence titbits from the government, and disadvantage their competitors. It would discredit America’s reputation for fair dealing in the eyes of the rest of the world.
It is impossible to prove a negative. Those who believe that the American government and its corporate handmaidens (or Corporate America and its political handmaidens) are capable of any kind of iniquity will not be disabused of their convictions by mere denials, or the absence of facts to support them. But the campaigners against Echelon produced a remarkably thin case to support their contention. It is hardly surprising that American spies may target foreign companies. As Jim Woolsey, the former CIA director, explained in his newspaper article, they may be involved in bribery to gain an unfair advantage, or be breaking sanctions. They may have employees with access to state secrets, either now or potentially. Intelligence agencies are ingenious, curious and adaptive: that is what they are paid to be.
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The Communist Party of Great Britain played a leading role in CND in the 1970s, when the organisation was largely moribund. CPGB member Dr John Cox was chairman of the CND for seven years during this period. According to ex-MI5 desk officer Cathy Massiter, CND was regarded by the Security Service not as a Communist front organisation but as a Communist-penetrated organisation. Individual pro-Soviet Communists held key positions. Bruce Kent, general secretary of CND, said at the 38th Congress of CPGB in November 1983: ‘We owe a debt of gratitude to the