"Precautionary Principle" by Adam Carlton

 

The CEO’s call had been minimally informative, just enough to establish his credentials.

“Meet with him. Find out what he wants. He’s already met with the CSO so it shouldn't be anything technical for you. It's an operational matter. We need to keep on good terms with these people, but don’t roll over. Call me afterwards. Keep it short.  Just the minimum, OK?”

I recognised all the signs.

As COO I meet all sorts of visitors: sales people exuding bonhomie, their smiles vanishing beneath their eyes; patronising lawyers, brimming with sharp disdain. M. Dubois - an auspicious name - is none of those things. To start with he seems sincere. This is more unusual than you might expect. He also looks worried, a far cry from the sharp-suited arrogant young man I had been expecting. He looks like he's angling for a favour.

My admin gets us coffee and I look him over. He’d be about ten years older than me, mid-forties. Wears a suit which has plainly been around a bit. His face is round and chubby, brown hair. He resembles a prosperous but faintly harassed country doctor. We clear the pleasantries.

“So, what can I do for you, M. Dubois?”

My visitor takes a folder from his briefcase (how old-fashioned!), extracts a document and places it on my desk. It looks like a dossier. There’s a photograph at the top right which I don’t recognise.

M. Dubois speaks.

“First of all, thank you for seeing me today. I’m here to discuss cooperation between your company and certain agencies of the state, about which I'm afraid I can't be more specific. You’ll be aware of the arrangements already in place as regards individuals designated through a court order ... . “

Here he pauses, a slight hesitation.

“But I’m not here about that.”

There is of course a ‘conspiracy of silence’ in the company about our links with the security agencies. To a first approximation we know everything about our users. We know where they are to GPS levels of accuracy (about 30 cm). We can in principle activate the microphone in their phones - and the camera. We’ve got their Calendars and their activity timeline in Maps. We know which apps they use, what they type and what they see. We track their emails and their browsing. And that’s before any spyware that might happen to find its way on to their devices.

Never were intelligence agencies so fortunate as when they teamed up with us.

Our users know all this and don’t care. Perhaps they think only our computers surveil their stuff. Out of sight, out of mind. We are truly desperate to keep it that way. Our whole business model depends on it. It’s a mantra. Our users must never consciously dwell on how much we know about them. So, we keep the security services at arm’s length and our involvement dialled down to the minimum. Besides, some of us are libertarians.

M. Dubois points to his dossier.

“Take this person. He’s a thoroughly respectable chap, never had any real trouble with the law. He had a senior position in industry, now he’s retired. He lives quietly in the country and keeps himself to himself. His only affectation is that he writes an obscure blog.”

I nod at this. We have millions of users just like that. With disposable income to hand, that particular demographic is particularly interesting to our actual customers.

M. Dubois continues.

“My man here is harmless enough. But it turns out that in his youth he was rather less so. Spent some years in a left wing organisation, was quite senior. Learnt his Leninist tradecraft, did some clandestine work. Still, you’ll say, it’s been years, hasn’t it. And so it has.”

My visitor sips at his coffee, as if unsure what to say next. I nod encouragingly,

“Lot’s of us have chequered pasts, you know. Why, I myself …”

M. Dubois politely interrupts.

“And yet ... he’s not quite conventional. Not quite .. on-message. He’s more like your reactionary uncle, the one who thinks ‘uncontrolled immigration’ is a cause for concern and that ‘woke’ equals mad.”

I smile in sympathy. We’ve all met people like that - and some of them are indeed relations.

“And he’s got a blog; and a history. Normally he’d never come to our attention. What's he done wrong, after all? We’d never get a court order.

"But we have a department which does scenarios. We wargame.”

He leans forward. He’s finally getting to the serious part.

“You’ll be more aware than most of the rise of populism. Dangerously divisive leaders like Le Pen and Trump. The emergence of the alt-right. Like most people, you probably think that’s mostly media hype, over-the-top scaremongering, exaggeration.”

I nod. I read the news. I know about this stuff. And I'm really not that concerned.

“We’ve done the maths. Populism drives off the economic cycle and that’s going bust. The split between Paris and the rest of the country will go crazy: tough times ahead.

“It’s a cliche I’m trying to avoid but comparisons with the Weimar Republic," he gives me a sharp look here, "- Germany in the thirties - are not out of place. When the mob starts to move, a few intellectuals, especially if they’ve had some training, can suddenly find their influence amplified a thousandfold. They're trouble.”

He leans back.

“You see my problem? ... Do you?”

The conversation - I would call it a monologue - has taken a very sharp turn. He's waiting for me. As if it’s up to me to divine his true purpose here. What does he want? And what does he want us to do?

“You’ll be wanting our help, then, with your problem,” I say neutrally, and then from nowhere I add, “Are you sure you’re not proposing to destroy the village to save it?”

A big smile. For the first time I detect a note of respect in his gaze. Like I’ve finally cracked it...

“Touché. But, you know, liberal democracy has always needed a few 'tough guys' doing the dirty work, out of the public gaze. You know this. Let’s cut to the chase.

"We have a list, a few thousand individuals. Harmless today, potential catalysts of chaos tomorrow. It would be very helpful if you could segregate their data in a format I’ve already discussed with your CSO. Nothing more: you just sit on it.”

“You don’t want to see it?”

“No, of course not. That would require a court order, a warrant which we would never apply for and certainly would never get approved. Just keep the data on a secure server. If push comes to shove, democracy will need to protect itself, even from people who think they’re in the business of ‘just telling the truth’. Especially from them.”

My stomach is churning. What he’s asking for is not technically illegal but many of our staff would think it a value atrocity - pinning electronic yellow stars on our users. Actually that’s my gut feel as well. I understand more clearly why the CEO - with sure instincts - wanted to stay out of this particular loop. 

It’s an operational matter.

On the other hand, rationally Dubois has a point. Pacifism and ‘don’t be evil’ works just fine until someone’s out to get you. Then you man up or you’re toast. But if it ever got out ... . Dubois seems to have wargamed that option too.

“It’s an operational matter,” he says. You already have a security cell here which handles our liaison. Just add it to their job spec. The additional data will live in their secure partition. Literally no-one outside the cell will notice anything. And the information is dead. No-one will access it. It’s all encrypted.“

He lifts his cup, judiciously checks it, and drinks the last of his coffee.

“Only in the case of a national emergency will you be formally contacted by the Government. You will be truly and sincerely glad at such a moment that you stood up for for us, because at that time of extreme political threat we will be defending you and your values.”

A fractional pause.

“Just as we support you today, for very good economic reasons, with rather generous tax breaks.”

He has a point - I think.

“OK. What do you suggest I do?”

He hands me a form and points out where to sign.