The Bruce Report

While Canadians bicker over the implications of the federal government’s decision to drop the mandatory long-form from the 2011 national census, a tiny band of intrepid whistle-blowers is demonstrating with shocking alacrity just how brittle common assumptions about privacy are becoming in the age of the Internet.

Last month, WikiLeaks – a website established three years ago to disclose “sensitive information” of public interest – unveiled a cache of 75,000 military documents pertaining to the American effort in Afghanistan between 2004 and 2009. It had acquired this largely classified material, which consists of the field reports of actual combatants, from unidentified sources.     

According to its web site, the “Afghan War Diary is the most significant archive about the reality of war to ever have been released during the course of a war. Most entries have been written by soldiers and intelligence officers listening to reports radioed in from front line deployments. However the reports also contain related information from Marines intelligence, U.S. Embassies, and reports about corruption and development activity across Afghanistan.”

It is, to say the least, ground-breaking stuff – all the more so, perhaps, for the rare collaboration of three of the world’s largest and most respected print outlets. The New York Times, The Guardian of London, and Germany’s Der Spiegel were given early access to the research on condition they would not go to press with their own stories until after WikiLeaks uploaded the documents for global consumption.

Welcome to the brave new world of journalism by popular consent.

WikiLeaks is not the only organization leveraging the ubiquitous power of the Internet to crowd-source and disseminate secrets governments, corporations and individuals would rather keep bottled-up. But it is, inarguably, the most successful and notorious.

Its founder, Julian Assange, is an Australian now residing in East Africa who – for perfectly understandable if exquisitely ironic reasons – prefers to keep his age and exact whereabouts a mystery. His operation relies on a skeleton crew of five anonymous “editors”, and donations from equally publicity shy benefactors.

According to Telegraph.co.uk, “Anybody with web access can submit a story to WikiLeaks. The site, however, states that its ‘primary interest is in exposing oppressive regimes in Asia, the former Soviet bloc, Sub-Saharan Africa and the Middle East, but we expect to be of assistance to people of all regions who wish to reveal unethical behaviour in their governments and corporations.’”

With this principle in mind, the web site’s Afghanistan bombshell is clearly designed to afflict the comfortable, and comfort the afflicted. It shows an entrenched pattern of U.S. government dissembling on everything from the actual level of support from the Pakistani military to the number of “accidental civilian kills” to the growing strength of the insurgency.

And, naturally, the Obama administration is fit to be tied.

“The United States strongly condemns the disclosure of classified information by individuals and organizations which could put the lives of Americans and our partners at risk, and threaten our national security,” fumed that country’s National Security Advisor, General James Jones. “These irresponsible leaks will not impact our ongoing commitment to deepen our partnerships, to defeat our common enemies, and to support the aspirations of the Afghan and Pakistani people.”

Of course, how was he supposed to react? It remains to be seen (or, more likely, we’ll never know) how “irresponsible” these leaks are. If they are accurate, then the information, itself, is entirely responsible. If, however, they put troops in harm’s way, then the moral high ground becomes hard, if not impossible, to purchase at any price.

But this is the dilemma of our electronic, twitty age. There is no longer any way to perfectly secure privacy or even official secrets. All of which renders the current census debate in Canada moot and rather amusing. WikiLeaks provides arguments for both supporters and opponents of the mandatory long form.

On the one hand, it illustrates how governments can’t be trusted with their most sensitive information.

On the other, it demonstrates how they never could.

So, why worry about a few innocuous questions about bedrooms and employment status?

Relax, and count yourself lucky that Julian Assange and his ilk don’t find you very interesting.

Not yet.

My unease had been surging for months. But right up to the last moment, I wasn’t sure I could go through with it. It seemed so final an act, so irrevocable. And some inner voice implored: “Just put the mouse down, and step away from the keyboard.”

            Then, like a scene in a cop thriller, it was done. I had pulled the plug, clicked “deactivate”, and slumped in my chair. I had committed cybersuicide.

            After that, things got a whole lot better. When did it become April, and where did all the snow go? I think I’ll take a walk this afternoon. Actually, I do have a bike stashed somewhere. Maybe I’ll go for a ride. I wonder if my grandson is walking yet. I should call. Yeah, that’s what I’ll do. I’ll call.

            It’s amazing how social one becomes when one stops “social networking”. Or, perhaps it’s just me. Four-hundred-million Facebook users can’t be all wrong. And the millions more who twitter their preposterous observations, day and night, must enjoy some redemptive benefit for all the thumb music they play.

            It’s just that I could never really get into any of it. So, when I deleted my Facebook account the other day – after a year of fruitlessly searching for the value in making “friends” I’ve never met, and likely never will – I felt a bit like author Malcolm Gladwell, who told The Globe and Mail last week, “I am very reluctant to crown Facebook king of the future. They certainly are flavour of the month. This is not a world that respects loyalties and longevity.”

            It’s a funny thing for him to say, considering he’s written three bestsellers on ideas that are shaping the future of technological society. How telling is it that he doesn’t twitter and posts to his blog only twice a year? “If social media or online communication is the means to the creation of a personal connection, it’s a fabulous thing,” he says. “But if it’s an excuse to not make a connection, it’s ultimately a trivial thing.”

            More than this, it’s a burden and a worry.

            Sites like Facebook engender (at least, in me) an unwelcome sense of obligation. Somehow, I should care about one “friend’s” root canal while simultaneously considering another’s options for summer cottage rentals. Worse, I am expected, even pressured, to comment on these quotidian musings when, frankly, I couldn’t care less. It’s like being stuck at a bad cocktail party. Except this one never ends. And no one ever goes home.

            And, then, there’s the privacy issue. For years, Facebook has struggled to assure users its service is both safe and responsible. Yet, every month, a new tale emerges about a woman being stalked online by an ex-boyfriend, or a guy discovering his profile information has been sold to the highest marketing and advertising bidder. He’s a man of a certain age, declares the unsolicited email, so naturally he’s going to want that vat of reasonably priced Viagra just waiting to be discretely delivered.

            Still, my main problem with social networking sites is existential. A profile of me is not me; it’s a simulacrum, a doppelganger, and not a very good one. At any given point on any given day, I change my mind about matters both large and small a dozen times. But I am known online to my legion of friends by the last post I made, by the static photography or insubstantial videos I share. And I am judged, categorized and invited to groups, forums and pages, accordingly. In life, I am a consumer who makes choices. Online, I’m just another commodity about whom others deliberate.

            And so, by committing cybersuicide, I choose life.

Believe me, it doesn’t hurt a bit. Hell, I even go for walks now and, apparently, so does my grandkid.

Threatening to deprive a man of his livelihood because he exploits his employees, steals from his shareholders or pollutes his community is fair, ethical play in a society that cherishes the value of each of its members.

            But confectioner David Ganong is guilty of none of these crimes. He treats his employees well. He embraces good, corporate governance. He is one of New Brunswick’s “greenest” entrepreneurs.

            Unfortunately, he is also the former chairman of an advisory panel on the NB Power/Hydro-Quebec tentative accord, which concluded the other day with this rather banal statement: “[We] have reached unanimous agreement that if the proposal is implemented, it would be good for New Brunswick.”

            Lamentably, this was enough for many people in the province to call for a boycott of Ganong’s candy and chocolates, as the company’s Facebook Fan Page flooded with angry rebukes and the kind of invective normally slung against fraudsters.

            “Ganong products will never again be bought by anyone in this family,” fumed one critic. “Consider yourself boycotted,” thundered another. “Starting today, whatever candy comes to this house will be branded other than Ganong,” bullied a third.

            And there were many more just like these and oftentimes worse: hysterical, outraged, wounded, snarling, braying screeds that, in some jurisdictions, might qualify as slanderous speech.

            Frankly, I get this kind of stuff all the time. It’s an occupational hazard. Besides, at least one of my professional responsibilities is to inspire strong feelings and provoke debate in these and the pages of other publications. Having executed my job, I’m not required to respond.

            Ganong, however, doesn’t enjoy this particular luxury. He makes sweets for a living, and customer relations are crucial to his progress. And so we witness his careful rejoinder in last Wednesday’s Saint John Telegraph-Journal: “After putting both my reputation and my time and effort into this on a volunteer basis. . .because my opinion is different than what somebody else’s may be, informed or uninformed, it is disappointing that they would try punish my company and my employees.”

            Indeed it is, and the ironies in the circumstance are almost too numerous to catalogue. From the beginning of the NB Power saga, opponents of the deal have complained about the lack of transparency and consultation undertaken by the province. But when someone who is asked for their opinion reaches an unpopular conclusion, he or she is immediately and fiercely castigated.

            It’s now frustratingly evident (if it wasn’t before) that some ardent critics in this province are less interested in hearing a fellow citizen’s divergent views than they are in hearing their own parroted, over and over again, by like-minded constituents. Heaven forbid they might learn something.

            But what’s especially chilling about this sort of overreaction is the pall it casts over the principle of democratic participation. If I thought, even for a second, that something I honestly believed could be used to curtail my economic opportunities, or those of my family, friends and employees, how willing do you think I’d be to sit on any public panel for any reason?

            How willing do you think I’d be to declare, as Ganong did about the NB Power agreement, “The proposed deal would contribute real and positive value to New Brunswick over the business-as-usual scenario”?

            It is entirely possible, of course, that he’s wrong. Maybe he and his colleagues should have consulted more people who were disinclined to endorse the deal, as Opposition Leader David Alward asserts.

            Is this sufficient reason to threaten Ganong’s livelihood?

Those who adopt such extreme measures to force compliance with their version of reality fail to realize that they undermine the conventions which provide them with their own liberty to express themselves.

The issue is not whether Ganong’s business will survive the torrent (it will). The issue is whether we, in an uncivil society, will survive the effects of our own intemperance.

I have no personal beef with the Globe and Mail’s daily pre-Olympic coverage. If it wants to make a complete imbecile of its corporate self, who am I to stand in its fawning, self-important way?

            But a page three feature on torch relay snowsuits? Come on. Was that really necessary? So thinks Amy Verner, the fashion reporter who scribbled this gem in the February 1st edition: “More than 130 recycled pop bottles went into making each uniform”. And this: “Because the uniform is unisex, many girls cut the standard round-neck t-shirt collars to make them more flattering.” And this: “The yellow patches are problematic when it comes to dirt.”

            You don’t say? Or, more accurately, I wish you wouldn’t. Anymore.

            The otherwise venerable newspaper, which employs some of the sharpest journalists in the country, raised more than a few eyebrows last year when it assigned its editor-in-chief John Stackhouse and three columnists, Gary Mason, Roy MacGregor and Stephen Brunt, to carry the Olympic torch and then record their thoughts for posterity.

            Here’s some of what Mason wrote in his ode: “The torch lit an Olympic spark in me. As I started running, it felt, well, strangely wonderful. Around me were Canadians of every description: babies in strollers, teenagers in early Halloween garb, seniors draped in flags. Their cheers were deafening.”

            Were they, Gary? Were they really. . .you know, deafening?

            But the more interesting question was why these guys were pimping themselves out to the games’ organizers and sponsors to spread the canned messages of patriotism, duty and camaraderie.

Brunt told critics to take a pill, pointing out that this was all “part of the machinery of the Olympic Games. . .I hate to break people’s hearts and tell them there’s no Santa Claus.”

            Yeah, and we know it doesn’t snow in Vancouver, either, and those ski moguls are actually made of straw. But does that mean we must be constantly reminded that money, not athletics, makes these games go round?

Canadians are not naïve. Still, most do expect a certain dispassionate impartiality from journalists (even commentators). Otherwise, how can they trust what they’re reading is factual or honest?

What if, for example, Gary Mason felt differently than he apparently did about his torch run? What if all the babbling babes and teary grandmothers left him cold? What if he had, instead, recorded his thoughts this way: “The torch sparked a royal pain in my derriere. As I started hobbling, my sciatica began acting up, and I wanted to scream at all those fools blocking the road to get the hell out of my way before I shove. . .”

Well, you get the sentiment. But do you think you’d ever get to read it?

As William Houston, himself a former Globe columnist before drinking the early-retirement Koolaid recently, aptly observes on his blog, “The relay is, after all, an IOC marketing initiative. And the Globe [staffers] will be in Vancouver covering the Games. Just how independent will they be after joining the IOC promotional machine? Journalists are supposed to keep their distance, to be separate from the issues and events they cover, but the torch relay isn’t in any way separate from the Games. It’s part of the Olympic package.”

So, it seems, is Canada’s national newspaper which, in addition to its breathless feature on snowsuits yesterday, published an eight-page section (not “special report” or “advertising supplement”) entirely devoted to “Vancouver 2010”.

Perhaps it’s too much to expect the old separation of journalistic church from corporate state anymore. Maybe we’ve travelled too far down the road of multi-media mergers and acquisitions and Web 2.0 synergies to ever go back. I don’t know. Can Amy Verner’ headline writer shed some light on the matter?

“So far, all eyes in the relay have been on the torchbearer’s uniform. But behind the scenes, the 200 members of the VANOC, RBC and Coca-Cola torch relay teams sport their own official garb.”

You don’t say?