Interesting People mailing list archives

IP: NYT: Video Surveillance in the UK


From: David Farber <dave () farber net>
Date: Mon, 08 Oct 2001 07:01:03 -0400


Date: Sun, 07 Oct 2001 20:26:54 -0700
From: John Gilmore <gnu () toad com>


This is the best piece of terrorism and pervasive surveillance
journalism I've ever seen -- because it's true.  Bruce Schneier
pointed it out to me.  -- John

The New York Times, October 7, 2001
BEING WATCHED
A Cautionary Tale for a New Age of Surveillance
By JEFFREY ROSEN

http://www.nytimes.com/2001/10/07/magazine/07SURVEILLANCE.html

A week after the attacks of Sept. 11, as the value of most American
stocks plummeted, a few companies, with products particularly well
suited for a new and anxious age, soared in value. One of the
fastest growing stocks was Visionics, whose price more than tripled.
The New Jersey company is an industry leader in the fledgling
science of biometrics, a method of identifying people by scanning
and quantifying their unique physical characteristics -- their
facial structures, for example, or their retinal patterns. Visionics
manufactures a face-recognition technology called FaceIt, which
creates identification codes for individuals based on 80 unique
aspects of their facial structures, like the width of the nose and
the location of the temples. FaceIt can instantly compare an image
of any individual's face with a database of the faces of suspected
terrorists, or anyone else.

Visionics was quick to understand that the terrorist attacks
represented not only a tragedy but also a business opportunity. On
the afternoon of Sept. 11, the company sent out an e-mail message to
reporters, announcing that its founder and C.E.O., Joseph Atick,
''has been speaking worldwide about the need for biometric systems
to catch known terrorists and wanted criminals.'' On Sept. 20, Atick
testified before a special government committee appointed by the
secretary of transportation, Norman Mineta. Atick's message -- that
security in airports and embassies could be improved using
face-recognition technology as part of a comprehensive national
surveillance plan that he called Operation Noble Shield -- was
greeted enthusiastically by members of the committee, which seemed
ready to endorse his recommendations. ''In the war against
terrorism, especially when it comes to the homeland defense,'' Atick
told me, describing his testimony, ''the cornerstone of this is
going to be our ability to identify the enemy before he or she
enters into areas where public safety could be at risk.'

Atick proposes to wire up Reagan National Airport in Washington and
other vulnerable airports throughout the country with more than 300
cameras each. Cameras would scan the faces of passengers standing in
line, and biometric technology would be used to analyze their faces
and make sure they are not on an international terrorist ''watch
list.'' More cameras unobtrusively installed throughout the airport
could identify passengers as they walk through metal detectors and
public areas. And a final scan could ensure that no suspected
terrorist boards a plane. ''We have created a biometric network
platform that turns every camera into a Web browser submitting
images to a database in Washington, querying for matches,'' Atick
said. ''If a match occurs, it will set off an alarm in Washington,
and someone will make a decision to wire the image to marshals at
the airport.''

Of course, protecting airports is only one aspect of homeland
security: a terrorist could be lurking on any corner in America. In
the wake of the Sept. 11 attacks, Howard Safir, the former New York
police commissioner, recommended the installation of 100 biometric
surveillance cameras in Times Square to scan the faces of
pedestrians and compare them with a database of suspected
terrorists. Atick told me that since the attacks he has been
approached by local and federal authorities from across the country
about the possibility of installing biometric surveillance cameras
in stadiums and subway systems and near national monuments. ''The
Office of Homeland Security might be the overall umbrella that will
coordinate with local police forces'' to install cameras linked to a
biometric network throughout American cities, Atick told me. ''How
can we be alerted when someone is entering the subway? How can we be
sure when someone is entering Madison Square Garden? How can we
protect monuments? We need to create an invisible fence, an
invisible shield.''

Before Sept. 11, the idea that Americans would voluntarily agree to
live their lives under the gaze of a network of biometric
surveillance cameras, peering at them in government buildings,
shopping malls, subways and stadiums, would have seemed unthinkable,
a dystopian fantasy of a society that had surrendered privacy and
anonymity. But in fact, over the past decade, this precise state of
affairs has materialized, not in the United States but in the United
Kingdom. At the beginning of September, as it happened, I was in
Britain, observing what now looks like a glimpse of the American
future.

I had gone to Britain to answer a question that seems far more
pertinent today than it did early last month: why would a free and
flourishing Western democracy wire itself up with so many
closed-circuit television cameras that it resembles the set of ''The
Real World'' or ''The Truman Show''? The answer, I discovered, was
fear of terrorism. In 1993 and 1994, two terrorist bombs planted by
the I.R.A. exploded in London's financial district, a historic and
densely packed square mile known as the City of London. In response
to widespread public anxiety about terrorism, the government decided
to install a ''ring of steel'' -- a network of closed-circuit
television cameras mounted on the eight official entry gates that
control access to the City.

Anxiety about terrorism didn't go away, and the cameras in Britain
continued to multiply. In 1994, a 2-year-old boy named Jamie Bulger
was kidnapped and murdered by two 10-year-old schoolboys, and
surveillance cameras captured a grainy shot of the killers leading
their victim out of a shopping center. Bulger's assailants couldn't,
in fact, be identified on camera -- they were caught because they
talked to their friends -- but the video footage, replayed over and
over again on television, shook the country to its core. Riding a
wave of enthusiasm for closed-circuit television, or CCTV, created
by the attacks, John Major's Conservative government decided to
devote more than three-quarters of its crime-prevention budget to
encourage local authorities to install CCTV. The promise of cameras
as a magic bullet against crime and terrorism inspired one of
Major's most successful campaign slogans: ''If you've got nothing to
hide, you've got nothing to fear.''

Instead of being perceived as an Orwellian intrusion, the cameras in
Britain proved to be extremely popular. They were hailed as the
people's technology, a friendly eye in the sky, not Big Brother at
all but a kindly and watchful uncle or aunt. Local governments
couldn't get enough of them; each hamlet and fen in the British
countryside wanted its own CCTV surveillance system, even when the
most serious threat to public safety was coming from mad cows. In
1994, 79 city centers had surveillance networks; by 1998, 440 city
centers were wired. By the late 1990's, as part of its Clintonian,
center-left campaign to be tough on crime, Tony Blair's New Labor
government decided to support the cameras with a vengeance. There
are now so many cameras attached to so many different surveillance
systems in the U.K. that people have stopped counting. According to
one estimate, there are 2.5 million surveillance cameras in Britain,
and in fact there may be far more.

As I filed through customs at Heathrow Airport, there were cameras
concealed in domes in the ceiling. There were cameras pointing at
the ticket counters, at the escalators and at the tracks as I waited
for the Heathrow express to Paddington Station. When I got out at
Paddington, there were cameras on the platform and cameras on the
pillars in the main terminal. Cameras followed me as I walked from
the main station to the underground, and there were cameras at each
of the stations on the way to King's Cross. Outside King's Cross,
there were cameras trained on the bus stand and the taxi stand and
the sidewalk, and still more cameras in the station. There were
cameras on the backs of buses to record people who crossed into the
wrong traffic lane.

Throughout Britain today, there are speed cameras and red-light
cameras, cameras in lobbies and elevators, in hotels and
restaurants, in nursery schools and high schools. There are even
cameras in hospitals. (After a raft of ''baby thefts'' in the early
1990's, the government gave hospitals money to install cameras in
waiting rooms, maternity wards and operating rooms.) And everywhere
there are warning signs, announcing the presence of cameras with a
jumble of different icons, slogans and exhortations, from the bland
''CCTV in operation'' to the peppy ''CCTV: Watching for You!'' By
one estimate, the average Briton is now photographed by 300 separate
cameras in a single day.

Britain's experience under the watchful eye of the CCTV cameras is a
vision of what Americans can expect if we choose to go down the same
road in our efforts to achieve ''homeland security.'' Although the
cameras in Britain were initially justified as a way of combating
terrorism, they soon came to serve a very different function. The
cameras are designed not to produce arrests but to make people feel
that they are being watched at all times. Instead of keeping
terrorists off planes, biometric surveillance is being used to keep
punks out of shopping malls. The people behind the live video
screens are zooming in on unconventional behavior in public that in
fact has nothing to do with terrorism. And rather than thwarting
serious crime, the cameras are being used to enforce social
conformity in ways that Americans may prefer to avoid.

The dream of a biometric surveillance system that can identify
people's faces in public places and separate the innocent from the
guilty is not new. Clive Norris, a criminologist at the University
of Hull, is Britain's leading authority on the social effects of
CCTV. In his definitive study, ''The Maximum Surveillance Society:
the Rise of CCTV,'' Norris notes that in the 19th century, police
forces in England and France began to focus on how to distinguish
the casual offender from the ''habitual criminal'' who might evade
detection by moving from town to town. In the 1870's, Alphonse
Bertillon, a records clerk at the prefecture of police in Paris,
used his knowledge of statistics and anthropomorphic measurements to
create a system for comparing the thousands of photographs of
arrested suspects in Parisian police stations. He took a series of
measurements -- of skull size, for example, and the distance between
the ear and chin -- and created a unique code for every suspect whom
the police had photographed. Photographs were then grouped according
to the codes, and a new suspect could be compared only with the
photos that had similar measurements, instead of with the entire
portfolio. Though Bertillon's system was often difficult for
unskilled clerks to administer, a procedure that had taken hours or
days was now reduced to a few minutes.

It wasn't until the 1980's, with the development of computerized
biometric and other face-recognition systems, that Bertillon's dream
became feasible on a broad scale. In the course of studying how
biometric scanning could be used to authenticate the identities of
people who sought admission to secure buildings, innovators like
Joseph Atick realized that the same technology could be used to pick
suspects or license plates out of a crowd. It's the license-plate
technology that the London police have found most attractive,
because it tends to be more reliable. (A test of the best
face-recognition systems last year by the U.S. Department of Defense
found that they failed to identify matches a third of the time.)

Soon after arriving in London, I visited the CCTV monitoring room in
the City of London police station, where the British war against
terrorism began. I was met by the press officer, Tim Parsons, and
led up to the control station, a modest-size installation that looks
like an air-traffic-control room, with uniformed officers manning
two rows of monitors. Although installed to catch terrorists, the
cameras in the City of London spend most of their time following car
thieves and traffic offenders. ''The technology here is geared up to
terrorism,'' Parsons told me. ''The fact that we're getting ordinary
people -- burglars stealing cars -- as a result of it is sort of a
bonus.''

Have you caught any terrorists? I asked. ''No, not using this
technology, no,'' he replied.

As we watched the monitors, rows of slow-moving cars filed through
the gates into the City, and cameras recorded their license-plate
numbers and the faces of their drivers. After several minutes, one
monitor set off a soft, pinging alarm. We had a match! But no, it
was a false alarm. The license plate that set off the system was
8620bmc, but the stolen car recorded in the database was 8670amc.
After a few more mismatches, the machine finally found an offender,
though not a serious one. A red van had gone through a speed camera,
and the local authority that issued the ticket couldn't identify the
driver. An alert went out on the central police national computer,
and it set off the alarm when the van entered the City. ''We're not
going to do anything about it because it's not a desperately
important call,'' said the sergeant.

Because the cameras on the ring of steel take clear pictures of each
driver's face, I asked whether the City used the biometric facial
recognition technology that American airports are now being urged to
adopt. ''We're experimenting with it to see if we could pick faces
out of the crowd, but the technology is not sufficiently good
enough,'' Parsons said. ''The system that I saw demonstrated two or
three years ago, a lot of the time it couldn't differentiate between
a man and a woman.'' (In a recent documentary about CCTV, Monty
Python's John Cleese foiled a Visionics face-recognition system that
had been set up in the London borough of Newham by wearing earrings
and a beard.) Nevertheless, Parsons insisted that the technology
will become more accurate. ''It's just a matter of time. Then we can
use it to detect the presence of criminals on foot in the city,'' he
said.

In the future, as face-recognition technology becomes more accurate,
it will become even more intrusive, because of pressures to expand
the biometric database. I mentioned to Joseph Atick of Visionics
that the City of London was thinking about using his technology to
establish a database that would include not only terrorists but also
all British citizens whose faces were registered with the national
driver's license bureau. If that occurs, every citizen who walks the
streets of the City could be instantly identified by the police and
evaluated in light of his past misdeeds, no matter how trivial. With
the impatience of a rationalist, Atick dismissed the possibility.
''Technically, they won't be able to do it without coming back to
me,'' he said. ''They will have to justify it to me.'' Atick struck
me as a refined and thoughtful man (he is the former director of the
computational neuroscience laboratory at Rockefeller University),
but it seems odd to put the liberties of a democracy in the hands of
one unelected scientist.

Atick says that his technology is an enlightened alternative to
racial and ethnic profiling, and if the faces in the biometric
database were, in fact, restricted to known terrorists, he would be
on to something. Instead of stopping all passengers who appear to be
Middle Eastern and victimizing thousands of innocent people, the
system would focus with laserlike precision on a tiny handful of the
guilty. (This assumes that the terrorists aren't cunning enough to
disguise themselves.) But when I asked whether any of the existing
biometric databases in England or America are limited to suspected
terrorists, Atick confessed that they aren't. There is a simple
reason for this: few terrorists are suspected in advance of their
crimes. For this reason, cities in England and elsewhere have tried
to justify their investment in face-recognition systems by filling
their databases with those troublemakers whom the authorities can
easily identify: local criminals. When FaceIt technology was used to
scan the faces of the thousands of fans entering the Super Bowl in
Tampa last January, the matches produced by the database weren't
terrorists. They were low-level ticket scalpers and pickpockets.

Biometrics is a feel-good technology that is being marketed based on
a false promise -- that the database will be limited to suspected
terrorists. But the FaceIt technology, as it's now being used in
England, isn't really intended to catch terrorists at all. It's
intended to scare local hoodlums into thinking they might be setting
off alarms even when the cameras are turned off. I came to
understand this ''Wizard of Oz'' aspect of the technology when I
visited Bob Lack's monitoring station in the London borough of
Newham. A former London police officer, Lack attracted national
attention -- including a visit from Tony Blair -- by pioneering the
use of face-recognition technology before other people were
convinced that it was entirely reliable. What Lack grasped early on
was that reliability was in many ways beside the point.

Lack installed his first CCTV system in 1997, and he intentionally
exaggerated its powers from the beginning. ''We put one camera out
and 12 signs'' announcing the presence of cameras, Lack told me.
''We reduced crime by 60 percent in the area where we posted the
signs. Then word on the street went out that we had dummy cameras.''
So Lack turned his attention to face-recognition technology and
tried to create the impression that far more people's faces were in
the database than actually are. ''We've designed a poster now about
making Newham a safe place for a family,'' he said. ''And we're
telling the criminal we have this information on him: we know his
name, we know his address, we know what crimes he commits.'' It's
not true, Lack admits, ''but then, we're entitled to disinform some
people, aren't we?''

So you're telling the criminal that you know his name even though
you don't, I asked? ''Right,'' Lack replied. ''Pretty much that's
about advertising, isn't it?''

Lack was elusive when I asked him who, exactly, is in his database.
''I don't know,'' he replied, noting that the local police chief
decides who goes into the database. He would only make an ''educated
guess'' that the database contains 100 ''violent street robbers''
under the age of 18. ''You have to have been convicted of a crime --
nobody suspected goes on, unless they're a suspected murderer -- and
there has to be sufficient police intelligence to say you are
committing those crimes and have been so in the last 12 weeks.''
When I asked for the written standards that determined who,
precisely, was put in the database, and what crimes they had to have
committed, Lack promised to send them, but he never did.

 From Lack's point of view, it doesn't matter who is in his database,
because his system isn't designed to catch terrorists or violent
criminals. In the three years that the system has been up and
running, it hasn't resulted in a single arrest. ''I'm not in the
business of having people arrested,'' Lack said. ''The deterrent
value has far exceeded anything you imagine.'' He told me that the
alarms went off an average of three times a day during the month of
August, but the only people he would conclusively identify were
local youths who had volunteered to be put in the database as part
of an ''intensive surveillance supervision program,'' as an
alternative to serving a custodial sentence. ''The public statements
about the efficacy of the Newham facial-recognition system bear
little relationship to its actual operational capabilities, which
are rather weak and poor,'' says Clive Norris of the University of
Hull. ''They want everyone to believe that they are potentially
under scrutiny. Its effectiveness, perhaps, is based on a lie.''

This lie has a venerable place in the philosophy of surveillance. In
his preface to ''Panopticon,'' Jeremy Bentham imagined the social
benefits of a ring-shaped ''inspection-house,'' in which prisoners,
students, orphans or paupers could be subject to constant
surveillance. In the center of the courtyard would be an inspection
tower with windows facing the inner wall of the ring. Supervisors in
the central tower could observe every movement of the inhabitants of
the cells, who were illuminated by natural lighting, but Venetian
blinds would ensure that the supervisors could not be seen by the
inhabitants. The uncertainty about whether or not they were being
surveilled would deter the inhabitants from antisocial behavior.
Michel Foucault described the purpose of the Panopticon -- to induce
in the inmate a state of conscious and permanent visibility that
assures the automatic functioning of power.'' Foucault predicted
that this condition of visible, unverifiable power, in which
individuals have internalized the idea that they may always be under
surveillance, would be the defining characteristic of the modern
age.

Britain, at the moment, is not quite the Panopticon, because its
various camera networks aren't linked and there aren't enough
operators to watch all the cameras. But over the next few years,
that seems likely to change, as Britain moves toward the kind of
integrated Web-based surveillance system that Visionics has now
proposed for American airports and subway systems. At the moment,
for example, the surveillance systems for the London underground and
the British police feed into separate control rooms, but Sergio
Velastin, a computer-vision scientist, says he believes the two
systems will eventually be linked, using digital technology.

Velastin is working on behavioral-recognition technology for the
London underground that can look for unusual movements in crowds,
setting off an alarm, for example, when people appear to be fighting
or trying to jump on the tracks. (Because human CCTV operators are
easily bored and distracted, automatic alarms are viewed as the wave
of the future.) ''Imagine you see a piece of unattended baggage
which might contain a bomb,'' Velastin told me. ''You can back-drag
on the image and locate the person who left it there. You can say
where did that person come from and where is that person now? You
can conceive in the future that you might be able to do that for
every person in every place in the system.'' Of course, Velastin
admitted, ''if you don't have social agreement about how you're
going to operate that, it could get out of control.''

Once thousands of cameras from hundreds of separate CCTV systems are
able to feed their digital images to a central monitoring station,
and the images can be analyzed with face- and behavioral-recognition
software to identify unusual patterns, then the possibilities of the
Panopticon will suddenly become very real. And few people doubt that
connectivity is around the corner; it is, in fact, the next step.
''CCTV will become the fifth utility: after gas, electricity, sewage
and telecommunications,'' says Jason Ditton, a criminologist at the
University of Sheffield who is critical of the technology's
expansion. ''We will come to accept its ubiquitousness.''

At the moment, there is only one fully integrated CCTV in Britain:
it transmits digital images over a broadband wireless network, like
the one Joseph Atick has proposed for American airports, rather than
relying on traditional video cameras that are chained to dedicated
cables. And so, for a still clearer vision of the interconnected
future of surveillance, I set off for Hull, Britain's leading timber
port, about three hours northeast of London. Hull has traditionally
been associated not with dystopian fantasies but with fantasies of a
more basic sort: for hundreds of years, it has been the prostitution
capital of northeastern Britain.

Six years ago, a heroin epidemic created an influx of addicted young
women who took to streetwalking to sustain their drug habit. Nearly
two years ago, the residents' association of a low-income housing
project called Goodwin Center hired a likable and enterprising young
civil engineer named John Marshall to address the problem of
under-age prostitutes having sex on people's windowsills.

Marshall, who is now 33, met me at the Hull railway station carrying
a CCTV warning sign. Armed with more than a million dollars in
public financing from the European Union, Marshall decided to build
what he calls the world's first Ethernet-based, wireless CCTV
system. Initially, Marshall put up 27 cameras around the housing
project. The cameras didn't bother the prostitutes, who in fact felt
safer working under CCTV. Instead, they scared the johns --
especially after the police recorded their license numbers, banged
on their doors and threatened to publish their names in the
newspapers. Business plummeted, and the prostitutes moved indoors or
across town to the traditional red-light district, where the city
decided to tolerate their presence in limited numbers.

But Marshall soon realized that he had bigger fish to fry than
displacing prostitutes from one part of Hull to another. His
innovative network of linked cameras attracted national attention,
which led, a few months ago, to $20 million in grant money from
various levels of government to expand the surveillance network
throughout the city of Hull. ''In a year and a half,'' Marshall
says, ''there'll be a digital connection to every household in the
city. As far as cameras go, I can imagine that, in 10 years' time,
the whole city will be covered. That's the speed that CCTV is
growing.'' In the world that Marshall imagines, every household in
Hull will be linked to a central network that can access cameras
trained inside and outside every building in the city. ''Imagine a
situation where you've got an elderly relative who lives on the
other side of the city,'' Marshall says. ''You ring her up, there's
no answer on the telephone, you think she collapsed -- so you go to
the Internet and you look at the camera in the lounge and you see
that she's making a cup of tea and she's taken her hearing aid out
or something.''

The person who controls access to this network of intimate images
will be a very powerful person indeed. And so I was eager to meet
the monitors of the Panopticon for myself. On a side street of Hull,
near the Star and Garter Pub and the city morgue, the Goodwin
Center's monitoring station is housed inside a ramshackle private
security firm called Sentry Alarms Ltd. The sign over the door reads
THE GUARD HOUSE. The monitoring station is locked behind a thick,
black vault-style door, but it looks like a college computer center,
with an Alicia Silverstone pinup near the door. Instead of an
impressive video wall, there are only two small desktop computers,
which receive all the signals from the Goodwin Center network. And
the digital, Web-based images -- unlike traditional video -- are
surprisingly fuzzy and jerky, like streaming video transmitted over
a slow modem.

During my time in the control room, from 9 p.m. to midnight, I
experienced firsthand a phenomenon that critics of CCTV surveillance
have often described: when you put a group of bored, unsupervised
men in front of live video screens and allow them to zoom in on
whatever happens to catch their eyes, they tend to spend a fair
amount of time leering at women. ''What catches the eye is groups of
young men and attractive, young women,'' I was told by Clive Norris,
the Hull criminologist. ''It's what we call a sense of the
obvious.'' There are plenty of stories of video voyeurism: a control
room in the Midlands, for example, took close-up shots of women with
large breasts and taped them up on the walls. In Hull, this
temptation is magnified by the fact that part of the operators' job
is to keep an eye on prostitutes. As it got late, though, there
weren't enough prostitutes to keep us entertained, so we kept
ourselves awake by scanning the streets in search of the purely
consensual activities of boyfriends and girlfriends making out in
cars. ''She had her legs wrapped around his waist a minute ago,''
one of the operators said appreciatively as we watched two teenagers
go at it. ''You'll be able to do an article on how reserved the
British are, won't you?'' he joked. Norris also found that
operators, in addition to focusing on attractive young women, tend
to focus on young men, especially those with dark skin. And those
young men know they are being watched: CCTV is far less popular
among black men than among British men as a whole. In Hull and
elsewhere, rather than eliminating prejudicial surveillance and
racial profiling, CCTV surveillance has tended to amplify it.

After returning from the digital city of Hull, I had a clearer
understanding of how, precisely, the spread of CCTV cameras is
transforming British society and why I think it's important for
America to resist going down the same path. ''I actually don't think
the cameras have had much effect on crime rates,'' says Jason
Ditton, the criminologist, whose evaluation of the effect of the
cameras in Glasgow found no clear reduction in violent crime.
''We've had a fall in crime in the last 10 years, and CCTV
proponents say it's because of the cameras. I'd say it's because we
had a boom economy in the last seven years and a fall in
unemployment.'' Ditton notes that the cameras can sometimes be
useful in investigating terrorist attacks -- like the Brixton
nail-bomber case in 1999 -- but there is no evidence that they
prevent terrorism or other serious crime.

Last year, Britain's violent crime rates actually increased by 4.3
percent, even though the cameras continued to proliferate. But CCTV
cameras have a mysterious knack for justifying themselves regardless
of what happens to crime. When crime goes up the cameras get the
credit for detecting it, and when crime goes down, they get the
credit for preventing it.

If the creation of a surveillance society in Britain hasn't
prevented terrorist attacks, it has had subtle but far-reaching
social costs. The handful of privacy advocates in Britain have tried
to enumerate those costs by arguing that the cameras invade privacy.
People behave in self-conscious ways under the cameras,
ostentatiously trying to demonstrate their innocence or bristling at
the implication of guilt. Inside a monitoring room near Runnymede,
the birthplace of the Magna Carta, I saw a group of teenagers who
noticed that a camera was pivoting around to follow them; they made
an obscene gesture toward it and looked back over their shoulders as
they tried to escape its gaze.

The cameras are also a powerful inducement toward social conformity
for citizens who can't be sure whether they are being watched. ''I
am gay and I might want to kiss my boyfriend in Victoria Square at 2
in the morning,'' a supporter of the cameras in Hull told me. ''I
would not kiss my boyfriend now. I am aware that it has altered the
way I might behave. Something like that might be regarded as an
offense against public decency. This isn't San Francisco.''
Nevertheless, the man insisted that the benefits of the cameras
outweighed the costs, because ''thousands of people feel safer.''

There is, in the end, a powerfully American reason to resist the
establishment of a national surveillance network: the cameras are
not consistent with the values of an open society. They are
technologies of classification and exclusion. They are ways of
putting people in their place, of deciding who gets in and who stays
out, of limiting people's movement and restricting their
opportunities. I came to appreciate the exclusionary potential of
the surveillance technology in a relatively low-tech way when I
visited a shopping center in Uxbridge, a suburb of London. The
manager of the center explained that people who are observed to be
misbehaving in the mall can be banned from the premises. The banning
process isn't very complicated. ''Because this isn't public
property, we have the right to refuse entry, and if there's a
wrongdoer, we give them a note or a letter, or simply tell them
you're banned.'' In America, this would provoke anyone who was
banned to call Alan Dershowitz and sue for discrimination. But the
British are far less litigious and more willing to defer to
authority.

Banning people from shopping malls is only the beginning. A couple
of days before I was in London, Borders Books announced the
installation of a biometric face-recognition surveillance system in
its flagship store on Charing Cross Road. Borders' scheme meant that
that anyone who had shoplifted in the past was permanently branded
as a shoplifter in the future. In response to howls of protest from
America, Borders dismantled the system, but it may well be
resurrected in a post-Sept. 11 world.

Perhaps the reason that Britain has embraced the new technologies of
surveillance, while America, at least before Sept. 11, had
strenuously resisted them, is that British society is far more
accepting of social classifications than we are. The British desire
to put people in their place is the central focus of British
literature, from Dickens to John Osborne and Alan Bennett. The work
of George Orwell that casts the most light on Britain's swooning
embrace of CCTV is not ''1984.'' It is Orwell's earlier book ''The
English People.''

''Exaggerated class distinctions have been diminishing,'' Orwell
wrote, but ''the great majority of the people can still be 'placed'
in an instant by their manners, clothes and general appearance'' and
above all, their accents. Class distinctions are less hardened today
than they were when I was a student at Oxford at the height of the
Thatcher-era ''Brideshead Revisited'' chic. But it's no surprise
that a society long accustomed to the idea that people should know
their place didn't hesitate to embrace a technology designed to
ensure that people stay in their assigned places.

Will America be able to resist the pressure to follow the British
example and wire itself up with surveillance cameras? Before Sept.
11, I was confident that we would. Like Germany and France, which
are squeamish about CCTV because of their experience with
20th-century totalitarianism, Americans are less willing than the
British to trust the government and defer to authority. After Sept.
11, however, everything has changed. A New York Times/CBS news poll
at the end of September found that 8 in 10 Americans believe they
will have to give up some of their personal freedoms to make the
country safe from terrorist attacks.

Of course there are some liberties that should be sacrificed in
times of national emergency if they give us greater security. But
Britain's experience in the fight against terrorism suggests that
people may give up liberties without experiencing a corresponding
increase in security. And if we meekly accede in the construction of
vast feel-good architectures of surveillance that have far-reaching
social costs and few discernible social benefits, we may find, in
calmer times, that they are impossible to dismantle.

It's important to be precise about the choice we are facing. No one
is threatening at the moment to turn America into Orwell's Big
Brother. And Britain hasn't yet been turned into Big Brother,
either. Many of the CCTV monitors and camera operators and policemen
and entrepreneurs who took the time to meet with me were models of
the British sense of fair play and respect for the rules. In many
ways, the closed-circuit television cameras have only exaggerated
the qualities of the British national character that Orwell
identified in his less famous book: the acceptance of social
hierarchy combined with the gentleness that leads people to wait in
orderly lines at taxi stands; a deference to authority combined with
an appealing tolerance of hypocrisy. These English qualities have
their charms, but they are not American qualities.

The promise of America is a promise that we can escape from the Old
World, a world where people know their place. When we say we are
fighting for an open society, we don't mean a transparent society --
one where neighbors can peer into each other's windows using the
joysticks on their laptops. We mean a society open to the
possibility that people can redefine and reinvent themselves every
day; a society in which people can travel from place to place
without showing their papers and being encumbered by their past; a
society that respects privacy and constantly reshuffles social
hierarchy.

The ideal of America has from the beginning been an insistence that
your opportunities shouldn't be limited by your background or your
database; that no doors should be permanently closed to anyone who
has the wrong smart card. If the 21st century proves to be a time
when this ideal is abandoned -- a time of surveillance cameras and
creepy biometric face scanning in Times Square -- then Osama bin
Laden will have inflicted an even more terrible blow than we now
imagine.

Jeffrey Rosen is an associate professor at George Washington
University Law School and the legal affairs editor of The New
Republic. He writes frequently on law for The Times Magazine.

**************************************************************************
Bruce Schneier, CTO, Counterpane Internet Security, Inc.  Ph: 408-777-3612
19050 Pruneridge Ave, Cupertino, CA 95014

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http://www.counterpane.com/crypto-gram.html



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