System paralysis and the role of mavericks

I'm a little behind the times here, but John Robb had a fantastic blog post a couple weeks ago about the complexity of modern society. He begins by summarizing an argument from the book The Collapse of Complex Societies by Joseph Tainter:

In the book, he makes the compelling case that complex societies are, at root, very successful problem solving systems. If they weren't, they would never have become complex in the first place. Why? Societies solve challenges by creating new rules and processes (new complexity) that are then added on to the existing system ad infinitum. More successful outcomes = more complexity.

However, as noted above, problem solving comes at a cost. Each solution leaves a residue, a layer of complexity that never goes away (laws, taxes, monopolies, treaties, etc.). It builds up over time and saps the social system's flexibility and efficiency. Eventually, ever new layer of complexity extracts more in costs than it provides in benefit (solution). At that point, according to Tainter's analysis of ancient civilizations, the complex society collapses.

It is almost impossible to reform and simplify these complex systems, which is why they ultimately collapse. Collapse, Robb writes, is the only remaining option for simplification. Robb speculates that there may be one other way out: "growing an alternative at the periphery of the dying system" which is so effective at problem-solving that it can permeate and largely replace the existing system.

Robb's post eloquently captures something that has frustrated me endlessly, but that I've had a difficult time framing: the bureaucratic knots the US government (and the US military) has tied itself into. I understand where that complexity comes from. I also understand that this complexity and paralysis is the inevitable consequence of being a large organization, but that large organizations are still necessary because they can do amazing things that individuals or small organizations can't. Still, I'm always looking (usually in vain) for ways to simplify the organization or even go around it to get the job done. I like Robb's model because it suggests there is a role for the mavericks and dissidents: they can look for radical new ways to introduce change from the periphery.

This model is particularly relevant to some of the books I've been reading lately. I plan to write full posts on each of them, but I'll touch on the highlights.

Greg Mortensen's second book Stones into Schools is excellent. I enjoyed it so much because it rewinds the familiar American experience in Afghanistan back to 2001, then starts playing it back again--but this time through the eyes of Mortensen's small crew of idealists and misfits who are trying to build schools in Afghanistan's and Pakistan's most remote regions. Mortensen is the quintessential outlier who has been able to accomplish something great, but it hasn't been easy. He has only succeeded because he works outside large systems and power structures. When he is forced to deal with these large organizations, the reader can sense discomfort and sometimes the incredible friction. It's painful reading about his efforts to get permits from the decrepit federal government of Afghanistan, for example. On a couple occasions, the only way to get things done was to surge ahead without the right paperwork. Despite these setbacks, Mortensen has been a truly effective outlier: not only has he made a big impact in Afghanistan and Iraq, his vision has permeated the US military and government. His previous book Three Cups of Tea is widely known in the US military, and General Petraeus has apparently been recommending the new book.

I've also been reading a lot about cyberwarfare and cybercrime. I'm engrossed in the book Fatal System Error by Joseph Menn, which follows a "white hat" hacker named Barrett Lyon through the digital underworld. It's amazing, eye-opening, and really scary. Barrett's efforts to protect companies from denial of service attacks and identity theft lead him around the globe, through a lot of shady relationships (both real and virtual), and into the heart of the American and Russian mobs. I never realized the deep levels of connection between computer hacking, identity theft, mob business, governments, the porn and gambling industries, and financial services.

What makes this digital underworld really scary is that large organizations are so woefully under-equipped to deal with it. I'm only halfway through the book, but the clear loser so far is the FBI. The book is full of cringe-worthy moments, such as the time Barrett goes to the agency with detailed information tying organized computer crime in Russia to Chechen terrorists. A single FBI agent shows up for the meeting, who borrows Barrett's pen to scribble a few notes on a napkin before concluding. Even the well-intended federal agents that Barrett deals with largely have their hands tied because of bureaucratic and legal restrictions. As a private citizen and hacker, Barrett is able to employ tools and methods unavailable to the government. The FBI sets him loose to track down malicious hackers, with the caveat that they don't want to know how he gets his information.

There is unquestionably a major role for government in fighting cybercrime--such as passing and enforcing effective laws, investigating cybercrime, prosecuting hackers, and cooperating with foreign governments--but this is not a war that government can fight alone. Cybercriminals are the ultimate networked enemy; they benefit from tremendous resilience, freedom of movement, and an unrestricted flow of information. Their OODA loop and innovation cycles moves faster than any large organization's ever can. This is a war that will be waged among the people--between cybercriminals and a variety of stakeholders who cooperate to fight them. Government, business, and mavericks like Barrett will all have a role. I personally think the world needs to find a way to tap into the potential army of teenage hackers who are pounding Red Bull and writing late-night code in their basements. Cybercrime is waged by the crowd; maybe at least some of that crowd can be tapped to fight for the good guys. But all this is very unconventional and hard for a bureaucracy to swallow.

Bucking the System

As someone who tries hard to be a responsible renegade (or what a Coast Guard friend of mine calls "constructively discontented"), I enjoyed this Fast Company article titled How to Buck the System the Right Way. Thanks to Zenpundit for the link. The author, who is writing about GM's efforts to identify promising middle managers, suggests that effective mavericks need the following characteristics:

Credibility. You must know your stuff especially when you are not the one in charge. When you are seeking to make a case to senior manager, or even to colleagues, what you know must be grounded in reality. At the same time, so often, as is the case at GM, you need to be able to think and act differently. So your track record reinforces your credibility. That is, what you have done before gives credence to what you want to do in the future.

Influence. Knowing how to persuade others is critical for someone seeking to effect change. If you do not have line authority, how else but through influence can you succeed? Your influence is based on credibility, but also on your proven ability to get things done. Sometimes persuasion comes down to an ability to sweet talk the higher ups as well as put a bit of muscle on colleagues (nicely of course) in order push your initiative through.

Respect. Mavericks, which GM said it was looking for, may not always be the most easiest people to get along with on a daily basis. After all, they are ones seeking to buck the system. But mavericks who succeed are ones who have the best interests of the organization at heart and in time earn the respect of thier colleagues.

What I'm Reading: Daemon and Freedom

I'm always interested in what John Robb has to say, so when one of my commenters told me that Daniel Suarez's book Daemon should be considered "John Robb: the Novel", I downloaded it to my Kindle that night. Zenpundit gave these books good reviews, and Robb himself (who is friends with Suarez) often cites examples from the novel and its sequel Freedom.

Daemon is about a terminally ill computer genius named Matthew Sobol who leaves behind a devastating legacy: computer code that will activate upon his death, sow all kinds of mayhem, and ultimately lead to a war against civilization itself. It is a gripping novelization of a line that stuck with me from Robb's book Brave New War: The Next Stage of Terrorism and the End of Globalization: the superempowerment of individuals and the lowering thresholds for war are leading us to a dangerous culminating point characterized by "the ability of one man to declare war on the world and win."

Suarez gets an A+ for ideas. What makes Daemon so creepy is how plausible many of Sobol's schemes are. You get the sense that this kind of thing could happen tomorrow. The book offers a tour into a bizarre but believable near future where a genius like Sobol can exploit the Internet, massive multiplayer online role playing games, augmented reality, and robotics to subvert the world order. His ambitious scheme ultimately rests on recruiting human talent. My favorite part of the book was watching the dead Sobol identify and apprentice a drifting young computer hacker, and harness his abilities to further his agenda.

Although the book's ingenuity makes it a must-read, the execution leaves a lot to be desired. Most of the characters are dull and uninteresting, with the notable exceptions of Sobol himself and Greg, the young hacker who gets entwined with Sobol's plans. Scenes that are supposed to be emotionally-packed fall flat. The writing style is clean, but lacks energy and vibrancy. In short, Daemon suffers from weaknesses traits that are unfortunately common among commercial fiction. Fortunately the gripping plot and the ideas overcome these weaknesses and make the book hard to put down.

Freedom picks up where Daemon leaves off. Sobol's daemon has grown in power. The plans he laid before his death have drawn together a new kind of human community that desires to overthrow and rebuild civilization as we know it. New ideas flash across every page: augmented reality, resilient communities, next-generation weapons and gear, new forms of economic systems, the merging of real and virtual worlds. I respect Suarez's tremendous imagination and the scope of what he is trying to create.

With that said, Freedom didn't work for me. The ideas get too big too quickly. Plausibility, Daemon's core strength, goes out the window. As Suarez makes Sobol's community bigger and badder, it becomes less and less interesting. Greg, the fascinating hacker from Daemon, turns into a comic book villain whose amazing powers come at the expense of any personality or human story. A second villain is so evil that--like the one-dimensional villains in Avatar--he never becomes interesting. In Daemon, each of Sobol's nefarious acts was unique and carefully-crafted. In Freedom, we repeatedly watch a horde of robotic motorcycles slashing crowds of enemies to pieces with swords. The novelty quickly wears off, and the extra buckets of blood and gore do little to bring these scenes to life. Although it has its moments, the plotting isn't nearly as tight as in Daemon. I had to make myself finish the book.

Still, both books should be read together on account of their ideas. They are thought-provoking, introduce many of the technologies that will transform our society in the next ten years, and illustrate many of the ways that warfare could potentially evolve. These books are also as good of a primer on cyberwarfare as you're likely to find. If you can get past the shallow characters and the uneven quality of the writing, Suarez has written a remarkable story and imagined a frightening but plausible future.

Back from the Gulf

It was a long and bumpy road, but I finally jumped through all the right bureaucratic hoops to visit three countries in the Gulf: Bahrain, Kuwait, and Oman. It was exhausting toting two small children across three countries in ten days, and most of my time revolved around my family rather than sightseeing, but I was able to form at least a general picture about these countries.

Bahrain doesn't feel like a country; it feels like an economic enterprise. I had a rather unique vantage point, because my hotel was located deep in the machinery of this booming economic engine. On the way there, Bahrain's impressive skyline of soaring skyscrapers and five-star hotels receded farther and farther behind us. The GPS finally turned me onto a side street and then started to go crazy. We were soon lost in a maze of crowded one-way streets, lined by cramped shops and salons and coffee shops. The chaotic sidewalks were crowded with diversity: Filipina women in trendy clothes carrying shopping bags, a North African family eating pizza, Indians carrying sacks of groceries home. Every once in a while an Arab man in a white dishdashah robe would drift through the crowd like a ghost, or a covered woman would drive past in an SUV. I knew that a vast proportion of the population in Bahrain consisted of foreign workers, but it was still remarkable and disorienting actually being in this upside-down universe where foreign workers do most of the work. I don't think I ever heard Arabic spoken.

My 20 month-old son, who is possibly one of the finest diplomats the United States currently has in the Middle East, helped us befriend our Filipino and Indonesian hotel staff. Every morning when I went to breakfast, the waiters would sweep him off. I would catch glimpses of him being carried around hallways, sitting with employees in back offices, or sitting on a stool behind the check-in counter. One time he vanished, and I went upstairs to the balcony overlooking the lobby. I literally found him seated like an emperor on this giant golden throne that was part of the decor, with hotel staff standing on either side of him. When they weren't too busy spoiling my son rotten, I talked with some of them and heard their stories. They were so drawn to my son because they missed their own families (all of them had families), who were hundreds of miles away in their home countries. They traveled home to see their families once a year.

Our sightseeing included criss-crossing Bahrain in a rental car, going to the beach, visiting a nature reserve, exploring downtown, and going to the mall. We also visited the Bahrain National Museum, which was interesting because it teaches visitors about aspects of Bahraini life and culture--without mentioning the foreign workers who comprise half the population. Bahrain's wealth make the country a stark contrast to Jordan. Oil money was evident in the spectacular shopping malls and the stunning architecture of its skyscrapers.

Kuwait was much the same. Again, Kuwait didn't feel like much of a country to me; although Kuwait City is huge, it feels like an isolated outpost that exists solely to facilitate the oil business. After the second Lamborghini roared past our taxi on the way to the hotel, I thought, "Dude, that's great for you, but you still have to live in Kuwait." We only spent a full day in Kuwait (and spent much of that time in the hotel because the kids were exhausted), but we made it down to the beautiful waterfront corniche and part of downtown. I'm used to seeing American franchises in the Middle East, but I was shocked at the sheer number of them in Kuwait. Everything was American. The most surreal thing about Kuwait was wrapping my mind around the notion that Kuwait was the victim of a devastating invasion. When most people think about war, it's remote and foreign to our experience--it's something that happens in alien, far-off places unlike ours. So it's shocking and a little disorienting to see how "normal" Kuwait is, and to realize that war is a tragedy that strikes ordinary people in ordinary places.

Oman was the real treasure on this trip. I didn't know anything about the country (how often do you hear about Oman in the news?), but we discovered a vibrant country that has a distinct cultural heritage. Oman has oil, but not nearly as much as the other Gulf countries. It consequently lacks the extravagance and waste that make cities like Dubai so notorious. The government has been promoting economic diversification and weaning itself off foreign labor. This was the most striking contrast with Bahrain and Kuwait; everywhere we went, we saw--believe it or not--Omanis. It was a relief to be able to speak Arabic again. Oman is also rugged and beautiful. We spent most of our time around Musqat, but we did venture through the mountains towards Nizwa, which serves as a base camp for adventurers. We explored Al-Hoota cave, which is supposedly one of the largest cave complexes in the world. This is a country we definitely want to come back to when the kids are older.

"Never want it more than they do"

The friend I mentioned in my previous post--the Army Ranger who spoke at my university--sent me Tom Friedman's March 30th op-ed this morning. It dovetails with my friend's frustration that Americans seem to care more about building the future of Afghanistan and Iraq than may Afghans and Iraqis do.

The article focuses on the way that Karzai has been snubbing the United States and hindering the development of his country, but it also calls out the Israelis and the Palestinians. Friedman suggests a rule: "Never want it more than they do."

Unfortunately, I've found that being a peacemaker almost always requires violating that rule. It's the nature of the beast. The entire reason conflicting parties turn to third parties is because they are so entrenched in misunderstanding, bitterness, and extremism that they can't solve their own problems. It's tremendously discouraging for those who do care about peace. One of my favorite passages in the New Testament is in Luke 19, when Jesus weeps over Jerusalem and says, "If you, even you, had only known on this day what would bring you peace--but now it is hidden from your eyes." It is the anguished prayer of the peacebuilder who finds himself despised and rejected, and it is as relevant today as it was 2000 years ago.

I play only a small role in peacebuilding, which mostly consists of participating in classroom debates or discussing politics over tea or a beer. Even that humble role is exhausting. I spend so much time trying to humanize Arabs and Muslims and explain them to Americans, only to have my Arab friends turn around and say terrible anti-Semitic things or deny the Holocaust. I try and humanize Israelis and explain to my Arab friends the reasons that they live in so much fear, and are so frightened of a shaky peace process that they believe will undermine their security. Next thing I know, the Israeli government is announcing settlement expansions and throwing the peace process to the wind, or even announcing that yes, it did in fact harvest organs from dead Palestinians without consent.

These are just the extreme examples. Mostly, the stubbornness in conflicts is more subtle. Both sides see the worst in the other, are blind to their own faults, and are too proud to compromise. They like to cast blame, want third parties to vindicate their side, and are more interested in being proven right than in solving problems. That's the human environment in which peacebuilders work, and unfortunately, that's the environment the United States government frequently finds itself in (by the way, we're not immune from these faults ourselves).

Every once in a while, though, there is a breakthrough... and I suppose that makes the long, hard, thankless battle worth it. A lot of Jordanians don't realize it (and are actively working to undermine it), but their peace treaty with Israel is a small miracle that has brought innumerable benefits. I can't imagine how frustrating George Mitchell's job is right now, but then again, he has the satisfaction of knowing that he helped solve the seemingly intractable conflict in North Ireland. As for myself, I enjoy the small victories that I have found, like slowly changing the way my classmates view the United States--or how my American colleagues view Arabs and Muslims. One of my most satisfying experiences in Jordan was helping a Jordanian friend and his American wife through a rocky family conflict rooted in deep cultural misunderstanding and miscommunication.

Never want it more than they do? I suppose it's a good rule, and there are a lot of times are government needs to play hardball--especially with actors like Karzai. At the same time, thank God that some people DO want peace that badly and are willing to strive for it. If it weren't for them, the world would be a much darker place.

Humanizing the US Military

One the Jordanian professors who taught me last semester has become a pretty good friend. He was educated in the West, has a good mind for international relations and foreign policy, and used some excellent books in his class. This semester he is teaching a course on American Foreign Policy and asked for my help gathering resources and finding guest speakers.

A few weeks ago I was privileged to invite a friend who is a Ranger in the US Army. He has plenty of on-the-ground experience in Afghanistan and Iraq, including time at the Coalition Provisional Authority, so I knew he could talk about the motivations and goals of US leadership in the aftermath of the Iraq invasion. He could show these students that, while the US invasion was ill-conceived in many ways, Americans are largely driven by good (if sometimes naive) intentions. I also trusted my friend to tell the truth from his own experience. Honesty, more than anything else, is what I hoped my friend could bring.

My friend did the right thing and coordinated his visit through his organization's force protection office. This required a couple very frustrating weeks, and when the approval finally came, there were strings attached. He wasn't supposed to mention anything about being active duty military. He wasn't supposed to talk about what he was doing in Jordan. He wasn't supposed to share his own opinions or speak too much from his personal experience. When his commander told me this, I wrestled to find a response that wasn't insubordinate. What could he talk about? The commander who passed these instructions on from the security office--a good guy with a good head on his shoulders--softened a little, told us to just use common sense, and to avoid giving details that would make him a target.

By the way, I should mention the composition of this class: eight nice, sweet girls who speak fluent English, are in a master's degree in American Studies, and are hungry to learn.

On the drive to the university my friend and I discussed these conditions, and what he would and wouldn't say. We agreed that it was prudent to avoid discussing details of his present time in Jordan, but decided that it was essential to be open about his current Army affiliation. He had toyed with the idea of saying he was now working as a contractor, but I laughed and told him that they would hear "Blackwater" which is a hundred times worse than the Army. We agreed that openly discussing his military identity was a foundation for trust and honesty, and the whole reason he was invited as a speaker.

My friend did a fantastic job. We had planned for a 30 minute lecture and 30 minutes of questions. After an hour of enthusiastic questions from the girls, we took a break and then resumed for another hour. My friend talked about his experiences in the US military, and then took questions all across the board. What is the US vision for Iraq and Afghanistan? How has our strategy changed? What lessons has the US learned? What is the relationship like between the military and other branches of the US government? My friend discussed counterinsurgency, provincial reconstruction teams, empowerment of local government, and everything else under the sun. These young ladies were hungry to learn, and while they retain a lot of skepticism towards US policy, I could sense that some of their views were being challenged. During the break, a couple girls continued to pepper him with questions.

My friend really shone towards the end of the evening, when the questions got personal and he spoke from a place of brutal honesty. He couldn't keep the emotion out of his voice when he talked about his single greatest frustration in Iraq and Afghanistan: the fact that he worked harder and longer for the people of these countries than any Iraqi or Afghan he had ever met. He talked about the months on end when he slept only 4 or 5 hours a night, because he was working so hard to help restore security to these countries. The students listened reverently.

The last question of the night was the most profound. The professor called on a shy student who had listened silently all evening, her hijab and clothing marking her as a conservative Muslim girl. "You must have a question," he said to her. She nodded and asked, "Is there any one experience from Iraq or Afghanistan that will stay with you?"

My friend nodded thoughtfully. "That's a question that you probably shouldn't ask military veterans," he told her quietly. "But yes, I will tell you about an experience I will always remember."

Some people believe that the seeds of trust and goodwill are planted by US government-funded satellite channels full of sunny optimism. They believe that security and force protection are found in barricades, razor wire, and cover stories. My friend, like me, believes the opposite. He believes that honesty and sincerity are the foundations we need to build on. Honesty breaks down walls of separation, humanizes the other, and makes meaningful, trusting relationship possible. His answer, which would probably have horrified the force protection folks, reflects that belief.

There was a time in Fallujah, he said, when he authorized a helicopter strike on a house that he believed was filled with insurgents. At the time, all the information he had available suggested that this was the right target. He made the best decision he could with the information that he had available at the time. Nobody will ever know the whole truth of who died that night, but he said the consistency of rage and grief from the local community has led him to believe that he made a mistake. It wasn't the right house. Innocent people died that night, he said. Because of him, people who should be alive and free and enjoying all that life has to offer are dead. He will always have to live with that.

I couldn't get inside the minds of those girls that night, but from where I sat in the corner of the room, I could see the emotions flickering over their faces. They saw his regret and his pain. I believe the honesty of his confession earned him their respect and understanding. In those minutes my friend probably did more to humanize the US military in these ladies' eyes than any amount of public diplomacy.

They were sincerely grateful for his talk, and excited when he offered to leave his contact info in case they had further questions. Each of them has to write a paper about American foreign policy, so he could potentially be a valuable contact for them. According to standard force protection protocol, my friend probably should have just disappeared without leaving a trace. Instead, he offered to sustain these new relationships in a meaningful way.

It was a great night, and one of the cooler things I've been privileged to do while in Jordan... a small but tangible accomplishment in my efforts to promote peace. I hope to line up other guest speakers in the future.