[wordup] A Cautionary Tale for a New Age of Surveillance

[Adam Shand]

I'm a little behind getting this out, it was on /. a while ago, but I
never got around to reading it.  So now .. here you go.

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

A Cautionary Tale for a New Age of Surveillance
By JEFFREY ROSEN
October 7, 2001

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.