Info Ops: From World War I to the Twitter Era 2021023050, 2021023051, 9781626379954, 9781955055000, 1626379955

Table of contents :
Cover
Title page
Copyright page
Contents
Acknowledgments
Ch1- The Nature of Information Operations
Defining Information Operations
Framework of the Book
Purpose of the Book
The Structure of the Book
Notes
PART 1- Formation
Ch2- British “Front Propaganda” in World War I
Organization
The Methods and Means of Distribution
The Content
Assessing the Success of British Front Propaganda
Notes
Ch3- Soviet Information Operations in World War II
Organization of Information Operations Before the War
Rebuilding Information Operations Capacity, 1941–1942
Reshaping the Message: 1943 Onward
Conclusion
Notes
Ch4- Inducement Strategies in the Vietnam War
Organization
Content
Methods of Delivery
Conclusion: Assessing Success
Notes
PART 2- Evolution
Ch5- Soviet Propaganda in the War in Afghanistan, 1979–1989
Marching into a Trap and Struggling to Withdraw, 1979–1989
The Scale of the Operations
Content and Methods of Delivery
Conclusion
Notes
Ch6- NATO’s Information Campaigns in Afghanistan, 2003–2021
The StratCom Effort in the RS Mission
Messaging Is Critical, but Alone Does Not Make an Effective Communications Campaign
NATO HQ Brussels Was Critical to the Relative Success of the Campaign at the Strategic Level
“Effectiveness” Examined
Six Key Elements that Defined the NATO StratCom Effort in Theater
Table 6.1 Select Information Posts on the Resolute Support Mission Website
Table 6.2 NATO Resolute Support Releases Issued in the Quarter Leading to Afghan Presidential Elections, June to End of September
Conclusion
Appendix 6.1- Overview of Key Developments and Messaging During Afghanistan Mission per International Security AssistanceForce/Resolute Support Mission Command
Appendix 6.1 Notes
Application of StratCom by Command
Appendix 6.2 US South Asia Strategy (August 2017): Resolute Support Mission Overarching Key Themes and Master Messages
US South Asia Policy Strategy: Six Key Themes
US South Asia Policy Strategy: Messaging in Support of Important Related Concepts
2017 ANDSF Fighting Season: Reform and Change
Notes
Ch7- Russian and Georgian Operations in South Ossetia, August 7–12, 2008
Tensions Before the Conflict
Information Operations During the Conflict
Context of Information Operations
Conclusion: Lessons Learned?
Notes
PART 3- Adaptation
Ch8- Hamas’s Strategy Against Israel: From Information Ops to Influence Ops
Historical and Ideological Development of Hamas
Influence Operations in Hamas’s Strategy
Audiences and Objectives of Hamas’s Influence Operations
Case Studies
Conclusion
Notes
Ch9- Israel’s Information Operations in Gaza:The Rise of the Digital Age
Conceptual Background
Israel’s Cognitive Operations in the Gaza Strip Before 2008
Operation Cast Lead, 2008
The 2012 Pillar of Defense and 2014 Protective Edge Operations
The 2012 Pillar of Defense and 2014 Protective Edge Operations
Conclusion
Notes
PART 4- Conclusion
Ch10- The Future of Information Operations
Sender
Message
Encoding
Channels or Medium
Decoding
Recipient
Feedback
What, If Any, Is the Role of Trust and Distrust in Information Operations?
The Future of Information Operations
Notes
Acronyms
Bibliography
The Contributors
Index
About the Book

Citation preview

INFO OPS

INFO OPS From

WORLD WAR I to the

TWITTER ERA edited by

Ofer Fridman, Vitaly Kabernik, and Francesca Granelli

b o u l d e r l o n d o n

Published in the United States of America in 2022 by Lynne Rienner Publishers, Inc. 1800 30th Street, Suite 314, Boulder, Colorado 80301 www.rienner.com

and in the United Kingdom by Lynne Rienner Publishers, Inc. Gray’s Inn House, 127 Clerkenwell Road, London EC1 5DB www.eurospanbookstore.com/rienner

© 2022 by Lynne Rienner Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Fridman, Ofer, 1979– editor. | Kabernik, Vitaly, 1975– editor. | Granelli, Francesca, editor. Title: Info ops : from World War I to the Twitter era / edited by Ofer Fridman, Vitaly Kabernik, Francesca Granelli. Other titles: Information operations Description: Boulder, Colorado : Lynne Rienner Publishers, Inc., [2021] | Includes bibliographical references and index. | Summary: “Assesses the evolving role and increasing relevance of information operations from the leaflet bombardments of World War I to the present digital age”— Provided by publisher. Identifiers: LCCN 2021023050 (print) | LCCN 2021023051 (ebook) | ISBN 9781626379954 (Hardcover : alk. paper) | ISBN 9781955055000 (eBook) Subjects: LCSH: Information warfare—History—Case studies. | Disinformation—History—Case studies. | Hybrid warfare—History—Case studies. Classification: LCC U163 .I54 2021 (print) | LCC U163 (ebook) | DDC 355.3/43—dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021023050 LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021023051

British Cataloguing in Publication Data A Cataloguing in Publication record for this book is available from the British Library.

Printed and bound in the United States of America

The paper used in this publication meets the requirements of the American National Standard for Permanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials Z39.48-1992. 5 4 3 2 1

Contents

Acknowledgments

vii

Part 1 Formation

13

1 The Nature of Information Operations Ofer Fridman, Vitaly Kabernik, and Francesca Granelli 2 British “Front Propaganda” in World War I Ofer Fridman

3 Soviet Information Operations in World War II Vitaly Kabernik 4 Inducement Strategies in the Vietnam War Aidan Winn

1

39 65

Part 2 Evolution

5 Soviet Propaganda in the War in Afghanistan, 1979–1989 Igor Orlov and Mikhail Mironyuk

6 NATO’s Information Campaigns in Afghanistan, 2003–2020 Brett Boudreau

7 Russian and Georgian Operations in South Ossetia, August 7–12, 2008 Vitaly Kabernik, Igor Orlov, and Mikhail Mironyuk v

91 117 169

vi

Contents

Part 3 Adaptation

8 Hamas’s Strategy Against Israel: From Information Ops to Influence Ops Michael Milstein

9 Israel’s Information Operations in Gaza: The Rise of the Digital Age Roy Schulman and David Siman-Tov

195 219

Part 4 Conclusion

251

List of Acronyms Bibliography The Contributors Index About the Book

269 273 281 283 287

10 The Future of Information Operations Francesca Granelli

Acknowledgments

THIS BOOK WOULD NOT HAVE BEEN POSSIBLE WITHOUT GENerous and priceless assistance from many people and institutions. First and foremost, we would like to express our gratitude to the Gerda Henkel Foundation for supporting the workshop “A Century of Information Operations: From Crewe House to Twitter” that launched this project. Thanks are also due to the King’s Centre for Strategic Communications (KCSC) at King’s College London for hosting the workshop, and the Centre of Military and Political Studies at Moscow State Institute of International Relations for assisting in its organization. We are especially grateful to Neville Bolt, director of KCSC, whose help and support encouraged us to carry on with this project, and to Marie-Claire Antoine of Lynne Rienner Publishers for her continuous support and for believing in us and this book from the beginning. We would also like to express our gratitude to David Siman-Tov at the Institute for National Security Studies, Tel Aviv University, whose help in the final stages of the project was especially beneficial. Finally, we acknowledge the authors of the chapters for their encouragement, patience, and commitment.

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1 The Nature of Information Operations Ofer Fridman, Vitaly Kabernik, and Francesca Granelli

Military activity is never directed against material force alone; it is always aimed simultaneously at the moral forces which give it life, and the two cannot be separated. Carl von Clausewitz1

DURING THE PAST DECADE, THE ROLE AND PLACE OF INFORmation warfare, or information operations, on the battlefield have become a subject of wide academic and professional discussions.2 Many of these discussions are rooted in the indisputable fact that following the Information Revolution of the late twentieth century, information and communication technologies (ICTs) have come to dominate the battlefield, shaping the character of contemporary conflict, its aims, means, and ways. It is therefore unsurprising that the role of information in contemporary conflicts is quite often presented and interpreted as something fundamentally new or almost revolutionary. The internet, social networks, and the smartphone fundamentally changed the speed of information, its production and distribution to the targeted audiences, be it enemy troops or the civilian population. While the propagandists of World War I could not even know if their leaflets were picked up and read by the enemy,3 today’s ICTs allow one to microtarget audiences with specifically tailored content and trace their subsequent interactions with it. The new Information Age indeed offers revolutionary tools and ways to influence one’s adversaries: military and civilian society. 1

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A true student of military history, however, should not be mesmerized by “silver bullets” offered by the advocates of information technology determinism for two reasons. The first is that technological determinism has never promised success on the battlefield. “Technology sets the parameters of the possible,” argues Max Boot in his analysis of the interaction between revolutionary technologies and warfare, “it was how the people responded to technology that produces seismic shifts in warfare.”4 The second reason is that influencing people’s minds remains as complex an operation as ever. There is a long way between the moment of exposure to information and the desired behavioral change this information is intended to create—if it is even possible. While contemporary ICTs allow the dissemination of information at unprecedented scale, speed, and accuracy, it does not mean that an exposure to information in the age of Twitter produces any, the same, or better impact than in the era of print or oral stories. Тhe importance of the informational dimension on the battlefield has been known since antiquity. The history of warfare is full of examples of information manipulations intended to deceive, demoralize, or simply seed fear among enemy troops and populations.5 Sun Tzu’s “all warfare is based on deception,”6 Niccolò Machiavelli’s “who overcomes the enemy with fraud is praised as much as the one who overcomes it with force,”7 and Carl von Clausewitz’s battle that is “more a killing of the enemy’s courage than of the enemy’s soldiers”8—all praised the advantages of manipulating or intimidating the “nervous system” of the enemy’s military. However, while in the past this was achieved by military deception on the battlefield, or by spreading rumors intended to demoralize the enemy, 9 the increased levels of literacy brought about by the Industrial Revolution of the nineteenth century changed the rules of the game. Mass literacy opened the door to mass communication not only within states but also between states, in times of peace and, more importantly, in times of war. In other words, the development of effective means to communicate information harmful to the enemy marked the birth of modern information operations, which seek to undermine the normal functions of the enemy in an attempt to undermine its capacity to resist.

Defining Information Operations There is much definitional fog surrounding what constitutes information operations. The term creates immediate associations with psychological operations (PsyOps), military deception, influence operations,

The Nature of Information Operations

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propaganda, electronic or cyber warfare—all of which represent only a part of the whole picture, leading to much misunderstanding of what information operations are about. As Colonel Mark D. Vertuli of US Strategic Command (USSTRATCOM) puts it, “I am sure that if several Army leaders and soldiers were asked to define information operations in their own words, one would receive several differing—and often conflicting—interpretations.”10 Different institutions and organizations define information operations differently. For example, the US military defines information operations as “the integrated employment, during military operations, of information-related capabilities in concert with other lines of operation to influence, disrupt, corrupt, or usurp the decision-making of adversaries and potential adversaries while protecting our own.”11 The RAND Corporation, which exists “to help policymakers make decisions that are based on the best available information,”12 defines information operations as “the collection of tactical information about an adversary as well as the dissemination of propaganda in pursuit of a competitive advantage over an opponent.”13 Another interesting definition was provided by Facebook in 2017 in its report on false news and disinformation, which likely has a much larger readership than the publications produced by the US military and RAND combined. In an attempt to “understand the different types of abuse that occur on our platform,” Facebook defined information operations as “actions taken by organized actors (governments or non-state actors) to distort domestic or foreign political sentiment, most frequently to achieve a strategic and/or geopolitical outcome.”14 Although all these definitions originate in the West, the term information operations has never been in fashion in Russia. The Russian military has no definition for it. Instead, it uses information-psychological struggle (informatsionno-psikhologicheskoye protivoborstvo), which is defined as “a system of informational and psychological impacts on the informational resources of the enemy, the consciousness and feelings of its military personnel and the population, as well as a set of measures to protect their own informational and psychological resources.”15

Framework of the Book In an attempt to offer valuable analysis, any research must adopt a coherent definition of the phenomenon it examines. This book is no exception. However, after careful consideration, we decided to reject all the listed definitions for two main reasons. First, they all represent a contemporary

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understanding of the information environment and its technology. Any attempt to analyze historical cases through a contemporary lens increases the possibility of confirmation bias—seeing what the researchers want to see and not necessarily what happened. This leads directly to the second reason for rejecting contemporary concepts. The understanding of what can be achieved through the information domain has changed over the period covered in this book. The way propaganda was operationalized in the World Wars is different from information activities conducted by NATO in Afghanistan, Russia in Georgia, or Israel in the Gaza Strip. Any analysis of these cases through a unified definitional lens would be tantamount to trying to fit a square peg into a circle. It would either leave the square’s edges outside or create blank spaces inside the circle. Therefore, instead of using a rigid conceptual framework for analysis, we adopted a more flexible approach based on four main characteristics. First, we focus on information operations conducted during open military confrontations. Unlike Facebook’s or RAND’s definitions, which present information operations as a stand-alone hostile activity in pursuit of political goals, we approach information operations as a coordinated effort in support of military goals on the battlefield. Second, there are many different military means to inflict informationpsychological pressure on the adversary, seeding fear and demoralization, such as extensive bombarding, blockades, military deception, and assassination of leaders. However, this book focuses on information operations as activities conducted in informational, rather than physical, space. While acknowledging that military actions and their informationpsychological impact are highly interwoven, this book focuses more on the latter, rather than on the former. For example, in analyzing the British information operations during World War I, we do not discuss the direct psychological effect on the German soldiers of the blockade of Germany or the arrival of the US troops in France. Instead, we focus on how information about these actions was used to undermine the political stability of the Central powers and encourage desertion. Third, the science of measuring the effect of information operations is still an evolving field,16 as it is still difficult to separate their impact on the targeted audiences from the cumulative effect of the political, military, and economic factors that shape the behavior of these audiences as well. While each chapter makes an attempt to assess the effectiveness of the conducted information activities, we acknowledge the fact that these are still methodologically uncharted waters. Finally, this book approaches information operations as operations. The US Department of Defense defines operation as “a sequence of tactical actions with a common purpose or unifying theme.”17 Therefore,

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this book analyses information operations as a series of information activities conducted against an adversary during military operations with the common purpose of defeating its will. Readers, however, should take this definition with caution. Neither our ambition, nor intention, is to provide a better definition for information operations. Instead, this definition should serve as a theoretical lens through which this book should be read. In this way, we hope, the readers who are kind enough to study our research will get the most out of it, regardless of their own definition of information operations.

Purpose of the Book Following von Clausewitz’s view that “while history yields no formula, it does provide an exercise for judgement,”18 this book seeks to offer contemporary readers a historical overview of how different actors used information to undermine the will of their adversaries in the past hundred years. While modern information operations are shaped by the internet and other associated technologies, their history begins with the British Royal Army balloons which, by the end of World War I, showered Germans with approximately 5 million leaflets a month. This book offers a critical view into the history of information operations, leaving readers to judge its relevance to contemporary practice. Moreover, the future is a black box, and any attempt to open it would ultimately lead readers down a slippery slope of speculations. This book analyzes the past, focusing on how different countries conducted their information operations during conflicts. Although the last two chapters focus on the recent past, and the overall book might help readers to think about a possible future for information operations, this remains a perilous enterprise. Throughout its examination of case studies, this book refrains from making any moral, ethical, or legal judgments. The first (and unsuccessful) attempt to portray an adversary’s information operations as “a breach of International Law” was conducted by the Germans during World War I.19 Since then, the legality of information operations has been a subject of many academic and professional discussions. Since this book focuses on information operations during wars, when disseminating leaflets and books (or their twenty-first-century counterparts—posts and tweets) is par for the course, we reserve the job of moral and legal judgment for philosophers and lawyers. Some of the cases have already made a significant footprint in historical analytical literature. The British information operations during

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World War I are well covered by George G. Bruntz’s Allied Propaganda and the Collapse of the German Empire in 191820 and Michael L. Sandres and Philip M. Taylor’s British Propaganda During the First World War, 1914–18.21 The US information operations in Vietnam are discussed in detail in War of Ideas: The US Propaganda Campaign in Vietnam by Robert W. Chandler22 and The Psychological War for Vietnam, 1960– 1968 by Mervyn Edwin Roberts III.23 NATO’s experience in Afghanistan was already analyzed by Arturo Munoz’s U.S. Military Information Operations in Afghanistan: Effectiveness of Psychological Operations, 2001– 201024 and Brett Boudreau’s We Have Met the Enemy and He Is Us.25 Other cases are less known to a Western audience such as the Soviet propaganda on the Eastern Front against Nazi Germany, the Soviet propaganda in Afghanistan, the Russian information operations during the 2008 Russo-Georgian conflict, and the information activities conducted by Hamas and Israel during the most contemporary cases presented in the book. The purpose of this book is to construct a mosaic of historical development of information operations from World War I to the Twitter era.

The Structure of the Book Andrey Kokoshin, one of the most influential contemporary Russian strategists, states that “in the contemporary environment, all military commanders of all ranks are utterly required to master the skills of informationpsychological struggle.”26 Following this observation, this book focuses on the development of the modern information operations from World War I to the present. For the first time, British, American, Canadian, Russian, and Israeli scholars and experts discuss one of the most sensitive topics in military history—the role and the place of information operations in the overall military strategy. The unique academic collaboration presented in this book takes place at a challenging time in international relations, as a confluence of conflict-related insecurities has given rise to a sense of deep crisis. Closely associated with this are concerns relating to the increasing use of the information domain by state and nonstate actors in pursuit of their strategic goals. The current political climate presents challenges to the free academic exchange of views and opinions, yet simultaneously elevates it to one of critical importance. This book offers a dialogue on a controversial topic, tracing the historic development of information operations from World War I to the Israel-Hamas military engagements conducted during the contemporary digital age. The book consists of three conceptually interconnected parts that trace the development of information operations during the past hun-

The Nature of Information Operations

7

dred years. After this introduction, Part 1 of the book focuses on the initial formation of contemporary information operations from World War I to Vietnam. In Chapter 2, Ofer Fridman discusses the birth of modern information operations on the battlefields of World War I. The aim of this chapter is to put the British experience of “front propaganda” into the greater context of this book and to remind contemporary readers that the great lessons of the information operations of World War I are still relevant today. After all, this is how it all began. This insight into the dawn of information operations is followed by Chapter 3 by Vitaly Kabernik, who sheds light on the Soviet experience in the information domain during World War II. This chapter traces the development of Soviet information operations from ideology-burdened propaganda to highly sophisticated operations that attempted to shape the enemy’s cultural space by using national controversies and captured high-ranking officers to channel messages to the German people and military personnel. After a period of struggle, Soviet information operations evolved significantly after 1942. Relying on the experience of renowned writers, poets, and artists, utilizing contacts with compatriots abroad, and establishing contacts with Jewish anti-fascist movements, the USSR managed to create an excellent opportunity for information warfare to support military effort. Part 1 is concluded by Aidan Winn in Chapter 4, who investigates how the Chiêu Hồi program in South Vietnam involved a variety of different strategies to induce defection. Focusing on the content and evolution of inducement approaches, this chapter explores three distinct dimensions used by the program officials: the development and distribution of visual propaganda in the form of leaflets, the use of indirect financial incentives known as “third-party inducement,” and the use of face-to-face appeals carried out by the armed propaganda teams (APTs). The evolution of such inducement strategies, based on a better understanding of the insurgent attitudes, provides an important perspective over time into the Chiêu Hồi program’s scope and adaptability. Part 2 of this book focuses on the evolution of information operations from the 1980s to 2000s. This part opens with Chapter 5 by Igor Orlov and Mikhail Mironyuk, who discuss the information operations conducted by the Soviet Union in Afghanistan in 1979–1989. Building on declassified and published documents, the leaflets and posters, and the propaganda officers’ memoirs, this chapter sheds light on the Soviet experience of information operations among the local Afghan population, prisoners of war, and armed opposition groups. Despite some success, Orlov and Mironyuk argue that the Soviet propaganda machine failed to reach its full potential. They analyze the major reasons why information support

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was ineffective and the major difficulties facing those conducting information operations among the local population in Afghanistan. Following the analysis of the Soviet experience in Afghanistan, Chapter 6 by Brett Boudreau focuses on NATO’s efforts in the same country two decades later. What began in December 2001 as a limited, almost exclusively US operation to rout the Taliban from power in Afghanistan morphed into a multifaceted campaign lasting longer than World War I, World War II, the Korean War, and the American Civil War combined. Since 2001, Boudreau had worked on the Afghanistan file in several communication-related assignments, including at National Defence Headquarters, and NATO headquarters in Mons, Brussels, and Kabul. Therefore, based on the author’s rich personal experience, rather than scholarly rigor, this chapter claims that NATO’s Afghanistan-related information operations were considerably better than they have been given credit for, especially when mission aims and operational goals were repeatedly changed. In other words, this chapter aims to demonstrate that successful information operations do not necessarily guarantee a victory, which can be secured only via a systemic strategy that integrates ends, means, and ways. Without this strategy, even the best executed parts of it (information operations) would fail to produce the desired results. Chapter 7 by Vitaly Kabernik, Igor Orlov, and Mikhail Mironyuk closes Part 2 by focusing on the Russian experience during the 2008 Russo-Georgian conflict. Despite the decisive victory on the battlefield, the general perception in the Russian professional and academic discourse is that Russia lost the information war. However, as this chapter shows, Russian efforts in the information space during this conflict were used to improve Russia’s understanding of future information operations. Part 3 of the book focuses on the adaptation of information operations to the age of the internet and social media. The choice to focus on Hamas and Israel was made due to two main reasons. First, the two chapters in this part not only complement each other in their analysis of two confronting sides, but also they focus on how two confronting sides have adapted and developed their information activities through a series of military confrontations in the context of new media platforms. Interestingly enough, while both sides widely adopted the social media and other digital platforms for the conduct of their information operations, neither rejected more traditional and battle-tested methods and means of distribution such as leaflets and radio. Second, both chapters are written by professionals, building more on their rich experience than on academic research. The author of Chapter 8, Colonel (ret.) Michael Milstein, served until 2018 as adviser on Palestinian affairs in the Coordinator of Government Activities in the

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Territories (COGAT) and head of the Department for Palestinian Affairs in Israeli Military Intelligence (Aman). This experience places him in a unique position to shed light on Hamas’s internal thinking on the nature and character of information operations and their place in the organization’s overall strategy. The coauthor of Chapter 9 with Roy Schulman, Lieutenant Colonel (reserve) David Siman-Tov, has served in Aman for twenty-five years and is currently a senior research fellow at the Institute for National Security Studies (INSS) and deputy head of the Institute for the Research of the Methodology of Intelligence (IRMI). Both his personal experience and current positions allowed him to build his analysis on different internal, and still classified, documents as well as on interviews with many officials from the Israeli government and military. Therefore, these chapters work in tandem, complementing each other’s insights and shedding light on the important characteristics of information operations in the second decade of the twenty-first century. The book concludes with Chapter 10 by Francesca Granelli. This chapter has three objectives. First, it examines the main difficulties and challenges faced by those who conducted information operations over the past hundred years. Despite the fact that technological and sociopolitical frameworks have changed and developed throughout this period, Granelli argues that influencing the hearts and minds in the twenty-first century is as complex and challenging as it was in 1914. Second, the chapter maintains that the ultimate challenge is an establishment of trust with the targeted audience since, without trust, neither technological advances nor great creativity would help to achieve the aim of information operations. Third, the chapter provides a glimpse into the future, offering future practitioners several important lessons from the past.

Notes

1. Carl von Clausewitz, On War, translated and edited by Michael Howard and Peter Paret (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1989), p. 137. 2. For example, Ofer Fridman, Vitaly Kabernik, and James C. Pearce, eds., Hybrid Conflicts and Information Warfare: New Labels, Old Politics (Boulder: Lynne Rienner, 2019); Anurag Dwivedi, Modern Information Warfare: Operations, Doctrine and Force Structures (New Delhi: Pentagon Press, 2019); Luciano Floridi and Mariarosaria Taddeo, eds., The Ethics of Information Warfare (Berlin: Springer, 2016); Mark D. Vertuli and Bradley S. Loudon, eds., Perceptions Are Reality: Historical Case Studies of Information Operations in Large-Scale Combat Operations (Fort Leavenworth: Army University Press, 2018). 3. Hamilton Fyfe, Northcliffe: An Intimate Biography (London: Allen and Unwin, 1930), pp. 250–251. 4. Max Boot, War Made New: Technology, Warfare and the Course of History, 1500 to Today (New York: Gotham Books, 2006), p. 10.

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5. Nikolay Volkovsky, Istorya Informatzionnykh Voyn [The History of Information Wars], vol. 1 (Saint Petersburg: Poligon, 2013). 6. Sun Tzu, On the Art of War, translated by Lionel Giles (London: Luzak, 1910), p. 6. 7. Niccolò Machiavelli, Discourses on Livy, translated by Harvey C. Mansfield and Nathen Tarcov (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1996), p. 405. 8. Carl von Clausewitz, On War, translated by J. J. Graham, vol. 1 (London: Kegan Paul, Trench, Trubner, 1908), p. 286. 9. Volkovsky, Istorya Informatzionnykh Voyn, chaps. 1–3. 10. Mark D. Vertuli, “Introduction,” in Perceptions Are Reality: Historical Case Studies of Information Operations in Large-Scale Combat Operations, eds. Mark D. Vertuli and Bradley S. Loudon (Fort Leavenworth: Army University Press, 2018), p. xi. 11. US Department of Defense, The DOD Dictionary of Military and Associated Terms, as amended through January 2020, https://www.jcs.mil/Portals/36/Documents /Doctrine/pubs/dictionary.pdf, p. 104. 12. RAND, “Vision,” www.rand.org/about/vision.html. 13. RAND, “Information Operations,” www.rand.org/topics/information -operations.html. 14. Jen Weedon, William Nuland, and Alex Stamos, “Information Operations and Facebook,” Facebook, April 27, 2017. 15. Ministry of Defence of the Russian Federation, Voyennyy Entsiklopedicheskiy Slovar’ [Military Encyclopaedic Dictionary], http://encyclopedia.mil.ru /encyclopedia/dictionary/details.htm?id=13183@morfDictionary. 16. James Farwell, Information Warfare: Forging Communication Strategies for Twenty-First Century Operational Environments (Quantico: Marine Corps University Press, 2020), p. 123. 17. US Department of Defense, The DOD Dictionary of Military and Associated Terms, p. 159. 18. Von Clausewitz, On War (1989), p. 517. 19. James M. Spaight, Air Power and War Rights (London: Longmans, Green, 1924), pp. 305–307. 20. George G. Bruntz, Allied Propaganda and the Collapse of the German Empire in 1918 (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1939). 21. Michael L. Sandres and Philip M. Taylor, British Propaganda During the First World War, 1914–18 (London: Macmillan, 1982). 22. Robert W. Chandler, War of Ideas: The US Propaganda Campaign in Vietnam (Boulder: Westview Press, 1981). 23. Mervyn Edwin Roberts III, The Psychological War for Vietnam, 1960–1968 (Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 2018). 24. Arturo Munoz, U.S. Military Information Operations in Afghanistan: Effectiveness of Psychological Operations, 2001–2010 (Santa Monica: RAND, 2012). 25. Brett Boudreau, We Have Met the Enemy and He Is Us: An Analysis of NATO Strategic Communications: The International Security Assistance Force (ISAF) in Afghanistan, 2003–2014 (Riga: NATO Strategic Communications Centre of Excellence, 2016). 26. Andrey Kokoshin, Politologiya i soziologiya voennoy strategii [The Politics and Sociology of Military Strategy] (Moscow: Lenand, 2016), p. 524.

PART 1 Formation

2 British “Front Propaganda” in World War I Ofer Fridman

THE “WAR TO END ALL WARS” SAW THREE GREAT PARADIGM shifts in warfighting: machine power, three-dimensional warfare, and the introduction of depth. It brought about the use of a whole new range of weapons that had never been seen before on the battlefield on land, at sea, or in the air. New military technological innovations included submarines, poison gas, warplanes, tanks, and wireless communications and controls. World War I also saw the effect of a combination of industrial firepower and logistics with the recruiting power of nationalism. 1 In military terms, it involved an introduction of “combined arms, exploitation tactics, strategic bombing, unrestricted submarine warfare, carrier operations, and even amphibious war.”2 As some researchers have stated, this war “fused industrial warfare and ideology into a relentless and merciless whole” that ultimately revolutionized the character of war, giving birth to the “modern style of warfare.”3 While many scholars have focused on the contribution of new weaponry to this revolution in warfare, 4 they have paid less attention to another weapon that played no lesser a role on the battlefields of World War I—“front propaganda.” For many Western contemporary readers, the term propaganda calls up negative images usually associated with totalitarian regimes, brainwashing practices, and attempts by governments to shape the behavior of targeted audiences. However, this was not the case before 1914: “There is little exaggeration in saying that the World War led to the discovery of propaganda by both the man in

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the street and the man in the study.”5 The idea of influencing the thoughts of an entire population through communication media was relatively new and “not of interest of governments to any extent.”6 World War I changed it all. Defining propaganda is not an easy task. In its broadest definition, it implies a “technique of influencing human action by the manipulation of representations” that “may take spoken, written, pictorial or musical form.”7 In other words, it implies “presentation of a case in such a way that others may be influenced.”8 Mindful of these broad definitions, I need to set more precise parameters in this chapter, if the discussion is to be meaningful and manageable. British propaganda during World War I can be generally divided into three areas: at home, in neutral and Allied states, and in enemy countries. This study focuses on the latter. The term front propaganda was coined by German and Austro-Hungarian armies during the war, and it is adopted by this study (instead of its British counterpart “propaganda in enemy states”) due to its specific definition that corresponds with the approach to information operations adopted in this book. Front propaganda involves the “spread of information by the belligerents across the trenches in a written or oral form,” as well as smuggling literature into an enemy state in an attempt to influence enemy public opinion. It is, therefore, “a military weapon, exercised across the front lines into enemy territory” as a part of a military campaign.9 In focusing on British front propaganda during World War I, my purpose in this chapter is not to argue with authorities such as Campbell Stuart in Secrets of Crewe House, Harold Lasswell in Propaganda Technique in the World War, or George Bruntz in Allied Propaganda and the Collapse of the German Empire in 1918.10 Instead, I aim to use this British experience as the foundation for the book and in so doing remind contemporary readers that the great lessons of World War I’s information operations are as relevant today as they were then. After all, this is how it all began.

Organization The role of British front propaganda during World War I is contested and contentious. On the one hand, some researchers argue that the result of the war was “the greatest victory achieved by war propaganda,”11 and it was the British government that “demonstrated to the world the enormous power of propaganda.” 12 On the other hand, others

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claim that the contribution of British front propaganda to the victory has been vastly exaggerated, 13 and the myth of British primacy owes “much to the fact that the British publicized their side of the story, while others had their own reasons for remaining silent.” 14 However, it does not matter whether it was the British front propaganda that broke the will of the Central powers or whether the latter were ripe for psychological influence due to the cumulative effect of the political, military, and economic circumstances that prevailed after four years of war. What matters is that by the end of the war the British organization of front propaganda became “a notorious model of what could be achieved in attacking the morale of the enemy.”15 Creating this “notorious model” was neither easy nor fast. The British military did not have a ready-made apparatus in place at the outbreak of war; it had to learn how to use this instrument of warfare as it went along. The British government initially focused on patriotic propaganda at home, as it simultaneously prepared the country for war and battled domestic antiwar opposition. The first task—recruitment—was the responsibility of the Parliamentary Recruiting Committee (PRC), jointly led by the three party leaders: Prime Minister Herbert Henry Asquith (Liberal Party), Andrew Bonar Law (Conservative Party), and Arthur Henderson (Labour Party). While the PRC was more of a political body than an official propaganda department, its very creation was a propaganda move to demonstrate political unity at a time of war. Moreover, the political nature of the PRC and its ability to use the parties’ local networks allowed different government departments to exploit the PRC for propaganda recruitment campaigns. The War Office, the National War Savings Committee, the Ministry of Food, the Ministry of National Service, the Ministry of Reconstruction, and others exploited PRC outlets and facilities for their propaganda purposes. Recruitment to the war effort was probably the most dominant theme of the propaganda at home until the introduction of conscription in January 1916, after which the role and importance of the PRC as the main domestic propaganda organization started to decline.16 The second task of the domestic patriotic propaganda campaigns was to counter domestic opposition to the war effort. The chief agency for carrying out these campaigns was the Central Committee for National Patriotic Associations (CCNPA). Headed by Prime Minister Asquith, it was established almost immediately after the war began. One of the CCNPA’s primary tasks was to prevail on various people to lecture and write on the causes of war, offering historical and moral

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justification for Britain’s position in it. The CCNPA organized lectures, supported patriotic clubs and rallies, and worked closely with British universities to produce propaganda literature. 17 Some of the most successful products of this collaboration were the Oxford Pamphlets, which included eighty-seven different titles, sponsored and partly written by the faculty at the University of Oxford.18 In addition to PRC and CCNPA domestic propaganda activities, an array of unofficial, semiofficial, and volunteer groups and organizations inundated domestic audiences with propaganda pamphlets, lectures, and rallies. The most notorious of these unofficial groups (Cobden Club, the Fight for Right Movement, and the Victoria League) tried to elevate the patriotic spirit of Englishmen by claiming that “England deserved victory in the war due to her cultural superiority.”19 While the British government’s initial propaganda efforts targeted domestic audiences, fighting for the hearts and minds of the neutral states was quickly recognized as important—and, as such, the Oxford Pamphlets were widely distributed in the United States.20 Moreover, a Neutral Countries Subcommittee (NCS) under the CCNPA distributed around 250,000 pamphlets, booklets, and other publications in neutral states between August 1914 and January 1916. It is worth noting that the NCS adopted as indirect an approach as possible: “Materials were sent out, not in the committee’s name, but in the name of various distinguished Britishers, whose acquaintances, colleagues, fellow workers, or business associates in neutral lands received—oftentimes unwillingly—propaganda material prepared and sent by the Neutral Countries Subcommittee.”21 The first official propaganda organization in Britain with the focus on neutral and Allied states was the War Propaganda Bureau, established by the Foreign Office in September 1914. Directed by Charles Masterman, a radical Liberal Party politician, the bureau was headquartered at Wellington House, the office of the National Insurance Company, which became the famous nickname of the organization. The main task of Wellington House was to place “before the peoples of neutral countries and the Dominions, the British case for entering the war and for justifying wartime policy decisions.”22 While the main efforts of Wellington House were directed toward the neutral states, especially the Netherlands, Switzerland, and the United States, it also concerned itself with smuggling propaganda material into Germany. Since the British government was not prepared when war broke out, most of its propaganda efforts were the result of improvisation without any central coordination or organization. By the time David Lloyd George became prime minister in December 1916, official propaganda

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was conducted by a whole range of organizations tied to multiple ministries and departments. These included: the Foreign Office (Wellington House and News Department), Home Office (Press Bureau), War Office (MI7 and War Office Cinematograph Committee), Treasury (National Organising Committee for War Savings), Ministry of Munitions, and many others. Therefore, it is not surprising that at the first meeting of Lloyd George’s new Cabinet Office, it was decided that the issue of propaganda required urgent attention.23 The first attempt to organize these disordered, inefficient, and often competing propaganda efforts was made in early 1917, based on the recommendations of Robert Donald, editor of the Daily Chronicle, who prepared them at Lloyd George’s request. The outcome of this reorganization was the establishment of the Department of Information (DoI) on February 9, 1917.24 John Buchan, who combined his diplomatic and political career with being a popular novelist, was appointed to run the DoI. The department was divided into eighteen subdepartments (five types of propaganda activities, ten targeted areas, two administrative subdepartments, and one subdepartment that focused on Germany, “in order that enemy propaganda may be promptly met”).25 In an attempt to solve interagency disagreements and competition, the DoI was established as an independent bureau responsible for centralizing propaganda activities. Although the DoI answered directly to the prime minister, the department relied significantly on the facilities and capabilities of the Foreign Office (some of the subdepartments were even based in Wellington House), so it had to work in close cooperation with the Foreign Office. In other words, while the DoI was de jure independent, de facto it was “an annex of the Foreign Office.”26 As Lord Northcliffe observed in August 1917: There are too many governmental departments dealing with “publicity,” but there is no central authority with full responsibility. . . . We were in high hopes when Mr. Buchan was created “Director of Information,” a sufficiently comprehensive title. But Mr. Buchan turns out to be virtually a subordinate of the Foreign Office where he works. . . . The point is that it is merely that of an addition to the existing “publicity” departments, not that of a supreme co-ordination agency.27

Although the establishment of the DoI brought some coordination and efficiency to the British propaganda efforts in Allied and neutral states, the actual results at home and in enemy states were quite limited. The problem of propaganda at home was partly solved by the creation of the National War Aims Committee (NWAC) on August 4, 1917. Relying heavily on its predecessor, the PRC, the NWAC emphasized the

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all-party structure, monopolizing the conduct of official propaganda at home.28 Its main task was to target domestic audiences across a variety of subjects, including war savings, national service, and food control. Its main goal was to address the “unmistakable signs of war weariness in the Nation.”29 British front propaganda, however, remained in disarray. Despite the DoI’s promise to develop this area, there was almost no coordination between the Foreign Office (Wellington House) and the War Office (MI7), both of which were tasked with conducting front propaganda,30 and other organizations, such as the NCS, which tasked themselves with influencing the hearts and minds of enemy troops and their populations. Understanding the inefficiency of the British front propaganda machine, Lloyd George turned again to Robert Donald in October 1917, asking him “to undertake . . . a thorough investigation into all the Propaganda work carried on under the direction of the Department of Information.”31 Donald submitted his report in early December 1917, describing the system as inefficient and lacking in coordination, and calling for further centralization to make the most of the limited resources.32 Donald’s report resulted in another full-scale reorganization of the British propaganda machine. Propaganda conducted within the United Kingdom generally remained the responsibility of the NWAC. However, all propaganda activities in Allied, neutral, and enemy countries were subordinated to the Ministry of Information (MoI), which was established on March 4, 1918.33 Headed by Lord Beaverbrook, the general task of the MoI was “to direct the thought of most of the world.”34 While a discussion of the political intrigues and interministerial rivalries that accompanied the establishment and activities of the MoI 35 is beyond the scope of this chapter, it is important to highlight one of the divisions relevant to this research: the Division of Propaganda in Enemy Countries. When Lord Northcliffe, who had recently returned from directing the British War Mission in the United States, was asked to be director of propaganda in enemy countries, he agreed without hesitation. He was, after all, the one who vividly advocated “efforts to depress the spirit of the enemy, to put truth about the war before all enemy nations.” 36 On his appointment, Lord Northcliffe assembled an advisory committee of people with “wide knowledge and many talents, with a strong representation of authors and journalists.”37 The committee included Sir Campbell Stuart (deputy director and deputy chairman), Colonel the Earl of Denbigh, Robert Donald (then editor of the Daily Chronicle), Sir Roderick Jones (then managing director of the Reuter’s Agency), Sir Sidney

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Low (a journalist who worked in France and Italy), Sir Charles Nicholson (member of Parliament [MP], Liberal Party), James O’Grady (MP, Independent Labour Party), Wickham Steed (then foreign editor and later editor in chief of the Times), H. G. Wells (author), and H. K. Hudson (secretary).38 The headquarters of the division, first established at Adastral House, was moved in July to Crewe House, the London mansion of the Marquis of Crewe. It subsequently became the famous nickname of the institution.39 The Division of Propaganda in Enemy Countries was divided into two main branches. The first branch was responsible for the production of propaganda materials and consisted of three sections: German, AustroHungarian, and Bulgarian (propaganda activities against the Ottoman Empire were left to the Near East section of the MoI).40 Wickham Steed and Robert W. Seton-Watson, who studied the historical and cultural context of Austria-Hungary, were made codirectors of the AustroHungarian section.41 The German section was led by H. G. Wells, who was replaced by Hamilton Fyfe in July 1918 due to ideological differences between Wells and Northcliffe.42 The second branch of the division was responsible for the distribution of preprepared propaganda material. Before the establishment of Crewe House, both Wellington House and MI7 had distributed propaganda material in Germany and Austria-Hungary. In Wellington House, it was S. A. Guest who “had carried on a propaganda campaign on his own,” smuggling material into Germany through the neutral Netherlands, Switzerland, and Scandinavian countries since the early days of the war.43 In MI7, it was a special branch of the Military Intelligence Department (MI7b) that distributed propaganda.44 As Crewe House was established, to ensure continuity, both were brought in-house: Guest was in charge of distribution through civil channels, and MI7b was concerned with distribution through military tools and methods.45 In addition to these two branches, Crewe House had an extensive network of liaison officers from the War Office, Foreign Office, MoI, Admiralty, Military Intelligence, and Her Majesty’s Stationary Office (HMSO), who facilitated productive cooperation between Crewe House and these organizations.46 The creation of Crewe House marked the final and most successful version of the British government solution to the problem of front propaganda. Despite being considered by many as the British “notorious model”47 for front propaganda, it was complete and active only from March 1918, four and a half years after the war started and only six months before it ended. Regardless of its short life, the methods, procedures, and means of distribution developed in Crewe

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House revolutionized the field of front propaganda. The notorious impact of its activities on the morale of enemy soldiers was best described by General Oscar von Hutier of the Eighteenth German Army: on August 29, 1918, his angry Army Order called Crewe House “the Ministry for the Destruction of German Confidence,” headed by “the most thoroughgoing rascal of all the Entente—Lord Northcliffe.”48

The Methods and Means of Distribution As aforementioned, the British propaganda machine tried to influence the enemy almost from the very beginning of the war. Although most of Wellington House’s efforts were directed at winning the sympathy of neutral countries, especially the United States, it also concerned itself with smuggling propaganda material into Germany and Austria-Hungary.49 From 1915, the British and French worked together closely utilizing networks of agents and smugglers to disseminate printed propaganda to Germany and Austria-Hungary via Switzerland and the Netherlands.50 Dominated by the Foreign Office’s way of thinking, the material produced by Wellington House targeted an educated and influential audience. This working assumption set the methods and means of distribution, which focused on opposition movements and the intelligentsia. Established in early 1918, the MoI and Crewe House sought to revolutionize this approach by bypassing “these intermediary opinion-makers and work directly on the opinion itself.”51 Led by Lord Beaverbrook (MoI) and Lord Northcliffe (Crewe House)—both newspaper publishers who had already revolutionized the field of propaganda at home and in neutral states—they sought to put the message directly into the hands of enemy soldiers and the general public. While their calls for “popular diplomacy” and “mass appeal” in front propaganda was opposed by the Foreign Office, the idea to directly influence enemy troops was not invented by the MoI or Crewe House.52 In fact the War Office had already been distributing printed pamphlets since March 1915, after the establishment of MI7b, which was responsible for the preparation and distribution of propaganda material among the German troops. In addition to the material prepared by the department, MI7b was also responsible for the distribution of the French La Voix du Pays, a newspaper designed for the French population in territories occupied by the Germans. The British distributed this newspaper until April 1917, when it was replaced by their own publication in French, Le Courier de l’Air. By the end of August 1918, MI7b had produced and distributed nearly

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6 million leaflets, prisoner of war letters, cartoons, and other propaganda material over the German lines.53 The pioneering transformation brought by Crewe House to the field of front propaganda was more about the scale facilitated by new methods of production and distribution, rather than the idea itself. One of the first changes instituted by Crewe House was to divide produced leaflets into two classes: “priority” and “stock.” The former leaflets were newsworthy, intended to “educate” the enemy troops about recent developments on the front. The latter were less urgent material, providing general background information. Lord Northcliffe, who understood only too well the short shelf life of news, tasked Crewe House with putting priority leaflets into the hands of the Germans before the news they announced became stale. As a result, a demanding production timetable set strict deadlines for composition, translation, printing, transportation to Europe, and distribution of priority leaflets. Crewe House centralized and coordinated all involved parties, cutting the whole process to the absolute minimum. It meant new leaflets could be put into the hands of German soldiers within forty-eight hours of being written. Three times a week, a batch of approximately 100,000 priority leaflets was rushed to France for distribution to the German lines.54 Another significant transformation introduced by Crewe House was in the means of delivery. In the early stages of the war, after a short experimentation with trench mortars as a means to distribute leaflets over the enemy’s lines, the airplane was chosen as the main “projector of propaganda,”55 despite the Air Ministry’s opposition. Critics of this method of distribution made two arguments. The first was that “if a plane were to be sent upon a flight over a hostile territory, it would be better employed dropping bombs than propaganda,” as “the best propaganda that could be dropped over the enemy were bombs and plenty of them.”56 The second was the Air Ministry’s unwillingness to risk its officers and planes after the Scholtz-Wookey case in the autumn of 1917. The incident followed the German announcement in April 1917 that “the dropping of pamphlets was considered illegitimate and that airmen guilty of the practice were liable to be brought before a FieldGeneral Court Martial and be shot.”57 It concerned two British officers, Captain E. Scholtz and Lieutenant H. C. Wookey, who were sentenced on December 1, 1917, by a German court-martial to ten years penal servitude for dropping pamphlets.58 Although the Germans ultimately decided to pardon the pilots and treat them as normal prisoners of war, the Air Ministry’s order to suspend the distribution of all propaganda by airplanes remained in force until the end of October 1918.59

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An alternative was found in the form of air balloons. After initially unsuccessful trials with observation balloons in late 1916, the British decided to investigate adapting meteorological free balloons as vehicles for disseminating propaganda behind enemy lines.60 This adaptation, however, required the development of a sophisticated releasing mechanism, as well as the development of a calculation system that took into account the weight of the leaflets, the required distance and altitude, direction, and wind speed. Conducted on a trial-and-error basis, this development process required close cooperation among the Air Inventions Committee, the Munitions Inventions Department, the Inspectorate of Her Majesty’s Stores, and Army Intelligence.61 Different designs were tested in workshops, at experimental stations near London, and on the Salisbury Plain before being taken to France and tried in battlefield conditions. When the balloons were finally perfected in the summer of 1918, their manufacture began at the rate of nearly 2,000 a week.62 With the lifting power of each balloon being about five and a half pounds, this delivery method became a cornerstone of Crewe House’s revolutionizing of front propaganda. While the British distributed several hundred thousand leaflets a month until May 1918, the number of leaflets dropped behind German lines increased to 1,689,457 in June and 2,172,794 in July. By August and September, Crewe House increased production and distribution to 3,958,116 and 3,715,000 respectively. In October the number was increased again to 5,360,000, and in the first ten days of November, 1,400,000 leaflets were distributed before the signing of the armistice.63 This “shower of inflammatory pamphlets,” according to the German chief of the Great General Staff, Marshal Paul von Hindenburg, “invaded every department of our activities.”64 While Crewe House significantly improved the production methods and the means of distribution, these improvements were in fact based on experimentation that had taken place long before its establishment. Moreover, the success of Lord Northcliffe’s efforts to educate the Germans about the poor odds they faced, by producing priority leaflets at the speed of the news production cycle, was facilitated by the realities on the ground, rather than the genius of the Crewe House team. After all, by the summer of 1918, US troops were arriving in Europe in greater and greater numbers, German submarine warfare had failed, the industrial output of the Allies was on the increase, and German production was almost at a standstill. 65 Serving as good propaganda material, all of these facts contributed to the success of Crewe House. Without depriving Crewe House of credit where it is due, it would be unjust to claim that they succeeded where their predecessors had

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failed. While the means and methods of the distribution of front propaganda evolved during the war, it happened that Lord Northcliffe and his division took control just when all the conditions had ripened and converged. It was not only that technology allowed him to put priority leaflets in the hands of enemy troops at the scale and speed of a newspaper (his expertise), but also that conditions on the ground provided enough material to fill those leaflets with relevant and constantly updated information. It was neither the scale nor the methods of dropped leaflets that earned Lord Northcliffe the title of “the Minister for the Destruction of German Confidence,” but the leaflets’ skillfully crafted content that sowed doubts “in the minds of those who do not think for themselves” and shattered “their confidence in their leaders, in their own strength, and in the inexhaustible resources of Germany.”66

The Content Recognizing that the content of propaganda should be dictated by the target audience, one of Crewe House’s first acts was to conduct a deep analysis of the state of affairs in Austria-Hungary and Germany. The analysis of Austria-Hungary was based on a memorandum authored by Seton-Watson (codirector of the Austro-Hungarian section) in July 1917 when he was still working at the DoI.67 According to Seton-Watson, Allied propaganda against Austria-Hungary should focus on the: complex and artificial character of the dualistic structure of the Hapsburg government; absolutist treatment of certain parts of the empire before 1914; foreign policy of the Vienna cabinet, particularly in the Balkans; racist ideology and practices of the Magyar governing oligarchy; wartime atrocities inflicted upon the smaller national communities; growth of patriotic movements for freedom; and the issue of Bosnia-Herzegovina, especially the desire of the Yugoslavs to amalgamate with Serbia.68

In the case of Germany, the analysis was conducted by Wells, director of the German section at Crewe House. On May 27, 1918, he wrote a memorandum that attempted to shape Britain’s policy toward Germany, defining the main targets for the British propaganda: It should be pointed out that nothing stands between enemy people and a lasting peace except the predatory designs of their ruling dynasties and military and economic castes; that the design of the Allies is not to crush any people, but to assure the freedom of all on a basis of

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self-determination to be exercised under the definite guarantees of justice and fair play; that, unless enemy peoples accept the Allied conception of a world peace settlement, it will be impossible for them to repair the havoc of the present war, to avert utter financial ruin, and to save themselves from prolonged misery; and that the longer the struggle lasts the deeper will become the hatred of everything German in the non-German world, and the heavier the social and economic handicap under which the enemy peoples will labour, even after their admission into a League of Nations.69

Seton-Watson’s and Wells’s papers set the tone and strategic directions of propaganda activities against Austria-Hungary and Germany. At a tactical level, leaflets were produced on five topics: enlightenment, despair, hope, particularism, and revolutionary ideas. In addition to the leaflets, two other methods were used to disseminate propaganda on these topics among the enemy: trench newspapers that targeted enemy troops, and London Letters that appeared in the newspapers of neutral states to target enemy populations. From the outset of the war, the Germans, as with other warring armies, started to publish so-called soldier newspapers. Produced by soldiers and for soldiers, these were neither official front newspapers nor uncensored underground publications. Their main purpose was to reaffirm “the comradeship, manliness and ideological and normative commitments of members of a generation decimated on the Somme, at Verdun and in the limitless East.”70 Understanding the propaganda potential of these newspapers, the German section of Crewe House started to produce its own trench newspaper: propaganda material disguised to resemble a German publication. On a weekly basis, Crewe House produced and distributed between 250,000 and 500,000 trench newspapers.71 Fyfe, who replaced Wells as director of the German section in July 1918, testified: We made it look exactly like the real thing. We filled it with stories and articles interesting to read. An officer picking it up would have had to scan it carefully before he discovered anything suspicious about it. Here and there harmless-looking paragraphs gave the German soldier information which he received from no other source. In the middle of an article, otherwise highly patriotic, would be slipped a sentence or two intended to startle the reader and make him reflect.72

London Letters were a good example of an attempt to influence the general population of Germany through a neutral press. A series of articles sent to Swiss and Scandinavian newspapers, they had a pro-German flavor but were used to expose the German public, the intended audience, to “a true picture of food and other conditions in Great Britain,”73

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indirectly contrasting it to the poor situation in Germany. Throughout its short life, Crewe House produced various types of propaganda intended to “enlighten” the enemy, sow despair, offer hope, promote particularism, and encourage revolutionary ideas. “We worked on,” Fyfe recalled, “editing out trench paper; making our leaflets more and more pointed; sending ‘London Correspondence’ to neutral newspapers (Swiss, Dutch, Swedish), which sent copies to Germany; putting slips into books which were going to German buyers through neutral lands; announcing daily the figures of the American divisions which were now taking the field.”74

Propaganda of Enlightenment

Once the war began, all the warring parties introduced censorship measures in an attempt to prevent the publication of information that would weaken their populations’ wills to fight. Britain published The Defence of the Realm Act, making it unlawful to “obtain information for disloyal purposes” and spread information “by word of mouth or in writing” that is “likely to create disaffection or alarm among any of His Majesty’s Forces.”75 France followed suit, issuing a law forbidding the publication of any news that might “have an effect of weakening the morale of the people.”76 Germany and Austria-Hungary restricted their press no less than the Allies, with both countries introducing strict censorship mechanisms intended to restrict the publication of harmful information. 77 These restrictions, however, also meant that much was withheld from the public. It provided many opportunities for the British propagandists to enlighten the German people on the facts, which their leaders kept from them. Crewe House’s enlightenment propaganda was generally divided into four types. The first was intended to communicate directly with the enemy troops and populations, bypassing the distorting effect of the enemy’s censors. For example, the initial series of leaflets produced by Crewe House set out Lloyd George’s appeal outlining the Allies’ aims: “We are not waging an aggressive war against the German people. . . . The destruction or the dismemberment of the German people was never one of our war aims, either at the beginning or today.”78 The second type provided information about the Allies that was usually kept secret from the enemy troops and populations by their authorities due to its demoralizing potential. It included information about the achievements of the Allies on the ground or the number of casualties suffered by the German troops.79 The purpose was to supply the enemy with “invariably truthful information about the actual military position.”80

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The third was calculated to make German officials appear guilty of falsification. For example, when in October 1917 the Germans gave out a significantly lower than realistic estimate of potential US support, a series of leaflets were produced to expose the disinformation.81 The guiding principle in Crewe House was to “keep the enemy armies and civil populations fully aware of the wonderful extent of the American effort.”82 The final type of enlightenment propaganda developed around Germany’s ambitions of the war. The failure of the German government to announce its objectives, beyond the defense of the Fatherland, offered a fruitful ground for the Allied propagandists.83 One of the leaflets produced by Crewe House, for example, asked the question “For what are you fighting?”: They tell you that you are fighting for the Fatherland. Have you ever thought why are you fighting? You are fighting to glorify Hindenburg, to enrich Krupp. You are struggling for the Kaiser, the Junkers, and the militarists . . . No, none of these is the Fatherland. You are the Fatherland.84

Propaganda of Despair

In addition to the educational effects of the propaganda of enlightenment, Crewe House aimed to sow despair in the hearts and minds of enemy troops and populations. This variety of propaganda, prepared and distributed by the British, can be divided into two types. The first was designed to intensify the horrors of war. For example, one leaflet addressed a German soldier in “To You in the Field of Death!”: Wherever you march there is a desert and anywhere there is death. You are in the field of death. Look about you! All that you can see is the work of death. Why are you here with the dead? Why? For how long?85

In addition to emphasizing wartime hardships, the propaganda of despair reminded German soldiers that, while they were suffering and starving in trenches, their political and military leadership, for whom they were fighting, lived in luxury and had little or no concern for their soldiers’ welfare.86 The main purpose of this type of message was to urge enemy soldiers “to consider whether it was worthwhile to risk being killed when they had nothing left to fight for.”87 The other version of the propaganda of despair sought to stress Germany’s hopeless position fighting the Allies. The material prepared by

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Crewe House stated that the German soldiers and civilian population did not stand a chance against the Allies, who were determined to fight to the end. Such propaganda was used to demonstrate to the Germans their desperate situation and the detrimental consequences of continuing to fight.88 For example, the British distributed leaflets with maps and diagrams showing the increasing number of Allied air raids over Germany. Special attention was given to convincing the Germans of the invincible support provided by the United States. For that purpose, Crewe House produced a special series of leaflets, describing different aspects of this support in “succinct and vigorous form”—“the steadily progressive increase of the American forces was strikingly illustrated,” while “German losses and the subsequent futility of making further sacrifices in a losing cause were strongly emphasised.”89

Propaganda of Hope

Crewe House produced both negative and positive propaganda materials. While the propaganda of despair was intended to bring to the enemy’s attention that they were fighting a losing battle, the propaganda of hope was used to offer an escape from the hardship of this hopeless situation—“to give German people something to hope for.”90 As with the propaganda of despair, the propaganda of hope addressed both the troops on the ground and the populations at home. For the enemy soldiers, the propaganda of hope promulgated the advantages of surrendering. It promised soldiers that they would be treated fairly—even better, in fact, than by their current military leadership. One of the most effective ways to transmit such a message was by encouraging enemy prisoners to write letters describing conditions in their prison camps. For that purpose, several war prisons provided their prisoners with especially good conditions so that, “grateful for their fine wine and good treatment,” the prisoners in turn would write letters “describing in glowing terms their life in British camps.”91 These letters were reproduced in great numbers and distributed over the enemy trenches. The authentic letters were also supplemented by fake ones, urging German soldiers to surrender. One of these letters from “a German prisoner” to his friends in the trenches promised: Comrades! From the war prisons we are sending you a few words . . . First. Do not believe those who tell you that you will be treated cruelly in prison. On the contrary we can assure you that we get more to eat in one day than you get from your murderous leaders in three.

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Second. Warm clothing and shoes and kind treatment from the English officers such as a German soldier can hardly imagine.92

Another leaflet provided hope to soldiers if they surrendered: “Come to us before it is too late. . . . Do not hesitate; do as your common sense tells you; then you will soon be able to see your beloved wives and children again.”93 In addition to offering hope to the enemy soldiers, the German section at Crewe House also worked to offer hope to the German people. While the propaganda of despair emphasized the horrors of prolonged warfare, the propaganda of hope underlined the advantages of an early peace. Distributed via various channels through neutral states, it promoted the idea that after the end of the war, Germany would be accepted into the League of Nations. The nature of this propaganda was best described by Marshal von Hindenburg in his memoir. Acknowledging the demoralizing effect of the Allied propaganda of hope, he wrote: In the shower of pamphlets . . . our adversaries said and wrote that they did not think so badly of us; that we must only be reasonable and perhaps here and there renounce something we had conquered. Then everything would soon be right again and we could live together in peace, in perpetual international peace. . . . What a blessing peace would be after all the fighting! There was, therefore, no point in continuing struggle.94

Particularistic Propaganda

Following an in-depth analysis of the sociopolitical and economic structures of their adversaries, British propagandists spared no effort to break apart the internal unity of both Austria-Hungary and Germany. On its establishment, Crewe House immediately directed its efforts against Austria-Hungary, whose heterogeneous social-political structure offered a fertile ground for particularistic propaganda.95 The analysis conducted by Steed and Seton-Watson, codirectors of the Austro-Hungarian section, showed that three-fifths of the population of the Dual Monarchy “were actually or potentially well-disposed to the Allies.”96 Having this in mind, Lord Northcliffe ordered propaganda efforts to take a twin-track approach intended to undermine the unity of the empire: [First, through] moral and active support of the national desires of these races for independence, with the ultimate aim of forming a strong non-German chain of Central European and Danubian States. [Second, by encouraging] their disinclination to fight on behalf of the Central Empires, thus greatly handicapping the Austro-Hungarian

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Armies as a fighting force and seriously embarrassing the German military leaders.97

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In following Lord Northcliffe’s directions, Crewe House supported the Czechs, Southern Slavs, and Poles in their desires for national independence, as well as the Romanians and Italians under Hapsburg rule, who were vulnerable to such messaging. One of the first official acts of Lord Northcliffe was to dispatch Steed and Seton-Watson to the Congress of the Oppressed Hapsburg Nationalities, which coincidentally took place in Rome on April 7–9, 1918. At the same time, Lord Northcliffe consecutively hosted several meetings in London with the Italian, French, and US representatives in an attempt to create inter-Allied cooperation in propaganda activities against Austria-Hungary. These efforts led to the establishment of a permanent Inter-Allied Propaganda Commission at the Italian general headquarters (Padua Commission) on April 18, 1918. A printing press was set up and large quantities of propaganda were distributed by a variety of methods (including airplanes, rockets, grenades, and contact patrols). The Austro-Hungarian section of Crewe House maintained close relations with the commission, assisting in the production of leaflets and manifestos that appealed to the nationalistic aspirations of their target audience. It also assisted with the production of a weekly journal simultaneously published in the Czech, Polish, Southern Slav, and Romanian languages. In addition to printed propaganda, the British commissioner secured gramophone records of Czecho-Slovak and Southern Slav patriotic songs. The recordings, played in no-man’s-land, were intended to awaken nationalist sentiments among the different nationalities within the AustroHungarian military ranks.98 In his memoirs, Austro-Hungarian foreign minister Stephan Count Burian recalled the impact of the particularistic propaganda conducted by the commission: “Foreign propaganda had an easy task in Austria-Hungary, when the foundation had been undermined, and she was incapable of resistance. Unity of purpose in the existing Powers had been destroyed. The whole structure of the state collapsed, and carried with it the front, which though agitated by events at home, was still offering defiance to the enemy.”99 Following the success of the particularistic propaganda in AustriaHungary, the Allies employed a similar approach in Germany. Despite, at first glance, appearing more united than Austria-Hungary, internal divisions undermined the unity of the German Empire. For example, AlsaceLorraine was French by tradition; southern Germany was Catholic, while

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the north was Protestant; and Bavaria had always been jealous of the power of Prussia. While these sociopolitical and religious divisions were ripe for exploitation by the French and US propagandists,100 Crewe House hesitated to do so. In May 1918, in his answer to the encouraging letter from the prime minister stating that he felt “sure that much can be done to disintegrate the morale of the German army along the same lines as we appear to have adopted with great success in the Austro-Hungarian army,”101 Lord Northcliffe argued that “if Lloyd George supposes that we can drive wedges into German unity as we have done into Austrian, he must know very little about the matter.”102 However, regardless of Northcliffe’s objections, the German section in Crewe House started to send propaganda intended to exploit separatist tendencies within the German Empire. It prepared and distributed leaflets with specific appeals to different regional groups, such as the Saxons and the Bavarians, trying to amplify internal friction between them and the Prussians. Moreover, Crewe House decided to appeal to the nationalistic desire for Polish independence from German rule in an operation similar to that against Austria-Hungary.103 The effect of this particularistic propaganda was again best described by Marshal von Hindenburg. In his 1918 Sedan Day manifesto, which was published on the front page of every important newspaper in Germany and was called by the British press “a passionate appeal to the German people and the German army to make an effort to regain its courage and confidence,”104 von Hindenburg wrote: “The enemy knows perfectly what strength resides in our State and Empire; but that is precisely why he combats it. The enemy also seeks to tear open old wounds in the German body politic. With his leaflets and by rumours he attempts to sow division and distrust among the Federal States.”105

Revolutionary Propaganda

The French propaganda was the first to espouse and spread the idea of revolution among the German people. From the outset of the war, the “revolutionization” of Germany became one of the war aims of the French: “Revolution, the Germans were told, was to lead to the Republic and a rebuilding of Germany.”106 While the British were quick to realize the potential of the German revolutionary movements for distributing propaganda, a revolutionary message, even after the establishment of Crewe House, did not appear until relatively late in the war. Wells, the first head of the German section, argued against a direct promotion of revolution in Ger-

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many. In his memorandum outlining the main targets for British propaganda in Germany, he stated: “How Germany is to be changed is a complex question. The word Revolution is, perhaps, to be deprecated. We do not, for instance, desire a Bolshevik breakdown in Germany, which would make her economically useless to mankind. We look, therefore, not so much to the German peasant and labourer as to ordinary, fairly well-educated mediocre Germans for co-operation in the reinstatement of civilisation.”107 Wells’s replacement, however, paved the way for British revolutionary propaganda against Germany. Following the French and US lead, the German section in Crewe House started to produce and distribute propaganda material that called for a full-scale revolution in Germany. For example, one leaflet, titled “What a German soldier, recently taken prisoner by the English, told an English officer,” claimed to reproduce the prisoner’s feelings as follows: The war is the greatest crime the world has ever seen. . . . The Germans are driven to slaughter like beasts. And why? Only because the Kaiser and his so-called statement fear what would happen should the people know all. . . . The Russians rose up and broke their chains, but not our people. But our tyrants are sly; they have not only the body but the will of people in chains. No German will has been free in Germany since 1870! . . . Thanks God, I am out of it.

In the end of this passionate plea by a German prisoner, the British added their own call to action: “German soldiers, follow the example of Russia! Drive your tyrants to the devil.”108

Assessing the Success of British Front Propaganda Assessing the success of British front propaganda is a complicated task, as Fyfe points out: “[We] worked in the dark. We could not tell whether our arrows were hitting their targets. We did not even know for certain that our productions were being read.”109 Yet, there are three main ways to examine its success. The first is based on the developments on the ground: the levels of morale of the enemy soldiers and populations, the number of deserters among enemy troops, the volatility of internal sociopolitical divisions, and the ultimate outcome of war. This way of assessment, however, is not without flaws. It is impossible to separate the impact of front propaganda

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from the cumulative effect of the political, military, and economic circumstances that shaped the stark reality in Germany and Austria-Hungary after four years of war. For instance, the Allied propagandists tended to attribute the decreasing morale of the German troops and civilian population, reported by the Psychological Subsection of the US Army, to their propaganda campaigns. However, the same reports also showed significant correlation between the reported trends of enemy morale and the food situation in northern Germany.110 The connection between the propaganda intended to urge enemy soldiers to desert and the actual numbers of deserters is also not straightforward. One of the earliest claims for such a connection was made by General John Charteris in August 1916. But even he, reporting from general headquarters in France, hesitated to fully acknowledge a causal link: “We are getting on with the dropping of letters and pamphlets on the German side of the line; quite possibly in consequence of that, although not certainly, we had the biggest batch of deserters coming over together since the beginning of the war. It is not very big, only ten in all, but they came together and therefore it is encouraging.”111 While in the last months of war (the peak of the British front propaganda) there was a significant increase in the number of deserters among the German troops, 112 this phenomenon cannot be solely attributed to the success of Crewe House. The German soldiers were tired of a prolonged war, and their leadership, neither military nor civilian, could promise any hope for relief. As a result, measuring the success of front propaganda by tracing the developments on the ground is a tricky business. On the one hand, it is possible to argue that the efforts of Crewe House accelerated the collapse of the Central powers, hastening the end of the war. As the Times (London) stated in the end of October 1918: “Good propaganda saved a year of war.” 113 On the other hand, neither the collapse of the Allies’ enemies nor the “saved year of war” can be solely attributed to the front propaganda. Propaganda, by itself, cannot defeat the enemy. The Allies’ actions on the field of battle and in the political arena, as well as the failures of the Central powers, were those that provided fertile soil in which the front propaganda could succeed. Another way to potentially measure the success of Crewe House is by examining the enemies’ reactions to its efforts during the war. In analyzing how the Austro-Hungarian and German leaderships perceived the British front propaganda, it is impossible to avoid the fact that by 1918 enemy propaganda was a seen as a poison infecting both empires, an evil that was used to explain every failure whether on the

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front or in domestic politics. On April 5, 1918, Colonel Maximilian Ronge, director of military intelligence for the Austro-Hungarian Empire, defined the “Anglo-American Propaganda,” as he understood it, as “a centralised system which encompasses the whole Earth: we are faced today with a new enemy whose dangerousness we are still unable to assess.”114 As the months passed, the perception of the detrimental impact of British propaganda on the troops and civilian population only intensified. On July 15, 1918, in a statement on the role of information Austro-Hungarian foreign minister Stephan Count Burian testified: “Our enemies are endeavouring by means of a propaganda offensive to cripple us internally and to make us defenceless. They want to destroy a strong and ancient organism so that they make the individual portions subservient to their aims.”115 In Germany, the situation was little different. A confidential report issued by the German War Ministry in May 1917 stated: “The enemy endeavours to bring about anti-monarchical feeling among the fighting troops and the people have taken on a wider field recently and are supported by highly suspicious material spread in a most vigorous manner. For the most part the enemy is concentrating on leaflets in word and picture, which are being dropped from the air, or come in from the outside and disseminated there.”116 A year later, when Crewe House was fully operational, von Hindenburg spoke much more aggressively about the impact of propaganda on the morale of the Germans: The enemy knows that the spirit which dwells within our troops and our people makes us unconquerable. Therefore, together with the struggle against the German arms, he has undertaken a struggle against the German spirit; he seeks to poison our spirit and believes that German arms will also become blunted if the German spirit is eaten away. . . . He bombards our Front, not only with a drumfire of artillery, but also with a drumfire of printed paper. Besides bombs which kill the body, his airmen throw leaflets which are intended to kill the soul. . . . But the enemy is not merely satisfied in attacking the spirit of our Front, he wishes above all to poison the spirit of our home. . . . The enemy is ingenious. He knows how to mix the little powder for everyone.117

Without doubt, the Austro-Hungarian and German leaderships perceived the Allied propaganda efforts as a serious threat. Sir Campbell Stuart, Northcliffe’s deputy director, who de facto ran Crewe House,118 claimed that propaganda “is the presentation of a case in such a way that

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others may be influenced.”119 Therefore, regardless of the actual impact of British front propaganda on the enemy troops, it seems that it was presented in a way that successfully influenced the enemy leadership. This leads to the third and final measure of success—the perception of Crewe House achievements after the war. The legacy of British front propaganda consists of two interconnected stories: the first told by its enemies, and the second by the participants themselves. In analyzing the memoirs of the German generals written immediately after the war, it is difficult to escape their appraisal of British front propaganda. General Erich Ludendorff bestowed on Lord Northcliffe the title of “a master of mass-suggestions,”120 claiming: “We were hypnotized by the enemy propaganda as a rabbit is by a snake. It was exceptionally clever and conceived on a great scale. It worked by strong mass-suggestion, kept in the closest touch with the military situation, and was unscrupulous as to the means it used.”121 Echoing the same line of thought, von Hindenburg accused Crewe House of demoralizing the German people: “The enemy intensified the process of demoralisation, not only by his blockade and the semistarvation it involved, but by another method, known as ‘Propaganda in the Enemy’s Camp.’ This was a new weapon, or rather a weapon which had never been employed on such a scale and so ruthlessly in the past.”122 The German leadership’s conviction that the war was lost as a direct result of enemy propaganda was prevalent in the last months of the war, and it took root in the postwar Weimar Republic. Intensified by the publication of many books and articles on the topic written during the 1920s,123 the successes of British front propaganda paved the way for the propaganda machine of Nazi Germany. As Adolf Hitler argued, it “was shown only during the War to what enormously important results a suitably applied propaganda may lead. Unfortunately, everything has to be studied on the other side, for the activity on our side was more than modest in this respect.”124 On the side of the propaganda machine, the British propagandists, as well as their Allied counterparts, spared no effort in praising their achievements. 125 “The change Lord Northcliffe introduced,” praised Sidney Rogerson in his 1938 book Propaganda in the Next War, “was that he wasted no time in the practice, time-honoured in war, of vilifying his opponents or of shooting rude opinions about them into the air. . . . He approached the problem coldly and objectively, hunting for the weak link in the enemy’s moral or political chain. Having located this, he played incessantly upon it by making news which would increase this weakness.”126

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After the end of the war, the British government decided to dismantle the propaganda machinery it had built, despite the objections of all involved.127 According to many contemporaries, propaganda was associated with subversion and secrecy and was, as Robert Donald put it, “utterly repugnant to our feelings and contrary to our traditions.”128 This fact, however, did not diminish its success: Britain had demonstrated to the world the enormous power of front propaganda. There could be no return.

Notes

1. Williamson Murray and MacGregor Knox, “Thinking About Revolutions in Warfare,” in The Dynamics of Military Revolution 1300–2050, eds. Williamson Murray and MacGregor Knox (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2001), p. 10. 2. Williamson Murray, “Thinking About Revolutions in Military Affairs,” Joint Force Quarterly, no. 16 (Summer 1997): 72. 3. Jonathan B. A. Bailey, “The First World War and the Birth of Modern Warfare,” in The Dynamics of Military Revolution 1300–2050, eds. Williamson Murray and MacGregor Knox (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2001), p. 132. 4. For example, Max Boot, War Made New: Technology, Warfare and the Course of History, 1500 to Today (New York: Gotham Books, 2006); Murray and Knox, The Dynamics of Military Revolution 1300–2050. 5. George G. Bruntz, Allied Propaganda and the Collapse of the German Empire in 1918 (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1939), p. v. 6. Gary S. Messinger, British Propaganda and the State in the First World War (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1992), p. 1. 7. Harold D. Lasswell, “Propaganda,” in Propaganda, ed. Robert Jackall (New York: New York University Press, 1995), p. 13. 8. Campbell Stuart, Secrets of Crewe House (London: Hodder and Stoughton, 1920), p. 1. 9. Mark Cornwall, The Undermining of Austria-Hungary: The Battle for Hearts and Minds (London: Macmillan Press, 2000), p. 3. 10. Stuart, Secrets of Crewe House; Harold D. Lasswell, Propaganda Technique in the World War (London: Kegan Paul, Trench, Trubner, 1938), first published 1927; Bruntz, Allied Propaganda. 11. Stuart, Secrets of Crewe House, p. 9. 12. Michael L. Sandres and Philip M. Taylor, British Propaganda During the First World War, 1914–18 (London: Macmillan, 1982), p. 265. 13. Michael Balfour, Propaganda in War 1939–1945: Organizations, Policies and Publics in Britain and Germany, (London: Faber and Faber, 2011), first published in 1979, chap. 1. 14. Cornwall, The Undermining of Austria-Hungary, p. 7. 15. Ibid., p. 6. 16. Sandres and Taylor, British Propaganda, pp. 15–18. 17. Bruntz, Allied Propaganda, pp. 18–20. 18. For the full list of eighty-seven titles, see George Prothero, A Select Analytical List of Books Concerning the Great War (London: Her Majesty’s Stationary Office, 1923), pp. 344–348.

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19. James Squires, British Propaganda at Home and in the United States from 1914 to 1917 (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1935), pp. 17–20. 20. Ibid., p. 18. 21. Bruntz, Allied Propaganda, p. 19. 22. Sandres and Taylor, British Propaganda, p. 39. 23. Ibid., pp. 15–57. 24. War Cabinet, Minutes of a Meeting of the War Cabinet Held at 10, Downing Street, on Tuesday, February 20, 1917, at 11:30am, National Archives, CAB/23/1, 75 (13). 25. John Buchan, Propaganda—A Department of Information Memorandum by Mr. John Buchan, February 3, 1917, National Archives, CAB 24/3/33. 26. Sandres and Taylor, British Propaganda, pp. 63–65. 27. “Reform the Censorship,” The Times (London), August 7, 1917, p. 7. 28. Ibid., pp. 65–70. 29. Edward Carson, Propaganda—Suggested Visit of Workers and Others to Theatre of War, Memorandum by Sir E. Carson, October 12, 1917, National Archives, CAB 24/28/68. 30. Sandres and Taylor, British Propaganda, pp. 65, 89. 31. Lloyd George in a letter to Robert Donald, in H. A. Taylor, Robert Donald (London: Stanley Paul, 1934), p. 156. 32. Sandres and Taylor, British Propaganda, pp. 70–77. 33. Ibid., pp. 78–79. 34. Fife Clark, The Central Office of Information (London: Allen and Unwin, 1970), p. 23. 35. See Sandres and Taylor, British Propaganda, pp. 70–89. 36. Hamilton Fyfe, Northcliffe: An Intimate Biography (London: Allen and Unwin, 1930), p. 237. 37. Stuart, Secrets of Crewe House, pp. 10–11. 38. Ibid. 39. Bruntz, Allied Propaganda, p. 25. 40. Sandres and Taylor, British Propaganda, p. 91; Bruntz, Allied Propaganda, p. 25. 41. Messinger, British Propaganda and the State, chap. 11. 42. Ibid., chap. 12. 43. Bruntz, Allied Propaganda, pp. 21, 28; Sandres and Taylor, British Propaganda, p. 91; Stuart, Secrets of Crewe House, p. 14. 44. Bruntz, Allied Propaganda, p. 29. 45. Stuart, Secrets of Crewe House, p. 14; Bruntz, Allied Propaganda, p. 30. 46. Sandres and Taylor, British Propaganda, p. 270; Stuart, Secrets of Crewe House, pp. 15–19. 47. Cornwall, The Undermining of Austria-Hungary, p. 6. 48. Oscar Von Huiter, “Army Order,” 29 August 1918, reproduced in George G. Bruntz, “Allied Propaganda and the Collapse of German Morale in 1918,” Public Opinion Quarterly 2, no. 1 (1938): 73–74. 49. Bruntz, Allied Propaganda, p. 21; Stuart, Secrets of Crewe House, p. 52. 50. Sandres and Taylor, British Propaganda, pp. 214–216. 51. Ibid., p. 134. 52. Ibid., p. 133. 53. Ibid., pp. 210–212. 54. Stuart, Secrets of Crewe House, pp. 92–93. 55. Major C. J. C. Street, “Behind the Enemy Lines,” Cornhill Magazine, July– December 1919, p. 495.

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56. Ibid. 57. James M. Spaight, Air Power and War Rights (London: Longmans, Green, 1924), p. 306. 58. Ibid. 59. Sandres and Taylor, British Propaganda, p. 212. 60. Street, “Behind the Enemy Lines,” p. 496. 61. Stuart, Secrets of Crewe House, pp. 54–60. 62. Bruntz, Allied Propaganda, p. 58. 63. Stuart, Secrets of Crewe House, p. 93. 64. Paul von Hindenburg, Out of My Life, translated by F. A. Holt (London: Cassell, 1920), pp. 314, 363. 65. Bruntz, Allied Propaganda, p. 51. 66. Von Huiter, “Army Order.” 67. Messinger, British Propaganda and the State, chap. 11. 68. Sandres and Taylor, British Propaganda, p. 223. 69. For the full reproduction of the memorandum, see Stuart, Secrets of Crewe House, pp. 61–87. 70. Robert L. Nelson, German Soldier Newspapers of the First World War (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011), p. 16. 71. Stuart, Secrets of Crewe House, p. 100 72. Fyfe, Northcliffe, p. 248. 73. Stuart, Secrets of Crewe House, p. 99. 74. Fyfe, Northcliffe, p. 250. 75. For the complete provisions of the act, see Second Supplement to The London Gazette, August 13, 1914, pp. 6379–6383. 76. Bruntz, Allied Propaganda, p. 86. 77. John D. Halliday, “Censorship in Berlin and Vienna During the First World War: A Comparative View,” Modern Language Review 83, no. 3 (1988): 612–626. 78. George G. Bruntz, “Propaganda as an Instrument of War,” Current History and Forum 32, no. 4 (193): 743; Bruntz, Allied Propaganda, p. 99. 79. Ibid. 80. Stuart, Secrets of Crewe House, p. 101. 81. Bruntz, Allied Propaganda, pp. 90–94. 82. Stuart, Secrets of Crewe House, p. 100. 83. Bruntz, Allied Propaganda, pp. 94–102. 84. Ibid., p. 98. 85. Bruntz, “Propaganda as an Instrument of War,” p. 744. 86. Bruntz, Allied Propaganda, pp. 104–105. 87. Stuart, Secrets of Crewe House, p. 102. 88. Bruntz, Allied Propaganda, p. 106. 89. Stuart, Secrets of Crewe House, pp. 94, 100. 90. Ibid., p. 101. 91. Bruntz, Allied Propaganda, p. 55. 92. Ibid., p. 107. 93. Ibid. 94. Von Hindenburg, Out of My Life, p. 392. 95. Sandres and Taylor, British Propaganda, p. 210. 96. Stuart, Secrets of Crewe House, pp. 20–21. 97. Ibid., p. 21. 98. Cornwall, The Undermining of Austria-Hungary, chap. 6; Stuart, Secrets of Crewe House, chap. 3.

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99. Stephen Count Burian, Austria in Dissolution, translated by Brian Lunn (New York: George N. Duran, 1925), p. 149. 100. Bruntz, Allied Propaganda, pp. 113–129. 101. Lord George, quoted in Campbell Stuart, Secrets of Crewe House (London: Hodder and Stoughton, 1920), p. 50. 102. Lord Northcliffe, quoted in Fyfe, Northcliffe, p. 242. 103. Sandres and Taylor, British Propaganda, p. 219. 104. “Hindenburg to the Rescue!” Daily Telegraph, September 7, 1918, p. 4. 105. For the full reproduction of the manifesto, see Stuart, Secrets of Crewe House, pp. 106–114. 106. Bruntz, Allied Propaganda, p. 131. 107. For the full reproduction of the memorandum, see Stuart, Secrets of Crewe House, pp. 61–87. 108. Bruntz, Allied Propaganda, p. 134. 109. Fyfe, Northcliffe, pp. 250–251. 110. Bruntz, Allied Propaganda, pp. 189–194. 111. General John Charteris, quoted in Sandres and Taylor, British Propaganda, p. 219. 112. Bruntz, Allied Propaganda, pp. 205–206. 113. The Times (London), quoted in Bruntz, Allied Propaganda, p. 220. 114. Colonel Maximilian Ronge, quoted in Cornwall, The Undermining of AustriaHungary, p. 260. 115. Burian, Australia in Dissolution, p. 452. 116. German War Ministry, quoted in Bruntz, Allied Propaganda, p. 195. 117. For the full reproduction of the manifesto, see Stuart, Secrets of Crewe House, pp. 106–114. 118. Fyfe, Northcliffe, p. 237. 119. Stuart, Secrets of Crewe House, p. 1. 120. Erich Ludendorff, My War Memories 1914–1918, vol. 1, 2nd ed. (London: Hutchinson, 1919), p. 368. 121. Ibid., p. 361. 122. Von Hindenburg, Out of My Life, p. 314. 123. For example, Wilhelm Ernst and Eugen von Frauenholz, Die antideutche Propaganda durch das Sweizer Cebiet im Weltkrieg, speziell die Propaganda im Bayern [The Anti-German Propaganda via Switzerland in the World War, Especially the Propaganda in Bavaria] (Munich: C.H. Beck, 1933); Hans von Hentig, Psychologische Strategie des grossen Krieges [Psychological Strategy of the Great War] (Heidelberg: Universitatsverlag Winter Gmbh, 1927); Ludolf Gottschalk Von Dem Knesebeck, Die Wahrheit über den Propagandafeldzug und Deutschlands Zusammenbruch: Der Kampf der Publizistik im Weltkrieg [The Truth About the Propaganda Campaign and Germany’s Collapse: The Fight of Journalism in the World War] (Munich: Selbstverlag der Verfassers, 1927); Edgar Stern-Rubarth, Die Propaganda als politisches Instrument [Propaganda as a Political Instrument] (Berlin: Trowitzsch, 1921). 124. Adolf Hitler, Mein Kampf (New York: Reynal and Hitchcock, 1941), p. 227. 125. See Stuart, Secrets of Crewe House; Lasswell, Propaganda Technique in the World War; Bruntz, Allied Propaganda; Fyfe, Northcliffe. 126. Sidney Rogerson, Propaganda in the Next War (London: Geoffrey Bles, 1938), p. 16. 127. Sandres and Taylor, British Propaganda, pp. 246–248. 128. Robert Donald, quoted in Sandres and Taylor, British Propaganda p. 249.

3 Soviet Information Operations in World War II Vitaly Kabernik

THE SOVIET INFORMATION AND INFLUENCE OPERATIONS during World War II demonstrated the highest level of sophistication, an extremely flexible command and coordination structure, the ability to respond rapidly to the changing situation, a good understanding of strengths and weaknesses of their opponent, and the integration of military and political strategic planning. From the beginning, propaganda and agitation operations were given top priorities as they were an integral part of warfare. Despite the disruption caused by the political purges of the 1930s, the subsequent reorganizations, and the changing political agenda, the Soviet information operations quickly mobilized and adapted to the situation, forming an effective joint command that integrated internal, foreign, and allied propaganda efforts. In this chapter, I focus on particular campaigns and message content throughout the war, thereby providing insights into the effectiveness of different approaches and the general organization of Soviet information operations. I highlight how efforts were somewhat hampered by pursuing different messaging for domestic audiences and Germans.

Organization of Information Operations Before the War

In the ten years before the war, the Soviet Union was marked and reshaped by Joseph Stalin’s great political-ideological purge. It was an 39

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attempt to eliminate any and all challenges from past and future opposition groups. While it had an enormous negative impact on the general effectiveness of the Red Army, it also left a stain on the institutions responsible for conducting information operations. Before the 1930s, three institutions were responsible for foreign intelligence and information operations abroad. The primary body was the Foreign Department of Joint State Political Directorate of the People Commissars’ Council of the USSR (Inostranny otdel Obyedinyonnogo gosudarstvennogo politicheskogo upravleniya pri SNK SSSR [INO OGPU]). The Third Communist International (known as Comintern) was a complementary structure, which enthusiastically supported the promotion and propagation of communist ideology abroad and the notion of worldwide revolution.1 In contrast to earlier organizations, including the Second Communist International created in Europe in 1889, the Comintern was based in Soviet Russia, operating a network of so-called influence agents in many European countries. 2 In addition to that, the Red Army’s and the Russian navy’s Political Propaganda Directorate (Glavnoye politicheskoye upravleniye Krestiyanskoy Krasnoi Armii, also often shortened to GlavPU or GlavPUR), later renamed Glavnoye Upravleniye Politicheskoy Propagandy (GUPP),3 was responsible for all political propaganda conducted by the military.4 By the late 1930s, these institutions were reorganized: a reflection of the internal political struggle for power and waves of repression and terror. On the one hand, this process of reorganization led to the bureaucratization of the existing structure and the duplication of tasks. On the other, it was an attempt to bring all these institutions together under the command of the People’s Commissariat for Internal Affairs (Narodny Komissariat Vnutrennikh Del [NKVD]). 5 In 1934, the INO OGPU, including its foreign networks and internal counterintelligence units, was merged with the NKVD to become the Main Directorate of State Security.6 As Stalin’s Great Terror specifically targeted professionals with prerevolution experience or a foreign background, it led to the removal or death of professionals from the Baltic States, Germany, and Poland. It significantly impacted the foreign intelligence and counterintelligence networks—the German Department was practically destroyed.7 While the purging of professionals from the INO OGPU was often carried out covertly to prevent panic or the defection of foreign agents, 8 information still leaked out. The outcome was severe disruption and disorder among the INO OGPU and Comintern networks overseas, including those responsible for information operations. As a result, the USSR

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entered World War II with foreign intelligence, counterintelligence, and influence networks disrupted and an ideological-political agenda controversial and unclear—which had negative impacts on the realistic estimates of the enemy. It would take time to develop methods and considerable effort to establish, or, in fact, reestablish, the capabilities lost to the political purge.

Rebuilding Information Operations Capacity, 1941–1942 Organization

Two days after Germany invaded the Soviet Union, the People Commissars’ Council (SNK) decided to create one centralized institution responsible for propaganda and counterpropaganda—the Soviet Information Bureau (Sovinformbyuro) led by Aleksander Scherbakov. While it is best known for its iconic radio broadcasts, it operated a full spectrum of information activities. The Sovinformbyuro was subdivided into military, translations, propaganda and counterpropaganda, international, and literature divisions. Its responsibilities included coordination of military journalists, information support of the Soviet embassies abroad, information exchange with foreign news agencies, and information support of official and unofficial communist communities abroad via Comintern structures. Together with GUPP, the Sovinformbyuro was also responsible for development of the messages and leaflets addressed to German and other enemy soldiers.9 GUPP was also responsible for setting the information agenda for commissars in the field.10 While the original structure of the Sovinformbyuro was compact, a team of only eighty, it had tremendous impact. It gathered the best propagandists from across the Soviet Union. The core team was composed of already famous Soviet writers, journalists, and poets such as Konstantin Simonov, Mikhail Sholokhov, Evgeny Petrov, Aleksander Fadeev, Valentin Kataev, and Alexey Tolstoy. The involvement of such skilled writers helped in the development of high-quality materials.11 The Sovinformbyuro team also included members of the Communist Party’s Internal Directorate for Propaganda and Agitation (Upravleniye Propagandy i Agitatsiyi [UPA]), established in 1939 as the main political censorship organization inside the Communist Party. Since the UPA was the primary monitoring agency, the double affiliation of some Sovinformbyuro members offered the freedom and flexibility required to

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create messages for foreign audiences that did not necessarily align with communist ideology.12 From the early days of the war, the Soviet Union News Agency (Telegrafnoye Agentstvo Sovetskogo Soyuza [TASS]) was subordinated to the Sovinformbyuro and the UPA through the double affiliation of the members of the propaganda and counterpropaganda departments, and the inclusion of TASS director Jacob Khavinson into the Sovinformbyuro decisionmaking team. While TASS took part in the preparation of press materials for foreign departments and news agencies, notably Reuters and United Press International, its tasks also included strategic disinformation and intelligence gathering via its network of foreign outlets. To fulfill this role, the TASS central directorate was reinforced with 174 specialists tasked with monitoring foreign radio transmissions and preparing their own media products in fifteen languages.13 Originally, the coordination for propaganda and agitation in the military was the responsibility of the Seventh Directorate of the GUPP,14 but it was transferred to the Council for Military-Political Propaganda three days after the war began. It included the head of the Sovinformbyuro, the director of the UPA, and Communist Party officials.15 The council not only was responsible for the publication and delivery of printed materials and radio transmissions onto the battlefield, but also for the development and deployment of new message delivery methods, including special ordnance and purpose-designed broadcast stations and loudspeakers. Placed within the military, the GUPP introduced the position of instructor for propaganda in every division’s headquarters.16 As a result of this reorganization in the military, the media, the UPA, and other institutions, the Sovinformbyuro was able to interweave these often very different Soviet agencies into one unified propaganda machine. By July 1942, the GUPP was subordinated to Alexander Scherbakov, head of the Sovinformbyuro.17 Shortly after, in October 1942, the Institute of Commissars was phased out to optimize chains of command. Their duty was replaced by deputy political officers, often coming from the army structures. Soviet censorship also banned some media products that exaggerated the role of political officers and “diminished the role of commanding officers.”18 If in the past ideology (political officers) came before professionalism (commanding officers), this ban reflected a significant change in the perception of the Soviet leadership of the relationship between the two. The multiple affiliations, and the direct involvement of decisionmakers, provided the much needed flexibility to: (1) interpret the information agenda, as required, without the need to adhere to the ideologi-

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cal line of the party; and (2) to reshape the information networks within the USSR and abroad. This creative freedom was used to full advantage during the war.

Content: Different Messages to Different Audiences

While the Soviet leadership was not surprised by the German invasion, its success was truly shocking for the Kremlin. The heavy territorial and manpower losses in the first year of the war required an immediate propaganda response. This led to the identification of three separate target audiences, each one of which required different messages and agendas. The first was the USSR’s own population, including its soldiers and civilians, the home front, and people under German occupation. The second was the German army, German civilians, and nations that could potentially join Germany in fighting against the USSR or provide material support. The last was the political leadership and civilian population of the Allies and neutral states, including many diaspora organizations within these countries. Different messages and means of delivery were used to reach each of these three strategic targets, while the development of content also varied between them. In the first few months of war, Soviet propaganda was required to revise and reshape the relatively neutral opinion of Germany formed in 1939–1941, and the perception of the Allies as ideological adversaries. At the same time, it was required to encourage people to continue fighting, while masking the magnitude of the losses on the front. This task was met with assistance from the military, which included demonstrative acts of little military impact but significant propaganda value; for example, the aerial bombings of Berlin and Königsberg in the first few days of war.19

Target: Domestic population. The main target for the Soviet propaganda machine was its domestic audience. The war, which was, in fact, expected and predicted as inevitable in ideological journals published several years earlier,20 was presented as a treacherous break of the nonaggression pact.21 This allowed for the re-creation of already developed ideological clichés regarding the Nazi regime. Fascism was blamed as the driving force for Nazi aggression. This allowed Soviet propagandists to separate the German nation from its criminal capitalistic ruling class. They initially produced a message that stated the German people would rebel against their rulers due to, it was argued, the Nazi regime’s military failures on the Eastern Front.

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Facing high military casualties and territorial losses, the Kremlin soon realized that victory was not going to be easy. Acknowledging that the German military was a disciplined force that showed no signs of psychological weakness, the propaganda image was modified, with an increasing emphasis placed on the sheer barbarism of the German leaders and their soldiers. While the ideological separation of the German people from their Nazi leadership was retained, it proved too complicated for ordinary people to understand.22 As a result, the message was adjusted to make the word “fascist” synonymous with a “German soldier.” In so doing, the Soviet propaganda machine attempted to transform everything associated with Germany (regime, military, and people) into one evil, inhuman, and barbaric collection of faceless creatures responsible for mass atrocities against the Soviet people. This simple, but powerful, message was intended to support and promote the notion that neither negotiations, nor truce, with Nazi Germany was possible and that the only acceptable outcome was its extermination.23 Every newspaper in the Soviet Union replaced their communist international slogans with anti-German ones. For example, the most widely used prewar slogan “Proletaries of all the countries, unite!” was changed, in December 1941, to “Death to fascist occupants!”24 The original slogan, however, was not entirely erased, and was still in use for foreign audience propaganda materials. In 1942, the message was simplified even further to short, powerful words—“Kill the German.” This message became the fulcrum of the Soviet domestic propaganda effort. It was promoted by the famous article “Kill,” by Ilya Ehrenburg, and the poem by Konstantin Simonov, “If Your Home Is of Value to You,” originally titled “Kill Him!”25 In his article, Ehrenburg wrote, We know everything. We remember everything. We have understood: Germans are not people. From now on, the word “German” is the worst damnation for us. . . . If you leave the German alive, the German will hang the Russian men and dishonour the Russian women. If you killed one German, kill another—there is nothing more fun for us than German corpses. Do not count the days. Do not count the miles. Count one thing: the number of Germans killed by you. Kill the German!—an elder mother asks you. Kill the German!—a child prays to you. Kill the German!—your motherland screams. Do not miss. Do not miss. Kill!26

Simonov finished his poem with the words:

Kill this German, so he; And not you will lie on the ground, So in his house, not in yours; The funeral wailing will sound.

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He wanted it so, this is his fault; Let his house burn, not your own. Let his wife become a widow; don’t let your wife groan. Your mother should not moan; Let his mother to bear the pain. Don’t let it be yours, but his; Family who will wait in vain. So, kill at least one of them, as soon as you can. You know the drill! As many times you see him, as many times you must kill him! Kill him! Kill!27

Replicated on leaflets and in newspapers, the simple slogan “Kill the German” was widely disseminated. It resulted in the appearance of special newspaper pages that asked: “How many Germans have you killed today?” These pages also published letters from the front, describing positive combat experiences.28 Widely reproduced in leaflets, in papers, and on billboards, with stylized shocking content, both fictional and real, this radical message naturally supported calls for revenge. A special mass-produced pamphlet called “We Hate—We Avenge” was published in 1942 for political officers, to support GUPP’s agitation in the military. These rousing messages not only were used to motivate fierce fighting, but to underline the impossibility of surrendering to the Germans— emphasizing its futility. This was vitally important after the extremely heavy losses suffered from mass encirclements in 1941.29 Radio was also widely used to disseminate these internally focused messages.30 Responsible for the radio broadcasts, the military directorate of the Sovinformbyuro produced three most admired segments: the “Sovinformbyuro Summaries,” “On the Last Hour,” and “Letters from and to the Fronts.” They all shared the Sovinformbyuro’s iconic audio style, defined by the voice of Soviet announcer Yuri Levitan. All broadcasts started with the words “Moscow is speaking.”31 It provided reassurance and continuity in the late autumn of 1941—a precarious time with rumors abounding of a possible fall of Moscow following the total evacuation of the city’s major industries. These broadcasts helped build an image of Moscow as an indestructible bastion of resistance against the German invasion. The content was often censored, directly approved or disapproved by the Communist Party leadership, sometimes by Stalin himself. While each success, no matter how small, was reported, it never reported the surrender of the republic capitals— Minsk, Riga, Tallinn, Vilnius, and Chisinau—and only reported the surrender of Kiev two days after the fact.32 It is important to note that the aim of this censorship, coordinated by the Sovinformbyuro, did not try to represent the German army as a

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weak or an inferior power, as this was considered counterproductive— it simply would not be credible. This view was supported by an internal report presented in 1945. On the one hand, the enemy could not be painted as too powerful, and its successes had to be dimmed. On the other hand, valiant victory reports (e.g., the description of one platoon destroying a whole German regiment) had to be redacted or banned from publication, as they portrayed the enemy as too weak. 33 A balance had to be struck to ensure that the published reports were widely trusted. The main purpose of censorship was twofold: first, to give realistic coverage of the fighting, as those directly engaged in the action would never believe fantasy stories; and, second, to prevent strategic and operative information leakages in published military reports. Such a challenging and controversial task necessitated a cautious selection of the stories for publication. For example, a message of German army disruption was banned from publication as it diminished the achieved military goal of enemy force attrition.34 Additional sources for domestic propaganda were found in music and film. Specifically, the movie Alexander Nevsky, shot by Sergei Eisenstein in 1938, ultimately played an important role in the government’s propaganda campaign. It depicted the invasion of Teutonic Knights and their defeat near Novgorod. While it had been unofficially banned in 1939 after the nonaggression pact with Germany was signed, images from the film and its musical score, composed by Sergei Prokofiev, were widely used in propaganda once the war began to underpin the message of the inevitable German defeat. This image became so important that the Soviet government established the order of Alexander Nevsky in 1942. The medal depicted the profile of the actor, who played the part, rather than Nevsky himself.35 The “Sacred War” song, written just two days after the German invasion, was also widely used in propaganda campaigns. Its lyrics echoed the image of Germans as barbaric and inhumane. The song explicitly referred to the “dark fascist force,” “cursed horde,” and for the first time used the term “people’s war”: Arise, you mighty motherland Arise for Sacred War Against the dark fascist force, Against the cursed horde. Let noble anger boil up Arise like mighty wave! This is the people’s war, The Sacred War of the brave!36

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It echoed Vyacheslav Molotov’s speech that referred to a “patriotic war,” which later evolved into the “Great Patriotic War.”37 First used in 1812 during the Napoleonic Wars, the term reemerged. Before the war, the term patriotic war was considered too imperialistic in nature and had fallen into disuse. References to the Teutonic invasion, the 1812 French invasion of Russia (also called the Patriotic War of 1812), and other historic invasions into the Russian territory were widely drawn on to encourage a nationalistic wave and protect Russia’s national identity from another existential threat.

Target: Allies and neutrals. As with the domestic audience, specific messages, media products, and propaganda were developed for the allied and neutral states. Their primary goal was to shape popular opinion and persuade decisionmakers to support the USSR’s fight against Germany—politically, materially, and financially. Separate messages were developed by the Sovinformbyuro and TASS for each audience. This work was generally associated with Ilya Ehrenburg, who sought to influence foreign audiences through media departments and certain international political organizations.38 An internal Sovinformbyuro report, in July 1942, pinpointed three types of news products that appealed to foreign audiences. These were identified through the analysis of feedback in the foreign press. They included essays depicting localized episodes in the war, theoreticalmilitary articles for the academic and military communities, and operative reports from the battlefront. The same report emphasized the poor performance of the Soviet embassies and poor use of foreign correspondents in Moscow to push the prepared material out to the foreign media. As a result, permanent representatives and authors were dispatched to offer close and immediate contacts with foreign news agencies.39 The Sovinformbyuro provided regular publications for thirty-two foreign news agencies totaling about 135,000 articles throughout the war.40 Some Sovinformbyuro and TASS members also had double affiliations working for the US and British press. The main outlets were the North American Newspaper Alliance (NANA) and United Press International in the United States, and the Daily Express in the United Kingdom. Good connections were also established with Spanish-speaking newspapers, primarily in the Americas (as Spain was under Francisco Franco’s fascist rule). This was a combined bi-product of the Spanish international Republican movement and former Comintern connections. However, the Spanish publications were of secondary importance, as the Americans and the British were seen as having better potential to advance the Soviet agenda.41

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Since the Sovinformbyuro was well connected to the Soviet embassies42 and media outlets abroad, it was their responsibility to present a coherent picture to these audiences. In March 1942, Ilya Ehrenburg specifically discussed how foreign papers required different content from domestic Russian outlets. He stressed the need to tailor media reports from the front line for foreign audiences,43 while military essays and summaries were edited to sound optimistic. They represented the grand picture and sometimes even the romance of war, depicting ordinary people fighting enthusiastically against a common enemy. All Soviet ideological clichés were removed, leaving only highquality literary journalism. Documentaries detailing Nazi atrocities were also exported. They were coordinated by Alexey Tolstoy, who was both a UPA member and a member of the committee for investigation of German fascist atrocities. He had direct access to the raw data and detailed descriptions of the mass murders of Jews and Slavic people under occupation. The message created for British audience was one of solidarity; all ideological differences were left out.44 The messages for the US audience took a slightly different approach. The main delivery channel was established through the personal contacts of the Soviet TASS correspondents. The content was channeled to NANA. It included war stories, as well as special reports and letters from the front. Publications such as “To an Unknown American Friend” and “Letters from a Russian” targeted the US audiences, encouraging them to support the Lend-Lease program. They metaphorically brought the fight closer to home for ordinary Americans, comparing geographic locations like the Volga River with the Mississippi, aiming to create an empathetic response from US audiences. These letters also called for the fast creation of a Second Front, emphasizing the importance of attacking German infrastructure in Europe. The Americans were also regularly and systematically reminded of their participation in World War I.45 Soviet propaganda also channeled the message using documentaries filmed in or translated to English. One of the most notable examples was the Oscar-winning epic documentary Moscow Strikes Back, which was highly acclaimed in the United States and the United Kingdom. Strategic disinformation was also an important part of this overseas work. The Soviet radio and foreign language newspapers published unconfirmed news reports that complemented battlefront reports. Read together, such reports represented a logical link—even if never explicitly expressed—between the German poor progress on the Eastern Front and an inevitable German defeat. Disruption to, and

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interference of, the German command structures were popular with the British audience—they were eagerly quoted by the British news agencies. Messages of Adolf Hitler’s disease, assassination attempts on Benito Mussolini, and the German government’s evacuation out of Berlin were widely disseminated without question. The main aim of these reports was to create an image of the Wehrmacht’s failure on the Eastern Front and of the evolution of this fight into a long-lasting war of attrition.46 Another very specific activity, coordinated by the Sovinformbyuro, was support for nationalistic and anti-fascist movements abroad, with the Jewish Anti-Fascist Committee (JAC) as its starkest example. Originally set up after a meeting of the “Jewish people representatives” in the summer of 1941, it called for Jews worldwide to support the Soviet Union in the war. This call was supported by the American Jewish Joint Distribution Committee and Albert Einstein himself. They collected $16 million in the United States, $15 million in the United Kingdom, and some $750,000 in Palestine, in support of the supply of medical equipment to the Red Army. Following its initial success, the JAC was officially created in April 1942 and began publishing its newspaper Eynigkayt in Yiddish. JAC was a subsidiary department of the Sovinformbyuro,47 primarily political in nature; it did not pursue religious or Jewish national aims.48

Target: The German military and population. Obviously, the German military and population were considered to be important targets for propaganda from the very beginning of the war. However, the initial message created was inherently problematic and ineffective. The original Soviet doctrine underestimated the power of the Wehrmacht in the first months of the war. Restrained by ideology clichés and focused on the ideas of socialist solidarity the original doctrine was essentially useless against the highly motivated German military. Despite that, the GUPP was extremely efficient at producing printed propaganda materials. Reports on the first two weeks of the war noted that over 66 million leaflets, posters, and other printed materials were delivered to frontline troops for further dissemination to the enemy troops.49 While it is clear that the Soviet command identified information warfare as a top priority, neither the content of the message nor its delivery were effective enough to produce a notable impact. Internal GUPP guidelines for the development of propaganda materials, used in the first months of war, utilized the following framework for the development of content intended for the German audience:

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• To unmask Hitler and fascist leadership as the enemies of the German people; • To convince adversaries of the righteous and liberational nature of the war from the Soviet perspective; • To prove the inevitable military defeat of the Rome-Berlin-Tokyo Axis; • To motivate enemy soldiers to surrender; • To emphasize the contradictions between the Axis powers and their respective aims; • To explain the peace plans of the USSR to the population in the liberated territories.50

Analysis of an open letter to the German people drafted in August 1941 outlines the core messages to the German soldiers and population:

• Endless war: Hitler promised blitzkrieg, peace, and prosperity in 1939–1940, but instead continued his plans for further conquests; • Former failures: The Battle for the Atlantic was lost, Britain survived, the USA joined the war, Germany itself was under attack; • References to the truce of Versailles: Soviet Russia never supported it and the German people know the feeling of humiliation—so why bring the same on the Soviet people; • Comparisons: The USSR is not a small or helpless country like Belgium and has no traitors like the French—this war cannot be won, as history has witnessed; • War with no profit: Ordinary people will get nothing from this conquest—at the same time, corporate capitalists are the ones who will profit; • Calls for solidarity: Hitler is promoting fake socialism, while the USSR is the only true socialist country—German workers and peasants should never support the fight against their brothers and should at least sabotage military production.51

While the initial idea of solidarity among the Soviet and German working classes reflected the Soviet ideological stance, the Soviet propagandists quickly redacted this message. Any notion of solidarity began to demonstrate an empathetic understanding, emphasizing that this was not the German people’s war, that they could not simply rebel (as suggested before) without risking life and limb. The message was softened significantly, calling for covert acts of sabotage until surrender would be possible, as saving their lives was the main priority.52

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A declassified transcript of a secret meeting led by the Sovinformbyuro’s vice-chairman, Solomon Lozovsky, analyzed the impact of these leaflets on German troops. It noted the following:

• They were too long to read. With multiple historic, cultural, and ideological references, the principal message was left unclear. • Penetration and distribution were sufficient, but they were used primarily as survival insurance when captured. Most captives carried at least one leaflet. The absence of leaflets, typical for diversionary units or Schutzstaffel (Protective Echelon [SS]) troops, was used as a key indicator of their rank and the need for further interrogation.53

Moreover, the questioning of captives highlighted that the message, even if it was clear and coherent, needed to be accompanied by military success. After the Battle for Moscow, in December 1941, the message was updated—it was now supported by the image of the German defeat. At approximately the same time, the GUPP started an operation indirectly studying the opinions of the German soldiers by analyzing their intercepted letters from the battlefield. This operation continued until the end of the war. It provided information on the morale and psychological stamina of the enemy and was later used to balance psychological and kinetic influence on the German forces. The first study, completed in the winter of 1941, measured the perception of discontent among German troops on the progress of the war. It produced the following results: • June–August 1941: 18.5 percent not content enough; • August–October 1941: 43 percent discontent; • November–December 1941: 77 percent discontent.54

The Soviet archives do not hold a complete picture, in part because this task could be fulfilled only during pauses between battles or after significant victories providing enough material for analysis. However, it is safe to assume that this dynamic correlates strongly with the defeats of the Wehrmacht, where 77 percent discontent is a local peak after a catastrophic strategic defeat that put an end to the blitzkrieg strategy. By 1942, the war turned into one of attrition, which was immediately reflected in Soviet propaganda materials. Aided by the harsh winter of 1941–1942 the message sent to enemy troops, during this period, introduced the following demoralizing points:

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• You [the German soldiers] are lost, forgotten, and doomed in an endless Russian winter; • The dead are calling to the ones still alive; • The ones who surrendered do not suffer anymore.

By the end of 1941, the German military on the Eastern Front could not continue its strategic operations—they suffered an estimated 760,000 losses. While the German losses were less than those of the Red Army, their major advance was stopped, which had a detrimental impact on German morale. Even within Germany, the view that the war had lost its strategic momentum started to gain traction.55 At the same time the Sovinformbyuro, the GUPP, and other agencies perfected their methods and messaging. One of the most effective methods used selective targeted messaging, based on an analysis of the composition of the enemy troops. Messages were customized to appeal to the specific culture, dialects, and traditions of the soldiers. The primary targets of this approach were the non-German troops, as they were considered weaker opponents with lower morale.56 The Soviet propaganda machine published and distributed newspapers for enemy soldiers in Romanian, Hungarian, Finnish, and Italian, together with a special newspaper in German, targeting Austrians (as they were considered culturally different from Germans). In October 1941, the German anti-fascists developed the Declaration of the Demands of German People. It was distributed among captured German troops for them to sign. Writing letters appealing to their comrades was also encouraged. They were sometimes compiled into a single leaflet and published on colored paper for better visibility, depending on the time of year and the local terrain.57 Specific propaganda messaging was embedded into radio transmissions targeting the enemy population and communications officers. Fourteen radio programs in German, Polish, Finnish, and Romanian were broadcast for five hours each day. They focused on delivering tailored news that emphasized German failures.58 An interesting innovation was the introduction of the so-called trophy radio stations. According to gathered intelligence, each German division had about fifty radio stations with over 200 troops able to listen to the tactical broadcasts and Russian intercepts. This audience was specifically targeted by the Soviets, using propaganda materials and faked transmissions that spread messages of panic and disruption.59 While the efficacy of such methods was questionable, they presented an interesting new development in targeting. Another notable innovation was using timed jamming and intercepts of enemy broadcasts to replace or redact the original enemy message. German and Finnish broadcasts were jammed in a timely manner,

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and parts of enemy transmissions were replaced with fake fragments. This method was used in Finnish broadcasts to mock-up virtual polemics with Finnish Nazi-aligned propagandists; Soviet radio stations interfered when parts of enemy transmissions were jammed with comments on the matter aired just before jamming started.60 Not only did this improve delivery, but it also heightened impact of such virtual discussions, allowing people to compare the Nazi-aligned propaganda with the voice from the other side by themselves. Radio broadcasts were also widely used to target second-line troops, the German population, occupied territories, and neutral countries. While the general message at the beginning of the war reflected the guidelines used in all other propaganda, it included certain specific elements. For example, broadcasts for the Poles and the French focused on the methods, tactics, and experiences of partisan warfare together with reports from the fronts. Spanish programs, coordinated by the Comintern, which had a close relationship with the Spanish Republican resistance, focused on local issues, as well as targeting the Spanish troops on the Russian front.61 Broadcasts intended for the German population evolved during the first stage of the war. They shifted from the calls for solidarity toward softer humane appeals. Starting in 1942, broadcasts in German introduced a regular Postbox of Prisoners’ Camp program that broadcast recorded messages from real captives. It also broadcast names of those captured in a long list, together with the names of relatives and home addresses. These lists were broadcast without comment. They simply provided information on prisoners of war (POWs). It attracted high levels of attention in Germany and on the front lines.62

Methods of Delivery

In contrast to today, message delivery channels were limited during World War II. Leaflets were the main channel with radio broadcasts playing a secondary role. As propaganda was of the highest importance, the supply of paper was essential. To meet the need, it was decided to significantly reduce the number of regularly published newspapers.63 Leaflets were disseminated from airplanes or balloons, with almost every bombing raid taking some leaflets aboard. Supplied in packs, leaflets were poorly packed, requiring lower speed and altitude, as well as manually opening hatches, risking the pilots’ lives. In 1942, weapons specialists in the USSR were tasked with developing bombs, artillery, and mortar shells specifically intended for leaflet drops. This resulted in the mass deployment of AGB-100-30 bombs in 1943 that were able to distribute

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2,000 leaflets; a wide range of “agitation shells” for artillery including a 305-milimeter device used exclusively with shore batteries; and, the most exotic development, the VAG-42 rifle grenade for relatively precise delivery of 35–40 leaflets to the trenches of opposing forces.64 The problem of the German censorship and requisition of the Soviet leaflets was also addressed. Many leaflets were published two-sided: the front side mimicked a German newspaper, allowing German soldiers to covertly keep leaflets and distribute them further.65 In 1942, “trench loudspeakers” entered service. They were used to broadcast prerecorded propaganda messages to soldiers on the other side. Trench loudspeakers played a significant role in diminishing the morale of encircled regiments just months after their introduction during the Battle of Stalingrad. Long-distance radio broadcasts were technically possible, as the German jamming technology could not stop the broadcasts and the population had readily available radio receivers. However, listening to the Soviet radio was a prosecutable offense that carried a death sentence in some territories. Therefore, the Soviet broadcasts generally tailored their content for resistance and anti-fascist organizations. Moreover, instead of transmitting directly to Germany, the Soviet broadcasts focused on neutral or offshore territories such as German sailors and fishermen in the Baltic Sea.66 The efficiency of these broadcasts was never measured or estimated, but it was a way to disseminate rumors, as an indirect channel to deliver propaganda messages to the German audience. In a similarly vein, broadcasts in Spanish were disguised as local resistance broadcasts. For example, Soviet programs broadcast fabricated conversations with women of Madrid, and a special Catholicrelated program that pretended to be transmitted from the Vatican.67 Indirect message delivery was also practiced utilizing the press of neutral countries available for reading in Germany—those newspapers and magazines published Soviet-originated articles disguised as neutral countries’ sources. The Swedish TASS outlet played the most significant role, establishing direct contacts with local newspapers and channeling specially constructed, soft messages clarifying the situation on the fronts.

Reshaping the Message: 1943 Onward “Germans to Germans” Approaches

The Battle of Stalingrad marked the first mass surrender of approximately 150,000 German, Romanian, Italian, and Hungarian troops.

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Although the German Sixth Army was encircled, it could not be defeated, and so the Red Army applied significant psychological pressure to lower the morale of the trapped enemy’s forces. 68 Loudspeakers were used widely across the enemy lines to broadcast tailored messages. One powerful example used the seven clicks of a metronome followed by a brief bitter comment: “One German soldier dies on the frontline each seven seconds.” After several cycles, popular German music was broadcast, then the metronome resumed with interruptions for frontline reports about the Red Army victories against the encircled German forces. The letters of captured German soldiers, selected for their depressing content, were also printed on leaflets together with tactical maps used to demonstrate inevitable defeat or death from hunger and cold.69 Operation Ring began on January 10, 1943. It combined military actions and information operations. The information strategy was to create a chain reaction starting with the weakest troops—the Romanians. Twelve hundred POWs wrote letters to their comrades that were printed in large numbers and used as leaflets. While this proved effective against approximately 30,000 Romanian troops, leading to their surrender without resistance, the morale of the German troops was stronger, and most of the methods used had limited effect until military action began.70 By February 2, the last German point of resistance surrendered to the Red Army. This defeat lead to the capture of two high-ranking German generals, Walther von Seydlitz-Kurzbach and Friedrich Paulus, both of whom went on to play significant roles in the following Soviet information operations. While the idea of using captured soldiers for information operations was first implemented after the Battle of Moscow, it had been largely ineffective. However, after the Battle of Stalingrad, the Soviet intelligence not only had a great number of POWs to work with, but von SeydlitzKurzbach decided to collaborate with the Soviets, as he blamed Hitler for the destruction of the Sixth Army at Stalingrad. Before 1943, “Free Germany” was the only Soviet information effort using a “Germans to Germans” approach. This was an organization of collaborators, created out of the remains of the German Communist Party led by poet Erich Weinert. The core leadership of Free Germany was formed from internationalists with no military record, who had fled to the USSR after the Communist Party was banned in Germany. Before 1943, some of them, notably Anton Ackerman, were already engaged in developing radio broadcasts for the German population promoting communist and internationalist views. It seemed to have little influence. But

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in July 1943, the Free Germany committee was reinforced with a number of captured German officers, who knew and understood well their soldiers and the general population at home. As a direct consequence of this reinforcement, the propaganda products created by Free Germany became more realistic, better targeted, and less ideologized.71 In December 1943, the Soviet intelligence created a parallel organization that focused solely on captured officers. It was called “the Union of German Officers.”72 This organization ostensibly was needed because the majority of captured officers did not share the communist ideology promoted by Free Germany, yet they were eager to help in the fight against Hitler. Von Seydlitz-Kurzbach led the organization, providing invaluable information to the intelligence services and hiring other soldiers for the possible creation of units of collaborators to fight on the Soviet side. Over 4,000 officers were hired during the following year, with Paulus joining the union in 1944 to participate in radio broadcasts.73 Von Seydlitz-Kurzbach’s connections were crucial, as he personally knew many high-ranking Wehrmacht officers. His recorded messages were broadcast to the trenches, and he even wrote personal letters to the commanding officers encouraging them to turn their weapons against Hitler.74 However, while collaborating with the Soviet propaganda machine, von Seydlitz-Kurzbach held very different views from the Soviet propaganda agencies’ agenda. While he was convinced that Hitler’s rule would result in a national catastrophe, he never believed in communist ideology, instead promoting the idea of an honorable peace where Germany would stay an independent power, even after the withdrawal from the occupied territories.75 Interestingly, despite the substantial efforts conducted by von Seydlitz-Kurzbach to convince his fellow officers to surrender, the results were quite disappointing. While the Soviet information operation agencies hoped for some high-profile surrenders, as a result of the activities conducted by the Union of German Officers, the reality proved to be quite different. In January 1944, when another Wehrmacht army totaling around 60,000 troops was encircled in Ukraine, all attempts by members of the union to convince the German troops to surrender failed. They surrendered only after they were defeated on the battlefield.76 While the union’s poor results were ultimately disappointing, Free Germany, which operated under the ideological control of the UPA, increased its activities, developing messages for leaflets and broadcasts for the front line and the German population. Following the practice of discrete targeting, several information policies were used in Free Germany materials:

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• The “mourning Germany” policy was primarily used for longrange broadcasts. Providing other historical references, its point was that Germany was a great nation deserving a better future. It combined images of suffering, degradation, and inevitable defeat with fragments of speeches by high-ranking German POWs, including Field Marshal Paulus. • The “soldiers to soldiers” approach was used across the front lines, focusing on the debunking of the German propaganda messages regarding the conditions in the Soviet prisoner camps. Real interviews were used to tailor the message to the national composition, incorporating culturally relevant references. • The “officers to officers” approach involved letters and speeches of high-ranking POWs, focusing on tactical and strategic aspects of the war. They were supported by genuine military maps and strategic data to demonstrate the inevitable military defeat. Targeted at the old German military aristocracy, the message underlined Hitler’s incompetence and illegitimacy as the nation’s leader.77

Interestingly, one of the main reasons for the poor results of the information operation using German collaborators was probably the intensive use of the “Kill the Germans” message in domestic propaganda intended to encourage the Soviet troops’ thirst for revenge. By promoting these diametrically opposed messages: death or unconditional capitulation, the Soviet propagandists limited the choice available to the German troops. Aware of the Soviet messaging within the Red Army, most German soldiers chose to fight, even in the face of inevitable defeat.78

Message of Liberation and Influence Operations

With the advance of the Red Army into Europe, the nature and character of the information operations had to evolve, addressing not only the retreating German forces, but also anti-German resistance networks, particularly in Hungary, Romania, Bulgaria, and Poland. By 1943, new methods were authorized by the GUPP in conjunction with the military. “Leaflet bombardments,” in particular, proved effective against non-German enemy troops, delivering warnings about the upcoming assault by overwhelming Soviet forces. 79 These bombardments were typically executed by the artillery corps, using leaflets instead of live shells, or combining artillery strikes with leaflet delivery. The psychological impact was high, as the messages were reinforced by a show of force.

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Despite being officially disbanded in 1943 at the demand of the Allies, the Comintern network continued to play a significant role. While Stalin gave an official speech in support of the Comintern’s dissolution, he called for the Communist Parties in Italy, Germany, and other countries to rebel against their governments.80 In the context of this new reality, the Department of International Information was created within the Communist Party. It inherited most of the Comintern tasks and networks and was, in fact, led by the same man—Georgy Dimitrov. Since Dimitrov was Bulgarian, it explains why Bulgaria was one of the first targets of this newly created institution. On August 26, 1944, a coup supported by the Bulgarian Communist Party led to the establishment of a new government on September 2. The operatives of the Bulgarian Communist Party captured several government institutions the same day that the USSR declared war on Bulgaria.81 By the time Soviet forces finally entered Bulgaria, they were met with no resistance.82 The Romanian Communist Party, which operated under the direct control of the Comintern and was supported by King Mikhay I, took part in a coup against the Ion Antonescu regime on August 23, 1944. When German troops bombed the capital the next day, it drove the new government to officially declare war on Germany. With the Soviet support, the remaining German forces were quickly encircled and destroyed.83 Influence operations in Poland took a different approach as there was no agreement between the two branches of Polish resistance: the communist Armia Ludowa, closely connected with the Soviet partisan movement, and Armia Krajowa (AK), which reported directly to the Polish government-in-exile.84 The Polish Committee of National Liberation, sponsored by the USSR, was formed in July 1944. It was developed with the assistance of the Soviet-based Union of Polish Patriots. The Soviet propaganda agencies declared the Polish government-in-exile to be bankrupt and disconnected from the people in the country. And with that, the Polish Committee of National Liberation took power while the First Polish Army (formed of Polish nationals in the USSR in early 1944) assumed the role as the national armed forces. They helped to liberate the remaining territory of Poland and marched all the way to Berlin, creating an empowering image of Poland striking back at Germany. In the winter of 1945, the Soviet troops crossed into Germany and Austria. This resulted in two quite contradicting aims for the information operations: (1) encourage German troops to surrender; and (2) prevent atrocities by the Soviet troops in the liberated territories. However, following four years of internal propaganda calling for revenge and the prolonged suffering of the Soviet soldiers, a reversal of the message was problematic at best. It was not wholeheartedly supported even within the

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Sovinformbyuro and the GUPP. Another shift in the political agenda would have been too complicated and could have undermined the trust that had been built up in the political messaging to date. Therefore, instead of launching a new full-scale information campaign, an attempt to minimize atrocities was implemented through official orders from the UPA and military command. An order “On Behavior in German Territories” was issued on January 19, 1945, enforcing martial law and introducing death by execution as a penalty for carrying out such atrocities. Supporting orders that clarified this official agenda were issued by the military commands in the field,85 while the UPA resurrected the image of a German nation detached from its corrupt Nazi government. On April 6, 1945, General Fyodor Tolbukhin, in an attempt to prevent the destruction of Vienna, broadcast orders to the Viennese citizenry urging them to stay calm and prevent widespread damage to the city. He stressed a respect for the city’s heritage and architecture, and the reluctance to use heavy artillery and aerial bombing. Leaflets were also widely distributed across the city by different means.86 However, the messaging was not always consistent. On April 11, 1945, Ilya Ehrenburg published his essay “Enough?” in the Red Star newspaper, addressing the difference in the Germans’ behavior on the Eastern and Western Fronts. He pictured Germany as a disrupted state, where all citizens should bear collective responsibility for the war: “Germany dies miserably—neither pathos, nor dignity.”87 Three days later, Georgy Alexandrov, director of the UPA, published an essay in Pravda, criticizing Ehrenburg and clarifying the official position of the Communist Party and Stalin. Drawing ideologically from Stalin’s speech in May 1942,88 the essay stressed the alleged German attempts to split the Allies using provocative tactical maneuvers on the Eastern and Western Fronts. But more importantly, it resurrected the idea that “in reality there is no unified Germany, not all Germans behave in a same way,” declaring that “German” and “Fascist” were no longer synonymous.89 Consequently, for the last months of war, most of the messaging was directed toward the advancing troops of the Red Army and the populations of the soon-to-be-liberated territories, and not toward enemy forces. The GUPP officers were ordered to channel the aggression in a positive direction, thus encouraging troops to assist the German population in restoring their buildings and to provide food and medical assistance. Liberated territories under military occupation command were quickly allowed to print newspapers and maintain local radio broadcasts—this was seen as another means for delivering peaceful messages.90 Instead of a direct propaganda effort, in the last phase of war the GUPP officers focused on indirect operations to disrupt and influence

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German troops by using POWs. During the Battle for Berlin, 210 POWs were paradropped behind the lines to communicate with their comrades in person without specific tasks. This tactic proved to be effective enough, especially among freshly recruited German troops. For example, the head of the political directorate of the Third Belorussian Front reported about 2,215 enemy soldiers surrendered as a result of POW paradrops, plus 1,615 surrendered after communicating with German civilians transported behind the lines. Releasing POWs into enemy troops had become a widely used approach not only by political officers but also by army commands, especially during combat operations in urban territories.91

Conclusion The Soviet information operations during World War II demonstrated the highest level of sophistication, an extremely flexible joint command and coordination structure, and the ability to respond rapidly to the changing situation. The Soviet propaganda was characterized by its use of high-quality literature (poems, novels, songs, etc.) to promote favorable opinions, its creative approach, and speedy adaptation to the situation on the battlefields. However, the Soviet approach to formulate different messages for different audiences (domestic, enemy, allies) turned out to be a double-edged sword, significantly undermining the efficiency of information operations against the German troops. While the description of all Germans as fascists in internal propaganda that called for revenge, denial of negotiations, and sacralization of the struggle against the Germans was effective at motivating the domestic population, this narrative was used with great effect by German counterpropaganda to debunk the softer message of the Soviet information operations targeted at German troops. As a result, calls to surrender, sabotage, or turn against Hitler were debunked, regardless of the clever use of historical and cultural references, empathetic response, creativity, and precise targeting of different audiences. Right up until the end of the war, most mass surrenders happened only after German military defeats. The task of winning the hearts and minds of the Germans was never effectively fulfilled. Even collaborators, eager to support the anti-Hitler effort, failed to increase the effectiveness of the Soviet information operations against the German troops. However, other nations, separated from the stigmatized Germans, were addressed effectively, especially when information operations were supported by the use of force. The best example during the war was the liberation of Bulgaria, which led directly to regime change.

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Information operations in Romania also provided effective support for military operations. And despite being of little value to the military effort in Poland, information operations won the hearts of the local population and legitimized the future of the Soviet-aligned government. Unsurprisingly, the effectiveness of information operations was higher when supported by military success. In fact, the combined effect of military and information operations was multiplied when they were planned and executed in a synchronized manner. Integrating and coordinating military planning with information and influence operations that supported local partisan resistance and worked with political movements proved to be effective. To achieve this, the Soviets created a very effective joint command structure that integrated political and military authorities in the field of information operations. This was a particular strength of the Soviet propaganda from the very beginning of the war on Eastern Front and until its conclusion.

Notes 1. Grant Adibekov, Elen Shakhnazarova, and Kirill Shirinya, Organizatztionnaya struktura Kominterna [Organizational Structure of the Comintern: 1919–1943] (Moscow: ROSSPEN, 1997). 2. Alexander Sobolev, ed., Kommunistichesky Internatzional, Kratky Istorichesky Ocherk [Communist International, Brief Historical Review] (Moscow: Izdatelstvo Politicheskoy Literatury, 1969). 3. For the sake of terminology coherence, the GUPP abbreviation is used throughout this chapter referring to the Political Propaganda Directorate, which was renamed several times before World War II. In fact, two interdependent political propaganda agencies existed within the Soviet military: army branch (GUPP RKKA) and navy branch (GUPP VMF), both universally referred to as GUPP in this chapter. 4. Yuri Petrov, Stroyitel’stvo politorganov, partiynykh I komsomol’skikh organizatsiy Armiyi I Flota [Building of the Political Organs, Party and Communist Youth Organizations of the Army and Navy] (Moscow: Voyenizdat, 1968). 5. Such changes were not new. The Red Army Political Directorate, often associated with the commissars’ institutions, had been split between the army and the navy in 1924, see Petrov, Stroitel’stvo politorganov. Then, following Leon Trotsky’s fall, the institution endured painful reforms, when its leading commissars were eliminated during the 1930s purges. By 1940, the organization was united once again under the Main Directorate for Political Propaganda of the Red Army, led by Leo Mekhlis. See KPSS o Vooruzhennykh Silakh Sovetskogo Soyuza: Documenty 1917–1968 [CPSU on Armed Forces of the USSR: Documents of 1971–1968] (Moscow: Voyenizdat, 1969). 6. Gleb Aleksushin, Istoriya Pravookhranitel’nykh Organov [History of Law Enforcement Organs] (Samara: IA BBC, Retrospektiva, 2005). 7. Leonid Naumov, Stalin i NKVD [Stalin and NKVD] (Moscow: Eksmo, 2013). 8. Klim Degtyaryov and Alexander Kolpakidi, Vnyeshnyaya Razvedka SSSR [Foreign Intelligence of USSR] (Moscow: Yauza Eksmo, 2009). 9. “70 let nazad—24 iyunya 1941 goda bylo obrazovano Sovinformbyuro, praroditel’ RIA Novosti” [70 years ago—on June 24, 1941, the Sovinformbyuro, the

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progenitor of RIA Novosti, was formed], RIA Novosti, June 24, 2011, http://www .fapmc.ru/rospechat/newsandevents/newsagency/2011/06/item26.html. 10. The Institute of Army Commissars was disbanded before the war and was restored only on July 16, 1941. See KPSS o Vooruzhennykh Silakh Sovetskogo Soyuza. The real influence of commissars is exaggerated in Western sources to a great extent because the image of commissars leading and motivating forces to battle was widely used in Soviet propaganda materials. 11. Ot Sovestkogo Informbyuro . . . 1941–1945: Publicistika i Ocherki Voennykh Let [From Soviet Informbyuro . . . 1941–1945: Publicism and Essays of Years of War] (Moscow: APN, 1982). 12. Ibid. 13. Igor Orlov and Alexander Lifshin, Sovetskaya Propaganda v Gody Velikoy Otechestvennoy Voyny: “Kommunikatziya Ubezhdeniya” i Mobilizatzionnye Mekhanizmy [Soviet Propaganda in the Years of the Great Patriotic War: “Communication of Convincement” and Mechanisms of Mobilization] (Moscow: ROSSPEN, 2007), p. 104. 14. KPSS o Vooruzhennykh Silakh Sovetskogo Soyuza. 15. Dmitry Surzhik, “Oruzhie Slova: Sovetskaya Spetzpropaganda v Gody Velikoy Otechestvennoy Voiny” [A Weapon of the Word: Soviet Special Propaganda in the Years of the Great Patriotic War], Journal Rossiiskikh I vostochnoevropeyskikh istoricheskikh issledovaniy 1 (2010): 47–60. 16. Fedor Komal, “Voyennye kadry nakanune voyny” [Military Cadres Before the War], Voyenno-Istorichesky Zhurnal 2 (1990): 21–28. 17. Surzhik, “Oruzhie Slova.” 18. Orlov and Lifshin, Sovetskaya Propaganda, p. 322. 19. Yuri Vinogradov, Operatziya B [Operation B] (Moscow: Patriot, 1992). 20. The article “International Agenda of the Second Imperialistic War,” written allegedly by Deputy Foreign Minister Vladimir Potyomkin, was published in leading party journal Bolshevik in 1938. See Mikhail Meltyukhov, Upuschenny Shans Stalina: Sovyetskiy Soyuz I Bor’ba za Evropu: 1939–1941 [Stalin’s Lost Chance: The Soviet Union and the Struggle for Europe: 1939–1941] (Moscow: Veche, 2000). 21. Dokumenty Vneshney Politiki SSSR [Documents of USSR Foreign Policy], vol. 24 (Moscow: Mezhdunarodnye otnosheniya, 2000). 22. Andrey Fateev, Obraz vraga v sovetskoj propagande, 1945–1954 [The Image of Enemy in the Soviet Propaganda, 1945–1954] (Moscow: Institute of Russian History [RAN], 1999). 23. Olga Grigorieva, “Evolyutziya Obraza Germaniyi v Sovyetskoy Propagande: Kontent-Analiz Materialov Gazety Pravda (yanvar’ 1933–iyun’ 1941)” [Evolution of the Image of Germany in Soviet Propaganda: Content Analysis of Pravda Newspaper Materials (January 1933–June 1941)], Izvestiya Rossiyskogo gosudarstvennogo pedagogicheskogo universiteta imeni A.I. Gertzena 27, no. 61 (2008): 92–97. 24. GUPP Directive 278 as of December 12, 1941. 25. David Ortenberg, God 1942: Rasskaz-Khronika [Year 1942: Story-Chronicle] (Moscow: Politizdat, 1988). 26. Ilya Ehrenburg, “Ubei!” [Kill!], July 24, 1942. Translated by the author. Original Russian text is available at http://militera.lib.ru/prose/russian/erenburg_ig3/091.html. 27. Konstantin Simonov, “Ubey ego!” [Kill Him!], 18 July 18, 1942. Translated by the author. Original text in Russian is available at https://www.culture.ru/poems /32889/ubei-ego-esli-dorog-tebe-tvoi-dom. 28. Walther Ludde-Neirat, “Konetz na Nemetzkoy Zemle” [The End on German Soil], pp. 568–592 in Itogi Vtoroy Mirovou Voyni [Outcomes of the Second World War], ed. I. N. Sobolev (Moscow: Izdatel’stvo Inostrannoy Literatury, 1957). 29. Ortenberg, God 1942.

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30. The Soviet national radio broadcast network of wartime was closed-circuit. By the beginning of the war, personal aerial receivers were confiscated and aerial broadcasts were primarily targeted for foreign audiences. 31. The radio studio was in fact located in Sverdlovsk, near the Urals, and later relocated to Kuybyshev, despite the broadcasted messages’ claims to be transmitted from Moscow. 32. Grogoriy Krivosheyev, ed.. Rossiya I SSSR v Voinakh XX Veka [Russia and USSR in the Wars of XX Century] (Moscow: OLMA-PRESS, 2001). 33. Orlov and Lifshin, Sovetskaya Propaganda, p. 260. 34. Ibid. 35. No real images of Prince Alexander Nevsky are preserved, so the image was taken from the movie. 36. “Sacred War,” public domain. Translated by the author. 37. Konstantin Dushenko, Slovar’ Sovremennykh Tzitat [Dictionary of Contemporary Citations] (Moscow: Eksmo, 2006). 38. Ot Sovestkogo Informbyuro . . . 1941–1945. 39. Orlov and Lifshin, Sovetskaya Propaganda, pp. 155, 258. 40. Ot Sovestkogo Informbyuro . . . 1941–1945. 41. Ibid. 42. For example, in the UK, the embassy was publishing the Soviet War News bulletin, which later transformed into the Soviet War News Weekly newspaper, published under the supervision of Soviet embassy officials. 43. Orlov and Lifshin, Sovetskaya Propaganda, p. 150. 44. Ibid. 45. Ot Sovestkogo Informbyuro . . . 1941–1945. 46. “Informatzionny Front Velikoy Otechestvennoy: Kak TASS Vstretil Voynu [Information Front of the Great Patriotic War: How TASS Met the War],” TASS, June 21, 2016, https://tass.ru/obschestvo/3385291. 47. Solomon Lozovsky, deputy chief of the agency, was one of the JAC leaders. 48. Zvi Gitelman, Jewish Nationality and Soviet Politics: The Jewish Sections of the CPSU, 1917–1930 (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1972). 49. Surzhik, “Oruzhie Slova.” 50. Ibid. 51. Orlov and Lifshin, Sovetskaya Propaganda. Letter draft and further discussion of message points are found on pp. 297–304. 52. Ibid., p. 303. 53. Ibid., p. 304. 54. Surzhik, “Oruzhie Slova.” 55. Klaus Reighardt, Povorot pod Moskvoy [Turn Under Moscow] (Moscow: Voyenizdat, 1980), p. 315. 56. Surzhik, “Oruzhie Slova.” 57. Otto Winzer, Zwölf jahre kampf gegen faschismus und krieg: Ein beitrag zur geschichte der Kommunistischen Partei Deutschlands 1933 bis 1945, translated by N. S. Portugalov (Moscow: Izdatel’stvo Innostrannoy Literatury, 1956). 58. Olga Tikhonova, ed., Radio v Gody Velikoy Otechestvennoy Voyny [Radio in the Years of the Great Patriotic War] (Moscow: Department of Journalism, Moscow State University, 2015). 59. Surzhik, “Oruzhie Slova.” 60. Tikhonova, Radio v Gody Velikoy Otechestvennoy Voyny, p. 46. 61. Ibid., p. 48. 62. Ibid., p. 44. 63. Orlov and Lifshin, Sovetskaya Propaganda, p. 101.

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64. Anton Trofimov, “Bumazhny front Velikoy Otechestvennoy” [Paper Front of the Great Patriotic War], ISTORIYA.RF, September 12, 2019, https://histrf.ru /biblioteka/b/bumazhnyi-front-vielikoi-otiechiestviennoi. 65. Surzhik, “Oruzhie Slova.” 66. Tikhonova, Radio v Gody Velikoy Otechestvennoy Voyny, p. 45. 67. Ibid., pp. 47–52. 68. Antony Beevor, Stalingrad (London: Penguin Books, 2007), part V. 69. “Kak Rabotala Sovyetskaya Propaganda v Gody Velikoy Otechestvennoy Voyny” [How the Soviet Propaganda Worked in the Years of the Great Patriotic War], Russkaya Semerka, October 3, 2016, https://russian7.ru/post/kak-rabotala-sovetskaya -propaganda-v-g/. 70. Surzhik, “Oruzhie Slova.” 71. Winzer, Zwölf jahre kampf gegen faschismus und krieg. 72. Mikhail Burtzev, Prozreniye [Insight] (Moscow: Voyenizdat, 1981). 73. Luitpold Steidle, Ot Volgi do Weimara [From Volga to Weimar] (Moscow: Progress, 1975). 74. Samuel Mitchem and Gene Mueller, Komandiry Tret’yego Reikha [Commanders of the Third Reich] (Smolensk: Rusich, 1995). 75. Ibid. 76. Lev Kopelev, Khranit’ Vechno [To Be Preserved Forever] (Moscow: Terra, 2004). 77. Based on analysis of messages quoted in Orlov and Lifshin, Sovetskaya Propaganda; Burtzev, Prozreniye. 78. Walther Ludde-Neirat, Konetz na Nemetzkoy Zemle [The End on German Soil] (Saint Petersburg: Poligon, 1998). 79. Surzhik, “Oruzhie Slova.” 80. For example, Sergey Devyatov and Yuri Sigachev, Stalin: Vzglyad so storony [Stalin: A View from Outside] (Moscow: RFSON, 2019). 81. Anatoliy Khor’kov, ed., Osvoboditel’naya Missiya Sovetskikh Vooruzhennykh Sil na Balkanakh [The Liberation Mission of Soviet Armed Forces in the Balkans] (Moscow: Nauka, 1989). 82. Nikolai Kuznetsov, Kursom k Pobede [Course to Victory] (Moscow: Voyenizdat, 1987), p. 396. 83. Sergiu Verona, Military Occupation and Diplomacy: Soviet Troops in Romania, 1944–1958, (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 1992). 84. Ryszard Nazarevitch, Warshawskoye Vosstaniye, 1944, Politicheskiye Aspekty [Warsaw Uprising, 1944, Political Aspects] (Moscow: Progress, 1989). 85. Russky Arhiv: Velikaya Otechestvennaya: Bitva za Berlin: Dokumenty I Materialy [Russian Archive: Battle for Berlin: Great Patriotic War: Documents and Materials], vol. 15, nos. 4–5 (Moscow: Terra, 1995), p. 220. 86. Andrey Grechko, ed., Osvoboditel’naya Missiya Sovetskikh Vooruzhennykh Sil vo Vtoroy Mirovoy Voyne [The Liberation Mission of Soviet Armed Forces During the Second World War], 2nd ed. (Moscow: Izdatelstvo Politicheskoy Literatury, 1974), pp. 311–315. 87. Ilya Ehrenburg, “Khvatit?” [Enough?], Red Star, April 11, 1945. 88. For the full text of the speech, see Joseph Stalin, O Velikoy Otechestvennoy voyne Sovetskogo Soyuza [On the Great Patriotic War of the Soviet Union] (Moscow: OGIZ, 1952), p. 46. 89. Georgiy Alexandrov, “Tovarishch Erenburg uproshchayet” [Comrade Ehrenburg Simplifies], Pravda, April 14, 1945. 90. White Osmar, Conquerors’ Road: An Eyewitness Account of Germany 1945 (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2003). 91. Russky Arkhiv: Velikaya Otechestvennaya.

4 Inducement Strategies in the Vietnam War Aidan Winn

THE CHIÊU HồI PROGRAM ENCOURAGED THE VIET CONG (VC) and its supporters to defect and recognize the legitimacy of the Republic of Vietnam (RVN). A key issue that arose in the early years of Chiêu Hồi’s operation was the question of how the South Vietnamese government would organize the ministries responsible for executing the program. The central themes running through the early propaganda reflected the US strategy of undermining the insurgency by highlighting its atrocities, and by questioning its ideals and commitment. Many of these themes would later be revised to take advantage of vulnerabilities in the insurgency that were identified by research.

Organization In its early years, Chiêu Hồi was a small enterprise operating on a shoestring. While on the US side it was administered by the newly created Rural Affairs Office of Operations Mission (USOM)/Agency for International Development (AID), on the side of the RVN it was split between various agencies and placed under the general direction of a commissariat in the president’s office.1 The Rural Affairs Office of USOM/AID had been established with a goal of improving engagement with the Vietnamese people through efficiently implemented development and counterinsurgency initiatives. In January 1963, a few months 65

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before Chiêu Hồi was publicly announced, Vietnamese officials informed Ambassador Frederick Nolting that the US input on the forthcoming amnesty program would be welcomed on two out of its three proposed dimensions: “techniques” and “organization,” but not its “philosophy.”2 This reservation was perhaps the first significant indicator of the deep tension that would arise concerning Chiêu Hồi’s purpose and mandate. However, at that time South Vietnamese officials generally appeared to embrace the concept, so the US side pressed on. The following month, the secretary of state for national security affairs in the RVN gave general approval for the US amnesty proposal. Meanwhile, as relevant cases were mined for valuable lessons, the subtler aspects of the program and its implementation were being devised. The same month, the Department of State Policy Planning Council published a lengthy report examining recent cases of amnesty and surrender policies in foreign conflicts. It explored ways in which these cases might be applied to the situation in Vietnam.3 The authors lamented the relative absence of literature on the topic. They justified this lack of literature for two reasons. The first was the fact that psychological operations were typically integrated into broader counterinsurgency strategies and usually were not discussed as separate operations. The second justification was the existence of biases against such activities in certain official quarters (military, police officers, and politicians).4 The existence of the Chiêu Hồi program was announced to the Vietnamese people in a public proclamation on April 17, 1963, in which President Ngo Dinh Diem called on insurgents to stop fighting. He presented the amnesty program as a pathway to rejoin the government’s side and be reunited with their families. The announcement was deliberately vague on the details and how defecting insurgents would be treated: The Chiêu Hồi Campaign provides for appropriate measures in favor of all those men and women who—deceived, exploited or enrolled by force by the Communists—have a new awareness and decide from today to return to the side of the National Government. Those having families and means of subsistence will be authorized to rejoin their families . . . subject only to the approval of the Administrative Committee. Those having no means of subsistence or family support can be assured of the assistance. . . . Those having skills and ability—after a period where they become conscious of the requirements of the National Cause . . . proven by concrete acts their total detachment from Communism—will see their services accepted. Those who have trespassed against the law . . . been sentenced or . . . subject to court trial, will have the opportunity to amend and to

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redeem themselves by meritorious patriotic acts [and] justify the extension of clemency to them.5

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The national-level planning on the Vietnamese side was undertaken by the secretary of state for civic actions while the provincial operations were conducted by the Directorate of Civic Actions.6 While these two entities were autonomous, in fact they were also rivals, greatly hindering the coordination and implementation in the program’s early months. With an initial budget of $34 million, only $11 million was spent.7 The program struggled for a time after the 1963 coup—it lacked guidance and its functions were haphazard, but it continued to receive defectors. There was a discernable lack of interest in and commitment to Chiêu Hồi from the Directorate of Civic Actions. By November 1963, the Civic Action Ministry was dissolved and the PsyWar Directorate (Ministry of National Defense) that had a greater interest in the program took over.8 Several months later, in May 1964, the program was again moved, this time placed under a special commissariat for Chiêu Hồi headed by the secretary of state. In doing so, the supervision of the program was centralized. At the time, only twenty-nine provinces had full-time Vietnamese representatives, all of whom were political appointees and whose quality varied dramatically from “ineffectual to excellent.”9 In these early years, the US involvement in the program focused overwhelmingly on funding and overseeing the construction of reception centers. The US Operations Mission furnished technical advice on the development and implementation of the program, as well as providing in-kind donations of cement and roofing material.10 The prevailing notion appeared to be that if the United States supported the physical infrastructure, but remained absent from deep-in-the-weeds policy and administrative matters, the program would have a better chance of being adopted by the RVN as its own. This hands-off approach yielded mixed results. On the one hand, the number of defectors in the early years was impressive given the meager investment made by the United States. On the other, the administration and management of the program lacked professionalism and the quality of operations varied wildly between reception centers. From the outset, Chiêu Hồi focused primarily on the narrow objective of inducing defections, 11 and its success was almost immediate. In the first three months, Chiêu Hồi received 4,656 defectors.12 By the end of 1963, there were over 11,000 defectors. However, the failure to deeply engage in policy and the program’s management contributed to its disorganization, lack of professionalism, and the variable quality and performance between

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reception centers. Deficiencies included weak coordination with and between Vietnamese agencies, a lack of effective mechanisms for ensuring compliance with directives, and no sanctions for inefficiency or nonperformance. The program lacked a broader set of related programming measures including retraining, settlement assistance, and record maintenance. These were serious shortcomings that needed to be addressed if the program’s ultimate aims were to be achieved.13 In April 1965, the US embassy in Saigon requested additional staff.14 It cited a host of factors from weak South Vietnamese government support to conceptual problems and administrative and operational inadequacies. Officials also highlighted what they perceived to be encouraging signs of increasing RVN support for the program. These included a directive from the prime minister to the Chiêu Hồi Ministry asking to improve the effectiveness of propaganda appeals and filter out ineffective and incompetent chiefs. According to the embassy, as the program was being raised to the ministerial level and placed in the hands of an experienced politician, 15 the time was right to strengthen its administration with more robust US advisory assistance. Specifically, the US embassy in Saigon was in need of three to five “carefully chosen interagency men, with experience in defector programs,”16 who could serve up to six months of temporary duty to assist the Chiêu Hồi minister. They needed “catalysts” to aid in the rapidly developing program across all of its substantive areas—developing plans for defector reception, carrying out “motivational interviewing,” planning for rehabilitation and resettlement, and working with psychological operations personnel to “improve methods of reaching potential returnees with surrender appeals.”17 While the goal remained that the Vietnamese would run the program, additional US staff were required to develop the program further, due to its complexity.18 And in terms of Vietnamese staffing, the embassy in Saigon articulated instructions that were straightforward in theory but not necessarily easy to accomplish in practice: “Find the best people possible to serve as province chiefs and keep them in office for a long time.”19 In July 1965, Secretary of Defense Robert McNamara wrote to President Lyndon Johnson suggesting that any improvement and expansion of the Chiêu Hồi program would require “a good man in charge on the US side, bounties, amnesties, work and educational opportunities, and other inducements.”20 A couple of months later, Chiêu Hồi was featured again. In the first of a new series of reports prepared for the president on the nonmilitary programs, Chiêu Hồi was regarded to be “among the most important.”21

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Prior to the creation of the Joint US Public Affairs Office (JUSPAO) in July 1965, propaganda in Vietnam was the joint responsibility of several separate agencies, resulting in much inefficiency and lack of coordination.22 The JUSPAO had responsibility for developing guidance for all US organizations in Vietnam, including the US Military Assistance Command, Vietnam (MACV). Within the JUSPAO, the Field Development Division had the principal job of planning of psychological operations (PsyOps) campaigns as well as the development and production of materials to support these campaigns. The inducement program was an interagency effort encompassing the US Military Assistance Command, MACV, and Ministry of Information and Chiêu Hồi (MOICH), as well as the General Political Warfare Department. Barry Zorthian became director of the office and was responsible for all propaganda activities. The JUSPAO was allowed to be an active participant in the US Mission Council, the ambassador’s highest policymaking body, as a response to repeated calls for propagandists to have a greater voice in the policymaking process.23 This organizational change represented the first meaningful attempt to integrate psychological warfare with other instruments of state power for the purpose of counterinsurgency. The weight of the JUSPAO’s voice varied with different ambassadors as it did among many of its military counterparts. Working collaboratively with their South Vietnamese counterparts proved complex, and the refinement of specific themes was certainly an iterative process for the US officials. Engaging the RVN officials in the design process and obtaining their honest input was often challenging. The officials of the Vietnam Information Service (VIS) were relatively well paid and, fearful of losing their jobs, were hesitant to overtly challenge or criticize the ideas being proposed by US officials.24 Furthermore, with nepotism rife many lacked practical experience and were poorly trained. When specialized training did take place, many were sent to fill quotas, with no evidence that the newly acquired skills were put to effective use.25 Over the subsequent years, the JUSPAO worked to develop the professional capacity of the organization by introducing reforms in recruitment and assignment, as well as developing rigorous new training programs that would inculcate the necessary skills for persuasion.

Content The JUSPAO exploited fears, hardships, loss of faith in victory, family safety, and disillusionment with the movement to undermine the morale

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of insurgents.26 In November 1965, it published Field Memorandum #5: How to Write Good Propaganda Leaflets, intended to serve as a guide for designing effective propaganda. The guide identified three essential characteristics of good propaganda material: gain attention, be understood, and, finally, “arous[e] a need.”27 In terms of attention, it suggested large typeface, illustrations or photographs, and bright colors (though acknowledging that using bold colors posed a risk in Communistdominated areas as they were easily detected). The importance of clarity, simplicity, and local dialects was stressed. More importantly, the leaflet writers were urged to be sure of their own message before trying to convey it on a leaflet: “Often ideas expressed are vague. They don’t say much usually because the writer is not certain what he wants to say. Consequently, the reader does not understand the message.”28 To be effective, it was argued, the leaflet must relate the needs of the reader (both physical and psychological) to the desired action. Credibility was highlighted, acknowledging that while “a good leaflet must be believed, this is not the same as being true”; credibility was achieved through the “semblance of objectivity.”29 Much of the early propaganda sought to discredit the insurgency by highlighting its atrocities and questioning its commitment to its own followers. Graphic images depicting violence, and cartoons or caricatures were used to mock and insult the Communist insurgency. It was designed to intimidate prospective defectors and to cultivate resentment and outrage. For example, a leaflet titled “Who Are in the Back?” explained to the targeted audience: “The VC have always boasted that they have the supporting people in the war for liberation. The truth is the reverse. Being defeated . . . they are now hiding themselves behind the people, stealing food and properties . . . terrorizing the people, forcing the people to the front lines as bullet shields.”30 Other leaflets focused on the poor treatment of fighters within the insurgency movement, drawing attention to their poor living conditions and lack of food and other comforts. The hardships of insurgent life was a consistent theme running through the early propaganda. Although research into the insurgents’ motives for joining and defecting was still in its early stages, it was already clear that the physical and emotional hardships of life in the jungle were prominent grievances among defectors, and, therefore, they needed to be exploited as effectively as possible. One leaflet, in particular, portrayed a prospective defector considering two alternative futures: one with the insurgency and another as a defector rejoining the side of the government. 31 It combined a cartoon sketch with actual photographs and a caption that read “Which Way?

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Come Back or Stay?” It contrasted two futures—one of loneliness, sickness, and exposure and another of family, shelter, and health safety; one of constant fear of death and another of security and peace of mind. Another similar bulletin read “Come back to the GVN and you will be happy living with your family,” followed by “Stay with the VC and you must feel lonely among those indoctrinated with false and dogmatic political thoughts.” Typically classified as either “persuasive” or “informative,” many leaflets were both.32 While centralized operations were often the default, the JUSPAO encouraged local production as often as possible with “messages tailored to local circumstances and the tactical situations.” 33 To increase their resonance, specific themes were developed to coordinate with real-time developments in military operations. For example, US officials recommended developing messages that targeted defeated units after they suffered particularly high casualty rates, or to follow up air strikes with warnings of more to come unless insurgents joined the program.34 The decentralized approach to inducement, at times, produced innovative results. A trend that began in 1965, and grew to prominence once its effectiveness was proven, was the profiling of particular defectors. Their actions were amplified through quick-reaction campaigns. They made use of tape recordings followed by leaflet appeals.35 Over time, interviews with defectors made it clear that efforts to vilify the insurgency (“diabolization of the VC”), or use of metaphors and narratives interpreted as insulting, were ineffective.36 Even among sincere defectors, the insurgency was not regarded as cruel or evil. Many described the insurgents as idealists committed to the common good, in spite of their selective use of terror. Those who rejected the movement often did so based on its inability to deliver on its promises or the excessive demands it made of its followers. Defectors described efforts to vilify the movement as “silly and hysterical,” and very personal.37 For example, one interviewee was asked how he, as someone who had not yet defected but was considering it, would respond to a leaflet that described insurgents as merely “lackeys of the Chinese communist.”38 The interviewee responded that this approach would be counterproductive and that an appeal toward the family or home would be more effective than this type of “insult.” Others defectors agreed, stating that, rather than being persuasive, this would be regarded as slander.39 These insights gained from interviewees provided the best available intelligence. They were essential in crafting an effective message. The defectors, who often candidly revealed their own motives, decision processes, and reactions, provided invaluable cultural nuance that was otherwise inaccessible to US officials.

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By 1967, US officials had learned a lot about which types of leaflets were effective in inducing defections and which ones were not. Following the JUSPAO’s broad field-test review of existing leaflets from November 1966 to December 1967, they identified several “consistent errors” in the creation and design of propaganda materials.40 These observations were compiled into an instruction manual that made recommendations designed to reduce future mistakes and improve message quality.41 The JUSPAO began to provide more detailed guidelines in an attempt to make the Chiêu Hồi propaganda more effective. As a result of these findings, the JUSPAO recommended a more systematic examination and review during the development process of illustrations or photography to accompany leaflet messages. They underscored the importance of using a Vietnamese artist whenever possible, as their US counterparts exposed underlying cultural ignorance and risked damaging the credibility of the message. In cases where illustrations were used, every effort was made to use local artists to minimize “cultural discrepancies.”42 The JUSPAO advised that photos, rather than illustrations, should be used wherever possible because evidence suggested that photos were regarded as positive proof of an event.43 For example, a leaflet depicting the destruction of a family’s home by an insurgent attack would be more effective when accompanied by a photograph, whereas illustrations would convey abstract concepts more appropriately. This was evident in leaflets that sought to evoke patriotic sentiments or cultivate nostalgia (traditional holiday celebrations such as Tet or a peaceful village scene). Using the right photograph became increasingly clear when research highlighted that the overuse of stock images held by the information office made for poorly executed leaflets. While they were easy to access and relatively inexpensive, many had originally been taken for local news purposes. Original images were needed for propaganda purposes. Field tests also concluded that, although photographs were significant, quality played the vital role in determining the credibility of the message for three reasons. First, poor quality photos raised a question—had they been doctored or fabricated?—and blurry or out-offocus photographs diminished message credibility significantly. In some instances, leaflets advertising Chiêu Hồi centers as desirable places to live were mistaken for images of prisons. Second, captions that were incompatible with the images perplexed and bewildered readers. For example, one leaflet asked, “Why are these people so happy?” But none of the people in the picture appeared to be smiling. Third, simultaneously good and bad, the use of color was more eye-catching to readers,

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but it made leaflets harder to conceal in the jungle and therefore increased the risk for apprehension. Studies also found that leaflets translated word for word from English to Vietnamese often obscured the intended message. Literal translations, especially of American idioms, failed to take into account the vast differences in Vietnamese sentence structure, losing the essential meaning in the process. This confused audiences, often exposing the leaflets’ origins. It was referred to as revealing a “foreign imprint” (e.g., leaflets citing the caliber of weapons rather than the metric scale used by the Vietnamese). When the JUSPAO discovered how damaging the practice was, it updated its guidance, acknowledging this “ought to be a self-evident principle.” However, the frequency of these instances became the most common criticism of leaflets by Hoi Chanh (the term used for defectors), with recipient groups and evaluation panels noting an unmistakable foreign imprint in many leaflets. In response to this finding, the JUSPAO urged: Have a professional Vietnamese writer rewrite [English-originated leaflets] in good colloquial Vietnamese. Have him translate meanings not words. Have him follow Vietnamese systems of logic and methods of organization of material and work within the framework of Vietnamese history and culture. Better still, have leaflets written originally in the Vietnamese language. The best approach is to give a professional Vietnamese writer (not a translator) the facts and thoughts you wish to have expressed in a leaflet and let him write it.44

It became apparent over time that less direct control improved the effectiveness of propaganda materials. Officials began to underscore the value of having Hoi Chanh write messages themselves, despite the inevitable grammatical errors. Rather than edit such messages, the errors were left, enhancing their authenticity and effectiveness: “We should not worry about whether a message written by a Hoi Chanh is grammatically perfect. If his message is clear, we should not correct it. We are not trying to teach grammar, but to talk people into coming in to support the National Just Cause.”45 Increasingly, whenever possible, the model of a US PsyOps team assisted by Vietnamese writers and artists was used. As both parties lacked fluency in each other’s languages, an interpreter was assigned to the team. Teams discussed the general approach to a leaflet before preparing the illustrations and drafting the text. After they reached a level of consensus regarding the key ideas or themes, the artist would sketch illustrations while the writer drafted the text. These would be reviewed by the whole team before finalizing the design.

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In concert, the JUSPAO researched the resonance of various types of propaganda and the effects media channels used to attract and maintain audiences. They determined that the “prestige” of the medium was significant in shaping its reception. Leaflets were ubiquitous and, therefore, generally considered as the least prestigious printed media. They gained a reputation for obvious propaganda, but remained an indispensable propaganda medium. They were used to reach audiences inaccessible by other means: “One JUSPAO survey, reaching several hundred Chiêu Hồi returnees, revealed that 97 percent had heard of the Chiêu Hồi program through aerial loudspeaker messages and 95 percent through leaflets.”46

Methods of Delivery Three distinct dimensions of inducement were paramount in the Chiêu Hồi program: visual propaganda in the form of leaflets, indirect financial incentives known as “third-party inducement,” and face-to face appeals by the armed propaganda teams (APTs). In this section, I focus on the various means of delivery used in the information operations campaign.

Visual Propaganda

The leaflets were the cornerstone of the allied information campaign. The question of how its messages could be made more sophisticated and nuanced, and thereby more effective in inducing defections, continued to receive focus. Researchers found that propaganda that accidentally reinforced Communist insurgency messaging was highly counterproductive. For example, “people no longer support the NLF [National Liberation Front]” implied to audiences that people had, at some point, supported the movement. At the same time, officials learned that credibility was not always synonymous with telling the truth. Incredible truths such as the impressive kill ratios of the US troops, even if verifiable, tended to be dismissed and, therefore, often proved damaging rather than persuasive. One of the trickiest topics addressed in the revised guidance was the treatment of insurgent terrorist-style attacks. While seeking to denounce such acts, the JUSPAO suggested caution: “DO NOT provide free publicity for the effectiveness of VC terrorism. . . . It is particularly essential to avoid publicizing terrorist activities that overtly demonstrate the GVN’s (Government of the Republic of Vietnam) inability to provide security.”47

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The period from 1965 to 1968 witnessed significant shifts in the content and themes depicted in visual propaganda. Initially, decisions to adopt leaflet themes were made by a mixture of assumptions, personal experiences, and general survey research, as opposed to any type of rigorous or methodological copy-testing. But, a review of the leaflet process by Simulmatics noted that “no American, however ingenious, can guess how a Vietnamese and specifically a VC will interpret every detail of a leaflet.”48 In 1965 and 1966, the JUSPAO researchers, with the help of Simulmatics contractors, began copy-testing leaflets prior to distribution. One such copy test in 1966 uncovered numerous errors, including the depicted insurgent’s attire, the implausibility of the weapons shown, and a family scene that suggested status as opposed to low rank. The same copy test also revealed that leaflets without text were misinterpreted approximately half of the time.49 This helped to convince program officials that producing leaflets without a rigorous copy-testing process would inevitably lead to more mistakes, undermining the effectiveness of the campaign. Interviews with defectors revealed that themes centered on delegitimizing the insurgency through mocking or degrading depictions were often misguided and ineffective. For example, when a widely distributed safe conduct pass was analyzed, the respondent observed the following: “I think that this is a sort of nasty caricature of a VC. It is the same as we used to make when we were in the VC of the Americans and the government people. . . I think it would be better to have a realistic picture of someone rather than something distorted.”50

Third-Party Inducement

Chiêu Hồi program practitioners approached the issue of monetary rewards with caution. Substantial research demonstrated that economic inducements had been a significant dimension of counterinsurgency strategies in Malaya and the Philippines.51 While the topic had been discussed occasionally from the start of the program, it received little serious attention prior to 1966. The prevailing opinion was that the use of monetary rewards to induce defection, and the associated publicity campaigns, ran the risk of seriously alienating the general population. Officials worried that losing the general population would jeopardize the broader goals of the program. To avoid this development, the US policymakers devised an indirect economic inducement strategy. Rather than pay the defector directly, monetary rewards were offered to their families as means of motivating them to apply pressure on their relatives to

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defect. They hoped that this approach would sidestep the issue, as no one wanted to reward someone who was once an enemy of the government. The payments were framed as a reward for the patriotism of those actively facilitating defections.52 This was first proposed in 1966 when an opportune moment arose to “foment divisions” within the insurgency more aggressively. If successful, the US policymakers estimated, it would be the first step in a series of favorable strategic developments.53 A secret US embassy cable, sent in August 1966, to the Department of State noted that evidence of sinking morale among the ranks of the insurgency had given rise to “intensive consideration of what might be done to stimulate decay in their organization.” Embassy officials proposed exploring whether a combination of “material and status rewards” could be used to induce a greater number of high-level defections. Substantial cash awards to families of high-level defectors would “reconstitute their lives” and assure their status. They would benefit from a special reception (not be “herded” into ordinary program centers), their families would be protected, and measures would be taken for them to resume their previous professions. A step of this magnitude required the support of South Vietnamese officials: It will probably not be easy to induce GVN to accept such approach, though their attitude toward returnees has improved considerably. Their objection stems from reluctance to “reward” NLF-VC, while patriotic elements are unrewarded. . . . We are now developing format to propose to GVN on this. . . . We do not intend to confine awards to families of returnees, but will consider other devices calculated to minimize political resentment.54

Used previously in an ad hoc manner in many provinces between 1966 and 1968, the Third-Party Inducement Program was formally established in March 1968. The Chiêu Hồi program was still recovering from the devastating effects of the Tet Offensive and new measures were being explored to accelerate the rate of defection. The program yielded an immediate increase in the number of defectors. In the first three months of its operation, there was a 15 percent increase in defection rates. But even at that early stage, signs emerged that in the absence of carefully applied safeguards, the program was susceptible to corruption.55 Initially, the increased number of defections was a welcome development, and the program was celebrated as a huge success. As a result, on October 31, 1968, before the Accelerated Pacification Campaign (APC) began, the Chiêu Hồi Ministry issued Memorandum 691. It made the Third-Party Inducement Program a national policy for three months (November

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1968–January 1969). The policy doubled the reward rates—from Vietnamese dong (VND) 1,000 to VND 2,000. Initially, the program ran smoothly, with only a small percentage of the overall number of defectors claiming an induction. Funds were made available and rewards were paid on time. The highest percentages under this program were in Region IV where in late November 1968, 277 Hoi Chanh defected within a week.56 Inducement rates were on average 30 percent. Program officials not only were satisfied with these statistics, but read them as evidence supporting the need to advertise the program more widely. A meeting was convened to extract lessons from Region IV and to explore ways of more effectively publicizing the program.57 Over the next year, as awareness spread and the defection rates rose, so did the percentage claiming the inducement. By March 1969, the percentage had risen from 50 percent58 to 70 percent, with the majority of defectors claiming to have been induced to defect by government officials or military officers. 59 The significant role of government and military officials acting as third-party inducers became troubling to many US officials. They viewed this effort to obtain monetary rewards as evidence that the program was subverted by Vietnamese officials and felt that the practice effectively constituted paying people bonuses for doing something that was supposed to be part of their jobs anyway. To stop this, US officials suggested that RVN officials be made ineligible to claim the rewards. Unsurprisingly, the Vietnamese officials responded unfavorably. They argued that all citizens should be eligible for payments since inducing a defection was, according to them, above and beyond the call of duty—even as a government employee.60 This tension reflected a fundamental disagreement between US and RVN officials regarding the role of civil servants in the program. It stemmed from a deeper conflict regarding the program’s identity and ownership. While US officials sought to cultivate South Vietnamese investment and sense of ownership in the program, they did not want to allow its efficacy to be jeopardized by widespread corruption. The US officials tried to increase transparency and accountability in the program, but Vietnamese officials argued that this would give the appearance that the Americans were “taking over” the program. They claimed that it would be at odds with the broader goals of promoting increasing levels of Vietnamese autonomy in its administration.61 As hundreds, then eventually thousands, of illegitimate claims were uncovered by province officials, US officials felt that the damage done to Chiêu Hồi by allowing such egregious corruption to take place negated any measurable benefit of the program: “We, although not entirely purists about the program,

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feel that if it is to retain any kind of credibility concerning its moral appeal to ‘return to the just cause’ it must not be permitted to sink into a morass of popular degradation which will surely occur if every Tom, Dick and Harry is able to bilk it for ready cash, practically at will.”62 US officials argued that the focus and funding should be reallocated to other aspects of the program, such as vocational training and resettlement, even if this caused a significant drop in defection rates.

Armed Propaganda Teams

The use of former insurgents in military operations came to represent an important dimension of the indigenization of the program. With the success of personal appeal leaflets and the persuasiveness of face-to-face interactions, the armed progpaganda teams (APTs) emerged as a more dynamic avenue for inducement that integrated the benefits of other proven techniques. The increasing data from the interviews with Hoi Chanh regarding their decision to defect (including various deterrents such as fear and mistrust of the government’s promises) suggested that sending these defectors back into insurgent-controlled or disputed areas could become a highly effective propaganda tool. These converted representatives were assigned to talk to the fighters in the field, share their experiences, discuss the policies and aims of the GVN, and tell people about the Chiêu Hồi program. Their physical presence and evidence of their good health was designed to act as a testimony to the veracity of the promises made in the leaflets. These individuals would be persuasive ambassadors for the government as they could relate to, and empathize with, those who had once supported the insurgency but were looking for a way out.63 As the importance of the APT rose, more resources were gradually committed to the program.64 The APT personnel were selected from the pool of Hoi Chanh or ex-Hoi Chanh on the basis of their leadership ability, loyalty to the government, and ability to communicate effectively. Any defector was eligible for employment in the APT. In addition to the criteria common to all government employees, the Chiêu Hồi program required each APT applicant to be: (1) a genuine Hoi Chanh (having shown real intent to defect); (2) not to be a criminal or military deserter; (3) between the ages of seventeen and fifty years old; and (4) free from the draft, if between the ages of eighteen and thirtyeight. 65 Recruitment involved the creation of a file by the local Chiêu Hồi chief where the individual had originally surrendered to be submitted to the Provincial Management and Recruiting Committee for

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approval. Once screened, the approved applicant would be given a Temporary Recruiting Mission Order, subject to the final approval by the Chiêu Hồi Ministry.66 Missions for the APT were set out by the Chiêu Hồi Ministry. The APTs would work to counter insurgent arguments, induce insurgents to defect to the side of the government, participate in military operations, and assist local security forces in uncovering underground caches. In some situations, they would provide security for Chiêu Hồi centers and hamlets.67 Within this framework, the APTs would engage in specific activities, including organizing meetings, talks, and cultural performances, as well as disseminating leaflets, posters, and policy publications. The APTs paid particular attention to populations residing in contested areas, and with visiting families of insurgents, inducing them to persuade their relatives to return. On occasion, they would hand-deliver persuasive letters to defectors’ former comrades. At other times, they would be involved in the recovery of insurgent weapons or in the identification of underground agents (spies). They also would organize intelligence efforts to forewarn of impending attacks on Chiêu Hồi centers or hamlets. However, the directive outlining their roles and responsibilities explicitly stressed that they were not to be considered a combat unit. They were not trained or armed. Their role was defined strictly as one of supporting Chiêu Hồi propaganda activities. They were expected to protect citizens under direct threat by the insurgency, but were relieved of any tactical assignment as soon the security situation allowed for it, to enable them to return to their primary role of propaganda operations.

Conclusion: Assessing Success Understanding the program’s tactics is vital for assessing its contributions. The estimates of the total number of Hoi Chanh to defect via the Chiêu Hồi program vary, but most range between 150,000 and 200,000. Throughout the program’s duration, data was collected to estimate the program’s cost-effectiveness, often to make a positive case for the program’s importance and justify its continued funding. So, although the data is imperfect, it is relevant in assessing the program’s contribution. Its cost-benefit analysis was based on estimates of its relative costs (dollars spent and staff required), and, perhaps more importantly, its potential benefits in terms of the lives spared (which might otherwise had been lost in neutralizing the insurgency). In 1966, approximately 20,000

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surrendered voluntarily, which was equivalent to a third of all deaths inflicted militarily.68 Estimates show that the program spared approximately 3,000 allied lives69 and saved much money, as the estimated expenditure for each insurgent killed in action was close to $200,000: In 1966, of the total returnees, some 13,000 were armed, military Viet Cong. Had it been necessary to eliminate them by military action, friendly forces would have lost more than 3,000 dead under the prevailing kill ratios. . . . Total 1966 expenditures—both GVN and US— for the Chiêu Hồi Program, exclusive only of salaries on the US side but including all GVN costs amounted to a dollar figure of $2,532,352 or $125.12 per returnee.70

Ambassador Robert Komer argued that the program demonstrated “the most favorable cost/benefit ratio of any other existing pacification program,” with the average cost of processing, retraining, and resettling a returnee beginning at $14 in 1963 rising to $125–150 in 1966,71 $250 in 1967, $350 in 1969, and eventually reaching approximately $500 in 1970.72 The cost rose steadily over time largely due to the program’s increasing breadth and sophistication. The range of services provided to support the resettlement process also expanded considerably over the program’s lifetime. On the one hand, there is much debate regarding the required number of troops to effectively carry out counterinsurgency operations, not only in terms of numerical level but also regarding the required ratio between insurgents and counterinsurgents, or between counterinsurgents and civilians.73 On the other hand, there is a general agreement among theorists and practitioners that while insurgency is cheap, counterinsurgency is costly.74 The asymmetry is startlingly captured when the required ratios between guerrilla and counterguerrilla forces are explored. The suggestions range from 10 to 50 government personnel for every insurgent. Napoleon Valeriano and Charles Bohannon used a ratio of 20:1 for their assessment of the Philippine experience, a figure they reached by averaging the statistics from the Malayan and Philippine conflicts.75 Reflecting on this issue in his 1968 article “Some Thoughts on Psychological Operations,” William Johnston offers a more conservative estimate regarding required ratios but still finds the Chiêu Hồi program to be highly cost-efficient: To date, the total defections of Viet Cong returning under the program total 75,000. If we take this figure in the commonly accepted ratio of ten government soldiers needed for each insurgent guerilla,

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the program has saved the GVN-US a troop strength of over 750,000 soldiers. If we do a little arithmetic from the dollar-saved angle, the total cost of the program, using an oft-cited figure of $127 to bring in a Viet Cong defector, would be around nine and a half million dollars. But looking at the cost to kill a Viet Cong, which is estimated at $300,000 each, this number would have cost two and a quarter billion dollars.76

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Significant challenges were involved in collecting and tabulating statistics pertaining to defection rates. On occasion, offices in Saigon admitted to having to fudge some of the numbers from regions when none were sent, justifying this practice by the pressure they were under to report data on a timely basis. 77 In some circumstances, the numbers of defectors were actually deliberately undercounted. For example, on one occasion a province chief in Pleiku felt that the best way for Montagnards to surrender was for them to come over as refugees rather than as Hoi Chanh. Due to geographic and cultural circumstances unique to this group, he felt that the indoctrination program was not appropriate for them. However, the Montagnard population made up a significant portion of the defectors in the II Corps region, so the statistical distortion introduced by this chief’s feelings likely had an impact on the perceived effectiveness of the program in the region.78 Documenting the number of defectors is perhaps the simplest approach to assessing its performance. However, as it developed in its sophistication, officials began to adopt other metrics: “We used to measure the success of the program in terms of numbers of returnees. We now believe that the increasing exploitation of the defectors for intelligence and tactical operations is beginning to hurt the enemy more than the numerical diminution of his strength.” 79 While efforts were made to record this, quantifying the broader value of such contributions was far more complex than merely tallying the monthly record of defectors. In his reflections on the program, Ogden Williams highlighted the year of 1968 as being one in which “the intelligence by-product of Chiêu Hồi defectors [was] nothing short of spectacular.” He explained: Tran Van Dac’s revelation of the VC attack plans in April led to the total failure of the enemy’s “Mini-Tet” offensive in early May and alone more than justified the total investment in the Chiêu Hồi program in 1968. A majority of weapons caches, including long-range rockets, discovered around Saigon before they could be launched were located as a result of the efforts of Hoi Chanh, APTs and Kit Carson scouts. Thus, the program cost of Chiêu Hồi, which has been level of some $8

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million per year during 1967–1969 is believed to have been as favorable an investment as the United States has made in Vietnam.80

One of the central criticisms of the program was that it typically attracted low-level fighters, it failed to penetrate the Communist insurgency deeply enough to successfully induce large numbers from the mid-level cadres or leadership. This fact must be acknowledged in any assessment of its pacification efforts. However, if measured against the essential purpose of an amnesty or surrender program—(1) to encourage surrenders; (2) to sow dissension between insurgent rankand-file and their leaders; and, finally, (3) to create an image of the government as being firm in the minds of the insurgents and among the population—any program that successfully induces significant numbers of defections from any segment of the insurgency (even if it fails to induce such defections from the leadership) can arguably be credited with sowing dissension between the insurgency’s segments. In that regard, Chiêu Hồi was successful. Documentation of the intelligence value of Hoi Chanh underscores the point that despite the relatively low-ranked status of the majority of defectors, their widespread willingness to share relevant intelligence created, collectively, a significant advantage that otherwise would have been impossible to achieve. In the early years of the program, perhaps only 10 percent of defectors were being exploited effectively for intelligence.81 But by 1966, a more concerted and sophisticated effort was developed and, with it, the screening, interrogation, and tactical exploitation programs were improved to the point where all defectors were considered as potential sources of information. Program administrators observed and documented that, despite the fact that the majority of defectors were low-level guerrillas, “all possess information of value at least at the District and Provincial Level and assume particular significance as pacification efforts expand.”82 Furthermore, as the conflict unfolded and the practice of interviewing defectors and analyzing their responses was refined, experience demonstrated that they were surprisingly willing to divulge all they knew of insurgent activities: Within their wide range of functional categories, some information on virtually every aspect of VC activity has been obtained through intelligence exploitation. Even among the low-level VC who come in, many have been with the VC sufficiently long to have gained some information on VC personalities, organization, operations, logistical support, and economic activities. As the number of returnees increases, more information on the illusive infrastructure of the VC becomes available.83

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Assessed from multiple perspectives, it is clear that Chiêu Hồi reduced the overall size of the insurgency by encouraging defections among low-level fighters. This spared the lives of US servicemen and financial resources. Beyond a simple diminution in the scope of the insurgency, the scale of low-level defections also yielded considerable value in terms of operational and tactical intelligence. The evidence available in captured correspondence portrays Chiêu Hồi as a genuine threat to the Communist insurgency. The countermeasures devised by the insurgency leadership constitute a significant focus and effort invested in defensive measures designed to respond to the program and mitigate its impact. It is clear from the available documents that Chiêu Hồi was successful in its objective to undermine the morale of the insurgency and strain its cohesion. It therefore should be seen as being a successful information operations program that significantly shaped the dynamics of the conflict, despite its failure to realize its broadest objectives.

Notes 1. Jeanette A. Koch, The Chiêu Hồi Program in South Vietnam, 1963–1971 (Santa Monica: RAND, 1973). 2. Telegram from the Embassy in Vietnam to the Department of State Saigon, 11 January 1963, Foreign Relations of the United States, 1961–1963, Vol. III: Vietnam, January–August 1963, Document 10. 3. Officials paid considerable attention to the design and implementation of amnesty policies in Malaya and the Philippines and looked explicitly at their relevance to the situation in Vietnam when developing concepts for Chiêu Hồi. See “Amnesties and Surrender Policies in Guerilla Warfare: Applicability to South Vietnam,” Department of State Policy Planning Council (January 4, 1963), US Army Center for Military History (CMH). 4. Ibid. 5. For texts of the proclamation and the broadcast, see American Foreign Policy: Current Documents, 1963, Department of State, 848–849, Historical Division, Bureau of Public Affairs. The US Information Agency (USIA) also mounted an extensive information program in Vietnam to support the Diem government’s announcement and ensure the widest possible distribution. 6. “Talking Paper: Definitive Briefing on the Chiêu Hồi Program,” September 16, 1964, Box 15, Folder 1601-04, Entry A1540, Chiêu Hồi Instruction Files, Civil Operations for Rural Development Support (CORDS) Military Region 1 (MR1), Military Assistance Command Vietnam, Records of the United States Forces in Southeast Asia, Record Group 472, National Archives and Records Administration (NARA). 7. Ibid. 8. “Lecture on Chiêu Hồi Policy by the PsyWar Commissioner,” Cabinet Meeting, August 24, 1965, Box 15, Folder 1601-04, Entry A1540, Chiêu Hồi Publications, CORDS MR1, Military Assistance Command Vietnam, Records of the United States Forces in Southeast Asia, Record Group 472, NARA. 9. “Talking Paper: Definitive Briefing on the Chiêu Hồi Program.”

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10. Release Agreement Between the Government of Vietnam and the Agency for International Development, June 18, 1964, Box 15, Folder 1601-04, Entry A1540, Chiêu Hồi Instruction Files, CORDS, MR1, Records of the United States Forces in Southeast Asia, 1950–1975, Record Group 472, NARA. 11. As the program became increasingly institutionalized, it articulated its core objectives: inducement, reception, and resettlement. For full details, see “The Chiêu Hồi Program Vietnam,” prepared by Chiêu Hồi Division, Office of Civil Operations, 32 Ngo Thoi, Nhiem, Saigon, February 17, 1967, Box 2, Folder 1, Chiêu Hồi Division, Komer-Leonhart File, National Security File, Lyndon B. Johnson Library (LBJL). 12. “Memorandum for the Ambassador from Charles Mann, Subject: Chiêu Hồi Information,” December 9, 1965, CMH. The memo also notes that some of the defectors counted in the total of 11,248 for 1963 may actually have been refugees. See also Koch, The Chiêu Hồi Program in South Vietnam, p. 21. This initial surge in returnee activity has been interpreted as the result of the tapping of an existing reservoir of persons eager to abandon the fight and merely awaiting some assurance of good treatment by the government but, nonetheless, it revealed that great potential existed for such a program and this had been accomplished with a small fiscal commitment. 13. “Talking Paper: Definitive Briefing on the Chiêu Hồi Program.” 14. Department of State Telegram, “Mission Views on Steps to Strengthen Chiêu Hồi Program,” April 23, 1965, Box 16, Document 66, Vol. 33, National Science Foundation (NSF) Vietnam Country File, LBJL. 15. For more details of movement of Chiêu Hồi to ministry level and political implications of this, see Department of State Telegram, “Cable 3599,” April 30, 1965, Box 16, Document 2, Vol. 33, NSF Vietnam Country File, LBJL. 16. Department of State Telegram, “Mission Views on Steps to Strengthen Chiêu Hồi Program.” 17. Ibid. 18. Ibid. 19. Cable, from AMEMBASSY Saigon to SECSTATE WASHDC #3599, April 30, 1965, Vol. 33, Box 16, Vietnam Country File, National Security File, LBJL. 20. “Memorandum from Secretary of Defense McNamara to President Johnson,” July 1, 1965, Document 38, Foreign Relations of the United States (FRUS), Vol. III, Vietnam, June–December 1965. 21. Memorandum by Chester L. Cooper of the National Security Council Staff Washington, September 10, 1965, Foreign Relations of the United States, 1964– 1968, Vol. III, Vietnam, June–December 1965, Document 138. 22. Robert W. Chandler, War of Ideas: The US Propaganda Campaign in Vietnam (Boulder: Westview Press, 1981), p. 26. See also discussion in Robert Kodosky, Psychological Operations American Style: The Joint United States Public Affairs Office, Vietnam and Beyond (Lanham, MD: Lexington Books, 2007). 23. Chandler, War of Ideas, p. 26. 24. Lawrence E. Grinter, “Amnesty in Vietnam: An Analysis of the Chiêu Hồi (Open Arms) Program in the Republic of Viet Nam” (master’s thesis, University of North Carolina, 1967), p. 5. Grinter was a member of the Simulmatics Field Team; this study was based on his seven months of field research undertaken in the summer of 1967 as part of Project Agile, funded by Advanced Research Projects Agency (ARPA). 25. Chandler, War of Ideas, p. 32. 26. “GVN/U.S. Joint Chiêu Hồi Program, Psychological Operations,” April 15, 1966, Box 2, Folder 4, Komer-Leonhart File, Chiêu Hồi Division, National Security File, LBJL. For an exploration of key propaganda themes and accompanying images, see Chandler, War of Ideas.

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27. “JUSPAO Field Memorandum #5: ‘How to Write Good Propaganda Leaflets,’” November 10, 1965, Box 1, Entry 31, Records of the USIA, Record Group 306, NARA. 28. Ibid. 29. Ibid. 30. “Leaflet SP-800, ‘Who Are in the Back?’” November 23, 1965, Box 9, Records of the USIA, Record Group 306, NARA. 31. “Leaflet SP-723, ‘Which Way? Come Back or Stay?’” October 26, 1965, Box 9, Records of the USIA, Record Group 306, NARA. 32. Leaflets developed by JUSPAO were accompanied by a “Leaflet Data Sheet” that included information on target group and location; the date the leaflet was requested, printed, and delivered; narrative remarks describing significance; English translation and dissemination data. 33. “Guidelines to Chiêu Hồi Psychological Operations,” Chiêu Hồi Inducement Program, JUSPAO, April 1966, Box 2, Folder 4, Komer-Leonhart File, Chiêu Hồi Division, National Security File, LBJL. 34. Ibid. 35. This took place in Quang Tri, “Monthly Chiêu Hồi Activity Report,” December 15, 1966, Folder 4, Box 2, Komer-Leonhart File, Chiêu Hồi Division, National Security File, LBJL. 36. The Simulmatics Corporation was a private, for-profit contract research company based in Cambridge, Massachusetts, and New York led by Ithiel de Sola Pool, who was head of MIT’s Political Science Department. Simulmatics brought senior social scientists from Columbia, Harvard, MIT, and other institutions to Vietnam each summer to initiate research projects on insurgent motivations. See Joy Rohde, “The Last Stand of the Psycho-Cultural Cold Warriors: Military Contract Research in Vietnam,” Journal of the History of the Behavioral Sciences 47, no. 3 (2011): 232–250. 37. “Simulmatics Field Team Progress Report,” August 12, 1966, Chiêu Hồi, Box 2, Folder 3, Komer-Leonhart File, National Security File, LBJL, 21. Other examples include insurgents burning a village or beating peasants. It was counterproductive because the majority of those interviewed simply did not believe them. 38. For example, “Leaflet SP 7-11, ‘Partners in Crime’” suggests that everything done by the VC is directed by their “masters in Peking and Hanoi,” Box 9, Records of the USIA, Record Group 306, NARA. 39. Grinter, “Amnesty in Vietnam,” p. 8. 40. The process of field-testing usually consisted of ten persons or more, made up of recent defectors. Officials tested Chiêu Hồi leaflets with the most recently arrived Hoi Chanh as possible to gain the most accurate perspective into the insurgency’s views and circumstances. For details regarding field-testing methodology, see “JUSPAO Field Memorandum #42: Lessons Learned from Evaluation of Allied Psyop Media in Vietnam,” JUSPAO Planning Staff, December 1967, Box 1, Entry 31, Records of the USIA, Record Group 306, NARA. 41. “JUSPAO Field Memorandum #42.” 42. Ibid. 43. Ibid. The report mentioned that respondents seemed relatively unaware that photographs can be altered. However, it was also acknowledged that poor quality photographs that were blurry or out of focus tended to be detrimental to the goals of PsyOps, see “JUSPAO Field Memorandum #42.” 44. “Communicating with Vietnamese Thru Leaflets,” Field Development Division and the Office of Policy, Plans and Research of the Joint United States Public Affairs Office, March 1967, Box 13, Folder 11, Unit 3: Insurgency Warfare, Douglas Pike Collection, Vietnam Co-operative Alliance (VCA).

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45. Ibid. 46. Ibid. 47. “JUSPAO Field Memorandum #42.” 48. “Simulmatics Field Team Progress Report.” 49. Ibid. 50. Grinter, “Amnesty in Vietnam,” p. 5. 51. Robert Thompson, Defeating Communist Insurgency: The Lessons of Malaya and Vietnam (New York: F. A. Praeger, 1966); Robert Komer, The Malayan Emergency in Retrospect: Organization of a Successful Counterinsurgency Effort (Santa Monica: RAND, 1972). 52. “Telegram from the Embassy in Vietnam to the Department of State, 6 August 1966,” Foreign Relations of the United States, 1964–1968, Vol. IV: Vietnam, 1966, Doc. 204. 53. “Telegram from the Department of State to the Embassy in Vietnam, Washington, 4 August 1966,” Foreign Relations of the United States, 1964–1968, Vol. IV: Vietnam, 1966, Doc. 202. Leon Goure’s report indicating that morale suffering within the insurgency was one factor motivating an emboldened approach to inducing defection. 54. “Telegram from the Embassy in Vietnam to the Department of State, 6 August 1966.” 55. “Third Party Inducement Program,” Box 3, Folder 1618-074, Entry A1506, Chiêu Hồi Operational Memos, Chiêu Hồi Division, CORDS, Military Assistance Command Vietnam, Records of the United States Forces in Southeast Asia, Record Group 472, NARA. 56. “Chiêu Hồi Weekly Report #142, November 1968,” Department of the Army Staff Communications Division, CMH. 57. “Chiêu Hồi Weekly Report #146, December 1968,” Department of Defense National Military Command Center, CMH. As of this date 2,078 out of 4,357 defectors had rallied as a result of third-party inducement (approximately 48 percent). 58. This percentage was 50 percent during the week of March 2–8, 1968; see “Chiêu Hồi Weekly Report #157, December 1968,” Department of Defense National Military Command Center, CMH. 59. “Third Party Inducement Program.” 60. “Revision of Third Party Inducement Program,” Box 3, Folder 1618-074, Entry A1509, Chiêu Hồi Operational Memos, Chiêu Hồi Division, CORDS, Military Assistance Command Vietnam, Records of the United States Forces in Southeast Asia, Record Group 472, NARA. 61. Ibid. 62. “Memorandum for the Office of the Assistance Chief of Staff, CORDS, from Raymond Jones, Director Chiêu Hồi Directorate,” April 19, 1969, Box 3, Folder 1618-074, Entry A1506, Records of U.S. Forces in Southeast Asia, 1950–1975, Record Group 472, NARA. 63. “USAID AD/FO, Chiêu Hồi Armed Propaganda Units, 7 April 1966,” Box 2, Folder 3, Komer-Leonhart File, National Security File, LBJL. 64. The authorized complement of the APT was increased to forty-five companies in 1967, and then sixty-five in 1968. See “Chiêu Hồi Operational Memorandum No. 1/69: Administration and Operation of the Armed Propaganda Teams, 16 January 1969,” Box 1, Folder 7, Ogden Williams Collection, VCA. 65. The applicant must be recruited during the draft deferment period granted to a Hoi Chanh. Deferment period is six months from the date of leaving the Chiêu Hồi Center if the Hoi Chanh returned after March 13, 1968, or one year from the date of initial return if the Hoi Chanh returned prior to March 13, 1968.

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66. “Chiêu Hồi Operational Memorandum No. 1/69.” 67. Ibid. 68. “Memo, for John McNaughton, from R.W. Komer,” February 6, 1967, Box 2, Folder 1, Chiêu Hồi Division, Komer-Leonhart File, National Security File, LBJL; “Memo, for Amb Komer, from HQUSMACV, Chiêu Hồi Action Program for July–December 1967,” Box 2, Folder 1, Chiêu Hồi Division, Komer-Leonhart File, National Security File, LBJL. 69. “Memo, for Amb Komer, from HQUSMACV, Chiêu Hồi Action Program for July–December 1967.” 70. “Briefing Notes on Chiêu Hồi Program, Vietnam, 1967,” Box 2, Folder 3, Chiêu Hồi Division, Komer-Leonhart File, National Security File, LBJL. 71. “Cost per Returnee, 1966,” Box 2, Folder 4, Chiêu Hồi Division, KomerLeonhart File, National Security File, LBJL. 72. “The Chiêu Hồi Program,” Box 1, Folder 11, John Donnell Collection, Vietnam Center and Archive, Texas Tech University. 73. See James Quinlivan, “Force Requirements in Stability Operations,” Parameters 23 (Winter 1995–1996): 59–69; John McGrath, Boots on the Ground: Troop Density in Contingency Operations (Fort Leavenworth, KS: Combat Studies Institute Press, 2006); Steven Goode, “A Historical Basis for Force Requirements in Counterinsurgency,” Parameters 40 (Winter 2009–2010): 45–57. In more recent years, analysis of force requirements has shifted to emphasize the idea of sizing security forces to the population rather than the enemy. Historically, these ratios have varied widely from a low point with estimates ranging from anywhere from 2 to 25 counterinsurgents for every 1,000 residents. 74. David Galula, Counterinsurgency Warfare: Theory and Practice (Westport, CT: Praeger Security International, 2006), p. 7. 75. Napolean Valeriano and Charles Bohannon, Counter-Guerrilla Operations: The Philippine Experience (Westport, CT: Praeger Security International, 2006). 76. William Johnston, “Some Thoughts on Psychological Operations,” in Psychological Operations: Principles and Case Studies, ed. Frank Goldstein (Maxwell Air Force Base: Air University Press, 1996). 77. “Memo from W. E. Colby, Assistant Chief of Staff for CORDS, 31 December 1968,” quoted in William Colby, with James McCargar, Lost Victory: A Firsthand Account of America’s Sixteen-Year Involvement in Vietnam (Chicago: Contemporary Books, 1989), p. 232. 78. See discussion in Jeannine Swift, “Chiêu Hồi: A US Pacification Program in Vietnam Revisited, 1963–1972,” Box 1, Folder 3, Ogden Williams Collection, VCA, www.vietnam.ttu.edu/virtualarchive/items.php?item=15250103001. 79. “Briefing Notes on Chiêu Hồi Program, Vietnam, 1967,” Box 2, Folder 3, Chiêu Hồi Division, Komer-Leonhart File, National Security File, LBJL. 80. “End of Tour Comments, March 1969,” Box 1, Folder 20, Ogden Williams Collection, VCA. 81. Ibid. 82. Ibid. 83. Ibid.

PART 2 Evolution

5 Soviet Propaganda in the War in Afghanistan, 1979–1989 Igor Orlov and Mikhail Mironyuk

WHILE THE SOVIET FOREIGN1 AND DOMESTIC2 PROPAGANDA during the War in Afghanistan as well as the internal ideological and political activities intended to maintain the morale of the troops in Afghanistan3 have been widely discussed in the literature, the topic of the Soviet information operations has been studied less systematically. One of the reasons that might explain this lacuna is that the information operations during this war were quite inconsistent in their content, methods, and the assessment of success. Many information operations appear to contradict not only the official Soviet ideology and foreign policy, but also common sense. In this chapter, we suggest that these contradictions were the result of two approaches to the understanding of the role of information operations by the various organizations deployed to conduct them. For example, while the military Special Propaganda Units (SPUs) measured their effectiveness formally, by the total amount of the conducted operations,4 organizations responsible for political propaganda, and the overwhelming majority of scholars, tended to measure the success of information operations in a significantly broader political context.5 Consequently, in this chapter we attempt to analyze the mechanisms, means, and methods of the Soviet information operations in Afghanistan, drawing on various open sources, including the memoirs and diaries of participants in military operations,6 declassified military and intelligence reports,7 published archival documents,8 visual materials,9 and interviews with retired SPU personnel.10

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Beginning in 1979 and throughout the 1980s, the information operations deployed in Afghanistan were very different in their scope and type. These included the suppression and destruction of the command and control networks of the armed opposition, information support of combat operations, and psychological operations aimed at the insurgents and the local population. We focus on only two in this chapter: information support of combat operations and (with some reservations) psychological operations. Interestingly enough, the Soviet political and military leaders initially hesitated to deploy psychological operations in Afghanistan. However, former subdirector of the Analysis and Information Department of the KGB, Lieutenant-General Nikolay Leonov, considered the very deployment of the Soviet troops to the Democratic Republic of Afghanistan (DRA) to be an act of psychological warfare,11 creating an opportunity for the deployment of different types of psychological warfare (e.g., the release of prisoners and the use of rumors), which quickly became integral elements of information operations in Afghanistan. The history of Soviet information operations in Afghanistan can be generally divided into three main stages. The first stage lasted from the beginning of the invasion until the summer of 1980. The main goal of these operations was to legitimize the presence of the Soviet troops in Afghanistan. The second stage lasted until the end of 1986. While its primary focus was on information support for the military operations, it also focused on political and security stabilization, the expansion of political control, and strengthening local authorities. In the final stage, starting in 1987 and until the withdrawal of the Soviet troops in February 1989, information operations promoted the National Reconciliation Policy (NRP) and the rationale for the withdrawal. This division can be further tuned by discussing significant developments in the area, including the Soviet decision to deploy troops; the Kabul uprising in February 1980, combat operations in the Panjshir Valley in 1980–1989, UN deputy secretary general Diego Cordovez’s mission to resolve the conflict in the DRA, replacement of Babrak Karmal with Mohammad Najibullah as general secretary of the Central Committee of the People’s Democratic Party of Afghanistan (PDPA) in May 1986, and the final withdrawal from the DRA.

Marching into a Trap and Struggling to Withdraw, 1979–1989 The general principles underpinning the information support of Soviet troops were shaped by the previous experiences of the Soviet propaganda

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machine and an assessment of the general state of affairs in Afghanistan following the April Revolution of 1978. This assessment was based on the information provided by Afghan officials, as well as by the reports of the Soviet operatives and military advisers in the country. In a telephone conversation on March 18, 1979, between Alexei Kosygin, chairman of the Council of Ministers, and Nur Mohammad Taraki, president of Afghanistan, the Afghan Communist statesman pessimistically noted: “There is no active support from the population. It is almost entirely under the influence of Shia slogans.”12 Taraki claimed that the majority of the Soviet-trained Afghan officers were unreliable “reactionary Muslims” and that the Communist government could rely in Kabul only on high school and university students, as well as representatives of a small working class, to draft supporters in the local troops.13 During a meeting of the Politburo (Political Bureau) on March 18, 1979, the senior leadership of the Soviet Union was not unified regarding the possibility of deploying troops to Afghanistan. On the one hand, it was clear that the only way to defend the revolution was through Soviet military assistance. On the other, Soviet leaders understood that the high-ranking Afghan officials underestimated the power of Islam, they had no support from the local military, and the country was generally unprepared for socialism—neither politically, nor ideologically, nor socioeconomically. This meant, as Kosygin argued, that the Soviet troops “would fight not against the military, which either has sided with the enemy, or holed up in corners, but against the people.”14 When chairman of the KGB, Yuri Andropov, argued that the only way “to preserve the revolution in Afghanistan is with the help of our [Soviet] bayonets, and this is completely unacceptable for us,” Minister of Foreign Affairs Andrei Gromyko, continued this argument: I fully support Comrade Andropov’s argument. . . . If our Army will enter Afghanistan, it will be considered an aggressor. Against whom will it fight? First and foremost against the Afghan people. . . . Comrade Andropov correctly noted that the situation in Afghanistan for the revolution had not yet ripened, and all that we had done so hard in recent years . . . all this would be thrown away. Of course, this will be a good present for China. All non-aligned countries will be against us. In short, serious consequences are expected from such an action. . . . The question is—what do we win? Afghanistan with its current government, with a backward economy, with little weight in international affairs. On the other hand, we must keep in mind that legally we simply cannot justify the deployment of troops. According to the UN Charter, a country can ask for help, and we could send troops if they were subjected to an external aggression. Afghanistan has not been subjected to any aggression. This is their internal affair, the revolutionary internecine strife of one population group with another.15

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On the one hand, the assessment of the strength of the Afghan government had constantly changed according to the developments of the events. For example, following the successful suppression of antigovernment protests in several provinces in May 1979, a classified memorandum of the Central Committee from June 28, 1979, stated that “the army remains the main pillar of the Afghan government in the fight against the counter-revolution.”16 On the other hand, the official policy of refusal to openly deploy military in Afghanistan did not change, even after Defence Minister Hafizullah Amin seized power in early September 1979. The possibility of Amin’s reorientation toward the West, the unfolding civil war, the US Navy deployment to the Gulf, the US preparation to invade Iran, and NATO’s decision to station US medium-range missiles in Europe—all these factors left the Soviet leaders no choice but to deploy troops to preserve their influence in Afghanistan. On December 12, 1979, the Politburo authorized their deployment.17 The principal propaganda message shaped by the Soviet leadership emphasized that “a limited contingent of the Soviet troops” was deployed to Afghanistan at the request of the legitimate government to assist “the people and government of Afghanistan in fighting against external aggression.”18 The changes in the leadership of Afghanistan were presented as an internal affair. However, the Special Propaganda Units deployed with the military found themselves completely unprepared to disseminate this message across the local population. Leonid Shershnev, an SPU officer in the Turkestan Military District at the beginning of war who became one of the most important SPU chiefs in Afghanistan by the end of it, described the first engagement with the Afghan population during the Fortieth Army’s crossing of the Amu Darya River on December 25, 1979: “Unfortunately, we didn’t even have a speaking-tube with us, as this device was not supposed to be in our inventory.”19 According to the analytical report by the Institute of Economy of the World Socialist System sent to the Central Committee of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union (CPSU) and the KGB on January 20, 1980: “The deployment of Soviet troops did not lead to a decline in the opposition’s struggle. . . . The Islamic fundamentalism sharply intensified propaganda among the population, employing a new slogan—the fight against foreign troops.” The note concluded pessimistically: “By deploying military in Afghanistan, our policy . . . crossed the acceptable borders of confrontation in the ‘Third World.’ The benefits from this action seem to be insignificant, compared to the damage sustained to our interests.”20 At this point, Soviet military commanders did not know how long the troops would stay in Afghanistan.21 By early February 1980, the number of Soviet troops in Afghanistan reached 81,800, including 61,800 in combat

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units. Despite the provided explanation that this action was at the request of the legitimate government and that with the cessation of the foreign aggression the Soviet troops would withdraw,22 relations with the local population started to deteriorate. This deterioration was furthered by unintentional involvement in hostilities, the killing of civilians, and crimes against the locals. The image of “invaders” quickly formed around the Soviet troops. The first leaflets appeared in Kabul calling for the proSoviet regime’s overthrow. The abundance of Soviet posters in the Afghan streets promoting “our army is the defender of the working people” did nothing to win the hearts and minds of the locals. The actions of the Soviet troops on the ground and civilian casualties contradicted the promoted notion of “international duty” and the peace-loving image of the USSR.23 The rapidly changing security and political situation in the provinces (e.g., revolts in the Twelfth and Twenty-Fifth Infantry Divisions in Gardez and Khost) provoked an uprising in Kabul, which coincided with the Day of the Soviet Army and the Navy. Soviet troops limited their reaction to this uprising by blocking the approaches to Kabul.24 Most importantly, those responsible for information operations among the local population failed to react. Apparently, a meeting in late March 1983 between Soviet leader Yuri Andropov, UN Secretary General Javier Pérez de Cuéllar, and UN undersecretary general and special representative for Afghanistan Diego Cordovez did not change the course of the events, despite Andropov’s interest in a peaceful resolution to the conflict.25 In August, Cordovez’s mission prepared a peaceful settlement agreement, which included an eight-month plan for troop withdrawal. Due to Andropov’s illness, however, the issue was removed from the Politburo agenda.26 The efforts of Cordovez began to bear fruit only when Mikhail Gorbachev rose to power. At a Politburo meeting on November 13, 1986, chief of the General Staff of the Soviet Army, Marshal Sergei Akhromeev, noted: “There is not a single combat mission that would be set, but not completed, but there is no result. . . . We control Kabul and the provincial centres, but we cannot establish rule over the occupied territory. We lost the fight for the Afghan people.”27 Interestingly enough, in contrast to the deployment, the withdrawal process of the Soviet troops had broad information support. Over 200 journalists, including 22 from 10 countries in Europe and the United States, covered it.28 A statement from the Soviet military command emphasized the Soviet military’s active participation in the implementation of the agreed Afghan National Reconciliation Policy. It highlighted the shift from fighting to assistance in building roads, schools, hospitals, aqueducts, wells, general works, and power lines and the delivery and distribution of free aid in Afghanistan.29

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The Scale of the Operations The first multipurpose combat propaganda and agitation detachment was established within the Soviet 108th Motorized Rifle Division.30 Following its successful operation in the summer of 1981, regular propaganda and agitation units were formed (thirteen by the summer of 1988). They consisted of an armored, lightweight loud-speaking station, military guards, and field and medical cars. Afghan officers, local leaders, mullahs, concert groups, intelligence officers, sappers, and advisers supported these units.31 Simultaneously, the formation and training of the first propaganda units within the DRA army began in December 1981. Gradually, combat agitation units were formed in all corps, divisions, and brigades of the DRA army. Equipped with the necessary means such as sound stations, “clubs on wheels,” and traditional music instruments, they were capable of carrying out prolonged and complex propaganda raids.32 With the increased involvement of the Soviet troops in hostilities, the scale and efficiency of propaganda efforts also increased. By the mid-1980s, Soviet and Afghan propaganda units were operating intensively in the zones where Soviet and government troops were deployed. Planned in advance, agitation and propaganda actions and raids became prevalent. Special propaganda officers increasingly used Islamic symbols and Quranic verses to communicate with Afghans and in the preparation of propaganda materials. The scope and range of information operations’ targets continuously expanded during the war. Initially targeting populations under government control, border tribes, prisoners of war, and irreconcilable opposition groups, they later expanded to include armed groups, who opted to join the policy of national reconciliation, and returning refugees. In addition to group religion, ethnic and geographic characteristics were also carefully considered.33 For example, in the northern provinces of Kunduz, Balkh, Samangan, and Badakhshan, with predominantly Tajik and Uzbek populations, information operations drew inspiration from the Soviet way of life in the Central Asian republics of the USSR. They highlighted Soviet assistance in major infrastructure projects, including the Mazar-i-Sharif hydropower plant, a nitrogen fertilizer plant, and the port of Shirkhan. In contrast, propaganda in the southern provinces of Nangarhar, Paktiya, and Paktika, inhabited by Pashtun tribes, promoted tribal traditions. It was accompanied by the provision of material and medical aid and pleas to support the “just struggle” of the Pashtun tribes of Shinvari and Afridi against the military regime of General Mohammad Zia-ul-Haq in Pakistan.34

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There were three major categories of information operations: those carried out by SPUs of the Fortieth Army, operations carried out by local Afghan units, and joint operations. The latter were supported by agitation raids, ideological operations, and complex operations of special propaganda groups and combat units.35 In supporting combat operations on the ground, the information operations included not only efforts to demoralize the enemy, but also ones to ensure the loyalty of the local population in an attempt to prevent hostile actions by local self-defense units. During the preparatory stage, targets were identified; calculations of appropriate forces and means were undertaken; techniques for oral, radio, and printed propaganda were determined; and coordination with aviation, artillery, communications, and logistics was agreed.36

Agitation Raids

Agitation raids were joint operations by the Fortieth Army’s political officers, representatives of the ruling PDPA and the Democratic Youth Organization of Afghanistan, various ministries, and public organizations. Ordinarily, they required the deployment of one or two SPU units along a chosen route with short visits to settlements, aimed to clarify the ruling party’s policies, provide materials and medical assistance, and collect information on the sentiments and the needs of the local population. Whenever it was possible, agitation raids were covered by local, central media and the Afghan Gack (Voice of an Afghan) radio station. For example, the twenty-five-day long raid along the KabulKunduz route crossed four provinces and visited seven districts, three county centers, and seventy-eight villages. During the raid, 35 rallies were organized, 1,209 groups and 76 individuals were interviewed, 30 concerts were given, 9 films were screened, and 65,000 copies of propaganda and agitation materials were distributed. More than 3,000 locals received medical care, and 5,680 families received material assistance. 37 The nature of these raids shaped the structure of these units. They were made up of the following subunits: a propaganda group; a group to collect information, a group to assist the local population, technical support group, and an armed group to ensure the protection of the raid. However, the effectiveness of raids fell with the lack of consistency in their planning and deployment across units. For example, after the initiation of the NRP, a single village could be visited by multiple propaganda units, with all promising assistance but often failing to deliver it for a variety of reasons.38

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Ideological Operations

Ideological operations were reflective of changes in the political policies. They became ubiquitous due to the NRP. All available regular SPUs and more than 300 off-duty groups simultaneously deployed to their designated zones to promote its principles and the cease-fire conditions to local communities. For example, in October 1987, in preparation for the Second All-Party Conference and the Loya Jirga (All-Afghan Council of Elders), the Special Program for the Work of Agitation Subdivisions of the Armed Forces was developed in the Special Propaganda Department of the Army of Afghanistan. All special units were equipped with campaign materials on the policy of national reconciliation, open days were held in a number of garrisons, and in some provinces the population was simultaneously provided with significant economic, material, and medical assistance.39

Complex Operations

Complex operations of special propaganda groups and combat units took the shape of long-term operations in vital areas. They included not only massive indoctrination efforts, but substantial social, economic, financial, material, medical, and veterinary assistance to local communities, as well as large-scale mine-clearing operations. These activities targeted both local communities under government control and communities under the control of insurgents. The most successful example of a complex operation was the convoy implemented along the Gardez-Khost Road between November 1987 and January 1988. Stage 1 included negotiations with the Jadran tribe and an official appeal to the tribal high council. The tribe was offered huge benefits, including considerable grants, for providing safe passage for Soviet troops. This was the first time that Soviet and local television, radio, and press delivered prompt and profound coverage of the operation. Radio propaganda was aired from Kabul, Gardez, and Khost on a daily basis. It claimed that Soviet troops were forced to fight because Commander Jalaluddin Haqqani, and his Peshawari masters, were firmly opposed to negotiating a peaceful access and providing assistance to the people of Khost. It also targeted the tribes adjacent to Jadran, to keep them from supporting the commander.40 In general, these operations shared several main characteristics. First, all channels capable of reaching target groups were employed. Second, the operations involved continuous efforts to expand the audience. Third, the messaging was unrestricted in the choice of arguments,

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selecting those that had the best chance in achieving the objectives. Finally, the preparation and dissemination of messages constantly evolved and included not only direct messages, but also indirect ones such as rumors and gossip.41 According to foreign reports, the Soviet SPUs initiated an extensive campaign to magnify contradictions and intensify conflicts among armed opposition groups using leaflets to generate or amplify conflicts between those groups. Soviet propaganda officers perfected the spread of rumors to discredit armed opposition leaders and damage their credibility.42 However, it is important to note that different treatment of propaganda targets (according to age, ethnic, professional, cultural, and other characteristics) was not practiced systematically or comprehensively, while the adaptation of messages, and improvements in the means and methods of their delivery, occasionally lagged behind the changes on the ground.43

Content and Methods of Delivery During the war, the Soviet information operations were based on different types of content and different methods of delivery, including printed material, radio and television, and other methods of agitation.

Printed Propaganda

Shaped by the experience of the Great Patriotic War (1941–1945), the Soviet political agencies strongly believed in the power of the written word and the effectiveness of printed propaganda. Although Afghanistan’s population was predominantly illiterate or semiliterate, printed propaganda was a major component of Soviet information efforts, due to the Afghans’ respect for the written word. In the beginning of the intervention, the authorities in Kabul had considerable technical capabilities at their disposal to produce printed propaganda. In the first half of the 1980s, thirty-three pro-government newspapers and forty-six magazines were published in three languages (Pashto, Dari, and English), with a total annual circulation of approximately 32 million copies. In 1988, the circulation exceeded 40 million copies. A significant number of books of political, as well as spiritual, content were also published.44 In addition to the content produced locally, on the specific request of the Afghan government various materials were delivered once a week by the Aeroflot Moscow-Kabul flight for reproduction by the pro-government magazines.45

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However, the local government failed to build a reliable delivery and distribution system in the provinces. A Kabul official admitted, “Millions of copies of political, educational literature, posters, leaflets, brochures . . . rot in warehouses for years. . . . Moreover, less than one tenth of the copies reach the people after they literally by a miracle get delivered to the localities.”46 Any impact on semliterate audiences, especially in rural areas, was achieved only through group reading, with competent local representatives commenting on the text. The shortage of local representatives who were literate and committed to the Kabul regime quickly came to the fore. Similar to the Soviet publications in the USSR, the main official newspaper in Afghanistan, the Kabul New Times, exclusively covered the noncombat activities of the Soviet troops in the DRA, ignoring the military aspects of their deployment. However, almost every issue published news on the disarmament or capture of a so-called gangster group (the name given to the groups of insurgents) by either the Afghan army or representatives of the Ministry of State Security. While the participation of the Soviet troops in hostilities was ignored, the negative aspects of insurgents’ activities became newspaper fodder. Occasionally, blackand-white photos of mutilated human bodies were published to reinforce the horrors committed by the insurgents. Publications consistently emphasized the anti-Islamic nature of the insurgency and claimed that dushmany (the Soviet propaganda designation of Afghan insurgents) were, in fact, the “enemies of Islam.”47 In addition to the Soviet and Afghan press, the SPUs faked opposition publications. For example, in 1984 the SPUs produced 5,000 fake copies of the Shakhodat (Martyr’s Death for the Faith) published by the Islamic Party of Afghanistan. It combined authentic materials from a captured copy of the original publication with forged messages designed to exacerbate the contradictions among insurgent commanders of different political factions.48 Small print forms, such as flyers, posters, and propaganda leaflets, turned out to be the most effective formats. According to multiple sources, around 1,000 original leaflets were designed and published between 1980 and 1989, with approximately 54 million copies distributed around Afghanistan.49 All materials were jointly designed and prepared by Soviet and Afghan specialists, regardless of the fact that everything was officially published by the Afghan government. The leaflets were specifically used to expose the war crimes committed by the mujahideen. As a part of the government’s effort to produce messages appealing to the general public, Afghan intellectuals were given a “national task” “to inform all the peoples of our country of the timely and just

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assistance of our brother—the Soviet Union.”50 For example, the Address to the Muslim Brotherhood of Paktia emphasized the military traditions of the past (resistance to the British Empire) and, combined with Islamic values, was intended to encourage patriotism. It accused the armed opposition of being in league with Afghan primordial enemies (“‘English werewolves’ and their henchmen”).51 Relying heavily on visual messaging to reach the predominantly illiterate population, leaflets and calendars with cartoons or drawings by Soviet artist Yuri Cherepanov became popular. In the middle of 1983, a group of Afghan artists were handpicked for two months of training in Kabul under the supervision of the Soviet artists Nikolay Ludanov and Ivan Mikhailov.52 Therefore, it is not surprising that the cartoons produced by the Afghan artists were reminiscent of the Soviet satirical magazine Krocodil (Crocodile). Using similar techniques and narratives, they imaged dushmany licking the shoes of their “American masters” or getting dollars in weight for slaughtered heads of the mujahideen. They served to illustrate the insurgents as puppets inseparable from Afghanistan’s foreign enemies, depicturing them as wolves in sheepskin or as dwarfs fighting against a gigantic Afghan soldier.53 Severe shortcomings, however, reduced the efficiency of smallprint forms, including: 1. Quality paper was in short supply (especially at the beginning of the war) and there was no printing equipment in operational locations. As a result, over 80 percent of leaflets were produced in the Political Directorate of the Turkestan Military District and Kabul. Therefore, their messages lagged behind the developments on the ground.54 2. Until the middle of 1985, Soviet-made leaflets were unicolor and unattractive in comparison with the leaflets disseminated by the insurgents.55 3. Soviet ideological concepts and abstract ideas employed to “win the hearts and minds” of the local population did not appeal to the majority of Afghans and could hardly justify the hardships of war. 4. It took time to learn how to make small-print forms’ messaging convincing and credible.

Radio Broadcasting

With over 3 million radio receivers for a population of about 19 million (roughly equivalent to a radio receiver in every Afghan family home), the infrastructure conditions for effective radio propaganda were relatively

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good in Afghanistan.56 Despite a rocky start,57 by the middle of 1984 the radio broadcasting within Afghanistan amounted to twenty-eight and a half hours per day. This included eighteen hours of major programs in Kabul, three hours of metropolitan broadcasting by Radio Kabul, four hours of very high frequency (VHF) broadcasts, and three and a half hours of broadcasting in minority languages. Ten radio stations operated in the provinces. The Ministry of Communications provided the technical equipment, which in the mid-1980s consisted of three midwave transmitters, one shortwave transmitter, and one ultrashortwave transmitter. All transmitters were outdated German-made models. Therefore, technical failures were frequent, significantly decreasing the efficiency of radio propaganda in the first half of the 1980s in Kabul and in the provinces.58 Despite the apparent expediency, the decision to organize and conduct systematic radio propaganda in the DRA was made only five years into the war and was primarily made to counteract the anti-Soviet messaging broadcast by foreign radio stations.59 In 1985, the Soviet-built radio station Burya (Storm) was deployed in Afghanistan. It continuously retransmitted broadcasts from radio stations in Moscow, Tashkent, Dushanbe, and Kabul. In 1986, the Soviet-Afghan radio station Afghan Gack was launched. It broadcast from 6 to 7 A.M. and from 7 to 8 P.M., which were considered the most expedient hours for Muslims. The most impactful broadcasts were recorded on audiotapes and distributed as spoken propaganda material.60 By the end of the 1980s, the Afghan government maintained a network of twenty-seven broadcasting and twelve retransmitting radio stations, which broadcast 100 hours per day.61 However, foreign antigovernment and anti-Soviet broadcasting was substantially more extensive and intensive. Compensating for the general inadequacies of Afghan radio propaganda, Vatan Gack (Voice of the Motherland), which targeted Afghan refugees abroad, was a rare exception. Having its audience in mind, up to 80 percent of the total airtime was given to national songs, music performed by famous Afghan artists, and nostalgic sentiments. Popular humor, satirical stories, political jokes, and religious sermons were also played on the air. It mocked the Afghan armed opposition leaders, trying to expose the deceitfulness of antigovernment propaganda.62 The use of sound equipment at rallies and other public events to retransmit recorded broadcasts was another form of effective audio propaganda. Talk broadcasting was boosted when Soviet troops were given up-to-date sound stations.63 In 1986, the Fortieth Army propaganda officers organized 790 rallies, 455 meetings with the chiefs, and 1,438 hours of sound transmissions. But this produced only four hours

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per day in comparison with the sixteen hours of broadcasting by the Afghan opposition specifically targeting the Soviet troops.64 The effectiveness of audio propaganda was difficult to estimate. A graduate of the Special Propaganda Faculty of the Military Institute of Foreign Languages, Sergei Nebrenchnin, recalled that during the Panjshir Operations in the summer of 1984, his group was dispatched to broadcast, with the portable transmitter, a message to a “gang”: “For about ten minutes in the deafening silence of the mountains, the ‘duhi’ [short for dushmany—Afghan insurgents] listened to us, and then, when they were called upon to lay down their arms and to go over to our side, they started firing in all directions.”65

Television Propaganda

Afghanistan National Television was established in 1977. By the middle of 1984, it broadcast on average five and half hours per day inside the capital and its neighborhood, while foreign broadcasts (from Iran and Pakistan) were seven to eight times longer. 66 In the Afghan provinces, TV broadcasts from Kabul and the USSR were channeled through the Soviet Orbita satellite system and were available only at Soviet-Afghan friendship centers. The Soviet equipment was also significantly inferior to the Japanese-made TV sets and video recorders that were at the disposal of the armed insurgents.67 Television broadcasts from the opposition included popular movies, documentaries about operations of the opposition groups against Soviet and Afghan troops, readings from the Quran, and religious sermons and prayers, which were popular with Afghans. In early stages of the conflict, the Soviet SPUs were slow and limited in the use of television for their purposes. For example, Leonid Shershnev recalled how, in early January 1980, a television group from the German Democratic Republic was filming the Soviet troops in Afghanistan: Our first action in the information confrontation with the enemy was the organization of the filming of a documentary by a television group from the German Democratic Republic about the limited contingent of Soviet troops in the DRA. Household sketches of the film best revealed the noble, international essence of his mission in Afghanistan: tents, water and food brought from the [Soviet] Union, Afghan guests in the location of the unit, a mullah talking to the Soviet Muslim soldiers. . . . I reported on the filming of the documentary to the Chief of the Political Department of the 40th Army, Major General A.V. Taskaev, as a great outreach success. After listening to me, he picked up the phone and contacted the chief of the GlavPU SA and the Navy [Main Political Directorate of the Soviet Army and Navy], Army General A.A. Epishev. As the conversation progressed, Taskaev’s face grew paler and his

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hands trembled slightly. Epishev scolded him for our initiative and warned that there would be no more such contacts. In Afghanistan, the limited contingent of troops must remain invisible to the outside world. This order did not fit in my head. At that moment I did not know about the resolution of the Politburo of the CPSU Central Committee, adopted on December 27, 1979, “On the propaganda support of our action towards Afghanistan.” It was this decree that blocked Afghanistan from the Soviet public.68

In 1984, the Soviet Union deployed in Afghanistan the satellite receivers Moskva-2, which were much more efficient and capable. However, even this was too little, too late. Japanese- and German-made TV sets, video recorders, and videotapes were on sale to the locals, allowing them to receive the broadcasts of the opposition and leading to the general failure of Afghan TV to compete with the content of TV broadcasting from Pakistan and Iran.69 Movie sessions (averaged 1,860 annually) produced a better effect. Integrating different propaganda methods, they successfully reflected local peculiarities.70 An article titled “In the County of Peace,” published in the official Soviet newspaper Izvestia on April 20, 1987, described such a session in Kamari, Bagram County: Major Yu. Bundin gave appropriate orders, and everyone started doing his job. Senior Lieutenant A. Kobzar was preparing movie equipment to show films about Soviet Uzbekistan and Soviet Tajikistan. Junior sergeant A. Bannov turned on the loudspeakers of the sound station, and Afghan national melodies rushed over the village. . . . It was lively at the photo exhibition about the life of the peoples of Central Asia. The elders received the latest copies of Soviet Uzbekistan and Muslims in the USSR magazines as well as Soviet books in Dari and Pashto.71

Why weren’t more resources committed to television and radio propaganda? It appears that there is no straightforward answer. Indeed, on a technical level the Soviet Union lacked resources to be proactive in the competition with the opposition and its foreign allies. The extremely centralized structure of command also impeded the propaganda efforts on the ground. In more general terms, even high-tech (by 1970s to 1980s standards) propaganda cannot win a war if it is not part of a realistic strategy.

Agitation Activities

During their deployment in Afghanistan, the Soviet troops conducted many different activities intended to win the support of the local popu-

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lation. These ranged from the release of prisoners and detained figures (especially representatives of religious minorities and kinsmen of opposition) to cultural events (clubs, exhibitions, and activities of women’s organizations), economic assistance (repairing bridges, drilling wells, and harvesting), and medical and humanitarian aid to the population. The Soviet “fuel experiment” produced the most notable impact by distributing free kerosene to villages along the pipeline that carried fuel from the USSR to Afghanistan.72 The sentiments of a targeted population largely correlated with the volume of material assistance provided. However, the tight financial restrictions (the Soviet Council of Ministers allocated only 100,000 rubles73 annually—roughly equivalent to the price of a dozen LADA cars) meant that the materials and aid provided by the Fortieth Army were limited in their volume and efficiency.74 Moreover, regardless of the assistance, the local population remained hostile toward the Soviet troops and increased its support of the opposition. The attempts to win the support of the locals were also upset by military actions that caused civilian casualties. For example, in 1986 an orphanage in Kandahar was accidentally hit, killing and wounding children and their caretakers and destroying nearby houses. Fortieth Army general Victor Dubynin quickly dispatched a group of twelve doctors and nurses to Kandahar. Working for days without sleep, they managed to save the lives of sixty children. Flour, grain, sugar, cereals, and clothing were also distributed among the locals, while military construction teams restored the damaged buildings.75 Agitation activities also targeted refugees. In 1980 there were more than 1.2 million Afghan refugees in Pakistan, and by 1985 there were 4.5 million in the neighboring countries—25 percent of the country’s total population.76 Soviet and Afghan propaganda officers described the plight of Afghan refugees in rather grim tones in the media. According to numerous reports in the Kabul New Times, refugees found themselves in camps fenced in with barbed wire, while insurgents sold the food, clothing, and medicine sent by the West for humanitarian relief. Stories claimed that male refugees, including teenage boys, were forcibly driven into training camps to be later deployed to insurgent “field armies” in Afghanistan.77 The Soviet leaders seemed to neglect the potential of direct material assistance to local communities and families in winning their support. Instead, resources were pumped into industrial and infrastructure projects, some of which managed to survive decades of hostilities. 78

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Spread of Rumors

The so-called war of rumors was an integral part of the information operations conducted by the Soviet troops in Afghanistan. It was based on two operational assumptions, both of which proved to be true. First, it was assumed that a typical representative of the local population was a conformist79 and an opportunist. The second assumption was that the local population was distrustful of any information from the ruling PDPA and officials in Kabul. To be believable, rumors were disguised as reproduced oral messages recently transmitted by the British Broadcasting Corporation (BBC), the tribes’ most popular radio station. Typically, rumors were organized in the following way: in crowded places, especially those visited by the inhabitants of the counties under the opposition control, a person was sent to disseminate rumors, confiding what he had “heard” on BBC. These operations were based on a trialand-error method. For example, when a rumor about new Soviet units arriving to join the Afghan and Soviet troops stationed in Gardez were spread across the town, small shop owners (duhan) were the first to respond: they ordered large quantities of alcohol from Kabul (in expectation of an increasing demand from the newly arrived Soviet troops). Since this was not the reaction that special information operators expected, they were required to launch another “BBC news message.”80 These experiments established the most efficient starting points for rumors, using accidental market or teahouse acquaintances and fellow travelers in cars moving to and from the opposition-controlled areas. One of the most common themes for the disseminated rumors was the vilification or defaming of opposition commanders. For example, rumors sought to deepen the rift between Jalaluddin Haqqani, a prominent mujahideen commander supported by the Jadran tribe, and his subordinates in charge of smaller groups. Rumors of varying degrees of plausibility were disseminated about him. For example, one rumor reported that there was a skirmish among the guards transporting commander’s jewels from Pakistan to Dubai, after which one of the guards was wounded and the other was killed.81 In case of Mirzo Rakhim, an insurgent commander known for his extreme brutality, a set of rumors disseminated different narratives in an effort to discredit him: 1. Rumors of “libel”: a presentation of Rakhim as a worthless leader, and that his men suffered high losses; 2. Rumors of “glorification”: a tale about how Mirzo Rakhim “skillfully” led his men out of the trap, losing “only” seventy

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combatants, and the surviving twenty members of the group thanked Allah for having such a wise commander; 3. Rumors to “mock”: while some rumors told that leaders of the insurgents held Rakhim accountable for his poor command and complete lack of military skills, other rumors “defended” him, claiming that he was a good Muslim and he was “merely” terrified by bomb blasts; 4. Rumors of “condolences”: it was claimed that Rakhim’s group was forced to bury its fighters at night, in violation of sharia tradition, because the commander forced his men to do so to avoid blood feuds with the victims’ kin.

Moreover, rumors were spread of Rakhim’s mental illness and breakdown. The names of Rakhim’s fighters appeared in every rumor and allegedly “authentic” words “were quoted.” This operation was so successful that Rakhim had to flee and take refuge with another tribe for several months.82 Disseminating rumors about Soviet troops’ movements was also relatively successful. For example, rumors were circulated during the combat operation to open the Gardez-Khost Road to stop the Jaji tribe, in the province of Paktia, from assisting the insurgents of the Jadran tribe. Within three days, the insurgents received four “reliable” messages, supported by nonverbal actions (Afghan army engineers started to clear mines along the intended route). Later, it was reported that insurgents had informed the Jaji tribe that the Soviets would be in their zone in five days, as they waited for fuel to be delivered. As a consequence, the insurgents from the Jaji tribe did not come to the aid of the Jadran tribe’s armed opposition, who suffered a heavy defeat.83

Conclusion

During the War in Afghanistan, the Soviet propaganda machine performed efficiently and reliably when its target audience was the population of the USSR or the Soviet troops. Despite some successful operations, it failed in Afghanistan. Its shortcomings were particularly grave in the first half of the 1980s. The Soviet specialists operated in Afghanistan for decades. However, the Soviet military and political leaders lacked clarity and deep understanding of this complex society and its traditions. Indeed, neither the Main Political Directorate of the Soviet Army and Navy, nor the Political Directorate of the Turkestan Military District, nor the Political Department of the Fortieth Army were fully prepared to conduct complex

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information operations in Afghanistan from the start of the war. The Soviet propaganda used “gangs” (banditskiye formirovaniya), “gang leaders” (bandglavari), and dushmany84 as derogatory terms to discredit and delegitimize the rebels and their leaders. However, it prevented any chance of building relationships with the opposition. It was only in February 1988 that the Main Political Directorate of the Soviet Army and Navy officially allowed its officers and the press to use the term “opposition” instead of “counterrevolution” and the term “armed opposition units” instead of “armed gangs of mercenaries.”85 At least seven factors are responsible for the inefficiency of the Soviet propaganda machine during the War in Afghanistan. First, there was no coherent strategy to provide information support to the Soviet troops’ deployment to Afghanistan. In April 1979, the visit to Kabul by the Soviet military delegation led by the chief of the Main Political Directorate of the Soviet Army and Navy, General Alexei Epishev, did little to compensate for this lack of strategy. At the meeting on December 27, 1979, the Politburo adopted regulations for the mass media coverage of the Soviet troops’ deployment to Afghanistan.86 Under conditions of uncertainty, the Soviet information efforts were limited to assisting the ruling PDPA in spreading the communist ideology. Second, the Soviet SPU units ran on outdated World War II rules and concepts.87 These units were part of the political agencies under the command of individuals who failed to set clear objectives, coordinate efforts to provide adequate information support, or conduct counterpropaganda promptly. Many senior commanding officers had little understanding of the utility of special propaganda operations, and were not results oriented. Third, the advisory corps responsible for the ideological support of combat operations were staffed by officers with no experience in the sociopolitical and cultural problems in Afghanistan and little knowledge of Islam. Military specialists with the knowledge of Dari were also in short supply. Moreover, the insight of the Soviet scholars focusing on this area was neither asked for, nor implemented. As a result, appeals to the population of Afghanistan many times contained completely irrelevant slogans such as “Proletarians of all countries, unite!” or “Proletarians of the country! Support the policy of national reconciliation, which guarantees peaceful work!” And this was regardless of the fact that the “proletarians” in Afghanistan accounted for just over 1 percent of the total population. Another cultural miscalculation of the Soviet information operations was the call for the formation of a worldview based on atheism. Political and party advisers frequently organized socalled socialist competitions,88 conducted public readings, and discussed ideological books by the general secretary of the Central Committee of

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the CPSU, Leonid Brezhnev, such as Malaya Zemlya (Little Land) and Vozrozhdeniye (Revival).89 This misunderstanding of the ties within and between clans and tribes dramatically reduced the efficiency of information operations. Since the mid–eighteenth century, Afghanistan had been ruled by dynasties from the Durrani tribal confederation. The 1973 coup d’état by the then army commander Mohammed Daoud Khan increased the frustration of the nonPushtun minorities as the new leader clearly favored the policy of Pushtunization of Afghanistan. The 1978 April Revolution strained tribal and ethnic relationships. After the coup and death of Amin, the third leader of the April Revolution, Babrak Karmal, was installed as president of Afghanistan. He was born to one of the wealthiest families in the country. His father, an ethnic Tajik, was a former governor of the province of Paktia and his mother was a Ghilzai Pashtun. The Soviet leadership underestimated the nuances of this delicate balance between the traditionally dominant Pushtuns and non-Pushtun minorities. Fourth was the insufficient training of the commanders and staff conducting information and psychological operations during military operations. An effective team was finally formed in 1986 consisting of 115 officers, 38 noncommissioned officers, and 38 civilian experts. Initially, their activities were based on the Guide for Political Work Among the Troops and the Population of the Enemy in Combat, which was published in 1981. The problem was that the guide emphasized communist ideological education as a crucial condition for effective propaganda, and it did not pay attention to the local cultural context.90 Underfunding and the inadequate provision of materials and technical support was the fifth factor. Soviet-made broadcasting equipment was inferior in comparison to what the opposition had at its disposal. The sixth factor was the inability to conduct systematic information campaigns in rural areas, where the vast majority of the population lived. Mobile propaganda and agitation units could perform irregular raids along major roads and deployment zones.91 As a result, significant efforts were made to target supportive populations rather than the armed opposition groups. Finally, the prevalence of seconded staff undermined the effectiveness of special propaganda activities. In 1983, there were only thirty-six special propaganda officers in the Fortieth Army. At the same time, nonstaff assets included 1,500 “persons inclined to propaganda and agitation work.” In total, the Fortieth Army maintained 133 nonstaff propaganda groups and 1,275 “agitator-interpreters.”92 Special propaganda operations had their biggest impact in 1985– 1987, when the goals of supporting combat operations faded and

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information operations focused on advocating for the national reconciliation policy. Those who operated on the ground gained valuable experience, painfully learning from their mistakes throughout this prolonged conflict. However, just five years after the Soviet troops’ withdrawal from Afghanistan, the military of newly independent Russia and the successor to the Soviet army became involved in a war in the separatist region of Chechnya. Ironically, the Russian army made many mistakes similar to those in Afghanistan (at least, in 1994–1996).93

Notes 1. Taisiya Rabush, “‘Propagandistskaya voyna’ SShA i SSSR vokrug voprosa o boevykh deistviyakh v Afganistane (1979–1989 gg.)” [The “Propaganda War” Between the United States and the USSR Around the Soviet Union’s Military Operations in Afghanistan, 1979–1989], Vestnik Nizhegorodskogo universiteta im. N.I. Lobachevskogo, no. 3 (2017): 58–65. 2. Natalya Avdonina, “Sovetskaya zhurnalistika v period voiny v Afganistane (1979–1989)” [Soviet Journalism During the War in Afghanistan, 1979–1989], in Informatsionnoe pole sovremennoi Rossii: Praktiki i effekty: Materialy Sed’moy Mezhdunarodnoy nauchno-prakticheskoy konferentsii, 21–23 oktyabrya 2010 goda [The Information Field of Contemporary Russia: Proceedings of the Seventh International Scientific and Practical Conference, 21–23 October 2010], ed. Vasil Garifullin (Kazan: Kazan State University, 2010), pp. 10–14. 3. Yuriy Borisov, Politicheskaya rabota v voiskakh pri vypolnenii internatsional’nogo dolga: Po opytu vypolneniya internatsional’nogo dolga v Respublike Afganistan (1979–1989 gg.) [Political Work in Performing International Duty: From the Experience of Performing International Duty in the Republic of Afghanistan, 1979– 1989] (Moscow: Voenizdat, 1989); Andrey Dubovoy, “Moral’no-psikhologicheskoe obespechenie boevykh deistviy sovetskikh voisk na territorii Afganistana (Istoricheskiy analiz)” [Moral and Psychological Support of Soviet Armed Forces’ Fighting in the Territory of Afghanistan (Historical Analysis)], PhD diss., Border Service Academy of the Federal Security Service of the Russian Federation 2004. In Russian: Пограничная академия Федеральной службы безопасности Российской Федерации/Pogranichnaya akademiya Federal’noy sluzhby bezopasnosti Rossiyskoy Federatsii. 4. Nikolay Pikov, Informatsionno-psikhologicheskoe protivoborstvo v usloviyakh Afganistana (1979–1989 gg.) [Information and Psychological Confrontation Under the Conditions of Afghanistan, 1979–1989], DOGMON.ORG, 2009, http://dogmon .org/informacionno-psihologicheskoe-protivoborstvo-v-usloviyah-afga.html; Leonid Shershnev, “Spetspropaganda v Afganistane (1979–1989 gg.): Uroki i vyvody” [Special Propaganda in Afghanistan (1979–1989): Lessons and Conclusions], Informatsionniy sbornik po zarubezhnym stranam i armiyam 5, no. 57 (2000). 5. Yuriy Serookiy, “Informatsionno-psikhologicheskoe protivoborstvo: Uroki Afganistana” [Informational and Psychological Confrontation: Lessons of Afghanistan], Voennaya mysl, no. 12 (2003): 69–72; S. Fogel, “Osobennosti propagandy SSSR vo vremya voennoi aktsii v Afganistane (1979–1989 gg.)” [Peculiarities of Soviet Propaganda During the Military Action in Afghanistan, 1979–1989], Al’manakh “Isskustvo Voyny” ot pervogo litza, July 10, 2009, Navoine.info, http://navoine.info/fogel-sg.html. According to Oleg Krivopalov, who served in the political units of the Fortieth Army, Fogel

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was in charge of ideological support of military operations in Afghanistan. For more details, see Oleg Krivopalov, Politrabotniki 40-y obshevoyskovoy armii v Afganistane (1979–1989) [Political Workers of the 40th Combined Arms Army in Afghanistan, 1979–1989] (Dnepropetrovsk: IMA-press, 2015), p. 183. 6. For example, Afganistan: Spetsoperatsiya v Kabule 1979 g.: Vospominaniya uchastnikov [Afghanistan: Special Operation in Kabul in 1979: Recollections of Participants] (Moscow: Vympel,1999); Bol’ moya—Afganistan: Sbornik dokumental’nykh ocherkov i vospominaniy voinov-internatsionalistov [My Pain—Afghanistan: Collection of Documentary Essays and Memoirs of Internationalist Warriors] (Krasnoyarsk: Krasnoyarsk Publishing House, 1989); Boris Gromov, Ogranichenniy kontingent [Limited Contingent] (Moscow: Progress, 1994); Makhmut Gareev, Moya poslednyaya voyna (Afganistan bez sovetskikh voisk) [My Last War (Afghanistan Without Soviet Troops)] (Moscow: INSAN, RFK, 1996); Makhmut Gareev, Afganskaya strada (s sovetskimi voiskami i bez nikh) [Afghan Harvest (with Soviet Troops and Without Them)] (Moscow: INSAN, RFK, 1999); Mikhail Pashkevich, Afganistan: Vojna glazami kombata [Afghanistan: War by Eyes of a Battalion Commander] (Moscow: Voenizdat, 1991); Olgerd Zhemajtis, “Afganskij dnevnik: [Sovetskogo ofitsera, 1986]” [Afghan Diary of a Soviet Officer, 1986], Voprosy Istorii, no. 2 (1998): 85–102; Victor Merimskiy, “Voyna v Afganistane: Zapiski uchastnika” [War in Afghanistan: Memoirs of a Participant], Novaja i noveyshaya istoriya, no. 3 (1995): 74–117; Vladimir Bogdanov, Afganskaya voyna: Vospominaniya’ [Afghan War: Memoirs] (Moscow: Sovetskiy Pisatel, 2005); Yuriy Drozdov and Valeriy Kurilov, Operatsiya “Shtorm– 333” [Operation “Storm–333”] (Moscow: Al’manakh “Vympel,” 1999). 7. Aleksandr Kononenko, Shuravi: Vospominaniya voennogo sovetnika” [Shuravi: Memoirs of a Military Adviser] (Volgograd: Izdatel’, 2002); Aleksandr Mayorov, Pravda ob Afganskoi voyne: Svidetel’stvo glavnogo voennogo sovetnika [The Truth About the Afghan War: Testimony of the Chief Military Adviser] (Moscow: Prava Cheloveka, 1996); Internatsional’naya missiya: Vospominaniya sovetnikov MVD SSSR ob afganskikh sobytiyakh (1978–1992 gg.) [International Mission: Memoirs of Advisers from the Ministry of Internal Affairs of the USSR on the Events in Afghanistan, 1978–1992] (Moscow: MVD Rossiyi, 1999); Leonid Shebarshin, Ruka Moskvy: Zapiski nachal’nika sovetskoi razvedki [Moscow’s Hand: Memoirs of the Chief of Soviet Intelligence] (Moscow: Terra, 1996); Vadim Kirpichenko, Razvedka: Litsa i lichnosti [Intelligence: Faces and Identities] (Moscow: Geya, 1998); Yuriy Sal’nikov, Kandagar: Zapiski sovetnika posol’stva [Kandahar: Notes of the Counselor of the Embassy] (Volgograd: Volgogradskiy Komitet po Pechati, 1995). 8. “Dokumenty sovetskogo rukovodstva o polozhenii v Afganistane 1979–1980” [Documents of the Soviet Leadership on the Situation in Afghanistan in 1979–1980], Novaya i noveyshaya istoriya, no. 3 (1996): 91–99; “Sekretnye dokumenty iz osobykh papok: Afganistan” [Classified Documents from Special Folders: Afghanistan], Voprosy istorii, no. 3 (1993): 3–33; Sekretnye materialy po Afganistanu. Osobaya papka. Ch. I. Sekretnye dokumenty po Afganistanu nakanune vvoda sovetskikh voisk: Dogovora, stenogrammy mezhpravitel’stvennykh peregovorov, pros’by Pravitel’stva DRA o pomoshchi sovetskimi voyskami, doneseniya voyennykh sovetnikov i spetsialistov iz Afganistana, resheniya Politburo TSK KPSS [Classified Records on Afghanistan. Special Folder. P. I. Classified Records on Afghanistan on the Eve of Soviet Troops Deployment: Treaties, Transcripts of Intergovernmental Negotiations, Requests from the DRA Government for Assistance by the Soviet Troops, Reports of Military Advisers and Specialists from Afghanistan, Decisions of the Politburo of the CPSU Central Committee], 2016, https://www.economics.kiev.ua/index.php?id=1094&view =article#%D0%A7%D0%B0%D1%81%D1%82%D1%8C_I; Sekretnye materialy po Afganistanu. Osobaya papka. Ch. II. Vvod voysk 40 armii v Afganistan: Direktivy i

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Rasporyazheniya Minista Oborony i General’nogo Shtaba VS SSSR, Organizatsiya Podgotovki i Vvoda Voysk [Classified Records on Afghanistan. Special Folder. P. II. Deployment of 40th Army Troops to Afghanistan: Directives and Orders of the Minister of Defense and the General Staff of Soviet Armed Forces, Organization of Preparation and Deployment of Troops], 2016, www.economics.kiev.ua/index.php ?id=1094&view=article#%D0%A7%D0%B0%D1%81%D1%82%D1%8C_II; Sekretnye materialy po Afganistanu. Osobaya papka. Ch. III. Voyna v Afganistane 1979–1989 gg. [Classified Records on Afghanistan. Special Folder. P. III. War in Afghanistan, 1979–1989], 2016, www.economics.kiev.ua/index.php?id=1094&view =article#%D0%A7%D0%B0%D1%81%D1%82%D1%8C_III; Sekretnye materialy po Afganistanu. Osobaya papka. Ch. IV. [Classified Records on Afghanistan. Special Folder. P. IV. Withdrawal of Soviet Troops from Afghanistan], 2016, www .economics.kiev.ua/index.php?id=1094&view=article#%D1%87%D0%B0%D1%81 %D1%82%D1%8C_IV. 9. “Sbornik materialov po kontrpropagandistskoy rabote, yanvar’ 1987 goda” [Collection of Materials on Counter-Propaganda Work, January 1987], 2018, Psyfactor.org, https://psyfactor.org/lib/propaganda-afghanistan.htm; Valeriy Ablazov, “Afganskaya arena: Materialy informatsionnoy voyny” [The Afghan Arena: Materials of the Information War], 2010, ArtOfWar, http://artofwar.ru/a/ablazow_walerij _iwanowich/text_a094.shtml. 10. Nikolay Pikov, “Nashe oruzhie—Slukhi: Spetspropaganda v Afganistane” [Our Arms Are Rumors: Special Propaganda in Afghanistan], Soldat udachi, no. 4 (1995): 37–41; Nikolay Pikov, “Spetspropagandist o Dubynine V.P.: Komandire, diplomate i spetspropagandiste . . . (i o spetspropagande v Afganistane)” [Special Propagandist on Dubynin V.P.: Chief, Diplomat and Special Propagandist . . . (and on Special Propaganda in Afghanistan)], Dmitrov, 2018, Union of Veterans of the Military Institute of Foreign Languages, https://vkimo.com/wp-content/uploads /2018/11/%D0%94%D1%83%D0%B1%D1%8B%D0%BD%D0%B8%D0%BD; Oleg Brylev, “Afganskaya lovushka” [The Afghan Trap], June 3, 2016, Kandagar .su, www.kandagar.su/blog/afganskaja_lovushka/2016-06-03-795. 11. Fogel, “Osobennosti propagandy SSSR.” 12. “Sovsekretno. Stenogramma telefonnogo razgovora mezhdu Predsedatelem Soveta Ministrov SSSR A. Kosyginym i N.M. Taraki. 18 marta 1979 g.” [Top Secret. Transcript of the Telephone Conversation Between the Chairman of the Council of Ministers of the USSR A. Kosygin and N.M. Taraki, 18 March 1979], quoted in Sekretnye materialy po Afganistanu. Osobaya papka. Ch. I. Sekretnye dokumenty po Afganistanu nakanune vvoda sovetskikh voisk: Dogovora, stenogrammy mezhpravitel’stvennykh peregovorov, pros’by Pravitel’stva DRA o pomoshchi sovetskimi voyskami, doneseniya voyennykh sovetnikov i spetsialistov iz Afganistana, resheniya Politburo TSK KPSS [Classified Records on Afghanistan. Special Folder. P. I. Classified Records on Afghanistan on the Eve of Soviet Troops Deployment: Treaties, Transcripts of Intergovernmental Negotiations, Requests from the DRA Government for Assistance by the Soviet Troops, Reports of Military Advisers and Specialists from Afghanistan, Decisions of the Politburo of the CPSU Central Committee], 2016, www.economics.kiev.ua/index.php?id=1094&view=article#%D0%A7%D0%B0%D1 %81%D1%82%D1%8C_I. 13. Ibid. 14. “Sovsekretno. Stenogramma zasedaniya Politburo TSK KPSS 18 marta 1979 g.” [Top Secret. Transcript of the Meeting of the Politburo of the CPSU Central Committee on 18 March 1979], quoted in Sekretnye materialy po Afganistanu. Osobaya papka. Ch. I. Sekretnye dokumenty po Afganistanu nakanune vvoda sovetskikh voisk: Dogovora, stenogrammy mezhpravitel’stvennykh peregovorov, pros’by Pravitel’stva

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DRA o pomoshchi sovetskimi voyskami, doneseniya voyennykh sovetnikov i spetsialistov iz Afganistana, resheniya Politburo TSK KPSS [Classified Records on Afghanistan. Special Folder. P. I. Classified Records on Afghanistan on the Eve of Soviet Troops Deployment: Treaties, Transcripts of Intergovernmental Negotiations, Requests from the DRA Government for Assistance by the Soviet Troops, Reports of Military Advisers and Specialists from Afghanistan, Decisions of the Politburo of the CPSU Central Committee], 2016, www.economics.kiev.ua/index.php?id=1094&view =article#%D0%A7%D0%B0%D1%81%D1%82%D1%8C_I. 15. Ibid. 16. “Zapiska TSK KPSS o polozhenii v Afganistane (utverzhdena na zasedanii Politburo TSK KPSS 28 iyunya 1979 g., postanovleniye No. P 156/KH1)” [Note by the CPSU Central Committee on the Situation in Afghanistan (Approved at the Meeting of the Politburo of the CPSU Central Committee on 28 June 1979, Resolution No. P 156/Kh1)], quoted in Sekretnye materialy po Afganistanu. Osobaya papka. Ch. I. Sekretnye dokumenty po Afganistanu nakanune vvoda sovetskikh voisk: Dogovora, stenogrammy mezhpravitel’stvennykh peregovorov, pros’by Pravitel’stva DRA o pomoshchi sovetskimi voyskami, doneseniya voyennykh sovetnikov i spetsialistov iz Afganistana, resheniya Politburo TSK KPSS [Classified Records on Afghanistan. Special Folder. P. I. Classified Records on Afghanistan on the Eve of Soviet Troops Deployment: Treaties, Transcripts of Intergovernmental Negotiations, Requests from the DRA Government for Assistance by the Soviet Troops, Reports of Military Advisers and Specialists from Afghanistan, Decisions of the Politburo of the CPSU Central Committee], 2016, www.economics.kiev.ua/index.php?id=1094&view=article #%D0%A7%D0%B0%D1%81%D1%82%D1%8C_I. 17. “Sovsekretno. Osobo vazhnyy dokument: Postanovleniye TSK KPSS No. 176 1125 ot 12/KH1 ‘K polozheniyu v “A”’” [Top Secret. Very Important Document: Decree of the CPSU Central Committee No. 176 1125 of 12/Kh1 “On the Situation in ‘A’”], quoted in Sekretnye materialy po Afganistanu. Osobaya papka. Ch. I. Sekretnye dokumenty po Afganistanu nakanune vvoda sovetskikh voisk: Dogovora, stenogrammy mezhpravitel’stvennykh peregovorov, pros’by Pravitel’stva DRA o pomoshchi sovetskimi voyskami, doneseniya voyennykh sovetnikov i spetsialistov iz Afganistana, resheniya Politburo TSK KPSS [Classified Records on Afghanistan. Special Folder. P. I. Classified Records on Afghanistan on the Eve of Soviet Troops Deployment: Treaties, Transcripts of Intergovernmental Negotiations, Requests from the DRA Government for Assistance by the Soviet Troops, Reports of Military Advisers and Specialists from Afghanistan, Decisions of the Politburo of the CPSU Central Committee], 2016, www.economics.kiev.ua/index.php?id=1094&view=article #%D0%A7%D0%B0%D1%81%D1%82%D1%8C_I. 18. “Sovsekretno. Protokol No. 177 zasedaniya Politburo TSK KPSS ot 27 .12.79 g. ‘O propagandistskom obespechenii nashey aktsii v otnoshenii Afganistana’” [Top Secret. Minutes No. 177 of the Meeting of the Politburo of the CPSU Central Committee as of 27 December 1979 “On the Propaganda Support of our Action Regarding Afghanistan”], quoted in Sekretnye materialy po Afganistanu. Osobaya papka. Ch. I. Sekretnye dokumenty po Afganistanu nakanune vvoda sovetskikh voisk: Dogovora, stenogrammy mezhpravitel’stvennykh peregovorov, pros’by Pravitel’stva DRA o pomoshchi sovetskimi voyskami, doneseniya voyennykh sovetnikov i spetsialistov iz Afganistana, resheniya Politburo TSK KPSS [Classified Records on Afghanistan. Special Folder. P. I. Classified Records on Afghanistan on the Eve of Soviet Troops Deployment: Treaties, Transcripts of Intergovernmental Negotiations, Requests from the DRA Government for Assistance by the Soviet Troops, Reports of Military Advisers and Specialists from Afghanistan, Decisions of the Politburo of the CPSU Central Committee], 2016, https://www.economics.kiev

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.ua/index.php?id=1094&view=article#%D0%A7%D0%B0%D1%81%D1%82%D1 %8C_I. 19. Leonid Shershnev, “Afganistan, konets dekabrya 1979-go–nachalo yanvarya 1980 goda” [Afghanistan, End of December 1979–Beginning of January 1980], Nezavisimoe Voennoye Obozrenie, December 25, 2009, http://nvo.ng.ru/history /2009-12-25/10_afganistan.html?insidedoc. 20. “Analiticheskaya zapiska Instituta ekonomiki mirovoy sotsialisticheskoy sistemy (vyderzhki): Tezisy soobrazheniy o vneshnepoliticheskikh itogakh vvoda voysk” [Analytical Report by the Institute of Economy of the World Socialist System (Excerpt): Theses of Considerations on the Foreign Policy Outcomes of the Troop Deployment], quoted in Sekretnye materialy po Afganistanu. Osobaya papka. Ch. I. Sekretnye dokumenty po Afganistanu nakanune vvoda sovetskikh voisk: Dogovora, stenogrammy mezhpravitel’stvennykh peregovorov, pros’by Pravitel’stva DRA o pomoshchi sovetskimi voyskami, doneseniya voyennykh sovetnikov i spetsialistov iz Afganistana, resheniya Politburo TSK KPSS [Classified Records on Afghanistan. Special Folder. P. I. Classified Records on Afghanistan on the Eve of Soviet Troops Deployment: Treaties, Transcripts of Intergovernmental Negotiations, Requests from the DRA Government for Assistance by the Soviet Troops, Reports of Military Advisers and Specialists from Afghanistan, Decisions of the Politburo of the CPSU Central Committee], 2016, www.economics.kiev.ua/index.php?id =1094&view=article#%D0%A7%D0%B0%D1%81%D1%82%D1%8C_I. 21. For more details, see Valentin Varennikov, Nepovtorimoe [Unrepeatable], Vol. 5, “Afganistan: I doblest’ i pechal’: Chernobyl” [Afghanistan: Both Valor and Sadness: Chernobyl] (Moscow: Sovetskiy Pisatel’, 2001). 22. Sekretnye materialy po Afganistanu. Osobaya papka. Ch. II. 23. Fogel’, “Osobennosti propagandy SSSR.” 24. Andrei Greshnov, “Afganskiy parlament pochtil pamyat’ zhertv vosstaniya 1980 goda v Kabule” [Parliament of Afghanistan Has Honored Victims of the 1980 Kabul Uprising], RIA Novosti, February 22, 2009, https://ria.ru/20090222/162832515.html. 25. Sekretnye materialy po Afganistanu. Osobaya papka. Ch. III. 26. Ibid. 27. Ibid. 28. Sekretnye materialy po Afganistanu. Osobaya papka. Ch. IV. 29. “Zayavleniye sovetskogo voyennogo komandovaniya v Afganistane o vyvode sovetskikh voysk” [Statement by the Soviet Military Command in Afghanistan on the Withdrawal of Soviet Troops], quoted in Sekretnye materialy po Afganistanu. Osobaya papka. Ch. IV. Vyvod sovetskikh voysk iz Afganistana [Classified Records on Afghanistan. Special Folder. P. IV. Withdrawal of Soviet Troops from Afghanistan], 2016, www.economics.kiev.ua/index.php?id=1094&view =article#%D1%87%D0%B0%D1%81%D1%82%D1%8C_IV. 30. Pikov, “Spetspropagandist o Dubynine V.P.,” p. 5. 31. Ibid. 32. Ibid., p. 30. 33. Ibid. 34. Ibid. 35. Ibid., p. 6. 36. For a description of a plan of the agitation and propaganda raid along the Karkin-Hamiab route, see Dubovoy, “Moral’no-psikhologicheskoe obespechenie boevykh deistviy sovetskikh voisk na territorii Afganistana,” pp. 220–224. 37. Pikov, Informatsionno-psikhologicheskoe protivoborstvo v usloviyakh Afganistana 38. Ibid.

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39. Ibid. 40. Pikov, “Spetspropagandist o Dubynine V.P.,” pp. 17–19. 41. Fogel’, “Osobennosti propagandy SSSR.” 42. Ibid 43. Ibid. 44. Ibid. 45. Ablazov, “Afganskaya arena.” 46. Fogel’, “Osobennosti propagandy SSSR.” 47. Taisiya Rabush, “Dzhikhad i propaganda v afganskom vooruzhennom konflikte (1979–1989 gg.)” [The Jihad and Propaganda in the Afghan Armed Conflict, 1979–1989], Islamovedenie 7, no. 3 (2016): 21–22. 48. Sergei Nebrenchin, “Oruzhiye slova” [Weapon of the Word], Text Archive, 2012, https://textarchive.ru/c-2468205-pall.html. 49. Pikov, “Spetspropagandist o Dubynine V.P.,” p. 35. 50. Ablazov, “Afganskaya arena.” For images of the leaflets, see Valeriy Ablazov, “Illyustratsii k ‘Afganskaya arena: Materialy informatsionnoy voyny’” [Illustrations for “The Afghan Arena: Materials of the Information”], ArtofWar, 2010, http://artofwar.ru/img/a/ablazow_walerij_iwanowich/text_a094/index.shtml. 51. Ablazov, “Afganskaya arena.” 52. Fogel’, “Osobennosti propagandy SSSR.” 53. Ablazov, “Afganskaya arena.” For images of the leaflets, see Ablazov, “Illyustratsii k ‘Afganskaya arena.’” 54. Fogel’, “Osobennosti propagandy SSSR.” 55. Vladimir Krys’ko, Sekrety psikhologicheskoi voiny (tseli, zadachi, metody, formy, opyt) [Secrets of Psychological Warfare: Purposes, Tasks, Methods, Forms, and Experience] (Minsk: Harvest, 1999), p. 168. 56. Ibid., p. 169. 57. Instead of the planned eight to ten hours of broadcasts, radio stations in the provinces provided two to three hours of broadcasting per day. As a result, over 60 percent of Afghanistan was not covered by broadcasting from Kabul during the daytime. See Fogel’, “Osobennosti propagandy SSSR.” 58. Ibid. 59. Serookiy, “Informatsionno-psikhologicheskoe protivoborstvo.” 60. Krys’ko, Sekrety psikhologicheskoi voiny, p. 169. 61. Fogel’, “Osobennosti propagandy SSSR.” 62. Ibid. 63. Krys’ko, Sekrety psikhologicheskoi voiny, p. 168. 64. Serookiy, “Informatsionno-psikhologicheskoe protivoborstvo.” 65. Nebrenchin, “Orezhiye slova.” 66. Fogel’, “Osobennosti propagandy SSSR.” 67. Krys’ko, Sekrety psikhologicheskoi voiny, pp. 168–169. 68. Shershnev, “Afganistan, konets dekabrya 1979-go–nachalo yanvarya 1980 goda.” 69. Fogel’, “Osobennosti propagandy SSSR.” 70. Krys’ko, Sekrety psikhologicheskoi voiny, p. 170. 71. “In the County of Peace,” Izvestia, April 20, 1987, quoted in S. G. Fogel’, “Osobennosti propagandy SSSR vo vremya voennoi aktsii v Afganistane (1979– 1989 gg.)” [Peculiarities of Soviet Propaganda During the Military Action in Afghanistan, 1979–1989], Al’manakh “Isskustvo Voyny” ot pervogo litza, July 10, 2009, http://navoine.info/fogel-sg.html. 72. Krys’ko, Sekrety psikhologicheskoi voiny, p. 170. 73. This sum is somewhere in between 10 million and 20 million contemporary Russian rubles (between US$135,000 and US$275,000).

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74. Serookiy, “Informatsionno-psikhologicheskoe protivoborstvo.” 75. Pikov, “Spetspropagandist o Dubynine V.P.,” p. 7. 76. Joseph Collins, The Soviet Invasion of Afghanistan: A Study in the Use of Force in Soviet Foreign Policy (Lexington, MA: Lexington Books, 1986), p. 143. 77. For more details, see Taisiya Rabush, “Afganskie bezhentsy v sovetskoamerikanskoi ‘Propagandistskoi voine’ (1980-e gg.)” [Afghan Refugees in the Soviet-American “Propaganda War” in the 1980s], Vestnik Nizhnevartovskogo gosudarstvennogo universiteta, no. 3 (2016): 18–24. 78. For more details, see Kevin Sieff, “Russia Hopes Infrastructure Projects Will Build Bridges in Afghanistan,” The Guardian Weekly, April 7, 2014, www.theguardian .com/world/2014/apr/07/russia-afghanistan-investment-kabul-karzai. 79. Fogel’, “Osobennosti propagandy SSSR.” 80. Pikov, “Nashe oruzhie—slukhi.” 81. Ibid. 82. Ibid. 83. Ibid. 84. Dushman is derived from Pushtu and literally means “enemy, adversary.” The choice of the term played its role in alienating rebel leaders, thus making negotiations problematic. 85. Rabush, “Dzhikhad i propaganda v afganskom vooruzhennom konflikte (1979–1989 gg.),” p. 21. 86. “Sovsekretno. Protokol No. 177 zasedaniya Politburo TSK KPSS ot 27.12.79 g. ‘O propagandistskom obespechenii nashey aktsii v otnoshenii Afganistana’” [Top Secret. Minutes No. 177 of the Meeting of the Politburo of the Central Committee of the CPSU as of 27 December 1979 “On the Propaganda Support of Our Action Towards Afghanistan”], quoted in Sekretnye materialy po Afganistanu. Osobaya papka. Ch. I. Sekretnye dokumenty po Afganistanu nakanune vvoda sovetskikh voisk: Dogovora, stenogrammy mezhpravitel’stvennykh peregovorov, pros’by Pravitel’stva DRA o pomoshchi sovetskimi voyskami, doneseniya voyennykh sovetnikov i spetsialistov iz Afganistana, resheniya Politburo TSK KPSS [Classified Records on Afghanistan. Special Folder. P. I. Classified Records on Afghanistan on the Eve of Soviet Troops Deployment: Treaties, Transcripts of Intergovernmental Negotiations, Requests from the DRA Government for Assistance by the Soviet Troops, Reports of Military Advisers and Specialists from Afghanistan, Decisions of the Politburo of the CPSU Central Committee], 2016, www.economics.kiev.ua/index.php?id=1094&view=article#%D0 %A7%D0%B0%D1%81%D1%82%D1%8C_I. 87. The guide to special propaganda adopted in 1960 considered delivery of political work among the troops and population of the adversary as its purpose only in battlefield conditions. The temporary guide to political work in Afghanistan was adopted several years after the start of the war. See Pikov, “Spetspropagandist o Dubynine V.P.,” p. 3. 88. This was a competition between a number of industrial units for the best demonstrated results with glorification of the winner, similar to those practiced in the USSR. 89. Fogel’, “Osobennosti propagandy SSSR.” 90. Serookiy, “Informatsionno-psikhologicheskoe protivoborstvo.” 91. Ibid. 92. Ibid. 93. “Voyna afganskaya, voyna chechenskaya . . .” [Afghan War, Chechen War . . .], Nezavisimoye Voennoye Obozrenie, February 13, 2004, http://nvo.ng.ru/wars/2004-02 -13/1_aushev.html.

6 NATO’s Information Campaigns in Afghanistan, 2003–2021 Brett Boudreau

There are lessons that need to be learned from Afghanistan, and we will do that. NATO Secretary General Jens Stoltenberg, two days after the Taliban retake Afghanistan1

“THIS IS A CRITICAL YEAR FOR THE AFGHANISTAN MISSION.” This well-worn trope took root early in the NATO Alliance communication effort and was habitually recycled about the same time as the Taliban’s annual “spring offensive” pronouncement, since August 2003 when NATO assumed responsibility for the International Security Assistance Force (ISAF, under a UN mandate), and from January 1, 2015, to July 12, 2021, for its successor the Resolute Support Mission (RS Mission). Leadership at NATO headquarters (HQ) relied on the oft-mocked phrase to impart a sense of urgency and gravitas to exhort nations to enhance or at least continue contributing to the effort particularly with key military capabilities. The bromide also served as a means for national leaders to urge strategic patience and to assuage increasingly skeptical home audiences that desired some obvious, meaningful progress, not to mention resolution to the conflict. It turns out that 2021 was the critical year for the Afghanistan mission. A political-military effort of the duration and scope of that campaign is rich with lessons observed (that is, not yet “learned”) at tactical, operational, and strategic levels, including—and perhaps especially— 117

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with respect to strategic communications (StratCom) and information operations (InfoOps).2 The Febuary 2020 unilateral “Doha” agreement between the United States and the Taliban to withdraw US forces from Afghanistan by May 2021 (which compelled the sovereign state not part of the discussions to release nearly 5,000 captured Taliban fighters) signaled more than just the beginning of the end of the US effort. A key tenet of NATO messaging all along was that the Alliance went into Afghanistan together, policy and force levels were adjusted together, and that nations would leave together. The US exit thus rendered the NATO RS Mission politically untenable and, ultimately, also the so-called National Unity Government in Afghanistan. The ignoble defeat of NATO in and abandonment of Afghanistan was neither an obvious, inevitable conclusion nor a foregone one at least up to the April 14, 2021, announcement by US president Joseph Biden confirming the withdrawal of US forces by September 11. Concurrently, NATO announced it would start to withdraw all non-US forces, a draw-down it insisted “will be orderly, coordinated, and deliberate.”3 Kabul fell four months later. In this chapter, I aim to establish that, up to early 2020, the NATO Alliance StratCom campaign was, in fact, an unheralded success, even in spite of nearly two decades of questionable overall strategy, inconsistent policy, limited actual operational progress on the ground, and a highly uneven military communications effort in theater. For long stretches, NATO wobbled and staggered but did not crack, and was stronger than ever before. As of February 2021, thirty-six nations still contributed nearly 10,000 troops to the RS Mission with others providing financial assistance, in spite of a seemingly interminable enterprise.4 It seems clear that so long as the United States remained committed to the mission with military forces in country, the other NATO contributing nations were prepared to keep at it as well. This suggests a measure of overall StratCom success along the way, even if the situation up to the end of 2020 could be charitably described as “not losing outright” or a “strategic stalemate.” At the same time, the Alliance’s campaign lay bare several persistent and systemic weaknesses with military information–related capabilities that if left uncorrected do not portend well for NATO in similarly contested environments. This inquiry is informed by the 2003–2014 ISAF period, but focuses on the 2015 to 2021 RS Mission.5 Compared to ISAF, the RS Mission was marked by continuity of command of NATO forces, continuity of a welcoming approach to NATO forces by the Afghan president, and relative continuity of policy. (The August 2017 US South Asia Strategy was in large measure just a more robust version of that which came before.)

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A commonly held view even before Afghanistan fell in August 2021 is that NATO lost the information campaign due to the lack of a clear, compelling narrative about “why we were there,” compared to the Taliban’s succinct and easily understood storyline. Realistically, losing the country means losing the information campaign. But efforts to determine definitively how effective the StratCom campaign was are fraught with challenges, especially when factoring in the effects of poor policy choices and accounting for whether, why, and how behavior of multiple diverse audiences changed. A binary “won” or “lost” proposition is insufficient, although from a strictly operational theater public affairs perspective— type, quantity and quality of content produced, and outcome—the RS Mission communications effort notably declined during the first commander’s tenure (General John Campbell), recovered somewhat under General John Nicholson, then degraded to a nadir under General Miller’s tour, and was seriously deficient compared to that of the Taliban. A successful information campaign requires three elements: right policy, good operational execution, and effective StratCom. Absent one or both of the first two, even the best communications effort is trying to turn “bad” into “less bad”; poor communications turn “bad” into “worse.” Undesirable outcomes are the result of poor policy (such as the approaches to the Pakistan problem, training Afghan defense and security forces, including the police, poppy eradication, and countercorruption); the suboptimal conduct of operations, including causing civilian casualties and lamentable communications missteps following incidents; and the bifurcated, schizophrenic military command structure that was the RS Mission/US Forces–Afghanistan (USFOR-A) Freedom’s Sentinel. In the face of those realities, even a brilliant StratCom effort cannot obtain desired political-military end states—but it may well still protect the mission center of gravity long enough to buy time for a more successful strategy and policy to take hold. The ultimate failure of the Afghanistan campaign has less to do with inadequate NATO narrative or inconsistent messaging and more to do with the vagaries and challenges of the politics, strategy, and policies of the day, as well as the operational reality on the ground, which are simply not “fixable” even if fabulous StratCom policy, principles, practices, and actual execution in theater existed. The military information campaign’s effort in Afghanistan and operations more broadly remain highly reliant on a particular commander’s inclination and aptitude to StratCom as a mission enabler. StratCom is rarely an integrated command-wide mind-set and process-based capability that is “baked into” planning and the conduct of military operations (see Appendix 6.1); rather, it is more often than not merely sprinkled on, usually when

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an issue is or is about to become a public problem.6 Further, many systemic organizational constraints profoundly impact how informationrelated capabilities (including practitioners) are sourced, employed, and directed in theater. Suboptimal outcomes are less about message incoherence and more about actual execution. Perhaps the best expression of the problem remains US diplomat Richard Holbrooke’s lamentation less than two months after September 11: Call it public diplomacy, or public affairs, or psychological warfare, or— if you really want to be blunt—propaganda. But whatever it is called, defining what this war is really about in the minds of the 1 billion Muslims in the world will be of decisive and historic importance. . . . How could a mass murderer who publicly praised the terrorists of Sept. 11 be winning the hearts and minds of anyone? How can a man in a cave outcommunicate the world’s leading communications society? . . . Despite our nation’s overwhelming supremacy in modern communications, our government primarily communicates with the Muslim world through pathetically outdated or inappropriate technologies and a bureaucratic structure that is not remotely up to the task.7

This chapter aims to consider from a communications perspective twenty years later if that criticism has been addressed. That is, how did NATO do, where does NATO stand, and what lessons can be derived? Some measure of the NATO information campaign in Afghanistan can be deduced by answering four questions: How well did the mission tell its story? How well did it help others tell that story and, thereby, amplify the message? How well did the mission create capability for Afghan officials to better communicate with Afghans and the West? And how effectively were the deployed communication resources employed? Insight to these questions can be elicited by examining six features of the communications campaign: the RS Mission website; the spokesperson position; the Train Advise Assist (TAA) StratCom effort; the Combined Joint Psychological Operations Task Force (CJPOTF); the relevant experience and employment of practitioners; and the mission command structure.

The StratCom Effort in the RS Mission

What began in October 2001 as a limited, almost exclusively US operation to oust the Taliban from power in Afghanistan following the 9/11 attacks in the United States, morphed into a multifaceted two-decade-long multination NATO coalition campaign lasting longer than World War I,

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World War II, the Korean War, and the American Civil War combined. The NATO-led ISAF and RS Missions were a major Western military effort for more than a quarter of the Alliance’s seventy years of existence. A game-changing milestone is at hand with the fall of the elected government and the Taliban’s return to power—but it remains to be seen if that is the end of the story for NATO in Afghanistan and the region.8 Over the course of the campaign, the introduction of broadband, wireless, satellite, and smartphone technologies transformed the information environment and fueled the rise of social media, the fastest-growing communications channel in history. Adversaries quickly adopted these technologies and mounted their own increasingly effective communications campaigns. This should have been a catalyst for early reflection and action by NATO to evolve Alliance communications-related policy, doctrine, information release procedures, structures, and capabilities, including developing skilled practitioners. Events transpired much faster than NATO headquarters and member states could adjust. Despite the terrible human and financial cost, the Afghanistan mission eventually forced incremental, albeit important, improvements in some information-related capabilities, policy, and structure. These included the establishment of a Media Operations Centre (communications “war room”) in 2006 at NATO HQ; improvements in communications-related training for leaders and practitioners, an effort led by Allied Command Transformation; the NATO Military Policy on Strategic Communications (MC0628) in 2017; and the establishment of a communications division at Supreme Headquarters Allied Powers Europe (SHAPE) headquarters that groups information-related capabilities under a civilian director. These worthy developments all reflect ISAF operational lessons learned. Notably though, the real catalyst for dramatic changes in outlook, attention, and investment in StratCom capability and capacity happening now in NATO are a direct consequence of recent Russian malfeasance, including annexation of parts of Ukraine. It is patently clear that the Taliban over the course of the mission met many of their strategic objectives, including thwarting the ability of the National Unity Government to effectively govern throughout the country. If NATO success is measured against information policy and related doctrinal aims—“create desired effects on the will, understanding and capability of adversaries and potential adversaries” (information operations); “to influence perceptions, attitudes and behavior, affecting the achievement of political and military objectives” (psychological operations); or to “integrate communication capabilities and information staff function with other military activities, in order to understand and shape

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the Information Environment (IE) in support of NATO aims and objectives” (NATO Military StratCom)—then communication campaign outcomes until 2020 at best were decidedly mixed, and ultimately a failure. Taking a long view, though, the magnitude of the collective effort by NATO nations at least from 2003 to 2020 was a powerful expression of Alliance (mainly US) will, resources, and stamina. Support for military forces in NATO nations has rarely been higher. Polls by the respected Asia Foundation and the RS Mission’s own data showed variable, but consistently favorable, results for how Afghans viewed the international forces and the Afghan National Defense and Security Forces (ANDSF). From the perspective of the mission’s political-military center of gravity—“Maintaining the solidarity, cohesion and credibility of the Alliance”—this alone points to a strategic communications success broadly speaking. Until the end of ISAF in December 2014, both the operational and communications campaigns could be described as being in a stalemate. By the end of 2020, with less than one-tenth of the NATO troops deployed at the height of ISAF, the military campaign remained highly contested, and the Alliance was performing badly from an operational communications perspective compared to the Taliban, a lamentable state of affairs that favored malign actors. The RS Mission was marked by three distinct approaches to StratCom by the three commanders, continuing a pattern set during ISAF in which the strength of the information campaign effort was largely dictated by a particular commander’s interest, understanding, and application of StratCom. This ad hoc and highly variable approach even by officers from the same nation (nine US commanders in a row from Generals Dan McNeill to Scott Miller) is evidence of large gaps in NATO joint operations and StratCom doctrine, policy, education, training, and the systemic challenges to develop experienced practitioners with information-related capabilities. The decline in NATO communications capability and capacity in the Afghanistan operational theater started with the transition planning from ISAF to the RS Mission. This was prior to General John Campbell’s command, but accelerated during his tour (August 2014–March 2016). The NATO footprint was drawing down significantly and quickly, with the new modus operandi being “it’s up to the Afghans now”—security nationwide would be their responsibility, as was communicating the mission. NATO StratCom staff entreated their Afghan counterparts to do everything themselves and stopped or reduced their own public affairs activities, as a forcing function for Afghan partners

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to develop StratCom capability, capacity, and responsiveness without the handholding from ISAF that had come before. Downsizing was also a welcome relief to nations looking to reduce the number of information-related capability staff they needed to deploy, and the RS Mission HQ communications effort and output dwindled accordingly. The website and social media space atrophied, and General Campbell was less frequently in public view speaking about the mission. This vacuum in the information field of battle was soon filled by the Taliban. The situation briefly recovered for a period under the proactive engagement of General John Nicholson (March 2016–September 2018). Nicholson realized the downsized RS Mission information campaign effort had created big gaps that the Taliban and other malign actors were exploiting, especially since Afghan defense and security forces were themselves just growing their own ability to be more proactive. Once that NATO capability had been drawn down from theater, though, it was nearly impossible to reconstitute it, and several months passed before resources could be brought to bear to help improve the quality and quantity of RS Mission’s information output. Demonstrating realistic progress in country to NATO nations and Afghans was considered a mission imperative, especially during the long gestation period while waiting for the US South Asia Strategy, which was finally released in August 2017. For the entirety of his tour to that point (from March 2016), Nicholson had to carefully navigate the media and public environment, be responsible for informing troop-contributing nations’ publics about the ongoing investment in blood and treasure in the face of significant operational challenges in theater, and still fight the war with its many opportunities for bad news. A very real consideration was to be extremely careful not to be perceived by any parties, particularly in the latter parts of Barack Obama’s term and early stage of Donald Trump’s watch, as deliberately or inadvertently influencing through media the policy considerations underway—the example of General Stanley McChrystal and the leak of his August 2009 initial assessment as commander remained fresh in mind. Nicholson walked this fine line of actively communicating yet reducing the overt visibility on him as commander and the prospect for misperception of intent by limiting his international media interviews, putting more RS Mission content online, and encouraging more active participation of European and Afghan voices in local and international media. The US South Asia Strategy ended a long period of policy uncertainty about the direction of the RS Mission’s campaign and freed up

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some public communications space. There was renewed hope among senior NATO officials that the strategic conditions would change with the new policy and the announcement of additional NATO troop support, especially in light of evidence the Train Advise Assist approach was showing progress, particularly in the Afghan special forces and air force but also in the army. In place were a reasonable plan for the security forces (the ANDSF Roadmap), an active and committed Afghan partner in President Ashraf Ghani, several competent senior ministers, and further international commitment following key meetings in Warsaw and Brussels. The new strategy put more emphasis on the D-I-E elements of the diplomatic, information, military, economic (DIME) instruments of national power, and provided increased authorities and combat power for the commander. From a StratCom perspective, these opportunities also brought real risk, including more troops in contact, more air strikes, and—notwithstanding caution—more civilian casualties real and alleged. NATO and US forces would continue to be blamed for incidents of their own doing as well as for those by the ANDSF, since they were recipients of the Train Advise Assist effort or were directly supported on scene and were often blamed for the death and destruction caused by malign actors. There would be more scrutiny from the Supreme Allied Commander Europe (SACEUR), US Central Command, the NATO military representatives and the North Atlantic Council in Brussels, media, stakeholders, and especially by politicians looking for evidence the new policy was “working,” and for a tangible shift from “stalemate” to “winning.” Conversely, many other observers would be interested in trying to show that the new policy was “not working.” This was the imperative for refreshed messaging, and for a renewed and more robust communications effort (see Appendix 6.2).9 Thus armed, General Nicholson undertook a focused, proactive, and sustained campaign to get the message out. The day following the US South Asia Strategy announcement, Nicholson took to video teleconference to connect with the entire military command leadership in country to describe the policy and issued a narrative, key messages, and talking points to reinforce the intent that subordinate forces align their internal and external communications with the new guidance. Two days later, he briefed Afghan and international media in Kabul.10 A demonstrably more active Twitter and Facebook presence and story plus video online postings amplified the new messaging. Subsequent internal theater-wide weekly “shared visualization” briefs reiterated the importance of orienting military activities and communications accordingly. Battlefield

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visits by the commander accompanied by journalists, including Afghans, noticeably increased in frequency. The communications momentum began to swing in the mission’s favor, in part due to the significant uptick in better-produced content and additional stakeholder engagement. This was reflected in local media pickup since Afghan media tended to faithfully reproduce information provided to them by NATO in theater. More product, more content, and more interviews equaled more amplification of the message. Still, the communication efforts were hobbled by serious staffing gaps, persistent shortfalls in key capabilities such as imagery gathering, a lack of practitioner skill and of Afghanistan-specific experience, and leadership challenges within each of StratCom, Information Operations (InfoOps), Psychological Operations (PsyOps), and Public Affairs (PA). The time needed to generate experienced communications staff regularly took longer than the standard length of two military tours and, with limited knowledge of the peculiarities of NATO personnel administration, the “org chart” state of affairs progressively worsened over time. This should have generated more direct engagement from senior HQ at Joint Forces Command Brunssum, SHAPE HQ in Mons, and NATO HQ itself, but did not. The RS Mission change of command to US Special Forces general Scott Miller (September 2018–July 2021) marked another change in operational focus, with a more overt and publicly kinetic effort to the military campaign aiming to force the Taliban to the negotiating table to secure a political agreement: in many respects this mirrored the approach in February 2007, in the ISAF transition from UK general David Richards to US Special Forces general “Bomber” Dan McNeill. General Miller’s command also marked a notably different, more limited approach to engaging external media and stakeholders, while at the same time trying to nest StratCom as a partner in a three-vector mission focus—the security sector, the political sphere, and the information space. To that end, even the physical construct of the RS Mission HQ was changed, sitting the command team at the end of a “U” table, with operations staff on one limb and StratCom staff on the other, which facilitated command-level situational awareness and enabled timely action to respond to developments. “When something popped up like a civcas [civilian casualty] allegation by the Taliban on Twitter, no matter the time it happened, the StratCom person there might have been a Sergeant First Class, but they were enabled to push the full colonel duty officer that ‘action needed to be taken’ to find ground truth in order to deal with the allegation within 60 minutes,” recalls a senior officer.11

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The reality is that Miller was dealing with an increasingly problematic situation with less and less good news on hand, as well as little interest by superior HQs to publicly and actively leverage any that could be found. The political pressure to broker an agreement with the Taliban to extract US forces and thus, inevitably, NATO, meant that the less heard from or about Afghanistan in the media, the better. The general’s Special Forces background of operating with limited interaction with media also decisively shaped the command mind-set that naturally led to limiting external engagements. The approach was that positively informing the media space was unlikely and so media engagement and public communication simply was not a time, resource, or leadership priority in the face of many operational demands. In the rush to retrograde forces, the communication staff and contractors were drawn down. This further limited the mission’s ability to proactively communicate externally and address allegations as quickly as the Taliban could muster new charges. The new RS Mission command resulted in another significant paradigm change in StratCom direction and guidance: from communicating the mission to Afghans and to troop-contributing nations, to a focus on facilitating “Afghan to Afghan” communications. This was an innovative strategy but, at the same time, misdirected. There is considerable merit in enhancing the StratCom Train Advise Assist effort (as discussed later). However, an effective StratCom campaign needs both a quality effort by the mission to communicate with key audiences, particularly troop contributing nations, and for Afghan officials to be successful communicators. The Sophie’s choice of one over the other was a dramatic expression of the serious shortcomings of operational NATO StratCom in Afghanistan. After eighteen years of an inconsistent “NATO in country to Afghans” communications effort, war-weary Afghans put less and less stock into what they were being told by military spokespersons. Afghan officials needed to be increasingly seen as the principal interlocutors, their faces and voices speaking about and dealing with Afghan problems. In contrast, the Taliban continued to be prodigious communicators, generating content especially on social media at a rate and pace beyond the capability and capacity of the RS Mission or Afghan officials to match or even respond: malign actors were gaining more and more traction as wild claims were left unanswered. The Taliban also had the advantage of using unrestricted warfare as a means to wear down morale of the Afghan defense and security forces—executing Afghan commandos trying to surrender as a warning to others willing to fight is a powerful psy-

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chological message. The attention of the world and NATO HQs were also focused elsewhere on other security issues, threats, and conflicts, including the counter-Daesh effort, Syria, and Russia. So, the RS Mission command shifted its communications priority of effort away from outside-Afghanistan communications. Since the start of 2019, shortly after Nicholson’s tour ended, the RS Mission external communications effort mostly evaporated, except for a small number of major US media outlet visits. Online content and the external engagement effort dropped off precipitously. The USFORA spokesperson began engaging in Twitter fights against his Taliban counterpart, denying the latter’s claims as lies and fake news. 12 The use of imagery on all platforms declined: the last photos posted to the Flickr photo sharing account (having just thirty-eight followers), was September 2, 2018. In terms of quantity, tone, and quality of content, the RS Mission output had reached an eighteen-year communications campaign low. “While top military leaders may believe they are better off staying silent about Afghanistan, their silence certainly doesn’t inspire confidence that the war is going well,” wrote Task & Purpose’s Jeff Schogol. “How can we win if they are more afraid of the media than the Taliban?” he asked, calling the limited engagement approach the “Zero O’Clock Follies.”13

Messaging Is Critical, but Alone Does Not Make an Effective Communications Campaign The “battle of the narrative”14 is a popular expression, but one that suggests messaging is the principal determinant for and is at the heart of operational communications. In theory, narrative is meant to be a touchstone for strategy, but in actual practice it is little more than how the campaign is being explained in the content produced—such that if only a better story line had been constructed, somehow operational outcomes would be decidedly better. Of course, messages do matter. The narrative and its derivations including key themes, master messages, lines to take, and questions and answers all form the foundation for what an organization says and, by InfoOps/StratCom definition, is meant to do. A master set of these documents, refreshed and revised as required, helps direct and guide all within the organization and is meant to inform engagements with stakeholders and every piece of public communications including speeches, social media posts, imagery and captions, stories, backgrounders, media

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briefs, interviews, news releases, and appearances by leaders before committees of elected officials. In the absence of such a foundation, people are winging it, which is a recipe for information fratricide. A lack of quality messaging or internal communications means senior staff will also default to the easiest approach, which is to do nothing in the public and media space since that is less detrimental to a career than doing something and not getting it quite right, or being taken out of context. The campaign did not suffer from lack of guidance in this respect from the chain of command: the SHAPE HQ innovation of StratCom frameworks approved by NATO HQ set out a quality mission narrative, themes, messages, and clear overarching StratCom direction. The challenge was implementing that at the operational level, including a profound inability in theater to translate guidance and messaging into compelling content in English let alone in Dari or Pashto, and, concurrently, to mentor Afghan officials in the same techniques and applications. The combination of actions and messaging work together to influence how target audiences perceive their reality. Convincing Afghans to actively support their National Unity Government, persuading malign actors to quit their murderous campaign, leading the Taliban to reconciliation talks, and stopping regional actors from providing support or sanctuary was not going to happen because of more timely tweets, viral videos, nice billboards, excellent interviews, or a small forest worth of better-quality handbills. The campaign would decisively tilt in the government of the Islamic Republic of Afghanistan’s favor only if security was sufficient to let people go about their daily routines without fear for their lives or not having to bribe officials or police, be able to vote in peace, have a reasonably paying job, and provide a functioning school with good teachers for their kids. Effective StratCom, when constructed on a foundation of right policy and good operational execution, can be a vital enabler for mission success. Too often, there is leader and institutional fixation on “the message” rather than confirming right policy choices, or identifying and fixing the more problematic long-term issues that militate against better organizational communications. This includes attention to all the policy, process,15 capabilities, and capacities needed to mount and manage a successful campaign. Before I apply the criteria outlined at the start of the chapter to examine the effectiveness of the Afghanistan campaign, it will be instructive to first set out the factors behind the relative success of the NATO HQ effort at the strategic level, as an illustrative benchmark comparison.

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NATO HQ Brussels Was Critical to the Relative Success of the Campaign at the Strategic Level A large measure of credit for the strategic communications success of maintaining Alliance cohesion up until the RS Mission end can be attributed to a modestly sized public diplomacy staff at NATO HQ in Brussels and its institutional leadership. Here was sustained political commitment to proactive communications during good times for the mission and bad. This included quality and consistent messaging, buttressed by many other organizational communications fundamentals needed to ensure the message was sufficiently heard, sustained, reinforced, and amplified (see Appendix 6.1).16 Several highly experienced civilian communications practitioners had been engaged in the effort at NATO HQ for more than half the entire Afghanistan campaign. Staff were already skilled professionals when hired, in a competitive process, from large numbers of qualified applicants for each job. They obtained a deep understanding of the operating environment by working the Afghanistan file and related issues year after year. They built relationships inside and outside of theater with media, influencers, and opinion shapers. They provided important continuity at the political-military level from Brussels and when staff (including from SHAPE) forward deployed to Kabul often for months at a time, and they served a key communications liaison function with national capitals to help sort out issues. It was a focused effort, if not richly resourced. If in doubt about what to do about something, staff had access to a deep bench of practitioners and to officials to draw on for advice and support, including the operations, policy, and political affairs leaders, all of whom were attuned and highly committed to StratCom as a mission enabler. NATO HQ was an early advocate for a quality web, digital media, and social media presence, even if late to funding visual imagery, which began courtesy of a generous donation by Denmark to establish NATO TV during Prime Minister Anders Fogh Rasmussen’s tenure. Over time, a considerable amount of quality content related to the Afghanistan mission was made available online. NATO HQ in Brussels had excellent, accessible facilities to conduct media relations and host stakeholder visits, and modest resources were available to sponsor several media and stakeholder trips to the theater of operations, and to fund activities and events to build a broader understanding of the mission within troop-contributing nations. Frequent meetings at the level of defense or foreign ministers (socalled Defence or Foreign Ministerials) and at the level of chiefs of defense provided numerous messaging opportunities, as did multiple

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summits.17 Most importantly, successive NATO secretaries general have been active and skilled communicators open to an aggressive public engagement schedule of considerable volume, thereby putting information effect at the heart of the campaign. As a result, there are well-honed processes, procedures, and policies supporting the communications function, including for human resources. The campaign also benefited from a Brussels-based press corps when the need arose for interviews or discussions on background. Notably, there have been only two NATO spokespersons since 2004 (in contrast to several dozen during the same period at the ISAF/RS Mission), their work supported by an operationally focused team providing important continuity of service, including to access and engage a wide array of stakeholders and audiences as well as media in multiple languages. This did not all happen right away. NATO HQ was caught sleepwalking for the first three years of the mission such that by spring of 2006, as the Alliance prepared to assume security responsibility for all of Afghanistan, supporting mission communications was still the part-time effort of only one media relations official. The NATO Public Diplomacy Division was not yet sufficiently organized, structured, or resourced to manage the intensity and volume of interest from media, national representatives at NATO, or the public, all clamoring for NATO to fill the mission information gap. Contested combat against a determined insurgency with Alliance forces being killed and wounded eventually focused everyone’s attention and over time a more operational approach to communications took hold, a critical enabler being the establishment of a robust Media Operations Center that functions as a communications “war room.” The approach, organization, and ultimate success at NATO HQ stood in stark contrast to the conditions and circumstances in the RS Mission operational theater.

“Effectiveness” Examined The extent to which unsatisfactory campaign outcomes should be attributed to the communications effort is not an inconsequential subject, yet is challenging to measure with any degree of fidelity. Even if objectives could be and were made SMART,18 traditional qualitative and quantitative approaches and best practices do not seem to offer a satisfactory methodology to assess such a campaign.19 Grading StratCom strictly against the NATO military definition— “the integration of communication capabilities and information staff

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function with other military activities to understand and shape the Information Environment” in support of explicit campaign aims and objectives in Afghanistan—is a high bar that cannot reasonably be jumped. A more modest and realistic baseline against which to measure the communications campaign is suggested by the following four questions:

1. Is the mission telling its story effectively? Put simply, this is what a communications campaign is all about. There are many prospective elements of a campaign that could inform an answer, but the RS Mission website (including embedded social media) provided real insight into whether, and if, there was a clear expression of the mission to inform public understanding using the narrative, key themes, and master messages, and if successes and challenges are presented fairly and honestly. At issue is discerning to what extent every image, product, and content post exploited the information effect potential with audiences, including troop-contributing nations, Afghans, opinion leaders, media, stakeholders, diaspora communities, and even malign actors. 2. Is the mission helping other (friendly force) organizations and stakeholders contribute to fairly telling the operational story, and is the mission helping other (friendly force) organizations and stakeholders tell their story? The Afghanistan mission did not regularly or easily lend itself directly to good news: the Taliban not capturing and holding any provincial capital during the ISAF/RS period as a benchmark of success is a hard sell as a progress indicator from a major mission that began in 2003. To be successful, a StratCom campaign needs to tell one’s own story effectively in a balanced fashion, warts and all, but also seek to indirectly derive benefit from the work, successes, and information efforts of partners and other actors, since security is a key factor that has made their efforts and progress possible. For instance, being aware of and supporting the UN Assistance Mission in Afghanistan (UNAMA), the European Union (EU), the World Bank, the many various national development agencies, and other groups’ efforts and successes—where relevant to the provision of security—helps open the information campaign aperture to evidence, where it exists, of reform and positive change, and to public dialogue that is not just war and conflict year after year. 3. Is the mission effectively conducting Train Advise Assist activities in support of Afghan government ministries and officials? The NATO effort under Resolute Support was all about Train Advise Assist support to Afghan National Defense and Security Forces, and that included StratCom as a line of effort. Enhancing the ability of the National Unity Government, various ministries, and provincial and local authorities to

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be able to effectively communicate with their respective audiences and citizens was considered a key factor in NATO forces being able to reduce and eventually end their presence in Afghanistan. 4. How effectively are communications resources and capabilities organized and employed? There were significant communicationsrelated staff resources deployed at NATO, US, and national HQs in theater. This line of inquiry considers whether mission developments and activities were exploited for maximum information effect and advantage. Of the many prospective features that could help assess the NATO StratCom effort in theater and answer the questions posed, six elements are particularly illuminating: the RS Mission website, the spokesperson position, the Train Advise Assist StratCom effort, the CJPOTF, the level of practitioner skill especially of StratCom function leaders, and the one mission–two command problem.

Six Key Elements that Defined the NATO StratCom Effort in Theater RS Mission Website

In the particular circumstances of this operating environment, the RS Mission website (including embedded social media) was arguably the information campaign’s vital ground: the state, quality, and condition of an operational HQ information campaign stems from this foundational element. In such a campaign, the website is a barometer of the strength and effectiveness of the StratCom function. It is a worldwide public window into the mission for key target audiences, including opinion leaders, stakeholders, and the diaspora community; for media seeking information, including those not inclined to visit theater or even to call; to internal domestic audiences of troop-contributing nations; to Afghan leaders and civil society; and as the means of highlighting the resolute support of the international community to malign actors. The information and content therein speaks volumes about the state, strength, and commitment to the organizational narrative, and the extent to which all elements of the campaign are directed and focused on achieving effects in the information environment. Dominic Medley, a long-standing veteran of the campaign, says: The main communication aim was to tell the NATO story as much as possible across all platforms and through all means. That story pro-

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vided the Afghan government with some backbone. It gave vocal support to the Afghan security forces. It gave hope and confidence to the Afghan people. And it told home audiences that NATO was in Afghanistan for national security reasons and building up the capabilities of the Afghan security forces so they could secure their own country. At the same time the propaganda from adversaries who offered nothing for the future of Afghanistan needed to be countered.20

A quality website should be a carefully crafted expression of stated policy and operational intent, a veritable repository of facts, figures, visual imagery, and data setting out progress, mission context, and perspective, and at the same time also be scrupulously fair and balanced about the associated mission challenges. In fact, from January 2015 until late 2017, the RS Mission site was shambolic, and clearly a burden for the Public Affairs staff. The site did not even conform to the standard SHAPE HQ (the NATO senior military authority) look and feel provisions for websites, a result of a funding quirk in which the United States through a contract with a civilian firm established and maintained the site remotely for years. In January 2017, the site (since rebuilt twice) included just fifty-six news releases dating to March 2015, thirty-six of which related to violent incidents, casualties, or expressions of condolence.21 A “casualty report” section included 105 pages counting 1,050 entries that dated back to January 2010, with one giant scroll of “Resolute Support casualty” headlines. Flickr, the main mission imagery archive, was a dumping ground mainly for US military personnel marking a unit or service anniversary. Social media accounts were similarly bereft. The message projected by the written content was one of a mission under siege and taking casualties, and it focused on the inconsequential training of small groups of Afghan soldiers. The message from posted imagery suggested the RS Mission consisted of US change of command parades and medals ceremonies, troops playing sports, cake cutting at unit celebrations, receiving VIPs, and teaching small groups of Afghan military in a static classroom environment. The website clearly showed that the RS Mission information campaign was a reflection of the approach that informed the ISAF transition, with its deliberate choice to reduce forces in theater quickly and for NATO forces to be passive actors and to overtly let the Afghans be in the lead for everything, even if they were not yet ready to be. Conceptually this approach had merit, but its application included (wrongly) reducing the RS Mission information campaign effort, influence, and impact at the same time as (rightly) reducing visibility and public profile through activities such as top-of-fold media interviews and TV appearances.

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This entirely unsatisfactory situation over the first two years of the RS Mission was of considerable concern to General Nicholson, who directed active efforts to improve the website and held StratCom and Public Affairs staff to account to correct the situation, including more frequent information and story posts, an active social media campaign based on Twitter and Facebook, and regular engagements with Afghan media and the Pentagon press corps. Website management was changed to bring the site in line with SHAPE HQ standards and protocols. For a while, after considerable staff effort shaped by frequent top-down command direction and guidance, output in quality and quantity began to pick up and the focus, tenor, and tone of content increasingly changed from war, death, casualties, and condolences to highlighting more substantive military, police, and civil society improvements, as Table 6.1 shows. In view of the momentous year that 2019 was in Afghanistan— including a delayed presidential election, a marked increase in violence. and peace talks underway—one might expect an especially robust communications campaign to take advantage of lessons learned and relearned Table 6.1 Select Information Posts on the Resolute Support Mission Website Year

Feature Stories

News Releases

2016 2017

18 99

22 50

2015

2018 2019

11

58 (0 in last quarter) 0

35

205 37

Observations

27 news releases reference NATO casualties, apologies for casualties, or condolences. 20 news releases follow that same pattern. 22 news releases follow the death and condolence pattern, though the balance was beginning to improve. 21 news releases follow the pattern, and a demonstrable effort was made to profile key themes and master messages. 16 news releases related to death and condolence messaging.

Notes: Information in Tables 6.1 and 6.2 reflects the RS Mission website as it existed during research conducted throughout 2019. The website has since undergone another complete redesign. As of July 2021, the new website content for the RS Mission dating to 2015 consisted of the following: 2018 (68 new feature stories, 0 backgrounders, 0 imagery); 2019 (21 stories, 0 backgrounders, 0 imagery); 2020 (27 stories, 2 repurposed backgrounders, 0 imagery), 2021 (1 story, 0 backgrounders, 0 imagery); and no non-English content. Twitter posts for the April–December 2018 period was 351/139 (original content /retweets); in 2019 (16/45); 2020 (94/77); and to July 2021 (25/24). The RS Mission Facebook page showed a similar decline from the Nicholson command: from April to December 2018 there were 270 posts; in 2019 (16); 2020 (36) and 2021 (11). The RS Mission YouTube channel featured no videos in 2019, three in 2020, and one in 2021.

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over the years to inform, influence, and win the information space. That would reasonably include information including compelling imagery to explain progress to date on building Afghan defense and security forces capabilities; working with allies; the reforms, changes, and challenges; the reasons for more aggressive kinetic joint operations; and the efforts made to avoid civilian casualties. The reality was otherwise. In the first nine months through to September 2019, the RS Mission— representing the NATO and the USFOR-A components—issued thirty-five news releases, fourteen relating to deaths of NATO and USFOR-A soldiers, including nine consecutive such news releases over the course of a three-month period leading up to the presidential election (see Table 6.2). The noncasualty-related content highlighted basic training graduation of as few as six Afghans and a conference of thirty attendees. The latest entries in the “Videos” category on the site were all at least ten months old. During the operationally active January–September 2019 period, the RS Mission website content had no new postings to the “Feature Stories,” “Backgrounder,” “Transcripts,” “Videos,” “Photos,” and “Instagram” sections. There were only seventeen Facebook posts; one “Strike Summary” entry on September 10 (this was meant to be a regular accounting of the number of US strikes and engagements but was quickly discontinued); sixteen original posts on the Resolute Support Twitter account and thirtyfour retweets, including some new imagery; and fifty original posts on the USFOR-A spokesperson’s Twitter account, with just twelve retweets. Much of the effort related to replying to and contradicting the Taliban spokesperson on Twitter. The RS Mission was not even able to muster a posting on September 11, instead tweeting a short video the day after (“Yesterday the Men and Women of Resolute Support Gathered”).22 In contrast, Mujahid Zabihullah, identified as the Taliban spokesperson for the Islamic Emirate of Afghanistan (@Zabehulah_M33: the account, though named, is clearly the work of a team of people) issued twenty-nine original tweets alone on September 10, 2019, and another twenty-nine original tweets on September 11, including four videos showing (alleged) US bomb damage of infrastructure and civilian casualties. The pace and volume of original material, even if misinformation, is impressive: on September 17, twenty-seven original tweets; the next day twenty-six original tweets; the following day twenty original tweets and two retweets— a pace and volume that has been a years-long pattern day-after-day. Few Afghans appeared on the RS Mission website discussing what the mission means to them or how they are taking the fight to the enemy. After eighteen years of being in country, there was an embarrassingly perfunctory effort at including any Dari and Pashto on the website, with

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Table 6.2 NATO Resolute Support Releases Issued in the Quarter Leading to Afghan Presidential Elections, June to End of September Issued By

Date

USFOR-A Sept. 16 RS Mission Sept. 5 USFOR-A USFOR-A USFOR-A RS Mission USFOR-A USFOR-A

Aug. 30 Aug. 21 July 29 July 24 July 13 June 30

USFOR-A June 26 RS Mission June 23 RS Mission June 15 RS Mission June 8

News Release Title

“U.S. Service Member Killed in Afghanistan” “Two Resolute Support Service Members Killed in Kabul, Afghanistan” “A U.S. Service Member Died in Afghanistan” “Two U.S. Service Members Killed in Afghanistan” “Two U.S. Service Members Killed in Afghanistan” “NATO Service Member Killed in Afghanistan” “U.S. Service Member Killed in Afghanistan” “U.S. Service Member Dies in Non-Combat Related Incident” “Two U.S. Service Members Killed in Afghanistan” “New Afghan Artillery Master Gunners [10 Soldiers, 24 Days] Graduated” “New NATO Commander Takes over in Western Afghanistan” “Brig. Gen. Jeffery Valenzia Takes Command of TAAC-Air”

Notes: Contrast the third quarter of 2019 with typical posts from 2017: “Afghan Commando Growth Continues”; “Over 780 Future Commandos Begin Training”; “More Than 1,000 New Commandos Graduate”; “Afghanistan’s Elite Security Forces Develop Critical Battlefield Skills”; “Afghan National Police and Army Thwart Deadly Truck Bomb in Paktiya”; “Afghan Special Mission Wing Provides Critical Air Support”; “Afghan Government, and Resolute Support Sign Agreement to Enhance Afghan Fiber Optics”; “Afghans Sign Policy for Protection of Children in Armed Conflicts.” USFOR-A is US Forces– Afghanistan. RS Mission is Resolute Support Mission.

no other language content such as Italian or German, the second- and third-largest NATO nation force contributors. Perhaps none of these in and of their own right are dramatic misfires, but large gaps in time to post content, missed messaging opportunities, and the lack of relevant mission context and messaging as well as basic errors of fact, grammar, and spelling aggregated every day over weeks, months, and years—including in headlines, titles, captions, stories, Facebook posts, tweets, videos, and interviews—in all owned platforms meant the desired drumbeat of professionalism and messaging that the mission was making a difference become progressively diminished. In contrast, Taliban communications especially on social media (noting, that content does not need to be accurate)—are relentlessly on their message, continuous, consistent, often in five languages (Dari, Pashto, Arabic, Urdu, and English) and features considerable amounts

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of visual imagery including interviews with Afghans, which are all elements needed for a successful campaign. The sheer volume of output across multiple platforms in several languages as well as the overall quality is evidence of a highly sophisticated, well resourced and networked effort that establishes the information campaign as a key element of overall Taliban strategy. Done well, the RS Mission site would tell its story, help other friendly force organizations and stakeholders contribute to telling the story, and help other friendly forces to tell their story. Done well, the StratCom effort would directly support and reinforce the National Unity Government, build capability in the ANDSF, and provide some hope to Afghan civil society writ large. Done well, messaging and signaling can sow doubt, confusion, and even fear into the camps of malign actors and possibly even change their behavior, even if that is only “don’t think of coming here.” Done well, efforts serve to inform national, regional, and international media and, thus, multiple publics about the campaign state and progress in a balanced way and serve to buttress international commitment. Of course, that is a practitioner’s view of the profession’s value, and we might rightfully wonder how much actual positive difference in the situation in Afghanistan would there have been with a spectacular in-theater NATO StratCom effort from the start? To what extent does poor StratCom accelerate bad trends? And how much value to overall mission and operational outcomes should be accorded the qualitatively and quantitatively better Taliban information campaign?

The Spokesperson

It is not a stretch to expect the appointment and active public engagement of an identifiable mission spokesperson for such an operation.23 Effective spokespersons are actively sought by media, opinion leaders, and think tanks for their relevant background, experience, and context that accrues from being close to events and to the operational commander, as well as for their insider’s perspective to issues, decisions, and developments. Various commands during ISAF authorized more than one spokesperson to speak on their behalf, including at the UK’s Allied Rapid Response Corps (ARRC) headquarters (2006–2007), where there were five overtly active persons of various ranks from major to brigadier general. The decision at NATO HQ to have one identifiable person as the ISAF spokesperson was made in 2007. The mission was going badly and there was a desire at senior NATO military and political levels to put a non-US, NATO member face on the mission and allow one individual to focus on that single task.

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Brigadier-general was the rank deemed sufficient to guarantee a breadth of experience and to give public remarks needed gravitas given the size of the ISAF footprint, the scope of operations, and the volume and nature of media queries. The first full-time ISAF spokesperson at that rank was a Portuguese officer, followed by two Canadians, then four Germans, in successive one-year rotations until 2014. For the next five years, a satisfactory spokesperson solution eluded the RS Mission, which relied on comments through a generic RS Mission Twitter account twinned with the USFOR-A spokesperson (“The non-anonymous, official Twitter for U.S. Forces-Afghanistan, Operation Freedom’s Sentinel, supporting the NATO Resolute Support”).24 With the transition from ISAF to the RS Mission in January 2015, after considerable effort trying to source a willing nation to provide a candidate for spokesperson, one finally stuck their head above the parapet—Sweden. In a bifurcated command, with a US four-star head, and USFOR-A ascendant as the mission increasingly took on an aggressive air campaign and special forces focus, having a non-US, non-NATO member nation out front was not good optics all around. Gaining the commander’s confidence as a mission spokesperson was made considerably more challenging when officers were assigned never having done such work in their career or were new to Afghanistan—or as was often the case in ISAF and the RS Mission—new to Afghanistan, new to being a spokesperson, and having modest English-language ability. Predictably, this arrangement was a bust as each non-US, non-NATO, non-experienced spokesperson in succession was quickly marginalized by senior leaders and the command team. It took five iterations, over nearly three years, for the experiment to die. The post remained vacant for several months until eventually Germany agreed to fill the billet one time for a year, followed by the United States, which provided an army colonel having a Special Forces background. The principal military spokesperson is of course the commander, and his or her visible presence and activities can be shown and told through a variety of ways, including speeches, battlefield visits, media interviews, and social media posts. The staff of the first RS Mission commander, General Campbell, used all these elements infrequently. This approach changed with General Nicholson, who took an active interest to ensure that appropriate success stories of the campaign were highlighted and profiled, and this effort significantly increased with the release of the US South Asia Strategy, particularly with respect to growing the Afghan special forces and the Afghan air force. This approach reversed course again under General Miller; for instance, his Twitter account, dormant since August 18, 2018, featured a funeral black background and white letter-

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ing noting, “This is the official Twitter account for Gen. Scott Miller. This account will remain inactive.” The last two postings on the account are a notice that Miller doesn’t use social media, and a video from August 28, 2018, from when General Nicholson was commander.25

The StratCom Train Advise Assist Mission

During the latter half of ISAF, NATO forces invested increasing effort and resources into training the ANDSF in a full range of military capabilities. That focus accelerated in the two years leading up to the ISAF to RS Mission transition, with the NATO effort constructed entirely around training, advising, and assisting its Afghan partners. One of the initial eight core lines of effort, named “essential functions” for much of the RS Mission period, related to StratCom. That should have signaled to staff the need for a shift in mind-set and resources from “Us to Us” (RS Mission to NATO national audiences) to “Them to Them” (Afghan institutions to Afghans) communication so that Afghan ministries, army corps, and police zones could more quickly develop appropriate structures, processes, budgets, and the means to conduct and sustain effective communications beyond basic tactical communication-related activities. From a resourcing and effects perspective then, the priority should have shifted from How do we produce more content ourselves? to How do we do better to build, encourage, enhance, and facilitate “Afghan to Afghan” communications by the military and police? Substantive indigenous capacity by officials to conduct effective and sustainable “Afghan to Afghan” and “Afghans to the West” communications helps obtain desired mission outcomes. Effective Afghan StratCom capability enables reform; improves operational effectiveness, including recruitment, retention, and morale; and delegitimizes enemy propaganda. Effective Afghan defense and security force communication also demonstrates qualitative progress in the ministries to Afghan citizens, to political leadership, and to international audiences directly supporting the Alliance’s mission center of gravity. Afghan defense and security forces continued to show improvement in their own capability to develop, plan, and execute tactical communication. However, there remained capability and capacity gaps to shore up to realize a fully functioning and sustainable function within ministries, including to embed communications to help drive reform efforts as well as to plan, budget, coordinate, and execute sustained campaigns. The need was twofold. First was an operational communications requirement within the ANDSF to create capability at the army corps and police zones from national through to local levels—this being a

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direct remit of the RS Mission. Second was a StratCom capability allowing all levels of the National Unity Government, national ministries, and provincial governments to coordinate and communicate more effectively among themselves, and to communicate with greater effect to key constituencies: this was an indirect or implied task for the RS Mission, where resources allowed and opportunity permitted.26 With the exception of direct personal engagement by General Nicholson to provide a highly experienced civilian adviser at the RS Mission’s expense in President Ghani’s office for a year, support for the military’s StratCom Train Advise Assist effort throughout the mission was tepid at best, with communications leadership preferring to retain staff in their own structure rather than lose them to a group within the HQ focused just on Afghan support. Progress was limited by the lack of a national RS Mission StratCom Train Advise Assist strategy with associated guidelines and products, no formal needs assessment of Afghan institutions, and a lack of relevant training for many advisers, particularly within the regional RS Mission commands in the information-related capabilities. Improving this situation had been a StratCom thrust of General Miller’s command and served to improve the ability of Afghan officials to address, if not entirely refute, erroneous Taliban claims, according to a senior communications practitioner in theater: At the beginning of Gen Miller’s command, the information space was being flooded by Taliban misinformation and propaganda going unanswered by NATO and by Afghans. We needed the Afghans to mobilize and get out and publicly talk about the real situation when a claim was made, no matter when the report surfaced. For instance, Taliban would say that NATO had bombed a mosque and there were civilian casualties. NATO had little credibility to refute that itself, the messaging needed to come from Afghans, including their religious leaders—we worked to get a Mullah out there with a mobile, confirming to media “there has not been an attack, there are no civilian casualties, the mosque is still functioning.” This needed to happen within 60 minutes of a report, to avoid creating a situation where perhaps some motivated local Taliban commander might take up arms in response to the false report. This proactive approach saved lives.27

Combined Joint Psychological Operations Task Force

The Combined Joint Psychological Operations Task Force (CJPOTF) had been active in Afghanistan since at least 2003. More than two dozen officers served as unit commanders, almost all from Germany and Romania, with many having completed multiple assignments in

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Afghanistan. This factor combined with the unit’s ability to secure long-term funding for several NATO international civilian contractor positions allowed NATO PsyOps to build and retain more continuity of experience and staff knowledge than any other information-related capability in theater. The CJPOTF was a key voice for the ISAF/RS Mission to reach Afghan audiences, especially during the early years of the NATO deployment when prodigious donated resources enabled Afghan security forces and ministries to start building indigenous capabilities of their own so as to more effectively communicate throughout the country. The extent to which the PsyOps effort has helped the campaign remains a hotly contested debate among observers and practitioners, with little middle ground between the “outright fail” and “real success” camps.28 We could charitably conclude that the PsyOps campaign was impactful though at great cost in resources, but by how much, is not reasonably quantifiable—but obviously not in a campaign-shaping or behavior-changing way. There is a risk in attributing too much benefit for positive outcomes and too much of the blame for negative outcomes. During the entirety of the campaign, the CJPOTF was by far the largest single staff component of the NATO information-related capabilities and by far the biggest expense of the deputy chief of staff communications organization. Even in mid-2017, with the RS Mission a small fraction of the ISAF force size at its height, the CJPOTF authorized staff of fourteen military, fourteen international civilian contractors, and fifty-eight local civilians: a total of eighty-six positions, with seventy-two being filled. In the entirety of the rest of the communications division, including the Key Leader Engagement, Train Advise Assist, Public Affairs, and StratCom sections, only fifty-one of eightythree billets were filled.29 During the latter quarter of ISAF and into the first half of the RS Mission time frame, the CJPOTF’s outputs included: • Contracts for four main Afghan TV stations to run thirty-one minutes per week per station of public service announcements produced by the RS Mission; • Radio Bayan twenty-four hours seven days a week broadcast, including twelve hours live during the day and twelve hours recorded overnight, on fifty-six radio towers owned by an Afghan company; • Forty-eight radio spots per day (twenty-four in Dari, twenty-four in Pashto), with an ability to isolate towers in a particular district so that messaging could be targeted;

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• Contracts with seventy-eight local radio stations to play radio spots (PsyOps messaging); • A monthly forty-two-page Sada-e-Azadi newsmagazine with 110,000 copies and an associated website (last issue was November 2017); • Renting space for 277 RS Mission–produced billboards across the country with the design changing monthly; and • Print material including leaflets and peripherals such as cricket and football cards as free giveaways.

The radio and print outputs were quality efforts assisted by Afghans embedded in the unit, with a balance of security messaging but that also spoke to wider areas of direct Afghan interests including development, health, education, and general civil society reform and improvement. This approach usefully opened the aperture beyond the Defense and Interior Ministry–focused programming for audiences to see and appreciate the practical impact and effects of better security, where that existed. Callers to the radio station (hundreds per month) and the CJPOTF’s local hires also provided important real-time, on-the-ground, “what-are-the-locals-thinking atmospherics,” a valuable commodity in light of the significant reduction in the NATO footprint. The CJPOTF was the most consistently performing informationrelated capability in this long campaign and a useful strategic asset—for Afghanistan circa 2003–2012. But, the opportunity cost of dozens of staff and many hundreds of thousands of dollars per year in operating costs to run a NATO radio station more than a decade into the mission for a miniscule “favorite station” market share should have been cause for careful reflection about “Why are we still doing that today, and is that the best use of resources for what we wish to achieve with radio?” The PsyOps English-language website Sada-e-azadi, once a quality product, was abandoned for long stretches, featuring force protection content such as “question of the week”—“If one of your friends acts like an insurgent will you report him to . . .”—with all of thirteen votes tallied.30 Notably, under General Miller’s command, there was more effort to refocus PsyOps content and output, including using platforms of wider reach in Afghanistan, particularly Facebook, in the predominant Afghan languages of Dari and Pashto. Even after nearly two decades of the CJPOTF, many information practitioners still (self-servingly) argue the key to inducing behavioral change is more “Us to Afghan” communication and more resources. This approach is based on a practitioner belief that foreigner-led Psy-

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Ops is more effective at reaching and resonating with target audiences than Afghan-produced content to Afghan audiences. A more successful strategy would have been to focus resources on the core Train Advise Assist mission to facilitate Afghan capability and capacity building, thereby accelerating the respective ministries’ ability to communicate with target audiences as well as to drive reform from within. For example, this could have taken the form of buying advertising space for RS Mission content on trusted platforms that are more credible to Afghans than those owned by NATO PsyOps, or empowering and facilitating the growth and long-term health of the Afghan media scene instead of competing with Afghan outlets for viewers, listeners, and readers. There is a deeper issue at play though, that seriously constrained cooperation among RS Mission communication offices (and military StratCom generally) that limited sharing of information and products to a broader spectrum of audiences. Simply put, Public Affairs did not play and share well with InfoOps and PsyOps, this being more the fault of the former than the latter. Good news stories and imagery such as restoring the Darul Aman Palace, the opening of a calligrapher school, small-scale business investments in raisin production, and measures to guard against COVID-19 went unused beyond a PsyOps application because the items were produced by them and are therefore tainted in the eyes of many military Public Affairs staff, despite the fact that NATO PsyOps—video, print, radio, web stories, handbills, billboards—by doctrine and definition is “white”; that is, truthful and attributable, with much content that could easily have been repurposed for greater reach. There is no authority for NATO CJPOTF to use deception to influence behavior.31 As such, their work is actually operational public affairs for an Afghan audience. The view of what NATO PsyOps does— to “influence” as opposed to the more benign “inform” role of Public Affairs—is a model firmly rooted in the 1950s, not in the internet and wireless age where everyone worldwide with a smartphone or computer connection is a prospective content producer, and virtually all such content is available online. The propagation of this mind-set and the stovepiping of resources and effort is pernicious behavior and was a significant constraint to better Public Affairs, PsyOps, InfoOps, and StratCom outcomes in country.32 In short, the CJPOTF model over the course of the ISAF/RS Mission served a good purpose but at a high price, with real opportunity costs including impacts of staffing levels for the PA effort. The conditions and context that once informed organizing PsyOps in such a manner have fundamentally changed. And the desire to hold onto a NATO consulting

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contract was a powerful force and imperative to staff to internally promote the notion of PsyOps successes and importance. The NATO PsyOps effort on operations needed to evolve faster, to incentivize Afghans to build their own capability more quickly, and to see the RS Mission content and product on credible Afghan platforms more often. Finally, after more than a decade and a half of PsyOps status quo, the RS Mission under General Miller started to effect that paradigm shift—but the oppositional forces of intransigence and entitlement were strong.

Rank and Related Professional Experience of Practitioners

The military communications function for the period 2009–2017 was known as deputy chief of staff communications (DCOSCOMM), a name that changed frequently during the 2003–2019 NATO Afghanistan campaign. The DCOSCOMM position was created in June 2009 as General Stanley McChrystal took command, and Rear Admiral Greg Smith was assigned. Remarkably, Smith was the first professional communicator since the start of the mission in 2003 to head the ISAF communications effort. Previously, the top communications position had been held by brigadiers and colonels from a variety of noncommunications backgrounds, and they usually but not always came from the same nation as the commander. Smith was followed by another experienced US Public Affairs officer, though the position was downgraded to Rear-Admiral (lower half), who served to February 2012. From then until the latter part of General Nicholson’s tour in 2017, the top communications billet was filled by a succession of US brigadiers from noninformation-related fields, including a helicopter pilot, armor, field artillery, military intelligence, and special forces officers in one-year assignments. By mid2018 the rank for the position was downgraded again, meaning the top communications officer in a NATO/US four-star command was a colonel, and the lowest ranked of all the deputy commanders, generally two-star billets.33 In a rank-conscious and senior officer top-heavy environment, this put the communications function at a real disadvantage in the competition for senior leader time, attention, and in the heft accorded the advice. Over the course of the 2003–2021 ISAF/RS Mission time frame, the communications function was directed by an experienced military communicator for about five years (summer 2009 to February 2012, several months in 2018, and from about mid-2019). The deputy’s position during times it existed was filled by a professional practitioner

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for even less time. This meant that for years-long stretches, the commander and senior staff’s key military StratCom adviser, and the dayto-day division manager (chief of staff, or deputy) were both new to leading, advising, and directing StratCom, Public Affairs, PsyOps, and InfoOps; overseeing StratCom Train Advise Assist of national government officials and senior Afghan military leaders; and trying to nest that work in a comprehensive approach in a fast-paced information environment. 34 The associated problems and challenges of such an approach mounted with each tour repetition. This is a consequence of a deep inbuilt institutional problem within NATO militaries—most do not have a full-time military public affairs career, let alone fulltime disciplines within information-related functions like StratCom, InfoOps and PsyOps. Staff performing information-related functions in a contested environment where “the information campaign is key” should have deep and relevant professional and theater-specific experience, but this is still an aspiration. Deploying functional senior leaders with no direct experience leads to bad communications guidance and poor content output, and risks organizational credibility. The NATO Defence Planning Process does not yet formally set out the requirements for allies to develop StratCom capabilities like it does for fighter pilots, engineers, and infantry soldiers. As a result, there are major deficiencies in talent production within military information–related capabilities. Of note, some nations, particularly the UK but also Denmark, the Netherlands, and Germany, have made inroads to correcting this shortcoming—but they tend to keep these resources for national requirements, not NATO needs.35 For the first three years and longer of the RS Mission, the Public Affairs Office cadre was American and mostly US Navy Reservists (for instance, nine of ten positions for most of 2017, and one US Air Force captain). Almost all were on their first deployment to Afghanistan, their first deployment with NATO, and their first deployment in a counterinsurgency campaign. Other functional information-related capabilities, such as InfoOps and Key Leader Engagement, similarly struggled to source experienced staff.36 In the face of a malign actor campaign of considerable impact, the NATO operational HQ remit was for a broadbased, multiplatform, proactive, decently resourced information campaign, including an array of practitioners experienced in that specific information environment. This was not the reality. With very few exceptions, troop-contributing nations other than the United States were not willing to send information-related capability staff to the RS Mission HQ, instead choosing to serve just their own

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national needs by filling positions at national or at their regional commands. This approach resulted in large gaps for years in key communications positions at the RS Mission HQ. In addition, the lack of non-US representation severely limited the prospect of communicating to multiple other major non–English speaking audiences in troop-contributing nations via interviews and in social media. As time went on, the staffing situation worsened in the absence of permanently assigned administrative support knowledgeable about NATO staffing for an operational theater. The time-consuming, laborious, and challenging process to fix job descriptions and source staff through twice-yearly force generation conferences at SHAPE HQ, by definition extended beyond the time period that any one military practitioner was in Kabul. Staff simply did not know how that NATO staffing process was done and, inevitably, fewer and fewer nations bid on positions, forcing the US communications functional leadership to increasingly rely on generally ineffectual workarounds or simply to accept a reduction in the level of communications activity.

One Command, Two Missions

The information campaigns of ISAF and the RS Mission suffered from schizophrenia. Both tried, but failed, to clearly identify and distinguish the distinct yet complementary US counterterrorism (C-T) mission USFOR-A (Operation Freedom’s Sentinel) from the NATO effort. Doing so is challenging because the US four-star general commanded both. The stories and information that a C-T mission wishes to profile and that which NATO wishes to profile mean two quite different approaches to strategy, content, and messaging. The mission is sold to European audiences as a soft power Train Advise Assist effort and to US audiences as a C-T campaign—with its concomitant kinetic actions and inevitable civilian casualties, real or alleged. The situation did not improve over time, with USFOR-A continuing to struggle to publicly and clearly define its raison d’être. For instance, in 2017 USFOR-A’s Twitter account described its mission oddly enough as being “to defeat terrorist networks and insurgents by developing effective governance and building ANSF [sic],” and later to “supporting the NATO Resolute Support [sic].” As David Loyn explains, “USFOR-A has a very sparse social media presence and no separate website—living online mostly off the RS Mission. The situation is highly confusing even to informed media and addressing the issue always seemed to me to be essential to preserving the goodwill of troop contributing nations.”37

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Two significant consequences for StratCom that stem from the bifurcated mission are especially noteworthy. First was the management of communications around serious injury and death involving NATO military personnel, as well as air strikes leading to Afghan civilian casualties. Managing the communications effort of the US-led counter-terrorism mission was the remit of US-hatted practitioners, not NATO (Afghans at the receiving end of a strike cared not a whit about the differentiation). There was deeply engrained reticence at publicly discussing C-T operations, even in the face of calamities such as mistakenly attacking wedding parties, bombing the Kunduz hospital, or killing pine nut farmers. This inevitably meant frequent denials and delays in releasing even rudimentary information and almost never any public follow-up and acknowledgment about findings of investigations that were done. This approach regularly handed information campaign victories to the Taliban. The second major shortcoming of such a command arrangement was the lack of ability by RS Mission StratCom to provide effective oversight of US-led InfoOps, whose efforts over time resulted in real damage to the organizational credibility of NATO. The StratCom challenge is that InfoOps activities, including military deception and activities by three-letter agencies such as the Central Intelligence Agency (CIA), take place within a US-only chain of command and, even then, is subject to strict “need to know” controls. Consequently, initiatives have launched without sufficient, rigorous, non-US review, especially by authorities more obviously attuned to local and regional sensitivities. These initiatives took many forms and were meant to be nonattributable, and thus often escaped the same approval scrutiny of RS Mission Public Affairs or PsyOps products. For instance, in 2017 “graphic and uncensored actual footage of recent attacks in Kabul appeared on prime-time TV, featuring no-holds-barred body parts with sound, the message being suicide bombings were not what Afghans wanted and so don’t support the Taliban,” recalls Loyn. “Afghans already knew what bombs did and were depressed enough anyway without being reminded like that. Senior Afghan ministers were livid and insisted to Gen Nicholson to get them off the air. Of course, it was initially a challenge to determine who was responsible, but that was confirmed in short order and the ads pulled.”38 Another example of a misstep occurred in September 2017 when a PsyOps leaflet was dropped in Parwan Province that featured a lion (meant to represent the fierce Afghan army) chasing a small white dog (meant to represent the whimpering Taliban) with the Taliban flag on it. “There were two big issues with this,” said Loyn. “First, is the representation of

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people by animals and especially one regarded by Muslims as unclean. Second, is that the flag carries the Shahahdah, the profession of Muslim faith, written on the side of a dog.”39 The two-star US Special Forces commander publicly apologized and said those responsible would be held accountable, but the incident was another reminder to Afghans of a lack of cultural awareness by NATO forces—and another signal to the RS Mission command team of the gaps in StratCom’s ability to actually coordinate the information effort. The consequences for the information campaign are significant. There was a limited public profile for Operation Freedom’s Sentinel, and a predominantly US command increasingly focused on the kinetic fight was less and less interested in publishing soft NATO-focused content on platforms. Consequently, non-US militaries were reluctant to staff Resolute Support HQ information-related capability positions since that was regarded as directly supporting the US C-T mission. Staffed mainly with US practitioners, all RS Mission communication took on a C-T flavor, including an emphasis on successful strikes or strikes gone wrong. The RS Mission spokesperson was sidelined, and NATO operational communications suffered.

Conclusion The Alliance aim “to prevent Afghanistan from once again becoming a safe haven for terrorists to attack our homelands” was a consistent touchstone message throughout the military campaign, repeated by many senior NATO HQ officials in literally several hundred speeches, media interviews, and content posted online over nearly twenty years. On balance, from about 2006, NATO HQ in Brussels conducted an “effective enough” information campaign at the strategic level to maintain Alliance cohesion (that is, for a large number of nations to contribute forces and/or money to the mission) through to mission end. In large measure this is because a succession of secretaries general put communications and consistent messaging at the heart of the business. They were supported at the HQ by professional communicators with deep experience and time in position, active spokespersonship, a high quality online presence, a seriously good Media Operations Center war room (in time), and notable stakeholder engagement activities. This robust strategic communications capability and capacity regrettably did not and does not exist within NATO military HQs. These HQs remain insufficiently resourced to successfully develop, manage,

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and oversee force development of information-related capabilities or to adequately oversee, guide, and support subordinate HQs, especially during active operations during conflict in the information age. The key shortcoming remains the paucity of nations that have created full-time career streams in the fields of public affairs and operational communications, from which NATO draws people to staff the HQs. The periods of noticeably better operational communications in Afghanistan did not and does not temper effects of bad policy, poor operational execution, or simply bad luck. When a pastor in Florida threatens to burn the Quran, or cartoons are published denigrating the Prophet Muhammad, or a US soldier leaves base to murder sixteen Afghans, or the Afghan president roundly and publicly denounces NATO, or dozens of soldiers are killed over several months by Afghan trainees in “green on blue” attacks, then a good mission narrative offers little solace. StratCom needs to be a holistic, integrated, theater-wide enterprise that is an operational mind-set, with defined processes and skilled practitioners—not a cluster of communication capabilities. In the end, StratCom outcomes in Afghanistan are not what they could have been, but, up until the last year of ISAF, results were better than critics suggest. Where policy and operations were well connected and showed results, StratCom amplified that effect. Where policy and operations were weak, negative outcomes could be mitigated but not overcome. The RS Mission, however, for much of its existence struggled at telling and showing the full breadth and scope of its story. Doing poorly in telling one’s own story also means the mission was not able to meaningfully help mission partners tell their story. Still, the situation in Afghanistan is not a consequence primarily of a bad narrative, inconsistent messaging, or lack of guidance from SHAPE and NATO HQs. The tragic outcome is a result of a multiplicity of factors that will be debated for years, but begins with an unreasonable expectation from the start, of national/NATO mission goals and what was realistically possible to achieve in Afghanistan. The suboptimal situation of information-related capabilities NATO-wide from which the RS Mission (and all other NATO operations) draw their practitioners meant in-country military leaders and communications staff simply could not mount a consistent, sustained campaign. The efforts by many communicators over the course of the campaign was commendable, but their efforts were hobbled by sclerotic mind-sets, processes, and systems not attuned to the unrelenting communication demands of such a mission, the pace of activity in the information/media space, and a content production factory, such as the

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Taliban. Policies, doctrine, structure, processes, training, practitioner ability (and leader ability) have not kept pace with the speed of communications technology change. Frequent staff rotations in theater of people new to NATO, new to Afghanistan, and new to the communications function and with weak oversight from superior military HQs, mean fixable shortcomings remain. The Taliban and other malign actors did not have to be accurate in their communications effort, they needed to be consistent, continuously producing quality content, and take the “best” advantage of their natural connections to the society to terrify, coerce, cajole, or influence, and then amplify the psychological effect of their actions. They did this and more. Much discussion and debate will ensue as NATO and nations wrestle with “how we got here.” Part of that reflection among communicators will need to be, what does “excellent” StratCom actually mean (and look like) in the face of poor policy and operational execution?; and what is the role, place, and practice for communications practitioners given their public messaging agent function for much of the characterization of events, issues, activities, and overall mission outcomes? (That is, to what extent did practitioners contribute to communicating known false mission positives? And was there any reasonable alternative action by practitioners?) Going forward, to do demonstrably better, NATO political and military HQs should start by decisively directing, guiding, and accelerating the inclusion of StratCom capability into the NATO Defence Planning Process. The lack of such a framework to define the specific military assets needed and that nations agree to develop and provide is a key vulnerability for the Alliance in the Information Age. The recent effort to situate and establish StratCom as a military force enabler is commendable, but more than a decade overdue and proceeding at a snail’s pace. Military leaders need to become as comfortable, confident, and capable at operating in the information environment as they are at leading maneuver units and managing kinetic capabilities. Barring that, and until NATO as an institution and more member nations take steps to replace the current ad hoc approach to generating strategic and operational communications capability and put in place mechanisms to develop appropriate policy, doctrine, and then build skilled practitioners (recruit, train, employ, and promote within information-related capability career fields), military information campaigns will struggle to compete with adversaries and will very likely lose.

Appendix 6.1 Overview of Key Developments and Messaging During Afghanistan Mission per International Security Assistance Force/Resolute Support Mission Command

Commander/ Command Period

Maj. Gen. John McColl UK Dec. 2001–July 2002 Maj. Gen. Hilmi Zorlu Turkey July 2002–Jan. 2003 Lt. Gen. Norbert Van Heyst Germany Jan. 2003–Aug. 2003 Lt. Gen. Gotz Gliemeroth Germany Aug. 2003–Feb. 2004 Lt. Gen. Rick Hillier Canada Feb.–Aug. 2004 Lt. Gen. Jean-Louis Py France Aug. 2004–Feb. 2005

Application of StratCom by Key Operational Commander Developments UN authorizes ISAF

NATO agrees to support ISAF; First Force Generation conference Invasion of Iraq; Transition to NATO command; Expansion of Provincial Reconstruction Teams

Dominant Media Coverage Related to the Afghanistan Mission

NATO Key Messaging (NATO Summits and Major Conferences on Afghanistan)

Bonn conference; National Bonn conference: Dec. 2001 Loya Jirga; Hamid Karzai elected NATO forces going to Prague summit: Nov. 2002a Afghanistan

Security threat to NATO Berlin conference: April 2004 forces; Possible expansion of mission; Invasion of Iraq (impact on Afghanistan)

NATO Leads ISAF—Expansion Through Afghanistan (Aug. 2003–Oct. 2006)

Low

High Low

Disarmament, demobilization; Security for Loya Jirga and elections Alternative livelihood program; Afghan Development Strategy Security sector reform; Heavy weapons cantonment

Prospects for broader NATO NATO assumes ISAF commandb engagement in Afghanistan; Equipment not suited for mission Poppy eradication effort Istanbul summit: June 2004c failing; NATO force generation issues Afghanistan presidential election/security; Drug tradeflourishing; Slow pace of reconstruction

continues

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Appendix 6.1 Overview of Key Developments and Messaging During Afghanistan Mission per International Security Assistance Force/Resolute Support Mission Command

Appendix 6.1 Continued Commander/ Command Period

Application of StratCom by Key Operational Commander Developments

Lt. Gen. Etham Erdagi Turkey Feb.–Aug. 2005

Low

Gen. David Richards UK May 2006–Feb. 2007

High

Gen. Mauro del Vecchio Low Italy Aug. 2005–May 2006

Gen. Dan McNeill US Feb. 2007–June 2008

Low

Gen. David McKiernan US June 2008–June 2009

Low

Dominant Media Coverage Related to the Afghanistan Mission

Expansion to north and west; Riots (desecration of Quran Preparations for election in Guantanamo Bay); (that did not happen) Expansion of NATO mission in Afghanistan Planning for expansion to Danish newspaper publishes south cartoons of Muhammad; What should NATO expect in south Mission expands to all NATO force generation Afghanistan; Distraction issues; Riots in Kabul; of war in Iraq Operation Medusa/Musa Qala and first ground fighting in NATO history

NATO Key Messaging (NATO Summits and Major Conferences on Afghanistan)

Brussels summit: Feb. 2005d

London conference: Jan. 2006 Riga summit: Nov. 2006e

Riga Summit—McChrystal Report (Nov. 2006–Aug. 2009) US Marine unit sent from theater; Battle of Musa Qala; “Bomber” McNeill implements kinetic-heavy operational focus Sarposa prison break; Kajaki dam convoy

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Civilian casualties: US air Bucharest summit: April 2008f strikes; Poppy harvest significant; Heavy fighting in Kandahar; Helmand; Insurgency deepening: NATO is not winning Civilian casualties: US air Paris conference: June 2008; strikes; President Obama Strasbourg/Kehl summit: troop surge/new strategy; April 2009g Insurgency deepening: NATO losing; McKiernan relieved of command

Commander/ Command Period

Application of StratCom by Key Operational Commander Developments

Dominant Media Coverage Related to the Afghanistan Mission

NATO Key Messaging (NATO Summits and Major Conferences on Afghanistan)

McChrystal Command—Afghanistan Forces Take Security Lead (Sept. 2009–June 2013)

Gen. Stanley McChrystal US June 2009–June 2010

Gen. David Petraeus US July 2010–July 2011 Gen. John Allen US July 2011–Feb 2013

High

Major spending on Raw account of war progress London conference: Jan. 2010 communications (McChrystal assessment); Surge activities; Change in of US forces; Civilian casualties: casualty reporting and US air strikes (and effort to revised directives for reduce); Afghanistan presidential air strikes elections; McChrystal relieved of command High Air strikes pick up in Pastor threatens to burn Quran; Lisbon summit: Nov. 2010h intensity; Death of WikiLeaks revelations; Civilian Osama Bin Laden casualties: US air strikes; President Karzai critical of NATO; Bin Laden killed in Pakistan Medium/high Video of soldiers “Green on blue” attacks on US Bonn conference: Dec. 2011; urinating on Taliban soldiers; Quran burned at US Chicago summit: May 2012;i corpses; US soldier base: riots; Civilian casualties; Tokyo conference: July 2012 leaves base, kills 16; Karzai denouncing NATO; Taliban raid on Camp NATO “exit strategy” Bastien; “Guardian Angels” training to deal with “green on blue” incidents

continues

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Appendix 6.1 Continued

Appendix 6.1 Continued Commander/ Command Period

Application of StratCom by Key Operational Commander Developments

Dominant Media Coverage Related to the Afghanistan Mission

NATO Key Messaging (NATO Summits and Major Conferences on Afghanistan)

NATO Forces Draw Down—ISAF Mission End (July 2013–Dec. 2014)

Gen. Joseph Dunford Medium/high US Feb. 2013–Aug. 2014 Gen. John Campbell Low US Aug. 2014–Dec. 2014 Gen. John Campbell Low US Jan. 2015–Mar. 2016 Gen. John Nicholson Medium/high US Mar. 2016–Sept. 2018

Transition planning; Karzai denouncing NATO, Drawdown NATO/US says Alliance collaborating forces with Taliban; Civilian casualties Transition ISAF to Civilian casualties; Karzai Wales summit: Sept. 2014;j RS Mission denouncing NATO London conference: Dec. 2014

NATO Resolute Support Mission (Jan. 2015–July 2021) US air strike Kunduz hospital

Civilian casualties

continues

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Enhanced external Afghan forces being built up; Warsaw summit: July 2016;k comms effort; US Ashraf Ghani supporting NATO; Brussels conference: Oct. 2016;l South Asia Strategy; Civilian casualties; Pace of NATO Defence Ministers: Focus on Afghan reconstruction Nov. 2017;m Brussels summit: special forces and July 2018n Afghan air force build Gen. Scott Miller Low: Troop- US/Taliban peace talks; US/Taliban peace talks; Doha North Atlantic Council Ministerial US contributing Doha agreement; agreement; Civilian casualties; Statement: April 2021o Sept. 2018–July 2021 nations; Security support to Major uptick in violence in High: Afghans election; Enhanced country; Afghan presidential kinetic effort; US and election; US and NATO NATO withdrawal drawdown

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Appendix 6.1 Notes All documents were retrieved from the NATO website in July 2020 except “o” (July 2021). a. NATO Communique (November 21, 2002): “NATO has agreed to provide support in selected areas for the next ISAF lead nations, showing our continued commitment. However, the responsibility for providing security and law and order throughout Afghanistan resides with the Afghans themselves.” See https://www.nato .int/cps/en/natohq/official_texts_19552.htm?. b. Speech by Deputy NATO Secretary General Alessandro Minuto Rizzo (August 11, 2003): “The Alliance is taking on this mission for one simple reason: to ensure that ISAF has the support and the capability it needs to help Afghanistan achieve the peace and security this country deserves.” See https://www.nato.int /docu/speech/2003/s030811a.htm. c. NATO Communique (June 28, 2004): “Contributing to peace and stability in Afghanistan is NATO’s key priority. . . . NATO’s aim is to assist in the emergence of a secure and stable Afghanistan, with a broad-based, gender sensitive, multi-ethnic and fully representative government, integrated into the international community and cooperating with its neighbours. Establishing and sustaining peace in Afghanistan is essential to the well-being of the Afghan people and to our shared struggle against terrorism.” See https://www.nato.int/docu/pr/2004/p04 -096e.htm. d. NATO Statement (February 22, 2005): “Afghanistan has turned an important corner in building a stable, democratic and multiethnic state. . . . We will continue the expansion to the rest of the country, and enhance cooperation and coordination with Operation Enduring Freedom, with a view to increasing synergy and better integrating the two operations. See https://www.nato.int/docu/pr/2005/p05 -022e.htm. e. NATO Communique (November 29, 2006): “We stand with the Government of President Karzai and the people of Afghanistan who seek to build a stable, democratic and prosperous society, free from terrorism, narcotics and fear, providing for its own security and at peace with its neighbours. . . . Contributing to peace and stability in Afghanistan is NATO’s key priority.” See https://www.nato.int/cps/en /natohq/official_texts_37920.htm?mode=pressrelease. f. NATO Communique (April 3, 2008): “Afghanistan is the Alliance’s key priority. We recognised after the tragic events of 11 September 2001, that EuroAtlantic and broader international security is tied to Afghanistan’s stability and future. . . . Neither we nor our Afghan partners will allow extremists and terrorists such as the Taliban or al-Qaeda, to regain control of Afghanistan or use it as a base for terror that threatens all of our people.” See https://www.nato.int/cps/en/natolive /official_texts_8444.htm?mode=pressrelease. g. NATO Communique (April 4, 2009): “In Afghanistan we are helping build security for the Afghan people, protecting our citizens and defending the values of freedom, democracy and human rights. Our common security is closely tied to the stability and security of Afghanistan and the region: an area of the world from where extremists planned attacks against civilian populations and democratic governments and continue to plot today. . . . [W]e remain committed for the long-run to supporting a democratic Afghanistan that does not become, once more, a base for terror attacks or a haven for violent extremism that destabilises the region and threatens the entire International Community. For this reason, Afghanistan

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remains the Alliance’s key priority.” See https://www.nato.int/cps/en/natohq/news _52836.htm. h. NATO Communique (November 20, 2010): “Our ISAF mission in Afghanistan remains the Alliance’s key priority, and we welcome the important progress that has been made. Afghanistan’s security and stability are directly linked with our own security. . . . [W]e reaffirm our long-term commitment to Afghanistan. . . . [The] Transition will be conditions-based, not calendar-driven.” See https://www.nato .int/cps/en/natolive/official_texts_68828.htm#afghanistan. i. NATO Communique (May 21, 2012): “The nations contributing to ISAF will therefore continue to support Afghanistan on its path towards self-reliance in security, improved governance, and economic and social development. This will prevent Afghanistan from ever again becoming a safe haven for terrorists that threaten Afghanistan, the region, and the world. . . . ISAF’s mission will be concluded by the end of 2014. But thereafter Afghanistan will not stand alone: we reaffirm that our close partnership will continue beyond the end of the transition period. See https://www.nato.int/cps/en/natolive/official_texts_87595.htm. j. NATO Communique (September 4, 2014): “Our commitment to Afghanistan will endure beyond ISAF along with our determination to ensure that we are never again threatened by terrorists from within Afghanistan.” See https://www.nato.int /cps/en/natohq/news_112517.htm. k. NATO Communique (July 9, 2016): “Together with the rest of the international community, our aim remains that Afghanistan will never again become a safe haven for terrorists who can pose a threat to our security, and that it is able to sustain its own security, governance, and economic and social development, while respecting human rights for all of its citizens, notably those of women and children. We remain resolute and united in our commitment to a secure and stable Afghanistan.” See https://www.nato.int/cps/en/natohq/official_texts_133169.htm. l. NATO Secretary General Stoltenberg (October 5, 2016): “Without security there can be no lasting development, and without development there can be no lasting security. Let me add that the reason why NATO is in Afghanistan is that that’s part of efforts to fight international terrorism. The reason why we went into Afghanistan and the reason why we still are in Afghanistan is to prevent Afghanistan from becoming a safe haven for international terrorists, and that’s the reason why it’s important for us to strengthen the Afghan forces so they can fight Taliban, Al-Qaeda, and other terrorist organizations.” See https://www.nato.int/cps/en/natohq/opinions_135568.htm ?selectedLocale=en. m. NATO Secretary General Stoltenberg (November 9, 2017): “For nearly three years, Afghan security forces have taken full responsibility for their country’s security. It has not been easy. The security situation remains very challenging. . . . [W]e stand united in our conditions-based approach . . . to establish the environment to achieve Afghanistan’s ultimate objective of peace and reconciliation.” See https:// www.nato.int/cps/en/natohq/opinions_148413.htm?selectedLocale=en. n. NATO Communique (July 12, 2018): NATO agrees to extend financing for Afghan security forces until 2024 and to continue the conditions-based approach. Communique: “Our shared aim remains a stable and secure Afghanistan that will never again serve as a safe haven for terrorists who threaten our shared security.” See https://www.nato.int/cps/en/natohq/official_texts_156625.htm?. o. “[R]ecognising that there is no military solution to the challenges Afghanistan faces, Allies have determined that we will start the withdrawal of Resolute Support Mission forces by May 1. This drawdown will be orderly, coordinated, and deliberate. . . . Withdrawing our troops does not mean ending our relationship with

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Afghanistan. Rather, this will be the start of a new chapter. A sustainable peace in Afghanistan will have at its foundation an enduring, comprehensive, and inclusive peace agreement that puts an end to violence, safeguards the human rights of all Afghans, particularly women, children, and minorities, upholds the rule of law, and ensures that Afghanistan never again serves as a safe haven for terrorists.” See https://www.nato.int/cps/en/natohq/official_texts_183146.htm. Retrieved from NATO website, June 2021.

Application of StratCom by Command Appendix 6.1 shows an assessement of the extent to which the ISAF/RS Mission command integrated “communication capabilities and information staff function with other military capabilities, in order to understand and shape the information environment,” per NATO military policy on StratCom. The value assigned draws on insights from more than 100 formal and semistructured interviews and exchanges with communications practitioners with direct knowledge of the Afghanistan mission and the evolution of the information-related functions over the course of the campaign. The reality is that commanders approach StratCom from very different backgrounds and perspectives, with considerable differences in how they use, organize, and resource information-related capabilities as mission enablers. Some commanders (in particular, Generals Richards, McChrystal, Petraeus, and Nicholson) were highly proactive proponents and advocates, and were prepared to invest considerable personal time to telling and showing the mission story externally, including to Afghans. General Scott Miller, the last RS Mission commander, emphasized Afghan-to-Afghan communications (good approach) over communicating to troop-contributing nations (questionable strategy). That he had to make that choice, and not do both, is evidence of practical dysfunction in NATO operational communications and, to be fair, the public challenge of dealing with an obviously worsening security situation as forces drew down. Right policy, good operational execution, and effective StratCom are all required to have a fighting chance of realizing desired outcomes. At times—and often in the case of this campaign—some periods are simply not “winnable” no matter how good the communications support. In such circumstances, there are real limits on what even the most brilliant StratCom effort can obtain, which is to try to mitigate the damage to organizational reputation and institutional credibility.

Appendix 6.2 US South Asia Strategy (August 2017): Resolute Support Mission Overarching Key Themes and Master Messages

ON AUGUST 27, 2017, US PRESIDENT DONALD TRUMP ANnounced the US South Asia Strategy, the first substantive expression by his administration on the subject of Afghanistan and the region. 40 The strategy, issued during the time of General (ret.) Jim Mattis’s tenure as secretary of defense, tried to establish notable differences in the approach to Afghanistan and the region by the US government, the most important actor and NATO force contributor to the RS Mission. Public support by the NATO secretary general followed in quick fashion.41 Still, this was an expression of US policy not NATO policy per se, and the military theater commander, General John Nicholson, was expected to speak to the issue publicly, and to provide direction, guidance, or context as appropriate to a wide variety of interested parties within the military command, including the Afghan government, the Afghan people, representatives of the broader international community, and organizations working in and near the region—and, ideally, to persuade malign actors to actively consider peace talks. The new strategy had experienced a number of delays as it worked its way through the interagency process and through to final agreement by the US president. Until that was finalized and announced, the operational theater HQ had to make do with the various iterations and accumulation of themes and messages in play over time from a variety of sources. The

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strategy announcement required Nicholson’s command to quickly establish a new articulation drawing from the variety of messages to that point in use by US and NATO leaders. That new formulation needed to be completely in line with the US strategy as well as NATO to ensure a common and consistent approach to external and internal messaging, and to inform all subsequent communications content development. The key sets of messaging guidance including themes to stress in place included: • SHAPE HQ StratCom Framework (April 2017): continuing NATO commitment, Afghan lead, ANDSF capability, NATO’s role within a wider effort, projecting stability; • Afghan National Defense and Security Forces Roadmap: increase fighting capabilities, counter-corruption, leadership development /selection/training, unity of effort/unity of command; • RS Mission Operational Order: security, stability, sustainability, sovereignty; • US South Asia Policy: referred to by US officials as regionalize, realign, reinforce, reconcile, and sustain (4R+S)

Although none of these on their own were inherently off target, too many “key” themes confused public communications, and thus it was important from the start of a significant new strategy to settle on a definitive articulation within the operational HQ that everyone could understand was the overarching story line going forward. The day following the US policy announcement, General Nicholson directed staff to develop such a treatment to transmit his immediate communications to subordinate commanders, to ambassadors in country, and to partner agencies and organizations for a major news conference three days later,42 and as the principal tool to guide all RS Mission external and internal communications activities thereafter. The guidance included six overarching key themes each with subordinate master messages (illustrative examples shown below), with each master message having an amplifying set of talking points providing further detail and data on that subject that could be added to as needed. Further guidance was provided to address the two key questions stemming from the US strategy of “Why is this time any different?” and “What has happened in the military sphere in 2017 to lend credibility that this is the right approach for the Afghan security forces to follow?” The challenge then became two-fold: to ensure that the material was used to the extent possible, to inform all RS Mission communications

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(easy); and to actually execute the policy on the ground as described, in Afghanistan and with Pakistan (very hard).

US South Asia Policy Strategy: Six Key Themes 1. A Conditions-Based Approach • The new US strategy is guided by conditions on the ground, not arbitrary time tables. • Realistic expectations: a stable Afghanistan that can secure its own territory, so terrorists cannot use its soil to threaten US and Alliance interests.

2. An Integrated Regional Strategy • The strategy integrates and focuses US diplomatic, economic, and military elements. • Pakistan has been a valued partner against a common enemy, but has also supported malign forces. Sanctuary for terrorists operating from Pakistan needs to end. • India is a key regional partner. We will further develop this relationship through bilateral political and military cooperation to the benefit of Afghanistan.

3. We Are Here at the Invitation of the Afghan Government • Afghanistan is leading this fight and sacrificing the most. They do not ask us to do their fighting for them, but we will support and assist. • President Ghani and Chief Executive Abdullah Abdullah—plus the senior security leadership—are trusted partners committed to transparency and cooperation. • We expect a lot from Afghans: ownership of their political future, implementation of reforms, rooting out corruption, and strengthening the ANDSF.

4. The Taliban and Enemies of Afghanistan Will Not Win • Reconciliation is the Taliban’s only hope; or, the Taliban can look to years of heavy fighting and unrelenting pressure.

5. No Safe Haven for Terrorists in Afghanistan • South Asia is home to the highest concentration of US-designated foreign terrorist groups in any region of the world (twenty of ninety-eight).

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• The United States and its allies will annihilate ISIS, including those elements that have emerged in Afghanistan. If members travel there from elsewhere, they will be killed.

6. The Momentum Is Ours • We now have renewed Afghan and broad international plus longterm US commitment. • We are building effective combat capability in the ANDSF: Afghan Special Security Forces (ASSF), Afghan Air Force (AAF), and the Afghan National Army (ANA). We will continue to focus on reform efforts in the Ministry of Interior.

US South Asia Policy Strategy: Messaging in Support of Important Related Concepts Why this is different (from previous strategies):

We have a willing and trusted partner in the National Unity Government. It is serious about building transparency and enhancing cooperation. At the national level, President Ghani, CEO Abdullah, National Security Adviser Mohammed Atmar, Minister of Defense Tariq Shah Bahrami, and Minister of Interior Wais Barmak have demonstrated top-down, reformminded leadership. This is a critical difference from years past. The international commitment to Afghanistan is strong, and enduring. NATO has been directly engaged in Afghanistan since 2003, and the Resolute Support Mission stands proudly as a continuation of the largest operation in NATO history, helping out Afghan partners realize a more stable and lasting peace; the NATO Warsaw summit (July 2016), Brussels conference (October 2016), US South Asia Policy (August 2017), and NATO Defence Ministerials (November 2017) have provided policy certainty for a considerable period in the future, in a way that we have not seen before in Afghanistan. President Ghani and the senior Afghan leadership have demonstrably committed to reform and professionalization of the Afghan military and police forces. The Afghan National Defense and Security Forces Roadmap is an Afghan-developed and -led approach (2017) to continue to build increasingly effective, affordable, and sustainable Afghan secu-

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rity forces. This road map—an initiative led by President Ghani—sets out the way ahead for the reform and further professionalization of the ANDSF, including addressing leadership challenges through meritbased promotions and assignments; countering corruption; expanding the Afghan Air Force, along with major upgrades to equipment; and increasing fighting capability by doubling the size of the Afghan special security forces.

The new US and NATO strategy is guided by conditions on the ground and not arbitrary time lines. The NATO Resolute Support Train Advise Assist approach is working. We are building effective combat capability in the Afghan security forces. They continue to demonstrate steady progress. The new US and NATO strategy provides more resources to conduct the Train Advise Assist mission, as well as to support the US counterterrorism effort. Most recently, at the NATO Defence Ministerials (November 2017), twenty-seven nations agreed to increase their support to the mission. This is a sign of reinforcing a strategy that is showing success. Afghans are leading this fight and sacrificing the most. They are not asking us to do their fighting for them, and we stand with them. The momentum is ours—together with Afghanistan.

2017 ANDSF Fighting Season: Reform and Change The impact of security sector reforms is obvious on the battlefield: • The ANDSF have been able to undertake operations more quickly and with less direct NATO and US support in response to emerging crises even in the far reaches of the country, in previously uncontested space. • New leaders, new capabilities, and an increased tempo of offensive operations have seized the initiative from the Taliban in many areas of the country.

Afghan defense and security forces demonstrated they own the fight and have “turned the corner.” The ANDSF now conduct four out of every five missions independent of coalition support.

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New, committed Afghan leadership and improved fighting capabilities were key to enhanced performance by their armed forces. President Ghani’s vision and focus on ANDSF leadership development has resulted in commanders increasingly selected on merit not patronage. New leaders—younger, more competent, less prone to corruption, and battle-tested at all levels—imbued a sense of confidence throughout the ANDSF and are creating new credibility in leaders across the Ministries of Defense and Interior. Afghan fighting capabilities are better and continue to improve, including in their quality, quantity, professionalism, and lethality—the Taliban will not win. The ANDSF have successfully integrated fire support capabilities into their engagements, including the employment of artillery, aircraft, and Afghan air tactical controllers to direct weapons in support of their operations. Afghan defense and security forces will sustain pressure on the enemy throughout the winter. The ANDSF will conduct limited offensive operations throughout the winter to expand security zones and retake key district centers. Afghan and US air power will be used to disrupt enemy support lines and their revenue streams.

Notes 1. NATO Press Briefing on Afghanistan, August 17, 2021, https://www.nato .int/cps/en/natohq/opinions_186040.htm. 2. For the purposes of this article, I applied the extant Alliance policy that defines military StratCom as “the integration of communication capabilities and information staff function with other military activities, in order to understand and shape the Information Environment (IE), in support of NATO aims and objectives.” NATO Military Policy on Strategic Communications MC0628 (NATO, July 2017, p. 4). 3. NATO North Atlantic Council Ministerial Statement on Afghanistan, April 14, 2021. 4. NATO Placemat, February 2021, https://www.nato.int/nato_static_fl2014 /assets/pdf/2021/2/pdf/2021-02-RSM-Placemat.pdf. 5. For a detailed treatment of communications during the ISAF period, see Brett Boudreau, “We Have Met the Enemy and He Is Us. An Analysis of NATO Strategic Communications: The International Security Assistance Force (ISAF) in Afghanistan, 2003–2014” (NATO Strategic Communications Centre of Excellence, Riga, Latvia, July 2016). 6. Appendix 6.1 provides an overview of each ISAF/RS Mission command period, key operational developments, and dominant media themes, along with an assessment of the degree of integration of StratCom into each ISAF and RS Mission command.

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7. See Richard Holbrooke, “Get the Message Out,” Washington Post, October 28, 2001, p. B7. 8. Kathy Gannon, Associated Press, July 6, 2021, https://apnews.com/article /bagram-afghanistan-airfield-us-troops-f3614828364f567593251aaaa167e623. 9. For more detail of that messaging, see Appendix 6.2. 10. “Gen. Nicholson Explains What New U.S. South Asia Policy Means for Mission in Afghanistan,” https://rs.nato.int/news-center/transcripts/gen-nicholson -explains-what-new-us-south-asia-policy-means-for-mission-in-afghanistan.aspx. Retrieved from Resolute Support website, March 2019. 11. Confidential interview conducted by the author, October 2019. 12. Basing a communications campaign in large measure on replying in English and only periodically to the prolific Taliban Twitter account was a very curious strategy. This minimized reach to key non-English-speaking audiences with whom the Taliban were connecting, and by not replying to an outrageously wrong claim or claims (made frequently), the Resolute Support approach inferred that the claims not responded to were true. 13. This is a direct comparison to the much-maligned Five O’Clock Follies press briefings during the Vietnam War in which military officials provided overly optimistic summaries of progress. See James Laporta, “Pentagon Reporters Slam Defense Secretary’s Silence on Afghanistan: ‘Zero O’Clock Follies,’” Newsweek, September 23, 2019, www.newsweek.com/pentagon-reporters-slam-defense-secretarys-silence -afghanistan-zero-oclock-follies-1460771. 14. NATO, NATO Military Policy on Strategic Communications MC0628, p. 9, defines narrative this way: Support for any institution or campaign is founded on logic, instinct and emotion which itself is derived from a society’s history and culture. This cognitive process in turn generates narratives. To operate in the IE [Information Environment], consistent strategic narratives must be constructed that are culturally attuned, appreciating existing narratives in the IE, in order to resonate with various audiences, balance opposing ones, and align words and actions. Narrative must therefore inform planning and execution of all activities and operations.

15. Process is concerned with having, sharing, and applying up-to-date policies, plans, and procedures, including a battle rhythm, staff structure, content management plan, detailed calendar of events, and standard operating procedures. These all support operational planning and provide guidance for staff, which is helpful in view of frequent staff rotations and variable individual experience within a major combined, joint NATO HQ. Capability refers to the means at the disposal of the command to obtain situational awareness and turn information about an event, activity, or development into a product or output that can be communicated externally via radio, TV, print, and social media, on multiple platforms and ideally in multiple languages. 16. See Appendix 6.1 for highlights of NATO HQ messaging over the course of the campaign. 17. There are habitually two Foreign Ministerials per year, two Defence Ministerials per year, and three chiefs of defense staff meetings per year (in addition to the weekly North Atlantic Council meetings with ambassadors and weekly Military Committee meetings with military representatives), offering ample opportunity to promulgate messaging with media targets of opportunity, especially for the NATO secretary general as principal spokesperson. 18. The definitive works on the subject of inform, influence, persuade, and evaluate are by, or in conjunction with, the RAND Corporation’s Christopher Paul. See

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Christopher Paul, Assessing and Evaluating Department of Defense Efforts to Inform, Influence, and Persuade: Worked Example (Santa Monica: RAND, 2017). 19. Nothing succeeds like success, and the Global Coalition Against Daesh communications effort is a notable best practice example of that in many respects, even if a mission-to-mission comparison with the RS Mission is untidy. The communications effort for the former is considerably easier because the threat is unambiguous and the desired outcomes overtly clear (whereas in Afghanistan, the Taliban are meant to be part of the political process). Most importantly, the coalition’s policy and operational success has led to the recapture of all the of territory lost to the Islamic State in Iraq and Syria (ISIS). See Dina Temple-Raston, “How the U.S. Hacked ISIS,” NPR, September 26, 2019, www.npr.org/2019/09/26/763545811/how-the-us-hacked-isis?t=1589650719457. 20. Dominic Medley, personal communication with the author, October 2019. Medley was an adviser to General Richards in 2006–2007, NATO’s civilian spokesperson in Kabul from 2010 to 2013, served with the UN mission in Afghanistan, and was a strategic adviser to General Nicholson throughout his command. 21. The first twenty news release titles on the website were: “Civilian Casualties Confirmed in Boz Village, Kunduz”; “USFOR-A Marks Second Anniversary of Peshawar School Attack”; “Resolute Support Offers Condolences After Death of Afghan Army 207th Corps Comd”; “Resolute Support Commander Condemns Murder of Civilians at Mosque in Kabul”; “Update on Bagram Explosion”; “Explosion at Bagram Airfield; Resolute Support Deputy Commander Condemns Taliban Attack”; “Update on Civilian Casualties Near Kunduz”; “Kunduz Casualty Release”; “Kabul Casualty Release”; “Nangarhar Casualty Release”; “USFOR-A Update on Civilian Casualties Near Kunduz”; “USFOR-A Provides Updated Statement on CIVCAS Accusations in Nangarhar”; “Resolute Support Commander Condemns Attack in Kabul”; “Helmand Casualty Release”; “RS Condemns Attack in Kabul, Expresses Condolences”; “RS Commander’s Statement on President Obama’s Troop Level Announcement”; “RS Expresses Condolences Following Today’s Terrorist Attack in Kabul”; “RS Expresses Condolences Following Terrorist Attacks in Kabul”; “RS Commander Offers Condolences to NPR.” 22. See https://twitter.com/USFOR_A/status/1172032397422014464. Retrieved from Resolute Support website, May 2020. 23. The Taliban have a named spokesperson with an active Twitter account, including for their political office in Doha. 24. https://twitter.com/USFOR_A. Retrieved from Resolute Support website, May 2020. 25. The Twitter handle as of July 2021 was still: @Commander_RS. 26. “None of the 34 Provincial Governors even had Twitter accounts,” recounted one senior staff officer. Confidential interview conducted by the author, October 2019. 27. Senior NATO communication practitioner, confidential interview conducted by the author, October 2019. 28. For important insight into this aspect of the operation, see Abi Austen, Lord Robert’s Valet (Scott’s Valley, CA: CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform, 2015); Andrew Mackay and Steve Tatham, Behavioural Conflict: Why Understanding People and Their Motivations Will Prove Decisive in Future Conflict (Essex: Military Studies Press, 2011); Steve Tatham, U.S. Government Information Operations and Strategic Communications: A Discredited Tool or User Failure? Implications for Future Conflict (Carlisle Barracks: US Army War College Press, 2013).

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29. Data obtained by the author during assignment on RS Mission staff in Kabul. From 2007 through most of 2011, the CJPOTF authorized staffing level on the order of 210 personnel. 30. The four rotating lead stories as of September 15, 2019, were all posted in April 2019: “Crime Drops to Lowest Point in 18 Years”; “Afghanistan Begins Exporting Talc to Distant Markets”; “Anti-drug Operations Accelerate Throughout the Country”; and “ANDSF Save Thousands of Citizens from Natural Disasters Throughout the Country.” 31. US InfoOps, Special Forces, and “three-letter agencies” conduct “grey” or “black” Psy Ops as required, with special authority. 32. NATO Military Policy on Strategic Communications MC0628 seeks to directly address this NATO-wide, drawing from ISAF and RS Mission lessons learned. 33. US Rear Admiral (ret.) Greg Smith, communications director in Iraq (including under General Petraeus) and Afghanistan (including under General McChrystal), has this to say about rank: The whole thing could fall apart like a house of cards, for one reason and one reason only. Unless you’ve got a credible senior member of the staff, coequal (rank) amongst the other influential directorate leads, you will subordinate communications back to a purely afterthought staff function, which is historically what we have seen. Whether it was IO or Public Affairs, it mattered not. To be honest with you, very few J-3s [operations chiefs] ever gave much focus or time on different information operations responsibilities, and certainly did not understand, necessarily, how to integrate that into the broader strategic function of the headquarters.

From US Department of Defense, Joint Doctrine Note 2-13, Commander’s Communication Synchronization, December 16, 2013, p. II–13. 34. In contrast, the NATO Senior Civilian Representative’s Office in Kabul’s public diplomacy/public affairs effort was undertaken throughout by a series of professional communicators. 35. The United States through sheer force of numbers has considerable capability in each functional stovepipe, but is still intellectually paralyzed over whether StratCom is a mind-set, process, or capability and, hence, how to develop leaders to manage that space. 36. The observation is not to disparage the service or sacrifice of practitioners, especially those who willingly volunteered to spend months overseas; some did not even leave the HQ compound during the entire tour, except to enter and depart theater. If the US services, and particularly the US Navy Reserve, had not answered the call, the information campaign would have collapsed entirely. The point is that, until more NATO nations get serious about building professional full-time capability, communication campaign outcomes will not notably improve. 37. Author interviews with David Loyn, October 2019. Loyn is a former BBC journalist with deep experience reporting from the region (including as a reporter, who accompanied and covered the Taliban moving into Kabul in 1996), and later as a StratCom adviser to President Ghani’s office. 38. Ibid. 39. Ibid. 40. See https://rs.nato.int/media-center/south-asia-policy/remarks-by-president -trump-on-the-strategy-in-afghanistan-and-south-asia.aspx. Retrieved from Resolute Support website, May 2020.

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41. See https://rs.nato.int/media-center/south-asia-policy/nato-secretary-general -welcomes-new-us-south-asia-strategy.aspx. Retrieved from Resolute Support website, May 2020. 42. See https://rs.nato.int/news-center/transcripts/gen-nicholson-explains-what -new-us-south-asia-policy-means-for-mission-in-afghanistan.aspx. Retrieved from Resolute Support website, May 2020.

7 Russian and Georgian Operations in South Ossetia, August 7–12, 2008 Vitaly Kabernik, Igor Orlov, and Mikhail Mironyuk THE EVENTS OF THE FIVE-DAY WAR BETWEEN RUSSIA AND the former Soviet republic of Georgia are rooted in the history of the Transcaucasia (South Caucasus) region. Some relate to the seven decades of the USSR and even earlier history, while others can be traced to the chaotic developments emerging from the collapse of the Soviet Union. In this chapter, we analyze information warfare during the conflict in South Ossetia, between August 8 and 12, 2008. Based on publicly available interviews and documents, we consider the Georgian and Russian information operations before, during, and after the conflict. What emerges from this brief investigation is what the Russians learned about information operations from this conflict: (1) the value in mobilizing activists to multiply the impact of official messaging; (2) the continuing high demand for, and supporting role of combat footage; (3) the value of embedded civilian correspondents; (4) the speed and flexibility of small news agencies; and (5) the power of cultural contrasts. This conflict is widely regarded as a failure of Russia in terms of information operations despite the military success. Postconflict analysis has brought about systemic changes in how information warfare is understood and approached. The lessons learned were practiced and further developed in subsequent conflicts, including Ukraine and Syria.

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Tensions Before the Conflict President Mikheil Saakashvili’s success in ousting the long-time leader of the Ajara region, Aslan Abashidze, gave him the mandate to try to reintegrate South Ossetia in the summer of 2004. Georgian troops attempted to take more control in South Ossetia,1 especially around Tskhinval. The mission of the Organization for Security and Co-operation in Europe (OSCE) stationed in the region condemned this move.2 At the same time, the Georgian parliament called for the internationalization of the peacekeeping forces. Regardless of the cease-fire agreement, negotiated on August 15, 2004, both sides continued to blame each other for attacks and hostile behavior. Georgia also claimed that provocations were being carried on by “third parties”—Russian-backed mercenaries.3 The Georgian parliament continued to demand the denunciation of the Sochi Agreement of 1992. President Saakashvili called on the UK, Germany, France, the UN, and the OSCE to assemble an emergency commission to reassess the status of South Ossetia and Abkhazia.4 After 2005, the Georgian calls of this nature were answered by stronger Russian rhetoric.5 Tensions between Georgia and Russia reignited in late January 2006, when an explosion near the border cut vital gas pipelines and electricity transmission lines from Russia to Georgia and Armenia. Russian authorities characterized these incidents as deliberate criminal acts. However, the Georgian president accused Russia of “gas sabotage” in an attempt to exert pressure on Georgia.6 Russian authorities reacted angrily.7 Heavily dependent on the Russian market for its food exports, in March 2006 Georgia was prohibited from exporting wine to Russia.8 Then, in late September, four Russian officers were arrested in Georgia on charges of espionage. Russian authorities responded in kind: 9 they recalled the ambassador, evacuated diplomats’ families, suspended all transport links with Georgia, and started deporting Georgian migrants.10 At the same time, according to several Russian sources,11 the plan to invade South Ossetia and restore the territorial integrity of Georgia by military action had already been drafted in Tbilisi. Later, Irakly Okruashvili, former Georgian minister of defense, confirmed the plans and disclosed some of the details in his interview with Reuters,12 and criticized “Saakashvili’s handling of the war, which he said was launched in haste, without diplomatic support and failed to take account of a build-up of Russian forces in the region.” 13 He stressed the point that the plan of the military operation was focused on capturing Tskhinval and relied on diplomatic support from the United States to block Russian active response.

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Information Operations During the Conflict On the night of August 7–8, 2008, Georgia launched a military operation in South Ossetia, which turned into a large-scale five-day war between Georgia and Russia together with the self-proclaimed republics of South Ossetia and Abkhazia. Before the fighting began, Brigadier General Mamuka Kurashvili, who was in charge of overseeing Georgian peacekeepers in the conflict zone, informed the commander of the Joint Peacekeeping Forces, Major-General Marat Kulakhmetov, of the imminent military operation in the region.14 Shortly before midnight on August 7, Kurashvili told journalists that in response to the shelling of Georgian villages in the conflict zone “the Georgian side has decided to restore constitutional order in the entire region.”15 The Rustavi 2 TV station aired his remarks. Several months later, Kurashvili said that he had not been authorized by his superiors to make such statements and had been “impulsive” after combat.16 Interestingly, Kurashvili’s calling for restoration of constitutional order resembled the Russian authorities’ legitimization of the first Chechen war in 1994–1996, which had been started with President Boris Yeltsin’s Decree No. 2137, “On the Measures to Restore Constitutional Law and Order in the Chechen Republic.” Importantly, Kulakhmetov gathered an emergency press briefing right after receiving Georgian warnings stating that the “Georgian side de-facto declared war on South Ossetia”—a claim that was soon repeated by South Ossetian president Eduard Kokoity.17 Without any official statements from the Georgian side, this gave them the upper hand in further information coverage of the conflict and allowed them to partially disrupt the Georgian agenda, which was expressed neither coherently, nor explicitly, from the start. The Russian media reacted quickly. TV stations began broadcasting from the conflict zone that night, and in the following days the major media outlets gave extensive reports on the conflict. The Kommersant newspaper, for example, devoted its first three pages to analysis of the conflict.18 President Dmitry Medvedev made a short statement on the situation in South Ossetia at a meeting with the permanent members of the Security Council of Russia. His statement was published on the official English version of the President of Russia website on August 8, 2008, at 10:43 A.M.19 The statement in Russian was published at 3:00 P.M., by which time the advancing Russian troops were entering Tskhinval.20 He claimed that “Russia has maintained and continues to maintain a presence

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on Georgian territory on an absolutely lawful basis, carrying out its peacekeeping mission in accordance with the agreements concluded.”21 He also offered the official Russian version of events: Last night, Georgian troops committed what amounts to an act of aggression against Russian peacekeepers and the civilian population in South Ossetia. . . . Georgia’s acts have caused loss of life, including among Russian peacekeepers. The situation reached the point where Georgian peacekeepers opened fire on the Russian peacekeepers with whom they are supposed to work together to carry out their mission of maintaining peace in this region.22

Moreover, President Medvedev made clear that Russia was determined to intervene on moral and legal grounds: What took place is a gross violation of international law and of the mandates that the international community gave Russia as a partner in the peace process. . . . Civilians, women, children and old people, are dying today in South Ossetia, and the majority of them are citizens of the Russian Federation. In accordance with the Constitution and the federal laws, as President of the Russian Federation it is my duty to protect the lives and dignity of Russian citizens wherever they may be. It is these circumstances that dictate the steps we will take now. We will not allow the deaths of our fellow citizens to go unpunished. The perpetrators will receive the punishment they deserve.23

Throughout the military conflict major Russian media outlets, under various forms of state control, followed the same pattern. Their statements on the conflict contained three components: (1) Russia protects its citizens; (2) Russia is operating within the norms of the Russian constitution and international law; and (3) Georgia is the aggressor, which has taken unlawful actions, and has perpetrated a treacherous attack.

Context of Information Operations Contemporary Russian sources tend to emphasize the role of the international and Russian media coverage, when discussing information operations during the conflict in 2008.24 Indeed, as the major military activities lasted for only five days (with minor actions on August 13, 2008) and required no large-scale Russian mobilization, the wheels of the Russian military information operations machine could hardly start turning. Instead, most of the conflict coverage was in the Russian

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media—both state controlled and independent. Social media platforms also played their part in helping Russian and Georgian activists to play a comparable role to the traditional media. They served as an alternative source of both information and disinformation.25 A significant amount of the effort, however, went uncoordinated, as there was no time to institute a state-led coherent information policy. Most of the information support came later, surfacing after the cease-fire agreement. Given the limited time, any information operations in the field were either improvised or experimental in nature. The agencies responsible for information operations in the Fifty-Eighth Army—Russia’s primary combat asset in the conflict—were unprepared to deliver any meaningful information support, so the effort for conflict coverage was redirected toward the civilian journalists assigned to the advancing troops. This repeated the practice first applied in the conflict in Chechnya. Established contacts were used to provide appropriate footage to the media outlets.

Peace Enforcement Label

The Russian media and officials consistently labeled the conflict as a “peace enforcement operation.” First used by Russian president Dmitry Medvedev on August 9, 2008, in his dialogue with US president George W. Bush the day after the conflict began, it was then used repeatedly in various communications and meetings between Russian and foreign officials.26 Delving into the use of this term uncovers a remarkable development of the Russian view on “humanitarian intervention”—a concept used by NATO forces and the United States to justify military operations against the former Yugoslavia.27 Interestingly, NATO’s operation in Yugoslavia, Operation Allied Force, which started without UN authorization, was regarded negatively in Russian political circles. It was seen as a cornerstone for the disruption of the post–World War II order.28 So, the Kremlin’s reference to it was an interesting politicalinformational development. By studying the development of the conflict, it is possible to see that the Georgian stance and message after the shelling of Tskhinval also relied on the conceptual umbrella of peacekeeping. The official message distributed by the Georgian authorities at 2 A.M. on August 8, 2008 (about an hour after shelling started), referred to “hundreds of armed men and military equipment” entering the area from the Russian side while at the same time confirmed the determination of Georgia to resolve the conflict peacefully through negotiations.29 Simultaneously,

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the message for the internal Georgian audience was calling for the “restoration of the constitutional order.”30 By 10 A.M., the Georgian reintegration minister called Russia to interfere “as a true peacekeeper,”31 whatever that meant as the Russian peacekeeping contingent had already been attacked by advancing Georgian troops, while Russia had retaliated with aerial strikes. At 5 P.M. on August 8, the Georgian foreign minister called for the international community to interfere to stop “direct military aggression.” 32 In response, Russian foreign minister Sergey Lavrov stated that, since Georgia had called on Russia to act as a peacekeeper, “that is exactly what we are doing.”33 The Russian propaganda in the public media started to operate after the emergence of official statements on the conflict. As government officials boldly stated that a “peace enforcement operation” is taking place to protect Russian citizens and the peaceful population in South Ossetia, in full accordance with international law, major media outlets placed the coverage of the conflict in prime time, thus displacing the reports from the Olympic Games in Beijing. The message developed for the domestic audience was a result of crude improvisations and could not be appealingly and evenhandedly presented to international audiences, but it was highly effective domestically. The following are elements of the Russian propaganda efforts throughout the conflict, some calling back to the proven guidebooks of World War II but, at the same time, borrowing from more recent developments:

• “Inadequate and criminal Georgian regime.” The wording was rather traditional with the exception of references to inadequacy in psychiatric terms. The media hinted systematically that the Georgian president was making decisions under the detrimental effects of psychoactive substances or was mentally ill. The message was rude and politically incorrect, but it was self-affirming in the sense that only a madman would have attacked a nuclear-armed superpower with insufficient force. Right from the start, the Georgian president was given rather insulting nicknames and suffered offensive comparisons.34 To support the message of inadequacy, an interview with an expert from a renowned mental hospital was aired, in which the mental condition of Saakashvili was diagnosed by judging his TV appearances, including one in which he was chewing his necktie. • Atrocities of Georgian soldiers. Facts of atrocities were never confirmed, but collateral damage and casualties among civilians were

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emphasized. Almost every broadcast covering the situation in South Ossetia started with footage of Tskhinval and villages after shelling and of people who lost their homes or relatives. There was plenty of footage depicting debris and destroyed property, as well as many live interviews spreading rumors and unconfirmed assumptions. The picture thus formed was allowing comparisons with the tragic events of World War II. • Strong international stance. This message was never fully developed, which is sometimes seen as one of the causes of information operations failure, at least internationally. Domestically, bold claims of Russian actions in full accordance with international law and resolutions of the UN Security Council to protect its citizens and their dignity were taken for granted. At the same time, officials rarely confirmed the claims, nor did they give interviews until the cease-fire agreement. • Attacks permitted by the West. Domestically, this message gained traction as a form of defense against the foreign coverage of the conflict. This was one of the most ineffective messages from the information operations viewpoint. The domestic audience did not need such a defense, while the international audience did not ever witness it.

In analyzing the rapid evolution of the messaging to a peace enforcement operation, it seems only that neither side benefited from it. The Georgian stance was used by Russia against it, while the Russian use of Kosovo as a precedent also backfired. Russian authorities chose the same approach of peace enforcement to legitimize the military operation in South Ossetia by referring to the well-known precedents, UN Resolution 1808 and the Sochi Agreement of 1992.35 The Georgian attack on the Russian peacekeepers and Russian citizens in South Ossetia reinforced this stance, yet the Western media reacted harshly to the Russian approach. Abkhazia also joined the conflict, referring to the collective defense agreement. The Georgian peacekeeping message was lacking credibility due to excessive Georgian military actions. The message of the Georgian regime’s inadequacy was a success internally, but backfired when it was noticed by the Western media. Footage of the Georgian president in a bulletproof vest running away from an imaginary Russian aerial attack or chewing his necktie supported depicting him as an unworthy coward. But simultaneously, the same footage was used by BBC to provoke sympathy for a leader of a small country under attack from an aggressive neighbor.36 Profound differences in values were not accounted for in the Russian propaganda efforts. There was a similar problem in the virtual polemics with the Western media outlets. Georgia as a victim was a Western narrative, while

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the Russian media called for righteous actions against Georgia as an aggressor. Both sides aimed to provoke emotional responses in their audiences. However, instead of rational reasoning with good evidence of UN Resolution 1808 and the Sochi Agreement, the Russian media was caught in the trap of emotional disputes with a competitor who already had made up its mind. As a result, all sides remained deaf to the arguments of each other.

Information Context During the Conflict

While most of the information distributed during the conflict came from news agencies, the Russian General Staff established a press center led by Colonel-General Anatoly Nogovitsyn, deputy chief of the General Staff. He gave daily press briefings. Unsurprisingly, the information provided by this center was filtered and often controversial. It represented a rapidly changing agenda, which was neither developed nor affixed before or during the conflict. Most major Russian TV companies had their correspondents in South Ossetia providing invaluable footage from the first hours of the Georgian attack. The majority were evacuated by August 9, 2008, when the street fighting began, and a number were wounded.37 A Russian TV group also accompanied the command of the Fifty-Eighth Army.38 During this period, foreign journalists (except for the Ukrainian Inter channel) were not allowed into Tskhinval.39 Most of the Western journalists therefore were based in Georgia, presenting the Georgian side of the story. As a result, for some time the Russian media (not the military) was the only real source of combat footage and information from the Russian side. They presented images of a city destroyed, together with comments from South Ossetian officials. Since the Russian TV channels were not “in line” with the Georgian message of restoring constitutional order, they were banned from Georgia on August 9 in an attempt to control the public information space.40 These divisions in the information space produced controversies and fake footage, both intentional and unintentional, which played out in the Western media. For example, original Russian footage of the destruction of Tskhinval was frequently mistaken for the destruction of Georgian towns by advancing Russian troops. As foreign audiences had no idea how to tell one Caucasian city from another, such footage was often misattributed. For example, the Russia Today news agency accused CNN of using its footage from Tskhinval and Kodori in Abkhazia to illustrate the results of Russian aerial strikes in Gori.41

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The number of fakes and poorly attributed footage produced by the Western media played a role in consolidating a negative view of the Russian media community irrespective of political preferences. This was commented on by Seumas Milne of The Guardian: “At the start of the August conflict, western media reporting was relatively evenhanded, but rapidly switched into full-blown cold war revival mode as Russia turned the tables on the US’s Georgian client regime and NATO expansion in the region.”42 Indeed, initial coverage was relatively neutral, but opinions polarized by August 9 (and kept on polarizing), with both the Russian and Western media taking an aggressive stance. As a result, during the conflict the Russian, Western, and Georgian media delivered conflicting reports as if “they were reporting about completely different events, different countries, and in different periods.”43 This conflict between media and the subsequent ban on the use of Russian sources were perceived as an attack on freedom of speech not only by the pro-government media, but by the opposition and neutral parties.44 Many of them—including online influencers—attempted to gather and deliver an accurate picture but this, in turn, led to the exaggeration of Ossetian casualties. The Russian media eagerly interviewed refugees and individuals in Russia with relatives in South Ossetia, producing unconfirmed claims of “thousands of bodies” and cases of genocide.45 Not unsurprisingly, Human Rights Watch questioned the figures of casualties presented by all parties to the conflict.46

Social Media and the Internet

The social media space in post-Soviet countries, far from being dominated by Twitter and Facebook, has traditionally been relatively autonomous, relying on less trendy Russian language–focused social platforms. During the conflict, the Livejournal blog platform was one of the primary services for information and propaganda materials distribution, while the Russian VKontakte social network and Russianspeaking segment of Facebook played a secondary role.47 At the end of 2007, the US-based company Six Apart sold the Livejournal blog platform to a Russian-US joint venture—SUP Media. By August 2008, it had an audience of close to 2 million Russian-speaking—mostly postSoviet—users. A minnow compared to Facebook, it was a substantial number for the time. Over the five-day period of the conflict, according to “Pulse of Blogosphere” statistics, provided by Yandex, over 20,000 conflict-related posts were published. They accounted for approximately 5 percent of the combined Russian blog activity. While

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it was a leading platform during the conflict,48 the Vkontakte network also contributed to the information campaign, creating a powerful propaganda effect through its combined use of images and slogans, including “Stop Saakashvili” and “No to the war!” Other Russian-based platforms, such as Liveinternet, were also used to disseminate information, but their role (and impact) has been estimated as marginal. For example, a video recording of a tank shooting at residential buildings in Tskhinval, which had been made by a Georgian soldier, was uploaded in early September 2008 by an anonymous user to the “Mobile Reporter” project website.49 It appeared in numerous television reports50 and was widely distributed on the internet. The presidents of Abkhazia and South Ossetia, unlike their Russian and Georgian counterparts, had no regular and consistent information platforms to present their views and position on the conflict. As a result, the internet became the main arena of information warfare for the republics. They spent much time and effort debunking disinformation and fake news stories. For example, the attempts of the foreign media outlets to present photographs of the destroyed buildings in South Ossetia for the shambles in Georgia were quickly exposed.51 Due to the inability to cover all (and often conflicting) information flows from the conflict, bloggers chose information that fit best their perceptions of the situation. Users then relayed the received news, simultaneously enhancing it and breaking it into multiple subtopics for discussion. Blogs were the preferred medium for chronicling the hostilities and publishing multimedia materials. In this, the Russians conceded the victory in the blogosphere to the Georgians due to the informational closeness of the Russian bloggers.52 According to one of the founders of Runet (Russian national internet segment and its genuine services), Anton Nosik, during the conflict in South Ossetia some people deliberately engaged in pumping the atmosphere to create a hospitable environment already disposed to accept the information provided. For example, 20 percent of his blog’s readers wrote most of the polemics. After reading them, Nosik felt there was no other valid point of view.53 They created “echo chambers” reinforcing one particular viewpoint.

Cyberattacks and Fake Websites

On August 8, 2008, leaders of the Russian pro-government youth movements Nashi (Ours), Rossiya Molodaya (Young Russia), Mestnye (Locals), and Molodaya Gvardiya (Young Guard) collectively called on their supporters to start an “information war against Georgian President

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Mikhail Saakashvili’s regime” using all internet resources while collecting humanitarian aid for displaced South Ossetians.54 On the same day, the websites of President Saakashvili and the Georgian Foreign Ministry were hacked and defaced. Hackers posted a collage of Adolf Hitler and Mikhail Saakashvili, instantly copied by visitors to blogs and online albums.55 The Georgian Ministry of Foreign Affairs had to move its web resources to the US-hosted BlogSpot platform. At the same time, denial-of-service attacks were carried out against Georgian news agencies. According to cybercrime expert Gary Warner, a link to download and run malware script was later found on many comments’ pages, suggesting it was used against Georgian websites. The script resembled one previously used to perform denial-of-service attacks on Estonian websites. While the origin of this malware is still unknown, it was possibly written or modified by activists, while Western sources suspected the involvement of Russian government agencies.56 Despite the lack of “smoking gun” evidence, the Georgian authorities blamed Russia for this coordinated “information warfare,”57 and on August 9, they banned the Russian public domain .ru in an attempt to isolate not only the televised information space, but also the internet.58 The Russian authorities did not authorize any centralized bans of Georgian websites in response and did not limit Georgian-originated information traffic.59 It is important to note that, while most of the denial-of-service attacks on Georgian websites occurred on August 11 or later,60 the first websites to go off-line due to the attacks were, in fact, South Ossetian. By the afternoon of August 8, www.osinform.ru (the website of the South Ossetian Information Agency) experienced delays and access problems. To relieve the pressure, a new website www.tskhinval.ru was launched to support the South Ossetian information agenda. Just hours later, a fake clone of www.osinform.ru appeared (accessible via www.os-inform.ru) and began publishing the Georgian interpretation of the conflict and fake speeches of the South Ossetian president.61 Later, on August 11, the Russian news agencies RIA Novosti and Russia Today reported denialof-service attacks originating from Georgian IP addresses.62 Russia denied attacking the Georgian web infrastructure, while web expert Anton Nosik characterized the approach as childish and amateurish. However, he did not deny this initiative could have been the result of hacktivism supporting the Russian position. He also condemned the Georgian policy of blocking Russian DNS resolution and IP addresses.63 Russian minister of communications Igor Shchegolev also criticized Georgia’s actions, stating that blocking access to parts of the internet was unacceptable.64

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What Went Wrong with Russia’s Efforts in the Information Space Following the discussion above, it is useful to highlight the major factors that weakened the effects of the coordinated Russian government agencies’ information operations. The progress of information coverage—we cannot call it warfare— of the conflict demonstrated the importance of a clear and universally accepted agenda, image formation, and targeting to gain international public appeal. For the first time, the Russian propagandists faced the need of working in the public space where discrete targeting—a technique highly developed in the USSR—was not effective. Instead, the Russian media message was primarily targeting the domestic audience. The main approach relied on “plain folks” explanations and simplification of the message, ignoring the values divide between the Russian and Western publics. Instead of constant references to official resolutions and international law, the Russian media focused on generation of emotional responses, though the responses from the Russian and foreign audiences differed. The message of Georgians’ unworthiness, for example, was enthusiastically accepted by the majority of the Russian audience, but simply was not understood in the West. The Russian message was lacking in coherence and half-baked at the beginning of the conflict. When good analytics became available as a result of the efforts of independent Russian agencies and bloggers, it could hardly win hearts and minds as the image of the Russian aggression had already been formed. The presence of Russian high-ranking officials in the media explaining the country’s position was limited and defensive. For example, Russian minister of defense, Anatoly Serdyukov, kept silence throughout the conflict and in its immediate aftermath. Instead of setting out the Russian position, Russian government representatives tried to contradict and challenge the accusations presented by foreign politicians and Western journalists. Their media messaging was insufficient to reverse the negative Western attitudes toward Russia in this situation. The daily press conferences of Colonel-General Nogovitsyn, deputy chief of the General Staff of the Russian Armed Forces, were the only source of official military information on the course of the military conflict for the Russian media.65 After the conflict, Prime Minister Vladimir Putin compensated for the “silence” with several rather emotional and hard-hitting interviews, including one with the German ARD channel66 and his appearance at the Valdai club meeting67 with Western scholars and experts.

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There is also evidence that Putin met with senior journalists and editors to demand more loyalty (and accuracy) on the issue.68 Russia severely restricted foreign journalists’ access to the conflict zone. The Ukrainian television channel Inter was the only one to report from the city of Tskhinval. In this situation, by August 9, 2008, most journalists had left the conflict zone. Only the representatives of the Russian Channel One, NTV, TV Center, and the Ukrainian Inter, as well as several print journalists, remained in Tskhinval.69 The producer of the ZDF Bureau in Moscow, Roland Fritsche, complained that “the journalists on the Russian side, that is, in South Ossetia, found it difficult to work. It was difficult to get into this region; there were problems to upload the materials prepared. In this regard, Georgia was more able to work with Western journalists.”70 On August 8, the Georgians had launched the international communication center in Gori to support journalists covering events in South Ossetia round the clock.71 Moreover, there were many more bureaucratic obstacles on the Russian side. As RAI television company correspondent Sergio Kanchani explained, most of the foreign correspondents were in Gori due to the peculiarities of logistics: “From Italy, it is easy to get to Tbilisi. . . . You do not need to deal with bureaucratic red tape, obtaining visas, permits, which takes much time. And in such situations, which occurred in August in the Caucasus, it is clear that a stitch in time saves nine.”72 Regular briefings for journalists were tardy, and the impetus was lost in Russia’s efforts to present itself as a peacemaker. The Georgians quickly filled the information vacuum. President Saakashvili launched an effective information offensive by giving numerous interviews and immediately joining journalists to pose against the destroyed houses in the Georgian city of Gori. Unlike Russian officials during the conflict,73 Saakashvili spoke excellent English, used ideas and frames that appealed to Western audiences, and gave interviews with the Georgian and European Union flags in the background. In addition, in presenting their side of the story Georgian politicians drew historical parallels with the entry of Soviet troops into Hungary, Czechoslovakia, and Afghanistan.74 Right from the start, Russian leaders made clear which side they were on, and this clearly weakened their peacekeeping claims. In other words, taking a strong anti-Georgian and pro–South Ossetia and Abkhazia position inevitably undermined the Kremlin’s attempt to portray Russia as a peacekeeper. Russian information operations lacked coordination. On occasion, Russian officials and major news outlets provided incorrect and contradictory information, which was then used to undermine the Russian

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version of events. For example, on August 8, 2008, the Vesti-24 TV channel reported that a humanitarian aid convoy, accompanied by the president of North Ossetia, Taimuraz Mamsurov, was bombarded by Georgian troops—a claim quickly denied by North Ossetia. 75 The claim of a so-called Ukrainian trace also proved to be wrong. Referring to the Ukrainian diplomatic car plates found in the Georgian warehouse, Colonel-General Nogovitsyn accused the Georgian military of using diplomatic immunity to move freely throughout the conflict zone. However, it soon became apparent that these were Ukrainian temporary transit car plates, which the Georgians used to cross the border when buying cars in Ukraine.76 Finally, the Russian government agencies’ counterpropaganda efforts were inadequate. This was offset by self-organized activists, social network groups, and individual reporters and activists who stepped in to try and compensate for the authorities’ failures. While some of these actions were carried out by patriotic organizations with some government support, considerably more were generated by independent media outlets and individuals, with little or no centralized coordination. The activists’ actions can be explained as patriotic acts, the result of intense anti-Georgian or anti-Western propaganda, but this does not explain why the mainstream media of liberal, opposition, and neutral parties voluntarily joined the campaign. They acted independently, providing high-quality verified information. They sometimes even corrected the exaggerations, rumors, and myths, which were spread by government-aligned newspapers and TV channels. 77 Interestingly enough, they never criticized the operation itself, leaning toward a more balanced and neutral interpretation of the events. The mobilization of the Russian independents and social media can be interpreted as a reciprocal reaction to the overly aggressive Georgian and Western campaigns, which included bans of Russian information sources and one-sided representation and interpretation of the situation. Observers, including representatives of the Moscow Human Rights Bureau,78 opposition-aligned Echo of Moscow radio,79 Russian Jewish Congress,80 and others, supported these interpretations.

Conclusion: Lessons Learned? On August 12, 2008, a cease-fire was declared and later the same day it was reinforced by a plan negotiated by Russian president Medvedev and the French president Nicolas Sarkozy. However, this did not end the confrontation taking place in the information space. Russia’s uncondi-

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tional support of South Ossetia was followed up by anti-US and antiWestern information campaigns. This was self-evident from officials’ public statements and interviews. With it, the peace enforcement and peacekeepers’ campaign quickly transformed into one of solidarity: “We are with you, Tskhinval!” billboards first appeared in Russian cities shortly after the cease-fire. This signaled the beginning of another phase in the information war: the interpretation of Russian and Georgian activities and conduct during the conflict and the political maneuvering following the cease-fire. Russian experts and academics generally regard the information operations during the conflict as a failure, despite its military success. The negative interpretations of Russian actions are seen as the prima facie evidence of its failure. This perception goes hand in hand with the politicization of the conflict and the international negative stereotyping of Russia, despite the findings of the Council of the European Union Independent International Fact-Finding Mission (IIFFMCG) investigation. Its report clearly stated that the shelling of Tskhinval by Georgian troops, which started the conflict, was an act of unprovoked violence.81 Therefore, the Western image of Russia as an aggressor is seen by many as proof that the information war was lost. 82 Developments after 2014 have exacerbated the negative perceptions of Russia and, despite the IIFFMCG findings, the 2008 events are unambiguously treated as evidence of Russia’s well-planned aggression. Inside Russia, harsh criticism was directed toward the Russian military and the state apparatus for their poor performance in the information space. The absence of an agenda, incoherent conflict coverage, wasted potential of social media and the internet (including the official website of the Ministry of Defense), poor performance of the press center, and incompetence of its high-ranking staff led to the conclusion that the Russian defense agencies were relying on outdated ideas and desperately needed to reconceptualize their approach and the means for conducting information operations in support of military activities.83 Vladimir Shcherbakov, in his editorial in the Independent Military Review dedicated to the failures of special propaganda units of the Russian Army during the conflict, stressed the conceptual difference between the Russian understanding of “special propaganda” (essentially psychological operations [PsyOps] carried out at a tactical level) and the US-originated joint doctrine on information operations. Furthermore, he noted that contemporary practices should target mass audiences rather than enemy troops, using any delivery means available to shape public opinion and interpretations of the facts.84 According to his analysis, the Russian army structures were not prepared and they failed

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to provide accurate, professional, and expert-oriented information on the progress of military operations. The official information policy was criticized for adopting a defensive stance. Despite the successful interception of the Georgian peacekeeping message, and the positive use of references to previous agreements and international law, the position was underdeveloped and incoherent. It failed to resonate at the international level. Competing government agencies did not cooperate and, as a result, disseminated conflicting and controversial messages. Russian publications and press releases followed classic counterpropaganda patterns in attempting to debunk the message of “Russian aggression,” highlighting the public relations contracts between the Georgian government and Western commercial agencies as evidence of collusion.85 But these attempts came too late and were not bold enough. Even captured battle plans, tactical maps, and hardware were not presented effectively and were made public only after the conflict was over.86 The following aspects of the information confrontation during the conflict in South Ossetia can be highlighted. The reports of the media regarding the hostilities played a more significant role than the outcome of the actual armed confrontation itself. During the initial stage of the conflict, the traditional and the new media (internet blogs, social networks, official websites of government agencies) succeeded in shaping the world’s public opinion regarding who was the aggressor. The traditional and the new media were used as tools to create the necessary public response on both sides of the conflict. This conflict was one of the first examples of a conflict where the new media became an instrument of military confrontation.87 The lessons learned from this conflict led to the conceptualization of a new form of information warfare—information-image warfare— not yet mastered by the Russian military, media, and policymakers.88 While the term is not defined rigorously, it is now being used in Russian information operations studies (both public and applied), producing a chimera of public relations, government relations, strategic communications, and psychological operations. The end goal of informationimage operations is the denial of legitimate state actors’ interests and the condemnation of the means used to achieve them by creating a negative adversarial reputational image.89 Furthermore, information operations carried out in peacetime or in preparation for military action have significant impact on wider public opinion, as well as on the decisionmaking global elites who fall back on already formed perceptions and stereotypes. In this respect, despite the fact that much of the information

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competition is virtual by nature, it has a real impact on geopolitical and economic outcomes of future conflicts for all participating actors.90 Though improvised, some Russian efforts used during the conflict were successful. While these efforts did not have much impact on the international level, they proved to be quite successful domestically and in the post-Soviet information space, especially within the Russianspeaking communities. The possible lessons from these efforts include:

• The mobilization of activists and enthusiasts eager to assist the country and to protect national interests helps to multiply the impact of the official media with or without marginal investment; • Activists are quite effective in conducting trivial operations in cyberspace, in targeting information outlets of an adversary, official websites, and other internet-based sources, which are vulnerable to denial-of-service attacks; • Footage of combat and military operations is perceived without much criticism, more like an action movie or a sort of reality show, and is in high demand regardless of the initial preferences of viewers. Readily available footage is essential for information support of ongoing military operations; • Embedding correspondents, including foreign agencies’ representatives, with the troops, even those in the second line, is essential for good coverage and facilitates the message formation as information operations units within the military structures typically do not have adequate experience when compared to civilian professionals; • The accumulation of commentators’ resources and user-generated content (mostly videos) via online aggregation services provides fresh footage for information agencies, but requires improvement in reaction times when publishing it; • Local small news agencies have the potential to provide exclusive information rapidly in contrast to the centralized international media outlets; • Cultural contrasts present a compelling message: an image of the renowned orchestra of the Mariinsky Theatre led by Valery Gergiev playing amid the debris of Tskhinval is perceived as a return to normality and the restoration of civilization.

Many of these lessons are not altogether novel. They are relatively old practices that are updated to account for the new and rapidly changing information environment.

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Some of the ideas and practices tested during the 2008 conflict have been used subsequently; for example, in Syria when the orchestra played in the ancient Palmyra ruins to send the message of liberation.91 ANNANews92 has been specializing in coverage of conflicts and is well known for its footage from the conflict zone in Ukraine (Donbass) and Syria, including exclusive materials filmed in the midst of combat. The agency widely employs user-generated content and volunteers.93 The term and concept of information-image operations are employed and studied by military specialists and academia.94 Military operations in Syria required particular attention to provision of quality footage of air strikes. Materials of this kind were distributed by the Ministry of Defense as soon as possible. This new pattern of communication of the Russian military with the public required equipping troops on the ground with dash cameras in significant numbers. The major Russian media outlets developed and distributed media aggregation platforms and mobile applications for the accumulation of user-generated content. The main conclusions drawn from the 2008 conflict are that the globalization of the information space requires conducting information operations at the global level, and employing the traditional media as well as social networks, blog platforms, and so forth, both officially and unofficially. Thus, the very concept of information warfare must be transformed into a fusion of political public relations, the coordinated use of public and traditional diplomacy resources, the creation of a robust strategic communications structure to support national interests, and the means to fulfill them not only at a tactical and strategic level but internationally to shape and drive the global public opinion. As a result, information operations, which were previously the responsibility of PsyOps units of the Russian army, have changed. They now combine the use of psychological warfare methods against an adversary, while simultaneously carrying out support operations in the global information space, stressing the necessity to secure unofficial coverage and the social media. This change may be regarded as a softening of the previous hard power approach of the military, reflecting the challenges of globalization. It has also led to considerable academic research in Russia in the field of public diplomacy.95

Notes

1. Charles King, “Tbilisi Blues,” Foreign Affairs, August 25, 2004, www .foreignaffairs.com/articles/russia-fsu/2004-08-25/tbilisi-blues. 2. “Kratkiy kurs istorii Yuzhnoy Osetii” [South Ossetia: Historical Primer], Kommersant, no. 97, June 1, 2009, p. 9, www.kommersant.ru/doc/479202.

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3. These claims might have had some ground. See Natalya Golubeva, “V Gruziu voshli casach’i chasti” [Cossack Units Entered Georgia], Izvestia, August 19, 2004, https://iz.ru/news/293318. 4. Vladimir Novikov, “Snaryad vne ocheredi: Gruziny i osetiny ukrupnyayut kalibr dialoga” [Shell Out of Order: Georgians and Ossetians Enlarge Caliber of Dialogue], Kommersant, no. 150, August 17, 2004, p. 11, www.kommersant.ru/doc/498173. 5. Ministry of Foreign Affairs of the Russian Federation, “Statement by the Ministry of Foreign Affairs of the Russian Federation on the Situation Around the Russian Peacekeepers in the Zones of the Georgian-Abkhaz and Georgian-Ossetian Conflicts,” September 14, 2006, www.mid.ru/press_service/spokesman/official _statement/-/asset_publisher/t2GCdmD8RNIr/content/id/393184?p_p_id=101 _INSTANCE_t2GCdmD8RNIr&_101_INSTANCE_t2GCdmD8RNIr_languageId =en_GB. 6. “Russia Blamed for ‘Gas Sabotage,’” BBC News, January 22, 2006, http:// news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/europe/4637034.stm. 7. Ministry of Foreign Affairs of the Russian Federation, “Statement by the Ministry of Foreign Affairs of the Russian Federation Regarding Explosions on the North Caucasus-Transcaucasia and Mozdok-Tbilisi Gas Pipelines,” January 22, 2006, www.mid.ru/press_service/spokesman/official_statement/-/asset_publisher /t2GCdmD8RNIr/content/id/415494?p_p_id=101_INSTANCE_t2GCdmD8RNIr &_101_INSTANCE_t2GCdmD8RNIr_languageId=en_GB. 8. Irina Topalova, “V chem vinovato vino” [What the Wine Is Guilty Of], Rossiyskaya Gazeta, no. 4033, April 3, 2006, https://rg.ru/2006/04/03/vino.html. 9. “Georgia Releases Russian ‘Spies,’” BBC News, October 2, 2006, http:// news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/europe/5398384.stm. 10. Human Rights Watch, “Antigruzinskaya kampaniya: Tselenapravlennye zaderzhaniya i vysylka gruzin rossiyskimi vlastyami” [Anti-Georgian Campaign: Targeted Detentions and Expulsion of Georgians by the Russian Authorities], September 30, 2007, https://www.hrw.org/ru/report/2007/09/30/255315. 11. For example, Igor Plugarev, “Kogda prygnet tigr?” [When Will the Tiger Jump?], Nezavisimoe Voennoye Obozrenie, March 31, 2006, http://nvo.ng.ru /forces/2006-03-31/3_georgia.html. 12. Brian Rohan, “Saakashvili ‘Planned S. Ossetia Invasion’: Ex-Minister,” Reuters, September 14, 2008, www.reuters.com/article/us-georgia-russia-opposition /saakashvili-planned-s-ossetia-invasion-ex-minister-idUSLD12378020080914. 13. Ibid. 14. “State Minister Testifies Before War Commission,” Civil.ge, October 27, 2008, https://civil.ge/archives/117790. 15. “Senior MoD Official Testifies Before War Commission,” Civil.ge, October 28, 2008, https://civil.ge/archives/117794. 16. Ibid. 17. “Pervaya mirotvorcheskaya voyna” [The First Peacemaking War], Kommersant, no. 140, August 9, 2008, p. 1, www.kommersant.ru/doc/1009540. 18. Gazeta Kommersant, no. 140, August 9, 2008, www.kommersant.ru/daily /41740. 19. President of the Russian Federation, “Dmitriy Medvedev vystupil s zayavleniyem v svyazi s situatsiyey v Yuzhnoy Osetii” [Dmitry Medvedev Made a Statement on the Situation in South Ossetia], August 8, 2008, http://en.kremlin.ru /events/president/news/1043. 20. Ibid. 21. Ibid. 22. Ibid.

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23. Ibid. 24. For example, Tatiana Mikhaylenko, “Osobennosti informatsionnoy voyny v sovremennom mire na primere Gruzino-yogoosetinskogo konflikta v avguste 2008 goda” [Specifics of Modern Information Warfare by the Example of the Georgian–South Ossetian Conflict in August 2008], Gosudarstennoye Upravlenie: Electronny Vestnik, no. 19 (June 2009); Tatiana Lebedeva and Elena Yakovleva, “Pobeda Slov” [Victory of the Words], Rossiyskaya Gazeta, no. 4732, August 20, 2008, https://rg.ru/2008/08/20/zapad.html; Hans-Georg Heinrich and Kirill Tanaev, “Georgia and Russia: Contradictory Media Coverage of the August War,” Caucasian Review of International Affairs 3, no. 3 (Summer 2009): 244–260. 25. “Blogosphera stala arenoy voyny za obshestvennoe mnenie—expert” [According to the Expert, the Blogshpere Has Become an Arena of War for Public Opinion], RIA Novosti, September 12, 2008, https://ria.ru/20080912/151227944.html. 26. “Sostoyalsya telefonnyy razgovor Dmitriya Medvedeva s Prezidentom SSHA Dzhordzhem Bushem” [Dmitry Medvedev Had a Telephone Conversation with the US President George W. Bush], Perviy Kanal, August 9, 2008, www .1tv.ru/news/2008-08-09/187330-sostoyalsya_telefonnyy_razgovor_dmitriya _medvedeva_s_prezidentom_ssha_dzhordzhem_bushem. See also “D.Medvedev: Mirotvortsy RF nachali prinuzhdeniye Gruzii k miru” [Dmitry Medvedev: Russian Peacekeepers Have Begun Forcing Georgia to Peace], RBC.ru, August 9, 2008, www.rbc.ru/politics/09/08/2008/5703ce2b9a79473dc8148219. 27. Vladislav Inozemtsev, “Prinuzhdenie k miru—legitimnaya mera” [Peace Enforcement Is a Legitimate Measure], Nezavisimaya Gazeta, August 13, 2008, www.ng.ru/politics/2008-08-13/3_kartblansh.html. 28. For example, “Teleobrashcheniye Prezidenta RF Borisa Yeltzina 24 marta 1999” [TV Address of the President of the Russian Federation Boris Yeltsin as of 24.03.1999], quoted in Kommersant, no. 48, March 25, 1999, p. 2, www.kommersant .ru/doc/215535; Konstantin Chugunov, “Iskhodnaya Pozittsiya” [Initial Position], Rossisyskaya Gazeta, no. 3434, March 22, 2004, https://rg.ru/2004/03/22/kosovo .html; “Putin nazval provozglasheniye nezavisimosti Kosovo ‘strashnym precendentom’” [Putin Called Declaration of Independence by Kosovo “a Dreadful Precedent”], Lenta.ru, February 23, 2008, https://lenta.ru/news/2008/02/23/putin/. 29. “Ofitzial’noye zayavlenie Tbilisi: Gruziya pristupila k navedeniyu konstitutzionnogo poryadka” [Official from Tbilisi: Georgia Started Establishing Constitutional Order], REGNUM, August 8, 2008, https://regnum.ru/news/polit/1037979 .html. 30. “Senior MoD Official Testifies Before War Commission.” 31. “Gruziya poprosila mirovoye soobschestvo zashchitit’ ee ot Rossiyi” [Georgia Called for the International Community to Protect Her from Russia], Lenta.ru, August 8, 2008, https://lenta.ru/news/2008/08/08/appeal/. 32. Ibid. 33. Ibid. 34. For more examples, see Galina Zolina and Nadezda Kravchenko, “Kommunikativnyye formy vozdeystviya v informatsionnoy voyne (materialy SMI perioda gruzino-yugoosetinskogo konflikta)” [Communicative Forms of Influence in the Information War (Media Materials from the Period of the Georgian–South Ossetian Conflict)], Vestnik Moskovskogo universiteta: Seriya 10: Zhurnalistika, no. 9 (2009): 138–147. 35. Inozemtsev, “Prinuzhdenie k miru—legitimnaya mera.” 36. Alexandr Zhuravlev, “Uroki informatsionnoy voyny na Kavkaze” [Lessons from the Information War in the Caucasus], ВВС Russian.com, August 26, 2008, http://news.bbc.co.uk/hi/russian/international/newsid_7581000/7581065.stm.

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37. “Voyna v Yuzhnoy Osetii!” [The War in South Ossetia!], Livejournal Blog of Evgeniy Poddubny, August 16, 2008, https://ep-news.livejournal.com/45700.html. 38. Vladislav Shurygin, “Voyna 08.08.08 [War 08.08.08]—Interview with General Anatoly Khrulev,” https://regnum.ru/news/polit/1525951.html. 39. Evgeniy Priporov, “Rol’ tradatzionnykh i novykh SMI v osveshchenii Gruzino-yugoosetinskogo konflikta v avguste 2008 goda” [The Role of Traditional and “New Media” in the Coverage of the Georgian–South Ossetian Conflict in August 2008], Vestnik Nizhegorodskogo Universiteta im: N.I. Lobachevskogo 5, no. 1 (2013): 326–329. 40. “Gruziya prekrashchaet veshchaniye rossiyskikh telekanalov” [Georgia Bans Russian TV Channels], Lenta.ru, August 9, 2008, https://lenta.ru/news/2008/08/08/tv/. 41. “CNN vydal kadry iz Tskhinvali za vid razrushennogo Gori” [CNN Set Up Footage from Tskhinvali for the Views of Demolished Gori], RIA Novosti, September 8, 2008, https://ria.ru/20080908/151078965.html. 42. Seumas Milne, “The Truth About South Ossetia,” The Guardian, October 31, 2008, www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2008/oct/31/russia-georgia. 43. Mikhail Zygar’ and Vladimir Solov’yev, “Pyatidnevnaya voyna” [Five Days War], Kommersant-Vlast’, no. 32, August 18, 2008, p. 10, www.kommersant.ru/doc/1011909. 44. For example, “V Gruzii otklyucheno veshchaniye RTVi—poslednego iz ostavavshikhsya v efire russkoyazychnykh telekanalov” [Broadcasting of RTVi—The Last of the Remaining Russian-Language TV Channels Has Been Turned Off in Georgia], NEWSRU.com, August 18, 2008, https://www.newsru.com/world/18aug2008 /rtvi1.html#1; “Tekst interv’yu Vladimira Poznera Radio ‘Echo Moskvy’” [Vladimir Pozner’s Interview Transcript to the “Echo of Moscow” Radio Station], Radio “Echo Moskvy,” August 26, 2008, https://echo.msk.ru/programs/personalno/536359-echo/. 45. For example, “Bezhenka Zamira Aristayeva: ‘Tskhinvali teper—kak Khatyn: Ili dazhe yeshche khuzhe’” [Refugee Zarina: “Tskhinvali Now Is Like Khatyn: Or Even Worse”], Izvestiya, August 11, 2008, https://iz.ru/news/339562; “Vyzvolennyye iz Ada” [Delivered from Hell], Izvestiya, August 15, 2008, https://iz.ru/news/339750. 46. Human Rights Watch, “Up in Flames: Humanitarian Law Violations and Civilian Victims in the Conflict over South Ossetia January 23, 2009. https://www .hrw.org/report/2009/01/23/flames/humanitarian-law-violations-and-civilian-victims -conflict-over-south. 47. Alexei Kiselyov, “Yuzhnaya Osetiya-2008: Metody informatsionnoy voyny v Internete” [South Ossetia—2008: Methods of Information Warfare in the Internet], Foundation “Edinstvo vo imya Rossii” [Unity in the Name of Russia], 2008, https://web.archive.org/web/20140714231857/http:/www.fondedin.ru/dok/Kiselev .pdf; “Blogosphera stala arenoy voyny za obshestvennoe mnenie—expert” [According to the Expert, the Blogshpere Has Become an Arena of War for Public Opinion], RIA Novosti, October 12, 2008, https://ria.ru/20080912/151227944.html. 48. Kiselyov, “Yuzhnaya Osetiya-2008: Metody informatsionnoy voyny v Internete.” 49. “Gruziny v Tshinvali: 8 Avgusta” [Georgians in Tskhinvali: August 8], https://web.archive.org/web/20080905191605/http://mreporter.ru/ReporterMessages !viewReport.do?reportid=13862. The original video was deleted several times on major websites. 50. For example, “Gruziny snimali svoi prestuplenuya na video” [Georgians Were Video Recording Their Own Crimes], Vesti Information Channel, September 6, 2008, https://web.archive.org/web/20080905200655/http://www.vesti.ru/videos ?vid=148401&cid=9&doc_type=news&doc_id=206315&p=1. 51. Colonel P. Kolesov, “Informatsionnaya voyna Gruzii protiv Yuzhnoy Osetii i Abkhazii” [Information War of Georgia Against South Ossetia and Abkhazia], Zarubezhnoye Voyennoye Obozreniye, no. 10 (2008): 18–21.

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52. Kiselyov, “Yuzhnaya Osetiya-2008: Metody informatsionnoy voyny v Internete.” 53. “Blogosphera stala arenoy voyny za obshestvennoe mnenie—expert.” 54. “U zdaniya gruzinskogo posol’stva v Moskve razbit palatochny gorodok” [Tent Camp Has Been Set Up in Front of the Georgian Embassy], Lenta.ru, August 9, 2009, https://lenta.ru/news/2008/08/08/tents/. 55. “Na sayte MID Gruziyi poyavilsya kollazh s Gitlerom” [Collage with Hitler Appeared on the Website of Georgian Foreign Ministry], Lenta.ru, August 9, 2008, https://lenta.ru/news/2008/08/09/defaced/. 56. Travis Wentworth, “How Russia May Have Attacked Georgia’s Internet,” Newsweek, August 22, 2008, www.newsweek.com/how-russia-may-have-attacked -georgias-internet-88111. 57. Tom Espiner, “Georgia Accuses Russia of Coordinated Cyberattack,” CNET .com, August 11, 2008, www.cnet.com/news/georgia-accuses-russia-of-coordinated -cyberattack/. 58. “V Tbilisi zablokirovany vse internet-saity s domenom .ru” [All Websites in .ru Domain Are Blocked in Tbilisi], INTERFAX.RU, August 9, 2008, www.interfax .ru/russia/26114. 59. “Prinuzhdeniye k miru v seti” [Peace Enforcement in the Net], Vremya Novostey, no. 149, August 18, 2008, www.vremya.ru/2008/149/72/210691.html. 60. Ibid. 61. Ibid. 62. Ibid. 63. Anton Nosik, “Mozhno li schitat’ ataki khakerov vazhnym faktorom v informatzionnoy voyne?” [Should We Consider Hacker Attacks an Important Factor in Information Warfare?], RIA NOVOSTI, August 12, 2008, https://ria.ru/20080812 /150306008.html. 64. “Ministr Shchegolev prokontroliroval InoSMI” [Minister Shchegolev Reviewed Foreign Media Outlets], Vedomosti, August 16, 2008, www.vedomosti .ru/library/articles/2008/08/14/ministr-schegolev-prokontroliroval-inosmi. 65. Sergei Mel’kov, “Vooruzhennyy konflikt v Yuzhnoy Osetii glazami politologa” [Armed Conflict in South Ossetia Through the Eyes of a Political Scientist], Vlast’, no. 10, (2008): 29–35. 66. “Interv’yu Vladimira Putina telekanalu ‘ARD’” [Interview by Vladimir Putin to the ARD Channel], POLIT.RU, August 30, 2008, https://polit.ru/article /2008/08/30/putin_ard/. 67. “Dmitriy Medvedev i Vladimir Putin vstretilis’ s politologami Valdayskogo kluba” [Dmitriy Medvedev and Vladimir Putin Met Political Scholars from the Valdai Club], Pervy Kanal, September 14, 2008, www.1tv.ru/news/2008-09-14/181677-dmitriy _medvedev_i_vladimir_putin_vstretilis_s_politologami_valdayskogo_kluba?start=auto. 68. Philip Pan, “In Wake of Georgian War, Russian Media Feel Heat,” Washington Post Foreign Service, September 15, 2008, www.washingtonpost.com/wp -dyn/content/article/2008/09/14/AR2008091402249.html. 69. Priporov, “Rol’ tradatzionnykh i novykh SMI.” 70. Georgiy Kaptelin, “Informatsionnaya voyna: Osetiya: God spustya” [Information War: Ossetia: One Year Later], VESTI.RU, August 8, 2009, www.vesti.ru /doc.html?id=308335. 71. Kolesov, “Informatsionnaya voyna Gruzii protiv Yuzhnoy Osetii i Abkhazii.” 72. Kaptelin, “Informatsionnaya voyna: Osetiya: God spustya.” 73. Zygar’ and Solov’yev, “Pyatidnevnaya voyna.” 74. Zhuravlev, “Uroki informatsionnoy voyny na Kavkaze.”

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75. “Kolonna s Prezidentom Severnoy Osetii podverglas’ bombardirovke” [Column with the President of North Ossetia Was Bombed], Lenta.ru, August 8, 2008, https://lenta.ru/news/2008/08/08/rocket/; “Severnaya Osetiya oprovergla informatsiyu ob obstrele kolonny s prezidentom” [North Ossetia Denied Information About the Shelling of the Column with the President], Vzglyad, August 8, 2008, https://vz .ru/news/2008/8/8/194399.html. 76. Alexandr Kukolevskiy, “U patriotizma glaza veliki” [Patriotism Is Hugely Exaggerating], Kommersant-Vlast, no. 34, September 1, 2008, p. 20, www.kommersant .ru/doc/1017746. 77. Ibid. 78. “Alexander Brod: Zapadnykh pravozashchitnikov ne interesuyet tragediya Yuzhnoi Osetii” [Western Human Rights Activists Are Not Interested in the Tragedy of South Ossetia], Polit.ru, August 21, 2008, https://polit.ru/article/2008/08/21/brod/. 79. “V Gruzii otklyucheno veshchaniye RTVi—poslednyego iz ostavavshikhsya v efire russkoyazychnykh telekanalov” [RTVi, the Last Russian-Speaking TV Channel on the Air, Has Been Banned in Georgia], NEWSru.com, August 18, 2008, www .newsru.com/world/18aug2008/rtvi1.html. 80. “Vitse-prezident Vsemirnogo kongressa russkoyazychnogo evreistva: Ya vklyuchayu CNN, a ottuda idyot polnaya lozh” [Vice-President of the Worldwide Russian-Speaking Jewish Congress: I Tune on to CNN and Pure Lies Are Coming from There], Regnum, September 17, 2008, https://regnum.ru/news/1056251.html. 81. “Glavniye polozheniya doklada ES o voyne Rossiyi s Gruziyey” [Thesis of the EU Report on the War Between Russia and Georgia], BBC News, September 30, 2009, www.bbc.com/russian/international/2009/09/090930_eu_findings_summary.shtml. 82. For example, Tony Halping and Roger Boyes, “Georgia Loses the Fight with Russia but Manages to Win the PR War,” Times Online, August 13, 2008, www .timesonline.co.uk/tol/news/world/europe/article4518254.ece. 83. Vladimir Shcherbakov, “Spetzpropaganda otsidyelas’ v kustakh” [Special Propaganda Waited Out in the Bushes], Nezavisimoye Voennoye Obozreniye, August 22, 2008, http://nvo.ng.ru/wars/2008-08-22/1_propaganda.html. 84. Ibid. 85. Matthew Mosk and Jeffrey H. Birnbaum, “While Aide Advised McCain, His Firm Lobbied for Georgia,” Washington Post, August 13, 2008, www.washingtonpost .com/wp-dyn/content/article/2008/08/12/AR2008081202932.html?nav=rss_politics. 86. For example, a documentary by Arkadiy Mamontov with exclusive interviews and commentaries, “Trofei pyatidnevnoy voyni” [Trophies of the Five Days War], Russia-1, October 19, 2011, https://smotrim.ru/video/104420?utm_source =player&utm_campaign=blocked_embed. 87. Priporov, “Rol’ tradatzionnykh i novykh SMI.” 88. Mikhaylenko, “Osobennosti informatsionnoy voyny v sovremennom mire na primere Gruzino-yogoosetinskogo konflikta v avguste 2008 goda.” 89. Kamaludin Gadzhiev, “Imidzh kak instrument kulturnoy gegemoniyi” [Image as an Instrument of Cultural Hegemony], Mirovaya Economika I Mezhdunarodnye Otnosheniya, no. 12 (2007): 3–14. 90. Mikhaylenko, “Osobennosti informatsionnoy voyny v sovremennom mire na primere Gruzino-yogoosetinskogo konflikta v avguste 2008 goda.” 91. For example, Maksim Sokolov, “Kontzert v Pal’mire i leningradskaya simfoniya” [Concert in Palmyra and the Leningrad Symphony], RIA Novosti, May 10, 2016, https://ria.ru/20160510/1430619008.html. 92. Established in 2011, it was initially registered as the Abkhazian Network News Agency. It was renamed the Analytical Network News Agency in 2017.

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93. See the ANNA-News website at https://anna-news.info/. 94. One of the most thorough recent research studies is Sergey Makarenko, Informatzionnjye protivoborstvo I radioelectronnaya bor’ba v setecentricheskikh voynakh nachala 21-go veka [Information Warfare and ECM in the NetworkCentric Wars at the Beginning of the 21st Century] (Saint Petersburg: Naukoemkiye Tekhnologiyi, 2017). 95. For example, Marina Lebedeva, ed., Publichnaya diplomatiya: Teoriya I praktika [Public Diplomacy: Theory and Practice] (Moscow: Aspekt Press, 2017).

PART 3 Adaptation

8 Hamas’s Strategy Against Israel: From Information Ops to Influence Ops Michael Milstein

HAMAS IS ONE OF THE LEADING ACTORS IN THE PALESTINIAN system, and also one of the main adversaries that Israel faces today. The movement is founded on the desire to fundamentally change the reality, which is embodied in two main strategic objectives: consolidating leadership within the Palestinian system, and waging all-out war against Israel until it is destroyed. As a group that is simultaneously a mass movement, a governing party, and a military organization, Hamas attaches great importance to the information domain, and its efforts in this framework are directed toward both its supporters and its adversaries, in a variety of spheres— military, social, and political. Hamas makes extensive use of different tools of influence (both words and deeds), and it is evident that it is the leading player in this field in the Palestinian system. Over the years, given the experiences it has accumulated, the change that has occurred in its political standing, and the challenges it has been facing, Hamas has improved its methods of influence operations, while adapting them to new constraints and objectives and applying the lessons it has learned from past experiences. My aim in this chapter is to describe the role and characteristics of the influence operations in Hamas’s strategy, while analyzing the changes that have occurred in it over the years in accordance with the changes that have taken place in the movement’s profile. In this context, I place emphasis on analyzing three case studies from the past decade

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that illustrate the extensive use that the movement makes of various tools of influence. I conclude the chapter with a cautious attempt to sketch the profile of a future campaign between Israel and Hamas, and to understand the influence operations that the movement is expected to carry out as part of this scenario.

Historical and Ideological Development of Hamas Hamas is the representative of the Muslim Brotherhood in the Palestinian system. The organization’s activity in the Palestinian system began as early as the 1940s, but it focused on the social sphere, through which it established a close connection with the Palestinian public. The Islamic stream’s ascent began in 1987 with the founding of Hamas, which represented a willingness to go beyond the traditional frameworks of social action to promote efforts in the political and military spheres as well, while striving to lead the entire Palestinian system.1 Hamas, which has never joined the Palestine Liberation Organization (PLO), the dominant representative of the Palestinians domestically and internationally, is interested in establishing itself as a full alternative to the organization that has been leading the Palestinian system since the middle of the 1960s. Competing with it for political leadership, Hamas aims to present a strategic and cultural vision based on the idea of establishing a state with a religious character in all of the territory of historic Palestine. The tension between the PLO and Hamas has increased since the beginning of the 1990s, when the PLO turned to the strategic path of negotiations with Israel, while Hamas rejected this strategic process and positioned itself at the head of the camp that continues the determined struggle against Israel, especially in the military sphere.2 Since it was founded in 1987, Hamas has been constantly developing and changing. Started as a civilian organization that focused on social action and religious activity, Hamas developed into an underground organization that combined military activity (jihad) against Israel with civilian activity within the Palestinian society. After the establishment of the Palestinian government in 1994, Hamas turned into an opposition actor, and has been operating since 2007—after it took over the Gaza Strip by force and removed the Palestinian Authority from the territory—as a governing party that serves as the sovereign authority in this territory. Hamas’s takeover of the Gaza Strip was a central crossroads in the movement’s history. On one hand, this event provided it, for the first

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time in its history, with a territorial foothold, which has been seen by Hamas as a springboard toward taking over the rest of the Palestinian system. On the other hand, Hamas found itself, also for the first time in its history, coping with the challenges and constraints inherent in governing the lives of the population and associated tension between the new areas of responsibility and the ideological principles on which it was founded. However, despite the difficult dilemmas, Hamas sees government of the Gaza Strip as the most important strategic asset and achievement in its history, and this field constitutes the main focus of the movement’s activity today.3 The path that the movement went through required constant change of its organizational structure and patterns of activity. Its organizational framework became institutionalized and expanded, as Hamas consolidated its standing in the Palestinian system and its patterns of activity were somewhat softened given the many constraints that the movement faced, especially as the sovereign authority in the Gaza Strip. This forced Hamas to develop capabilities in the spheres of diplomacy and government management, as well as to implement some restraint in the military sphere, especially compromising on the principle of waging continual jihad against Israel (as military confrontation with Israel offsets the desire to maintain a stable government and the level of civilian life in Gaza).4 While there were constant adaptations in Hamas’s patterns of operation and organization, its ideological foundation remained unchanged. The movement adhered to completely rejecting the recognition of Israel (although it is willing to temporarily coexist with it) and sanctifying the jihad against it until the ultimate victory.5 As a result, Hamas has not, at any stage in its history, agreed to discuss limiting its military force, especially with respect to its military buildup and, on all of the occasions when it has discussed establishing a hudna or tahdiya (long-term arrangement) in the Gaza Strip, it has emphasized that this is a temporary step, unaccompanied by recognition of Israel.6 Hamas has therefore become the governing party that dominates the systems of civilian government and rules a large population, but also a nongovernmental movement that operates a powerful military wing that is constantly preparing for military campaigns against Israel.

Influence Operations in Hamas’s Strategy As an organization that sets itself an overarching goal such as Taalif AlQulub (“Conquering Hearts and Minds”) Hamas, from the outset, has

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placed great importance on activities intended to influence the behavior of targeted audiences. This is to a large extent rooted in its being a movement that derives its ideological doctrine from the Muslim Brotherhood, an organization that attaches great importance to the principle of dawa—spreading the Islamic vision and creating a foothold in the hearts of the people, while deeply changing their worldviews and dayto-day behaviors.7 Hamas’s influence operations have improved and expanded as its position and goals within the Palestinian system have changed. As long as the movement focused on the social sphere, its influence operations were also concentrated on the Palestinian population and mostly took the form of persuasion, promoting Hamas’s vision of historic Palestine. When Hamas began to pursue its military activity against Israel, its influence operations were shaped in a way that was meant to make its struggle against the external enemy more effective, mainly for the purposes of deterring and deceiving it. The development of the struggle between Hamas and the Palestinian Authority, which reached its climax during the years 2006–2007, when Hamas won the general elections and later removed the Palestinian Authority from the Gaza Strip, also affected Hamas’s influence operations. The purpose of its activities in this context has been bifold. First, Hamas has tried to deter the Palestinian Authority from subversive actions against Hamas’s rule or exercising political and economic pressure on it. Second, Hamas has tried to influence the Palestinian public opinion in general and in the West Bank in particular, where Hamas’s activity has been limited for a decade and a half by Israel and the Palestinian Authority. Nowadays, Hamas’s influence operations neither replace one another, nor they are conducted independently. This is a reflection of the fact that Hamas does not forsake previous areas of activity, but rather integrates them with the new ones. The longtime efforts are maintained and continue, and new efforts join them with the aim of meeting new challenges that the movement is faced with. In many cases, the efforts intersect in a way that increases the strength of the influence operations, making them multidimensional. This holistic approach allows Hamas not only to address several challenges simultaneously, but also to advance several objectives aimed at a variety of target audiences. In the framework of its influence operations, Hamas makes use of three main methods that combine traditional information operations conducted in the information domain with its activities conducted in the real world.

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1. Traditional information operations. These include measures that Hamas has been using to spread its messages among the Palestinian public, influencing its perceptions in an attempt to motivate it to take action. The measures that stand out in this respect are the sermons and prayers at mosques, especially those on Fridays that are made to relatively large audiences; the distribution of leaflets and newsletters; the writing of graffiti and hanging of placards in the streets of Palestinian communities (an important visual and written medium in the eyes of the movement that is rooted in the Palestinian public sphere and helps to expose the population to its messages and reports); and the organization of mass popular events, which offer Hamas an important opportunity to demonstrate its power and instill its messages among a broad audience. 2. Media channels. As the movement’s activity expanded, its resources also grew, along with its need to distribute its messages to larger audiences. This especially became visible when Hamas turned into the sovereign authority in the Gaza Strip. Since 2007, Hamas has employed modern electronic media, first and foremost television and radio stations, the most prominent of which are Al-Aqsa TV and the Voice of Al-Aqsa radio, which operate out of Gaza, and Quds Television, which operates out of Beirut, along with many news agencies such as Shehab and Quds, with an especially high rate of followers among the Palestinians.8 3. Online platforms. For the past two decades Hamas has made extensive use of the internet, turning online platforms into its most extensive and effective tools to channel its messages. Its activity online has focused on several aspects: • Operating websites that echo the movement’s messages, report extensively on its activity in all spheres, and present its positions on various issues. In this context, the websites that stand out are Palinfo, which is published in several languages, including English, French, Russian and Persian;9 Safa;10 Al-Risala;11 Hamas;12 and the website of Hamas’s military wing, the Izz ad-Din al-Qassam Brigades, which provides an extensive platform for describing its activity and glorifying its heroes and battle legacy.13 • Maintaining an extensive presence on the social networks that many Palestinians—especially members of the younger generation—use. Through its activities on the social networks, Hamas aims at shaping the worldviews of the Palestinian public by feeding them with its interpretation of political and military events. • Maintaining its capabilities in cyberspace, which Hamas has made gradually increasing use of in recent years, in part for the purpose

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of disseminating false information (fake news) in an attempt to influence domestic and external discourses.

Audiences and Objectives of Hamas’s Influence Operations Hamas’s influence operations, as previously mentioned, are multidimensional: they are directed at a relatively large number of target audiences and aim to achieve a variety of objectives simultaneously. Their intensity and character change, as do the aims toward which they are directed in accordance with the circumstances and the needs of the hour. They include both strategic processes with a political rationale and tactical efforts that accompany military actions, embodying different mixes of the various tools (words and deeds) that are used as part of a holistic influence operation. Hamas’s influence operations target three main audiences.

1. The Palestinian system. This framework includes a large number of actors that Hamas aims its efforts at, including both adversaries and the groups that support the movement. In this respect it is important to note the Palestinian Authority, especially its security forces and Fatah— the governing party in the West Bank; the Palestinian public in the Gaza Strip, the West Bank, East Jerusalem, and the Palestinian diaspora; the military and political factions operating in the Gaza Strip, which sometimes partner with Hamas—especially in the military sphere—but sometimes also pose a challenge to its rule, especially when they pursue uncoordinated and uncontrolled activity against Israel; and the general Palestinian public, especially that in the Gaza Strip. 2. Israel. In this context too, Hamas directs its efforts at several groups: first and foremost, the Israel Defense Forces (IDF) and the security forces, toward which Hamas mainly advances messages of deterrence and deception in the tactical sphere; the Israeli political system and leadership against which Hamas pursues a strategic effort that reflects Hamas’s in-depth understanding of the difference between the various elements of power in Israel; and the general public, activities against which are based on Hamas’s understanding of the tensions between the civilian and governmental forces in Israel. 3. The international system. The influence operations in this context are divided into two main groups—the regional Middle Eastern actors and the international community. On the regional level, Hamas pursues

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goals in friendly countries, especially Turkey, Qatar, and Iran; actors with whom it has fair relations that are important to the movement, especially Egypt and Jordan; or those with whom the movement has relations characterized by deep hostility, especially the United Arab Emirates, Saudi Arabia, and Syria—each of which, for its own reasons, is hostile to the Muslim Brotherhood. On the international arena, Hamas directs its efforts toward those actors that are seen to have a helpful opinion about the Palestinian question, mainly Russia, China, the UN, and the European Union, but also those whose attitude is more reserved such as the United States.14 Within this framework, we can identify several main objectives that Hamas is trying to advance.

1. Deterrence and demonstration of strength. This is an effort that is naturally advanced toward Israel and aims to present the movement’s military capabilities, or those that it does not have at its disposal but wants to make the enemy believe that it has acquired. In this context, Hamas makes extensive use of the internet and electronic media. It includes videos that are usually produced around three main themes: the activities of the movement’s military wing (especially in relation to the use of rockets, unmanned aerial vehicles [UAVs], naval commandos, tunnels that cross Gaza’s territory toward Israel, kidnapping attacks, and intelligence capabilities); Hamas’s weapons production capabilities; and declarations by senior Hamas officials, in which warnings are made against striking the Gaza Strip. These videos are also usually accompanied by a description of the damage that Hamas can inflict on Israel, to soldiers and to civilians, while making claims about the movement’s ability to disrupt the fabric of life in Israel by striking civilian communities not only in close proximity to the Gaza Strip, but also in central Israel or even in the north. Some of these videos or declarations are published in Hebrew, to expand their distribution and their resonance among the Israeli public. 2. Encouragement for taking action. A significant portion of the influence operations is aimed at pushing individuals or groups in the Palestinian public to take action that serves the interests of Hamas: from individuals or cells carrying out attacks in the West Bank and East Jerusalem, to calling on the Palestinian public to participate in mass demonstrations and violence against Israel or join the ranks of Hamas’s military wing or the internal security forces that operate on behalf of the government in the Gaza Strip.

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3. Defaming adversaries. This is an effort aimed mainly at the Palestinian Authority, along with other smaller groups such as the Salafi organizations in the Gaza Strip. Beyond continually making claims that the Palestinian Authority’s actions are deepening the civilian distress in the Gaza Strip (especially sanctions on the transfer of humanitarian aid), Hamas exploits electronic and social media to present the Palestinian Authority’s efforts as a subversion aimed to undermine public order in the Gaza Strip. In this context, Hamas has published many reports in recent years about attacks carried out in the Gaza Strip by groups operated by the Palestinian Authority’s security forces, including the bombing of ATMs and attempts to strike Hamas leaders. In this context, Hamas even publicized filmed confessions by Gaza residents who admitted that they were activated by the Palestinian Authority’s security forces.15 These steps are aimed to present Hamas’s ability to expose and thwart such attempts, but also to deter the public from taking part in such subversive efforts. 4. Consolidating a positive image. As an organization that places great importance on its connection with the public, Hamas has a special need to pursue a goal of consolidating a positive image in the eyes of the general public in Gaza, which is seen by the movement as having the ongoing potential for volatility given its continued poor condition over time. Hamas makes use of traditional tools (especially sermons at mosques and graffiti), electronic media, and social networks to pursue its goals. This effort includes presenting the movement’s activity for the sake of the Palestinian public, especially the advancement of large-scale civil projects in the Gaza Strip; highlighting the personal sacrifice of Hamas’s leaders for the sake of national objectives, including many years of imprisonment, the loss of family members, exile, or the destruction of their homes; describing the close connections between the public and Hamas, including mass participation in rallies that the movement holds; and presenting Hamas’s efforts to maintain public order, by struggling against crime and drug trade and by eliminating violent conflicts between rival clans. 5. Tactical disruption. Along with the glorification efforts that are mainly carried out on the strategic level, Hamas takes actions on the tactical level with the purpose of disrupting Israel’s perception of the movement’s functioning and its operational goals. This is expressed especially during military escalations that take place from time to time in the Gaza Strip. In this context, Hamas utilizes all tools at its disposal to disrupt Israel’s understanding of its functioning: the amount of damage done by the IDF (in casualties and equipment); the condition of the fighting force

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(by emphasizing that its operational capability and mental strength are stable despite the damage); the identity of the main command figures in the spheres of civilian and especially military activities; and the location and size of Hamas’s forces. Simultaneously, Hamas makes efforts intended to encourage the Palestinian public and to strengthen its fortitude. For example, it disseminates false information regarding the damage that Hamas has done to Israel in casualties, military equipment, and disrupting the fabric of life within Israel and its impact on morale of Israel’s public. In recent years, Hamas has advanced its methods by penetrating into cellular networks. This activity focuses on the cell phones of the IDF soldiers serving in the region nearby Gaza and aims to provide them with false information, but also to gather information by taking part in WhatsApp groups or fake communications—usually under the guise of women trying to contact the young soldiers—to extract information from them on the units they serve in, routine activity in these units, their location, and their operational plans.16 6. “Influence defense.” Along with the proactive advancement of influence operations, Hamas places importance on countering similar activities carried out by its adversaries (Israel and the Palestinian Authority), which it believes are directed at the population of Gaza in an attempt to stoke unrest there and develop hostility toward the movement. Israel’s efforts are seen as much broader and more threatening than those pursued by the Palestinian Authority. In this framework, Hamas is focused on disrupting or preventing the transfer of messages and information from Israeli channels. These include both Israeli news sites in Hebrew intended for the Israeli audience and those in Arabic that are specifically directed at the Palestinian public such as the AlMunasiq website that is operated by Israel’s Coordinator of Government Activities in the Territories. In this context, Hamas has carried out a large-scale, prolonged influence campaign for the purpose of deterring the Palestinian public from following the Facebook page of AlMunasiq, including punishing Gaza residents who are in contact with Israelis via social media, and warning the Gaza public against ongoing efforts by Israel to use social media in particular and cellular activity in general to track, gather intelligence, and even recruit agents.17 7. Strengthening relevance and legitimacy. Part of the effort to improve Hamas’s image is directed at the international arena, aiming to present it as a relevant actor in any strategic process put forward on the Palestinian arena, because of the considerable support that it receives among the Palestinian public. In this framework, Hamas strives to present itself as a legitimate political actor that was elected in democratic

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elections and has broad public support, while obscuring and downplaying its activity in the military sphere. Moreover, Hamas claims that any process of strategic arrangement in the Gaza Strip requires its participation due to its diplomatic connections with players in the international community. Another dimension of the same effort aims to illustrate to the Palestinian public, the Palestinian Authority, and Israel the recognition that Hamas has in the international arena.

Case Studies Several cases from the past few years illustrate best Hamas’s use of influence operations. The three case studies I analyzed—Operation Protective Edge (2014), the Knife Intifada (2015–2016), and the Great March of Return (2018–2019)—reflect different models of struggle against Israel. The first case represents a military struggle with conventional or semiconventional characteristics, the second involves terrorism carried out by individuals or small cells, and the third evolves around large-scale civilian demonstrations. The difference between these types of struggle forced Hamas to shape its influence operations that accompanied them differently, adapting them to the type of struggle, the objectives that the movement tried to achieve, and the target audiences that each effort was aimed at. An analysis of the three case studies indicates a development of Hamas’s conception of the influence operations and the constant improvement of the tools that it makes use of to this end. Hamas is in a continual learning process. It improves and diversifies its capabilities in light of the changing circumstances, turning influence operations into an integral element of its toolbox.

Operation Protective Edge

Operation Protective Edge (July 7–August 25, 2014) was the most serious military campaign that took place between Israel and Hamas, and the most intense that took place between Israel and the Palestinians since the Oslo Accords. This was expressed in several dimensions: the number of victims; the scope of the destruction that the campaign caused to the Gaza Strip; the duration of the fighting (fifty days, among which there were several cease-fires); the disruption of the fabric of life in Israel and the expansion of the area and number of residents within the range of Hamas’s rockets; and the large scope and variety of military means that

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Hamas deployed against Israel (including the large-scale use of tunnels dug from Gaza into Israeli territory, the naval commando forces that penetrated into Israeli territory, the use of UAVs, and number of mediumrange rockets launched at the center of Israel’s territory).18 Operation Protective Edge reflected the complexity of the Gordian knot of the civilian and military realities in the Gaza Strip. It began against the backdrop of increasing civilian distress in the Gaza Strip, which aroused deep concerns in Hamas given the difficulty in maintaining stable rule in the territory; continued for a relatively long time due to the fact that Hamas tried to extract a significant civilian achievement from the fighting (especially large-scale relief in the economic sphere); and ended after Hamas understood that the population of Gaza was on the verge of collapse. All of these demonstrate the great importance that Hamas, as the sovereign authority in the Gaza Strip, places on the public, and the fact that a significant portion of its military efforts were aimed to serve the objective of its rule over the civilian population and shaped in light of understanding the population’s condition at any given moment. In the military context, Hamas continued to adhere to the essence of the doctrine of Muqawama (Resistance), first and foremost striving to deny the enemy victory, while demonstrating fortitude and the ability to wear down the enemy despite the many blows suffered by the Gaza Strip in general and by Hamas in particular. All of this occurred while Hamas intentionally and continually mixed the military and civilian spheres, aiming to make Israel’s military effort more complex, incite public discourse in Israel about associated moral dilemmas, and increase international pressure on Israel through broadcasting visual horror scenes of extensive harm to civilians.19 Most of Hamas’s influence operations during the fighting were, of course, directed toward Israel: the IDF, the country’s leadership, and the general public. In this framework, Hamas strove to convey several main messages:

• Deterrence against deepening the harm to the Palestinian side, by threatening the IDF and the Israeli public regarding the number of casualties that it would suffer if the fighting were to intensify. This was especially prominent after the IDF began ground maneuvers inside the territory of the Gaza Strip that focused on exposing and destroying the tunnels. • Demonstrating the determination of both the military leadership of Hamas (which presented the Israeli damage to the organization as marginal) and of the Palestinian public.

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• Emphasizing Hamas’s ability to continue to convey its messages publicly to the Palestinian population and to the world. What stood out in this context was that throughout the operation, Hamas continued its television and radio broadcasts, even though the offices of its main media channels had been damaged by Israeli strikes. • Highlighting the damage done by Hamas to the fabric of life within Israel, such as disrupting the operation of BenGurion Airport and inserting cells into Israeli territory via tunnels, in hopes of getting the Israeli public to place pressure on its leadership to stop the fighting. Additional effort was aimed at hurting the morale of the Israeli side (e.g., by distributing clips in Hebrew).20 • Presenting the extensive harm to Palestinian civilians, especially to prompt incisive internal discourse within the Israeli public. • Attempts at deception that intended to hide or disrupt Israel’s perception of the damage done to Hamas’s command structure or military systems. Along with the main effort that was directly against Israel, Hamas pursued secondary efforts toward other target audiences:

• The population of Gaza, toward which the movement demonstrated a diverse message that included not only messages that inspired hope and glorified the military achievements of Hamas and the damage that it inflicted to Israel, but also messages of deterrence, in an attempt to prevent any kind of protest against Hamas, let alone collaboration with Israel. In this framework, using all resources at its disposal, Hamas highlighted an event that occurred at the end of the operation in which twenty-three people suspected of collaborating with Israel were executed. The media coverage and its resonance on social media was intended to deter Gazans from collaborating with Israel, but also to demonstrate Hamas’s determination and the strength of its control and supervision of events in the Gaza Strip.21 • The Palestinian public in Judea and Samaria, which was called on to pursue popular uprising in the territory and thereby to open another front that Israel would have to cope with, thus relieving the military pressure on the Gaza Strip. In practice, Hamas suffered a bitter disappointment in this respect, which caused it to harshly criticize what was described as the indifference of the street in the West Bank given the bloodshed in Gaza. • The Palestinian Authority, which was mainly called on to contribute to the war effort, and after it became clear that it did not intend

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to pursue a violent struggle against Israel was denounced by Hamas, which also called on the Palestinian public to come out against the government in Ramallah. • The Arab world and the international community, toward which Hamas mainly presented the harm to civilians during the battles, calling them to intensify international pressure on Israel to terminate its military activities. What stood out in this context was Hamas’s attempt to engage in discourse with the general populations in the Arab and Muslim world, by means of the media, with the purpose of arousing agitation that would lead to pressure on the governments, especially those with official relations with Israel. However, this effort also led to disappointment for Hamas given the relatively limited enlistment of the Arab and Muslim population in the targeted countries, which was exhausted and defeated after half a decade of the Arab Spring, and did not flood the streets, as occurred for example with the outbreak of the Second Intifada in 2000.22

The Knife Intifada

At the end of September 2015, a half-year-long wave of violence broke out which, unlike its predecessors, was characterized by the fact that most of the attacks were carried out by individual Palestinians—mostly young—or small cells (and not highly organized and coordinated terror networks). Those who carried out the attacks were described as “Lone Wolves” who acted out of inspiration from social networks and the media, or from a desire to imitate similar patterns of terrorism or to avenge harm caused to people close to them, especially family members or friends. Most of them used relatively simple weapons, such as knives, axes, or homemade weapons, or rammed vehicles into Israeli civilians or soldiers. The Knife Intifada broke out against the backdrop of a combination of several powerful processes that took place in the Palestinian system and came together at a joint moment in time. The first was the deep and continued despair projected by the Palestinian leadership given the stagnation of the political process, which was accompanied by threats of taking drastic steps such as ceasing the coordination with Israel or even dismantling the Palestinian Authority and transferring the responsibility for managing the lives of civilians in the West Bank to the hands of Israel. The second factor was the deepening frustration of the younger Palestinian generation with the social and economic difficulties that they face, especially in the context of their deep alienation toward the

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Palestinian leadership in Ramallah.23 And finally, the continued Palestinian fears of Israel’s intentions of changing the status quo on the Temple Mount (this is why this wave of violence was also called by the Palestinians the “Al-Quds Intifada”). The event that marked the beginning of violence was the murder of two Jews in the Old City of Jerusalem by Mohammad Halabi, a young man from the village of Surda near Ramallah, who was a member of the student group of the Islamic jihad at Al-Quds University.24 The incident became a source of imitation for hundreds of Palestinian young people who carried out similar types of attacks over the following half year, on several occasions leaving “last wills” behind them (some of them on Facebook) in which their motivations and objectives were explained. 25 The wave of violence gradually died down in the second half of 2016, in part because the Palestinian Authority understood that it contained the potential for an outbreak of the young people’s fury in its direction too, and it began to take action to locate potential attackers and prevent their plans. These types of attacks continued after 2016, but in more limited numbers and at a relatively low frequency.26 Hamas perceived the Knife Intifada as a strategic opportunity. A year after the end of Operation Protective Edge, the movement was still badly bruised by the results of the difficult campaign and deterred from pursuing defiant military actions that would lead to the development of another serious campaign in the Gaza Strip. The Knife Intifada allowed Hamas to pursue the principle of jihad without taking the risk of direct friction with Israel in the Gaza Strip, and even to try to strengthen its hold on the public in the Gaza Strip, consolidate its image as the leader of the resistance against Israel, and hurt the image of the Palestinian Authority. The crowning glory of the effort that Hamas pursued in its influence operations was the large-scale encouragement of the Palestinian public, especially members of the younger generation, to pursue attacks against IDF forces or Israeli civilians. It did it by glorifying those who had carried out such actions (most of them were killed during them) and making clear their contribution to the Palestinian national cause. Alongside these, it presented the harm that the actions caused to Israel, described the panic, insecurity, and anxiety that they created in the Israeli public, along with the confusion and helplessness of the Israeli security forces given the new threat, which was not of a clear military nature, and regarding which there was a basic difficulty in identifying it in advance and neutralizing it.

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Hamas’s influence operations also aimed to hurt the image of the Palestinian Authority, by presenting it as being unable to have the same courage as the young Palestinians, being bound by economic interests, and as having had its spirit of resistance suppressed. Special criticism was levelled at the Palestinian security forces, portraying them as proIsraeli, as they tried to prevent such attacks, in part through their close cooperation with Israel’s security forces.27 Hamas’s Al-Aqsa TV, which broadcasts from the Gaza Strip, was the central tool through which the movement pursued its goals during the Knife Intifada. The TV station, which has considerable popularity on the Palestinian street—much more than the media channels identified with the Palestinian Authority28—maintained live broadcasts for many days. The station broadcast breaking news, reporting on attacks (both successful and attempted); discussed the profiles of the attackers; and ran video clips that encouraged new attacks or explained how to execute a knife attack or prepare explosive devices. In addition, it showcased preachers at mosques in Gaza who encouraged carrying out attacks, some of them while waving knives during their sermons. 29 Much of this Al-Aqsa TV content went viral on social networks, which serve as the main means of communication in the Palestinian system, especially among the younger generation.30 The very success of the Knife Intifada is the outcome of the proliferation of smartphones and social media among the younger Palestinian generation. These new technologies helped to transfer messages and action instructions more quickly than in the past. Moreover, they allowed users to demonstrate their participation or anger by online participation (posts, likes, etc.) and not necessarily through active involvement (though such behavior also created much criticism within the Palestinian system, with many leaders complaining about the “weakening of the spirit of sacrifice among the young people”).31 Along with Hamas’s extensive use of social media in its influence operations, the movement continued to use more traditional tools, too, such as the distribution of placards, sermons at mosques, and holding demonstrations. Some of the perpetrators of attacks who have been caught and jailed by Israel have attested that, along with social media, they were also greatly influenced by the broadcasts from radio and television stations, by the discourse on the street or in school, or by participation in demonstrations. Some of them received the inspiration to go and carry out attacks following participation in the funeral of a classmate, neighbor, or relative, a phenomenon that has been named “the chain of martyrs” in the Palestinian discourse.32

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The Great March of Return

Three and a half years after the end of Operation Protective Edge, Hamas found itself in a difficult situation. The military struggle in Gaza had not produced the desired results of creating a real relief of the continuing civilian distress of the residents in the Gaza Strip. Immediately after the last military campaign, large-scale civilian rehabilitation and aid measures were advanced—mainly with the funding of Qatar33—but these were reduced over the years, and had difficulty addressing the fundamental problems in the Gaza Strip, especially those of the younger generation of Gazans. This made Hamas deeply concerned about possible civilian strife that would develop into a surprising popular protest against Hamas and pose a challenge to its rule in the Gaza Strip. Similarly, bold strategic steps pursued by Yahya Sinwar—head of Hamas’s Political Bureau in the Gaza Strip since 2017—had difficulty addressing the civilian distress. The events that were prominent in this context included:

• The warming of relations with the Egyptian government, which had been traditionally hostile toward the Muslim Brotherhood in general and toward the Hamas government in the Gaza Strip in particular. This hostility resulted in the prolonged closing of the Rafah crossing (since 2013), contributing to the atmosphere of tension and pressure that was part of the background to the outbreak of the campaign in the summer of 2014. • The development of discussion on a long-term military arrangement with Israel in the Gaza Strip (hudna) with the mediation of Qatar and Egypt. • Hamas’s willingness to further the reconciliation with the Palestinian Authority at the end of 2017, including allowing its forces to deploy at the border crossings in the Gaza Strip.34

However, all of these failed miserably from Hamas’s perspective. The largest failure was in the context of the reconciliation with the Palestinian Authority, which ran into difficulties after a few months, when it became clear that the two sides did not intend to make substantial concessions. The situation in the Gaza Strip deteriorated even more after Abu Mazen (Mahmoud Abbas) decided to impose sanctions on the Gaza Strip following the crisis in the reconciliation talks, out of the hope that this would undermine the Hamas government.35 In light of the ongoing distress in the Gaza Strip, Sinwar needed to pursue measures that would simultaneously enable an improvement in

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the civilian situation in Gaza and receive widespread support on the Palestinian street, in the Arab world, and in the international arena—and all these without drawing the Gaza Strip into a large-scale military confrontation with Israel. In other words, Hamas needed to develop a “campaign between the wars,” a military concept that Israel had developed and applied in the past decade in the northern and Palestinian arenas, which aimed to damage its enemies’ military buildup efforts without getting drawn into a large-scale conflict with them.36 The chosen strategy was to promote large-scale civilian friction on the border of the Gaza Strip, which was called the “Great March of Return.” The resounding opening phase of the campaign took place on the Land Day in 2018 in a form of a large civilian demonstration that included a mass attempt to penetrate into Israeli territory, during which sixteen Palestinians were killed and hundreds more were injured.37 A more severe confrontation occurred on Nakba Day (May 15), the date on which the ceremony for moving the US embassy in Israel to Jerusalem was also held. In the incident, sixty-one Palestinians were killed, a large portion of them Hamas activists.38 From the middle of 2018 until the summer of 2019 events of a similar nature continued, although with decreasing numbers of participants, usually on Fridays (after the prayers at mosques). The campaign included means of harassment directed against IDF forces and the Israeli communities surrounding the Gaza Strip such as mass burning of tires or setting off explosives and stun grenades, especially during the night, by a Hamas group known as “the night harassment unit.”39 The form of struggle of the Great March of Return was designed by the social activist and writer Ahmed Abu Artima, who in effect operated on behalf of Hamas. Abu Artima sought to give the Great March of Return the character of a popular and legitimate campaign against the blockade and the occupation, and claimed that he received his inspiration to promote it from the large-scale breach of Syria’s and Lebanon’s borders by Palestinian refugees on Nakba Day in 2010, and from the mass march organized by the Moroccan government in 1975 for the purpose of conquering in practice the province of Western Sahara, from which the Spaniards departed.40 During 2019, after it became clear that the popular measures failed to produce the required strategic achievement, Hamas began to pursue a new model of “war between the wars” by the means of the mass launching of balloons and kites to which they attached incendiary materials, which caused extensive fires in Israeli territory, or explosive devices. However, all of the measures that Sinwar pursued did not ultimately

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lead to the desired objective of extracting any significant achievement from Israel that would improve the situation of the civilian population in Gaza. Given the many casualties on the Palestinian side and the concern that this would arouse agitation in the public sphere, these measures were stopped almost completely. Hamas’s influence operations as part of the actions that accompanied the Great March of Return were directed at several target audiences:

• First and foremost the population of Gaza, which Hamas needed to enlist to confront the IDF forces. The messages of Hamas tried to inspire optimism, arguing that the sacrifice of the people would ultimately lead to significant relief, and that the campaign demonstrates Hamas’s commitment to the public. • Israel, including the military, the leadership, and the public, toward which Hamas sought to project messages regarding the difficulty of coping with a popular and legitimate form of struggle, but also to present the large number of casualties on the Palestinian side to prompt an incisive moral debate in the political and public spheres in Israel. • The Arab world and the international community, toward which Hamas projected the message that this is a just and legitimate form of struggle aimed at removing the blockade of the Gaza Strip, while highlighting the harm to civilians during the confrontations and raising the claim of war crimes carried out by Israel.

Moreover, the demonstrations were accompanied by a broad information effort that included direct broadcasts from the field for long periods; interviews with organizers of the demonstrations and the participants; the encouragement of mass participation and publication of the dates and locations of the demonstrations; the participation of Hamas leaders who visited the locations of the demonstrations and gave speeches in an attempt to encourage the participants; the broadcasting of video clips, glorifying those who were killed during the conflicts; a call to the residents of Judea and Samaria to pursue similar measures; and the establishment of “myths” and “heroes” that were instilled and consolidated in the Palestinian discourse, such as the medic Razan AlNajar, who was killed during one of the demonstrations, or several disabled Gazans, who took an active part in confrontations with the IDF forces. All this was done while emphasizing that the Palestinian casualties in the events were civilians and that the IDF was using lethal measures against them such as sniper fire.41

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Hamas’s influence operations emphasized the memory of the Nakba of 1948, the most severe trauma in the Palestinian worldview, which is deeply embedded in the Palestinian collective consciousness.42 The connection to the Nakba pursued several goals: to expand public enlistment by planting fury and a spirit of struggle and sacrifice in the consciousness of the Palestinians; and to support the prevailing Palestinian narrative, according to which the Palestinians are living a continuous existence of Nakba in which times merge, there is no separation between past and present, and the Palestinians of the present continue to experience the persecution and the catastrophes that their ancestors experienced throughout history. What stood out in this context was the presentation of the Great March of Return as a measure that was meant to bring the Palestinians closer to their original lands (some of the events included looking out toward the lands of villages destroyed in 1948 and from which the ancestors of the contemporary Palestinians living in the Gaza Strip came) and maybe even physically reach them.43 This was done while presenting the symbolism inherent in the fact that Nakba Day (May 15) in 2018 was the same day on which the US embassy was moved to Jerusalem.44 After a year and a half, it became clear that the strategic idea behind the Great March of Return—the demonstrations and the launching of terror balloons—was a great failure. Originally, Hamas sought to present all of the elements of the campaign as popular measures pursued spontaneously by civilians (ostensibly without the guiding hand of Hamas) with the purpose of creating an ongoing low-intensity confrontation, which would embarrass Israel, given the inability to address such a threat with military means, increasing both domestic and international criticism of the Israeli government. While it created a certain resonance in the media discourse—especially the Palestinian and Israeli media, much less so the Arab and international—the Great March of Return took a heavy toll on the Palestinians (over 300 killed and thousands injured), and did not produce large-scale relief or a change in Israeli policy toward the Gaza Strip.

Conclusion Hamas is currently subject to an intermediary situation in which it is waiting for several decisions inside and outside the Palestinian arena to formulate its strategy. It is focused on addressing the Covid-19 crisis in the Gaza Strip; re-establishing the infrastructure undermined by the

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2021 operation “The Guardians of the Walls”;45 continuously examining any changes in Washington’s policy toward the Middle East in general and the Palestinian system in particular;46 and preparing for “the day after” Abu Mazen, a scenario that is seen by the movement as an opportunity to consolidate its long-standing desire to conquer the leadership of the Palestinian system.47 However, Hamas hasn’t abandoned the idea of the struggle against Israel until its defeat, as illustrated by the operation “The Guardians of the Walls,” which Hamas launched of its own initiative following tensions in Jerusalem and without preceding tensions in the Gaza Strip. Hamas constantly continues to prepare for the next campaign while learning from the mistakes of past campaigns and formulating strategies that are meant to provide it with achievements in a future conflict. Especially prominent in this respect is the thought that Hamas dedicates toward moving the next conflict into the territory of the enemy— Israel. As part of the discourse that took place within Hamas following Operation Protective Edge, the passive waiting was presented as a fundamental error. Yahya Sinwar claimed that, from the outset, Hamas should have preempted Israel’s opening strikes by pursuing proactive measures, thus simultaneously achieving military and morale effects. He argued to chiefly move the fighting into Israel’s territory, for the first time in the history of the struggle, by implementing a “shocking” measure in the form of a large force that would penetrate via the tunnels and temporarily take over an Israeli settlement on Gaza’s border.48 In Hamas’s understanding, such a measure could have caused cognitive shock in Israel and instilled battle spirit and pride among the Palestinian public, providing the movement with great honor in the public and media discourse in the Arab and Muslim world. Hamas in effect adopted and adapted the idea developed by Hezbollah titled “The Galilee Plan,” which centers on plans to take over an Israeli community or group of communities on the border for a short time by inserting large forces via the tunnels that the organization has dug into Israeli territory in recent years.49 In the operation “The Guardians of the Walls,” Hamas partially materialized this idea. Although the movement did not operate within Israeli territory (mainly due to its inability to do so following the construction of the ground barrier), it was the first time in its history when it was the initiating party in the conflict and, therefore, Hamas sees this conflict as a strategic achievement, despite the blows it suffered. These plans demonstrate Hamas’s deep understanding of the sensitivity in the Israeli discourse to friendly civilian casualties, as well as to events that produce humiliation or the loss of territory. This line of

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thinking regarding the next campaign with Israel was to a large extent shaped by Sinwar, who has a deep understanding of the public discourse and collective consciousness in Israel, after he was imprisoned there for almost a quarter of a century.50 Influence operations are expected to be a central component of a future campaign between Hamas and Israel. Hamas understands that the crowning glory is expected to be an attempt to take over a community in Israel, an action of which cognitive importance would be greater than its operative-military achievement (Hamas is working under the basic assumption that the IDF would quickly release the hostages). However, such an event would be accompanied by additional information efforts to fan the flames in Judea and Samaria to open up another front (a goal that Hamas has repeatedly failed to achieve, including in the latest operation, in which the West Bank remained relatively calm); to fuel the tensions among Arab society in Israel, as well as to agitate the Arab street and the international system (something that Hamas was extremely successful in, during the operation “The Guardians of the Walls”); and, as previously mentioned, to engage in a direct discourse with the Israeli public, bypassing the leadership. All these methods have already been expressed in the past and continue to be improved during cease-fires, when no high-intensity conflict is taking place. However, it is likely that their expression would reach a climax in a future conflict, in which Hamas would try to implement the military capabilities that it has accumulated and the tools of influence operations that it has developed while applying the lessons that it has learned so far. This would serve as a test of Hamas’s ability to wage a multidimensional campaign that combines military activity with influence operations in both civilian and diplomatic spheres—an essential combination to any modern political entity waging a military campaign.

Notes

1. For more on the history of Hamas and its ideological doctrine, see Hisham H. Ahmad, Hamas: From Religious Salvation to Political Transformation: The Rise of Hamas in Palestinian Society (Jerusalem: PASSIA, 1994), pp. 9–57. 2. For more on the history of Hamas in this period, see Michael Milstein, Ha’mahapeha ha’yeruka: Ha’dyukan ha’hevrati shel tnuawat Hamas [The Green Revolution: A Social Profile of Hamas] (Tel Aviv: Moshe Dayan Center for Middle Eastern and African Studies, 2007), pp. 23–26. 3. About the strategic conditions in Gaza Strip since 2014, see Yoav (Poly) Mordechai, Michael Milstein, and Yotam Amiti, “The Next Gaza: The Gaza Strip Between a Dead End and a Glimmer of Hope,” Strategic Assessment 20, no. 3 (2017): 9–19.

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4. Ibid. 5. See full text of the Hamas covenant: “Mithaq Harkat Al-Muqawamma AlIslamiyya—Hamas,” Al Jazeera, July 16, 2005 (in Arabic), www.aljazeera.net/2005 /07/16/. 6. For more about this, see Michael Milstein, “Haomnam bashlu ha’tnaiim le’hasdara arukat tvah be’retzuat azza?” [Are the Conditions Ripe for a Long-Term Settlement in the Gaza Strip?], Institute for Policy and Strategy, December 2019, www .idc.ac.il/he/research/ips/Documents/publication/5/Gaza-MichaelM18-12-19.pdf. 7. About the Muslim Brotherhood ideology, see Ziad Abu Amru, Al-Harka AlIslamiyya Fi Al-Dhaffa Al-Ghrabiyya wa Quta’a Ghaza [The Islamic Movement in the West Bank and Gaza Strip] (Acre: Dar Al-Aswar, 1989), pp. 19–21; Meir Hatina and Uri Kupferschmidt, “Me’aguda le’tnua’a” [From Association to Movement], in Ha’akhim ha’muslyamim: hazon dati be’metziyut meshtana [The Muslim Brothers: The Religious Vision in a Changing Reality], eds. Meir Hatina and Uri Kupferschmidt (Tel Aviv: Hakibutz Ha-Meuhad, 2012), pp. 12–54. 8. Ipoke, Al-Waqah Al-Ruqmi Al-Filastini 2020 [Social Media Report in Palestine for Year 2020], Gaza, 2020, http://ipoke.co/SocialMediaOnPalestine2020.pdf. 9. See the Palinfo website at www.palinfo.co. 10. See the Safa website at www.safa.ps. 11. See the Al-Risala website at www.alresalah.ws. 12. See the Hamas website at www.hamas.ps. 13. See the Izz ad-Din al-Qassam Brigades website at www.alqassam.ps. 14. For more information about Hamas relations with the international community and the Arab world, see Mustafa Habush, “Alakat Hamas Al-Kharijiya” [Foreign Relations of Hamas], AA.COM, July 29, 2019, www.aa.com.tr/ar/%D8%B1 /1543929. 15. “Hamas tutahim Dhabitan fi al-Sulta bi-Muhawalat Ightiyyal Rai’is alHukuma al-Hamdallah in Ghaza” [Hamas Accuses an Officer of the Palestinian Authority of Attempted Assassination of Palestinian Prime Minister Hamdallah in Gaza], BBC News (in Arabic), April 18, 2018, www.bbc.com/arabic/middleeast -43937435. 16. Yaniv Kubovich, “Hamas shatal tohnot zdoniyot be’telefonim shel’ hayalim kdey letaeed bsisim be’otef azza” [Hamas Installed Malware into Soldiers’ Phones to Gather Information on Military Bases in Gaza Strip], Ha’aretz, July 2, 2018, www.haaretz.co.il/news/politics/.premium-1.6241329. 17. “Himla electroniyya Filastiniyya Didha Munasiq A’maliyyat al-Hukuma alIsrailiyya” [Palestinian Electronic Campaign Against COGAT], AA.COM, May 30, 2020, www.aa.com.tr/ar/1859305. 18. For more about the campaign, see Michael Milstein and Yoav (Poly) Mordechai, “Shesh hativot or shney million bney adam? Keytzad shina mivtza ‘tzuk eitan’ et derekh ha’etbonenut shel Israel al ratzuat azza” [Six Brigades or Two Million People? How Operation Protective Edge Changed the Way Israel Looks at the Gaza Strip], Ma’archot, no. 473, October 2017, pp. 4–11 19. For more about this issue, see Michael Milstein, “The Challenge of AlMuqawama (Resistance) to Israel,” Strategic Assessment 12, no. 4 (2010): 57–72. 20. “Hamas: Tawakuf al-Rihlat ila Israiil Intisar lil-Muqawamma” [Hamas: Termination of Flights to Israel Is a Victory for the “Resistance”], Al Jazeera, July 23, 2014, www.aljazeera.net/news/arabic/2014/7/23. 21. “I’idam 18 ‘Amilan’ Filastiniayyan l-Israiil fi Quta Ghaza” [18 Palestinian “Collaborators” Were Executed in Gaza Strip], BBC News (in Arabic), August 22, 2014, www.bbc.com/arabic/middleeast/2014/08/14082.

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22. See “Harb Ghaza: Min Al-Rabih Wa Min Al-Khasir” [The War on Gaza: Who Earned and Who Lost?], BBC News (in Arabic), August 14, 2014, www .bbc.com/arabic/interactivity/2014/08/140806_comments_gaza_war_winners_losers. 23. More about the young generation crisis, see Michael Milstein, “Sorry, You Have Been out of Bounds: A Profile of the Palestinian Youth Generation,” Fikra Forum, May 24, 2019, www.washingtoninstitute.org/policy-analysis/sorry-you-have -been-out-bounds-profile-palestinian-youth-generation. 24. “Muhammad Halabi: 4 Awa’im Ala Istishhad Mufajjar Intifadat Al-quds” [Muhammad Halabi: 4 Years for the Martyrdom of Al-Quds Intifada Pioneer], PalToday, October 3, 2019, https://paltoday.ps/ar/post/360621/. 25. “Kayfa Thara Hawllai: Hikayat 10 Min Shuhadda Intifadat Al-Quds” [How They Rebelled: The Story of 10 of Intifadat Al-Quds “Martyrs”], SasaPost, December 13, 2015, https://www.sasapost.com/jerusalem-intifada/. 26. Boaz Ganor, Bruce Hoffman, Marlene Mazel and Mathew Levitt, “Lone Wolf: Passing Fad or Terror Threat of the Future?” Policy Watch, no. 2842, August 7, 2017, www.washingtoninstitute.org/policy-analysis/lone-wolf-passing-fad-or-terror-threat -future. 27. “Hamas Tatanakad Al-Taa’wun Al-Amni Bayna Al-Sulta Al-filastiniya Wa Israil” [Hamas criticize the security cooperation between the PA and Israel], Raialyoum, April 2016, www.raialyoum.com/index.php/%D8%AD%D9%85%D8%A7 %D8%B3-%D8%AA%D9%86%D8%AA%D9%82%D8%AF-%D8 %A7%D9%84%D8%AA%D8%B9%D8%A7%D9%88%D9%86-%D8%A7 %D9%84%D8%A3%D9%85%D9%86%D9%8A-%D8%A8%D9%8A%D9%86 -%D8%A3%D9%85%D9%86-%D8%A7%D9%84%D8%B3%D9%84/. 28. According to a survey conducted two years ago, the channel has the highest viewership among the Palestinians (14 percent). See “Aistitlaei: Qanaat Al’aqsaa Al’uwlaa Filastiniana” [Poll: Al-Aqsa TV, the First Palestinian Channel], Aqsatv, December 19, 2018, https://aqsatv.ps/post/20440/%D8%A7%D8%B3%D8%AA%D8 %B7%D9%84%D8%A7%D8%B9-%D9%82%D9%86%D8%A7%D8%A9 -%D8%A7%D9%84%D8%A3%D9%82%D8%B5%D9%89-%D8 %A7%D9%84%D8%A3%D9%88%D9%84%D9%89-%D9%81 %D9%84%D8%B3%D8%B7%D9%8A%D9%86%D9%8A%D8%A7. 29. For some examples, see Elior Levy, “Sirton Masbir Eikh Lidkor: Kakh Poelet Haasata Bareshet” [A Video the Explains How to Stub: The Incitement on Network], Ynet, July 4, 2016, www.ynet.co.il/articles/0,7340,L-4823788,00.html. 30. Eighty-five percent of Palestinians stated that they receive news updates from social media, 35 percent from TV channels, 18 percent from websites, and only 4 percent from print journalism. See Ipoke, Takrir Wasail Al-Tawassul Al-Ijtimaii fi Filastin l-A’m 2017 [Social Media Report in Palestine in 2017], Gaza, 2017, http:// ipoke.co/SocialMediaOnPalestine2017.pdf. 31. For more about this, see Michael Milstein, “‘Thou Shalt Never Change. . . . Thou Shalt Change’: The Disappearance of Deep Understanding About the Objects of Research from the World of Intelligence Bodies and the Influence of the Phenomenon on Their Abilities and Relevance,” Meir Amit Intelligence and Terrorism Information Center, July 16, 2017, www.terrorism-info.org.il/en/21239/. 32. Avi Isaskharov, “Masa’a mebulbal be’kfar shemenase limnoa’a terror aval meshabeh Shahidim” [Confused Journey of a Village that Tries to Prevent Terrorist Attacks but Praises Martyrs], Walla, March 7, 2016, https://news.walla.co.il/item /2941203. 33. Michael Milstein, “Israel’s Dilemma Regarding the ‘Bad Boy’ of the Mideast,” Ynet, May 17, 2019, www.ynetnews.com/articles/0,7340,L-5507983,00.html.

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34. “Al-Sulta al-Filastiniyya tutalsim Maabir Quta Ghaza” [The Palestinian Authority Gained Control over the Checkpoints in Gaza], Al Jazeera, November 1, 2017, www.aljazeera.net/news/arabic/2017/11/1. 35. See in this context, Michael Milstein, “Hamas and Yahya Sinwar’s Tough Choice,” Fikra Forum, January 24, 2020, www.washingtoninstitute.org/policy -analysis/hamas-and-yahya-sinwars-tough-choice-part-1. 36. See more about it in Gadi Eisenkot and Gabi Siboni, “The Campaign Between Wars: How Israel Rethought Its Strategy to Counter Iran’s Main Regional Influence,” Policy Watch, no. 3174, September 4, 2019, www.washingtoninstitute .org/policy-analysis/campaign-between-wars-how-israel-rethought-its-strategy -counter-irans-malign. 37. “Gaza-Israel Border: Clashes ‘Leave 16 Palestinians Dead and Hundreds Injured,’” BBCNews, March 13, 2018, www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-middle-east -43593594. 38. “Israel’s Gaza Response ‘Wholly Disproportionate’—UN Rights Chief,” BBCNews, May 18, 2018, www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-middle-east-44167900. 39. For more on this topic, see Michael Milstein, “Hamas’s ‘New Campaign’ in Gaza, One Year Later,” INSS Insight, no. 1145, March 8, 2019. 40. From an interview of Abu Artima on Hamas’s website, February 21, 2018, https://www.palinfo.com/news/2018/2/20. 41. “326 ‘Shuhadda’ Mundhu Intilaq Masirat Al-Awda” [326 “Martyrs” Since the Outbreak of the Marches of Return], Al-Sharq, October 6, 2019, https://al-sharq .com/article/06/10/2019/326. 42. See Michael Milstein, “The Memory That Never Dies: The Nakba Memory and the Palestinian National Movement,” in Palestinian Collective Memory and National Identity, ed. Meir Litvak (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2009), pp. 47–69. 43. Haidar Eid, “Al-Awda Ila Al-Mustaqbal: Masirat Al-Awda Al-Kubra” [Return to the Future: The Great March of Return], Al-Shabaka, July 24, 2018, https://al-shabaka.org/commentaries/. 44. “Amrica tunakel safaratha min Tel-Abib ila Al-Quds fi youm dhikra alNakba” [America Is Moving Its Embassy from Tel-Aviv to Jerusalem on Nakba Day], Al-Quds, May 15, 2018. 45. Michael Milshtein, “Operation ‘Guardians of the Walls’: A Strategic Score, Look Torward the Future, and Policy Recommendations,” IPS, June 2021, https://www.idc.ac.il/en/research/ips/pages/insights/michael-milshtein-6-6-21.aspx. 46. See more about this issue in Michael Milstein, “The Palestinians Following Biden’s Victory: Hope in the Short Run, a Potential Cascade of Expectations in the Long Run,” Institute for Policy and Strategy, November 20, 2020, www.idc.ac .il/en/research/ips/pages/insights/michael-milshtein-19-11-20.aspx. 47. See more about this issue in Michael Milstein, “The Day After Abu Mazen Is Already Here,” INSS Insight, no. 1415, December 15, 2020. 48. See a description of training by Hamas’s military wing, whose aim is to implement such a plan, in Amir Bukhbut, “Sirton hadash shel’ hamas: kakh nahdor ve’neshtalet al ishuvim israeliym” [New Hamas Video: This Is How We Will Penetrate and Take over Israeli Settlements], Walla, October 31, 2015, https://news.walla.co.il/item/2902359. 49. Daniel Salame, “Tohnit hizbalah le’kibush hagalil” [Hezbollah’s Plan for the Conquest of the Galilee], Ynet, December 4, 2018, www.ynet.co.il/articles/0,7340,L -5419948,00.html. 50. For more about Yihya Sinwar’s profile, see “Ha’katsav me’khan yunis” [The Butcher from Khan Yunis], July 23, 2019, YouTube, www.youtube.com/watch?v =geK1vpwvQuI.

9 Israel’s Information Operations in Gaza: The Rise of the Digital Age Roy Schulman and David Siman-Tov

FROM 2008 TO 2014, ISRAEL CONDUCTED THREE MILITARY operations against active terror organizations in the Gaza Strip. During these years, broad changes were evident in the way Israel conducted its information efforts in the fight against Hamas. This period— which saw significant military operations, together with significant technological developments in social media platforms and recognition of their importance—proved to be significant for the development of the concept of the cognitive campaign in Israel. In this chapter, we focus on the agencies involved in this effort on the Israeli side, as reflected in these operations. We discuss the methods and modes of operation employed in the various rounds of combat between Israel and Gaza, and we follow the development of information operations and their implementation on various target audiences.1 The Gaza Strip has been and still is a security challenge for the State of Israel. This small and crowded area is controlled by a terrorist organization that will stop at no means to harm Israelis. This requires Israel to constantly deal with asymmetric warfare in which it finds it difficult to achieve victory. 2 Therefore, Israel consistently tries to find additional channels to facilitate its combat against the Gaza Strip, while its information operations during and between rounds of combat constitute an important element of its policy.

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Conceptual Background Contrary to other countries where strategic communication is a wellknown concept, with different agencies involved, all in coordination with each other, it is difficult to point to a parallel concept in the Israeli perception that dictates the activities of the various agencies. Instead, the key concepts are the cognitive campaign, psychological warfare, hasbara, and public diplomacy.3

Cognitive Campaign

The concept of the cognitive campaign, which arose from military practices at the beginning of the 2000s, describes the “various actions in order to change the perception of reality, positions, feeling and conduct of the target audience.”4 This is a broad term that includes covert or overt, identified or unidentified, kinetic- or information-based operations. Prior to the development of the idea of cognitive campaign, the Israel Defense Forces (IDF) used the concept of hasbara, which fell under the umbrella of the IDF Spokesperson’s Unit, and the concept of psychological warfare, which was used in the intelligence corps.

Psychological Warfare

Psychological warfare is defined as “changing the perception of enemy soldiers, commanders and leaders, primarily through tactics of deception and trickery directed against enemy forces on the battlefield, when combined with defined combat operations.”5 Tactical psychological warfare is a focused concept that refers primarily to covert operations and is directed toward a specific enemy unit.

Hasbara

Hasbara is a unique concept that describes how Israel conveys messages to the rest of the world. The role of hasbara is to transmit to the desired target audience a certain narrative, usually in the field of diplomatic affairs, and try to explain to this audience Israel’s view on a certain topic in question. 6 This concept was used primarily until the 2000s, and it describes mainly reactive communications activities aimed at justifying Israeli actions in the face of public relations challenges. The concept was formed in the 1970s based on the perception that it was impossible to justify Israeli actions in the eyes of the whole

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world. Thus, the only remaining option was to try and moderate the international response and to convey a message of the justness of Israel’s actions. The hasbara concept, however, was accused of being inefficient and irrelevant.7

Public Diplomacy

Israel’s Ministry of Foreign Affairs began employing the concept of public diplomacy in the mid-2000s as an alternative to the concept of hasbara. It has been defined as a set of actions that promote a diplomatic interest through understanding by conveying information and influence over foreign audiences.8 There is a significant difference between hasbara and public diplomacy. The former selectively targets narrow audiences, its messaging is defensive and reactionary, and it has short-term and limited goals. The latter, however, appeals to wider audiences, its actions are dictated by long-term and multidimensional goals, and it generally promotes Israel’s soft power rather than focusing on specific actions or events. Direct appeal to wider audiences is possible in the age of social media, thanks to what has been called “digital diplomacy.” This framework enables a direct interaction with the target audience, rather than a one-sided monologue.9 For example, within the framework of public diplomacy, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs organizes media events and viral campaigns, promotes websites and cultural events, and hosts delegations and expert lectures around the world.10

Israel’s Cognitive Operations in the Gaza Strip Before 2008 The Gaza Strip is a small geographical area of 356 square kilometers on the southeastern side of the State of Israel. According to estimates, some 1.9 million residents live in the Gaza Strip. The area is one of the poorest and most crowded in the world. Since the territory was captured from Egypt in 1967, Israel has been unable to find a solution to the “Gaza issue.” Until 2005, Israel ruled over the Gaza Strip through a civil-military administration. In 2005, Israel withdrew its forces and evacuated its settlements from the Gaza Strip. Since the Hamas terrorist organization’s takeover of Gaza in 2007, there has been increased rocket fire toward communities in southern Israel.11

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The Goals of Israel’s Cognitive Campaign Vis-à-Vis Gaza

Israel has tried to achieve consistent goals in the conflict in the Gaza Strip in the years discussed here. While the emphasized three goals could be achieved through information campaigns, their achievement depends on a combination of kinetic actions by operating military forces on the battlefield, together with promoting messages and ideas, which is the subject of this chapter. First, Israel tries to deter terrorist organizations from attacking at any time: during periods of relative calm between rounds of conflict to prevent escalation, and during times of confrontations to end them as quickly as possible.12 While the relevant direct target audiences for this purpose are the leaders of Hamas and its members, the indirect audience includes the Gazan population, which can influence Hamas, as well as Arab states that can exert external pressure. The deterrence effort is perceived primarily as a function of using force—the greater the damage inflicted on enemy forces in a previous round, the less likely that the enemy will try to attack again, for the fear of sustaining further damages.13 Thus, the IDF sees creating deterrence as a systemic goal, to be achieved by all its combat units, primarily on the basis of kinetic actions. While Israel does not wish to harm the Palestinian population or Palestinian infrastructures, Hamas operates out of urban areas and, as a result, Israel’s attacks result in harm of civilians and civilian infrastructures. To minimize such damages, Israel seeks to distance the civilian population from the battlefield.14 Second, Israel tries to gain international support and legitimization for its actions. The terrorist organizations present the Palestinian population as a victim and, thus, mobilize international public opinion in their support. Israel seeks to expose Hamas as a terrorist organization and the dangers it creates for civilian populations on both sides. Concurrently, Israel tries to increase its own prestige by showing its commitment to international norms and the preservation of human life and by stressing that Israel has gone to war only when there has been “no choice.” Third, Israel tries to hit the terrorist organizations by undermining their popular support. The local population enables them to recruit new members, raise funds, cooperate in concealing intelligence information, and even in smuggling and hiding arms. Alongside these three strategic goals of Israel’s information operations in Gaza, it is important to mention operational and tactical psychological warfare efforts that are implemented during the cycles of violence: sowing demoralization among Hamas members and undermining the motivation of its members to fight, as well as integrating psychological warfare maneuvers in combat to create a tactical advan-

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tage on the battlefield by deceiving Hamas’s combatants and intelligence operatives.15 Beside these goals, which focus on influencing Hamas, the Gaza population, and the international and regional systems, Israel seeks to harness public support for IDF actions and achieve internal legitimacy for its operations, and to prevent harm to the population through instructions to the civilian home front. The target audience for the latter goal is the Israeli public and IDF soldiers. Unfortunately, due to limitations in scope, in this chapter we do not address this goal, despite its great importance to the campaign, in preventing casualties on the Israeli home front and in providing public support for military operations.16

Israeli Agencies Involved in the Cognitive Field Before 2008

The main agencies involved in the cognitive campaign vis-à-vis Gaza were the IDF (especially the IDF Spokesperson’s Unit), intelligence agencies operating covert tools, and the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. Although other agencies worked alongside these main three, such as the National Information Directorate in the Prime Minister’s Office, the Home Front Command, and the Coordinator of Government Operations in the Territories (COGAT),17 the following analysis focuses on only the main three.

The IDF Spokesperson’s Unit. Initially, the IDF Spokesperson’s Unit was intended to be the body that regulates the army’s relations with Israeli and foreign media.18 During the 2000s, the IDF Spokesperson’s Unit began to adopt an open and proactive policy vis-à-vis the Israeli and international media. During that time, the Arab Media Department was established within the IDF Spokesperson’s Unit and, for the first time, it was possible to send messages to the Arab population. The Second Lebanon War (2006) saw further developments in the IDF Spokesperson’s Unit’s approach—during this war, the IDF Spokesperson’s Unit had an open media policy and gave the Israeli media free access to IDF officers and soldiers during the campaign.19 The Israeli public saw the Second Lebanon War as a failure and partially blamed the IDF Spokesperson’s Unit for its open media policy, which was perceived as a complete lack of information control in that it allowed classified information, such as giving the locations where missiles landed.20 As a result, to control the flow of information, the IDF Spokesperson’s Unit changed its approach and adopted a much stricter closed policy toward the Israeli media and almost complete closure to foreign media.21

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The Center for Cognitive Operations. The Center for Cognitive Operations (MALAT) was established in 2005 with the aim of coordinating and developing the field of cognitive campaigns in the IDF. The center was given several roles, including conducting cognitive operations and campaigns; planning, guiding, and monitoring the field at the strategic level; and developing systemic and doctrinal knowledge in the field.22 It was designated as the operational and the systemic planning body, but given its subordination to Military Intelligence, it became solely an operational body, and the majority of its operations were and remain secret.23 During the Second Lebanon War, it conducted operations in several fields, such as dropping fliers, exposing the names and scale of Hezbollah civilian casualties, and taking control of Hezbollah’s media channels.24 From the start, it was clear that even though the IDF has begun to address the cognitive issue, and despite various units of the IDF accumulating knowledge on the subject, the IDF has not integrated that knowledge into an overall IDF vision and each unit operates independently of the others. Furthermore, the IDF has not developed any organized operational doctrine, nor has it written any disciplinary doctrine or done anything to develop the cognitive campaigns in an orderly method.25

Ministry of Foreign Affairs. During the Second Lebanon War, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs played a central role in promoting diplomatic goals in the international arena using traditional and public diplomacy tools. However, for most of Israel’s history, its hasbara effort has been seen as a failure, as evidenced repeatedly in reports written by the State Comptroller’s Office,26 which found that the Ministry of Foreign Affairs had failed to prepare in advance a media program in the event of an emergency. The Second Lebanon War constituted one of the most significant catalysts for the Ministry of Foreign Affairs to transition from having a defensive hasbara perspective to having an active public diplomacy concept that tries to influence audiences using the means at its disposal.27

Interactions Between Cognitive Agencies

Although the Center for Cognitive Operations was established to synchronize the IDF’s cognitive endeavors into an overall cognitive campaign, this function ceased about a year after its establishment. After the Second Lebanon War, the approach of then IDF spokesperson Brigadier General (retired) Avi Benayahu was that a clear distinction should be maintained between the center, which operates in a gray zone of lies and manipulations, and the IDF Spokesperson’s Unit whose strength is

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derived from its credibility. Benayahu believed that the two units are “like water and oil” and that the correct approach was not to coordinate between the two, so that the center would not harm the credibility of the IDF Spokesperson’s Unit.28 Coordination between the IDF and government ministries was also partial. Although, at that time, a national information directorate had been established in the Prime Minister’s Office— in accordance with the recommendations of the State Comptroller and the Winograd Commission29—it was only a skeletal organization and did not become a strong institution that would formulate and lead a national cognitive policy.

Operation Cast Lead, 2008 Operation Cast Lead occurred in late 2008 following massive rocket fire by several terrorist organizations led by Hamas, aimed at the Israeli towns and communities in the south of Israel, next to Gaza. Israel received broad regional and international support and was expected “to solve the Hamas issue in Gaza.”30 The IDF began the operation on December 27, 2008, with an aerial attack on the graduation ceremony of the police cadet training course in Gaza, simultaneously conducting several deception operations (e.g., sending soldiers from the Southern Command on vacation).31 After twenty-two days of combat, Israel declared a unilateral cease-fire and gradually began to withdraw its forces from the Gaza Strip. The relative calm in the Gaza Strip for almost four years after Operation Cast Lead, shows that the operation succeeded to a certain degree in deterring Hamas.32 Operation Cast Lead had three goals. First, the operation sought to change the rules of the game, so that if Hamas carried out even a minor provocation, Israel would respond with massive force, thus deterring Hamas from terror operations. Second, the operation aimed to create continuous pressure on Hamas that would lead to a long-term arrangement. Finally, the operation aimed to achieve international regulation designed to limit Hamas’s force buildup.33

Deterrence

As already stated, the deterrent effort is traditionally perceived primarily as a function of force—the greater the damage inflicted on enemy forces, the less likely it is that the enemy will try to attack again, for fear of sustaining further damages. Thus, creating deterrence is perceived as

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a systemic goal, to be achieved by all the IDF’s force operation units, primarily on the basis of kinetic and violent actions.34 Thus, the IDF selected the police cadet graduation ceremony in the town of Arafat as the primary target for the launch of the operation to create a cognitive effect similar to the US doctrine of “shock and awe,”35 intended “to paralyze its [the adversary’s] will to carry on . . . [to] seize control of the environment and paralyze or so overload an adversary’s perceptions and understanding of events that the enemy would be incapable of resistance at the tactical and strategic levels.”36 The choice of target shows that the IDF integrated cognitive considerations in choosing the kinetic targets. Brigadier General (retired) Zvi Fogel, then head of the Fire Command Center in the Southern Command, claimed that “targets were selected for the launch of the operation that would create a cognitive effect in addition to the effect of military surprise . . . [and] targets were defined that would have an impact on Hamas, far beyond the trivial military aspect.”37 According to this approach, the strike on the police academy links the military aspect of Hamas with the civilian aspect, as the police are an armed force that primarily serves civilian purposes.

Weakening the Population’s Support for Hamas

Diminishing the popular support for Hamas among the population in the Gaza (or in the terminology of the Center for Cognitive Operations “driving a wedge between the population and Hamas”) was the center’s main goal during Operation Cast Lead.38 The center had planned the task prior to launching the operation. It prepared a campaign of video clips and fliers, together with civilian advisers, and developed production capabilities to create new content during the operation. Among the messages that the campaign promoted were that “the leaders fled and abandoned the civilians” and that “Hamas is using civilians as human shields and stealing humanitarian aid meant for civilians.”39 The center had at its disposal the tools needed for dropping the fliers, assuming control of radio and TV stations, and conducting operations on the internet (primarily on forums that were popular among the civilians in Gaza at that time). It is important to note, however, in its transmission of messages to the Palestinian public, the IDF did not block the Palestinian media—at least at the outset of the campaign—despite having the capability to do so.40 During Operation Cast Lead, the IDF aimed its information campaigns primarily at influencing the Palestinian people and its percep-

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tions of Hamas, which was described as a ruthless terrorist organization that does not care about the suffering of the Palestinian people. The IDF also tried to bolster the view that Hamas had been dealt a severe blow. However, unlike in the war against Hezbollah in 2006, the IDF chose not to direct its information operations against the Hamas leadership. It is possible to argue that the IDF assessed that personal attacks would not have the desired effect on the population, which would back its leaders during the assault.41 The Center for Cognitive Operations used a combination of means to create maximum resonance. For example, each time fliers were dropped, the center made sure that one of the drops was conducted next to a building that housed journalists in Gaza to ensure they would report on the fliers in the local media.42 In addition, the IDF also blocked radio and television broadcasts associated with Hamas to prevent them from having a propaganda platform to reach the Palestinian people.43 The center also produced news bulletins, which were broadcast on radio stations that had been taken over by the IDF. These news bulletins reported on events, emphasizing messages that were contrary to the Hamas narratives, such as the amount of humanitarian aid that Israel had allowed into the Gaza Strip.44 Automatic calls were another tool at the IDF’s disposal. These were telephone calls received by Gazan civilians with a message that the center wished to transmit. For example, in the middle of the night, Gazan civilians received a call with a message that said: “This is not a dream, this is the Hamas nightmare.” Automatic calls were an extremely useful tool for expanding the exposure of the target audience. Unlike a flier or radio broadcast, for which it was impossible to know who read or listened, it was possible to know whether a phone call was answered, at what stage the listener disconnected, and whether or not the message was received. The center had a demographic and regional breakdown of phone numbers, which enabled it to direct the calls to specific target audiences.45 Another agency that dealt with delivering messaging to the Palestinian population was the Arab Media Department of the IDF Spokesperson’s Unit, which tried to reach opinion shapers in Gaza. For example, it emphasized cases in which Gazan residents themselves (with blurred faces and distorted voices) spoke out against Hamas. At the time, the main platform that was available to the Arab Media Department was interviews given to the Arab media, in which it attempted to convey relevant messages to the population in Gaza such as Hamas’s wrongful use of mosques to hide weapons.46

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Creating International Support for Israel’s Goals in the Operation The battle for international support was achieved through a combination of diplomatic and media means. In its efforts, Israel aimed to address several main challenges in the context of the humanitarian situation in the Gaza Strip as a result of the disproportionate damage that the world attributed to the IDF. According to a senior foreign ministry official, one of the main achievements of these efforts was the fact that the West generally accepted Israel’s presentation of Hamas as using Palestinian civilians as a “human shield.”47 Before the operation, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs had prepared materials and messages in advance. It coordinated explanations on the operation’s goals and prepared materials explaining the massive application of force against Hamas. The Ministry of Foreign Affairs began recruiting foreign language speakers and bloggers to disseminate proIsrael messages on foreign websites and blogs.48 During the campaign, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs monitored Israel’s messaging and how it was received by communities in the West to calibrate the messages and adapt them to the various audiences. In addition, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs set up a branch in the city of Sderot, in proximity to the Gaza Strip, which held tours in the area for foreign diplomats and media.49 As previously mentioned, after the Second Lebanon War, the IDF felt necessary to control and supervise the information coming from the battlefield. This was particularly true regarding foreign correspondents, as the IDF refused to grant them permission to enter the Gaza Strip about two months before the operation began. The results of this policy were problematic in terms of the battle for international support. As the operation dragged on, due to the lack of materials from the Israeli side, the correspondents had to rely on sources in Gaza—independent journalists as well as local reporters and broadcasting teams from Arab networks who disseminated news and images—all from the Palestinian perspective and thus serving the interests of Hamas. Indeed, the reporting by the foreign correspondents did not reflect the IDF’s actions to reduce the number of casualties—such as Israel’s use of fliers to warn of attacks and the messaging about the use by Hamas of civilians as human shields—leaving Israel in an inferior position.50 The Ministry of Foreign Affairs perceived shutting off the Gaza Strip to media coverage as a means of ensuring Israel’s control of the information flow as the right move, at least in the early stages of the operation. It allowed Israel to buy time, taking advantage of the “fog of

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battle,” and to prevent harsh images from appearing on television. However, the longer the operation continued, it became clear to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs that the media shutout had become a problem and had raised the question of what Israel had to hide.51 Foreign correspondents focused on the damages caused by the operation and on Palestinian suffering, thus harming Israel’s image.52 The Ministry of Foreign Affairs indeed disseminated documents providing factual data and legal explanations regarding Israel’s actions in the operation, 53 while Israel published photos of humanitarian aid trucks entering the Gaza Strip and even of a field hospital near it (which stayed empty). This, however, was not sufficient as the project was never fully executed.54 Internal documents of the Ministry of Foreign Affair that were written after the operation addressed the difficulty that the rational Israeli message had in taking root in the West when faced with the emotional Palestinian message, which was expressed primarily through difficult images from the campaign that emphasized the suffering of the Palestinian people.55 Given this, Israel began to understand the need for a separate campaign in the war, with long-term goals to rehabilitate Israel’s image following the damage done by Operation Cast Lead and to take the sting out of anti-Israel activities, especially in Europe.56 Additional difficulties emerged in the field of targeting the Arabicspeaking audiences around the world, which was also under the responsibility of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. A document issued by the Arabic Media Department of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs in February 2009 stated that the ministry’s senior echelons did not really understand the importance and influence of Arabic media on relations and negotiations with the Palestinians.57 This lack of understanding was reflected in the creation of uniform messages to different Arabic-speaking target audiences, even though the National Information Directorate had stated at an exercise in September 2008—prior to the operation in Gaza—that “it is important to prepare unique messages for different target audiences and not to suffice with a uniform list of messages.”58 The Arabic media spokesperson of the IDF did provide a solution to this disparity by transmitting messages that were adapted to the IDF’s overarching messages and to the different audiences.59

Demoralization in the Hamas Ranks

The main IDF unit that sought to demoralize Hamas was the Center for Cognitive Operations.60 One of its aims was to cause Hamas members to become so demoralized that they would avoid combat. The center

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looked for relevant weak spots, and one of its cognitive efforts was to create a sense of “infiltration”; namely, that the IDF could find and harm Hamas operatives no matter where they were, and that they had no chance against the IDF’s special units and its technological and operational superiority. The center transmitted these messages directly on Hamas’s communications network. Thus, for example, when the IDF found out that Hamas operatives were hiding in a hospital, knowing that the IDF would not dare to bomb it, the center made unidentified calls to the hospital hinting that the IDF was planning to send commandos to raid the hospital.61 Another effort aimed at exposing the names of Hamas operatives who had been killed, which Hamas tried to hide. The Center for Cognitive Operations used fliers dropped from the air, took control of radio and TV stations, and wrote messages on forums that weakened Hamas (which were the most popular means of communication on the internet prior to social networks). For example, the names of dead Hamas operatives with their photos and a “red X” were published together with an hourglass in the background to insinuate that time was running out for Hamas operatives.62 In addition, the IDF sent messages to Hamas combatants claiming that their leaders had fled and abandoned them in the battlefield. Another type of messaging claimed that if the IDF could target senior Hamas figures, then targeting more junior operatives would be an even easier task.63 As a result of these messages, some of the Hamas operatives believed that the IDF could track their mobile phones even when the devices were switched off, leading them to abandon their mobile devices that were vital for maintaining operational communications.64

New Media During the Campaign

During Operation Cast Lead, the IDF began using social media outlets, such as Twitter, as another channel for disseminating information. It is interesting that the IDF created its Twitter account @IDFS in the final days of the campaign. The IDF Spokesperson’s Unit used Twitter to disseminate its messages in English for a global audience, not an Israeli one.65 During Operation Cast Lead, the IDF understood that there was a demand for digital content from the Gaza Strip and, for the first time, the IDF Spokesperson’s Unit set up a YouTube channel that published content taken from inside the Gaza Strip such as videos shot by combat photographers embedded with the frontline forces.66 In addition, the IDF Spokesperson’s Unit contacted around fifty bloggers to whom it delivered briefings and content. The IDF Spokesperson’s Unit understood that

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this was a significant arena in which resources should be invested, and officers needed to know about it and operate there themselves.67 The Ministry of Foreign Affairs also understood that Operation Cast Lead not only was being conducted on the conventional battlefield but also on social media, on a scale and with tools that had not been seen before—the platforms in this context being blogs, forums, Twitter, YouTube, and comments on news items.68 Furthermore, during the operation, social media platforms, such as Twitter, were used by the Israeli consulate in New York to hold “press conferences” to answer questions.69 However, at the same time, the ministry realized that Hamas’s spokespeople and its supporters in Europe made better use of social media to get their messages across.70 Although this was the outset of the new media age, even before the advent of social media, it seemed that Israel adopted the use of new media and leveraged it in favor of the cognitive campaign for consciousness and as a strategic tool to “win the war of ideas.”71

The 2012 Pillar of Defense and 2014 Protective Edge Operations Operation Cast Lead led to four years of relative calm for the State of Israel and the Gaza Strip. In 2012, the IDF launched Pillar of Defense, which was a short operation lasting about a week and was limited to air strikes only. Operation Protective Edge in 2014 was longer, lasting fifty days, and included a ground offensive and significant casualties on both sides. Both operations were preceded by Hamas’s threats and attacks on Israeli civilians. During these years, Israel formulated a new defensive paradigm. This paradigm was a result of Israel’s difficulty in reaching a decisive victory against Hamas. Since Hamas operates within a civilian population, a real victory can occur only if Israel occupies the entire Gaza Strip and takes full control of the territory, a price Israel did not wish to pay.72 According to this approach, conflict with Gaza will never completely end, and therefore Israel will have to continuously face off against Hamas (and other terrorist organizations) in repeated rounds of hostilities, constituting the lesser evil of the two.73

Organizational Changes

Since Operation Cast Lead, the agencies that dealt with the cognitive field have undergone a number of changes. First, the Center for Cognitive

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Operations changed its approach and began working primarily on psychological warfare and not on attempts to influence the way the Gaza street sees Hamas. This change resulted, to a great extent, from skepticism about the ability to diminish the popular support for Hamas during the operation. As there was not any real alternative sovereign to Hamas, there was no one to fan the flame against Hamas or to take advantage of potential anger, making it difficult to accumulate any real momentum for a narrative that would hurt popular support for Hamas. In addition, it was not easy to point to or measure the effectiveness of this effort, thus making it difficult to show real success in realizing this goal. During those years, given the difficulties within the organization, the center’s roles also changed, primarily to provide warnings to the population and tactical assistance to forces.74 The main mission of the center, at the time, was distancing the Palestinian population from the battle zones to prevent loss of life. It used a variety of means to achieve this, such as fliers and taking control of radio and television networks, as a result of lessons learned in Operation Cast Lead, which had led to political criticism of Israel following the large number of Palestinian civilian casualties. The IDF Spokesperson’s Unit also underwent significant changes after Operation Cast Lead. Lessons were learned from closing the Gaza Strip to the media; the IDF Spokesperson’s Unit decided to change the policy and open up the possibility of coverage by foreign media during the conflict. Technological changes made social media a key platform in communicating with target audiences. The IDF Spokesperson’s Unit established an International New Media Department, which included blogs, YouTube channels, Facebook pages, Twitter, Instagram, and Flickr—all easily accessible in English to an international audience. Content was also prepared for social media platforms in French, Spanish, and Russian.75 The role of the Arabic Media Department of the IDF Spokesperson’s Unit assumed a more central role. Facebook and Twitter pages were set up under the name of the head of the department, without an identifying photo or rank in order not to antagonize the Arab target audience. During Operation Cast Lead, a visual war room was set up, which, for the first time, collected visual materials from a number of sources (cameras on the border fence, lookouts, navy cameras, air force cameras, etc.) and transferred them from the battle zone to journalists.76 The IDF Spokesperson’s Unit also changed its approach toward the international media, due to the understanding that previous disengagement from international media led to consistent criticism and challenges to the IDF narrative.

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The Ministry of Foreign Affairs also drew lessons from Operation Cast Lead in a number of areas. Organizationally, it established three new departments in digital diplomacy, civil diplomacy, and delegitimization, to replace the Hasbara Department. It improved the coordination of volunteers in the area bordering Gaza and distributed cameras to the volunteers to convey the emotional aspect of their messages. It improved its work with the representatives of civilian community to represent Israel’s position in the world (e.g., the author Amos Oz) as well as its guidance for local opinion shapers in communities in the West.77 Another lesson that the Ministry of Foreign Affairs and the IDF’s Spokesperson Unit took from Operation Cast Lead was the effect of the operation’s name in translation on foreign public opinion. As mentioned before, Operation Cast Lead began in December 2008, during the Jewish holiday of Hanukah. The name “Cast Lead” in Hebrew was chosen in tribute to the original game of dreidel, which had been made from cast lead. But when the name was translated into English and presented to the foreign media, it was poorly received. From that moment on, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs and the IDF’s Spokesperson Unit considered the importance of translation and took the translation of the operation in consideration when choosing the names of subsequent operations such as “Pillar of Defense” and “Protective Edge.”78 In 2013, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs opened a “virtual embassy” on Twitter to initiate and create interaction with a new audience—the citizens in the Gulf states, with which Israel did not have diplomatic ties at the time.79 The perceptual change at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, which had resulted from adopting a public diplomacy approach instead of a hasbara approach, had led to a shift from a strategy of crisis management to a proactive one of promoting ongoing goals.80 Coordination between the organizations responsible for information operations also improved. Collaboration between the IDF Spokesperson’s Unit and the Ministry of Foreign Affairs was strengthened as reflected in the large number of meetings, shared exercises, and joint design of campaigns.81 At the same time, no organization had the role of integrating the various organizations in the field of information—within the military and more so between the military and political echelons— despite the establishment of the National Information Directorate several years earlier. Civic initiatives were another element operating within the framework of public diplomacy at this time. Many Israeli citizens felt that they could help with the battle for international support and offered

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their services to do so, with their declared aim for the most part being the battle against the Boycott, Divestment, and Sanctions (BDS) movement. The government of Israel supported and financed these civic initiatives, with the most prominent initiative being ACT-IL, an online community established at the outset of Operation Pillar of Defense by the student union at the Interdisciplinary Center in Herzliya. The project began working with the Israeli-American Council (IAC) to combat disinformation and anti-Israel propaganda on social media with the help of thousands of volunteers in Israel and around the world. Within this framework, students started to develop materials, video clips, and information that were used by dozens of volunteer organizations.82

Background to the Operations

Operation Pillar of Defense began on November 14, 2012, following a week of escalation between Israel and Hamas, during which five Israeli soldiers were wounded, rockets and mortars were fired at Israeli communities along the border with the Gaza Strip, and eight Palestinian noncombatants died in Israeli targeted bombing in Gaza. The background to Operation Protective Edge, which began on July 8, 2014, was more complex. First, Gaza experienced widespread protests—with Hamas’s encouragement—by civil servants who had not received their salaries. Second, in the weeks prior to the operation, the rockets launched from Gaza and the Israeli strikes in Gaza both had increased, meaning that military tensions were high. Third, about a month before the launch of the operation, three Israeli teenagers were kidnapped and murdered in Judea and Samaria. Following the kidnapping, Israel launched a broad operation in the West Bank to search for the boys and to harm Hamas’s infrastructure in the West Bank. In addition, on the night of July 6, six Hamas operatives were killed when a tunnel, which the IDF had attacked, collapsed on them. In this context of already high levels of tension, Hamas stepped up its rocket fire against Israel, which in turn launched Operation Protective Edge.83 In the time between the two operations, several strategic and technological changes led to a shift in the goals of Israel’s cognitive campaigns and in their implementation. From a strategic perspective, Israel’s international standing ahead of Operation Pillar of Defense and Operation Protective Edge was different from its adversaries, as the Arab Spring had led to undermining the stability of many regimes throughout the Arab world. Second, Israel perceived US president

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Barack Obama, compared to his predecessor George W. Bush, as being hostile to Israel, supporting changes in the Arab world that threatened stability in the Middle East and opposing Israeli use of force.84 The most relevant country in this context was Egypt, where Mohammed Morsi was elected president with the backing of the Muslim Brotherhood, an organization with strong ties to Hamas. Against the backdrop of these events, and while the memory of the Goldstone Report—a UN investigation on the Gaza conflict that found both sides acted deliberately to harm the civilian population85—was still fresh, Israel saw a need more than ever to fight for support in the international arena to gain legitimization of the operation and of Israel’s goals.

Deterrence

Similar to Operation Cast Lead, the first strike of Operation Pillar of Defense aimed to deal a painful shock to the enemy, which would leave a cognitive impact and harm its desire to fight. The target selected was the head of the Hamas military wing, Ahmed Jabari. Also in Operation Protective Edge, lethal operations with the purpose of deterrence were much more clear: before and during the operation, the Southern Command formulated a “pain map” to identify kinetic targets that would create a stronger cognitive impact—for example, the private dwellings of Hamas commanders.86 Technological developments and social media outreach provided the Arabic Media Department in the IDF’s Spokesperson’s Unit many more possibilities for influence than in Operation Cast Lead. Thus, for example, to amplify the deterrent effect, it prepared specific messaging and videos for the Gazan population and disseminated them on social media. These videos emphasized what was called the “cost of loss” and sought to strengthen the narrative that the cost paid by the Gaza Strip was too great and was not worthwhile.87 One of the most prominent images disseminated at the time by the IDF Spokesperson’s Unit was that of the changed Gaza skyline after several high-rise buildings, which according to the IDF served Hamas, had been demolished.88

Undermining Popular Support for Hamas

As already mentioned, because of perceptual changes that occurred in the Center for Cognitive Operations and given the doubts over achieving the goal, no agency was directly responsible for the goal of undermining popular support for the organization. The IDF Arabic media

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spokesperson, who addressed Gazans directly, conducted some actions in Arabic, in the traditional media and in new media. One of its central messages was that Hamas was harming civilians and putting them in danger, as well as preventing them from receiving humanitarian aid that Israel admitted into Gaza. Former IDF spokesperson Major General Yoav Mordechai, who served as the head of the Coordinator of Government Activities in the Territories, gave an interview on Al Jazeera in which he claimed that Hamas leaders had abandoned their people and fled Gaza, such as Khaled Mashal who was in a hotel in Qatar during the operation, and that other leaders had taken shelter in hospitals in the Gaza Strip. He further noted that Hamas combatants were operating out of civilian areas and were using ambulances for their operations.89 One message addressed the religious angle that Hamas had used mosques to launch missiles from or to store ammunition, a usage that contravenes Islam.90 Another attempt to undermine popular support for Hamas was the bombing of the movement’s television and radio station. This was mostly symbolic, since the organization had the alternative of using the internet to transmit its messages. At the same time, it conveyed a message of intelligence and operational superiority of the IDF.91 The discourse on the social media in Gaza, however, showed that at the conclusion of Operation Protective Edge, Hamas had retained relatively high levels of support, as it was perceived as a force that had successfully stood up to Israel and even obtained concessions from it such as direct negotiations and the easing of restrictions at border crossings.92

Creating International Support for Israel’s Goals in the Operation

In a similar fashion to Operation Cast Lead, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs led a diplomatic campaign during the operation to strengthen Israel’s image when compared to Hamas. The campaign conveyed messages to delegitimize Hamas by emphasizing that it is a terrorist organization that deliberately harms civilians, while using advanced weapons (Fajr-5 missiles) and terror tunnels; the cynical use that Hamas made of its civilians as human shields; the theft of humanitarian aid designated for civilians; and, finally, the morality of Israel, which defends its citizens while at the same time making sure humanitarian aid enters the Gaza Strip.93 During Operation Protective Edge, the active defense Iron Dome system neutralized a great part of Hamas’s attempts to strike the civil-

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ian population. Thus, it was difficult to show the suffering of Israeli citizens, so Israeli agencies responsible for information operations, such as the IDF Spokesperson’s Unit, flooded the internet with documentation of Hamas operatives using Palestinian civilians as human shields and operating out of civilian structures.94 During Operation Pillar of Defense, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs expanded its use of media and social media, recruiting some 200 students in Israel and 1,300 in the diaspora to be active on social media and disseminate Israeli messaging.95 Following Operation Protective Edge, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs published a document listing Israel’s aims in the operation, facts about the operation, and its legal aspects.96 The ministry claimed that while Hamas was repeatedly conducting war crimes, Israel defended the life of its civilians whom Hamas had significantly harmed, adhered to the international rules of war, and undertook investigations when necessary. In general, the document seemed more like a long statement of defense that was reminiscent of the old hasbara approach, rather than the new public diplomacy approach. The IDF Spokesperson’s Unit drew conclusions from Operation Cast Lead with regard to the international aspect. The combat documentation unit had transmitted materials almost in real time, which were sent to the media without having a long and drawn out authorization process.97 As mentioned, the IDF Spokesperson’s Unit changed its policy toward journalists. While in Operation Cast Lead the IDF allowed only four journalists to embed with combat forces, in Operation Protective Edge almost fifty were allowed to accompany combat forces. Moreover, the IDF increased the number of officers who were allowed to give interviews to the media, so that the media could use the military narrative from an Israeli perspective. The IDF prepared dozens of messages and infographics before each of the operations to be used while the operations were taking place.98

New Media in Operations Pillar of Defense and Protective Edge

During these years, social media became a prominent element of communications, leading to far greater investment in new media by the IDF Spokesperson’s Unit and the Digital Department at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs on platforms such as Twitter, Facebook, and YouTube. These platforms enabled direct communication with target audiences in

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different countries—including Arab countries—to improve the support for Israel in the international arena. Operation Pillar of Defense was considered the first military campaign to be announced on Twitter. Around half an hour after the first Israeli attacks on Gaza, the official IDF Twitter account published: “The IDF has begun a widespread campaign on terror sites & operatives in the #Gaza Strip, chief among them #Hamas & Islamic Jihad targets.”99 CNN determined that the unprecedented use of Twitter “may well be the most meaningful change in our consumption of war in over 20 years,”100 and there are those who believe that in Operation Pillar of Defense, the IDF Twitter account received more attention than any other means of communications operated by the State of Israel in the information campaign that accompanied the operation.101 The developments in new media enabled the IDF Spokesperson’s Unit to release a large amount of materials to traditional media and to the general public. Making materials accessible made it possible to influence the narrative in a way preferable to the IDF and the State of Israel. A review of materials on the IDF’s YouTube and Twitter pages shows many military operations, such as aerial strikes and entry of ground forces into neighborhoods, in addition to videos that are clearly intended to position the Israeli side as the winner, such as a short video reviewing Hamas’s failures.102 The increased use by the IDF Spokesman’s Unit of social media also sought to bypass the editorial considerations of the large and established media outlets, which were critical of Israel, and reach out directly to target audiences around the world.103 In those years, the IDF Spokesperson’s Unit adopted social media gradually and not in a planned manner, but rather at the initiative of young soldiers who suggested making use of these tools for the army.104 As mentioned, in those years the field of new media made a significant leap forward. During Operation Protective Edge, almost a million followers were added to the IDF’s Facebook page, and its content in English, French, Spanish, and Russian was viewed over 320 million times, 14 million views were registered on the IDF’s YouTube page, and 100 million views on its Twitter account in English.105 No longer dependent on interviews in the hostile Arab media, the Arabic Media Department of the IDF Spokesperson’s Unit took advantage of the new platforms to directly address audiences in Arab countries. The Digital Department at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs also acted vigorously on the various platforms during Operations Pillar of Defense and Protective Edge to justify the actions of the State of Israel.

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Even before the launch of Operation Pillar of Defense, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs operated a number of digital platforms—Twitter, Flickr, YouTube, and Facebook—in a number of languages (English, Hebrew, Russian, Arabic, and Persian). In addition, Israeli embassies opened Facebook accounts that operated under the guidance of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, adapting messages to local needs.106 Research conducted about the ministry’s Twitter account during Operation Protective Edge showed that the key messages that the ministry tried to convey included Israel’s desire for regional stability (it stops firing before Hamas fires) and an emphasis on the moral dimension of IDF soldiers (pilots who refuse to fire close to civilians, and the setting up of a field hospital near Gaza).107 Technological developments did not pass over Hamas, however. Hamas tried to create fear among Israeli civilians using the means at its disposal by sending phone messages threatening death (mostly in broken Hebrew) and a menacing music clip entitled “Attack! Carry out attacks!”108 Hamas also carried out cyberattacks that included taking over websites to post messages such as “Free Palestine.”109 Israel invested defensive cyber efforts against these attacks, and the Israeli public’s amused response toward these operations indicates how ineffective they were.110 In addition, during Operation Protective Edge, Iranian groups attacked Israel’s internet infrastructures, which a senior IDF officer described as “an unprecedented strike in its scope and the quality of its targets.” The Iranian assault was directed against IDF networks, such as the Home Front Command and the IDF Spokesperson’s Unit and against civilian internet infrastructures. The assailants even achieved a degree of success when they managed to publish a false announcement on the official IDF Twitter account that said the nuclear reactor in Dimona had been hit by a missile and there was a danger of a radioactive leak.111 Thus, an almost direct cognitive struggle took place on social media between Hamas and Israel. At first glance, it seems that the accounts belonging to the IDF Spokesperson’s Unit had better quality material, which reached more followers than the official Hamas accounts. However, the number of internet users sharing Hamas’s hashtags was almost double those who shared IDF Spokesperson’s Unit hashtags.112 One explanation is the widespread use of unofficial accounts by Hamas, which helped to give a touch of authenticity to its operations and also made it easier to create different messages for various audiences. Another possibility is that Hamas was addressing a new and broad audience that was

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not familiar with it and did not support it before (e.g., in Asia and Europe), while the IDF spokesperson mainly addressed a familiar Western audience or Jewish communities in foreign countries; in other words it was primarily “preaching to the choir.”113

Conclusion Israel’s battle with Hamas in the Gaza Strip over a period of six years from 2014 to 2018 includes a distinct cognitive element, during and in between the operations. It is possible to discern changes in the perception of the importance of cognitive goals from Operation Cast Lead to Operation Protective Edge. The need to mobilize public support—especially after the Second Lebanon War, which was perceived as a failure—was of great importance during Operation Cast Lead and remained a permanent goal. The goal of deterrence was indeed seen as important, but in certain aspects it was not considered a cognitive goal and rather a military goal to be achieved primarily by kinetic means. The IDF has largely dropped the attempt to undermine popular support for Hamas, as attempted during Operation Cast Lead, since it has come to believe that this was an extremely difficult goal to achieve. The built-in tension between the various goals is also discernible. For example, to mobilize internal support and to deter Hamas, there is a need to emphasize Israel’s military strength. However, this narrative only strengthens the Hamas narrative of being the defender of the Gaza Strip against Israeli aggression and, therefore, impairs the Israeli goal of undermining popular and international support for Hamas. Furthermore, the lack of ability to control information could result in materials for the purpose of advancing a particular goal being misused by hostile elements for another goal. The relevant target audiences have also changed through the years. First, the ability to create direct contact with a broad audience has prioritized the broad publics as target audiences that can be reached through social media, sometimes with the assistance of opinion influencers. This can be contrasted with information operations aimed at smaller groups such as Hamas operatives or leaders. Second, the change in priorities mentioned above also led to a change in target audiences— for example, from focusing on the Gaza population to the general publics in Western countries and in Arab countries. The focus on different target audiences by each agency also became blurred, with the entire Israeli system operating against a number of target audiences. In addi-

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tion, in the age of social media and globalization, messages aimed at a particular target audience also reached other audiences. One of the most important insights resulting from the analysis of the rounds of conflict between Israel and Hamas in Gaza is the importance of nonstop information operations, even in between military operations. Unlike the war effort where there are cease-fires, the cognitive effort continues during lulls as well, often at greater intensity. After a round of fighting, there is a need to rehabilitate the damages caused by the war and the harm to Israel’s image in the world. This is done in the framework of a “subsequent campaign” that requires a combination of all the cognitive components, with an emphasis on the diplomatic one. Furthermore, during times of calm, it is possible to construct and examine the tools and platforms that are being used and to coordinate operations between all the various agencies and to agree on possible plans of action. That is to say, in contrast to regular military thinking, which separates the building of force during routine times and the use of force in times of emergency, the cognitive campaign requires both to be conducted simultaneously.114 The Ministry of Foreign Affairs also emphasized the need for a long-term communications strategy that includes the formulation of perceptions, narratives, audiences, and operations, and whose overarching goal is to “restore Israel’s status and image in order to advance the interests of the State of Israel in the target arenas.”115 During the years 2008–2014, a number of agencies operated in Israel with the aim of influencing various audiences—Gaza, the Palestinian Authority, Israel, the Arab world, and internationally—to realize the cognitive goals of the State of Israel. The IDF Spokesperson’s Unit in Operation Cast Lead, following the lessons of the Second Lebanon War, operated primarily to mobilize internal legitimacy (which was not examined in this chapter) and to achieve support within Israel for the battle for international support, while offering little or no cooperation with the media. Only later, during Operations Pillar of Defense and Protective Edge, did it begin to target its messages to a broad worldwide audience, including Arab audiences in Arab countries. The Center for Cognitive Operations, which also operated covertly, attempted during Operation Cast Lead to “drive a wedge between the residents of the Gaza Strip and Hamas”116 and, thus, to create demoralization in the ranks of the terrorist organizations. However, the IDF’s ability to influence the way Gaza’s residents view the conflict is low, based on its own assessment. Consequently, in Operation Protective Edge it focused mainly on an attempt to warn residents that they were in harm’s way and get them to leave the battle zone.

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The Ministry of Foreign Affairs operated in all the military conflicts, and in between them as well, to gain international support for Israel. During the campaigns it worked to gain international support for Israel, and following the campaigns, it sought to rehabilitate Israel’s international image, which had been damaged. During these years, the ministry moved from a concept of hasbara to one of public diplomacy, and this is evident in the change to a proactive, initiating approach and the participation of civilian elements in Israel’s diplomatic and communications efforts. During the three operations analyzed here, both Israel and the IDF lacked an organization to synchronize between the information agencies and to formulate an overall policy. As stated above, this period was preceded by the establishment of the Center for Cognitive Operations in 2005, which was supposed to conduct systemic planning and synchronization for the IDF, but this task was soon abandoned. Indeed, after the Second Lebanon War in 2006, a decision was made to establish a National Information Directorate in the Prime Minister’s Office; however, this organization was established in a skeletal form only and its role was only to coordinate and not to guide the various agencies.117 Therefore, the organizations operated independently and only partially coordinated their messages. Although the coordination between the organizations has improved and the decision that prevented any connection between the Center for Cognitive Operations and the IDF Spokesperson’s Unit (due to the concerns of the IDF spokesperson at the time that the organizational connection would undermine the credibility of the IDF Spokesperson’s Unit) has been removed, as of this writing no cognitive center had been established in the IDF or at the political level. In 2016, the IDF established a department whose purpose was to conduct planning and synchronization between the cognitive agencies (today, the Department for Influence in the Operations Division). This constitutes a step in the right direction; however, it does not solve the absence of a similar body at the national level, a disparity that the former chief of staff and defense minister Moshe Ya’alon pointed to when calling for the establishment of a national information and cognitive agency.118 The technological leap forward that occurred during the period under examination greatly increased the ability to create, distribute, and consume content, making it easier to employ the tools in the cognitive campaign. It is possible to discern the transition between traditional communications platforms in Operation Cast Lead in 2008 to the broad use of digital and social media during the operations in 2012 and 2014. This change enabled a revised approach—from a passive approach, in

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which materials and messages are “conveyed” to the traditional media that then uses them as they see fit, to an active one that promotes a particular narrative and supports it through distributing information directly to target audiences, without intermediaries. The IDF and the Ministry of Foreign Affairs have made social media a central tool for the transmission of messaging to various target audiences and have developed advanced technological capabilities in this field. Israel’s entry into the digital age, as reflected in the rounds of violence in Gaza, and in between them, constitutes the beginning of the digital age in information operations. Despite the changes evident in the approach of the IDF toward a cognitive dimension of its activities in general and information operations in particular, during the analyzed period this field never reached the top of the IDF’s priorities. The military ethos that “if it does not shoot, it has no value” and the difficulty in evaluating cognitive efforts led to the dire conclusion that information efforts are marginal to the overall IDF effort in times of war, when the IDF is the dominant organization in Israel in determining strategy and formulating policy.119At the same time, the perceptions, tools, and methods that began to develop during and in between the wars in Gaza indicate a future in which the place of cognitive efforts will be far more dominant, in the military and the diplomatic campaigns. In taking an overarching look at the three military conflicts, while Israel was able to achieve some of the deterrence it sought, it seems Hamas might have had the cognitive upper hand, at least in the arena of international support. One explanation for this is the change in the international and regional arena—the Obama presidency and the Arab Spring—that created a hostile approach to Israel and made it more difficult for it to convey its messages, which remained largely unchanged. Both sides seem to frame the problem differently, with Hamas focusing on a humanitarian framework while the IDF focuses on the security framework. The contrast between the two frameworks gives the humanitarian framework a significant advantage in news and debates around the world, which almost always has served Hamas. It is possible that precisely because of Israel’s lack of successfully establishing an image of victory after Operation Protective Edge and given the perception of both sides that the “paradigm of rounds of conflict” has been futile, these rounds have stopped. Instead, Hamas has adopted an alternative approach that allows the conflict to continue with kinetic exchanges, “marches of return” along the border fence, and the launching of incendiary balloons and kites that are designed to send a message to Israel that the conflict is not over.

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Notes

1. The authors wish to thank Matan Rosenberg, an intern at the Lipkin-Shahak Program at the Institute for National Security Studies, for his assistance in writing this chapter. 2. Dan Harel, “Asymmetrical Warfare in the Gaza Strip: A Test Case,” Military and Strategic Affairs 4, no. 1 (2012): 17–24. 3. David Siman-Tov and Ofer Fridman, “A Rose by Any Other Name? Strategic Communications in Israel,” Defence Strategic Communications 8 (2020): 17–51. 4. Yossi Kuperwasser and David Siman-Tov, eds., The Cognitive Campaign: Strategic and Intelligence Perspectives (Tel Aviv: Institute for National Security Studies, 2019), p. 7. 5. Rave Galili, “Ha’Ma’araha she’bein milkhamot ve’ha’ma’amatz ha’ne’elam” [The Campaign Between the Wars and the Invisible Effort], Bein Haktavim, nos. 22– 23 (2019): 78. 6. Siman-Tov and Fridman, “A Rose by Any Other Name?” p. 21. 7. Melaie Phillips, in an interview on Roim Ulam [See the World], Channel 1, January 10, 2011 (Video), www.youtube.com/watch?v=Tk3xKYbsuY8. 8. Siman-Tov and Fridman, “A Rose by Any Other Name?” p. 35. 9. Lisa-Maria Kretschmer, “Imagine There Is War and It Is Tweeted Live—An Analysis of Digital Diplomacy in the Israeli-Palestinian Conflict,” Global Media Journal 7, no. 1 (2017): 1–23. 10. Ministry of Foreign Affairs of the State of Israel, “Tigbur peilut ha’diplomatiya ha’tziburit be’yom she’aharey ‘tzuk eitan’”: Astrategiya tikshortit ve’tokhnit peula le’shikum dimui israel be’medinot ha’arakhim ha’meshutafim” [Stepping Up Public Diplomacy Activities in the Wake of Operation “Protective Edge”: Media Strategy and Operational Program for the Rehabilitation of Israel’s Image in States with Shared Values], internal document, August 2014. 11. “Everything You Need to Know About the Israel-Gaza Conflict,” ABC News, July 31, 2014, https://abcnews.go.com/International/israel-gaza-conflict/story?id =24552237. 12. Moni Chorev, Deterrence Campaigns: Lessons from IDF Operations in Gaza, (Ramat Gan: Begin-Sadat Center for Strategic Studies, Bar-Ilan University, 2015). 13. Ibid. 14. Gioara Eiland, “The Changing Nature of War: Six New Challenges,” Strategic Assessment 10, no. 1 (2007): 15–22. 15. Ron Schleifer, “Halokhama hapsikhologit be’oferet yatzuka” [Psychological Warfare in Cast Lead], Maarchot, no. 432 (2010): 18–23. 16. Carmit Padan and Meir Elran, “Chief of Staff Aviv Kochavi on War and National Resilience,” INSS Insight, no. 1247, January 14, 2020. 17. State Comptroller and Ombudsman of Israel, Dokh shanti 58A leshnat 2007: Hebetim be’iarkhut gormei ha’asbara ve’tifkudam be’milkhemet lebanon ha’shniya. [Annual Report 58A for 2007: Aspects of Preparedness of Hasbara Bodies and Their Functioning in the Second Lebanon War], Jerusalem, (November 2007), pp. 451–494. 18. Ephraim Lapid, “Dover tzal modiya: Mi’milkhemet ha’atzmaut ve’ad idan ha’twiter” [The IDF Spokesperson’s Unit Announces: From the War of Independence to the Age of Twitter], Israel Defense, September 17, 2019, www.israeldefense.co .il/he/node/40250. 19. Yoram Peri, Milkhamot munkhot tekshoret: Paradox ha’utzma vehadilema ha’astrategit shel tzal [Mediatized Wars: The Power Paradox and the IDF’s Strategic Dilemma] (Tel Aviv: Institute for National Security Studies, 2017), pp. 45–48.

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20. Ibid. 21. Ibid. 22. Saar Raveh, Sipur hakamat ha’malat [The Story of the Establishment of the Centre for Consciousness Operations] (Ramat Hasharon: Meir Amit Intelligence and Terrorism Information Centre, March 2019). 23. Peri, Milkhamot munkhot tekshoret, pp. 15–21. 24. Raveh, Sipur hakamat ha’malat. 25. Ibid. 26. State Comptroller and Ombudsman of Israel, Dokh shanti 53A leshnat 2002 [Annual Report 53A for 2002], Jerusalem (October 2002); State Comptroller and Ombudsman of Israel, Dokh shanti 58A leshnat 2007 [Annual Report 58A for 2007], Jerusalem (November 2007); State Comptroller and Ombudsman of Israel, Dokh shanti 61B leshnat 2010 u’lehkasbonot shnat haksafim 2009 [Annual Report 61B for 2010 and Financial Reports for 2009FY], Jerusalem (May 2011); State Comptroller and Ombudsman of Israel, Dokh shanti 66C leshnat 2015 u’lehkasbonot shnat haksafim 2004 [Annual Report 66C for 2015 and Financial Reports for 2014FY], Jerusalem (May 2016). 27. Ministry of Foreign Affairs of the State of Israel, “Diplomatiya tziburit be’ulam shel’ shinuiim mehirim: Ha’arakhat matzav medinit-bitkhonit” [Public Diplomacy in a World of Rapid Changes: Political-Security Assessment], internal document, 2008. 28. Lieutenant Colonel (retired) S., former senior officer at the Center for Cognitive Operations, interviewed by David Siman-Tov, November 8, 2020. 29. State Comptroller and Ombudsman of Israel, “Hebetim be’iarkhut gormei ha’asbara.” 30. Noam Katz, deputy director of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs of the State of Israel, interviewed by David Siman-Tov, November 13, 2020. 31. Agence France-Presse, “Israeli Media Trumpets Ruse Used to Surprise Hamas, Kill More Palestinians,”Daily Star, December 29, 2008, www.dailystar .com.lb/News/Middle-East/2008/Dec-29/79266-israeli-media-trumpets-ruse-used -to-surprise-hamas-kill-more-palestinians.ashx. 32. Eran Ortal, “Oferet Yatzuka—Lekahim al tfisat ha’haf’ala” [Cast Lead— Lessons from the Operational Perspective], Maarchot, no. 425 (2009): 23–24. 33. Ibid. 34. Chorev, Deterrence Campaigns. 35. Shai Fogelman, “Shnataim le’oferet yatzuka: Be’hazara le’aftzazat beit ha’sefer le’sitrim be’aza” [Two Years to Cast Lead: Back to the Bombing of the Gaza Police Academy], Haaretz, December 23, 2010, www.haaretz.co.il/misc/1.1236850. 36. Harlan K. Ullman and James P. Wade, Shock and Awe: Achieving Rapid Dominance (Washington, DC: National Defense University Press, 1996), p. xxv. 37. Fogelman, “Shnataim le’oferet yatzuka.” 38. Lieutenant Colonel retired) S. interview. 39. Fogelman, “Shnataim le’oferet yatzuka.” 40. Teemu Saressalo, “Israeli Defense Forces’ Information Operations 2006– 2014,” Journal of Information Warfare 18, no. 1 (2019): 87–102. 41. Ibid. 42. Lieutenant Colonel (retired) S. interview. 43. Ibid. 44. Ibid. 45. Ibid. 46. Lieutenant Colonel Avichay Adraee, IDF Arabic spokesperson, interviewed by David Siman-Tov, November 13, 2020.

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47. Katz interview. 48. Barak Ravid, “Israel to Mount Emergency International PR Effort in Wake of Gaza Campaign,” Haaretz, December 27, 2008, www.haaretz.com/1.5078896. 49. Ibid. 50. Peri, Milkhamot munkhot tekshoret, p. 50. 51. Ministry of Foreign Affairs of the State of Israel, “Oferet yatzuka: She’elot al ha’avar, mabat le’atid—Sikum ve’maskanot” [Operation Cast Lead: Questions to the Past, a Vision for the Future—Conclusions and Lessons], internal document, 2009. 52. Hirsch Goodman, “Oferet yatzuka: Ha’diplomatiya ha’tziburit be’mivhan” [Cast Lead: The Test of Israeli Diplomacy], Strategic Assessment 11, no. 4 (2009): 31. 53. “Israel mitgonenet: ‘Pa’al’nu ke’din be’oferet yatzuka’” [Israel on the Defensive: “We Operated Legally in Cast Lead”], Walla-News, July 30, 2009, https:// news.walla.co.il/item/1529347; State of Israel, Hakirat mivtza “oferet yatzuka” be’ratzuat aza: Idkun sheni [Investigation of Operation “Cast Lead” in the Gaza Strip: Second Update], Jerusalem (July 2010). 54. State Comptroller and Ombudsman of Israel, “Misrad ha’khutz: Peilut ha’misrad be’thumei ha’diplomatiya ha’tziburit” [The Ministry of Foreign Affairs: The Ministry’s Activities in the Field of Public Diplomacy], Annual Report 61B for 2010 and Financial Reports for 2009FY (May 2011), pp. 885–928. 55. Ministry of Foreign Affairs of the State of Israel, “Tigbur peilut ha’diplomatiya ha’tziburit.” 56. Ibid. 57. State Comptroller and Ombudsman of Israel, Dokh shanti 58A leshnat 2009: Ha’asbara le’ka’ale yad dovrei ha’safa ha’aravit ve’shidurei mdinat israel be’aravit [Annual Report 60A for 2009: Hasbara for Arabic-Speaking Audiences and Israel Broadcasting in Arabic], Jerusalem (January 2010), pp. 217–242. 58. Ibid., p. 231. 59. Ibid., p. 232. 60. Schleifer, “Halokhama hapsikhologit be’oferet yatzuka.” 61. Lieutenant Colonel (retired) S. interview. 62. Ibid. 63. Ibid. 64. Abe F. Marrero, “The Tactics of Operation Cast Lead,” in Back to Basics: A Study of the Second Lebanon War and Operation Cast Lead, ed. Scott C. Farquhar (Fort Leavenworth: Combat Studies Institute Press, US Army Combined Arms Center, 2009), pp. 83–97. 65. Lieutenant Colonel Adraee interview. 66. Ibid. 67. “Tzfu be’neom dover tzal be’veidat globs” [Watch the Speech by the IDF Spokesman at the Globes Conference], News 12, July 14, 2009 (Video), www.mako .co.il/news-money/tech/Article-6734ff5c8287221004.htm. 68. Ministry of Foreign Affairs of the State of Israel, “Oferet yatzuka.” 69. Maayan Cohen, “Oferet yatzuka—Hamilkhama be’reshet” [Cast Lead—The War Online], Haaretz, January 7, 2009, www.haaretz.co.il/captain/net/1.1240603. 70. Ministry of Foreign Affairs of the State of Israel, “Oferet yatzuka.” 71. William Caldwell, Dennis Murphy, and Anton Menning, “Learning to Leverage New Media: The Israeli Defense Forces in Recent Conflicts,” Military Review, May–June 2009, pp. 2–10. 72. Tamir Yadai and Eran Ortal, Paradigmat svevei ha’arta’a: Dfus astrategi ve’doctrina be’mavoi satum [The Paradigm Surrounding Deterrence: Strategic Pattern and Doctrine at a Dead End] (Glilot: Israel National Defense College, 2013).

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73. Ibid. 74. Lieutenant Colonel (retired) S. interview. 75. Based on a study by Captain (retired) Achinoam Katzof, formerly of the IDF Spokesperson’s Unit, “The IDF Spokesperson’s Unit’s Perception of Digital Media” (unpublished). 76. Hadas David, former officer in the IDF Spokesperson’s Unit, interviewed by Roy Schulman, December 1, 2020. 77. Katz interview. 78. Michael Sfard, “Emet yatzuka” [Cast Truth], Ynet, December 27, 2009, www.ynet.co.il/articles/0,7340,L-3824763,00.html. 79. Ilan Manor, Are We There Yet: Have MFAs Realized the Potential of Digital Diplomacy? Results from a Cross-National Comparison (Leiden: Brill, 2016). 80. Katz interview. 81. Ibid. 82. ACT.IL website, www.abbaeban.idc.ac.il/act-il. 83. Raphael S. Cohen, David E. Johnson, David E. Thaler, Brenna Allen, Elizabeth M. Bartels, James Cahill, Shira Efron, From Cast Lead to Protective Edge: Lessons from Israel’s Wars in Gaza (Santa Monica: RAND, 2017), pp. 70–83. 84. Oded Eran, “The United States and Israel in Crossfire,” in The Lessons of Operation Protective Edge, eds. Anat Kurz and Shlomo Brom (Tel Aviv: Institute for National Security Studies, 2014)., pp. 183–188. 85. UN Fact Finding Mission on the Gaza Conflict, Human Rights in Palestine and Other Occupied Arab Territories (September 15, 2009). 86. Chorev, Deterrence Campaigns. 87. Lieutenant Colonel Adraee, interview. 88. Roi Kais, “Kav rakiya be’aza hishtana: Kakh naflu ha’migdalim” [The Gaza Skyline Has Changed: How the Towers Fell], Ynet, August 29, 2014, www.ynet .co.il/articles/0,7340,L-4565547,00.html. 89. Roi Kais and Elior Levy, “Ha’aluf mirdechai be’el-jazeera: Mashal be’vila” [Major General Mordechai to Aljazeera: Mashal Is in His Villa], Ynet, July 23, 2014, www.ynet.co.il/articles/0,7340,L-4548457,00.html. 90. Lieutenant Colonel Adraee interview. 91. Colonel Michael Milstein, former head of the Palestinian Arena in the Research Division of IDF Intelligence, interviewed David Siman-Tov, November 15, 2020. 92. Orit Perlov, “Dialogue on Social Networks in Gaza During Protective Edge,” January 5, 2015 (video in Hebrew), www.youtube.com/watch?v=eHD7IpW1VeI &t=1944s&ab_channel=oranimcollege. 93. Kretschmer, “Imagine There Is War and It Is Tweeted Live.” 94. David Patrikarakos, “Web 2.0: The New Battleground,” Journal of Armed Conflict Survey 4, no. 1 (2018): 44. 95. Ministry of Foreign Affairs of the State of Israel, “Tigbur peilut ha’diplomatiya ha’tziburit.” 96. State of Israel, The 2014 Gaza Conflict: Factual and Legal Aspects Jerusalem, (May 2015). 97. Peri, Milkhamot munkhot tekshoret, pp. 57–62, 69–76. 98. Lieutenant Colonel Adraee interview. 99. IDF Twitter, “The IDF has begun a widespread campaign on terror sites & operatives in the #Gaza Strip, chief among them #Hamas & Islamic Jihad targets.” November 14, 2012, https://twitter.com/IDF/status/268722403989925888. 100. Gal Hadari and Asaf Turgeman, “Chaos Is the Message: The Crisis of Israeli Public Diplomacy,” Israel Journal of Foreign Affairs 10, no. 3 (2016): 400.

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101. John Sutter, “Will Twitter War Become the New Norm?” CNN, November 15, 2012, http://edition.cnn.com/2012/11/15/tech/social-media/twitter-war-gaza-israel /index.html. 102. IDF YouTube Channel, “Operation Protective Edge, Hamas’s Failures,” July 14, 2014 (Video) (in Hebrew), https://youtu.be/k0msdf66iYk. 103. Saressalo, “Israeli Defense Forces’ Information Operations.” 104. Lieutenant Colonel (retired) Dr. Tomer Simon, lecturer at the Department of Emergency Management, Tel Aviv University, interviewed by David Siman-Tov, December 4, 2020. 105. Dana Segev, “Itzuv ma’arakh ha’toda’a shel’ dover tzal mul itzuv ma’arakh ha’toda’a shel’ hamas: ‘Tzuk eitan’ ke’mikre bohen” [The Design of the IDF Spokesperson’s Unit’s Cognitive Campaign Versus the Design of the Hamas’s Cognitive Campaign: “Protective Edge” as a Case Study], Bein Haqtavim 5 (2015): 95–118. 106. Rebecca Stein, “StateTube: Anthropological Reflections on Social Media and the Israeli State,” Anthropological Quarterly 85, no. 3 (2012): 893–916. 107. Ilan Manor and Rhys Crilley, “Visually Framing the Gaza War of 2014: The Israel Ministry of Foreign Affairs on Twitter,” Media, War & Conflict 11, no. 4 (2018): 369–391. 108. The clip was removed from YouTube due to its violent content. An item about the music clip can be seen on the Alarabiya network: “Hamas Taunts Israel with Battle Song in Hebrew,” December 7, 2014, at https://english.alarabiya.net /en/News/middle-east/2014/07/12/Hamas-taunts-Israel-with-battle-song-in-Hebrew .html. 109. Tal Pavel, “Avar, ave ve’atid: Ha’peilut hamekuvenet shel’ hamas be’mivtza tzuk eitan” [Past, Present, Future: Hamas’s Online Operations During the Operation Protective Edge], Ynet, August 17, 2014, www.calcalist.co.il/internet/articles/0 ,7340,L-3638550,00.html. 110. Deanne Bird, Megan Ling, and Katharine Haynes, “Flooding Facebook— The Use of Social Media During the Queensland and Victorian Floods,” Australian Journal of Emergency Management 27, no. 1 (2012): 27–33. 111. Gabi Siboni and Sami Kronenfeld, “Iranian Cyber Espionage: A Troubling New Escalation,” INSS Insight, no. 561, June 26, 2014. 112. Segev, “Itzuv ma’arakh ha’toda’a shel’ dover tzal.” 113. Ibid. 114. David Siman-Tov and David Sternberg, “‘The Missing Effort’: Integrating the ‘Non-Lethal’ Dimension in the Israeli Military Lines of Operation,” Cyber, Intelligence and Security 1, no. 3 (2017): 65–81. 115. Ministry of Foreign Affairs of the State of Israel, “Tigbur peilut ha’diplomatiya ha’tziburit.” 116. Lieutenant Colonel (retired) S. interview. 117. Nachman Shai, Milkhamediya: Israel, ha’ulyam ihakrav al ha’toda’a [Media War: Israel, the World and the Battle for Hearts and Minds] (Tel Aviv: Miskal— Yedioth Ahronoth, 2013). 118. Moshe Yaalon, “The Cognitive War as an Element of National Security: Based on Personal Experience,” in Yossi Kuperwasser and David Siman-Tov, eds., The Cognitive Campaign: Strategic and Intelligence Perspectives (Tel Aviv: Institute for National Security Studies, 2019), p. 13. 119. Siman-Tov and Sternberg, “‘The Missing Effort.’”

PART 4 Conclusion

10 The Future of Information Operations Francesca Granelli

Progress, far from consisting in change, depends on retentiveness. . . . Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it. George Santayana1

THIS BOOK PROVIDES AN OVERVIEW OF HOW DIFFERENT actors have used information in open conflict situations to undermine the resolve and spirit of their adversaries over the past hundred years. It vividly outlines the purpose of information operations to communicate and influence, by framing opposition forces or their domestic audience’s choices or both, and by shaping their perceptions to help achieve strategic objectives. Through providing legitimacy, rallying support, forging alliances, or simply deterring opponents, information operations can create or close down opportunities for conflict resolution. Regardless of the medium used, the objective remains the same: to gain a competitive advantage over the enemy. Done well, it can build trust and, hence, transform obstacles into strategic opportunities; done badly, it can create distrust and thus result in disaster. Underpinning all information operations is communication. States and their militaries can and do communicate without influence, but they cannot influence without communicating—whether verbal or otherwise. Harold Lasswell suggests that “a convenient way to describe an act of communication is to answer the following questions: Who? Says what?

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In which channel? To whom? With what effect?” 2 And this provides a simple, but useful, structure to discuss information operations. It highlights the typical characteristics of early models, which largely take for granted that a communication is meant to influence the receiver; communication is understood as a persuasive process. It also assumes that messages always have an effect—we just do not always know what effect and whether it is in our favor. We have therefore used the main steps inherent to all communication to provide a framework that draws out the recurring themes emerging from the case studies discussed in this book.3 These include the formation of purpose; message composition; message encoding (into text, speech, pictures, gestures, and so on); the transmission of the encoded message as a sequence of signals, using a specific channel or medium; reassembling of the encoded message from a sequence of received signals; decoding the reassembled encoded message; and interpreting the presumed original message—all before, finally, creating a feedback loop. Moreover, all of this takes place within a noisy environment. Noise from physical activities and psychological disposition, intentional and accidental, affect the signal quality from sender to receivers. This is exacerbated in conflict situations where the information operations themselves contribute to the noise. It can have a deleterious effect on all communication, through changing the message, but its effect is especially pernicious because it forces the recipient to fill in information that noise has eliminated. Given that the parties are in conflict, the supplementary information is likely to worsen, rather than reduce, antagonism of the receiver toward the sender.4

Sender Several of the chapters in this book highlight the use of defectors or prisoners of war (POWs) to send messages to either their brothers-inarms or their domestic audiences. Although the medium has changed over time—from letters in World War I to radio broadcasts in World War II, from face-to-face appeals in Vietnam to social media posts in present conflicts—the role remains the same: senders are an information source, producing a message. Paraphrasing A. C. “Buddy” Krizan et al., the role of the sender in these scenarios is to: (1) embody the message; (2) analyze the receiver; (3) use the you-viewpoint; (4) sound a call to action; and (5) remove communication barriers. 5 Senders act as advo-

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cates striving to influence their target audience: an authentic voice drawing on their own experiences to tell a story shaped and contextualized by their new object of loyalty. However, the value of these defectors and POWs as communicators is not clear. For example, the contribution of high-profile German POWs, who decided to collaborate with the Soviet propaganda machine during World War II, was limited indeed; and the effectiveness of defectors in Vietnam as communicators is also questionable. Although not covered in these chapters, research on North Korean defectors has questioned their value as advocates as well:6 they create binary opposites that conform to what could be described as crude Cold War narratives, which can undermine trust building and détente. It also shows that the defectors reflect a microcosm within North Korean society, but are nonetheless portrayed as stereotypical and homogenous. They defect for a myriad of reasons, which may or may not speak to other North Koreans without a deep understanding of their society and culture; in fact, their value is often reduced to sources of salacious or exaggerated newspaper stories. The research has also highlighted the difficulties faced by defectors settling into South Korean society, which has resulted in a high suicide rate and a number considering redefection, which in turn raises the question of why anyone would defect in the first place. Despite these findings, the authors in this collection underline the importance of the sender—for instance, defectors or POWs—and thereby suggest the need to fully understand their characteristics, motivations, and any factors impacting them and their ability to generate messages.7 The reputation of the sender not only is important in providing validation and credibility, based on perceptions of competence and character. Attractiveness, friendliness, similarity, and commonality also affect the way a receiver interprets a sender’s message.8 Recipients often have a difficult time separating message and sender.

Message The message is what the sender and recipient have in common, at least if “correctly” interpreted. Analyzing the message reveals a great deal about the sender as well as the recipient.9 It highlights the sender’s perceptions of reality, intentions, image of the recipient, the latter’s possible response, and the cultural climate. This goes some way to explaining why the use of derogatory messaging is often ineffective and even counterproductive, as noted in the chapters on Vietnam and Afghanistan,

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where the authors highlight the fact that senders enjoy a limited cultural understanding of the opposition. This in turn undermines the social function of the message, which is designed to make the target audience relate to the sender and ultimately to create a shared understanding. 10 As part of information operations, the need for expressive communications (ones that express the values and attitudes of the sender) is usually beyond dispute since the point is to advocate, influence, and persuade. However, these examples point to the shortcomings in the strategy. Rather than acting as a “meeting place”11 for successful persuasion, they highlight the differences between sender and receiver, reinforcing negative stereotypes and constructing binary opposites. Chapter 8 shows that there is no more vivid example than the Israel Defense Forces (IDF) and Hamas, which illustrates what happens when communications fail to create a shared meaning and instead reinforce divergent worldviews. It also emphasizes the need for the message to reflect, frame, and contextualize the manner in which an adversary gathers information, makes decisions, and forms beliefs.

Encoding Encoding is the process of converting thoughts into messages. The level of conscious thought that goes into encoding messages varies. Chapters 2, 3, and 4 provide examples of properly encoded messages where information operations proved most effective when bolstered by action. Deceptive information, in particular, is easily dismissed by an adversary if it is not corroborated,12 with deeds the most powerful reinforcer of all. “Seeing is believing. Feeling is the truth.”13 This was used to good effect with Operation Ring during World War II, but later chapters suggest that the opposite can also be true: for the manner in which action is interpreted is no less a function of existing worldviews, as Chapters 8 and 9 illustrate in their study of Hamas and Israel respectively. Successful communication depends on the ability to convey information or a message clearly and simply, thereby reducing scope for confusion. By encoding both words and actions appropriately, the message is clarified and the potential for misinterpreting or misunderstanding reduced. It also reduces the potential for lacunae between words and deeds. If there are gaps, the recipients will seek to fill them by drawing on their own experience, interpretation of the “facts,” and their perceptions. We do not have to subscribe to a coherence theory of truth14 to see that the result can literally be an incoherent reality.

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Channels or Medium Once the message has been encoded, the sender then transmits it using a channel. Given that this book examines a century of information operations, it is no surprise that the channels have evolved from letter to smartphone, radio to social media. Accordingly, it is a challenge to identify themes or commonalities across the research—until, that is, we focus on channel selection. Choosing which channel or medium to transport a message, and thereby bring behavioral change, is one of the most complex and controversial issues in planning any communications, but this is particularly so in conflict situations. The critical issue is channel effectiveness, measured as the “combined measure of reach (exposure) and effects (changes in behaviour and knowledge).”15 However, this is supplemented by three other criteria: cost, management, and sustainability. Throughout this book, the authors repeat and emphasize the problems of strategic focus, managerial tensions, resource gaps, and operational constraints in military confrontations. Three other points emerge. First, there is a preference for media that are fast (newspapers, magazines, radio, television, mobile phones, and the internet) rather than slow (films, exhibitions, art, and literature). This is a strategic rather than merely technical distinction. Fast media tend to be favored by those who see the purpose of information operations to influence the attitudes of enemy audiences, be they military or civilian, through persuasion and propaganda. The justification is defined in fairly short-term policy or military goals. Slow media proponents, by contrast, argue that “information and cultural programs must bypass current foreign goals to concentrate on the highest long-range national objectives.”16 The focus here is on mutual understanding: truth and veracity are not merely persuasive tactics, but critical elements.17 Second, there is the use of entertainment media. Quite simply, its broad appeal is used to “sneak in” informational and opposing or even subversive content.18 Lessons learned from the field: it should not be a hard sell, as this risks rejection; it is better at knowledge building, rather than overt behavioral change; its effect is reinforced if part of an integrated campaign; and, finally, it requires adequate infrastructure. The chapters also allude to a change in the target audience, from predominantly military to civilian. Third, control of the channel is itself hugely significant. Chapters 8 and 9 make clear the extent of this power, with Israel enjoying the ability literally to turn off the lights in Gaza. Yet even that has not, and will not, lead to victory—for what all of the book’s contributors demonstrate

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clearly is that any advantage is short-lived since it is either replicated, imitated, or neutralized.

Decoding Decoding is the process of turning communication into thought; as such, it is the reverse of encoding and begins the instant the message is received. To infer meaning from words and phrases, the recipient must literally “break the code” before they can begin to interpret the message correctly. Even when the receiver shares common understanding and meaning, messages can be misunderstood or misinterpreted. It could result in a message backfiring as it is seen to be untrue, unjust, or, more generally, a violation of a widely held norm. Umberto Eco coined the phrase “aberrant decoding” for situations where the recipient interpreted a text differently from that intended by the sender.19 Indeed, he argued that, instead of being an exception, aberrant decoding has become the norm in modern society. The risk certainly increases dramatically when there is interference. The latter comes in many forms. As the chapters on Vietnam, Afghanistan, and the Gaza Strip highlight, communications and, therefore, influence can be severely constrained without the necessary language skills and dialects. This ranges from nonliteral use and an awareness and understanding of the culture to a shared history and a deep understanding of your opponent’s norms, myths, and beliefs. Can the receiver even translate or decode the message in the first place? Even with these skills, how a receiver interprets a message and assigns meaning is influenced by many factors, including the following: intention—is it purely a transactional relationship, where defection is bought? the relationship between sender and the receiver—asymmetrical relations are more likely to lead to different interpretations; and context— the location, time, and environment inevitably contribute to the meaning the recipients draw from the message. In conflict situations, let alone wars, the slightest misstep not only can undermine the sender’s goal, but can widen the gap between the parties: fragile trust can quickly turn into betrayal when messages are misunderstood, misconstrued, and misapplied.

Recipient Each chapter in this book introduces readers to different recipients (or “audiences”) for information operations. These include the initial target,

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of course, but also encompasses their wider social network, as the message is disseminated in conversation with others. Conventional wisdom is that results improve if recipients are targeted, but this remains a challenge in conflict situations even though more information on individuals around the world is available than ever before. Furthermore, it has the potential to backfire as those targeted are put at risk of reprisals. The approach was traditionally a two-step influence process. First, messaging was designed to persuade an individual, sometimes with a carrot and sometimes a stick, to encourage defection; for instance, in Vietnam payments were made directly to the individual first and indirectly to their families as the policy matured. Second, practitioners needed to convince the government and military to accept and reintegrate defectors. Little has changed despite technological revolutions. The objectives of these campaigns remain the same today as they did for Harold Lasswell almost a hundred years ago: the preservation of alliances, the harnessing of neutrality, the mobilization of hatred, and the demoralization of the enemy. Similarly, the use of propaganda devices continues unabated.20 These chapters begin and end with the struggle to harness populations in active, if not always coordinated, roles in the effort against their enemies. Before the twentieth century, opposing military forces carried on their struggles somewhat independently of civilian populations. By contrast, the authors highlight not only the huge industrial effort that was and still is involved, but also the increasing awareness and sophistication of audiences that requires more refined strategies to sway and persuade. Moreover, much of this takes place in societies that are fractured and divided—a result, in part, of previous conflicts and the legacy of earlier information operations campaigns that bisect, dissect, and compete over time.

Feedback Many of the chapters outline information operations that were not only linear, but unidirectional, in nature—a characteristic that also tracks early communication models. Examples include the POWs’ letters used in World War I, radio broadcasts in World War II, and TV broadcasts in Afghanistan. A return path—in other words, feedback—is important as it offers evidence of delivery, interpretation, and impact of the communication. Consider the dialogue, not monologue, that is triggered by social media posts that emanate from Hamas territory, but have a far broader reach among the diaspora and other interested parties. Without a feedback loop, the sender can start to see the recipient as passive, even

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though this is far from the truth. This can have the effect of influencing the sender to the detriment of the message: as the process is viewed only through the prism of the sender, they risk amplifying and reinforcing their biases inside a closed system that is insulated from rebuttal. Perhaps more relevant here is feedback from domestic audiences, who are often highly critical of such operations when they are made aware after the fact.21 Such feedback has often led to the dismantling of the infrastructure created to support information operations after the conflict has been resolved; a recent example here, discussed in Chapter 9, is Operation Cast Lead. This is very short-sighted thinking, as it means the infrastructure would need to be re-created next time—and, if we have learned one thing, there will always be a next time. This lack of foresight was most vividly demonstrated in the period between World War I and World War II. However, the separation of domestic and external audiences has become less meaningful as the information sphere expanded. The global flow of communications in the twenty-first century means that political and military actors are now addressing multiple audiences simultaneously and any contradictions in messaging have an impact on the sender’s credibility. Yet as Joseph S. Nye notes, “What appeals at home fails abroad” and vice versa.22 Moreover, as seen in South Ossetia (Chapter 7) and the Gaza Strip (Chapters 8 and 9), the credibility of an information operations campaign is undermined by exposure and contradiction in the sender’s ambition, rhetoric, and reality. Effects may be short term in the conflict arena, but in the longer term have potentially wider implications as they extend into the political sphere. This hints that the power of communication rests less with the source and more with the audience. Feedback is an effective and powerful way to build trust, generate commonalities, and create shared understanding. It is not a simple or quick process and, if done badly, can undo all the work that has gone before. Moreover, if feedback is ignored, it can lead to detachment and disengagement, which have to be addressed if they are not to create distrust.

What, If Any, Is the Role of Trust and Distrust in Information Operations? Information operations campaigns are necessarily multifaceted. They are used to legitimize actions, rally support, forge alliances, and undermine enemies. Regardless of the medium used, the objective remains the same: to gain a competitive advantage over the opposition. Done

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well, it can transform obstacles into strategic opportunities, reinforcing or reengineering trust; done badly, it can worsen the confrontation and engender mutual distrust. Six of the chapters in this book explicitly refer to trust, distrust, or mistrust: from using leaflets to sow division and distrust (Chapter 2), to redacting information to ensure that reports are widely trusted (Chapter 3); from addressing the mistrust of government promises (Chapter 4), to working with populations distrustful of information coming out of Kabul (Chapter 5); and from a key theme of the US South Asia Policy being a trusted partner (Chapter 6), to peacekeeping messages lacking trust and credibility due to military action in Georgia (Chapter 7). While the last two chapters—which discuss the use of social media by Hamas and Israel respectively—make no direct reference to trust or distrust, attentive readers will be able to see this reference between the lines. Yet, while these concepts are called on and leveraged as part of information operations, they are rarely explored or questioned. So, how should practitioners think of trust and distrust? The relationship—and direction of causality—between trust, distrust, and communication remains largely terra nullius in the literature. If we can locate an orthodox view, it says that trust depends on communications, but there is an emerging view that demonstrates how communications depend on trust.23 There needs to be a shared language, of course, but it goes further than that. For communication to be effective, there needs to be an overlap of concepts, ideas, symbols, narratives, values, interests—in short, a community. This requires trust—specifically, general (sometimes referred to as “background”) trust. Sometimes conceptualized as a disposition, it is difficult to define, but essentially captures familiarity with the system in which we grew up, where we know the rules of the game. General trust reflects how, and how well, the institutions around us work. Do people follow social norms? Do they do what we expect of them? This form of trust is sometimes seen as a pool from which to draw. The success of much World War I and World War II messaging was due to the use of artists and writers of the day (e.g., Alfred Noyes, John Buchan, Carl Otto Czeschka, and Fritz Erler). They understood the power of imagery and language and, furthermore, enjoyed a deep understanding of the cultural norms and traditions within their society. They could read the mood and, as a consequence, capture it. They were authentic voices that rapidly built trust between citizens and government in the most uncertain times. In contrast, the operations in Afghanistan and Vietnam show how a lack of simple language skills, let alone dialects and deep cultural understanding, wholly undermined

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efforts to build rapport and demonstrate shared values. Incidents such as the My Lai massacre and the subsequent military cover-up were seen as incontrovertible proof that the United States had lost its moral compass: domestic audiences felt betrayed while their Vietnamese supporters felt their trust misplaced. Yet, there is a constant, in that trust is a universally assumed but rarely discussed element of communication. Underpinning every interaction, trust and distrust are vital factors in the creation of memory through the fragmentation, reordering, or stopping of time; the formation of values and adoption of social norms; and the manipulation of narratives in conflict situations. It is a cornerstone of all communication. This is as true for more recent frameworks as it is for the classic models from Claude Elwood Shannon and Warren Weaver24 or Wilbur Schramm.25 We rely on trust. Trust is wrapped up in an evaluation of the source (authenticity, credibility, reputation, expertise, past experience); encoding of the message (language, symbols, myths, imagery); medium (appropriateness, reliability, security); and decoding (skills, knowledge). Meanwhile, the encoding and decoding of messages is governed by semiotic rules that consider the relationships between all parties, as well as the wider social environment. Regina Jucks and colleagues remind us that “words are more than merely a ‘device’ to transport a message. They indicate deeply grounded attitudes, our emotional state, and relationship to the given communication partner.”26 Words are more than their content. The very words we choose to express an idea, the sound they make, and the mood they evoke offer to the listener an understanding richer than mere content. That said, we have no choice but to interpret them to draw conclusions about the communicator—whether to assess their ability, benevolence, or values. This is true not only of words, but also of images or actions— including the decision not to act in a situation. Trust is pivotal since it means that we do not have to make that assessment in toto. For example, the British, Germans, and Soviets all used propaganda leaflets and posters on the front lines and at home, which evoked historical images through words and pictures. “We beat ’em before. We’ll beat ’em again” is one such example; the text was used with images of historical silhouettes of recognizable historical soldiers. 27 It was instantly recognizable to its audience and helped to reinforce the bond between the sender and recipient since they shared the same values and aspirations. This mutual understanding built solidarity and trust. It allowed the audience to claim ownership, to be active rather than passive in the dialogue between sender and recipi-

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ent, which meant each party felt vested in the dialogue. The goal was simultaneously to build trust within the British citizenry while separating them from the enemy. It reinforced difference, creating a them and us. Trust underpins loyalty and solidarity in the face of adversity within the audience, but distrust to those who threaten its safety and security from outside. Moreover, trust is nurtured by credible, coherent, and consistent communication. Effective dialogue reinforces trust between sender and receiver to understand each other better, share their values, and offer a vision for the future. Such dialogue is further reinforced when communications are relevant, rather than simply treated as a “download.” Effective dialogue not only reflects an understanding of the audience and what matters to them, but timely responses convey the value of listening and feedback. Communicating parties invest in each other as they develop their relationship over time. The opposite is also true: trust is eroded when communication is unfocused, inaccurate, dishonest, or incomplete—replaced by distrust. Older, rudimentary views of trust and distrust assume they are separate and opposite and, consequently, would be understood as bipolar constructs in a conflict situation. However, an individual can both trust and distrust simultaneously; the two phenomena interact to reduce the complexities of daily life, shaping our perceptions, aiding us in making decisions, helping us to assess risks, and enabling us to cope with uncertainty against a backdrop of incomplete information and knowledge.28 While we often seek to align messages and actions to minimize cognitive dissonance, it is worth remembering that the latter phenomenon can itself be used to change attitudes and sway behaviors. Media accounts of conflict, once lauded as reporting the “truth” are increasingly met with caution: the result of a succession of lies and manipulation that undermine trust in them as neutral reporters—unless they are (1) supported by images; (2) corroborated by trusted sources; and (3) reinforced by an individual’s trusted network. Consider, by way of illustration, the effect of reporting from Vietnam on troop morale and domestic audiences. Young US soldiers in body bags vividly brought the horrors of war to domestic audiences in their living rooms. Many images made history and contributed to the US withdrawal. By way of contrast, consider Daesh, which has been able to build a deep personal relationship with its target audience by circumventing traditional media and communicating directly. It seems to understand and reflect the Weltanschauung of its audience. The West has enjoyed some success in using disillusioned fighters to try to counter this powerful messaging.

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But if an individual is substantially immersed, they do not even hear these messages, for they are filtered out as untrustworthy, manipulated, and false. Daesh’s extremism at once separates an individual from the world around them and, then, constantly reinforces their messaging. This demonstrates a real understanding of the powerful role played by trust and distrust in communications. Although we usually refer to both “trust” and “distrust” in the singular, they tend to be a complex bundle of different types, or relationships, of trust and distrust that overlap, bisect, dissect, reinforce, and compete. They create multiple interconnecting relationships and continuously adapting networks that underpin or destabilize society. They are ever evolving, at one time shaping and being shaped by, our daily interactions—be they personal or impersonal. We cannot place trust, distrust, and mistrust on a sliding scale; they must be clearly distinguished. Distrust is not an absence of trust, but the presence of “no trust”: one party has evaluated another and, rather than not deciding to trust them, has decided not to trust them. Distrust is as useful as trust. Mistrust is trust that should, in fact, be distrust— something that we discover only with the benefit of hindsight. Clearly trust, distrust, and mistrust are rife in conflict situations, often resulting in polarized perspectives of the conflict situation. If we misunderstand these landscapes of trust-neutrality-distrust, we may employ the wrong communications and, in doing so, receive the wrong responses. That is because they require different strategies and approaches. Trust lowers transactional costs, where distrust increases them or makes them impossible. Trust aids support and implementation, but a lack of trust merely hinders it; distrust prevents it. Finding solutions to overcome distrust are harder than finding ones for low or neutral trust. Traditional fixes to low trust—for example, increased transparency—are unlikely to remedy distrust as individuals are already suspicious, especially of an armed adversary! Actions for trust building are very different from mitigating or stoking distrust. Moreover, faced with an increasingly atomized citizenry and, without a unifying set of core shared values, it is important to remember that trust has the same potential to divide as it has to unite. Does this also go some way in explaining why the actions and messaging of opponents are sometimes harder to interpret, understand, and counter? Do they conceive of trust and distrust differently? How do their societies operate? Are they trusting or distrustful? Trust and distrust are common to all societies, but are nonetheless culturally bound and historically evolved. Furthermore, the balance

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between the two is reflective of the situation at the time. To illustrate, “the culture of trust developed within a democracy is due precisely to the institutionalisation of distrust within its construction.”29 It is therefore imperative that information operations are clear about the objective of a communication—and, specifically, whether it is to: 1. 2. 3. 4.

bolster and muster relationships of trust; reengineer and procure trust relationships; encourage and mobilize distrust; or a combination of all three.

It would be simplistic to assume that one approach will work every time with everybody. However, when planning information operations, we should not forget that each has different short-term and longterm implications. If short-term goals are favored over long-term outcomes, a satisfactory resolution now may result in a different problem in the future. Communications can have an incredibly powerful impact on the beliefs, attitudes, and behavior of the audience—and, as always, with that power comes responsibility: communications accumulate and can have a lasting effect. We never start with a blank sheet of paper. Communications and relationships of trust and distrust (created, sustained, and broken) are like palimpsests: building on one another, layer on layer, over time. In a world where “enemies” necessarily become friends and vice versa, this complicates already complex, multifaceted situations. The Taliban are a good example. Painted as an arch enemy of the Western way of life, a change of policy in 2010 meant Western powers, and the government in Kabul, nonetheless sought a lasting peace in Afghanistan through negotiation. The same year saw the publication of Succeeding in Afghanistan by the neoconservative Henry Jackson Society, which argued that negotiation with the Taliban could take place from only a position of strength—a view echoed by John Bew and Peter Neumann30—yet it was the Taliban who were arguably winning the long war and had no desire to negotiate. How do you possibly build trust in such a situation? Drawing on the British’s government’s relationship with the IRA, it was suggested that an acceptable compromise might be found by combining small, reciprocal gestures alongside a more calculated evaluation. However, trying to create a shared vision with an old enemy can easily alienate the domestic audience, accustomed to uniting against a common enemy, and risk losing their trust. Such betrayal can elicit a costly response and even present an existential challenge.31

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At the same time, the use and misuse of trust and distrust—both as concepts and phenomena—are widespread. Trust, in particular, has become commonplace, while the terms are used in tandem to reinforce simplistic binary opposites. Their “symbolic resonance” is so overstated as to make them, in many instances, meaningless—a reflection, perhaps, of the twenty-first century’s wide, but thin, communication that omits context, history, and culture.32 What effect will this have in the longer term? Language not only shapes thought and action but, through social interaction and community, plays a central role in the process of “making meaning.”33 This process plays out in a constant feedback loop across society, paying no heed to boundaries. In addition, personal networks of trust have multiplied exponentially in the digital age of the twenty-first century.34 The fluidity of these relationships has enabled them to challenge the traditional forms of trust between state and citizen. At the same time, reliance (understood as dependency) has displaced trust in this structure as governments address the increasingly risk-adverse electorate. The replacement of hierarchical, static, impersonal networks with flatter, dynamic, personal relationships has underpinned an increasingly turbulent politics.35 Furthermore, there is every indication that trust and distrust will become ever more dispersed. The bad news is that conflict situations produce multiple levels of overlapping authority and uncertain competitive allegiances, which in turn challenge notions of legitimacy in a constantly shifting landscape. Each is underpinned by different forms of trust and distrust: personal versus impersonal, weak versus strong, calculative versus cooperative. The good news is that information operations practitioners have an opportunity to adapt to this new environment, although this requires investment in research that goes beyond the familiar to map, at a granular level, the landscape of trust and distrust both at home and abroad. So, to conclude: which is required for information operations? Both trust and distrust have a role, but quite what those roles are demands an ethical judgment. A common mistake is to see trust as a panacea; in fact, what we need is a balance. For both can be misplaced, in which case they are bads rather than goods. To communicate successfully in a conflict situation requires a deep and nuanced understanding of the landscape—of the relationships of trust and distrust—and a clear objective. At best, our target audience might value arrangements that are the object of our trust; it is specific individuals or institutions that have the potential to earn, and lose, our trust. Blueprints might be perfect; humans are not.

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The Future of Information Operations So, what of the future? The future remains a contested space that is simultaneously shaped by, and inspires, contemporary actions that increasingly result in conflict in the twenty-first century.36 States and their militaries inevitably engage in this competition. Influence itself can be interpreted not as a contest, but as a two-way process that requires a relationship of sorts. Every time an actor sets out to influence, it makes it easier or harder to influence in the future. Effective influence in conflict situations thus requires a balance between building relationships and getting results; both are essential. Emphasizing one at the expense of the other may produce short-term results, but leave you in a weaker position in the longer term. This is especially true if the “relationship” is put on hold or ceases when conflict ends. Learning from the past may sound trite, but it is essential. The concept of warfare using information as a weapon is not new. Yet societies and their militaries tend not to think historically. We do not use the lessons of the past or acknowledge their impact, whether on decisionmaking in the present or planning for the future. The military’s treatment of information as a weapon in the twenty-first century goes beyond using information to aid conventional destruction. Warfare itself has lost much of its material nature, while information has become an end in itself. As the economic value shifts from material goods to the information itself, the method of attack and locus of defense have shifted, but—at least at a very basic level—communication remains the same. What we have learned should be brought to bear in the twenty-first century and beyond, supplemented with new insights and technological advances on an ongoing basis. A century ago, the spring offensives of World War I married combined arms tactics, Industrial Age technology, and an encompassing adolescent nationalism. The four years of competitive learning produced a transformation in warfare, if not a revolution. Today, the Information Age offers new challenges and opportunities. To leverage its full potential requires a change in mind-set from several angles:

• A state’s communications should be holistic. Information operations should not be seen as simply one lever within the arsenal of a state, for use only in conflict situations. Rather, it should be mapped out to sit comfortably within the broader communication plans of the state. Recognizing conflict situations, as with crisis situations, are unique,

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they should still embody the values and long-term goals rather than fall back on the search for quick wins. Everything a state does is a communication—nothing is neutral—in this age of information abundance and instant messaging. Time and space are precious commodities. • The boundary between communications and wider activity is porous. Ensuring that communications activity is strategic, rather than tactical, is only the first step. There is no impermeable border between the territory of information operations and wider military activity, which is a salutary reminder that the success of any intervention is a function of both. Perfectly executed information operations might be a necessary condition for success, but it is hardly sufficient. • End the notion that war and peace are separate. If information operations are to remain relevant and effective, they should be an ongoing practice and not stop when armed conflict comes to a halt. The Russian definition of “information war” (informatsionnaya voyna) is all-encompassing and not limited to wartime, while the Western approach is limited to tactical information operations carried out during hostilities.37 It is time to rethink this approach. • Pursue long-term objectives rather than short-term political expediency. Information operations can be used to construct narratives, reinterpret myths, and deploy metaphors that create emotive support for the articulation and potential realization of an alternative future for different audiences. As such, they should set out to build a shared understanding of the shape of that vision for that future. This requires ongoing effort, laying the groundwork now so future messages find a more receptive audience rather than waiting for a conflict to arise. • Strive for truth. The present world seems riven with a global dialectic: he versus she, us versus them, North versus South, rich versus poor, leave versus remain, left versus right. An absence of objective truth creates a vacuum in which disinformation, misinformation, malinformation, and propaganda thrive. While none of this is new and is inevitable, it has reached unprecedented levels. Yet, given we cannot go back, we must look forward and reclaim truth.

Done well, information operations can build trust that transforms obstacles into strategic opportunities; done badly, they can create distrust and thus result in disaster. In seeking to influence behavior by changing attitudes, should information operations be harnessing trust or sowing the seeds of distrust? In a world where today’s enemy is tomorrow’s friend, we must not forget that both communications and trust build up layers over time. The legacy of the past not only shapes the future: it is the future.

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Notes 1. George Santayana, The Life of Reason: Reason in Common Sense (New York: C. Scribner’s Sons, 1905), p. 284. 2. Harold D. Lasswell, “The Structure and Function of Communication in Society,” in The Communication of Ideas, ed. Lyman Bryson (New York: Harper, 1948), p. 37. 3. As set out by both Claude Elwood Shannon and Warren Weaver in a linear fashion, and Wilbur Schramm in a circular one. Claude Elwood Shannon and Warren Weaver, The Mathematical Theory of Communication (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1949); Wilbur Schramm, “How Communication Works,” in The Process and Effects of Mass Communication (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1954), pp. 3–26. 4. Robert M. Krauss and Ezequiel Morsella, “Communication and Conflict,” in The Handbook of Constructive Conflict Resolution: Theory and Practice, 3rd ed., eds. Peter Coleman, Morton Deutsch, and Eric C. Marcus (San Francisco: Jossey-Bass, 2014), pp. 168–181. 5. A. C. “Buddy” Krizan, Patricia Merrier, Joyce Logan, and Karen Williams, Business Communications, 8th ed. (Mason, OH: South-Western Educational, 2010). 6. Richard Murray, “Reporting on the Impossible: The Use of Defectors in Covering North Korea,” Ethical Space: The International Journal of Communication Ethics 14, no. 4 (2017): 17. 7. See the Maletzke model in Gerald Maletzke, Psychologie der Massenkommunikation: Theorie und Systematik (Hamburg: Hans Bredow Institut, 1963). 8. Robert B. Cialdini, Influence: The Psychology of Persuasion, rev. ed. (New York: William Morrow, 1999). 9. Stig Hadenius and Lennart Weibull, Massmedier: En bok om Press, Radio och TV (Stockholm: Bonniers, 1999). 10. Denis McQuail, McQuail’s Mass Communication Theory, 5th ed. (London: Sage, 2005). 11. Birger Nerman, Massmedierstorik (Stockholm: Alqvist and Wiksell, 1973). 12. Robert M. Clark and William L. Mitchell, Deception: Counterdeception and Intelligence (Washington, DC: CQ Press, 2018), p. 99. 13. Paraphrasing a famous quotation by Thomas Fuller, a seventeenth-century English clergyman. Thomas Fuller, Gnomologia: Adagies and Proverbs; Wise Sentences and Witty Sayings, Ancient and Modern, Foreign and British, Volume 1 (London: B. Barker), No. 4087. 14. Donald Davidson, “A Coherence Theory of Truth and Knowledge,” in Truth and Interpretation, Perspectives on the Philosophy of Donald Davidson, ed. Ernest LePore (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1989), pp. 307–319. 15. Robert C. Hornik, “Channel Effectiveness in Development Communication Programs,” in Public Communication Campaigns, 2nd ed., eds. Ronald E. Rice and Charles Atkin (Newbury Park, CA: Sage, 1989), p. 311. 16. Terry L. Deibel and Walter R. Roberts, Culture and Information: Two Foreign Policy Functions (Newbury Park, CA: Sage, 1976), pp. 14–15. 17. Benno Signitzer, “Public Relations and Public Diplomacy: Some Theoretical Considerations on International PR from an Austrian Perspective,” paper presented at the meeting of the International Communications Association, New Orleans, May 1988. 18. Arvind Singhal, Michael J. Cody, Everett M. Rogers, and Miguel Sabido, Entertainment-Education and Social Change: History, Research, and Practice (London: Routledge, 2003); Arvind Singhal and Everett Rogers, “The Theoretical Agenda for Entertainment-Education,” Communication Theory 2, no. 2 (2002): 117–135. 19. Umberto Eco, “Towards a Semiotic Inquiry into the Television Message,” in Working Papers in Cultural Studies, ed. Toby Miller, trans. Paola Splendore, vol. 3 (Birmingham, UK: University of Birmingham, 1972), p. 114.

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20. Harold D. Lasswell, “The Theory of Political Propaganda,” American Political Science Review 21 (1927): 627–631. 21. When former propagandists published sensational exposes; for example: James Mock and Cedric Larson, The Words That Won the War: The Story of the Committee on Public Information, 1917–1919 (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1939). 22. Joseph S. Nye, “Public Diplomacy and Soft Power,” Annals of the American Academy of Political and Social Science 616, no. 1 (2008): 94–109. 23. Francesca Granelli, “What Does It Mean for a Communication to Be Trusted?” Defence Strategic Communications Journal 5 (Autumn 2018): 171–214. 24. Described as the “mother of all models,” the communication model described by Shannon and Weaver is one of the simplest communications models. Shannon and Weaver, The Mathematical Theory of Communication. 25. Schramm, “How Communication Works.” 26. Regina Jucks, Gesa A. Linnemann, Franziska M. Thon, and Maria Zimmermann, “Trust the Words: Insights into the Role of Language in Trust Building in a Digital World,” in Trust and Communication in a Digitized World, ed. Bernd Blobau (Heidelberg: Springer, 2016), p. 227 27. Pat Keely, 1940–1945. National Archives (UK): INF 3–136, https://www .nationalarchives.gov.uk/theartofwar/prop/home_front/INF3_0136.htm. 28. Leon Festinger’s cognitive dissonance theory maintains that inconsistency between internal beliefs and external information gives rise to psychological discomfort. This offers an explanation as to why conservatives tune in to Fox and liberals to MSNBC—and why the internet “filter bubbles” are so significant. Psychologists refer to this second phenomenon as “selective exposure” or “confirmation bias.” See Joachim I. Krueger, Social Judgment and Decision Making (New York: Psychology Press, 2012). Cognitive dissonance has the potential to alter people’s behavior, but we cannot predict the method a person may choose to reduce psychological discomfort. Attempts to sway opinion therefore have the potential to backfire and reinforce an undesirable attitude. 29. Piotr Sztompka describes democracy as “a paradoxical mechanism.” Piotr Sztompka, “Trust, Distrust and the Paradox of Democracy,” WZB Discussion Paper, (1997) No. P 97-003, Wissenschaftszentrum Berlin für Sozialforschung (WZB), Berlin. 30. Paul Dixon, “How Terrorism Ends: Negotiating the End of the IRA’s ‘Armed Struggle,’” in Critical Perspectives in Counter-Terrorism, eds. Lee Jarvis and Michael Lister (London: Routledge, 2014), pp. 187–209. 31. Stephen Wright, “Trust and Trustworthiness,” Philosophia 38 (2010): 617. 32. Sidney Tarrow, The Language of Contention: Revolutions in Words, 1688– 2012 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2013). 33. Lera Boroditsky, “How Language Shapes Thought,” Scientific American, February 2011, pp. 63–65. As Frédéric Moulène notes, meaning in society is shared; it “is spoken by individuals with all the words they have learnt by living and doing.” “The Challenge of Sociology of Language: Beyond Sociolinguistics; Towards Discourse Analysis,” Language, Discourse & Society 3, no. 2 (2015): 119. 34. Francesca Granelli, Trust: A European History (London: I. B. Tauris, 2019). 35. Helen Z. Margetts, Peter John, Scott Hale, and Taha Yasseri, Political Turbulence (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2016). 36. James Allen Dator, “Introduction: The Future Lies Behind—Thirty Years of Teaching Futures Studies,” in Advancing Futures: Futures Studies in Higher Education, ed. James Allen Dator (Westport, CT: Praeger, 2002), p. 8. 37. Keir Giles, The Next Phase of Russian Information Warfare (Riga: NATO Strategic Communications Centre of Excellence, 2016), pp. 1–16.

Acronyms

AAF AK Aman ANA ANDSF APC APTs ASSF BBC BDS CCNPA CJPOTF CMH US COGAT CORDS CPSU C-T DCOSCOMM DIME DoI DRA 4R+S GlavPU, GlavPUR

Afghan Air Force Armia Krajowa Israeli Military Intelligence Afghan National Army Afghan National Defense and Security Forces Accelerated Pacification Campaign armed propaganda teams Afghan Special Security Forces British Broadcasting Corporation Boycott, Divestment, and Sanctions movement Central Committee for National Patriotic Associations Combined Joint Psychological Operations Task Force Army Center for Military History Coordinator of Government Activities in the Territories Civil Operations for Rural Development Support Communist Party of the Soviet Union counterterrorism deputy chief of staff communications diplomatic, information, military, economic Department of Information Democratic Republic of Afghanistan regionalize, realign, reinforce, reconcile, and sustain Red Army’s and Russian navy’s political directorate (Glavnoye politicheskoye upravleniye) 269

270

Acronyms

GUPP

GUPP RKKA GUPP VMF GVN HMSO IAC ICTs IDF IE IIFFMCG

InfoOps INO OGPU

INSS IPS IRA IRMI

ISAF ISIS JAC JUSPAO KCSC MACV MALAT MGIMO MoI MOICH MP MI7 MI7b

NANA

Political Propaganda Directorate (Glavnoye Upravleniye Politicheskoy Propagandy) Political Propaganda Directorate (Glavnoye Upravleniye Politicheskoy Propagandy), army branch Political Propaganda Directorate (Glavnoye Upravleniye Politicheskoy Propagandy), navy branch government of Vietnam Her Majesty’s Stationery Office Israeli-American Council information and communication technologies Israel Defense Forces Information environment Council of the European Union Independent International Fact-Finding Mission Information Operations Foreign Department of Joint State Political Directorate of the People Commissars’ Council of the USSR (Inostranny otdel Obyedinyonnogo gosudarstvennogo politicheskogo upravleniya pri SNK SSSR) Institute for National Security Studies Institute for Policy and Strategy Irish Republican Army Institute for the Research of the Methodology of Intelligence International Security Assistance Force Islamic State in Iraq and Syria Jewish Anti-Fascist Committee Joint US Public Affairs Office King’s Centre for Strategic Communications US Military Assistance Command, Vietnam Center for Cognitive Operations University Moscow State Institute of International Relations Ministry of Information Ministry of Information and Chiêu Hồi member of Parliament War Office special branch of the Military Intelligence Department North American Newspaper Alliance

Acronyms

NCS NKVD

NLF NRP NWAC OSCE PA PDPA PLO POWs PRC PsyOps RS Mission RVN SACEUR SHAPE SMART SNK SPUs SS StratCom TAA TASS UAVs UNAMA UPA

USAID USFOR-A USIA USOM/AID

USSTRATCOM VC VIS VND

271

Neutral Countries Subcommittee People’s Commissariat for Internal Affairs (Narodny Komissariat Vnutrennikh Del) National Liberation Front National Reconciliation Policy National War Aims Committee Organization for Security and Co-operation in Europe Public Affairs People’s Democratic Party of Afghanistan Palestine Liberation Organization prisoners of war Parliamentary Recruiting Committee psychological operations Resolute Support Mission Republic of Vietnam Supreme Allied Command Europe Supreme Headquarters Allied Powers Europe specific, measurable, achievable, relevant, and time-bound People Commissars’ Council Special Propaganda Units Schutzstaffel (Protective Echelon) strategic communications Train Advise Assist Soviet Union News Agency (Telegrafnoye Agentstvo Sovetskogo Soyuza) unmanned aerial vehicles UN Assistance Mission in Afghanistan Communist Party’s Internal Directorate for Propaganda and Agitation (Upravleniye Propagandy i Agitatsiyi) US Agency for International Development US Forces–Afghanistan US Information Agency US Operations Mission/Agency for International Development US Strategic Command Viet Cong Vietnam Information Service Vietnamese dong

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The Contributors

Brett Boudreau served in the Canadian armed forces for thirty years, retiring as a colonel. He worked on the Afghanistan file in several assignments, including at National Defence Headquarters, and NATO headquarters in Mons, Brussels, and Kabul. He is a fellow with the Canadian Global Affairs Institute.

Ofer Fridman is director of operations at the King’s Centre for Strategic Communications (KCSC) and senior lecturer in the Department of War Studies at King’s College London. He previously served for fifteen years in the Israeli Defence Forces.

Francesca Granelli is visiting senior lecturer in the Department of War Studies at King’s College London. She has also lectured at the universities of Oxford, Southampton, and Warwick.

Vitaly Kabernik is a division head in the Department of Innovative Development at the Moscow State Institute of International Relations (MGIMO University). Michael Milstein is head of the Palestinian Studies Forum in the Moshe

Dayan Center for Middle Eastern and African Studies at Tel Aviv University and senior analyst in the Institute for Policy and Strategy (IPS) at the Interdisciplinary Center (IDC) Herzliya.

281

282

The Contributors

Mikhail Mironyuk is associate professor in the School of Politics and Governance of the Faculty of Social Sciences at the National Research University Higher School of Economics (HSE University).

Igor Orlov is professor in the School of Politics and Governance of the Faculty of Social Sciences and head of the Laboratory for Studies in Business Communications at the National Research University Higher School of Economics (HSE University). Roy Schulman is assistant researcher at the Institute for National Secu-

rity Studies (INSS) and a PhD candidate at Ben-Gurion University of the Negev.

David Siman-Tov is senior researcher at the INSS and deputy head of the Institute for the Research of the Methodology of Intelligence (IRMI) at the Israeli Intelligence Community Commemoration and Heritage Center.

Aidan Winn is senior defense research analyst with Booz Allen Hamilton. She has held several defense policy and research analysis positions in Washington, DC, including with the RAND Corporation, Hicks and Associates/Science Applications International Corporation (SAIC), and the Center for Strategic and International Studies.

Index

Abashidze, Aslan: 170 Abkhazia: 170–171, 175, 178, 181, 187, 189– 191, 272, 276 Abu Artima, Ahmed: 211, 218 Abu Mazen: 210, 214, 218, 273 Ackerman, Anton: 55 Afghanistan: 4, 6, 7–8, 10, 91–168, 181, 254, 256–157, 259, 263, 269–177 Ajara: 170 Akhromeev, Sergei: 95 Al-Najar, Razan: 212 Alexandrov, Georgy: 59, 64 American Civil War (1861–1865): 8, 121 Amin, Hafizullah: 94, 109 Amu Daria river: 94 Andropov, Yuri: 93, 95 Antonescu, Ion: 58 April Revolution (1978): 93, 109 Arab Spring: 207, 234, 243, Arafat, Yasser: 226 Armenia: 170 Asquith, Herbert Henry: 15 Austria-Hungary: 19–20, 23–25, 28–30, 32, 35–38, 270. See also Austria; Empire, Austro-Hungarian; Hungary Austria: 38, 52, 58, 267, 270. See also AustriaHungary Badakhshan: 96 Balkans, the: 23, 64, 272 Balkh: 96 Baltic Sea: 54 Baltic States: 40 Bavaria: 30, 38

Beaverbrook, Lord: 18, 20 Beijing: 174 Beirut: 199 Belgium: 50 Benayahu, Avi: 224–225 Berlin: 43, 49–50, 58, 60, 64, 152, 271, 275 Bew, John: 263 Biden, Joseph: 118, 218, 274 Bohannon, Charles: 80, 87, 276 Boot, Max: 2, 9, 35 Bosnia-Herzegovina: 23 Brezhnev, Leonid: 109 Britain: 13–38, 50, 269. See also Empire, British; England; United Kingdom (UK) Bruntz, George G: 6, 10, 14, 35–38, 269 Brussels: 8, 124, 129–130, 148, 153, 155, 277 Buchan, John: 17, 36, 259 Bulgaria: 19, 57–58, 60 Burian, Stephan Count: 29, 33, 38, 270 Bush, George W.: 173, 188, 235 Campbell, John: 119, 122–123, 138, 155 Cast Lead, Operation (2008): 225–226, 229– 233, 235–237, 240–242, 244–247, 258, 270–271, 274–276 Chandler, Robert W.: 6, 10, 84, 270 Charteris, John: 32, 38 Chechen War, First (1994–96): 116, 171 Chechnya: 110, 173 Cherepanov, Yuri: 101 China: 93, 201 Chisinau: 45 von Clausewitz, Carl: 1, 2, 5, 9, 10 Cold War: 253

283

284

Index

Cordovez, Diego: 92, 95 Crewe House: 14, 19–38, 276 de Cuéllar, Javier Pérez: 95 Czechoslovakia: 181 Czeschka, Carl Otto: 259

Denmark: 129, 145 Diem, Ngo Dinh: 66, 83 Dimitrov, Georgy: 58 Donald, Robert: 17–18, 28, 35–36, 38 Dubai: 105 Dubynin, Victor: 105, 112, 114–116 Dushanbe: 102

Eastern Front: 6, 43, 48–49, 52, 61. See also World War II; Great Patriotic War Eco, Umberto: 256, 267, 270 Egypt: 201, 210, 221, 235 Ehrenburg, Iliya: 44, 47–48, 59, 62, 64 Einstein, Albert: 49 Eisenstein, Sergei: 46 Empire: Austro-Hungarian: 33. See also Austria-Hungary. British: 101. See also Britain. German: 6, 10, 14, 29–30, 35, 269. See also Germany. Ottoman: 19. See also Turkey. England: 16. See also Britain; United Kingdom (UK) Epishev, Alexei: 103–104, 108 Erler, Fritz: 259 Europe: 21–22, 28, 40, 48, 57, 62, 94–95, 121, 123–124, 170, 229, 231, 240, 273 European Union (EU): 131, 181, 183, 191, 201 Facebook: 3–4, 10, 124, 134–136, 142, 177, 203, 208, 232, 237–239, 248, 269 Fadeev, Aleksander: 41 Fatah: 200 Flickr: 127, 133, 232, 239 Florida: 149 Fogel, Zvi: 226 France: 4, 9, 18, 21–22, 25, 32, 152, 170, 245 Franco, Francisco: 47 Fyfe, Hamilton: 9, 19, 24–25, 31, 36–38, 271 Fulbright, William J., 118, 120–122, 125, 127–128

Gardez: 95, 98, 106–107 Gaza Strip: 4, 195–248, 255–6, 258, 269–271, 273–274, 276 George, David Lloyd: 16–18, 25, 30, 36 Georgia: 4, 6, 8, 169–192, 259, 271–272, 275– 276 Gergiev, Valery: 185 Germany: 4, 6, 16–17, 19–20, 23–25, 27–35, 38, 40–41, 43–44, 46–47, 50, 52–59, 62, 64, 138, 140, 145, 152, 170, 269, 274. See also Empire, German Ghani, Ashraf: 124, 140, 155, 161–164, 167 Gorbachev, Mikhail: 95

Gori: 176, 181, 189 Great Patriotic War (1941–45): 47, 62–64, 99, 274. See also Eastern Front; World War II Gromyko, Andrei: 93 Guardians of the Walls, Operation (2021): 214–215, 218 Guest, S. A.: 19

Hamas: 6, 8–9, 195–248, 254, 257, 259, 269, 273, 275 Haqqani, Jalaluddin: 98, 106 Henderson, Arthur: 15 Hezbollah: 214, 218, 224, 227 von Hindenburg, Paul: 22, 26, 28, 30, 34, 37–38, 272 Hitler, Adolf: 34, 38, 49–50, 55–57, 60, 179, 190 Holbrooke, Richard: 120, 165 Hudson, H K: 19 Hungary: 52, 54, 57, 181. See also AustriaHungary von Hutier, Oscar: 20

Instagram: 135, 232 Intifada, Knife (2015–2016): 204, 207–209 Intifada, Second (2000–5): 207 Iran: 94, 103–104, 201, 218, 239, 248, 270, 275 Israel: 4, 6, 8–9, 195–248, 254–255, 259, 270–278 Israeli Defence Forces (IDF): 200, 202–203, 205, 208, 211–212, 215, 220, 222–225, 227–234, 236–248, 254, 270, 274–275 Italy: 18, 58, 153, 181 Jabari, Ahmed: 235 Jerusalem: 200–201, 208, 211, 213–215, 218 Johnson, Lyndon B.: 68, 84 Jones, Roderick: 18 Jordan: 201 Jucks, Regina: 260, 268, 272 Judea and Samaria: 206, 212, 215, 234. See also West Bank Kabul Uprising (1980): 92 Kabul: 8, 92–93, 95, 97–103, 105–106, 108, 111, 114–115, 118, 124, 129, 136, 146– 147, 153, 166–167, 259, 263, 269, 277 Kanchani, Sergio: 181 Kandahar: 105, 111, 153, 275 Karmal, Babrak: 92, 109 Kataev, Valentin: 41 Khan, Mohammed Daoud: 109 Khavinson, Jacob: 42 Khost: 95, 98, 107 Kiev: 45 Kodori: 176 Kokoity, Eduard: 171 Kokoshin, Andrey: 6, 10 Königsberg: 43 Korean War (1950–53): 8, 121

Index Kosygin, Alexey: 93, 112 Kremlin, the: 43–44, 173, 181 Krizan, A C “Buddy”: 252, 267, 272 Kulakhmetov, Marat: 171 Kunduz: 96–97, 147, 155, 166 Kurashvili, Mamuka: 171

Lasswell, Harold D.: 14, 35, 38, 251, 257, 267–268, 272 Lavrov, Sergey: 174 Law, Bonar: 15 League of Nations: 16, 24, 28 League of Nations: 24, 28. See also United Nations Lebanon, Second War (2006): 223–224, 228, 240–242, 244, 246, 271 Lebanon: 211 Leonov, Nikolay: 92 Levitan, Yuri: 45 London: 19, 22, 24–25, 29, 32, 153–155 Low, Sidney: 18 Loyn, David: 146–147, 167 Lozovsky, Solomon: 51, 63 Ludanov, Nikolay: 101 Ludendorff, Erich: 34, 38

Machiavelli, Niccolo: 2, 10 Mamsurov, Taimuraz, 182 Mashal, Khaled: 236 Masterman, Charles: 16 McChrystal, Stanley: 123, 144, 153–154, 158, 167 McNamara, Robert: 68, 84 McNeil, Dan: 122, 125, 153 Medley, Dominic: 132, 166 Medvedev, Dmitry: 171–173, 182, 187–188, 190 Mikhailov, Ivan: 101 Mikhay I, King of Romania: 58 Miller, Scott: 119, 122, 125–126, 138, 140, 142, 144, 155, 158 Milne, Seumas: 177, 189 Minsk: 45 Mississippi, the river: 48 Molotov, Vyacheslav, 47 Mons: 8, 125, 277 Mordechai, Yoav: 215–216, 236, 247, 274 Morsi, Mohammed: 235 Moscow: 45, 47–8, 51, 55, 63, 99, 102, 181–2, 189, 275, 277, 279 Moscow, Battle of (1941–1942): 51, 55 Munoz, Arturo: 6, 10 Muslim Brotherhood: 101, 196, 201, 210, 216, 235 Mussolini, Benito: 49 Najibullah, Mohammad: 92 Nangarhar: 96, 166 NATO: 4, 6, 8, 10, 94, 117–168, 173, 177, 268–269, 271, 274, 277

285

Nebrenchnin, Sergei, 103 Netherlands: 16, 19–20, 145 Nevsky, Alexander: 46, 63 New York: 231 Neumann, Peter: 263 Nicholson, Charles: 18 Nicholson, John: 119, 123–124, 127, 134, 138–140, 144, 147, 155, 158–160, 165 Nogovitsyn, Anatoly: 176, 180, 182 Nolting, Frederick, 66 North Korea: 121, 253, 267, 274 Northcliffe, Lord: 9, 17–23, 28–30, 33–34, 36–38, 271 Nosik, Anton: 178–179, 190 Novgorod: 46 Noyes, Alfred: 259 Nye, Joseph S.: 258, 268, 274 Obama, Barack: 123, 153, 166, 235, 243 Okruashvili, Irakly: 170 Ossetia, North: 182 Ossetia, South: 169–192 Oz, Amos: 233

Pakistan: 96, 103–106, 119, 154, 161 Paktia: 96, 101, 107, 109 Paktika: 96 Palestine Liberation Organization (PLO): 196 Palestine: 49, 196, 198, 217, 239, 247, 276 Palestinian Authority: 196, 198, 200, 202–204, 206–210, 216, 218, 241 Palmyra: 186, 191 Patriotic War (1812): 47 Paulus, Friedrich: 55–57 Petrov, Evgeny: 41 Pillar of Defense, Operation (2012): 231, 233– 235, 237–239, 241 Poland: 40, 57–58, 61. See also Prussia Prokofiev, Sergei: 46 Protective Edge, Operation (2014): 204–205, 208, 210, 214, 216, 231, 233–241, 243, 247–248, 270, 272, 274–275 Prussia: 30. See also Poland Putin, Vladimir: 180–181, 188, 190 Qatar: 201, 210, 236 Quran: 96, 103, 149, 153–154

Rakhim, Mirzo: 106–107 Ramallah: 207–208 Rasmussen, Anders Fogh: 129 Red Army: 40, 49, 52, 55, 57, 59, 61 Richards, David: 125, 153, 158, 166 Riga: 45, 153 Ring, Operations (1943): 55, 254 Robert, Mervyn Edwin III: 6, 10 Romania: 29, 52, 54–55, 57–58, 61, 140, 276 Rome: 29, 50 Ronge, Maximilian: 33, 38

286

Index

Russia: 3–4, 8, 10, 31, 40, 47, 50, 63, 110, 116, 121, 169–192, 201, 270–272 Russo-Georgian Conflict (2008): 6, 8, 169–192

Saakashvili, Mikheil: 170, 174, 178–179, 181, 187 Saigon: 68, 81, 83–84 Samangan: 96 Sandres, Michael L: 6, 10, 35–37, 275 Santayana, George: 251, 267 275 Sarkozy, Nicolas, 182 Saudi Arabia: 201 Scherbakov, Alexander: 41–42 Schogol, Jeff: 127 Schramm, Wilbur: 260, 267–268, 275 Second Front: 48. See also Front; World War II Serbia: 23 Serdykov, Anatoly: 180 Seton-Watson, Robert W.: 19, 23–24, 28–29 von Seydlitz-Kurzbach, Walther: 55–56 Shannon, Elwood: 260, 26726–8, 275 Shchegolev, Igor: 178, 190 Shcherbakov, Vladimir: 183, 191 Shershnev, Leonid: 94, 103, 110, 114–115 Sholokhov, Mikhail: 41 Simonov, Konstantin: 41, 44, 62 Sinwar, Yahya: 210–211, 214–215, 218, 273 Smith, Greg: 144, 167 Sochi Agreement (1992): 170, 175–176 South Korea: 253 Soviet Union (USSR): 7, 39–64, 91–116, 169, 180, 270, 272, 275–276 Spain: 47 Stalin, Joseph: 39–40, 45, 58–59, 61–62, 64, 270, 273, 276 Stalingrad, Battle of (1942–43): 54–55 Stalingrad: 54–55, 64, 269 Steed, Wickham: 19, 28–29 Stoltenberg, Jens: 117, 157 Stuart, Campbell: 14, 18, 33, 35–38, 276 Surda: 208 Switzerland: 16, 19–20, 38 Syria: 127, 166, 169, 186, 201, 211 Taliban: 8, 117–123, 125–128, 131, 135–137, 140, 147, 150, 154–157, 161, 163–167, 263 Tallinn: 45 Taraki, Nur Mohammad: 93, 112 Tashkent: 102 Taskaev, A. V.: 103 Taylor, Philip M.: 6, 10, 35–37, 275 Tbillisi: 170, 181, 186–188, 190 Tokyo: 50, 154 Tolbukhin, Fyodor: 59 Tolstoy, Alexey: 41, 48 Trump, Donald: 123 Tskhinval: 170–171, 173, 175–176, 178, 181, 183, 185, 189

Turkey: 152–153, 201. See also Empire, Ottoman Twitter: 2, 6, 124, 127, 134–135, 138–139, 146, 166–167, 177, 230–3, 237–239, 244, 247–248, 273 Tzu, Sun: 2, 10 Ukraine: 56, 121, 169, 182, 186 United Arab Emirates: 201 United Kingdom (UK): 18, 47–49, 63, 125, 137, 145, 152–153, 170, 267–268, 270. See also, England; Britain United Nations (UN): 92–93, 95, 117, 131, 152, 166, 170, 173, 175–176, 201, 218, 235, 347, 276. See also League of Nations United States (US): 3–4, 6, 8, 10, 16, 18, 20, 22, 26–27, 29, 30–32, 36, 47–50, 65–69, 70–78, 80–87, 94–95, 110, 115, 118–120, 122–127, 132–133, 135–138, 142, 144–149, 153–155, 159–164, 166–167, 170, 173, 177, 179, 183, 188, 201, 211, 213, 226, 234, 246–247, 259, 260–1, 270–272, 275–276 Uzbekistan: 104 Valeriano, Napoleon: 80, 87, 276 Vertuli, Mark D.: 3, 9–10 Vienna: 23, 37, 59, 271 Viet Cong (VC): 65, 70–71, 74–76, 80–82, 85 Vietnam: 6–7, 10, 65–87, 165, 252–253, 256, 259–261, 270–272, 275–276 Vilnius: 45 Vkontakte: 178 Volga, the river: 48, 64, 276

Warner, Gary: 179 Warsaw: 64, 124, 155, 162, 274 Weaver, Warren: 260, 267–268, 275 Wehrmacht: 49, 51, 56 Weinert, Erich: 55 Wellington House: 16–20 Wells, H G: 19, 23–24, 30 West Bank: 198, 200–201, 206–207, 215–216, 234, 269. See also Judea and Samaria Western Front: 59. See also Second Front; World War II WhatsApp: 203 Williams, Ogden: 81, 86–87 World War I: 1, 4–8, 13–38, 120, 252, 256, 258–259, 265 World War II: 7–8, 39–64, 108, 121, 173–175, 252–256, 258–259 Yeltsin, Boris: 171, 188 YouTube: 134, 230–232, 237–239, 248 Yugoslavia: 173 Zabihullah, Mujahid: 135 Zia-ul-Haq, Mohammad: 96 Zorthian, Barry: 69

About the Book

SINCE ANTIQUITY, INFORMATION HAS BEEN USED IN CONFLICT— to deceive, to demoralize, to sow fear among enemy troops. Not until the twentieth century, though, did information operations become so central to war. In Info Ops, the authors assess the evolving role and increasing relevance of information operations from the leaflet bombardments of World War I to the present digital age.

Ofer Fridman is director of operations at the Centre for Strategic Communications (CSC), King’s College London. Vitaly Kabernik is a division head in the Department of Innovative Development at Moscow State Institute of International Relations (MGIMO University). Francesca Granelli is visiting senior lecturer in the Department of War Studies at King’s College London.

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