Whistleblowers and the economy of esteem

By W.W. | HOUSTON

EDWARD SNOWDEN, the erstwhile IT guy who worked for the National Security Agency (NSA) and is responsible for the PowerPoint heard 'round the world, is ___________.

(a) a hero

(b) a narcissist

(c) a traitor

(d) courageous

(e) all of the above

The contest to answer this question has already grown tiresome, because Mr Snowden's character and motives seem of small importance compared to his revelations about the nature and scope of the NSA's surveillance. I certainly sympathise with Ron Fournier of National Journal when he writes:

I don't give a whit about the man who exposed two sweeping U.S. online surveillance programs, nor do I worry much about his verdict in the court of public opinion.

Why? Because it is the wrong question. The Snowden narrative matters mostly to White House officials trying to deflect attention from government overreach and deception, and to media executives in search of an easy storyline to serve a celebrity-obsessed audience.

Mr Fournier goes on to list ten questions that are, I agree, rather more pressing. Are the programmes exposed by Mr Snowden really legal? Do they really work? Such questions ought to be our primary concern.

Yet I do give a whit about Mr Snowden and I do worry about his fate in the court of public opinion. I worry because the conversation influences our tolerance for future overreach and deception from the security apparatus. More importantly, it influences our attitude toward future acts of bravery by public-spirited Americans who witness overreach and deception of this sort. One need not believe that Mr Snowden is a hero to see that the campaign to smear him is in large part a campaign of pre-emption against future leakers. The prestige and infamy that ultimately attach to Mr Snowden will surely affect the supply of future leaks. The rush to lionise and belittle Mr Snowden is a rush to get the jump in the fight to determine the level of status that whistle-blowers will enjoy, or suffer, in our culture.

The outcome of this fight matters, because, as economists like to say, incentives matter. But few incentives are pecuniary. Humanity operates primarily within an economy of esteem, and one basic function of any human society is to assign status, to distribute honour and shame. That pundits hustled to pass judgment on Mr Snowden is no surprise, but the way it has been done is illuminating, and depressing. Another, better, society might heap socially fatal shame upon David Brooks for his reckless, smug psychologising of Mr Snowden. Sadly, this sort of inane, moralising, diagnostic speculation falls well within the bounds of accepted American discourse, which reflects rather poorly on us. That we do not readily see that it reflects poorly on us also reflects poorly on us. The questions Americans do and do not find sensible to raise also provide grounds for sorrow. It makes sense to Americans to ask, "What kind of person would defy authority in this way?" But somehow it does not make sense to ask, "What kind of person seeks to join the special forces of a country known to conduct unjust wars?" or "What kind of person helps the state conduct its business outside the scope of public deliberation and democratic authority, and does not seek to expose it?"

There are reasonable answers to these questions, but it's telling that many Americans take offence when questions like these are even aired. I've heard a good deal of speculation about Mr Snowden's vanity, martyr complex and general moral unsoundess. But I have heard no speculation about the worrying sort of person who becomes Director of National Intelligence. Why not? Part of it is that, as our popular entertainments attest, Americans are infatuated with the romance of our secret police, and our soldiers are, ipso facto, heroes. By our distribution of esteem you shall know us.

The attack on Mr Snowden's reputation is in no small part a rearguard action to keep America's spies and generals beyond the reach of suspicion, to maintain their relative immunity from serious democratic scrutiny so that that the public will continue complacently to trust them when they say, in so many words, "Trust us...or else". But it is democratic affirmation, not uniforms and security clearances, that makes state power legitimate. When the state acts without proper democratic authority, it acts as a rogue operation—as just another band of thugs with money and guns and a dangerous sense of self-righteousness. Whether the NSA's monitoring programmes are actually legal and effective may be more pressing questions than whether Mr Snowden deserves our esteem. But it became possible to address those questions openly only because Mr Snowden chose to speak up. If we wish to keep similarly pressing policy questions available for public examination, we must defend the honour of whistleblowers like Edward Snowden.