Culturally sensitive war? The Human Terrain System and the seduction of ethics

The Human Terrain System

HTS is part of a wider trend towards the idea that combat forces require awareness of the ‘human terrain’ as much as of the physical terrain (Lucas, 2009: 4). It works in sync with a shift of strategy that focuses attention on counterinsurgency warfare, marked by the introduction of the Counterinsurgency Field Manual, which stresses the need to understand culture (US Army/Marine Corps, 2007). ¹ General James H. Mattis has observed that ‘our soldiers and Marines must learn to navigate the human (cultural) terrain with as much facility as they use maps to navigate the geographical terrain’ (Lucas, 2009: 6). The military therefore has ‘cultural knowledge needs’ (McFate and Jackson, 2005), and HTS was created to address these through use of the social sciences, which are seen as providing expertise in analysing and ‘providing valid and objective information’ on these issues (HTS, 2008: 3). HTS was

specifically designed to address cultural awareness shortcomings at the operational and tactical levels by giving brigade commanders an organic capability to help understand and deal with ‘human terrain’ – the social, ethnographic, cultural, economic, and political elements of the people among whom a force is operating (Kipp et al., 2006: 9).

Through HTS, social scientists are to fill the ‘cultural knowledge gap’ facing the USA’s armed forces (HTS, 2008: 2).

Although HTS involves several components, ² its core – and most controversial aspect – are the HTTs, which consist ideally of ‘experienced cultural advisors’ (Kipp et al., 2006: 12). While the number of team members varies, the five planned roles were leader, cultural analyst, regional studies expert, human terrain research manager and human terrain analyst (Kipp et al., 2006: 12). The cultural analyst was to be an anthropologist or sociologist fluent in the local language, while the regional studies analyst would have a similar background, without having a specified disciplinary social science background. Both were to hold an MA or a PhD (Kipp et al., 2006: 13). However, recruiting individuals with such expertise has proved difficult, and George R. Lucas observes that few individuals with the totality of this skill set are likely to exist (Lucas, 2009: 151–2).

According to supporters, deploying brigades will be ‘culturally empowered’ through HTS (Kipp et al., 2006: 15). How this is to be achieved is set out in the Human Terrain Team Handbook. The mission of HTTs is to conduct ‘operationally-relevant, open-source social science research, and provide commanders and staffs ... with an embedded knowledge capability, to establish a coherent, analytic cultural framework for operational planning, decision-making, and assessment’ (HTS, 2008: 4). What this seems to mean is that HTTs gather information through the use of social science methodologies, from which they immediately generate relevant facts for the commanders. The handbook explicitly asserts that irrelevant information and ambiguity must be stripped out, so that only objective, mission-relevant facts are passed on. More broadly, it identifies five key tasks for HTTs: (1) to ‘conduct a Cultural Preparation of the Environment’ – that is, to collect, analyse and brief on sociocultural aspects of the area of operations; (2) to ‘integrate’ information on the human terrain into the Unit Planning Process; (3) to provide ‘support to current operations’; (4) to assess the effects of operations on the human terrain; and (5) to provide training on sociocultural issues (HTS, 2008: 24–5).

HTS has been promoted as building on the insight that the ‘human dimension’ is central to counterinsurgency or ‘irregular warfare situations’ (HTS, 2008: 3), and that successes in Afghanistan and Iraq ‘closely correlate with proactive efforts by coalition forces to understand and respect the culture’ (Kipp et al., 2006: 11). Christopher King (2009: 16), now director of the HTS Social Science Directorate and previously an HTS staff social scientist, explains that the programme is to ‘enable culturally astute decision-making’, and that this ‘allows commanders to consider the possible ramifications of their choices with consideration of local populations’ perceptions, needs and interests’. Social scientists are to recommend options for ‘the use of non-lethal effects’ (HTS, 2008: 13; see also HTS, 2008: 26). It is also claimed that insights from HTS research will not be used for lethal targeting (HTS, 2008: 56, 82). That is, people must be the focus, and HTS is represented as being benign for the local population, as promoting respect and reducing the use of lethal force.

Some problematic issues are obvious. It is, first, not clear that the programme can achieve what it is promoted as doing. The claim is that HTS can reduce the death toll. This relies on the expectation that kinetic operations will be reduced through cultural understanding in two ways. On the one hand, HTTs are to promote cultural understanding and – in a significant non sequitur – it is assumed that this will increase support for institutions supported by the USA (HTS, 2008: 48), reducing violent conflict. As Hugh Gusterson (in Udris et al., 2010) notes, in this thinking, resistance is framed as a matter of cultural miscommunication. That is, this assumes that Iraqis and Afghans participate in the insurgencies in their countries because they lack a sufficient grasp of what coalition forces are trying to achieve rather than because they perceive their plans correctly and object to them. On the other hand, HTS supporters believe that an ‘educated and “culturally agile” military will kill fewer, rather than more, innocent civilians’. ³ Yet, this is difficult to show. While Col. Martin Schweitzer (2008) testified before the House Armed Services Committee that kinetic operations had been reduced by 60–70% and that, without HTS, ‘we would have lost double the lives’, he acknowledges that this reflects impressions by military commanders rather than an evaluation based on evidence (Weinberger, 2008; CEAUSSIC, 2009: 55; Price, 2010: 249–50). Crucially, establishing how many civilians are not killed because of HTS involves a comparison with a counterfactual and is thus inherently problematic. ⁴

Further, the programme presumes that ‘social science’ can be conducted while carrying arms. ⁵ Yet, it seems unlikely that ethnographic research as described in the handbook is compatible with wearing fatigues, carrying arms and being transported, protected and supported by combat troops. ⁶ As one Marine commander observed, ‘when you’re in uniform you have all the coercive force of the U.S. government’ (CEAUSSIC, 2009: 50). Moreover, even if such research could be conducted under these conditions, it is questionable whether academic inquiry can produce the mission-relevant objective facts that are sought, especially as ‘culture’ is more complicated than is acknowledged. Finally, representing people as ‘terrain’ is significant. The ‘human dimension’ is regarded as a knowable, objective backdrop to military operations to be manipulated in pursuit of military objectives.

Anthropologists and their ethics

HTS has been represented as being about anthropologists. In US News & World Report, civilian anthropologists were called ‘perhaps the most controversial weapon in [the US military’s] counterinsurgency arsenal today’. ⁷ This perception is interesting in view of the figures. In April 2009, HTS employed 417 people, of whom 49 held a PhD, although up to one-third are thought to have left following a change in status and reduction in pay in summer 2009. Of the 417, only six had a PhD and another five an MA in anthropology (CEAUSSIC, 2009: 12). Thus, anthropologists only account for a small number of HTS employees, who hold degrees in a range of social sciences, including international relations, political science and their subdisciplines (CEAUSSIC, 2009: 60–1). Hence, the comparative lack of debate about HTS within international relations is noteworthy.

It is not surprising that HTS, developed to support unpopular military operations, has met with criticism. In tune with its perception as drawing on anthropological expertise for warfare, anthropologists have actively investigated, questioned and vocally opposed the programme. In 2007, the Executive Board of the American Anthropological Association (AAA) released a statement calling HTS an ‘unacceptable application of anthropological expertise’ (AAA Executive Board, 2007), while the Board of the Society for Applied Anthropology (SfAA) expressed its ‘grave concern’ (Robinson, 2008: 12). In 2009, the AAA Commission on the Engagement of Anthropology with the US Security and Intelligence Communities (CEAUSSIC, 2009: 3) produced a 72-page report on HTS, which suggested that the AAA should ‘emphasize the incompatibility of HTS with disciplinary ethics and practice for job seekers and that it further recognize the problem of allowing HTS to define the meaning of “anthropology” within DoD [the US Department of Defense]’. Moreover, the Network of Concerned Anthropologists (NCA), formed in 2007 in response to what is described as an increasing militarization of US anthropology, has published critiques – in particular the Counter-Counterinsurgency Manual (NCA, 2009) – and has promoted a ‘Pledge of Non-Participation in Counterinsurgency’. ⁸

The instrumentalization of cultural knowledge for war-fighting – that is, for an activity that is hardly conducive to the well-being of people in the war zone – has to be of concern to practitioners of a profession inclined to engage, seek to understand and empathize with others. There seems to be ‘a contradiction between the goal of anthropology, to help local populations, and the goals of the army, which often wants to control them’ (Weinberger, 2010). The strong reaction from within anthropology attests to that, but seems to be reinforced by the idea that anthropology has been problematically entangled with counterinsurgency in the past (Gusterson, 2009: 47–50; Lucas, 2009: 25–80). David Price (2009) observes that, ‘given anthropology’s often odious past role as a handmaiden to colonialism, these issues easily move from the realm of individual politics to disciplinary politics, and properly raise the attentions of disciplinary professional associations’. Thus, because of anthropologists’ objectionable past involvement with military operations, whether or not anthropologists contribute to HTS is a matter of concern for anthropologists as a group, not just an individual choice. This is underlined by the fear that anthropology might become militarized, as funding from the military and other security institutions may affect research agendas (Gusterson, 2009: 53).

Gusterson recounts the history in the Counter-Counterinsurgency Manual. The core of the problem arises in the 1960s, when the USA was at war in Vietnam and concerned about further insurgency campaigns. Project Camelot was ‘a lavishly funded initiative to mobilize anthropologists and other social scientists to investigate the origins of peasant radicalism and insurgency and devise strategies to preempt, contain, and repress revolutionary movements’ (Gusterson, 2009: 48). As Gusterson (2009: 48) points out, its ‘proponents saw Camelot as an enlightened attempt to reduce the use of military firepower by using social science to forestall the emergence of insurgencies in the first place’. Yet, the project was shut down amid controversy when peace researcher Johan Galtung made it public. Even after its cancellation, Camelot remained of concern to anthropologists because field research in Latin America was hampered by fears among co-researchers and research subjects that US researchers might pass information to the CIA (Gusterson, 2009: 48). Lucas notes, however, that Camelot ‘hardly involved any anthropologists’; the problem was not that anthropologists had committed actual wrongs, but that the project undermined anthropological research in Latin America (Lucas, 2009: 60). Around the same time, anthropologists were found to advise the Pentagon in respect of Southeast Asian villages. The ensuing controversy within the profession led to the adoption, in 1971, of the first ethics code by the AAA (Gusterson, 2009: 48–9; AAA, 1971). This code ‘used strong language to condemn anthropological participation in secret research and affirm anthropologists’ primary obligation ... to those they study’ (Gusterson, 2009: 49). Gusterson (2009: 49; see also Fosher, 2010a: 179) suggests that the discipline reacted strongly in part because ‘anthropology’s unique research method ... involves forging deep bonds of trust with human beings in order to learn about their world’. Without the trust of those they study, anthropologists are unable to do their research; hence, the stakes are high if this trust is placed in jeopardy.

The HTS controversy seems to recall the one over Camelot in two ways. First, anthropologists are again embroiled in controversy over a project that involves few of them but may have serious ramifications for their discipline. Second, in objecting to HTS, anthropologists have again framed the problem in terms of professional ethics, now armed with an ethics code that has been revised since its initial formulation (AAA, 1998). Hence, to a significant extent, the debate is not about the merits and dangers of HTS per se, but about what it is appropriate for anthropologists to do. As Lucas says, the ‘controversy has been framed ... primarily as a matter of “ethics” and “professional ethics”’ (Lucas, 2009: 8; emphasis in original).

The 2007 AAA Executive Board statement on HTS identifies not least the problems anthropologists participating in the programme would face in appropriately disclosing their identity and research agenda, doubts over their ability to fulfil their obligation not to harm those they study, and problems in obtaining voluntary informed consent as reasons for its disapproval, making reference to regulations within the AAA Code of Ethics. The CEAUSSIC report (2009: 42) similarly identifies the failure to acknowledge core concerns of the ethics code in HTS design as a problem, especially ‘concerns that relate to: the establishment of voluntary consent, taking care to insure that no harm comes to research participants as a result of HTS research, and full disclosure to research participants’ of what will be done with collected data’. The Code clearly establishes that the ‘primary ethical obligations’ of anthropological researchers are ‘to the peoples, species, and materials they study and to the people with whom they work’. These obligations ‘can supersede the goal of seeking knowledge’ and include the obligation to ‘avoid harm or wrong’ (AAA, 2009: Section III, A1). ⁹ The CEAUSSIC report (2009: 18) further points out that ‘if HTS is a research organization, then it would be required to comply with federal law for human subjects protection’. That HTS has avoided oversight by an Institutional Review Board (IRB) is politely called ‘unusual’ (CEAUSSIC, 2009: 42; see also CEAUSSIC, 2009: 47). ¹⁰

To assess the seriousness of the concern that participation in HTS would constitute or likely entail a breach of professional ethics – especially in relation to the crucial ‘no harm’ principle – it is necessary to know what is done with the information generated. The extent to which data gathered by HTTs may be used for ‘lethal targeting’ or could be used ‘to the detriment of informants’ in other ways is a key issue (CEAUSSIC, 2009: 32). While the Human Terrain Team Handbook and other publications claim that information generated through HTS is not used for lethal targeting, it is difficult to see how such a separation could be maintained, especially if social scientists are tasked with providing mission-relevant information. The CEAUSSIC report highlights the admission – in a response by HTS to a query from the commission – that it is possible that those who interact with HTTs may become subject to ‘lethal targeting’, even if by insurgent groups rather than US forces. Of course, ‘ethically, it would not matter who does the targeting’ (CEAUSSIC, 2009: 32).

King (2009: 16) describes an ethical dilemma involving the handling of information from his HTS deployment: he was asked by a military intelligence officer to identify individuals who, in interviews, had indicated their willingness to work for the insurgents if they became unemployed. King recounts asking himself whether his primary responsibility was towards his research subjects or their potential victims should they contribute to the insurgency, and how he might protect both. After discussions among his team, the decision was taken not to disclose individuals’ identities for three reasons: (1) in order to keep the promise of anonymity; (2) because they ‘wanted to maintain IRB standards of protection’; and (3) because they ‘did not know the validity of their comments, which were statements of general attitudes about the hypothetical future, not statements of intent to harm’ (King, 2009: 16). This decision was accepted by the Brigade Combat Team commander, and King (2009: 16) concludes that contributing directly ‘at the site where research is done’ is more valuable than merely teaching in classrooms. Nevertheless, given King’s report, it seems difficult to dispute the CEAUSSIC report’s conclusion that ‘in a circumstance in which tactical military goals are preeminent, and in which members of HTTs regularly negotiate circumstances of uncertainty of the battle space, and in which their data can circulate in ways not entirely under their control, ethical practices are, to say the least, challenging to maintain’ (CEAUSSIC, 2009: 48). After all, King’s list of reasons implies that he might have taken a different decision had the threat posed by his research subjects been more concrete.

Moreover, in King’s case, the HTT is aware of the significance of concrete pieces of information and able to prevent their circulation. What his considerations cannot address is the broader contribution of providing knowledge. This wider issue is illustrated in a response by Lieutenant Colonel Gian P. Gentile to blog postings by HTT member Marcus Griffin: ‘Don’t fool yourself. These Human Terrain Teams whether they want to acknowledge it or not, in a generalized and subtle way, do at some point contribute to the collective knowledge of a commander which allows him to target and kill the enemy in the Civil War in Iraq’ (cited in González, 2009: 68). This concern is reinforced by a shift in HTS practice towards more of an intelligence-analysis function (Burke, 2010: 35). Thus, the ‘no harm’ principle seems severely undermined, and González (2009: 3) argues that ‘HTS represents a perversion of social science because it puts at risk Afghans and Iraqis who share information about their lives with embedded social scientists’.

The limits of ethics

Given the Code of Ethics, and the evident problems in fulfilling its requirements regarding voluntary informed consent and above all the protection from harm of research subjects, it seems that no self-respecting AAA member should contribute to HTS (see also Gusterson, 2010a). The matter is serious: people might be killed as a result of information provided to the military by anthropologists on HTS deployment. Indeed, few anthropologists have been prepared to participate, despite the financial incentives (Gusterson, 2010b: 293). Yet, the strength of the reaction – and the need for a 72-page report – indicates that things are not straightforward. HTS has, as Price (2009) points out, generated great ‘friction’ among anthropologists, and some have joined. It is perhaps important that the AAA Code is not binding; it is a ‘guideline’ (AAA, 2009: Introduction).

The upshot of a critique derived from professional ethics is not primarily that HTS is problematic but that it is problematic for anthropologists to participate. It is clearly appropriate for anthropologists to consider their position, and arguably it would be inappropriate for their professional organizations to express views on matters other than the concerns of the discipline. Nevertheless, the focus on the Code allows for the conclusion – especially given the claim that it is anthropology’s unique research method that makes objecting to HTS so vital – that the solution is to employ other social scientists. One vocal critic seems to suggest just this. According to Price (2009), ‘anthropology is not political science, and anthropologists have different commitments to those who share their lives and vulnerabilities with them’, which implies that it might be acceptable for political scientists to contribute. ¹¹ The problem is that the articulation of critique in terms of the professional ethics of a particular subgroup of social scientists makes it possible for that critique to be ‘quarantined’ (Gusterson, 2011).

The suggestion that anthropologists are marked out by their profounder care for their research subjects might not only be insulting to other social scientists; it also obscures that the requirements of ethics have been as controversial in anthropology as elsewhere in the social sciences (Lucas, 2009: 25–50). Indeed, they continue to be so. ¹² Debates over extending the remit of IRBs to the social sciences, which featured controversies not least over whether the requirement not to do harm would undermine the possibility of critical social science research (Schrag, 2010: 16 and passim), underline this. Significantly, an alternative codification exists within anthropology. When the SfAA Board expressed ‘grave concern’ about HTS, they also affirmed that providing ‘training, analysis and evaluation’ to the military could be a good thing, ‘so long as these activities are compatible with this organization’s code of ethics’ (Robinson, 2008: 12). The SfAA Code starts with the duties of disclosure, ensuring the voluntariness of participation and protecting appropriate confidentiality. Interestingly, in contrast to the AAA Code, which simply asserts the obligation to avoid harm, ¹³ the SfAA Code speaks of the duty to disclose ‘within the limits of our knowledge’ any ‘significant risks to those we study that may result from our activities’ (Robinson, 2008: 12).

What seems to be behind the SfAA’s less strident condemnation of HTS is not only the wider problematic of anthropologists studying the military or contributing in some professional capacity to activities of the military, but also the not entirely dissimilar nature of the work anthropologists do in business and industry. Some of this involvement raises ethical concerns similar to those generated by HTS. Given the fraught relations between anthropology and the US military, not least in response to past instances where anthropologists consider their expertise was exploited and their profession damaged, conducting research or consulting for the military is considered problematic, while even involvement with the military to study it as an institution may raise concerns.

The debate about the merits and problems of military anthropology – that is, researching on the military rather than for the military – is beyond the remit of this article, ¹⁴ but the problem of this distinction is significant. While HTS has attracted attention, it does not exhaust anthropologists’ involvement with the US military. Anthropologists have contributed to formulating strategy, developing training materials and writing field manuals, including the Counterinsurgency Manual (Lucas, 2009: 5). The CEAUSSIC report (2009: 45) distinguishes between participation in HTS – that is, doing what is framed as anthropological field research while being attached to forces on deployment – and educating military personnel, which is regarded as less ethically problematic because it avoids ‘role confusion (between ethnographer and supporter of military operations)’. The permissibility of such activities might also be based on contributions other than research not falling foul of the ethics code’s provision concerning the protection of research subjects. However, CEAUSSIC (2009: 26–7) also raises the question of whether what HTT members do is ‘research’ at all, potentially invalidating the critique that ethical regulations pertaining to research cannot be maintained.

Part of this debate seems concerned with what scholars may be considered to be responsible for. Is teaching military personnel how to read cultural signs in order to identify insurgents who may subsequently be killed as morally problematic as doing the identifying yourself? The Code at first sight appears to provide a clear answer, as all responsibilities in respect of teaching are to ‘students and trainees’, not those who might be affected by the impact of the teaching (AAA, 2009: Section IV). More broadly, the Code gives guidance as to whom anthropologists should be concerned about, and in what way, even though it indicates that researchers have to negotiate particular situations (AAA, 2009: Introduction). Yet, there seem to be two ways to read the Code. On the one hand, it contains various catch-all assertions suggesting that no professional activity by anthropologists may ever harm anyone; ¹⁵ on the other hand, it privileges obligations to research subjects. On the latter reading, responsibilities to others arise from studying them – that is, the Code implies the possibility of not acquiring obligations to people by not studying them. This delimitation of obligation, while perhaps appropriate for guiding anthropologists’ professional conduct, means that in a debate derived from the Code serious consideration of those who are not (potential) research subjects – most obviously, the military forces deployed to Afghanistan and Iraq – is absent. A few asides mention that having to protect social scientists in the war zone is an additional burden on troops and further places them at risk (Lucas, 2009: 154), but there is no sustained consideration of ethical issues arising in regard to military personnel. ¹⁶

The AAA Code regulating scholarly ethics implies an economy of protection in which research subjects are primary. One source of tension in terms of developing a critique that resonates beyond anthropology is that this contrasts with the military economy of protection that privileges non-combatants and co-combatants. Lucas’s book on the ethics of military anthropology, occasioned by HTS but conceived more broadly, is situated at this tension. He claims anthropologists treat their ethics code as beyond critique; he suggests that it is the code of professional ethics that is defective (Lucas, 2009: 111). Given the passion and care with which ethics is debated in AAA, ¹⁷ this seems unfair. Lucas’s point, however, is not that anthropologists are not reflective about their Code, but that they seem unwilling to read it in the context of – and see it as limited by – other codes.

Lucas roundly condemns the critical response to HTS. Although he acknowledges anthropologists’ ‘earnest and fervent desire not to be made into inadvertent accomplices in inflicting harm, misery or abuse on precious “research subjects”’ (Lucas, 2009: 19), he suggests that they are insufficiently steeped in ethical debates and poorly qualified to formulate ‘cogent responses’ to the ‘complex moral dilemmas’ they face (Lucas, 2009: 18). For Lucas, a professional code that would forbid contributing even to a just war is morally problematic. He moreover seeks to show that what he argues is the condemnation of most if not all activities that might be summarized under the heading of military anthropology rests on a prior and unexamined condemnation of the wars that are potentially supported by such activities. Given his conviction that participation in a legitimate war must remain possible, he calls the concerns of the NCA and even the AAA ‘inflammatory’ (Lucas, 2009: 7). From his perspective, making available one’s expertise to support a just military operation conducted by one’s country is not merely permissible but morally required (Lucas, 2009: 98).

The AAA Code (2009: Section III) indeed states that anthropological researchers should ‘be alert to proper demands of good citizenship’. Hence, other obligations are acknowledged. Lucas (2009: 39) himself takes just war reasoning as an unproblematic starting point, and thus his critique is not dissimilar from the anthropologists’ commitment to their Code. He simply sets his preferred set of rules (just war thinking) over another (the anthropologists’ code). Both critiques thus operate within a problematic conception of a rule-governed ethics, ¹⁸ and Lucas offers no real insights on how to negotiate clashes between the codes; he merely assumes that just war thinking – or the supposed defence of the USA – should be prioritized.

The seduction of ethics

Lucas’s critique, though unpersuasive, draws attention to a wider context and thus brings us back to the claims on behalf of HTS: the USA finds itself involved in costly counterinsurgency wars, and social scientists can help reduce the death toll. The public and indeed the military seeking expert assistance might find it surprising that in this context anthropologists consult their ethics code and declare their unavailability for the job: what could be more significant than saving lives?

Griffin (2010: 229), a vocal supporter of and participant in HTS, reveals that saving lives is a motivation when he asserts that there ‘are people likely alive and uninjured today that otherwise would not be’. While HTS members defend their work as reducing harm to civilians, the CEAUSSIC report (2009: 40) sees this as problematic, as doing so amounts to a ‘tactical support’ function. Nevertheless, saving lives seems a worthy aim. Some critics acknowledge the sincere and laudable intentions of HTS participants, while suggesting they are insufficiently attentive to wider implications of their work. The problem is not just the actual harm that may come to research subjects but also the contribution to promoting imperialism – or, as Gusterson (in Udris et al., 2010) puts it, greasing the wheels of occupation. In Price’s (2009) words, ‘no matter how anthropological contributions ease and make gentle this conquest and occupation, it will not change the larger neocolonial nature of the larger mission’, which confirms that HTS might be rejected because of a prior objection to the wars it supports.

Thus, while HTS social scientists may be well intentioned, this is beside the point. In contrast, in Lucas’s view it would be impermissible and even beyond comprehension to condemn individuals who do not have malevolent intentions (Lucas, 2009: 112, 81–102). Lucas’s is a limited way of looking at the ethical dilemmas, as he does not consider that participating in an activity known to cause harm may be problematic, even if individual events that cause actual harm are not intended (see Owens, 2003; Zehfuss, 2011).

Yet, while benign intent is insufficient to establish ethicality, intent seems significant in a different sense. González (2010: 124) rightly notes that ‘many of those who have chosen to participate in HTS appear to have done so for humanitarian reasons – in order to “do good”, or at least to prevent a horrible situation from getting worse’. Both HTS social scientists and military personnel may pursue the acquisition of cultural knowledge for benign reasons, and hence the seductiveness of the expectation that cultural expertise can contribute to making war less destructive is important. To simply dismiss such intentions as based on false consciousness, especially an inadequate grasp of US imperialism, sounds worryingly similar to the idea that insurgents oppose US occupation because they do not properly understand its purpose.

This seductive appeal has been acknowledged. In explaining the SfAA Board Resolution on HTS, Sarah Ann Robinson (2008: 11) summarizes arguments presented in the debate and recognizes them as ‘seductive’, especially ideas of ‘helping’ framed in terms of ‘speaking truth to power’ and ‘harm reduction’. Given the complexity of the issues, the board ‘decided that individual anthropologists are free to make their own choices, BUT SfAA can give guidance for legitimization’ (Robinson, 2008: 11). The resolution reflects ambiguity:

The Board of SfAA expresses grave concern about the potentially harmful use of social science knowledge and skills in the HTS project. SfAA believes that social scientists can be helpful to the military by offering training, analysis and evaluation so long as these activities are compatible with this organization’s code of ethics. (Robinson, 2008: 12)

Catherine Lutz, too, acknowledges that being asked to help improve a terrible situation is tempting, yet she urges us to consider whom one is being asked to help to do what (in Udris et al., 2010).

These interventions recognize the powerfully seductive logic of the claim that cultural knowledge may reduce levels of violence. Yet, this seduction might be based on illusion. González (2010: 111) suggests that ‘the way in which HTS has been packaged – as a kinder, gentler counterinsurgency – is completely unsupported by evidence’, and González, Gusterson and Price (2009: 17) call this idea ‘a myth and a fantasy’. Despite this, Gusterson himself admits to his ‘ambivalence’ towards how his discipline is simultaneously valued and used in problematic ways (in Udris et al., 2010).

While there are HTS enthusiasts who view others’ cultures as merely ‘terrain’ to be mastered by the military (McFate and Jackson, 2005), the more interesting question seems why benignly intentioned social scientists might be drawn in by the promise of improving war, despite the evident danger of playing ‘into the worst tradition of social science as a “handmaiden to colonialism”’ (González, 2009: 4). This issue is illustrated in a film by David Udris, James Der Derian and Michael Udris (2010) of the Watson Institute of International Studies. Part Three of Human Terrain portrays experiences and thoughts of HTS social scientist Michael Bhatia. Bhatia had been a Visiting Fellow at the Watson Institute before joining HTS. He was killed by an improvised explosive device on 7 May 2008 while on deployment in Afghanistan (Geller, 2009). In exploring Bhatia’s decision to join HTS, the film shows email correspondence, field recordings and footage of Bhatia involved in discussions about the military’s increasing interest in culture, as well as interviews with colleagues, friends and family.

Although the film acknowledges that Bhatia had run out of funding for his PhD, the evidence presented in the film shows him as someone who wanted to help not just his country but also people affected by his country’s military operations. He appears as someone who had the sorts of benign intentions acknowledged by some critics. Bhatia also saw problems; he took months to decide whether to participate. Emails sent to his academic mentor, friends and colleagues show him struggling with complex ethico-political issues both before and during his deployment. While Bhatia was a political scientist, he was aware of anthropologists’ concerns regarding professional ethics. Yet, he clearly did not find that their code provided the answer as to what he should do. ¹⁹ He worried about the question of imperialism. While he was prepared to contribute to the operation in Afghanistan, which he calls a ‘quasi-just war’, he would not have participated in the Iraq war, considering it ‘morally suspect’ (in Udris et al., 2010). Bhatia also argues that critics know too little about what HTS social scientists actually do; in one email sent while on deployment, he stresses that he is not involved in lethal targeting.

In the film, the examination of Bhatia’s decision to contribute to HTS follows on from portrayals of both military training ‘in culture’ and critics’ challenges, and we can easily see much that is wrong with the idea of culturally sensitive war (without touching on anthropologists’ professional ethics). Yet, just as we relax into having our critical attitude of what is so clearly wrong safely confirmed, the film unsettles us by portraying Bhatia as an articulate, bright young American, a respected and well-liked colleague, who somehow believed that he should help out with the counterinsurgency.

The film does everything to make Bhatia’s decision intelligible, acknowledging – but not reducing it to – the potential financial motive. What is striking is not that the film paints a favourable picture of Bhatia, but that his decision remains unintelligible. What is most striking is that those who loved him are clearly unable to understand it. Although Bhatia explains his aspirations, colleagues, friends and family struggle to provide an explanation for why, in the end, he chose to join HTS. Much as they try, they just cannot grasp it. It makes no sense. It is not what they would have done. It is not what Michael, sensibly, should have done. Despite our access to his thoughts as expressed in correspondence and conversation with others, his decision remains mysterious, his reasons unsatisfactory. Apparently, Bhatia felt an obligation to do something that he could not explain to others.

This inability to express or justify what one considers the responsible thing to do is familiar from critical engagements with the limitations of ethics. Jacques Derrida (1995: 67) famously uses Abraham’s predicament upon being told to sacrifice his son Isaac to illustrate and explore the aporia of situations within which we are called to responsibility. Derrida (1995: 61) maintains that Abraham teaches us that ‘far from ensuring responsibility, the generality of ethics incites irresponsibility’. Responsibility becomes possible only by breaking away from the ethical order and making a decision. In doing so, we find ourselves alone, unable to communicate our reasons. That is, in a moment of decision, we experience our singularity: we may neither be replaced nor helped by anyone else, because just ‘as no one can die in my place, no one can make a decision, what we call “a decision”, in my place’ (Derrida, 1995: 60). Ethics provides no answer.

Whatever his reasons, Bhatia seems to have made a decision that he could not explain by reference to ethics. In the film, Bhatia’s mother suggests that he felt some obligation to contribute to making things better, even if ‘things’ were a counterinsurgency campaign. Or perhaps he felt like Kerry Fosher (2010b: 267), who explains, regarding her view that it is good to get involved in working in ethically challenging environments such as the military, ‘while much of disciplinary attention has gone to the consequences of action, some of us also feel compelled to look at the consequences of inaction, especially in terms of individual lives’. Whatever may be the case, the issue is not to identify the applicable code. As the Introduction to the AAA Code of Ethics acknowledges (AAA, 2009), a code cannot replace the decision; indeed it ‘requires judgment’ (Fosher, 2010a: 178).

Members of the NCA suggest thinking about this differently. They want us to think about HTS in relation to what they see as a militarization of US culture (González, 2010; Lutz, 2009). Lutz argues that issues more significant than supposedly improving war should be addressed, not least the question of why military violence is pursued in the first place (in Udris et al., 2010). The question is not how ongoing wars might be conducted better but how having to pose this question could be avoided altogether in future. González (2009: 105) suggests that ‘critical ethnographies of the United States’ are needed. He notes that ‘the question of whether war is appropriate at all today’ (González, 2009: 124) is missing. Given that much debate appears to turn a wider ethico-political issue into a technical matter of the probity of particular kinds of conduct by professional anthropologists, such interventions are important. As González (2010: 105) notes, though ‘anthropological concerns over the uses and misuses of ethnographies are important, they pale in comparison to the potential effects upon people in the Middle East, North Africa, and Central Asia as US military and intelligence agencies relentlessly seek “cultural knowledge” about these regions’.

Yet, if the problem is the militarization of US society, it is not clear why contributing to HTS should be particularly problematic. From this perspective, HTS is epiphenomenal. Precisely because this is a powerful argument, Griffin’s (2010: 229) suggestion that we might be treating HTS ‘as some kind of whipping child for [our] anxiety about U.S. forces being in Iraq’ seems plausible. HTS may have gained attention as it appears the main site where anthropologists are making a tangible contribution to the imperial project, rather than because HTS is likely to have the most far-reaching impact.

It is clear that HTS social scientists may be accused of complicity in the politico-military context within which they have chosen to work. They may be accused of facilitating US imperialism and its deadly consequences. Critics of HTS sometimes imply that non-participation avoids complicity. So Brian McKenna (2008: 13) asserts that ‘“Human Terrain” anthropologists are with imperialism. I’m with Gramsci.’ And Kevin Caffrey (2010: 341) argues that ‘our only reasonable contribution if we want to avoid complicity is at the level of strategy’, taking it for granted that avoiding complicity is possible. Much like HTS social scientists who stress that they are not involved in lethal targeting, these critics want to demarcate the extent of their responsibility. Staying the right side of the line is to ensure they are not implicated in the deaths of those killed in counterinsurgency operations. Yet, crude distinctions cannot obscure that matters are complicated, given especially the plausible argument that society at large is implicated in the militarization that enables war.

Price (2010: 259) asks whether ‘anthropologists voluntarily making the cultural ways of occupied people vulnerable to military occupiers expect they ... will get a free pass because they did not break the societies they imagine they are fixing’. He worries his colleagues contributing to HTS may expect to be let off, ethically speaking, just as soldiers are if they participate in questionable behaviour. While HTS social scientists do seem to want to distinguish what they do from deadly military operations, one could equally argue – taking into account Bhatia’s reflections – that they instead think that there are no free passes in life. Bhatia and others seem to suggest that when you find yourself possibly being able to help protect those exposed to violence by your country’s military, you do not have the option of drawing a line around your obligations such that they are outside.