.
Distance between the UAV operator and the target makes killing easier, and that is the problem.
At 412 million dollars per unit, the F-22 Raptor - though a marvel of military engineering and the zenith of manned fighter aircraft – cannot be considered a viable model for the future of military air power. It is therefore possibly the last major manned combat aircraft that the United States will build, the F-35 Joint Strike Fighter notwithstanding. The future belongs to unmanned aircraft, technically termed Unmanned Aerial Vehicles or UAVs.
The inevitability of this becomes apparent when examining their advantages over manned systems: they are far less expensive, can remain airborne far longer, and could perform manoeuvres which no human body could withstand. In short, they offer capabilities and value for money that manned aircraft simply will not be able to match.
The US military – along with most others – is investing heavily in UAVs. Initially used only in intelligence, surveillance and reconnaissance roles, the War on Terror demonstrated their utility as strike weapons. When platforms like the MQ-1 Predator and MQ-9 Reaper married the laser-guided Hellfire missile, it was a clear sign of things to come.
So as UAVs take over from manned aircraft in the foreseeable future, what will this mean for warfare? Though this is an infinitely complex question, one glaring aspect is that war fighting will increasingly become directed from afar, in other words, by remote control.
Distance, though, is not merely a technological consideration but has psychological, sociological, and ultimately cultural implications for individuals engaged in war fighting and for the societies to which they belong.
For, by definition, distance separates them from their actions, and shields them from the consequences of those actions.
The distance between the activation and the effect inherent in remotely controlled weaponry means that killing has become an almost surreal act, as it is possible to simply turn off the monitor or leave the control booth and go back into the “real world,” leaving the “abstract world” of war, along with its emotional baggage, behind. Out of sight is out of mind.
Personal interaction can restrain us, as one is confronted with a real person, whereas an abstract representation of a person on a computer screen can more easily be de-humanised and categorised as “target.” Clinical, not personal, killing.
It is already standard practice in the military to afford cryptic terms to acts of warfare: “neutralize” not kill, “collateral damage” not dead civilians, in other words, to separate soldiers from the gruesome reality and its emotional trauma in order to make the job easier. This practice could be termed “emotional censorship.”
Technology will provide the unprecedented capacity to take this emotional censorship further and make war a computer game operated by detached “players.” Increasing system autonomy will only make the process easier – self drive for lethal air strikes.
Coincidentally - or by design - this paradigm shift in war fighting is coinciding and will coincide with the Call of Duty generation progressing up the chain of command and executing decision-making functions.
It is inevitable that this generation is desensitised - at least to some degree - to something which follows a similar and familiar format to that with which they have grown up. This is not to call them callous but only human who, as a species, can be conditioned and can get used to almost any situation as “normality.”
Of course UAV operators do experience the ethical qualms of killing without risk, and must ask themselves the question “is this honourable?” Along with being trained with the skills to kill, soldiers are imbued with the warrior ethos, where bravery and sacrifice are elevated as ideals. A band of brothers forged in combat – spilling the same blood in the same mud.
How then to reconcile sitting in a recliner chair in an air conditioned room, pushing the button that ends anonymous and oblivious lives five miles below their invisible UAV which is half a world away, and then clocking out and driving home to a family barbeque? This criticism is not directed against the individuals following orders, but against the evolving system which puts them in that position.
This ethical conundrum combined with other strains means that UAV operators do suffer from mental health problems such as Post Traumatic Stress Disorder or PTSD. Studies suggest that UAV operators suffer PTSD at the same rate as that suffered by pilots of manned aircraft. Others however are sceptical, claiming that PTSD originally arose from being faced with the existential question “Am I going to die?” and that the concept has been diluted to apply to a much wider – and milder - range of mental health problems than originally envisioned.
When one considers the difference in the number, and intensity, of stimuli on the senses experienced by UAV operators compared to those experienced by manned combat aircraft pilots - who see the munitions loaded onto their aircraft, smell the jet fuel, feel its engines and the sudden change in weight upon weapon release - the experience must be more real for the latter and, therefore, its emotional and psychological impact greater. They also have a more tangible stake in the action as they are subject to the risk of being shot down and therefore face the question “Am I going to die?”
That remote control warfare makes killing easier is not just applicable to those carrying it out, but also to those who order it. This distance mode of warfare offers political decision-makers a convenient and more acceptable option to use lethal force abroad than boots on the ground or the logistical commitment of manned combat sorties, along with the worries over domestic public opinion that these entail.
It is logical to assume that this will lower the bar for using lethal force abroad and, hence, increase its frequency. Killing is therefore set to become emotionally, politically and culturally more acceptable as machines do more and more of the “dirty work” for us.
The inevitable diffusion of technology means that this will not only be a Western phenomenon, but increasingly a global one. The list of countries with military UAV programmes is continuously growing and as armies race towards remote controlled and autonomous methods of killing, its implications for the value of human life are both far-reaching and extremely worrying.
The decision to kill and the act of doing so should never be easy, and any technology which makes it so, regardless of how effective, should not be embraced but questioned.
About the Author: Markus Heinrich holds a Master’s Degree in International Relations, specialising in the European defence industry. He has written on defence policy and technology for magazines, international legal and risk consultancies and academic journals. His publications include: “The Eurofighter Typhoon Programme: Economic and Industrial Implications of Collaborative Defence Manufacturing” (Defence Studies, Volume 15, Issue 4) and “Together is Better: Overcoming Resistance to European Defence Integration” (The European Security and Defence Union, Issue No. 21).
The views presented in this article are the author’s own and do not necessarily represent the views of any other organization.
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War by Remote Control: Is it Becoming Easier to Kill?
WAR
September 2, 2016
Distance between the UAV operator and the target makes killing easier, and that is the problem.
At 412 million dollars per unit, the F-22 Raptor - though a marvel of military engineering and the zenith of manned fighter aircraft – cannot be considered a viable model for the future of military air power. It is therefore possibly the last major manned combat aircraft that the United States will build, the F-35 Joint Strike Fighter notwithstanding. The future belongs to unmanned aircraft, technically termed Unmanned Aerial Vehicles or UAVs.
The inevitability of this becomes apparent when examining their advantages over manned systems: they are far less expensive, can remain airborne far longer, and could perform manoeuvres which no human body could withstand. In short, they offer capabilities and value for money that manned aircraft simply will not be able to match.
The US military – along with most others – is investing heavily in UAVs. Initially used only in intelligence, surveillance and reconnaissance roles, the War on Terror demonstrated their utility as strike weapons. When platforms like the MQ-1 Predator and MQ-9 Reaper married the laser-guided Hellfire missile, it was a clear sign of things to come.
So as UAVs take over from manned aircraft in the foreseeable future, what will this mean for warfare? Though this is an infinitely complex question, one glaring aspect is that war fighting will increasingly become directed from afar, in other words, by remote control.
Distance, though, is not merely a technological consideration but has psychological, sociological, and ultimately cultural implications for individuals engaged in war fighting and for the societies to which they belong.
For, by definition, distance separates them from their actions, and shields them from the consequences of those actions.
The distance between the activation and the effect inherent in remotely controlled weaponry means that killing has become an almost surreal act, as it is possible to simply turn off the monitor or leave the control booth and go back into the “real world,” leaving the “abstract world” of war, along with its emotional baggage, behind. Out of sight is out of mind.
Personal interaction can restrain us, as one is confronted with a real person, whereas an abstract representation of a person on a computer screen can more easily be de-humanised and categorised as “target.” Clinical, not personal, killing.
It is already standard practice in the military to afford cryptic terms to acts of warfare: “neutralize” not kill, “collateral damage” not dead civilians, in other words, to separate soldiers from the gruesome reality and its emotional trauma in order to make the job easier. This practice could be termed “emotional censorship.”
Technology will provide the unprecedented capacity to take this emotional censorship further and make war a computer game operated by detached “players.” Increasing system autonomy will only make the process easier – self drive for lethal air strikes.
Coincidentally - or by design - this paradigm shift in war fighting is coinciding and will coincide with the Call of Duty generation progressing up the chain of command and executing decision-making functions.
It is inevitable that this generation is desensitised - at least to some degree - to something which follows a similar and familiar format to that with which they have grown up. This is not to call them callous but only human who, as a species, can be conditioned and can get used to almost any situation as “normality.”
Of course UAV operators do experience the ethical qualms of killing without risk, and must ask themselves the question “is this honourable?” Along with being trained with the skills to kill, soldiers are imbued with the warrior ethos, where bravery and sacrifice are elevated as ideals. A band of brothers forged in combat – spilling the same blood in the same mud.
How then to reconcile sitting in a recliner chair in an air conditioned room, pushing the button that ends anonymous and oblivious lives five miles below their invisible UAV which is half a world away, and then clocking out and driving home to a family barbeque? This criticism is not directed against the individuals following orders, but against the evolving system which puts them in that position.
This ethical conundrum combined with other strains means that UAV operators do suffer from mental health problems such as Post Traumatic Stress Disorder or PTSD. Studies suggest that UAV operators suffer PTSD at the same rate as that suffered by pilots of manned aircraft. Others however are sceptical, claiming that PTSD originally arose from being faced with the existential question “Am I going to die?” and that the concept has been diluted to apply to a much wider – and milder - range of mental health problems than originally envisioned.
When one considers the difference in the number, and intensity, of stimuli on the senses experienced by UAV operators compared to those experienced by manned combat aircraft pilots - who see the munitions loaded onto their aircraft, smell the jet fuel, feel its engines and the sudden change in weight upon weapon release - the experience must be more real for the latter and, therefore, its emotional and psychological impact greater. They also have a more tangible stake in the action as they are subject to the risk of being shot down and therefore face the question “Am I going to die?”
That remote control warfare makes killing easier is not just applicable to those carrying it out, but also to those who order it. This distance mode of warfare offers political decision-makers a convenient and more acceptable option to use lethal force abroad than boots on the ground or the logistical commitment of manned combat sorties, along with the worries over domestic public opinion that these entail.
It is logical to assume that this will lower the bar for using lethal force abroad and, hence, increase its frequency. Killing is therefore set to become emotionally, politically and culturally more acceptable as machines do more and more of the “dirty work” for us.
The inevitable diffusion of technology means that this will not only be a Western phenomenon, but increasingly a global one. The list of countries with military UAV programmes is continuously growing and as armies race towards remote controlled and autonomous methods of killing, its implications for the value of human life are both far-reaching and extremely worrying.
The decision to kill and the act of doing so should never be easy, and any technology which makes it so, regardless of how effective, should not be embraced but questioned.
About the Author: Markus Heinrich holds a Master’s Degree in International Relations, specialising in the European defence industry. He has written on defence policy and technology for magazines, international legal and risk consultancies and academic journals. His publications include: “The Eurofighter Typhoon Programme: Economic and Industrial Implications of Collaborative Defence Manufacturing” (Defence Studies, Volume 15, Issue 4) and “Together is Better: Overcoming Resistance to European Defence Integration” (The European Security and Defence Union, Issue No. 21).
The views presented in this article are the author’s own and do not necessarily represent the views of any other organization.
