Drone Warfare

by Medea Benjamin

  In a surprising turn of events, at the end of the trial Judge Jansen declared that the issues at stake were too important to make an immediate ruling and gave himself four months to analyze the case. On January 27, 2011, the judge handed down his twenty-page decision. He found the group guilty of the crime of trespassing, concluding that they had been unable to prove their conduct was compelled by true “necessity.” But he gave the defendants credit for the time they had already spent in jail and declared them free to go. “Go in peace,” were Jansen’s final words.

  While the defendants were hoping for a non-guilty verdict, they knew they had won a victory no matter the ultimate ruling. As defendant Brian Terrell said in his closing statement, “Some have noted that the trend toward using drones in warfare is a paradigm shift that can be compared to what happened when an atomic bomb was first used to destroy the city of Hiroshima in Japan. When Hiroshima was bombed, though, the whole world knew that everything had changed. Today everything is changing, but it goes almost without notice. I hesitate to claim credit for it, but there is certainly more discussion of this issue after we were arrested for trespassing at Creech Air Force Base on April 9, 2009, than there was before.”267

  The transcript of that trial was so riveting that it was later turned into a play that is being used by religious groups as an educational tool. And the Creech 14 inspired similar protests, including one clear across the country in upstate New York.

  On April 22, 2011, over three hundred activists organized by the local Upstate Coalition to Ground the Drones and End the Wars descended upon the Air National Guard Base at Hancock Field in Syracuse, New York. They chose the location because the National Guard at the base had been remotely flying weaponized Reaper drones over Afghanistan since late 2009.

  As they approached the entrance, thirty-eight of them—two in wheelchairs—draped themselves in white cloth splattered with fake blood and dropped to the ground, a dramatic “die-in” intended to represent civilians killed in drone attacks. Dozens of police rushed in to intervene. After protesters refused to get up, they were forcibly removed in handcuffs.

  The “Hancock 38,” as they came to be known, were charged with obstruction of traffic and disorderly conduct. When they went to court on November 3, 2011, they, too, got former US Attorney General Ramsey Clark to testify on their behalf. Clark insisted that drones inherently violate the laws of the United States and international law, and that the crimes the Hancock 38 had been charged with paled in comparison to the crimes the defendants were trying to stop.

  Outside the courthouse, dozens of people staged a mock drone attack, complete with a three-dimensional drone model, someone “manning” the drone from behind a computer, civilian victims covered in fake blood and a man labeled “Al Qaeda Recruiter” who was using the deaths to gain more recruits.

  The final verdict of the case was delivered December 1, 2011. Judge Gideon found the defendants guilty on two charges of disorderly conduct, with sentences ranging from fines and community service to the maximum penalty of fifteen days in jail. The judge admitted that he had spent “many a sleepless night” before making his decision and that he learned a great deal during the five-day non-jury trial. “Ultimately, the defendants have arguably accomplished that which they sought by their actions—the drawing of acute attention to their message,” he concluded.

  The Creech 14 and the Hancock 38 are just two examples of the growing US protest movement against the use of drones. In Pakistan and Yemen, people are pouring out into the streets by the thousands to condemn drone attacks that have devastated their communities. But in the US and Europe, where the effects of the drones are hidden from public view, activists have been slowly shaping the foundation of an anti-drone movement. Still in its early stages, the movement lacks clear strategies with tangible goals. But as it evolves, it may well prove to be as successful as earlier campaigns to ban landmines and cluster bombs.

  One of the few American peace activists who have traveled dozens of times to Iraq and Afghanistan is Kathy Kelly, co-coordinator of Voices for Creative Nonviolence. During a trip to Afghanistan, Kelly wrote this report:

  I met with a large family living in a wretched refugee camp. They had fled their homes in the San Gin district of the Helmand Province after a drone attack killed a mother there and her five children. The woman’s husband showed us photos of his children’s bloodied corpses. His niece, Juma Gul, age nine, had survived the attack. She and I huddled next to each other inside a hut made of mud on a chilly December morning. Juma Gul’s father stooped in front of us and gently unzipped her jacket, showing me that his daughter’s arm had been amputated by shrapnel when the US missile hit their home in San Gin. Next to Juma Gul was her brother, whose leg had been mangled in the attack. He apparently has no access to adequate medical care and experiences constant pain. 268

  Back in the 1980s, when the US government was funding and arming right-wing death squads in Central America, one of the strategies the peace movement employed was to organize hundreds of delegations to the region. Through these direct experiences, thousands of people became educated on the injustices being funded with their tax dollars and became motivated to do something about it. Returning delegates formed the heart and soul of the peace movement. But those trips to Central America were quick, inexpensive and relatively safe. Trips to places like Afghanistan and Iraq are costly and dangerous.

  Despite the dangers, Voices for Creative Nonviolence organizes delegations to Afghanistan because they know how important it is to create a core of committed activists with firsthand knowledge. Kelly’s colleague Brian Terrell recalls how profoundly he was impacted when, on one of the Afghan trips, he met a nine-year-old girl who had lost her arm in a drone air attack. “That still haunts me,” Terrell said. “Drones are predators armed with Hellfire missiles, and the concept that peace could come from these killing machines is ridiculous.”269

  Unlike Kelly, Nancy Mancias has never been to those places halfway across the world where the US is unleashing its killer drones, but this has not dampened her resolve. Mancias runs the Ground the Drones campaign for the peace group that I co-founded, CODEPINK. As a passionate anti-war advocate, Mancias has been actively trying to bring the troops home from their overseas misadventures. She has also been part of the movement against torture and a proponent of closing the prison in Guantánamo, as well as a fierce believer in accountability for war crimes. She alerts people around the country when war criminals like George Bush or Dick Cheney will be speaking, encouraging them to try to make a citizen’s arrest or at the very least some ruckus—the latter being something Mancias herself is famous for.

  Like many in the anti-war movement, Mancias views her work against drones as a natural extension of her efforts to promote peace. “The troops may come home from Iraq and Afghanistan, but drone attacks for extra-judicial assassinations will likely continue throughout the Middle East, Central Asia and Northern Africa. That’s why it’s so critical to draw attention to drones and build a movement to stop them,” she said. Mancias collaborates in creative actions and public forums with groups like Voices for Creative Nonviolence, Nevada Desert Experience, Syracuse Peace Council, Catholic Workers, Pace e Bene, and others across the United States.

  Another well-known activist focusing on drones is Jim Haber, who became involved in the movement after he found himself living near Creech Air Force Base. In 2008, Haber moved to Las Vegas to take a job with Nevada Desert Experience, an antinuclear organization that has been part of the movement against nuclear weapons testing since the early 1980s. He realized that every time he traveled from Las Vegas to the Nevada Test Site, he passed by one of the key hubs for operating UAVs around the world. “I couldn’t pass Creech Air Force Base and not do anything about what goes on there—or rather, what is controlled from there,” said Haber. “So I started articulating the connection between drones and antinuclear work, pointing out that nuclear weapons are the chronic underpinning of US military projection whil
e drones and other emerging robotic weapons are the acute forces in use today.”

  Haber is also connected to the Catholic Worker movement, a group of communities around the United States dedicated to helping the poor and practicing nonviolent resistance against injustice. Many Catholic Workers feel that resisting drones is part of their spiritual commitment. That’s true for Mary Anne Grady and two of her sisters. All three were a part of the Hancock 38 group that got arrested for protesting drones in upstate New York. “The Bible says that all life is sacred,” said Grady. “We need to expose the use of drones and the expansion of militarism, which does not respect the sacredness of life.”

  It’s not only seasoned activists and religious communities taking a stand against drones. Even veteran government officials have come forward. Retired CIA analyst Ray McGovern is one of the most outspoken critics of drones. He is a frequent commentator on TV, railing against drone warfare and the civilian casualties they cause. McGovern not only gives talks, writes articles and blogs, he joins protests and gets arrested for his convictions.

  So does retired US Army Colonel Ann Wright. While her home is in beautiful Honolulu, Hawaii, Wright generally lives out of a suitcase, traveling the country speaking out about the need for peace, always making a point to educate her audiences about the dangers of drones. And like McGovern, she doesn’t just speak out: she puts her body on the line, racking up so many arrests that her profile is on a FBI criminal database.

  Activists in other countries, such as Britain and Sweden, have also become involved in the anti-drone movement, many prompted by their own countries’ complicity in the use of UAVs in Afghanistan and elsewhere. Agneta Norberg, a Swedish activist with the group Women for Peace, started protesting drones when she discovered that Sweden had purchased UAVs from Israel and was training drone pilots in Sweden. Appalled, in October 2011 she helped organize the Swedish Peace Council’s conference on drones and joins others to vigil in front of Parliament.

  In England, groups such as Fellowship of Reconciliation, England and Women in Black regularly hold vigils. Helen John, a decades-long campaigner against nuclear weapons, now keeps vigil at the Royal Air Force base at Waddington, UK, where drone pilots are located. But she doesn’t just keep vigil. The 73-year-old activist has camped outside the Waddington base for weeks at a time, and has cut holes in the fence and broken inside. Nonviolent confrontation and improvisation, she believes, can turn tiny protests into big, influential ones. “I don’t believe in the use of any weaponry, but there is something quite noble about someone who is prepared to lay down their life [in combat],” John told a reporter. “But sitting in an air-conditioned room thousands of miles away…killing by remote control. These weapons are a complete departure from civilised behaviour. That’s why we need to stir up as many problems as possible for this place,” she added, referring to the air force base.270

  The Nevada Desert Experience, Voices for Creative Nonviolence, Nevada County Peace Center, CODEPINK and others in the US hold vigils at least once a month outside US air bases.

  Activists target bases for two reasons: First, they have the chance to interact with military personnel as they hand out information to people in their cars entering and leaving the base. Sometimes they even get a chance to interact with the soldiers who operate the drones, reminding them of their commitment to the rule of law and their obligation not to follow illegal orders. Second, having a presence at a base also informs the local community. It’s hard for folks living or commuting past the bases to miss the protesters’ messages, which come in the form of anything from large, colorful banners to lifelike model drones. Activists also invite the press to join them, hoping to reach a broader audience.

  Debra Sweet, the director of the anti-war group The World Can’t Wait, suggests reaching out to a different audience: students at middle schools and high schools. Sweet visits students to talk to them about the wars and warn students that the government is on the prowl for video game geeks they can recruit to operate drones. She often brings along Iraq and Afghanistan war vets from the group We Are Not Your Soldiers to share personal testimonies.

  Some activists have taken their message to public venues that glorify war, like the drone exhibit at the Smithsonian Air and Space Museum in Washington, DC. In January 2010, a group called Peace of the Action—started by anti-war activist Cindy Sheehan, who lost her son in the war in Iraq—entered the museum and dropped a banner next to the drone exhibit reading: DRONES KILL KIDS. A few months later, they not only unfurled a massive, multi-story banner that read DRONES: VIDEO GAME FOR US, BLOOD-BATH FOR THEM, but they also dropped hundreds of fliers explaining why they opposed drones, fliers that floated through the air into the hands of the unsuspecting tourists below.

  Organizer Nick Mottern also takes his anti-drone message to public venues, but he brings along a special home-made prop: an eight-foot-long model drone with an eleven-foot wingspan that floats through the air perched atop a ten-foot-high sheet rock lifter rolling on oversized wheels. People passing by stop in their tracks and ask questions, providing a window of opportunity to discuss robotic warfare. “Throughout my entire anti-war activist career, dating back to the Gulf War, I have never seen a sign or prop cause so much curiosity and interest,” said Mottern.

  Now retired and living in Westchester, New York, Mottern was first inspired to make the drones when he discovered that one of the companies in his community, ITT Corporation, manufactures the bomb releases on Predator drones. Outraged, Mottern suggested staging a war profiteers march near the house of CEO Steven Loranger. Wanting to visually convey the trauma of drone terrorism to Loranger, Mottern built the model drone. The media loved it, publishing several pictures in the local paper.

  Since then Mottern and his colleagues have made several models, displaying them to audiences around the country as they give talks on robotic warfare. In October 2011 they made a guest appearance at Occupy Wall Street in New York City’s Financial District, and later in an anti-drone demonstration at a General Atomics building in Washington, DC. They are such a hit that activists as far away as Australia have contacted them asking how to make models for their own protests.

  Mottern’s next move is to install video cameras in the nose of the drones, setting a computer next to them so people can get a taste of what it’s like to have drones watching their every move.

  Activist Jean Aguerre is not trying to educate people about drone warfare; she’s trying to keep drones out of her community. Aguerre grew up on a ranch in southeast Colorado near the Comanche National Grasslands—land that had been reclaimed from the devastating Dust Bowl back in the 1930s. For thirty years, local residents have been fighting back against the military’s expansion into this delicate bioregion, but the fight has intensified with the advent of drones because the Army has its eye set on seizing 6.9 million acres of shortgrass prairie for unmanned aerial development, low altitude flights and robotic weaponry testing.

  The military acquisition would take up 94,000 square miles of mostly private property, displacing thousands of Coloradans. And the civilian airspace for a robotic flight zone would reach across state lines, across sovereign indigenous nations, across national parks. It would extend as far north as Aspen, Colorado and as far south as Albuquerque, New Mexico.271

  Aguerre’s group, the Not 1 More Acre campaign, has taken a firm stand against the proposal and in 2007 achieved an overwhelming bipartisan vote in Congress to ban funding for any activity related to expanding the site. They have motivated people across the nation to petition Congress, successfully renewing the ban each year since. To keep tabs on what the government is up to, campaigners often send in Freedom of Information Act requests that reveal the government’s plans, contracts and activities advancing the military takeover of southern Colorado and northern New Mexico, including the last intact shortgrass prairie remaining in the American Great Plains.

  Activists around the country have also begun targeting the places where the drones are made and
the people who are receiving multi-million dollar contracts to produce them.272

  One of the most popular targets for direct actions is dronemaker extraordinaire General Atomics. Numerous protests have taken place at their offices, but some activists have gone even further—paying a visit to the home of their CEO, James Neal Blue.

  On May 18, 2010, my colleagues at CODEPINK held a somber vigil outside the CEO’s elegant residence in La Jolla, California. They arrived at 10 am to find several news vans and police cars waiting for them. Unfurling banners that read, “Drone Attacks = Terror,” the protesters set up a small altar with roses and candles to commemorate the children killed in drone attacks.

  The next day, they organized the first-ever protest outside the General Atomics corporate headquarters in San Diego. News of the vigil at James Blue’s house the day before had spread quickly, and members of the community informed the activists that some of the General Atomics employees had decided to stay home to avoid the attention. But the company’s leadership had also gone through the trouble and expense of renting a 7-foot-high chain-link fence to surround the headquarters’ entire perimeter. They were certainly afraid of a handful of peaceful protesters!

  When the peace activists began arriving at 7:30 am, they “beautified” the rent-a-fence by adding roses and banners with messages like “Stop Drone Attacks” and “General Atomics, Your Profits = Civilian Deaths.”