Secrecy and Structure: the Social Organisation of Clandestine Groups

Secrecy and Structure: The Social Organisation of Clandestine Groups

A thesis submitted to The University of Manchester for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy in the Faculty of Humanities

2016

RACHEL STEVENSON

School of Social Sciences

Contents

Description Page Number

List of Figures & Tables ………………………………………...... 4

List of Abbreviations ………………………………………………. 6

Abstract …………………………………………………………….. 7

Declaration and Copyright Statement ……………………………… 8

1. Introduction……………………………………………………… 10

2. The Structure of Covert Groups ………………………………… 13 2.1 Density ……………………………………………….... 16 2.1.1. Advocates of Low Density …………………. 16 2.1.2 Security through Density and Closure ………. 24 2.2 Centralisation ………………………………………….. 28 2.2.1 Advocates of Decentralisation ………………. 29 2.2.2 Advocates of Centralisation …………………. 33 2.3 Cells, Cliques and Clusters …………………………….. 38 2.4 Conclusion ……………………………………………... 43

3. Covert Networks and the Social Processes of Secrecy ………….. 45 3.1 The Nature of Secrecy and its Role in Society ………… 49 3.2 Group Secrecy: Nature, Functions and Practices ……… 52 3.3 Secrecy and Structure ………………………………….. 61 3.4 Secrecy and Information Control ………………………. 64 3.5 Perspectives on secrecy ………………………………… 66 3.6 Conclusion ……………………………………………… 67

4. Methodology ……………………………………………………… 69 4.1 Case Studies ……………………………………………... 70 4.2 Data Collection ………………………………………….. 74 4.3 Limitations and Defence of the Sources ………………… 78 4.4 Ethics ……………………………………………………. 82

5. The Secrecy and Structure of the Right Club …………………….. 83 5.1 Density …………………………………………………... 84 5.1.1 Density: Analysis ……………………………… 86 5.1.2 Density: Discussion …………………………… 87 5.1.3 Density: Findings ……………………………… 91 5.2 De/Centralisation …………………………………………. 92 5.2.1 De/Centralisation: Analysis ……………………. 93 5.2.2 De/Centralisation: Discussion ………………….. 97 5.2.3 De/Centralisation Findings ……………………... 102 5.3 (Cells, Cliques and) Clusters ……………………………... 103 5.3.1 Clusters: Analysis ………………………………. 104 5.3.2 Clusters: Discussion ……………………………. 108 5.3.3 Clusters: Findings ……………………………… 117 5.4 Conclusion ……………………………………………….. 118

6. The Provisional IRA ‘Inner Circle’ Network – Density …………… 120 6.1 Density: Analysis …………………………………………. 121 6.2 Density: Discussion ……………………………………….. 125 6.3 Conclusion.….…………………………………………….. 147

7. The Provisional IRA ‘Inner Circle’ Network – De/Centralisation and Leadership …………………………………………………………... 150 7.1 De/Centralisation Analysis ……………………………….. 151 7.2 Decentralisation Discussion ………………………………. 152 7.3 Conclusion ………………………………………………… 180

8. Conclusion ………………………………………………………….. 182

9. Bibliography ………………………………………………………… 191

Word count: 65307

List of Figures & Tables

Description Page Number

Figure 1: A Star Network ………………………………………... 14 Figure 2: A Circle Network …………………………………….... 14 Figure 3: The Right Club Action Network (Covert Ties)………... 83

Figure 4: The Right Club Extra-Organisational Ties Network (Overt Ties) 84

Figure 5: Average Degree of the Right Club & Comparison Networks 86

Figure 6: Degree Centralisation Scores for Right Club & Comparison Networks …………………………………. 94

Figure 7: Average Reciprocal Distance Scores for Right Club & Comparison Networks ………………………………. 95

Figure 8: Betweeness Centralisation Scores for Right Club & Comparison Networks ……..…………………………… 95

Figure 9: Nine Subgroups within the Right Club Action Network 106

Figure 10: Provisional Irish Republican Army ‘Inner Circle’ T1 1969-1972.………………………………………… 123

Figure 11: Provisional Irish Republican Army ‘Inner Circle’ T2 1973-1976 ………………………………………… 123

Figure 12: Provisional Irish Republican Army ‘Inner Circle’ T3 1977-1981 ………………………………………… 124

Figure 13: Provisional Irish Republican Army ‘Inner Circle’ T4 1982-1986 ………………………………………… 124

Figure 14: Degree and Average Reciprocal Distance Centralisation Scores for the PIRA Inner Circle Networks …………. 152

Figure 15: Betweeness Centralisation Scores for the PIRA Inner Circle Networks …………………………. 152

Table 1: Specification of Right Club and Comparison Covert Network Data …... 85

Table 2: Density and Average Degree Scores for the Right Club….…………….. 86

Table 3: Number of Participants in Right Club Organisational Events ………….. 89

Table 4: Centralisation Scores for Right Club & Comparison Networks ……….. 93

Table 5: Top 5 Normalised Centrality Scores for the Right Club Action Network ……………………………………………. 96

Table 6: Density Scores for the Core and Periphery Groups in the Right Club Action Network…………………………………………………………. 99

Table 7: Density, Average Degree and Clustering Coefficient Scores for the Right Club Networks ………………………………………………………….. 104

Table 8: Density Matrix for the Nine Sub-groups of the Right Club Action Network ……………………………………………………..... 106

Table 9: Descriptive Information for the Sub-Groups in the Right Club Action Network ……………………………………………………………….. 108

Table 10: Density and Average Degree Scores for Provisional Irish Republican Army Inner Circle Networks ………………………………………... 121

Table 11: Centralisation Scores for Provisional Irish Republican Army Inner Circle Networks ………………. …………………………………….. 151

Table 12: Top 5 Normalised Centrality Scores for Provisional Irish Republican Army T1 Inner Circle Network……………...... 154

Table 13: Top 5 Normalised Centrality Scores for Provisional Irish Republican Army T2 Inner Circle Network……………...... 162

Table 14: Top 5 Normalised Centrality Scores for Provisional Irish Republican Army T3 Inner Circle Network……………...... 168

Table 15: Top 5 Normalised Centrality Scores for Provisional Irish Republican Army T4 Inner Circle Network……………...... 175

List of Abbreviations

AC Army Council

AE Army Executive

AG Adjutant General

AQ Al Qaeda

ARD Average Reciprocal Distance

ASU Active Service Unit

BUF British Union of Fascists

COS Chief of Staff

ERGM Exponential Random Graph Models

GHQ General Head Quarters

GSJ Global Salifi Jihad

JI Jemaah Islamiyah

OC Officer Commanding

PIRA Provisional Irish Republican Army

QMG Quarter Master General

RC Right Club

SF Sinn Fein

SNA Social Network Analysis

Abstract:

The University of Manchester

Rachel Stevenson

Doctor of Philosophy in the Faculty of Humanities

Secrecy and Structure: The Social Organisation of Clandestine Groups

31.03.2016

In this thesis I contribute to the growing literature on the structure of covert networks by exploring the organisation and functioning of two new groups. (1) The Right Club, a Right-wing, Pro-German group active in the UK at the outbreak of World War Two, and (2) The leadership group of the Provisional Irish Republican Army (PIRA) between 1969 and 1986. Specifically, I focus upon the formation of these groups, and how, and indeed if, they maintained covertness in practice. Whilst there has been a wealth of research in this area, many studies simply assume covertness and its impact upon structure due to the illegal nature of their case studies. In this thesis I develop a more nuanced concept of covertness, and a more detailed analysis of the myriad factors which affect the structure of a clandestine group. I employ a mixed methods approach combining Social Network Analysis with qualitative inquiry of the environment and processes which influence the functioning of each group. The qualitative analysis, which was guided by factors identified in the existing covert networks literature, in the Social Movements literature, and by dynamics noted in work on the Sociology of Secrecy, is used to explore and explain the sociometric findings. This provides a more in-depth, more sociological understanding of clandestine organisation than that which currently exists in this field of research. However, more and varied case studies analysed in this way are also necessary if we are to improve our understanding of the structure and functioning of covert groups. With this knowledge more sensitive and successful deradicalisation and/or destabilisation techniques can be crafted.

Declaration:

No portion of the work referred to in the thesis has been submitted in support of an application for another degree or qualification of this or any other university or other institute of learning.

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(see http://documents.manchester.ac.uk/DocuInfo.aspx?DocID=487), and in any relevant Thesis restriction declarations deposited in the University Library. For The University Library’s regulations (see http://www.manchester.ac.uk/library/aboutus/regulations) and The University’s policy on Presentation of Theses

1. Introduction

This thesis will explore the social organisation of clandestine groups in order to understand how they function under conditions of secrecy. With the events of 11th September 2001 and the subsequent political and media attention given to ‘terrorism’ in the ensuing years, there has been mounting interest in covert groups. Commonly referred to as ‘networks’ of terror or organised crime, in academic and non-academic fields alike, the question of what such groups actually look like is the source of much speculation. Despite the risk of discovery members must organise and communicate in order to achieve their objectives, but exactly how this is achieved depends upon the patterns of connection and communication between agents. Indeed, the exact form that ‘covertness’ takes and the manner in which it is maintained by secret groups shouldn’t be assumed, it should be subject of empirical investigation.

The existing research on covert groups is interesting and significant. However there a number of important weaknesses which suggest the need for further research. The first being the lack of empirical case studies in general (as opposed to virtual models), but particularly the lack of those beyond the specific example of Al Qaeda; and the second being the purely mechanical way in which clandestine networks are most often conceptualised, which fails to account for the true complexities of social life, the context and content of social ties.

A further problem is the lack of engagement with theories of secrecy. Indeed, a fundamental question in this body of work (Simmel 1905, Goffman 1969), is “exactly what is meant by secret?”; a question which is completely ignored in even the most cited examples of covert networks research (Krebs 2002, Koschade 2006, Enders and Su 2007, Morselli et al 2007). Existing studies tend to assume secrecy because of the illegal nature of the majority of case studies (Milward and Raab 2006). As a consequence they approach secrecy as a simple binary property, something which a group either is or isn’t. This research seeks to explore that assumption through critical engagement with a more nuanced conception of secrecy; to ask exactly what forms and practices of secrecy are undertaken, when, by whom, and in what ways do they structure social relationships?

A further weakness in the existing literature which may also contribute to an unrepresentative picture of covert networks is the static, ‘one-shot’ nature of the data sets currently produced (Stohl 2008); constructed as they are around a single point in time. Many researchers concentrate on small “cells” or “project teams” rather than wider, and indeed, evolving groups. With new case studies and a slightly different theoretical approach, we will be able to gain new insight into the social organisation of secrecy, especially as there is little consensus between researchers as to how covert groups will actually organise. Nevertheless, there are some predominant hypotheses around which researchers orientate their analysis; namely, the ‘security-efficiency trade-off’ (Morselli et al 2007). This is the argument that if groups want to stay secure – as most covert groups do - then they most forgo efficiency because this would require them to organise differently. However which structures are secure, which are efficient and if the two properties are in fact mutually exclusive has not yet been decided.

This project seeks to explore the structure of two new case studies; the factors which influence their structure and the implications of their structure and dynamics for secrecy.

Chapter Two of this thesis introduces the literature on covert networks. It is split into sections following the dominant ‘schools of thought’ regarding structural hypotheses. That is, density vs sparsity, centralisation vs decentralisation, and clusters or ‘cell structures’. It highlights the conflicted nature of ideas about the structure of covert groups and draws out a number of possible dynamics which might shape them, including emotional and cultural aspects which are rarely acknowledged and addressed in this largely structural field of research. This chapter also explores the supposition that centralisation automatically correlates with hierarchical organisation.

Chapter Three reviews the sociological literature on secrecy, focusing on its multiple dimensions and processes, and in particular, how these operate within a group. The chapter highlights that covertness is not a binary concept but more of a continuum of states and practices which are affected by a number of variables. In line with the general over-simplification of the concept, there tends to be an implicit assumption in many covert network studies that the external boundary of the group is the only, or at least the most important, parameter of secrecy. This chapter shows that internal

11 boundaries are also significant, highlighting that what happens inside the network is as important as what happens outside of it.

Chapter Four provides the methodological background to this research and presents mixed methods Social Network Analysis as the best way to capture data on the structure and dynamics of covert groups. The chapter will introduce the two case studies that will be analysed (1) the Right Club and (2) the leadership of the Provisional Irish Republican Army 1969-1986; present a rationale for the study of these groups; and identify the sources of data as well as the criteria used to construct each network.

Chapter Five presents an analysis of the Right Club data focusing on the properties of density, centralisation and cell structures. The covert and overt connections of group members are delineated and the two networks compared across these measures in order to establish if secrecy does in fact affect structure. The qualitative analysis investigates the impact of factors established in Chapters Two and Three as determinants of covert structure, explicating how, and to what extent, the Right Club actually achieved secrecy.

Chapters Six and Seven present analysis of the leadership of the Provisional Irish Republican Army. Chapter six explores the size and density of the group and how this changes across time. Via qualitative analysis it identifies some of the drivers of change and the impact of change for the PIRA leaderships’ nature and practices of secrecy. Chapter Seven concentrates on the changing levels of centralisation for this group and identifies who the most central figures, or ‘key players’, were in each time period. The qualitative analysis focuses upon the changing patterns of activity and the processes of authority and leadership which were enacted across the phases, linking them to the quantitative findings and again, drawing out their implications for secrecy.

Chapter Eight concludes this thesis by establishing how this research contributes to knowledge and by drawing together the findings from the two case studies. It reaffirms the benefits of this more in-depth mixed-methods approach to the study of covert network structure and outlines some directions for future research.

We now turn to Chapter Two where I introduce the Covert Networks literature.

2. The Structure of Covert Groups

In recent years there has been increasing interest in covert groups; also referred to as clandestine, underground or ‘dark networks’ (Raab and Milward 2003). A covert group may simply be defined as a collection of individuals who engage in secret activities (Erikson 1981), including (but not limited to) those which are illegal and therefore need to be concealed from law enforcement. Indeed, recent research has concentrated on ‘Terrorist’ and Organised Crime groups (Krebs 2002, Carley et al 2003, Sageman 2004, Koschade 2006, Morselli et al 2007, Lindelauf et al 2009, Everton 2012, Varese 2013, Gill et al 2014, Stevenson and Crossley 2014, Bright et al 2015).

The term ‘network’ is popularly used to describe covert groups, but it also provides the theoretical and methodological framework which has been applied in much of the existing research. A key concern for both political and academic audiences is how these groups organise and communicate with each other when recruiting for, planning and carrying out covert and illegal activity (Ressler 2006, Bouchard and Amirault 2013). Social Network Analysis (SNA) provides the tools to map the relationships between individuals and groups so that patterns of communication and interaction can be measured and visualised (Borgatti et al 2013). The specific structure of relationships can help us understand how information and resources are transferred, how decisions are made and where important individuals are placed (Perliger and Pedahzur 2010, Van der Hulst 2011). Sparrow (1991) was one of the first people to suggest the utility of this method for understanding covert networks. However, the paradigm gained more attention following 9/11.

Several hypotheses about the structure of covert networks have been put forward in the literature; many of which consider the idea of the ‘security-efficiency trade off’ (Morselli et al 2007). This is the argument that secrecy can only be achieved at the expense of efficiency because they require opposing forms of organisation and activity. Proponents of this theory argue that covert groups will be sparse and decentralised because actors need to reduce their visibility by reducing the number of ties that they have in order to maintain their own security. This formation is said to reduce the efficiency, and possibly the efficacy of the group, because it makes

13 communication and coordination harder to achieve (Baker and Faulkner 1993, Krebs 2002, Raab and Milward 2003, Enders and Su 2007, Morselli et al 2007). However, there are many that contest this assertion (Lindelauf et al 2009, Enders and Jindapon 2009, Demiroz and Kapucu 2012). Below, is a brief introduction to the properties of density and centralisation and to their relationship with covert organisation.

Figures 1 and 2 show ideal type formations of the most centralised and decentralised structures possible in the field of SNA. Figure 1, the star, is highly centralised because the network revolves around a single point, or person. In terms of communication, for the purposes of organisation, intelligence sharing or resource provision perhaps, this is an efficient arrangement as the central person is the single point of contact to whom all other group members have quick and direct access. Additionally, if one of the peripheral actors wants to contact another similarly positioned actor, only one

14 intermediary is required - the ‘hub’ node. Thus all ‘paths’ of communication in this group are very short. This structure can also be hierarchical as the central node is better positioned than all other members to maintain co-ordination and discipline, as well as priority access to resources and information.

However, the group in Figure 1 is also more vulnerable because it is highly centralised and participants are closely linked to each other. If they were infiltrated or a member ‘turned’ by the security forces, the entire network would be relatively easy to uncover. All members are quickly contactable, and therefore, quite visible to the rest of the network. Furthermore, if the central actor was to be targeted and ‘removed’ from the group this would seriously affect their functionality. The remaining members would have to find a new way to identify and then communicate with each other.

The group depicted in Figure 2, the decentralised circle network, is thought more secure because they do not have a central hub and there are larger distances between most members. If the two circled nodes wanted to communicate with each other, this would require a minimum of four intermediaries, which acts as a protective buffer. A node who was turned or who had infiltrated the group would find it more difficult to expose the whole network. The ‘trade-off’ here is that communication is much slower. The number of people required to do so also risks some of the details being lost, distorted, or possibly intercepted in the process.

Both of the networks in Figures 1 and 2 are sparse structures. With the exception of the central node, participants in Figure 1 have only one connection and those in Figure 2 have two connections, despite the fact that there is a total of 14 participants in each network. If more members were linked, efficiency would increase because orders and information could be passed more quickly. However, as stated above, the more connections an actor has the more visible and vulnerable they are to somebody who has infiltrated the group, or to a potential informer.

This simplistic, abstract representation is intended to demonstrate the underlying logic of research on covert network structures, and show that there are potential benefits, as well as drawbacks to different forms of organisation. This review will present the evidence and the arguments made by scholars on all sides of this debate, beginning

15 with density, followed by centralisation, and ending with a discussion of cellular structures. But first a note on terminology; when describing a covert group as a ‘network’, some researchers use the term in an economic sense, defining a network in opposition to a formal hierarchical organisation. They conflate ideas about fluid, leaderless, or horizontal groups with the term and thus assume that all ‘networks’ are sparse, decentralised and/or cellular in structure (e.g. see Arquilla and Ronfeldt 2001, Asal and Rethemeyer 2006, Perliger and Pedahzur 2010, Helfstein and Wright 2011). However, from the perspective of SNA, regardless of how formal, centralised or hierarchical an organisation is, all organisations can be networks. In fact, one of the strengths of this method is that structures aren’t pre-determined, they emerge from the data and are defined in terms of graph theoretic properties rather than assumptions about authority and leadership.

2.1 Density

2.1.1. Advocates of Low Density

One of the key studies on covert networks structure is Krebs’ (2002) analysis of the 9/11 bombers. Using public source data from several international newspapers, he compiled a network of those involved. In doing so, he was one of the first researchers to map a real life ‘terrorist’ network. Participants included those who boarded the planes as well as a team of ‘facilitators’ who provided logistical support to the bombers during their planning and preparation phase. Krebs found that the 9/11 network was very sparse. Indeed, he notes that many of the operatives did not have direct contact with each other. Some of the pilots, for example, would have required two intermediaries to contact the others (2002:46). Krebs therefore concluded that the 9/11 group minimised their ties for secrecy, prioritising security rather efficiency.

However, Krebs also found that there were several communicative “short cuts” across the 9/11 network which appeared when the ‘facilitator’ ties were added. There was a “dense under layer of prior trusted relationships” (2002:50) which, although infrequently used, boosted the efficiency of the group. Krebs states that the ‘trusted’ nature of the ties off-set the risk of increased density because they were difficult to expose or infiltrate. He coded links between family members as well as those who

16 lived together, or attended the same school or training camp (2002:49). Thus, the 9/11 group managed the demands of security and efficiency by combining sparse operational ties with additional “judicious” connections between trusted people (Krebs 2002:46).

Complexity of Activity

Like Krebs, Enders and Su (2007) argue that when requiring secrecy, covert networks will be sparse as they minimise ties to increase security. However, they also argue that this has implications for activity because sparse groups are unable to handle complex tasks because they can’t communicate efficiently. For a ‘terrorist’ group a complex task might be a highly co-ordinated, simultaneous attack or the use of sophisticated technology such as Chemical, Biological, Radioactive and Nuclear weapons (CBRN) (2007:45). Indeed, Enders and Su argue that some networks might opt for denser, less secure forms of organisation so that they can achieve more ‘spectacular’ operations; that is, despite the increased risk of infiltration (2007:45). Having said this, although a sparse structure might render a covert group less communicatively efficient, it does not necessarily make them less effective in their mission. Enders and Su acknowledge that the logistically simple tasks, such as letter bomb campaigns, are harder to detect and, because of their simple nature, actually have a have a higher success rate (2007:51).

Time and Risk

Further to this, Enders and Su (2007) argue that covert groups are unlikely to maintain the same tactics and structure for a prolonged period. Instead they are constantly evolving in response to the opportunities afforded by new technologies and the changing strategies of opposition forces, such as the police and security services. As McAdam (1983) argued that activists in the Black Civil Rights Movement engaged in a ‘tactical dialogue’ with state forces, so too Enders and Su (2007) argue that covert groups continually adapt to developments in security policy by modifying the level of connection between operatives. Using models based on Rational Actor Theory, they find that denser structures are maintained when the perceived threat of infiltration and/or surveillance is reduced. New technologies might also allow denser structures

17 to be maintained if they protect and conceal communication. However, the situation becomes a “cat and mouse innovation game” when the security forces introduce new tactics which alter the protective capacity of the existing structure and available resources (Enders and Su 2007:55).

This argument highlights the dynamic nature of covert groups. Although advances have been made by those who use modelling techniques (Carley et al 2003, Snijders and Doreian 2010, 2012) many researchers with empirical data capture only ‘snapshots’ of network structure which can be misleading, (e.g. Krebs 2002, Sageman 2004, Koschade 2006. Exceptions are Xu and Chen 2009, Everton and Cunningham 2012, Gill et al 2014), if only from the perspective of turnover of membership (Stevenson and Crossley 2014). Where possible it is important to understand how covert groups evolve and change, and indeed the drivers of this change, if we are to properly understand how they function.

Speed of Communication and Redundancy

Lindelauf et al (2009), informed by game theory, model optimal covert network structures for the purpose of maintaining group co-ordination under conditions of secrecy. They also find that when the probability of detection by security forces is high covert groups should reduce density; but, when the risk of exposure or infiltration is lessened, a maximally connected structure is better. In fact, they argue that a dense structure can actually have some benefits for security. Dense structures enable quick communication and quick communication is secretive communication because there is less potential for interception or inaccuracies as a message is transmitted. Moreover, quick communication allows groups to respond to potential threats more rapidly which also boosts their security (Lindelauf et al 2009:136). However, one potential downside is that if security forces did manage to infiltrate the network and introduce misinformation, by the same logic, this would spread quickly via the dense connections (Carley et al 2003).

Indeed, both Krebs (2002) and Enders and Su (2007) also suggest that there can be benefits to density for covert groups. Krebs notes that the additional facilitator ties add “redundancy” to the 9/11 network, suggesting that if participants were removed

18 or left the group, communication could still take place via these alternative routes (2002:49). Enders and Su make a similar point regarding redundancy. They argue that dense connections provide groups with greater operational flexibility both in terms of lines of communication and possible sub-group formations. Having a choice of personnel to deploy means that the best man for the job can be selected rather than the only man available; replacements can quickly be found for anybody who is “removed” or compromised (Enders and Su 2007:42) and multiple connections means multiple sources of information can be cross-checked against each other. That is to say, density can be effective if not strictly efficient for covert groups (Van der Hulst 2011).

Stage of Activity

Lindelauf et al (2009) add a further temporal dimension to our understanding of covert network structures. They claim that groups are likely to be sparser when they are in their initial planning stages. Once a network becomes more established, however, they are likely to have denser structures. Although Lindelauf et al offer little explanation for this assertion, Helfstein and Wright (2011) test it out using empirical evidence. They analyse six “attack cells” of militant Islamist groups, including the 2004 Madrid train bombers and some of the Indonesian bombing groups linked to Jemaah Islamiyah. Like most other researchers, they were interested in whether covert groups minimise ties for secrecy – a hypothesis which they term ‘operational security’. They found that whilst some networks had few connections in the early stages of planning, all grew increasingly dense as they got closer to the operations. Moreover, there were no security breaches as all of the operations were ‘successfully’ completed (Helfstein and Wright 2011:2).

Raab and Milward argue that this pattern is particular to Al Qaeda (AQ) linked groups. They conjecture that at the “operational level” at least, they “probably form for attacks and then dissolve again – unlike the terrorist groups in Europe in the last 30 years” (2003:424). However, as noted earlier, of the studies which use empirical data on AQ linked networks, few are able to test this assertion because they investigate “project teams” (Krebs 2002), or “attack cells” (Helfstein and Wright 2011) rather than the wider organisation over an extended period (exceptions are Sageman 2004 and Gill et al 2014). Furthermore, only a few published researchers have applied SNA to other

19 politically violent or subversive groups which were active in the last 30 years (exceptions are Perliger and Pedahzur 2006, Gill et al 2014)

However, the work of Everton and Cunningham (2012) does provide such an opportunity. Although it is an AQ related case study, their network connects many of the groups which Helfstein and Wright (2011) analysed individually, with a focus on the emergent leader, Noordin Top. It spans activity in Indonesia between 2002 and 2009, by which time many participants had been arrested or had died. Everton and Cunningham find evidence to support Raab and Milward’s claim as the network was least dense when participants were not active in an attack. But they also find that it does not disconnect completely; logistics work, training events and meetings sustained the operational links in these quieter periods (2012:14).

As well as their broad definition of operational links (which encapsulate more than just participation in an operation), Everton and Cunningham (2012) also mapped ‘trust’ ties between participants including kinship, friendship, classmate and religious associations which endured throughout the years. Interestingly, they too showed a drop in density when the network was not in an attack phase (Everton and Cunningham 2012:11). This could indicate the importance of operations for sustaining trusted covert relations. Regardless, Everton and Cunningham’s work does highlight the importance of how the network boundary and ties are specified. With their different criteria, they got slightly different results than others who were researching the same groups. We will return to this point in more detail later in the chapter.

Perception of Risk

Helfstein and Wright (2011) and Lindelauf et al’s (2009) claim regarding the density of groups in the attack stage complicates the discussion because others argue that this is the point when covert operatives are most vulnerable because they have to be active outside of the group (e.g. Krebs 2002, Morselli et al 2009). Enders and Su (2007) have argued that groups will not minimise ties if they want to achieve complex, spectacular operations, but Helfstein and Wright (2011:22) propose that ties were not limited in their case studies because the groups felt secure in their environment. In this sense they demonstrate that risk is subjective – the perception of threats might differ between

20 individuals and groups. Hence, it is not risk per se which impacts covert network structure, but the ability of somebody within a group to perceive risk and implement change. As van Meter (2002:76) argues the “security awareness” of covert groups can vary. Indeed, Sageman (2004) posits a similar argument but at the individual level. He states that “there seems to be a contrast between the more secretive and brainy types, who go into terrorism and avoid publicity about their exploits, and the less discreet and sophisticated broker types, who brag about their doings” (2004:169). This risk awareness and intelligence affect density because they affect the propensity to form new ties.

Practices of ‘Operational Security’

Helfstein and Wright (2011) add another significant point to the covert networks debate. They discuss the fact that security can be a matter of practices as well as structure. For example, they suggest that “mobile phone usage, safe house locations and reconnaissance techniques” are all factors which could mitigate the risk of detection for covert groups (2011:14). Yet, they do not act on this insight in their analysis.

Indeed, one of the only studies to take account of these practices is Koschade’s (2006) research into the 2002 Bali bombing group. He explicitly links security practices to his structural findings, noting that they kept the group secure and undetected despite their dense organisation. He describes how the group used a number of safe houses which were constantly guarded. That the bomb-makers did not leave their safe house and did not even know the true identities of some their co-workers. That the group used aliases and code words to communicate, either face-to-face or via mobile phones; and that mobile phones were pre-paid and changed regularly so that information could not be intercepted (Koschade 2006:10-11). Some of these practices, such as the use of false identities, aliases and code words within the group would not have impacted their structure, nevertheless they helped keep the network operational and secure.

Picking up on a point discussed by Lindelauf et al (2009), Koschade also argues that the density of the Bali bombing group allowed participants to work quickly in preparing the operation, such that some participants were able to leave the Island

21 before the bomb had even been detonated. Moreover, the group also made use of the redundancy principle as the leaders brought in a back-up team to provide any support that might have been needed (2006:26). Thus, with the help of secretive practices, density proved to be both efficient and secure in these circumstances.

Resources

Both Crenshaw (2010) and Raab and Milward (2003) argue that in order to survive, covert networks have to adapt to factors in their environment. This includes the availability of resources necessary to complete their objectives, as well as those which help mitigate risk. Both sets of scholars argue that network structures will develop in one of two ways; they will either increase or decrease the number of connections between participants as they try to balance the demands of secrecy and efficiency amidst changing circumstances. Crenshaw (2010:17) refers to this as “consolidation” or “fragmentation”, and Raab and Milward (2003:432) as “integration” or “differentiation”. Enders and Su (2007) have already proposed new technologies and security service activity as important determinants of density. To this Crenshaw (2010:4) adds the availability of financial, logistical and social support as well as a group’s ability to remain internally cohesive. Although she does not say specifically in which direction these factors will affect density.

This is not the case for Raab and Milward. They suggest that having a territorial base or a “safe haven” means that groups can organise in a denser manner. For example, they can hold training camps which will bring operatives together. A secure base can also be used for resource exchanges and is the place where a group can plan and recover (2003:416). Because their opponents do not have access to this territory, participants can meet openly and face to face. Raab and Milward argue that weak or failed states often provide such locations (2003:345), and that crossing state boundaries allows covert groups to “exploit differences between the legal systems” (Milward and Raab 2006:348). Together these factors provide protection for covert groups who organise more densely. Indeed, taking this argument one step further, Asal and Rethemeyer (2008) argue that groups who control territory are actually more lethal.

Walther and Christopoulos (2012) also discuss spatial characteristics in relation to their case study of a group of Islamists and rebels in Mali. They agree that the failure of institutions, including the government and the army, gave participants more freedom of movement (2012:21). Furthermore, the group’s proximity to a border allowed them to engage in illegal activity, such as kidnapping and trafficking which helped sustain them financially (2012:3). Terrain was also important to this group as the desert area was used for protection. The group hid out there with hostages when necessary (2012:3). However, despite being an SNA study, unfortunately Walther and Christopoulos (2012) do not link any of these observations to formal network properties. But, contrary to the theorising of Raab and Milward (2003) (who do not actually measure the structure of their case studies in their largely theoretical paper), Walther and Christopoulos (2012) note that their network is actually quite sparse. Clearly more work is needed to investigate the relationship between covert group structure and available resources.

By way of a summary of the arguments discussed thus far, it has been noted that secrecy involves the risk of exposure or detection. Therefore a core consideration of organising secretively is the management of risk. When risk is high, scholars agree that covert groups will maintain sparse configurations as a matter of protection. But, if risk is low or a group wants to achieve something quite complex, they will organise more densely to support this process. However, some benefits of density for the security of covert groups were also noted, such as redundancy and quick communication. Further benefits of density will be discussed in the next section.

However, several factors were also noted which affect the level of risk for covert groups. Internal factors include the stage of an operation, as well as participants’ ability to perceive risk and implement change. External factors include security service activity, and access to resources such as financial/logistical/social support and safe territory. This argument highlights the significance of the context in which a covert network operates as a key structural determinant. Yet, few empirical studies actually take this into consideration.

Further to this, aspects of ‘operational security’ or trade craft have been identified as a potential protective factor for covert groups. The use of new technology to protect

23 communications as well as secretive practices such as the use of code words and aliases can allow groups to organise more densely. Within the field of covert networks, little work currently exists which explores the impact of these practices on secrecy and structure.

Indeed, despite the recognition in some of the literature that covert groups are not static entities, and that group structure is conditional upon their changing contexts, few researchers have studied how covert groups evolve over time. This is partly because of the data they have collected, on “project teams” rather than whole movements. Moreover, only a few people have studied the structure and properties of covert political groups that are not modern Islamist organisations. More in-depth, longitudinal case studies of different networks are clearly needed to test out some of the predominant hypotheses in this field of research.

2.1.2 Security through Density and Closure

Some scholars argue that density is protective for covert groups because it supports trusting relationships. Indeed, Krebs described trust ties as “strong” and resilient”, arguing that they minimise the possibility of infiltration or betrayal by a fellow member (2002:49).

Trust and Cooperation

Coleman (1990) argues that dense networks are better for generating trust and cooperation because the more mutual connections people have, the more constraint there is upon behaviour; including acts which could endanger or betray other members. If I breach the trust of someone with whom I have no connections, there is likely to be little consequence. However, if I breached the trust of someone with whom I share many connections then I risk sanction from all of our mutual links. Sanctions might include the withdrawal of friendship - if it exists - the refusal to work together in the future, and/or damage to my reputation within the group (Coleman 1990, von Lampe and Johansen 2004).

However Coleman (1988) goes further and argues that not only dense but also closed structures are important for covert activity because they encourage commitment and self-sacrifice. He states that dense groups with strong boundaries are better at incentivising members into action because they are better at generating and enforcing norms by way of punishments and rewards. Punishments might take the form of the sanctions mentioned above, whereas rewards might be as simple as expressions of encouragement, praise or gratitude from other members. Sanctions, whether positive or negative, are “amplified” when a group is closed to outsiders because participants don’t have external contacts. Therefore they do not have access to alternative perspectives which could dilute the effects of punishment or provide another source of rewards (Coleman 1988:57). Hence, Coleman’s argument suggests that dense, closed structures better facilitate some of the social processes which are necessary for covert groups; namely the generation of trust, cooperation and incentivisation to undertake risky activity on behalf of others.

Erikson (1981) agrees that trust is an important resource for covert groups. Indeed, she argues that it is of such importance that covert groups limit recruitment to the pre- existing ties of members within which trust has already been established. This form of recruitment affects the structure of the group as, without concerted control (an aspect of her argument which will be discussed in more detail later), the structure of the network will reflect that of the existing relationships. This is likely to be dense because recruits will be drawn from well-connected social groups of the founding members (1981:201).

Erikson regards density as a protective factor as, with reference to one of her case studies, she claims that without some “link redundancy” covert groups would be “in continual danger of being cut to pieces” with the capture or removal of members (1981:203). We might add to this that groups in which everybody knows everybody else are much harder to penetrate by outsiders. Thus, Erikson agrees that density and trust can be important for covert groups. However, her argument differs from Coleman’s in that trust is not generated within the network, and, because covert groups depend upon exogenous relationships for trust, they are not closed to outsiders.

Culture, solidarity and Structure

Raab and Milward argue that “integration” in covert groups can be encouraged via “cognitive-cultural mechanisms” as well as structural formations such as density (2006:344). That shared beliefs, ideology and common goals can create trust and solidarity. In fact, Raab and Milward argue that in order to bind themselves together, sparser groups have to “create more meaning” amongst their members (2006:354).

Social Movements scholars also note the importance of shared meanings for creating solidarity between activists. ‘Collective action frames’ and ‘collective identities’ have been specified as two important mechanisms in this process, as well as important motivating factors (Snow and Benford 1992, Friedman and McAdam 1992, Gould 2003, Polletta and Jasper 2001). Snow and Benford (1992) argue that groups who have a shared interpretive frame will be more cooperative and cohesive because they will understand situations in the same way. This is particularly important for covert groups in which the free exchange of information, and indeed explanation, might be limited.

Collective identities are derived from shared beliefs and goals. However, they are more than just group classifications, they can also be the basis of emotional bonds between participants (Polletta and Jasper 2001:285). High levels of commitment to co-members as well as the cause can bolster a potential informants resolve to stay quiet, even in the face of specialist interrogation techniques. Hence, the risk associated with density – possible infiltration or betrayal by other members - can be mediated by emotional and cultural factors which, although perhaps compromising secrecy, can nevertheless render participants more secure. Indeed, these arguments suggest that there is an important interplay between culture and structure. That cultural mechanisms such as these can create, reinforce and perhaps even substitute for the structure by bonding the group together (to borrow an argument from Emirbayer and Goodwin (1994)).

Social and Emotional Bonds: the Content of Ties

The discussion of affective relationships throughout this section – in the form of trust, friendship and solidarity - highlights that covert groups are made up of irrational as

26 well as rational relationships. This is important because it moves us away from the more instrumental reasoning which underlies many of the arguments discussed so far; including that of Coleman who discusses trust and cooperation as a matter of individual cost/benefit maximisation. Indeed, the very idea of efficiency and of a trade-off with secrecy seems to have led some researchers, explicitly or otherwise, to think in quite economic terms about balancing these principles. Lindelauf et al (2009) base their ideas on bargaining theory, while Enders and Su use Rational Actor Theory in their analysis (2007). Krebs (2002), Koschade (2006) and Helfstein and Wright (2011) whilst employing neither of these models nevertheless focus on instrumental concerns within their networks. They are interested in task-based ties and in the structure of connections which bring about a specific objective. This (loose) theoretical basis of rational ideas has arguably led to an under-theorising of conceptions of agency and culture in covert structures research, with networks positioned as little more than structural conduits for the practical organisation of instrumental action, rather than sites of social interaction and construction (as Emirbayer and Goodwin (1994) also argue about some overt networks research). Indeed, the content of ties, including emotion and meaning, is also important for understanding how groups function. As Perliger and Pedahzur argue (2010:4), ties of different intensity exercise different constraints and opportunities for organising secretively.

Indeed, the work of Faulkner and Cheney (2013) shows that internal dynamics can be more important for destabilising a covert group than external pressures. They mapped the “working web” of relations in the Watergate conspiracy and found that “discordant” ties between participants were the basis of the group’s demise. And not, as is popularly assumed, external media coverage (2013:201). There were increasing hostilities between different regions of the network concerning timely payment and methods of protection. This lead to members becoming “distrustful” of one another and “disenchanted” with the whole operation (2013:211). As a result, when a part of the network was uncovered, the participants began to cooperate with the authorities instead of maintaining secrecy and protecting their co-members. The discordant relations mapped during the period of activity were found to correlate with the pattern of who testified against who at trial, which effectively ended conspiracy. Thus the

Watergate group collapsed in on itself because of the negative relationships it was built upon.

This study demonstrates the importance of understanding how ties are interpreted by participants in a network. A point which has also been raised by Edwards (2014). A dense group of negative relations will be both unsecure and ineffective. Whilst different tie types, strengths and directions can be accounted for within SNA, the meaning and impact of this for participants can only be properly understood if SNA is allied with more qualitative inquiry.

2.2 Centralisation

Density measures the number of ties in a network whereas centralisation measures the pattern of ties. There are various forms of centralisation which indicate different formations, but all hinge on the idea that there is a person or small group of people whom the network depends upon for connection. The three most commonly used centralisation measures in covert networks research are degree, betweeness and closeness (Baker and Faulkner 1993, Krebs 2002, Morselli et al 2007). Degree centralisation measures the extent to which ties centre around a, or a small number of hub nodes. Betweeness and Closeness centralisation also account for indirect connections though. Betweeness measures whether a network is dependent upon ‘gate keepers’ or brokers; in other words the variation in how many paths of connection flow through certain nodes. Closeness centralisation measures the speed of communication. That is, whether some members of a network can contact everybody else more quickly than others because they have access to shorter, more direct routes of connection across the group (Borgatti et al 2013). However, degree centralisation is the typical measure used, and was the form of centralisation explained with the ‘star network’ at the outset of this chapter.

In terms of the ‘trade-off’ idea, high centralisation is thought to boost efficiency because it supports good communication. However, as with density, there are different opinions as to how high centralisation effects secrecy and efficacy. One argument is that centralised hubs make participants visible and therefore vulnerable. The short paths of connection in a highly centralised network also endanger non-hub members.

Thus, ‘flatter’, more decentralised networks are said to be safer for covert groups (Baker and Faulkner 1993, Arquilla et al 1999, Krebs 2002). The counter argument is that high centralisation improves secrecy and efficacy because quick communication is harder to intercept and it supports better command and control procedures (Lindelauf et al 2009, McAllister 2004, Shapiro 2013).

2.2.1 Advocates of Decentralisation

Again we begin with Krebs (2002) because he is a key reference in this debate. Krebs found that the 9/11 network, as well as being sparsely connected, was also quite “dispersed” and decentralised (2002:44). On visual inspection he described the structure of the network as “serpent-like” (2002:45) because there was no central hub and there were long path lengths between participants. However, as with density, when the dormant facilitator ties were activated, centralisation increased across all measures, which temporarily boosted efficiency. When Krebs looked at who was most central, he found that the acknowledged ‘ring leader’, Mohammed Atta, held this position. However, Atta was protected, to an extent, because he had an average path length of more than three, meaning that most people in the network could only contact him via two intermediaries. His average path length dropped to almost two when the ‘short cut’ ties were added, so he was still not directly accessible to some in the network (2002:47).

Boundaries

Having said that the 9/11 group was decentralised, Krebs acknowledges that he mapped only a “portion of the network” to which the 9/11 perpetrators were most likely connected (2002:43). For this reason, when reporting the centralisation and centrality scores of participants, he recommends caution because the addition of new people and/or connections could alter the results (2002:47). Incomplete data and ‘fuzzy boundaries’ are an issue for all covert networks studies (Sparrow 1991). However, the data collected by Krebs is arguably quite limited. For example, the 9/11 group has since been connected to the much larger Global Salifi Jihad network (GSJ) by Sageman (2004). Of course, Krebs’ choices were likely a function of the data that

29 was available at the time that he was working. Nevertheless we should be aware of the impact of these choices on structural outcomes.

Time and Motivation

Morselli et al (2007) compare Krebs 9/11 network to a drug smuggling network. Accepting Krebs’ claims regarding the decentralisation of the 9/11 group, they find that their drug smuggling network is more centralised in all forms. Morselli et al (2007) claim that the criminal group is more centralised because they prioritise efficiency. They are in action more often than a ‘terrorist’ group and require a quicker pay off to keep participants involved and motivated. Consequently “criminal enterprise networks” are “built outwards from a core” to ensure productivity, but ‘terrorist’ networks are deemed to lack “a core” because they don’t act as frequently (Morselli et al 2007:148). They conclude that such groups are more decentralised because they are ideologically rather than financially driven and thus, have the opportunity to prioritise secrecy.

However, arguably Morselli et al over simplify the distinctions between criminal and terrorist groups. Firstly, many researchers have found evidence to suggest that ‘terrorist’ groups commit criminal activities in order to fund their campaigns (Milward and Raab 2006, Stohl 2008, Van der Hulst 2011, Walther and Christopoulos 2012, Harris-Hogan 2012, Demiroz and Kapucu 2012, Gill et al 2013). Secondly, perhaps because they are concentrating on a single ‘attack cell’ which completed a ‘spectacular’ operation, Morselli et al fail to take account of the more opportunistic actions that are conducted by other politically violent groups - particularly those which are not operating in hostile territory whilst acting as ‘sleeper cells’. The sniper attacks perpetrated by the Provisional Irish Republican Army (PIRA) in Belfast and South Armagh are one such example (Harnden 1999, Hughes cited in Taylor 1998:110). Thus both the task and the time elements which support Morselli et al’s argument can be brought into question. More attention needs to be given to the full range of a covert groups’ actions and objectives, as well as to their operating context, before claims about their effect on de/centralisation can be made.

Furthermore, returning to the issue of boundary specification and data collection, Morselli et al’s drug network is much larger and handled multiple operations in the form of drug shipments across the two years that it was under investigation. Their sources were court documents including surveillance and wiretap evidence from the security services of six different nations (2007:146). They compare this with Krebs’ network which was responsible for one, albeit large operation, and which was mapped using information from newspapers (2002:43). As these are very different case studies, with data sources of a different depth, we should consider that their findings are a reflection of this rather than fundamental differences in the way that groups with (supposedly) different motives operate.

Complexity of Task

Baker and Faulkner (1993) also support the argument that covert networks are more likely to be decentralised. They measured the structure of three price fixing networks in the electrical equipment industry and found that two of the three networks did not have a core of central participants. Both of these conspiracies had “low information processing needs” because the nature of the products and the markets were very simple. However, the third conspiracy had “high information processing needs” because it involved a bespoke product. This generated a more centralised structure, with senior executives at the core who were required to negotiate and make complex decisions with each other. Thus, Baker and Faulkner make a similar point to that raised by Enders and Su (2007) earlier, that complexity of task – conceptualised here as the level of information processing need – requires better connected structures. But they suggest that centralised rather than dense organisation is better because high centralisation has the benefit of limiting ties and reducing participation, which helps protect against the dangers of infiltration. Nevertheless, they acknowledge the security risks as the leaders in the centralised group were targeted and heavily prosecuted, whereas those in the decentralised group were not. They were protected by intermediary members who distanced them from the illegal activity (1993:855).

Adaptability and Innovation

Arquilla, Ronfeldt and Zanini (1999) developed the concept of ‘netwar’, which was later elaborated in a widely read book (Arquilla and Ronfeldt 2001). They use network based arguments and terminology. They claim that covert groups, be they ‘terrorists’ or organised criminals, now organise in a decentralised manner. Hierarchies – or centralised networks - are argued to be an outmoded form of organisation which do not allow groups to capitalise on advances made in the ‘information age’. Arquilla et al argue that decentralisation is better for covert groups because it allows them to be more innovative in their tactics and adaptive to their surroundings (1999:88). This is because decisions can be made quicker and at a more local level. Moreover, because members have more autonomy, groups can make the most of talented participants, giving them the chance to lead and act under the own initiative (1999:84). Thus, Arquilla et al do not subscribe to the trade-off idea. For them decentralisation renders covert groups both secure and effective.

Inspiration Rather than Connection: Leaderless Jihad

Pushing this argument one step further Sageman (2008) introduced the idea of ‘leaderless Jihad’ to describe AQ and their affiliated groups in the aftermath of the ‘war on Terror’. He states that the Global Salifi Jihad (GSJ) network became so decentralised that in terms of concrete command and control procedures, the network was arguably ‘leaderless’. People such as Bin Laden and al-Zawahiri who were at the centre of the network went into hiding following targeted operations to find them. As a result they maintained few connections with the geographically dispersed operational groups. Consequently these senior figures became figureheads, sources of inspiration and motivation via the internet, rather than a military authority. He states that Bin Laden was “content to relinquish control for the sake of efficacy” (Sageman 2004:173), which was achieved by relatively autonomous groups launching localised operations under their own initiative, but within the remit of an overarching AQ strategy (Sageman 2008:146). Sageman argues that this is both secure and efficient because the disconnected nature of the leadership and of the operational groups, protects participants from each other.

However, following the capture of Bin Laden in 2011 we must question whether Sageman’s (2008) analysis of the group’s organisation was accurate. Although Bin Laden had minimised connections and was communicating with others in the network via a single courier, much of the intelligence found in his compound showed that he was still heavily involved in the management of operations (BBC News May 2011).

2.2.2 Advocates of Centralisation

Time and Risk

One way for a covert group to maintain quick communication but reduce the possibility of infiltration is to organise in a very centralised way (Lindelauf et al 2009). This allows a group to minimise ties but maintain short distances between operatives which supports the quick transmission of messages. As has been stated, the potential benefits of this are more accuracy, less points of interception and the ability to craft a more rapid response to threats or changing circumstances. Indeed, Enders and Su (2007) make a very similar point but with regards to resources. They argue that centralised groups are more resistant to logistical failures, which could compromise operations, because the lines of provision are much shorter than those in decentralised networks (2007:38) – that is, assuming a single source of resources in the decentralised network.

As with density, the perception of risk might also affect how centralised a group is. Demiroz and Kapucu (2012) mapped the Ergenekon (ETO) organisation in Turkey. This was a political and military conspiracy whose goal was to clandestinely control the major institutions of the country. The group was found to be a very centralised network which manifested itself as a core-periphery structure. The leaders were densely connected at the centre and surrounded by a more sparsely connected periphery to which they were also linked. Demiroz and Kapucu argue that ETO organised like this for efficiency rather than protection because they didn’t think that they needed it. The legal and political system protected them via their “quasi-official” connections (2012:277) to high-ranking government and military personnel. Moreover, whilst operating clandestinely and illegally, many participants saw themselves as acting with patriotic intent, in the best interests of the country

(2012:289) As such they perceived their situation with less risk because they didn’t consider exposure or punishment.

Coordination and Decision Making

Shapiro (2013) explicitly equates centralisation with hierarchy. He argues that centralised/hierarchical forms of organisation are necessary for covert groups in order to avoid “preference divergence” between participants (2013:34). That is, members acting in line with their own interests and choices rather than those of the rest of the group. Shapiro states that this is particularly important in politically motivated groups where those closer to the action may not appreciate the wider ramifications of their decisions on the overall objectives (2013:28). Moreover, he states that centralised control is necessary for cohesion as covert groups are often torn by “strife and disagreement” due to variations in access to information, commitment, and general differences of opinion (2013:40). These things are exacerbated if leaders do not have good communication with their operatives (2013:46). Hence, although centralisation creates some security risks, it can be preferable to decentralised groups in which the possibility of hierarchical control is limited.

Enders and Jindapon (2009) agree with Shapiro’s argument but phrase it as a problem of “multiple decision makers” in decentralised networks. Using modelling techniques they show that without a single source of authority and coordination, conflicting, or at least “suboptimal”, decisions can be made by operatives in different regions of the network. (2009:262). They cite an AQ related example where a “field Commander” was making tactical choices which were losing the group support amongst the wider population (Enders and Jindapon 2009:263). Enders and Jindapon also point out that if there are multiple decision makers in decentralised network this could potentially be exploited by enemies as a destabilisation technique (2009:279). One area of the network could be played off against another and the lower level of information exchange could make this activity hard to discover. This is why covert groups need a single, unifying authority organised by way of a centralised structure.

On a more positive note, Enders and Jindapon claim that because of their improved ability to communicate and coordinate, centralised groups will be more effective; that

34 their cooperative efforts will generate more “output” towards their objectives (2009:277). And, in direct opposition to the argument made by Arquilla et al (1999) above, they state that centralised groups will be able to respond in a more decisive way to threats in their environment. Due to their quick communications any adaptions made to structure and practice will be implemented faster and will be more consistent across the group (2009:277).

This is a point with which McAllister (2004) concurs, arguing that centralised coordination and control is necessary if covert groups are going to engage in purposive activity, including organisational change. Using AQ as his case study he argues that when the group decentralised after 9/11 they were unable to follow through with their strategic objectives (McAllister 2004:308). In fact, McAllister argues that they were quite directionless because nobody was in a position to act as an “entrepreneurial” leader, which meant that they lost some of their “offensive capability” (2004:309). However, instead of conflicting decisions, McAllister links this observation to the loss of experience and expertise of those in the “professional cadre” which was at the centre of the organisation – those who “masterminded” the ‘spectaculars’ such as 9/11 (McAllister 2004:304). AQ were disadvantaged in terms of efficacy because they had to rely on “trained amateurs” to plan their operations since connections with the leaders had been elongated or broken. Due to their inexperience, “amateurs” are more likely to be unsuccessful and/or intercepted by security forces (McAllister 2004:305). Moreover, they are also more likely to endanger the security of other group members (McAllister 2004:309). Again this acts as a counterbalance to the arguments of Arquilla et al (1999) and Sageman (2004, 2008); whereas they suggest that decentralised groups are more effective and able to capitalise on talent, McAllister recognises the potential for incompetence and inadequacies, which could compromise both effectiveness and secrecy, if operatives are not under the control of a centralised leadership.

Sources of Authority

Many of the arguments made above are founded on the assumption that centralised groups are also hierarchies. Whilst a centralised structure might better support this form of organisation, this is not necessarily so. Moreover, even if an organisation is

35 designed as a hierarchy, this does not mean that it functions exactly that way in practice. As Tucker states, even in quite formal organisations, there can be “blurred lines” of authority based on informal relationships and other sources of power (2008:9). Given the arguments about the importance of pre-existing ties in covert networks (Krebs 2002, Erikson 1981), it is not hard to imagine how the inter-personal dynamics might be carried over from these exogenous relationships, for example. Further to this, Tucker (2008:3) suggests that “technical expertise” might give somebody authority within a network, and both Magourik et al (2008) and Perliger and Pedahzur (2010) note that operational and ideological power was divided between two different nodes in both the JI and Jewish Underground groups, respectively.

Although, somewhat confusingly, despite recognising the potential for multiple and possibly conflicting sources of authority in covert networks, Perliger and Pedahzur claim that hierarchical paramilitary organisations such as ETA, Hezbollah or the IRA, can be best understood on the basis of their formal “organisational processes” and “rational decision making”, rather than less formal dynamics mapped through SNA (2010:6). This seems overly deterministic, in my view, as it assumes that power is straightforwardly related to rank and goes unchallenged in these groups. Indeed, in their Watergate study Faulkner and Cheney (2013:201) acknowledge that a hierarchical group cannot function if subordinates start to question the legitimacy of the leadership. Bakker, Raab and Milward (2012:48) also argue that the “internal legitimacy” of leaders is an important aspect of covert group resilience. Without the acceptance and respect of group members, authority cannot be upheld. Thus it is important to understand these alternative dynamics as they can reinforce, undermine or even replace the authority patterns of a hierarchy.

In order to assess whether some of the foregoing arguments apply to a covert group, we need to know more about the content of the network, including sources of authority, some of the interpersonal dynamics, and, if there are any specific practices of control implemented by the leadership which might have a structural impact.

Mechanisms of Coordination and Control

Shapiro outlines a number of strategies for control and their implications for secrecy. For example, increasing reporting and auditing procedures. Or creating a security unit within the organisation which will investigate and where necessary, punish operatives. Indeed, violence can be used as a deterrent to stop members talking to the authorities (2013:51). Both of these initiatives would allow greater control from the centre, but would also create risk because of the increased connections and information flows which could be intercepted (2013:50). Covert groups can reduce the necessity for this by properly vetting their members. Those who are less committed, or a liability can be “screened out” during the early stages of recruitment (2013:54). “Initiation rites” can help with this, as well as securing the boundary of the group by making it harder for operatives to leave (2013:54). A final way suggested by Shapiro for leaders to maintain control is to micro-manage the allocation of resources. This allows leaders to learn more about what operatives are doing, and to control their activity by restricting the provision of funds or weapons, for example (2013:49).

Erikson agrees with Shapiro that in order to maintain a hierarchical, centralised structure, leaders need to control the key resources of the group (1981:198). She argues that control of resources gives leaders the power to control other important processes, such as recruitment and promotion (1981:199). This is especially necessary if groups are recruiting from their pre-existing networks, as argued earlier. Without some management of this process the group would simply reflect the underlying pattern of these relationships. Erikson concludes that hierarchy and centralised control of resources tend to reinforce each other as those at the top of the hierarchy have more access to information and resources which, in turn, bolsters their position as group leaders (Erikson 1981:199).

These arguments pertain to several different dynamics within a covert network, relating to resources, tasks and information. Indeed, Carley, Lee and Krackhardt (2002) advocate looking at networks across multiple dimensions, where some dynamics might be more centralised than others. For example, financial provision versus contact patterns. Thus, in terms of structure, it is important to specify which dynamic (s) you are analysing and to recognise that one dynamic will likely be

37 intertwined with others. Based on this argument, Carley et al (2002) state that a leader might not always be the most central node in a network. However, they find that leadership roles and centrality of position usually correlate.

2.3 Cells, Cliques and Clusters

A further hypothesis in the covert networks literature is that such groups are organised by way of ‘cellular structures’. Indeed, Sparrow (1991), Krebs (2002), Enders and Su (2007), Lindelauf et al (2009) Demiroz and Kapucu (2012), amongst others, all make reference to cells or cellular structures in their papers. Franz and Carley (2005) were some of the first researchers to provide a formal definition of this form of organisation. Intended as a basis for creating virtual models, their propositions are quite strict. However, they acknowledge that in a slightly more relaxed form, their definition can also be useful for “conversing about real work social networks” too (2005:5). Franz and Carley describe a cellular network as a “multitude of loosely connected, functionally redundant, tactically independent and geographically dispersed cells” (2005:8). They define cells as “tight and inseparable subgroups” surrounded by a few peripheral members, who are not connected to any other groups (2005:8). This is regarded as a secure and robust structure by the authors because the “loose connections” between the cells mean that they are kept at a distance and are, therefore, protected from and quite independent of each other (2005:8). They argue that a network in this formation can withstand both targeted and random attacks as the distance (both network and standard geographic), independence and redundancy of the cells means that little information and/or functionality will be lost by the group if a cell was removed (2005:8).

From the above description, this form of network structure would seem closely aligned with the decentralisation school of thought. However, as Franz and Carley themselves state, the pattern of connections between the cells can vary, making the organisation more or less suited to hierarchy. For example they suggest that “a simple line, star, or circle, to scale free, small world or hierarchical” topology is possible (2005:11). Indeed, the only solid criteria is that there should be more ties within than between the subgroups for it to be a cellular structure (Franz and Carley 2005:8).

Tsvetovat and Carley state that cell structures allow covert groups to “to operate elusively and secretly” (2003:3). Sharing Franz and Carley’s definition of a cell structure, they discuss some of the dynamics which help this kind of network function more covertly. They argue that the “tight and inseparable subgroupings” mentioned above are based on “strong bonds” created through shared religion or ideology and/or pre-existing ties such as family members, friends or religious associates (2003:2). Moreover, they argue that cell structures operate with certain information management rules. Information is only shared on a ‘need to know’ basis, even within the cell, and given that there is little communication between cells, knowledge of the rest of the network is limited (2003:3). For this reason, even if a cell is intercepted, there will be little ‘information leakage’ from the rest of the group.

Sageman (2004) analysed subgroups in the GSJ network. He found that it was composed of a series of clusters which had ‘Small World’ characteristics. First identified by Watts (1999), a Small World network is quite sparse overall but has dense local clusters connected by short path distances. This means that most members have only a few direct ties but can reach other members indirectly, and relatively quickly, through the connections of others. Whilst sharing many of the same characteristics as a cellular structure, the Small World topology is not quite as strict because the clusters can be overlapping with each other (Watts 1999:496). Sageman (2004:138) found that the four main clusters in the GSJ network were connected by a few important intermediaries which he termed “lieutenants” of the central leadership. The lieutenants had ties to “field commanders” in each of the clusters who oversaw the operations. The four clusters were spread across different geographic locations (2004:138). Sageman argues that this formation was good for processing information (2004:165). The dense connections at the local level allowed the sub-teams to “overcome obstacles quickly” in the run up to operations, but the compartmentalisation of information also protected members in the event of capture or infiltration (2004:167).

Indeed, Sageman found that the 3 operational clusters in the GSJ network could be further subdivided into “tightly knit cliques” (2004:152). As Tsvetovat and Carley suggest, he found that many of the cliques were pre-existing groups of friends, colleagues and family members who had been radicalised together around important foci (Feld 1981), such as extremist mosques (Sageman 2004:142). Picking up on some

39 of the cultural mechanisms of bonding described by Social Movements scholars earlier in this chapter, Sageman states that the cliques tended to share the same frame or “grand narrative”, as well as collective identity which increased their solidarity (2004:144). However, the cliques were not recruited, instead they “self-organised” and sought out connection with GSJ network via known contacts in their area (Sageman 2004:142). These contacts became the ‘hubs’ around which the larger clusters formed (2004:139), suggesting that preferential attachment was an important dynamic in this network. Having said this, preferential attachment is a problematic concept in a covert group, because the more ties people have the more vulnerable they are to detection. Indeed, Sageman does suggest that targeted removal of the hubs, especially simultaneously, would have seriously disrupted the networks functioning (2004:140).

Qin et al (2005) advance Sageman’s analysis by exploring the GSJ data with a combination of SNA, statistical and web data mining techniques. They agree that the network exhibits Small World properties because they find a combination of small path lengths and a high clustering coefficient score. Using blockmodelling they find evidence that the clustering is driven by division into operational teams (2005:296). They argue that this “can help lower risk and enhance efficiency” because there is some separation, but also some local density of ties and quick communication, both of which are necessary for participants to “plan, operate and execute” attacks successfully (2005:299). However, Qin et al question the impact of preferential attachment on the network. They compare the distribution of ties in the GSJ group with those in a randomly generated scale free network – where most nodes have only a few links and a few nodes have most of the links – as the theory of preferential attachment suggests. They find similarities in the distribution of ties in both graphs, except that the distribution of the ties in the GSJ network is truncated. This means that there is some constraint on the number of ties that the most well-connected nodes in the real life network can generate. Qin et al postulate that this dynamic is limited by concerns for secrecy, as the ‘hub’ nodes reach a point where they do not want to accept any new ties, outside of existing trusted relationships, for fear of their visibility (2005:300). Moreover, the effect of removing hub nodes is not actually clear as other researchers argue that they will quickly be replaced by proximate or structurally equivalent people (Tsvetovat and Carley 2003, Perliger and Pedahzur 2006).

Qin et al also clearly state the hierarchical nature of GSJ network. They describe it in the manner of a “holding company model”, with the leadership cluster in charge of overall planning and the other three clusters separated into “operational divisions” (2005:301) They suggest that this is both efficient and secure because it allows for a division of labour as well as distancing the leadership from active operations. Indeed, this argument is also put forward by Faulkner and Cheney (2013) with regards to the Watergate conspiracy. The group was organised into a leadership “cadre” which directed several “cabals” who specialised in different but complementary tasks. For example, fundraising, or espionage. Faulkner and Cheney claim that “differentiation into cabals provides the conspiracy with effective coordination and heightened but not perfect secrecy” (2013:200). However, we should also note that this structure intensified the negative relations which brought down the network as discussed earlier.

Everton (2009) also discusses Small World properties in relation to covert network structure. He highlights the importance of finding a balance between what he refers to as provisional and cosmopolitan ties, however. Provincial networks are dense, highly clustered and, as a result, made up of strong ties; whereas cosmopolitan networks are sparse, not very clustered and made up of weaker ties (2009:2). Everton bases his arguments on Granovetter’s (1973) famous study on the utility of strong and weak ties, and the wider networks structures that they imply, for finding a job. Granovetter claimed that weaker ties will be more useful because they will connect you with information and resources outside of your immediate cluster. Strong ties, on the other hand, are better for stability and emotional support because they share connections within the cluster and are more insular. Translated into the context of covert groups, Everton thus argues that a mixture of both types of tie is required in order for a network to function at its optimum. The strong inter-cluster ties provide support and solidarity, whereas the weaker bridging ties allow for the transmission of information and resources, including new ideas and technology which can lead to tactical or security innovations (2009:5).

Like Qin et al (2005), Everton (2009:6) proposes the use of the clustering coefficient and average path length measures. However, he raises a problem, which can be applied to all three schools of measure discussed so far (density, decentralisation, sub-groups), which is the difficulty of establishing an adequate baseline for determining optimum

41 scores, arguing that there is a lack of comparative case study material on which to test them and establish a robust threshold. Regardless, Walther and Christopoulos (2012) apply these measures to their network of Islamists and rebels in Mali. They claim that the group is more cosmopolitan in character because they return a clustering coefficient score of 33%. Beginning the job of comparison they then relate these to the trust ties in Everton and Cunningham’s (2012) Noordin Top network, finding them to be very similar (36%) (2012:9).

Gill et al (2014) explore clustering in a network of the Provisional Irish Republican Army. They use Exponential Random Graph Models (ERGM) to determine the networks propensity to cluster, as well as the drivers of clustering between operatives. Like many of the scholars discussed so far, they find that geographical and task based dynamics were present. However, they also found that clusters could be predicted on the basis of whether or not the participants were involved in violence. The geographical dynamics in this case were a proxy for the Brigade structure of the organisation which covered different areas. The authors found that members of the same Brigade were more likely to connect to each other, but also that this dynamic was stronger in some Brigades than others (2014:30). Interestingly, Gill et al found only weak support for more informal types of homophilly; for example, marital status, gender and age at recruitment which suggests that organisational structures such as Brigades and specialised task groups were quite influential (2014:33).

We began this section by introducing the theory of the cell structure which is argued to balance the demands of secrecy and efficiency well. This is because it allows for quick communication but also compartmentalisation which limits the extent of ties between participants whilst also providing some density of connection for solidarity and support. We then discussed a number of empirical studies who found subgroups in their networks, but in the slightly less strict form of clusters linked by short paths as suggested by the Small Worlds argument. There was some consistency in the dynamics found to shape the clusters across the studies, namely geography, division of labour - in the form of task type and operational groups. There was less agreement about the influence of other dynamics such as more informal types of homophilly and preferential attachment. Those who viewed their case studies as hierarchical (Qin et al 2005, Gill et al 2014) found weaker support for these mechanisms. Indeed, it was noted

42 that cell structures can be egalitarian or hierarchical in form and mix the properties of density and centralisation, but at the local level.

2.4 Conclusion

The primary research question for this thesis is ‘what is the structure of covert groups and how do they function under conditions of secrecy’? This chapter has been a review of the literature on covert network structures. It has shown that whilst the debate concentrates on the properties of density, centralisation and cells/clusters, there is no consensus as to how covert groups should or do organise with respect to these properties. Further research is needed to test some of the dominant hypotheses. Indeed, it was noted that, in terms of political covert groups, most of the empirical data concerns AQ. Other empirical case studies are needed to increase the evidence base, especially those of a longitudinal nature.

It has been shown that the structure of covert groups is affected by several internal and external factors, some of which are not properly accounted for in the existing literature. Factors discussed were activities and objectives, availability and use of resources, cultural dynamics and the nature and quality of member relationships, all of which were noted to affect the opportunities for action and risk. Some of these factors are underexplored because of the dominance of rational, instrumental frameworks in this field of research, which abstract out some of the true social complexity. Clearer links need to be made between the content and context of a covert group network and how this affects their structure and functioning.

The conflicted nature of this field is likely a consequence of the different approaches that researchers have taken. They use different data – empirical case studies, simulations, and anecdotal examples; methods – SNA, historical description, modelling; and theories – communication, organisational, terrorism and some social movements. However, it seems that researchers are also working, implicitly or explicitly, from one of two overarching perspectives. Either that covert groups will eventually be detected and/or infiltrated so they ought to organise for damage limitation; or that with the right organisation, secrecy can be protected.

There is further confusion in this research area over terminology. As noted at the outset, and perhaps most significantly, concerning the meaning of the word ‘network’. However, the terms ‘secrecy’, ‘security’, ‘efficiency’ and ‘efficacy’ are also used somewhat interchangeably, despite have subtly different meanings. Indeed, a covert group might be secure but not secret, and effective without being efficient. These states can have different implications for/requirements of structure.

However, one fundamental area that all neglect, and requires more precision, is the nature of secrecy itself and how this differs in different contexts and for different groups. As Milward and Raab (2006) point out, secrecy is not the same as illegality, yet most researchers assume secrecy because of the criminal activities of their groups. Indeed, many of these studies begin with secrecy as a defining characteristic and objective of the group, yet fail to specify in what ways their case studies are actually secret. The variability of risk is recognised by many scholars in this field, but not, it seems, the nuances and variability of secrecy. Only a few studies recognise the potential complexity of secrecy, and that it is more than a simple binary state. For example, Milward and Raab (2006) Crenshaw (2010) and Demiroz and Kapucu (2012) acknowledge a ‘grey area’ between overt and covert activity; although they do not elaborate further. In order to unpick this concept and its implications for structure, we explore theories of secrecy in the next chapter.

3. Covert Networks and the Social Processes of Secrecy

It was noted in the previous chapter that few studies explain what they mean when using the terms ‘secret’ or ‘covert’. Indeed, secrecy is treated as a simple property which is unambiguously present in the case studies and simulations analysed due to their criminal or ‘terrorist’ activity. Thus, in general, covert networks research is not linked to any kind of overarching theory which would allow for a deeper and more generalised understanding of the phenomenon of covertness. Moreover, due to the quite limited conceptions of agency used in these studies the necessary practices, meanings and implications for secret groups and their members are left underexplored. Without a better understanding of how secrecy is defined, achieved and maintained by social groups, and indeed across social groups, how can it be understood as a structuring principle in covert networks research? This chapter will attempt to ‘unpick’ secrecy as a concept so that the nuances of covertness may be addressed more explicitly in this thesis.

There are many literatures that could be reviewed on the topic of secrecy. Much has been written about family secrecy (Brown-Smith 1998, Vangelisti 1994, Smart 2009); secrecy in relation to gender or sexuality (Ponse 1976, Richardson 1988, Sedgwick 1990); political or governmental secrecy (Robertson 1982, Bratich 2006, Aftergood 2010); secrecy and religion (Kippenberg and Stroumsa 1995); the place of secrecy in business and employment (Dedijer 1976, O’Connell 1980, Zey 1999, Gatrell 2011); and in academia and research (Huggins 2003, Gill and Flood 2008, Hong and Walsh 2009) However, although many of these contributions are interesting and significant, they are not directly relevant to the discussion of formalised group secrecy. Consequently, this chapter will focus on the works of Simmel (1906) and Goffman (1959, 1969), both of whom offer theories on the dynamics of secrecy in terms of processes related to the concealment of information and subsequent effects on relationship and group formation. Simmel in particular is something of a corner stone in sociological debates on secret groups, but Goffman’s work is no less important for understanding sustained secretive organisation from the perspective of strategic communication.

Indeed, the insights of Goffman will be discussed in relation to Wilsnack’s (1980) information control framework, in which he posits that processes of espionage – learning the extent of what others know – as well as evaluation and persuasion necessarily work in conjunction with secrecy; a view which is also supported by Tefft (1980) and is indicative of a more multifaceted approach to covertness than simply the organised concealment of information.

Privacy and Secrecy

One further aspect of the literature on secrecy which does require some discussion prior to the review of Simmel (1906) and Goffman (1959, 1969) is the relationship between secrecy and privacy. There is some disagreement as to the definition of these concepts. Some commentators stress the differences between the two (Warren and Laslett 1980, Shils 1966), whereas others see secrecy and privacy as interlocking phenomena, each of which can be a facet of the other (Bok 1989, Marx and Muschert 2008). One point on which all agree though is that both relate to the exposure and control of information.

Shils (1966) argues that the difference between secrecy and privacy is that a breach of secrecy, in the case of information divulged or discovered, “is attended by sanctions”; whereas only the discovery of private information will invite punishment and, only if forcibly acquired (1966:283). This is because private information is deemed to be that which you hold about yourself and therefore it is your own decision whether or not to share it (Shils 1966:283). Although no definition of secret information is then offered, we might assume that it is what private information is not, namely about somebody other than yourself and as such, divulging it is not a matter of personal choice. In summary of Shils (1966) then, privacy relates to individuals and is a matter of personal discretion but secrecy relates to groups (necessarily if it is information about somebody else) and is an obligation of those with access to the information; an obligation which is enforced with sanctions.

However, Warren and Laslett (1980) criticise Shils, arguing that focusing upon what happens when secrecy or privacy is broken is not a good way to distinguish between

46 the two as sharing private information can also invite punishment. They give the example of a child disciplined by the family for sharing their private matters (1980:31). To further muddy the definition, they argue that individuals can have secrets (such as being homosexual when it was illegal) and groups exercise claims to privacy (like the family in the example above). Instead, Warren and Laslett (1980) state that the defining issue in this debate is the content of the information communicated. They claim that secrecy is used to create boundaries around something which is negatively valued in moral terms, for example, illegal or stigmatized activity. Privacy, on the other hand, protects something which is valued or morally neutral, such as a non-adulterous consensual sexual relationship (1980:26). Thus, privacy is regarded as non-threatening to social order as it is “an agreed upon right” whereas secrecy is seen as a form of resistance to that order because it conceals “illegitimate” behaviour which society ought to know about (Warren and Laslett 1980:27).

Marx and Muschert (2008) agree with Shils (1966) that conventionally secrecy is related to groups or organisations and privacy to individuals. In opposition to Warren and Laslett’s (1980) moral definitions of privacy and secrecy, however, they argue that “there is no compelling reason to call the protection of negative information ‘secrecy’ and its opposite ‘privacy’” (2008:8). Instead they concentrate on the status of information as “known” or “unknown” and the “information rules” used for achieving this (2008:8). Indeed Bok agrees and defines secrecy as simply “intentional concealment” and privacy as “the condition of being protected from unwanted access by others” (1989:10). She states that the negative connotations of secrecy have come about due to the mistaken conflation of secrecy and deception, which is only one of the possible methods used to achieve it (1989:7). As Bok supports value-neutral definitions of the two concepts, she does not see secrecy as a social problem.

Furthermore, rather than define secrecy and privacy in contrast to each other, Bok argues that they are overlapping concepts. She suggests that secrecy can be used to reinforce privacy, using the example of a locked diary to clarify this point (1989:11). If privacy fails in terms of the social norm of not intruding upon another’s private information, then secrecy in the form of the “intentional concealment” offered by the lock will protect it. Likewise, Bok argues that secrecy can be used to gain privacy, particularly in situations which are characterised by limited space and constant

47 observation, such as the prison or asylum. Inmates might engage in secretive behaviour in order to gain some time on their own, for example, plotting to break a rule in order to be moved to solitary confinement (1989:13).

This argument resonates with Warren and Laslett’s (1980) argument that privacy is the preserve of those with more resources. Money, for example, but also good reputation gives people “legitimate access to private settings” (1980:31), such as homes or offices; “settings (which) can be used for secretive purposes” (1980:27). Those without such resources will have to live and work in more communal settings, where, like the inmates above, they might have to resort to secretive activity in order to gain privacy (1980:31). Thus, control of information might only be achievable via secrecy for those without the necessary resources for privacy. For those who do have privacy, however, secrecy might be more easily achieved.

It may seem odd to talk about privacy in relation to politically subversive or violent groups, particularly in light of the moral arguments made above. However, Bok’s definitions of secrecy and privacy are convincing and thus, to neglect aspects of privacy would be to neglect some of the mechanisms via which secrecy might be achieved, particularly in the domain of everyday life. Indeed, Goffman sees privacy as a form of “open secrecy” which can be used strategically as concealment or cover (1969:14). Some of these issues will be discussed in the next section which focuses on secrecy in everyday life. Indeed, the following review will be split into 4 sections: (1) what is secrecy and what is its role in society? (2) What are the practices and functions of secrecy? How is it achieved and maintained by social groups? (3) What is the structural impact of these practices and processes? How do/should secret groups organise successfully? And, (4) what social processes are involved in secrecy? What theoretical orientations towards secrecy do they expose? Points of significance for this research will then be summarised and the research questions clarified.

3.1 The Nature of Secrecy and its Role in Society

Secrecy in Everyday Life

Like Bok (1989) Simmel defines secrecy as the “consciously willed concealment” (1906:449) of something which will result in the “promotion of error” (1906:445) as to the ‘true’ state of things regarding a particular subject, relationship or situation. For Simmel, then, secrecy requires intent on the part of the secret keeper and the deliberate manipulation of the information available to others. He identifies lying as the most aggressive form of ‘information management’ (1906:448), arguing that this can be accomplished via the tactics of “omission or deception” (1906:445). Lying represents only one end of a continuum between openness and secrecy, however, as Simmel claims that all social life depends upon varying degrees of disclosure and concealment (1906:445). He states that in most social relationships we only know the “quite typical tendencies and qualities” of each other and, for the most part, this is all that we need to know for successful interaction (1906:442).

Indeed, despite its perceived negative moral character, Simmel argues that secrecy is not always destructive, in fact, it can be desirable, even instrumental in some social situations. For example, economic competition between businesses could not be sustained if each had complete knowledge of the workings of the other (1906:451). Even in the more intimate realm of marriage Simmel argues that some suppression of information is necessary to maintain vitality in the relationship as knowing each other ‘inside out’ may quickly become boring (1906:459). For these reasons, secrecy has a positive utility and can be seen as partly constitutive of social order rather than simply a threat to it.

Like Simmel, Goffman argues that concealing information is a normal part of everyday life. That information management takes place in all face-to-face interactions, even amongst our most trusted ties. Using a dramaturgical analogy Goffman claims that all social actors put on a ‘performance’ during which information is actively manipulated to create a positive ‘presentation of self’ to others (1959). This might mean that an ‘idealised performance’ is given where certain behaviours are merely emphasised so that they will be clearly recognised by our peers (1959:49). It

49 might also mean that a complete disguise is maintained, however. For example, a person could behave conscientiously at work so as to appear a diligent employee; but another person might present themselves as a community-minded neighbour when, in actual fact, they are a ‘terrorist’ sleeper cell member. Goffman argues that all actors seek to control understandings of themselves and of situations – sometimes via lies, “innuendo, strategic ambiguities (or) crucial omissions” (1959:69) – because they seek to influence the behaviour of others towards them.

Mechanisms of Everyday Secrecy

As incomplete knowledge is the normal state of affairs for Simmel, he argues that confidence in others is now “one of the most important synthetic forces in society” (1906:450). That is, confidence that a person’s behaviour will match the type of person that they are presenting themselves as. Thus, Simmel argues that confidence is a proxy for trust; it is a midpoint between knowing everything about another and not knowing them at all. Like Coleman on trust (1990), Simmel states that confidence is more easily generated between people in situations where there is a higher degree of formal or informal regulation (1906:451) such as legal sanctions or ‘badmouthing’ which would damage a persons’ reputation. The more informal the process of regulation, and the more significance one person has for another, the more they will need to know about each other (Simmel 1906:451). Thus, if one person’s behaviour has potential implications for the circumstances of another - as in membership of a covert group - the higher the level of confidence in each other will need to be prior to involvement.

Linked to the notion of confidence is the exercise of discretion; the practice of restraining ourselves from seeking more information about a person than they have readily given (Simmel 1906:452). Simmel argues that levels of discretion are “different in various directions and towards different persons” (1906:453). In other words, discretion is likely to be more or less a feature of different relationships and situations. Simmel claims that the more separate or “differentiated” the people and activities in our lives are, the more the more discretion will be exercised. Only the information relevant to the occasion where we meet is shared and it is frowned upon to pry further (1906:458). Hence, the social norms of confidence and discretion

50 protect privacy and can therefore help people conceal secretive or stigmatising information

Like Simmel, Goffman argues that social norms exist which complement secrecy. Continuing with the dramaturgical analogy, Goffman states that the default position of people in interaction is to aid in the self-presentations of others. It is common for people to practice tact (i.e. discretion) towards the ‘back stage’ elements of another’s ‘performance’. Goffman argues that the natural orientation of people is to treat each other at “face value” (1959:57), arguing that in most situations people tend accept that others are who or what they say they are because this saves both time and emotional energy. However, this is not assured. If a ‘performance’ is inadequate or inconsistent then the ‘audience’ will place them under greater scrutiny because people are “always ready to pounce on chinks in symbolic armour” (Goffman 1959:66).

Building upon this point, Goffman states that there is an “asymmetry to the communication game” (1959:20) in which the audience has an advantage over the actor as people are better at detecting falsity then they are at consistently maintaining it. This is true of all social situations, but is particularly so in what Goffman (1969) calls “strategic interaction”, which is any situation where one person is actively trying to learn something about another which is deliberately being concealed from them. For example, a covert operative whose activities have come under the suspicion of outsiders to the group; perhaps professionals in the form of the police or security services. In these scenarios Goffman (1969) claims that actors will consciously deploy a range of both defensive and corrective moves to sustain the identity that they are performing and to protect their secret.

There are two significant themes in the work of Simmel and Goffman presented so far. The first being that secrecy is clearly something which needs to be achieved, it is a practice rather than a property which somebody simply has or is; it requires the conscious and continuing manipulation of information and the formulation of strategies for doing so. The second is that secrecy is inherently relational. In order to have a secret, you first must have somebody to keep that secret from. Thus it happens and can only happen in interaction. In fact, the role of alter (or ‘the audience’) may be just as important in successfully achieving secrecy as that of that of ego (or ‘the

51 performer’). Whether alter has confidence in ego, or wishes to discover more information about him before he can comfortably interact; whether alter obeys the boundaries of discretion towards ego; or whether alter follows up on a dissonant ‘performance’ will influence whether or not ego has to lie. Thus, lying, confidence and tact or discretion are all correlates of secrecy which afford members of a covert group different obstacles and opportunities for managing information.

However, as they are also features of everyday life, as borne out in some of the examples above, and therefore not strictly the preserve of covert group members, we might ask in what ways are covert groups actually different to overt groups? And in what ways – if any - might these mechanisms be employed differently by them?

3.2 Group Secrecy: Nature, Functions and Practices

Levels of Secrecy

Simmel specifies two levels of secrecy which he refers to as (1) the ‘truly secret’ and (2) the ‘relatively secret’, the difference being that when things are truly secret, observers or interested parties do not know that a secret is being kept; that there is something about a situation, action or relationship that is being consciously concealed from them (1906:470). When things are relatively secret, however, observers may know that there is a limit to their knowledge of a particular thing, but do not know the content, and possibly the nature of the information beyond that limit (Simmel 1906:471). In other words, they know that there is something else to know. In the context of a covert group, this might mean that its existence is known to those outside of it, but its membership and activities are not. Indeed, as some politically violent and subversive groups actually seek publicity to announce their agenda and accrue resources and support, they are only ‘relatively secret’ in Simmel’s terms.

Goffman concurs with Simmel’s definition of the ‘truly secret’ arguing that hiding the fact that one has information to conceal at all is true secrecy. He also states that, as with Simmel’s ‘relative secrecy’, more commonly the existence of a secret is known between parties and the issue then becomes the restriction of access to the information (1969:51). Adding a further dimension, however, Goffman also suggests that should

52 an observer manage to obtain secret information they may conceal this fact in order to protect their methods for further use (1969:51). In this sense, group secrecy can be a game-like process which is not simply about the actions of and boundaries created by the groups themselves, but rather, those created in interaction with others.

Time and Types of Secret

Already Simmel and Goffman have given us a brief indication that group secrecy is more complex than the simple dichotomy of covert or not covert which many of the network analytic studies assume. Simmel complicates the notion further, however, by suggesting that as well as being more than a simple binary concept, secrecy is also dynamic. Simmel states that “throughout the form of secrecy there occurs a permanent in-and-out flow of content, in which what is originally open becomes secret and what was originally concealed throws off its mystery” (1906:467). This highlights the fact that in most covert groups there is not necessarily a single and sustained secret to keep, but rather numerous and changing ones. An obvious demonstration of this can be seen in covert political groups which execute violent attacks. After an event has taken place details are often evident and those that are not are sometimes deliberately revealed - in the form of Osama Bin Laden’s video communications, for example. Information pertaining to the attack will be of the utmost secrecy prior to it, but afterwards, aspects of it are clearly not.

Indeed, one of the reasons why the details of secrecy have been overlooked in previous covert networks research may stem from the fact that the case studies and simulations tend to focus on one event where a group is in ‘suicide attack formation’ (Krebs 2002, Koschade 2006, Morselli 2007, Rodriguez 2009). This singularity of purpose seems to be taken as an indication that there is a single secret to be kept from everybody outside of that group – the fact of the upcoming attack. But, the planning of an attack is presumably a multifaceted process involving many different bits of information which all group members will not be privy to. In the Bali bombings, for example, only one senior group member was aware of and had contact with a ‘back-up team’ of suicide bombers (Koschade 2006). With a division of labour will come a division of knowledge, some of which might be deliberately withheld, even from other group members.

Indeed, Goffman identifies different types of secret as well as different times of secrecy. He refers to ‘inside secrets’, knowledge of which is shared by all members of the group and no one outside of it. Goffman also describes ‘strategic secrets’ which encompass the “intentions and capacities” of a group, such as specific techniques or targets, and may just as well be hidden from in-group as out-group members (1959:141). A further form of secret discussed by Goffman is ‘dark secrets’ which are those that, if widely known, would have negative consequences and perhaps ruin the image of a group. Due to its potency, such information is likely to be limited to only the most powerful of participants (Goffman 1959:141).

The final form of secrecy outlined by Goffman is ‘entrusted secrets’ which refers to concealed information about someone or something other than oneself (1959:143). For example, knowledge of a covert group retained by the intimates of an official member. Possession of this information would position such individuals as outside of the group, but nevertheless, in on (at least some of) the secret(s). In this sense, some knowledge may be regarded as an ‘open secret’, spanning the boundary between the covert group and sympathetic ‘others’. This complicates the division between members and non- members who may at times act as a protective ‘buffer’ (Simmel 1906:489) or willing audience (Goffman 1959) for covert groups.

To return to the issue of dynamism, Simmel also argues that groups will adopt secrecy to greater or lesser extent at different points in time. He states that both newly emerging groups and groups in decline will require the protection of secrecy more than groups in the mid-point of their evolution, when, he suggests, they will have developed a more robust strategy against “intrusions” which will allow them to operate in a more open manner (1906:471). For this reason, we might expect an established covert group to have a different relationship to secrecy and engage in different and perhaps less extensive practices of concealment than a new or diminishing one. This argument further clarifies that secrecy is not simply something which a group is, it is a set of practices and something which they actively strive to achieve. Indeed, Simmel argues that secrecy can have different and sometimes contradictory functions, all of which are important for the operation of covert groups, and it is precisely the inter-play between these elements that makes secrecy variable and dynamic (1906:448).

Secrecy, Seduction and Stratification

One fundamental paradox is the tension that having a secret – of whichever type - can exert upon the individual or group. Secrecy creates boundaries between those ‘in the know’ and those who aren’t. This might provide a degree of protection, especially if the content of the secret is stigmatising or illegal. However, due to the exclusive nature of this knowledge, secrecy can also impart value, even if the concealed information is actually quite trivial. The mystery, as well as the exclusivity created can drive those outside of the ‘loop’ to actively attempt to discover what is concealed (Simmel 1906:485). Obviously, this situation can only arise in the case of the relatively secret, otherwise outsiders would not be aware of their ignorance and the very fact of their outsider status. Thus, whilst secrecy can provide protection it can at the same time motivate attempts to break that secrecy. In this sense, ‘relatively secret’ groups are more vulnerable than their ‘truly secret’ colleagues.

Moreover, having access to limited information can also lend a person status and prestige in the eyes of those excluded. As a result, secrecy is stratifying, it creates positions and hierarchies (Simmel 1906:464). Having a secret can be a source of power, both in terms of enjoying superiority over those who don’t but seek to know, as well as being in a position to betray other in-group members. Following Goffman, knowledge of some types of secret may lend more prestige than others. Indeed, those with access to the most important secrets may use this as a bargaining position to accrue resources, rewards or perhaps lesser punishments for themselves. The paradox here is that the secret must be revealed in order to access the rewards but in doing so the revealer will lose their status and the information its scarcity value. Indeed, Goffman describes how the police actively try to exploit this tension during interrogations (1969:37).

There are several points of significance for covert groups to note from the “seduction of secrecy” argument (Simmel 1906:461). For example, the excitement and rewards of secrecy itself may provide an incentive to join, or remain in a covert group. To be let in on the secret and to hold a superior position over others because of this may balance out the potential costs of joining, which at their most extreme could mean detention or death. Furthermore, as Simmel and Goffman show, possession of secret

55 information about the group may be a burden to members due to the conflicting drives to both protect the secret, and thereby their own status, but also to reveal it so that they might access some of the rewards. A burden which can be exploited by enemies, or the police and security services.

Secrecy and Solidarity

Covert group members can have feelings of guilt towards or alienation from those whom they are keeping secrets. Especially if they retain close and/or intimate relationships with non-group members, relationships in which sharing of information is the expected norm. In these cases emotional and social pressure can create temptation to reveal information. Moreover, even if this tension is managed, those closest are also most likely to spot any irregularities and inconsistencies in ‘performances’ or cover stories given. These vulnerabilities might result in operatives distancing themselves from these relationships. However, this could leave participants feeling detached and unsupported.

According to Simmel, one way to deal with this potential problem is to boost in-group solidarity (1906:476). The very fact of having a secret in common and, particularly in the case of a political group, a defined ‘enemy’ or ‘other’ from whom to keep it, creates bonds between members. Simmel states that this camaraderie and ideological solidarity can be built upon through processes of socialisation which will strengthen members against the “temptation to divulge” information (1906:477). He argues that an important way to both boost solidarity and to teach new recruits practical skills in ‘the arts of silence’ is through face-to-face tutelage. Thus, training is important because new recruits can learn skills and tactics but also increase their knowledge of and emotional ties to the group. Indeed, a number of authors on covert network have made reference to the perceived strength and importance of ties formed in these circumstances (Krebs 2002, Rodriguez 2009).

Secrecy and Security: recruitment and the periphery

Simmel also highlights the importance of completing any learning processes gradually, suggesting the “progressive initiation” of new members whereby

56 knowledge of the group and its rituals is proportional to longevity of membership (Simmel 1906:474/5). Consequently, information available to new and unproven members is restricted and, in the case of a possible betrayal, the group and/or their secret protected. This security and vetting procedure also allows group members time to build their confidence in the secret-keeping abilities of the novices.

Bok also refers to the importance of maintaining a step-wise initiation process, not for protection of the group, however, but so as not to dissuade and ultimately disengage the recruits. She argues that a slow introduction to the group and its secrets shields novices from the “shadier side” of their activities, allowing them the time to develop the necessary disposition to later accept them without criticism (1989:50). Bok suggests that if new recruits were to face the full reality of participation in certain groups they might drop out before the process is finished. In a politically violent covert group this might mean being taught the theory of how to make bombs far in advance of actually being asked to use them.

Whilst Simmel sees new recruits as a possible threat to the safety of covert groups, he also sees them as a sort of buffer between the initiated and the uninitiated (1906:489). In Goffman’s terms they might be the holders of ‘entrusted secrets’ (1959). Simmel implies that whilst new recruits are in this liminal position between a secret group and wider society, they provide an important point of communication. As they know relatively little about the group they have little to share and presumably have done less of consequence for them. Thus the impact of their betrayal would be minimal and they would not face the same scale of punishment or retribution for their activities (from law enforcement) as established members would if discovered.

Hawthorn (1956) questions Simmel (1906), however, asking to what extent an outer circle of peripheral or partial members can ever be protective for secret groups? Rather he states that peripheral members who retain contact with non-group members are more likely to be a destructive influence as they will potentially erode the culture and the solidarity of the group. Referring to a case study of the secretive Doukhobor group in British Columbia, Hawthorn argues that “the large number of acculturating Doukhobors blurred the lines of demarcation and made the threat an inner one” (1956:5). Group members who took on and followed elements of mainstream

Canadian culture, in doing so, diluted the norms and traditions of their group which made the division between it and outsiders less distinct. This challenged not only their ability to keep secrets, but also the perceived necessity to do so.

This is an important issue for politically violent and subversive groups because they require the ideological support of their members and more than this, support enough to turn belief into action. Moreover, for a group which uses suicide bombing tactics, for example, faith in the cause will need to be especially strong in order for members to be motivated to a point where they will lose their lives for it. Exposure to competing frames of reference or priorities are clearly problematic in this sense, as they may provide competition, if not a direct challenge, to shared in-group beliefs and identities.

Having said this, in defence of Simmel, it is clear from the preceding discussion that he does recognise the potential danger of partial members of covert groups. Inherent in the notion of ‘progressive initiation’ is the idea that the group must protect themselves from peripheral members until they become otherwise, precisely because of their contact with the outside world. One possible source of confusion for Hawthorn is that when speaking of partial members, he and Simmel are actually speaking of people on different trajectories. The peripheral members which Simmel discusses - and does recognise as a potential danger - are new recruits in the process of joining the group. For Hawthorn, however, the partial members of the Doukhobors are fully fledged members who are drawing away from the group. In this sense they pose more of a risk as not only will they know more and therefore have more to betray, but are also perhaps more likely to do so as they will lack the same drive and excitement as the neophyte. Thus, although slightly confused in his criticism of Simmel, Hawthorn identifies another important point for covert groups; how to maintain the commitment of existing members and curtail the influence, where negative, of external relationships and culture which might lead to criticism or de-prioritisation of the group.

Secrecy, Segregation and Ritual

Indeed, due to the precariousness of the boundary with wider society, Simmel argues that the maintenance of secrecy can result in the complete detachment of a group from

58 that society. A group might “shut up…..within itself as a complete unity” (1906:484). Whilst he argues that ritual has an important role in all secret groups – something which distinguishes them from overt groups – Simmel claims that ritual is especially important in those which are completely closed to outsiders. He states that “the symbolism of ritual stimulates a wide range of vaguely bounded feelings” (1906:481), and might include activities such as initiation ceremonies, the practice of specific rites, or oath taking. Like socialisation, participation in these rituals contributes to increased levels of solidarity which might alleviate anxieties about separation from other social relationships, involvement in which, in the ways previously discussed, could otherwise jeopardise the secrets.

Furthermore, Simmel is supported by Wedgwood in arguing that completely new bonds can be formulated through mutual participation in these secret and sacred events (1930:145). In the case of a political group one might think that the ‘ideological affinity’ of activists (McAdam 1986) might readily encourage the formation of new ties through participation in such affirming rituals. Indeed, when speaking of secrets maintained by groups or ‘teams’ Goffman argues that neither a great deal of time spent together nor pre-existing intimacy is necessary between members in order for them to successfully work together. He states that a “kind of intimacy without warmth” is extended as soon as a new recruit joins the ‘team’ simply by virtue of their ‘team- mate’ status and ‘back-stage’ presence (1959:88).

Furthermore, the use of ritual in secret groups is as much about creating order where there might otherwise be disorder as it is about reinforcing commitment – although the two are of course intertwined. As secret groups position themselves outside of society - in the case of covert political groups, sometimes against society - they will not be subject to normative constraints such as laws or the moral condemnation of peers. As such Simmel argues that “the fixedness and the detail of the ritual serve(s) to counterbalance this deficit” (1906:482) by introducing discipline. Indeed, if the cohesive efforts of ritual or socialisation are unsuccessful in guarding the secrets then Simmel states that a system of penalties and rewards will be used. He theorises that the further a group strays from legal activities the more likely the punishment for betrayal will be violent (1906:492). Whether their activities are legal or illegal,

59 however, Simmel argues that groups will always need “a highly efficient disciplinary influence” (1906:474) if they are to sustain their secrets.

Goffman adds another important point about the segregation of secret groups. Following his work on ‘total institutions’ (1961), he argues that lack of contact with the outside world results in the loss of identity as individuals become alienated from the external relationships and roles which formerly supported them. Goffman argues that the rules and regimentation of ‘total institutions’, such as those linked to ritual or ceremony within secret groups, help individuals rebuild an identity defined instead by their new environment (1969:154). Thus, segregation will help covert operatives jettison old, potentially competing identities and embrace new ones developed within and underpinned by the group.

On the point of separation from surrounding society, Simmel’s argument about the “intensification of separation” (1906:490) is borne out in Della Porta’s (2006) work on the Bader-Meinhoff Group and the Italian Red Brigades. She found that the more violence undertaken by factions of these groups, the more disconnected the factions became from their wider movements. This provided them with the protection of secrecy but also started in motion a cycle where the more cut-off the groups were, the more violent they became due to lack of external moderating influences. In turn, the more vulnerable they were to reprisals or prosecution which enhanced their need for secrecy. Thus, for some covert groups withdrawing from society can result in the magnification of group culture and the escalation of violent tactics. This can cause a self-perpetuating cycle which increases the need for secrecy.

Crenshaw (1992) agrees with Simmel (1906) and Dell-Porta (2006) on the point of the likely separation of covert groups from surrounding society arguing that “for reasons of security as well as discipline, the organisation usually prohibits personal relationships outside the group” (1992:31). She also agrees that this separation might well cause an intensification of group ideology and culture, where internal dynamics come to supersede, even supplant, external norms or pressures such as those which govern the use of violence. However, Crenshaw contends that in cases where groups have “substantive ethnic or ascriptive constituencies” (1992:30) that such a strict separation may not be required. Indeed, this argument certainly seems to be

60 demonstrated by groups such as AQ, for example, when they were operating in Afghanistan with the support of the Taliban.

Whilst important, I do not think that this point detracts from Simmel’s overall argument concerning group secrecy, however; rather it supports his idea that at different stages of their evolution groups will, of necessity, be more or less secretive. Indeed, earlier in this section it was discussed that stronger, more established groups could be more open than their emerging or declining counterparts. Crenshaw’s argument clearly suggests community support as a contributory factor to that strength.

3.3 Secrecy and Structure

Centralisation and Hierarchy

Simmel argues that the specific practices of secrecy outlined above are supported by centralised and hierarchical organisation. Simmel states that in order to encapsulate the necessary “division of labour and grading of membership” (1906:478), secret groups are always built with the “calculation and conscious volition” of a single leader (1906:479). Simmel argues that hierarchical design does not only represent the best possible structure to support secrecy, it is also a reflection of the particularly controlling personalities of covert group leaders who like to exercise a “decisive influence” over others (1906:479). Indeed, Hazelrigg states that information may not simply be managed for the purposes of secrecy within a group, but also actively manipulated by those ‘in-the-know’ in order to ensure personal power and prestige (1969:323). Information might also be manipulated to ensure personal security, however.

Gist (1938) concurs that secrecy is best maintained by hierarchical structures arguing, again somewhat paradoxically, that stratification is important for unification. He claims that the different levels within a secret group “represent important devices for social control” (1938:354) Not only does this break the task of managing subordinates down but “the higher levels (also) become an important goal” for these subordinates (1938:354). Lower level members can be incentivised to maintain the discipline

61 necessary for secrecy via the promise of promotion and perhaps the revelation of more secrets as they rise through the ranks.

Hawthorn (1956) expresses an important limitation to the notion of hierarchical organisation, however, again with reference to the Doukhobor group. He cautions that “more than most organisations secret societies appear to need beliefs which justify their structure” (1956:7). Although Hawthorn agrees with Simmel that covert groups require “strong leadership” he states that the Doukhobors could not sustain this due to their belief in “direct individual revelation” and the equality of all men before god. Subsequently they did not believe in the necessity, indeed utility, of leadership structures. The incompatibility of this philosophy with the practice of hierarchical power lead to various contradictions which challenged the unity and organisation of the group and their ability to sustain secrecy.

Thus groups fighting for egalitarian goals may find it difficult to sustain the strict hierarchical structures deemed necessary for the successful operation of secrecy; the exercise of power in this form may become a source of internal conflict instead. Gist reminds us, however, that not all hierarchies need be autocratic, in fact, such structures are often democratic provided that lower level members have the opportunity to represent themselves within the group (1938:355). In this way Gist relaxes Simmel’s leadership criteria which, with the discussion of “controlling personalities” and “decisive influence” does imply a more authoritarian role.

Compartmentalisation of Information

Simmel argues that the best and most intense form of leader in a secret group is the “unknown chief” (1906:493). This is where the identity of the leader is kept from members, particularly those in the lower ranks. Simmel’s reasoning for this assertion is twofold. Firstly, ignorance of identity is the ultimate protection against betrayal. If members do not know who you are they can’t sell you out. Secondly, Simmel believes that “the feeling of being subject to an intangible power” (1906:494) will encourage subordinates to discipline themselves as mystery fosters the potential that the leader is both omnipotent and omnipresent. If you don’t know where power actually lies, there is the possibility that it could be infinite and everywhere.

Goffman too argues that social distance between leaders and subordinates can be positive as it allows for the process of “mystification” to occur. Lack of contact means that leaders can be imaginatively imbued with virtues and talents beyond those which they actually possess, thereby strengthening their position through these false perceptions. Distance from rank and file members provides protection from close and potentially negative inspection (1959:71).

Again Hawthorn highlights some important dangers, this time in operating with a separate and concealed leadership. He claims that the Doukhobor leaders decided to deliberately minimise the visibility of their command due to concerns about their vulnerability. It was thought that if they could be identified, they could be removed. This agenda resulted in the development of a “secret language of command” rendering leadership activities, and indeed the leaders themselves, identifiable only to those able to understand (1956:3). Rather than protecting them, however, it seriously affected their capacity to rule as the language was misinterpreted and, in some cases actually resulted in the opposite actions of those it was trying to provoke (1956:3). Thus, concealing the exercise of power meant that the Doukhobors leaders were unable to achieve their objectives and the efficiency of the group was challenged.

The hidden leadership also had a further consequence, however. As lines of Doukhobor command were now blurred and leadership was indirect and itself subject to secrecy, this left room for exploitation. Using the command language non-leaders could issue edicts which appeared legitimate and in this way could claim power for themselves. Indeed Hawthorn cites this as a reason for the growth of antagonistic splinter groups which later fractured the Doukhobor community (1956:7). Whilst covert group leaders may wish to keep their identities secret from all but a small number in order to protect themselves from betrayal, this is clearly a risky strategy as without a certain amount of visibility there can be no verifiability that commands are coming from a legitimate source. In the context of a politically violent covert group this might be all the more concerning as counter-terrorism agents could use such an opportunity to disrupt the co-ordination of attacks.

Goffman states that compartmentalisation of information is often used as a protective mechanism within secretive hierarchical structures. He too recognises the dangers to

63 both security and efficiency that this may cause, however, arguing along similar lines to Hawthorn that it “reduce(s) coordination of action and dangerously impede(s) corroboration of information” (1969:78). Indeed, further to this Goffman criticises hierarchical design in general stating that such rational organisation can lead to the “sequential entrapment of a whole network” via only one disloyal or captured member who could give up both his superiors and subordinates (1969:78). If opponents gleaned this information from successive ‘turned’ or captured members they could quickly seize the entire group.

Although in the previous section the discussion was mainly about the operation of secrecy across the external boundary of a group, and about the potentially ‘fuzzy’ nature of that boundary, to borrow a phrase from Sparrow (1991), it should also be clear from the preceding discussion of secretive practices that compartmentalisation of information also happens within groups. Accordingly, members may need to hide different information from different people and there may be sanctions for not doing so. Family members may know of group membership, for example, but not of activities in the service of the group. Some group members may know the extent of those activities but other members won’t. And senior members might know the identity of their leader which lower level members don’t. In summary then, secrecy is complex and there may be different circuits for different secrets.

3.4 Secrecy and Information Control

Sub-processes of Secrecy

As we have discussed Simmel and Goffman are in agreement about a great many points regarding secrecy. However, Goffman goes further than Simmel and elaborates a number of other interactional processes, beyond the concealment of information, which are involved in secrecy. For example, Goffman addresses not only how individuals and groups might control access to information, but also that they might attempt to control the reception and interpretation of information in order to ensure that their ‘stories’ are believed. Wilsnack (1980) formalises Goffman’s insights into an ‘information control framework’, adding the processes of persuasion, evaluation and espionage to secrecy. Indeed Goffman (1959, 1969) and Wilsnack (1980)

64 acknowledge that the control of information necessary for secrecy involves acquiring and using information as well as granting and denying access to that information; the latter being the processes with which Simmel (1906) is mainly concerned.

Evaluation is a key part of successfully maintaining secrecy for Goffman, in terms of being attentive to the surrounding environment and to potential dangers (1969). This is not alien to Simmel as we have seen from his point regarding the evolution of group secrecy across time. However, for Goffman, the changing risks in the environment of a covert group present themselves as more of a constant dialogue than an arc, where risk is heightened only during a groups initial and final stages (1959, 1969). Rather, Goffman states that throughout strategic interaction a series of ‘expression games’ are likely to take place between those with a secret and those who wish to obtain it. The interplay of ‘moves’ within the ‘information game’ define some of the constraints and opportunities for secrecy (Goffman 1969:49) and dictate the use of the processes mentioned above (Wilsnack 1980).

Espionage is defined as the process of obtaining information from people who do not want you to have that information (Wilsnack 1980:471). Goffman refers to this activity in his game analogy as an “uncovering move” (1969:18). From a policing perspective there are several obvious examples of espionage in practice such as the recruitment of ‘moles’ and informers. The adoption of this tactic changes the security environment for an illegal covert group. In turn, the group may change their tactics of secrecy, perhaps by attempting to boost solidarity and discipline so as to stop members being ‘turned’.

Following the game scenario espionage can also be used by covert groups themselves. This could be in terms of establishing what is known of their plans and activities or of collecting information about their enemies. Again, the group must evaluate this information in order to determine its reliability and how it might best be used. This example demonstrates that covert groups require information for strategic use by the group as well as for use in ensuring their own security. Moreover, they too have to deal with the barriers of secrecy when acquiring information from their opponents.

Persuasion might be one way to surmount those barriers and get people to talk. Once an action has been committed the culprits might then also need to persuade the police or other suspicious parties of their cover stories. However, perhaps more importantly for political covert groups, they may also need to persuade people of the necessity of and justification for their actions in order to maintain public support. Indeed, we have highlighted local community support as a significant bolster to secrecy. Moreover, persuasion might be used in a more strategic sense by covert groups in the form of providing misinformation about their activities. Persuasion can further aid secrecy in terms of ensuring that an opponent’s attention and resources are focused elsewhere (Wilsnack 1980:479). Goffman terms this type of action a “counter uncovering move” (1969:19).

The preceding examples show that secrecy and persuasion are processes used to control the out flow of information from a covert groups. On the other hand, espionage and evaluation control information coming in. Alternatively, persuasion and evaluation are related to the reception of information – by opponents and by the group – whereas espionage and secrecy are focused on potential sources of information (Wilsnack 1980: 477). Together these processes make up what Wilsnack (1980) refers to as an ‘information control framework’ and demonstrates that covert groups need to do more with information than simply conceal it. Indeed, beyond these specific processes Wilsnack suggests that we should also study who controls who and how information control is linked to the pursuit of goals and resources within a group (1980:490) if we are to fully understand the structuring effects of secrecy.

3.5 Perspectives on secrecy

It is highlighted by Davis that Goffman portrays the individual as “precariously prone to collapse” (1997:14). Indeed, the discussion of ‘expression games’ above and his assertion noted earlier in this chapter about the “asymmetry” of power in such games demonstrate that the individual, for Goffman, is constantly fighting against and anticipating discreditation. Thus, Goffman seems to be writing from the perspective that hidden information will eventually be discovered, and suggests that the individual is reactive rather the proactive in their secretive behaviour.

In contrast, Davis argues that the individual in Simmel’s thinking is more active and self-coordinating; that they can adeptly manage the different aspects of an increasingly fragmented life (1997:14). In terms of secrecy, this can be seen in Simmel’s discussion of instilling discipline and control, and of instituting a rational group design. Thus Simmel writes from the perspective that secrecy is something which can be successfully maintained. He would refute Goffman’s claim that in situations of secrecy, power lies with the observer.

This difference of opinion reflects an important cleavage in the covert structures research noted in the previous chapter. Those who advocate that covert groups are more likely to be centralised in structure (including Simmel) seem to be focusing on the organisation that makes a group least susceptible to discovery or infiltration; whereas those who advocate decentralisation seem to accept that this is inevitable and are concerned with a structure that lends itself to damage limitation. Thus, Simmel and Goffman’s views could be said to represent two fundamental positions on the organisation of secrecy; one suggesting that it will eventually be broken and one suggesting that this doesn’t have to be the case.

3.6 Conclusion

The preceding arguments are significant as they infer that covertness is a more complex phenomenon than has previously been acknowledged in covert networks research and underlines the fact that in most respects, secrecy is socially and not physically achieved. Furthermore, it suggests that there is not necessarily a radical break between the actions and actors of a covert network and those who operate in an ‘ordinary’ and overt manner outside of that network.

This chapter has shown that there are different types of secret; that the content of the secrets can change over time, as can the audience who the secrets are to be concealed from. It has also highlighted that there are a variety of processes involved in controlling information and managing group secrecy. Stratification, solidarity and segregation, as well as espionage and evaluation are some of those that were mentioned.

These processes manifest in different practices and structures. Simmel and Gist suggest that a hierarchy (or centralisation) is best for covert groups. Although Hawthorn highlights the importance of congruence between group ideology and structure, and Goffman refers to an idea prevalent in the covert networks literature, which is the ease of targeting in a hierarchical structure. Compartmentalisation in the manner of cells or clusters was also mentioned.

Thus, when studying covert groups we need to ask what forms and practices of secrecy a group uses, as well as what is secret, when and from whom if we are to understand the impact of secrecy on their structure and functioning.

4. Methodology

The purpose of this research is to explore the structure and functioning of covert groups. I am interested in how groups organise, communicate and achieve their objectives under the conditions of secrecy. As a result I focus on the relations and interactions between people and the patterns which they form, rather than individuals and their attributes. In chapter 2, I argued that one of the deficits of current research on covert groups is the lack of engagement with the concept of secrecy. In chapter 3 it was shown that secrecy is a practice which is inherently relational because it is achieved, and can only be achieved, in interaction with others. Of course, this is even truer when we are discussing group secrecy.

Social Network Analysis (SNA) is the framework in which much of the current research on covert groups has been conducted. As a theory, SNA assumes that our actions, attitudes and beliefs are affected by the people that we are connected to, as well as our position within the wider web of connections that we are embedded in; that these networks, facilitate and constrain our behaviour (Everton 2012) As a method SNA involves the depiction of social relationships in the form of ‘nodes’ which are linked by lines. The nodes represent people (or organisations depending upon your level of analysis) and the lines are the connections between them. Connections can be any form of relationship, for example, kinship, resource exchange or social support, and are recorded as numerical data. The patterns of this numerical data can then be measured using the techniques of graph theory in software packages (Borgatti et al 2013)

In Chapter 2 I discussed the overly rational way in which a lot of the existing covert networks research is conducted, suggesting that it abstracts out a lot of the complexity of social life – the real content and context of the ties. This is an argument which has been made by Emirbayer and Goodwin (1994) with regards to overt social networks. They describe network analysis which operates with only a minimal, rational conception of agency as “structuralist instrumentalism” and state that approaching networks this way does not account for the meaning, processes and practices which guide behaviour (1994:1425). Indeed, for this reason they argue the simple measurement of group structure, without the addition of context and culture, cannot

69 capture the dynamics which shape a network (1994:1427). Thus, in this research I use mixed-methods SNA approach, pairing the quantitative measurement of structure, with qualitative data on process and dynamics so that I can explore and explain the network properties found in my two case studies of covert groups.

4.1 Case Studies

Case study one is the leadership of Provisional Irish Republican Army (1969-1986). Case study two is the Right Club, a politically subversive group active at the start of World War Two (1939-41). Below I offer a brief introduction to each.

The Provisional Irish Republican Army

The Provisional Irish Republican Army (PIRA) formed after a split in the forerunning Irish Republican Army (IRA) in December 1969. The points of contention were the interrelated issues of abstentionism and armed struggle. The then IRA leadership was running-down the use of physical force in their campaign against British imperialism and wished to drop the policy of abstentionism, thereby allowing volunteers who were successful in political campaigns, to take up their seats in the parliaments of Belfast and Dublin. This course of action was an anathema to traditional Republicans as recognition of these parliaments was thought a de facto recognition of British rule in Ireland; and the cessation of violence was regarded as a forfeiture of their birth right to defend their homeland by force. Consequently, a number of longstanding figures broke away from the IRA and formed the ‘Provisionals’. This split was echoed in the political wing of the movement, Sinn Fein, the following January (Bowyer-Bell 1997, Coogan 2000, Taylor 1998).

PIRA soon became the larger of the two movements and the old IRA, now known as the ‘Officials’, formerly demilitarised in 1972. The Provisionals continued their violent campaign against the British government until 1998, when, following a drawn- out peace process, the Good Friday agreement was signed. Many years prior to the peace process a faction had broken away from PIRA, in 1986, when the policy of abstentionism was again brought into question and this time successfully removed from the Republican constitution. This group of activists formed Republican Sinn Fein

70 and later, an armed wing under the title the Continuity IRA. The signing of the peace agreement in 1998 was to provoke yet another split in which ex-Provisionals who refused to relinquish the use of force, short of their goal of a unified Ireland, went on to form the Real IRA (Coogan 2000, English 2003, Moloney 2002).

PIRA were a paramilitary organisation which used tactics of violence. They had a hierarchical command structure at the top of which was the Chief of Staff (CoS), his deputy the Adjutant General (AG), and other members who made up a seven man Army Council (AC), which usually also included the Quartermaster General (QMG). The AC were elected by the Army Executive (AE) who were in-turn elected by rank and file members at the Army Conventions. The AE then acted as an arbiter if there were any serious disagreements amongst the leadership relating to the Army Constitution. Below the AC sat the General Head-Quarters (GHQ) departments, including finance, training and engineering. GHQ were responsible for implementing the decisions of the AC. Command was separated into northern and southern areas in the late 1970s, with the former running operations and the latter, resourcing and logistics. Below GHQ were the Brigades which were also separated by geographical area. Each Brigade had its own internal hierarchy headed by an Officer Commanding (OC) and his Deputy. The Brigades consisted of Battalions until they were replaced by Active Service Units (ASU) when the leadership attempted to implement more of a cellular structure around 1977 (Horgan and Taylor 1997).

It is estimated that up to 10 000 people passed through the movement over their 30 years of existence. Only 200 or so were believed to be active at any one time, however (Bosi and Della Porta 2012), of course, leadership figures would number even fewer.

The Right Club

The Right Club (RC) was formed in May 1939 by Captain Archibald Maule Ramsay, the Conservative MP for Peebles and South Midlothian. With its anti-Semitic, anti- Bolshevik and pro-German (if not Pro-Nazi) ideology, the group had three main objectives; (1) to rid the Conservative party of its perceived Jewish influence; (2) to “oppose and expose the activities of organised Jewry” (Griffiths 1998:43), which Ramsay and the RC believed were in line with the conspiracy theories put forward in

‘The Protocols of the Elders of Zion’- a document which outlined a supposed plot for world domination by the Jewish people; and (3) to avoid war with Germany, but, once the declaration of war had been made, to achieve a ‘negotiated peace’ as quickly as possible (Saika 2010).

The RC was populated, on the whole, by politicians, peers, serving and ex-members of the armed services and affiliates of what might be termed, ‘high society’. A small number of people from a more working class background were involved, but, only in cases where they had proved their talent, fervour or usefulness amongst the existing Far Right ‘scene’. Indeed, the main recruitment ground for the club was amongst the related societies of which Ramsay was already a member. It was his belief that the Jewish ‘menace’ could only be beaten through the coordination of their work, which, primarily, was the production and dissemination, via leaflets, speeches or meetings, of subversive and anti-Semitic opinion, and through the subsequent lobbying of government (Griffiths 1998). However, the group was also involved in two major espionage incidents where Government documents regarding British and American readiness for war were smuggled to Germany. The group’s main goal was to discredit the war and leading politicians, namely Churchill (Griffiths 1998, Clough 2005).

The existence of the society, as well as the composition of its membership, was kept secret for fear that should their work be known, they would face reprisals from angry members of the Jewish community. Only Ramsay was intended to be aware of the groups’ full membership. Although the RC supposedly disbanded on 3rd September 1939, upon the official outbreak of war, a small group of activists continued to operate and changed their tactics from discussion and open group meetings to espionage and subversive propaganda activity

As an employee of the American embassy, Tyler Kent made copies of and retained a number of telegrams sent between his office and American command in Washington. The cables were thought to be evidence of how the two governments were grossly misrepresenting the situation to their people and of unconstitutional American collusion with Britain, sometime prior to her official entry into the war. Kent passed this information to Ramsay and RC member, Anna Wolkoff, who in-turn and on behalf of the RC, sent sensitive information regarding British readiness for battle, to Germany, via foreign diplomatic contacts (Bearse and Read 1991, Clough 2005).

The club had been under surveillance by MI5’s Political Subversion Unit, B5b, since spring 1940. Indeed a number of female agents had already successfully infiltrated the group. On the basis of their damning testimony, as well as the retrieval of the membership list from Kent’s room following his arrest in May, many RC members, including Ramsay, were interned without trial under Defence Regulation 18b. Kent and Wolkoff stood trial for their actions, however, as the main protagonists in the espionage saga. Both were given lengthy prison sentences, and, as neither was originally a British citizen, were deported upon release after the war (Bearse and Read 1991, Saika 2010).

The second espionage incident involved another group of RC members who continued to act after the Kent-Wolkoff participants had been arrested. They obtained documents from the Ministry of Supply.

Rationale for Researching these Case Studies

As noted in chapter 2 existing research in this area tends to use models or simulations, or where empirical data is used, this most often focuses on the example of Islamist militancy. This research provides new empirical case studies.

PIRA has been studied before in a network format by Gill et al (2014). However, their dataset consisted of the whole PIRA movement, whereas mine is limited to the ‘inner circle’ (a term which I will explain shortly). A lot of academic work on the group does exist but this does not concentrate on the elements of sustained secretive organisation and communication and does not have a network analytic focus. For example, Horgan and Taylor (1997) authored a paper which details the ‘command and functional Structure’ of PIRA. It details the formal organisational structure as outlined in Republican documentation and sources referenced only as ‘privately-held documentation’ or ‘security forces’. The paper does not investigate the contact patterns between leaders. Indeed, one of the aspects that this work will explore is the changing personnel who occupied these roles, as well the changing relationships, between these occupants.

Other research into PIRA has focused upon sources of funding (Horgan 1999, 2003), career pathways into the movement (Bosi 2012, Bosi and Della Porta 2012), the

73 profiles of members (Gill and Horgan 2013) tactical escalation (Bell 1973, White 1989), Strategy (Hannigan 1985, Bell 1990, Rogers 1996) and clandestine practices (Bell 1995); all of which have informed this research, but which, in turn, this project has built upon by going beyond these elements and mapping the Republican network of which these factors were important aspects or dynamics.

Whereas PIRA was a long-running, politically violent group, the RC was a short lived political conspiracy. It is also an example of a “truly secret society” as, outside of its membership, nobody was supposed to be aware of its existence. In comparison, PIRA represents the “relatively secret society” because they sought some publicity (Simmel 1906). For these reasons it will be interesting to explore how secrecy works in these vastly different contexts. Indeed, Della Porta and Bosi (2012) argue that a multi case study approach to research on militant movements gives a broader understanding of the phenomena under consideration, which, in this case, is secrecy. Whilst the research on one group will inform the other, they will not be directly compared, however, because of the many parameters on which they differ.

Moreover, the RC also proves a particularly good case study as one of the stated aims of this project is to provide new empirical evidence through which secrecy and its organisation might be explored. To my knowledge, little academic work exists on this group, and certainly none beyond the few texts concerning its historical origin and description (Bearse and Read 1991, Clough 2005, Griffiths 1998, Saika 2010). The RC will broaden the evidence base on covert groups as a political conspiracy case study.

Finally, on a practical level, due to the historical nature of the RC and to its MI5 infiltration, extensive, and now public, records exist from which good data can be taken. This will be discussed in more detail in the next section.

4.2 Data Collection

PIRA Boundary and Tie Specification

Involvement in this dataset has been defined by participation in PIRA or Sinn Fein related activities rather than in terms of any formalised membership. Indeed, PIRA

74 membership, although sometimes an “open secret” was only confirmed by the group upon the death of a participant (Toolis 2000). This follows McAdam’s (1986) advice that empirical data on groups of a high risk nature, should be derived from actual incidences of activism rather than simply an expressed commitment to a cause. Indeed, events participation was also found to be the most productive and feasible way to mine public source data on a covert group.

Since the Provisionals rejected armed struggle, first-hand accounts have begun to emerge in the public domain, particularly for the earlier period of the campaign, which discuss volunteers by name. It is from these sources which the data is drawn. More specifically, usable data was found in 9 auto/biographical accounts by key participants1, 10 journalistic, academic and historical texts (which in all cases drew upon in-depth interviews with movement members)2, and 1 archival website3. The data from these 20 sources were cross-referenced where possible, and 18% of the events upon which the network is based were referenced by multiple sources. A further 6 sources4 were also reviewed in detail but found to lack the information necessary for conversion into valid and reliable inner circle network data.

Network data were obtained by systematically surveying the abovementioned sources in search of references to face-to-face interactions which either (1) had a strategic significance in terms of PIRA activities, or (2) involved one or more members of the official command structure. For example, planning meetings, ‘doing’ tasks encompass (1) resourcing activities – finance or weapons related; (2) discipline – such as court martial proceedings or investigations (3) protest and propaganda activities – for example, press conferences, demonstrations or events related to Republican newspapers; (4) violent events – street battles, shootings and bombings, perpetrated by or against inner circle members; and (5) hiding activities – including the concealment and protection of both people and resources. Social and ceremonial activity and prison escapes or visits.

1 Adams 1997, Anderson 2003, Clarke and Johnson 2007, Collins and McGovern 1997, MacStiofain 1975, Maguire 1973, O’Callaghan 1999, Sharrock and Davenport 1998, White 2006 2 Bell 1997, Bishop and Mallie 1988, Coogan 2000, Dillon 1991, English 2003, Harnden 1998, Moloney 2002, Taylor 1998, Toolis 2000, White 1993 3 CAIN: Conflict Archive on the Internet – Conflict and Politics in Northern Ireland www.cain.ac.uk 4 Bradley and Feeney 2009, Fulton 2008, Gilmour 1998, McGartland 2009, McKearney 2011, O Doherty 1993

The collection of this form of data allows for the capture of the more informal PIRA network. ‘Official command structure’, for these purposes, refers to positions in the Army Council and Executive through GHQ directorates, Prison OCs and Sinn Fein leaders. As such the network not only includes those who were part of the official PIRA leadership, but also those who may have been of a lesser organisational position but with whom the leaders regularly interacted. This is especially important as English argues that “Informal status often transcended official title, when it came to influence within the movement” (2003:213) I refer to the group described above as the ‘inner circle’. This data goes beyond that in previous covert networks research as it presents more of a total movement network rather than simply a task-orientated sub network of a larger covert group (Krebs 2002, Koschade 2006).

Wasserman and Faust state that “in practice, while network researchers recognise that the social world consists of many (perhaps infinite) lines of connection, they also find that effective and reasonable limits can be placed on inclusion” (1994:31). The population of this study, whilst still being meaningful, was defined in the broadest possible sense and guided largely by the available sources; thereby avoiding the imposition of a falsely narrow definition of the ‘inner circle’ and allowing for the incorporation of the more ‘affectual’ level of relations which are lacking in most clandestine case studies.

The PIRA inner circle data lends itself to a cross sectional analysis over time. As the data spans 18 years, it is possible to split it into distinct time periods. Indeed, as there was quite considerable turnover of membership in the inner circle (see Stevenson and Crossley 2014), the full network may be regarded as something of an artificial structure, where members who were not contemporaries will never-the-less be indirectly connected to each other. By concentrating on smaller time periods, membership is more stable, and segmenting the network allows us to take better account of the internal and external factors which shaped it. Internal factors such as change of personnel, clashes of personality & ideology; and external factors such as fluctuating levels of community support, the ability to acquire resources and changing security policies.

The time periods selected are (t1) 1969-72; (t2) 1973-76; (t3) 1977-81; (t4) 1982-86. Each is of broadly similar size but also maps onto a different phase of ‘the troubles’. Each phase encapsulates some significant events, strategies and personalities, working both within and against the network. 1986 provides a natural cut-off point for the data as this is when a factional split took place which led to the formation of the Continuity IRA. There was also an increasing paucity of data in the sources beyond this point, however. Moreover, the data is longitudinal as it is split into four time periods.

Events begin in 1969 with a meeting in August at a social club in Belfast, at which a number of leading IRA men decided to break away from the then southern leadership. Many commentators agree that this was a significant event in the run up to the formal split at the December 1969 Convention and that these men formed the organisational nucleus from which the new Provisional wing would grow (Bell 1997, Coogan 2000, Taylor 1998). Events end in 1986 when a faction left the group to form the Continuity IRA. This twenty year period involves most of the key events in PIRA history, as commonly understood, including: Internment, Bloody Sunday, the 1975 Truce, the 1981 hunger strikes and the 1986 split.

Right Club Tie and Boundary Specification and Data Sources

As with PIRA, membership in the RC network is defined by participation in their activities. These were categorised into ‘doing’ and ‘planning’ activities. Doing activities included (1) meeting and ‘grooming’ of new contacts for espionage (2) Handling classified or sensitive information (3) Propaganda related activities (4) Activities necessary for the running of the group, for example, recruitment of new members and infiltration of other right wing organisations. Events begin in September 1939 when the group went ‘Underground’ and end in 1941 when the participants in the second espionage incident were arrested. With that the group ceased to exist because most its members were in prison.

Data was also collected on exogenous relationships for the RC, however, in order to establish an overt baseline against which the organisation of their covert activity could be measured. This included relational as well as events participation data. For example family, friendship, acquaintance, employment ties, co-membership in other political

77 groups, and co-attendance of social events. These were collected as individual one and two mode matrices and then merged, as were the ‘planning’ and ‘doing’ ties for their covert action network.

The data sources for this group were Home Office and Special Branch files stored at the National Archives. The files include surveillance notes, telephone and letter intercepts as well as court documents, reports and memos. A small number of secondary sources were also used.

Instruments of Data Collection

To reiterate, the quantitative data were collected in the form of two-mode actor-events (incidence) matrices, which, when two mode were then affiliated in order to derive actor-to-actor ties and subsequently dichotomised (Scott 2000).

The qualitative data, which for both case studies was taken from the same sources was collected systematically via a coded spreadsheet. Themes relating to significant dynamics and contextual factors were derived from reading the wider literature and included factors such as ‘Tactics and Activities’, ‘Strategies for Organisation’, ‘Resources’, ‘Risk and the Security Environment’ ,’Tactics/Processes of Secrecy’.

Data collection was conducted in a “sequential” manner (Dominguez and Hollstein 2014:12), where the quantitative data was collected first, followed by the qualitative data on process and dynamics. The qualitative data will be used to explore and explain the quantitative properties of the networks. The benefit of this method is that I can provide “thick descriptions” of the networks which help “contextualise the structural mechanisms” observed (Bellotti 2015). Moreover, this approach allows for the data to be triangulated, so the patterns of contact can be checked against the qualitative information (Edwards 2010:10, Wald 2014).

4.3 Limitations and Defence of the Sources

As the PIRA and RC networks were mapped using different sources of data, namely auto/biographies and secondary sources in the first instance, and official security

78 records in the second, I will address the case studies separately in this section. However, it should be noted that many researcher attest to the utility of open source data in covert groups research (Raab and Milward 2006, Crenshaw 2010, Roberts and Everton 2011, Harris Hogan 2012).

I acknowledge that the data set out above are limited. In the case of PIRA this is in respect of the potentially prejudiced recall of the authors, or of the informants to the authors, of the secondary sources used. This issue is three-fold. Firstly, bias may be introduced in terms of the prominence of certain actors, particularly the subjects of the auto/biographies, who are obviously key figures in their own life stories. Secondly, the once illegal, covert and sometimes violent nature of the activities with which this project is concerned are undoubtedly an emotive subject, and likely to provoke strong feelings which may blur recall. And thirdly, the accuracy of recall may be questioned as, by definition, it is retrospective in nature. It must be stated, however, that similar problems arise in all studies of covert groups. Many are sensitive in nature and are necessarily studied after-the-fact. These problems are inevitable if politically violent or subversive movements are to be studied empirically.

Furthermore, I would argue that problems of respondent bias and recall attend to all empirical studies, regardless of methodology or focus, which investigate (even the recent) past. Nevertheless, this study tries, in some part, to off-set these difficulties through the use of various and indeed varied auto/biographical narratives (those of leadership as well as rank and file members, geographically disparate volunteers, loyal veterans, drop-outs and informers), as well as a number of more general texts written from the perspectives of embedded journalists, historians and social scientists; each source acting as a check upon the potential prejudice of the others. For this reason it may be argued that cross-referencing between sources serves to significantly strengthen these data. Moreover, some of these books were written with the full knowledge and cooperation of PIRA, and, in the case of Bowyer Bell’s (1970) book, for example, were even listed in the Green Book as recommended reading for PIRA recruits (Horgan 2008:7).

Indeed, being written ‘after-the-fact’ may actually induce some of the publications used to be more truthful as the risk of endangering self or others through detailed disclosure is reduced. Further to this, the longer period of time allocated to produce a

79 book manuscript, as opposed to the (usually) limited time available in a social science interview situation5, for example, allows for more sustained periods of remembering. As Dell Porta (1992:183) argues, “When a life-course is recounted in the space of a few hours, there is of course a process of selection necessarily at work”. This is a particular problem for a study seeking to plot longitudinal networks as strict time restrictions may prevent key personalities or events from being reported. Moreover, many senior PIRA figures, particularly those involved in the formation of the movement and the early years of the campaign, are now dead, and thus, can now only speak through previously published auto/biographies, or through interviews given to authors and journalists.

Indeed, the nature of the information necessary to map the PIRA network also precludes the use of another data source which has been used in existing research on the Provisional movement – public records and government documents (For examples, see: Horgan and Taylor 1997, White and Falkenberg White 1991, Bosi 2012). Despite the passing of the statutory 30 year embargo on the release of such documents from the early years of the ‘troubles’, official records which include names and activities of suspected PIRA members – still regarded as potentially sensitive to national security and to the that of the fragile Northern Irish state – have not been released or have been heavily redacted.

Feenan (2002) notes some further methodological problems particular to studies of paramilitary groups in Northern Ireland which have been studied by other means. He discusses the gaining of access to traditionally very close-knit and sometimes hostile communities as a major obstacle to be overcome (2002:150). He argues that in some Republican enclaves, the simple fact of a researchers’ British nationality may breed mistrust; such people thought of as agents of the state, gathering ‘intelligence’ by other means - even now ‘the Troubles’ are over.

Goolsby (2005) reiterates that problems of access are often encountered when conducting primary research into ‘terrorism’. Even if ‘gatekeepers’ can be located and a rapport developed with influential Republicans, the stigma still associated with “informing, grassing or squealing” (Feenan 2002:153) may preclude respondents from

5 White’s (1989) interviews with PIRA members were a maximum of 2 hours and Horgan (2008) states that although one of his interviews lasted over 5 hours, on average, they were around an hour long.

80 actually sharing the details necessary to map the PIRA network, particularly when those details are the names and dates associated with possibly violent and illegal, but at the very least, once covert activities. This kind of data is fundamentally different to that sought in most previous studies where primary access has been gained. (For examples see: White and Falkenberg-White 1991, White 1993, Alonso 2007, Bosi 2012), and as has been suggested, might be construed as precisely that which is useful to the security services.

Indeed, this seems to have been the case for the Police Service of Northern Ireland (PSNI), with data from the relatively recent Belfast Project. This project collected 26 taped interviews with former PIRA members between 2001 and 2006. Lengthy in- depth interviews were granted on the basis that no information would be released until after respondents’ deaths. However, a court overruled this statement and demanded that data be released which is pertinent to on-going criminal cases6.

The issues of access noted by Feenan (2002) and Goolsby (2005) above, were circumvented in this study as interviews were conducted by Anthony McIntyre; a former PIRA member but now an academic and author. Even if access could be negotiated by those with no links to the movement, this legal situation complicates, indeed, potentially prevents further such research as it is now well-known that neither confidentiality nor anonymity can be ensured for participants. Resultantly, nor can safety from prosecution. Indeed, the more recent development of the potential prosecution of the ‘on the runs’ further complicates this situation 7

Although problems of access may have been overcome in the Belfast Project, it does not seem that those involving the stigma of informing have. McIntyre’s solicitor testified in court that he has now been branded as a ‘grass’ by the Republican community and is in danger of harm from those seeking a reprisal8. Again, this is likely to act as a strong deterrent to anybody thinking about granting a research interview

6 The research team are not appealing the release of Dolours Prices’ interview as she had already informed another journalist of her participation in the project and in this sense had “outed herself” as one of the respondents. ‘US Judges Adjourn to Consider Ruling on Troubles Tapes’ accessed at www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-northern-ireland-17602599 7 http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-northern-ireland-26359906 8 www.boston.com/news/local/massachusetts/articles/2012/04/04/appeals_court_hears_case_of_se cret_ira_tapes/ Article written by Denise Lavoie 4/4/12

81 about their paramilitary past; particularly to a networks project as this would necessarily involve information about fellow volunteers.

The Right Club

There is a necessity with this case study to rely upon the ‘official’ picture of this network as government and security service documents are really the only sources available on this group. Indeed, the publications about the RC from which data is also taken draw heavily upon these files and, in only a very small number of cases, interviews with then quite elderly movement members. Having said this, these files do include many reports by the MI5 agents who infiltrated the group and could thus offer information on events and participants from ‘the inside’.

Indeed one agent became so senior and central to the group that she was put in charge of their meeting place and safe house and described by Anna Wolkoff as the groups’ “little Storm Trooper”9. Moreover, although the validity of statements to the police, court testimony and prison correspondence could be questioned in terms of the motive of self-preservation, they do offer a subjective account in the words of RC members about their activity, that of others and of the politics and culture of the group. It is not possible to access this type of subjective information by any other method as all RC operatives are now believed to be dead.

Having said this, it is recognised that both networks are unlikely to be the exact representations of the groups. Indeed, fuzzy boundaries and missing data are an issue for all covert networks studies (Sparrow 1991). However, as noted previously, the ability to triangulate this data and check the qualitative and quantitative data off against each other does add validity. As does the cross refereeing of sources where possible.

4.4 Ethics

As I am using published secondary sources and official archival documents in this project I will be releasing no new information into the public domain. All my sources are freely available.

9 National Archives file Ref KV2/543 document 38 X

5. The Secrecy and Structure of the Right Club

This chapter focuses on the structure and functioning of the Right Club, contributing new case study material to the covert networks debate. Indeed, as this is a non-violent political conspiracy group, it provides an example of covert behaviours beyond ‘terrorism’ and drug trafficking, which have thus far dominated this area of research. I will measure the properties of density, de/centralisation and clustering within this network, investigating how they affected the secrecy and functioning of the Right Club within its given social, cultural and historical context.

This chapter argues that, for this case study, existing claims about the low density of covert networks are supported. However, those about network decentralisation are not. Moreover, whilst the network was found to cluster, evidence for the Right Club challenges some of the theoretical assumptions linked to this formation; namely the recognition of this boundary by participants, and resultantly, the level of solidarity within the sub groups. Indeed, further to this, this chapter argues that secrecy cannot simply be reduced to network structure. Practices were undertaken by participants which affected their security but did not affect their configuration.

On a methodological level, the comparison of the overt and covert ties of the Right Club actors marks something of a new approach. To the best of my knowledge this has not been done before in the field of covert networks. It allows me to empirically test whether the covert structure differs from the overt network structure; as well as be more specific about what relationships and activities were actually secret by differentiating between the two.

5.1 Density

Measuring Density

In an attempt to render the connectivity metrics of the RC more meaningful, I report them alongside a network of RC members’ overt relationships and two other political conspiracy groups found in the literature. For the specifics of these datasets and how they were constructed see Table 1 below. Although I have selected groups of similar covert activity, inevitably there are differences between them. These differences will be borne in mind during comparison of these data.

I focus upon the average degree as opposed to density metric in this analysis because this measure allows for comparison across different sized networks. Average degree is simply the average number of connections per participant in a network and is widely used when comparing the connectivity of multiple groups (Borgatti et al 2013).

5.1.1 Density: Analysis

The density value for the RC Action network supports the low density argument as only 10% of possible connections between participants have been recorded (see Table 2, above). Indeed, when compared to their overt, extra-organisational relationships, RC members have approximately one third fewer ties in their clandestine activity network.

The low level of connectivity in the RC Action network is also apparent in the average degree data. Figure 3 shows that RC participants are connected to an average of only six people in the course of their clandestine activity; but are connected to an average of nine people by way of their overt relationships. When we compare the RC members with other covert groups, on average, Watergate participants have three more connections and ETO participants two more connections than those in the RC action

86 network. Thus, taking network size, tie type and activity into account, the RC Action network appears to be quite sparse when compared to other relevant groups.

Data Considerations

The Watergate conspiracy has the highest average degree of the political conspiracy networks but it is the only one to include people who were not active on behalf of the group. Faulkner and Cheney (2012) included a small number of people who were important to, or targeted by the group, but were unaware of their clandestine activity. This slightly broader inclusion criteria could increase their connectivity as, presumably, these figures would not have been concerned with limiting their ties and others may actively have wanted to connect to them. Furthermore, it is possible that that average degree of ETO members is higher than that of the RC because the network spans approximately ten years (as opposed to less than two years of RC activity), giving ETO members more time to form trusted connections with each other.

However, I argue that low density was actually a deliberate tactic for secrecy implemented by the RC, rather than an artefact of the data and inclusion criteria, for the following reasons.

5.1.2 Density: Discussion

Risk and the Security Environment

The RC perceived more risk in their environment than did the other two groups. They were operating during World War Two when both national security concerns and infrastructure increased, creating a very hostile situation. At the outbreak of war even overt political activities were monitored more closely (Cullen 2012:221), and in early 1940, extra special powers legislation was brought in. Defence Regulation 18B allowed the government to intern anybody suspected of subversion without trial (Saika 2010), making imprisonment easier and more likely for RC members because guilt did not need to be proven in court.

Moreover, the advance of the Nazis across mainland Europe is said to have triggered a situation of “spy mania” (Thurlow 2008:89), in which the country as a whole became sensitised to the possibility of hostile foreign agents or ‘enemies within’. As a consequence the government were more alert to potential moles in military and government departments, and ordinary people were mobilised to report anybody who they suspected of being subversive or a spy; this often amounted to anybody who expressed anti-war sentiment (Cullen 2012:220/22).

The significance of this is two-fold. Firstly, surveillance - both formal and informal - was heightened, making the RC vulnerable to friends and neighbours as well as the security service; and, secondly, because public opinion was strongly against them, this made their treachery even more deviant relative to patriotic, wartime norms. Indeed, in the context of war, Fascists and the right wing were now reconsidered as Nazi sympathisers and lost any support they had previously when viewed as a useful ally against Communism (Thurlow 2008:84).

In contrast to this, the Watergate conspiracy functioned without suspicion until the break in at the Democratic Party National Headquarters, and then, during the period of this data, only aroused media speculation (Cheney and Faulkner 2013:198). Whereas ETO had a “repeated history of crimes that went unpunished” and were said to be so sure of their security that they operated with “a sense of immunity” (Demiroz and Kapucu 2012:289). Indeed, unlike the other groups, the RC was actually infiltrated by MI5 informants, although they did not know this until later at the trials of Kent and Wolkoff.

Tactics and Activities

The RC were clearly aware of this broader security situation as they took steps to ‘go underground’ at the beginning of the war, moving from an overt strategy of launching a military coup to espionage, political subversion and attempted sabotage, after they “officially” shut down the group (KV2/677 29A10). Indeed, the very existence of the

10 This is a reference number for an original paper file held at the National Archives, Kew, relating to the Right Club. KV2 designates that it is a Security Service ‘personal file’; 677 is the individual Identity number of the person it refers to, in this case Captain Ramsay; 29A is the document number within

RC was supposed to be a secret from this point on as well as its membership and activity.

In line with this attempted secrecy, we can see from Table 3 that RC events involved only a minimal number of participants. The majority, 62%, have only two attendees. This number rises to 74% when we focus only on events which involved doing rather than discussing illegal and subversive activities. And, in total, just over 90% of events involve 4 or less participants, a small fraction of the 61 people who were part of RC events. This is not to say that some RC participants did not engage in a range of different events with different people, just that the size of these events limited the connections possible. However, we should also note that given the prevailing patriotic climate mentioned in the previous section, the opportunities to engage in espionage activities would have been quite restricted, although this affects the frequency of, rather than the extent of participation at meetings.

We cannot rule out that these results are in fact due to missing data, where all participants at an event may not have been listed in the documentation. However, the data was drawn from documents which recorded various methods of surveillance, and this pattern of events participation is consistent with the nature of the RC’s espionage and infiltration work, as they described it. For the most part RC members met and “groomed” new contacts (KV2 840/32A, KV2 842 430A) or handled sensitive information, often in one-to-one exchanges. Notable exceptions were when particular resources were required. For example, language skills for ease of communication or where a car was used to transport documentation. Indeed, these results are also

the personal file. If a reference says ‘doc no. missing’ this was either because the paper was torn or the number was illegible. File references starting with the prefix HO are Home Office files from the period relating to the court cases, internment/legal status and appeals of RC members.

89 consistent with theoretical arguments about secret activity. Espionage involving human sources is a logistically simple task, (Baker and Faulkner 1993, Enders and Su 2007) and, as discussed in chapter one, can therefore be achieved with a minimal number of participants.

The tasks with the largest number of participants were the propaganda related activities, although still illegal, these were the least risky. For example, listening to banned radio broadcasts from Germany or plastering walls with anti-Semitic slogans on ‘sticky backs’. The RC themselves acknowledged that disseminating propaganda was less risky as they deliberately used this to provide a “smoke screen for something bigger” (KV2/840 27A) – their espionage activity. The inverse relationship between participant numbers and risk in relation to ‘doing’ activity suggests a concern to minimise ties for greater secrecy.

Despite the simple and low level nature of the ‘sticky back’ campaign, however, members were still issued with clear instructions on how best to do this so as to avoid detection. This included details such as ‘stick to the dark side of the street’; ‘be wary of door and alley ways from which somebody might be watching’; and, ‘paste the sticky back whilst you continue walking’ (Miller 1986:26). From this information we can see that secrecy concerns pervaded all levels of RC activity, but some affected only practice rather than structure.

Resources for Secrecy

Unsurprisingly, meetings have more participants than do tasks and activities, though even these are skewed towards small numbers. Of the slightly larger meetings, the majority took place in the Ramsay’s house, deliberately so because it was thought to offer both privacy and security (HO45 25696). Indeed, MI5 spy Joan Miller noted that Mrs Ramsay was of “obstinate discretion” anywhere other than this, but there she would “incriminate herself thoroughly” (1986:29). Meetings also took place in the rooms of Tyler Kent which were covered by diplomatic immunity (at least until Ambassador Kennedy waived this just prior to his arrest). These resources were a protective factor.

Some meetings also took place in the Russian Tea Rooms (RTR). Although owned by the Wolkoff family this was a public forum and so the number of people meeting here tended to be smaller. Yet, there is also evidence to suggest that the public nature of this establishment was, at times, also used as ‘cover’ (Goffman 1969). For example, immediately after the arrests of Kent and Wolkoff, Enid Riddell and Madam Wolkoff arranged to meet to discuss the situation. They changed the venue of their meeting from a private house to the Tea Rooms “for safety” (KV2/840 72A), seeking the protection of apparent overt activity. Moreover, Anna Wolkoff strove to hide the link between the RTR and the RC from onlookers as she told members that they would not be served if they were wearing their official club badges (KV2/840 27A). In general, the RTR was described as a respectable place (Miller 1986:23) frequented by the “well-heeled” (Saika 2010:6); a reputation which the RC evidently sought to use.

Of the planning events the largest are meetings of overt right-wing political leaders to discuss the co-ordination of their respective groups as a protective measure against the 18B legislation. Many, like Ramsay, were also involved in clandestine activity. The general impetus here was to forge more connections rather than minimise them in order to boost flows of information and security. However, although Ramsay attended it is doubtful whether he supported this idea as he is known to have told RC members to sever links with other Right Wing groups, such as the Nordic League, when they came under security service scrutiny (KV2/842 430A).

Even though meetings were regarded as less risky, and protected by some of the factors mentioned above, other security procedures were also enacted. For example, Ramsay mentions deliberately “laying false trails” to meetings in order to throw anyone off who may have been watching (KV2/842 430A). Again, this impacts practice rather than structure.

5.1.3 Density: Findings

In summary of this section, I have argued that the structure of the RC Action group supports the low density thesis as, compared to maximum possible density, the density of the RC’s overt connections (as I have recorded them in the extra-organisational ties

91 network), and 2 other covert political conspiracy groups, the RC Action network is sparser.

The minimisation of connections was part of the RC’s response to their heightened risk following the reappraisal of Fascism and increased security activity at the outbreak of war. This is qualitatively evident in their change from overt to covert strategies when they chose to go ‘underground’. And quantitatively evident in their events participation data, where the number of attendees varies inversely to the level of risk that the group attached to certain tasks.

Some important resources such as private settings (Bok 1989), the cover offered by apparent overt, respectable social activity, and links to other right wing groups and leaders affected their perception of risk. In some situations the group felt secure enough to meet in larger numbers, but, as the security situation developed, certain factors were thought to increase their vulnerability, such as links to other right wing groups and meetings held in private places.

Nonetheless, some practices of secrecy were also noted which were enacted within but did not impact RC group structure.

5.2 De/Centralisation

Measuring Centralisation

As with density, to report centralisation scores for the RC Action network in isolation would mean comparing them only to an ideal-type formation (either completely centralised or completely decentralised) which is unlikely to exist in reality. The RC Action network is therefore compared to the overt, or extra-organisational ties RC network; to the average centralisation scores of 1000 randomly generated graphs with

92 the same parameters11; and to the Watergate political conspiracy network12. This will provide a more meaningful benchmark against which the de/centralisation of the RC can be analysed.

Although more commonly used, Freeman’s closeness centralisation cannot be computed in networks that are unconnected i.e. fragmented into more than one component. Consequently, the average reciprocal distance (ARD) has been calculated instead13 so that the RC extra-organisational ties network can be included in this analysis.

5.2.1 De/Centralisation: Analysis

Table 4 (above) shows that the metrics for the RC Action network do not support the decentralisation argument as the network is moderately centralised. It records between 40%-60% of the maximum possible centralisation.

11Networks were generated using the SNA package of the R software. They are of the same size and number of ties as the RC action network. The distribution of those ties is randomly (re)formed over 1000 different iterations. The three centralisation scores noted above are the means of the scores recorded.

12 The ETO network has not been included for comparison here as all 3 centralisation scores were not available for this data. Moreover, it differs from the RC across more variables than does the Watergate network, as discussed in the density section.

13 Freeman’s Closeness measure calculates the number of actors in a network besides ego (n-1) divided by ego’s farness score. The farness score is the sum of the shortest paths (or geodesics) between ego and every other node. Farness scores cannot be calculated in disconnected networks because the geodesics between disconnected nodes are non-existent and therefore, potentially infinite. Consequently the Average Reciprocal Distance first calculates the reciprocal of the distance between two nodes, which in the case of infinity is zero, and then sums the distances using this figure (Everton 2012:218/9).

Indeed, figure 6 shows that when compared to the network of their overt ties, the RC Action group is approximately 10% more degree centralised. Their covert operations are therefore more tightly organised around a, or a number of ‘key players’ than are their extra-organisational ties.

When viewed in relation to the mean of the random graph comparisons, the RC Action group is almost 30% more degree centralised. This is more than nine standard deviations above the mean degree centralisation of 1000 graphs generated with the same parameters. This is of course an imperfect test as real-world networks commonly do display more centralisation than do virtual simulations, but it does tell us something. It indicates that the distribution of ties is skewed much more heavily towards the few in the RC Action group than would be the case by random variation.

Again, the Watergate network provides an informative comparison because it is a ‘who works with who’ political conspiracy network similar to the RC. Figure 6 shows that despite their parallels the RC Action network is 9% more degree centralised than the Watergate group. Thus, the RC is more tightly organised around a central figure or figures, who are very ‘busy’ in their network.

In terms of average reciprocal distance, again the RC Action group is the most centralised structure by this measure and it is more centralised than its overt comparator. As with degree, figure 7 shows that the average score for the random graphs is the lowest. However, the RC is 21% more centralised than the Watergate network, showing a much greater variation of individual level scores.

Figure 8 shows that, in terms of betweeness centralisation, again the RC Action group has highest score. Indeed, it was much more dependent upon brokers than the other 3 groups to link the network together.

It is apparent from these data that when compared to an overt network of the RC participants; 1000 random networks of the same size and extent of connection; and one group of similar context and instrumental action, that the RC Action network is quite centralised across all forms. In order to stay secret the RC did not decentralise; nor trade high degree for closeness or betweeness centralisation so as to maintain coordination but reduce the visibility of key members.

Table 5, below, lists the RC members who were most central by each of the three measures. As with the above results, this data should be viewed with some caution as missing nodes or edges in the network could affect position, especially in relation to betweeness centrality which is the most sensitive to such error (Borgatti et al 2006). However, as in the density section, the quantitative metrics will be investigated using the qualitative ‘story’ of the Right Club in the following discussion. As well as providing contextual information which better explains the structure and functioning of the group, this mixed methods approach also adds to the validity of the data.

Table 5 shows that Anna Wolkoff, Captain Ramsay and Mary Stanford were important figures in the group as they have the three highest scores across all forms. This suggests that Wolkoff, followed by Ramsay and then Stanford were involved in the most activity, could contact the rest of the group most quickly and acted as brokers by linking other participants together. Ramsay is the founding member of the RC, Wolkoff is described as his “self-styled political secretary” (Documentary) and was

96 instrumental in smuggling the documents from the American Embassy; whereas Stanford was the main proponent of the second document smuggling incident.

Despite her apparent lower organisational status when compared to Ramsay (as secretary to him), Wolkoff in particular was a prominent figure. In the context of a covert network, this suggests she was also at the most risk. Indeed, in this respect she may have provided some protection to Ramsay, acting as a barrier between him and wider group members. However, it also suggests that she had more opportunity to control and influence the group by virtue of this position.

Mrs Ramsay and Marjorie Foster also hold significant network positions. Although neither appears in the top 5 ranking for all of the centrality measures, Mrs Ramsay is prominent in terms of degree and average reciprocal distance, and Marjorie Foster is central by degree and betweeness. Hence, both were likely also involved in a lot of RC activity, but whereas Mrs Ramsay was well placed to communicate with the rest of the organisation, Foster appears to have been more of a hub, brokering resources and communication to a sector of the network. Mrs Ramsay clearly thought herself important as she described the RC as “an organisation of persons concerned to propagate her views” (Quinlan 2014:116). Indeed some commentators regard her as the “driving force behind her husband” (Clough 2005:181).

The following discussion looks at the qualitative evidence to ascertain how and why the RC was a relatively centralised structure and what, in practice, this meant for their security.

5.2.2 De/Centralisation: Discussion

Authority

Although the above results show that some participants were clearly in a much better position to exercise power and/or influence than others we should bear in mind that this data maps events participation rather than flows of authority. It records who engaged in tasks with each other, but not necessarily who was giving the orders. Indeed, the Home Office noted in their investigation that the RC didn’t have an

97 executive council (KV2/841 150G). And Captain Ramsay was described only as a “principle organiser” (cited in Clough 2005:204). In fact, Special Branch questioned whether the RC actually had a leader, stating in a report that if one would “step forward the movement would make rapid headway” (Cited in Clough 2005:179).

Furthermore, although different ranks were ascribed to names on the membership list, several participants stated that these were meaningless in practice. The titles were simply a way to differentiate between people on the basis of subscription money paid (KV2/677 24B). As many of the names were not active in this network and Mrs Ramsay confirmed that many of those who were active did not appear on the list (KV2/902 doc. no. missing), this renders the titles even less meaningful. This is to say that, despite elements of apparent gradation, in terms of role or network position, the RC was not a traditional hierarchy as is sometimes assumed to be the case when there is covert network centralisation (Arquilla and Ronfeldt 2001; Helfstein and Wright 2011). Thus, they were not a very formal organisation with established command and control or discipline.

Activity

Clough describes a group of women who “fancifully referred to themselves as the ‘inner circle’” (2005:27) of the RC. As described above, this is perhaps fanciful in terms of authority but not when thought of as a locus of enthusiasm and activity. The core-periphery calculation below (see table 6) clearly shows that there was an ‘inner circle’ of people in the RC Action network as the density of ties between the core participants is more than ten times higher than those between their peripheral counterparts. Moreover, there are more connections between the core and the periphery than there are between peripheral members (Borgatti et al 2013).

However, analysis of the core in this network shows that it and the ‘inner circle’ described in the sources were made up of different people, with only a few overlapping participants. This suggests that the real core members were protected, to an extent, by this group who appeared to be at the centre of the movement. A group which one brief member described as “fat well-heeled coffee drinking women” (Fay Taylour cited in Clough 2005:213); a derogatory opinion which underestimates the actual threat posed

98 by group. Indeed, an analysis of their activities shows that the core members were involved in espionage whereas the ‘inner circle’ described in the sources were more heavily involved in the less risky propaganda activity.

The existence of a network core and the different activity reflects the RC’s policy of the “progressive initiation” (Simmel 1906:474/5) of members. The group describes itself as having three levels of participation through which members would gradually become involved in more activities. The first layer of members were “sympathisers” with whom the “Jewish menace” and “International finance” could be discussed. The “tested” – those who were found to agree with RC ideology – were involved in the active forms or propaganda against Judaism and the war, such as the ‘sticky-backs’, for example. And only the trusted - fully approved members - were tasked to clandestinely penetrate other political organisations or government departments (KV2/840 29G, KV2/842 430A). Therefore, only longer-standing members had access to the full spectrum of clandestine activities.

Other complementary security procedures were also implemented in an attempt to safe-guard RC members during covert activity. For example, existing participants were called upon to vouch for new members (Miller 1986:24), and co-members were tasked to investigate those who had aroused suspicion (KV2/841 150G). As Hawthorn suggested (1956), concern was sometimes focused on lapsed as well as current and incoming members as Anna Wolkoff was said to be particularly anxious about former RC participant, Eric Horning, and what he might share with others (KV2/840 30G). Thus, despite the centre being a position of potential vulnerability within the RC because it was a point of increased and more serious activity, security procedures such as these were adopted to mitigate the risk of infiltration and/or observation by the security services.

Security vs. Efficacy

Having said this, these procedures - particularly the levels of participation - were perhaps not as strict and separate in practice as they were in the documentation; Marjorie Amore, Joan Miller and Helene de Munck, all MI5 agents, seem to have moved quite quickly through each phase. For example, Amore re-established contact with the Ramsay’s in June 1939 after a period of several years, having previously known them through her work with the Militant Christian Patriots in the early 1930s (KV2/902 doc no. missing). By August 1939 she was an official RC member (KV2/841 150B) and by September had been notified of the groups’ plans to go underground and was tasked to infiltrate government departments (KV2/677 141A, KV2/678 579A). Amore secured a job in Military Censorship and as a result of this, in a matter of weeks became a fully “trusted” member. Indeed, Amore is present in the network core.

Similarly, within a month of her first contact with the group, Miller was asked if she could get herself transferred within the War Office to another department which “offered greater scope for sabotage” (Miller 1986:30). And in one of her early meetings she was exposed to a “tirade” of Mrs Ramsay’s anti-Semitic, pro-German views (Quinlan 2014:116), despite the danger of Miller considering her a war-time traitor.

In the case of de Munck, she was told that she would have to prove herself by successfully transmitting a letter to Germany via her (fictitious) diplomatic contacts before she could become a full RC member Yet, prior to confirmation of the letters arrival, she was asked to vet some contacts whom Anna distrusted when on a trip to Belgium (KV2/841 150G, KV2/902 Doc no. missing).

Like Amore, Miller and de Munck already had established relationships with RC members, although fabricated in Miller’s case. The RC thought that they had reduced their risk by recruiting through pre-existing ties and implementing some checks on participants. But, to their detriment, they were more opportunistic and less security conscious in practice. MI5 agents, relatively quickly, infiltrated the group. Indeed it wasn’t the most ‘tested’ and ‘trusted’, but rather the most effective and useful people

100 who were given membership and became involved in the most sensitive and risky of their activities. The balance tipped away from secrecy and security and towards effectiveness in these instances.

Control of Resources

Although sometimes flawed, the existence of attempted rules and structure demonstrates that somebody within the RC must have been able to act with influence in a decision making capacity, despite the apparent lack of formal organisation and traditional hierarchy. Erikson argues that control of resources is a crucial source of power within a covert group (1981); only in this way can centralisation be maintained amongst pre-existing ties which, in general, are formed otherwise (as seen in the extra- organisational ties RC network).

Qualitative evidence shows that few people had access to (or were willing to use) important resources amongst the RC. It has been noted previously that Captain Ramsay and Anna Wolkoff were in charge of key meeting points. Captain Ramsay, as well as being wealthy in his own right and a source of financial support to other members (KV2/2258 98Y), also collected the RC subscription money. And, by way of his MP status and activity in right-wing politics, had many influential contacts. Whereas Anna Wolkoff ‘groomed’ many of the diplomatic and government sources who became part of the RCs espionage network. Control of these necessary resources put the two at the centre of activity, but also gave them a degree of influence over other group members.

Indeed, as Milward and Raab (2006) state, politically violent and subversive group leaders might be more of a cultural and political influence, framing ‘the message’ and providing motivation, rather than enforcers of organisation and discipline. Although this argument is usually applied in the context of a ‘leaderless jihad’ group, where connections between ‘icons’ of a movement and active participants rarely exist, it still has some purchase for the RC too. It is noted that Ramsay was a charismatic speaker and convinced many people of the RC’s ideas when speaking at meetings (Clough 2005:179), for example. His aristocratic and parliamentary associations were also impressive to some.

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Wolkoff was also something of a leader of opinion as there were “frequent discussions led by Anna” at the RC Headquarters (Bearse and Read 1991:96). Indeed, Anna and Admiral Wolkoff were also known to regularly meet acquaintances to discuss politics at the RTR (Quinlan 2014:114); to the extent that it became known as a “haven” for those with anti-Semitic views (Documentary). Doubt has been cast upon how charming Anna was, however, it is said that her “intense” manner could sometimes put people off (Bearse and Read 1991:87). Nevertheless, what she may have lacked in charm she made up for in passion and persuasion as, as noted above, she was the one who recruited many of the foreign agents. Knowledge of this feat cemented her status as a person of influence and action amongst the RC; although the diffusion of this information also compromised her safety.

5.2.3 De/Centralisation Findings

Therefore, the findings for the RC do not support the decentralisation thesis as the Action network is moderately centralised in all forms when compared to maximum possible centralisation, the average amount of centralisation caused by random variation and another political conspiracy network. Indeed, the policy relating to “progressive initiation” demonstrates that when under risk, the RC thought a degree of centralisation was safer. But, they also recognised some of the vulnerabilities of this structure. This is evidenced in their other vetting procedures. Nonetheless, these procedures were compromised on several occasions when success was prioritised over security by certain group members; such as when MI5 agents were taken at face value and were quickly brought into the group.

As stated, the existence of rules and claims to position does suggest that those at the centre had an overall view of the network and attempted to control it. Although we have questioned authority in terms of deference and official position, we have discussed control through priority access to resources, including actionable, subversive information and the influence of opinion; as opposed to formalised command and discipline.

I have argued previously that the two opposing views on network centralisation stem from the objective of the secrecy; i.e. to protect the network from infiltration

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(centralised) or to manage damage limitation (decentralised). The RC findings support this argument as, when under risk, they opted for centralisation as a way to try and control new recruits and the type and extent of activity that could be observed by them. Indeed, the low density and moderately high centralisation of the RC gives real-world empirical support to Lindelauf et al’s (2009) game theoretic suggestion that, when under risk, covert groups will adopt this structure as a way to establish security but maintain communication.

5.3 (Cells, Cliques and) Clusters

Measuring Clusters

The average distance is the mean of the geodesic distances of all nodes in a network. Geodesic distances are calculated by finding the length of shortest path of connection between a node and all others, measured in terms of the number of intermediary relationships (Borgatti et al 2013). An important point to note, however, is that short path lengths are a feature of most real life networks, even those that are not very dense (Scott 2000, Watts 1999).

The Clustering Coefficient measures the density of ego’s neighbourhood with ego removed. The mean of all the ego-network densities is then taken for all the nodes with more than one connection. The higher the percentage score, the greater the extent of clustering in the overall network (Borgatti et al 2013:260, Everton 2012:151).

In formal SNA terms subgroups are more often measured as clusters rather than cliques (Qin et al 2005, Perliger and Pedahzur 2006, Demiroz and Kapucu 2012, Harris-Hogan 2012). Although the clique has been applied, mostly anecdotally, to self- radicalised and resourced groups, splinter factions and “lone wolf” operations (Sageman 2004, Cheney and Faulkner 2012, Perliger and Pedahzur 2006). Indeed, cell structures are also formulated quite strictly in the literature (see Franz and Carley 2005). As there is no documentary evidence to suggest that the RC organised in this way, only clusters will be measured for this case study.

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5.3.1 Clusters: Analysis

The clustering coefficient values presented in Table 7 show that that RC participants are embedded in quite dense local neighbourhoods, in terms of their clandestine activity, as well as their extra-organisational relationships. Relative to overall network densities the average local neighbourhood is more than seven times denser in the action network and more than twice as dense in the extra-organisational ties network, suggesting that there is clustering amongst the RC, particularly of their covert relations.

A certain amount of clustering in the action group, and indeed a higher prevalence than in the extra-organisational ties group, is expected because, unlike the extra- organisational ties group, this network is constructed from 2-mode data. Although events-participation will, by its nature, bring people together, this does not explain such a high level of clustering. It was noted in section one that the majority of organisational events (planning and doing) had only two participants; to bring about this structure, different pairs from within the same sub-group must have acted regularly with each other.

Table 7 also shows that there are quite small average path lengths in both the overt and covert groups, meaning that lines of communication were quite short. Connection can be achieved by way of only one intermediary in the extra-organisational ties network and via two in the action group. The extra distance in the RC action network means that activities and connections would have been slightly less visible in this configuration than in their overt, non-organisational relationships.

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Thus, the RC action network does have denser sub-groups connected by relatively short paths as posited in hypotheses such as Provincial/Cosmopolitan ties (Everton 2009) and the Small Worlds Theory (Watts 1999; Sageman 2004). In theoretical terms therefore, the combination of the low overall network density of the RC, combined with more cohesive clusters at the local level, and small path distances, purportedly balances the demands of security and efficiency well. Clustering is said to increase sub-group solidarity and the higher proportion of ties within compared to those without the group, also reduces cross- network visibility. The intergroup connections that are in place, however, mean that information flows are sustained and kept short between clusters. This can help avoid communication and logistical failures, as well as stop the sub groups from becoming too insular (Franz and Carley 2005, Everton 2009). In order to better understand the specific effects of this clustering on the secrecy of the RC, however, we need to analyse the profiles of the sub-groups that actually existed and the dynamics amongst them using the qualitative data.

Measuring Cohesive Sub-Groups

It is often assumed that clustering indicates areas of heightened solidarity or group homogeneity due to the stronger, more transitive bonds between participants (Borgatti et al 2013). However, this should be tested rather than assumed by looking at the attributes and activities of the members that are clustered together. Moreover, the strength and nature of the ties with which participants are connected to each other, both internal and external to their sub-groups, can vary, impacting the potential for solidarity, information and resource transition, and ultimately, security. This is to say that clustering does not necessarily result in cohesive and harmonious sub groups.

It is recommended that several different measures should be used and compared to find cohesive sub-groups within a network. Researcher knowledge of the group is also necessary to decide cut-off values (Everton 2012:170, Borgatti et al 2013:181). The subgroups shown in figure 9, below, were found to be the most meaningful. For investigative purposes this process began with clique-based measures, followed by the

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Girvan Newman procedure and then tested against the Factions algorithm14- both of which define sub-groups as having more internal and less external ties when compared to a random graph of the same magnitude and level of connection (when using the Modularity measure of fit for the factions) (Everton 2012:194). This is consistent with the idea of sub-groups posited in the theories mentioned above, and in the wider covert networks literature.

Figure 9 shows the optimum partition of nine sub-groups found in the RC action network. This partition had goodness of fit score of 0.480 using the Factions- Modularity measure. Table 8, below, shows the density matrix for the connections within and between the sub-groups.

14 The purpose of this section is to analyse the local density and cohesion of the RC by way of actors that are closely connected to each other. This is why cohesive subgroup analysis has been used as opposed to positional techniques such as structural equivalence or blockmodelling which do not necessarily require block members to be connected to each other (ref)

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The above table shows that four of the sub-groups (2, 6, 8 & 9) are maximally connected - though these are also the smallest clusters, containing a maximum of four participants between them, so higher densities are expected. Indeed, of these clusters, three are dyads (2, 8 & 9) and as such, cannot properly be considered as ‘cohesive sub- groups’. As the nine partitions produced the highest goodness of fit measure they have been included here for illustrative purposes, but future discussion will focus on only the clusters with more than two participants.

As the density matrix shows, the dyads were in fact peripheral connections which did not have much power or great significance. Each was only weakly tied to only one other cluster in the network and hence participants were not heavily involved in the RCs covert activity. The yellow triangle dyad consists of two women who produced a propaganda circular for the group and for whom no other involvement has been found (KV2/832 67X). Whereas the light blue crosses were two prominent Westminster politicians who acted as Chairman and Secretary for the RC at some of their early meetings. They curtailed their involvement with the group when they went underground (KV2/679 704A). The dark blue squares are an aristocrat and an MI5 informant, both with policing connections. The MI5 informant’s main task was to track the British Union of Fascists rather than the RC, however. And the aristocrat is said to have reduced his connections with the group in order to protect an appointment he was given in the Royal Navy (KV2/840 69a). Their lack of integration with other participants is reason to leave them out of further discussion surrounding the dynamics of RC cohesion.

Of the remaining six clusters, again the smallest sub-groups have the highest internal densities (no. 4, 5 & 6). These are also the more insular groups who did not work directly with many others. As table 9 shows, some clusters have connections with all other sub-groups (no. 1), whereas others are much more separated in terms of their activity and have ties to participants in only one additional cluster (no. 4). In terms of the span of their ties, the sub-groups in the RC action network are therefore embedded quite differently, some have a much greater reach than others by way of their direct connections.

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Having said this, the inter-cluster density values shown above tell us that, for those groups which are tied to each other, cross cluster connections were very weak. No sub- group has more than 7% of the possible ties to another. This is consistent with the relatively high betweeness centralisation scores which suggest that the RC had a few important brokers who facilitated their clandestine activity.

Thus, the RC action network was quite a fragmented structure with some cohesive sub groups that were not particularly well-connected to each other. Table 9, below, gives the qualitative dynamics for each cluster and the following discussion unpacks how these affected secrecy and functioning.

5.3.2 Clusters: Discussion

Table 9: Descriptive Information for the Sub-Groups in the Right Club Action Network

Cluster Colour in Size Dynamics Number Figure 9

1 Red 13 The action segment of the Kent-Wolkoff Affair; all of the Wolkoff family: several Russian ex-pats; a number of important sources and connections; many members have international associations

3 Black 18 The Ramsay’s, right-wing political leaders, most of the wealthy and/or aristocratic figures. Includes two MI5 informants.

4 Grey 4 One RC associate15 and three contacts whom she met and vetted in Belgium. The RC associate was an MI5 informant.

5 Pink 3 Two RC members who were particularly active with the ‘sticky backs’ – and one of the member’s military contact.

6 Dark Green 4 Four RC members, two mother and son pairs – one of whom had formerly been considered a deputy to Ramsay, until his behaviour became too conspicuous.

7 Light Green 13 Action segment of the Stanford-Hiscox group, includes one MI5 informant. Many ‘working-class’ figures involved in right-wing politics

15 Helene de Munck was told by Anna Wolkoff that she could not be a full RC member as she was not a British citizen. The trip to Belgium was her chance to prove herself to the group, however (KV2/841 150G)

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Time

Time is a significant dynamic in the clustering of this network because the two main conspiracies – the Kent-Wolkoff affair (no.1) and the Stanford-Hiscox group (no. 7) – are separated from each other. As many RC participants were arrested in summer 1940, this precluded their involvement in the 1941 Stanford-Hiscox conspiracy. Although figures such as Stanford and Lionel John Hirst (later revealed as MI5 informant, ‘Special Source’), were also detained at this time, they were released after a short period, freeing them up to continue in subversive activity (KV2/833 247B). Indeed, if we refer back to table 8, we can see that some operatives from this cluster acted with those in sub-groups one, three and six before the summer of 1940.

Geography and risk

Geography shapes clusters four and six as the activity which brings them together took place in specific locations outside of London. As mentioned previously, de Munck was sent to vet the other members of her cluster in Belgium under the cover of a family visit. Whereas the mother and son pairs in cluster six listened to German radio propaganda together whilst holidaying in Scotland. Although not as dangerous as passing restricted information to Germany or meeting with foreign agents, this was nevertheless an illegal activity. And, as the group had to involve a hotel employee, was quite a risky undertaking. Indeed they were reported to the authorities by the manager (HO45/25719).

However, a further important point to note about these clusters, is that each was regarded as posing a risk to the group by other RC members. Again, Wolkoff was suspicious of the Belgian contacts in sub-group number four. Though we do not know the exact nature of Anna’s concern, it is stated that they had curtailed their propaganda activities because of a clamp down by the Belgian authorities. Indeed, Comte Laubespin warned de Munck to be careful if she was going to continue with subversive work (KV2/842 427A). From this we might surmise that Wolkoff doubted the Belgian’s resilience and commitment to the cause. By sending de Munck as her proxy, Anna limited her exposure, and indeed that of the rest of the group, to operatives who might have been compromised. De Munck provided something of a barrier as she was

109 not well-integrated with the RC beyond her subversive connections with Anna and social ties with the wider Wolkoff family.

In the case of cluster six, Richard Findlay was the source of risk. It was reported that he was a “very early member” of the RC (HO45/25719) and such was his involvement, had been considered as the person who might take over from Captain Ramsay if necessary (KV2 677/106A). However, since the start of the war this had been “knocked on the head” (KV2 677/106A) due to the intensity of his views and lack of discretion (KV2 677/232A). A pamphlet he had written for the BUF was thought “too hot” for publication (HO45/25719) and Captain Ramsay had had to remind him to be careful of censorship when writing letters for the RC on several occasions (HO45/25719). In fact, when questioned about Findlay after his arrest, Ramsay stated that “my family are (now) not on speaking terms with him” (HO45/25719) Findlay’s separation in cluster six, by way of lack of involvement in other covert activities, is a result of the fact that he came to be regarded as something of a liability to other members. He had failed to appreciate the changing climate at the outbreak of war and consequently, failed to operate ‘under the radar’.

Without the qualitative information about the history and dynamics of the Ramsay- Findlay relationship we would not know this. Table 8 shows that there were some connections between this sub-group and other clusters. These ties belonged to Marjorie Foster, however, who was the only person in this cluster involved in other subversive activity during the period of this data. This brokering role is the reason for her high betweeness centrality score.

Thus, the participants of these clusters were separated from other RC members in terms of geography as well as network position because of the perceived risk involved in their conduct or activity. Indeed, the case of de Munck supports Lindelauf et al’s (2008) argument that those least connected to the network should undertake the most dangerous communications as a matter of protection. Findlay was side-lined because his behaviour was a problem.

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Task Specification/Functional Differentiation

Several commentators suggest that in order to maintain both secrecy and efficiency, clusters will form around specific tasks or operations. That, as a matter of resilience, different positions in a network will assume different functions (Milward and Raab 2006; Faulkner and Cheney 2012). Others disagree, however, arguing that those with particular skills and resources should be dispersed throughout a network to avoid losing them in targeted attacks (Klerks 2001). As we have noted, the Kent-Wolkoff group and the Stanford-Hiscox group form their own clusters based on the activity surrounding the transmission of information from the American Embassy and the Ministry of Supply, respectively, to Germany. Having said this, Captain Ramsay was also involved in the Kent-Wolkoff activity and Mrs Ramsay was in contact with the Stanford-Hiscox group - both are members of cluster three. And there are more cross cluster connections if we consider other RC activity.

Indeed, of the 102 events which form this network, the majority – 55% - were perpetrated or attended by members from the same cluster. However, 37% of events involved participants from two clusters; and 5% of events were enacted by members from three different sub-groups - although all of the latter were planning meetings which were the least risky. Thus, although there appears to have been a preference for, or at least a common practice of, RC operatives working with those to whom they were more closely tied, they also acted with members outside of their sub-groups.

Although not exclusively, the operatives in some clusters specialised in certain tasks. For example, of the 23 events which involved recruiting or grooming contacts or sources, 78% involved at least one participant from cluster one. Operatives from cluster three dominated RC activities such as recruiting new members and infiltrating other right-wing groups; they were involved in 71% of these events. Participation in other tasks such as the handling of information and propaganda activities was more evenly distributed amongst the clusters, however.

Interestingly, dealing with sources and infiltrating other political groups were tasks that only the fully initiated, the most trusted, were supposed to engage with.

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Consequently, we note that the majority of the ‘inner circle’ was split between clusters one and three.

In summary, this data suggests that there was some functional differentiation between the sub-groups of the RC, but there was no strict separation.

Compartmentalisation of Information

There is also qualitative evidence to suggest that when RC participants were active with members of other clusters, they tried to restrict the circuit of related information to those with whom they were directly working; they tried to stop it diffusing through the other cluster. For example, Anna Wolkoff was said to be surprised and concerned that Captain Ramsay had shared the existence and the content of some of the documents from the American Embassy with Mrs Ramsay (KV2/840 36B). Despite all being members of the same subversive group, she thought this was their “secret work” (KV2/840 36B).

The compartmentalisation of information (Goffman 1969) also happened within as well as between clusters, however, suggesting that this was a boundary which operatives did not necessarily recognise or were particularly concerned with. The most sensitive and significant information that the RC had was the correspondence between President Roosevelt and Churchill. Ramsay intended to announce this in Parliament (though was arrested before he got the chance) and it was sent to Germany via diplomatic contacts. Only four members of the RC are said to have been privy to the details, however, including Kent and Wolkoff, who did not share this with the rest of their cluster (KV2/677 94A).

Information about risk was not always shared between members either. Stanford and McDonald Hogg had concerns relating to the prominence of Hiscox, for example, believing that she had attracted attention from the security services; but they did not share this with her, nor other cluster members (KV2/2258 127B) who could perhaps have altered their behaviour accordingly.

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Indeed, the same is true for tactics. Stanford informed the other members of her cluster (no.7) that they were not to tell Mrs Ramsay (a member of cluster no. 3) of their plan to infiltrate and work through the communist party. They feared that she would not support this plan, even disapprove of their actions, despite the fact that Captain Ramsay had suggested this himself earlier (KV2/678 59M). Thus the Stanford Hiscox group kept “strategic secrets” (Goffman 1969) from others.

Of course, the MI5 informants – Amore, de Munck, Miller, Hirst and Taylor - also kept “dark secrets” (Goffman 1969) from the rest of the group, their agent provocateur status. But it is also noted in the documentation that other RC participants tried to protect their identities both inside and outside of the network. For example, The Ramsay’s sometimes referred to themselves as ‘the Freemans’ with new recruits or strangers (KV2 841 150G, KV2 677 141A); Stanford corresponded with other participants under the name of Mary Hope (KV2 832 149A); And, even though they were members of the same cluster who met and socialised on several occasions, Kent maintains that he only ever knew the Duca Del Monte as ‘Mr Macaroni’ (KV2 902 70A).

As well as the code names mentioned above, code words and foreign languages were often used as cover; particularly in written correspondence (KV2/840 19B, KV2/842 430A) and telephone conversations (KV2/840 56A, KV2/ 1212 37X, KV2/899 54B), which were open to surveillance by the security services. For safety and self- preservation, as well as progress, therefore, several intersecting boundaries of secrecy were observed that do not always map on to network structure. They create divisions within as well as between clusters which undermines the argument that these were entirely trusting and cohesive sub-groups.

Preferential Attachment

Some covert network researchers argue that ‘hubs’ are generated due to ‘preferential attachment’ (Sageman 2004, 2008 Kirby 2007), where eager recruits seek out contact with important or well-connected people in a movement, and this causes clustering. Yet, in the case of the RC, there is evidence to suggest that the reverse was true. Clusters formed around Ramsay and Wolkoff because they pursued some of the other

113 participants in their sub-groups (no. 1 and 3). For example, it is stated that Ramsay recruited members from other right wing groups of which he was a member (Saika 2010:14). Indeed, that it was common for the secret societies of the right to have “hit lists” of influential people they would target. This was because the right “old school tie” and “war record” were valuable “currency” to them (Saika 2010: 15/16).

Equally, Wolkoff was responsible for recruiting almost everybody else in her cluster. Examples include Enid Riddell and Nicholas Smirnoff, friends who she is said to have brought into the group (KV2/839 68A, KV2/678 579A); as well as those who gave information to them, such as Tyler Kent and the Hemmings. She was originally giving the latter German lessons but ‘cultivated’ Francis in order to get information about the Ministry of Supply (KV2/840 33A, KV2/840 20D). It is reported in the documents that Anna discussed Hemming with Captain Watson first - a policing contact of hers (KV2/840 33A) - presumably to assess whether or not he could be trusted.

By selecting people to recruit rather than being approached by them - recruiting from the top down rather than the bottom up - this allowed Ramsay and Wolkoff to be more strategic and security conscious in their choices. Indeed, Anna’s cluster (no.1) is the only one of the three larger sub-groups which did not contain an MI5 informant.

This dynamic has less relevance for the third major cluster (no.7) – the Stanford- Hiscox group – however, as they were more limited in their choice of personnel due to the earlier arrests and the effect that this had on recruitment and motivation.

Pre-Existing Ties

Much of the recruitment to the RC happened through pre-existing ties of some form. I have mentioned friendships and political associations above, but the RC extra- organisational ties network also includes family relationships, acquaintances and some financial and employment connections; many of which pre-dated their subversive activity, and as such, provide an exogenous basis of trust.

Indeed, most family relationships are contained within individual clusters, as with the Ramsays (no.3) and the Wolkoffs (no. 1), for example; as well as the Fosters and the

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Findlays – the mother and son pairs (no.6). The same is true for couples as clusters one, three, four and seven contain several. The involvement of partners and immediate family means that these participants were supported in and therefore “structurally available” (Snow et al 1980) for subversive activity. They reinforced one-another’s commitment to the cause and didn’t ‘pull focus’.

There is one kin association which straddles two sub-groups. This is between Dorothy Newenham and Captain Ramsay who were distant cousins (KV2/677 155Y). Newenham is in a cluster of her own (no. 5), with a military contact and another RC member. This family relationship was more detached than those mentioned above

In terms of friendships, those that I can be sure pre-dated RC activity also appear in the same clusters. For example, as previously stated, Anna Wolkoff and Enid Riddel; but also Molly Hiscox and Norah Briscoe, who took a trip to Germany before the war (KV2 898 doc no. missing); and Anne Van Lennep and Admiral Barry Domville, whom she is said to have entertained regularly (Saika 2010:130). Having said this, other friendships were noted in the documentation which cut across the clusters. But no evidence was found to suggest that these were formed prior to activism.

Many of the pre-existing political ties, where individuals were either co-members of other political groups or co-participated in a political event together, outside of RC activities, are concentrated in cluster three. These ties do span across other clusters, but to a much lesser degree.

Thus pre-existing relationships do appear to have an effect on network structure as suggested by Erikson (1981). Trust and prior knowledge of ‘the other’ made some relationships more secure. There was a downside, however, as some of the MI5 agents, namely Amore and de Munck, exploited this assumption. Amore had prior political associations with the Ramsey’s and de Munck was an acquaintance of the Wolkoffs. She is said to have gained Anna’s trust by telling her fortune (Clough 2005:32).

Moreover, the group did not rely solely on pre-existing connections, new ties also formed between RC members who were previously unknown to each other. The extra- organisational ties network is disconnected, whereas the action network forms a single

115 component. Therefore subversive activism brought some people together (as Magourik et al (2008) suggest). Indeed, as noted, many participants described themselves as friends after they were detained, but there is no suggestion that they related to each other in this way prior to their involvement with the group.

Homophilly

As pre-existing ties have been shown to have an impact on RC network clusters, it is perhaps unsurprising that homophilly does too, at least in the three larger sub-groups. Cluster one, for example, has an international focus. Seven of the thirteen members are expats of some description, whether Russian immigrants or foreign diplomats. Of the remaining six participants, three spoke or were learning other languages and a fourth was well travelled due to a career in the Royal Navy. This cluster had or developed the international contacts which allowed their information to reach Germany.

Cluster three contains many high status figures. Five titled members of the aristocracy, including 3 MPs and 2 senior military figures, a doctor and several leaders of Right- wing groups. These establishment figures worked on the ‘home front’ in terms of their subversive activity. They managed the RC, recruited new members and were or enlisted ‘moles’ in government departments. Some of the participants were not heavily involved in RC activities - though many were members - but co-ordinated with them in their capacity as other group leaders.

Cluster seven is more working class. Houston was a painter and decorator from Macclesfield (HO45/25713), for example; and Chesterton was described as a “maverick” who was not of the usual aristocratic background or high status as many of the others on the right-wing (Saika 2010:5). Stanford, Hiscox and Briscoe did not come from Chelsea or Kensington, but lived in Streatham, a working class are of south London (KV2/898 doc. no. missing). And Stanford was often the recipient of charity from more well-to-do members, such as Dorothy Newenham, who reported that she “tried to feed her as often as possible” (HO45/25696).

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These attributes are consistent with three anti-Semitic, anti-war views that were prevalent at the time. Each was concerned with loss of status and related resources but for slightly different reasons. The international group wanted to foster better relationships with Europe, and the Russians in particular were pro-Nazi because of Hitler’s promise to eradicate the Bolsheviks and restore them to their “former glory” (KV2/678 579A). Whereas aristocratic and high status figures were disillusioned with democracy and worried about the increasing impact of organised labour. They were worried about their diminishing influence and the potential loss of land and title. As Saika states, they thought only a “small handful of the privileged and elect were fit to act for the greater good of the nation” – those to whom they were connected by kinship, school or regiment (2010:13). Finally, working and aspiring middle class groups were concerned with the flood of Jewish immigrants – “aliens” - into their areas, upset about the potential loss of jobs and housing, and economic stagnation after the depression (Griffiths 1983:11/80; Saika 2010:12). Activity within these peer groups reinforced the participants framing of the situation and their identity as ‘patriots’.

5.3.3 Clusters: Findings

Thus, the RC was formed of dense clusters. Indeed, slightly more so than the network of overt relationships between participants. Average path lengths were also marginally longer amongst the action ties meaning that members were slightly less visible to each other during their covert exchanges. In fact, the density matrix showed that the clusters were actually quite separate from each other, with some groups unable to contact other sub-groups directly and no cluster having more than 7% of the possible ties with another. As connections between clusters were minimal, this means that there was a certain amount of protection for RC members. In fact the most risky activities and people were relatively cut-off from the group. They were separated from others in both their real-life geographical and network locations.

There was some degree of task-specialisation amongst the clusters of the RC. However, no task was undertaken by one sub-group exclusively. Though cultivating international sources, and management of the group in terms of ‘home front’ activities and resources, do seem to have been concentrated amongst clusters one and three. This would have allowed for ease of communication, and expertise to be developed

117 between a few proximate participants. But the fact that tasks were not limited to individual sub–groups also meant that there was less risk of losing skills or contacts should a specific area of the network have been targeted. Having said this, information was not always dispersed around the network. Secrets were kept from other members within as well as between clusters.

RC participants were recruited rather than enlisted, mostly through pre-existing ties of a close or political nature. In fact many members have multiplex relationships with each other. And those who had pre-existing connections tended to cluster together. Whilst this created more solidarity and trust for some, pre-existing ties were also a source of danger, as this is how the MI5 moles infiltrated the group. Although she was involved in the recruitment of some of these informants, had Anna Wolkoff operated only within her own cluster, they would not have been able to gain intelligence on her. Indeed this route could have been exploited further by MI5 as few suspicions were raised about the moles by RC members.

Despite the prevalence of pre-existing ties in the network, subversive activism within the RC was also shown to generate new relationships based on “ideological affinity” (McAdam 1986). Although some slightly different motivations and frames were noted between the three main clusters, which could have become a source of conflict and perhaps the basis of destabilisation attempts had the group continued in their activities for longer.

5.4 Conclusion

The key findings of this chapter are that, in accordance with claims in many other network analytic studies, the RC network was found to be quite a sparse structure. Contrary to prevalent claims, however, the RC was not a decentralised network. Moreover, despite their moderately high level of centralisation, the group did not operate as a traditional hierarchy, either. Secrecy was not maintained through discipline and structured authority but rather, through control of resources and ideological matters.

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The RC network did have clusters, ‘pockets’ of localised density, which, in some respects, did make them safer. However, some of the dynamics which separated the sub groups could have been a source of conflict. Indeed, the internal circuits of secrecy within the clusters also created divisions between participants. Some were more concerned with their own projects and security rather than the greater good of the group.

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6. The Secrecy and Structure of the Provisional IRA ‘Inner Circle’ Network - Density

The analysis of the Provisional IRA (PIRA) inner circle networks will be split across the next two chapters. I will be exploring the structure of this group and how it changed over time, across four different networks (as outlined in the methodology). This chapter focuses on the density of ties. It will report the extent of connection in the PIRA networks and how this changes across the phases. I will then elaborate on how the density of the networks related to the changing context in which they operated and the implications of this for secrecy.

The following chapter will address the extent of centralisation within the PIRA inner circle across the four periods. Clusters will not be analysed in this case study because the four networks and time periods have generated a lot of data. Moreover, clustering in a PIRA network has been analysed by Gill et al 2014, although this was the full movement rather than just the leadership group.

The main findings of this chapter are that the density of the PIRA inner circle networks fluctuates across the four time periods. Their density is dependent upon multiple internal and external factors. These include (1) aims and activities (2) the nature/level of security threat (3) perception of risk and strategic use of protective resources. The nature of PIRA secrecy was also found to change with their density. They make use of physical secrecy in t1 but move to information management and identity practices in t2. In t3, operatives begin to combine secret practices from both ends of the spectrum; some participants make use of open secrecy and only conceal their army activity whereas others are truly clandestine. In t4, those who have generated some legitimacy due to involvement in electoral politics make claims to privacy, but in order to retain their legitimacy, they have to act more secretively within the group.

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6.1 Density: Analysis

The structural metrics will first be presented and compared for the four PIRA networks. The quantitative data will then be explored and explained in the following discussion which incorporates more contextual detail.

*The figure in brackets in the last column is the average decree score rounded to the nearest whole number.

Density for the PIRA inner circle networks ranges between 10% and 20% of the total connections possible. As they are different sizes, we need to look at the average degree score in order to determine how density fluctuates between the periods. Table 10 shows that the PIRA leadership group is most connected at t3, during which participants interact with a mean of 14 other people. The least connected network is at t2. The average number of ties drops by more than half to 6 connections during these years. The networks at t1 and t4 show a similar level of connection, each has a similar average number of ties per person, although t1 is slightly better connected.

All of the PIRA inner circle networks form single components, with the exception of that at t3, which is split into two - the main component and a secondary component of 8 participants (this configuration will be explained in the t3 section below). Despite this separation, this network actually has the highest level of connection. Indeed, if we take only the main component then average degree rises by another 2 points, from a

121 mean of 14 to 16 ties per node, suggesting that this was a particularly well-connected group of people.

In terms of maximum possible density, these are relatively sparse networks. At their most dense only one-fifth of the possible connections have been recorded. We should also note, however, that the average degrees of three of the four PIRA inner circles are higher than that of the RC’s overt relations. Thus, in terms of covert groups, the PIRA leadership is likely to be at the denser end of the spectrum. Indeed, the complexities of comparing covert groups with different objectives and contexts has been noted, but in the interests of establishing some sort of baseline for this data, Everton and Cunningham’s (2012) combined Noordin Top network has a maximum average degree of 7 across the time periods that it is separated into. And Demiroz and Kapucu’s (2012) ETO16 network has an average degree of 8. So the maximum average degree of the PIRA leadership is quite a lot higher (16).

However, the main purpose of this analysis is to compare the PIRA networks to each other to establish if and how they changed over time. The analysis shows that the level of connectivity is not stable it fluctuates with each time period, as does the size of the PIRA inner circle networks. We will explore some of the drivers and implications of this change in the following discussion.

16 These two networks were chosen because they involved whole groups rather than ‘attack cells’ or ‘project teams’ and thus are more comparable with PIRA. The combined Noordin Top network also includes multiplex ties and was measured across several time segments.

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Provisional Irish Republican Army Inner Circle Networks

Figure 10: T1 1969-1972

Figure 11: T2 1973-1976

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Figure 12: T3 1977-1981

Figure 13: T4 1982-1986

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6.2 Density: Discussion

One reason for the relatively high connectivity of the PIRA ‘inner circle’ (in three of the four networks at least) is that it is made up of leadership figures, and the nature of their activity, for the most part, was different to rank and file participants. It follows, then, that the majority of the events in this dataset involve discussion, decision making and attempted coordination. Of the 279 events recorded, 57% are meetings or planning activity; 23% are ‘doing’ tasks, few of which involve violence17; 15% are social or ceremonial events, including funerals and commemorations; and the remaining 5% are arrests and prison activity18.

Indeed, although the PIRA leadership sanctioned and coordinated violent incidents, they were also involved in press conferences, marches, meetings with British and US officials, and some fundraising events which were conducted in the open. PIRA was said to have an “umbilical” relationship with the political wing of the movement, Sinn Fein, because they had many overlapping personnel (Taylor 1998:212). Sinn Fein was de-proscribed in 1974 so activity conducted on their behalf was not always illegal. Thus, PIRA had a different orientation to secrecy than a covert group such as the RC, for example. In Simmel’s (1906) terminology PIRA was a ‘relatively secret’ as opposed to ‘truly secret’ group because outsiders knew of their existence and some of their activity was actually quite overt.

17 ‘Doing’ tasks encompass (1) resourcing activities – finance or weapons related; (2) discipline – such as court martial proceedings or investigations (3) protest and propaganda activities – for example, press conferences, demonstrations or events related to Republican newspapers; (4) violent events – street battles, shootings and bombings, perpetrated by or against inner circle members; and (5) hiding activities – including the concealment and protection of both people and resources.

18 As PIRA members technically lost their positions when they went to prison (Coogan 2000:487), only those events which were significant for the development or success of the movement were included. For example, propaganda coups such as escapes; widely reported protests and hunger strikes; and initiatives to re-design the movement borne out of Long Kesh. However, in order to meet the inclusion criteria events had to include face-to face contact with a leadership figure, facilitated by, for example, a successful escape or prison visit from another member.

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Having said this, PIRA was still a politically violent group with a requirement of secrecy, and this is borne out in the events-participation data. 79% of the events recorded involved four or less participants, 44% of which involved only two people. This suggests that the PIRA leadership kept their activities quite small. Indeed, the fact that a General Convention was only held twice in the full period of these data, even though it was supposed to be an annual event, demonstrates the leadership’s reluctance to gather in larger groups (Moloney 2002). Nevertheless, some of the events recorded in this dataset involve up to 25 members, so this security precaution was not always followed. The following discussion will break down the factors which affected density in each time period, including the circumstances which precipitated these larger meetings. It will focus on PIRA’s strategic objectives and organisation; on the activity and policies of the British and Irish governments and their security services; and on the PIRA leaderships own practices of secrecy and perception of risk in each phase.

T1: 1969-1972

Objectives and Activities

The focus of ‘inner circle’ activity in t1 was the set-up of the newly formed organisation. This involved, recruiting, resourcing and restructuring the group which was done along “army-style” lines (Coogan 2000: 379). The Provisionals created an Army Council, Army Executive and General Head-Quarters positions, as well as Brigades and Battalions in different geographical areas (Horgan and Taylor 1997). Thus they organised as a paramilitary group rather than an underground cell. The very nature of the organisation, as well as its nascent stage of development, required a certain amount of contact between leaders. As Enders and Su (2007) argue, complex tasks such as this require discussion, decisions and input from many participants.

In this period, the Army Council’s primary concern was the arrangement of Brigades in the north and the procurement of weapons so that they could defend the Catholic population by force. Their initial strategy was defence, followed by retaliation, coupled with propaganda initiatives to show that the British weren’t winning (Cogan 2000, Taylor 1998). Sniping, stone throwing, riots and demonstrations were all PIRA

126 tactics at this time. They engaged in relatively open-warfare with the British forces (Bell 1997:379) as well as public protests such as rallies, press conferences and marches. This strategy of street battles and civil disobedience required as many people as possible to get involved. Indeed, this was a good way of occupying police and army resources (White & White 1991), as well as demonstrating the extent of resentment for the British authorities. After the criticism that the old IRA had failed to act and that their leadership was out of touch, the new PIRA leadership maintained more of a presence of the streets (MacStiofain 1975, Moloney 2002:90, 157). Thus, they were directly involved in many of these incidents.

In the later stages of t1, when more arms had been accrued, however, PIRA changed strategies to a more offensive footing. They actively targeted soldiers and policemen and introduced a policy of commercial bombing. Their aim was to make Northern Ireland ungovernable, and the costs to the British outweigh any benefits of occupation (Maguire 1973:30, Coogan 2000:375). The leadership was not directly involved in such events – this was now left to smaller groups of Brigade members – but they sanctioned and coordinated the more spectacular of these operations (Moloney 2002:117, Hughes cited in Moloney 2010:105). PIRA claimed a victory for their bombing strategy when the parliament at Stormont was dismantled in March 1972 (Bell 1997:387) and later that year, when they entered into talks with then Northern Ireland Secretary, William Whitelaw (Bell 1997:390/1). The talks collapsed, however, and PIRA returned to violence, detonating 22 bombs in Belfast on ‘Bloody Friday’ (Taylor 1998:149).

Risk and the Security Environment

PIRA was a proscribed organisation from its formation, membership of which could result in imprisonment. The Army were the primary power in the battle against the group at this time. They focused on the maintenance of law and order and later, the suppression of PIRA by force (MacStiofain 1975:151). The British security bodies did not work in a joined-up, coherent manner during t1. MI5 remained in a back seat throughout this period as they claimed that the army had more experience of working in “hostile territory” (Andrew 2010:621). Moreover, the army and the RUC had a “mutual distrust” of each other (Andrew 2010:618) which prevented them from

127 working together. Resultantly, military strategies dominated and counter-terrorism initiatives were quite limited (Arascain 2014). Indeed, some of the army’s tactics were politically insensitive and the level of force used was poorly calibrated, such as the curfew imposed on the residents of the Falls Road area in 1970 (Taylor 1998). Incidents such as this only served to unite PIRA and their supporters against the British.

As an external force, the army had little knowledge of the area upon their arrival and the intelligence with which they were supplied was out of date (Moloney 2002:101). In addition, the army’s own intelligence gathering activity wasn’t particularly successful. It was done so quite openly whilst manning check points, whilst out on patrol, and in conversation with the locals (Arascain 2014:8). Therefore they only captured street-level, surface activity. In the early 1970s the army also had very stereotyped ideas about who PIRA members were and what they looked like. As a consequence, even simple disguises which deviated from their pre-set ideas could fool the soldiers (McKearney 2011:66).

Internment without trial was introduced in August 1971, but, rather than increase risk for PIRA members, it served only to highlight British intelligence failings. Most of those detained were civil rights activists or members of the Official IRA (Bell 1997:381). Much of the PIRA leadership, having been forewarned by a source in the Northern Ireland Office, had moved to safety (Clarke and Johnson 2007:54).

One final point to make regarding the security situation for PIRA in the early 1970s is that, following the introduction of the commercial bombing campaign, they really stretched the British army’s resources. By 1972 the rate of incidents in Belfast was so high that the security services could not respond to them all. The disruption also meant that they could not keep up regular patrols. Thus, as one volunteer who was active in t1 suggests - for a time at least - the bombing campaign actually made PIRA operatives safer, especially those in the Belfast area (McKearney 2011:113).

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Resources for Secrecy and Protection

PIRA had a lot of public support in the Catholic areas of Northern Ireland during t1. This increased dramatically after significant events, or “moral shocks” (Jasper and Poulsen 1995). For example, following Internment (August 1971) and Bloody Sunday (January 1972), during which the British were perceived to have acted extremely unjustly. These incidents were said to have “removed any lingering restraint” for Republicans who had previously been unsure of their support for PIRA (Taylor 1998:126), but also encouraged further support from the wider community. Indeed, one ex-volunteer commented that in the aftermath of Bloody Sunday “you could go to almost any house and expect to get help if you needed it” (cited in White & White 1991:117). ‘Help’ came in the form of safe houses, information regarding the movements of British security operatives, or the provision of escape routes, as Belfast volunteer Brendan Hughes explains; “I had been over every yard wall in the Lower Falls area, through every back door, through most people’s houses, everybody knew who we were” (cited in Moloney 2010:81). Increased community support made PIRA operatives safer.

Another factor which boosted the security of inner circle members was the status of the Catholic areas as so-called ‘Liberated zones’. The communities had erected barriers which separated off areas of Belfast and Derry so that the Loyalists and the British couldn’t gain access. This limited the army’s ability to conduct searches and surveillance (Moloney 2002:100) which meant that ‘inner circle’ members could gather more openly. Indeed, the Republic of Ireland was also a “sanctuary” for the PIRA leadership during this period (Adams 1986:183). There was a lot of sympathy for their situation, if not their violent actions, amongst the population south of the border (Bell 1989:21). This meant that the government of the Republic were not actively pursuing PIRA members. Consequently, the south became a ‘safe haven’ for operatives; many went ‘on the run’ there after the introduction of internment (Moloney 2002:101).

A further resource which was significant at this time is the trust and solidarity established between participants. Having recently broken away to form their own movement, faced with a clear and common enemy in both the Loyalists and the British,

129 and an agreed policy regarding the use of force, the new Provisionals were quite cohesive. As one member states, during t1 the PIRA leadership were “not troubled by internal debates around esoteric ideological points (McKearney 2011:102). Moreover, many of the early members were already well-known to each other. They either had long-standing family connections, mutual previous campaign experience, or were co- members of the Republican groups to which people turned when they became disillusioned with the former IRA leadership19 (Bell 1997, Taylor 1998, Coogan 2000). This prior knowledge and contact reduced the risk of interacting with each other (Simmel 1906, Erickson 1981), as did their shared and deeply embedded Republican culture (Von Lampe and Johansen 2004). Indeed, then Chief of Staff (CoS) notes that the group shared “intense patriotic emotions” (MacStiofain 1975:127) during this period.

Density and Dynamics in T1

The PIRA inner circle at T1 was relatively well-connected for a covert group because their organisation, strategy, perception of risk and use of resources allowed for this. PIRA was organised as an irregular army with a leadership who were required to meet to set-up the group. Their tactics, particularly at the beginning of this period, were quite large-scale and overt. This was possible because the level of risk that they faced was relatively low. The combination of an ineffective security operation against them, control of territory, access to safe zones, and high levels of community support from amongst the Catholic population, meant that the PIRA leadership was quite protected. Moreover, there was trust and solidarity amongst members, which was underpinned by pre-existing ties and ideological cohesion, all of which allowed them to organise with less restriction.

Nevertheless, PIRA was a covert group engaged in illegal activity and members were aware of their need for secrecy outside of the group and outside of the safe areas. Internment demonstrated that they had developed some intelligence sources and use was made of the ‘safe-zones’ and community support. PIRA did not have a well-

19 For example the Barnes and McCormack repatriation society which was formed in 1966, to campaign for the repatriation of two IRA volunteers who had been executed in Britain in the 1940s. (White 2006:144)

130 developed security policy during these years, however. Indeed, PIRA secrecy was quite simple and physical in nature during t1. They would run away from threats – as Brendan Hughes explained – or stay within safe zones. Security was a matter of not getting caught by the British. The Nationalist community was privy to a lot of “entrusted secrets” (Goffman 1969) and formed a protective buffer around the group in this period.

The slightly higher density of the PIRA leadership in t1 helped them achieve their objectives; to protect the Catholic population from violence and to demonstrate a show of force on the streets. Their density also gave PIRA a certain amount of redundancy which meant that men who were injured or arrested could easily be replaced, such as some of the older veterans who were involved in the initial set-up stages, or the few inner circle members who were captured during internment. PIRA were effective in t1, if not strictly efficient, and more secure than secret.

T2: 1973-1976

Risk and the Security Environment

As of 1972, Intelligence Officers in the British Army started to receive more specialist training. PIRA’s move to an offensive footing meant that the army spent less time on the streets. As a result their overt intelligence gathering was no longer possible so they moved to covert surveillance techniques. Cover such as false businesses, road side ditches and derelict buildings was used (Arascain 2014:31). Their switch to undercover tactics, coupled with a better working knowledge of their environment, meant that the army’s intelligence was now much improved. Intelligence successes were compounded by technological and tactical advances such as the vehicle database, ‘Vengeful’, which made information more accessible (Arascain 2014:23). The British also began to recruit ‘Freds’, or informers, PIRA members who they turned during interrogations (Arascain 2014:32). Intelligence based strategies were now premised over military tactics and this resulted in more arrests.

Further to this, the policy of ‘Police Primacy’ was introduced by the British in 1976. The Royal Ulster Constabulary (RUC) became the leading force in combatting PIRA,

131 and Special Category Status was removed for paramilitary prisoners in an effort to criminalise their members. Indeed, the British army’s involvement up until this point was thought to legitimise PIRA’s framing of the situation as a war. Consequently, the Ulster Defence Regiment (UDR) was to more fully support the RUC instead of the wider British army (Taylor 1998:202). Internment was phased out and some detainees were released from Long Kesh. Sentenced prisoners were moved to the newly constructed H-Blocks of the Maze prison, however. Within this new regime the British developed something of a “conveyor-belt system” (Moloney 2002:145) for PIRA suspects. They went from the RUC interrogation centres, to the ‘Diplock’, or juryless courts (which were introduced in 1973), straight to prison. Use of the police and judicial systems was an effective tactic which was said to have brought PIRA “to the verge of defeat” (Moloney 2002:145).

The British also attempted to destabilise PIRA from within via a mole that they placed in Crumlin Road prison. Under scrutiny and interrogation the mole admitted to being an informer to the British and named a number of other Republicans who were allegedly also guilty of this. The mole later admitted the accusations weren’t true, however that the whole thing had been an operation designed by the British to spread mistrust, damage internal PIRA relations and embarrass the prison leadership who were said to have reacted with “hysteria” (Dillon 1991:82).

Objectives and Activities

The PIRA inner circle network is much smaller and sparser at t2 as a consequence of the changed and more risky security situation. Many leadership figures were imprisoned during this period as their denser structure during t1 had left them vulnerable to detection. Moreover, violent activity was suspended between December 1974 and November 1975, when the Provisionals engaged in a lengthy Ceasefire with the British. This meant that there were fewer opportunities to act and fewer people to act with in this period.

In fact, the organisation of the ceasefire was a matter of great secrecy both inside and outside of the group. The dialogue had to be kept quiet because the British government could not be seen to be talking to ‘terrorists’; especially after the failure of negotiations

132 in the previous phase and the hard-line that they had taken against PIRA since (MacStiofain 1975:263, Taylor 1998:167). The idea of a truce was also quite unpopular within some quarters of PIRA as cessations were thought to weaken the military campaign (Taylor 1998:172). Indeed, Everton and Cunningham (2012) found that operational inactivity also affected trust relationships in the Noordin Top network. As a result the truce talks began as a series of small meetings between the two sides and a number of intermediaries, involving only a few participants selected by the British. Indeed, some Provisionals allege that the British strategically arrested some of the inner circle members who would have been least amenable to the truce prior to the negotiations so that there would be less opposition to deal with (Moloney 2002:138/9).

A number of inner circle members who were imprisoned during t2 still appear in this network, however. For example, some of the internees in the Long Kesh camp who formed a study group which became known as the ‘University of Terrorism’. Once the ceasefire negotiations became public knowledge, this group became a focus of dissent against the leadership. They communicated their ideas for future policy and reorganisation of the movement to sympathetic colleagues outside of prison (Hughes cited in Moloney 2010:204). Other prisoners included in this network are a group of senior figures who were involved in an audacious escape by helicopter from Mountjoy in the Republic. This was an important propaganda victory for the movement (Bell 1997:400/1). Therefore, the drop in density in this period is partly the result of the physical separation of these participants, which also contributed to the lack of ideological cohesion. As Bell states prisons are “too often site of schism” (1997:400).

As a consequence of their reduced numbers, some misjudged actions and operations and the failed ceasefire some senior PIRA members were actually looking to end the campaign during this phase (Taylor 1998:169). In the early stages of t2 PIRA moved their bombing campaign to the British mainland. However, deaths and injuries of civilians, especially in the pub bombings of 1974, brought condemnation (O Bradaigh cited in White 1993:137). A violent feud had also broken out with Loyalists in Northern Ireland which was undermining PIRA’s argument that they were not a sectarian group (Hughes cited in Moloney 2010:196). A combination of these factors, as well as the continuing arrests of key personnel, meant that the Provisionals chances

133 of success appeared to be quite limited. The reduced connections affected their ability to coordinate and re-group after these setbacks.

Finally, T2 also includes some increased Sinn Fein activity. The party was legalised in 1974 in the hope that participants could be encouraged to enter constitutional politics (Flackes and Elliot 1994). A new power sharing agreement, including a cross- border initiative, had been created that year. The Nationalist parties were supportive and agreed to take up seats. The Unionists were staunchly opposed to this development, however, and the executive collapsed following a widespread strike in Unionist-dominated industries (Taylor 1998:164). The PIRA leadership was very sceptical of constitutional politics, so the participation of ‘inner circle’ figures in Sinn Fein activities was limited. It was regarded as little more than “an IRA support group” (White 1993:141) and publicly at least, the organisations were kept quite distinct during this phase (Taylor 1998:212).

Resources for Secrecy and Protection

PIRA had lost some of their safe zones by or during T2. The ‘No-Go’ areas in Belfast and Derry were removed by the British in July of 1972. And, as support waned in the Republic following a bombing in Dublin, the government introduced special courts and a strict prison bill intended to crack-down on the group (Bell 1989:388). PIRA Leadership figures who were living in the Republic now had to go on the run.

The community support that the Provisionals had enjoyed in the north during T1 had also faded. Operations such as Bloody Friday, the bombing of the Abercorn restaurant and the British pub bombings mentioned earlier, were very unpopular (Moloney 2010:103). In addition, the political initiatives of the constitutional Nationalists had captured the support of many moderate and middle class Catholics (Moloney 2002:129). The fear caused by the Loyalists’ campaign of indiscriminate violence against Catholics, accelerated by groups such as the ‘Shankhill Butchers’, also meant that PIRA came under pressure from otherwise supportive members of their community to cease activity (Taylor 1998). As a result of these factors, the “halo of toleration” (Bell 1995:35) that PIRA had enjoyed in T1 was now much smaller.

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The drop in community support for PIRA was significant for ideological reasons because it meant that members who were still embedded in these areas were now exposed to criticism, or at least an alternative framing of the situation from outside of the movement. This affected levels of commitment and motivation and was compounded by the “normalisation” that they experienced during the ceasefire when they could return to normal life (Cahill cited in White 1993:138).

Moreover, in practical terms, with the loss of safe territory and a protective community to hide their activities, PIRA had to enter into more complex forms of secrecy. Those on the run had to live a more clandestine lifestyle, including more ‘identity work’, as Brendan Hughes reports following his escape from Long Kesh in 1973;

“I took on the identity of Arthur McAllister, a travelling salesman. I had my hair dyed and I dressed like a businessman”. Prior to this “I was ‘Darkie’ Hughes on the streets, everybody knew who I was. Every time I saw a Brit I was over a yard wall” (in Moloney 2010:167).

Indeed, it is reported that Martin McGuiness also changed his appearance, dying his hair and growing a moustache in order to remain unrecognised. Also that he crossed the border in a female disguise in order to escape the British during this phase (Clarke and Johnson 2007:94).

Hughes also reports that PIRA had to move their safe houses to more unexpected areas, outside of the Republican enclaves. The combination of this and his salesman disguise was an effective cover, as he again explains;

“I was stopped almost every other night by British troops. But I was able to get away with the ID that I had. Arthur McAllister always wore a suit and tie. Every morning he would leave the house in Myrtlefield Park in the car, dressed in a grey check suit” (Hughes cited in Taylor 1998:161).

Thus, inner circle members were now dependent upon their own resources, rather than those of the community, to increase their safety. Indeed, the Hughes situation highlights how the role of Intelligence Officers was becoming more significant, they

135 helped him research and prepare his ‘performance’ as a toy salesman (Dillion 1991:70) Furthermore, PIRA was now engaging in their own intelligence operations as they had managed to intercept communications from one of the army barracks (Dillon 1991:73).

As with the other protective resources mentioned in the previous phase, trust between inner circle members was also compromised in t2. The PIRA leadership discovered that the British had turned a number of informers. Senior Provisionals in the Belfast Brigade, for example, had been given up by someone who was well-known to them, including Brendan Hughes (Moloney 2002:138). As a result of this situation, suspicions were raised in the movement, even amongst those with long-standing, pre- existing relationships. As, McKearney notes, even suspected treachery has a “deep emotional impact” within the Republican movement because of their history of informers (2011:142). The leadership briefly considered deploying a “counter uncovering move” (Goffman 1969) upon discovery of the informer by feeding him misinformation which he would communicate back to his handlers. However, as the person had already proved their unreliability, it was decided that the safest thing to do was to ‘remove’ him from the group. The person was killed by PIRA in 1976 (Dillion 1991:74).

Further to this, distrust and suspicion was amplified by the conspiratorial activity of some leadership figures in the organisation of the ceasefire (Hughes cited in Moloney 2010:168). Discord was heightened and solidarity challenged by the separate collective identities and collective action frames that were starting to emerge between the ‘old guard’ who were in charge in this period and the ‘young Turks’, many of whom were part of the dissident faction in Long Kesh. The former group had been active in previous IRA campaigns and originated and/or operated mostly in the Republic of Ireland; whereas many of the latter group were recruited after 1969 and were from the northern or border counties which saw most of the violence. As White argues (1993:158) “geography and timing of recruitment into Irish Republican politics generates loyalty to different perceptions of the Republican movement”, as well as a natural camaraderie with those who share similar experiences (Indeed, Gill et al 2014 also found that these were important dynamics in their PIRA network).

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Density and Dynamics in T2

The risk increased for the PIRA leadership in t2 as the British improved their intelligence gathering techniques. In the early days of this phase, the inner circle was unprepared for this. Their larger, denser structure in t1 made them vulnerable to informers and surveillance and, as a consequence, many arrests were made. Indeed, the British managed to turn a number of informers and to infiltrate the prison population and plant effective misinformation.

The smaller, sparser network which resulted was quite ineffective. Poor coordination of targeting meant that mistakes were made and this left some feeling weak and demotivated. The ceasefire was also ineffective and had a negative impact upon internal relations because the leadership figures who were responsible for the negotiations kept this a “strategic secret” (Goffman 1969) from other members. The ceasefire also highlighted that framing and objectives of some participants were starting to diverge, a dynamic compounded by physical and geographic separation.

The resources which mitigated some of the risk in t1, such as control of territory, community support and trust between members were lost or compromised during this phase. This left the PIRA inner circle unsupported and exposed. As a result, some of the leaders who were closer to the ground adopted more complex practices of secrecy, operating from unexpected areas and under assumed identities. Although a physical dimension remained in the form of disguises used, these practices also depended upon the management of information; including the use of their own intelligence gathered on the British Army. PIRA were less secure but arguably more secretive in phase 2.

T3: 1977-1981

Objectives and Activities

PIRA leadership figures are most connected during t3. The size of the network increases slightly from phase 2. Indeed, a number of participants were released from

137 prison and re-joined the leadership during this period20. Notably, some of the prominent participants of the Long Kesh study group who began to reorganise the movement. Given the extent of arrests in the previous phase, and impact of informers, they intended to improve secrecy and to share information on more of a ‘need to know’ basis (‘Pat’ cited in Coogan 2000:477). The reorganisation also meant that PIRA was more streamlined and could operate with less resources and recruits over a longer period (Illardi 2009). In other words, the new faction recognised that they needed to make the group more efficient. In addition to these changes a clearer political platform was also developed so that PIRA could maintain a broader base of public support beyond those who supported the use of force (Coogan 2000). These ideas were encapsulated in the “Armalite and ballot box”21 strategy, where the careful use of violence (Shapiro 2013) would sit alongside increasing participation in electoral politics.

Indeed, the new leadership faction was involved in a lot of overt, political activity relating to the prison protests during t3. The protests were an attempt to get the British to reinstate special category status for paramilitary prisoners, and culminated in a hunger strike in which ten men died. The protests, and especially the hunger strikes gained a lot of public support; in response the Anti H-Block/Armagh22 committee was formed. This group co-ordinated the election campaigns of hunger strikers who won seats at the parliaments of Westminster and Dublin, and negotiated on behalf of the prisoners with the British government. The committee was brought under the control of the new PIRA leadership who flooded its ranks with their members (McKearney 2011:152). As such it became something of a proxy organisation. This legal political activity allowed the PIRA members involved to meet more freely.

As part of the reorganisation, the new leadership members attempted to reconfigure the Brigades and Battalions into a cellular structure in order to limit the number of ties that front-line operatives had with each other (Moloney 2002). However, paradoxically, reorganisation seems to have increased connections at the leadership

20 Although it should also be noted that the networks at t3 and t4 span 5 years of activity as opposed to the 4 years covered in the previous two time periods. 21 From Dany Morrison’s speech cited in Taylor 1998:281 22 Female PIRA prisoners in Armagh jail also joined the protests.

138 level. New structures of management were created, such as separate Northern and Southern Commands and the Revolutionary Council and there were some larger planning meetings whilst these changes were brought in. Furthermore, as Northern Command now had oversight for all operations in the 6 counties and the border areas, members began to visit the units in order to make sure that the new strategies were being implemented by rank and file members (Clarke and Johnson 2007). This complex logistical task increased connections. The events and effects of the leadership transition will be discussed further in the next chapter on centralisation.

The assassination of Mountbatten and the attack at Warrenpoint in 1979 were some of PIRA’s notable ‘successes’ in Ireland during these years. In fact, these were some of PIRA’s biggest operations during the troubles. However, actions undertaken on the British mainland or continental Europe were the responsibility of England Department. They operated quite independently from the rest of the group because they needed to do so in ‘enemy territory’. Moreover, at this time they were regarded as something of a liability as many of their members had been arrested in two high profile incidents in 1975. The first was the Balcombe Street siege in London (Taylor 1998:196) and the second involved a shootout in Manchester (O Callaghan 1999:113) The separate component in t3 is made up of members of the this Department.

Risk and the Security Environment

Several changes were made to the security force landscape during T3 which affected PIRA secrecy. In 1978 Regional Crime and Intelligence Units were set up within the RUC. They had better local knowledge and more resources to call upon. A Chief Security Co-ordinator for Northern Ireland was also appointed following Mountbatten and Warrenpoint. A former head of MI6, he brought considerable experience to the job. His assignment was to “plug gaps and sort out problems” between the security services, including the new regional units (English 2003:221). Better information sharing and more cohesive working amongst the agencies made the British a more formidable enemy. Further technological advances such as person-searchable databases also boosted their effectiveness. As did more close observation training for undercover operatives (Arascain 2014:23/4).

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Developments were also made to the recruitment and handling of informers during t3. Rather than turn them during interrogations, the British now targeted and recruited them on the basis of intelligence gathered - though not necessarily without duress. Previously informers had been managed by army personnel on short tours. However, it became a sustained, specialist role within the British Army during this period. This allowed more productive, long-term relationships to form with handlers from which more information could be gathered (Arascain 2014). Indeed, 1976 onwards was a high point in terms of the recruitment of informers – the British dramatically extended their network, including some senior PIRA figures (Illardi 2009).

Resources for Secrecy and Protection

Given the continuing improvement of British counterterrorism and intelligence practice, the new PIRA leadership had a heightened perception of risk in t3. The Green Book was produced and disseminated amongst the Provisionals in this phase. It was intended to educate members in the political arguments of the movement, but also, in necessary trade-craft such as anti-interrogation techniques. It recommended that operatives avoid well known Republicans or “Red lights”, and stay away from events such as funerals and commemorations so as to remain unknown to the security services (Illardi 2009). Indeed, fewer social and ceremonial events were recorded in this phase. Counter-intelligence practices such as these helped PIRA control the risk (Illardi 2009). As did surveillance of RUC stations and army bases and intelligence captured by PIRA on British operations. For example, their primary surveillance initiative during this period - Operation Hawk – which was monitored by PIRA using hi-tech devices (Bell 1997:473).

For the leadership figures who were already well-known, however, the goal was now to evade conviction rather than capture (McKearney 2011:143). PIRA operatives were now allowed to mount a defence and recognise the courts (Clarke and Johnson 2007) and, unless a warrant was already outstanding, inner circle members stayed at home instead of living on the run (McKearney 2011:143). This meant that participants were less susceptible to burn-out and associated risky behaviour because they were not separated from loved ones as they had been previously (Goodwin 1997). This was possible because internment had been phased out, but also, because the prominent

140 political activity of some during the hunger strikes gave them a degree of legitimacy. This ‘grey area’ allowed deniability of, or at least confusion regarding, their more militant roles (Raab and Milward 2006, Crenshaw 2010) Now they could “work at the edge of cover” (Bell 1995:41) as “front men” of Sinn Fein (Coogan 2000) and operate more openly23. In this sense, closer relations with Sinn Fein allowed it to be used partly as a “tool of a more clandestine IRA” (Sharrock and Devenport 1997:149).

However, living in one place rather than on the move also gave the British greater access to such figures (McKearney 2011:143), so hiding subversive activity as well as withstanding interrogation became all the more important. It was for this reason that “unknowns” were brought into the inner circle. They weren’t targets of surveillance which gave them more freedom to engage in the tasks necessary to run an illegal movement. As Bell states, after reorganisation “the core of the IRA (was) either well- known or deeply hidden” (1995:43). The influx of such people also contributes to the growth of the network after t2.

The Green Book also gave instruction on the careful planning of operations so as not to alienate the surrounding community, including selective targeting and diligent planning activity (Taylor 1998:258). A leaked intelligence report from 1979 confirmed that the British thought that this strategy was enough to keep people on side and “secure bases” in the Republican areas (cited in Moloney 2002:174). Indeed, this policy helped PIRA maintain some of the wide-spread support generated during the hunger strikes and earlier prison protests. As Collins states, the leadership now “knew they were operating within a sophisticated set of informal restrictions” and so “they tried to act in a way that would avoid censure from the Nationalist community” (1997:295). As a result of this, for a short time at least, PIRA operatives could once again move about and meet more freely (Bell 1997:501).

Furthermore, the Green Book also detailed the political philosophy of the group – or at least of the new leadership faction – and thus provided a standardised interpretation

23 Bell notes a potential danger of operating across il/legitimate domains, however. He describes an instance in which sensitive details were shared in telephone calls made from the Sinn Fein offices. Members forgot that they had been tapped by the security services (1989:32)

141 of Republicanism so as to limit future ideological challenges. Moreover, the manual was also the basis of a more formalised initiation process. New recruits would not be admitted until they had attended a series of lectures on its content. Thus they were socialised into Republican culture, as well as educated in security practices before they were allowed to associate with other members. The manual also underpinned a much stricter regime of discipline which will be discussed in the next chapter.

In terms of trust and solidarity, the displacement of one leadership group for another did cause some discord within the PIRA inner circle. However, although there was some tension, one of the “old guard” states that they also accepted this because their long-term involvement in the Republican movement taught then that “generational change happened” (O Bradaigh in White 2006:267). Indeed, other participants agree that they “avoided stand up rows with in order to prevent a split” and external events such as the Hunger Strikes worked to unify the group and for a time at least, eclipsed this in significance (cited in Moloney 2002:189).

Density and Dynamics in T3

The size and connectivity of the PIRA inner circle network increases from t2 to t3 as people are released from prison, changes are made to the strategy and organisation of the group and a new leadership begins to emerge. The PIRA leadership explicitly considered both secrecy and efficiency in this phase, choosing to limit ties between the rank and file. Ironically, the reorganisation activity, as well as that which allowed the new faction to take over the leadership, actually increased connections between participants at this level. However, arguably the PIRA leadership’s increased connectivity was effective because they achieved some of their most ‘spectacular’ operations during this phase.

Although British security practices continued to evolve and improve, the new leadership made some “competitive adaptions” (Crenshaw 2010) to better protect themselves from imprisonment. The ‘grey area’ was a form of open-secrecy involving “strategic ambiguity” about their actions (Goffman 1969), but some ‘unknowns’ also

142 operated within the leadership who were completely clandestine24. Thus, the PIRA inner circle was simultaneously operating at the polar ends of covertness.

The Green Book was a significant resource for secrecy as not only did it provide formal direction concerning trade-craft and issues of security, it also strengthened the narrative of the group, by teaching a specific, unified political ideology. Indeed, the “Armalite and Ballot Box” strategy, encompassing political participation and more selective targeting, helped maintain community support - building on that generated during the hunger strikes. But community members were also less involved than they had been previously. The changes to PIRA’s structure meant that they were less dependent upon external non-members, which strengthened the boundary of the group.

However, despite these changes to structure and practice, the PIRA leadership was still vulnerable, the British recruited a number of high level informers during these years.

T4: 1982-1986

Objectives and Activities

The PIRA inner circle network at t4 is the largest. However, it is less connected than it was in the previous phase and at t1. Two significant events brought people into the network in this period. The first was an escape made by several well-respected figures from the Maze prison in 1983. Such was the talent and influence of some that they were described as “regenerating” the campaign (Taylor 1998:268).

The second event was the Army Convention which took place in 1986, and indeed, the following Sinn Fein meeting at which the policy of abstentionism was discussed. A convention had not been held since the formation of PIRA in 1970 because of security worries about such large gatherings. However, this was a very contentious issue, a resolution to which was deemed to warrant the risk. The policy dictated that

24 Yet, it is not made clear how PIRA managed the communication between these two groups if unknowns were supposed to avoid contacts with known Republicans?

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PIRA/Sinn Fein members could run in elections but, if successful, they could not take up their seats. The new leadership faction wanted to change this from a policy to a principle so that members would be free to take up seats in Dublin should they win. The old leadership were staunchly opposed to this, however, as to do so was viewed as recognition of an illegitimate institution, wrongfully created after partition (Taylor 1998). In order to boost support for both sides of the debate, some older Republican figures who had dropped out of active service were brought back in to act as influential ‘elder statesmen’ (Moloney 2002).

Although the convention marked the culmination of the debate over the level of PIRA’s involvement in electoral politics, it raged throughout t4. The new leadership wanted to increase their constitutional political participation and some had been victorious in elections to a new Northern Ireland Assembly and to Westminster. In line with policy they abstained from involvement, however. Nevertheless, some of the more traditional, hard-line inner circle members were increasingly upset about the level of resources that were being channelled into politics at the expense of the armed struggle. This led to an increasing separation of the PIRA leadership over the political issue (Taylor 1998, Coogan 2000). Indeed one member attempted a coup in 1985 for this reason; although it was quickly stifled and the culprits removed by Court Martial (Sharrock and Devenport 1997:210). In this period the PIRA inner circle was beset with divisions and discord.

Indeed, prior to the convention, some of the senior figures in the ‘old guard’ had largely dropped out of participation during t4, especially from Sinn Fein (SF) over which the new faction had now also consolidated their power. Whereas in the previous phase they would attend SF meetings en masse so as to sway decisions, now, where possible, they would avoid open debate and send messengers with pre-prepared statements (White 2006:285-7). In addition, some of the larger military management structures created during the new leadership’s ascent to power, such as the Revolutionary Council, had been disbanded and participation in army leadership meetings was also restricted. This was a tactic for secrecy as well as control as some of the new leadership needed to distance themselves from their roles within the army so that they could sustain their new political roles (Clarke and Johnson 2007:153).

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Despite the increased political agenda, PIRA did continue with violence during t4. Many of the most notable operations in this period happened on the British mainland. For example, the Harrods bombing of 1983 and the 1984 bombing of the Conservative party conference in Brighton. However, unlike the previous phase, the network now forms a single component, including some of those that were active in the England Department. As political participation increased, greater oversight and control of operations was demanded by the leadership which necessitated connections with this group (Shapiro 2013). Moreover, such was the desire to avoid a split in the movement that all personnel were drawn in to the debate over abstentionism (Taylor 1998).

Risk and the Security Environment

In T4 the British brought their use of informers and the judicial system together. They recruited ‘supergrasses’ or “converted terrorists” to give evidence against PIRA members. This was in return for shorter sentences and the promise of a new life under British protection (Taylor 1998). Given the leaderships increased awareness of risk and better tradecraft, this was now one of the only ways that information could be collected on their illegal activities. However, such was the leadership’s fear of the system that it was said to have “debilitating effects” (Clarke and Johnson 2007:54) in terms of action. This initiative was actually cited as the reason why some prominent members moved away from the armed struggle and further into politics (O Callaghan 1999). However, the evidence of the supergrasses was uncorroborated and some proved to be unconvincing and unreliable witnesses. As a result the system collapsed towards the end of t4 when a number of convictions were successfully overturned and some of the ‘supergrasses’ began to retract their evidence.

It is also alleged that a ‘Shoot to kill’ policy had been implemented by the British during this period. However, this affected active volunteers rather than the now largely managerial leadership. It is perhaps an indication that the British were finding it harder to infiltrate the group and/or ‘remove’ people by legal methods. Although, it should also be noted that the British government maintains that this policy never actually existed (Dillon 1991).

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Resources for Secrecy and Protection

Increased participation in electoral politics had some important consequences for PIRA which affected their security. Firstly, Sinn Fein was now a “permeable membrane” (Clarke and Johnson 2001:165) around the army which allowed leaders to have more contact with the Republican and Nationalist community, without exposing themselves during their more incriminating, militant activity. Indeed, some PIRA leaders were now elected representatives with a duty to agitate for their constituencies, even if they remained outside of the traditional forums of power.

Secondly, the fact that some PIRA inner circle members now had an electoral mandate and a supportive constituency gave them greater claims to external legitimacy. This directly challenged the ‘Criminalisation’ agenda begun in t2. It also meant that the British had to be more careful in how they treated these figures; the burden of proof was now greater if they were trying to secure a conviction, for example. Legitimacy was a resource which allowed the PIRA leadership access to due process and privacy (Bok 1989). Indeed, as those who ran in elections were required to give up their formal positions in PIRA, their relationship with the movement was made less clear (Moloney 2002:380). Although they still retained great influence and power, the ‘grey area’ increased around them making them safer.

Having said this, political participation, as well as leadership ambitions, had a very negative effect on the internal cohesion of the group. The inner circle at t4 had a number of disagreements, chief among them being the issue of abstentionism, of course. However, other issues such as the treatment of informers also caused conflict and one inner circle member even accused another of conspiring to get him arrested (Clarke and Johnson 2007:128). Solidarity was thus affected because of significant ideological differences as well as the political manoeuvring employed by some in the new leadership.

One such incident was a “whispering campaign” set up against a senior Sinn Fein member implying that she was a British agent. On the basis of these allegations the leadership interrogated and dismissed her from the movement in quite a threatening way. A member reports that this “really tore the curtain of trust” between the old and

146 new factions to the extent that even surface social relations could not be maintained (cited in Moloney 2002:194). As a result there was a lot of discord amongst the PIRA inner circle in this time period which destabilised the group in the run up to the split.

Density and Dynamics in T4

The PIRA leadership network increases in size between t3 and t4, as more people return to the movement during this period. However, they return in limited roles and capacity; as celebrated ‘soldiers’ in the case of the prison escapees and as political ambassadors in the case of the older veterans who returned prior to the convention. The lower density in this phase is reflective of the conflict between members prior to the split, related to the level of involvement in constitutional politics as well as the internal ‘politicking’ which compounded the new leadership’s control of the movement.

The ‘Supergrass’ system increased the risk for PIRA during this phase. However, some leaders protected themselves by moving into electoral politics which gave them a legitimate mandate and helped maintain community support. Externally PIRA leaders now have some access to privacy as their legitimacy rises but internally they rely on secrecy by limiting participation and distancing themselves from day-to-day army activity. Risk lessened towards the end of t4 as the Supergrass system was dismantled.

6.3 Conclusion

It was found that when compared to maximum possible density the PIRA inner circle networks appear to be quite sparse groups. However, when they are compared to other covert networks, including the RC, they actually appear to be denser than other secret groups.

The PIRA inner circle networks fluctuate in both size and connectivity across the four time periods, so there are more ties between participants in some phases than in others. The variability in average degree is not linear – i.e. the group becomes more or less connected over time – nor is it consistent with the size of each network, which suggests

147 that other factors are exercising influence on their structure. Indeed, the changes in density do not align with any one factor, rather they are the result of an interplay between their aims and activities, British security service activity and their perception of risk as mediated by other protective influences in the time period.

The nature and practices of the PIRA leadership’s secrecy also changed across the four phases, as the contents of their secrecy also changed. In t1, when the inner circle had access to territory and community support, only their activities and targets needed to be concealed from the British. As a result, their secrecy was quite physical and made use of geography and space.

In t2, when community support had dulled, they did not have access to safe territory and the risk from the British had increased, PIRA’s secrecy was more complex and comprehensive; identities, activities, targets and strategic locations such as safe houses had to be hidden. This required identity work on behalf of participants and meant that they could sustain fewer connections. The leadership also completed some espionage work in this phase.

In t3 the leadership began to explicitly consider secretive practice and structure. Their reorganisation at the rank and file level increased connections amongst the ‘inner circle’ however. Indeed, arguably structural secrecy was not prioritised at this level because the new leadership faction were emerging and trying to take control. In this phase, different things were secret for different people. For those who had a public profile, only their activities on behalf of the army were concealed. Their over political activity meant that they could maintain more contacts in this realm. However, as ‘unknowns’ were now brought into the inner circle both identity and activity needed to be secret for them because their aim was to stay totally clandestine.

In t4 some members become elected representatives which gives them more access to privacy. However, in order to protect their political profile, some of these figures had to employ more secrecy within the movement, keeping their army related activities concealed from all but a few members. There was a lot of manipulation of information within the group as each faction lobbied for their position on abstention. Persuasion

148 was also used in the form of the whispering campaign, however, which was intended to damage an opponent of the new leadership.

In the next chapter we will focus on the extent of centralisation in the PIRA inner circle networks.

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7. The Provisional IRA ‘Inner Circle’ Network – De/Centralisation and Leadership

This chapter will analyse the extent of de/centralisation of the PIRA inner circle networks and how this changed across the four periods. We will also establish who was most central within these networks; and what that meant for processes of command, control and secrecy. In this chapter I will continue to mix both quantitative metrics and qualitative discussion so as to draw specific processes or ‘flows’ within the network and their implications for secrecy and functioning.

The Main findings of this chapter are that the centralisation of the PIRA inner circle network, in terms of contact patterns, changed across time. The Pattern of centralisation mirrors that for density so that most dense network is also the most centralised (t3) and vice versa (t2). The most senior ranking people tended to be the most central, except for t4 when the Chief of Staff was not present in the top 5 rankings due to his desire for secrecy. It was found that recruitment and vetting procedures were more centrally controlled in times of structural change; and that whilst strategy and targeting might be decentralised, leaders tried to maintain control of resources for symbolic as well as practical reasons.

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7.1 De/Centralisation Analysis

The three measures of centrality presented here are the same as those tested for the RC. The Average Reciprocal Distance (ARD) has again been used instead of the Freeman Closeness calculation because the PIRA inner circle network at t3 has a disconnected component, as discussed in chapter 6.

Table 11 shows that all PIRA inner circle networks are most centralised by ARD and then by degree. For both measures, the PIRA leadership is most centralised at t3 and least centralised at t2. The same pattern was found for density in the previous chapter, thus, the most connected network is also the most centralised, and the least connected network is the least centralised. The PIRA inner circle is slightly more centralised by both ARD and degree at t1 than it is at t4, again mirroring the pattern of the average degree scores reported in chapter 6.

All of the PIRA leadership networks are moderately centralised by ARD, ranging from 42% to 65% of maximum possible variance in individual member scores. This marks a 23% difference between the least and most centralised ‘inner circle’ structures by this measure. Thus, at t3, some PIRA leadership figures were closer to and therefore could communicate with the whole network more easily than others.

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Figure 14: Degree and Average Reciprocal Distance Centralisation Scores for the Provisional Irish Republican Army Inner Circle Networks

70 60 50

40 % 30 20 10 0 T1 T2 T3 T4

Degree Centralisation ARD

Degree centralisation scores range from minimal to moderate between the networks. T2, the least degree centralised network, displays little variance between node level scores – only 20% of that possible. Whereas t3 records 49% of the possible variance meaning that some members of the PIRA inner circle had many more direct ties than others. We can therefore assume that some figures were more active than their colleagues in this network.

The betweeness centralisation scores reveal a different pattern to the other two measures, however. The most centralised network in this form is t2 (see figure 15, below). This suggests that the inner circle was most dependent upon brokers to sustain connection in this period. Indeed, given that this network was found to be the least connected in chapter 6, this is perhaps not surprising.

Figure 15: Betweeness Centralisation Scores for the Provisional Irish Republican Army Inner Circle Networks

20 %

0 T1 T2 T3 T4

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In conclusion, the PIRA leadership networks vary across time and across the different forms of centralisation. They are most centralised in terms of ARD, followed by degree and then betweeness. This suggests that the ‘key players’ minimise their visibility slightly by having fewer direct ties, but maintain their capacity for oversight and control via indirect communication paths. Generally speaking, t3 is the most centralised and t2 the least centralised of the leadership groups. However, the network at t2 bucks this trend for the betweeness measure as it is the most centralised in these terms.

The next section will discuss these structures in relation to the context and dynamics which were significant for the PIRA leadership in each time period.

7.2 Decentralisation Discussion

It is important to note that PIRA had a hierarchical command structure which operated with a military conception of command and discipline, and which was respected by participants (McKearney 2011, Hughes cited in Moloney 2010). However, like most formal structures, it is also argued that the PIRA leadership was embedded in a web of informal ties, including friendship, kinship and neighbourhood relations (Bell 1997, Coogan 2000) which intersected rank and affected how they functioned (English 2003:213) which have been captured in this network.

To briefly reiterate, the Chief of Staff (CS) was at the head of the command structure, surrounded by a seven man Army Council (AC) including an Adjutant General (AG), a Quartermaster General (QMG) and a Chairperson. The AC sat above a General Head Quarters (GHQ) made up of various departments, including engineering and finance. GHQ was split into Northern and Southern Commands in the late 1970s. Below GHQ there were Brigades separated into geographical areas, each of which contained its own command hierarchy. The Brigades were divided into Battalions until the leadership decided to implement a more cellular structure and introduced smaller Active Service Units (ASUs) in t3 (Horgan and Taylor 1997).

The AC were elected by the Army Executive (AE) who were in-turn elected by rank and file members at the Army Conventions. The AE then acted as an arbiter if there

153 were any serious disagreements amongst the leadership relating to the Army Constitution. Outside of a convention AC members were selected by the other council participants when one of the seven seats was vacated. According to the constitution, members could also be temporarily co-opted to the ruling bodies, including the AC, for specific purposes (Horgan and Taylor 1997).

T1: 1969-1972

Table 12: Top 5 Normalised Centrality Scores for Provisional Irish Republican Army T1 Inner Circle Network

Name Deg. Name ARD Name Bet. Rank

1 S MacStiofain 55.17 S MacStiofain 77.01 S MacStiofain 20.70 R O Bradaigh

2 J Cahill 41.38 R O Bradaigh 76.05 G Adams 16.95

3 D O Connell 39.08 J Cahill 69.54 J Cahill 16.90

4 P Mulcahy 36.78 D O Connell 68.97 R O Bradaigh 14.06

5 D McInerney 31.03 P Mulcahy 65.33 D O Connell 11.32

Table 12 clearly shows that Sean MacStiofain was an important figure in the PIRA leadership network as he holds the most central position across all three measures. Thus, he was involved in the most activity, could communicate with the rest of the network quickly and also acted as a broker connecting other members together. MacStiofain held the highest formal position in the hierarchy as he was the CS for the majority of this period.

Ruairi O Bradaigh, David O Connell and Joe Cahill were also important to the network because they appear in the top 5 rankings for all types of centrality. All three held multiple formal positions in the Republican leadership. All were AC members; O Bradaigh, who shares the highest degree centrality score, was President of the political wing, Sinn Fein, and O’ Connell was his deputy. O’Connell and Cahill served as Director of Operations and Finance for GHQ, respectively. Mulcahy and McInerney were also AC members, the latter of the two was QMG towards the end of this phase.

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Mulcahy didn’t hold any other significant positions and, according to these data, dropped out of the leadership after a flurry of activity in the initial stages

Gerry Adams is an interesting anomaly, he is the only person to occupy a central position who did not have full AC membership; he was only temporarily co-opted for the Whitelaw talks in 1972. Otherwise, in this period, Adams was a middle ranking member of the Belfast Brigade leadership. Despite this, he has a high betweeness centrality score suggesting that he was an important hub of connection for the inner circle. Although MacStiofain remains the most influential broker in the network in terms of position.

Thus, for the most part, the people at the centre of this network were the highest ranking figures of the period. This suggests that these people were the most able to communicate with, control and influence the network. However, by virtue of these positions, especially degree centrality because it involves direct connections, they were also possibly the most at risk.

Activity and Organisation

In terms of degree centralisation and ARD, the t1 network is relatively centralised around these figures, which, given that this is an events participation network, shows that they were directly involved in a lot of the activity recorded in this period. This suggests that they had quite a ‘hands on’ approach to leadership. Indeed, as noted above, some senior figures were involved in much of the day-to-day activity because they held dual roles and responsibilities. Many AC members also held GHQ positions (Horgan and Taylor 1997), and some straddled both the army and political wing. Moreover, as argued in chapter 6 leaders liked to be visible and active on the streets following criticism that they had failed to defend the catholic population in the early days of the troubles. As Bell states, at the beginning, everyone is a “frontline actor” (1989:24)

The Provisionals were just forming in t1 and those at the centre of the group were the “nucleus” from which the movement grew (Taylor 1998:60). Thus, it is not surprising that the group is quite centralised in terms of contact patterns because they were actively trying to build an organisation around themselves. This took on the form of

155 a hierarchical “three-tier defence structure” (MacStiofain 1975:146) the leadership was supported by members of the “auxiliary” – mainly older Republican veterans of previous campaigns (MacStiofain 1975:146). The auxiliaries were then supported by the Defence Committees which represented local parishes and communities (MacStiofain 1975:146, Moloney 2002:87). All were brought under PIRA control when necessary.

This ‘protective buffer’ around the ‘inner circle’ was possible because PIRA had a lot of community support in this phase. As Tucker (2008) reminds us, covert structures are secure and/or efficient only in relation to the environment in which they operate. As discussed in chapter 6, the level of risk posed by the British was relatively low and PIRA had a lot of resources to make them more secure in t1. As a result the leaders could afford to prioritise coordination and visibility.

Security and Efficiency

Indeed, the CS and most central person in the t1 network, Sean MacStiofain, notes in his autobiography that he had close and frequent contact with subordinates, particularly the Brigade leaderships who he would meet weekly. He states that "getting their reports at first hand, the decision process was shortened, security was improved because these reports did not have to pass through various intermediaries, and I could make an immediate appraisal of situations still on-going" (MacStiofain 1975:255). Thus supporting the argument that centralisation improves security and efficiency because it shortens paths of communication which could be intercepted or distorted (Simmel 1906, Lindelauf et al 2009).

However, MacStiofain also states that he didn’t meet anybody “who had not been checked out and vouched for" (1975:260); so he recognised the potential risk involved in this form of command but used vetting procedures to try and mitigate against this. Indeed, despite his prominence, MacStiofain was not arrested until October 1972 when he was picked up after giving a radio interview in Dublin. The reporter to whom he was talking tried to protect MacStiofain from prosecution by refusing to name him in court. As a punishment for this he was sentenced to 3 months imprisonment (White 2006:195).

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Recruitment and Discipline

In December 1969 a special convention was called in Belfast after the split in the old IRA. An AE was elected and duly selected the AC, including most of the figures listed in table 12 above. This same leadership was then ratified at another convention 9 months later. They were all well known to each other which would have afforded them some protection when working together. Indeed all except Adams had been active in previous campaigns, and O Bradaigh and O Connell were close friends (White 2006), Adams was part of a prominent Republican family with whom Cahill was very friendly, and Adams had been active in Republican politics for some time (Sharrock and Devenport 1997). This was the last convention to be held where the leadership was democratically elected before 1986, consequently personal ties played a big part in recruitment to leadership positions in the following years.

Moreover, the rank and file recruitment process in t1 also protected the leadership as it was controlled by Brigade staff in middle ranking positions. Thus, new volunteers were scrutinised before they had the opportunity to come into contact with anybody more senior. One former PIRA member describes how new applicants would be sent on “minor but challenging intelligence gathering missions” so that their skill as well as their commitment could be tested (McKearney 2011:76). If they passed through this stage satisfactorily then they would be sent for weapons training, which allowed for further scrutiny as well as socialisation into the customs and practices of PIRA, including the necessary clandestine behaviours (Simmel 1906). In order to protect the organisation, PIRA would try to ensure that new applicants met with somebody who was not known to them, although this was not always possible given the tight-knit communities that they operated in. Moreover, when the newcomers went to training camps efforts were made to keep the locations a secret and groups from different brigades separate, thus limiting the amount of information which was available to them at this early stage (McKearney 2011:76).

Further to this, another PIRA member reports that volunteers were not just scrutinised during the recruitment process. O Doherty notes that they could “be thrown out for a number of reasons, including drinking, indiscipline, bad time-keeping and general unreliability etc. As the ranks filled so they were constantly culled to remove the

157 blaggards, the big mouths and the downright dangerous” (1993:109). This practice protected the leadership from liabilities further down the movement. Of course, there were exceptions - those who beat these security precautions. For example, the informers who were ‘disappeared’ by the Belfast Brigade at the end of this period (Dillon 1991:36). However, their impact was limited to lower level rather than inner circle members in t1.

Authority

Flows of authority do not necessarily have the same structure as formal positions or patterns of activity. Nevertheless, they are important for discipline and secrecy (Simmel 1906). PIRA operated as a military hierarchy, with lines of command and a culture in which orders were followed. McKearney notes that to become a PIRA member was to “agree to be led and instructed” (2011:159), and Brendan Hughes adds that a key part of being a “good Republican” meant “staying within army lines” (cited in Moloney 2010:253). Indeed, as the Chief of Staff, MacStiofain was able to control the movements of both senior and junior personnel. He disallowed Cahill from returning to his home in the north after the introduction of internment, for example (MacStiofain 1975:206, Shapiro 2012:180-186); and stopped volunteers who were on the run from living in the vicinity of Dundalk where they were causing trouble (Shapiro 2012:180).

Having said this, the exercise of authority from the centre was in others ways quite limited in this period. For example, commentators agree that “there was virtually no control” in places, such as South Armagh and East Tyrone during t1 because these areas had a strong tradition of independence and were firmly under the control of “local Chieftains” (Harnden 1999, Moloney 2002: 160/1). Their only contact with senior PIRA figures was “in order to learn of broad policy directives, or to arrange for delivery of weapons or explosives” (McKearney 2011:116). Indeed, Bell (1989) states that despite being part of the same group the organisational culture in some areas was very different. He refers to the Belfast brigade as “part street gang” and to South Armagh as “part rural agitator, part nightrider” (Bell 1989:25). These differences would have made centralised control harder.

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In fact, it is argued that even the urban brigades of Belfast and Derry also had a lot of autonomy at this time. That in terms of operations, “IRA companies were encouraged to go their own way” (Moloney 2002:107), unless they required special resources and planning. A former Belfast member describes targeting activity as being quite “opportunistic” (Hughes cited in Taylor 1998:110); and another member reports that there was an “eclectic adoption of strategy and tactics” because there was no clear policy communicated by the leadership (McKearney 2011:102).

MacStiofain states that this lack of centralised control over strategy and targeting allowed the units to be more effective and adaptive to the local conditions. He notes that “guerrilla fighters frequently have to use their own judgement” so that they can maximise opportunities to hit at the enemy with limited resources (1975:253). Moreover, that “our northern units changed their own tactics as they encountered new enemy ones” (MacStiofain 1975:330), which allowed them to respond to the security services quickly, without waiting for permission from above. MacStiofain thus contends that some independence of strategy at the brigade level made PIRA more effective in t1 in the manner of tactical dialogue.

Indeed, arguably there was no over-arching strategy to implement because of MacStiofain’s framing of the situation in t1 as a guerrilla war in which small scale mobile units attack the enemy only when they have the opportunity. MacStiofain has been described as quite apolitical in his outlook – as “the man without ideas”, a nickname given to him by the Officials (Bell 1997:388) – and as "mistrustful of anything that might dilute the military effort" (Coogan 2000:374); including, it seems, too much coordination from the centre. Indeed, it is said that he tried to reflect the wishes of rather than direct the rank and file in these matters (McKearney 2011:104). He was “ever eager to keep on good terms with the northerners” in the ‘war zone’ (Moloney 2002:113) in order to ensure that the new movement remained unified.

However, whilst this democratic agenda might have influenced MacStiofain’s decisions when commanding the rank and file, within the inner circle he is said to have “run a one man show” (Bell 1997:437). This leadership style did not endear him to some people and caused divisions. MacStiofain did not have a good relationship with O Bradaigh and O Connell, for example, by the end of this period (White 2006: 178).

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Bell notes that personality is an important part of authority (1989:26); personality clashes with other senior members would have undermined respect for MacStiofain in some quarters. Moreover, if this statement is true there was potentially more danger for him inside rather than outside of the group.

Control of Resources

It is argued that control of necessary resources generates a power base and that centralised control of resources promotes hierarchy because senior members have more access (Erikson 1981). Indeed, control of weapons and funding was quite centralised within PIRA at this time. Most of their funding was being supplied by support organisations, particularly the American group NORAID, during this phase. Funds were given to the central leadership and were distributed outwards by them to the units (Adams 1986:136). Indeed, NORAID representatives held discussions with MacStiofain, Cahill and O Connell regarding weapons funding (English 2003:117). Further to this, other forms of fundraising, in which rank and file members had taken the initiative, were prevented. For example, insurance scams involving the bombing or damage of local businesses. These were deemed to be damaging to the movement by the leadership (MacStiofain 1975:249, Shapiro 2012:181-186).

The Quartermasters Department, which was part of GHQ, was doing most of the weapons sourcing in t1. These were distributed by them to areas which experienced most violence. Indeed, the southern units obeyed orders to send any weapons that they had to the central leadership so that they could be redistributed amongst the northern units (MacStiofain 1975:148). However, despite being a GHQ department, run by an AC member, the Quartermasters department was said to be “operated as a watertight section”. The Intelligence section was also said to be “self-contained” (MacStiofain 1975:308) in a similar manner in order to restrict access to the information held by these departments. Indeed, MacStiofain was of the opinion that “in a revolutionary movement it’s safe to have the knowledge that you need to have and no more” (MacStiofain 1975:308).

However, whilst more secure, this compartmentalisation gives less opportunity for control and oversight. Indeed, these central departments were bypassed by Brigade

160 members on a number of occasions. Adams and Brendan Hughes developed their own weapons supply route from New York via the QE2, for example (Moloney 2002:115) and Martin McGuinness is said to have armed the Derry Brigade independently from GHQ (Clarke and Johnson 2007:49). Their ability to procure their own resources, limits the power and influence of central leadership over them. Indeed, this activity also goes against the culture of respect for office and obedience, showing that more junior members were willing to challenge military authority towards the end of this period.

Centralisation Dynamics in T1

Thus the PIRA leadership network at T1 is relatively centralised in terms of the pattern of interaction. It could be so because the environment in which the inner circle was operating gave them a certain amount of protection for reasons discussed at length in the density section.

Some covert networks researchers argue that decentralised control allows groups to be more adaptable and responsive to changing situations because it allows for localised decision making (Enders and Jindapon 2009, Everton and Cunningham 2012). The PIRA inner circle at t1 bears this out in terms of strategic operations. However, the more centralised control of personnel and resources ensured that there was some hierarchical discipline. Nevertheless, control was not absolute; resourcing was devolved into specific departments which compartmentalised information, but this allowed the command structure to be circumvented on at least two occasions.

Vetting procedures were used to preserve secrecy, for both new recruits and the people that MacStiofain met with. He argues that limiting the information available, even to him, via delegation of responsibilities and/or compartmentalisation, was safer.

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T2: 1973-1976

Table 13: Top 5 Normalised Centrality Scores for Provisional Irish Republican Army T2 Inner Circle Network

Rank Name Deg. Name ARD Name Bet.

1 R O Bradaigh 29.31 S Twomey 62.07 S Twomey 37.00

2 S Twomey 27.59 R O Bradaigh 58.34 G Adams 22.05 S O Callaghan

3 M Drumm 24.14 M Drumm 57.76 R O Bradaigh 15.38

4 D O Connell 22.41 D O Connell 57.18 J Cahill 15.10 B Dowd

5 G Adams 18.97 S O Callaghan 54.31 S O Callaghan 14.63 J Cahill JB O Hagan K Mallon K McKenna

Table 13 shows that Seamus Twomey was one of the most central people in t2. He took over the Chief of Staff position from Joe Cahill who held it briefly after MacStiofain and before his arrest in 1973. Twomey is clearly an important broker and hub of connection, interestingly, he does not have the highest degree centrality, however. It is O Bradaigh who had the most direct ties in this period - though admittedly, Twomey has only slightly fewer. Like Twomey, O Bradaigh is in the top 5 for all of the centrality scores. He remained as a member of the AC and President of SF in this period.

Maire Drumm is now a central figure within the PIRA inner circle. Although involved previously, she rose to be joint Vice President of Sinn Fein in t2, sharing the position with David O Connell. She was also a senior figure in Cumann na mBan, the women’s wing of the Republican movement. In this phase, O’Connell moved from Director of Operations to Director of Publicity with GHQ. He also retained his AC position, along with Twomey, O Bradaigh and Cahill.

Adams maintained his relatively high betweeness centrality in this period, although his seniority changed only a little in t2; he moved further up in the Belfast Brigade

162 leadership. Adams is the connection between the inner circle and PIRA members in Long Kesh prison, following his arrest in 1973. Indeed, he also has one of the top 5 degree centralities in this network because of the direct ties he had with other influential prisoners. The same is true of Cahill who was imprisoned in 1973 for weapons smuggling.

Sean O Callaghan has one of the top 5 centrality scores for all of the measures. He and Brendan Dowd were members of the Kerry Brigade and the GHQ training Directorate in this period. They are relatively prominent in this network because Dowd had a good relationship with some of the AC members. Indeed, an intervention by these figures made him OC of Kerry in this phase (O Callaghan 1999:74). Moreover, training activity was encouraged in the Republic during the ceasefire in order to better equip volunteers in the event of a return to war (McKearney 2011:139). However, the fact that O Callaghan is so central is more likely a result of the data collection process. His autobiography was used as a source of information for the networks, but the extent of that available about O Callaghan (in his own life story) likely skews his position to some extent.

With the exception of the possible anomaly of O Callaghan, the most central people in the t2 inner circle are those with the most senior positions and multiple roles, as in the earlier period. In this respect PIRA’s organisation changed little.

Activity and Organisation

As discussed in chapter 6, the inner circle members in t2 were spread across different locations because many of them were sent to prison. The geographical separation explains why the network was least centralised by degree and ARD, but more centralised by betweeness than in any other period.

Despite the lower centralisation of this network, the vulnerability of those at the centre of a covert group is still borne out here. When the British and Irish security services went on the offensive (English 2003:161), many of the actors in table 13 were targeted. A Special Branch team was specifically assigned to capture O Connell, for example, and O Bradaigh was regularly followed and stopped and searched by the Gardaí

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(White 2006:204/5). In fact, of the 11 people listed in Table 13, 8 were arrested and imprisoned in t2. This reduced the centralisation of the inner circle as there was a flow of people in and out of the most central and senior positions. Indeed, there were three different Chiefs of Staff in this period, compared to only one in the previous phase25. Moreover the British and Irish governments were not PIRA’s only enemy during t2. They were also threatened by the Loyalists and other Republican groups. Maire Drumm was killed by Loyalist gunmen when admitted to hospital in 1976 for an operation. She was selected because of her prominent position in the movement (Moloney 2002:204). Thus, although the senior leaders were slightly less central in this network than they were in t1, externally, this did not give them more protection.

Having said this, the functioning of the movement was not particularly affected by the removal of these senior figures from the network. PIRA had a well-established policy of filling vacated roles quickly, and, in this sense, leadership targeting was not an effective destabilisation policy. However, it did mean that command was necessarily more “collective and broad” (White 2006:205) because it was managed by a group of people flowing through the positions rather than a more autocratic individual, such as MacStiofain. Senior leaders were arrested and then, due to escape or release, re-joined the inner circle (Bell 1997:436). Consequently it is reported that decisions were made by the whole AC in t2, and in particular, decisions relating to the truce had to be unanimous amongst the group (White 2006:233).

Recruitment and Discipline

Circumstances as well as structure meant that there was less control over recruitment in t2, which increased the risk for the leadership group. There was an influx of applicants after Bloody Sunday, for example, which the movement was unable to handle (Bell 1997:463). This meant that some of the volunteers who were active in t2 had not been subjected to full vetting procedures. Moreover, later in this period, with the start of the ceasefire, PIRA now had to manage recruits who were leaving the group. As Hawthorn (1956) and the RC show, members on this trajectory are

25 Twomey replaced Cahill but, when arrested in 1973 he was replaced by Eamon O Doherty. After Twomey’s escape from prison, and O Doherty’s later arrest, he resumed the position (Bell 1997).

164 dangerous because they do not have the same degree of loyalty and could expose incriminating information. O Doherty notes that, members were free to leave “the only remaining contract being that he or she should keep trade secrets” (1993:109). But PIRA had no real means of controlling this in t2.

Indeed, the commitment and discipline of those who stayed within the group during the ceasefire was also brought into question. O Callaghan notes that this was a period of “internal chaos” – “people came and went all the time” (O Callaghan 1999:123), which meant that keeping track of members and imposing discipline was not an easy task. Furthermore, motivation began to wane as those on the run were able to return to their families and earn a proper wage. As a result it was hard to keep operatives engaged (Cahill cited in White 1993:138) and they were more susceptible to approaches from the security services (Clarke and Johnson 2007:109).

Finally, those recruited during the ceasefire were not familiar with the requirements of operating in more violent and clandestine conditions. This meant that they had poor tradecraft and “often broke the basic rules of an underground organisation and flaunted their membership in public, frequently compromising the security of previously unidentified sympathisers” (McKearney 2011:140). Thus, whether members were turned as informers or because of inattention to security procedures, the ceasefire allowed the British to gain a lot of intelligence on the organisation (Moloney 2002:144) which increased the risk for inner circle participants.

Authority

As briefly discussed in chapter 6, the limited control over operations that the central leadership exercised in t1 began to cause problems in t2. They agreed with the idea proposed by the Belfast leadership of moving the bombing campaign to the British mainland. However, they did not agree with the target choices as AC member Billy McKee explains; “I agreed with the strategy but I didn’t agree with bombing civilians, pubs that were full of civilians and so forth” (Billy McKee cited in Taylor 1998:152). Indeed, other AC members were said to be “horrified” by these operations (White 2006:221), like many of those who lived in the Nationalist areas. Because of the

165 leadership failure to control, or at least scrutinise targeting decisions, they were left without the protective buffer of community support in this period.

The inner circle did recoup some operational control in this phase, however. In the run up to the ceasefire, the leadership directed a spate of attacks used to increase pressure on the British by demonstrating their control of the violence (Coogan 2000:386-388). As Bell states, the leadership could “turn them on and off like a tap” (Bell 1997:420). Indeed, the fact that the ceasefire was maintained demonstrates that leadership did retain overall control in this period. The ceasefire was officially broken with shooting in Belfast directed by the Chief of Staff (Hughes cited in Moloney 2010:101).

A second consequence of this more decentralised form of command for PIRA, however, was that middle ranking members were used to having influence over the direction of the war. Thus, when the secretive decision was made to enter into the truce, the ‘front line’ men felt even more betrayed. As O Doherty states, “Operators never liked to take orders from armchair generals” (1993:148). The leadership were seen as such because many of them were now based in the Republic, some distance from the war, even if they were originally from the north. They were proclaiming 1974 as ‘the year of liberty’ and genuinely thought the ceasefire might lead to British withdrawal, whereas some of the more frontline inner circle members whether active or in Long Kesh, were preparing for a ‘long war’ (English 2003:162-9). This disjuncture in analysis, and failure to consult the operators, ruined the leaderships’ credibility in this period.

Furthermore, the escalating cycle of sectarian violence during t2 also reflected badly on the leadership. The “tit-for-tat killings” between Republican and Loyalist groups, and rival Republican factions were contrary to Provisional military policy (Bell 1997:425). They demonstrated a compromising lack of discipline, reaching the highest levels, as some AC members were directly involved (Moloney 2002:147). As Brendan Hughes argues, to many the “sectarian bombings and killings were doing nothing except destroying the whole struggle” (Hughes cited in Taylor 1998:195) because they were damaging PIRA’s argument that they were not a sectarian group.

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Thus, the PIRA leadership lost a lot of “internal legitimacy” (Bakker, Raab and Milward 2012, Cheney and Faulkner 2012) in this phase. Combined with the sparse and relatively decentralised structure of the network, this seriously affected their ability to command. Indeed, post ceasefire, the PIRA inner circle was said to be “directionless and bereft of new ideas” (Moloney 2002:163). This supports the argument of researchers who claim that more decentralised groups find it hard to strategize and achieve purposive action (McAllister 2004). Moreover, the leaders were vulnerable within the movement as some fellow inner circle member set out to “undermine them” (O Callaghan 1999:119).

Control of Resources

Funding was still controlled by the central leadership in t2. Money was still coming in from Irish America and most of it was “going directly to the finance officer at GHQ” (Bell 1997: 426). Moreover, the CS took a direct interest in the money too. When arrested in 1973 he was found to be carrying the proceeds of a recent armed robbery (Taylor 1998:158). However, there was not enough of it to sustain the campaign, especially after the return to violence in 1976, as Billy McKee remembers of this period; “we were short of arms, short of money and men were getting arrested. Things were getting a bit critical” (cited in Taylor 1998:199).

Indeed, PIRA had problems securing weapons from their international contacts. A deal had been struck with the Libyan’s and a vast number of arms were provided by them. However, the shipment was intercepted in 1973 by international security services. This led to an apparent shortage of weapons with which to fight the war, as well as the arrest of Joe Cahill. However, unbeknownst to the central leadership, having established their own supply route in the previous phase, some senior Belfast Brigade members had access to a cache of weapons which they had placed in storage. When arrested, they neglected to share this information, though (Moloney 2002: 162). This supports Enders and Su’s (2007) argument that more decentralised networks can experience problems coordinating resources due to poor communication and or/oversight in these situations.

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Centralisation Dynamics in T2

The PIRA leadership group was least centralised at t2 but those with the highest rank and multiple roles still held the most prominent positions. However, the relatively decentralised network did not protect the senior members as evidenced by the police interest in them and the assassination of Maire Drumm. Nevertheless, leadership targeting was not an effective strategy for the security services as PIRA had an entrenched practice of rotating leadership which meant that if somebody was removed they were immediately replaced. Moreover, the senior leadership in this period made collective decisions which meant that no one person was crucial to the organisation.

There was less control of recruitment and less vetting in t2 which also endangered inner circle members, especially as new or uncommitted recruits did not observe the required practices of secrecy. Centralised control (although not contact patterns) was maintained during the ceasefire. But as disapproval and descent grew, the authority of the senior leadership slowly eroded. This negative feeling was compounded by a perceived lack of weapons, which in turn was compounded by some members of the Belfast Brigade’s decision to hoard them. Thus there were internal circuits of secrecy which excluded the leadership in this period.

T3: 1977-1981

Table 14: Top 5 Normalised Centrality Scores for Provisional Irish Republican Army T3 Inner Circle Network Rank Name Deg. Name ARD Name Bet.

1 G Adams 68.06 G Adams 78.47 G Adams 33.02

2 D O Connell 56.94 D O Connell 71.07 M McGuiness 10.99

3 R O Bradaigh 51.39 R O Bradaigh 68.29 D O Connell 8.14

4 J Cahill 47.22 J Cahill 66.67 J Cahill 6.33

5 JJ McGirl 45.83 JJ McGirl 65.51 S O Callaghan 6.05

Table 14 shows that in t3, Gerry Adams was the most central person in the inner circle network. Observers agree that he was made Chief of Staff in 1977 when, upon his

168 release from Long Kesh, Twomey stepped aside to give him the position (Taylor 1998:201). He remained as CS until 1978, when he was again imprisoned. Upon his release later that year he returned to the AC and became Sinn Fein Vice President.

Martin McGuinness and Brian Keenan jointly followed Adams as the CS. Despite their senior position, Keenan does not appear in the top 5 most central people, and McGuinness only appears in the betweeness rankings. In Keenan’s case this can be explained because his tenure was short-lived, he was arrested in 1979 and imprisoned. McGuinness, on the other hand, remained at liberty and in position. His high betweeness centrality suggests that whilst he did not have as many direct ties as other leadership figures, he was an important broker. Indeed, the indirect nature of his connections may have given him more protection.

For the first time David O Connell is more central than Ruari O Bradaigh. In this period O Bradaigh lost his seat on the AC, though remained as President of Sinn Fein. O Connell, remained on the AC but moved to the position of Sinn Fein Secretary. Cahill is again in the top 5 rankings for all centrality measures. He was on the AC throughout this period. He also became part of the Sinn Fein leadership, becoming joint Vice President following the shooting of Maire Drumm at the end of t2.

John Joe McGirl is a new entrant to the tables, though he was a long-time PIRA member from previous campaigns, being a former comrade of O Bradaigh, O Connell and Cahill’s. McGirl was also a personal friend of Adams having met him at a Republican Boys Summer Camp which he ran in the 1960s (Sharrock and Devenport 1997:86). The two were also imprisoned together in Long Kesh. When at liberty, McGirl was an Army and Sinn Fein Executive member.

In t3, O Callaghan was heavily involved with the reorganisation of Southern Command after the creation of its Northern counterpart. Although himself still relatively junior in terms of position, this put him into contact with many senior figures. Though his centrality should still be viewed with caution for the reasons discussed earlier. However, it should be noted that O’Callaghan was also making an effort to be involved in as much high-level activity as possible in this period because he had become a Special Branch informer (O Callaghan 1999:132). Indeed,

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O’Callaghan made efforts to develop contacts across the organisation, including the England Department (O Callaghan 1999:149).

Table 14 shows that the most central people in the PIRA network at t3 are still those with the most important positions. However, some of the new faction, namely Adams and McGuinness now occupy some of these roles. Regardless of whether he was quite as central as the metrics indicate, O Callaghan demonstrates that the inner circle network was vulnerable to high-level informers in this period.

Activity and Organisation

Following the disastrous ceasefire the new faction made a bid to take over the PIRA leadership in t3. As discussed in chapter 6, they did this by creating some new management structures. This had a positive effect in terms of secrecy as Horgan and Taylor comment, it “obscured the working knowledge” that the security services had of the organisation by changing the command positions (1997:6).

These initiatives originated with Adams and were implemented by the same small group of people around him, including McGuinness (Moloney 2002). The formal structure of the organisation stayed the same, with the addition of some new decision making bodies which were introduced to “circumvent existing traditional structures” such as the Army Executive (O Callaghan 1999:234). Participation was “floating” in order to include some grass roots and Sinn Fein opinions, but always with “a core membership” who dominated proceedings (Clarke and Johnson 2007:151). As Northern Command took control of operations in the north and the border counties, GHQ was removed from command of the armed struggle (Bell 1997:520); and, as Southern Command focused only on logistics and training, people who lived in the Republic could be side-lined there in support roles. The new faction straddled the old and the new structures, however, having also gained positions on the AC, in GHQ and on the Sinn Fein Executive during this period. They cemented these positions with the introduction of permanent leadership. This resulted in a more “rigid hierarchical structure” at the top of PIRA and SF (McKearney 2011:153) and created a “self- perpetuating elite” (Moloney 2002:157).

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The new leadership placed themselves at the centre of activity across the decision making bodies so that they could control the direction of the movement. This was especially true with regards to the hunger strikes which raised their public and political profile (Sharrock and Davenport 1997:185). Their strategies of “isolating and marginalising” opposition within the movement (Moloney 2002:178), or co-opting people in order to sway decisions, also meant that they interacted with a lot of the ‘inner circle’. Indeed, rather than risk open conflict and disagreement they “recognised the value of consensus and were not averse to prior planning or debate” (Bell 1997:464); a tactic which required a lot of meetings to take place. As Baker and Faulkner (1993) argue, complex tasks such as wholesale reorganisation require network centralisation.

However, whilst their leadership style brought them into contact with much of the inner circle, the most senior members of the new faction worked mostly with a “close coterie of comrades” (Clarke and Johnson 2007:123) around them. These figures were often sent out as intermediaries, and in this sense were something of a protective buffer, making initial contact and being the first ones to float new policy ideas. Indeed, sometimes they were sent out as couriers, personally delivering messages to other senior members (Clarke and Johnson 2007: 127). Ties were formed amongst these figures in the prisons or Portlaoise or Long Kesh, or they were long-term friends or family members. Thus, prior knowledge of and trust in each other provided an extra security buffer.

In addition, members of the new faction were said to “live very circumscribed lives” within the more secure areas of the north (Bell 1997: 489). Much of the leadership activity in t3 was conducted within the Nationalist strongholds. This had the double benefit of providing protection from the British forces as well as restricting the participation of the old guard, many of whom had to risk travel from the Republic in order to attend meetings.

Recruitment and Discipline

New procedures of recruitment and discipline were implemented by the McGuiness- Adams leadership in t3 which were intended to heighten security. As discussed in

171 chapter 6, all volunteers now had to be ‘Green Booked’ in order to gain admission to PIRA. They had to read, learn and be tested on the contents of the document which included rules of conduct, political philosophies and lessons on tradecraft and security (Moloney 2002:155). Moreover, new recruits were also “subject to surveillance” by the Intelligence Officers of their ASUs in order to assess if they could be trusted and were following the rules (Horgan and Taylor 1997:17). As the new structure was designed to operate as a “tight military elite” (Clarke and Johnson 2007:165) fewer people were needed, so those who did not have the necessary commitment or skills could be rejected. In this way, the inner circle was protected.

The leadership had oversight rather than direct control over recruitment as it was handled within the ASUs by more junior members, as in previous periods. However, lapses in security and discipline, including failed operations, were now policed by a newly formed security unit. It was nicknamed ‘the nutting squad’ because of its practice of shooting informers in the head. The security unit had a ruthless reputation which extended to killing those who had not been turned, but simply broke under the pressure of interrogation (Moloney 2002:155). Indeed, the number of deaths of alleged informers increased sharply in this period (Moloney 2002:115). The threat of violence was used as a warning against potential security breaches and to those who ignored the new stricter rules of discipline (Illardi 2009, Hoffman 2015).

Formal discipline was also used as a tool for consolidating command and control as well as settling interpersonal rivalries in t3. For example, Adams and McGuinness used a vote of the Revolutionary Council to denounce AC member, Billy McKee and former Editor of a Republican newspaper, Gerry O Hare. McKee was accused of not seeking the necessary permission to strike against the Officials during inter- Republican feuding in 1977 (Moloney 2002:168). O Hare was accused of adultery and dismissed for setting a bad example (Moloney 2002:179). Both McKee and O Hare were regarded as allies of O Bradaigh and O’Connell. McKee had a formidable reputation because of his bravery and suffering for the cause. He lost his position and influence when he was made to appear sectarian. O Hare’s removal allowed the new faction to combine the Republican newspapers under the control of their ally, Danny Morrison (Moloney 2002:179).

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Authority

The re-organisation of PIRA shows that the new faction was able to exercise a lot of operational control over the movement. Although the cell structure was not strictly implemented in some geographical areas, such as south Armagh, for example (Harnden 1999), recent analysis of the whole PIRA network shows that, in principle, it was quite successful (Gill et al 2014). Furthermore, Northern Command increased the new leaderships control over operations as it “penetrated every crevice of the IRA” (McKearney 2011:142). There was better communication and coordination between the leadership and the “cutting edge” of the movement, including the formerly independent rural regions (Moloney 2002:160). However, as with recruitment, this took the form of oversight rather than orders given as planning was still the remit of local units. Instead NC applied an “ever present scrutiny” (McKearney 2011: 141), trying to ensure that the ASUs maintained a more discriminate targeting policy. Whilst attacks such as Mountbatten and Warrenpoint were successful in this respect, other such as the Le Mon hotel in bombing in 1978 were not.

This did not reflect as badly on the new leadership as the ‘success’ of the hunger strikes in propaganda terms meant that they were well respected by fellow members (Coogan 2000). Their reputation was compounded by the widely held view that the new factions’ reorganisation initiatives had saved the movement from defeat (Moloney 2002:142). Thus, the new leadership had a lot of ‘internal legitimacy’ in this period, especially compared to the old guard who were still damaged by the ceasefire.

Control of Resources

As with the other periods, control of weapons and funds remained centralised in t3. The new leadership faction put ‘one of their own’ in charge of finance and there was a “professionalization” of fundraising activity which was now controlled from within the movement (O Callaghan 1999:227/228). As contributions from groups such as Noraid started to dwindle, PIRA began to rely on funds generated from their own businesses – such as drinking clubs and taxi firms – as well as the profits of fraud and racketeering (Adams 1986). Finances were further centralised when areas such as South Armagh were asked to contribute more money to the national leadership

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(Harnden 1999: 179). As well as their geographical separation, the wealth that this rural brigade had amassed from smuggling activities helped to sustain their independence. This was now limited.

In t3 the CSs were directly involved in weapons procurement. They did not leave this to the Quartermasters Department as in previous phases. One CS was arrested whilst organising the details of a shipment from the PLO, for example (Coogan 2000:434); and another travelled to America to meet with an arms dealer, intent of bringing the supply route under his control (Clarke and Johnson 2007: 125). Harrison states that “some of the people he sent out were definitely out to take control of supply lines” (cited in Clarke and Johnson 2007:125)

Security v Efficiency

Whilst some of the new initiatives increased the new factions command and control of the group, they also created some vulnerabilities which were exploited by the security services. For example, because the leadership was now permanent a high- level informer could stay in position for a long time. In fact this did actually happen (Moloney 2002:157). Moreover, because of the nature of Northern Command and the security department they were privy to a lot of information from across the movement. Again, the security body at least, was successfully targeted by the British. They turned a number of informers (Moloney 2002:155), including the infamous ‘stakeknife’.

Centralisation and Dynamics in T3

The PIRA inner circle became more centralised in t3 as a small group of individuals took charge of the movement. They placed themselves at the centre of leadership activity, including weapons procurement, in order to increase their capacity to coordinate and control the group. The extra connections that this approach generated did expose the new faction to more risk. However, they attempted to protect themselves by forming new ties through their trusted intermediaries and operating only within limited physical space. Moreover, their reputation as “saviours” of the

174 movement and the positive feeling towards them contributed to their authority. The leadership also had to manipulate information to ruin the reputation of their detractors.

The new recruitment procedures were an attempt to secure the boundary of the movement and reduce risk for all those involved, as well as teach concrete practices of secrecy. However, at the leadership level, some of the new management structures were penetrated by informers.

In this period there was more objective regulation of members via the security department and the recruitment procedures, and less reliance on trusted ties.

T4: 1982-1986

Table 15: Top 5 Normalised Centrality Scores for Provisional Irish Republican Army T4 Inner Circle Network Rank Name Deg. Name ARD Name Bet.

1 M McGuiness 48.57 M McGuiness 73.81 M McGuiness 20.68

2 G Adams 46.67 G Adams 72.06 G Adams 17.14

3 P Doherty 40.00 P Doherty 68.89 S Twomey 17.13

4 S Twomey 34.27 S Twomey 67.14 S O Callaghan 10.36

5 J Cahill 33.34 D Morrison 65.24 O Coogan 7.93 D Morrison

As mentioned in chapter 6, Adams and McGuinness gave up their official military positions so that they could contest elections to the Northern Ireland Assembly (Moloney 2002:142). Yet they remained influential in the army, as table 15 shows. McGuinness and then Adams are now most central by all measures. Indeed, O Bradaigh and O Connell have dropped out of the top 5 which indicates that the takeover from the ‘old guard’ was now complete. Adams became President of Sinn Fein in 1983 (Sharrock and Devenport 1997:213).

Ivor Bell took over as CS from McGuinness but was arrested in 1983 on the evidence of a supergrass (Sharrock and Devenport 1997:210). Kevin McKenna then took up the position with Pat Doherty as his adjutant. Interestingly McKenna does not appear in

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Table 13 despite holding the most senior position for the remainder of this period. However, this is perhaps not surprising given that he has been described as being “irrationally” worried about his personal security (O Callaghan 1999:260). In fact, McKenna may be regarded as one of the ‘unknowns’ to have entered the inner circle in the previous period. O Callaghan reports that “he was successful in hiding much of his activity from the security services and indeed other Republicans”, to the extent that some didn’t even know who he was (1999:261). In this respect he was something of an “unknown leader”. Indeed, it is argued that many people inside and outside of the network thought that McGuinness was the real CS in this period. This caused tension and rivalry between the two men (Moloney 2002:386).

Table 15 shows that Twomey is again also one of the more central people in t4. After his release from prison he was appointed as Head of the Security Unit (Clarke and Johnson 2007:152). His prominent position shows that he was very active in this role. Indeed, there was a lot of disciplinary activity in t4 which will be discussed later in this section. Cahill is the only other figure present from the ‘old guard’, although this is not an accurate description as he supported the new leadership and aligned himself with them. Indeed, this was to their advantage as his longevity and standing within the group was sometimes used to convince others of the new policy and direction (Bishop and Mallie 1988).

In this period Pat Doherty was the Head of Southern Command and then the Adjutant General or PIRA (Moloney 2002:381). Along with Adams, McGuinness and Morrison he is said to have been a member of an unofficial leadership group referred to as the ‘Think Tank’ (Clarke and Johnson 2007:151). Morrison was a member of the AC and the Director of Publicity in this phase. All four of these men were increasingly active in Sinn Fein (O Callaghan 1999:258, Moloney 2002:278).

O Callaghan remains in a prominent position in the network. He had not yet been discovered as an informer. Indeed, his betweeness centralisation implies that he had quite a lot of ties across the group in this period. O Callaghan reports in his autobiography that he managed to increase his connections and gain information from the England Department and within Sinn Fein during t4, he was made joint Head of

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Southern Command and attended GHQ meetings in this period (O Callaghan 1999:250, Clarke and Johnson 2007:176).

Owen Coogan was in charge of the England Department in this period (O Callaghan 1999:259). Traditionally this group had been quite separate from the rest of PIRA, quite self-contained for security reasons. However, the data in table 15 shows that Coogan was a little more integrated. He brokers relationships between the leadership and members of his department. As has been stated, given their increasing political participation, Adams, McGuinness and the ‘Think Tank’ wanted to exercise as much control as possible over operations (O Callaghan 1999:190).

Thus, as in all other periods, some of the most senior PIRA figures have the most prominent positions in the network. However, this is the first period in which the CS is not included in the table. As noted, McKenna was extremely security conscious and, in some quarters regarded simply as cover for the Adams-McGuinness leadership (Clarke and Johnson 2007:180).

Activity

As network centralisation drops slightly from the previous period, a central figure or group of figures is/are not involved in as much of the activity. Given that this phase involves an attempted coup, some lobbying against the leadership’s proposal to remove abstentionism and an eventual split, this is not surprising. Additionally, there was a greater separation of military and political activity when inner circle members began to contest elections. As one participant was told “this is politics, you get on with your thing – the war – and it won’t be affected” (cited in Moloney 2002:293). Centralisation drops slightly as Adams steps back from day-to-day control of the army (Sharrock and Davenport 1997:197).

Although less centralised than in the previous phase, the PIRA leadership is still relatively centralised at t4, however. Indeed, the dissenting faction and the split was “small, contained and confined largely to the old Republican leadership” (Moloney 2002:293). The new leadership continued with their policy of dominating PIRA activity and did much lobbying of their own against the rebels. For example, they held

177 a number of preparatory conventions where they tried to influence the up-coming vote (Clarke and Johnson 2007:180).

Recruitment and Discipline

Following the set-up of the Security Unit in the last period, there was a lot of disciplinary activity in t4, which was intended to root out moles and informers. Indeed, there was said to be a “paranoia” amongst the leadership because of the Supergrass trials (Clarke and Johnson 2007:169). Two particular incidents are of note. The first was the kidnapping of Patrick Gilmour, the father of an informer, in 1982 (Clarke and Johnson 2007:152). This was the first time that the safety of a members family had been used as a tactic to try to get them to retract evidence. Of course, it was also a warning to other potential informers of what could happen if they gave information to the police.

The second incident is the Court Martial of Bell. After he was released from prison following the collapse of a Supergrass trial he had become increasing disillusioned about the disparity in resources being channelled into elections as opposed to the armed struggle. As a result he began to arrange “clandestine meetings” in which he canvassed support for a convention in which he was going to challenge Adams’ leadership (Sharrock and Devenport 1997:234). As a result he was held to Court martial, and in his absence expelled from the group. It was seen as a “ruthless way to deal with dissent” (Sharrock and Devenport 1997:235), as was the kidnap of Gilmour (who was released unharmed).

Authority

The attempted coup and the dissident faction of older Republicans clearly presented a challenge to the authority of the PIRA leadership in this period. One of their major criticisms was that entering constitutional politics would result in the running down of the war. Indeed, this seemed to be proven by the divergence of funds away from operations and into election campaigns. However, the leadership reasserted their intention to run one alongside the other and proved their commitment to the use of force by letting it be known that a large shipment of weapons was expected from

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Libya. Moreover, they publicised plans for an up-coming “Tet Offensive” against the British and the creation of a “liberated zone” along the border. This, as well as the support of several well-known hard-liners reassured many and sustained their authority. Indeed, McGuinness himself was well respected amongst the ‘military operators’ (O Callaghan 1999:178).

Despite these centralised plans for action the leadership did not control all targeting in this period. For example, the Harrods bombing of 1983 in which 3 people died was said to have been “deeply embarrassing” for Sinn Fein (Clarke and Johnson 2007:162). In fact such were the negative effects in ‘PR terms’ for the group that Adams and McGuinness are said to have made an effort from them on the “oversee all operations” themselves so that they wouldn’t clash with the political agenda (Clarke and Johnson 2007:163).

Control of Resources

The control and provision of resources was crucial to the new leadership’s maintenance of authority in this phase. They had taken on a symbolic as well as a practical value, as a sign that they would not abandon the armed struggle. They were described as “McGuinness’ ace in the hole” (Clarke and Johnson 2007:180). Resultantly, members of the Army Council coordinated the arms smuggling and upon their arrival, personally oversaw them being placed into storage (Harnden 1999:172). The locations of the arms dumps was not widely known within the inner circle. Nevertheless, this precaution proved unnecessary as they were betrayed by a volunteer close to McGuinness (Clarke and Johnson 2007:180).

Indeed, the weapons were very important to the leadership. Particularly as PIRA was relatively short of funds which led to several failed attempts at and bungled kidnappings in order to generate some ransom money. For example, the infamous botched kidnapping of the racehorse Shergar (O Callaghan 1998:217).

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Centralisation and Dynamics in T4

The PIRA inner circle network in this period is not as centralised as it was in t3. Indeed, this leadership group is also less centralised than that in the first period. Given that the group was moving towards a factional split, this is not surprising. Indeed, the level of discord between participants was noted in the previous chapter and is evident in some of the activity that was taking place, such as the coup launched by Bell for example. However, the network does not decentralise completely. Indeed, a mixture of persuasion and ruthless discipline was used to keep members on the leadership’s side. The latter was also used to protect themselves from the threats of the supergrass system. Resources were symbolically as well as practically important in this period because much of the discord and criticism was resulted from displeasure that the new leadership appeared to be running down the armed struggle. Moreover, McKenna was something of a ‘hidden leader’ both inside and outside of the group, he provided cover for Adams and McGuinness in the sense that he was an enigmatic figure who their actions and decisions could be attributed to.

7.3 Conclusion

This chapter has found that the level of centralisation of the PIRA inner circle networks varies across time. Centralisation fluctuates by the same pattern as density, meaning that the sparsest group – t2 – is also the most decentralised, and the densest group – t3 – is the most centralised.

Consistent with PIRA’s organisation as a hierarchy, people of the most senior rank are always the most central in the networks. As they map contact patterns, this means that senior figures are at the centre of activity throughout the years - they do not work through deputies. Although t4 is an anomaly in this respect as it is the only network where the CS does not feature in the top 5 most central people for any measure. This was explained by his heightened security awareness and by the desire of other leadership members to use him as cover.

The most decentralised network – t2 – was not the most secure for participants, leaders were still successfully targeted by the security services, and indeed, Loyalist groups.

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However, this had a limited effect on functionality because PIRA had a policy of rotating leadership. The group of people at the centre of that inner circle also made decisions collectively.

Whilst command and control did improve in t3, the densest network, the increased oversight and regulation also made them vulnerable. Indeed a number of high level informers were placed within their ranks.

Attitudes towards strategy and targeting changed across the phases. When the network was conceptualised as engaged in a Guerrilla war, as in t1, some decentralisation of tactical decision making was thought effective. However, this changed when PIRA needed to be more discriminating as they moved further into politics (As Shapiro 2013 found).

Resources were always controlled centrally, especially weapons which were noted to have a symbolic as well as practical dimension in the later years. However, there was some compartmentalisation of resource control and provision in t1 because MacStiofain was of the opinion that it was safer and more secret to limit the flow of information.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, recruitment and vetting procedures are most important in the periods of structural change; that is, t1 when PIRA was forming, and t3 when they attempted to make the group more clandestine. The importance of teaching security awareness and practices of secrecy to new recruits was also noted in this period.

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8. Conclusion

In this thesis I have added to the evidence base on the structure of covert groups by analysing two new case studies. The Right Club and the leadership of the Provisional IRA across several time periods. The majority of empirical data that currently exists in the public realm concerns Islamist (e.g. Krebs 2002, Sageman 2004, Koschade 2006, Rodriguez 2009, Everton 2009, Helfstein and Wright 2011, Harris-Hogan 2012) or organised crime groups (e.g. Morselli et al 2007, Varese 2013, Bright et al 2015). This thesis broadens the field of analysis by focusing upon groups with different organisation, objectives and ideology - a politically subversive group which was involved in espionage and the leadership of a Republican paramilitary group.

As well as offering new empirical material to the covert networks debate, this thesis also takes something of a new approach to the analysis. It combines quantitative SNA of the structure of these groups with in-depth, theoretically informed qualitative analysis of the factors which impact group structure. As Bakker, Raab and Milward comment (2012), current research tends to be divided into the strictly network analytic, or descriptive historical studies. This research occupies the middle ground and shows that analysts can profitably combine SNA measurement with rich qualitative description. Moreover, the SNA measurement is given further depth by some comparative analysis between sub-networks of these groups; the covert and overt ties of the members of the RC are compared, whereas the PIRA leadership networks are compared across different time phases.

The combined sociometric and qualitative data on the secrecy and structure of the RC and the leadership of PIRA have yielded some interesting findings which show support for some of the existing claims regarding covert network structures in the literature. However, the new case studies, combined with the new approach taken also challenge others. Indeed, this thesis provides a more complex and nuanced picture of the social organisation of these clandestine groups when compared to many of the empirical case studies which have been published. It brings together elements of content and context, as well structure, and highlights a multitude of internal and external factors which impacted the nature and extent of covertness that these groups exercised in practice. In contrast, some existing studies either assume a certain structure, or if the structure

182 is inductively analysed, they present quantitative findings and link these to general theories about the implications of this structure for secrecy.

Density

In terms of density, the RC was quite sparse when compared to a network of RC member’s overt ties, to a series of randomly generated graphs and to other broadly comparable covert groups. In this respect it provides support for the low density thesis, the main argument of which is that groups minimise ties in order to minimise their visibility to others, and consequently, reduce their risk (e.g. Krebs 2002, Enders and Su 2007). Whilst the PIRA inner circles were relatively sparse structures when compared to maximum possible density, when compared to other covert groups, three of the four networks actually had a higher level of connection – indeed, more so than the network of overt ties recorded between RC members.

This finding can partially be explained by the nature of each group’s formal organisation and activities, which shapes their relationship to secrecy. As noted, at the outset of the war the RC claimed that it had disbanded, though a core of members carried on via more clandestine methods. They did not have a formal organisational structure and they aimed to stay ‘truly secret’ (Simmel 1906) by working through other right wing groups. In contrast, the PIRA leadership, was at the head of an irregular army and, as they were a leadership group, only some of their activities required secrecy. Indeed, as a movement, PIRA actually required publicity and support for their actions. Thus, is Simmel’s (1906) terms the leadership were only ‘relatively secret’. This finding provides the first indication that secrecy is variable and that the structure of covert groups varies with the particulars of their situation.

As the PIRA leadership data was analysed across four time periods, this situation was noted to change, however. The size and density of the PIRA leadership networks fluctuated; those at t2 and t3 were the sparsest and densest of the four, respectively. In T2 violent activity ceased for a period as the leadership called a truce, giving less opportunity to forge or sustain connections between members. In T3 they made deliberate efforts to change their structure and become a more clandestine and disciplined organisation. Although, paradoxically, at the same time, some leadership

183 figures began to participate in legal politics, which, in T4 graduated into electoral campaigns. The structure of these groups was influenced by more than their (changing) organisation and activities, however.

Another factor found to have an impact upon the structure and secrecy of both case studies was the security situation in which they operated and their perception of risk. For example, the RC were aware of the introduction of new legislation and the change in public and government attitudes towards right wing groups as the war started. This prompted them to change their tactics and to maintain sparser connections, especially when active in espionage, which, by their own definition, was the most risky of their activities.

As Enders and Su (2007) claim, the security situation became a ‘tit-for-tat’ affair for the PIRA leadership. When the troubles began the British Army did not present much of a risk as they were lacking in intelligence and knowledge of how to tackle the situation. However, as the troubles progressed and the British began to implement the ‘Criminalisation, Ulsterisation, Normalisation’ strategy, they became more of a threat. In response, the PIRA leadership made the aforementioned changes to their organisation and structure and implemented new rules and procedures. Thus, both case studies displayed the ability to perceive risk and implement change (Van Meter 2002, Helfstein and Wright 2011) by way of ‘competitive adaptions’ (Crenshaw 2010) which were intended to increase their covertness.

For both the RC and the PIRA leadership their perception of risk and their security was mediated by a number of important resources. The RC made use of the privacy and access to private settings that their higher status gave them (as argued by Bok 1989). Private homes - although mistakenly in the case of Tyler Kent’s apartments - were used for the concealment of the larger or more subversive meetings. However, the public Russian Tea Rooms was used for more complex forms of cover, where activity was conducted in the open and in respectable company so as to suggest that nothing was out of the ordinary (Goffman 1969).

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The PIRA leadership also derived security from access to areas they regarded as ‘safe havens’ (Raab and Milward 2003), although they included private property, as with the RC, these also included more public areas dominated by the supportive Nationalist community. Thus, the PIRA leadership had a lot of external support at the boundary of the group, as non-members would keep their “entrusted secrets” (Goffman 1969) from the British. The PIRA leadership also had easy access to an alternative jurisdiction in the Republic of Ireland, which as Raab and Milward (2003) argue, can be protective and allow denser connections. Members went on the run there to avoid prosecution. However, community support waxed and waned across the four phases, especially in T2 with the activities of PIRA and the broader political situation. At this time the government of the Republic also introduced harsher legislation intended to stop PIRA operatives using their territory as a safe haven. This limited connections.

As the RC used respectable public activity for cover in the form of ‘socialising’ at the Russian Tea Rooms, so some members of the PIRA leadership used their overt political activity. The ‘grey area’ (Crenshaw 2010, Demiroz and Kapucu 2012) between Sinn Fein, and other legitimate political groups such as the Anti H Block committee, and PIRA, provided important “strategic ambiguity” (Goffman 1969) as to the legality of the activity of some members.

Further to this, this thesis also finds that cultural and emotional dynamics were significant for both groups as argued by scholars such as Milward and Raab (2006), Faulkner and Cheney (2013) and social movements theorists (e.g. Friedman and McAdam 1992, Snow and Benford 1992). In the case of PIRA the newly emerging leadership and the clashing of ideological frames regarding the issue of involvement in constitutional politics led to some negative internal dynamics which were a precursor to the 1986 split. The sub-group analysis of the RC also showed that members were separated into groups with slightly different motivations. The international group wanted to regain their wealth and status, the upper class group wanted to ensure their power by stopping organised labour movements and the more working class group wanted to stop Jewish immigration (Saika 2010). Although friction between the groups was not recorded over these differences, it was noted that this could have been used as a destabilisation strategy.

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Pre-existing ties were also noted to be important source of trust and cohesion in both groups, as is commonly argued in the literature (e.g. von Lampe and Johansen 2004, Erikson 1981, Krebs 2002). However, in these case studies they were also the vehicle via which informers infiltrated the groups. This has not previously been recognised by covert networks researchers. Indeed the only downside of having too many strong or pre-existing ties is noted by Everton (2009) when he claimed that such groups can become insular and lack innovation. Moreover, evidence from the RC also demonstrates that new ties were formed between participants during covert activity, thus, secret groups do not rely solely in pre-formed relationships.

Centralisation

The quantitative findings show that compared to their network of overt ties, to a series of randomly generated graphs and to a comparable covert group, the RC was a relatively centralised network. The PIRA inner circles again fluctuated over time, but generally speaking, were also quite centralised structures. Thus, the findings from these case studies do not support the decentralisation thesis which argues that covert groups and their leaders avoid centralisation because this creates a visible hub which is easily targeted (e.g. Arquilla et al 1999, Krebs 2002). Having said this, the RC does not fully support some of the assumptions of the centralisation thesis either as it was not a traditional hierarchy (e.g. Simmel 1906, Shapiro 2013). Qualitative evidence showed that they didn’t have ranks and formal authority. Of course, as a paramilitary organisation, the PIRA leadership had formal positions and stratification.

The centrality analysis for the PIRA inner circle networks showed that some of the most senior people were the most active in the networks, despite the risk associated with such prominence (Hoffman 2015). Indeed, the CoS in T1, Sean MacStiofain claimed that direct involvement and quick communication facilitated by network centralisation was more secure because information did not need to pass through intermediaries (MacStiofain 1975). This supports the arguments of Simmel (1906) and Lindelauf et al (2009) that network centralisation can be secure and efficient.

However, the PIRA inner circle at T4 is something of an exception as the then CoS, Kevin McKenna, was missing from the top five rankings. As he was said to be very

186 security conscious, and one commentator noted that many within the movement didn’t even know who he was, McKenna acted as something of an ‘unknown leader’ (Simmel 1906). Rather than increase his power, however, as Simmel (1906) argues, McKenna provided cover for the Adams-McGuinness leadership, maintaining their “strategic ambiguity” (Goffman 1969) in relation to PIRA after they had moved into electoral politics.

The findings from the RC showed that the most central people in their network were those who took part in the most risky aspect of their activity. Captain Ramsay, Anna Wolkoff and Mary Stanford were all directly involved in the procurement and passing of sensitive information to Germany. Indeed, the RC subscribed to Simmel’s (1906) notion of ‘progressive initiation’ where the range of activities that the new recruits were exposed to was limited. The RC also engaged in vetting procedures of new, standing and lapsed members as a way of trying to protect against the vulnerabilities of a centralised structure; although, as noted, they were not always put into practice which allowed the infiltration of informers.

By T3 the PIRA leadership also had rules relating to security and initiation. In contrast, however, they were policed with strict sometimes and violent discipline handed out by the movements’ new security department. The recruitment process was handled by PIRA members lower down the group and applicants were subject to the surveillance during the process. Thus, both groups separated untested members from their more experienced and/or senior counterparts, and tried to secure their boundaries by using vetting procedures.

This research also supports Erikson’s (1981) argument that control of necessary resources is important for maintaining a centralised structure, especially amongst pre- existing ties which for other purposes, might be organised differently. Indeed, within the RC, Captain Ramsay and Anna Wolkoff owe their central position and their authority to the fact that between them they controlled the main meeting points of the group and had the contacts necessary to facilitate subversion and espionage. They were also the recognised ideological leaders of the group as they provided the framing and analysis of the political situation which motivated its members.

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For the PIRA leadership control of resources such as weapons and funding was more significant, however. Both were necessary to keep members motivated and to keep the fight going. Their ability to provide these resources during the different phases also affected member’s confidence in and respect for the leadership. As a result, some Brigade members decided to operate outside the lines of traditional military discipline when they did not receive enough weapons and funding. However, when the inner circle was at its most centralised in T3, the CoS himself began to control the weapons supply routes. This is because the leadership needed to more tightly control strategy and targeting so as not to thwart PIRA’s advance into politics. The weapons were also an important symbol that the leadership was not planning to run down the armed struggle. As the network at T2 was the most decentralised of the inner circle groups, this finding supports Enders and Su’s (2007) claim that decentralised networks can experience problems coordinating their resources.

Indeed, one of the key arguments regarding centralised structures is that they will be more effective and secure because they can coordinate themselves better than decentralised groups where participants are freer to act under their own initiative (e.g. McAllister 2004, Enders and Jindapon 2009, Shapiro 2013). The findings from the PIRA leadership seem to bear this out as they were the most tightly controlled and coordinated in t3, also their most centralised period. However, the analysis of the RC does not. Despite their centralisation, there is no evidence that the RC had an overall plan and strong direction. Members seemed to act in more of an ad hoc manner, making the most of opportunities when they were presented to them, such as the grooming of useful new contacts.

Subgroups

The RC network was found to be made up of cohesive subgroups. However, they did not offer the protection and opportunities for secrecy that some scholars assume (Franz and Carley 2005, Sageman 2004) because members did not put into practice the necessary information rules; secrets were shared within and between the clusters. This demonstrates why qualitative knowledge of the practices of a network is necessary as it shows that secrecy can not simply be reduced to structure. Indeed, a number of secretive practices were noted to be used within and between the sub groups which

188 helped protect members but did not impact structure; such as the use of aliases and code words.

The RC does display some of the dynamics noted to affect clustering by other covert networks researchers. For example, close personal and pre-existing ties as discussed earlier. Task specialisation by cluster was also found in the RC network, though not in the strictest sense – some tasks were concentrated in but not exclusive to the participants of certain clusters.

Although many of the factors discussed here have been identified in previous work, some have only been discussed theoretically rather than tested empirically, and where they have been tested empirically, studies tend to focus on one factor in isolation from the others as a key determinant of structure. As noted, for some studies, this is the simple fact of being covert. This study looked at a wide range of factors in conjunction with each other in order to gain a proper understanding of how these groups actually operated in practice; that is, whether they achieved secrecy or security, how they achieved it and how these factors changed across time in the case of the PIRA leadership. The findings highlight that covert network structures can not be simplified to the straightforward, binary questions of covert or overt activity, dense or sparse, centralised or decentralised, secure or efficient formations; rather there are many mediating factors which impact the degree of density and centralisation (and clustering) that exists and how this impacts covertness.

For both groups, the factors discussed here defined what forms of secrecy were possible. Physical forms of secrecy were practiced when they had access to territory and community support; identity work (such as aliases and code words) at times of greater risk and when they had few connections and resources. Finally, open secrecy was used when some members had access to privacy and/or legitimate political cover. Most importantly, however, in both case studies operatives used multiple practices of secrecy in relation to their operating context and in conjunction with each other.

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Limitations and Directions for Future Research

There are a number of problems inherent with collecting data on covert groups such as the reliance, out of necessity, on open secondary sources. Indeed, as discussed in the methodology there are a number of barriers to collecting the kind of primary data necessary for this type of study. Although efforts were made to collect as extensive and valid a data as possible, these limitation should be borne in mind when interpreting the findings.

One of the main arguments of this thesis is that the organisation, activity, ideology, culture, geography, environment, social and emotional differences between covert networks are important for understanding how they are structured and how they function. Thus, it follows that the specific findings from this thesis are not generalizable to other groups.

However, the methodological approach can be applied to other case studies and the presence, absence and/or relative impact of the various dynamics discussed investigated. Indeed although vastly different in many of the above respects, I have found some similarities between the RC and the PIRA leadership, such as the danger as well as the protection of pre-existing ties, the use of safe-havens to mitigate risk and allow then to function and in what circumstances they used particular forms of secrecy.

Future research should be orientated towards establishing more and varied empirical case studies to measure against these and perhaps other newly identified factors. Only in this way can we develop a more robust understanding of covert group organisation and work towards new theory generation. In turn, new and better destabilisation techniques can be established.

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