Why spy? Why do people become spies, what are their motives, their justifications, and how do they perceive what they are doing? Could any of us do it? Are we all potential spies? Short answer: yes. Long answer: depends on circumstances.
The Sunday Times ran a story about Abdi (a pseudonym), who was recruited in the wake of 9/11 by MI5 to spy on UK-based terrorists. He was subsequently sent by MI6 to penetrate training camps in Waziristan, despite both agencies allegedly being aware that he was mentally unstable. When he returned to the UK he killed his own child, claiming that this was a psychotic episode resulting from the stress of spying. The jury did not believe he was unable to control himself and convicted him of murder.
There’s a difference between being a spy, in the sense of an existence-defining occupation, and being an ordinary person who spies, which is what most spies are
This type of spy is a far cry from the James Bond kind, the tough guy in a dinner jacket who stalks casinos, five-star hotels and resorts. It’s an equally far cry from the anti-heroes of le Carré, ideologically conflicted individuals who wade through moral murk to discover that the goodies are no better than the baddies. If we think we couldn’t become spies, it’s usually because we couldn’t imagine ourselves as either of those. But there’s a difference between being a spy, in the sense of an existence-defining occupation, and being an ordinary person who spies, which is what most spies are; people with access to information that someone else wants and which they are prepared to provide.
There are many reasons for doing this. Leave aside common or garden snooping – manoeuvring to frustrate an ambitious colleague or a neighbour’s building plans, or tipping the wink to HMRC (not uncommon, apparently) – but think rather of being prepared to secretly inform a foreign power or opposing body about what your own government or organisation is doing. The FBI summarise motives under the acronym MICE – money, ideology, compromise, ego. Most spies are motivated by a combination of these. Ideology is usually mixed with elements of the personal, and money, though it may be the main motive, is rarely the sole one.
The context of the times makes a difference. During the reign of Elizabeth I, Catholic spies who were seeking to counter the Reformation were largely ideologically driven, just as many Protestants were who spied against them. In the Cold War, the Cambridge spies of the 1930s all claimed ideological motivation, with varying degrees of conviction. For Oleg Gordievsky, who spied for us during the 1970 and 1980s, the journey to ideological disaffection started with his government’s invasion of Czechoslovakia. For Vasili Mitrokhin, who defected with an unprecedented haul of KGB secrets, it was the realisation of how the Russian people were deceived over Afghanistan. It’s not hard to imagine a modern Mitrokhin reacting similarly to Putin’s Ukrainian propaganda.
But even the most purely ideological often requires a spark of the personal to ignite it. The late Sean O’Callaghan, who became an important source within the IRA, was prompted to question his cause by the reaction of his colleagues to their murder of a policewoman – they hoped she was pregnant, so they’d have got two for one. What, he asked himself, do such attitudes say about the cause?
But to come back to us – you – what would make you spy? Assume, for the sake of argument and our own self-respect, that none of us is an embittered Iago or grasping Croesus. Assume, too, that it is 1917 and you are a woman of a certain age inhabiting a terraced railway worker’s cottage adjacent to a Belgian marshalling yard. Your husband is either dead or, like your son, toiling on the railways under German supervision. You are approached by someone you know – perhaps a priest, teacher or lawyer – asking if you would be prepared to note the composition and timings of troop trains while sitting knitting in your upstairs window. He suggests you use a drop stitch for an infantry carriage, purl for an artillery wagon and so on, sending the pattern to someone’s sister as part of a regular exchange of knitting information.
Of course, you might not agree. For good reason – spies are executed and, though you may be prepared to risk yourself, it’s much harder when you know your family will suffer. But you do agree and your motives would be part ideological – the principled objection to the invasion of your country by a bullying neighbour – and part personal resentment at the daily privations of occupation. It’s not hard to think of a contemporary parallel.
Our lady is not a professional spy – few are – but an ordinary person who spies. In her case, she was one of the 1,084 recruited from all levels of society to spy for La Dame Blanche, the most successful agent network of the first world war, staffed by Belgians and run by MI6. They saw themselves as soldiers, not spies (and postwar were paid, pensioned and honoured as soldiers by the British government), but spying was what they did.
The case of Abdi is very different. Parts of his leaked story sound fanciful and the Sunday Times makes clear that he has a variable relationship with truth; we can only hope that his reporting was more reliable. His motives were probably mixed, though by his account they were initially patriotic (ideological), and probably varied over time. Money came into it.
If like MI5 you are tasked to penetrate criminal conspiracies such as terrorist groups, you must fish in muddy waters; it’s no good casting your fly over clear water to catch nice clean trout who don’t know anything. Some you recruit may commit crimes, but there are laws regulating how far you can tolerate that. Others may go off the rails; these you try to help but cannot ultimately be controlled. The best spies are usually those motivated by moral conviction, not thrill-seeking or what they think they can get out of it. Like the rest of us, really.
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