Month: October 2021

  • 60 years of ‘Tsar Bomba’, history’s most powerful nuke

    This post was originally published on October 31, 2018. I republished it once in 2020 after Rosatom, the Russian nuclear energy corporation, released 40 minutes of previously classified footage of RDS-220’s explosion on August 28, 2020 (embedded below). Watch this minute-long excerpt by Reuters of the explosion. I’m republishing it again, today, following the publication of a new report that examines the US’s reaction to the bomb.

    Fifty-seven years ago, on October 30, 1961, the Soviets detonated the most powerful nuclear weapon in the history of nukes. The device was called the RDS-220 by the Soviet Union and nicknamed Tsar Bomba – ‘King of Bombs’ – by the US. It had a blast yield of 50 megatonnes (MT) of TNT, making it 1,500-times more powerful than the Hiroshima and Nagasaki bombs combined.

    The detonation was conducted off the island of Novaya Zemlya, four km above ground. The Soviets had built the bomb to one-up the US and followed Nikita Khrushchev’s challenge on the floor of the UN General Assembly a year earlier, promising to teach the US a lesson. The B41 nuke used by the US in the early 1960s had a yield of half as much.

    But despite its intimidating features and the political context, the RDS-220 yielded one of the cleanest nuclear explosions ever – and was never tested again. The Soviets had originally intended for the RDS-220 to have a yield equivalent to 100 MT of TNT, but decided against it for two reasons.

    First: it was a three-stage nuke, weighed 27 tonnes and was only a little smaller than a school bus – too big to be delivered using an intercontinental ballistic missile. Maj. Andrei Durnovtsev, a decorated soldier in the Soviet Air Force, modified a Tu-95V bomber to carry the bomb and also flew it on the day of the test.

    The bomb had been fit with a parachute (whose manufacture disrupted the domestic nylon hosiery industry) so that between releasing the bomb and its detonation, the Tu-95V would have enough time to fly 45 km away from the test site. But even then, the bomb’s 100 MT yield would have meant Durnovtsev and his crew would have nearly certainly been killed.

    https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nbC7BxXtOlo

    To improve their chances of survival to 50%, engineers reduced the yield from 100 MT to 50 MT – by replacing a uranium-238 tamper around the bomb with a lead tamper.

    In a nuclear weapon, the material undergoing fission or fusion is typically surrounded by a layer called a tamper that serves two functions: keep the material from expanding due to the heat of fission/fusion so that it stays supercritical for longer, and to reflect neutrons emitted during fission/fusion back to increase the energy output.

    But Tsar Bomba’s design was more complicated: the first stage nuclear fission reaction set off a second stage nuclear fusion reaction, which then set off a bigger fusion reaction in the third stage. The original design included a uranium-238 tamper on the second and third stages, such that fast neutrons emitted by the fusion reaction would have kicked off a series of fission reactions accompanying the two stages. Utter madness. The engineers switched the uranium-238 tamper and put in a lead-208 tamper. Lead-208 can’t be fissioned in a chain reaction and as such has a remarkably low efficiency as a nuclear fuel.

    The second reason the RDS-220’s yield was reduced pre-test was because of the radioactive fallout. Nuclear fusion is much cleaner than nuclear fission as a process (although there are important caveats for fusion-based power generation). If the RDS-220 had gone ahead with the uranium-238 tamper on the second and third stages, then its total radioactive fallout would have accounted for fully one quarter of all the radioactive fallout from all nuclear tests in history, raining down over Soviet Union territory. The modification resulting in 97% of the bomb’s yield being in the form of emissions from fusion alone.

    One of the more important people who worked on the bomb was Andrei Sakharov, a noted nuclear physicist and later dissident from the Soviet Union. Sakharov is given credit for developing a practicable design for the thermonuclear weapon – an explosive that could take advantage of the fusion of hydrogen atoms. In 1955, the Soviets, thanks to Sakharov’s work, won the race to detonate a hydrogen bomb that had been dropped from an airplane; until then the Americans had detonated hydrogen charges placed on the ground.

    It was after the RDS-220 test in 1961 that Sakharov began speaking out against nuclear weapons and the nuclear arms race (one bomb didn’t change his mind, to be clear). He would go on to win the Nobel Peace Prize in 1975. One of his important contributions to the peaceful use of nuclear power was the tokamak, a reactor design he developed with Igor Tamm to conduct controlled nuclear fusion and generate electric power. The ITER experiment uses this design.


    The reason Tsar Bomba or any weapon like it, with a yield in excess of 50 MT of TNT, was never tested again was the Limited Test Ban Treaty, signed two years after the Soviets tested the weapon. In a new study of historical records, nuclear historian Alex Wellerstein has reported that while then US President John F. Kennedy responded outwardly by minimising the bomb’s importance, closed-door discussions among government officials, including Kennedy himself, suggest that the bomb had much more of an impact on American thinking than they cared to admit.

    Wellerstein’s report is long and full of new details about many aspects of Tsar Bomba. (Its lead image offers a view of the test explosion from Maj. Durnovtsev’s Tu-95V.) Look out for Arzamas-16 (the ‘closed city’ that was the Soviet Union’s first nuclear research and production centre), Project 49, the engineers Yuri Trutnev and Yuri Babaev, Edward Teller’s plans and the weapon-concept known as RIPPLE. It’s also interesting how the physics of the bomb itself began to have a say what the US government could, and couldn’t, do next.

    For example, the American military establishment wanted to respond to the Tsar Bomba test with a bigger detonation of their own (of course). Defence secretary Robert McNamara told Atomic Energy Commission chairman Glenn Seaborg, and Seaborg subsequently relayed to the upper echelons, that this could be in the form of a scaled up Mark 41 with a possible maximum yield of 65 MT. But at 5.8 feet wide, 25.4 feet long and weighing 15.8 tonnes, it would just about fit in the bomb bay of the B-52, a.k.a. the “Stratofortress”, and would require five years to make. That was too far away in the future.

    For another, and much earlier in the narrative, a Soviet weapons scientist named Leonid Feoktistov, belonging to Chelyabinsk-70 – a rival establishment of Arzamas-16 – expresses disappointment that the Tsar Bomba represented not a new frontier of weapons so much as ‘just’ a bigger version of weapons that already existed. Trutnev and others disagreed with this assessment, saying that scaling up a multi-stage nuclear reaction wouldn’t guarantee success and that, in their words, “many things could have happened, including a failure to achieve the desired explosive yield” of 100 MT.

    The contention is fair, but to my mind Feoktistov’s argument also seems directly connected to what Robert McNamara would later tell US Congress: that there wasn’t much to be gained in terms of the science itself by detonating weapons of even higher yield.

    Indeed, Wellerstein delves into the immediate political, diplomatic and military response to the Tsar Bomba test to conclude, with good reason, that the US was left with two mutually exclusive choices: start a programme to build bigger, badder nukes or double down on and ratify the Limited Test Ban Treaty (‘limited’ because it wouldn’t prevent underground testing, which was strictly for low-yield weapons because of the need to fully contain the fireball).

    Secretary of Defense McNamara would be called before Congress to defend the military implications of the treaty before they ratified it. He was emphatically in favor of it—the only area where the United States was not ahead of the Soviets in testing was “very high-yield” weapons, but he now argued that the United States had “no great interest” in those. It was a return to the public rhetoric that had proliferated after the first announcement of a 100-megaton test by the Soviets: Such weapons were wasteful and ridiculous. Lower-yield weapons, which were still quite powerful (a megaton or two is nothing to sniff at!), could be even more destructive if deployed in quantity. The security gained from a treaty that would not only reduce global fallout but would also guarantee a trend toward lower yields, would be worth anything that could be gained from multi-megaton tests.

    But neither the US nor the Soviet Union, but especially the US, entered the treaty blind. The US inserted a “readiness” clause, which meant that it would stay ready to resume above-ground tests if the USSR violated the treaty. This was deemed necessary because the two power blocs had agreed to a ‘Test Ban Moratorium’ in 1959 that Nikita Khrushchev violated in 1961 with Tsar Bomba – to intimidate then president-elect Kennedy and to compensate for the lack of strength implied by the USSR not having any missile launch points close to the American mainland, a lacuna that also led to the Cuban Missile Crisis.

    Source for many details (+ being an interesting firsthand account you should read anyway): here. Featured image: The RDS-220 weapon seconds after detonation, as its fireball develops overhead unto to its maximum width of 8 km and height of 10 km. Source: Reuters/YouTube.

  • Is Covaxin’s WHO approval guaranteed?

    I suspect after reading this PTI report that the WHO is practically helping Bharat Biotech put together a better application to have its COVID-19 vaccine, Covaxin, get the body’s approval for international use, instead of simply considering what Bharat Biotech chooses to submit. The overall tone of the report is mollificatory – as if the WHO wishes to appease both the angry and the doubtful that the many months the relevant committee is taking to decide on Covaxin’s candidature shouldn’t be taken as a comment on the Indian vaccine-manufacturing industry. The biggest supplier of vaccines to the WHO’s COVAX initiative is Serum Institute of India, in Pune, so the WHO has a conflict of interest when it says it holds the industry in good esteem. But even vis-à-vis Bharat Biotech (whose production planning and output have both been disappointing), PTI writes:

    India’s Bharat Biotech has been submitting data on the EUL of Covaxin “regularly and very quickly” to a technical committee which hopes to have a final recommendation to the WHO next week, a top official of the global health agency said on Thursday, stressing that the UN body “trusts” the Indian industry that manufactures high quality vaccines.

    There is something of an analogy with customer service. Say two companies both sell the same product at the same price. Company A’s customer service is excellent and its product has a quality rating of 75%. Company B’s customer service is average and its product has a quality rating of 100%. Which company will you buy from? I’d pick Company B because being spared the trouble of having to contact customer service is more valuable than having to contact customer service and then having a good experience. The same goes for Bharat Biotech’s application with the WHO for Covaxin: the company has been submitting more information “regularly and very quickly”? Great. But why does it have to do this at all instead of keeping all the data ready before any kind of approval?

    This characterisation of Bharat Biotech by the “top official” also feeds into what the committee is prepared to do en route to Covaxin’s apparently impending approval. As the PTI report says later:

    [Bruce Aylward, senior advisor to the WHO chief,] added that WHO’s job is to save as many lives as possible and as fast as possible. This includes ensuring no product lies unused.

    Considering COVAX’s premise, to ensure everyone everywhere has access to vaccines instead of just the rich guys (and ignoring its inability to fulfill this mandate so far), what Aylward says is desirable, that all good vaccines should be used up. But this also raises a question about where the WHO draws the line between rejecting a bad application and accepting a bad application and helping to make it good.

    Covaxin is clearly a bad product – its clinical trial, its emergency-use approval, its rollout and the agonising wait for access to the trial data (followed subsequently by issues of trial ethics and data quality) threw up so many questions, but none of the Drug Controller General, Bharat Bitoech or the Indian Council of Medical Research (ICMR) have deigned to answer any of them, at least not honestly. This was followed later by questions about how Bharat Biotech, and the Indian government with it, estimated that the company would be able to produce X number of doses by certain dates, only to fall strikingly short on each occasion, so much so that together with Serum Institute’s failure to project output and demand, India – the “vaccine superpower” that ICMR’s Balram Bhargava recently said it was – had a shameful vaccine shortage for the first half of 2021.

    As good as the science underlying BBV152 may have been, Covaxin the product is untrustworthy. This isn’t a comment on the science so much as a reiteration of the oft-overlooked fact that science progressively gives away to social issues that emerge in non-linear fashion when science’s requirements collide with societal gradients, particularly once the giant phase 3 tests have begun.

    Given all of these issues, the WHO committee repeatedly asking for more data from Bharat Biotech regarding Covaxin served to highlight – loudly and effectively – an immutable fact: that the Indian government and Bharat Biotech didn’t have this data at the time the Drug Controller General approved the vaccine for emergency use (in “clinical trial mode” to boot) in January 2021, and probably that Bharat Biotech didn’t have this data ready when it claimed, on more than one occasion, that it had submitted all the info it had on Covaxin to the WHO.

    Now, with a WHO committee member seemingly suggesting that Covaxin’s approval is a question of when, not if, are we to believe that the vaccine is really good and that we’re all thinking about it wrong? This is an important question, to me at least, because one less-than-ideal alternative is to contemplate how one committee can ‘fix’ a vaccine – by legitimising it with its approval – that is so broken that even with the Indian government’s support, only some 11% of eligible Indians have taken it. Another is to confront the similarly dispiriting possibility that millions of people are so desperate for vaccines around the world that the WHO can no longer afford to stop at being a quality filter – and should step up to help insincere vaccine-makers over the fence. (Recall the ‘right to choose without choices’ from January?)

    Any which way, the implied promise of approval seems to me to be too much of an easy way out for Bharat Biotech, and the intractable, unabashed Indian government behind it.

  • It’s great that the WHO isn’t just ‘not cutting corners’

    Call me anti-national (and I’m sure many will) but I’m glad that the WHO isn’t just “not cutting corners” in the process of considering Bharat Biotech’s application for the UN body’s stamp of approval Covaxin but is also openly calling for more and more information from the company at periodic intervals.

    This isn’t just a validation process in the larger scheme of things – which could imply something as banal as the WHO considering a really complicated application – but has also served to humiliate the Indian government’s instruments, from the clinical trial regulation apparatus to the prime minister’s office (let’s not forget that the PM is indeed a tool). The WHO’s process is resistant to “diplomatic” and “political” inputs, even as every meeting of its vaccine approval committee has concluded thus far with demands for more information from Bharat Biotech. This doesn’t prove that the Drug Controller General of India and the Central Drug Standards Control Organisation screwed up their vetting process to push Covaxin’s emergency-use license through earlier this year – but surely suggests it, and that’s just as well.

    Everyone from Bharat Biotech’s upper management to Prime Minister Narendra Modi have failed to understand that bad data alone doesn’t cause vaccine hesitancy, that absent data has the same effect. The Indian government, specifically the Bharatiya Janata Party, dragged Covaxin to the centre of its vaccine triumphalism and afforded it the same privileges it has extended to other parts of government – trenchant opacity, approval sans data, vanishing accountability. As such, we were never talking about a product of the Indian medical research community as much as something resembling a corrupted political object, and that in turn should lead us to the conclusion that this vaccine deserved to be met with hesitancy, and the WHO’s repeated requests for more data indicates that it still deserves to be.

    Thus far, the current government has seemed most responsive (albeit like a child, lashing out and hurting someone else) to the threat of humiliation. So, glad, even if I’m sure it will be short-lived. Once the WHO grants its approval (although there’s no guarantee), the government will certainly embark on a past-washing campaign, pressing its ministers to the task of weaving together an alternative history of why the approval process was unusually protracted. Is there any way we can preempt that?

  • Dream11: How hard should we work to play cricket for India?

    The TV ads for the fantasy cricket app Dream11 seem objectionable, to my mind. Thus far, I’ve seen three high-profile players of the Indian men’s cricket team in these ads: Rohit Sharma, Shikhar Dhawan and Jasprit Bumrah (there may be others). Each player stars in a version of the ad in which the ad summarily chronicles their childhood pursuits of becoming a professional cricketer. Dhawan’s and Sharma’s ads both extol lots of hard work and commitment to the demands of the sport, as does Bumrah’s ad but I think to a lesser extent.

    What the ads fail to mention is that India is a country of 717 million men (2020) but for all of whom there is only one men’s cricket team. We’ll obviously need to subtract those younger than 18 years and older than 40 years, but assuming a highly conservative estimate that men of the ‘admissible’ age make up only 10% of the total, we are still left with 71.7 million men. Consider New Zealand, on the other hand, which had almost 250,000 men in 2020 – including those on either side of the 18-40 group – and still fielded a cricket team among the world’s best in that year.

    Simple logic dictates that by virtue of having a larger pool of talent to pick from, the Indian men’s cricket team should be orders of magnitude better than those fielded by other countries – and simple logic is clearly wrong. The exploits of the Indian men’s cricket team have demonstrated, repeatedly, that if you put 11 sufficiently talented and qualified players together, train them, and give them the resources and the opportunities to get better, they will get better. And the Board of Control for Cricket in India (BCCI) has the money, the political heft and talent pool to achieve this – but it won’t.

    Instead, by considering only 11 (or 15, 21 or whatever) players at a time, the BCCI has created a hyper-competitive environment that is conducive neither to the fair selection of cricketing talent at the bottom rungs nor the selection and retention of talented players at the highest level. The abundance of talent only forces players to be in form at all times – or in excellent form sometimes – under threat of being replaced, even as the hierarchy of contracts with the BCCI tapers rapidly towards the top, squeezing more and more resources into fewer and fewer players, and ultimately leaves more for itself. The consequent demand for an intense physical regimen will in turn privilege richer players over poorer ones.

    As such, the BCCI has been administering an unjust model of cricket in India, and which companies like Dream11 are glamourising in uncritical fashion. Dhawan’s Dream11 ad – embedded above – concludes with the man himself saying that he plays for India because he dared to dream that big, in effect saying those who don’t make it didn’t because they didn’t dream, because it’s their fault, because dreaming is all it takes. The inequitable nature of this model only further undermines the knee that the Indian men’s cricket team took ahead of their game against Pakistan on October 24, in support of the Black Lives Matter movement – although we must admit there wasn’t much left to undermine.

    Given India’s population and the popularity of cricket around the country, it should by all means field 10 teams – maybe even 30, one for each state. Uttar Pradesh’s population alone is 40x that of New Zealand, and to echo Nayantara Sheoran Appleton, making better use of so much talent will always be a better idea than to coerce people to reproduce less. In the same vein, brands like Dream11 should stop glorifying the sort of backbreaking work required to break into the top 11. Doing so only glorifies the absurdity of rigging a system to produce only 11 men (or 11 women, for that matter) and then claiming this team is better than every other combination of 11 people drawn from a base of 71.7 million (or 67.6 million).

    By the way, that’s 5.97 x 1028 possible combinations without repetition.

  • Where the atmanirbharta in spine?

    Truth be told, I didn’t expect CSIR chief Shekhar Mande could be so disingenuous. “India didn’t have to depend on western countries,” he says. What is this abject refusal to thank other countries for help – and preferring instead to take their help and rewriting the past to pretend we didn’t need any?

    Of all those who received at least one dose of a COVID-19 vaccine in India, 88% received Covishield, which was first conceived by scientists in the UK and licensed by a British-Swedish pharmaceutical company to an Indian manufacturer. Even Covaxin, which accounts for the remaining 12% (screw Sputnik V), draws on technologies perfected by scientists in the US, among other places, against the SARS and MERS viruses. And while India’s drug controller approved a glut of drugs to treat severe COVID-19, the rights to the most popular among them and which also demonstrated some efficacy in any well-designed trials and observational studies – remdesivir – belong to a Californian pharmaceutical company.

    Some of the special containers and chemical reagents required to conduct RT-PCR tests are mostly imported. Indian industry adapted in a relatively short span of time to boost local production of masks, PPE kits and syringes, but there’s a lot that it depended on the west for and for which the west depended on India.

    In The Statesman article, ICMR chief Balram Bhargava also says, “The experience of developing Covaxin has instilled self-confidence in us that India is now much more than the pharmacy of the world. It is also a vaccine superpower.” Kind sir, India is no longer the ‘pharmacy of the world’. And we’d have to be a shitty kind of “vaccine superpower”, whatever that means, to a) run low on vaccines and syringes and completely fail to see that coming, b) celebrate 100-crore preordained inoculations, c) go so gung-ho with COVID-19 that we fail to deliver doses of a DTP vaccine to 3 million children in a year (the world’s highest) and d) preferentially award vaccine-making contracts to private companies.

    Of course, BB has been a foregone conclusion for a while. But that Mande can thump his chest like this… Are we to believe, then, that the rumours about why the Manipal Centre for Virus Research was shut, just as the pandemic was beginning, are true? That it was poised to undermine, with its foreign funds, foreign collaborations and foreign-trained scientists, the ‘Make in India’ narrative that the government as much as the government-funded scientific enterprise is wedded to.

    Perhaps the most regrettable thing about Mande’s comment is that – if the head of India’s largest government-funded scientific research establishment is prepared to lie in public, and to himself, that Indian researchers, manufacturers, traders, healthcare workers and patients didn’t want for anything that wasn’t already available in the country in early 2020, he is also prepared to believe there aren’t any problems that need to be fixed or resolved today either. I sincerely hope I’m wrong, but I don’t have my hopes up. Whatever we’re atma-nirbhar with today, it isn’t spine among government scientists, it seems.

  • The ‘one billion doses’ hype

    Prime Minister Narendra Modi has addressed India’s people 10 times during the country’s COVID-19 epidemic. This is fairly regular but also not frequent – that is, Modi’s addresses are something of special occasions, especially since it’s one of the few ways he interacts with the people at large (he doesn’t like speaking to the independent media) and even if most of what he says is banal. In the latest edition, for example, he celebrated the fact that India had administered one billion doses of COVID-19 vaccines between January 16 and October 21, 2021.

    Now, why was this point the subject of a prime ministerial address? It’s quite nonsensical. If you wait long enough, any country with at least 500 million adults is going to administer one billion doses of two-dose COVID-19 vaccines. It’s not an achievement – it’s the natural course of action, like pooping if you’ve eaten enough food or peeing if you’ve had enough water. Unless of course the prime minister considers the metaphorical pooping and peeing to be achievements as well – i.e. that vaccines were produced at all, distributed at all and pierced skin at all…

    A little more than a year ago, the same government also claimed a 70% COVID-19 recovery rate in India as an achievement. It was the same logic, and the same perversion of common sense: on average, {X}% of people everywhere with COVID-19 will recover because, on average, {100 minus X}% of COVID-19 patients die – if you wait long enough. The question the prime minister should have answered then, and should be answering now, is why it took so long.

    On the latter count: he promised in mid-January 2021 that the Union health ministry would vaccinate India’s 300 million frontline and healthcare workers by July. But as of September 30, 99% of healthcare workers had received at least one dose and 85% had received both doses. These figures are likely to be lower if frontline workers, like the police and municipal workers, are included. No doubt 85% is a big number, but we are also three months past the deadline and the delta variant has accentuated the difference between one dose and two doses.

    So these figures only speak of a government that can’t plan properly and is destined to celebrate only that which will happen anyway.

    (The penultimate paragraph above appeared in an article by my colleague Ajoy Ashirwad, published on October 22, 2021, as one of my inputs.)

  • He is never wrong

    Akshay Deshmane reported for The Morning Context on October 20 that the Union environment ministry has reversed two important decisions it made earlier this year: (a) to invite private law firms to help amend the Indian Forest Act 1927 and (b) to oppose the Delhi high court’s directive to translate the new draft EIA notification to 22 languages and extend its public consultation deadline to December this year. These are both major U-turns in the sense that the original decisions were both obviously anti-democratic and had the government’s unwavering support, so to walk back on them is to admit that the government’s original stance on both counts was wrong.

    Now, I’m of the firm belief that India is currently ruled not by a government but by an autocrat at the very top who likes to be seen pulling the ministerial strings when things go right but pushes some sod forward when things go sideways. I concede that this has pretty much been an ex post facto rationalisation, but it fits the facts every time and also draws some support from the fact that Prime Minister Narendra Modi has his fingers not in some pies but in every pie. This would entail a certain failure rate – as would be statistically typical, as is normal – but if the government’s press releases and communiqués and ministers’ speeches are to be believed, he has never screwed up. Never. The incumbent government is also incapable of making any decision without his express approval, if not being entirely of his office’s initiative.

    In this context, it’s notable that between making the two decisions and admitting that they were wrong, in July 2021, Prime Minister Modi reshuffled the Union cabinet, replacing a glut of ministers – and apparently also giving himself room to rethink some decisions without requiring a mea culpa or, at least and as has become so common, retaining plausible deniability. Among the new lot was Bhupender Yadav, brought in to replace Prakash Javadekar as the environment minister. And it was Yadav’s office that announced it wouldn’t challenge the Delhi high court and that it wouldn’t continue with the process to have private firms amend an important legal instrument.

    Would the ministry, and the minister, have been so brave as to admit wrongdoing while they were still in the same office? Unlikely; it has seldom happened before. Would the prime minister have been so brave as to admit wrongdoing? Ha!

    A similar thing happened with the outgoing health minister Harsh Vardhan and the incoming Mansukh Mandaviya, who said shortly after his new appointment that the health ministry didn’t do enough against India’s second COVID-19 outbreak in April-May this year. There’s no reason to stop believing that the prime minister is still pulling the strings, and there’s no reason to stop believing that he will continue to ‘prove’ he’s always right.

    Featured image credit: Al Soot/Unsplash.

  • Why you should care about the Uttarakhand floods

    You already know why. We all do.

  • A new way to harass editors?

    There’s a new way to harass editors – or perhaps it’s an old way that we’re just finding out about, first-hand. We know that repressive governments have started using the US’s infamous Digital Millennium Copyright Act (DMCA) as a new means to censor content they do not like. But it now seems private parties have also discovered the utility of using alleged copyright infringement to target media coverage.

    In the first week of October, an individual with an address in Thane, Maharashtra, lodged a complaint with Amazon Web Services (AWS), which hosts The Wire websites, including The Wire Science, alleging that one of the latter’s articles contained ‘unlicensed copyright protected content’.

    It has been my experience, and that of every other editor, I imagine, that honest complaints of copyright infringment are addressed to the editor and the reporter in question – and not the website’s host. (My email ID is on The Wire Science homepage; our ombudsperson’s email ID is available on the ‘About’ page.) But in this case, the complaint was lodged with AWS, with a link to the corresponding article on The Wire Science.

    The AWS abuse team, in turn, has written to me and my colleagues multiple times asking us to specify what steps we have taken or will be taking to resolve the issue. We have written back but I am not sure if the members of the abuse team are equipped to understand the editorial issues involved. Their principal issue appears to be that the charge implies The Wire Science has violated AWS’s terms of service and could therefore have to be removed from its servers.

    Why would the complainant take this route to resolving an allegation of copyright infringement? The article in question could provide the answer: it is an investigative report by science writer Anusha Krishnan (April 3, 2021) about a device called ‘Shycocan’, whose makers have claimed it can “attenuate” particles of the novel coronavirus by simply emitting photons into the air of a room. The report cast doubt on ‘Shycocan’ as well as its maker’s claims.

    The news report

    One particularly important, but easily refuted, claim made by the company was that the device has the approval of the US Food and Drug Administration (FDA). The truth comes in two parts: that the FDA found the device to fall in a category that could be distributed in the US without complying with certain regulatory requirements, and that according to ‘Shycocan’’s maker, the device belongs in the category of ‘sterilisers and disinfectants’, not ‘medical devices’ per se, meaning it doesn’t need clinical trials to prove its merit. Some claims had simply spun these loopholes in the maker’s favour.

    The maker’s representatives responded to our article on ‘Shycocan’ with a detailed statement sent to me seven weeks after the article was published, even though both the reporter and I had asked them many of the same questions during reporting (with many days to reply). I refused to publish it because I had no obligation to do so – plus it seemed to me to contain unclear science.

    For example, Umesh Kadhane, the head of the physics department at the Indian Institute of Space Science and Technology, Thiruvananthapuram, had told The Wire Science that the maker’s “claims that the electrons produced by their device will only kill the coronavirus is completely bogus. Electrons cannot distinguish between viruses or bacteria or any other thing.”

    The statement responded thus: “Most bacteria are negatively charged. The Coronavirus is a positive sense virus. Human cells have a negative potential. The electrons emanated by the Shycocan and due to this opposite polarity they attach themselves to the Coronavirus in real time thereby neutralizing or attenuating it.”

    By this logic, ‘most bacteria’ should not be able to affect human cells, so this part of the statement is likely incomplete. The electrons should also be affecting every susceptible particle they encounter once they are emitted – not just the coronaviruses in the air. Many atoms and molecules in air capture free electrons. As the report also said:

    “It’s … unclear how ‘Shycocan’, though capable of producing so many electrons – much more than air ionisers that are currently in the market as air purifiers – apparently doesn’t produce ozone, according to the company marketing it. When oxygen in the air encounters free electrons, it becomes ozone.”

    But the maker’s statement said our sentences lack “scientific basis” and that the device produces photons in the “trillions per second, which in turn produce photoelectrons when striking solid surfaces.” This raised two further issues:

    1. Photons need to have a specific energy to produce photoelectrons from specific materials, called photoemissive materials. Not all photons can elicit photoelectrons from all surfaces (“aerosols, microscopic impurities, viral particles, solid surfaces, walls, etc.,” as the statement says). 2. If all these surfaces are photoemissive (unlikely), why don’t their photoelectrons lead to the formation of ozone? And so forth.

    The Wire Science report also raised concerns about missing details in the documents ‘Shycocan’’s maker shared with us (requesting us to not share them publicly; we agreed). Independent experts Anusha Krishnan and The Wire Science spoke to said the documents lacked information about the testing methods and, in at least one case, efforts to eliminate bias.

    Arindam Ghosh, a physicist at the Indian Institute of Science, Bengaluru, had also told Indian Express last year: “The claim is that if you fire a lot of electrons, it affects and deactivates the S protein of the coronavirus. I do not know of any scientific document which proves this. To my understanding, there is no data available even outside the publication domain which proves it. I do not understand … how some weird electrons seek only the coronavirus to kill, leaving everything else unaffected.”

    As a result of these findings, The Wire Science report said: “As of now, there appear to be no published scientific studies, experiments or publicly available data (that other scientists can use) to establish the efficacy, safety or usability of ‘Shycocan’. All of the information on the device is to be found on the company’s website, in news articles, press releases and anecdotes related by the people marketing it.”

    The implicated para

    Now, the complaint with AWS alleges that The Wire‘s report contained one paragraph in the article that was copied from a magazine with a single ‘article’ hosted on Issuu. The article, which carries the date of March 30, 2021, is published by ‘jaiprakash36’ (who has published nothing else) and  contains precisely two paragraphs – one, the supposedly copied para, and two, a para that appears to be an advertisement for ‘Shycocan’:

    Shycocan Stands for Scalene Hypercharge Corona Canon you can buy it on amazon at the price of 24,999. According to the device makers Shyconcan can disable upto 99.9% virus in the installed area.

    Turn now to the paragraph which the complainant claims was copied:

    The company Eureka Forbes has also advertised the “Forbes Corona Guard, powered by Shycocan” as a device that could attenuate 99.9% of coronaviruses in enclosed spaces. In November 2020, after complaints from scientists, the Consumer Complaints Council of the Advertising Standard Council of India directed Eureka Forbes to withdraw its claims. Yet the company still lists the product as available, along with its purported effectiveness against the novel coronavirus.

    Shortly after receiving the first communiqué from the AWS abuse team, we responded with a timestamped document that clearly shows Anusha Krishnan and me co-editing a Google Doc document containing her report, with edits of the concerned paragraph dated before the Issuu ‘article’ was published, on March 30, 2021. (I suspect, sans proof, that the complainant published the single-page magazine after our article was published and then backdated the page).

    However, the AWS abuse team has been repeatedly emailing us asking us to describe the steps we will or are going to take to resolve this issue, unmindful of the proof we have provided. To them, it appears, this is a potential DMCA violation that can only be resolved by us responding to the complaint by making some changes at our end. To us, the abuse team doesn’t seem to be prepared to consider that the complaint is baseless.

    This has been a frustrating experience, and is still yet to be resolved.

    The Wire
    October 16, 2021

  • Will this blog be online a hundred years from today?

    For almost two weeks now, we at The Wire have been dealing with a complaint that someone from Maharashtra lodged against us with Amazon Web Services (AWS), our sites’ host, for allegedly copying one paragraph in one article sans consent from a source that the complainant allegedly owns, and thus violating AWS’s terms of use and becoming eligible – if found guilty – to have the offending webpage taken down. The paragraph is not plagiarised (I edited and published it) but the alleged source of the ‘original’ material is shady, and there’s reason to believe a deeper malice could be at work, as I’ve explained in an article for The Wire.

    The matter is still unresolved: the AWS abuse team has been emailing us almost every day asking us to tell them what we’ve done to ‘address’ the complaint, ignoring the proof we sent them showing that the article couldn’t possibly have been plagiarised (we shared the Google Doc on which the article was composed and edited from scratch, with date and timestamps). The abuse team remains unsatisfied and would simply like us to act, whatever that means. From my point of view, it seems like AWS doesn’t have the room to consider that the complaint could be baseless. I also think that any organisation that doesn’t know or want to deal with editorial complaints shouldn’t receive editorial complaints in the first place. Otherwise, you have a situation in which an unknown private entity can allege to a tech company that one of its clients has violated the Digital Millennium Copyright Act (DMCA) – the overreaching American legal instrument that is the principal blunt weapon in this episode – forcing the tech company to bear down on the client to make the problem go away, without pausing for a moment to think if it’s been conned into becoming an agent of harassment. But why would it, considering so many tech companies registered in the US actually benefit from the overreaching character of the DMCA.

    (It’s doubly ridiculous when these agents are Indian and based in India, and who may not be aware of the full story of the DMCA but are required by their contracts of employment to enforce it.)

    The awfulness of this entire episode, still ongoing, strikes to me at the heart of questions about who gets to access the internet and how. The AWS abuse team has told us on more than one occasion that if the matter isn’t resolved to AWS’s satisfaction, they will have to remove the offending webpage from their servers. Obviously we can find a new host, but whichever host we find, the problem remains: one of the many mediators of our access to the internet, starting from the internet service provider, is the entity hosting those websites. And not just any entity but a predominantly American one, and therefore obligated to enforce the terms of the DMCA. I don’t have to point to any numbers to claim, safely, that a vast majority of the internet traffic today pings the servers of websites hosted by AWS, Google Cloud Platform and Microsoft Azure. Recently, Tim Bray blogged about what the consequences might look like if the biggest of AWS’s 24 datacentre “regions” – called simply us-east-1 – went offline. It would be an unmitigated catastrophe.

    My blog has been hosted with/on WordPress for 13 years now and I’ve seen a lot of competing platforms come and go.[1] (My very first blog was hosted by Xanga before I moved, a few months later, to WordPress.) A lot of people who like to talk or blog about blogging have expressed dissatisfaction with how some platforms “don’t talk to each other”, that they’re fans of the Quiet Web[2] or that static sites are the way to go for the speed, security and controllability. But to me, all these concerns pale compared to the question of whether a platform will actually stay online. One alternative I’ve been referred to is micro.blog – looks nice and has an agenda that some bloggers seem to love, but will it stay online? I don’t know. It’s easier for me to believe a) that WordPress will stay online because it has been online for 15 years now – which is a long time in the Internet Universe – and because it has been both profitable and conscientious about what it does; and b) that AWS will stay online because its market capitalisation and revenue mean it’s just too big to fail at this point (as Bray has also written). Heck, of all the blogging platforms that have come and gone, one of the longest-lived has been Google’s Blogger. Google clearly didn’t spend much time on it after a point but Blogger is still around, as are the bloggers who continue to publish there. And to my mind the ‘Persistent Web’ – a place that convinces you that it’s going to be around for a long time – is a better place to be (see ref. 2).

    [1] One of the platforms that I was really sad to see die was Posterous, which Twitter bought from the guys who built it and then killed it. These guys subsequently created Posthaven, and pledged that it would never get bought or be killed as long as at least one blogger paid to use it – except the guys have added no new features since 2017 nor updated the blog. Tumblr is pretty much a ghost city now even though its been bought by the foundation that runs WordPress, and even though it attracted a great deal of negative attention for its erotic blogs. Typed, made by a company that became profitable by building apps for Apple devices, was ridiculously short-lived. Silvrback‘s founder sold it a few years ago to some mid-level management professor who’s modified it – badly – back to the early 2000s. Svbtle is still around, and has a pledge like Posthaven’s, but is both extremely minimal in terms of its features and fairly opaque about how it’s doing as a company; also, it appears to be hosted on AWS. Medium‘s mood is just awful and doesn’t seem trustworthy as a company either, especially if you’re particular – as I am – but about not putting in with enterprises that treat editorial people badly. This is also why I’m put off of Ghost, whose maker John O’Nolan has seemed quite full of himself on occasion. Ghost itself is a great product, although it started off as a blogging company only to change direction to become a publishing company, leaving WordPress – which it sought to usurp as every blogger’s platform of choice – to dominate the blogging space. Squarespace is the sole long-lived, equally legitimate alternative to WordPress, but it doesn’t offer a self-hosted version. I could go on.

    [2] Brian Koberlein writes here that he defines the Quiet Web thus: “Exclude any page that has ads. Remove them if they use Google Analytics or Google Fonts. Remove them if they use scripts or trackers. It’s a hard filter that blocks the most popular sites. Forget YouTube, Facebook, Reddit, or Twitter. Forget the major news sites. So what remains? … Most personal websites don’t pass the test. They are either ad-driven or managed on platforms like Blogger or WordPress. But the quiet personal sites are diverse and interesting.” I think he overlooks a huge part of the internet here, comprising websites that self-host WordPress instead of using it on WordPress.com. Many of the features he ascribes to the Quiet Web can be built with WordPress – including this site you’re reading. As celebrated web-designer Jeffrey Zeldman tech blogger John Gruber has written, WordPress shouldn’t be blamed for many of its users’ awful design choices. (Edited at 8:43 am on October 27, 2021, to attribute that comment to Gruber instead of Zeldman.)

    So when someone asks if my blog will be online and accessible a hundred years from now, I’d like the answer to be ‘yes’. And while I don’t like it, AWS is going to remain one of the options to make that happen with little effort on my part. I’m not a programmer except in the tinkering sense, and still struggle to understand how websites really work (esp. beyond the application layer). Pertinently this means I’d much rather host my blog, which is invaluable to me, with an entity that knows what it’s doing rather than try to cobble something together myself that could well break or be exploited a day later. And this in turn is why I’m really going to stick with WordPress, which continues to be an excellent alternative to every other similar option, with my fingers firmly crossed that the people managing it continue to do so the way they’re doing it currently.