If there are to be yet unimagined weapons affecting the balance of military power tomorrow, we want to have the men and the means to imagine them first.
—JAMES KILLIAN, science adviser to Dwight D. Eisenhower, 1956

Science as science should no longer be served; indeed scientists ought to be made to serve.
—WILLIAM H. GODEL, former deputy director of the Advanced Research Projects Agency, 1975

Guns and Money

In June 1961, William Godel set off on a secret mission to Vietnam carrying a briefcase stuffed with cash. At a stopover in Hawaii, he converted some of the cash to traveler’s checks to make space for a small bottle of liquor that he carried with him on business trips. Even that did not quite leave enough room, so he moved some of his secret Pentagon papers to another case to make space for the bottle. The money, $18,000, was for a classified project that would play a critical role in President John F. Kennedy’s plan to battle communism in Southeast Asia.
At thirty-nine years old, Godel still wore the short buzz cut of his Marine Corps days, but his reputation had been forged in the world of intelligence. A drinker, a practical joker, and a master bureaucratic negotiator, Godel was the type of man who could one day offer to detonate a nuclear bomb in the Indian Ocean to make a crater for the National Security Agency’s new radio telescope and the next day persuade the president to launch the world’s first communications satellite to broadcast a Christmas greeting. Colleagues described him as someone you could drop in a foreign country, and a few months later he would emerge with signed agreements in hand, whether it was for secret radar tracking stations— something he did indeed set up in Turkey and Australia —or, in this case, winning the support of South Vietnam’s president for a new American proposal. Bill Bundy, a former CIA official and White House adviser, called Godel an “operator” with a “rather legendary reputation for effectiveness” working overseas.
At five feet ten inches tall, Godel was not a physically imposing figure, but he had a way of impressing both admirers and enemies with his presence. “He was one of the more glamorous people to stride the halls of the Pentagon,” recalled Lee Huff, who was recruited by Godel to the Defense Department. Godel was never the most famous man in the Pentagon, but for several years he was one of its most influential. And by the early 1960s, that influence was focused on Southeast Asia.
Godel arrived to the summer heat of Saigon, a congested city of semi-controlled chaos where cycle rickshaws, bicycles, mopeds, cars, and other motorized contraptions wove through the packed streets like schools of fish in a sea. The city was booming economically and culturally, even as it attracted an increasing number of American military advisers, spooks, and diplomats, who were looking to advise South Vietnam’s president on how best to run his newly independent country.
Parisian-style sidewalk cafés still dotted the main city streets, and the city’s French colonial heritage was reflected in everything from the fresh baguettes in the local bakeries to the city’s grand villas. Vietnamese women dressed in the "áo dài", the formfitting silk dress worn over pantaloons, mixed easily with teenage girls clad in miniskirts. It was still several years before the influx of American troops would provide a boon to the city’s brothels, or frequent Vietcong terrorist attacks in Saigon would drive patrons away from sidewalk cafés, but signs of that unrest were on the horizon. In December of the previous year, the Vietcong bombed the kitchen of the Saigon Golf Club, marking the start of a series of terrorist attacks in the capital. In neighboring Laos, a civil war fueled by Soviet and American involvement was spilling over into Vietnam. More disquieting was that the Vietcong, the communist insurgents in South Vietnam, were getting weapons from North Vietnam, using the Ho Chi Minh Trail, the illicit supply route that snaked through Vietnam’s mountains and jungle, and parts of Laos.
Godel had been traveling frequently to Vietnam for more than a decade. What made this trip unusual was that he was now working for the Advanced Research Projects Agency, known by its acronym, ARPA. Founded in 1958 to get America into space after the Soviets launched the world’s first artificial satellite, ARPA had lost its space mission after less than two years. Now the young organization, hated by the military and distrusted by the intelligence community, was struggling to find a new role for itself. Godel figured if ARPA could not battle the communists in space, perhaps it could beat them in the jungles. President Kennedy had taken office just five months prior and was still in the process of formulating a new policy for Southeast Asia. He had already decided to support South Vietnam’s anticommunist president, Ngo Dinh Diem, a Catholic who hailed from a family of Mandarins, the bureaucrats who ran Vietnam under Chinese rule. The month before Godel’s trip, Vice President Lyndon B. Johnson visited South Vietnam’s president, calling Diem the “Winston Churchill of Asia,” and in April, Kennedy sent four hundred Green Berets to South Vietnam to serve as special advisers, helping to train the South Vietnamese military and the Montagnards, the indigenous tribes who lived in the country’s central plains. Diem was a deeply religious man, a lifelong bachelor who chose politics over the priesthood. Some in Western circles regarded him as an out-of-touch crackpot; others, like Godel, saw him as a flawed but promising leader. In the early 1960s, South Vietnam was already battling a communist insurgency, but it was a war being fought in the shadows; that summer, astronauts and celebrities still dominated the covers of Life and Time magazines. Yet there were hints that this new conflict was beginning to occupy America’s leaders in Washington. The October 27, 1961, cover of Life magazine featured a soldier peering out from jungle underbrush with the caption “GI trains for guerilla warfare.” The cover lines read, “Vietnam: Our Next Showdown.” Guerrilla warfare was precisely why Godel was in Vietnam. The money he carried with him to Saigon was a down payment on an initial $20 million that the American government expected to allocate for a combat center to develop technology suited for fighting insurgents in Vietnam’s jungles. Located in Saigon and run by ARPA, the combat center would be used to help American military advisers and South Vietnam’s military. Godel, however, was not just focused on Vietnam; ARPA’s Combat Development and Test Center was the starting point for a global solution to counterinsurgency, relying on science and technology to guide the way.
The cash in Godel’s bag, and his list of proposals for Diem, would alter the course of events in Vietnam and more broadly lay the groundwork for modern warfare. From stealthy helicopters that would slip over the border of Pakistan on a hunt for Osama bin Laden to a worldwide campaign using drones to conduct targeted killings, Godel’s wartime experiments would later become military technologies that changed the way America wages war. His programs in Vietnam, many of which arose from that meeting with Diem, would be credited with some of the best and worst military innovations of the century. Within just a few months of that trip, Godel would bring over to Vietnam a new gun better suited for jungle warfare, the Armalite AR-15. He would also send social scientists to Vietnam, hoping that a better understanding of the people and culture would stem the insurgency. Some of Godel’s work became infamous, like a plan to relocate Vietnamese peasants to new fortified villages, known as strategic hamlets. That plan became one of the more resounding failures of the war. Similarly, ARPA’s introduction to Vietnam of chemical defoliants, including "Agent Orange", is now held responsible for countless deaths and illnesses among Vietnamese and Americans.
At its height, the ARPA program he established employed hundreds of people spread across Southeast Asia —more than five hundred in Thailand alone—and then expanded later to the Middle East. The program sought to understand the roots of insurgency and develop methods to prevent it so that American forces would not have to get involved in regional wars they were unprepared to fight. ARPA developed new technologies, sponsored social science research, and published books on counterinsurgency warfare that would later influence a new generation of military leaders fighting in Iraq and Afghanistan. More than any single technology, Godel’s single-minded promotion of the need to understand the nature of guerrilla warfare would have an impact decades later, when the army general David Petraeus, and his advisers known as the “strategic whizzes,” found themselves studying the writing of David Galula, whose seminal work, 'Pacification in Algeria', was published in 1963, paid for by ARPA. Four decades before Petraeus made “counterinsurgency” a household phrase, Godel created a worldwide research program dedicated to insurgent warfare that dwarfed anything done in the years after 9/11.
The nascent counterinsurgency program Godel started inadvertently played a critical role in shaping the future agency whose name would become synonymous with innovation. The Vietnam counterinsurgency work eventually became the backbone of ARPA’s "Tactical Technology Office", the seminal division that would produce stealth aircraft, precision weaponry, and drones—the fundamentals of the modern battlefield. The space age might have given birth to ARPA, but Vietnam thrust the agency into the center of Cold War strategic debates, and it was Godel, more than any other ARPA official, who shaped the agency’s future.
Yet it was not all counterinsurgency. In the early 1960s, the esoteric agency Godel helped build was planting the seeds for work that would bear fruit many years later. In the first two years, Godel helped create the agency’s space program, providing cover to the world’s first reconnaissance satellite, a top secret project. He also persuaded the president to launch the world’s first communications satellite and helped build a worldwide network for nuclear test monitoring. By the end of the decade, a descendant of one of ARPA’s first projects, the "Saturn rocket", would launch Neil Armstrong and the other Apollo 11 astronauts on their journey to the moon. And just a month before Godel traveled to Vietnam, ARPA was handed a new assignment in "command and control", which would in less than a decade grow into the ARPANET, the predecessor to the modern Internet. The following year, Godel personally signed off on the first computer-networking study, giving it money from his Vietnam budget.
Godel’s seminal role was largely expunged from the record in later years, and his name rarely mentioned in official materials, forgotten except by a few loyal friends and dedicated enemies. The AR-15, the weapon that Godel personally carried over to Vietnam, eventually became the M16, the standard-issue infantry weapon for the entire U.S. military. The rest of Godel’s Vietnam-era work would be dismissed as a onetime diversion for an agency now more closely associated with high technology than strategic thinking. His story did not fit an agency touted as a model for innovation. Yet the real key to the ARPA legacy lies in understanding how all these varied projects—satellites, drones, and computers— could come to exist in a single agency.
—
The Central Intelligence Agency(CIA) sits on a compound in Langley, Virginia, made famous by countless movies and television shows. The NSA’s massive headquarters is ringed by barbed wire and located on a military base in Maryland. Yet the agency responsible for some of the most important military and civil technologies of the past hundred years resides in relative obscurity behind a generic glass facade at 675 North Randolph Street in Arlington, Virginia. The unremarkable office tower stands across from a dying four-level brown-brick shopping mall that houses a mix of fast-food restaurants and discount stores.
Behind the nondescript exterior of the office building, just beyond the guards, is a panoramic wall display that covers more than fifty years of the agency’s history. It begins in the fall of 1957, when the Soviet Union launched the first man-made satellite into orbit. "Sputnik", as the satellite was called in the West, did little more than emit a simple beep. But that beach-ball-size sphere orbiting harmlessly around the earth touched off a storm of news reports that shook the American people’s feeling of invulnerability by demonstrating that the Soviet Union might soon be able to launch a nuclear-armed missile that could reach the continental United States.
?As the story goes, Sputnik sparked a national hysteria, and the American public demanded that the government take action. In response, President Dwight Eisenhower in early 1958 authorized the establishment of a central research agency independent from the military services, whose bickering had contributed to the Soviet Union’s lead in space. This new agency, called the Advanced Research Projects Agency, was the nation’s first space agency—established eight months before the National Aeronautics and Space Administration, or NASA. The organization today known as DARPA—the D for “Defense” was added in 1972 (and then dropped, and added again in later years)—has grown into an approximately $3-billion-a-year research agency, with projects that have ranged from space planes to cyborg insects. The display in the lobby is a monument to more than fifty years of this unusual government agency, which has produced marvelous and sometimes terrifying technological achievements: precision weapons, drones, robots, and networked computing, to name a few. By thinking about fundamental problems of national security, DARPA created solutions that did far more than give the military a few novel weapons. In some cases, the agency changed the nature of warfare; in others, it helped prevent the nation from going to war.
By thinking about how to deal with Soviet conventional military superiority without resorting to nuclear weapons, it introduced the era of precision weaponry. By looking for ways to detect underground nuclear explosions, it revolutionized the field of seismology and enabled the negotiation of critical arms control treaties. And by exploring ways to improve nuclear command and control, it created the ARPANET, the precursor to the modern Internet.
Not all solutions are so tidy, however. In trying to tackle the problem of communist insurgency, DARPA embarked on a decade-long worldwide experiment that ended in failure. It is tempting to carve out unsuccessful work, like the counterinsurgency programs, by claiming this was an aberration in the agency’s history. Here we argue, however, that DARPA’s Vietnam War work and the ARPANET were not two distinct threads but rather pieces of a larger tapestry that held the agency together. What made DARPA successful was its ability to tackle some of the most critical national security problems facing the United States, unencumbered by the typical bureaucratic oversight and uninhibited by the restraints of scientific peer review. DARPA’s history of innovation is more closely tied to this turbulent period in the 1960s and early 1970s, when it delved into questions of nuclear warfare and counterinsurgency, than to its brief life as a “space agency.” Those two crucial decades represent a time when senior Pentagon officials believed the agency should play a critical role in shaping world events, rather than just develop technological novelties.
The Internet and the agency’s Vietnam War work were proposed solutions to critical problems: one was a world-changing success, and the other a catastrophic failure. That muddied history of Vietnam and counterinsurgency might not fit well with DARPA’s creation story, but it is the key to understanding its legacy. It is also the history that is often the most challenging to get many former agency officials to address. DARPA may brag about its willingness to fail, but that does not mean that it is eager to have those failures examined.
—
DARPA is now more than sixty years old, and much of its history has never been recorded in any systematic way. One effort was made, in 1973, when DARPA approached its fifteenth anniversary. Stephen Lukasik, then the director, commissioned an independent history of the agency to better understand its origins and purpose. The final document was regarded as so sensitive that the authors were only authorized to make six copies, all of which had to be handed over to the government. Although it was supposed to be an unclassified history, the new director was aghast at what he felt was an overly personal account; he stamped the final product as classified and locked it away. It took more than a decade for it to be released.
Agencies, like people, make sense of themselves through stories. And like people, they are selective about the facts that go into their stories, and as time passes, the stories are increasingly suspect and often apocryphal. No other research organization has a history as rich, complex, important, and at times strange as DARPA. Whether it was a mechanical elephant to trudge through the jungles of Vietnam or a jet pack for Special Forces, DARPA’s projects have been ambitious, sometimes to the point of absurdity. Some of these fanciful ideas, like the concept of an invisible aircraft named after a fictional, eight-foot-tall rabbit, actually succeeded, but many more failed. At some point, the successes, and the failures, began to get smaller, because the problems assigned to the agency grew narrower. The key to DARPA’s success in the past was not just its flexibility but also its focus on solving high-level national security problems. DARPA today runs the risk of irrelevancy, creating marvelous innovations that have, unlike previous years, little impact on either the way the military fights or the way we live our lives. The price of success is failure, and the price of an important success is a significant failure, and the consequences of both should be weighed in assessing any institution’s legacy. Conversely, if the stakes are not high, then neither the successes nor the failures matter, and that is where the agency is in danger of heading today, investing in technological novelties that are unlikely to have a significant impact on national security.
Current DARPA officials may disagree with this pessimistic assessment of the agency’s current role or argue about which failures, and successes, should be highlighted. Yet the research for our work is based on thousands of pages of documents, many recently declassified, held in archives around the country, and hundreds of hours of interviews with former DARPA officials. Most past directors share a very similar sentiment: DARPA continues to produce good solutions to problems, but the problems it is assigned, or assigns itself, are no longer critical to national security. To understand why this narrowing of scope happened, it is important to examine the real history of DARPA. The agency’s origins may begin with the space race, but DARPA’s legacy lies elsewhere.
Godel and his trip to Vietnam were seminal to the agency’s history—both its high and its low points. That trip helped create the modern agency and its greatest and worst legacies. Yet Godel’s story is one that DARPA officials today do not talk about, or even know about. It is a story buried in long-forgotten court records and has been nearly written out of the agency’s history, because it no longer fits the narrative of DARPA as an agency dedicated to technological surprise. Yet it is a story that illustrates the true tensions within DARPA, an agency

#ARPA #DARPA #USA #Vietnam #ColdWar #history

How hard can it be to write a simple four-function calculator program? After all, computers are good at math, and making a calculator isn’t exactly blazing a new trail, right? But [Chad Nauseam] will tell you that it is harder than you probably think. His post starts with a screenshot of the iOS calculator app with a mildly complex equation. The app’s answer is wrong. Android’s calculator does better on the same problem.

What follows is a bit of a history lesson and a bit of a math lesson combined. As you might realize, the inherent problem with computers and math isn’t that they aren’t good at it. Floating point numbers have a finite precision and this leads to problems, especially when you do operations that combine large and small numbers together.

Indeed, any floating point representation has a bigger infinity of numbers that it can’t represent than those that it can. But the same is true of a calculator. Think about how many digits you are willing to type in, and how many digits you want out. All you want is for each of them to be correct, and that’s a much smaller set of numbers.

Google’s developer, [Hans-J. Boehm] tackled this problem by turning to recursive real arithmetic (RRA). Here, each math function is told how accurate it needs to be, and a set of rules determines the highest required accuracy.

But every solution brings a problem. With RRA, there is no way to tell very small numbers from zero. So computing “1-1” might give you “0.000000000”, which is correct but upsetting because of all the excess precision. You could try to test if “0.00000000” was equal to “0”, and simplify the output. But testing for equality of two numbers in RRA is not guaranteed to terminate: you can tell if two numbers are unequal by going to more and more precision until you find a difference, but if the numbers happen to be equal, this procedure never ends.

The key realization for [Boehm] and his collaborators was that you could use RRA only for cases where you deal with inexact numbers. Most of the time, the Android calculator deals with rationals. However, when an operation produces a potentially irrational result, it switches to RRA for the approximation, which works because no finite representation ever gets it exactly right. The result is a system that doesn’t show excess precision, but correctly displays all of the digits that it does show.

We really like [Chad’s] step-by-step explanation. If you would rather dive into the math, you can read [Boehm’s] paper on the topic. If you ever wonder how many computer systems handle odd functions like sine and cosine, read about CORDIC. Or, avoid all of this and stick to your slide rule.

hackaday.com/2025/02/16/how-ha…

Un software israeliano prodotto da un’azienda fondata da un ex membro dell’Unità 8200 dell’Israel Defense Force, la “guardia d’élite” cyber delle forze armate di Tel Aviv, è stato usato per spiare giornalisti e attivisti e tra i suoi clienti figurava anche il governo italiano. Giorgia Meloni è sulla difensiva nel dibattito che si è acceso […]
Continua a leggere

The post Paragon, il nuovo spyware israeliani e l’ombra dello spionaggio del governo italiano appeared first on InsideOver.

In the near future, imagine a world where your health is continuously monitored, not through bulky devices but through an invisible graphene tattoo. Developed at the University of Massachusetts Amherst, these tattoos could soon detect a range of health metrics, including blood pressure, stress levels, and even biomarkers of diseases like diabetes. This technology, though still in its infancy, promises to revolutionize how we monitor health, making it possible to track our bodies’ responses to everything from exercise to environmental exposure in real-time.

Graphene, a single layer of carbon atoms, is key to the development of these tattoos. They are flexible, transparent, and conductive, making them ideal for bioelectronics. The tattoos are so thin and pliable that users won’t even feel them on their skin. In early tests, graphene electronic tattoos (GETs) have been used to measure bioimpedance, which correlates with blood pressure and other vital signs. The real breakthrough here, however, is the continuous, non-invasive monitoring that could enable early detection of conditions that usually go unnoticed until it’s too late.

While still requiring refinement, this technology is advancing rapidly. Graphene still amazes us, but it’s no longer just science fiction. Soon, these tattoos could be a part of everyday life, helping individuals track their health and enabling better preventative care. Since we’re hackers out here – but this is a far fetch – combining this knowledge on graphene production, and this article on tattooing with a 3D printer, could get you on track. Let us know, what would you use graphene biosensors for?

Original photo by engin akyurt on Unsplash

hackaday.com/2025/02/16/graphe…

I ricercatori dell’Università di Chicago hanno sviluppato una tecnologia di archiviazione dati in cui i difetti dei cristalli agiscono come numeri uno e zero. Ciascuno di questi difetti ha le dimensioni di un singolo atomo, il che consente di condensare terabyte di informazioni in un minuscolo millimetro cubo di materiale. Questo straordinario lavoro è stato pubblicato sulla rivista Nanophotonics.

Il metodo si basa sui principi quantistici, ma viene applicato nell’elettronica classica. Inizialmente la ricerca è stata condotta nel campo della dosimetria delle radiazioni: gli scienziati hanno studiato materiali in grado di registrare il livello di esposizione alle radiazioni. Tuttavia, l’approccio è stato successivamente adattato per l’archiviazione dei dati.

Tian Zhong, a capo dello studio, spiega che la memoria si forma grazie agli atomi mancanti nel cristallo. Questi vuoti possono catturare e trattenere gli elettroni, creando stati stabili di “uno” e “zero”. Le tecnologie ottiche consentono di scrivere e leggere dati con elevata precisione utilizzando impulsi laser.

Un ruolo speciale nello sviluppo è stato svolto dagli elementi delle terre rare, in particolare dal praseodimio e dalla matrice di ossido di ittrio. Questi materiali presentano speciali proprietà ottiche che consentono un controllo preciso degli stati di conservazione. A differenza dei dosimetri tradizionali, attivati ​​da raggi X o gamma, la nuova tecnologia utilizza un laser ultravioletto per registrare le informazioni.

La scoperta non solo aumenta significativamente la densità di archiviazione dei dati, ma rende anche possibile una nuova classe di dispositivi di memoria ultracompatti ed efficienti dal punto di vista energetico, in grado di superare le prestazioni delle attuali tecnologie informatiche classiche.

L'articolo Un terabyte di dati in un millimetro cubo! I Dati verranno immagazzinati tra gli Atomi proviene da il blog della sicurezza informatica.

It’s common problem when you’re building anything with screws: this one is too long, this one is too short. While she can’t teach you how to fix the latter, [Quinn Dunki] has made herself an absolutely deluxe screw shortening jig. And while that’s cool and all, the real value here is the journey; watching over [Quinn]’s shoulders while she’s in the machine shop is always illuminating.

First off, she starts with her old jig, which frankly makes us want one. It’s a short piece of aluminum angle stock with threaded holes in it. You thread the screw in as far as you want, and use the edge as a cutting guide. Very nice! But aluminum threads wear out quickly so it works if you’re shortening dozens of screws, but gets wonky when you need to cut hundreds. The new jig is made out of steel, and has a slit that clamps the threads in place so she doesn’t have to hold the tiny screws with her other hand while sawing.

This video is, on the surface, about making an improved tool out of steel. But it’s the tips along the way that make it worth your watch. For instance “deburr early and often” is a recurring leitmotif here: it keeps the extra bits that form along any cut from messing up edge finding or vise registration. And yeah, she deburrs after every operation.

There are mistakes, and lessons learned along the way. We’re not going to spoil it all. But in the end, it’s a sweet tool that we’ve never seen before.

If you haven’t read [Quinn]’s series on machine tools that she wrote for us, it’s a treasure trove of machining wisdom.

youtube.com/embed/pLca-flylUA?…

hackaday.com/2025/02/16/quinn-…

Pare che la canzone di Cristicchi a #Sanremo abbia commosso un sacco di gente. Ho persino letto un articolo che, parlando di lui, menzionava il "grande cantautorato".
Ma davvero? A mio modesto parere, la canzone è di una banalità disarmante.

Forse perché mia mamma ci ha cresciuti a pane e De André (& co.), ma per me il grande cantautorato ha un livello un po’ più alto.
Sullo stesso tema, per esempio, si potrebbe citare "Dimentica una cosa al giorno" di Vecchioni, che secondo me ha tutt’altra profondità.

E Fedez? (va beh.. non è certo un cantante che seguo). Ma se proprio voglio ascoltare qualcosa che parli di salute mentale, preferisco canzoni dall’album di Alanis Morissette "Such Pretty Forks in the Road", che mi ha accompagnata e, per certi versi, aiutata durante il burnout.

"...il circolo nosografico appunto: è che molte persone, inconsapevolmente, sviluppano sintomi che coincidono con i criteri diagnostici dei medici. In altre parole, c’è un impulso a offrire agli occhi del clinico i sintomi che gli interessa vedere..."

Epidemia di Standers.  I circoli nocivi delle diagnosi del mentale – Le parole e le cose² leparoleelecose.it/?p=50903