The WWII Spy Manual That Transformed Inept Middle Management into a Covert Sabotage Strategy
When you think of Allied espionage, you probably picture daring spies with hidden explosives, sneaky wiretaps, or maybe even weaponised bats. But declassified documents reveal that World War II was also won by a different kind of secret agent—bumbling factory workers who "accidentally" messed things up, train conductors who took inefficiency to an art form, and middle managers so spectacularly bad at their jobs that they were basically weapons-grade useless. All of them were trained, believe it or not, by theSimple Sabotage Field Manual.
By 1944, World War II was winding down, but the Allies still needed a little extra oomph—more troops, more local cooperation, and ideally, more ways to drive Axis governments up the wall. Enter the Office of Strategic Services (OSS), the grandparent of the CIA and, apparently, the original prank war masterminds. They had a vision: what if the best way to mess with an enemy government wasn’t through brute force, but through good, old-fashioned workplace incompetence?
Thus was born the Simple Sabotage Field Manual—essentially the world’s first officially sanctioned “how to be annoying at work” guide. The OSS figured they could train an army of disgruntled European citizens to wage war by doing their jobs very badly. Think of it as an anti-productivity seminar for the resistance. This ultimate un-training manual was packed with creative ways for everyday people to make life difficult for their occupiers. It was distributed through leaflets, radio broadcasts, and in-person meetings with carefully chosen potential saboteurs—basically, the folks who were already championing inefficiency in their workplaces.
“There are ‘innumerable simple acts which the ordinary individual citizen-saboteur can perform,’” the manual cheerfully reassured its readers. And the best part? You didn’t need high-tech gadgets or military gear—just “salt, nails, candles, pebbles, thread, or any other materials he might normally be expected to possess.” In other words, with a little creativity, your junk drawer could be an arsenal.
The possibilities were endless. You could jam a lock with a hairpin, casually drop a wrench into a fuse box, or sabotage machinery by sanding down surfaces that were supposed to be smooth. But why stop there? The manual encouraged would-be saboteurs to dream big! Sure, you could slash the tires of an army truck on your way to work—but why not really go for it and throw a bunch of hair into the rubber-mixing vat, ruining the material for an entire fleet? It was the 1940s version of “think outside the box,” except instead of “synergizing business solutions,” you were creating industrial chaos with the contents of a barbershop floor.
To a reader entrenched in modern-day bureaucracies, this sounds a little like how things go even when no trickery is planned. “Some of the instructions… remain surprisingly relevant” as “a reminder of how easily productivity and order can be undermined”. A few businessfolk recently wrote an advice book based on the Simple Sabotage manual, meant to help frustrated higher-ups “detect and reduce the impact” of saboteur tactics.
But what if you lacked access to important machinery to ruin? No problem! The manual also laid out a second, subtler type of sabotage—one that required no tools, no physical damage, and only an enthusiastic commitment to being a human roadblock. This method was based on “universal opportunities to make faulty decisions, to adopt a non-cooperative attitude, and to induce others to follow suit.” (A description which, let’s be honest, sounds suspiciously like the mission statement of most corporate middle management.)
The OSS gave specific examples of this technique, grandly dubbed “the human element.” Citizens were encouraged to “cry and sob hysterically at every occasion, especially when confronted by government clerks.” Train conductors could “issue two tickets for the same seat in the train, so that an interesting argument will result.” (Nothing derails efficiency like an impromptu shouting match.) And for the pièce de résistance? A truly avant-garde sabotage method: ruining propaganda films with moths. Yes, moths. “Take the bag to the movies with you,” the manual instructed. “The moths will fly out and climb into the projector beam, so that the film will be obscured by fluttering shadows.” And just like that, one brave moth-wielding operative could transform a serious government propaganda piece into an accidental Hitchcock horror flick.
But the real heroes of this sabotage campaign? Middle managers. The manual dedicated an entire section, “General Interference with Organizations and Production,” to explaining how white-collar professionals could use their bureaucratic talents for maximum disruption. Step one: make every decision painful. “Bring up irrelevant issues as frequently as possible,” the OSS advised. Always hold meetings. Preferably, long, pointless meetings. “Haggle over precise wordings… Hold conferences when there is more critical work to be done.” Other surefire ways to tank productivity included promoting terrible employees while criticizing competent ones. Any of this sound familiar? That’s because, as some modern readers have noted, “some of the instructions… remain surprisingly relevant.” So much so that some business experts even repackaged the Simple Sabotage manual as a corporate advice book—this time to help managers identify workplace saboteurs rather than train them. (Irony is alive and well.)
Of course, back in 1944, the OSS had to address one small issue: most people don’t naturally have the instinct to be this incompetent. “Purposeful stupidity is contrary to human nature,” the manual explains in the section “Motivating the Saboteur.” No worries—just a little coaching and peer pressure should do the trick! A recruit “frequently needs… information and suggestions,” not to mention encouragement and the knowledge that he is not alone. He can rest assured that somewhere, at that very moment, there are others just like him—sanding things that don’t need sanding, scheduling meetings that don’t need to happen, and, of course, carrying bags of moths into the cinema.
The whole manual is available for your perusal in this declassified PDF Pages 8 to 11 have good instructions for setting almost anything on fire. Page 19 teaches you how to derail mine cars. And remember, if you are caught, “always be profuse in your apologies.” Happy trails, saboteurs.
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