[[This chapter is dedicated to Books-A-Million, a chain of gigantic
bookstores spread across the USA. I first encountered Books-A-Million
while staying at a hotel in Terre Haute, Indiana (I was giving a speech
at the Rose Hulman Institute of Technology later that day). The store
was next to my hotel and I really needed some reading material -- I'd
been on the road for a solid month and I'd read everything in my
suitcase, and I had another five cities to go before I headed home. As
I stared intently at the shelves, a clerk asked me if I needed any
help. Now, I've worked at bookstores before, and a knowledgeable clerk
is worth her weight in gold, so I said sure, and started to describe my
tastes, naming authors I'd enjoyed. The clerk smiled and said, "I've
got just the book for you," and proceeded to take down a copy of my
first novel, Down and Out in the Magic Kingdom. I busted out laughing,
introduced myself, and had an absolutely lovely chat about science
fiction that almost made me late to give my speech!]]
[[Books-A-Million
http://www.booksamillion.com/ncom/books?&isbn=0765319853]]
"They're total whores," Ange said, spitting the word out. "In fact,
that's an insult to hardworking whores everywhere. They're, they're
*profiteers.*"
We were looking at a stack of newspapers we'd picked up and brought to
the cafe. They all contained "reporting" on the party in Dolores Park
and to a one, they made it sound like a drunken, druggy orgy of kids
who'd attacked the cops. *USA Today* described the cost of the "riot"
and included the cost of washing away the pepper-spray residue from the
gas-bombing, the rash of asthma attacks that clogged the city's
emergency rooms, and the cost of processing the eight hundred arrested
"rioters."
No one was telling our side.
"Well, the Xnet got it right, anyway," I said. I'd saved a bunch of the
blogs and videos and photostreams to my phone and I showed them to her.
They were first-hand accounts from people who'd been gassed, and beaten
up. The video showed us all dancing, having fun, showed the peaceful
political speeches and the chant of "Take It Back" and Trudy Doo
talking about us being the only generation that could believe in
fighting for our freedoms.
"We need to make people know about this," she said.
"Yeah," I said, glumly. "That's a nice theory."
"Well, why do you think the press doesn't ever publish our side?"
"You said it, they're whores."
"Yeah, but whores do it for the money. They could sell more papers and
commercials if they had a controversy. All they have now is a crime --
controversy is much bigger."
"OK, point taken. So why don't they do it? Well, reporters can barely
search regular blogs, let alone keep track of the Xnet. It's not as if
that's a real adult-friendly place to be."
"Yeah," she said. "Well, we can fix that, right?"
"Huh?"
"Write it all up. Put it in one place, with all the links. A single
place where you can go that's intended for the press to find it and get
the whole picture. Link it to the HOWTOs for Xnet. Internet users can
get to the Xnet, provided they don't care about the DHS finding out
what they've been surfing."
"You think it'll work?"
"Well, even if it doesn't, it's something positive to do."
"Why would they listen to us, anyway?"
"Who wouldn't listen to M1k3y?"
I put down my coffee. I picked up my phone and slipped it into my
pocket. I stood up, turned on my heel, and walked out of the cafe. I
picked a direction at random and kept going. My face felt tight, the
blood gone into my stomach, which churned.
*They know who you are,* I thought. *They know who M1k3y is.* That was
it. If Ange had figured it out, the DHS had too. I was doomed. I had
known that since they let me go from the DHS truck, that someday they'd
come and arrest me and put me away forever, send me to wherever Darryl
had gone.
It was all over.
She nearly tackled me as I reached Market Street. She was out of breath
and looked furious.
"What the *hell* is your problem, mister?"
I shook her off and kept walking. It was all over.
She grabbed me again. "Stop it, Marcus, you're scaring me. Come on,
talk to me."
I stopped and looked at her. She blurred before my eyes. I couldn't
focus on anything. I had a mad desire to jump into the path of a Muni
trolley as it tore past us, down the middle of the road. Better to die
than to go back.
"Marcus!" She did something I'd only seen people do in the movies. She
slapped me, a hard crack across the face. "Talk to me, dammit!"
I looked at her and put my hand to my face, which was stinging hard.
"No one is supposed to know who I am," I said. "I can't put it any more
simply. If you know, it's all over. Once other people know, it's all
over."
"Oh god, I'm sorry. Look, I only know because, well, because I
blackmailed Jolu. After the party I stalked you a little, trying to
figure out if you were the nice guy you seemed to be or a secret
axe-murderer. I've known Jolu for a long time and when I asked him
about you, he gushed like you were the Second Coming or something, but
I could hear that there was something he wasn't telling me. I've known
Jolu for a long time. He dated my older sister at computer camp when he
was a kid. I have some really good dirt on him. I told him I'd go
public with it if he didn't tell me."
"So he told you."
"No," she said. "He told me to go to hell. Then I told him something
about me. Something I'd never told anyone else."
"What?"
She looked at me. Looked around. Looked back at me. "OK. I won't swear
you to secrecy because what's the point? Either I can trust you or I
can't.
"Last year, I --" she broke off. "Last year, I stole the standardized
tests and published them on the net. It was just a lark. I happened to
be walking past the principal's office and I saw them in his safe, and
the door was hanging open. I ducked into his office -- there were six
sets of copies and I just put one into my bag and took off again. When
I got home, I scanned them all and put them up on a Pirate Party server
in Denmark."
"That was *you*?" I said.
She blushed. "Um. Yeah."
"Holy crap!" I said. It had been huge news. The Board of Education said
that its No Child Left Behind tests had cost tens of millions of
dollars to produce and that they'd have to spend it all over again now
that they'd had the leak. They called it "edu-terrorism." The news had
speculated endlessly about the political motivations of the leaker,
wondering if it was a teacher's protest, or a student, or a thief, or a
disgruntled government contractor.
"That was YOU?"
"It was me," she said.
"And you told Jolu this --"
"Because I wanted him to be sure that I would keep the secret. If he
knew *my* secret, then he'd have something he could use to put me in
jail if I opened my trap. Give a little, get a little. Quid pro quo,
like in Silence of the Lambs."
"And he told you."
"No," she said. "He didn't."
"But --"
"Then I told him how into you I was. How I was planning to totally make
an idiot of myself and throw myself at you. *Then* he told me."
I couldn't think of anything to say then. I looked down at my toes. She
grabbed my hands and squeezed them.
"I'm sorry I squeezed it out of him. It was your decision to tell me,
if you were going to tell me at all. I had no business --"
"No," I said. Now that I knew how she'd found out, I was starting to
calm down. "No, it's good you know. *You*."
"Me," she said. "Li'l ol' me."
"OK, I can live with this. But there's one other thing."
"What?"
"There's no way to say this without sounding like a jerk, so I'll just
say it. People who date each other -- or whatever it is we're doing now
-- they split up. When they split up, they get angry at each other.
Sometimes even hate each other. It's really cold to think about that
happening between us, but you know, we've got to think about it."
"I solemnly promise that there is nothing you could ever do to me that
would cause me to betray your secret. Nothing. Screw a dozen
cheerleaders in my bed while my mother watches. Make me listen to
Britney Spears. Rip off my laptop, smash it with hammers and soak it in
sea-water. I promise. Nothing. Ever."
I whooshed out some air.
"Um," I said.
"Now would be a good time to kiss me," she said, and turned her face
up.
M1k3y's next big project on the Xnet was putting together the ultimate
roundup of reports of the DON'T TRUST party at Dolores Park. I put
together the biggest, most bad-ass site I could, with sections showing
the action by location, by time, by category -- police violence,
dancing, aftermath, singing. I uploaded the whole concert.
It was pretty much all I worked on for the rest of the night. And the
next night. And the next.
My mailbox overflowed with suggestions from people. They sent me dumps
off their phones and their pocket-cameras. Then I got an email from a
name I recognized -- Dr Eeevil (three "e"s), one of the prime
maintainers of ParanoidLinux.
> M1k3y
> I have been watching your Xnet experiment with great interest. Here
> in Germany, we have much experience with what happens with a
> government that gets out of control.
> One thing you should know is that every camera has a unique "noise
> signature" that can be used to later connect a picture with a camera.
> That means that the photos you're republishing on your site could
> potentially be used to identify the photographers, should they later
> be picked up for something else.
> Luckily, it's not hard to strip out the signatures, if you care to.
> There's a utility on the ParanoidLinux distro you're using that does
> this -- it's called photonomous, and you'll find it in /usr/bin. Just
> read the man pages for documentation. It's simple though.
> Good luck with what you're doing. Don't get caught. Stay free. Stay
> paranoid.
> Dr Eeevil
I de-fingerprintized all the photos I'd posted and put them back up,
along with a note explaining what Dr Eeevil had told me, warning
everyone else to do the same. We all had the same basic ParanoidXbox
install, so we could all anonymize our pictures. There wasn't anything
I could do about the photos that had already been downloaded and
cached, but from now on we'd be smarter.
That was all the thought I gave the matter that night, until I got down
to breakfast the next morning and Mom had the radio on, playing the NPR
morning news.
"Arabic news agency Al-Jazeera is running pictures, video and
first-hand accounts of last weekend's youth riot in Mission Dolores
park," the announcer said as I was drinking a glass of orange juice. I
managed not to spray it across the room, but I *did* choke a little.
"Al-Jazeera reporters claim that these accounts were published on the
so-called 'Xnet,' a clandestine network used by students and Al-Quaeda
sympathizers in the Bay Area. This network's existence has long been
rumored, but today marks its first mainstream mention."
Mom shook her head. "Just what we need," she said. "As if the police
weren't bad enough. Kids running around, pretending to be guerrillas
and giving them the excuse to really crack down."
"The Xnet weblogs have carried hundreds of reports and multimedia files
from young people who attended the riot and allege that they were
gathered peacefully until the police attacked *them*. Here is one of
those accounts.
"'All we were doing was dancing. I brought my little brother. Bands
played and we talked about freedom, about how we were losing it to
these jerks who say they hate terrorists but who attack us though we're
not terrorists we're Americans. I think they hate freedom, not us.
"We danced and the bands played and it was all fun and good and then
the cops started shouting at us to disperse. We all shouted take it
back! Meaning take America back. The cops gassed us with pepper spray.
My little brother is twelve. He missed three days of school. My stupid
parents say it was my fault. How about the police? We pay them and
they're supposed to protect us but they gassed us for no good reason,
gassed us like they gas enemy soldiers.'
"Similar accounts, including audio and video, can be found on
Al-Jazeera's website and on the Xnet. You can find directions for
accessing this Xnet on NPR's homepage."
Dad came down.
"Do you use the Xnet?" he said. He looked intensely at my face. I felt
myself squirm.
"It's for video-games," I said. "That's what most people use it for.
It's just a wireless network. It's what everyone did with those free
Xboxes they gave away last year."
He glowered at me. "Games? Marcus, you don't realize it, but you're
providing cover for people who plan on attacking and destroying this
country. I don't want to see you using this Xnet. Not anymore. Do I
make myself clear?"
I wanted to argue. Hell, I wanted to shake him by the shoulders. But I
didn't. I looked away. I said, "Sure, Dad." I went to school.
At first I was relieved when I discovered that they weren't going to
leave Mr Benson in charge of my social studies class. But the woman
they found to replace him was my worst nightmare.
She was young, just about 28 or 29, and pretty, in a wholesome kind of
way. She was blonde and spoke with a soft southern accent when she
introduced herself to us as Mrs Andersen. That set off alarm bells
right away. I didn't know *any* women under the age of sixty that
called themselves "Mrs."
But I was prepared to overlook it. She was young, pretty, she sounded
nice. She would be OK.
She wasn't OK.
"Under what circumstances should the federal government be prepared to
suspend the Bill of Rights?" she said, turning to the blackboard and
writing down a row of numbers, one through ten.
"Never," I said, not waiting to be called on. This was easy.
"Constitutional rights are absolute."
"That's not a very sophisticated view." She looked at her seating-plan.
"Marcus. For example, say a policeman conducts an improper search -- he
goes beyond the stuff specified in his warrant. He discovers compelling
evidence that a bad guy killed your father. It's the only evidence that
exists. Should the bad guy go free?"
I knew the answer to this, but I couldn't really explain it. "Yes," I
said, finally. "But the police shouldn't conduct improper searches --"
"Wrong," she said. "The proper response to police misconduct is
disciplinary action against the police, not punishing all of society
for one cop's mistake." She wrote "Criminal guilt" under point one on
the board.
"Other ways in which the Bill of Rights can be superseded?"
Charles put his hand up. "Shouting fire in a crowded theater?"
"Very good --" she consulted the seating plan -- "Charles. There are
many instances in which the First Amendment is not absolute. Let's list
some more of those."
Charles put his hand up again. "Endangering a law enforcement officer."
"Yes, disclosing the identity of an undercover policeman or
intelligence officer. Very good." She wrote it down. "Others?"
"National security," Charles said, not waiting for her to call on him
again. "Libel. Obscenity. Corruption of minors. Child porn. Bomb-making
recipes." Mrs Andersen wrote these down fast, but stopped at child
porn. "Child porn is just a form of obscenity."
I was feeling sick. This was not what I'd learned or believed about my
country. I put my hand up.
"Yes, Marcus?"
"I don't get it. You're making it sound like the Bill of Rights is
optional. It's the Constitution. We're supposed to follow it
absolutely."
"That's a common oversimplification," she said, giving me a fake smile.
"But the fact of the matter is that the framers of the Constitution
intended it to be a living document that was revised over time. They
understood that the Republic wouldn't be able to last forever if the
government of the day couldn't govern according to the needs of the
day. They never intended the Constitution to be looked on like
religious doctrine. After all, they came here fleeing religious
doctrine."
I shook my head. "What? No. They were merchants and artisans who were
loyal to the King until he instituted policies that were against their
interests and enforced them brutally. The religious refugees were way
earlier."
"Some of the Framers were descended from religious refugees," she said.
"And the Bill of Rights isn't supposed to be something you pick and
choose from. What the Framers hated was tyranny. That's what the Bill
of Rights is supposed to prevent. They were a revolutionary army and
they wanted a set of principles that everyone could agree to. Life,
liberty and the pursuit of happiness. The right of people to throw off
their oppressors."
"Yes, yes," she said, waving at me. "They believed in the right of
people to get rid of their Kings, but --" Charles was grinning and when
she said that, he smiled even wider.
"They set out the Bill of Rights because they thought that having
absolute rights was better than the risk that someone would take them
away. Like the First Amendment: it's supposed to protect us by
preventing the government from creating two kinds of speech, allowed
speech and criminal speech. They didn't want to face the risk that some
jerk would decide that the things that he found unpleasant were
illegal."
She turned and wrote, "Life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness" on
it.
"We're getting a little ahead of the lesson, but you seem like an
advanced group." The others laughed at this, nervously.
"The role of government is to secure for citizens the rights of life,
liberty and the pursuit of happiness. In that order. It's like a
filter. If the government wants to do something that makes us a little
unhappy, or takes away some of our liberty, it's OK, providing they're
doing it to save our lives. That's why the cops can lock you up if they
think you're a danger to yourself or others. You lose your liberty and
happiness to protect life. If you've got life, you might get liberty
and happiness later."
Some of the others had their hands up. "Doesn't that mean that they can
do anything they want, if they say it's to stop someone from hurting us
in the future?"
"Yeah," another kid said. "This sounds like you're saying that national
security is more important than the Constitution."
I was so proud of my fellow students then. I said, "How can you protect
freedom by suspending the Bill of Rights?"
She shook her head at us like we were being very stupid. "The
'revolutionary' founding fathers *shot traitors* and spies. They didn't
believe in absolute freedom, not when it threatened the Republic. Now
you take these Xnet people --"
I tried hard not to stiffen.
"-- these so-called jammers who were on the news this morning. After
this city was attacked by people who've declared war on this country,
they set about sabotaging the security measures set up to catch the bad
guys and prevent them from doing it again. They did this by endangering
and inconveniencing their fellow citizens --"
"They did it to show that our rights were being taken away in the name
of protecting them!" I said. OK, I shouted. God, she had me so steamed.
"They did it because the government was treating *everyone* like a
suspected terrorist."
"So they wanted to prove that they shouldn't be treated like
terrorists," Charles shouted back, "so they acted like terrorists? So
they committed terrorism?"
I boiled.
"Oh for Christ's sake. Committed terrorism? They showed that universal
surveillance was more dangerous than terrorism. Look at what happened
in the park last weekend. Those people were dancing and listening to
music. How is *that* terrorism?"
The teacher crossed the room and stood before me, looming over me until
I shut up. "Marcus, you seem to think that nothing has changed in this
country. You need to understand that the bombing of the Bay Bridge
changed everything. Thousands of our friends and relatives lie dead at
the bottom of the Bay. This is a time for national unity in the face of
the violent insult our country has suffered --"
I stood up. I'd had enough of this "everything has changed" crapola.
"National unity? The whole point of America is that we're the country
where dissent is welcome. We're a country of dissidents and fighters
and university dropouts and free speech people."
I thought of Ms Galvez's last lesson and the thousands of Berkeley
students who'd surrounded the police-van when they tried to arrest a
guy for distributing civil rights literature. No one tried to stop
those trucks when they drove away with all the people who'd been
dancing in the park. I didn't try. I was running away.
Maybe everything *had* changed.
"I believe you know where Mr Benson's office is," she said to me. "You
are to present yourself to him immediately. I will *not* have my
classes disrupted by disrespectful behavior. For someone who claims to
love freedom of speech, you're certainly willing to shout down anyone
who disagrees with you."
I picked up my SchoolBook and my bag and stormed out. The door had a
gas-lift, so it was impossible to slam, or I would have slammed it.
I went fast to Mr Benson's office. Cameras filmed me as I went. My gait
was recorded. The arphids in my student ID broadcast my identity to
sensors in the hallway. It was like being in jail.
"Close the door, Marcus," Mr Benson said. He turned his screen around
so that I could see the video feed from the social studies classroom.
He'd been watching.
"What do you have to say for yourself?"
"That wasn't teaching, it was *propaganda*. She told us that the
Constitution didn't matter!"
"No, she said it wasn't religious doctrine. And you attacked her like
some kind of fundamentalist, proving her point. Marcus, you of all
people should understand that everything changed when the bridge was
bombed. Your friend Darryl --"
"Don't you say a goddamned word about him," I said, the anger bubbling
over. "You're not fit to talk about him. Yeah, I understand that
everything's different now. We used to be a free country. Now we're
not."
"Marcus, do you know what 'zero-tolerance' means?"
I backed down. He could expel me for "threatening behavior." It was
supposed to be used against gang kids who tried to intimidate their
teachers. But of course he wouldn't have any compunctions about using
it on me.
"Yes," I said. "I know what it means."
"I think you owe me an apology," he said.
I looked at him. He was barely suppressing his sadistic smile. A part
of me wanted to grovel. It wanted to beg for his forgiveness for all my
shame. I tamped that part down and decided that I would rather get
kicked out than apologize.
"Governments are instituted among men, deriving their just powers from
the consent of the governed, that whenever any form of government
becomes destructive of these ends, it is the right of the people to
alter or abolish it, and to institute new government, laying its
foundation on such principles, and organizing its powers in such form,
as to them shall seem most likely to effect their safety and
happiness." I remembered it word for word.
He shook his head. "Remembering things isn't the same as understanding
them, sonny." He bent over his computer and made some clicks. His
printer purred. He handed me a sheet of warm Board letterhead that said
I'd been suspended for two weeks.
"I'll email your parents now. If you are still on school property in
thirty minutes, you'll be arrested for trespassing."
I looked at him.
"You don't want to declare war on me in my own school," he said. "You
can't win that war. GO!"
I left.
&&&