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!
1
“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.”
“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.
“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.”
“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.”
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.
1
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!”
“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.”
“No,” she said. “He told me to go to hell. Then I told him something about me. Something I’d never told anyone else.”
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.
2
“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.”
“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.
1
“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.”
“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.”
“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.”
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.
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.
> 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.
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.
1
“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.”
“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.”
“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.
“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.”
“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.
“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.”
“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.”
“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 –”
“– 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?”
“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.
“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.
“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.”
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.
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.”
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A noise signature is a unique fingerprint from a digital camera. When a camera generates an image, that image has its own unique qualities and even imperfections (i.e. variations of pixels) that can be traced back to the source camera.
This paper, published in Forensic Science Communications, a peer-reviewed quarterly journal, explores noise signature and also discusses how to use pattern noise for source-camera identification.
As done in Little Brother, a noise signature on a camera can be turned off or stripped out of the camera.Watch this “How to” video.
Merriam-Webster defines quid pro quo as
* Pronunciation: \ˌkwid-ˌprō-ˈkwō\
* Function: noun
* Etymology: New Latin, something for something
* Date: 1582
: something given or received for something else; also: a deal arranging a quid pro quo
Quid pro quo is often used as legal terminology for various reasons. One example used in court refers to contracts. A contract is drawn up when an act or service is completed in exchange for money or something else of economic value. If the deal appears to be one sided, a lawyer can question whether there was quid pro quo or an equal exchange.
In the movie Silence of the Lambs, Hanibel Lector uses the phrase when talking to Clarice from his jail cell. See below for the text.
Hannibal Lecter: “Plum Island Animal Disease Research Center.” Sounds charming.
Clarice Starling: That’s only a part of the island. There’s a very, very nice beach. Terns nest there. There’s beautiful…
Hannibal Lecter: [cuts her off] Terns? Mmh. If I help you, Clarice, it will be “turns” with us too. Quid pro quo. I tell you things, you tell me things. Not about this case, though. About yourself. Quid pro quo. Yes or no?
Quid Pro Quo was also the title of a movie made in 2008. According to Wikipedia, the plot involves a semi-paralyzed radio reporter who is sent to investigate a story, leading him to a disturbing subculture and a journey of self-realization.
Profiteering is a pejorative term for the act of making a profit by methods considered unethical according to Wikipedia.
The term is commonly used with the word war (war profiteering) to refer to people, organizations, governments, etc. who are making profits from warfare.
In this article from the BBC website, Panorama, the world’s longest running investigative show, investigated claims that as much as $23 billion dollars may have been lost, stolen or not properly accounted for in the Iraq war and that the U.S. Government is accountable for this “war profiteering.”
Interestingly enough the character ‘Daddy Oliver Warbucks’ in the film, Annie, is an example of the stereotype of a war profiteer, but associated to a ‘good guy.’
There’s also genetic profiteering where people can pay to find out their ancestry or if they are at risk of getting cancer. This is a controversial topic that is explored in this paper by Laura De Francesco published in Nature Biotechnology in August of 2006.
Muni is short for the word municipal when referring to the San Francisco railway system, SF Muni, the seventh largest transit system in the United States. In Little Brother, author Cory Doctorow, refers to the Muni Trolley, which the reader may interpret to be an old red trolley, which is often representative of the city of San Francisco.
The Muni Trolleys actually looks like these:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/milantram/3616073477/in/set-72157619593722872/
You can view a variety of different types of the Muni trolleys from over the years here.
The Market Railway is a non-profit organization that was founded in 1976 by three transit preservationists who wanted to preserve a vintage Municipal Railway trolley bus that was about to be scrapped in San Francisco.
The organization remained small until the first trolley festival in 1983. Today the organization continues to focus their efforts on projects that entail restoring the trolleys and programs like “The Teaching Trolley” which educate the community on the importance of the Muni transit system.
According to Webster’s dictionary, “defingerprintized” is not a word.
Pirate Bay is an example of a Pirate Party server that Ange said she uploaded the standardized tests to.
Interestingly enough this past April the Swedish men who founded the notorious Internet file-sharing site, Pirate Bay, Fredrik Neij, Gottfrid Svartholm Warg and Peter Sunde, and the man who provided the financing, Carl Lundstrom, were all sentenced to one year in prison and ordered to pay a total of $3.5 million in damages to a who’s who of leading entertainment companies. However, it appears the site is still operating as of today, September 13, 2009. http://thepiratebay.org/
You can read more about the case in this article on the New York Times website.
Ange refers to her file sharing adventure as a lark, which according to dictionary.com is:
–noun
1. a merry, carefree adventure; frolic; escapade.
2. innocent or good-natured mischief; a prank.
3. something extremely easy to accomplish, succeed in, or to obtain: That exam was a lark.
Coincidentally, the word Lark was also an all-sleeper passenger train of the Southern Pacific Company that ran on the route from San Francisco, where Little Brother takes place, to Los Angeles.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lark_%28passenger_train%29