Free as in Freedom, Sam Williams [feel good books to read .TXT] 📗

inflection point between the timid teenager afraid to speak out even on issues of life-threatening importance and the adult activist who would soon turn needling and cajoling into a full-time occupation.

 

In voicing his opposition to computer security, Stallman drew on many of the forces that had shaped his early life: hunger for knowledge, distaste for authority, and frustration over hidden procedures and rules that rendered some people clueless outcasts. He would also draw on the ethical concepts that would shape his adult life: communal responsibility, trust, and the hacker spirit of direct action. Expressed in software-computing terms, the null string represents the 1.0 version of the Richard Stallman political worldview-incomplete in a few places but, for the most part, fully mature.

 

Looking back, Stallman hesitates to impart too much significance to an event so early in his hacking career. “In that early stage there were a lot of people who shared my feelings,” he says. “The large number of people who adopted the null string as their password was a sign that many people agreed that it was the proper thing to do. I was simply inclined to be an activist about it.”

 

Stallman does credit the AI Lab for awakening that activist spirit, however. As a teenager, Stallman had observed political events with little idea as to how a single individual could do or say anything of importance. As a young adult, Stallman was speaking out on matters in which he felt supremely confident, matters such as software design, communal

responsibility, and individual freedom. “I joined this community which had a way of life which involved respecting each other’s freedom,” he says. “It didn’t take me long to figure out that that was a good thing.

It took me longer to come to the conclusion that this was a moral issue.”

 

Hacking at the AI Lab wasn’t the only activity helping to boost Stallman’s esteem. During the middle of his sophomore year at Harvard, Stallman had joined up with a dance troupe that specialized in folk dances . What began as a simple attempt to meet women and expand his social horizons soon expanded into yet another passion alongside hacking. Dancing in front of audiences dressed in the native garb of a Balkan peasant, Stallman no longer felt like the awkward, uncoordinated 10-year-old whose attempts to play football had ended in frustration. He felt confident, agile, and alive.

For a brief moment, he even felt a hint of emotional connection. He soon found being in front of an audience fun, and it wasn’t long thereafter that he began craving the performance side of dancing almost as much as the social side.

 

Although the dancing and hacking did little to improve Stallman’s social standing, they helped him overcome the feelings of weirdness that had clouded his pre-Harvard life. Instead of lamenting his weird nature, Stallman found ways to celebrate it. In 1977, while attending a science-fiction convention, he came across a woman selling custom-made buttons. Excited, Stallman ordered a button with the words “Impeach God”

emblazoned on it.

 

For Stallman, the “Impeach God” message worked on many levels. An atheist since early childhood, Stallman first saw it as an attempt to set a “second front” in the ongoing debate on religion. “Back then everybody was arguing about God being dead or alive,” Stallman recalls. “`Impeach God’ approached the subject of God from a completely different viewpoint. If God was so powerful as to create the world and yet do nothing to correct the problems in it, why would we ever want to worship such a God? Wouldn’t it be better to put him on trial?”

 

At the same time, “Impeach God” was a satirical take on America and the American political system. The Watergate scandal of the 1970s affected Stallman deeply. As a child, Stallman had grown up mistrusting authority. Now, as an adult, his mistrust had been solidified by the culture of the AI Lab hacker community. To the hackers, Watergate was merely a Shakespearean rendition of the daily power struggles that made life such a hassle for those without privilege. It was an outsized parable for what happened when people traded liberty and openness for security and convenience.

 

Buoyed by growing confidence, Stallman wore the button proudly. People curious enough to ask him about it received the same well-prepared spiel. “My name is Jehovah,” Stallman would say. “I have a special plan to save the universe, but because of heavenly security reasons I can’t tell you what that plan is. You’re just going to have to put your faith in me, because I see the picture and you don’t. You know I’m good because I told you so. If you don’t believe me, I’ll throw you on my enemies list and throw you in a pit where Infernal Revenue Service will audit your taxes for eternity.”

 

Those who interpreted the spiel as a word-for-word parody of the Watergate hearings only got half the message. For Stallman, the other half of the message was something only his fellow hackers seemed to be hearing. One hundred years after Lord Acton warned about absolute power corrupting absolutely, Americans seemed to have forgotten the first part of Acton’s truism: power, itself, corrupts. Rather than point out the numerous examples of petty corruption, Stallman felt content voicing his outrage toward an entire system that trusted power in the first place.

 

“I figured why stop with the small fry,” says Stallman, recalling the button and its message. “If we went after Nixon, why not going after Mr. Big. The way I see it, any being that has power and abuses it deserves to have that power taken away.”

 

Small Puddle of Freedom

 

Ask anyone who’s spent more than a minute in Richard Stallman’s presence, and you’ll get the same recollection: forget the long hair. Forget the quirky demeanor. The first thing you notice is the gaze. One look into Stallman’s green eyes, and you know you’re in the presence of a true believer.

 

To call the Stallman gaze intense is an understatement.

Stallman’s eyes don’t just look at you; they look through you. Even when your own eyes momentarily shift away out of simple primate politeness, Stallman’s eyes remain locked-in, sizzling away at the side of your head like twin photon beams.

 

Maybe that’s why most writers, when describing Stallman, tend to go for the religious angle. In a 1998

Salon.com article titled “The Saint of Free Software,”

Andrew Leonard describes Stallman’s green eyes as “radiating the power of an Old Testament prophet.“See Andrew Leonard, “The Saint of Free Software,”

Salon.com (August 1998).

 

http://www.salon.com/21st/feature/1998/08/cov_31feature.html A 1999 Wired magazine article describes the Stallman beard as “Rasputin-like,“See Leander Kahney, “Linux’s Forgotten Man,” Wired News

(March 5, 1999).

http://www.wired.com/news/print/0,1294,18291,00.html while a London Guardian profile describes the Stallman smile as the smile of “a disciple seeing Jesus.“See “Programmer on moral high ground; Free software is

a moral issue for Richard Stallman believes in freedom and free software.” London Guardian (November 6, 1999).

These are just a small sampling of the religious comparisons. To date, the most extreme comparison has to go to Linus Torvalds, who, in his autobiography-see Linus Torvalds and David Diamond, Just For Fun: The Story of an Accidentaly Revolutionary (HarperCollins Publishers, Inc., 2001): 58-writes “Richard Stallman is the God of Free Software.” Honorable mention goes to Larry Lessig, who, in a footnote description of Stallman in his book-see Larry Lessig, The Future of Ideas (Random House, 2001): 270-likens Stallman to Moses: … as with Moses, it was another leader, Linus Torvalds, who finally carried the movement into the promised land by facilitating the development of the final part of the OS puzzle. Like Moses, too, Stallman is both respected and reviled by allies within the movement. He is [an] unforgiving, and hence for many inspiring, leader of a critically important aspect of modern culture. I have deep respect for the principle and commitment of this extraordinary individual, though I also have great respect for those who are courageous enough to question his thinking and then sustain his wrath. In a final interview with Stallman, I asked him his thoughts about the religious comparisons. “Some people do compare me with an Old Testament prophent, and the reason is Old Testament prophets said certain social practices were wrong. They wouldn’t compromise on moral issues. They couldn’t be bought off, and they were usually treated with contempt.”

 

Such analogies serve a purpose, but they ultimately fall short. That’s because they fail to take into account the vulnerable side of the Stallman persona.

Watch the Stallman gaze for an extended period of time, and you will begin to notice a subtle change. What appears at first to be an attempt to intimidate or hypnotize reveals itself upon second and third viewing as a frustrated attempt to build and maintain contact.

If, as Stallman himself has suspected from time to time, his personality is the product of autism or Asperger Syndrome, his eyes certainly confirm the diagnosis. Even at their most high-beam level of intensity, they have a tendency to grow cloudy and distant, like the eyes of a wounded animal preparing to give up the ghost.

 

My own first encounter with the legendary Stallman gaze dates back to the March, 1999, LinuxWorld Convention and Expo in San Jose, California. Billed as a “coming out party” for the Linux software community, the convention also stands out as the event that reintroduced Stallman to the technology media.

Determined to push for his proper share of credit, Stallman used the event to instruct spectators and reporters alike on the history of the GNU Project and the project’s overt political objectives.

 

As a reporter sent to cover the event, I received my own Stallman tutorial during a press conference announcing the release of GNOME 1.0, a free software graphic user interface. Unwittingly, I push an entire bank of hot buttons when I throw out my very first question to Stallman himself: do you think GNOME’s maturity will affect the commercial popularity of the Linux operating system?

 

“I ask that you please stop calling the operating system Linux,” Stallman responds, eyes immediately zeroing in on mine. “The Linux kernel is just a small part of the operating system. Many of the software programs that make up the operating system you call Linux were not developed by Linus Torvalds at all. They were created by GNU Project volunteers, putting in their own personal time so that users might have a free operating system like the one we have today. To not acknowledge the contribution of those programmers is both impolite and a misrepresentation of history.

That’s why I ask that when you refer to the operating system, please call it by its proper name, GNU/Linux.”

 

Taking the words down in my reporter’s notebook, I notice an eerie silence in the crowded room. When I finally look up, I find Stallman’s unblinking eyes waiting for me. Timidly, a second reporter throws out a question, making sure to use the term ” GNU/Linux”

instead of Linux. Miguel de Icaza, leader of the GNOME

project, fields the question. It isn’t until halfway through de Icaza’s answer, however, that Stallman’s eyes finally unlock from mine. As soon as they do, a mild shiver rolls down my back. When Stallman starts lecturing another reporter over a perceived error in diction, I feel a guilty tinge of relief. At least he isn’t looking at me, I tell myself.

 

For Stallman, such face-to-face moments would serve their purpose. By the end of the first LinuxWorld show, most reporters know better than to use the term “Linux”

in his presence, and wired.com is running a story comparing Stallman to a pre-Stalinist revolutionary erased from the history books by hackers and entrepreneurs eager to downplay the GNU Project’s overly political objectives.2 Other articles follow, and while few reporters call the operating