Aaron Swartz is me

https://free.aaronsw.com/

I am a geek, a nerd, a hacker. One of those average, everyday, people who have a healthy obsession in making computers work for humans. I have loved computers since my early teens. I love computers a lot.

I love people -- the common, every-day people who surround me. The barista at the coffee-shop who greets me by calling my name; the young woman with the headphones, oblivious to her surroundings; the homeless man whose "have a blessed day" I return with a "you, too". I love people much more than I love computers.

I know that there is data locked inside computers. Data can be mined to yield information. Information can lead to knowledge. Knowledge can lead to wisdom. And wisdom is what makes us human. Therefore, it's my relentless quest to free the data that's locked inside computers.

In my quest to free data sequestered inside computers, I know that locks must be unlocked. However, I'm no thief: I'm a gifted locksmith. I know that some locks are necessary. The locks that protect the data related to people's personal and private effects are sacrosanct. I know I could unlock them, if I wanted to. However, I would never do that: I love people more than I love computers.

I unlock the locks that are unnecessarily put on data the public has a right to access. The data public have already paid for. Like a physical padlock on a public park, I believe it's illegal. I know there are people who disagree with me: who believe that any lock must be respected. But what about the locks that were placed on the shackles around people's feet in olden times?

I have inspirations. Thoreau, Gandhi, King, Corrie. People who knew that not all locks are legal. Some boundaries ought to be breached. Some locks must be unlocked. I know these people paid a price -- often the highest price -- for their actions. Civil disobedience is often met with a highly uncivilized response.

I know that those with unchecked power will claim that I'm a miscreant, a thief, a destroyer of public good and a creator of mayhem. They perceive any unlocking of any data as a danger to their unchecked power. I know that the people I love will see me for what I am: a passionate hacker who loves the computers and wants to unlock the data inside them so that the people -- who I love more -- can make use of it.

I see the high-profile threats. I hear the bombastic language of those who wield power not for the benefit of others but for their own indulgence. It does scare me, for I'm human. I try to remain stoic because I have done no wrong. I only picked the locks that shouldn't have existed in the first place.

I am scared. But I know I'm right. The people I love, the people who love me and love computers and the large amounts of data locked therein -- waiting to be freed for the good of everyone -- know I'm right. That brings me hope.

I'm hopeful. This burden that hangs over me will be lifted. I'll be free, unfettered, unshackled -- like the data I helped free inside the computers I love for the benefit of the people I love more.

https://free.aaronsw.com/

Dark Continents

Yesterday, I visited two of the castles that are infamous for the slave trade from West Africa to the Americas. They are the Elmina Castle and the Cape Coast Castle on the southern coast of Ghana.

Walking through the structures is a difficult task. Not because of the roughly hewn stone and brick flooring or the extremely low doorway entrances. Not because of the bats that hang around in one of the rooms in Elimina. Not because most of the place is dark, musty and dolorous -- except the Governor's living quarters which are expansive, airy and ventilated in both castles. The difficulty is posed by imagining the horrors that were perpetrated in this very place by man upon fellow man.

Elmira castle provided slaves for the Portuguese colonials for use in Brazil; Cape Coast did the same for the British colonials in North America. Learning about the grave injustices that were done to Africans by Europeans and Americans is a difficult task. As if being bought and sold weren't enough, the slaves were chained to each other and to cannonballs, handcuffed, raped, beaten, tortured, stuffed into impossibly small quarters, forced to live for days and weeks in their own excrement that often rose to knee-height, and killed by slow starvation and thirst if they dared to try and flee.

Learning about all this made me wonder to which continents the label "dark" more aptly applies. If the absence of the light of knowledge, empathy and the milk of human kindness are any part of what "darkness" implies; it is not Africa that was the Dark Continent. It is us, Americans and our brethren in Europe who should accept our history and meekly accede that it is our continents that were truly dark and unlit.

Homecoming

I traveled to Africa for the first time in late July, 2012.

Flying south from Paris, the air route takes a south-southeast direction. It crosses the Mediterranean and then over north Africa, revealing the Sahara desert as a majestic sight, even from 35000 feet. The stark desolation of the landscape contrasts with the colors of the desert, and the shadows of the clouds as they scurry over the surface.

Upon crossing the sliver of sea and reaching the land, I couldn't help smiling. I am in Africa: in a strange way, this felt like homecoming. I guess our ancestral memories -- having been formed on this continent -- pass through millennia and reassure us when we come back to our one true motherland!

(I wrote this as part of an e-mail to my wife; then decided to publish it after my friend and colleague Cliff Morehead sent me wishes that "the motherland was treating [me] well"!)

Niceness can be a national asset

I visited the Philippines on assignment back in March, 2012. My time there left me searching for apt metaphors and adjectives without recycling cliches.

I found niceness to be a trait that the Filipino nation can rightly lay claim to. Even before I had arrived in the country, I witessed the politeness, patience and friendly demeanor that characterizes the inhabitants of these seven-thousand islands.

It started with the extremely patient flight attendant who kindly explained to a rather irate passenger in the seat across from me why he couldn't have his large handbag blocking the aisle during landing. It continued at Manila airport where three separate strangers took the time to explain the various uniquenesses that an international traveler often experiences. It has continued since then -- in encounters in another airport, at the hotel, at the marketplace, riding public transportation.

Cliches can be problematic, but sometimes they can be pithy distillers of truth. For the Philippines, niceness is a national asset.

Prepositions

I was under your spell once --
My salad days, when I was green and fresh --
I hung on every word of yours,
Especially those last few you wrote.

You sent me those words from afar,
Agitated electrons carrying your shocking missive.
Negatively charged minuscule particles --
An apter metaphor I cannot imagine!

I don't live there any more,
Where your hurtful words hit me hard.
I don't live @ that address,
I have found better digs, nearer people.

Anachronistic Derogation

English is my second language. As I learn new words and phrases, I simultaneously try to understand their history and etymological evolution as well. I am always happy to learn new meanings of familiar terms.

The other day, while facilitating a workshop, I used the metaphor "to call a spade a spade" in the context of a software practice. The subject under discussion was technical and my use of the phrase was in no way directed towards any human being or groups of human beings: I was addressing an inanimate technological practice. I don't think the phrase distracted me (or my audience) from the point I was trying to make, because the discussion continued on without being derailed.

In the ensuing break, my co-facilitator told me that the phrase had its origins in a racial slur against African Americans. I was taken aback since I had no idea that was the case. I thanked him for bringing this sorry history to my knowledge and privately resolved to not use the phrase in future.

However, something didn't sit well with me: I remembered reading the phrase in old texts, texts of English (as opposed to American) origin. I had some vague recollections from grade school about the phrase being a metaphorical translation from ancient languages. I know reading Wikipedia doesn't constitute research, however it's entry [1] agreed with my recollections: the phrase acquired negative connotations much later than it was coined. It had been used for generations without any racial overtones, until an unfortunate homonymic alliance with a racial epithet made it unpalatable.

I have run across other phrases that have been assigned a racial etymology retroactively: "chink in one's armor" comes to mind. As I understand, there was an incident recently where a journalist was fired because of his injudicious use of that phrase [2] in an online article.

As someone who has witnessed racist epithets first-hand (both applied to myself and to others within my earshot), I have an above-adequate aversion to such phrases. I am very happy when people object to the use of inherently and irrevocably derogatory words and phrases, even when the speaker might have done so in ignorance. I am equally happy when terms that are defamatory in their origin -- like "Paki", which applies to me -- is reclaimed by those towards whom it was directed as a form of insouciant and irrepressible pride.

However, I am troubled when a term that had no racial or derogatory overtones in its genesis, a term that has been used for decades or even centuries in a neutral way, suddenly acquires an anachronistic "history" of being a racially motivated term. It is history-rewriting of a rather egregious form. It is one thing for a word to evolve and acquire new meanings -- a living language should always exhibit this trait as a testament to the inquisitiveness and tolerance of its adherents -- however the reattribution of a word's or phrase's origins is a foul practice, on par with cheating and swindling.

I'll probably shy away from using the phrase my colleague asked me to avoid. However, I have enough spunk to use it one last time: rewriting a word's etymological history is just plain lying; to call it anything else is to avoid calling a spade a spade.

[1] http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/To_call_a_spade_a_spade

[2] http://thebiglead.com/index.php/2012/02/20/espns-fired-chink-in-the-armor-editor-says-it-was-an-honest-mistake/

After walking for several miles through St. Louis

The river was first, I'm sure
Meandering through the plain.
Later, I surmise -- what history I know --
The cowpaths now paved into relative permanence.
A crooked bridge: angular, not curved.
As if eager to span the river below;
The shortest path may not be a straight line
When you're bisecting a fractal curve.
Then the shiny monument:
The upturned necklace hung over the city-gate.
Like a welcoming garland to travelers westbound.
But like an inverted horseshoe,
Imbued with ill-luck
For unsuspecting premonitionists.

And lately, my instep arch,
That not only keeps the ache
(Like the bard of Boston said),
But also leaves a curved footprint;
Another ephemeral contribution
To the arch-city's history.