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IP: Freedom Fighters of the Digital World; At a Time When Many of Us Are Gung-Ho About Sacrificing Personal Freedoms to Combat Terror, the Electronic Frontier Foundation Just Wants to Say No.


From: David Farber <dave () farber net>
Date: Mon, 14 Jan 2002 16:17:54 -0500


Date: Mon, 14 Jan 2002 09:17:24 -0500 (EST)
From: Peter Freyd <pjf () saul cis upenn edu>
To: farber () cis upenn edu


  "In the early days, the Net was free," says computer scientist Dave
  Farber, a 67-year-old University of Pennsylvania professor. An EFF
  board member since the mid-'90s, Farber has witnessed the evolution
  of the medium since 1968, when he first got on the Arpanet, the
  Internet's precursor that was developed by the Department of Defense
  and largely used in academia. "It was an information barter economy.
  You gave things to people, they gave things to you. It was that way
  for a long time, until relatively recently . . . It was almost like
  the utopian socialism attitude of the '20s and '30s." The
  philosophical divide "depends on when you came on the Net and what
  your motivations are."

                  Copyright 2002 / Los Angeles Times
                          Los Angeles Times

                January 13, 2002 Sunday Home Edition

SECTION: Los Angeles Times Magazine; Page 14; Times Magazine Desk

LENGTH: 3428 words

HEADLINE: Freedom Fighters of the Digital World; At a Time When Many
of Us Are Gung-Ho About Sacrificing Personal Freedoms to Combat
Terror, the Electronic Frontier Foundation Just Wants to Say No.

BYLINE: SCOTT HARRIS, Scott Harris last wrote for the magazine for the
December 1999, millennium issue

BODY: We're bombing Afghanistan, anthrax is in the mail, and all
across America it looks like Stars and Stripes forever. It is the
evening of Oct. 11, one month into the war on terrorism, and Congress
is cooking up something that will be called the USA Patriot Act. This
sweeping law includes a dramatic expansion of Internet surveillance,
unprecedented sharing of information between government agencies,
stiffer penalties for computer crimes and greater power to detain
noncitizens.

For many of us, that's just fine. If personal freedoms are to be
sacrificed, polls show that a majority of Americans aren't just
willing, they're gung-ho. Urgent times, urgent measures. Judged
against the horror of Sept. 11 and now our daily dread -- those
invisible spores, the occasional drive across a bridge -- what's a
little electronic eavesdropping among patriotic Americans anyway?

But inside a half-empty auditorium at the San Francisco Public
Library, four civil liberties attorneys have come together on a panel
to challenge the new conventional wisdom. The audience is up for the
challenge, and when the floor is open for questions, a slender man
with long wispy hair and a scraggly beard takes a turn at the mike. He
doesn't give his name, but many here recognize John Gilmore, one of
the brains behind Sun Microsystems and one of the guiding spirits of
the Electronic Frontier Foundation, perhaps America's most
technologically astute civil liberties group -- and no doubt one of
the funkiest. In a soft voice, the computer scientist explains what is
troubling him: the scarcity of news surrounding all those people, then
numbering about 500, who have been rounded up in the terrorism
investigation. Who are they? Why are they being held? Does anybody
know anything? "Who's representing these people and trying to get them
out?"

The panelists' silence leaves Gilmore exasperated.

"Are all the civil rights organizations afraid to step up to defend
potential terrorists?"

Say this about the leaders of the Electronic Frontier Foundation: They
are not afraid to speak their minds. They are not afraid to push back.

sometimes described as an "american civil liberties union for nerds,"
the Electronic Frontier Foundation was launched in 1990 by an
illustrious group of Internet pioneers troubled by what they
considered to be the government's clueless, ham-handed efforts to
police the new medium. "Nobody was thinking about extending the
Constitution into cyberspace," recalls co-founder Mitchell Kapor, the
wealthy Lotus software mogul. Who but computer scientists would argue
that binary code is a form of speech entitled to First Amendment
protection?

To high-tech pros and policy wonks, the EFF is well-known for its
opposition to the regulation of encryption. Hollywood and the
publishing industry know it as the loyal opposition in battles over
digital copy law, which the EFF believes is so restrictive that it
frustrates innovation. "What we're working on is really cutting-edge
stuff to protect the rights of everyone, even if they don't realize
the significance of it," says EFF executive director Shari Steele.

Non-nerds may more easily grasp the EFF's unyielding interpretation of
First Amendment freedoms and the Fourth Amendment protection against
unreasonable searches. It has poured resources into protecting the
rights of scientists and journalists to publish online. It defends the
right to make anonymous postings online, insofar as the posters honor
laws governing libel and trade secrets. In defending its principles,
the EFF may seem to casual observers to be bent on making the world a
safer place for computer hackers, copyright pirates, cowardly
commentators and people who think happiness is a warm Aibo robot
puppy.

(When Sony complained that Web sites set up by Aibo owners to share
programming tricks were infringing on its copyright, the EFF took up
the hobbyists' cause.) But the organization now sees itself on the
front line of the debate over security in the age of terror, and it is
only too happy to have its dissenting voice heard amid the clamor.

Its assessment of the USA Patriot Act (an acronym for Uniting and
Strengthening America by Providing Appropriate Tools Required to
Intercept and Obstruct Terrorism) has been especially critical.
Terrorism, says EFF legal director Cindy Cohn, has been used to
justify a law enforcement power grab that threatens fundamental
freedoms. Had the same surveillance and wiretap laws existed a year
ago, she argues, they would not have prevented the terror attacks on
Sept. 11 -- and now Americans are shouldering the burden of
intelligence failures of federal authorities.

"The civil liberties of ordinary Americans have taken a tremendous
blow, especially in the right to privacy," Cohn says in a 20-page
legal analysis of the Internet and computer crime sections of the
Patriot Act that was distributed to more than 100 civil liberties
groups. "Be careful what you put in that Google search. The government
may now spy on Web surfing of innocent Americans . . . by merely
telling a judge anywhere in the U.S. that the spying could lead to
information that is 'relevant' to an ongoing criminal investigation."

(The judge may not reject the request; his role is simply to issue and
record it.)

What makes this form of surveillance more worrisome, cyber
libertarians say, is how the Internet links people in ways that the
non-virtual world does not. Ask yourself: Have you ever received
e-mail from a terror suspect? Ever been on the same listserv or in the
same chat room? Book the same flight, frequent the same Web site? Not
only would you not know, Cohn says, but you also wouldn't know whether
the feds had snooped on your Web activities and compiled a secret
dossier. Not only could authorities abuse such information, she
suggests, but so could rogue agents.

Americans, Cohn says, wouldn't tolerate such scrutiny of postal or
telephone communications, or library research. What makes the
electronic realm different? The EFF believes its role is to sound the
public alarm and watch for abuses by authorities that need to be
challenged in court.

Indeed, libertarians from the left and right see the expanded Internet
surveillance as part of an authoritarian lurch that includes President
Bush's calls for military tribunals conducted of noncitizens accused
of terrorism; the dragnet that led to detentions of 1,400 individuals,
only a small number now thought to have suspicious links to the
hijackers; and the Justice Department's efforts to interview 5,000
men, most of whom are Muslim.

Libertarians get a sense of deja vu listening to Atty. Gen. John
Ashcroft portray opposition to such measures as "aiding" the enemy.
They recall how dissidents were rounded up in the buildup toward World
War I, Japanese Americans were interned during World War II and a
Communist witch hunt ruined lives in the Cold War.

Says Gilmore: "There's a McCarthy era every 20 or 30 years." Only now,
digital technology has raised the stakes. J. Edgar Hoover would drool
over the tools that now exist to gather, transmit, store and interpret
information, and the technology is only getting more powerful. Broad
Internet surveillance, some civil libertarians say, could be a first
step toward the creation of a vast, permanent digital dragnet. Says
Brad Templeton, a 41-year-old Internet entrepreneur and the EFF's
chairman: "I sit in fear of the next attack not only because of who it
might hurt but because of where it will take this debate."

what templeton fears is something many americans would welcome.
Imagine a nationwide high-tech security system as a fixed defense not
only against terrorism but all sorts of criminal behavior. The
high-tech fix could take many forms. A new generation of mobile
products -- from cars to cell phones to firearms -- could be equipped
with a kind of super-LoJack transponder linking Global Positioning
System satellites to help authorities locate stolen goods and
suspects. A national ID system using "smart cards" embedded with
microchips carrying digitized personal data, many argue, could
dramatically strengthen identity-verification practices. Airport
security could employ advanced X-ray screening that looks through
clothes.

Privacy concerns pose a political obstacle to such technologies, but
momentum is gathering behind another powerful idea: the use of
biometric "face-recognition" software to augment security cameras that
are already commonplace in many private and public places. When Wall
Street reopened after Sept. 11 with a deep swoon, the rocketing
exceptions were biometrics developers such as Viisage Technology,
Visionics and Imagis. The software makes a "face print" based on a
measurement of features and compares it to a database of images. A
Visionics system was tested at the 2000 Super Bowl in Tampa Bay, and
company officials have proposed such a system for Reagan National
Airport in Washington, D.C. On Oct. 31, Viisage's system became the
first to be used in an airport, capturing images of travelers at
Fresno Yosemite International shortly before they pass through metal
detectors. Whenever the software suggests that an individual resembles
a subject in the database, security is alerted. Tom Colastoti,
Viisage's chief executive officer, says most false positives are
quickly resolved. And biometrics, he adds, should minimize racial
profiling.

Most law-abiding people, Colastoti says, would consider
face-recognition capabilities helpful. Travelers already have their
carry-on bags X-rayed and are often searched as they pass through
metal detectors, which frequently buzz and trigger a more thorough
search with a hand-held metal detector. After all of that, Colastoti
says, "People are going to tell me having your face scanned in a
nanosecond is an invasion of privacy? I don't get it." A lot of people
don't get it. "People with something to hide are the ones who need
'privacy' the most," Times columnist John Balzar wrote last November.
Polls suggest that such reasoning has become more common since Sept.
11. "It's insidiously hard to argue with that," Templeton allows. "But
if we are under surveillance, we are less free. We censor ourselves."

Just look at how the political climate has already censored us by
stifling dissent, he says. "My little phrase has been that 'America
speaking with one voice is un-American.' " Just because I'm paranoid.
Type that phrase into the Google search engine and, before long,
you'll be under the impression that techies simply aren't the trusting
sort. You'll surf sites put up by computer pros who recommend
encryption software such as PGP (Pretty Good Privacy). You, too, can
mask your e-mail from, say, your boss, your staff, your spouse, your
children, maybe your government -- which is no guarantee that the mask
won't get ripped off. Even before Sept. 11, many techies subscribed to
another old one-liner: If you're not paranoid, you just haven't been
paying attention.

The fondness that techies have for cryptology reflects a dynamic of
love and fear that is very much at the root of the Electronic Frontier
Foundation. The love is reflected in the utopian view of cyberspace
shared by Gilmore and others who embrace the Internet Age mantra,
"Information wants to be free."

"In the early days, the Net was free," says computer scientist Dave
Farber, a 67-year-old University of Pennsylvania professor. An EFF
board member since the mid-'90s, Farber has witnessed the evolution of
the medium since 1968, when he first got on the Arpanet, the
Internet's precursor that was developed by the Department of Defense
and largely used in academia. "It was an information barter economy.
You gave things to people, they gave things to you. It was that way
for a long time, until relatively recently . . . It was almost like
the utopian socialism attitude of the '20s and '30s." The
philosophical divide "depends on when you came on the Net and what
your motivations are."

As the Silicon Valley began its boom, the bohemians of cyberspace
sometimes found each other at "The Well," an online bulletin board
community launched in 1985 by environmentalist Stewart Brand, founding
editor of the Sausalito-based Whole Earth Catalog. The Well (which
stands for Whole Earth 'Lectronic Link) had some interesting,
brilliant, influential devotees who included Mitch Kapor and John
Perry Barlow. Kapor was a disaffected Transcendental Meditation
instructor whose search for enlightenment led him to computer science
at MIT and the crafting of the Lotus 1-2-3 spreadsheet, the most
popular application of the mid-'80s. When not running his Wyoming
cattle ranch, EFF co-founder Barlow was penning lyrics for the
Grateful Dead or writing philosophical musings about digital
technology.

One day Kapor read an article that Barlow had posted on The Well
describing a surreal encounter with an FBI agent he'd previously met
after some cattle were rustled from his ranch. This time the agent was
trying to figure out if Barlow was in cahoots with some outlaws who
were either, as Barlow would later write, "a dread band of
info-terrorists," or possibly just a disgruntled Apple employee
distributing source code. The agent's "errand was complicated by a
fairly complete unfamiliarity with computer technology." Kapor could
relate; he too had been questioned by the FBI. The feds, he recalls,
seemed incapable of distinguishing brainy kids fooling around on
computers for kicks and knowledge -- the real-world equivalent of
trespassing and minor vandalism -- from more serious criminals dealing
in theft and espionage. On a cross-country flight in his business jet,
Kapor phoned Barlow and detoured to the airport nearest Pinedale, Wyo.
The next day, The Well heralded plans for what would become the
Electronic Frontier Foundation.

John Gilmore was the first to sign on, kicking in a six-figure
contribution and considerable energy. Steve Wozniak, co-founder of
Apple Computers, wrote a hefty check. Stewart Brand joined the first
board.

Five years before the ACLU handled its first Internet case, the EFF
pioneered the field in a pair of landmark cases. The first involved
Steve Jackson Games, a Texas-based company that had been raided by
federal agents investigating hacking. The EFF brought a suit that
established that e-mail is protected under the Electronic
Communications Privacy Act. Law enforcement would be required to have
a warrant describing each message or e-mail participant before the
mail could be read. Later, the EFF successfully challenged the
government's ban on the export of encryption on behalf of a
mathematician who wanted to discuss cryptology research online. In
that case, the court found that software code is protected as speech
by the First Amendment.

Since then, the EFF has labored to shed the image that it is little
more than a "hacker defense fund." Today the foundation's seven-member
board includes law professors Lawrence Lessig of Stanford University
and Pamela Samuelson of UC Berkeley, recognized experts in technology
law who help lend pragmatic ballast to the EFF. But the abiding
presence of Barlow and Gilmore through EFF's sometimes rocky history
has helped sustain the idyllic vision of cyberspace. "Yeah, I'm a
utopian," Barlow says. "But I think I'm a relatively realistic
utopian. I see no problem with aiming for the moon knowing you're not
going to hit it."

This may help explain Barlow's provocative prophecy on Sept. 11. In an
e-mail to about 1,000 friends and associates, he likened the attack on
the World Trade Center and Pentagon to "the Reichstag fire that
provided the social opportunity for the Nazi takeover of Germany . . .
Control freaks will dine on this day for the rest of our lives." He
went on to write: "And please, let us forgive those who committed
these appalling crimes. If we hate them, we will become them." (This
from a man who, as a Republican Party official in Wyoming, helped
elect Dick Cheney to Congress.) Barlow was speaking for himself, not
the EFF, which tends to be more diplomatic while making some, but not
all, of the same general points.

At least Barlow hastened to note in his e-mail that he didn't think
American authoritarians, unlike the Nazis who started the Reichstag
fire, "had a direct role in perpetrating this mind-blistering
tragedy." But that, he says, didn't prevent "plenty of ugly
responses," including one death threat. Barlow laughs as he points out
that the threat was just the sort of anonymous online speech that the
EFF defends, at least in principle.

the electronic frontier Foundation's virtual headquarters is its Web
site (www.eff.org), which its leaders boast is one of "the most linked
to" on the Internet. It's physical quarters started in Boston, Kapor's
base at the time. In 1992 it moved to Washington, D.C., to focus on
lobbying, recruiting ACLU chief legislative counsel Jerry Berman as
its new executive director and attracting financial support from
high-tech corporations. But the Beltway culture and the pressure to
compromise created turmoil. Berman departed in 1994 and launched the
like-minded Center for Democracy and Technology. The difference is
more style than substance, with CDT focusing on lobbying and building
consensus on Internet issues from inside the political establishment,
and the EFF trying to effect change through the courts. Berman took
along some staff and corporate sponsors, which now include AOL Time
Warner, AT&T, Intel, IBM and Microsoft. He suggests that the EFF
focuses too narrowly on litigation as a means of influence. "They're
great in their space but they have to broaden their space." The EFF's
pragmatists, Berman says, "will follow the yellow brick road, and the
yellow brick road will lead back to Washington."

In 1995, Kapor quit EFF's board ("I was burned out," he says now) and
the EFF moved to San Francisco, a countercultural fit next door to the
Silicon Valley. A brick building in the heart of the Mission District
that once served as a church supply store is now the home of EFF, a
bustling dot-org living amid the ghosts of dead dot-coms. It is not a
large operation, with an annual budget of less than $2 million, 15
employees and dozens of volunteers and interns, supported by 5,000
members. An American flag, such a common sight these days, is
displayed above a staff member's desk. A closer look reveals that,
instead of white stars, the blue field is arrayed with tiny corporate
logos.

Mitch Kapor happens to be in the office this autumn day, "becoming
reengaged." He dropped by for a briefing from EFF attorneys on the
anti-terror legislation, preparing for a soiree of high-tech
potentates where security and privacy will be discussed. Yes, the law
goes too far, Kapor says, and yes, he worries that billions could be
wasted trying to build a digital dragnet. "We need more people who
speak Farsi," he says. "I'll vote for secure cockpit doors."

This is an appeal civil libertarians are trying to make, saying there
are smarter approaches to terrorism that won't cost billions and won't
infringe on freedoms. Serious terrorists, they say, will be clever
enough to slip through the dragnet while innocents are ensnared. But
perhaps the more effective argument involves a bit of rhetorical flag
waving. "President Bush said they attacked us because we are a free
society," EFF executive director Shari Steele says. "If we give up our
freedoms because of the attacks, they win." "I mean," John Gilmore is
saying in that half-empty auditorium in San Francisco, "are civil
rights organizations afraid to defend potential terrorists?"

ACLU attorney Ann Brick musters a response. "The government is not
releasing names, and in a way that's the good news and the bad news."
Innocent people won't be tainted by the hint of suspicion, she says,
but "the secrecy means no one knows who they are or why they're being
held."

Every war has its Catch-22s. Today's paradox is this: How can a
society based on freedom protect itself by sacrificing liberties? But
how can it protect itself without such sacrifices?

On this night, Brick seeks out John Gilmore afterward to thank him for
his question. Secrecy, they agree, is a police-state tactic that needs
to be challenged. Gilmore takes Brick's card and offers help: "If it
takes money, I'll send money."

Later Gilmore smiles when he is asked if he thinks the EFF's work is
more vital than ever before. No, not really, he says. "What we've been
doing has been needed all along. You always need the Constitution.
Right?"

GRAPHIC: PHOTO: One take on the American flag in the EFF offices at
the desk of media relations director Will Doherty. PHOTOGRAPHER: NEIL
A. FRANCE PHOTO: (2 photos, no caption) PHOTOGRAPHER: NEIL A. FRANCE


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