Date: Wed, 12 Feb 1997 21:24:37 -0800 (PST) From: Declan McCullagh <declan@well.com> To: fight-censorship@vorlon.mit.edu The Netly News Network http://netlynews.com/ A List Goes Down In Flames by Declan McCullagh (declan@well.com) February 12, 1997 The plan for the cypherpunks mailing list was simple. It was to be an online gathering place, an intellectual mosh pit, dedicated to the free flow of ideas and personal privacy through encryption. Of course it caught on. From its modest beginnings connecting a few friends who lived in Northern California, it quickly grew into one of the most rowdy, volatile lists on the Net: Cypherpunks typically piped more than 100 messages a day into the mailboxes of nearly 2,000 subscribers. And the list became a kind of crypto-anarchist utopia. Populated by pseudonymous posters with names like Black Unicorn, it was a corner of cyberspace where PGP signatures and digital cash were the norm -- and there were no rules. Then yesterday came the news: The list was being evicted and faced imminent shutdown. In an e-mail seen 'round the Net, John Gilmore, Electronic Frontier Foundation cofounder and list maintainer, announced that he was no longer willing to provide a virtual home for the cypherpunks. In a post entitled "Put Up or Shut Up," he described how his efforts to improve the list through moderation were condemned, how technical problems were consuming more of his time, how pranksters had tried to subscribe the entire U.S. Congress to the list. How this experiment in crypto-anarchy had failed. He gave the cypherpunks 10 days to find new lodgings. "The last straw for me was seeing the reaction of the list to every attempt to improve it. It was to carp, to cut it down, to say you're doing everything wrong," Gilmore told me yesterday night. One of the first employees of Sun, Gilmore quit after eight years -- a millionaire more interested in pursuing ideas than dollars. But his experiment with the list has left him weary. "If everything I'm doing is wrong, I'm clearly not the right person to host the list," he said. "I would like to see some other structure in which the positive interactions on the list could continue. I'm not trying to create that structure anymore," he added. Instead, he would try the only true crypto-anarchist solution: "I'm handing it over to members to do what they wish with it." The cypherpunks first pierced the public's consciousness when Wired magazine splashed them across the cover of the second issue. The Whole Earth Review and the Village Voice followed soon after. The name "cypherpunk" came to be synonymous with a brash young breed of digerati who were intent on derailing the White House's encryption policies and conquering cyberspace. This was crypto with an attitude. Gilmore was typical of the breed. Monthly Bay Area meetings of the 'punks were held in the offices of Cygnus, a company he started to provide support for the free Unix alternative, GNU. But the veteran cypherpunk came under heavy fire in November 1996, when a loudmouthed flamer flooded the list with flame bait and ad hominem attacks on various members. Finally, Gilmore, ironically, gave him the boot -- and incited an all-consuming debate over what the concept of censorship means in a forum devoted to opposing it. In a society of crypto-anarchists, who should make the rules? The mailing list melted down. By last month, it seemed, more messages complained about censorship than discussed crypto. Indeed, for months Gilmore seemed unable to do anything right. He tried moderation, which proved to be even more contentious, raising the question of empowering one cypherpunk to decide what was appropriate for others to read. One member of the group, in effect, would be more equal than the rest. And why would members take the time to write elaborate, thoughtful articles on crypto-politics if their treatises might not make it past the moderator's keyboard? After the expulsion, some of the longtime list denizens left angrily, joining the 700 subscribers who had departed since the controversy began. One of those was Tim C. May, a crusty former Intel engineer who prides himself as the organizer of the first cypherpunk meeting in September 1992. In an essay summarizing the reasons for his departure, he wrote: "The proper solution to bad speech is more speech, not censorship. Censorship just makes opponents of 'speech anarchy' happy -- it affirms their basic belief that censors are needed." After all, May pointed out, the list ended up on Gilmore's toad.com machine only by happenstance -- it almost was housed on a workstation at the University of California at Berkeley. Ownership of the computer with the database of subscribers did not mean that Gilmore owned the cypherpunks. "Whatever our group once was, or still is, is not dependent on having a particular mailing list running on someone's home machine... and it cannot be claimed that any person 'owns' the cypherpunks group," May wrote. The cypherpunks have responded to Gilmore's eviction notice. List participants generally have halted the incessant attacks on Gilmore, and now the discussion has turned to how to continue this experiment in online anarchy -- while preventing one person from ever again having absolute control of the List. Within hours of Gilmore's announcement, posters were tossing around ideas of a distributed network of mailing lists that would carry the cypherpunk name, and other 'punks likely will migrate to the more tightly controlled coderpunks and cryptography lists. But for the true believers in crypto-anarchy, only one solution is adequate: Usenet. "There is no 'nexus' of control, no chokepoint, no precedent... for halting distribution of Usenet newsgroups," Tim May wrote. That, in the end, is what defines a cypherpunk. ###