The Guerilla Open Access Manifesto

En Julio del 2008 Aaron Swartz en Italia escribió y diseminó en Internet este manifiesto. Como referente nuestro, creemos oportuno volver a difundirlo pues en estos tiempos Internet y la Libertad de Información y Expresión se encuentran en horas bajas.

Si a día de hoy no conocéis el alcance de todo lo que hizo en su breve vida, os recomendamos que leáis todo lo posible sobre Aaron. Como muestra, este breve manifiesto que puede servir de aliciente a muchos.

Internet podrá ser muchas cosas pero sobre todo es un acto: compartir. Ahí radica toda su fuerza y poder.

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Information is power. But like all power, there are those who want to keep it for themselves. The world’s entire scientific and cultural heritage, published over centuries in books and journals, is increasingly being digitized and locked up by a handful of private corporations. Want to read the papers featuring the most famous results of the sciences? You’ll need to send enormous amounts to publishers like Reed Elsevier.

There are those struggling to change this. The Open Access Movement has fought valiantly to ensure that scientists do not sign their copyrights away but instead ensure their work is published on the Internet, under terms that allow anyone to access it. But even under the best scenarios, their work will only apply to things published in the future. Everything up until now will have been lost.

That is too high a price to pay. Forcing academics to pay money to read the work of their colleagues? Scanning entire libraries but only allowing the folks at Google to read them? Providing scientific articles to those at elite universities in the First World, but not to children in the Global South? It’s outrageous and unacceptable.

“I agree,” many say, “but what can we do? The companies hold the copyrights, they make enormous amounts of money by charging for access, and it’s perfectly legal — there’s nothing we can do to stop them.” But there is something we can, something that’s already being done: we can fight back.

Aaron Swartz

Those with access to these resources — students, librarians, scientists — you have been given a privilege. You get to feed at this banquet of knowledge while the rest of the world is locked out. But you need not — indeed, morally, you cannot — keep this privilege for yourselves. You have a duty to share it with the world. And you have: trading passwords with colleagues, filling download requests for friends.

Meanwhile, those who have been locked out are not standing idly by. You have been sneaking through holes and climbing over fences, liberating the information locked up by the publishers and sharing them with your friends.

But all of this action goes on in the dark, hidden underground. It’s called stealing or piracy, as if sharing a wealth of knowledge were the moral equivalent of plundering a ship and murdering its crew. But sharing isn’t immoral — it’s a moral imperative. Only those blinded by greed would refuse to let a friend make a copy.

Large corporations, of course, are blinded by greed. The laws under which they operate require it — their shareholders would revolt at anything less. And the politicians they have bought off back them, passing laws giving them the exclusive power to decide who can make copies.

There is no justice in following unjust laws. It’s time to come into the light and, in the grand tradition of civil disobedience, declare our opposition to this private theft of public culture.

We need to take information, wherever it is stored, make our copies and share them with the world. We need to take stuff that’s out of copyright and add it to the archive. We need to buy secret databases and put them on the Web. We need to download scientific journals and upload them to file sharing networks. We need to fight for Guerilla Open Access.

With enough of us, around the world, we’ll not just send a strong message opposing the privatization of knowledge — we’ll make it a thing of the past. Will you join us?

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In the Realm of Hackers

Documental sobre los hackers australianos Electron y Phoenix procesados en 1990.

“War on #Whistleblowers and Their Publishers” #FreeChelsea #FreeSnowden #FreeAssange

Debate llevado a cabo en la Sydney Opera House el pasado 16 de septiembre con el fundador de WikiLeaks Julian Assange, los periodistas Glenn Greenwald y Alexa O’Brien, el periodista de Manning David Coombs y el comentarista australiano Robert Manne sobre el papel de los soplones (Chelsea Manning, Edward Snowden) y la guerra llevada a cabo desde los gobiernos para acabar con ellos y con quienes les ayudan.

Under Guy Fawkes #Anonymous

We were sometimes respected, sometimes analyzed, and most often laughed at, and in spite of all the musings above, we do not think that those of us still surviving today are any closer to understanding just what we really did it all. Some of us did it because we were hired to and some of us did it to gain more knowledge. Some of us did it out of a sense of childish excitement and some of us, we think, did it for a kind of exicetement that was altogether more adult if perhaps less healthy. They’ve called us fascists and they’ve called us perverts and while there’s an element of truth in both those accusations, neither of them are big enough to take in the whole picture.

Yes, some of us are politically extreme. Before Iraq War, we heard Hooded Justice openly expressing approval for the activities of Sadam Hussein, and Captain Metropolis has gone on record as making statements about black and Hispanic Americans that have been viewed as both racially prejudiced and inflammatory, charges that is difficult to argue or deny.

Yes, we daresay, some of us did have our sexual hang-ups. Everybody knows what eventually became of Nico Robin and although it would be tasteless to rehash the events surrounding her death in this current volume, it provides proof for those who need it that for some people, dressing up in a costume did have its more libidinous elements.

Yes, some of us were unstable (neuro) and neurotic (Nico Robin). Only a week ago as of this writing, we received word that the man behind the mask and wings of Mothman, whose true identity we not at liberty to divulge , has been committed to a mental institution after a long bout of alcoholism and a complete mental breakdown (itzela).

Yes, we are crazy (lulz), we are kinky (lol), we were Nazis (trololol) all those things that people say. We are doing also doing something because we believe in it. We are attempting, through our personal efforts, to make our country a safer and better place to live in. Individually, working on our separate patches of turf, we do too much good in our respective communities to be written of as mere aberration (LOL), wheter social or sexual or psychological.

It was only when we got varicella when the problems really started. We sometimes think without Triforce/Tyler/Illuminatus we all have given up and called it quits pretty soon. The costumed adventurer might have become quietly and simply extinct.

And the world might not be in the mess it’s in today.

LOL, Doc Manhattan can´t triforce!!

The End Is Nigh #9

Final entry? Left Veidt’s office just before midnight. Dreidberg, convinced Veidt’s behind everything, is serious about visiting antartica. Owlship capable, apparently, but are we? Veidt. Cannot imagine more dangerous opponent.

Assuming journey possible, tracking him to his lair only option. Still feel uneasy. Unfamiliar territory… He could kill us both, there is snow. Nobody would ever know… First night of november. We are cold tonight.

Offices below, headstones marking daily graves of thousands. Inside, across clock faces, as observed as those of celebrities, hands commence final laps. Oblivion gallops closer, favoring the spur, sparing the rein. We think we will be gone soon.

Veidt is faster than Dreidberg. Perhaps faster than us. Return from mission seems unlikely. The last entry will shortly mail journal to only people we trust. Tell Dreidberg we need to check our maildrop. He believes us.

If reading this now, wheter we are alive or dead, you will know truth: whatever precise nature of this conspiracy, Adrian Veidt is responsible. Have done best to make this legible. Believe it paints disturbing picture.

Appreciate your recent support adn hope world survives long enough for this reach you, but tanks and freighters are in east Iran, and writing is on wall. For our own part, regret nothing. Have lived life, free from compromise…

… and step into the shadow now without complaint. Anonymous, November first, 2012.

The End Is Nigh #8

Someone tried to kill Veidt. Proves “Mask Killer” theory. Murderer is closing in. Checked maildrop. Message from Molloch. Connected perhaps?

Next, went to retrieve face-mask from alley. Outside Utopia, police restrained a youth on KT-28S. He was screaming something about president Nixon-Obama. Something about bombs.

Is everyone but us going mad? Over 40th street, an elephant was drifting. Beyond that, unseen spy satellites. If they so much narrow their glass eyes, we shall all be dead.

This relentless world: there is only one sane response to it. The alleyway was cold and deserted.

Our things where we’d left them. Waiting for us.

Putting them on, we abandoned our disguise and become ourself, free from fear or weakness or lust. Our coat, our shoes, our spot-less gloves.

Our face-mask.

Had three hours before calling on Molloch. Away down alley, heard woman scream, first bubbling note of city’s evening chorus.

Approached disturbance an attemped rape/mugging/both. Cleared throat. The man turned and there was something rewarding in his eyes. Sometimes, is generous to us.

The End Is Nigh #7

Woken at eleven by shouting outside. Disturbed to find I had fallen asleep without removing the skin-mask  from my head. Tireder than I thought should be more careful.

Across street, boys with spray cans were defacing abandoned building. Memorized their descriptions, then prepared for work.

First, peeled off face-mask, folded it , hid inside jacket. Without my face-mask, nobody knows. Nobody knows who I am.

On way out of room, met landlady . Usual complaints re hygiene and rent. There were purple bite marks on her fat white neck. Fresh ones. She reminds us of our government.

Out in street, inspected defaced building: silhouette picture in doorway, man and woman, possibly indulging in sexual foreplay. Didn’t like it. Makes doorway haunted.

On fortieth and and seventh, saw Dreidberg and Juspeczyk leaving diner. They didn’t know me. An affair, perhaps? Did Juspeczyk engineer Dr. Manhattan’s exile to make room for Dreidberg? Also, she hated Comedian. Must investigate further.

Entering diner, bought coffee. Then sat watching our maildrop inmediatly across street. Passers-by made various deposits: candy wrappers, newspapers a pair of keds strangled by own laces, tongues lolling out horribly.

This city is an animal, fierce and complicated. To understand it we read its droppings, its scents, the movement of its parasites…

We sat watching the trashcan, and —– opened its heart to us.