“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”.
Chapter 5. 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”.[1] A 1999
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 system GNU/Linux in print, most are quick to credit Stallman for launching the drive to build a free software operating system 15 years before.
I won’t meet Stallman again for another 17 months. During the interim, Stallman will revisit Silicon Valley once more for the August, 1999 LinuxWorld show. Although not invited to speak, Stallman does managed to deliver the event’s best line. Accepting the show’s Linus Torvalds Award for Community Service-an award named after Linux creator Linus Torvalds-on behalf of the Free Software Foundation, Stallman wisecracks, “Giving the Linus Torvalds Award to the Free Software Foundation is a bit like giving the Han Solo Award to the Rebel Alliance”.
This time around, however, the comments fail to make much of a media dent. Midway through the week, Red Hat, Inc., a prominent GNU/Linux vendor, goes public. The news merely confirms what many reporters such as myself already suspect: “Linux” has become a Wall Street buzzword, much like “e-commerce” and “dot-com” before it. With the stock market approaching the Y2K rollover like a hyperbola approaching its vertical asymptote, all talk of free software or open source as a political phenomenon falls by the wayside.
Maybe that’s why, when LinuxWorld follows up its first two shows with a third LinuxWorld show in August, 2000, Stallman is conspicuously absent.
My second encounter with Stallman and his trademark gaze comes shortly after that third LinuxWorld show. Hearing that Stallman is going to be in Silicon Valley, I set up a lunch interview in Palo Alto, California. The meeting place seems ironic, not only because of the recent no-show but also because of the overall backdrop. Outside of Redmond, Washington, few cities offer a more direct testament to the economic value of proprietary software. Curious to see how Stallman, a man who has spent the better part of his life railing against our culture’s predilection toward greed and selfishness, is coping in a city where even garage-sized bungalows run in the half- million-dollar price range, I make the drive down from Oakland.
I follow the directions Stallman has given me, until I reach the headquarters of Art.net, a nonprofit “virtual artists collective”. Located in a hedge-shrouded house in the northern corner of the city, the Art.net headquarters are refreshingly run-down. Suddenly, the idea of Stallman lurking in the heart of Silicon Valley doesn’t seem so strange after all.
I find Stallman sitting in a darkened room, tapping away on his gray laptop computer. He looks up as soon as I enter the room, giving me a full blast of his 200-watt gaze. When he offers a soothing “Hello”, I offer a return greeting. Before the words come out, however, his eyes have already shifted back to the laptop screen.
“I’m just finishing an article on the spirit of hacking”, Stallman says, fingers still tapping. “Take a look”.
