There’s a Glenn Greenwald in all our Heads — He Mustn’t Be Destroyed.
So you found my message in a bottle on Copacabana beach, or in the sea; which evidently you got in to ‘fetch’; Congratulations,
Hiya,
It is right now twilight in my leafy sanctuary, and the amphibian purr of the rainforest — that ethereal constant by now so familiar and so dear I know that to it, I have surrendered an enclave of my being — has prompted first, inclination to cleanse half century worn muscles with my nightly yoga skit on the porch as the dogs run around outside like mad cats beneath the encroaching romance of the moonlight. And then second, compulsion to write this letter, by hand and by candlelight to you, a complete stranger, with free time only a lack of internet access could ever realistically inspire. You see it poured with rain earlier. There was yet another power-cut, and the lines have been down for hours now. Which is too bad. My sort-of-boss wanted to get in touch this evening. To discuss whatever legal issues still hover over my latest, and for that reason, presumably, LOL, still yet to be published article.
The delay’s all been thanks to The Deatheaters at GCHQ: Who have once again gotten in touch with their intellectually specious appeals to “wahhh, ah, don’t publish, national security!” when really all they seem to want to do, in fact all they ever seem to want to do is cover their own sorry, often incompetent asses. And don’t get me started on Professor Sir David Omand De Pfeffel III or whatever his name isn’t — that guy. That sneering, contemptuous, duckbilled platypus of a man who, if not shuffling along the corridors of the War Studies department at Kings College London, mumbling to himself and to his colleagues about “The Terrorists” can be found on UK television, waving classified documents redacted to the point of incoherency in Channel 4 News’ John Snow’s face; lambasting him for “not covering the story accurately” and causing “needless fear and confusion.” Omand’s open disdain for the public is both obscene and astounding. The UK is astounding. Would Omand debate me Live, and face to face, about the broader implications of mass surveillance at its current technological velocity, hmmm? No, of course he wouldn’t. Because obviously he knows that GG (emphasis MINE) would wipe the floor with him.
Stepping back, you know it’s actually quite funny, ironic even. I think? I’ve mentioned this in interviews before of course although it certainly bears repeating here too. My sort-of boss, this guy, this Ebay guy, Pierre Omidyar. Mmmm-hmmm, that’s right, get this: Well, Pierre can’t get in touch with me a lot of the time because of the outages, and yet he’s a multi-billionaire computer and technology whizz, with coalescing political, philanthropic and entrepreneurial goals (that’s PPE to you, British establishment! LOL.) The point is none of that stuff makes a difference here, not money nor status nor expertise and tidbits such as these keep me grounded. You know, those little reminders that even one of the most influential and tech-savvy people in the world, not to mention a bestselling author and journalist whom reports on cutting edge computer technologies as weaponised by the burgeoning global security state, aka yours truly, me, Glenn Greenwald, that’s right bitches, are indeed both subject to the whim of a tropical downpour and of temperamental public infrastructure just like everybody else. This means often Pierre and I are unable to email or to even call one other for this reason, let alone encrypt our communications. Hell — I can barely encrypt! But no matter because here in the rainforest, the rainforest in which I live. The rainforest from which the majority of my adversarial business is conducted between regular trips back and forth to the US to attend MSM interviews, and a variety of public and private speaking engagements, nature’s obstacles usually prevail. And I respect that.
I love not man the less; but nature more. I love not man the less, but nature more. This quote by Lord Byron of all people rolled over in my head as I walked the dogs today. And it seems to make more sense with the so-called passage of so-called time. Nevertheless, civilisation, free speech, civility, order, not too much though; also justice, always justice, as applied to the largest and yes at times even the most mundane aspects of public life, has really always been my passion. And yet still, still, I feel most at home in the lushness, solitude and natural lawlessness of the jungle. Where civilisation’s most concrete hallmarks and affectations are relatively scarce. I am conscious of this duality and honestly I’m still not sure what to make of it, but what I do know is that the eleven adorable rescue pups that David and I adopted from the local santuário animal a couple of years back really have transformed our lives for the better. We feel a deep-seated affection for our unruly four-legged companions. Who have become a necessary counterforce to the many stresses our working hours burden us with. Each has a unique personality and complex emotional needs. This is how I personally have experienced every dog I’ve crossed paths with in all my forty nine years. And you know what? To me that’s life affirming. You see the dogs help me help myself let go of all that rage. The kind of debilitating rage only interaction with you the people could ever insight (LOL).
The birds living here with us in this sprawling primeval forestry we call home love it when it rains, but they sing louder when it pours, and whenever they do, and whenever it does, echoes of real-life tweets streak through the sodden air; then into my grateful ears whenever the wind’s blowing in my favour. The humidity here reminds me of my home state, Florida, a place that I left an inordinately long time ago now; the strangest of personal circumstances tend to develop in the lives of Floridians who actually leave Florida by the way. The meme is true and I am by no memes an exception to this ‘rule’ and yes I’ve certainly led a variegated life so far like many, if not most people have; and it’s not that I’m secretive about my past, nor about how I got here either, per se. It’s just that it’s none of your damn business is it really and I think perhaps you should respect that. Enough about Cocky Boys already, pedants. It’s been done. Twice already. Whatever.
I was a member elect of the *drumroll* Lauderdale Lakes City Council recreation advisory board by the time I was eight. So admittedly I’ve been aware of this ‘game’ for a long time now, starting my own journey on the other side of the public/private tracks, before relinquishing my post a year later to pursue other projects, namely cub scouts, at age nine (LOL). I ran for council even, unsuccessfully it would eventually transpire but I learnt a whole lot about US electoral politics during that election campaign, when I was seventeen. Growing up, my grandfather was a Lauderdale Lakes City councillor, for many years — as far back as I can remember in fact — and it was from him that I learnt the principles and constitutional rights of all must be upheld ‘doggedly’ (LOL) no matter how odious that token, idea, or indeed even that person might be.
I’m actually a bigger picture kinda guy really and I’m funny and nice as anything in real life. But then I also know the intricacies of the system. Because I’ve been there, okay, an insider of various descriptions, with first hand experience of these institutions in operational flux as their representatives often superficially interact with, lie to and clash with one another. You have no idea how much of a mess this is of course. But I do. I know the system’s geared towards the moneyed and the unashamed pursuit of the ego, that in a comparable sense law exists to infantilise, imprison and fine the unruly masses whilst invariably loop-de-looping for those wealthier entities, who admittedly I jam with from time to time even though it’s obvious, self-evident maybe, that even ‘The Good Billionaires’ see buying political power as one manifestation of the natural order of things. Which troubles me of course. Only how much really? And what if they’re right? I’ve heard about the sinister echoes along D.C. corridors: I’ve seen the grubby fingermarks lining all of the walls and yes I’ve spoken to the beasts that frequent the hallways and the conference rooms. (Obama voice) I get it, really.
There really are glimmers of hope though and yet rarely do we ever focus on them. As I write these words today a small but dedicated army of human rights activists and free speech lawyers are in perpetual battle with the encroaching security state. To carve out and maintain as safe a legal space as possible for whistleblowers and political dissidents alike. These are people who use their skills for good. Who refuse to serve ‘corporate interests’ and choose instead to secure the rights of whistleblowers everywhere by bolstering as best they can the safety net whistleblowers are legally guaranteed. I upheld the constitutional rights of a corporation myself before, a tobacco company no less. Whatever god is knows that I have. But I soon realised I was emptier for it, that I was merely existing. I started to blog soonafter before upping sticks and leaving my life in New York, along with a relationship that had sadly long since run its course behind, and moving to Rio in ’05, where I was blessed enough to meet my soulmate, David Miranda, and then find this wonderful paradise for us to live in before my ‘second-wind’ career of sorts really started to take off. And now the rest, as they say (LOL), is history.
I started blogging as online media began to challenge and to disrepute the establishment press and, I think, redefine the global media order entirely. People liked my work (LOL); I managed to land the Salon gig; The Guardian one after that. There, I was able to draw attention to NSA mass surveillance as the story crescendoed. As the NSA insiders continued to come forward and as that constitutional gut punch, The Patriot Act, was finally being acknowledged for the abomination that it so demonstrably was and continues to be within broader political discourse. However nothing, and really I mean nothing could have prepared me for the Snowden thing and everything that he has entailed since; it’s been the most insane thing. An admission here though, just a small one because, well, I’ve been candid thus far and it only feels right that I continue in this vein. So here goes:
It actually wasn’t a Rubik’s cube Snowden was carrying with him in the hotel lobby the day we met. As the Oscar Winning film Citizen Four suggests. Nuh uh. Ed had a Rubik’s cube, which he’d planned to use for the purposes that we described to you in the film. Only turns out that he lost it on the day we arranged to meet. We filmed all that crap afterwards. As the story goes, he was closing a window in his hotel room that morning when he sneezed. And his natural response was to move his hand over his mouth, like any good boy would. As he did so, the Rubiks cube, which was in his hand at this point, I have no idea why and to this day neither does he — slipped from his grip, then ricocheted off his cheek, somehow. As if in slow motion. Right through the tiny opening in the window. I mean really, what are the odds?! He was in his hotel room on the 51st floor and so obviously he couldn’t leave the building for security reasons. When Laura and I heard the news via p2p we were absolutely devastated. How could this even happen?
With only a small window (LOL) of opportunity to amend the plan; the only thing we could think of was thus: We would meet Ed in the lobby just as planned, but instead of holding a Rubik’s cube, he’d be the guy in the furthest right hand corner of the room, facing the wall. Slowly, but purposefully banging his head up against it. Only little did we know. At that exact spot, just three days previously, a decorative Chao Gong had been mounted on that particular stretch of wall. So, when we arrived, there Snowden was: A young, scrawny looking man (Laura & I had expected him to be of retirement age up to this point) stood there, banging his head against it as three startled receptionists from the lobby-desk bustled frantically around him, offering a glass of water, pleading with him to take a seat. Laura, Ewen and I hurried over when we spotted him and then when he did the same, he followed us to the end of the lobby, and then out into the hallway, where we exchanged nervous, awkward, but sympathetic glances before stepping into the lift together, going up, exiting, then walking up to the hotel room. In complete silence.
