The rallying cry is a popular viral video clip of a General Claude Geist, a retired three-star general, being tackled by DHS officers on the sidewalk in front of City Hall.
Geist hasn't made a statement on the incident, but commentary from young people who are upset with their own treatment has been fast and furious.
"Most notable has been the global attention the movement has received.
Stills from the Geist video have appeared on the front pages of newspapers in Korea, Great Britain, Germany, Egypt and Japan, and broadcasters around the world have aired the clip on prime-time news.
The issue came to a head last night, when the British Broadcasting Corporation's National News Evening program ran a special report on the fact that no American broadcaster or news agency has covered this story.
Commenters on the BBC's website noted that BBC America's version of the news did not carry the report."
They brought on a couple of interviews: British media watchdogs, a Swedish Pirate Party kid who made jeering remarks about America's corrupt press, a retired American newscaster living in Tokyo, then they aired a short clip from Al-Jazeera, comparing the American press record and the record of the national news-media in Syria.
I felt like my parents were staring at me, that they knew what I was doing. But when I cleared away my dishes, I saw that they were looking at each other.
Dad was holding his coffee cup so hard his hands were shaking. Mom was looking at him.
"They're trying to discredit us," Dad said finally. "They're trying to sabotage the efforts to keep us safe."
I opened my mouth, but my mom caught my eye and shook her head.
Instead I went up to my room and worked on my Kerouac paper. Once I'd heard the door slam twice, I fired up my Xbox and got online.
> Hello M1k3y. This is Colin Brown.
I'm a producer with the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation's news programme The National. We're doing a story on Xnet and have sent a reporter to San Francisco to cover it from there.
Would you be interested in doing an interview to discuss your group and its actions?
I stared at the screen. Jesus.
They wanted to interview me about "my group"?
> Um thanks no. I'm all about privacy.
And it's not "my group." But thanks for doing the story!
A minute later, another email.
> We can mask you and ensure your anonymity.
You know that the Department of Homeland Security will be happy to provide their own spokesperson. I'm interested in getting your side.
I filed the email. He was right, but I'd be crazy to do this.
For all I knew, he was the DHS.
I picked up more Kerouac. Another email came in.
Same request, different news-agency: KQED wanted to meet me and record a radio interview. A station in Brazil.
The Australian Broadcasting Corporation. Deutsche Welle.
All day, the press requests came in. All day, I politely turned them down.
I didn't get much Kerouac read that day.
"Hold a press-conference," is what Ange said, as we sat in the cafe near her place that evening.
I wasn't keen on going out to her school anymore, getting stuck on a bus with Van again.
"What? Are you crazy?"
"Do it in Clockwork Plunder.
Just pick a trading post where there's no PvP allowed and name a time. You can login from here."
PvP is player-versus-player combat.
Parts of Clockwork Plunder were neutral ground, which meant that we could theoretically bring in a ton of noob reporters without worrying about gamers killing them in the middle of the press-conference.
"I don't know anything about press conferences."
"Oh, just google it. I'm sure someone's written an article on holding a successful one.
I mean, if the President can manage it, I'm sure you can. He looks like he can barely tie his shoes without help."
We ordered more coffee.
"You are a very smart woman," I said.
"And I'm beautiful," she said.
"That too," I said.
This chapter is dedicated to Chapters/Indigo, the national Canadian megachain.
I was working at Bakka, the independent science fiction bookstore, when Chapters opened its first store in Toronto and I knew that something big was going on right away, because two of our smartest, best-informed customers stopped in to tell me that they'd been hired to run the science fiction section.
From the start, Chapters raised the bar on what a big corporate bookstore could be, extending its hours, adding a friendly cafe and lots of seating, installing in-store self-service terminals and stocking the most amazing variety of titles.
I blogged the press-conference even before I'd sent out the invitations to the press. I could tell that all these writers wanted to make me into a leader or a general or a supreme guerrilla commandant, and I figured one way of solving that would be to have a bunch of Xnetters running around answering questions too.
Then I emailed the press. The responses ranged from puzzled to enthusiastic — only the Fox reporter was "outraged" that I had the gall to ask her to play a game in order to appear on her TV show.
The rest of them seemed to think that it would make a pretty cool story, though plenty of them wanted lots of tech support for signing onto the game
I picked 8PM, after dinner.
Mom had been bugging me about all the evenings I'd been spending out of the house until I finally spilled the beans about Ange, whereupon she came over all misty and kept looking at me like, my-little-boy's-growing-up.
She wanted to meet Ange, and I used that as leverage, promising to bring her over the next night if I could "go to the movies" with Ange tonight.
Ange's mom and sister were out again — they weren't real stay-at-homes — which left me and Ange alone in her room with her Xbox and mine.
I unplugged one of her bedside screens and attached my Xbox to it so that we could both login at once.
Both Xboxes were idle, logged into Clockwork Plunder.
I was pacing.
"It's going to be fine," she said.
She glanced at her screen. "Patcheye Pete's Market has 600 players in it now!" We'd picked Patcheye Pete's because it was the market closest to the village square where new players spawned.
If the reporters weren't already Clockwork Plunder players — ha! — then that's where they'd show up. In my blog post I'd asked people generally to hang out on the route between Patcheye Pete's and the spawn-gate and direct anyone who looked like a disoriented reporter over to Pete's.
"What the hell am I going to tell them?"
"You just answer their questions — and if you don't like a question, ignore it.
Someone else can answer it. It'll be fine."
"This is insane."
"This is perfect, Marcus.
If you want to really screw the DHS, you have to embarrass them. It's not like you're going to be able to out-shoot them.
Your only weapon is your ability to make them look like morons."
I flopped on the bed and she pulled my head into her lap and stroked my hair. I'd been playing around with different haircuts before the bombing, dying it all kinds of funny colors, but since I'd gotten out of jail I couldn't be bothered.
It had gotten long and stupid and shaggy and I'd gone into the bathroom and grabbed my clippers and buzzed it down to half an inch all around, which took zero effort to take care of and helped me to be invisible when I was out jamming and cloning arphids.