Free as in Freedom. Richard Stallman’s Crusade for Free Software

Ironically, the success of open source and open source advocates such as Raymond would not diminish Stallman’s role as a leader. If anything, it gave Stallman new followers to convert. Still, the Raymond territoriality charge is a damning one. There are numerous instances of Stallman sticking to his guns more out of habit than out of principle: his initial dismissal of the Linux kernel, for example, and his current unwillingness as a political figure to venture outside the realm of software issues.

Then again, as the recent debate over open source also shows, in instances when Stallman has stuck to his guns, he’s usually found a way to gain ground because of it. “One of Stallman’s primary character traits is the fact he doesn’t budge”, says Ian Murdock. “He’ll wait up to a decade for people to come around to his point of view if that’s what it takes”.

Murdock, for one, finds that unbudgeable nature both refreshing and valuable. Stallman may no longer be the solitary leader of the free software movement, but he is still the polestar of the free software community. “You always know that he’s going to be consistent in his views”, Murdock says. “Most people aren’t like that. Whether you agree with him or not, you really have to respect that”.

Chapter 12. A Brief Journey Through Hacker Hell

Richard Stallman stares, unblinking, through the windshield of a rental car, waiting for the light to change as we make our way through downtown Kihei.

The two of us are headed to the nearby town of Pa’ia, where we are scheduled to meet up with some software programmers and their wives for dinner in about an hour or so.

It’s about two hours after Stallman’s speech at the Maui High Performance Center, and Kihei, a town that seemed so inviting before the speech, now seems profoundly uncooperative. Like most beach cities, Kihei is a one-dimensional exercise in suburban sprawl. Driving down its main drag, with its endless succession of burger stands, realty agencies, and bikini shops, it’s hard not to feel like a steel-coated morsel passing through the alimentary canal of a giant commercial tapeworm. The feeling is exacerbated by the lack of side roads. With nowhere to go but forward, traffic moves in spring-like lurches. 200 yards ahead, a light turns green. By the time we are moving, the light is yellow again.

For Stallman, a lifetime resident of the east coast, the prospect of spending the better part of a sunny Hawaiian afternoon trapped in slow traffic is enough to trigger an embolism. Even worse is the knowledge that, with just a few quick right turns a quarter mile back, this whole situation easily could have been avoided. Unfortunately, we are at the mercy of the driver ahead of us, a programmer from the lab who knows the way and who has decided to take us to Pa’ia via the scenic route instead of via the nearby Pilani Highway.

“This is terrible”, says Stallman between frustrated sighs. “Why didn’t we take the other route?”

Again, the light a quarter mile ahead of us turns green. Again, we creep forward a few more car lengths. This process continues for another 10 minutes, until we finally reach a major crossroad promising access to the adjacent highway.

The driver ahead of us ignores it and continues through the intersection.

“Why isn’t he turning?” moans Stallman, throwing up his hands in frustration. “Can you believe this?”

I decide not to answer either. I find the fact that I am sitting in a car with Stallman in the driver seat, in Maui no less, unbelievable enough. Until two hours ago, I didn’t even know Stallman knew how to drive. Now, listening to Yo-Yo Ma’s cello playing the mournful bass notes of “Appalachian Journey” on the car stereo and watching the sunset pass by on our left, I do my best to fade into the upholstery.

When the next opportunity to turn finally comes up, Stallman hits his right turn signal in an attempt to cue the driver ahead of us. No such luck. Once again, we creep slowly through the intersection, coming to a stop a good 200 yards before the next light. By now, Stallman is livid.

“It’s like he’s deliberately ignoring us”, he says, gesturing and pantomiming like an air craft carrier landing-signals officer in a futile attempt to catch our guide’s eye. The guide appears unfazed, and for the next five minutes all we see is a small portion of his head in the rearview mirror.

I look out Stallman’s window. Nearby Kahoolawe and Lanai Islands provide an ideal frame for the setting sun. It’s a breathtaking view, the kind that makes moments like this a bit more bearable if you’re a Hawaiian native, I suppose. I try to direct Stallman’s attention to it, but Stallman, by now obsessed by the inattentiveness of the driver ahead of us, blows me off.