ISN'T it strange that the fate of a pot-smoking geek with a passion for UFOs and hacking should attract such extreme reaction from so many disparate factions?
On the face of it, Gary McKinnon appears to be nothing more than a socially dysfunctional computer geek, who used his skills to poke around where he shouldn't and got his fingers burned. The fact he gained access to 97 US military sites and Nasa, of
course, adds an extra frisson – particularly since many of his virtual sorties were carried out shortly after 9/11.
But since the most damaging information the overgrown schoolboy claims to have uncovered is a secret list of "non-terrestrial officers" which he cites as evidence that the US has a secret spaceship somewhere "off-planet" (which is uncannily close to the whereabouts of his mind when he uncovered said information) it is safe to assume he wasn't a huge threat to the battle against al-Qaeda.
Yet, bizarrely, as his case has progressed, and particularly since he lost his battle against extradition in the House of Lords last week, McKinnon has undergone a transformation from techie saddo to martyr for a whole variety of causes. To anti-capitalists, the Scot is a victim of American imperialism; to those who have lost faith in new Labour, he is a symbol of the Government's poodle status; and to those who believe in official cover-ups, he is a symbol of just how far governments are prepared to go to keep us all in the dark.
With every court appearance, the claims of McKinnon's significance have become increasingly overblown (US prosecutors have, for example, claimed he caused a shutdown of the military district of Washington for a day) until – at last week's hearing – his own lawyers appeared to lose touch with reality. They claimed that if he was convicted in a US court he would serve a 60-year sentence, be carted off to Guantanamo Bay, or even, they hinted darkly, "fry". Well, I suppose if you are representing a man who spends his time investigating UFOs, you have to learn to suspend your disbelief.
There also those, of course, for whom McKinnon is a romantic rebel, who, far from being punished, should be feted for exposing the US's lax security systems and then employed to tighten them up. This group is mostly comprised of people who saw the movie WarGames when it came out in 1983.
Ah, those were innocent times, were they not? When computers seemed to hold the key to a glittering future, but the closest most of us came to state-of-the-art technology was the odd shot on a BBC micro at school and playing Pac-Man on our TVs. The idea a teenage whiz kid could gain access to the most sensitive data bases in the world – and almost start World War III – was compelling, but strictly the stuff of fantasy. Even when, two years later, Robert Schifreen proved it could be done by breaking into BT networks and gaining entry to inboxes, including Prince Philip's – it all seemed like a bit of a wheeze.
McKinnon watched WarGames in a cinema in Crouch End in London at the age of 17. Like many others, it inspired him to try his hand at hacking. Unfortunately for him he didn't get around to it for another 12 years. Then, he discovered he had a talent, which he continued to tap into until he was caught in 2001. By then, of course the political landscape had changed beyond recognition. The war against terror was in full swing and paranoia was at an all-time high. And so one morning McKinnon woke to find an officer from the National High Tech Crime Unit at the foot of his bed.
Assessing the rights or wrongs of the way the case has been handled since then is difficult because all the parties involved seem to have laid false trails and engaged in doublespeak (which is apposite when you think the whole affair started with McKinnon's obsession with conspiracy theories). No one, it seems, has been completely transparent. For example, it does seem likely the US authorities have exaggerated the extent of damage caused by his infiltration. On the other hand, McKinnon's claim that his hacking was motivated by nothing more than a lively curiosity does not tie in with his habit of leaving derogatory comments about American foreign policy on the computers he got into.
The backlash over last week's decision to agree to McKinnon's extradition, is understandable given the apparent inequities in the terms under which the UK and the US are prepared to hand suspects over to each other. But would prosecuting McKinnon in the UK – where the offence was committed – have been viable? Since the case hinges on the extent of the damage caused, isn't it likely most of the relevant evidence is on the other side of the Atlantic?
Much of the sympathy I had for McKinnon waned when I realised he had turned down the opportunity to go to the US without a fight, plead guilty and serve six months, against the advice of his lawyer because the offer "wasn't written down" and he feared it was a trap.
Obviously, I don't think he should be jailed for 60 years for what he did. But I suspect that – despite a genuine fear for the future – there's a part of McKinnon that's revelling in the fantasy element of all of this. After all: the 41-year-old is either "the most dangerous hacker in the world", facing a life of incarceration in a US jail, or he's a loser in a bedsit in London, with no girlfriend, no job and no access to the internet. Which would you choose?
Maybe I'm being unfair. But I find it hard to engage with someone who seems to be already acting out the part in the movie he hopes will one day be made of his life. Especially when I know it won't be a patch on WarGames.
The full article contains 1017 words and appears in Scotland On Sunday newspaper.
