Speech at Legal Assistance Foundation Annual Luncheon, Grand Ballroom, Palmer House Hilton, June 23, 2008

Thank you, Diana. It is an honor for us to be part of this occasion. The Legal Assistance Foundation is a necessary organization. I know how LAF attorneys are regarded in abandoned communities throughout city. For the residents of those communities, they embody the possibility of justice. For my own part, I am grateful for all the ways, large and small, that you and your colleagues have enriched my understanding of the issues facing public housing residents.

During my years of immersion at Stateway Gardens, a practice developed that came to be known in certain circles as “the Jamie walk.” Journalists, academics, civic leaders, foundation executives, and assorted others would come down to South State Street ostensibly to see what I was up to but in fact to get a glimpse of life in public housing. I didn’t give them a formal tour; rather, they would tag along as I made my rounds. We would talk, as we walked. I welcomed these visits. So much more information could be conveyed on site than in a conversation in a downtown office. I recognized that for many the visit was not without its anxieties. It entailed crossing a significant threshold—stepping away from the official narrative about public housing (that hallucinatory mix of folklore, fear, and highly charged symbols) and stepping forward to see for themselves the conditions of life in a particular community. For some this proved a memorable and enduring experience. It removed the husks from what they thought they knew about high-rise public housing to reveal the questions inside.

A few months ago, Deloitte, a large professional consultancy, invited me to speak at a conference held for their tech consultants in the Midwest region. I delivered this address on September 21st, 2007:

Good morning... I'm honored to be here. I'm Dave Eads. I am an activist, a programmer, and a designer. I'll tell you more about my story in a bit. First, a question...

In Steven King's excellent book "On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft", he concludes with his ultimate description of the writer's vocation:

"Writing," he says, "isn't about making money, getting famous, getting dates, ... or making friends. In the end, it's about enriching the lives of those who will read your work, and enriching your own life, as well. It's about getting up, getting well, and getting over. Getting happy, okay? Getting happy. ... Writing is magic, as much the water of life as any other creative art."

Can we say the same of being a geek, or a hacker in the broad sense, or even an IT consultant? What is being a geek about? Is it about making money or being famous? Can we say it's about getting up, getting well, or getting over? Can we say it's about getting happy? What can we say about the satisfactions of our work?

And if the technologies we are expert in are, for most people, indistinguishable from magic, have we become the magicians of our hyperconnected world? As experts in information technology, what is our responsibility to our fellow citizens, our society, and our world?

* * *

There has been some debate in federal court and among my journalistic colleagues recently about what kind of a reporter I am. Actually, Studs resolved this issue a while ago when he characterized—and honored—me with a term he uses to describe himself. He called me “a guerrilla journalist.” Unfortunately, this term has not, at least so far, carried the day. I have been described as “an advocate,” as “one-sided,” as obviously “biased.” In their most recent brief, City lawyers stopped just short of calling my work spam. They referred repeatedly to something distasteful called “internet submissions.”

Remarks at Rape Victim Advocates Benefit, April 21, 2005

This award is, for me, a threefold honor. I am honored by the presence of all of you here tonight. To look out and see so many friends and colleagues and coconspirators in one room is an amazing experience. It gives me the dangerous illusion that my haphazard journey through life may actually make some kind of sense—that somehow it all coheres. Although I know the illusion will pass, this moment is delicious. It is sweetened further by the happy accident that both my mother and my mother-in-law are in town, and by the presence of our son Josh and my brother Michael who rearranged busy lives to attend. Our daughter Betsy could not be here, but she is very much present in spirit.

I am also honored that this award bears the name of Rape Victim Advocates. There are many nonprofit organizations out there appealing for support. Some are worthy, some less so. Only a few, in my view, are absolutely necessary in the sense that they do essential work that won’t get done if they don’t do it. RVA is such an organization.

The other word in the award’s name—Visionary—makes me feel like a bit of an impostor. I have a deep distrust of visionaries and their visions. My own method, as I once described it, is to generate light by collecting fireflies and massing their glow. I do my best thinking close to the ground. So perhaps we can, at least this year, rename the award the RVA Reluctant Visionary Award. In any case, whatever the name, I gratefully accept it.