Inside WikiLeaks by Daniel Domscheit-Berg

Author:Daniel Domscheit-Berg
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 0224094017
Publisher: Vintage Digital
Published: 2011-02-15T00:00:00+00:00

The next major obstacle took shape invisibly and came from our own ranks. Along with piles of dirty clothes and empty pizza boxes, cabin fever was beginning to take over our apartment at the Fosshotel. Although we all got along extremely well and worked together very efficiently in chats, none of us could stand the physical presence of others for so many days in a row. It was almost funny. Everywhere in the world the IT branch is accused of creating problems between people by keeping them apart. Video conferences and electronic meetings replaced face-to-face talks, detractors often argued, and people had to overcome feelings of distance and misunderstanding that could have been easily cleared up if they sat down together. With us, the exact opposite was the case. Our first serious clash of personalities probably never would have happened if we hadn’t rented a shared apartment in that Icelandic hotel. Or at least if we had each had a room of our own.

On a Wednesday evening during the third week, the situation escalated dramatically. The cause was an open window. I had been out and about and had returned to the apartment, where everyone else—Rop and Julian as well as Herbert and Smári—was hunched over his laptop, typing away. A coffin that had been reopened after a decade would have smelled better than our room. I held my nose, went over to the French balcony on the other side of the room, and opened it to let in a bit of oxygen. Herbert shot me a grateful look. He had already retreated once to the hallway because he found the air unbearable. Julian, however, froze in front of his computer, only raising his head to fire a question at me. What was I thinking, opening the window? There was fire in his eyes, and it was directed at me.

“Rop is cold, you idiot,” he said in an extremely insulting tone.

I had no idea why he felt he had to play the role of Rop’s father. The others looked at Julian and me in horror. Rop had in fact said he was cold, but I didn’t intend to leave the window open all night. I said as much. Julian didn’t respond. He just stared at me, leaving no doubt that he expected more.

I went back and shut the window, perhaps louder than needed. Then I left the room.

That evening made clear how quickly the mood could turn sour.

I bought some swimming trunks and goggles and submerged myself in the warm water of a nearby outdoor public pool. It was nice only to perceive the outside world—the cries of children, the blubbering of water pumps, the smacking sound of flip-flops approaching and then receding again on the edge of the pool—in muffled, distant form.

In Iceland, people go to outdoor pools even when temperatures are freezing. There’s no need to worry about heating costs. Volcanic springs bring bath-temperature water to the surface of the earth. The atmosphere of the dark, evaporating water at sundown and the view to the right and left of the snow-covered peaks were almost mystical.

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