On May 19, 1998, seven hackers from hacker think tank L0pht Heavy Industries took a seat in front of the United States Senate Committee on Governmental Affairs. In spite of being introduced as hackers, they’re in suits, not hoodies. Committee Chair Senator Fred Thompson opens by informing the audience that the seven men will be going by their “hacker names” and introduces them: “Mudge, Weld, Brian Oblivion, Kingpin, Space Rogue, Tan, and Stefan.” In an otherwise solemn room, their names ignite laughter that ripples through the crowd. Senator Thompson cracks a joke: “I hope my grandkids don’t ask me who my witnesses were today and say Space Rogue…”
L0pht’s testimony was a turning point for national awareness about cybersecurity, vulnerabilities, and the role of hackers in finding and addressing these vulnerabilities. Mudge asks the senators: “How can one be expected to protect the system on a network where any of the seven individuals seated before you can tear down the foundation that the network was built upon, let alone the systems that are sitting on top of it?” He maintains that this prospect—the famous statement that hackers can take down the internet within 30 minutes—is not a threat but “the beginning of an ongoing dialogue between the government and hacker groups” that holds companies liable for insecure software.
As serious as the Committee conversation is—covering informational warfare and electronic attacks—the seven men address each other and are addressed by the senators by their handles. For hackers, such naming devices can empower individuals to debate, rant, or joke more freely and frankly in online discussions. But the power of a pseudonym also handles more grave matters. Differentiating one’s online identity from their AFK (away from keyboard) one provides more robust protection when, for instance, a hacker shares forbidden information or participates in hacktivism, activities that might put them on law enforcement’s radar.
Still, these pseudonymous hacker handles are distinct from absolute anonymity and thus accrue associations and reputations. Perhaps ironically, we now know the names of the L0pht hackers, even though they initially used their handles to avoid repercussions from their employers and companies whose vulnerabilities they were disclosing. Their workplaces eventually learned about their names and post-work activities after Internet Week magazine released a cover story on Weld Pond (Chris Wysopal) and Mudge (Peiter Zatko). As their failed plan and testimonies show, handles don’t cleanly separate two selves. They become an intimate part of one’s identity and a source of pride. The L0pht hackers wore their names proudly, refusing to shed them not only for the momentary protection but also because they signaled something about who they are as hackers.
In a world of handles, no one needs to be stuck with a name. Hacker handles are, like a good hack, playful and inventive. The fun in names seems to be everywhere: curiously named groups like Legion of Doom (a reference to a comic-book-turned-show) and Cult of the Dead Cow (a nod to their origins in a slaughterhouse), and witty handles like Mark Abene’s Phiber Optik (fiber optic) and Limor Fried’s ladyada (Ada Lovelace). Before even showing (off) their technical skills, some handles already display their craftiness or playfulness—or a mix of both. As anthropologist Gabriella Coleman points out, humor and clever code allow one to “differentiate themselves from the greater collective of hackers.” Chosen names exemplify how craft and craftiness build an individual hacker identity within a broader social world. When innovation, artistry, and flair can prove one’s worth as a hacker, handles without these elements might get teased: “gee that’s an original name,” joke Knight Lightning and Dispater, reporting on a young hacker they met at SummerCon 1992 named Pyro.
What hackers do with their handles differs. Some shed it after professionalizing, some never divulge their real names, and some go by both. Ultimately, handles tease you with glimpses into hacker culture. L0pht’s pseudonymous names are not jarring opposites of the testimony’s seriousness. They reveal that, for hackers, the serious coexists with the playful. Senator Joe Lieberman brings laughter again when he calls the men the “modern-day Paul Reveres, except in this case, it’s not the British coming.” For him, seven hackers named Mudge, Weld Pond, Brian Oblivion, Kingpin, Space Rogue, John Tan, and Stefan von Neumann helped him understand that “no system is foolproof.” As the Committee hearing demonstrates, handles can imbue whatever space they’re in—serious or lulzy, online or in-person—with a bit of hacker spirit, humor, and mystery.
