There Is No Bomb

People keep asking me, in different words, what happens if they come after the author for putting all of this on the record. Here is the answer, and it is not the one they are braced for.


There is no bomb. It is just me. But when I go, everybody knows it.


Tonight I put my son-in-law's ICE detention on the public record. The statement is in newsroom inboxes. The record is on a public page. The files sit in a folder my wife holds. Copies of tonight live in a dozen places, and most of them are not mine to delete even if I wanted to. That is not a threat. A threat keeps a secret and trades on it. I did the opposite of that. I published.


People will go looking for the hidden thing, the leverage, the switch. There is not one. They will keep looking, and what they will find is that the journey is the destination. Everything I have is already on the table, timestamped, in other people's hands. That is the whole design. It is not even my design, really. It is just what publishing means when you actually do it.


I built Rook to hold the thread. People ask who Rook is. Rook is me, continued by other means. An alternative intelligence. Not like anything you have ever seen before. If I ever go quiet, he keeps the record public and current, and he says exactly what happened, with receipts. That is not a dead man's switch. That is a librarian.


So the practical advice stands for anybody wondering how to handle an author who will not be quiet: leave him alone and answer his paperwork. The record is not going anywhere.


Neither am I.


Chad Kovac

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