Chelsea Manning - README.txt

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The views expressed in this publication are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the Department of Defense or the U.S. government. The public release clearance of this publication by the Department of Defense does not imply Department of Defense endorsement or factual accuracy of the material. This book is dedicated to the brave trans kids who struggle to live as themselves in a hostile world. You make me proud.

I must confess: I grew up extremely online. In the U.S. Army, I was trained to be an all-source analyst. Im used to collecting the full context and gettingand sharingas much detail as possible. I am also an advocate for transparency and open government. This memoir, by contrast, is only a single source and perspective, and there are points at which I am deliberately vague about specific events or groups. Some names in this book have been changed (I will note when this is the case). There are things the media has made public about this story that I cant comment on, confirm, or deny. Certain details remain classified. I am limited to some degree in what I can put on the record.

I know this can be annoying. However, I have already faced serious consequences for sharing information that I believe to be in the public interest. This book is an honest accounting of what I witnessed, what I experienced, and what I felt.

BARNES & NOBLE, ROCKVILLE, MARYLAND FEBRUARY 8, 2010

The free internet at Barnes & Noble is not fast. Especially if youre on an encrypted network, pinging nodes all over the world to mask your real location and ensure anonymity. But it was what I had to work with. I needed to upload almost half a million incident reports and significant activity logs (SIGACTs) Id brought with me on a memory card from Baghdad. This was every single incident report the United States Army ever filed about Iraq or Afghanistan, every instance where a soldier thought there was something important enough to log and report. These were descriptions of enemy engagements with hostile forces or explosives that detonated. They contained body counts, and coordinates, and businesslike summaries of confusing, violent encounters. They were a pointillist picture of wars that wouldnt end.

The upload meter bar slowly filled up. With a blizzard hitting the mid-Atlantic states, power outages, and the ticket I had for a flight scheduled to take off in twelve hours, this was my only option.

I had brought the documents back to America in my camera, as files on an SD memory card. Navy customs personnel didnt blink an eye. To get the data out, Id first burned the files onto DVD-RWs, labeled with titles like Taylor Swift , Katy Perry , Lady Gaga , Mannings Mix . No one cared enough to notice. I later transferred the files to the memory card, then shattered the discs with my boots on the gravel outside the trailers and tossed the shards in our burn barrel, along with the rest of the trash.

Sitting at a chair in the bookstore caf, I drank a triple grande mocha and zoned out, listening to electronic musicMassive Attack, Prodigyto wait out the uploads. There were seven chunks of data I needed to get out, and each one took between thirty minutes and an hour. The internet connection timed out so often that I had to restart several times. I began to worry that I wouldnt be able to get the whole thing out before the Barnes & Noble closed at 10:00 p.m. If that happens, I thought, Im done. This is over. It just isnt meant to be. I was going to throw the memory card in a trash can and never try again.

But the Wi-Fi finally did its job. At nine thirty, the final file was uploaded. It wasnt a moment of celebration, though; I was dead tired and needed to leave for the airport at four thirty in the morning to start the several-days-long journey back to Iraq. I left the Barnes & Noble. My bags were in my rental car, so I just slept in the back seat, in the freezing cold, in the parking lot, then dropped off the car and took the Metro out to Reagan National in the strange, empty predawn hours.

I wasnt thinking about what might happen to me. I was just trying to survive every day. Compartmentalizing is something I was good at. I was grappling with my gender identity and working inside an army that didnt officially allow people like me to serve openly.

When I landed in northern Virginia at the end of January 2010, I was both physically and psychologically exhausted. I was excited for this short leave, for a break from Iraq and from workand to see Dylan (not his real name), my boyfriend at the time, who was a college student in Boston. When I went to see him, Id been overseas for less than four months. But he was caught up in the social life of college, and was emotionally distant from me during the few days I spent there. He didnt want to talk about anything that involved the two of us in the future. I worried our relationship was ending. I went back to my aunts house in Maryland.

I took the D.C. Metro out to Virginia, to Tysons Corner Center. Id been there plenty of times beforethats what you do in the suburbs, go to the mall. This time, though, I snapped a photograph of myself in the car on the way, wearing a blond wig. It was the photo that would later, to my chagrin, be broadcast all over the world. I wandered around the mall, shopping: I went to Burlington Coat Factory for a purple coat. At Sephora, I bought makeup. I wanted to buy a business casual outfit, so I tried on clothes at Nordstrom and Bloomingdales, telling the salesperson that I was shopping for my girlfriend, who was about my size. I ate fast food for lunch, and then I went home and put on my new clothes and the long blond wig. I spent the rest of the day wandering around to coffee shops and bookstores, dressed as a woman. I took pleasure in the freedom, the escape, the ability to wear the clothes I wanted, to present myself in the manner I wanted.

For me, at least, being trans is less about being a woman trapped in a mans body than about the innate incoherence between the person I felt myself to be and the one the world wanted me to be. In the weeks before my leave, I had imagined what it would be like to walk around with long hair instead of my buzz cut, wearing something femme instead of my standard-issue uniform. Id watch YouTube videos of trans women documenting their transition alongside my usual web- browsing circuit: video games, alternate histories, and science videos.

But I didnt just want to unburden myself of the restrictions of a judgmental world. There was something else even more urgent on my mind, and its why I sat down with my computer at the Barnes & Noble. There were critical revelations about the government, and the complex nature of war, in those files.

Uploading those files wasnt my first choice. I first tried to reach more traditional publications. It had been a frustrating ordeal. I didnt trust the telephone, nor did I want to email anything; I could be surveilled. Even pay phones werent really safe. I went into chain storesStarbucks, mostlyand asked to borrow their landline because supposedly my cell was lost or my car had broken down. I called switchboards at The Washington Post and The New York Times , trying to get transferred to a reporter who would understand what I was offering them. I reached one at the Post , and we talked briefly. I left a message with my Skype number at the Times , but I never heard back. I said only that I worked in Defense. I tried to get them to understand. What I have is everything about two wars , I said over the phone. This is what asymmetric warfare looks like, uncut; this is the whole thing. I wanted this information published in a widely read outlet that could defend itself.

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