Most of my friends are thieves. Further, most of them are either unwilling or unable to admit that their behaviour is theft. My friends aren't unusual though: most people use the Internet to commit acts of thievery these days and most don't think they're doing anything wrong. The same person who would never even think of taking a chocolate bar from a corner store without paying for it steals hundreds or even thousands of dollars of media and software without a second thought.

Music is what everyone thinks of when you mention stealing on the Internet. I've been buying a lot of music lately, so that's going to be my pet example. Luckily much of what I say can easily be applied to other forms of media and software theft.

People who steal music often have rationalisations for their theft. Somehow, they convince themselves that it's not wrong. I've compiled a list of the most common ones I've heard or read:

1. I buy lots of music. I only download what I don't want to buy.
   
   In that case, you should listen to the music you own. Consider a company which buys many cars; call it, say, Budget Rent-A-Car. Should Budget be allowed to take other cars which they wouldn't have bought otherwise? Why should music be different?
   
   
2. I can't afford to buy everything I want.
   
   I can't afford to buy everything I want either but you don't see me going around stealing Power Mac G5s and kittens. If you can't afford to buy something, you shouldn't have it.
   
   
3. Information wants to be free.
   
   No it doesn't.
   
   
4. I only like one song.
   
   So you get to steal it? If you really want to buy a single song try the iTunes Music Store, if it's available in your country. If it isn't, you're out of luck.
   
   
5. I'll buy it eventually.
   
   Will you? When? Have you set a date by which it will be purchased? What happens if you don't?
   
   
6. The music industry isn't fair to artists.
   
   So instead the artist gets nothing? I'm all for artist liberation, which is why I have been buying much of my music from independent artists on CD Baby, but stealing music isn't on the path towards fair contracts between labels and artists.
   
   
7. I wouldn't have bought it anyway.
   
   Why should you have it? I won't buy a Sunfire but that doesn't imply that I'm going to steal one so I can keep it in my driveway.
   
   For a more in-depth discussion of this point, see The Value of Art.
   
   
8. I don't want to buy it. Anyways, stealing music is a victim-less crime, and I'll never get caught.
   
   The artists don't want you to have their hard work without paying for it, and I'm sure they'll argue that there is an obvious victim for your crime: them.
   
   If you believe you'll never get caught, I have this wonderful bridge for sale...

No matter what the rationalisation, theft is theft. If you're going to steal, there's nothing that anyone can say which will change your mind, but don't delude yourself into believing that you're not a thief. The fact remains that by downloading music which you don't own you're committing theft. You're no different from a teenager who steals a chocolate bar from the corner store or a white-collar criminal who bilks elderly people out of their life savings.

I think it would be be interesting if The Scarlet Letter was implemented for people who steal media and software. That might bring people to realise how widespread a problem this really is.

In the spring of 1998, I won a pie-eating contest.

Actually, that's a lie. Truthfully, I've never even participated in a pie-eating contest. But a lot of people were led to believe that I had, and as it turns out that supposed victory in a competition of gluttony led to my actual victory in an election.

Being involved, and to a lesser extent in charge, has been a passion of mine ever since my dad brought me to a weekend leadership conference called ATTILA when I was in grade 6 or 7. The conference was being run for the student council of O'Neill, and since Dad was the staff liaison for the student council, I got to come along.

ATTILA is one of my fondest memories. It may seem silly, given that the weekend consisted mostly of simple team-building activites like climbing a wall and getting through a "spider web" without touching the "web," but what makes it special is the way I was treated. The high school kids that I was with accepted me as an equal, never patronising me or making me feel my youth. Even though they didn't know me, they made me feel like a friend.

ATTILA (and the second O'Neill leadership conference I attended when I was in grade 9) taught me that great people can make any experience worthwhile. Many at ATTILA were the "drama type;" funny, outgoing and not afraid to be the centre of attention. These sort of people bring out my best qualities, which explains why I wanted to be on the student council at my high school after ATTILA. The one thing I can't explain is why I never actually got around to running for council until grade 11. (I ran for and was acclaimed as the Grade 11 representative.

Being on student council was a lot of fun. It was hard work too, but one person in particular, who fit into the "drama type" mould, made all the work worthwhile. Steve Maddiss, whose first name is "Steve" and not "Steven" (even on his birth certificate), was the vice-president of student council. Steve's best qualities weren't just that he was outgoing; he was also hard-working, smart and strong-willed. He's one of only three people from highschool that I keep in touch with.

In 1998, after my first year on Paul Dwyer's student council (in which Steve and I had fought against a poor president and helped in re-writing the student council's constitution, making it a Canadian system of Prime Minister et al), I decided to run for Prime Minister. I was running against another council member, Katie Bonnar (whose dad offered me a ride in the pouring rain which I refused because "you don't accept rides from strangers," which I slapped myself for afterwards - I was in grade 9!), and we had to make election speeches to the entire student body. The way these work is simple: a council member introduces you, and then you say your speech.

Steve decided to introduce me. I knew that he was going to say a little bit about me, but not exactly what he was going to say, so my pie eating came as a surprise even to me. The student body, fickle as it is, chose the purported pie eater over boring old Katie. Even though I had no idea what Steve was going to say, I think Katie blamed me for my dirty trick.

Fast forward a little more than one year. We've been in a situation of teacher work-to-rule the entire 1998-1999 school year, which means that our usual staff moderator wasn't doing anything more than signing cheques for us (when we could track her down, that is). Student council, left entirely on its own to accomplish the dances and spirit weeks and other activites that are usually held, is still functioning - but it's not fun. I've had to hold together the council, ensuring that things get done, monitoring people and projects. Worst of all, Steve had graduated and no "drama types" had replaced him.

By the time the end of the year rolled around, I was mentally exhausted, and I vowed to never again lead a group. After the student council elections, I went out with a bitter, tired speech; it wasn't until someone commented on it that I realised that I'd burned out. The next year, my job on student council was small: attend School Council (otherwise known as Parent-Teacher committee) meetings, and provide a little bit of guidance for the new Prime Minister. It was a lot easier, and I ended the year without any major problems.

Now we're in our 3B term, and we're busier than we've ever been before. You need only look at Rachelle Boisjoli's page, or one particular entry on Thai's page to see that the work is causing people to burn out. I have even been thinking semi-seriously about the fact that after this term, we can graduate with a general B.Math (if we have enough courses) and never come back. We're here only by choice - we can leave whenever we want.

Last year, I forgot my vow to never again lead a group, as evidenced by Debconf 2, which I organized in 2002. After this term, we'll forget about the workload we had to deal with too.

I just worry that this isn't the end of it - that our workload will increase over the next two terms.