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Hackers are trying to topple Belarus’s dictator, with help from the inside

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Hackers are trying to topple Belarus’s dictator, with help from the inside


BYPOL also has access to material from the Cyber Partisans to help them conduct investigations into the regime, which are then published on BYPOL’s own Telegram channel. Those investigations have been popular and successful, and one of their documentaries was cited during an American congressional hearing on Belarus that took place shortly before the US imposed sanctions against Lukashenko and his allies.

The hackers say their latest series of attacks has given them access to drone footage from protest crackdowns, the Ministry of Interior Affairs’s mobile-phone surveillance database, and databases for passports, motor vehicles, and more. They also say they have accessed audio recordings from emergency services and video feeds from road speed and surveillance cameras, as well as from isolation cells where detainees are held. 

The Partisans say their intention is to undermine the regime at every level. “We have a strategic plan that includes cyberattacks to paralyze as much as possible of the regime’s security forces, to sabotage the regime’s weak points in the infrastructure, and to provide protection for protesters,” said the spokesperson. 

“The hack is important because it shows the regime is not as unstoppable and unbeatable as it projects to be,” says Artyom Shraibman, a political analyst at the Carnegie Moscow Center. “It shows the weakness of their system. It emboldens the protesters. Many people in the protest have met these leaks with joy and a sense of victory.”

The hacks were previously reported by Current Time and Bloomberg.

“We don’t have any professional hackers”

The Cyber Partisans say they are not criminal hackers but technology-sector employees who cannot stand by any longer. The group’s spokesperson says that four individuals conduct “actual ethical hacking” while the others provide support, analysis, and data processing.

“We don’t have any professional hackers,” they told MIT Technology Review. “All of us are IT specialists and some cybersecurity specialists that learned on the go.”

Pavel Slunkin, who was a Belarusian diplomat until last year and is now working with the European Council on Foreign Relations, says that the Partisans reflect the technology industry’s importance to the country.

“The Belarusian people who work in tech not only want economic impact, but they want to transform it into political influence.”

“The Belarusian people who work in tech not only want economic impact but they want to transform it into political influence,” he says. “These kinds of people have houses, cars, and everything—except they can’t choose their own future. But now they’ve decided that they can participate in political life. They have played a very important role, if not the most important role, in what happened in Belarus in 2020.”

In the run-up to last year’s election campaign, opposition candidate Sergei Tikhanovsky recruited a number of tech experts. He was arrested two days after publicly announcing his candidacy, and his wife, Sviatlana Tsikhanouskaya, took his place as Lukashenko’s main opponent.

“When Tikhanovsky was put in prison, the protest movement felt destroyed,” Slunkin says. “This was the starting point for people trying to oppose the regime, not on the streets, but instead where they feel stronger and more secure than the government.”

“As comprehensive a hack as one can imagine”

Lukashenko’s iron grip on media and information inside Belarus has forced political opponents to move to apps like Telegram, which are harder to block or regulate. The hackers’ Telegram channel has more than 77,000 subscribers.

Their most recent postings include a recording of a conversation between two senior Belarusian police officials on August 8, 2020, the day before the presidential election. In the recording, the deputy chief of the Minsk police and his subordinate discuss “preventative” arrests of protesters and major political opponents. Their targets include staff working for Tsikhanouskaya.

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Why can’t tech fix its gender problem?

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From left to right: Gordon MOORE, C. Sheldon ROBERTS, Eugene KLEINER, Robert NOYCE, Victor GRINICH, Julius BLANK, Jean HOERNI and Jay LAST.


Not competing in this Olympics, but still contributing to the industry’s success, were the thousands of women who worked in the Valley’s microchip fabrication plants and other manufacturing facilities from the 1960s to the early 1980s. Some were working-class Asian- and Mexican-Americans whose mothers and grandmothers had worked in the orchards and fruit can­neries of the prewar Valley. Others were recent migrants from the East and Midwest, white and often college educated, needing income and interested in technical work. 

With few other technical jobs available to them in the Valley, women would work for less. The preponderance of women on the lines helped keep the region’s factory wages among the lowest in the country. Women continue to dominate high-tech assembly lines, though now most of the factories are located thousands of miles away. In 1970, one early American-owned Mexican production line employed 600 workers, nearly 90% of whom were female. Half a century later the pattern continued: in 2019, women made up 90% of the workforce in one enormous iPhone assembly plant in India. Female production workers make up 80% of the entire tech workforce of Vietnam. 

Venture: “The Boys Club”

Chipmaking’s fiercely competitive and unusually demanding managerial culture proved to be highly influential, filtering down through the millionaires of the first semiconductor generation as they deployed their wealth and managerial experience in other companies. But venture capital was where semiconductor culture cast its longest shadow. 

The Valley’s original venture capitalists were a tight-knit bunch, mostly young men managing older, much richer men’s money. At first there were so few of them that they’d book a table at a San Francisco restaurant, summoning founders to pitch everyone at once. So many opportunities were flowing it didn’t much matter if a deal went to someone else. Charter members like Silicon Valley venture capitalist Reid Dennis called it “The Group.” Other observers, like journalist John W. Wilson, called it “The Boys Club.”

The men who left the Valley’s first silicon chipmaker, Shockley Semiconductor, to start Fairchild Semiconductor in 1957 were called “the Traitorous Eight.”

WAYNE MILLER/MAGNUM PHOTOS

The venture business was expanding by the early 1970s, even though down markets made it a terrible time to raise money. But the firms founded and led by semiconductor veterans during this period became industry-defining ones. Gene Kleiner left Fairchild Semiconductor to cofound Kleiner Perkins, whose long list of hits included Genentech, Sun Microsystems, AOL, Google, and Amazon. Master intimidator Don Valentine founded Sequoia Capital, making early-stage investments in Atari and Apple, and later in Cisco, Google, Instagram, Airbnb, and many others.

Generations: “Pattern recognition”

Silicon Valley venture capitalists left their mark not only by choosing whom to invest in, but by advising and shaping the business sensibility of those they funded. They were more than bankers. They were mentors, professors, and father figures to young, inexperienced men who often knew a lot about technology and nothing about how to start and grow a business. 

“This model of one generation succeeding and then turning around to offer the next generation of entrepreneurs financial support and managerial expertise,” Silicon Valley historian Leslie Berlin writes, “is one of the most important and under-recognized secrets to Silicon Valley’s ongoing success.” Tech leaders agree with Berlin’s assessment. Apple cofounder Steve Jobs—who learned most of what he knew about business from the men of the semiconductor industry—likened it to passing a baton in a relay race.

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Predicting the climate bill’s effects is harder than you might think

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Predicting the climate bill’s effects is harder than you might think


Human decision-making can also cause models and reality to misalign. “People don’t necessarily always do what is, on paper, the most economic,” says Robbie Orvis, who leads the energy policy solutions program at Energy Innovation.

This is a common issue for consumer tax credits, like those for electric vehicles or home energy efficiency upgrades. Often people don’t have the information or funds needed to take advantage of tax credits.

Likewise, there are no assurances that credits in the power sectors will have the impact that modelers expect. Finding sites for new power projects and getting permits for them can be challenging, potentially derailing progress. Some of this friction is factored into the models, Orvis says. But there’s still potential for more challenges than modelers expect.

Not enough

Putting too much stock in results from models can be problematic, says James Bushnell, an economist at the University of California, Davis. For one thing, models could overestimate how much behavior change is because of tax credits. Some of the projects that are claiming tax credits would probably have been built anyway, Bushnell says, especially solar and wind installations, which are already becoming more widespread and cheaper to build.

Still, whether or not the bill meets the expectations of the modelers, it’s a step forward in providing climate-friendly incentives, since it replaces solar- and wind-specific credits with broader clean-energy credits that will be more flexible for developers in choosing which technologies to deploy.

Another positive of the legislation is all its long-term investments, whose potential impacts aren’t fully captured in the economic models. The bill includes money for research and development of new technologies like direct air capture and clean hydrogen, which are still unproven but could have major impacts on emissions in the coming decades if they prove to be efficient and practical. 

Whatever the effectiveness of the Inflation Reduction Act, however, it’s clear that more climate action is still needed to meet emissions goals in 2030 and beyond. Indeed, even if the predictions of the modelers are correct, the bill is still not sufficient for the US to meet its stated goals under the Paris agreement of cutting emissions to half of 2005 levels by 2030.

The path ahead for US climate action isn’t as certain as some might wish it were. But with the Inflation Reduction Act, the country has taken a big step. Exactly how big is still an open question. 

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China has censored a top health information platform

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China has censored a top health information platform


The suspension has met with a gleeful social reaction among nationalist bloggers, who accuse DXY of receiving foreign funding, bashing traditional Chinese medicine, and criticizing China’s health-care system. 

DXY is one of the front-runners in China’s digital health startup scene. It hosts the largest online community Chinese doctors use to discuss professional topics and socialize. It also provides a medical news service for a general audience, and it is widely seen as the most influential popular science publication in health care. 

“I think no one, as long as they are somewhat related to the medical profession, doesn’t follow these accounts [of DXY],” says Zhao Yingxi, a global health researcher and PhD candidate at Oxford University, who says he followed DXY’s accounts on WeChat too. 

But in the increasingly polarized social media environment in China, health care is becoming a target for controversy. The swift conclusion that DXY’s demise was triggered by its foreign ties and critical work illustrates how politicized health topics have become. 

Since its launch in 2000, DXY has raised five rounds of funding from prominent companies like Tencent and venture capital firms. But even that commercial success has caused it trouble this week. One of its major investors, Trustbridge Partners, raises funds from sources like Columbia University’s endowments and Singapore’s state holding company Temasek. After DXY’s accounts were suspended, bloggers used that fact to try to back up their claim that DXY has been under foreign influence all along. 

Part of the reason the suspension is so shocking is that DXY is widely seen as one of the most trusted online sources for health education in China. During the early days of the covid-19 pandemic, it compiled case numbers and published a case map that was updated every day, becoming the go-to source for Chinese people seeking to follow covid trends in the country. DXY also made its name by taking down several high-profile fraudulent health products in China.

It also hasn’t shied away from sensitive issues. For example, on the International Day Against Homophobia, Transphobia, and Biphobia in 2019, it published the accounts of several victims of conversion therapy and argued that the practice is not backed by medical consensus. 

“The article put survivors’ voices front and center and didn’t tiptoe around the disturbing reality that conversion therapy is still prevalent and even pushed by highly ranked public hospitals and academics,” says Darius Longarino, a senior fellow at Yale Law School’s Paul Tsai China Center. 

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