My full personal statement

My father was the superintendent of New Haven Public School District in rural Missouri. In a town of two thousand with a poverty distribution of about forty percent, most students understood that, after the bell, they would drive home to work on the family farm. Where tractors were more common than televisions, my father funded a Chromebook learning system, giving each student a personal laptop “for classroom use only.”

Most students took to the laptops immediately, some opening a web browser for the first time and many even learning how to type. Some, like me, applied flexible definitions to “classroom use,” hijacking the operating system and replacing it with Ubuntu or discovering that denial-of- service attacks are surprisingly easy to run. But the brave new world of technology was not resistance-free. I remember one classmate in particular: Jake. To Jake, a Chromebook cost more than a month of meals and it was met with hostility: why should he care about a laptop when his family couldn’t afford shoes? Until one day, I walked into my free hour and noticed Jake on his laptop—who had snapped one in half just a month before—applying online to a welding program.

Technology was once to me a silver bullet—the answer to all of the world’s issues. But as I started my college career, I became disillusioned to the point that I nearly changed my major away from computer science. Free hacking software online and entirely unregistered, Section 230 inadvertently enabling child prostitution, even a ransomware attack on my home school district--too often, computer science’s insatiable urge for progress casts morality to the wayside, ignoring the harm that machine causes man. I turned to my father for advice. He sent me a package of decades-old copies of Isaac Asimov’s Science Fiction Magazine and a note inside: “this is the history of the future.”

In the words of Asimov, I found a tenderness for humanity hidden between the lines of stories about computers and machines. Asimov advocates for a system of ethics that recognizes the shortcomings of technology and takes necessary steps along the way to protect, above all else, humanity. Rather than an insatiable push for progress at all costs, politicians and philosophers nudge the way forward through careful and considerate development.

The real world sorely lacks this creed. What exists is an amalgamation of state statutes, outdated federal laws, and appellate court opinions, constantly rewriting and further muddling the cyber law landscape. Internationally, the United States has failed to create updated cybersecurity treaties, making extradition of cybercriminals near impossible. Fueled by hawkish "hacking back" movements that are gaining traction, the world ticks closer and closer to a state of cyber war. Rules of engagement for cyberattacks remain undefined, blurring the line between civilian and soldier. Whether it be non-extradition agreements between governments and cybercriminal groups or threat actors funded covertly by states, our enemies often do not fly a flag but reside in the blue-light shadows of their monitors.

My undergraduate research was a small glimmer of hope, allowing me to promote the type of technology Dr. Asimov dreamed of. From helping build secure virtual reality learning environments for children with Autism to designing a perception-accurate augmented reality viewing system, my research brought science fiction to reality both in what is being developed and the capacity in which it benefits mankind. However, my true focus has stayed the same: bridging the gap between those who write code and those who write laws, bringing the considerations of authors like Asimov, Clark, and Dick to light. This intention has progressed over time: studying science fiction and how it translates to modern policy at Oxford University; interning in Washington, D.C. with the Senate Commerce Committee in the wake of the major SolarWinds hack; and now, in the halls of the Sanford School at Duke, investigating data brokers and unveiling the online privacy violations that are committed on American consumers.

Upon arriving at the Sanford School, I jumped at the chance to enroll in classes at Duke Law, learning about cybercrime with Professors Hoffman & Stansbury and information privacy with Professor Dellinger. I noticed that, while policy operates on a broad scale and considers the ethical implications of legislation, law is much more objective and precise, satisfying my computer programmer-esque love of logic and formality. I also realized the inadequacy of the current cyberlaw landscape—outdated definitions such as “unauthorized access” are ill-fitted for the modern age, digital privacy is governed by statues passed in the 1980s, and the standards of international cyberwarfare are largely undefined.

Through these opportunities, I discovered a niche and critically important intersection between law, public policy, and computer science. To successfully create cyber law, a policymaker requires all three: an intense understanding of the forefront of technology, a conviction to think ethically about the use of technology, and a devotion to legal detail. With a research-heavy computer science degree, a cybercentric Master’s in Public Policy, and a law degree from Duke, I will be uniquely and expertly equipped to address the future challenges of the cyber law landscape.

Isaac Asimov once said, “I do not fear computers—I fear the lack of them.” For Jake, his foray into technology did not stop on that day in the library; his motivation to escape became his downfall. Jake, like many others, discovered the deep web browser Tor and began haunting the illegal underbelly of the internet.

Jake sits in a jail cell now. He was arrested after selling methamphetamine online.

Dr. Asimov is partially correct--technology presents incredible potential but also unfathomable abuse. Even in a small town in Missouri, I have witnessed firsthand how careless regulation of technology can drastically alter a young man's life. I think of Jake often—what could have been had a vulnerable man not found Tor so readily available, had such sites been taken down as soon as they went up, had online international criminals not been allowed to operate so easily in the United States. Jake is a victim of a failed system, one that ignorantly preaches progress over people.

We are in desperate need of those who consider the intricacies of both man and machine, those who see science fiction as ethical doctrine rather than entertainment, those who believe in what Jake could have become. With a computer science background, degrees in public policy and law, and a conviction to ensure that technology is used to help humanity, I will have the unique combination necessary to fit that mold. I intend to be leader in technological policy and cyber law: enabling those like Jake through tech, protecting the vulnerable in the digital age, and helping write the history of the future.