speculation of Roberts’ identity at that time were other pseudonyms.
One such name was ‘pirateat40’, a Bitcointalk user who ran a suspected Ponzi scheme through the forum during 2011 and 2012. Carrying out a business under the name Bitcoin Savings and Trust (BST), pirateat40 promised returns of 7 per cent per week. As with most sham schemes, BST provided the returns to those who wanted them, and ‘reinvested’ for those who wanted the cumulative interest effect. It managed to run until August 2012, collecting around 700,000 bitcoin, until Bitcointalk became filled with complaints and suspicions.
As people examined the blockchain in the aftermath, the internet sleuths of Bitcointalk uncovered a very large wallet that they soon determined belonged to Silk Road. From this, some concluded BST was in fact a clever money-laundering scheme that accepted investors’ bitcoin and returned to them Silk Road’s funds, effectively ‘washing’ the dirty money.
Pirateat40 disappeared when it became clear that he was no longer making returns, and investors realised that the chances of recovering their money – let alone any profits – were slim to none.
The suspicions that BST could have a link to Silk Road continued until July 2013, when a thirty-year-old Texan, Trendon T. Shavers, was charged by the US Securities and Exchange Commission (SEC) on fraud charges related to BST. The SEC complaint alleged that Shavers was pirateat40. Any thoughts that the two pirates shared anything other than a sea-based fantasy were put to rest.
The other name that was bandied around as being the alter ego of the Dread Pirate Roberts was Satoshi Nakamoto. This theory had a lot going for it; for one thing, the value of bitcoin during the early days had depended heavily on its use in the online black markets. Nakamoto had disappeared around the time of Silk Road’s birth and resurfaced for the last time in April 2011, when he said he had ‘moved on to other things’.
But the evidence for Nakamoto and Dread Pirate Roberts being the same person was as flimsy as that linking DPR and pirateat40. Although both Nakamoto and DPR were prone to writing lengthy missives in their respective forums, Nakamoto’s were technical and scientific in nature while Roberts espoused his agorist philosophy, set reading challenges for member discussion and even hosted a movie night, with site members around the world simultaneously watching and discussing V for Vendetta . Nakamoto used UK English; Roberts’ writing was in US English.
In October 2011, The New Yorker ran a well-researched piece that identified Nakamoto as Michael Clear, a student of Trinity College, Dublin. Shortly after, Fast Company magazine countered with equally compelling – and equally circumstantial – evidence that Nakamoto was a pseudonym for not one but three Munich-based men who had worked together to create bitcoin. Both explanations were plausible. Both were apparently wrong.
The accused – Clear and the three Germans – all emphatically denied it. But as Clear told The New Yorker , ‘Even if I was I wouldn’t tell you.’ Another accused, Neal King, told Fast Company : ‘I’m cashing in on Warhol’s prediction of fifteen minutes of fame – albeit for something I didn’t do.’
Like that of Nakamoto, Dread Pirate Roberts’ cult status grew. Articles painting him as a hero and visionary were no longer confined to a few fringe online publications. Forbes started to report regularly on Silk Road and its owner in positive terms. The magazine published a collection of Roberts’ quotes, describing him as a ‘principled libertarian and cypherpunk in the same vein as WikiLeaks founder Julian Assange and bitcoin creator Satoshi Nakamoto’.
Although many would be appalled at the notion of a drug dealer as a hero, those who were against prohibition believed Silk Road offered a better, safer way for users to buy the drugs they would acquire anyway. As one member put it, ‘I
One such name was ‘pirateat40’, a Bitcointalk user who ran a suspected Ponzi scheme through the forum during 2011 and 2012. Carrying out a business under the name Bitcoin Savings and Trust (BST), pirateat40 promised returns of 7 per cent per week. As with most sham schemes, BST provided the returns to those who wanted them, and ‘reinvested’ for those who wanted the cumulative interest effect. It managed to run until August 2012, collecting around 700,000 bitcoin, until Bitcointalk became filled with complaints and suspicions.
As people examined the blockchain in the aftermath, the internet sleuths of Bitcointalk uncovered a very large wallet that they soon determined belonged to Silk Road. From this, some concluded BST was in fact a clever money-laundering scheme that accepted investors’ bitcoin and returned to them Silk Road’s funds, effectively ‘washing’ the dirty money.
Pirateat40 disappeared when it became clear that he was no longer making returns, and investors realised that the chances of recovering their money – let alone any profits – were slim to none.
The suspicions that BST could have a link to Silk Road continued until July 2013, when a thirty-year-old Texan, Trendon T. Shavers, was charged by the US Securities and Exchange Commission (SEC) on fraud charges related to BST. The SEC complaint alleged that Shavers was pirateat40. Any thoughts that the two pirates shared anything other than a sea-based fantasy were put to rest.
The other name that was bandied around as being the alter ego of the Dread Pirate Roberts was Satoshi Nakamoto. This theory had a lot going for it; for one thing, the value of bitcoin during the early days had depended heavily on its use in the online black markets. Nakamoto had disappeared around the time of Silk Road’s birth and resurfaced for the last time in April 2011, when he said he had ‘moved on to other things’.
But the evidence for Nakamoto and Dread Pirate Roberts being the same person was as flimsy as that linking DPR and pirateat40. Although both Nakamoto and DPR were prone to writing lengthy missives in their respective forums, Nakamoto’s were technical and scientific in nature while Roberts espoused his agorist philosophy, set reading challenges for member discussion and even hosted a movie night, with site members around the world simultaneously watching and discussing V for Vendetta . Nakamoto used UK English; Roberts’ writing was in US English.
In October 2011, The New Yorker ran a well-researched piece that identified Nakamoto as Michael Clear, a student of Trinity College, Dublin. Shortly after, Fast Company magazine countered with equally compelling – and equally circumstantial – evidence that Nakamoto was a pseudonym for not one but three Munich-based men who had worked together to create bitcoin. Both explanations were plausible. Both were apparently wrong.
The accused – Clear and the three Germans – all emphatically denied it. But as Clear told The New Yorker , ‘Even if I was I wouldn’t tell you.’ Another accused, Neal King, told Fast Company : ‘I’m cashing in on Warhol’s prediction of fifteen minutes of fame – albeit for something I didn’t do.’
Like that of Nakamoto, Dread Pirate Roberts’ cult status grew. Articles painting him as a hero and visionary were no longer confined to a few fringe online publications. Forbes started to report regularly on Silk Road and its owner in positive terms. The magazine published a collection of Roberts’ quotes, describing him as a ‘principled libertarian and cypherpunk in the same vein as WikiLeaks founder Julian Assange and bitcoin creator Satoshi Nakamoto’.
Although many would be appalled at the notion of a drug dealer as a hero, those who were against prohibition believed Silk Road offered a better, safer way for users to buy the drugs they would acquire anyway. As one member put it, ‘I
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