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The blues melodies of George and Ira Gershwin never crooned so doleful as when they moaned for “Someone To Watch Over Me.” My mother would have warned, “Be careful for what you wish.”
This week, the Wall Street Journal wrote that FBI agents had located and nabbed the “Hacker,” one Daniel Rigmaiden. The Federal Bureau of Investigation found their man using an electronic box called Stingray, a Harris Corporation invention. The Stingray masquerades as a surrogate cell tower, takes a call from a known cell number, and then, as the Stingray is driven about in a van, triangulates the cell phone’s location. (Possibly, it does not require that the phone even be used, just turned on.)
Now, I have no knowledge of Daniel Rigmaiden or his heinous hacking crimes, but undoubtedly his lawyers will plead “violation of his civil liberties.” Were any rights violated?
There’s probably no group farther to the left than the American Civil Liberties Union, and I’m not riding in their truck, but the Stingray did give me pause. I began to count the pieces of technology that I, a law-abiding citizen, might consider as an invasion of my privacy. In other words, how many pieces of equipment is Big Brother using to “watch over me?”
First, note that my biggest crime of this decade has been the “so-called” running of the red light on Park Road. “The light was pink.” Regardless, the spy camera took a photo of my plate and the police department sent me a copy, along with a bill for $75. If I want to protest, they would be happy to schedule a court date at their convenience. I don’t believe any human ever touched, viewed, or otherwise noted this violation; it was all done automatically.
So, the first thing I write down on my list, since this is fresh on my pocketbook, is that all the red-light cameras are an invasion. Perhaps it was okay this time because the light was a deep, deep shade of pink, but what prevents the intersection spies from taking pictures of every car, all the time, just to keep records of who goes through the intersection and when they go through? Nothing prevents that. You ask, “Why would someone want to do that?” Exactly.
Two murders have been solved in my fair city through the use of the Toll Tag records from the nearby toll road. There are no toll “booths.” There are no toll people. None. For a while the system used RFID (radio frequency identification) Toll Tags, but now they simply have cameras that automatically take a picture of the license on all cars going through. A toll tag is not needed. In fact, the sign above the lane says, “Keep Going. We’ll Bill You.” The software automatically recognizes the license number, automatically tracks down the owner through state registration, and automatically bills the owner. No humans are involved.
I noticed that my bank has more video cameras than I have dollars. Do they need to take my picture the entire time I’m in the bank, just in case? Well, okay. The convenience station where I buy my gas takes my picture, too. Do they need it? Why does my grocery store need to do that, also? And Walmart? Does every store I enter, every parking lot I use, every road I travel, every intersection I cross need to keep a record that I’ve been there, just in case I happen to be a criminal? Really? Do they?
And now, Facebook is spending its resources on automatically identifying and annotating faces. Ostensibly, you’re to be excited that your “friends” posted a photo of you doing whatever you were doing that you wish you had not been doing. Every camera has a time, date, and (soon to be) location stamp. That will put a whole new meaning to “what happens in Law Vegas stays on Facebook.”
I saw the infrared camera used at the World Series. Now, that was cool. (Ha. Ha. Little Pun) It showed a red spot if the foot of the runner touched the base. (How does it work? When the toe contacts the base, that interaction generates a small amount of heat in the foot and that small amount of heat shows up on the IR camera). I can hardly wait until those camera are installed everywhere. Then, they will be able to inspect my physical prowess and measure my emotional state at the same time.
In only a few years, all the cars will have global positioning systems (GPS). Marketing encourages that device to be able to store your driving habits, where you have been and when you were there. In fact, one major automobile insurer has a device you plug in to keep track of your driving habits -speeds, locations, distances, and uses that information to adjust your rates.
Which brings us back to the cell phone. The cell tower, itself, knows where you are. Well, at least it knows which cell you are in and knows when you switch from one to the other. (That’s why you leave your phone on.) Triangulation from closely spaced towers is simple enough, already, without the Stingray. A record of all your calls is kept, as I have learned from watching many reruns of Law and Order Criminal Intent.
There are other invasions astir. It seems that before I can speak to a real person on the phone, I must be informed that the conversation is being recorded. “Really? I’m just calling to see which day you’re scheduled to pick up my trash.” I have no idea why every business now finds they must record my every phone call. (I’m certain there’s a lawyer benefiting somewhere.) My bank does it, my credit card company does it, my bookseller does it. It seems everyone needs to record every conversation. Why?
The department stores already know everything I buy. Those who are older than dirt can remember Ollie North being slammed for a pair of nighties he bought. Those records are used routinely for targeted marketing. (In Ollie’s case it was something his wife asked him to buy for their daughter but it sounded, oh, so different in court.)
My internet carrier knows everywhere I’m been on the web, every email I’ve sent, and every email I’ve received.
I suspect that I missed some things and you can write and add to the list. One could argue that no one uses this information, “as long as you’re innocent.” To which I say, “Then why collect it?”
I think I’ll get the ol’ six-string out and pluck a few bars of Someone To Watch Over Me.