CHIPMUNKS AND THE PRINCIPLE OF PRIVACY
One of the many joys of summer beside a forest-encircled lake is that unlike every moment of every day in “normal” life, your privacy is respected. The welcome exception is a chipmunk, who appears, unbidden and insistent, for a handout of nuts. When cheek pouches are on the point of bursting , he/she (gender assignment is nigh on impossible with chippies) darts off to store them deep in a hidden den. It’s nature’s equivalent of what websites and online advertisers do with cookies.
I confess I don’t know exactly what cookies are, or where they are hiding in my laptop, but the inserters all purport a version of a pledge to “take your privacy seriously”.
Apparently irony isn’t taught in tech classes.
With barely a comma, the advisory then blithely admits to collecting “some personal data” such as “…your browsing data, IP addresses, and other unique identifiers.” But not to worry, it’s done by cookies “we absolutely need in order to make things work, and others you can choose in order to optimize your experience while using our site and services.”
I accept the necessity of some to make things work. However, optimising my experience could start by heeding forever the cookie choice I made the first time I clicked “Reject All” for the non-essential.
Maybe the rationale for repetition is somewhere in the site’s “Privacy Policy”. I’ll never know, because it’s so long and complex I seriously doubt anyone with anything remotely resembling a life has read the ensuing screeds of fine print from start to finish, or could make sense of it if they did.
The policy may also be where they justify embedding private data collectors in advertisements, videos, web banners and even the “like” button on Facebook.
Despite their endearing appearance, chipmunks are fierce defenders of their dens and stash of winter fodder, which makes them the antithesis of collecting information from my computer to sell on to those who breach privacy online with relentless efficiency.
The worst data harvesters are so unscrupulous they’re known as “zombie cookies”, which are buried away from the regular kind. Even if you hit Delete All Cookies, the zombies rise from the dead and reinstall themselves. As one website devoted to helping we the hapless put it mildly: “They have gained a reputation for being notoriously difficult to remove.”
HELP IS NOT ON THE WAY
Google, that most insidious of outfits, invaded my Inbox to offer me “My AdCenter”, which allegedly means “…you get to choose the kinds of ads you want to see and which info can be used to personalize them.” I’ve been a Google client/user for as long as I’ve owned a computer. If ads can be personalised courtesy of cookies and whatever other nefarious means they use, surely they could, or should have, figured out I reflexively and consistently click “Skip ad” as soon as the opportunity presents itself.
Claiming they’ll respect my “choice” of which ads I want, is as big an insult to my intelligence as offering the service to anyone and everyone and assuming I’ll think of it as “My” ad center.
A campaign to “Help Keep Toronto Clean” that popped up when I opened the New York Times online recently, is an excellent example of how much more acutely the cookie function is focused on getting information from my computer than on helping me in any way, shape or form.
Ontario is bigger than France and Spain combined. Toronto is at the bottom of the province. I’m nearer to the middle and the closest I’ve been to Toronto in decades is the airport. But if I ever go into the city again, I promise not to litter the streets. How civic-minded it would be if Google granted my computer the same courtesy.
THE OTHER SIDE GETS THE CHOICE
Granted, computers can and do offer, some useful choices and features. The one in my new (to me) car bleeps, chirps, flashes and even applies the brakes if necessary to help keep me safe from myself, wildlife and idiots who proliferate on the roads around here.
It’s the first automatic I’ve owned in 60 years of driving, so a warning every time I twitch for the clutch and gear lever would be useful, but isn’t included.
On the bright side, at least it’s a small piece of personal data the cookie monsters don’t appear to haven’t found– yet.
How much better it would be if everyone took the admonition of the late, great Marlon Brando into consideration, if not policy: “Privacy is not something that I’m merely entitled to, it’s an absolute prerequisite.”
The only creature welcome to infringe on that, is a chipmunk.
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7 thoughts on “CHIPMUNKS AND THE PRINCIPLE OF PRIVACY”
Never mind cookies, ‘Elon Musk’ started chatting to me on Instagram this evening
Yuk
Sir,
Starting the day with your ever-so-controlled outrage at the end of privacy in its many forms is balm to my ancient self. Onward and sideways. Jon Randal
I do like the idea of being a balm
I’m with Randal. It is major balm to see you so adroitly dispatch monsters with sparkling Pizz-wit.
I’m convinced that their intention is to wear me down by constantly insisting on my ’personal choice’ of cookies every time time I use a site so that eventually I will give in let them have their own way. The most annoying are the sites that refuse entry unless I comply, which I most certainly will not!
I’m with you on that