August 16, 2006
Anonymity as the default, and why digital ID should be a solution, not a platform
Eric Norlin has posted using my piece on pseudonymity as a springboard. Unfortunately, comments on his site are not showing up. Then, Kim Cameron, digital ID architect at Microsoft, reprinted Eric’s piece, but I’m unable to leave a comment at his site either. So, I was going to post my comment here. But, since then, the debate has expanded (my contribution seems to have been the phrase “anonymity is the default”): Ben Laurie argues that anonymity should be the substrate of identity systems. (Kim replies.) David Kearns has posted on the topic, arguing that privacy, not anonymity, is the issue. He follows up here. Tom Maddox replies. And Eric has posted again. This time I think his argument is weaker because he defines anonymity in a way that I think probably no one else does — he does not count a cash transaction as anonymous — but this is in service of raising the important question of what we should learn from our real world experience.
So, in lieu of leaving comments on other people’s sites, here’s an attempt to be clearer about what I mean by saying that anonymity should be the default.
The Internet is a social medium. In fact, it is a social world, a new public space. We are in the process of inventing the types of selves and societies that inhabit this public space. Because these are selves, the nuances and subtleties are as great as humans can manage. Nothing is simple.
We do have some experience with this, however. We have a real world. While obviously what we do — and who we are — on the Net keeps surprising us, we would be fools not to learn from the real world. So, here’s something I think the real world teaches us. The term “anonymity” has a bad connotation because it’s used primarily where there’s an expectation of identification. We don’t say that someone entered a movie theater anonymously unless we’re implying that the person had reason to hide her identity, even though, in truth, anyone who pays cash for a theater ticket is entering it anonymously. So, because we use the term “anonymous” mainly where identification is expected, this may lead us to think that being identified is the usual state — the default state — in the real world. In fact, the rarity with which we use the term actually indicates that the opposite is the case: Anonymity is the default in the real world.
That of course doesn’t mean that we’re always anonymous. There are zones where ID becomes the default by law or policy. And, in a small-ish town or within a work community, we may expect to know who everyone is. But, even so, the people in the small town are not entitled (by law or custom) to demand to see a drivers license of a visiting aunt walking down the street. You need a special justification (in the real world) for demanding ID, but you don’t need special justification for not demanding ID.
Of course that doesn’t mean that anonymity should be the default online, just as e-commerce sites shouldn’t replicate the real world experience of waiting on check-out lines. But, it’s worth looking at the real world in this case because it can help undo anonymity’s bad reputation, so that we can make a better judgment about what we want online.
Anonymity (including pseudonymity) does much good online. It also allows bad things to happen, but so does free speech. Before we tinker with the defaults, we ought to at least recognize what we may be giving up in the realms of (1) the political, (2) the social, and (3) the personal.
1. Anonymity allows people to say and do things that those in power don’t like. It enables dissidents to speak and whistleblowers to blow their whistles.
2. Anonymity allows people to say and learn about things from which social conventions otherwise would bar them. It helps a confused teen explore gender issues.
3. Anonymity (and especially pseudonymity) enables a type of playing with our selves (yes, I know what I just said) that may turn out to be transformative of culture and society.
Anonymity also allows some awful things to happen more easily, but we can’t fairly decide what we want to do about it unless we also acknowledge its benefits. Just as with free speech.
As David Kearns points out, some of these issues have to do with privacy. Since I’m interested in norms, I don’t want to stipulate definitions of “privacy” and “anonymity,” which is probably the only way to make their relationship crisply clear. The fact is that the two terms, as we use them in the real world, are murky alone and in relation. Roughly, when we talk about anonymity, we generally mean not knowing who I am, whereas when we talk about privacy, we generally mean not knowing things about me. (Logically, privacy includes anonymity since who I am is something to know about me, but in practice we use the terms separately.) In many instances, a strong right to privacy confers the benefits of anonymity. But, the real not-knowing of anonymity may be required in some regimes for people to feel free to speak. And it may have a subtle, liberating effect on the selves we’re building in the new connected public.
Worse — at least if you insist on clarity — both terms are complex and gradated. Privacy is obviously something we can parcel out in dribs and drabs; that’s what the new digital identity management systems enable. Anonymity sounds more binary, but because “who we are” is complex, so are the ways in which we can hold back information about who we are. An anonymous donor has probably identified herself to the organization that has agreed to withhold her name. An anonymous author may disclose that she has twenty years experience in the trade she’s writing about. An anonymous stranger who runs after you with the wallet you dropped makes no effort to hide her face, even if she refuses to give her name. And the range of ways in which we are pseudonymous is enormous.
We don’t have to sort this out entirely. Privacy, anonymity, publicness, resonsibility, shame, freedom, self, community…these and other core terms are properly in a royal stew of meaning.
Before we have all this clear, we’re going to have to make some decisions. My fear is that we are in the process of building a new platform for identity in order to address some specific problems. We will create a system that, like packaged software, has defaults built in. The most important defaults in this case will not be the ones explicitly built into the system by the software designers. The most important defaults will be set by the contingencies of an economic marketplace that does not particularly value anonymity, privacy, dissent, social role playing, the exploration of what one is ashamed of, and the pure delight of wearing masks in public. Economics will drive the social norms away from the social values emerging. That is my fear.
I have confidence that the people designing these systems are going to create the right software defaults. The people I know firsthand in this are privacy fanatics and insistent that individuals be in control of their data. This is a huge and welcome shift from where digital ID was headed just a few years ago. We all ought to sigh in relief that these folks are on the job.
But, once these systems are in place, vendors of every sort will of course require strong ID from us. If I want to buy from, say, Amazon, they are likely to require me to register with some ID system and authenticate myself to them…far more strongly and securely than I do when I pay with a credit card in my local bookstore. Of course, I don’t have to shop at Amazon. But why won’t B&N make the same demand? And Powells? And then will come the blogs that demand I join an ID system in order to leave a comment. How long before I say, “Oh, to hell with it,” and give in? And then I’ve flipped my default. Rather than being relatively anonymous, I will assume I’m relatively identified.
Does that matter? I think it does, for the political, social and person reasons mentioned above. Don’t make me also argue against being on one’s best behavior and against being accountable for everything one does! I’m willing to do it! I will pull this car over and do it! Just try me!
The basic problem is, in my opinion, that the digital ID crew is approaching this as a platform issue. Most places on the Web have solved the identity problem sufficiently for them to operate. Some ask for the three digits on the back of your credit card. Some only sign you up if you confirm an email. Some only let you on if you can convince an operator you know the name of your first pet and the senior year season record of your high school’s football team. Sites come up with solutions as needed.
Good. Local solutions to local problems are less likely to change norms and defaults. But the push is on for an identity management platform. It’s one solution — federated, to be sure — that solves all identity problems at once. If you want to change a social default, build a platform. That’s not why they’re building it, but that will (I’m afraid) be the effect. It’s not enough that anonymity be possible or permitted by the platform. The default isn’t about what’s permitted but about what’s the norm. If the default changes to being naked at the beach, saying, “Well, you can cover up if you want to,” doesn’t hide the fact that wearing a bathing suit now feels way different. Yes, there’s something wrong – and distracting – about the particulars of this analogy. But I think the overall point is right: We’re talking about defaults, not affordances.
There are serious problems caused by weaknesses in current identity solutions. Identity theft is nothing to sneer at, for example. But are we sure we want to institute a curfew instead of installing better locks?*
[Tags: privacy digital_identity anonymity pseudonymity]
*The curfews-vs.-locks trope has started to sound familar to me. If I swiped it, it was unintentional…
