Winding Down Our Latest Greenhouse Panel: The Lessons Learned From SOPA/PIPA

from the past-is-prologue dept

Ten years ago a coalition of strange bedfellows came together to thwart one of the most problematic pieces of legislation in tech policy history. In the process they made history, rekindled waning optimism about the health of democratic process, forged longstanding new alliances across activism, politics, academia, and industry, and redefined what's possible in the tech policy arena and the halls of Congress. Not bad for a day's work.

Their motivation was SOPA/PIPA, a ham-fisted attempt to impose a draconian expansion to the nation's copyright laws that experts warned would restrict speech, stifle innovation, and curtail the growth of numerous online communities. The bill crafted an extrajudicial process with contours dictated not by experts, the public, or democratic process, but by entertainment industry lawyers. Thwarting its passage required a unique fusion of DC veterans well-versed in the machinery of Congress, academics with a vast understanding of the issues at hand, and younger activists employing fresh tactics in the fight for an open internet.

The result was not only a high watermark in online activism, the lessons learned during the experience will inform coalition building and activism for decades to come. Many of the experts, industry leaders, and politicians who experienced the battle first hand were kind enough to share their thoughts on the experience. Their contributions are outlined here, in case you missed any:

Again, we'd like to extend our immense appreciation to contributors of our latest roundtable, live panel participants, and Techdirt readers, and we hope these conversations have provided value to internet policymakers and everyday internet users alike.

Filed Under: copyright, greenhouse, sopa

Welcome To The New Techdirt Greenhouse Panel: Content Moderation At The Infrastructure Level

from the it's-not-the-same dept

Today we're launching our latest Techdirt Tech Policy Greenhouse discussion in which we bring in a bunch of actual experts to discuss and debate complex and nuanced subjects regarding tech policy -- this time about content moderation at the infrastructure layer. We're excited that we're doing it in partnership with our friends over at the Electronic Frontier Foundation (EFF)! Also, we're going to conclude this new series of posts on Techdirt with two virtual events. On October 6th from 9am to noon PT, we'll have many of this series' authors discussing and debating their pieces in front of a live (though virtual!) audience (register to attend here). The following day, on October 7th, EFF and Techdirt will be hosting a smaller workshop event to take some of what we learned and discussed the previous day, and see if we can come up with more concrete steps and approaches to make sure providers, policymakers, and others understand the risks and challenges of infrastructure moderation, and how to respond to those risks.

As you may recall, in the past we've had such Greenhouse discussions on broadband in the age of COVID, content moderation, and privacy.

The latest edition will again dip into the content moderation well, but will focus on a part of the discussion that is all too often forgotten (leading to potentially damaging consequences). Specifically, we'll be talking about content moderation not at the "edge" of the internet (i.e., the user-facing services like Google, Facebook, and Twitter), but at the infrastructure layers deeper in the stack. This could include content moderation via hosting companies, domain registrars, ad networks, payment processors, app stores, and much, much more. Since so much of the discussion (and anger) around content moderation focuses on those edge providers that everyone is familiar with, it seems that nearly all proposals tend to just focus on correcting perceived content moderation ills for end users. But, at the same time, it seems that most of the policy proposals we see would apply equally (if not more so) to infrastructure providers.

Some of this is by design.

The "original" content moderation debate on the internet revolved around copyright -- with the record labels (mainly) demanding ever more draconian regulations and standards to force content offline. However, as the technology evolved, we increasingly saw the legacy entertainment companies recognize that they could get more bang for the buck by targeting infrastructure intermediaries. They started to threaten ad networks and domain registrars for infringement that happened on websites that neither of those entities had power over.

Indeed, the biggest concern with moving moderation decisions down the stack is that most infrastructure players only have a sledge hammer to deal with these questions, rather than a scalpel. They can't remove just the "bad" content. They can only remove (or, at least threaten to remove) all service, which can wreak havoc on a site. And we've seen how that pressure can be used to extreme ends. People focus on more recent examples, but over a decade ago, caving to pressure from US government officials, Amazon and others dumped Wikileaks.

That said, the infrastructure companies are still private entities, and do (for the most part, with a few exceptions) retain the power to run their businesses how they wish -- including the right to refuse service to certain customers. And there are reasons why infrastructure providers may not just want, but actually need, the ability to do some amount of moderation -- for example ISPs have good reason to run spam filters for their customers, and there have been cases where serving companies have (understandably) wanted to pull down malware bot networks using their infrastructure.

In other words, there are a lot of nuances here, and plenty to discuss and debate and explore better paths forward.

Finally, we should note that, beyond partnering with EFF for this project, we are also supported by the grant we received last year from the Knight Foundation to explore this very topic, as well as sponsorships from Cloudflare, Internet Society, and Golden Frog.

Filed Under: advertising, content moderation, dns, greenhouse, infrastructure, infrastructure moderation, paymets

Section 230 Isn't Why Omegle Has Awful Content, And Getting Rid Of 230 Won't Change That

from the one-size-does-not-fit-all dept

Last year, I co-authored an article with my law school advisor, Prof. Eric Goldman, titled “Why Can’t Internet Companies Stop Awful Content?” In our article, we concluded that the Internet is just a mirror of our society. Unsurprisingly, anti-social behavior exists online just as it does offline. Perhaps though, the mirror analogy doesn’t go far enough. Rather, the Internet is more like a magnifying glass, constantly refocusing our attention on all the horrible aspects of the human condition.

Omegle, the talk-to-random-strangers precursor to Chatroulette, might be that magnifying glass, intensifying our urge to do something about awful content.

Unfortunately, in our quest for a solution, we often skip a step, jumping to Section 230—the law that shields websites from liability for third-party content—instead of thinking carefully about the scalable, improvable, and measurable strides to be made through effective content moderation efforts.

Smaller companies make for excellent content moderation case studies, especially relatively edgier companies like Omegle. It’s no surprise that Omegle is making a massive comeback. After 100+ days of quarantine, anything that recreates at least a semblance of interaction with humans, not under the same roof, is absolutely enticing. And that’s just what Omegle offers. For those that are burnt out on monotonous Zoom “coffee chats,” Omegle grants just the right amount of spontaneity and nuanced human connection that we used to enjoy before “social distancing” became a household phrase.

Of course, it also offers a whole lot of dicks.

When I was a teen, Omegle was a sleepover staple. If you’re unfamiliar, Omegle offers two methods of randomly connecting with strangers on the Internet: text or video. Both are self-explanatory. Text mode pairs two anonymous strangers in a chat room whereas video mode pairs two anonymous strangers via their webcams.

Whether you’re on text or video, there’s really no telling what kinds of terrible content—and people—you’ll likely encounter. It’s an inevitable and usual consequence of online anonymity. While the site might satisfy some of our deepest social cravings, it might also expose us to some incredibly unpleasant surprises outside the watered-down and sheltered online experiences provided to us by big tech. Graphic pornography, violent extremism, hate speech, child predators, CSAM, sex trafficking, etc., are all fair game on Omegle; all of which is truly awful content that has always existed in the offline world, now magnified by the unforgiving, unfiltered, use-at-your-own-risk, service.

Of course, like with any site that exposes us to the harsh realities of the offline world, critics are quick to blame Section 230. Efforts to curtail bad behavior online usually start with calls to amend Section 230.

At least to Section 230’s critics, the idea is simple: get rid of Section 230 and the awful content will follow. Their reason, as I understand it, is that websites will then “nerd harder” to eliminate all awful content so they won’t be held liable for it. Some have suggested the same approach for Omegle.

Obvious First Amendment constraints aside (because remember, the First Amendment protects a lot of the “lawful but awful content,” like pornography, that exists on Omegle’s service), what would happen to Omegle if Section 230 were repealed? Rather, what exactly is Omegle supposed to do?

For starters, Section 230 excludes protection for websites that violate federal criminal law. So, Omegle would continue to be on the hook if it started to actively facilitate the transmission of illegal content such as child pornography. No change there.

But per decisions like Herrick v. Grindr, Dyroff v. Ultimate Software, and Roommates.com, it is well understood that Section 230 crucially protects sites like Omegle that merely facilitate user-to-user communication without materially contributing to the unlawfulness of the third-party content. Hence, even though there exists an unfortunate reality where nine year-olds might get paired randomly with sexual predators, Omegle doesn’t encourage or materially contribute to that awful reality. So, Omegle is afforded Section 230 protection.

Without Section 230, Omegle doesn’t have a lot of options as a site dedicated to connecting strangers on the fly. For example, the site doesn’t even have a reporting mechanism like its big tech counterparts. This is probably for two reasons: (1) The content on Omegle is ephemeral so by the time it’s reported, the victim and the perpetrator have likely moved on and the content has disappeared; and (2) it would be virtually impossible for Omegle to issue suspensions because Omegle users don’t have dedicated accounts. In fact the only option Omegle has for repeat offenders is a permanent IP ban. Such an option is usually considered so extreme that it’s reserved for only the most heinous offenders.

There are a few things Omegle could do to reduce their liability in a 230-less world. They might consider requiring users to have dedicated handles. It’s unclear though whether account creation would truly curb the dissemination of awful content anyway. Perhaps Omegle could act on the less heinous offenders, but banned, suspended, or muted users could always just generate new handles. Plus, where social media users risk losing their content, subscribers, and followers, Omegle users realistically have nothing to lose. So, generating a new handle is relatively trivial, leaving Omegle with the nuclear IP ban.

Perhaps Omegle could implement some sort of traditional reporting mechanism. Reporting mechanisms are only effective if the service has the resources to properly respond to and track issues. This means hiring more human moderators to analyze the contextually tricky cases. Additionally, it means hiring more engineers to stand up robust internal tooling to manage reporting queues and to perform some sort of tracking for repeat offenders.

For Omegle, implementing a reporting mechanism might just be doing something to do something. For traditional social media companies, a reporting mechanism ensures that violating content is removed and the content provider is appropriately reprimanded. Neither of those goals are particularly relevant to Omegle’s use case. The only goal a reporting mechanism might accomplish is in helping Omegle track pernicious IP addresses. Omegle could set up an internal tracking system that applies strikes to each IP before the address is sanctioned. But if the pernicious user can just stand up a new IP and continue propagating abuse, the entire purpose of the robust reporting mechanism is moot.

Further, reporting mechanisms are great for victimized users that might seek an immediate sense of catharsis after encountering abusive content. But if the victim’s interaction with the abusive content and user is ephemeral and fleeting, the incentive to report is also debatable.

All of this is to drive home the point that there is no such thing as a one-size-fits-all approach to content moderation. Even something as simple as giving users an option to report might be completely out of scope depending on the company’s size, resources, bandwidth, and objectives.

Another suggestion is that Omegle simply stop allowing children to be paired with sexual predators. This would require Omegle to (1) perform age verification on all of its users with the major trade-off being privacy—not to mention the obvious that it may not even work. Nothing really stops a teen from stealing and uploading their parents’ credit card or license; and (2) require all users to prove they aren’t sexual predators (???)—an impossible (and invasive) task for a tiny Internet company.

Theoretically, Omegle could pre-screen all content and users. Such an approach would require an immense team of human content moderators, which is incredibly expensive for a website that has an estimated annual revenue of less than $1 million and less than 10 employees. Plus, it would completely destroy the service’s entire point. The reason Omegle hasn’t been swallowed up by tech incumbents is because it offers an interesting online experience completely unique from Google, Facebook, and Twitter. Pre-screening might dilute that experience.

Another extreme solution might be to just strip out anonymity entirely and require all users to register all of their identifying information with the service. The obvious trade-off: most users would probably never return.

Clearly, none of these options are productive or realistic for Omegle; all of which are consequences of attacking the awful content problem via Section 230.

Without any amendments to Section 230, Omegle has actually taken a few significant steps to effectively improve their service. For example, Omegle now has an 18+ Adult, “unmoderated section” in which users are first warned about sexual content and required to acknowledge that they’re 18 or older before entering. Additionally, Omegle clarifies that the “regular” video section is monitored and moderated to the best of their abilities. Lastly, Omegle recently included a “College student chat” which verifies students via their .edu addresses. Of course, to use any of Omegle’s features, a user must be 18+ or 13+ with parental permission.

The “unmoderated section” is an ingenious example of a “do better” approach for a service that’s strapped for content moderation options. Omegle’s employees likely know that a primary use case of the service is sex. By partitioning the service, Omegle might drastically cut down on the amount of unsolicited sexual content encountered by both adult and minor users of the regular service, without much interruption to the service’s overall value-add. These experiments in mediating the user to user experience can only improve from here. Thanks to Section 230, websites like Omegle increasingly pursue such experiments to help their users improve too.

But repealing Section 230 leaves sites like Omegle with one option: exit the market.

I'm not allergic to conversations about how the market can self-correct these types of services and whether they should be supported by the market at all. Maybe sites like Omegle—that rely on their users to not be awful to each other as a primary method of content moderation—are not suitable for our modern day online ecosystem.

There's a valid conversation to be had within technology policy and Trust and Safety circles about websites like Omegle and whether the social good they provide outweigh the harms they might indirectly cater to. Perhaps, sites like Omegle should exit the market. However, that's a radically different conversation; one that inquires into whether current innovations in content moderation support sites like Omegle, and whether such sites truly have no redeemable qualities worth preserving in the first place. That’s an important conversation; one that shouldn’t involve speculating about Section 230’s adequacy.

Jess Miers is a third-year law student at Santa Clara University School of Law and a Legal Policy Specialist at Google. Her scholarship primarily focuses on Section 230 and content moderation. Opinions are her own and do not represent Google.

Filed Under: content moderation, greenhouse, lawful but awful, section 230
Companies: omegle

Moderate Globally, Impact Locally

from the monumental-balancing-act dept

Every minute, more than 500 hours of video are uploaded to YouTube, 350,000 tweets are sent, and 510,000 comments are posted on Facebook.

Managing and curating this fire hose of content is an enormous task, and one which grants the platforms enormous power over the contours of online speech. This includes not just decisions around whether a particular post should be deleted, but also more minute and subtle interventions that determine its virality. From deciding how far to allow quack ideas about COVID-19 to take root, to the degree of flexibility that is granted to the President of the United States to break the rules, content moderation raises difficult challenges that lie at the core of debates around freedom of expression.

But while plenty of ink has been spilled on the impact of social media on America’s democracy, these decisions can have an even greater impact around the world. This is particularly true in places where access to traditional media is limited, giving the platforms a virtual monopoly in shaping the public discourse. A platform which fails to take action against hate speech might find itself instrumental in triggering a local pogrom, or even genocide. A platform which acts too aggressively to remove suspected “terrorist propaganda” may find itself destroying evidence of war crimes.

Platforms’ power over the public discourse is partly the result of a conscious decision by global governments to outsource online moderation functions to these private sector actors. Around the world, governments are making increasingly aggressive demands for platforms to police content which they find objectionable. The targeted material can range from risqué photos of the King of Thailand, to material deemed to insult Turkey’s founding president. In some instances, these requests are grounded in local legal standards, placing platforms in the difficult position of having to decide how to enforce a law from Pakistan, for example, which would be manifestly unconstitutional in the United States.

In most instances, however, moderation decisions are not based on any legal standard at all, but on the platforms’ own privately drafted community guidelines, which are notoriously vague and difficult to understand. All of this leads to a critical lack of accountability in the mechanisms which govern freedom of expression online. And while the perceived opacity, inconsistency and hypocrisy of online content moderation structures may seem frustrating to Americans, for users in the developing world it is vastly worse.

Nearly all of the biggest platforms are based in the United States. This means not only that their decision-makers are more accessible and receptive to their American user-base than they are to frustrated netizens in Myanmar or Uganda, but also that their global policies are still heavily influenced by American cultural norms, particularly the First Amendment.

Even though the biggest platforms have made efforts to globalize their operations, there is still a massive imbalance in the ability of journalists, human rights activists, and other vulnerable communities to get through to the U.S.-based staff who decide what they can and cannot say. When platforms do branch out globally, they tend to recruit staff who are connected to existing power structures, rather than those who depend on the platforms as a lifeline away from repressive restrictions on speech.

For example, the pressure to crackdown on “terrorist content” inevitably leads to collateral damage against journalism or legitimate political speech, particularly in the Arab world. In setting this calculus, governments and ex-government officials are vastly more likely to have a seat at the table than journalists or human rights activists. Likewise, the Israeli government has an easier time communicating their wants and needs to Facebook than, say, Palestinian journalists and NGOs.

None of this is meant to minimize the scope and scale of the challenge that the platforms face. It is not easy to develop and enforce content policies which account for the wildly different needs of their global user base. Platforms generally aim to provide everyone with an approximately identical experience, including similar expectations with regard to the boundaries of permitted speech. There is a clear tension between this goal and the conflicting legal, cultural and moral standards in force across the many countries where they operate.

But the importance and weight of these decisions demands that platforms get this balancing right, and develop and enforce policies which adequately reflect their role at the heart of political debates from Russia to South Africa. Even as the platforms have grown and spread around the world, the center of gravity of these debates continues to revolve around D.C. and San Francisco.

This is the first in a series of articles developed by the Wikimedia/Yale Law School Initiative on Intermediaries and Information appearing here at Techdirt Policy Greenhouse and elsewhere around the internet—intended to bridge the divide between the ongoing policy debates around content moderation, and the people who are most impacted by them, particularly across the global south. The authors are academics, civil society activists and journalists whose work lies on the sharp edge of content decisions. In asking for their contributions, we offered them a relatively free hand to prioritize the issues they saw as the most serious and important with regard to content moderation, and asked them to point to areas where improvement was needed, particularly with regard to the moderation process, community engagement, and transparency.

The issues that they flag include a common frustration with the distant and opaque nature of platforms’ decision-making processes, a desire for platforms to work towards a better understanding of local socio-cultural dynamics underlying the online discourse, and a feeling that platforms’ approach to moderation often did not reflect the importance of their role in facilitating the exercise of core human rights. Although the different voices each offer a unique perspective, they paint a common picture of how platforms’ decision making impacts their lives, and of the need to do better, in line with the power that platforms have in defining the contours of global speech.

Ultimately, our hope with this project is to shed light on the impacts of platforms’ decisions around the world, and provide guidance on how social media platforms might do a better job of developing and applying moderation structures which reflect their needs and values of their diverse global users.

Michael Karanicolas is a Resident Fellow at Yale Law School, where he leads the Wikimedia Initiative on Intermediaries and Information as part of the Information Society Project. You can find him on twitter at @M_Karanicolas.

Filed Under: content moderation, global, greenhouse, impact, local

Welcome To The Techdirt Tech Policy Greenhouse: Content Moderation Edition

from the stop,-listen,-and-learn dept

In the early days of the internet, there was no shortage of predictions insisting the emerging technology would be a bold new frontier of transformative change, ushering forth a golden era of connectivity free from the pesky befuddlement of incompetent government leaders, bad actors, and malicious overlords. This new frontier, we were told, would culminate in a fairer and more humane planet, unshackled from the petty hassles of the brick and mortar world, extracting us from our worst impulses as we marched, collectively, toward a better and more ethical future.

Technological innovation, it would seem, was going to fix everything.

This optimism certainly wasn't unwarranted. For those of us who cut our teeth on the advent of the internet (I spent much of my own youth on an Apple IIe at 300 baud, enamored with early bulletin board systems), the capacity for revolutionary change was obvious. It still is. But while there's certainly an endless list of examples showcasing the internet's incredible potential for positive, transformative cultural change and innovation, the last decade has witnessed a clear reckoning for those who seemingly believed the lesser angels of our nature wouldn't come along for the ride.

Internet corporations so large, or so fused to the government itself, that they laugh off the intervention of world governments. Foreign and domestic propaganda efforts, often working in concert, geared toward sowing discord and division. Disinformation at scale so dangerous it helps spur genocide. Bogus missives so potent they can impact elections and the democratic process itself. Trolls; swatting; deep fakes; racist subreddits; live streamed mass shootings; Pinterest child porn; gamergate; millions getting dangerous health information from unqualified nitwits on YouTube.

The core of many of these problems aren't new. In fact in many instances, they're as old as humanity itself. But they have mutated into dangerous new variants courtesy of technology, scale, naivete, and apathy. There's simply no escaping the fact we could have done a better job predicting their evolutionary impact, and establishing systems of oversight, transparency, and accountability that could have dulled many of their sharpest edges.

As with Greenhouse, privacy edition, there are no easy answers here. Moderation at scale is utterly formidable. Doing it well at scale may be impossible. Every last policy decision comes with trade offs and a myriad of unforeseen consequences that need to be adequately understood before rushing face first into the fray. As the Section 230 debate makes abundantly clear, there's no shortage of bad faith or unworkable ideas that hold the potential to create far more problems than they profess to solve. Avoiding these pitfalls will require stopping, listening, and understanding one another -- American cultural anomalies to be sure.

We're hopeful that the insights presented here from those on the front lines of the content moderation debate will help inform policy makers, the public, and experts alike. And we're hopeful the pieces make some small contribution to the foundation of a better, kinder, more equitable internet more in line with our original good intentions. Techdirt Greenhouse is a conversation, so if you've got expertise in the content moderation arena, or see pieces you'd like to respond to, please feel free to reach out.

Filed Under: content moderation, greenhouse, policy, tech policy

That's A Wrap On Techdirt Greenhouse, Privacy Edition

from the so-much-to-talk-about dept

The inaugural edition of the Techdirt Tech Policy Greenhouse is in the books, and we'd like to thank all of our contributors and those that engaged in conversation as we tackled one of the thornier issues of the modern tech policy era. As we noted early on, our goal with the project is to bring some nuance, collaboration, and understanding to a privacy conversation frequently dominated by simplistic partisan bickering, bad faith arguments, and the kind of deep ideological ruts that routinely result in either bad policy,or, in the case of U.S. privacy, no policy at all.

If you've not yet had a chance to dig through contributions for this inaugural edition, here's a brief rundown:

Crafting meaningful privacy guidelines and ensuring sensible, consistent, transparent enforcement was a steep uphill climb even during the best of times. Now the effort will share fractured attention spans and resources with an historic pandemic, recovering from the resulting economic collapse, and addressing the endless web of socioeconomic and political dysfunction that made the American COVID-19 crisis far worse than it needed to be.

But as many of our contributors made clear, many of these problems are not mutually exclusive. Crafting sensible, transparent, and equitable privacy rules and standards remains just as essential as ever; preferably before the steady parade of privacy and security scandals inevitably get worse. We're hopeful the insight and conversation collected here gave policymakers and observers alike some additional food for thought as we collectively stumble in the right direction.

Filed Under: greenhouse, privacy

Techdirt Podcast Episode 249: The Greenhouse Privacy Wrapup

from the big-ideas dept

At the end of May, we launched the Techdirt Greenhouse — a new project to foster long-form conversations with a wide variety of experts about the most challenging and nuanced tech policy questions of our time. Since then we've been focusing on our first topic: privacy. Now we're wrapping that up and getting ready to launch a series of posts on our next subject, but first we wanted to sit down with one of our Greenhouse editors, Karl Bode, to look back on all the excellent pieces that we've published over the past few weeks. Check out the Greenhouse page here on Techdirt to catch up on the posts, then listen to the podcast for a wrapup of all the ins-and-outs of privacy policy challenges that our many great contributors brought to the project.

Follow the Techdirt Podcast on Soundcloud, subscribe via iTunes or Google Play, or grab the RSS feed. You can also keep up with all the latest episodes right here on Techdirt.

Filed Under: greenhouse, podcast, policy, privacy

Unbridled Surveillance Will Not Save Us From COVID-19

from the surveillance-in-the-times-of-a-pandemic dept

We all share the fervent desire to reopen society, to hug our friends and loved ones, to jump start the economy, and to return to the many activities that have been off limits since COVID-19 engulfed our communities.

For many, there may be a temptation to turn to invasive technologies – from temperature screening devices to contact tracing apps – that promise to stem the virus’ spread while permitting us to return to our normal routines. Many of these technologies collect the intimate details of our lives: our health status and symptoms, our associations, our locations and movements, and in some cases, even the details of our faces.

Surveillance technologies are not panaceas, and without appropriate safeguards and community trust, many technologies will cause more harm than good. In fact, some surveillance tech is simply public health theater that offers a false sense of security and provides no actual protection from the coronavirus.

When your employer, your gym, your local grocery store, or your local government suggests a new COVID surveillance gadget, here are some questions to ask, as well as some answers to keep in your back pocket.

Does it work?

Tucked into this question is another, threshold question: what does it mean to “work”? What is the goal the technology aims to achieve? What metrics will be used to measure effectiveness? What level of false positives or false negatives will be tolerated? These questions are best answered in conjunction with public health experts. In the meantime, here is what we know about some of the most popular technologies out there:

Temperature Screening

Putting aside the remarkable variability in accuracy of various temperature screening devices (pro-tip: standoff fever detectors are particularly unreliable), using elevated temperature as a proxy for COVID-19 status is both woefully under- and over-inclusive.

COVID-19 is contagious before symptoms appear, and many people remain asymptomatic for the entire course of infection. Others may suppress a fever by taking Tylenol or ibuprofen. The fact that an individual lacks a fever does not mean that that individual is COVID-negative.

At the same, many individuals run a fever because of conditions that have nothing to do with COVID and are not contagious such as cancer, urinary-tract infections, or simply stress. When temperature screens are used to determine who can return to work or enter a store or a dentist’s office, healthy – or at least non-contagious – individuals will be excluded from participation in society.

Technology Assisted Contact Tracing Apps

Technology assisted contact tracing apps, broadly, fall into two categories: those that rely on cell phone location information, and Bluetooth proximity tracing. The former is both extremely invasive, because where you go says a lot about who you are, and likely to be ineffective for contact tracing, because the location information cell phones generate is not precise enough to determine whether two individuals are sufficiently close to risk exposure. The same is true of the location information advertisers and data brokers have been volunteering to national, state, and local governments since the pandemic began.

By contrast, Bluetooth proximity tracing, if done right, can be achieved without revealing location information, associations, or even the identities of the individuals involved. (For a deep dive on Bluetooth proximity tracing, check out this whitepaper.)

At the same time, even Bluetooth proximity tracing cannot determine whether two individuals within six feet of each other were, in fact, separated by a wall nor, of course, can any technology capture when COVID might move from one individual to another by temporarily resting on surfaces that are handled by multiple people.

Who is being left out?

Many of the people in communities that are most vulnerable to coronavirus are among the least likely to have a smartphone capable of running a contact tracing app. For example, over 40 percent of those over 65 do not own a smartphone, yet the 65-and-over population accounts for more than 75 percent of COVID-related deaths.

Nearly 30 percent of those who earn less than $30,000 annually lack a smartphone; these individuals are also more likely to be frontline workers who must endure increased COVID exposure simply to make a living. Similarly, people with disabilities are 20 percent less likely to own a smartphone than the general population. Although these individuals are not more likely than others to contract the coronavirus, because of their underlying health conditions, the virus may be more dangerous for them.

Even those who do own a smartphone may not have the know how to use a contact tracing app.

Armed with this knowledge, some countries supplement contact tracing apps with credit card transaction histories and closed-circuit video footage. But credit card transaction records will not reach those who pay cash or the unbanked, who are disproportionately poorer and people of color.

The idea of running video footage through facial recognition software to identify individuals is particularly pernicious; such systems are notoriously bad at recognizing women and Black people at a time when Black people are among those disproportionately likely to suffer from COVID-19.

Between the technological flaws and the people who will be left behind by tech solutions, there is a substantial risk that relying too much on technology could lull individuals into a false sense of security and undercut more effective COVID-prevention measures. For these reasons, it is imperative that any technological intervention be coupled with well-designed analog measures, such as traditional contact tracing, robust access to testing and treatment, support for those who need to isolate at home, the availability of PPE, and social distancing.

Who is being harmed?

Even when traditional contact tracing techniques are used, there are myriad individuals – such as undocumented immigrants, LGBTQ youth who come from unsafe homes, people who live in apartments with more people than they have on the lease, survivors of sexual violence and domestic violence – who could be at risk if their location, associations, or health status is released.

Without proper safeguards, such as those that accompany many Bluetooth proximity tracing apps, the introduction of contact tracing technologies and surveillance technologies simply ups the ante by permitting more of this information to be collected and pooled more rapidly, creating treasure troves for data thieves and law or immigration enforcement.

Other technologies are equally pernicious. For example, imprecise technologies too often become excuses for racial profiling: when risk-detection systems produce ambiguous or unreliable results, their operators fill the vacuum with their own judgments.

There is reason to believe devices like standoff temperature scanners will produce similar biases and misuse. And, just last week, the world learned that an all-too-predictable facial recognition mismatch led to the false arrest of a Black man, turning his life and his family’s lives upside down.

Given the profound risks of harm here, it is imperative that participation in any technology-assisted COVID mitigation be voluntary, which means that important public benefits, like food stamps or housing assistance, must not be conditioned on the adoption of any particular surveillance tech nor should such tech be a condition of employment or access to public transportation or other essential services.

If temperature scanners are to be used at the gateways to businesses, doctor’s offices, or public transportation, they must be the more accurate one-to-one, properly operated, clinical grade type, and anyone who is turned away must be provided with an alternate means to access the service.

This is important, because individuals are in the best position to judge their own circumstances and safety needs. Moreover, public health experts frequently find that coercive health measures backfire, because a distrustful public is likely to resist participation.

What legal and technological safeguards are there to mitigate harm?

Perhaps the most important way to build public trust and encourage individuals to voluntarily participate in contact tracing is to build in the appropriate legal and technical safeguards.

Unfortunately, the law in this area still comes up short. We have no nationwide law governing privacy in the digital age that might regulate some of these technologies. In my home state of New York, our Governor has been insisting that the Health Insurance Portability and Accountability Act (HIPAA) covers contact tracing information.

But it is not clear that HIPAA applies to traditional contact tracers, and it is pretty clear that it does not apply to many of the technological COVID interventions. Moreover, the law contains numerous exceptions that permit law enforcement to access a person’s HIPAA-covered information without their consent.

To fill this gap – at least for contact tracing information (the analog kind and the technological kind) – here in New York, a broad coalition that includes public defenders, health care providers, and civil rights, privacy, health care, and immigration advocates is working to pass contact tracing confidentiality legislation. The bill ensures that contact tracing information will be kept confidential, will only be used for contact tracing purposes, and will be deleted once its purpose has been served.

Importantly, the bill permits the use of aggregate, de-identified information to track the spread of the virus and to identify disparities among New York communities.

And, most crucially, it prevents law enforcement and immigration enforcement from acting as contact tracers or accessing contact tracing information. It also makes clear that a person’s contact tracing information cannot be used against them in a court or administrative proceeding.

Law and immigration enforcement access was an obvious place to start building in privacy protections. These authorities have, time and time again, given New Yorkers, particularly Black and Brown communities – the very communities hardest hit by COVID-19 – reason for distrust. One need only look at the brutal law enforcement reaction to the ongoing protests to understand why. If individuals have any reason to believe that sharing these details of their lives will expose them or their loved ones to criminalization or deportation, they simply will not participate.

The risks associated with law enforcement participation in contact tracing are not conjecture. In response to the recent protests in Minnesota, law enforcement there began using contact tracing techniques to track protesters – and public health officials immediately lamented that the police’s activities hampered their efforts to build trust and participation in contact tracing.

Here in New York State, sheriffs’ departments have been deputized as contact tracers in Nassau County and Erie County. And, in New York City, when the contact tracing program had identified 5,000 cases, 85 percent had a phone number, and contact tracers reached 94 percent of those individuals, but only 1,800 shared contacts, underscoring the distrust New Yorkers feel about contact tracing.

The contact tracing confidentiality legislation is a start to building in the legal safeguards that must undergird any technology-assisted coronavirus intervention. There is certainly space for additional legislation, and app and device developers also have a role to play: they should be building robust privacy protections into both their products and their terms of service.

And, of course, any technological interventions must be term limited to the current pandemic. Already, some participants in the industry are endeavoring to entrench the technologies for all time. As one manufacturer wrote, “Just like 9/11 and how it impacted and changed air travel forever, this too will change the way we live and work for a long time to come.”

If that sounds Orwellian, it should. It’s not hard to imagine, for example, a network of thermal cameras that were deployed during COVID-19 repurposed to conduct suspicion-less thermal body searches – perhaps to identify those suspected of drug use.

Finally, members of the most impacted communities must be involved in contact tracing, as well as in developing the technologies that will be used to mitigate COVID-19. These individuals are more likely to understand and serve their communities’ needs.

Just as community members have been more effective at convincing their neighbors to wear masks and adhere to social distancing, community members are more likely than outsiders to convince their neighbors to identify their contacts, to get tested, to self-quarantine when necessary, and to adopt new COVID-era tech when appropriate.

***

We all want to safely re-open our communities. As we contemplate which technologies to employ to help us do that, we must remember that many of these technologies offer a devil’s bargain: the illusion of safety in return for the intimate details of your life – your health status, your associations, and your location and movements.

We should be careful about which technologies we choose to adopt, and we must put in place appropriate privacy protections to build community trust and ensure safety.

These protections are not just privacy and civil rights necessities; they are public health imperatives.

Allie Bohm is a policy counsel at the New York Civil Liberties Union, focusing on legislative and government affairs. She has deep expertise on women’s rights and privacy and technology. She also advocates on the full range of the NYCLU’s issues.

Filed Under: covid-19, greenhouse, pandemic, privacy, surveillance