Graham Ginsberg shows how he feels about his search engine profile. (Photo courtesy Graham Ginsberg)
The internet is so much more significant than a newspaper article. It’s bigger than print in its longevity and reach and it’s forever growing, shaping the public lives for all generations, past, present and future.
The handling of this information has become exponentially important. The quote “With great power comes great responsibility” comes to mind. But where is the responsibility when it comes to showing our personalities, our castle, in search engines?
When search engines choose to show information about me, as an example, do they show all available information about me or do they choose certain articles and pictures they consider most relevant and fresh to show the public? And why is there no redress available to me to deal with how search engines portray me?
I recently submitted a complaint to three major search engines requesting that they remove certain pictures and references to articles about me that were old and irrelevant.
Google didn’t respond back, but Bing’s Technical Support did saying, “Thank you for contacting Bing Technical Support regarding your request to remove content from the Bing search engine. Working directly with the site owner or webmaster for removal of the content is the best way to resolve your issue. Bing doesn’t control the operation or design of the websites we index. We also don’t control what these websites publish. As long as the website continues to make the information available on the web, the information will be generally available to others through Bing or other search services.”
But this isn’t entirely true on several levels. But it’s their boilerplate response back, kind of a “it’s not our fault” statement.
Search engines like Bing, Google and Yahoo, do limit and restrict information they show in search results by using software that prioritizes and sorts data into a format it deems suitable.
What is censorship?
Censorship is the act or censoring, the removal or suppression of what is considered morally, politically, or otherwise objectionable. And this is precisely what search engines do right now in their own way using customised algorithms.
Bing suggested that I contact the webmaster in the hope that they would remove the information from being indexed on the internet. Bing suggests that they remove a story as if it never existed. But that isn’t my gripe. I have no problem that our local daily newspaper has pictures and an article about me protesting in front of their establishment. They have every right to have it and I don’t want it removed from their website.
But I have an issue with Bing for showing the information as if it was the only information there was on me. And there is a ton of information about me; from articles I had written to the local paper on a whole bunch of different subjects from national beach access issues to real estate, but little if any is shown in the search results. Just me standing in front of the paper protesting with a noose around my neck, almost ten years ago. Maybe the algorithms looks for keywords like ‘noose’ and prioritizes them higher than say and article about NBA Hall of Famer Larry Bird and his house, which I contributed last year in the same paper.
Because search engines are moneymaking machines, any customized filtering of search results will cost them dearly. And why not, they’re businesses like any other and should be held accountable for their product they’re selling. But what makes search engines different from any other business is they’re so big and powerful and that is why governments need to have means to force them into compliance.
It’s the Wild West all over again. Asking search engines like Google and Bing to police themselves, to be fair and moral has proven to be futile and why should they care or even act accordingly?
To keep the peace for the common good, laws need to have teeth to force offending search engines to comply with logical guidelines that protect the interests of the public and not just interests of these large search engine corporations.
After decades of dictatorship and two years of arguments and compromises, Tunisians passed a new constitution laying the foundations for a new democracy. (Photo: Mohamed Krit / Demotix)
“A model to other peoples seeking reform” said UN Secretary-General, Ban Ki-moon on the successful passing in 2014 of the new Tunisian Constitution. Championing a secular political and legal system following the popular uprisings of 2011, this constitution sought to maintain robust protections of fundamental freedoms. However, the recent creation of the Technical Telecommunication Agency (ATT) threatens to undermine such progress and all in the service of digital surveillance.
Established by decree no. 2013-4506, bypassing parliamentary approval, ATT “provides technical support to judicial investigations into ICT-related crimes”, enabling it to monitor and record online traffic with full access to networks and information held by Internet Service Providers. Many critics of the agency liken it to the NSA; Tunisian Pirate Party member Raed Chammem stated on Twitter “We finally have our own Tunisian law-abusing agency…#NSA-like #A2T”.
The drafting process of the constitution demonstrated the core divergent forces at play in Tunisia. Central to this tension was the positioning of media freedom, most notably in the mandate and impartiality of the High Independent Authority for Audiovisual Communication (HAICA). Articles 122 and 124 reduced the authority to an advisory role as opposed to that of a regulator and required its membership to be elected by parliament. It took concerted lobbying by civil society activists and the National Union of Tunisian Journalists to modify both articles. As stated by Freedom House “the revised language is not just a victory for press freedom and the media sector, but also a triumph for Tunisia’s growing civil society.”
The fight for greater oversight by civil society and regulatory bodies as seen in the last minute amendments to the constitution has not, to date, impacted the creation and implementation of the ATT. The International Business Times wrote that the ATT “fails to properly define the organization’s relationship with judicial authorities, and there is no legal framework for providing civilian accountability”. They go on to quote Tunisian lawyer, Kais Berrjab who states that the ATT represents a “battery of legal irregularities related to unconstitutionality and illegality.”
With an emergent blogger-community, any movement to restrict, monitor or record online content, strikes at the heart of media freedom in Tunisia. Article five of decree no. 2013-4506 outlines that ATT activities will be “secret, unpublished and only sent to the government”. When coupled with the head of the agency being appointed by the Minister of Information and Communication alone, and government plans to exempt the ATT from legal obligations, which exist for all other agencies, in regards to transparency, the prominence of the state raises pertinent questions about the impartiality and non-partisanship of the agency.
The IB Times highlights a key motivation behind the creation of the ATT; the belief “that monitoring the activities of private citizens is essential to counterterrorism effort.” Indeed this argument is playing out across the world, most notably in the US concerning the actions of NSA and the UK with its own GCHQ.
Mounting public pressure to confront recent high-profile assassinations, as well as the perceived threat of Islamic extremism has been highlighted as key reasons for this move towards creating a more investigative body – ATT in all essences replaces the Tunisian Internet Agency (ATI) – however criticism remains as to how it can operate within the legal and political parameters outlined in the 2014 constitution.
In the same IB Times article, Jillian York of the Electronic Frontiers Foundation is quoted as saying, “starting with legitimate concerns about security, the state can then push beyond that and you see surveillance used against political dissidents or just in violation of basic privacy.” Herein lies the central conflict; the last minute redrafting of the constitution established civilian oversight, an impartial regulator and robust protections, but will the ATT, wired to the central government, through the Minister of Information and Communication, undermine such progress, making online participation as dangerous for journalists and bloggers as seen under the leadership of Zine el-Abidine Ben Ali?
The passing of the constitution proved to be a powerful call-to-action for Tunisian civil society, reshaping the government’s relationship with the media and civil society and embedding freedom of media and expression at the core of the legal and political system. But with the establishment of the ATT, Tunisia risks damaging this precedent, undermining the progress, as part of an ill-defined counterterrorism campaign.
The constitution cannot exist outside any effort to counter terrorism; it should, in fact, lie at the core of these efforts. The combatting of militancy and terrorism requires the support and involvement of all sectors of society, including the media and civil society. But if it is the state that strikes the first blow against the ideals and optimism contained within the constitution, will the emergent civil society be able to defend it?
Knowledge, claimed Francis Bacon, is power. It is also money. Which is why Canada’s newly drafted Digital Privacy Act, Bill S-4, is considered by the privacy fraternity to be a demon of some proportions. As Gillian Shaw of the Vancouver Sun (Apr 14) explains, “If you worry Big Brother is reporting everything you do on the Internet, changes introduced to Canada’s privacy legislation last week may prove your worries are not totally unfounded.”
The bill has striking similarities to proposed US legislation that proved so contentious it wound up in the deep freeze of US Congressional contemplation. The US Cyber Information Sharing and Protection Act (CISPA) would have granted blanket immunity to companies sharing user content with governments on the pretext of a pressing “cyber threat”. S-4, however, goes further, increasing the sharing of such user information with parties beyond government to private organisations.
The aim of such legislation is twofold: re-enforcing copyright barriers via the umbrella pretext of fighting crime and contractual infringement while eroding privacy protections. The snooping incentive in the case of Bill S-4 is considerable: to monitor those habits of downloading and use of material that just might breach intellectual property laws.
As with laws purportedly targeting digital piracy, it does more. University of Ottawa’s law professor, Michael Geist, has kept his eye on developments in the area of Canadian privacy law for some time. He is far from impressed by the latest measures on the part of the Canadian government. “Unpack the legalese and you find that organizations will be permitted to disclose personal information without consent (and without a court order) to any organization that is investigating a contractual breach or possible violation of any law” (Vancouver Sun, Apr 14).
Other effects follow on from S-4, read along with C-13 (the “cyber-bullying bill). Immunity to organisations disclosing subscriber or customer information to law enforcement authorities, or copyright trolls, will be granted. The mere fact that an investigation is taking place, be it into contractual breach, actual or potential, can trigger the need to disclose the confidential data of users of the service. Those users will not be informed of such disclosure, and organisations engaging in such acts will be under no obligation to do so.
One of the amending provisions states, for instance, that “an organization may collect personal information without the knowledge or consent of the individual only if it is reasonable to expect that the collection with the knowledge or consent of the individual would compromise the availability or the accuracy of the information and the collection is reasonable for purposes related to investigating a breach of an agreement or a contravention of the laws of Canada or a province.”
Geist makes various important points, noting how judicial management has been indispensable in keeping the information trawlers at bay. He cites the file sharing case of Voltage Pictures, a U.S. company which sought an order asking the internet service provider TekSavvy to disclose the names and addresses of thousands of users it claimed had infringed copyright. TekSavvy requested the Canadian Internet Policy and Public Interest Clinic to intervene for the purposes of informing the court over privacy and copyright trolling concerns.
The disclosure was granted by the federal court, but the move came with various safeguards with the intention of discouraging copyright trolling lawsuits. The point was considered fundamental by the court – compelling ISPs to reveal the private details of their subscribers would create a monumental strain on the court system. Many infringements would be of a non-commercial nature, and taking these to court would see a needless use of judicial resources. Even more significant, the cap of $5000 on liability for such non-commercial infringements “may be miniscule compared to the cost, time and effort in pursuing a claim against the subscriber.”
The court found Voltage’s conduct in seeking such disclosure potentially improper, though not sufficient to refuse the motion. Instead, the company was asked to guarantee that any subscriber information obtained would remain confidential, not be used for any other purposes, not be made public and not be disclosed to third parties. The fees for TekSavvy behind the disclosure would also be covered by Voltage.
The decision suggests heavy judicial oversight over the grants of such disclosure motions. Important safeguards include court involvement over the contents of the “demand letter” sent to subscribers. As Geist notes, the letter must include the message that “no Court has yet made a determination that such subscriber has infringed or is liable in any way for payment of damages.”
S-4 would make such protections redundant, stifling court scrutiny and enabling a ready disclosure of private user information between companies. In Geist’s words, “If Bill S-4 were the law, the court might never become involved in the case. Instead, Voltage could simply ask TekSavvy for the subscriber information, which could be legally disclosed (including details that go far beyond just name and address) without any court order and without informing their affected customer.”
The legislative moves on the part of the Canadian government reveal the addictive nature of such copyright legislation. Privacy is a subsidiary concern to the use of material provided by an ISP, while broadening the policing function against illegal use of information is paramount. The current Digital Privacy Act seems a less than distant echo of the Personal Information Protection and Electronic Documents Act (PIPEDA), Bill C-29. The government has evidently been there, but hasn’t yet done that.
Warrantless disclosure of private information is the holy grail of government regulation. The sacrificial lamb is always the privacy of citizens. This, goes the official drum roll, is necessary to protect the public. In truth, it is designed to protect corporate legal interests and pull down the walls of data protection.
