Columnists
The forced march
The old era is just about over—the era of creating, storing and regurgitating hundreds of different passwords—to be succeeded by the new biometric era.
According to the New York Times, most major banks in the U.S. are implementing systems that will allow for recognition of voice, eyes, facial contours or fingerprints as a password substitute for the timeworn string of characters you create for yourself. And once the banks go that way, the rest of our noble institutions can’t be far behind.
I must admit to being a complete failure with passwords. It begins right at the creation stage. Who knew that “alphanumeric” means a combination of letters and numbers? Or that passwords are case sensitive? Or that “fewer than 10 and more than eight” characters means exactly nine. And I don’t appreciate an impertinent computer trying to tell me how good a job I’ve done creating a secure password. My failure extends to storage and retrieval: I can never remember where I have written down or filed away my password. On the rare occasion I do, I can’t decipher it or remember which password applies to which service. And when I triumph and remember my password, chances are, I haven’t written down my user name properly.
Secret answers to trick questions are the next resort for people like me. But I have trouble with them. “What is the name of your cat?” forces me to look back on the various cats I have had in my household to try to guess which ownership phase I was in when I created the password, knowing that a wrong answer will trigger an international crisis. And some are impossible to answer (“What is the first given name of your grandmother’s grandson by your mother who is neither older nor younger than you?”). You’d think that a computer would be able to scan my web browsing history and come up with a question that reflects the up-tothe- minute, contemporary, vibrant me, that I could answer immediately and uniquely (“What is your favourite Donald Trump horror story?”). Or that it could identify me uniquely on the Myers-Briggs personality scale after posing a few simple questions.
But we started off with banks, so let’s stick with them. What can possibly go wrong by moving to biometric scanning? I assume the recognition programs are sophisticated enough to see beyond the rapidly graying hair, bloodshot eyes, facial wrinkles and fading voice, so that I won’t be turned away as biometrically fraudulent because of the rapid onset of age. But what if I enter the witness protection program and have to undergo plastic surgery: will the bank’s computer still recognize me? And what if a master criminal just purloins my biometrics: will that leave me without an identity to re-establish?
Maybe I should be looking at the other side of the mirror. Perhaps I also have a need to safely recognize my bank as much as it has a need to safely recognize me. After all, banks are all talking “fintech” these days and the contraction, if not the ending, of the physical banking world. And if I can’t visit a branch to see for myself, how am I to know that I am dealing with a real financial institution and not some shady person operating a scam from his or her parents’ basement? Perhaps my bank should offer me the same protection as it demands of me, and show me the biometrics of the person I trust as my teller. In a place like Wellington, of course, this is academic: you can, indeed, visit your branch to see for yourself. You know the teller and the teller knows you (even though he or she may know you as the guy who can’t count his cash). So long as I live in Wellington, then, the choice of taking biometrics over alphanumeric passwords doesn’t worry me. Besides, I have no plans—yet— to enter the witness protection program.
But I realize that what sticks in my craw is not the change in password standards. It’s the forced march to the online world, where I am first encouraged to receive my bill electronically because of its environmental benefits, and then told a couple of months later that “as a courtesy to you, we are continuing to mail you your bill, with a $2.50 service charge because of your obstreperous insistence on handling financial matters in the manner of bygone times.” Hold it. I did not sign up for computerized bill payment when I signed on for your service. I demand cohort protection—the right of the over-60 specimen to coast into old age with the technology he came in with. Biometrically or un-biometrically.
Comments (0)