Fear the Car (Updated 05/18/2020)

*** See Related CNN Article (here) ***

I have a “hate-love” relationship with Facebook.

Note I gave preference to “hate.” There are two reasons for my contrarian position on Facebook.

First, people who really know me recognize I’m an introvert by nature. I don’t like sharing personal details and anecdotes. And, I’ve never understood why so many of my friends, acquaintances, and colleagues are forever posting their private thoughts and acts on Facebook.

Experience has taught me to disregard my initial motivation to say or write something. Almost always, and only if I feel strongly about something, will I write a draft or rehearse my thoughts. And just as often, I’ll delete the draft and keep well-rehearsed thoughts unsent, undelivered, unspoken. This works for me. I am compelled to apologize less frequently and cringeworthy circumstances are minimized. Facebook postings tell me that my standard is atypical.

Second, and in my opinion, Facebook is determined to monetize every last scrap and morsel about us no matter what their representatives may say. I frequently review my sharing preferences under Facebook. With each encounter I’m left with the personal impression that Facebook and I are engaged in a perpetual game and that game favors the house, not me. Every time I say, “don’t share this,” Facebook counters with a revision that “divides” what was a simple privacy question into a plethora of smaller issues where the default is, yes, I want to share. Really?

If I could, I’d end my use of Facebook. Unfortunately, people who are important to me have relocated the details of their personal lives from the private sphere of person-to-person sharing to a public confessional—about everything, some of which is highly personal.

Some might counter that despite my fussing and complaining about confessional social media, in general, and Facebook, in particular, I’m still a presence on those platforms. Fair enough. Guilty. Unhappy, but guilty.

What about my cars?

I’m currently writing a mystery entitled Suspect Genes. In my research and prewriting activities, I found myself spinning a yarn detailing how a journalist’s vehicle collects all manner of private information about its owner/driver, and—get this—is hacked by a villainous character intent on tracking, trolling, and mayhem. Since I am a computer scientist and technologist by education, training, and vocation, I did some digging to determine the feasibility of this plot line.

Formally known as telematics, I was more than a bit taken aback by what I discovered. Worse yet, I was disheartened by how little I knew about this small corner of hell in cyberspace.

All of the major vehicle manufacturers have multiple computers throughout each vehicle they produce. Most are designed to monitor, control, and report on specialized car subsystems, and increasingly, each of these distributed computers share their data through the car’s infotainment system. Since most cars also contain built-in cellphone technology, this collected data is packaged for delivery to the manufacturer. And, I’m talking about a surprising quantity of data, some of which was shocking.

For example, have you paired your personal cellphone to your car’s Bluetooth network? Were you asked if your contact list could be downloaded? Lots of reasons to do so, hands-free dialing among them. See where I’m going?

Your car is reporting to whom you call, who calls you, including your employer, telephone numbers, mailing addresses, email addresses where available, and even photographs which I obsess about adding to my contact list. All of this is in addition to where I drive and also what directions and destinations, I request of my navigation system. This is in addition to the more mundane stuff, like how fast I drive on what type of roadway, whether I’m a cautious driver, how often I purchase fuel, how much, and where.

Telematics do provide some very useful information: Identifying the mechanical subsystem in need of servicing or repair. Both of my cars will even schedule a service visit to my dealership, if I’d like. And, if I’m away from home, my car will contact the closest authorized repair facility on my behalf. Without my knowledge, my car can even request a repair facility to contact me now, while I’m driving.

I don’t yet have a self-parking car. I certainly don’t have a car which can drive without my assistance. But I know that day is rapidly approaching. What then will my car capture, aggregate, and report? Will cameras appear inside my future car? Will my car know how many passengers are with me? Will photographs be taken? Will those photographs be cross referenced to my contact list, and even some photographic database out in the cloud? Today, maybe not. Tomorrow, most certainly.

I recently rented a car that said it could read my incoming email, permit me to verbally compose an outgoing email, and do the same thing with text messages. So, the manufacturer also knows what I said, to whom I said it, and what was said to me. Will my future car be smart enough to remove me from those endless and pointless exchanges that go on far too long? Or is there some benefit of which I’m unaware of ongoing engagement? Will my car make those decisions? Will it let me know?

My gamesmanship with Facebook gives me a slim opportunity to select and block my personal information and online habits. I thrust, Facebook parries. But my car? It’s not even a game. My car is rapidly becoming an authoritarian state where I exercise no control over my personal information and habits.

As an author I respect the line between fiction and science fiction. Science fiction conveys a literary license that may reward prescient speculation about the future. In fiction in the current day, readers have a better sense of what is or isn’t realistic. I’m quite convinced that readers of my forthcoming Suspect Genes will think I’ve crossed the line into science fiction.

I haven’t. That’s food for thought.

Copyright 2019, Howard D. Weiner