November 22, 2024

Security Seals on AVC Advantage Voting Machines are Easily Defeated

On September 2, 2008, I submitted a report to the New Jersey Superior Court, demonstrating that the DRE voting machines used in New Jersey are insecure: it is easy to replace the vote-counting program with one that fraudulently shifts votes from one candidate to another.

In Section 10 of my report, I explained that

  1. There are no security seals on New Jersey’s AVC Advantages
    that prevent removal of the circuit-board cover;

  2. Even if there were security seals, physical security seals are easily defeated and would not significantly increase the security of elections in New Jersey.
  3. And in conclusion, one cannot achieve trustworthy elections solely by trying to ensure that a particular computer program is installed in the voting machine.

In October 2008, the State of New Jersey (and Sequoia Voting Systems) reacted by installing new security seals on the circuit board cover of voting machines in New Jersey. That is, they reacted to point 1 and ignored points 2 and 3.

In December 2008 I submitted to the Court a new report, and a new video, demonstrating how New Jersey’s new security seals can be removed and replaced without leaving evidence of tampering. It took me about 7 minutes the first time I tried it; I estimate it would take less than half that time with practice.

The video available here is now available in a compressed mp4 format, though it still takes a while to load. not well compressed and takes forever to load over the Internet; sometime in the near future I hope to make available a better-compressed video.

Low Hit Rate Isn't the Problem with TSA Screening

The TSA, which oversees U.S. airport security, comes in for a lot of criticism — much of it deserved. But sometimes commentators let their dislike for the TSA get the better of them, and they offer critiques that don’t stand up logically.

A good example is yesterday’s USA Today article on TSA’s behavioral screening program, and the commentary that followed it. The TSA program trained screeners to look for nervous and suspicious behavior, and to subject travellers exhibiting such behavior to more stringent security measures such as pat-down searches or short interviews.

Commentators condemned the TSA program because fewer than 1% of the selected travellers were ultimately arrested. Is this a sensible objection? I think not, for reasons I’ll explain below.

Before I explain why, let’s take a minute to set aside our general opinions about the TSA. Forget the mandatory shoe removal and toiletry-container nitpicking. Forget that time the screener was rude to you. Forget the slippery answers to inconvenient Constitutional questions. Forget the hours you have spent waiting in line. Put on your blinders please, just for now. We’ll take them off later.

Now suppose that TSA head Kip Hawley came to you and asked you to submit voluntarily to a pat-down search the next time you travel. And suppose you knew, with complete certainty, that if you agreed to the search, this would magically give the TSA a 0.1% chance of stopping a deadly crime. You’d agree to the search, wouldn’t you? Any reasonable person would accept the search to save (by assumption) at least 0.001 lives. This hypothetical TSA program is reasonable, even though it only has a 0.1% arrest rate. (I’m assuming here that an attack would cost only one life. Attacks that killed more people would justify searches with an even smaller arrest rate.)

So the commentators’ critique is weak — but of course this doesn’t mean the TSA program should be seen as a success. The article says that the arrests the system generates are mostly for drug charges or carrying a false ID. Should a false-ID arrest be considered a success for the system? Certainly we don’t want to condone the use of false ID, but I’d bet most of these people are just trying to save money by flying on a ticket in another person’s name — which hardly makes them Public Enemy Number One. Is it really worth doing hundreds of searches to catch one such person? Are those searches really the best use of TSA screeners’ time? Probably not.

On the whole, I’m not sure I can say whether the behavioral screening program is a good idea. It apparently hasn’t caught any big fish yet, but it might have positive effects by deterring some serious crimes. We haven’t seen the data to support it, and we’ve learned to be skeptical of TSA claims that some security measure is necessary.

Now it’s time for the professor to call on one of the diehard civil libertarians in the class, who by this point are bouncing in their seats with both hands waving in the air. They’re dying to point out that our system, for good reason, doesn’t automatically accept claims by the authorities that searches or seizures are justified, and that our institutions are properly skeptical about expanding the scope of searches. They’re unhappy that the debate about this TSA program is happening after it was in place, rather than before it started. These are all good points.

The TSA’s behavioral screening is a rich topic for debate — but not because of its arrest rate.

Can Google Flu Trends Be Manipulated?

Last week researchers from Google and the Centers for Disease Control unveiled a cool new research result, showing that they could gauge the level of influenza infections in a region of the U.S. by seeing how often people in those regions did Google searches for certain terms related to the flu and flu symptoms. The search-based predictions correlate remarkably well with the medical data on flu rates — not everyone who searches for “cough medicine” has the flu, but enough do that an increase in flu cases correlates with an increase in searches for “cough medicine” and similar terms. The system is called Google Flu Trends.

Privacy groups have complained, but this use of search data seems benign — indeed, this level of flu detection requires only that search data be recorded per region, not per individual user. The legitimate privacy worry here is not about the flu project as it stands today but about other uses that Google or the government might find for search data later.

My concern today is whether Flu Trends can be manipulated. The system makes inferences from how people search, but people can change their search behavior. What if a person or a small group set out to convince Flu Trends that there was a flu outbreak this week?

An obvious approach would be for the conspirators to do lots of searches for likely flu-related terms, to inflate the count of flu-related searches. If all the searches came from a few computers, Flu Trends could presumably detect the anomalous pattern and the algorithm could reduce the influence of these few computers. Perhaps this is already being done; but I don’t think the research paper mentions it.

A more effective approach to spoofing Flu Trends would be to use a botnet — a large collection of hijacked computers — to send flu-related searches to Google from a larger number of computers. If the added searches were diffuse and well-randomized, they would be very hard to distinguish from legitimate searches, and the Flu Trends would probably be fooled.

This possibility is not discussed in the Flu Trends research paper. The paper conspicuously fails to identify any of the search terms that the system is looking for. Normally a paper would list the terms, or at least give examples, but none of the terms appear in the paper, and the Flu Trends web site gives only “flu” as an example search term. They might be withholding the search terms to make manipulation harder, but more likely they’re withholding the search terms for business reasons, perhaps because the terms have value in placing or selling ads.

Why would anyone want to manipulate Flu Trends? If flu rates affect the financial markets by moving the stock prices of certain drug or healthcare companies, then a manipulator can profit by sending false signals about flu rates.

The most interesting question about Flu Trends, though, is what other trends might be identifiable via search terms. Government might use similar methods to look for outbreaks of more virulent diseases, and businesses might look for cultural trends. In all of these cases, manipulation will be a risk.

There’s an interesting analogy to web linking behavior. When the web was young, people put links in their sites to point readers to other interesting sites. But when Google started inferring sites’ importance from their incoming links, manipulators started creating links for their Google-effect. The result was an ongoing cat-and-mouse game between search engines and manipulators. The more search behavior takes on commercial value, the more manipulators will want to change search behavior for commercial or cultural advantage.

Anything that is valuable to measure is probably, to someone, valuable to manipulate.

Abandoning the Envelope Analogy (What Your Mailman Knows Part 2)

Last time, I commented on NPR’s story about a mail carrier named Andrea in Seattle who can tell us something about the economic downturn by revealing private facts about the people she serves on her mail route. By critiquing the decision to run the story, I drew a few lessons about the way people value and weigh privacy. In Part 2 of this series, I want to tie this to NebuAd and Phorm.

It’s probably a sign of the deep level of monomania to which I’ve descended that as I listened to the story, I immediately started drawing connections between Andrea and NebuAd/Phorm. Technology policy almost always boils down to a battle over analogies, and many in the ISP surveillance/deep packet inspection debate embrace the so-called envelope analogy. (See, e.g., the comments of David Reed to Congress about DPI, and see the FCC’s Comcast/BitTorrent order.) Just as mail carriers are prohibited from opening closed envelopes, so a typical argument goes, so too should packet carriers be prohibited from looking “inside” the packets they deliver.

As I explain in my article, I’m not a fan of the envelope analogy. The NPR story gives me one more reason to dislike it: envelopes–the physical kind–don’t mark as clear a line of privacy as we may have thought. Although Andrea is restricted by law from peeking inside envelopes, every day her mail route is awash in “metadata” that reveal much more than the mere words scribbled on the envelopes themselves. By analyzing all of this metadata, Andrea has many ways of inferring what is inside the envelopes she delivers, and she feels pretty confident about her guesses.

There are metadata gleaned from the envelopes themselves: certified letters usually mean bad economic news; utility bills turn from white to yellow to red as a person slides toward insolvency. She also engages in traffic analysis–fewer credit card offers might herald the credit crunch. She picks up cues from the surroundings, too: more names on a mailbox might mean that a young man who can no longer make rent has moved in with grandma. Perhaps most importantly, she interacts with the human recipients of these envelopes, reporting in the story about a guy who runs a cafe who jokes about needing credit card offers in order to pay the bill, or describing the people who watch her approach with “a real desperation in their eyes; when they see me their face falls; what am I going to bring today?”

So let’s stop using the envelope analogy, because it makes a comparison that doesn’t really fit well. But I have a deeper objection to the use of the envelope analogy in the DPI/ISP surveillance debate: It states a problem rather than proposes a solution, and it assumes away all of the hard questions. Saying that there is an “inside” and an “outside” to a packet is the same thing as saying that we need to draw a line between permissible and impermissible scrutiny, but it offers no guidance about how or where to draw that line. The promise of the envelope analogy is that it is clear and easy to apply, but the solutions proposed to implement the analogy are rarely so clear.

What Your Mailman Knows (Part 1 of 2)

A few days ago, National Public Radio (NPR) tried to offer some lighter fare to break up the death march of gloomier stories about economic calamity. You can listen to the story online. The story’s reporter, Chana Joffe-Walt, followed a mail carrier named Andrea on her route around the streets of Seattle. The premise of the story is that Andrea can measure economic suffering along her mail route–and therefore in that mythical place, “Main Street”–by keeping tabs on the type of mail she delivered. I have two technology policy thoughts about this story, but because I have a lot to say, I will break this into two posts. In this post, I will share some general thoughts about privacy, and in the next post, I will tie this story to NebuAd and Phorm.

I was troubled by Andrea’s and Joffe-Walt’s cavalier approaches to privacy. In the course of the five minute story, Andrea reveals a lot of private, personal information about the people on her route. Only once does Joffe-Walt even hint at the creepiness of peering into people’s private lives in this way, embracing a form of McNealy’s “you have no privacy, get over it” declaration. In the first line of the story, Joffe-Walt says, “Okay before we can do this, I need to clear up one question: Yes, your mailman reads your postcards; she notices what magazines you get, which catalogs; she knows everything about you.” The last line of the story is simply, “The government is just starting on its $700 billion plan. As it moves forward, Wall Street economists will be watching Wall Street; Fed economists will be watching Wall Street; Andrea will be watching the mail.”

There are many privacy lessons I can draw from this: First, did the Postal Service approve Andrea’s participation in the interview? If it did, did it weigh the privacy impact? If not, why not?

More broadly speaking, I bet all of the people who produced or authorized this story, from Andrea and Joffe-Walt to the Postal Service and NPR, if they thought about privacy at all, engaged in a cost-benefits balancing, and they evidently made the same types of mistakes on both sides of that balancing that people often make when they think about privacy.

First, what are the costs to privacy from this story? At first blush, they seem to be slight to non-existent because the reporter anonymized the data. Although most of the activity in the story appears to center on one city block in Seattle, we aren’t told which city block. This is a lot like AOL arguing that it had anonymized its search queries by replacing IP addresses with unique identifiers or like Phorm arguing that it protects privacy by forgetting that you visited Orbitz.com and remembering instead only that you visited a travel-related website.

The NPR story exposes the flaw in this type of argument. Although a casual listener won’t be able to place the street toured by Andrea, it probably wouldn’t be very hard to pierce this cloak of privacy. In the story, we are told that the street is “three-quarters of a mile [north] of” Main Street. The particular block is “a wide residential block where section 8 housing butts against glassy, snazzy new chic condos that cost half-a-million dollars.” Across the block are a couple businesses including a cafe “across the way.” Does this describe more than a few possible locations in Seattle? [Insert joke about the number of cafes in Seattle here.]

It’s probably even easier for someone who lives in Seattle to pinpoint the location, particularly if it is near where they live or work. For these people, thanks to NPR, they now know that in the Section 8 building lives “a single mom with an affinity for black leather is getting an overdraft notice” and a “minister . . . getting more late payment bills.” The owner of the cafe has been outed as somebody who pays his bills only by applying for new credit cards. If you lived or worked on this particular block, wouldn’t you have at least a hunch about the identities of the people tied to these potentially embarrassing facts?

Laboring under the mistaken belief that anonymization negated any costs to privacy, the creators of the story probably thought the costs were outweighed by the potential benefits. But these benefits seem to pale in comparison to the privacy risks, accurately understood. What does the listener gain by listening to this story? A small bit of anecdotal knowledge about the economic crisis? A reason to fear his mailman? The small thrill of voyeurism? A chance to think about the economic crisis while not seized by fear and dread? I’m not saying that these benefits are valueless, but I don’t think they were justified when held against the costs.