Another reason why we won’t exist in future history

I’ve went on Luddite rants before, but a NextGov article titled Most Scientific Research Data from the 1990s is Lost Forever settles in my mind the impending technoclasm will erase us from history.

As a  Maître Jaques, I amateurishly dabble in many fields, but have not the skill to bountifully harvest from any of them. But even a simpleton such as I can see that we will be an enigma to future generations, who might see the ruins of our great civilization, but have no surviving record of what we were capable of. Unlike the Egyptians, we don’t leave much of our record in stone. Unlike the Greeks and Romans, we don’t even leave it in paper anymore. We’re more like the Atlanteans (they did exist didn’t they???). What other ancient civilizations existed that we have no record of because they chose to store their records to “advanced”, and fragile, means of storage. ?

The article mentioned that much of the lost data were stored on floppy disks. This reminded me of another article about the migration of the original source code of Prince of Persia a while back. Had the source code not been found when antique hardware was available to read the ancient formats, that effort would have been lost as well. This is the dilemma of digital storage: every so often, that which is saved in an old format must be moved to a newer format. Obsolete tech, bit rot, and what-have-you.
I have firsthand experience with the hassle this is. After my father died, I inherited all the old VHS family movies. For a couple years now, I’ve kept a VCR around, connected to a DVD burner, so that I can convert the movies to DVD, which I will then rip to some digital format, saved to my hard drive. So what do I do then? I have to back them up to something else in case of hard drive failure. What do I do a decade from now when I have to migrate to some newer platform? When does the value of the “memories” diminish to where it is not worth the effort? Do my kids or their kids really care to see what my siblings and I did growing up? I don’t know, but as the family archivist, I’ll go through the effort, because I don’t want to be the one to let the family stories and legends die.
We tried to address this in the 70s with the gold disks sent out on Voyagers 1 & 2. I don’t think we’ve done many such practical things since. I’ve seen a theory posited online that the apex of human civilization was 1975. I’ll not link to them, because they’re just as crackpotish as I am (or more¡), but when you look at how little “new” we’ve created since then, the theory sounds reasonable. We haven’t been to the moon since then. Intel invented the 4004 microprocessor in 1971. We still use a small arms platform designed by Eugene Stoner in 1958. Even the Space Shuttle was a 1960s design that would have launched years earlier had it not been for government bureaucracy. Everything we have done since has been advances on these innovations. Sure we have smaller, faster, lighter tech that wasn’t available then, but its all built off of the thinking from that era. Even Unix was invented in the late 60s and was in pretty good use by the early 70s. We’ve even reached the limits of Moore’s Law.
So what is the solution? If we want to be remembered as a civilization, we need to develop some type of high-density, analog format etched into a robust media, like the disks on Voyager. This Wikipedia entry has other peoples’ ideas. Or we drop back to one of my other favorite topics, Tribalism, and each small group ensures the survival of its own legacy through whatever means it chooses.

Common Risks

Jared Diamond on Common Risks:

Jared Diamond has an op-ed in the New York Times where he talks about how we overestimate rare risks and underestimate common ones. Nothing new here — I and others have written about this sort of thing extensively — but he says that this is a bias found more in developed countries than in primitive cultures.

I first became aware of the New Guineans’ attitude toward risk on a trip into a forest when I proposed pitching our tents under a tall and beautiful tree. To my surprise, my New Guinea friends absolutely refused. They explained that the tree was dead and might fall on us.

Yes, I had to agree, it was indeed dead. But I objected that it was so solid that it would be standing for many years. The New Guineans were unswayed, opting instead to sleep in the open without a tent.

I thought that their fears were greatly exaggerated, verging on paranoia. In the following years, though, I came to realize that every night that I camped in a New Guinea forest, I heard a tree falling. And when I did a frequency/risk calculation, I understood their point of view.

Consider: If you’re a New Guinean living in the forest, and if you adopt the bad habit of sleeping under dead trees whose odds of falling on you that particular night are only 1 in 1,000, you’ll be dead within a few years. In fact, my wife was nearly killed by a falling tree last year, and I’ve survived numerous nearly fatal situations in New Guinea.

Diamond has a point. While it’s universally true that humans exaggerate rare and spectacular risks and downplay mundane and common risks, we in developed countries do it more. The reason, I think, is how fears propagate. If someone in New Guinea gets eaten by a tiger — do they even have tigers in New Guinea? — then those who know the victim or hear about it learn to fear tiger attacks. If it happens in the U.S., it’s the lead story on every news program, and the entire country fears tigers. Technology magnifies rare risks. Think of plane crashes versus car crashes. Think of school shooters versus home accidents. Think of 9/11 versus everything else.

On the other side of the coin, we in the developed world have largely made the pedestrian risks invisible. Diamond makes the point that, for an older man, falling is a huge risk, and showering is especially dangerous. How many people do you know who have fallen in the shower and seriously hurt themselves? I can’t think of anyone. We tend to compartmentalize our old, our poor, our different — and their accidents don’t make the news. Unless it’s someone we know personally, we don’t hear about it.

In celebration of the Mayan ‘Apocalypse’

There has been lots of “news” about the non-event that is occurring today. I mean this sarcastically, but it’s sort of nice for it to be someone else’s beliefs that are being trashed by the media for a change. Even if we are basing what we think we know on our modern interpretations of a calendar that has no (ore relatively few) adherents for its defense. Surely we can’t be wrong???

End of an Era: Mayan ‘Apocalypse’ Today: It’s the end of the 13th b’ak’tun!

And now a song to celebrate:

My next career as a pygmy goat farmer

One of my favorite things to say is if  ever get out of the tech industry (I thought you said you were a luddite???) that I want to become a pygmy goat farmer. Imagine my surprise to Scott Adams echo the notion in today’s Dilbert:

Comic for June 29, 2012:

Now here is logic behind my insanity: Goats eat anything and are a great source of meat and milk. They are low maintenance. They are happy animals. They are perfect for a hobby farm. While they can’t carry a full adult load like a standard pack goat can, they can carry a child’s gear. 

The real-world ramifications of cyberwarfare

The following essay by Bruce Schneier has me thinking about the physical impact of cyberwarfare:

Cyberwar Treaties:
We’re in the early years of a cyberwar arms race. It’s expensive, it’s destabilizing, and it threatens the very fabric of the Internet we use every day. Cyberwar treaties, as imperfect as they might be, are the only way to contain the threat.

If you read the press and listen to government leaders, we’re already in the middle of a cyberwar. By any normal definition of the word “war,” this is ridiculous. But the definition of cyberwar has been expanded to include government-sponsored espionage, potential terrorist attacks in cyberspace, large-scale criminal fraud, and even hacker kids attacking government networks and critical infrastructure. This definition is being pushed both by the military and by government contractors, who are gaining power and making money on cyberwar fear.

The danger is that military problems beg for military solutions. We’re starting to see a power grab in cyberspace by the world’s militaries: large-scale monitoring of networks, military control of Internet standards, even military takeover of cyberspace. Last year’s debate over an “Internet kill switch” is an example of this; it’s the sort of measure that might be deployed in wartime but makes no sense in peacetime. At the same time, countries are engaging in offensive actions in cyberspace, with tools like Stuxnet and Flame.

Arms races stem from ignorance and fear: ignorance of the other side’s capabilities, and fear that their capabilities are greater than yours. Once cyberweapons exist, there will be an impetus to use them. Both Stuxnet and Flame damaged networks other than their intended targets. Any military-inserted back doors in Internet systems make us more vulnerable to criminals and hackers. And it is only a matter of time before something big happens, perhaps by the rash actions of a low-level military officer, perhaps by a non-state actor, perhaps by accident. And if the target nation retaliates, we could find ourselves in a real cyberwar.

The cyberwar arms race is destabilizing.

International cooperation and treaties are the only way to reverse this. Banning cyberweapons entirely is a good goal, but almost certainly unachievable. More likely are treaties that stipulate a no-first-use policy, outlaw unaimed or broadly targeted weapons, and mandate weapons that self-destruct at the end of hostilities. Treaties that restrict tactics and limit stockpiles could be a next step. We could prohibit cyberattacks against civilian infrastructure; international banking, for example, could be declared off-limits.

Yes, enforcement will be difficult. Remember how easy it was to hide a chemical weapons facility? Hiding a cyberweapons facility will be even easier. But we’ve learned a lot from our Cold War experience in negotiating nuclear, chemical, and biological treaties. The very act of negotiating limits the arms race and paves the way to peace. And even if they’re breached, the world is safer because the treaties exist.

There’s a common belief within the U.S. military that cyberweapons treaties are not in our best interest: that we currently have a military advantage in cyberspace that we should not squander. That’s not true. We might have an offensive advantage­although that’s debatable­but we certainly don’t have a defensive advantage. More importantly, as a heavily networked country, we are inherently vulnerable in cyberspace.

Cyberspace threats are real. Military threats might get the publicity, but the criminal threats are both more dangerous and more damaging. Militarizing cyberspace will do more harm than good. The value of a free and open Internet is enormous.

Stop cyberwar fear mongering. Ratchet down cyberspace saber rattling. Start negotiations on limiting the militarization of cyberspace and increasing international police cooperation. This won’t magically make us safe, but it will make us safer.

This essay first appeared on the U.S. News and World Report website, as part of a series of essays on the question: “Should there be an international treaty on cyberwarfare?”



Mr. Schneier is without a doubt one of the experts in this field, and I have no desire to analyze his comments which I believe to be spot on. I do want to ponder, however on the impact that unmitigated cyberwar would have on modern society, which ties in neatly with my technophobe, luddite stance.

First off, in cyberwarfare, the entire Internet is potential battlefield. There is no Bull Run, there is no Flanders field, there is no Iwo Jima, there is no DMZ and there is no line of demarkation. The battle is anywhere and everywhere in nanoseconds. Cyberwarriors do not march for weeks or even days to an enemy’s digital citadel and lay siege. The enemy’s stronghold is simultaneously in the midst of its capital and on its borderland. The cyberwarriors emerge from the ether and disappear equally instantaneously. There are no signs of encampment, and only rarely do any of the individual combatants leave any footprints behind. On both sides, the most frail mage is the most powerful warrior.

Second, cyberwarfare is the most unhuman form of conflict yet invented by mankind. There is no adrenaline-charged rush toward an enemy that is just as real and scared as one’s self. There is only the anonymous clatter and click of the keyboard and mouse, with its own source of adrenaline, which can be felt when playing a first-person shooter, such as America’s Army. The same can be said of robot proxy (drone) warfare, a physical/cyber hybrid. One can engage and kill an enemy and the enemy can engage and kill the drone, but the enemy cannot engage and kill the pilot flying the drone from the other side of the planet. The enemy can smell the iron from the spilling blood of his comrade, but the pilot only sees a pixelated image on his screen, if he sees the dead at all. While this is advantageous as long as it is asymmetric, once hybrid warfare is conducted on mass scale by both sides, it will be the most horrific thing we have ever seen. Assume that drones are just as susceptible to compromise as any other computer system and then imagine a malware like Stuxnet that targets UAVs. As horrible as nuclear warfare is with its ability to wipe out entire cities in seconds, how much worse would be a squadron of drones flying slow and low picking off civilians and combatants alike?

Finally, our global society depends on a stable cyber infrastructure. Destroy cyberspace and you destroy Western civilization, or at least set it back a couple hundred years. We live in an electron-driven society. No Internet means no international commerce, which means no local commerce. If the entirety of cyberspace is a battlefield, since you can’t designate war zones in an abstract realm that has no borders, then you can’t keep the battle out of your front yard, and everyone who is resident in cyberspace is victim in cyberspace. Everything is intensified because it is omnipresent and instantaneous. The collective intelligence of mankind is weaponized and can be turned against anyone by a small set of bad actors. Since bots are set-and-forget, taking out the general, the lieutenant, the sergeant, or the private, does nothing to slow the tempo of battle. The conflict destroys reactors in the Middle East and in nanoseconds, turns across the ocean to down the electrical grid in New England. Insert your own catastrophe here.

What we end out with is societal collapse because of an over-reliance on tech. Many parts of the world may not be impacted at all, and those societies may rise over ours. Such is the cycle of human cultures. But the question I would pose is this: can we not re-cork this genie before he gets all the way out of the bottle? I don’t suggest we eschew all the wonderful advances we have made, but as a culture, we need a robust backup plan that depends a little less on what our grandparents didn’t have and a little more on what our great-great-grandparents did have.