If You Know How to Surf, You Can Learn How to Stalk

Jordana Willner

Originally published San Francisco Chronicle
Sunday, April 30, 2000

TODAY, when I ran out of e- mail to write, news to read, stocks to assess, and items to bid, I did what any marginally competent Web surfer can do while online in the privacy of her own home office: I stalked myself.

And there, courtesy of the most mainstream of popular search engines, I discovered the exciting and ego-inflating truth: that I have emerged from obscurity into the hot and hallowed pages of cyber notoriety.

I -- Oakland girl, UC grad, elder daughter, daily commuter -- am a star. It's all right there, with hyperlinks to back it up: my name as a force that elicits site matches and referrals, identifying a young writer who is riding the next generation wave right into a full-fledged niche. It's a proud day.

But as I clicked my few relevant links and found my home phone number, address, and trail of prior residences, employers and writings, I became uneasy. Without my knowledge or express written consent, I was remarkably and irrevocably exposed. I, hardly the slickest of surfing searchers, had unearthed this raw, accurate data in a matter of a few unschooled clicks; what could a skilled and motivated researcher learn about me? The novelty of seeing my name in links faded quickly into the looming vulnerability of unsanctioned exposure.

So big deal, I thought. A bad person with bad intentions could do some bad stuff if they got hold of my data. They could misuse my phone number, find my home, steal my bank account numbers, or mess with my identity. Hardly a welcome set of possibilities, but hardly new either. Prank calls and phony charges predate the Internet by generations, and a little fatalism goes a long way to acknowledge that, whether by online or more conventional methods, if someone wants to do me wrong, they'll find a way, regardless of whether they cyberlaunch their attack.

What was more important, I reasoned, was that while my facts, stats, and figures may be readily available online, none of those details provides any real insight into who I am. Strangers may read my electronic bio, but none of it reveals the personality, outlook, or general nature of me.

No amount of basic data can invade my privacy, because I am far more than a sum of all my alma maters and area codes. But then again, if you consider that integrated systems, smart computers and increasingly sophisticated monitoring devices are tracking unprecedented categories and details of information, it suddenly seems highly possible and indeed probable that those distant personal facts can be very dangerous if viewed by the wrong people.

Say my exposed electronic medical record, viewed by a potential employer, reveals HIV, high risk behaviors, or a history of psychiatric treatment? Or maybe an employment record reveals actions or lawsuits that could hamper future progress. Or an old report card shows a failing grade in a class that someone else deems important.

What if police records display a past I don't want publicized, or acquaintances post information about me that I would prefer not surface? What if my electronic vote is viewed, my faith revealed, or my sexual orientation advertised in the public domain? Such concerns may be paranoid and premature, but they may also be realistic considerations in the all too near future. Or they would be if I was an alarmist. Which I'm not.

What I really am, I reminded myself, is an ambitious, hardworking young capitalist trying to advance my own cause and sell the one product I have worth hocking: my words. And as a writer with more articles to sell than publications to buy them, I realized that I'm not nearly exposed enough. Everyone, be they artists, consultants, nutritionists or techies, has his or her own Web site that advertise their services and promotes their talents.

If I want to be competitive in my field, I better grab a domain, post my work, and network with as many portals as are willing to link me. My articles, resume, bio, plans, and affiliations should all be listed. Why not some photographs, too? If I'm going to really use the Internet to introduce myself, I should go all the way.

Except that the last time I allowed my photograph to accompany my work in a small print magazine, I acquired a zealous admirer who, based on his romantic letters and vivid fantasy life, was one marble short of being a full-fledged, sleep-disturbing, fear-inspiring, life- altering stalker.

But then again, with a mouse, a browser, and an occasional moment of curiosity, who among us isn't a potential stalker? Thanks to the availability of information, the line between basic interest, utilization of available resources, and blatant invasion of privacy is nearly invisible. We can each stalk and be stalked -- right in the comfort of our own homes.

Whether a welcome blessing or veiled threat, no one yet knows the extent of risk associated with such exposure. Until we do, let's hope each of us, exercising the appropriate caution, awareness and vigilance, takes the time to stalk ourselves and thereby, for as long as possible, remains our own worst enemy.

--Jordana Willner wrote a monthly "Next Generation" column for the San Francisco Chronicle in 1999, 2000, and 2001