I was eavesdropping on a conversation among some very tech-savvy friends recently when I heard someone say, “I work in a zero trust environment.” I had been drifting in and out of their conversation like a falling leaf, but suddenly, I was all ears: “zero trust environment?” What in the heck is that?
It turns out that Zero Trust is a strategic approach to cybersecurity that secures an organization by eliminating implicit trust and continuously validating every stage of a digital interaction. That’s almost Greek to me, but I can at least discern a hint of its meaning. We all know we live in a digital world infested with hackers and identity thieves who apparently have no other purpose in life than to prey on those among us who are, like me, both digitally dumb and inherently trusting. In theory, zero trust strategy is our shield against these dark-web predators.
My digital needs are minimal at best…or so I think. I send texts and emails, bank online, scroll through FaceBook and Instagram, take digital images with my camera, even write these weekly Musings on my laptop. I’m careful about creating strong passwords and sharing personal information, and if I receive a phone call from a number I don’t recognize, I either don’t answer it or simply hit the delete button. That said, I generally approach the internet from a position of guarded trust which, if my tech-savvy friends are to be believed, is either childishly naive at best or unbelievably stupid at worst. According to them, I should trust no one and only approach the internet on tiptoe through Dante’s door—you know, the one marked “Abandon Hope All Ye Who Enter Here.”
I’m no Pollyanna but neither do I consider myself a particularly wary person. It seems to me that if some modicum of trust doesn’t underlie all human interactions, then we really are living in hell. When I’m driving down the road, I’ll stay in my lane and I trust you’ll stay in yours, but maybe that’s now a dangerous assumption. The Beltway is indeed an infernal place; you never know when someone will swerve into your lane, so driving defensively has become the first rule of the road. Whether accidental or intentional, bad things do happen to good people, on the highway, on the internet, and in life.
Sigh.
I grew up in a world far different from the one I now live in. We generally didn’t lock our doors, or wear helmets when we rode our bikes, or use seat belts. We played in the street until dark on summer evenings, we spoke to strangers, and we even opened containers that weren’t secured with twelve safety seals or childproof caps. Somehow, we survived. But now—and I get this—we live in a world where all the underlying assumptions are built on either safety or fear, certainly not on trust. Are we better off for that? Probably, but something important has been lost along the way: our inherent trust in each other, our common denominators. Maybe that’s why things are so out of whack now: we’re mired in zero trust.
Our digital world isn’t a grandfather clock that can be turned back an hour on the first Sunday in November, and maybe the good old days weren’t all that good anyway. Life has gotten oh-so complicated and I grudgingly accept that. But I sure hope that we aren’t doomed to living out our days in a zero trust environment, whether of the cyber or human ilk. I still want—still need—some measure of implicit trust to validate my life transactions.
I’ll be right back.
Jamie Kirkpatrick is a writer and photographer who lives in Chestertown. His work has appeared in the Washington Post, the Baltimore Sun, the Philadelphia Inquirer, the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette, the Washington College Alumni Magazine, and American Cowboy Magazine. Two collections of his essays (“Musing Right Along” and “I’ll Be Right Back”) are available on Amazon. Jamie’s website is www.musingjamie.net.
James Wilson says
the good old days weren’t all that good anyway” I cannot speak for my parents, but life in the gold old days for kids was that good. We did play outside until dark, or later if the basketball hoop was attached to the telephone pole with a street light. We played baseball, basketball, and football in season, usually every day. Especially baseball. A new baseball was a gift from God. We played with it until we knocked the cover off and then we taped it with black electricians tape … the shiny stuff was best. Parents called us home for meals by walking out the back door and calling your name. If you did not hear it at first, another kid would. We would get into fights with each other or get mad at each other, but it never lasted for more than an hour or two. Mom’s cooked dinner and made lunch every day. We always ate dinner together unless Dad worked the 3 to 11 shift in the Mill. Three or four of us would take the bus to the Pirate games. Twi-night double headers started at 6 pm and went until they ended and then you took the bus home at 10 or 11 o’clock. We sat by the foul pole in right field to better see Clemente, my hero. No cell phones. Etc etc etc. Too many good memories and sadness for the kids and parents today.
Jamie Kirkpatrick says
Mr. Wilson:
I grew up in Squirrel Hill and, like you, attended many Pirate games. Number 21 was my favorite player, too. It was a great way and a great place to grow up!