Knowing me, knowing you: on Russian spies and identity

Who are you, and who tells me so?

Who are you, and who tells me so?  These are questions which are really important for almost any IT-related system in use today.  I’ve previously discussed the difference between identification and authentication (and three other oft-confused terms) in Explained: five misused security words, and what I want to look at in this post is the shady hinterland between identification and authentication.

There has been a lot in the news recently about the poisoning in the UK of two Russian nationals and two British nationals, leading to the tragic death of Dawn Sturgess.  I’m not going to talk about that, or even about the alleged perpetrators, but about the problem of identity – their identity – and how that relates to IT.  The two men who travelled to Salisbury, and were named by British police as the perpetrators, travelled under Russian passports.  These documents provided their identities, as far as the British authorities – including UK Border Control, who allowed them into the country – were aware, and led to their being allowed into the country.

When we set up a new user in an IT system or allow them physical access to a building, for instance, we often ask for “Government-issued ID” as the basis for authenticating the identity that they have presented, in preparation for deciding whether to authorise them to perform whatever action they have requested.  There are two issues here – one obvious, and one less so.  The first, obvious one, is that it’s not always easy to tell whether a document has actually been issued by the authority by which it appears to be have been issued – document forgers have been making a prosperous living for hundreds, if not thousands of years.  The problem, of course, is that the more tell-tale signs of authenticity you reveal to those whose job it is to check a document, the more clues you give to would-be forgers for how to improve the quality of the false versions that they create.

The second, and less obvious problem, is that just because a document has been issued by a government authority doesn’t mean that it is real.  Well, actually, it does, and there’s the issue.  Its issuance by the approved authority makes it real – that is to say “authentic” – but it doesn’t mean that it is correct.  Correctness is a different property to authenticity. Any authority may decide to issue identification documents that may be authentic, but do not truly represent the identity of the person carrying them. When we realise that a claim of identity is backed up by an authority which is issuing documents that we do not believe to be correct, that means that we should change our trust relationship with that authority.  For most entities, IDs which have been authentically issued by a government authority are quite sufficient, but it is quite plausible, for instance, that the UK Border Force (and other equivalent entities around the world) may choose to view passports issued by certain government authorities as suspect in terms of their correctness.

What impact does this have on the wider IT security community?  Well, there are times when we are accepting government-issued ID when we might want to check with relevant home nation authorities as to whether we should trust them[1].  More broadly than that, we must remember that every time that we authenticate a user, we are making a decision to trust the authority that represented that user’s identity to us.  The level of trust we place in that authority may safely be reduced as we grow to know that user, but it may not – either because our interactions are infrequent, or maybe because we need to consider that they are playing “the long game”, and are acting as so-called “sleepers”.

What does this continuous trust mean?  What it means is that if we are relying on an external supplier to provide contractors for us, we need to keep remembering that this is a trust relationship, and one which can change.  If one of those contractors turns out to have faked educational qualifications, then we need to doubt the authenticity of the educational qualifications of all of the other contractors – and possibly other aspects of the identity which the external supplier has presented to us.  This is because we have placed transitive trust in the external supplier, which we must now re-evaluate.  What other examples might there be?  The problem is that the particular aspects of identity that we care about are so varied and differ between different roles that we perform.  Sometimes, we might not care about education qualifications, but credit score, or criminal background, or blood type.  In the film Gattaca[2], identity is tied to physical and mental ability to perform a particular task.

There are various techniques available to allow us to tie a particular individual to a set of pieces of information: DNA, iris scans and fingerprints are pretty good at telling us that the person in front of us now is the person who was in front of us a year ago.  But tying that person to other information relies on trust relationships with external entities, and apart from a typically small set of inferences that we can draw from our direct experiences of this person, it’s difficult to know exactly what is truly correct unless we can trust those external entities.


1 – That assumes, of course, that we trust our home nation authorities…

2 – I’m not going to put a spoiler in here, but it’s a great film, and really makes you think about identity: go and watch it!

How to talk to security people: a guide for the rest of us

I wrote an article a few months back called Using words that normal people understand.  It turns out that you[1] liked it a lot.  Well, lots of you read it, so I’m going to assume that it was at least OK.

It got me thinking, however, that either there are lots of security people who read this blog who work with “normal” people and needed to be able to talk to them better, or maybe there are lots of “normal” people who read this blog and wondered what security people had been going on about all this time.  This article is for the latter group (and maybe the former, too)[2].

Security people are people, too

The first thing to remember about security people is that they’re actual living, breathing, feeling humans, too[3].  They don’t like being avoided or ostracised by their colleagues.  Given the chance, most of them would like to go out for a drink with you.  But, unluckily, they’ve become so conditioned to saying “no” to any request you make that they will never be able to accept the offer[4].

Try treating them as people.  We have a very good saying within the company for which I work: “assume positive intent”.  Rather than assuming that they’re being awkward on purpose, trying assuming that they’re trying to help, even if they’re not very good at showing it.  This can be hard, but go with it.

Get them involved early

Get them really involved, not just on the official team email list, but actually invited to the meetings.  In person if they’re local, on a video-chat if they’re not.  And encourage everybody to turn on their webcam.  Face contact really helps.

And don’t wait for a couple of months, when the team is basically already formed.  Not a couple of weeks, or days.  Get your security folks involved at team formation: there’s something special about being involved in a team from the very beginning of a project.

How would you do it?

In fact, you know what?  Go further.  Ask the security person[5] on the team “how would you do it?”

This shuts down a particular response – “you can’t” – and encourages another – “I’m being asked for my professional opinion”.  It also sets up an open question with a positive answer implicit.  Tone is important, though, as is timing.  Do this at the beginning of the process, rather than at the end.  What you’re doing here is a psychological trick: you’re encouraging perception of joint ownership of the problem, and hopefully before particular approaches – which may not be security-friendly – have been designed into the project.

Make them part of the team

There are various ways to help form a team.  I prefer inclusive, rather than exclusive mechanisms: a shared set of pages that are owned by the group and visible to others, rather than a closed conference room with paper all over the windows so that nobody else can look in, for instance.  One of the most powerful techniques, I believe, is social interaction.  Not everybody will be able to make an after-work trip to a bar or pub, but doughnuts and pizza[6] for the team, or a trip out for tea or coffee once or twice a week can work wonders.  What is specific to security people in this, you ask?

Well, in many organisations, the security folks are in a separate team, sometimes in a separate area in a separate floor in a separate building[8].  They may default to socialising only with this group.  Discourage this.  To be clear: don’t discourage them from socialising with that group, but from socialising only with that group.  It’s possible to be part of two teams – you need to encourage that realisation.

Hopefully, as the team’s dynamics form and the security person feels more part of it, the answer to the earlier question (“how would you do it?”) will won’t be “well, I would do it this way”, but “well, I think we should do it this way”.

Realise that jargon has its uses

Some of the interactions that you have with your tame[9] security person will involve jargon.  There will be words – possibly phrases, possibly concepts or entire domains of knowledge – that you don’t recognise.  This is intimidating, and can be a defence mechanism on the part of the utterer.  Jargon has at least two uses:

  1. as an exclusionary mechanism for groups to keep non-members in the dark;
  2. as a short-hand to exchange information between “in-the-know” people so that they don’t need to explain everything in exhaustive detail every time.

Be aware that you use jargon as well – whether you’re in testing, finance, development or operations – and that this may be confusing to others.  Do security folks have a reputation for the first of those uses?  Yes, they do.  Maybe it’s ill-founded and maybe it’s not.  So ask for an explanation.  In either case, if you ask for an explanation and follow it as well you can, and then ask for an explanation of why it’s important in this case, you’re showing that you care.  And who doesn’t like showing off their knowledge to an at least apparently interested party?  Oh, and you’re probably learning something useful at the same time.

Sometimes what’s needed is not a full explanation, but the second bit: an explanation of why it’s important, and then a way to make it happen.  Do you need to know the gory details of proofs around Byzantine Fault-Tolerance?  Probably not.  Do you need to know why it’s important for your system?   That’s more likely.  Do you need to know the options for implementing it?  Definitely.

What else?

As I started to write this post, I realised that there were lots of other things I could say.  But once I got further through it, I also realised that there were definitely going to be other things that you[10] could add.  Please consider writing a comment on this post.  And once you’ve considered it, please do it.  Shared knowledge is open knowledge, and open is good.


1 – my hypothetical “readership”

2 – by using the pronoun “us” in the title, I’ve lumped myself in with the “normal people”.  I’m aware that this may not be entirely justified.  Or honest.

3 – I’m generalising, obviously, but let’s go with it.

4 – this is a joke, but I’m quite pleased with it.

5 – I suppose there might be more than one, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves.

6 – make sure it’s both, please.  Some people don’t like pizza[7].

7 – me.  I find it difficult to believe that some people don’t like doughnuts, but you never know.

8 – and, if they have their way, on separate email and telephone systems.

9 – well, partially house-trained, at least.

10 – dear reader.

Talking in school

Learning by teaching

A few months ago, I was asked by a teacher at a local school to come in and talk to year 10 and year 11 students (aged 14-16 or so) about my job, what I do, my background, how I got into my job and to give any further thoughts and advice.  Today I got the chance to go in and talk to them.

I very much enjoyed myself[1], and hopefully it was interesting for the pupils as well.  I went over my past – from being “a bit of a geek at school” through to some of the stuff I need to know to do my job now – and also talked about different types of work within IT security.  I was at pains to point out that you don’t need to be a great mathematician or even a great coder to get a career in IT security, and talked a lot about the importance of systems – which absolutely includes people.

What went down best – as is the case with pretty much any crowd – was stories.  “War stories”, as they’re sometimes called, about what situations you’ve come across, how you dealt with them, how other people reacted, and the lessons you’ve learned from them, give an immediacy and relevance that just can’t be beaten.  I was careful not to make them very technical – and one about a member of staff who had lost weight while on holiday and got stuck in a two-door man-trap (which included a weight sensor) went down particularly well[3].

The other thing that was useful – and which isn’t always going to work in a C-level meeting, for instance – was some exercises. Codes and ciphers are always interesting, so I started with a ROT13, then a Caesar cipher, then a simple key, then a basic alphabet substitution.  We talked about letter frequency, repeated words, context and letter groupings, and the older group solved all of the puzzles, which was excellent.

There was time for some questions, too, which included:

  • “how much do you get paid?”  Somewhat cheeky, this one, but I answered by giving them a salary range for a job which someone had contacted me about, but which I’d not followed up on – and gave no indications of the reasons for rejecting it
  • “do you need an IT or computing degree?”  No, though it can be helpful.
  • “do you need a degree at all?”  No, and though it can be difficult to get on without one, there are some very good apprentice schemes out there.

I went into the school to try to help others learn, but it was a very useful experience for me, too.  Although all of the pupils there are taking a computing class by choice, not all of them were obviously engaged.  But that didn’t mean that they weren’t paying attention: one of the pupils with the least “interested” body language was the fastest at answering some of the questions.  Some of the pupils there had similar levels of understanding around IT security to some C-levels who aren’t in IT.  Thinking about pace, about involving members of the audience who weren’t necessarily paying attention – all of these were really useful things for me to reflect on.

So – if you get the chance[4] – consider contacting a local school or college and seeing if they’d like someone to talk to them about what you do.  Making it interesting, be ready to move on where topics aren’t getting the engagement you’d hope, and be ready for some questions.  I can pretty much guarantee that you’ll learn something.


1 – one of my daughters, who attends the school, gave me very strict instructions about not talking to her, her friends or anyone she knew[2].

2 – (which I have every intention of ignoring, but sadly, I didn’t see her or any of her friends that I recognised.  Maybe next time.)

3 – though possibly not with the senior manager who had to come out on a Sunday to rescue him and reset the system.

4 – and you’re willing to engage a tough audience.

Moving to DevOps, what’s most important? 

Technology, process or culture? (Clue: it’s not the first two)

You’ve been appointed the DevOps champion in your organisation: congratulations.  So, what’s the most important issue that you need to address?

It’s the technology – tools and the toolchain – right?  Everybody knows that unless you get the right tools for the job, you’re never going to make things work.  You need integration with your existing stack – though whether you go with tight or loose integration will be an interesting question – a support plan (vendor, 3rd party or internal), and a bug-tracking system to go with your source code management system.  And that’s just the start.

No!  Don’t be ridiculous: it’s clearly the process that’s most important.  If the team doesn’t agree on how stand-ups are run, who participates, the frequency and length of the meetings, and how many people are required for a quorum, then you’ll never be able institute a consistent, repeatable working pattern.

In fact, although both the technology and the process are important, there’s a third component which is equally important, but typically even harder to get right: culture.  Yup, it’s that touch-feely thing that we techies tend to struggle with[1].

Culture

I was visiting a medium-sized government institution a few months ago (not in the UK, as it happens), and we arrived a little early to meet the CEO and CTO.  We were ushered into the CEO’s office and waited for a while as the two of them finished participating in the daily stand-up.  They apologised for being a minute or two late, but far from being offended, I was impressed.  Here was an organisation where the culture of participation was clearly infused all the way up to the top.

Not that culture can be imposed from the top – nor can you rely on it percolating up from the bottom[3] – but these two C-level execs were not only modelling the behaviour they expected from the rest of their team, but also seemed, from the brief discussion we had about the process afterwards, to be truly invested in it.  If you can get management to buy into the process – and to be seen to buy in – you are at least likely to have problems with other groups finding plausible excuses to keep their distance and get away with it.

So let’s say that management believes that you should give DevOps a go.  Where do you start?

Developers, tick?[5]

Developers may well be your easiest target group.  Developers are often keen to try new things, and to find ways to move things along faster, so they are often the group that can be expected to adopt new technologies and methodologies.  DevOps has arguably been mainly driven by the development community. But you shouldn’t assume that all developers will be keen to embrace this change.  For some, the way things have always been done – your Rick Parfitts of dev, if you will[7] – is fine.  Finding ways to help them work efficiently in the new world is part of your job, not just theirs.  If you have superstar developers who aren’t happy with change, you risk alienating them and losing them if you try to force them into your brave new world.  What’s worse, if they dig their heels in, you risk the adoption of your DevSecOps vision being compromised when they explain to their managers that things aren’t going to change if it makes their lives more difficult and reduces their productivity.

Maybe you’re not going to be able to move all the systems and people to DevOps immediately.  Maybe you’re going to need to choose which apps start with, and who will be your first DevOps champions.  Maybe it’s time to move slowly.

Not maybe: definitely

No – I lied.  You’re definitely going to need to move slowly.  Trying to change everything at once is a recipe for disaster.

This goes for all elements of the change – which people to choose, which technologies to choose, which applications to choose, which user base to choose, which use cases to choose – bar one.  For all of those elements, if you try to move everything in one go, you will fail.  You’ll fail for a number of reasons.  You’ll fail for reasons I can’t imagine, and, more importantly, for reasons you can’t imagine, but some of the reasons will include:

  • people – most people – don’t like change;
  • technologies don’t like change (you can’t just switch and expect everything to work still);
  • applications don’t like change (things worked before, or at least failed in known ways: you want to change everything in one go?  Well, they’ll all fail in new and exciting[9] ways;
  • users don’t like change;
  • use cases don’t like change.

The one exception

You noticed that, above, I wrote “bar one”, when discussing which elements you shouldn’t choose to change all in one go?  Well done.

What’s that exception?  It’s the initial team.  When you choose your initial application to change, and you’re thinking about choosing the team to make that change, select the members carefully, and select a complete set.  This is important.  If you choose just developers, just test folks, or just security folks, or just ops folks, or just management, then you won’t actually have proved anything at all.  If you leave out one functional group from your list, you won’t actually have proved anything at all.  Well, you might have proved to a small section of your community that it kind of works, but you’ll have missed out on a trick.  And that trick is that if you choose keen people from across your functional groups, it’s much harder to fail.

Say that your first attempt goes brilliantly.  How are you going to convince other people to replicate your success and adopt DevOps?  Well, the company newsletter, of course.  And that will convince how many people, exactly?  Yes, that number[12].  If, on the other hand, you have team members from across the functional parts or the organisation, then when you succeed, they’ll tell their colleagues, and you’ll get more buy-in next time.

If, conversely, it fails, well, if you’ve chosen your team wisely, and they’re all enthusiastic, and know that “fail often, fail fast” is good, then they’ll be ready to go again.

So you need to choose enthusiasts from across your functional groups.  They can work on the technologies and the process, and once that’s working, it’s the people who will create that cultural change.  You can just sit back and enjoy.  Until the next crisis, of course.


1 – OK, you’re right.  It should be “with which we techies tend to struggle”[2]

2 – you thought I was going to qualify that bit about techies struggling with touchy-feely stuff, didn’t you?  Read it again: I put “tend to”.  That’s the best you’re getting.

3 – is percolating a bottom-up process?  I don’t drink coffee[4], so I wouldn’t know.

4 – do people even use percolators to make coffee anymore?  Feel free to let me know in the comments. I may pretend interest if you’re lucky.

5 – for US readers (and some other countries, maybe?), please substitute “tick” for “check” here[6].

6 – for US techie readers, feel free to perform “s/tick/check/;”.

7 – this is a Status Quo[8] reference for which I’m extremely sorry.

8 – for Millennial readers, please consult your favourite online reference engine or just roll your eyes and move on.

9 – for people who say, “but I love excitement”, trying being on call at 2am on a Sunday morning at end of quarter when your Chief Financial Officer calls you up to ask why all of last month’s sales figures have been corrupted with the letters “DEADBEEF”[10].

10 – for people not in the know, this is a string often used by techies as test data because a) it’s non-numerical; b) it’s numerical (in hexadecimal); c) it’s easy to search for in debug files and d) it’s funny[11].

11 – though see [9].

12 – it’s a low number, is all I’m saying.

Using words that normal people understand

Normal people generally just want things to work.

Most people[1] don’t realise quite how much fun security is, or exactly how sexy security expertise makes you to other people[2].  We know that it’s engrossing, engaging and cool, they don’t.  For this reason, when security people go to the other people (let’s just call them “normal people” for the purposes of this article), and tell them that they’re doing something wrong, and that they can’t launch their product, or deploy their application, or that they must stop taking sales orders immediately, and probably for the next couple of days until this are fixed, then those normal people don’t always react with the levels of gratefulness that we feel is appropriate.

Sometimes, in fact, they will exhibit negative responses – even quite personal negative responses – to these suggestions.

The problem is this: security folks know how things should be, and that’s secure.  They’ve taken the training, they’ve attended the sessions, they’ve read the articles, they’ve skimmed the heavy books[3], and all of these sources are quite clear: everything must be secure.  And secure generally means “closed” – particularly if the security folks weren’t sufficiently involved in the design, implementation and operations processes.   Normal people, on the other hand, generally just want things to work.  There’s a fundamental disjoint between those two points of view that we’re not going to get fixed until security is the very top requirement for any project from its inception to its ending[4].

Now, normal people aren’t stupid[5].  They know that things can’t always work perfectly: but they would like them to work as well as they can.  This is the gap[7] that we need to cross.  I’ve talked about managed degradation as a concept before, in the post Service degradation: actually a good thing, and this is part of the story.  One of the things that we security people should be ready to do is explain that there are risks to be mitigated.  For security people, those risks should be mitigated by “failing closed”.  It’s easy to stop risk: you just stop system operation, and there’s no risk that it can be misused.  But for many people, there are other risks: an example being that the organisation may in fact go completely out of business because some *[8]* security person turned the ordering system off.  If they’d offered me the choice to balance the risk of stopping taking orders against the risk of losing some internal company data, would I have taken it?  Well yes, I might have.  But if I’m not offered the option, and the risk isn’t explained, then I have no choice.  These are the sorts of words that I’d like to hear if I’m running a business.

It’s not just this type of risk, though.  Coming to a project meeting two weeks before launch and announcing that the project can’t be deployed because this calls against this API aren’t being authenticated is no good at all.  To anybody.  As a developer, though, I have a different vocabulary – and different concerns – to those of the business owner.  How about, instead of saying “you need to use authentication on this API, or you can’t proceed”, the security person asks “what would happen if data that was provided on this API was incorrect, or provided by someone who wanted to disrupt system operation?”?  In my experience, most developers are interested – are invested – in the correct operation of the system that they’re running, and of the data that it processes.  Asking questions that show the possible impact of lack of security is much more likely to garner positive reactions than an initial “discussion” that basically amounts to a “no”.

Don’t get me wrong; there are times when we, as security people, need to be firm, and stick to our guns[9], but in the end, it’s the owners – of systems, or organisations, of business units, of resources – who get to make the final decision.  It’s our job to talk to them in words they can understand and ensure that they are as well informed as we can possibly make them.  Without just saying “no”.


1. by which I mean “those poor unfortunate souls who don’t read these posts, unlike you, dear and intelligent reader”.

2. my wife, sadly, seems to fall into this category.

3. which usually have a picture of a lock on the cover.

4. and good luck with that.

5. while we’ve all met our fair share of stupid normal people, I’m betting that you’ve met your fair share of stupid security people, too, so it balances out[6].

6. probably more than balances out.  Let’s leave it there.

7. chasm.

8. insert your favourite adjectival expletive here.

9. figuratively: I don’t condone bringing any weapons, including firearms, to your place of work.

On passwords and accounts

This isn’t a password problem. It’s a misunderstanding-of-what-accounts-are-for problem.

Once a year or so, one of the big UK tech magazines or websites[1] does a survey where they send a group of people to one of the big London train stations and ask travellers for their password[3].  The deal is that every traveller who gives up their password gets a pencil, a chocolate bar or similar.

I’ve always been sad that I’ve never managed to be at the requisite station for one of these polls.  I would love to get a free pencil – or even better a chocolate bar[4] – for lying about a password.  Or even, frankly, for giving them one of my actual passwords, which would be completely useless to them without some identifying information about me.  Which I obviously wouldn’t give them.  Or again, would pretend to give them, but lie.

The point of this exercise[5] is supposed to be to expose the fact that people are very bad about protecting their passwords.  What it actually identifies is that a good percentage of the British travelling public are either very bad about protecting their passwords, or are entirely capable of making informed (or false) statements in order to get a free pencil or chocolate bar[4]. Good on the British travelling public, say I. 

Now, everybody agrees that passwords are on their way out, as they have been on their way out for a good 15-20 years, so that’s nice.  People misuse them, reuse them, don’t change them often enough, etc., etc..  But it turns out that it’s not the passwords that are the real problem.  This week, more than one British MP admitted – seemingly without any realisation that they were doing  anything wrong – that they share their passwords with their staff, or just leave their machines unlocked so that anyone on their staff can answer their email or perform other actions on their behalf.

This isn’t a password problem.  It’s a misunderstanding-of-what-accounts-are-for problem.

People seem to think that, in a corporate or government setting, the point of passwords is to stop people looking at things they shouldn’t.

That’s wrong.  The point of passwords is to allow different accounts for different people, so that the appropriate people can exercise the appropriate actions, and be audited as having done so.  It is, basically, a matching of authority to responsibility – as I discussed in last week’s post Explained: five misused security words – with a bit of auditing thrown in.

Now, looking at things you shouldn’t is one action that a person may have responsibility for, certainly, but it’s not the main thing.  But if you misuse accounts in the way that has been exposed in the UK parliament, then worse things are going to happen.  If you willingly bypass accounts, you are removing the ability of those who have a responsibility to ensure correct responsibility-authority pairings to track and audit actions.  You are, in fact, setting yourself up with excuses before the fact, but also making it very difficult to prove wrongdoing by other people who may misuse an account.  A culture that allows such behaviour is one which doesn’t allow misuse to be tracked.  This is bad enough in a company or a school – but in our seat of government?  Unacceptable.  You just have to hope that there are free pencils.  Or chocolate bars[4].


1. I can’t remember which, and I’m not going to do them the service of referencing them, or even looking them up, for reasons that should be clear once you read the main text.[2]

2. I’m trialling a new form or footnote referencing. Please let me know whether you like it.

3. I guess their email password, but again, I can’t remember and I’m not going to look it up.

4. Or similar.

5. I say “point”…

What’s the point of security? 

Like it or not, your users are part of your system.

No, really: what’s the point of it? I’m currently at the Openstack Summit in Sydney, and was just thrown out of the exhibition area as it’s closed for preparations for an event. A fairly large gentleman in a dark-coloured uniform made it clear that if I didn’t have taken particular sticker on my badge, then I wasn’t allowed to stay.  Now, as Red Hat* is an exhibitor, and I’m our booth manager’s a buddy**, she immediately offered me the relevant sticker, but as I needed a sit down and a cup of tea***, I made my way to the exit, feeling only slightly disgruntled.

“What’s the point of this story?” you’re probably asking. Well, the point is this: I’m 100% certain that if I’d asked the security guard why he was throwing me out, he wouldn’t have had a good reason. Oh, he’d probably have given me a reason, and it might have seemed good to him, but I’m really pretty sure that it wouldn’t have satisfied me. And I don’t mean the “slightly annoyed, jet-lagged me who doesn’t want to move”, but the rational, security-aware me who can hopefully reason sensibly about such things. There may even have been such a reason, but I doubt that he was privy to it.

My point, then, really comes down to this. We need be able to explain the reasons for security policies in ways which:

  1. Can be expressed by those enforcing them;
  2. Can be understood by uninformed users;
  3. Can be understood and queried by informed users.

In the first point, I don’t even necessarily mean people: sometimes – often – it’s systems that are doing the enforcing. This makes things even more difficult in ways: you need to think about UX***** in ways that are appropriate for two very, very different constituencies.

I’ve written before about how frustrating it can be when you can’t engage with the people who have come up with a security policy, or implemented a particular control. If there’s no explanation of why a control is in place – the policy behind it – and it’s an impediment to the user*******, then it’s highly likely that people will either work around it, or stop using the system.

Unless. Unless you can prove that the security control is relevant, proportionate and beneficial to the user. This is going to be difficult in many cases.  But I have seen some good examples, which means that I’m hopeful that we can generally do it if we try hard enough.  The problem is that most designers of systems don’t bother trying. They don’t bother to have any description, usually, but as for making that description show the relevance, proportionality and benefits to the user? Rare, very rare.

This is another argument for security folks being more embedded in systems design because, like it or not, your users are part of your system, and they need to be included in the design.  Which means that you need to educate your UX people, too, because if you can’t convince them of the need to do security, you’re sure as heck not going to be able to convince your users.

And when you work with them on the personae and use case modelling, make sure that you include users who are like you: knowledgeable security experts who want to know why they should submit themselves to the controls that you’re including in the system.

Now, they’ve opened up the exhibitor hall again: I’ve got to go and grab myself a drink before they start kicking people out again.


*my employer.

**she’s American.

***I’m British****.

****and the conference is in Australia, which meant that I was actually able to get a decent cup of the same.

*****this, I believe, stands for “User eXperience”. I find it almost unbearably ironic that the people tasked with communicating clearly to us can’t fully grasp the idea of initial letters standing for something.

******and most security controls are.