Privacy and security fears dog LinkedIn's new email service

LinkedIn wants its users to hand over their email experience, worrying many that security concerns have not been addressed.

Let’s say I work for your phone company. I call you and make an offer: most of your calls are from friends and family, but occasionally business contacts use your home number. If you want - and for no extra charge! - whenever that happens I’ll call beforehand to give you a biography of that person before connecting them to you. Y’know, so you’re better prepared. The only condition is that you need to let me screen all of your calls before they get to you, so I know when you’ll need me to call you first.

Interested? I’m guessing you’re not - it sounds like a reasonably large invasion of privacy for a negligible payoff. And yet it’s not far from the offer LinkedIn has made when it comes to your email, with a new service it calls Intro for its users who are on iOS:

What's happening under the hood: without Intro, your Mail app connects directly to the servers of your email provider (e.g. Gmail or Yahoo!) to download messages. With Intro, your Mail app connects instead to the Intro servers, which fetch messages from your email provider and then pass them back to your Mail app. As the messages pass through the Intro servers, we add the social context that helps you be brilliant with people.

For each of your emails, Intro tries to find the sender of the message on LinkedIn. If we find information, we include it at the top of the message, and you can tap to see more detail.

In other words, your emails go to LinkedIn, and then to you. If one of those emails is coming from someone with a LinkedIn account, it’ll stick a little bar at the top of the message containing a condensed version of that person’s LinkedIn account. And if you send an email to anyone else, it’ll have something similar at the bottom that links to your LinkedIn account. Here’s what it looks like (as mocked-up by LinkedIn):

It might seem like a lot of bother, but for LinkedIn it’s worth it if it means people choose to turn the iPhone’s default Mail app into a de facto LinkedIn app. The benefit for the user is that it makes it easier to sort the spam from the wheat, but for LinkedIn the benefit is that they get to define how someone experiences email. That’s a powerful way to get people to pay attention to your site - and LinkedIn is fully aware of just how many of its users ignore all those update emails it sends out all the time.

However, remember that LinkedIn is reading your emails to do this, in a way that exactly mirrors a man-in-the-middle attack. That’s a type of attack where someone slips in between two other computers on a network, intercepting each message that gets passed along and reading it as it goes. Sure, you might consent to it when it’s LinkedIn doing it, but it creates an attractive new target. The weakest point in the network isn’t you, or your email provider, any more - it’s LinkedIn. The site’s reputation as secure was damaged greatly by the hack of 6.5 million user passwords last year, so, perhaps understandably, people have been sceptical of how safe Intro is.

Blog posts like this one at security consultancy Bishop Fox lay out several perceived problems - such as that it appears to break cryptographic email, that it could mean you waive your legal right to attorney-client privilege in private correspondence, that it could violate your company’s security policy, and that LinkedIn is generally quite vague about the details of how Intro works - have forced LinkedIn onto the back foot.

Cory Scott, LinkedIn’s senior manager of information security, has written on the company’s blog to try and reassure users that Intro is nothing to fear. He writes:

Many things have been said about the product implementation that are not correct or are purely speculative, so this post is intended to clear up these inaccuracies and misperceptions.

When the LinkedIn Security team was presented with the core design of Intro, we made sure we built the most secure implementation we believed possible. We explored numerous threat models and constantly challenged each other to consider possible threat scenarios.

Scott claims that an outside security firm - iSEC Partners - has gone through Intro’s code “line-by-line”, and that Bishop Fox was incorrect to claim that Intro breaks cryptography.

However, take a look on social media, or through reddit, and you’ll see people making a point that it’s harder for LinkedIn to refute: even if Intro is secure now, social networks are notorious for updates that render things insecure, or things that were once private no longer being so. Not saying that LinkedIn would do this deliberately - obviously, they wouldn't - but mistakes happen. And for many, Intro looks like it could be a pretty terrible mistake in the waiting.

LinkedIn Intro rejigs how Mail works on iOS. (Photo: ekkiPics/Flickr)

Ian Steadman is a staff science and technology writer at the New Statesman. He is on Twitter as @iansteadman.

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A swimming pool and a bleeding toe put my medical competency in doubt

Doctors are used to contending with Google. Sometimes the search engine wins. 

The brutal heatwave affecting southern Europe this summer has become known among locals as “Lucifer”. Having just returned from Italy, I fully understand the nickname. An early excursion caused the beginnings of sunstroke, so we abandoned plans to explore the cultural heritage of the Amalfi region and strayed no further than five metres from the hotel pool for the rest of the week.

The children were delighted, particularly my 12-year-old stepdaughter, Gracie, who proceeded to spend hours at a time playing in the water. Towelling herself after one long session, she noticed something odd.

“What’s happened there?” she asked, holding her foot aloft in front of my face.

I inspected the proffered appendage: on the underside of her big toe was an oblong area of glistening red flesh that looked like a chunk of raw steak.

“Did you injure it?”

She shook her head. “It doesn’t hurt at all.”

I shrugged and said she must have grazed it. She wasn’t convinced, pointing out that she would remember if she had done that. She has great faith in plasters, though, and once it was dressed she forgot all about it. I dismissed it, too, assuming it was one of those things.

By the end of the next day, the pulp on the underside of all of her toes looked the same. As the doctor in the family, I felt under some pressure to come up with an explanation. I made up something about burns from the hot paving slabs around the pool. Gracie didn’t say as much, but her look suggested a dawning scepticism over my claims to hold a medical degree.

The next day, Gracie and her new-found holiday playmate, Eve, abruptly terminated a marathon piggy-in-the-middle session in the pool with Eve’s dad. “Our feet are bleeding,” they announced, somewhat incredulously. Sure enough, bright-red blood was flowing, apparently painlessly, from the bottoms of their big toes.

Doctors are used to contending with Google. Often, what patients discover on the internet causes them undue alarm, and our role is to provide context and reassurance. But not infrequently, people come across information that outstrips our knowledge. On my return from our room with fresh supplies of plasters, my wife looked up from her sun lounger with an air of quiet amusement.

“It’s called ‘pool toe’,” she said, handing me her iPhone. The page she had tracked down described the girls’ situation exactly: friction burns, most commonly seen in children, caused by repetitive hopping about on the abrasive floors of swimming pools. Doctors practising in hot countries must see it all the time. I doubt it presents often to British GPs.

I remained puzzled about the lack of pain. The injuries looked bad, but neither Gracie nor Eve was particularly bothered. Here the internet drew a blank, but I suspect it has to do with the “pruning” of our skin that we’re all familiar with after a soak in the bath. This only occurs over the pulps of our fingers and toes. It was once thought to be caused by water diffusing into skin cells, making them swell, but the truth is far more fascinating.

The wrinkling is an active process, triggered by immersion, in which the blood supply to the pulp regions is switched off, causing the skin there to shrink and pucker. This creates the biological equivalent of tyre treads on our fingers and toes and markedly improves our grip – of great evolutionary advantage when grasping slippery fish in a river, or if trying to maintain balance on slick wet rocks.

The flip side of this is much greater friction, leading to abrasion of the skin through repeated micro-trauma. And the lack of blood flow causes nerves to shut down, depriving us of the pain that would otherwise alert us to the ongoing tissue damage. An adaptation that helped our ancestors hunt in rivers proves considerably less use on a modern summer holiday.

I may not have seen much of the local heritage, but the trip to Italy taught me something new all the same. 

This article first appeared in the 17 August 2017 issue of the New Statesman, Trump goes nuclear