Nothing Has Changed in Cybersecurity Since the 80s — And That's the Real Problem | A Conversation with Steve Mancini | Redefining Society and Technology with Marco Ciappelli

Dr. Steve Mancini: https://www.linkedin.com/in/dr-steve-m-b59a525/
Marco Ciappelli: https://www.marcociappelli.com/

Nothing Has Changed in Cybersecurity Since War Games — And That's Why We're in Trouble

"Nothing has changed."

That's not what you expect to hear from someone with four decades in cybersecurity. The industry thrives on selling the next revolution, the newest threat, the latest solution. But Dr. Steve Mancini—cybersecurity professor, Homeland Security veteran, and Italy's Honorary Consul in Pittsburgh—wasn't buying any of it. And honestly? Neither was I.

He took me back to his Commodore 64 days, writing basic war dialers after watching War Games. The method? Dial numbers, find an open line, try passwords until one works. Translate that to today: run an Nmap scan, find an open port, brute force your way in. The principle is identical. Only the speed has changed.

This resonated deeply with how I think about our Hybrid Analog Digital Society. We're so consumed with the digital evolution—the folding screens, the AI assistants, the cloud computing—that we forget the human vulnerabilities underneath remain stubbornly analog. Social engineering worked in the 1930s, it worked when I was a kid in Florence, and it works today in your inbox.

Steve shared a story about a family member who received a scam call. The caller asked if their social security number "had a six in it." A one-in-nine guess. Yet that simple psychological trick led to remote software being installed on their computer. Technology gets smarter; human psychology stays the same.

What struck me most was his observation about his students—a generation so immersed in technology that they've become numb to breaches. "So what?" has become the default response. The data sells, the breaches happen, you get two years of free credit monitoring, and life goes on. Groundhog Day.

But the deeper concern isn't the breaches. It's what this technological immersion is doing to our capacity for critical thinking, for human instinct. Steve pointed out something that should unsettle us: the algorithms feeding content to young minds are designed for addiction, manipulating brain chemistry with endorphin kicks from endless scrolling. We won't know the full effects of a generation raised on smartphones until they're forty, having scrolled through social media for thirty years.

I asked what we can do. His answer was simple but profound: humans need to decide how much they want technology in their lives. Parents putting smartphones in six-year-olds' hands might want to reconsider. Schools clinging to the idea that they're "teaching technology" miss the point—students already know the apps better than their professors. What they don't know is how to think without them.

He's gone back to paper and pencil tests. Old school. Because when the power goes out—literally or metaphorically—you need a brain that works independently.

Ancient cultures, Steve reminded me, built civilizations with nothing but their minds, parchment, and each other. They were, in many ways, a thousand times smarter than us because they had no crutches. Now we call our smartphones "smart" while they make us incrementally dumber.

This isn't anti-technology doom-saying. Neither Steve nor I oppose technological progress. The conversation acknowledged AI's genuine benefits in medicine, in solving specific problems. But this relentless push for the "easy button"—the promise that you don't have to think, just click—that's where we lose something essential.

The ultimate breach, we concluded, isn't someone stealing your data. It's breaching the mind itself. When we can no longer think, reason, or function without the device in our pocket, the hackers have already won—and they didn't need to write a single line of code.

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