The suspense was killing us. After months of teasing, master hype-builder Julian Assange finally opened his chamber of secrets: Vault 7. Surely this would be an earth-shaking trove of revelations – the final word on alien life, the impending apocalypse, or – at the very least – “crooked Hilary.” Well, the cache was opened, its riches generously shared with the virtual unwashed.
And we all yawned. Why? Have we grown so complacent that privacy is little more than a distant memory, a concept no more relevant to modern life than 8-track tapes or civics lessons? (Is it just me or is “public education” starting to sound like an oxymoron?)