Buying Dispensation

by Bob West
February 9, 2003

Continuing the ancient-history theme of last month's article, here's a little fable from long, long ago...

Into a small village in medieval Europe rode a stranger on an ass... into the midst of the sombre marketplace in the small central square. His shaved circular tonsure and rough-woven hooded robe labeled him as a traveling monk... a man to be revered and respected... a leader.

The village's shopkeepers gathered around him.

"Friar..." they cried, "We have no priest of our own. Will you lead us out of our poverty?"

"I have so little time," said the monk, "I am returning from a pilgrimage to the golden palaces of Rome, and must reach my monastary."

"But Friar," pleaded the ironsmith, "We are lost. Other villages do not know that my fellow shopkeepers create such fine works of cloth and wood for trade. We have tried sending messengers, but each has been turned away... or cast into a pit never to be seen again. Our children go hungry as our market grows still."

The monk pondered the problem for a moment, then nodded knowingly.

"Absolution. You require absolution from the sins that have darkened your path."

A quiet murmer of agreement passed through the gathering.

"Will you hear our confession?" asked a woman.

"It is clear that the sins of your village are so profligate that were I to tarry for such a purpose, the inside of your priest house would see my last grey day. No, I must move my ass, and its weary passenger."

The merchants sighed their disappointment.

Then the monk paused... and knitted his brow in sympathy.

"But since you are all so faithful, I feel I can confide in you. Besides, my ass is tired and needs a rest."

Ceremoniously, he opened his saddlebags.

"His Holiness has granted my brethren and I an extraordinary blessing... In fact, his own personal sacred blessings."

The friar produced a number of small scrolls of paper, holding them high above the heads of the small crowd in his fat little fists.

A hush fell over the ragged people as they bowed their heads and genuflected.

"With one of these miraculous instruments from the Holy See, any of you may become as clean as new-fallen snow once more."

The candlemaker stepped forward and fell to his knees.

"I beg you, friar... grant me this miracle!"

"But wait� there's more," said the priest. "Your sins purged, you shall be permitted to prosper in the light of the Lord. What would one expect to pay for one of these most sacred of documents... these grants of purity... these Dispensations executed by the very hand of our Holy Father in Rome?"

The excited merchants raised their hands and shouted out their offers. One by one, the monk accepted winning bids for the papal papers, as the shopkeepers bought forgiveness for their transgressions. They clutched the scrolls and stuffed them jealously into their cloaks, scurrying off to hide them in jug, thatching and priest's hole, dreaming all the while of crowds of visiting villagers bringing mercantile miracles....

. . .

Now to the present day, and the Internet marketplace.

A brand new site has appeared on the Web, offering "the future of marketing," and promising "return on investment" and "millions of opt-in subscribers." The copy proclaims the company to be "a leader in permission-based marketing. Have you been burned in the past? With one of our opt-in lists, you'll know that all recipients have given their permission. We'll guarantee it in writing."

Internet marketers clamor for the promised "clean" mailing lists, shelling out cash for leads, anticipating riches....

Yeah, you know where this is going.

What the medieval shopkeepers didn't realize was that the scrolls had been easily forged by the monk the day before his arrival.

They also didn't realize that the "Piece of the True Cross," the "Sacred Head Cloth" and the other "holy relics" that filled the friar's saddlebags were equally bogus. But the buyers had faith, and required no proof. They took the monk at his word.

What the Internet marketers didn't know was that the contract the list seller had signed was just as worthless; the seller had absolutely no proof that the recipients had given their permission. For each address on his "single opt-in" list, all he had was an IP number, a timestamp and a URL. To the list buyers, this information seemed like gold... but it was, in fact, totally meaningless. Without a closed-loop confirmed opt-in process, anyone � including the list seller � could have easily forged that data. Even if it wasn't forged, anyone could have submitted harvested addresses to the list, to collect a cash bounty for each.

The marketers also forgot to take into consideration that along with guaranteed revenue-growing techniques, the list seller also hawked guaranteed breast- and penis-growing techniques.

Or did they understand... and not really care?

All they knew is that they had found and bought the Holy Grail of email marketing: Contractual Dispensation.

So, if the address list turned out to be dirty, it wouldn't be the marketer's fault, now, would it? All would be forgiven. King's X. The Pretend Pope of Permission had permanently pardoned their pitiful privacy-pilfering purchasing practices.

Thus, the marketers could go forth and sin in true Gnostic glee, singing:

   The seller has sworn a sacred oath!
   All his addresses are clean!
   With a hey, and a ho, and revenue growth,
   We drink to profits obscene!

But there are plenty of angry spam victims who are now ready to nail their protests to e-marketing's Wittenberg door. A recent study shows that the vast majority of Internet villagers have had enough, and are calling for laws to be passed.

So, list buyers, if you think you've bought your way out of the spam pit with an SOI list, think again. Dig the Reformation vibe and get it right. The only dispensation that matters is permission -- not the smarmy word of some itinerant monk sitting on his ass, but proof of permission directly from your target villager.

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