The Dark Economy of Data Brokers

Nikki Callahan

Let’s cut through the fog and talk about the invisible hands trading pieces of us like collector’s cards—data brokers. When I first read Rob Shavell’s definition, it stopped me cold: these are, in his words, “companies that have personal information about us that we don't have a customer relationship with.” And they’re everywhere, scraping details from every half-forgotten online form and old newsletter sign-up. What gets me is how quietly they operate, scooping up things we can barely remember sharing. The mundane stuff—like, you guys, I found out last month that my old karate class registration details, from when I was fourteen, resurfaced online. The home address, emergency contacts, even allergies I’d written on the form… all catalogued somewhere. It makes you wonder, doesn’t it? If these brokers are, as Shavell says, totally amoral—selling that data to anyone who shows up with cash, advertisers or troublemakers alike. No filter. No loyalty. Just profit.

Eden Valen

Profit—so simple, yet shadowed. We're not even their customers. We're the product wandering through someone else's bazaar—our details, our digital scribbles packaged up for strangers. I think about that sometimes, how a shopkeeper doesn't know your name but has keys to all your locked drawers. Shavell paints them as merchants without conscience. Honestly, that's more chilling than any AI ghost story—because there's nothing spectral about it. It's... ruthlessly tangible, right?

John Harvey

Yeah, tangible and disturbingly unregulated, especially here in the States. What stands out to me is the utter indifference. I mean, Shavell described it clear as day—data brokers don’t care who’s buying. Could be an ad agency. Could be a hostile foreign power. Could be, well, anyone, including groups looking to disrupt elections or target you individually. There’s no border, no scrutiny. Just—information for sale, wholesale. And the scale’s unfathomable; this isn’t some back-alley operation, it’s a thriving industry. Years ago, you’d expect secrecy around this sort of activity. Now, it’s just business as usual.

Nikki Callahan

And what makes it so slippery is the ordinariness of the information, right? Bits you forget, but they remember. That karate story was just a blip in my life, but to a data broker, it's a brick they’ll stack on a digital mansion. It’s got me wondering: What else have I left behind that’s now for sale to the highest bidder?

John Harvey

The connection to doxing is what hit me hardest. This isn’t just about annoyance—like getting more spam. Shavell put it bluntly: Data brokers are essentially doxing people, on a massive, commercial scale. They're advertising our details. And that's not an exaggeration. Doxing used to mean, you know, some disgruntled person would dig up your info for revenge or harassment. Now the infrastructure is set up for anyone—pay your fee, get the goods. Political groups, cybercriminals, or honestly just anyone curious or hostile.

Eden Valen

I had one of those strange internet moments about two years back—a petty misquote, nothing Shakespearean, but enough to set fire to a bridge I’d hoped was already ash. Few weeks later, an ex-friend, eager to reopen old wounds, found my street address. Not through hacking. Through a paid, public service scraping databases. It was… invasive. Obscene, really. The membrane between “online” and “private” is now paper-thin. And these brokers are the ones selling the paper.

Nikki Callahan

That’s such a powerful image, Eden. It’s alarming, too, the range of things data brokers can sell. I saw that four years ago, the average person had about 250 bits of identifiable info out there—a phone number here, an address there. Now? It's over 700. Not just names and emails. We’re talking full voting records, who you live with, what car you drive, even details of past legal troubles if you’ve ever had any. If they're collecting it, someone will use it. In the wrong hands, that's not just targeting ads. That's designing harm, piece by piece.

John Harvey

Yeah, picture someone buying up your work history, your relatives’ birthdays, past addresses, even your legal run-ins, if any—and concocting whatever story or scam fits their need. I mean, back when I was doing investigations or intelligence analysis, getting that kind of profile was painstaking work. Now it's faster than ordering coffee, provided you know where to shop. And often, it’s ordinary people who get swept up. The public tends to think only activists, celebrities, or politicians need to worry. That's not the case anymore. We’re all painted targets.

Eden Valen

Doxing is a public shaming, a weaponized unveiling. But with brokers, it’s automated and—forgive me—commodified. And it’s all so… normalized. These aren’t shadowy hacktivists. They're incorporated, insured. What keeps me up at night is the ordinariness of malice, when all you need is a credit card to trespass on someone’s private life. That's a different kind of violence, dressed in a necktie.

Nikki Callahan

All this leaves us with a huge question mark: Who’s actually watching the watchers? The rules over in the UK or Europe put at least some guardrails on these brokers. But in the US, well, the laws are antique—1970s stuff, before the world went digital. There’s no meaningful boundary. Shavell calls data brokers a “black box,” and I really felt that phrase. You don’t know where your info began, or who bought it, or what’s being built from your digital pieces. No map. No trail. Just—you in the dark.

John Harvey

That black box analogy takes me back to war zones and reporting in places where visibility meant survival. I’ll never forget—when leaks happened, any scrap of personal information, even a name or a family connection, could shift the whole balance. Suddenly, people weren’t just names—they became targets, liabilities, or even bargaining chips. That kind of vulnerability isn’t limited to overseas conflict now. The same thing’s happening, digitally, right here—civilians, blindsided, their data passed and sold like weapons. What’s worse, there’s almost no recourse. Penalties for brokers? Incredibly rare. Transparency? Next to zero. We’re all in the blast radius, in a sense.

Eden Valen

It’s a tale penned in invisible ink. Our data—birthed in the glow of every search, every online order, cached forever—spins inside a machine that offers no reflection. You can protest, you can inquire, but the box stays shut. Even the technology meant to give us freedom is leveraged against our privacy. The laws can’t keep up with the algorithms; regulators blink, the system grows more opaque. “Black box” feels almost generous, Nikki. At least Pandora’s box had a hinge.

Nikki Callahan

I keep circling back, wondering how we’re meant to defend ourselves when the ground keeps shifting. The more we digitize life, the more we open ourselves up to… well, being dissected for profit. And the old answers just aren’t enough. Eden, John, I think this is one of those moments we have to resist giving false comfort. This is a call to attention—a challenge to not look away.

John Harvey

Couldn’t have said it better. The technical, the legal, the ethical—they all intersect in this black box dilemma. As long as we remain content being products, not citizens, the imbalance will widen. But if there’s any lesson here, it’s that awareness is our first line of defense. And maybe, just maybe, the first lever for change.

Eden Valen

That’s it, isn’t it? Truth in the dark. We may not solve the black box tonight, but we light a few candles for the journey. Let’s keep prying at the lid in future episodes. Until then—hold fast to your digital edges, gentle listeners.

Nikki Callahan

Thank you both—John, Eden—and thank you, everyone listening, for staying curious with us. We’ll be back soon to untangle another shadow. Watch your step until then.

John Harvey

Cheers, Nikki. And Eden—always an honor. Good night, everyone. Safeguard your stories.

Eden Valen

Star-lit goodbyes, friends. Till next time.