A few years ago, when the threat from COVID-19 had begun to recede, more and more elderly people reported being victimized by scams. The pandemic and the need for connection it accentuated had led many of them, for the first time, to experience the advantages of the mobile phone and the internet. But this new connectedness also exposed areas of vulnerability that online scams were purposely designed to exploit, especially among new entrants into the digital universe.
One of my sisters-in-law, a senior citizen like myself but a few years younger, fell prey to one of these scams. One day, she got a text message supposedly from her bank telling her that the reward points she had earned from her credit card purchases were due to expire. She was told she had a few days left to use them or convert them to cash. She clicked on a link that instructed her how to do it. It was a fatal move that led to an extended call from the bank’s supposed customer relations officer. Over a period of more than an hour, she lost all her savings through a series of bank transfers. The bank refused to return her money because, according to them, by sharing her one-time password (OTP), she had effectively authorized these transfers.
The same pattern, with a minor variation, entrapped my neighbor, who was in her early eighties. The text message she received warned her that her bank account had been used in a dubious transaction. She was informed that the bank had taken the precaution of temporarily freezing her account pending verification. She was then provided with a link to enable her to reactivate the account without having to physically visit the bank. The source of the message seemed authentic, as it came from the same number her phone associates with the bank. Prompted by urgency, she clicked the link. She, too, lost a lot of money.
In both instances, what followed is strikingly similar. A caller purporting to be from the bank gets in touch with the would-be victim. She has a pleasant voice and conveys just enough authority to assure you that she is the person who could help you. She prompts you to share your full name and date of birth for verification purposes. Then, in a portal she opens for you, you are asked to type your account number, the OTP you will be receiving, the transaction number, and so on. You do exactly as you are told, secure in the thought that you are not sharing your account number and password—as you are often reminded—with any caller.
But scam analysts say that something insidious happens in this seemingly harmless exchange: the victim is quietly shifted from being a decision-maker into becoming a task-performer.
My sister-in-law reports being mesmerized, or even hypnotized. My neighbor says she felt impatient but compliant, just wanting to complete the task at hand. The scammer’s detailed instructions and requests for information, supposedly in aid of verification, transform the would-be victim from a discerning decision-maker into an obedient task performer.
What is at stake here are three basic elements of cognition—attention, memory, and executive control—that ordinarily allow us to pause, assess, and decide. Your attention is hijacked by urgency, your short-term memory is overloaded by detail, and your desire to follow instructions leads you to surrender control of your critical faculty. Trust reduces complexity. In moments of stress, that reduction feels like relief.
You don’t need to be elderly to be victimized by scams. But being old can make you believe you are wise enough to protect yourself against the swindlers of this world. You go about your daily life as though nothing has changed—until one day, decline announces its presence like an old friend that has shadowed you all these years.
You learn to adjust—by writing notes to yourself, by pausing to take a breath when something turns out to be more complicated than you imagined, and by asking a family member for assistance, even if only to confirm what is going on.
But scammers tend to be a step ahead. They exploit not ignorance, but willingness to comply. Not stupidity, but trust. They seize upon the habits of politeness, patience, and deference to authority that older people have learned over a lifetime. In that regard, the elderly are not accidental targets. They are the intended ones.
I have always thought of myself as an early convert to the digital world. I have no trouble using online banking apps and digital wallets, and I value the convenience they offer. Still, I know that one day—when my attention falters or urgency catches me off guard—I could be the next victim. Perhaps the most important lesson of growing old in a digital world is learning when to pause, and when to ask for help, before taking the next step.
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