I do close the door, but I don't search for pinhole cameras in public bathrooms, in spite of the fact that some exist. I think that highlights the difference between expecting privacy and trying to ensure it.
But the fact is that you still seek out a "private" bathroom to relieve yourself and don clothing do you not? Or are you as likely to do the same things in plain view?
What do you call that, if not ensuring privacy? The only thing different is that your level of trust is lower than others.
Even if I didn't subscribe to the taboos of my culture (which I do, at least in this case), there are lots of excellent reasons to use a facility meant to handle human waste.
Because of that, this is a bad example.
Instead, we should be using an example of something which doesn't require any special facility, we have no cultural taboos against displaying[1], and isn't illegal, but which people want to hide, anyway. I'm not sure I can think of anything.
[1] As someone who was raised fundamentalist Christian, I can assure you that habits learned in childhood can still have lots of force in adulthood, even if you no longer agree with the reasons for them.
The only think i can think of is illness or weakness in the presence of someone you don't trust.
I believe it is universal, although I'm willing to accept there may exist cultures that don't have this desire.
In any case, everyone knowing everyone else's state of health sounds ok, until i think about people i don't like. It's a little too enticing to know about how X is sick, and i don't want X to know that i am sick.
Things that should not be doing are usually done in secret, so from that point of view, Eric Schmidt's saying is a truism. Unfortunately, it gets applied in the converse form, which is wrong: people, and especially governments, infer guilt from a desire for privacy (a politer term than "hiding").
Democracy depends on hidden votes and freedom of speech depends on anonymity. Your statement therefore suggests you are opposed to both democracy and freedom of speech.
