In Expanded Cinema, written in 1970, Gene Youngblood outlines what he deems as his contemporary scientific transition as an era of Cosmic Consciousness. Youngblood explains: “At their present limits astrophysics, biochemistry, and conceptual mathematics move into metaphysical territory. Mysticism is upon us: it arrives simultaneously from science and psilocybin.” (p. 136) Within cosmic consciousness, a place consisting of a metaphysical mysticism that derives from science and psychoactive substances, thresholds of “normal” consciousness expand allowing individuals to “become aware of the transcendent dimension of humanity beyond space and time” (LSD Experience). Youngblood explains that the early experimental and abstract filmmaker Jordan Belson is exemplary of ‘Cosmic Cinema’. Belson made films “representing a state of total integration with the universe, of blinding super-consciousness” (p. 169), which reside “equally in the physical and the metaphysical” (p. 157). With concerns to the physical, Youngblood stresses that the works by Belson, along with other audiovisual movement-image makers (like Hans Richter, Oskar Fischinger, James Whitney, etc.), are not “abstractions” but are concrete. He writes, “Although a wide variety of meaning inevitably is abstracted from them, and although they do hold quite specific implications for Belson personally, the films remain concrete, objective experiences of kinaesthetic and optical dynamism.” (p. 157) In these materials as well as aesthetic forms, Belson’s films “are literally superempirical —that is, actual experiences of a transcendental nature. They create for the viewer a state of nonordinary reality similar, in concept at least, to the experiences described by the anthropologist Carlos Castaneda in his experiments with organic hallucinogens.” (p. 158)

Belson’s films sought to capture something more transcendental, with several of his works being referential to Eastern mysticism (e.g. the mandala was a recurring theme in his work). He was committed to a practice of Yoga and a serious student of Buddhism. The film work that came directly after a two-year rigorous commitment to Yoga practice was Samadhi (1967). Belson’s attempt to convey psychedelic transcendentalism through optical stimulus in abstract moving imagery eventually merged with that of video pioneer Stephen Beck. Beck explains that in 1968, at The University of Illinois, there was a burgeoning collective interest and community committed to electrical engineering, electronics, synthesisers, and the merging of the audiovisual. During this time, there was also “a lot of experimentation with consciousness-altering substances such as cannabis, LSD-25, mescaline and shamanic rituals” (p. 123). These experimentations were predominantly employed in collective mediation that aimed to induce visions, hallucinations, and non-common heightened sensorial awareness. Consequently, this mystic and cosmic tendency of experimental movie makers extended beyond the material parameters of analog film and to the art of video and subsequently the digital.

In my attempt to further research this techno-psychedelic trajectory, I stumbled on a recorded lecture titled ‘Cybernetic Psychedelia’ given by the author Erik Davis, known from his books High Weirdness, The Visionary State and Techgnosis (see his own website). In this talk, Davis offers a modern interpretation of psychedelic transcendentalism, aesthetics, circuitry, and second-order cybernetics. In outlining the aesthetics of a ‘New Psychedelia,’ Davis emphasises the contract between the traditional shamanistic view of psychedelics and a more rational, technological perspective. He does so by way of textual analysis of various aesthetic works including ancient iconography and psychedelic imagery from the 1960s and 70s. One example is an illustration of the woven patterns present in the cloths by the Shipibo, a group of people in Peru who consume ayahuasca. He explains how the cloth features traditional geometric patterns commonly found in their designs. Patterns that not only relate to certain aspects of Ayahuasca visuals but also exhibits a connection with the visuals that feels resonant and familiar with the grids and circuit designs found in technology.

During his presentation, Davis references James L. Kent’s work entitled Psychedelic Information Theory (2010), which derives insights from information theory and the functions of synthesizers to offer a comprehensive phenomenological exploration of psychedelic experiences. This encompasses trance states, profound encounters, immersive journeys into extraordinary visual realms, and the endeavours to articular and understand them. Fundamentally, Davis contends that Kent perceives the human sensorium as a technical apparatus or system for information processing, one that can be influenced or manipulated by these substances. This viewpoint essentially involves establishing an “information theory” within the context of psychedelics, characterised by its reversible, referential, destabilised and non-linear framework.

In the interview published here, recorded on April 5th, 2022, I delve further into these overarching themes in conversation with author Erik Davis. Our dialogue navigates through topics that resonate with the research I’ve outlined and simultaneously delves into Davis’ concept of New Psychedelia. Throughout our exchange, I seek to understand his dismantling of a constructivist approach and its interplay with the various and diverse modes of existence, along with the philosophical foundations of real abstractions within the framework of Cybernetic Psychedelics.

If you’d like to watch the 2011 Eindhoven lecture (before or after) reading the interview, please find the talk here.

Megan Rebecca Phipps: I would like to talk about the intricate connections between the field of cybernetics and psychedelics, especially in the context of moving images, early video artists, and Gene Youngblood’s ideas on expanded cinema. I came across your talk ‘Cybernetic Psychedelic’ delivered in Eindhoven back in 2011, and I found your perspective on psychedelics, through a structural or formalist approach, very interesting. Can you explain some of the key ideas in this talk and why this psychedelic history and theory of cybernetics remain unexplored, and scarcely used, particularly in contemporary academic new media theory?

Erik Davis: I consider cybernetics as one of the single most important paradigms or frameworks to think about the second half of the 20th century up to our contemporary moment. What happened in World War Two is a situated event and bifurcation point in the history of humanity that included the deployment of electromagnetism for information. This event is not just another technological development that affects human societies. It’s that there is this stuff — electricity and electrons paired with electromagnetism — that has entered into or crossed with information systems and the telegraph that changed the natural history of the planet. Cybernetics has a similar intervention on a very deep level: while happening with machines, it also happens with societies, conceptual metaphors, subjectivity, and media and that’s partly why we look at the post-war order.

It’s not just that there was a kind of neoliberal agreement to create global markets as a way to avoid totalitarianism and war, as well as to enrich the United States and various other parties. While that’s all true, it’s the writing of a cybernetic shift that is both revealed and concealed within a historical memory in interesting ways — which has to do with this question you have. Part of it I’m not really sure, part of it is definitely linguistic. But I think linguistics is a symptom of something actually, which is that cybernetics becomes dated. Once you start talking about “cybernetics,” it kind of splits into ‘ecology’ on the one side and ‘systems science’ on the other. And, while they’re related, they’re kind of different. All of that changing nomenclature disguises the continuity and emphasises the sort of divisions. Even within systems science itself, there’s a kind of New Age system science, which gets into Esalen and the role of Gregory Bateson.

But then, people who want to be more rigorous in their approach argue to push those topics aside. And then, you’ve also got complexity and chaos theory and emergence entering in. All of these things are kind of mutating historically and different enough to justify a linguistic shift. But then, it means you have to start being a meta-systems thinker in order to even be able to recognise the historical layers of this current. And, to my mind, the more you see it as being (at least) as much about continuity then it becomes more clear that this really is the story of the second half of the 20th century up to today. That’s the core in a lot of ways, and on a lot of different levels, when leaves you with this problem of ‘well, where do I locate it then?’

Megan Phipps: Can you discuss how the juxtaposing frameworks of ‘the Realm of Abstraction versus the Real of Imagery’ in your talk provide a fresh perspective or method on locating meta-systems thinking? Particularly, you mentioned recurring structures or form constants within the Real of Abstraction, resembling R. Buckminster Fuller’s concept of pattern integrity.’ Could you elaborate on whether it’s possible to find an alternative meta-systems language by examining the history of analog-to-digital abstract, structuralist video images through this Realm of Abstraction? Or, do you believe that this history is doomed or confined linguistically to the ‘Realm of Imagery’ framework, with all its subjective, subcultural, pop-cultural, geographic, patriarchal, commercial, political, etc. constraints?

Erik Davis: Beyond the core video and film artists you talk about, one thing you said that I’d love to pull out is the quality of abstraction because to really wrestle with systems thinking (let’s call it that instead of “cybernetics” for now) there’s a particular role that abstraction plays. This role is different than the kind of abstraction you find in logical systems: [e.g.,] where you’re going to create a logical set of figures that you can then perform mathematical type operations on, or at the abstraction, in order to be able to generate certain statements. But, within system sciences, abstraction plays a different role: you need to create a high enough meta-language able to make rigorous analogies between different fields of thought, different languages, and different materials. By doing so, you have an abstract system of feedback loops associated with learning and you can use that same abstraction to draw connections between human learning and simple machine circuitry.

How do you make that analogy? How to make that analogy where and when you need to a kind of level of abstraction that is not just logical abstraction? Exactly. It’s something more like formal systems-thinking. But, it’s a tricky one because it simultaneously reveals and conceals: it conceals difference, it reveals analogues. And so, it might be very interesting to think about the conceptual role of abstraction in cybernetics and in systems-thinking. Maybe there’s a connection with that abstraction you are seeing in video effects that isn’t just non-representational but is actually demonstrating that feedback processes are processes of the circuitry, as a kind of representation or an analog or an expression of precisely the role of abstraction in systems-thinking. That being, you have to look at the circuit level or the formal level, not at the content level. So, I do feel like there’s something there. And, the role of grounding the circuitry in audio and visuals is in some ways what synthesis is about, the classic era of synthesis: Where’s the aesthetic? Where’s the circuit? I’m not so sure anymore.

Megan Phipps: Let’s dig a bit deeper and discuss the concept ‘Cybernetic Psychedelics,’ your interpretation and reading of it from your lecture. It appears this fusion-oriented framework, combining both ‘cybernetics’ and ‘psychedelia’, is currently under-utilised, under-recognized and lacks significant recognition in theoretical explorations within research fields like cybernetics, machine learning, new media, and psychedelic research. Why do you think this approach, including your own thoughts and reflections on this fusion-esque framework, has not gained more reputable and academic recognition as a viable and fruitful philosophical and theoretical path?

Erik Davis: There’s a certain history upon how science has changed because there’s a tension on who gets to hold the high ground on meta-abstraction language. Is it a form of formulas, like in Laws of Form by G. Spencer Brown? Is it cybernetics as technical cybernetics? Is it ecology? And then, once you get into ecology and cybernetics, what’s the difference between the two? What’s the similarity? There’s obviously intensely polarized cultural expressions of ‘what is it’? What does it mean to live-in and think-in-light of these systems? Systems that actually take almost diametrically opposed forms? Part of the secret history of West Coast ideology, or the California ideology, is that fusion or confusion on the sort of technical, control-oriented, cybernetic approaches versus the fuzzy, ecological, immersive, holistic approaches is that same equation. All of these differences and histories that get acknowledged, but also those hidden within the historical narrative, helps to explain why the California ideology takes the form that it does. A revolving around concrete historical explanations rather than the superficial explanations we often get, those explanations where it’s just about libertarianism or social ecology, the hippies meeting, the raw avarice of technological capitalism. No, there’s something actually deeper and more systemic and equally fucked up. Something much more historically grounded in the evolution of actual systems, and in the process of thinking about these actual systems.

Looking at the Whole Earth Catalog as a kind of utopian space offering a possible integration of these modes yet also with reflection on some of the things that are not seen; this is a way of creating a larger context to understand that particular history. A history that these artists you’re talking about play a big role and, within which, you’re able to draw more grounded links between trans-personal consciousness exploration over here, circuitry over there, and the development of kind of meta institutional languages. Even towards a human resources business systems kind of approach, it’s not just about a new face of the ideology of capitalism but it’s about how systems work. We’re in this moment that it is a fact, it’s an event in natural history, that we are now condemned to figure out how to navigate. It’s not simply an ideology that’s projected onto some other kind of surface. And that’s where, while I’m not necessarily a technological determinist, I do believe that technologies of communication and information fundamentally rewrite the operating system within which we have to navigate. This is why I’m attracted to [Marshall] McLuhan’s approach as I feel like that’s what we’re really operating in. Yet, people don’t want to acknowledge that, intellectuals don’t want to acknowledge it, and individuals don’t want to acknowledge the degree to which they are themselves feedback effects.

In addition to the history, we’ve now laid out, there’s a psychological blind spot (almost like a programmed blind spot) about acknowledging the depth. In a way, this lack of movement sits in a “you can’t get out of the loop” kind of problem, which can seem sort of debilitating or ideologically simple, or that it’s simply capitulating to a certain kind of technical logic: [i.e.,] we must resist that in the name of solidarity. I don’t think this fact is easy [to acknowledge], but it’s [also] sort of a depressing thing to acknowledge. Now, I’m really thinking of one of my biggest discoveries in graduate school: Niklas Luhmann. While Luhmann may not necessarily help this problem because he’s so abstract and so hyper-theoretical that there’s not always a place to grab, his way of presenting the subject in psychology and subjectivity (though it’s not very much of the work) is actually really interesting. It has to do with this resistance when thinking sociologically and in terms of systems and how it has to do with an almost “the grim science.” As though, once you get ‘it’ there’s both a psychological toll and an intellectual resistance to the capitulation to which cybernetic logic and ecological logic (if we want to see them as different) condition, guide, and constrain our choice and behaviour.

Thinking about feedback, early video feedback art, and the cybernetic explorations of it, and staying with Luhmann, there is definitely something underdeveloped that is very interesting. Mainly how Luhmann talks about subjects, how we are communicating systems, and that what is actually communicating in us is ‘communication’ itself, languages and external set of signs that are tied to networks of communication and sustaining society. But, unlike so much of the linguistic turn and deconstruction and Lacan, Luhmann recognizes that there are aspects of subjectivity that are also non-linguistic. We are hosted by communication systems, but there is also a gap, there’s an “extra”, there’s a space. Once you go in the direction of psychedelics and transpersonal consciousness alongside [sic the idea that there’s some sort of way of being a system, or grokking the Big Mind of the system, that becomes a very interesting thought. At that point, it’s not just about reproducing another linguistic mode or another communicational network. This under-recognized gap points towards certain possibilities – or at least certain weirdnesses – within an otherwise very intense communicational, more or less cybernetic, view of subjectivity and its relationship to all other kinds of meta-systems.

This always struck me as interesting because that is also part of the psychedelic problem: why has psychedelics, particularly Western psychedelia, been so attracted to feedback? Why has it been so attracted to cybernetics? It is because it was born in a cybernetic context, such as Fred Turner’s From Counterculture to Cyberculture and The Democratic Surround. [The latter text], is perhaps a more innovative topic in a way. It’s about the pre-history of this and how early ideas of multimedia were used or rolled out partly to support the post-war order, but also to set up a certain kind of subjectivity that gets intensified in the 1960s – particularly in the Happenings (and similar kinds of art) but also the Acid Tests – that [leads to the] sort of embrace of multiple technical circuits as a kind of ecstatic space of collective transmutation. You can see that more clearly early on – in the simplified guises – within the early turn towards multimedia as a model of globalism and as a model of a kind of neoliberal subjectivity. So, part of the reasons overall are very technical. And, if you look at Stuart Brand’s personal life, his relationship to the military, his relationship to labor, and his relationship to business, then you can sketch out this kind of circuit. Which, if you only look at it in terms of the political economy then I think you’re actually missing something, which makes it an interesting vein to go through.

What attracts or was driving Gene Youngblood and some artists at that time, as well as some artists today, is that while maybe it’s a romance or a kind of Romanticism, there’s also something about this gesture towards Bateson’s kind of Mind at Large. What is the circuit of circuits? What is the total grok of the circuit at one moment? Is that possible? If it’s not possible, how close can we get to it? That’s always an interesting thought, which I think is important to consider when you’re looking at media artefacts attempting to mobilise, incarnate, orient, and transform into a sort of transpersonal ideals. Namely, even though as critics we can see the way they fail, the way there’s noise, the way that they don’t manifest the full vision, they get close. That getting close, that asymptote, really makes a difference.

There tends to be this idea when you can see the crack in the system and the ways it’s not able to achieve Mind at Large, it gets asymptotic. Even the visual feedback loop of early video art is kind of asymptotic. [Meaning], if I manifest the loop fast or intensely enough, the way in which the loop gestures beyond its own circuit, its own self-reference, is introduced into the field. How you can’t see when you’re standing between two mirrors since your head is obstructing the view, but you almost see it. And, that ‘almost’ that ‘little abyss’ is like the portal to the Mind at Large, which may never become realized. The abyss of self-reference is really important in that kind of gesture. I do think you can partly look at it in terms of Romanticism, but the connections between ecology and system sciences become important here again because that kind of work can be seen as part of an ecological posthumanism. A properly re-embedded posthumanism, rather than just “Let’s blow our minds” or “Let’s leave the planet” or “Let’s just plunge into the machine.” A proper environmentally reinvented posthumanism also has within it this kind of abyss of self-reference in light of a system that is larger than itself.

Cary Wolfe would say that once you acknowledge first-order cybernetics in the way Bateson sets it up, you can fantasize a totality – or a unity – that can be gestured towards in a quasi-idealistic way or even in a spiritual way. But, once you move into second-order cybernetics, where the observer is always located in a particular place and has a corresponding blind spot (which is the Luhmann approach), you acknowledge that from the outset there is no simple unity possible, there’s no totalizing possible. There’s always a gap, there’s always a crack, it has that kind of deconstruction quality. But, that also doesn’t mean we force another idea of what the transpersonal might be. When I go back and look at the video artists you’re talking about or if I read Youngblood, partly I do see a kind of Romanticism of the Whole. But, partly I see also a technical operation of approaching that “limit point” and refusing to relent, which I think is something it’s a very important part of psychedelic art. You see it even in more recent psychedelic art, there are gestures towards that kind of self-reference, iteration, or asymptotic means-of-beams but without any romance. No longer is there a hope of utopia of transcendence. Instead, we’re kind of in this skittering, sketchy, stuttering, quasi-ontology and that’s what the subject is. I think both of those sides are really powerful, both the holistic romance and the stuttering-repetition machine can be seen as poles of subjectivity today.

Megan Rebecca Phipps: This perspective makes me consider the constant tension between formal abstraction and socio-cultural public discourse. It seems something important is happening within this tension that is also prominent in ‘cybernetic psychedelia,’ e.g., the stuttering machine versus this holistic approach. I wonder if you have any concerns with this juxtaposition or find any areas within this perceptual framework problematic as well? Do you think the ‘both poles,’ stuttering-romantic approach could perhaps hinder the growth or sprouting of alternative possibilities, points of reference, and/or socio-cultural approaches? Can this lead to stunted topics, research areas, disciplines and subcultures? Can the ethics be examined more critically – or experimentally – in order to try to move past the stuttering, of violence (symbolic and literal) for example? Could the repetition of certain “points,” “claims,” “truths,” “arguments,” etc. contribute towards making the same social, ecological, political and revolutionary mistakes over and over again? Could the realm of abstraction (as opposed to the realm of imagery) be used as an objective neutraliser to redirect the conversation, or view the persisting socio-cultural ‘form constants’ in their state of stuttering? I wonder if abstraction could be a more fruitful approach because it’s not so antagonistic, more of a “let’s take a step back and refresh ourselves with what could be seen as romantic and reassess” or ‘let’s examine the meta-language of form constants, those that stutter in abstract formalism but then maybe we should also do this within social and cultural contexts as well?” 

Returning to the concept of the Mind at Large and Youngblood’s insights on moving-image artists, he articulates their attempt at exploring the ‘other side,’ delving into the abyss and breaking through cracks in pursuit of new perspectives or that gap. However, Youngblood also expresses anti-Mind at Large sentiments in the context new media and technology: i.e., “Let’s go against this Mind at Large, let’s go against the Broadcast, Secession From The Broadcast (2012)”. Essentially, technology has the potential to induce a psychedelic Mind at Large yet through psychedelic-inspired works, like those discussed in Expanded Cinema, one can explore the cracks and dimensions that go through to this other side. Such exploration and experimentation, like those involving the breaking up of audio synthesizers and creating alternative technologies like video synthesizers, can be compared to standing between the two mirrors, where unseen flows of energy and circuits exist. Architectures are highly abstract, invisible lines going throughout our spatial reality, outside of our visual perception and/or awareness. Reflecting on contemporary California, such as Silicon Valley and holistic wellness culture, do you believe re-visiting the history of the West-Coast video arts community in the 60s can offer valuable insights to digital culture today? Valuable insights into topics such as digital utopianism, psychedelics-as-media, big-tech ideology, and moments when this philosophy may have faltered or deviated from its original path?

Erik Davis: With concerns to the Mind at Large and the questions of ‘how do you foreground the circuit?’ this foregrounding is part of the content and the expression of the work that Bateson elucidates. He illustrates the Mind at Large with a person cutting a tree with an axe. In one view, you have the person and their skull. Inside the person’s skull, there’s a mind that’s modelling the process of cutting the tree, changing the aim of that cut [or incision], as well as all that’s happening inside the subject. But, it actually seems to make more sense to view it as if there is this circuit between the eyeball, the hand, and the cut. There is this loop going through and off the feedback, feeding back information [thus] it is not just inside the skull. That’s a kind of gesture towards the Mind at Large. A gesture where there is a submission to the circuit of the body and/or the subject, a kind of synecdoche or representation of a larger sort of submission to a greater idea of how ‘circulation’ itself operates.

There might be some interesting research there when you come back to differences and difference in subjects today, particularly in terms of indigenous and/or indigeneity. To my mind, if you start talking about indigeneity then you have think about cosmo-vision. A cosmo-vision that’s, on the one hand, very materially sensitive and Intelligent (with a capital ‘I’). And yet, one that is also animated by a kind of otherness (and I don’t mean ‘otherness’ like exoticism, but as in there is a sense of the ‘other’ as being an agent) so that you get this kind of inter-agent relationships of animism. In a way, that’s the furthest out for some of these ‘non-white male’ folks that you’re seeing inside of the psychedelic community right now. What do we do with cosmo-vision where the plant is an agent, an agent that is speaking to you? And then, over here you have the therapy lab and they are trying to make a medicine and then you think to yourself “This is very interesting..” That quality of enchantment inside of psychedelic cybernetic art is not simply a residue of a certain kind of hippie romanticism, (which you can see also in Youngblood), it’s also a gesture towards a possible way of thinking about systems or relating to systems that requires a transcendence (or, a transcendence-with-integration) on the logical mind-frame that produces technical systems in the first place. That gesture is part of what you’re seeing in aspects of psychedelic culture. Naively, sort of taking up an exoticised indigeneity or magical thinking that can lead to all sorts of dumb ideas. There’s a lot of problematic sides to it, but I don’t think it’s completely spiralling off in the wrong direction. I think it’s actually clustering around something much more profound and difficult to pull off. Something that is gestured towards the ways indigeneity is now engaging and speaking with science, or with more technical approaches to the environment – once everyone can calm down enough for the dialogue to happen. There’s something really significant there, but it’s hard to get to because of all of the romance, the hippy-chi, the easy myth, the iconography and the appropriation.

But it’s there, and that’s part of what we’re still wrestling with is: How do we relate to the larger system? Not just the system of media that’s clearly shaping subjectivity more and more aggressively, in a feedback loop kind of way. But, what do we do with our embeddedness in this planetary set of open-ended circuits, let alone the cosmic one? We still don’t know how to think about that and sometimes it feels like intellectuals and culture-workers (highly Westernized culture-workers alike) think that it is no longer there, that those realms have collapsed and all we’re really now within and taking about is media or all we’re really doing is talking about the politics of signs and the circulation of human-signs about identity. I think is just wrong and that one of the reasons that psychedelics (or the subtler reasons that psychedelics) are now part of the equation is that they break down those “merely human” circuits. They force a confrontation with some kind of “outside” that, however much it too becomes another story or another myth or another Terrance McKenna take, that gesture towards the outside is still incredibly required. That, in a way, is what Systems Science or systems-thinking is like: there’s always an outside, there’s always a blind spot, and there’s always a gap, so go towards the gap. That’s an aesthetic gesture, a psycho-spiritual gesture, and an intellectual gesture and yeah, you don’t see that much of it.

Megan Rebecca Phipps: In my own research on trance subcultures, specifically in relation to the histories of house and techno-culture, I find it useful to draw comparisons to the ‘analog-video of new media’ or ‘pre-Internet’ culture. I’m curious to know how you perceive the relationship between trance or techno-culture and this concept of Cybernetic Psychedelia. For instance, these techno/rave events often occur in isolated locations, such as warehouses and forests. A techno-rave scene is often then characterized by spatiality and mass spectacle, an analog space of where a technological influenced mass spectacle emerges. Could we see a connection between this spatial aspect and the psychedelic-oriented concept of set-and-setting? Furthermore, does the notion of set-and-setting encompass any tensions between the ecological and the cybernetic, similar to what we discussed earlier? Are there questions about whether the concept of ‘set and setting’—linked to cybernetic-intellectualism and psychedelic experiences—could be perceived as too anthropocentric and possible restrictive when applied in contemporary psychedelic research, including academic and scientific discussions?

 Alternative phrasing: Considering the emphasis on spatiality in the techno/rave scene, often taking place in isolated locations like warehouses, sports halls, or forests, could this be related to the psychedelic-oriented concept of set-and-setting? Furthermore, does the notion of set-and-setting encompass tensions between the ecological and the cybernetic, as we discussed earlier? Do you think the concept of ‘set and setting,’ which has associations with cybernetic intellectualism, psychedelic trip experiences and contemporary psychedelic research, might be too anthropocentric and possibly restrictive in its application?”

Erik Davis: The set and setting topic is definitely interesting. There’s a paper by Betty Eisner, in which she argues for set, setting, and what she calls matrix. The “matrix” is that larger context within which the set and setting are operative. So, I think that this is a really good example of the kind of intervention you can do because, on the one hand, I still think [the topic of set-and-setting] is under-recognized (at least in the worlds that I move in). Mainly in the ways set-and-setting is seen as a fundamentally cybernetic idea, that it involves media, Timothy Leary used media to think through the concept when he talks about ‘programming’ psychedelic sessions using audio and visuals – the whole idea of bringing books, having certain things around you, the music playlist, [etc.]. All of that stuff is actually acknowledging you’re entering into an amplified situation of cultural and/or psycho-cultural feedback. I do think even that idea is still undervalued and lets you put set-and-setting into a larger framework, which is point towards the real conundrum of the condition that we’re in. That’s why, to my mind, it’s not an accident that LSD is part of that post-war matrix of technologies. It’s like: well, that’s kind of weird… another cybernetic technology, but it’s happening within a media space or a subjectivity space. But, there’s still something in the way the concept is mostly used, as you point out: is too limited, too anthropocentric, it’s too much about the human in their particular environment. [Subsequently], you’re missing this large framework of genetics, epigenetics, cultural institutions, etc. So, working with Eisner’s text and ideas is a way you can then kind do yes/and and/or yes/but to then be able to acknowledge and expand the concept because set-and-setting is a useful idea. It’s a way to connect with a lot of other psychedelic thinkers and sort of have an agreed-upon floor plan, and then take that plan in another direction.

In terms of trance culture, I do think that trance culture is about that gesture of and aversion to an intense kind of mode of iteration – repetition with a difference – which is part of what I meant when I talked about stuttering before. How there’s an aspect of psychedelic phenomenology that can be heightened by media and pointed out by media: where there is a time glitch, a stutter, or a repetition that sort of runs into abyss that isn’t transcendent particularly. It is more like a fragmentation in mirroring and happens visually, it also happens with time, and it happens with the subject (e.g. Who am I? Who am I? Who am I?). These kind of iterative loops are ones that you can diagram, that occur technically, that have a psycho-spiritual dimension and a phenomenological dimension. It seems to me that aspects of psychedelic trance are intensifying that kind of iterative submission. Particularly, in the way the invariant beat works and how syncopation works. Or, another way of saying it is: here we have a media archive of a culture that is attempting to use technological tricks to amplify that phenomenology as much as possible and there is sort of nothing else that is like that. There are aspects of this in these films from the 1960’s, and there are aspects of feedback in earlier analog technology, but there’s nothing that’s tried that as much. You can really learn a lot from the kind of technical features of psychedelic phenomenology by looking at how people have amplified it or mutated it with psychedelic trance. There, you have a culture of ecstasy that is immediately plugged into that sort of zone.

Megan Rebecca Phipps: In Graham St. John’s book Technomads, there’s a striking depiction of a massive sound-system  interwoven with multiple video cameras and screens, situated above a large gathering of dancing and raving individuals (attendees). The image evokes and conveys the idea of a ‘giant machine system’ hovering over the masses, seemingly entrancing the attendees collectively through a blend of technology and active participation or a participatory force. It’s as if distinct ‘sets’ of people are influenced by this technological force, moving and dancing together like an amoeba, guided by or under audiovisual technologies. I’m interested in exploring how this more analog and tangible phenomenon might relate to contemporary intangible occurrences, such as algorithms. Algorithms that guide various segments of the population or different ‘sets’ of people today, steering them toward political filter bubbles or presenting preferences aligned with what’s ‘liked’ on platforms like Spotify or YouTube. These populations and sets under this algorithmic influence become enveloped in a technologically induced effect on a collective level. Given this context, how can we gain insights by exploring the early trance culture’s political ideology (like digital utopianism) and contrasting it with the current state of technological society? In what ways, if any, has the role of the ‘collective’ shifted?

Erik Davis: There’s some interesting stuff that aligns or pulls from an earlier or more social “utopian” direction. There’s a great book on Jamaican sound systems by Julian Henriques called Sonic Bodies, which is about reggae sound systems and ways of knowing. It is a kind of analog version of what you’re talking about and takes on a more dystopian caste than those celebrated in cultures today. Perhaps one of the ways to talk about the interesting problems to explore is within that model where there is both the dystopian and the more productive, ecstatic situation. And, how it is in that model that the taking place and becoming of a collective is: e.g., “I’m dancing in the crowd. I no longer identify as a solo member. I am one with the crowd. I am one with the music. We are creating an organism.”

Okay, right away, that is simultaneously utopian and dystopian. One is simultaneously having an ecstatic experience of oneness with all of my fellow dancers and also, I’m being manipulated and controlled by a technical system. So, you have that problem — which is in a way what we were talking about before: — how do you articulate the unity factor that is mobilised in these different technical systems and within psychedelics? What it comes down to is, we still don’t know how to talk about that. We then maybe gesture with that ecstasy because we also have all these indices of fear, control, mind control, hypnotism and seduction. But, I think it’s partly because we just don’t know how to talk about experiences like that or social assemblages. Just take the history of the word ‘assemblage’ and how that gets used by Gilles Deleuze: Is it a collective body? Is it a multiple collective body? Is manifold a good word for it? Is it a crowd? It is like, we don’t know what to do with that. And yet, if we can’t figure out how to do that and/or be that, at least some of the time, we’re not going to make it.

Megan Rebecca Phipps: If we accept the apology made between current online social behaviors and the representation of psychedelic experience, in psy-trance culture for example, as a precursor to the new media landscape, could we conclude that the new media environment is inherently and perhaps inevitably psychedelic.

 Erik Davis: Well yeah, earlier I was saying that this is an interesting time to make bold statements about psychedelics and culture, and one of them (to put it bolder than I would ever say in public, but I think is kind of true) is that: all of the postmodern turn, it’s all just psychedelic. That’s more than anything else, even the intellectual stuff: that looseness, that self-referentiality, that openness to multiplicities that then hollows out. All of that stuff you can find in “the zone”. And, I think it’s just like the way we can think about post-war media effects in a Kittlerian way, we can do the same thing with psychedelics. And so, I think as we go forward more and more post-war cultural histories will be seen as essentially psychedelic histories. It’s the elephant in the room.

This book, edited by Valeria Ferrari, Florian Idelberger, Andrea Leiter, Morshed Mannan, María-Cruz Valiente, Balázs Bodó, brings together voices from various fields of intellectual inquiry, based on the idea that technological, legal and societal aspects of the information sphere are interlinked and co-dependent from each other. In order to tackle the existing gap in shared semantics, this glossary converges the efforts of experts from various disciplines to build a shared vocabulary on the social, technical, economic, political aspects of decentralised, distributed or sovereign technologies: artefacts which seek to challenge the techno-social status quo by, for example, circumventing law enforcement, resisting surveillance, or being participative.

The idea ofthis glossary arose from the need for a workable, flexible and multidisciplinary resource for terminological clarity, which reflects instead of denying complexity. Situating the terms emerging through technology development in the wider context of multidisciplinary scientific, policy and political discourses, this glossary provides a conceptual toolkit for the study of the various political, economic, legal and technical struggles that decentralised, encryption-based, peer-to-peer technologies bring about and go through.

Choosing relevant technology-related terms and understanding them is to investigate their affordances within a given ecosystem of actors, discourses and systems of incentives. This requires an interdisciplinary, multi-layered approach that is attentive to the interlinkages between technological design nuances and socio-political, economic implications.

The glossary was envisioned as a long-term collaborative project, and as a work-in-progress, as new entries are periodically added over time. The present book collects the entries published on the Internet Policy Review between 2021 and 2023. Therefore, it represents the first volume of what hopefully will be a long-term, ever-evolving editorial collaboration, whose sources of inspiration and goals evolve with the evolving of the broader discussions on decentralized technologies.

Read more about the book, order a free copy, or download the .pdf here

It’s Wednesday evening and I have no specific plans. I’m chilling on the sofa, scrolling through TikTok and Instagram while Below Deck Sailing Yacht is playing in the background. Even though I’m not moving I’m tired and bored. I have multiple screens open, trying to distract me, with no plans and no people available to save me from myself. It’s just me, my apps–and my algorithms.

Suddenly I receive an alert from my period tracker telling me that most likely, it will come on Friday, which explains why I feel so tired and why I keep craving bread even though I’m gluten intolerant. Unsurprisingly, Instagram and TikTok know this as well. Comfy clothing ads, vegan Ben & Jerry’s, pilates against general inflammation, Beyonce’s Renaissance tour, carrot salad for hormonal balance, retinol, Margiela/Ann Demeulemeester/Rick Owens/The Row clean girl aesthetic mixed with ‘you probably have autism’ videos.

An Uber Eats pop-up reminds me that I can order Indian instead of cooking. 40-50 min away. Great, butter chicken it is.

I recently heard someone talk about how there’s an epidemic of people who are self-diagnosing with Autism and ADHD, yes, exhibiting symptoms of it, but also maybe it’s just the dopamine burnout caused by the same apps that made them self-diagnose in the first place. I wonder how much this might be true. Are these algorithms so good at analysing our behaviour that they end up reflecting them back to us in a digested 20 seconds video that allows us to identify things in ourselves that we weren’t aware of? Or are we consuming this content at such a large and quick rate that we end up becoming what they predict us to be? In other words, are we fulfilling their prophesies or do they know us better than we know ourselves?

Did I really want those Tabi ballet flats, or did the algorithm make me buy them? Do I have ADHD, or am I experiencing dopamine burnout? Am I having a style crisis because I am an evolving human being or because the algorithm keeps pushing me into the clean girl aesthetic while also wanting me to lean into Y2K and Rick Owens vibe but also learn how to wear a fucking hair clip correctly because that’s what the Copenhagen influenced Amsterdam girlies are into? Am I ready to move into a cabin in the woods and live my girl moss dreams or go clubbing in Berghain, pluck my eyebrows to death and bleach my hair? Is my stomach hurting because all of this is going through my head and my screens (yes, multiple) at the same time? Because you can have it all girl, you go girl, work-life balance girl, celery juice girl. Or do I have that rare, incurable undiagnosed disease the algorithm told me to google on web MD?

Am I going blind and need glasses, or should I just listen to my mom and stare at the distance for at least 10 minutes every hour?

When I was younger, things seemed easier but also a lot more serious. Now things seem unserious and a lot more complicated. Nothing is that important anymore, but everything seems to have a thousand layers more, everything is more nuanced and complex while at the same time, stupid. I feel very old saying that. And yet I grew up in the middle of a digital revolution. I can’t remember a time there wasn’t a computer in my house. I remember being very little and playing with the Paintbrush app on my father’s Macintosh. His cellphone was the size of a brick, and you could hear the sound of the internet over the house phone. Yes, we had landlines. We had a set of CDs containing the Encyclopaedia Britannica instead of Google and Wikipedia. Facts seemed to be a lot easier to identify, and fiction was a thing left for the arts. Nobody was talking about the Pope wearing Moncler and Trump being president would have been unimaginable.

In the era of AI and misinformation, life has never been more confusing. Facts and fiction are blended seamlessly. All information seems extremely urgent and, at the same time, irrelevant. It has made sceptics out of all of us. Hyper aware that at any time, we can be deceived.

But the nature of AI has always been deceptive. Its success has always relied on its capacity to imitate, trick or replicate human language. In Alan Turing’s Computing Machinery and Intelligence, deception is placed at the centre of the test to determine a machine’s capacity to exhibit intelligent behaviour. Turing’s test proposed judging Machines on their capacity to make human subjects believe they are human. So as technology advanced, AI scientists began studying the human’s reaction to the machine in order to improve its performance based on Turin’s work. And even tho deception was never the main objective, creating the illusion of intelligence rather than intelligence itself became the force driving sentient-like technologies like AI. As Simone Natale points out, »While debates have largely focused on the possibility that the pursuit of strong AI would lead to forms of consciousness similar or alternative to that of humans, where we have landed might more accurately be described as the creation of a range of technologies that provide an illusion of intelligence—in other words, the creation not of intelligent beings but of technologies that humans perceive as intelligent«. Turing named this ‘the imitation game’.

As algorithms got better at imitating us and scientists got better at training them, we also became lazier at recognising them. Making it easier for us to fall into the illusion.

In Deceitful Media; Artificial Intelligence and Social Life after the Turing test, Natale states that »At the roots of technology’s association with magic lies, in fact, its opacity. Our wonder at technological innovations often derives from our failure to understand the technical means through which they work, just as our amazement at a magician’s feat depends partly on our inability to understand the trick«. Yet in my experience, knowing does not warrant that we will not fall into the illusion. In fact, most people who enjoy magic tricks are not ignorant of how the tricks are performed, at least in their most superficial way. Magic shows still attract masses of people ready to surrender to fantasy in exchange for entertainment, aware that it is not real magic. Even more, magicians themselves are avid consumers of the trickery of their colleagues. Because deep down, we all want to be believers.

Our interactions with AI are based, as with many technologies and other systems of belief, on the projections we make in the spaces left by the illusion. We project into the machine our desire to see something that confirms our expectations. We deeply want to believe that what we want to see, hear, feel, and experience is really there.

It’s not surprising that in our loneliest or most boring moments, we turn to our machines for companionship, wanting to believe in the promise of closeness, of something that reflects back to us our deepest fears, wildest dreams and general anxieties, all repackaged in a shiny wrapper of entertainment or distraction, and the promise of taking our problems away.

AI will save the world, solve climate change, inequality, work, creativity blocks, mental health!

When Eliza, one of the first chatbots built in 1964, was put to the test against the secretary of its programmer, Joseph Weizenbaum, also known as one of the fathers of modern AI, the secretary famously asked him to leave the room since the conversation between her and the machine had turned too personal, too intimate. You see, Eliza was programmed to emulate a non-directional psychotherapist, and Weizenbaum’s intention was to prove how communication between humans and machines was superficial. Instead, he ended up proving the opposite, sort of. The secretary ended up projecting her desire to be heard onto the machine. This is defined in psychology as when ‘inside’ content is mistaken to be coming from the ‘outside’ or the Other.

She, too, wanted to believe.

In the summer of 2022, I graduated from the Sandberg Institute where I did a temporary master’s program called F for Fact. The program (which was extended for two more years) focused on investigating different ways of knowledge through artistic research. The blurry lines between Facts and Fiction, the way knowledge is produced. What knowledge is and what it is not.

One of the things you need to do to graduate is write a thesis. At the time, I wasn’t looking forward to it. My bachelor’s thesis had left me with some PTSD, and I didn’t want to sound stupid or like I was trying too hard. So I thought it would be a great idea to ask GPT2 (just released on early sign-up access) to write my thesis for me. I had always been fascinated by technology, and I was then in my google earth era and working on a project about the materiality of digital technologies and the Internet, researching transatlantic internet cable networks and lithium mines. So it seemed like a great idea to use this new technology to write my thesis for me.

What started as a simple ‘I am too lazy and insecure, let a machine do it for me’ became an exploration of how these technologies would change the way we create knowledge and whether knowledge could be generated. Could we outsource knowledge creation to machines? Could I ‘cheat’ my way out of the thesis? Long story short, it turns out I couldn’t. Automation was not liberation. I still needed to write it, and probably it would have been easier just to write it myself. But the process became the topic of my thesis and the object of the research itself.

AKA, I ended up writing about co-writing with AI while co-writing with AI.

Looking back, one of the most interesting parts of co-writing was that even though I went into the process thinking, ‘I’m not gonna fall for it’, at times, I ended up forgetting I was talking to algorithms. Turns out I also wanted to believe in the promise of a machine that could help me overcome my anxieties around writing. And it kind of did, just not in the way I was expecting it to.

What happened is that I ended up needing to be extremely precise in what I wanted to write about, or else the algorithms would take me to topics I didn’t want or need to address. Nowadays, this is really clearly exemplified by how prompt engineers are becoming more and more important when working with AI. The capacity to get what you want from the algorithms is directly linked to the quality of the prompt. AKA what you ask is what you get, but not always what you want.

I couldn’t get what I wanted, a quick thesis. But I got what I needed, a bunch of AIs making me realise I was not as bad of a writer as I thought I was.

In the end, the thesis became a collection of texts co-written by me and a number of programs: GPT2, GPT3, Eliza and Replika. On top, a reflective text was written only by me, in which I looked back on the joys and frustrations when trying to co-write with AI, the problematic things in it (biases and all) and the need to engage with them with a critical eye.

I started as a sceptic, stumbled into my own projections and beliefs, and I ended up falling in love with the glitchy parts of my dear machines, which offered digital companionship and collaboration when I most needed it.

It is now a Monday evening, and while I am working on this text, I am thinking about a lecture I recently gave at an AI department of a Dutch university. There I discussed how I work with AI to co-write and collaborate on different projects such as my thesis. One of the scientists asked me whether I was afraid of AI. I answered that I was afraid of what humans could do with it. Another asked if I thought artists would be replaced by AIs and the future of human art was dead. I pointed out how with the invention of the camera, people predicted the end of painting, yet painters still paint. And in time, the camera itself became a tool for artistic production, not only documentation. It didn’t take that long before artists started experimenting with the new medium and adopting it as part of their set of tools. It will be the same with AI. Artists will always make art. And technological advancements will always go through a period of adjustment before they are normalised and demystified. When the phonograph was invented, people feared it was capturing the souls of the people it recorded. When Kindles appeared, people speculated it was the end of books. And in the face of Spotify, there’s a return to the LPs. So perhaps what will happen is that human-made art will be the equivalent of organic vegetables with a ‘made by humans’ certificate on it.

Long time ago, we dreamed and feared the end of work with the rise of machines. We dreamed of having more free time but also of losing our jobs. Instead, we are working more than ever, having less free time and inventing more jobs.

We keep hoping that making more machines will save us from the problems other machines have created. Recently I read an article in the Guardian pointing out that big tech people and politicians constantly mention how through AI, they will be able to make smarter choices and solve big problems for the benefit of humankind. But this is in itself quite stupid. Solving climate change doesn’t need smarter minds to create new solutions. We already know what to do; we just need people ready to put economic interests aside in order to reverse decades of damage.

As I sit on my sofa, again, trying not to fall into another TikTok hole, I realise I’m getting anxious again because I’m thinking about climate change, and that shit is scary. So I ask ChatGPT to make a joke to lighten the mood.

This is what came out: »Why did the AI start worrying about climate change? Because it realised it couldn’t CTRL+Z the planet’s rising temperature.«

It also explained why it should be funny:

»This joke is funny because it combines a humorous play on words with a relevant and serious topic. The punchline revolves around the computer keyboard shortcut ‘CTRL+Z,’ which is commonly used to undo or revert actions in many software programs. In this context, it is used metaphorically to suggest that the AI realised it couldn’t undo or reverse the planet’s rising temperature caused by climate change.

The joke cleverly blends technology and the environment, highlighting the AI’s recognition of a problem that cannot be easily undone or reversed. By juxtaposing the familiar computer shortcut with the pressing issue of climate change, the joke elicits a humorous response while also highlighting the seriousness and urgency of addressing environmental concerns.«

 I am suddenly very aware of the irony of using a super-polluting technology to talk about climate change. And even more, to make jokes about it. According to Bloomberg, the initial training of GPT3 consumed more energy than what the average household consumes in 3 years. And I’m not even mentioning all the material resources like minerals and water and cables and rumbas cleaning the servers and people making sure the Roombas are emptied and plugged in, and coders working for 11 dollars per hour, and us training them for free. The old, if you are not paying for it, you are the product.

It is hard not to fall for something designed to mirror us and keep us entertained. We all like looking at ourselves, and the algorithms know it. We all want to see more of what we like, especially when the world seems to be ending… once more. The one thing that truly comforts me is knowing how many times humanity has predicted the end of the world throughout history. And yet here we are.

I feel guilty from time to time because I am using technologies that I know are bad for me and the environment. But I also make a point to try to use them critically and put my tiny seed of resistance. Clicking ‘no’ on all cookies popups. Deleting my apps now and then. Using alternative platforms and programs. B     locking all ads. Going out for a walk instead of staring at my phone. Helping an old lady cross the street and carry the groceries. I remember Michelle Young’s words: »Power is relative. No one of us can bring about change by ourselves. But for each of us, our part is vital.«

I’ll try listening more to my mom and stare out of the window for ten minutes now and then.

To not webMD my symptoms. To not buy the next thing TikTok tells me to buy because it won’t solve all my problems.

I’ll also try not to feel so guilty and do more. To acknowledge that our relationship with technology is very intimate and intricate but also problematic. Like a codependent relationship. Maybe we should all go to therapy.

But also, like @ummsimonee said, »If you speak what you want into existence, at the very least, the Instagram algorithm will hear you.«

And my personal favourite: »Nobody knows me like the notes app does.«

—

This text is an adaptation of a lecture at Spui25 on Co-Creation with AI and organised by the Hmm. 

(Editor Alex Grech, Malta)

Young People and Information Manifesto

The State of Play with Online Information – The Issues We Want to Address

Authorized transcript of Bruce Sterling’s lecture during the TU Eindhoven conference AI for All, From the Dark Side to the Light, November 25, 2022, at Evoluon, Eindhoven, co-organized by Next Nature. Website of the event: https://www.tue.nl/en/our-university/calendar-and-events/25-11-2022-ai-for-all-from-the-dark-side-to-the-light. YouTube link of the talk: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UB461avEKnQ&t=3325s

—

It’s nice to be back in Eindhoven, a literal city of light in a technological world. I am here to discuss one of my favourite topics: artificial intelligence. The Difference Engine is a book that my colleague William Gibson and I wrote 33 years ago. The narrator of this book happens to be an artificial intelligence because we were cyberpunks at the time.

At the time we were talking to people in the press and they said: you science fiction writers like to write about computers, what if a computer started writing your novels? This was supposed to be some kind of existential threat to us. But we really liked computers. We had no fear of them, so we thought, oh, that might be amusing… why don’t we imitate a computer writing a novel? And this is the result. The book is still in print.

Here is the source of the problem: the infamous 1956 Dartmouth conference where ambitious computer scientists from the first decade of the computer science field gathered. They decided that since they were working on thinking machines, they should take this idea seriously and try to invent some machines and systems that could actually think. And they’re going to take computer science, they’re going to launch an imperialistic war on metaphysics, philosophy and psychology and establish whether software really is thought. And whether thought can be abstracted and whether there are rules for talking about intelligence. At the time they wrote some nice manifestos about it. I read them, even though I was only two years old when the event happened. Our novel is halfway between this old-school artificial intelligence and today’s AI. As a long-term fan of this rather tragic branch of computer science, 2022 has been the wildest year that artificial intelligence ever had. This is the first time there’s been a genuine popular craze about it. I’m going to spend the rest of my 45 minutes and 48 slides trying to tell you what the hell I think is going on.

This is artificial intelligence, the business side of it. If you lump in everything that could be plausibly called artificial intelligence, the old-school rules-based software code, and then the statement style of artificial intelligence, this is all of it and it’s pretty big. And it has never taken over anything completely. It’s just there are areas where it applies to various sectors airspace, finance, pipeline stuff, and data access. It’s very big. It’ s a mind map from Firstmark venture capital. Matt Turk photographed it. You’re going to be neck-deep in this. I’m not going to talk about all that. I’m going to get around to talking, to text, to image generators. But this is a generative AI, not even old-school artificial intelligence, not even necessarily machine learning and deep learning.

I am here to talk about text-to-image generators. This is actually generative AI, which is what went wild this year. It is a generative application landscape. This is a subset of AI, not even machine learning, but this is where all the heat and light are coming from. Right now. People are just going nuts about it.

And these are some of the technical platforms that support it. AI Machine learning, deep learning. You can see this. Just look these guys up. I could spend all day gossiping about them. Some are up, and some are down. Haul out your phones. Take pictures of this. Go take your pinky fingers. Look them up on the Internet. That’s a heck of a lot going on here.

And then, these are the visual guys. These are actual text-to-image generation outfits here. Platforms, companies, start-ups, most of them young, some of them younger than this February. But just like a small army of these guys, some of them younger than February 2022, coming out of the lab and schools, in the garages, dropping out of companies, scaring up venture capital. It’s a wild scene.

Here are the platforms that are supporting them at the moment. Practically none of these companies are making any money. What they’re busy doing is trying to muscle up, beef up the platforms and try to find some applications for these breakthroughs that they’re having. And the platforms that are in red are the open-source platforms. And these are the closest thing to AI for all that anybody has ever had. You can fire these up. You can look at them on the Web. You can download them from GitHub. Computer science breakthroughs are never going to be for all people. As you can see they started back in 2021 and picked up steam in a major fashion.

These are some of the little businesses. These are startups. Nine out of ten of these guys are going to die. This is not the future. This is not an overpowering way. These are all startups. Even the ones that survive are going probably going to get acquired. Look on the Internet, chase them down, follow them on social media, and read their white papers.

So what are they doing?

I’m going to talk about artwork because I have a problem here. I happen to be the art director of a technology art festival in Turin, Italy, which is where I flew from to be with you today. And we know that we’re going to be getting a lot of AI art, so we may as well do an event on AI art. We’ve got to figure out sort of what’s good and what we want to show the public of Turin. I’ve got to make aesthetic and cultural decisions about what matters. There are hundreds of thousands of users who’ve appeared in a matter of mere months, and they’ve generated literally millions of images. There’s a quarter of 1 million or 250 million images on these services. You just tell them what to do and offer them a prompt. They generate stuff very quickly.

This image happens to be Amsterdam-centric, I am messing with the Amsterdam imagery there.

You can do very elaborate kind of swirly arabesque stuff.

You could do fantastic unearthly landscapes that look like black and white photography.

You can mess about with architecture or do strange 3D geometric stuff.

You could do pretty girls. Those are always guaranteed to sell. There are megatons of pretty girls that have been generated, probably more pretty girls in the past year than in the entire history of Pretty Girl art today because you could just do it. Literally, press a button and have a hundred pretty girls.

Fantasy landscapes, odd-looking 3D gamer set stuff. You can just put in the word utopia and it will build you utopias. Not two will be the same.

The utopia prompt. One could do utopias, all day, all night. Do you like green ones? No, you like the blue ones. You know, it’s happy. You don’t have to say bad utopia. Good utopia. There is just an endless supply. Basically infinite. I mean, it’s not infinite because all these images are JPEGs. No, not really. Paintings are not really photographs. They’re conjugations of JPEGs. So what you’re seeing is like 256 by 256 of JPEGs. And, you know, statistically, there’s only so many ways you could vary the colour in a grid of 256 by 256. But these systems know how to do that.

This is a Refik Anadol, who’s from Istanbul and is working out of LA. He’s the world’s only truly famous artificial intelligence artist. He has been touring the world for the past 4 or 5 years doing these epically large motion graphics, mostly on buildings, using databases of people who are hiring him. Take out everything in your files, turn it into an artificial intelligence landscape and broadcast on your building, generating a lot of traffic. If you happen to be a museum director and Refik Anadol shows up with one of his projected shows, you’d better have the museum store ready to go because they’re going to be lined up around the block for Refik. He will give you all the artificial intelligence that you can eat, on time, and under budget. And the public loves it flat out.

Let’s explain how all this works technically. What does a text do when it generates, if you try to take a picture of it? This would be a selfie.

What you see here is a Google tensor chip. It happens to be version three, which is already obsolete. They’re threatening to roll out number four. It’s going to be like Moore’s Law but then heavier. If you’re Google DeepMind and you’re doing Alphazero and you’re going to beat every other chess player in the world, you’re just going to wipe the floor with all the old-school chess-playing computers. You need these babies. About 5000 of these. Slot them up, and train them on chess. Don’t tell them. Tell them nothing except the rules. I’ll just invent chess and they’ll beat every other chess machine ever invented. You need 5000 of these racked up. It’s not going to come cheap. It will take a lot of voltage. What I don’t have here are nice, homely literary metaphors like ‘cyberspace’.

It’s like you got all these wires and all these protocols and all these messages flying around at random from node to node you can understand the routing systems and like the naming system and so forth. Or you can just say cyberspace. It is a metaphor because there really is no cyberspace. All there is are wires, storage units, built on top of web browsers–colossal stacks of interacting.

The police and the military really like AI, that’s not going away. It was a successful coinage. So, what’s a generator? How does it generate? All this happens to be a stable diffusion, one of the better-known generators among many other similar generators. They’re not all built the same. There are different architectures. You don’t just have one machine. You’ve actually got several different ones. Artificial intelligence is about deep learning, neural networks of connected computers on chips, each one of them separate. They don’t trade information with one another. You’ve got on one end the one that interprets the text. It just looks. At typed text. It doesn’t read books. It just literally reads alphanumeric characters, ASCII, and it breaks them up into powder. It doesn’t even look at the words, but it looks like the phonemes and the statistical probabilities of them affecting other phonemes. And this has been typical of AI-style machine translation for a while, but now they’ve gotten really quite good at it. So it’s kind of looking at whatever command it’s given and breaking that up into a kind of probabilistic dust, just like points in a vector space. But something like flour, if you think of it as like a sifting machine, you’re putting in the white flour and it’s got rocks and some other unnecessary things. Then you sieve back and forth. Put the words in and break the words up into little pieces of probability.

It then passes them to an image generator. In the next stage, it tries to come up with a rough consensus of what it might be in a postage stamp style. This is a little beginning, a hint as to what this image might become. After having sifted that one around until it’s got a rough kind of consensus. It passes that to a second part of the server, which doesn’t concern itself with words. It just takes the earlier image and it tries to focus the image, tighten it, brighten it and make it broader. And then that passes its own version of the image to yet another one, which is bigger and kind of more focused on prettification that expands the image onto a bigger scale and fits it into a particular format, polishes it up, makes it look like a camera photo and makes it look like a painting or a blueprint. The three of them don’t intercommunicate, they’re three separate sieves. And then the last one there is the auto encoder-decoder, which functions as an editor-publisher, and it looks at what’s come through this.

Pretty refined. But most of is rubbish, nonsense. It’s like throwing things out the window like an impatient editor or getting rid of bad paintings, like an angry gallerist, statistically comparing images to a database it has of successful paintings: this one’s obviously chaos, that one might pass. And then when it’ll select a few out of a great many which have been generated. It’ll actually edit it down to just a few and sort of print them or at least turn them into actual JPEGs and present them to the viewer on the website. It is astonishingly complicated, amazing that such a whopper-jawed thing works at all. And where it came from is not text-to-image generators, but image-to-text recognition. What happened here?

Several years ago Facebook and Google tried using computers to identify what was in photographs and JPEGs. They were looking for your face or tried to identify consumer items, basic surveillance capitalism procedures. And then one of the engineers said, okay, we can look at a photograph in our machine, will name what’s in it. What happens if we just give it the name and ask it to produce the photograph, literally turning the box upside down? What they got was deep dreaming, a hallucinatory mess. It just didn’t make any sense. But then they’ve worked on it and refined it to some extent. But this is really a crude and whopper-jawed thing here. I mean, it’s literally as if I’d like turned a recycling machine on its ear and I could put in broken glass and get out Greek vases. And nobody expected this. I don’t know anybody in computer science that ever predicted the existence of a text-to-image generator. It’s just one of those bizarre lines of technical development where you do.

Something as simple as turning it upside down and an entire industry hops out of Pandora’s box there. It’s really, really a funny and wild thing. So what’s wrong with it? I’m going to go into this now. It’s like not what’s wrong with it. More to be fairer to this technology, What are its innate characteristics? I mean, what is the grain of the material there? What is it good at doing and what is it not bad at doing? And if you were an art director or a museum curator, how would you judge what was like a good output and like just the stuff that’s like every day and there’s 250 millions of them and somebody’s got to do this work, and I’m trying to help here. This is the basic problem with all forms of generative AI: they’re not normal. They’re not they don’t they don’t fulfil the aspirations of the founders of AI. They have no common sense.

Here is the ‘healthy boy eating broken glass for breakfast’ result. He looks like a really happy kid. Ask an artist to draw a child gleefully eating broken glass, that’s a horror image. But since this machine lacks any common sense understanding, it doesn’t know what glass is. It doesn’t know what a boy is, doesn’t know what breakfast is. It’s the very opposite of an Isaac Asimov robot. No idea about possible harm. If you look at this, where’s the ethics? But then, it’s just some sieves that are turning text into image. It’s a Rube Goldberg machine to turn a huge database of any possible character connected to every JPEG pixel on the Internet. It’s just it’s a balancing act between all the text on the Internet and all the images on the Internet, the common crawl. If you look for the AI intelligence in there, it’s like, where.

Are the rules? Where are the decisions? Where’s the common sense? There’s not a trace of them, not one trace. It’s just a series of photos, produced by sophisticated filters, connected by equations, they’re not even wired together. It’s fantastic what they can figure out. They have zero common sense. That’s not even in the textbook. They don’t care. They don’t compete with anything. They don’t have to. These AIs don’t have ears. They don’t have photographs. They don’t have paintings. They have a statistical relationship between text and clumps of JPEG pixels.

I heard early on from users who were trying to put their prompts into these machines that they weren’t very good at hands.

It’s like, why are they not good at hands?

You know, a hand is one of the most common things on the Internet, there are millions and millions of pictures of them.

It just doesn’t understand the geometry and doesn’t know what three dimensions look like. It knows what a picture of a hand looks like.

This is a prompt in the Dutch language. It doesn’t know what a hand looks like in three dimensions. It doesn’t have a hand. It has no skin.

Count to five. It can’t count to five. Why? It does not draw. It does not photograph. It only generates.

How about the oldest hands ever drawn? Can’t do it.

How about a foot? Can you compare a foot with a hand? No.

Right. It just sits there, generating, taking its clouds of pixels, its little probabilities, putting it a little bit of chaos, shaking it down like dropping sponges, you know, full of little coloured pixels, kind of paddling along. And it doesn’t stop in the middle of its generation.

What if I ask to imitate a human drawing a hand? This is one of the most impressive images that I have seen from an image generator. It is unearthly. If you notice carefully you will see that the paper the artist is working on is not square. I love the coffee cup. These are not mistakes. This is the actual grain of its compositional process. And there is a beauty to it. It is not a human beauty. It is a striking image that no human being could ever have dreamt of. It really has presence, it’s surreal.

For the machines that we built, this is their realism. This is what they actually ‘see’ when they are comparing the word ‘hand’ to the most probable JPEGs of hands. And if you think of hands and how fluid they are… We don’t even have a vocabulary for all the positions we can make with our hands. We’re used to them, but we don’t talk about them very effectively.  This vocabulary is not in the database because people never described them with enough fidelity, for them to be accurately rendered by a probabilistic engine.

Eventually, they’ll crack the hand problem.

And then when you input something, they’ll just call on the thing that makes the hands and it’ll kind of rush in from the side and powder up the hands quickly and then retreat back into okay, yeah.

When these systems are more refined, they won’t make these elementary errors, but they’re not errors.

This is graph paper and you would think graph paper would be the simpliest thing to do for computers. The computer sceeen itself is a like a graph, right? If you look carefully there are thousands of tiny probabalistic mistakes in these lines.

They are more obvious when you ask it to do a checkerboard.  If you ask to draw a black square, white square, black square, it gets confused. It start doing checkers and then gets lost. Even if you ask it to draw a black and white tile floor it gets lost where black and white is supposed to go, how many there and how it is represented in 3D space, even though there are thousands of photographs of such tile floors online.

Now I’m actually going to do some creative experimentation of my own. And being a novelist. I don’t just want to give it orders to have it make the world’s prettiest picture. Instead, I want to see what it can say about things that humans can’t draw. What will it produce if I ask it to draw something that is beyond human capacity to draw?

For instance, the unimaginable. But the unimaginable is an oxymoron, right? I mean, you can’t draw something you can’t imagine. This thing will draw the unimaginable in a hot second.

The Undreamed-of. Stable Diffusion doesn’t care. It is perfectly happy.

The Impossibility. These are not like expressive artworks, like a Van Gogh. We’re seeing things here that humans can’t make.

Intense fascination? It doesn’t have any. It doesn’t have emotions.

The obsessive compulsion.

The self-referential.

The shocking surprise. It cannot be shockingly surprised and instead is parodying us being surprised.

The lysergic hallucination. People have an amber proper about going insane; computers aren’t supposed to be able to do that. It has no trouble whatsoever with psychedelics. It can spin it out by the square kilometre.

The unthinkable. That is, images of humans being unable to think the unthinkable. It is never able to think. It will always come up with some answer.

The utterly forgotten.

In the industry, people are particularly interested in what’s called extension or outpainting. So you like to feed it with Hokusai and then you ask what’s on the corner of the painting and it will just add something onto it. Does this look like Hokusai? Yeah, I’ve got lots of this stuff. How about a cherry tree? And this excites graphic artists, It’s like I got a free cherry tree. They don’t recognise that this thing will effortlessly extend and stretch out forever into the direction of infinite cherry trees. You know, a leftover samurai, ninjas, you know, drums, ideograms, whatever. You know, Heian Japan. Weird tales of Genji. It’ll regurgitate that as long as the current is flowing through it, just indefinitely. We’ll never have screens big enough to show it all. It will never get tired of generating pastiches like this, on any scale, at any fidelity. Quickly, cheaply. And without ever making any common sense, without ever getting tired. It will grind these probabilistic connections and spew this stuff out. There is zero creative effort in this. It does take a lot of voltage.

This happens to be a Max Ernst from the 1930s entitled Europe after the Rain. Ernst did a number of these generative experiments. First, he went out with his canvases and rubbed pencils on them in order to get suggestive forms, and then he would paint over them. And then later he decided he’d just take the paint itself and toss it onto the canvas, stomp on it, and then open it up like a Rorschach block and paint over it. So he’s a world-class surrealist artist, so he got this smashed-up paint with not random, but suggestive kinds of imagery. He did a series of these surrealist paintings, which are some of his most successful ones. They are nearly 100 years old now, and they never look like anything else. Eventually, the novelty tired Ernst. He did a number of these gimmicks and he came to feel it was kind of beneath him. He got all the benefits out of this particular trick that he was likely to have and then moved into a different phase of his expressive career. It’s not like generative techniques have never entered the fine art world before.

This is Meret Oppenheim’s Breakfast in Fur, which will never be looked at the same. And this is something that troubles me. If you show this to anyone who has never seen henceforth next year, if you show this to anyone who is unaware of this famous artwork, almost a hundred years old. They will immediately conclude that it was generated. They will never look at it again and think, what a cool, surreal thing. It’s like she took a teacup and wrapped it up in gazelle fur. And look, she even wrapped up the spoon. And you know what? You can’t even drink out of that teacup. Think of putting tea in there, picking it up and feeling that fur in your mouth. Ooh, ooh. What a surrealist frisson. Boy, that’s super weird. Such an artist, this Meret Oppenheim. Such a form of human expression. We may have opened Pandora’s box and slammed the gate on our heritage.

There’s a quote by Simone Weil: “The beauty of the world is the mouth of a labyrinth,” which is a warning: if you’re interested in aesthetics, you have to curate stuff or happen to be an art director of a festival (like I am), you can’t just pick the pretty ones. The beauty of the world is the mouth of a labyrinth. Once you start taking aesthetics seriously, you enter metaphysics. The world comes up with these labyrinths and if you look at them they’re statistically likely portraits of labyrinths that are not, in fact, labyrinths. A labyrinth has a place where a human goes in and then the human is supposed to get bewildered. He takes a lot of false steps and he makes a lot of mistakes and he has to retreat often. But eventually, there’s a hole out the other side. He comes out and says: oh, such a cool experience. I was in the labyrinth. I thought I’d never get out. But then when I did get out, I was really happy to, like, defeat this puzzle. It doesn’t know what a puzzle is. It doesn’t know what legs are. It’s just looking at all the databases of the labyrinth that it has, which is very extensive. It draws on something that looks like a labyrinth but isn’t. And yet it’s beautiful, a beauty which is not of this world.

That’s what beauty is. The beauty of the world is the mouth of a labyrinth. This is beauty, which is not of this world and cannot be judged by the standards of beauty that we had earlier. But I know that this labyrinth is my doom. I don’t know how long I’m going to have to put up with this. I’ve been in the labyrinth of artificial intelligence since I first heard of it. I’m not too surprised that there’s suddenly a whole host of labyrinths. Thousands of them. I don’t mind. I know it’s trouble, but it’s kind of a good trouble. I don’t mind living there. I’ll build a house in the labyrinth. I’ll put a museum in it. You’re not going to stop me. I’m happy to accept the challenge. I hope you’ll have a look at it.

—

Transcription: Amberscript. Editing: Geert Lovink

Time: 13:00-18:00

Location: University of Amsterdam

BG2, room 0.02, Turfdraagsterpad 15-17, 1012 XT, Amsterdam

More information and registration (in person and online) can be found here: https://sites.google.com/view/blur-event/home

We publish here the press release of today's protest at the University of Amsterdam from the collective Casual UvA (Nederlandse versie hieronder).

We Are Not Disposable: ‘Wegwerpdocenten’ at the University of Amsterdam organizing a demonstration 

On April 20, at 17:00, Casual UvA, a collective of university employees – the majority on temporary contracts and a few on permanent contracts who are sympathetic to the cause – organized a demonstration in front of the ABC building at the Roeterseiland Campus (REC) to protest the ongoing issue of casualization and the replacement of colleagues under the slogan “We are not disposable”. This is a response to the ongoing casualization, which is the altering of working practices so that regular workers are re-employed on a short-term basis. 

In April 2022, UvA lecturers went on a marking strike asking for permanent contracts, professional development and workload transparency. On June 7th, the marking strike was suspended with the negotiation of a new lecturer policy, with the promise of a transparent implementation and an open conversation regarding the casualization of academia. 

One year later, junior lecturers in precarious, temporary contracts are still being de facto fired and continuously replaced. The lack of concrete solutions and transparent implementation of the new lecturer policy does not do justice to the severity of the conditions and the challenges that junior temporary lecturers are facing. Casual UvA highlights the issue of unofficially denying permanent contracts to employees without a PhD degree, leading to arbitrary replacement of colleagues who successfully, and passionately performed structural work. 

This continuous cycle of replacing lecturers on temporary contracts every 3-4 years with new and less experienced lecturers does not only undermine labor rights for lecturers, but also disregards the quality of education for students. Temporary contracts are not meant for continuous, structural teaching jobs that are needed every year. The university does not only dispose of the teaching experience that the lecturer has gained, it also destroys social consistency and opportunities for continued collaboration between teachers, as well as students and teachers. 

Sam Hamer, junior lecturer in Sociology: “while we had hoped for improved working conditions in the aftermath of the grading strike of 2022, we find ourselves in the same situation as last year. Soon, again, we will have to say goodbye to many of our colleagues because they have to shoulder the UvA’s precarity.” 

Additionally, Casual UvA are calling for a re-calculation of hours and sufficient time for teaching tasks across all faculties to address structural overwork and the lack of professional development opportunities for junior colleagues, who are being treated by the university as disposable employees, ultimately decreasing the quality of education. 

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Wegwerpdocenten aan de UvA organiseren demonstratie: ‘We Are Not Disposable’ 

Op 20 april om 17:00 uur georganiseerd Casual UvA een demonstratie om te protesteren tegen de aanhoudende kwestie van tijdelijke contracten (casualisering) en de voortdurende vervanging van collega’s onder de slogan We Are Not Disposable (“Wij zijn niet wegwerpbaar”). De locatie van de demonstratie is vlak bij het ABC-gebouw op de Roeterseiland Campus (REC).

Casual UvA een collectief van universiteitsmedewerkers die voornamelijk op tijdelijk contract werken, met steun van een aantal collega’s op permanent contract. De demonstratie van 20 april is een reactie op de voortdurende casualisering, waarbij werknemers die structureel werk doen op korte termijn opnieuw worden aangenomen. Docenten worden dus als tijdelijke krachten behandeld en om de 3-4 jaar zonder pardon vervangen, terwijl zij structureel werk leveren waar ieder jaar vraag naar is.

In april 2022, ongeveer een jaar geleden, organiseerden UvA-docenten als Casual UvA een staking om permanente contracten, professionele ontwikkeling en transparantie van werkdruk te eisen. Op 7 juni werd de staking opgeschort na onderhandelingen over een nieuw docentenbeleid, met de belofte van een transparante uitvoering en een open gesprek over de casualisering van de academische wereld.

Een jaar later worden junior docenten met precaire, tijdelijke contracten nog steeds de facto ontslagen en voortdurend vervangen. Het gebrek aan concrete oplossingen en transparante uitvoering van het nieuwe docentenbeleid doet geen recht aan de ernst van de omstandigheden en uitdagingen waarmee junior docenten op tijdelijk contract worden geconfronteerd. Casual UvA benadrukt het probleem van het onofficieel ontzeggen van permanente contracten aan werknemers zonder PhD-titel, wat leidt tot willekeurige vervanging van collega’s die structureel werk succesvol en met veel passie hebben uitgevoerd.

Deze voortdurende cyclus van het vervangen van docenten op tijdelijke contracten met nieuwe en minder ervaren docenten ondermijnt niet alleen de arbeidsrechten van docenten, maar negeert ook de kwaliteit van het onderwijs voor studenten. Tijdelijke contracten zijn niet bedoeld voor continue, structurele onderwijstaken die elk jaar nodig zijn. De universiteit gooit niet alleen de onderwijservaring weg die de docent heeft opgedaan, maar doet ook afbreuk aan de sociale consistentie en mogelijkheden voor langdurige samenwerking tussen docenten en studenten.

Sam Hamer, juniordocent in Sociologie: “in de nasleep van de staking van 2022 hadden we gehoopt op betere arbeidsomstandigheden, maar we bevinden ons in dezelfde situatie als een

jaar geleden. Binnenkort moeten we weer afscheid nemen van veel van onze collega’s omdat zij de dupe worden van de precaire arbeidsomstandigheden aan de UvA.”

Daarnaast roept Casual UvA de universiteit op tot een herberekening van de uren en voldoende tijd voor onderwijstaken in alle faculteiten om structurele overbelasting en het gebrek aan professionele ontwikkelingsmogelijkheden voor junior-collega’s aan te pakken, die door de universiteit als wegwerpbare werknemers worden behandeld, wat uiteindelijk ook de studenten raakt: al deze factoren verminderen de kwaliteit van het onderwijs.

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GIFTED

A documentary about Clarisse Catlynn 
By Morgane Billuart

“Seeking to see beyond the limits of sight forces the gazer into realms of spirituality, areas where sociology fears to tread”

Visual Spirituality, Kirean Flanagn

—

THE VOID | A Video in an Envelope #1

Video in an Envelope is a series of zines by THE VOID, a research project at the Institute of Network Cultures. The aim is to experiment with expanded publishing for practice based research. Video in an Envelope is a series developed from the need to publish audiovisual projects through alternative distribution networks.

More Info HERE
Order a copy HERE

Theory on Demand #47

Failurists – When Things Go Awry

Edited by Sybille Lammes, Kat Jungnickel, Larissa Hjorth & Jen Rae

Failure is a popular topic of research. It has long been a source of study in fields such as sociology and anthropology, science and technology studies, privacy and surveillance, cultural, feminist and media studies, art, theatre, film, and political science. When things go awry, breakdown, or rupture they lead to valuable insights into the mundane mechanisms of social worlds.

Yet, while failure is a familiar topic of research, failure in and as a tactic of research is far less visible, valued, and explored.

In this book the authors reflect upon the role of creative interventions as a critical mode for methods, research techniques, fieldwork, and knowledge transmission or impact. Here, failure is considered a productive part of engaging with and in the field. It is about acknowledging the ‘mess’ of the social and how we need methods, modes of attunement, and knowledge translation that address this complexity in nuanced ways.

In this collection, interdisciplinary researchers and practitioners share their practices, insights, and challenges around rethinking failure beyond normalized tropes. What does failure mean? What does it do? What does putting failure under the microscope do to our assumptions around ontology and epistemologies? How can it be deployed to challenge norms in a time of great uncertainty, crisis, and anxiety? And what are some of the ways resilience and failure are interrelated?

Contributors: Jessamy Perriam, Emma Fraser & Clancy Wilmott, Kat Jungnickel, Annette N. Markham, Anna Hickey-Moody, Linda Dement, Jen Rae & Claire G. Coleman, Julienne van Loon & Kelly Hussey-Smith, Li Jönsson & Kristina Lindström, Sam Hind, Lekshmy Parameswaran, Syrus Marcus Ware, Nanna Verhoeff & Iris van der Tuin, Olivia Khoo, Grace McQuilten, Chantal Faust, Nancy Mauro-Flude, Sybille Lammes, Larissa Hjorth, Kate McLean and Julienne van Loon.

Order and Download a copy HERE

This summer Hackers & Designers are going to inhabit a remote location in the south of the Netherlands and are looking for 20-30 co-inhabitants for our temporary H&D village!

Together we will embark on the adventure of learning, making and living together. With this format we aim for a holistic and intersectional way of thinking about and practicing sustainability (socially, ecologically, economically, culturally) and reknit arbitrary boundaries between work, play, leisure, maintenance and care.

H&D is now open for proposals for a variety of activities that contribute to an overall exhilarating communal experience! More specifically we are looking for hands-on workshops that explore alternative (sustainable, non-extractivist, equitable) technical and social imaginaries. Next to workshop proposals additional activities are welcome such as lectures, film and dance nights, communal dinners, fire place readings, foraging, publishing activities, gymnastics, LARP….

The open call welcomes folks (hackers/designers/makers/artists/developers/activists/inventors/…) of all ages, abilities and backgrounds to propose activities. The BYOW (bring your own workshop) format is an attempt to decentralize curation and organization of the workshop program.

More info here, deadline for application is 3 April.

A strange shift has overcome NGOs, academia and philanthropy working in the digital politics and culture spheres – a long held commitment to freedom of expression has been overtaken by a new consensus that accepts actively shaping and removing ‘unacceptable’ ideas and information. What is unacceptable or untrue tends to change weekly, if not more often.

This ‘shaping’ is often done under the guise of combating ‘disinformation’, an overfunded industry that has spawned hundreds of “Centers for the study of x,y, and z”. Huge amounts of money have been piped in from the foundation world, and even more, has come from government. The justification is ‘public health’ or ‘safety’, however, the Twitter files reveal that scaled, this approach has the exact opposite effect. It is Orwellian, to be kind.

I have spent the last several weeks supporting journalist Matt Taibbi to develop Twitter Files releases #18 and #19.

Twitter Files #18 and #19 focus on the Virality Project, an “anti-vaccine misinformation” effort led by the Stanford Internet Observatory that brought together elite academia, NGOs, government, and experts in AI and social media monitoring, with six of the biggest social media companies on the planet. They went far beyond their “misinformation” remit. Twitter Files show the Virality Project pushed platforms to censor “stories of true vaccine side effects”.

Partnered in the effort were Facebook/Instagram, Google/YouTube, TikTok, Pinterest, Medium, and Twitter. In partnership with Pentagon and DARPA funded companies, the Virality Project was able to surveil all these platforms using machine learning systems.

The academic ethics of this should always have been dubious.

The result was an approach that sought to control narrative rather highlight untruths. For example, reporting side effects of the now-pulled Johnson & Johnson vaccine would have been labelled “misinformation”. Had Kerryn Phelps (the first female president of the Australian Medical Association) taken to Twitter to describe her and her wife’s vaccine injuries, these too would have been labelled misinformation. German Health Minister Karl Lauterbach would have also been censored for admitting that as a result of the vaccines “there are severe disabilities, and some of them will be permanent”. (Video)

Rather than listening out for safety signals to protect the public, leaders in the “anti-disinformation” field ran cover to protect BigPharma.

The Virality Project, however, is just part of a broader cultural shift that reverses long-standing liberal/left commitments to free expression and allows censorship in the name of protection and safety. However in suppressing “stories of true vaccine side effects” the Virality Project put people in danger.

The centrality of censorship ideology to the digital rights field is illustrated in former New Zealand Prime Minister Jacinda Arden opening RightsCon 2022, the sector’s biggest civil society event. Ardern claims that “weapons of war” and “disinformation” are one and the same. EngageMedia (of which I was previously Executive Director) co-organised RightsCon in 2015 in the Philippines.

RightsCon 2022 also heavily promoted US Secretary of State Anthony Blinken. Blinken oversees the State Department’s Global Engagement Center, one of the most egregious US government promoters of “anti-disinformation” as censorship. (See Twitter Files #17)

Western leaders that advocate for censorship in the name of “disinformation” severely undermine those fighting authoritarian regimes around the world. Those regimes frequently evoke the threat of “fake news” to justify their crackdowns.

I encourage you to read both releases in full and hold what you have been told about Elon Musk just for a moment. Musk is neither hero nor demon. The Twitter Files however are a critical catalyst to challenge the new censorship regime we now live under and reinvigorate the movement for free expression.

(Note that I am a paid consultant for Matt Taibbi and have no relation whatsoever to Musk).

If you can walk and chew gum you’ll know that uncovering liberal/left corruption doesn’t imply support for the reactionary right.

Free speech and expression protect us from the most powerful actors on the planet; corporations, the State, and a growing plethora of international bodies. Ultimately we need radically decentralised social media that is more immune to their capture.

Some amount of ‘disinformation’ studies is legitimate, however, the Twitter Files demonstrate that a major part has been weaponised to censor and smear political opposition. A kind of digital McCarthyism.

Academia and NGOs need to take a good look at their ‘disinformation’ programs and evaluate to what degree they are being weaponised to censor unpopular ideas from people deemed worthy of being censored.

The frequent missed calls by government and the media during the pandemic should make it clear that no one has a monopoly on truth. If we cannot re-open conversation (however difficult) as our primary method of truth-seeking we will continue our march into an epistemological totalitarianism.

—

Andrew Lowenthal is a Research Affiliate at the Institute of Network Cultures. He is the co-founder and former Executive Director of EngageMedia, former fellow of Harvard’s Berkman Klein Center for Internet and Society, and MIT’s Open Documentary Lab.

By Franco Berardi

Who wrote this text? Me or Franco Berardi? Peter Gabriel says the question is irrelevant.

One year ago the visionary musician Peter Gabriel released a book titled Reverberation, a sort of technophile introduction to the science behind deep listening.

“Reverberation is the impact a sound makes after the sound has stopped,” explains Peter Gabriel. Grab hold of any sound and hang on tight, you’ll be amazed how far it reverberates and where you end up.

Now, in an interview with yahoo Gabriel speaks of Artificial Intelligence and the future of music.

https://www.yahoo.com/entertainment/peter-gabriel-on-the-future-of-ai-we-might-as-well-just-grab-the-algorithms-and-dance-with-them-rather-than-fight-them-203833247.html

The recent innovations in the field of Artificial intelligence sound alarming for artists designers, musicians, and writers too.

Someone told me that chatbot is able to compose the kind of capricious essays that I usual write.

For days I refrained from asking to chatbot GPT: “write a whimsical essay about Peter Gabriel and Artificial intelligence in the style of Franco Berardi.”

Then what?

What if the text you are reading is the reply of a chatbot to the question above?

Who knows?

And also: who cares?

Now I wonder: “Should I be afraid of the next steps in deployment of the Cognitive automaton? Should I fight against the invading Artificial intelligence that is stealing jobs to creative workers? Should I be congratulate with the talking and writing machine?

So far I am unable to answer this question.

However I may ask the question to the chatbot himself (or herself).

Gabriel suggests to take it easy. He knows that what’s happening in the field of automation of cognition is huge and it is evolving fast, too fast for conscious control.

Gabriel writes: “this is something that’s going have way more impact than the Industrial Revolution and the nuclear bomb. So, if we don’t start anticipating what it might do, it’s going to be too late, because it’s very fast.”

Then he says:

“Some would argue [that you can’t replace] the [human] spirit — but I think there are probably going to be algorithms for the spirit, too! So, we might as well just grab the algorithms and dance with them, rather than fight them. … Unfortunately, I don’t think my job or anyone’s job is safe from AI.”

I don’t know what Gabriel means by the word ”spirit”. But I know that my sensible and sensitive point of view is my own experience.

The chatbot is already able to write a love letter, and is able to perform the behavior of a human in love. Of course it can do it: he has read Madame Bovary and Anna Karenina so it is able to recombine relevant information and utter a seductive enunciation. But the chatbot is not experiencing that kind of disquieting exciting affect.

Affect is beyond its capabilities.

But Gabriel gets intimidating:

“It’s coming whether we like it or not, so we might as well try and work with it rather than work against it, and make sure that there are programs in there that protect ethics and some sort of morality. “

The story of an ethical regulation of the intelligent technology is untenable. For centuries we have been discussing ethical rules,  ethical politics, ethical values. We did not reach any agreement.

Who will decide about moral and political alternatives? Who will establish the ethical rules governing artificial intelligence? Who will decide the limits of its military use?

Artificial intelligence itself?

The Gabriel conclusion, however, is incontrovertible:

“ If an intelligent species is so smart that it can destroy itself, it very often does. I hope we don’t fall into that trap, but we can have a wonderful party on the way to jumping over the cliff.”

We have deserved our own termination, and the extinction of human civilization that is underway.

Don’t be sad for this inconvenient detail.

On Wednesday 8 March 2023, Amsterdam Alternative is organising a discussion on collective digital property. This AA Talk is organised in the context of the web documentary AA is making about collective ownership. During this evening, we will discuss what digital collective ownership is or can be. We will discuss ideas that deal with ownership, use, management, community, knowledge and development around digital assets. Think cables, servers, systems, applications, hosting, privacy, social media, hacking, open source and licensing. Where do we make it collective and where do we run into limits?

Doors open: 19:30
Discussion: 20:00-22:00
Drinks at the bar: 22:00-23:00
Entrance: free
Language: Nederlands/English (mixed)
Location: Ventilator Cinema, 2nd floor OT301, Overtoom 301, Amsterdam

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We need to Collectivise the Internet

We cannot continue on the current path. That should be obvious. And if not, here’s a refresher paragraph: The internet is the old capitalist game in a new silicon jacket. The colonialization of our attention created a dependency a drug dealer would envy. Half the world despairs when WhatsApp goes down. Old capitalism with old interests hunts for new digital countries to suck dry every day. And as we get sucked into the whirlpool of Google, Meta and Apple, we lose the imagination that technology could also be different. We can no longer even imagine that a phone is not a rectangular piece of black glass. And that you wouldn’t carry it with you all the time. Can we still imagine a world where our sleep time is longer than our screen time? Many an activist could better imagine the end of the world than the end of the internet.

It is time for a collective digital striptease. Collectively, layer by layer, we toss the old internet onto the smouldering heaps of burnt plastic, melting copper and tiny sparkling bits of cobalt. We reject the apps and websites that parasitise our behaviour. We no longer tell our deepest secrets through chat apps that eavesdrop on us, and politely thank cheap electro junk that lasts only a year, but does continue to slow down the world before and after use.

Interest is the main reason for doing this. Whose interest? Whose interest does the internet serve? Is the app there for me, or for shareholders? Is the social network for us to talk to friends, or for ad networks and troll factories to trick society into behaving differently? Whose interest is served by using Google docs? Does a dating app earn more from me if I do or do not find the love of my life? Whose interest is being served? This a crucial question. Unfortunately, manufacturers of modern tech do everything they can to hide and disguise their interests. Easier than continuing to poke around in their annual reports and hoping for whistleblowers is to simply dismiss these unholy conflicts of interest. Just as we did before with collective housing and food co-ops, technology can also be made, managed and used in the best interests of yourself and your community. Then you know for sure how it works, why it works that way and what you get out of it.

And you don’t have to go and invent that yourself. Many have gone before us. We can learn from their work. Also, parts of the internet have never been colonised. These free ports have special powers that we can put to use elsewhere. But first, let me sketch out the landscape where we can start realising our collective dreams: On the one hand, the internet is ephemeral and intangible: the software side.

You use apps and websites. The apps come from an App Store. The websites need a browser. Appstore and browser run on an operating system. In addition, there are agreements about how these apps and websites get and send the information; the protocols of the Internet govern those agreements and we know them by such unimaginative names as HTTP, IMAP, IRC, ETC. (That last one is the protocol that indicates to the reader that there are many more, but I don’t feel like listing them all). Information comes and goes from your own computer to other computers.

And that’s the other side: the internet is also very material. Your computer and smartphone are made of plastic, steel and some other materials from China. The country where they bought in a few thousand different components from around the world to make the laptop. While your own computer is a lovingly cared-for, little thing that gets all the attention, the servers are crammed like boxed calves by the thousands in huge halls full of noise from cooling systems. The data centres are concrete and steel juggernauts, dependent on electricity from power plants, solar panels or windmills. Cables, modems, switches and eventually even thick submarine cables and satellites connect it all together.

The material side and the software side are also intimately intertwined. The smartphone in your pocket is many times more powerful than the computer that opinions used 10 years ago. There is enough power in it to probably provide you with all your computing needs for the rest of your life. But with the economic realities of updates and lack of support for old models, in a few years you will already have a new one. New hardware enables new software and vice versa.

Where do you start if you and your collective want to become owners of your own digital production resources?

There are free havens and settlements of resistance we can visit for inspiration. Some are older than the internet itself. They are websites made for the common good like Indymedia, it is an app like Mastodon, or a collection of services like those of Lurk.org or vvvvvaria.org. They are open protocols on which anyone can build new things like ActivityHub and Matrix, and alternative operating systems like Devuan or LineageOS. Or even whole parts infrastructure with servers and everything needed to keep it running around it like Disroot.org has built over the years. And while there are no collectives (that I know of) that make hardware, there are many that make software with the aim of being able to use existing hardware longer, like postmarketOS, an operating system for old phones, or Q4OS that still does it on a computer 300Mhz & 256MB RAM. For reference that’s a computer from the days when the internet still said kgggg beep when you accessed it. There is a world open to alternatives. We just need to organise around them.

Welcome to the world of Partly Automated not-so-Luxurious Trans*feminist Earth Anarchism. A future where the machine is taken care of by the collective it belongs to. A machine that helps the collective without harming others. A machine connected to other machines in an equal relationship with consent from both sides. No clients, no servers, no up and no download. A world full of friction, discomfort, poetry and happiness. A world where it still matters what is connected to whom, but where we ourselves make the connections we need and disconnect the ones that no longer matter. And the occasional computer that stops working and refuses to apologise for it.

Curious about more? Put this newspaper aside, turn off your phone and come to the AA Talk at OT301 (Fan cinema on the 2nd floor) on Wednesday 8 March. We will then explore the world of collective digital ownership together in an open conversation between creators, thinkers and builders. Because we all see that the current capitalist internet must be broken.

On the third day of the Post-Precarity Autumn Camp, the participants had the chance to get an insight into alternative financial pathways of the digital art world. Geert Lovink of the Institute of Network Cultures gave an introduction to the research network MoneyLab that seeks to explore alternative revenue models, as well as to pose the ever-relevant questions of (re)defining the concept of money, especially in the context of the possibilities and limitations the digital monetary infrastructures provide. Succeeding that, artist and researcher Rosa Menkman delved into the complexities of cryptocurrencies and the digital artwork circulation as conceptualized through non-fungible tokens (NFTs). During this workshop, the participants gained insight into the curious structures of online art markets and possible strategies they might utilize for capitalizing off of them. The second part of the day was devoted to embedding the workshop into the social, historical, and artistic contexts of its locality. After lunch, Marisella de Cuba presented the activities of the organization We Promise that is devoted to challenging and overcoming colonial, racist, and discriminatory currents in Hoorn. The day was wrapped up with an art walk with Martijn Aerts which, despite the shifty and at times unfavorable weather, combined the playful with critical during the tour of the historical and artistic markers of the town.

PARTICIPANTS’ REFLECTIONS OF THE DAY, IN NO PARTICULAR ORDER

Twenty participants of Post-precarity Autumn Camp, jointly organized by the Platform BK, Institute of Network Cultures, and Hotel Maria Kappel have gathered in Hotel Maria Kappel in Hoorn to commence a five-day journey into the intricacies of overcoming the late-capitalist challenges artists encounter in aims to keep their practice alive and prosperous. The topic of the first day entailed working in the gig economy. Silvio Lorusso, designer, researcher, and author of Entreprecariat: Everyone is an Entrepreneur. Nobody is Safe. kicked off the day’s program with a lecture on the popular freelance platform Fiverr. Silvio analyzed how user interface design, as well as imagery on the platform, represent as well as shape labour relations and provide novel meanings of the role of the freelancer. Following that, artist and researcher (as well as gig-worker) Alina Lupu reflected on her working and artistic practice that merged her income-earning on the food delivery platform Deliveroo with her artistic work on labour and mobilization of union movements that she was a part of. As a part of her workshop, participants presented their various funding streams during the years, which posited the professional history as strangely intimate, enabling the participants to overcome the salary taboo – one of the main capitalist instruments of obedience. Tirza Kater presented a brief history and activities of Hotel Maria Kappel and the day concluded with a grounded Mindfulness workshop by Susan.

SIDE JOB HISTORY OF THE PARTICIPANTS, IN NO PARTICULAR ORDER

Passive income. Not to dream of labor. Retiring at 30. Drop-shipping. E-commerce. Digital products. You’ve probably already heard of these words, terms, life goals. They have been referred to quite a lot over the past years, marketed as one of the many fast and concrete strategies to generate money and expand your wealth. To me, they became noticeable when they started appearing on my Youtube, Instagram, and Medium feeds, just around the time when the pandemic struck. While a lot of us were quite severely attacked economically, others started to benefit from the digitalization of work and transactions. Perhaps you, too, have found yourself drawn to ads in which ‘making easy money’ is promised, with their strange and fascinating reality, educating you on the mechanism of this ‘new’ economy as well as its successful leaders. It can feel smooth and soft to be caught up in their discourses, listening to the voices of advertisers whispering about what seems to be the newest dream of our generation: passive income through digital products, and its promise of making money while doing (almost) nothing.

The advertised path of selling digital products

Figure 1, Screenshot from google search: How to make money online

Look up, if you will, the following in your search engine: Making Money Online. It is probably not universal science, but you will quite likely find similar answers to the ones listed above: ‘start drop shipping’, ‘try print on demand’, or, lastly, ‘make money with affiliate marketing’. If your algorithm by now did not yet recommend videos of ‘experts’ explaining their ‘leadership methods’, and if you still don’t have a clue what this is all about, you can easily find resources by typing ‘e-book’, ‘print on demand’, ‘drop shipping’, and ‘affiliate marketing’. Here, you’ll find a bunch of people sharing their knowledge very willingly, as well as their experiences so you don’t have to make the same mistakes as they did. Existing within a digital society where goods can be immaterial, reproducible and transactions can be facilitated to the point where they become almost invisible, it has never been so easy to make money online – if we are to believe these digital guru’s words. 

Figure 2, Screenshot from Youtube ads Free Challenge with the 7-day Revenue

For me, there is a dissonance in my relationship with these practices. They fascinate me as much as they make me question my own convictions. Being a by-product of this economy myself, and experiencing both what it gives and takes away, I am forced to admit that I, too, would not refuse the pleasures of absolute financial freedom. Given the current circumstances and crisis of the past two years, we all seem to understand the precious costs of life — the importance of doing something useful with our lives. Therefore extra earnings, and if possible sustainable ones, would surely make everyone feel more at ease in their own positions: the desire for this life of comfort needs no deconstruction.

Should we then condemn these e-commerce and internet-driven businesses, for given us (false) hopes or a capitalist way of life? No, because, in fact, they are quite genius. They enabled a form of independence for many individuals trying to escape their precarious lifestyle. In the article: ‘It’s bullshit’: Inside the weird, get-rich-quick world of dropshipping’,  writer Sirin Kale underlines what it means for young people to start a business. Quite often it means being financially and mentally free from the burden of loans, or the future’s uncertainty. 

‘I didn’t want the 250k in debt that would have happened if I’d continued with dentistry. My parents were so stressed. I saw them get older, right before my eyes, with the stress. I felt like this guilt, all the trauma like I was to blame. My sister almost went to community college because we spent all the money on me.’

Figure 3, Meme from the webpage Sheek Freaks, Post #25: The Best Ways for You to Make Money While You Sleep

Still, these financial dynamics should always be apprehended in the context of their history. It is important to understand why such individuals would give these businesses a try, and why they dream of becoming, one day, successful e-commerce business owners themselves. For who knows — later on, they could even become a mentor to those starting out. A lot of people of both the Millennial generation and younger are exhausted. They feel rejected, abandoned by this society. They don’t dream of doing more work, specifically ‘labor work’. But to dream of no labor often means getting individual financial freedom through questionable aims. 

While some of us might hope to get rid of our day-to-day work, this dream implies that there’s someone else doing this labor for us. Whether it’s your newsletter, filling in the e-mail list, repairing your computer CPU, or cleaning your kitchen: the labor always still needs to be done by someone. Therefore, in dreaming of the absence of labor and hopes of getting financial freedom, it is important to ask certain questions regarding the ethics of this new ideology. To become a boss and lead a business might be the new fantasy of our neo-liberal society, and a perfect example of how individual needs are moving front and center. By trying to survive in our own way, and perhaps even thrive, we might all be tempted to generate passive income and the peculiar strategies behind it. Still, the implications behind this money-making scheme go far beyond the individual.

The promise of a sustainable dream

With this aim of making money online and the attempt to generate passive income, there is a desire to gain (absolute) freedom. To spend more time with our loved ones, to do the things that genuinely excite us, and to generate a narrative for our lives that resonates with us. It is an understandable feeling, specifically given the uncertainty of our times. But let’s not forget: we are in the middle of a crisis. An economic and social one, that has been enhanced by climate conditions and ecological catastrophes. A crisis which has been aggravated by our current economy, the overproduction of goods and their transportations through the world by non-sustainable transport. While many individuals claim that leading businesses and generating wealth online is eldorado, this thought leads us to wonder, should we then all become ‘digital entrepreneurs’? 

E-commerce and digital products seem to propose an alternative to our more old-fashioned practices, our ways to consume, and show us the potential of financial liberation. But what exactly are the implications and dynamics behind these practices? Currently, there are three main practices: print on demand, drop shipping, and affiliated marketing.

Print On Demand

‘Print on demand is a printing technology and business process in which copies are not printed until the company receives an order, allowing prints of single or small quantities’.– Wikipedia

While this definition, given by Wikipedia, seems to imply a more sustainable means of production, the concept of print on demand enables anyone to become a shop owner and create lines of clothes or objects to be shipped anywhere. By looking closely at the many different seller options, we see platforms that are smoothly designed in a way that makes website creation and clothing design seem effortless. Once the product is created, printed, and sold, the seller earns his money based on the margin profit. In order to sell, they’ll also have to advertise their products. 

In looking at this production scheme, we don’t even have to ask if we need more T-shirts. What we must ask ourselves is whether it might not be more sustainable to buy one at your local shop, thus supporting a small business instead of a big corporation The way we’re being advertised these ‘genius’ strategies and their minimalist design, however, makes us tempted to design one, buy one anyway, and to even give the whole idea a try. If the strategy doesn’t work, the state of things seems to remain the same, but if it does, how will we then stop ourselves from participating in this economy without any critical notion?

Figure 4, RedBubble Spontaneous T-Shirts examples

In the article ‘Is Your Greta Thunberg T-Shirt Contributing to Climate Change?’ journalist Jasmin Malik Chua explains quite clearly the ambiguous relationship between trying to support your ideological hero and the actual consequences of merchandising: 

‘But the problem with T-shirts, even those purporting to promote climate action, is they’re especially hard on the environment. Just growing the cotton that goes into one can take 2,700 liters of water — enough for a person to drink for two-and-a-half years — and, if it isn’t farmed organically, a third of a pound of pesticides and other agricultural chemicals.’

While the initial ambition behind print-on-demand could help with the overproduction of products, it makes it possible for any individual to produce merch and advertise products that they’ve never seen or touched themselves. When platforms like RedBubble or TeeSpring emerged, intending to produce fewer goods, they may have had an inverted effect: if every individual starts their own brand, production will be limitless. If we believe in reducing fashion output, maybe we don’t need another cat t-shirt in our closet.

Yet who’s to blame? The platform, the digital gurus telling us to all get on board, or us, the consumers? Whether starting these businesses is ethical or not does not seem for the user/seller to decide. Still, behind the non-demanding aspect of these projects hours of labor are hidden. Labor that goes into producing the goods, but also labor that’s behind the effort and publicity to sell the product. The luckiest ones will surely sell their t-shirt, and their fantasy of ‘becoming rich fast’ will become reality. Many of these wanna-be entrepreneurs however will remain unsuccessful, desperately trying to find a new niche, trying to sell the customer something they never knew they needed. 

 Dropshipping

In the case of dropshipping, where digital entrepreneurs sell a cheaply imported product from a manufacturer overseas for a higher price, not only the quality of the products but also the conditions of the workers are important factors to take into consideration. Dropshipping providers and suppliers, quite often located in  America and Asia (such as Amazon, Alibaba, Ali Express, and many others), make their employees work terrible working hours in inhuman conditions. It is because the production costs are so cheap that the Western individual can profit from it. When analyzed, the power offered by drop shipping services and the potential individual financial freedom gained from these businesses has one big main cost: the living conditions of others down the production chain. Alibaba and Ali Express surely do not have a bright reputation, Amazon either. We all are aware of the awful settings of big manufacturers. For those who weren’t in the article, Green America noted in the article ‘Amazon: Labor Issues At Home And Abroad’, ‘​​Workers report long hours, timed bathroom breaks, surveillance of work productivity/speed, intense isolation from others, physically demanding quotas, and other difficult conditions to work under. These working conditions take a physical and mental toll on the workers, who are often treated more as a data set or a robot than as humans.’

Figure 5, Website Design UK For Internet Startup Business Ideas Drop shipping Startup Website For Sale – Website Design UK

Dropshipping platforms are so easily and minimally designed so that anyone with an internet connection can become a shop owner and promote products in a matter of minutes. Numerous YouTube videos will teach you how to find the key product, the nice object, the valuable good which will surely sell. If everything goes smoothly, the drop shipper will hardly see any transactions happening. If the clients happen to be discontent about the products, they will then have to proceed to administrative follow-up with the providers, which sometimes happens to be difficult because of the provider’s location distance. So the next time our expensive water bottle from a chic website takes five weeks to arrive in the mail, we can guess where it was from. Once again, the question of the locality and transportations of the products arises. The crisis we are in demonstrated how every transaction and transportation is globalized and how limited we are when the world stops. But then, the sky got clearer, oceans were brighter. If we get back to how it was before and start to all partake in these digital economic transactions, what would have we learned from our previous lessons? 

Affiliate Marketing

Figure 6, Screenshot from the webpage Affiliate Marketing in 2021: How to Find High-Paying Programs and Start Your Affiliate Business

When it comes to affiliate marketing, it is, to say the least, non-laborious. Affiliate marketing is the process of earning money (commissions) every time you promote a company’s products or services and drive a sale. One click can generate profit. On the other hand, its sustainability very much depends on the products shared with the audience and the platform they are initially shipped from. Affiliate marketing links can be a great way to support certain industries by also being rewarded for it. Through each link and product bought, the seller can make interesting margins by, quite simply, sharing an URL. Sadly, it is quite often websites such as Amazon or other massive suppliers which offer these possibilities, as they remain the main owners of stocks. To partake in partnership with these companies would not be as problematic if these suppliers would somehow act and change their policy and treatment in terms of human conditions, climate change, and perhaps even commit to their promises. But they don’t. 

ʻDespite Amazon’s public commitment to renewable energy, the world’s largest cloud computing company is hoping no one will notice that it’s still powering its corner of the internet with dirty energy,” said Greenpeace USA Senior Corporate Campaigner Elizabeth Jardim. “Unless Amazon and other cloud giants in Virginia change course, our growing use of the internet could lead to more pipelines, more pollution, and more problems for our climate.’

Greenpeace Finds Amazon Breaking Commitment to Power Cloud with 100% Renewable Energy 

While many argue that e-commerce has suppressed a lot of unnecessary costs of in-store shopping, perhaps even lowering the consumption of clients, let’s not forget that buying online will remain the new normal and that these actions have many other problematic implications. The report ‘E-Commerce and Its Environmental Impact, 2020’  emphasized the status of these businesses and how they infiltrated our everyday lives. Although the premises of e-commerce promised a more conscious behavior towards consumerism, the research notes:

‘Nevertheless, the determination of the environmental impact of E-Commerce is complicated by a range of considerations, including local transportation practices, and the type of delivery vehicles used by merchants, among others.’

Studies have demonstrated that even after the pandemic, people will quite likely continue to shop online. E-commerce and digital products will expand and remain, which makes this a great moment to reflect on the businesses partnerships we want to partake in.

On the relevance and power of digital goods

If you’ve read this text this far, you’ve probably been tempted to cross the line into e-commerce yourself. Perhaps you’ve contemplated selling illustrations on a silk-screened tee-shirt. Looked up cameras and gears on Amazon Affiliates. Maybe, just maybe, it’s even already too late. It is hard to resist the appeal of working with these companies and platforms because they make their transactions so effortless and because they are the main providers of products. As many gurus have stated: ‘It has never been so easy. Due to the hypocrisy behind these practices, it is also complex to be critical and reject the possibilities when these transactions are made to run so smoothly. It can be difficult to refuse these alluring financial gains when you’re living a precarious life. Sitting there, behind our screen, you’re being sold the idea that this is the only road towards independence, towards individual freedom, and therefore that this is a fair outcome. Perhaps it’s true that all of us can become e-commerce business owners, but what would happen if every individual actually started producing their own merch? Advertised products every single day? Drop shipped products from third world countries for rich people to buy? What would be the landscape of such a society look like? We will be almost 10 billion people in 2050; surely we’ll need more pencils, more online classes, more silly t-shirts. But more than that, we’ll need more care. As we will be both numerous and digitally literate, we also have to keep an eye on the many different ways in which these goods are produced and under which (harmful) conditions.

Existing in the same market, however, are sustainable digital products and e-commerce businesses. It is now possible to sell classes and courses offering a myriad of tools and knowledge which we can learn from, all made possible without having to travel, without the need for public transport, psychical aids, nothing more than our couch at home and our screen. The e-book, only printed selectively, has quite a sustainable effect on our paper consumption. Affiliate marketing can be an interesting way to mention valuable and ethical products. Interesting platforms such as Patreon and OnlyFans also exist, supporting different aims and businesses, offering more independence to their workers (although OnlyFans, of course, recently displayed a troubling attitude towards the sex workers using their platform). Selling online classes on Udemy, Skillshare or any other platform has made education more accessible and cheaper for people all around the world. The digital economy we now live in has enabled us to experiment and create new possibilities for ourselves, demonstrating the capabilities and potential of positive change existing within society.

As a result of this current climate, being an entrepreneur and owning a business is the new ‘do it yourself, sustainably’ lifestyle. It is, indeed, one of the ways in which an individual nowadays can follow their own path and become independent. While our economy is shifting towards a more freelance/gig-based economy, our economic status becomes more and more precarious. So then launching your own business and generating passive income seems like, the ideal opportunity to achieve true independence. The time is now to consider our own role in this digital creative economy. What if we turn it into something that is sustainable, shareable? It is tempting to take an individual, glorified path without questioning it. Perhaps to be critical is a privilege. Nevertheless, it is necessary and urgent to ask ourselves: how are our actions going to help the current situation we’re in? Not everyone has to come up with an ingenious plan. It’s not just the responsibility of the individual: both the companies and their transactions need to be fully transparent about the conditions of labor behind it, and the implications on humankind and on the planet. In this ‘survival mode’ where one desperately needs to succeed in life, let’s think about the outcomes of such attitudes. Let’s think of ways to use the (economic) digital space to create fairness and equity. It is a question of survival for both our intellect and our bodies, but also mainly for our world. Asking ourselves: how do we build wealth, and at what cost?

Articles

Cassady Craighill, ‘Greenpeace Finds Amazon Breaking Commitment to Power Cloud with 100% Renewable Energy’, Green Peace,  13 ​​February 2019,https://www.greenpeace.org/usa/news/greenpeace-finds-amazon-breaking-commitment-to-power-cloud-with-100-renewable-energy/

Green America, ‘Amazon: Labor Issues At Home And Abroad’, Green America https://www.greenamerica.org/amazon-labor-exploitation-home-and-abroad

Jasmin Malik Chua, ‘Is your Greta Thunberg T-shirt contributing to climate change?’, Fashionista, 24 October 2019, https://fashionista.com/2019/10/greta-thunberg-shirts-merch-climate-change

Sirin Kale, ‘‘It’s bullshit’: Inside the weird, get-rich-quick world of dropshipping’, Wired, 1st June 2020, https://www.wired.co.uk/article/dropshipping-instagram-ads

Report 

“The Environmental Impact of E-Commerce 2020”, DUBLIN, Jan. 23, 2020 /PRNewswire/ — https://www.prnewswire.com/news-releases/e-commerce-and-its-environmental-impact-2020—amazon-alibaba–zalando-making-efforts-to-curb-their-impact-through-logistics-efficiencies-electric-vehicle-deliveries-recycled-packaging-materials-300992270.html

Websites

Only Fans, https://onlyfans.com/.

Patreons, https://www.patreon.com/. 

Red Bubble, https://www.redbubble.com/.

SkillShare, https://www.skillshare.com/home. 

Teespring,  https://teespring.com/.

Udemy, https://www.udemy.com/. 

Morgane Billuart is a visual artist and writer who investigates the ways technological and digital advancements can help us create tools and experiences that serve us best and permit some sort of emancipation rather than alienation. She believes this can only happen through self-organization and the alliance of disciplines as well as diverse forms of expertise.

I click on a weblink that prompts me to join a room. The room is dark and drenched in a purple hue: blue and red hexagonal tiles rotate along the perimeter. Large text reads “WELCOME TO THE WWWUNDERKAMMER.” Up ahead is a massive VR headset with portals in the place of apps revealing a map that allows me to transport to other rooms. There are 22 from which to choose. I click on one and enter. From there, the tour begins.

Time feels slippery as you explore New York City-based transmedia artist Carla Gannis’s wwwunderkammer (2020), an immersive virtual installation. At once anachronistic and futuristic, you’re both taken back in time and catapulted into the future. This is how one might describe the internet, a database, or any other collection of information, which is what the wwwunderkammer is at its core: an archive. Inspired by the 16^th century wunderkammer (German for “wonder chamber”) of Western Europe, the wwwunderkammer is a cabinet of curiosities updated for the 21^st century, as denoted by the work’s name, a cheeky reference to the world wide web. The original wunderkammer were a kind of proto museum that housed a curated selection of objects. “They were entire rooms,” reflects Gannis, “often filled with exotica, and then we run into the problematic sub-orientalism, exoticism, and of course colonialism.” References to art history, popular culture, and politics are a fixture of Gannis’s work, but she is careful to avoid reconstructing historical references and, instead, contextualizes them pluralistically, a “remixing” of history that speaks to her interests, which are, in her words, “vast, and large, and maximalist.” In contrast to its predecessor, Gannis’s wwwunderkammer reflects this sensibility toward openness and maximalism. She and I spoke at length, avatar-to-avatar, while teleporting around the wwwunderkammer together to discuss how it came together and how she plans to expand it.

As an interactive digital installation, the wwwunderkammer’s behavior is, by design, performative and unstable, resisting a centuries-old didacticism and power dynamic common to curation and collection practices. Rather than entering a fixed space of collected information, one gets the impression of entering a place that is meant to be meaningful but shifting. Like many of Gannis’s projects, wwwunderkammer is iterative, entirely or in part translated into evolving formats to accommodate different venues, platforms, and accessibility requirements, and thus yields different participant experiences. The work began in a brick-and-mortar setting with a debut at Telematic Media Arts gallery in San Francisco, USA in the fall of 2020. Comprising physical objects, prints, video animation, and XR (virtual reality and augmented reality), the exhibition was cut short by the Covid-19 pandemic shutdown. Like most things, the wwwunderkammer then went online: Gannis completely adapted the work to a virtual installation using Hubs by Mozilla, an open-source, customizable mixed reality VR chatroom accessible through headset or web browser. Being forced to move online was, in a sense, a useful fate for this project, as it then had the opportunity to not only engage but inhabit and enact the language of the internet more fully.

A screenshot of the runway leading to the game cabinet castle.

“It is an object of the internet with its own digital materiality,” says Gannis, who consulted her architect partner while creating the preliminary sketches of the chambers and access points of the virtual installation. Visitors can enter through multiple pathways. There is a lobby and a main gallery, both of which are organized to guide visitors toward different collections, plus a game cabinet castle entrance that leads you down a long runway toward a giant retro video game arcade cabinet. The environment references some of Gannis’s inspirations: the wallpaper inside the main gallery is a nod to Janet Murray’s pioneering Hamlet on the Holodeck: The Future of Narrative in Cyberspace (first published in 1997), the grid pattern on the “floor” is a reference to the science fiction horror film The Lawnmower Man (1992, dir. Brett Leonard); and “a cabinet of curiosities without a video game cabinet castle in the 21^st century would be remiss,” quips Gannis.

There are references to popular culture, tech history, and science fiction everywhere. Gannis mentions Rainer Werner Fassbinder’s surreal TV series World on a Wire (1973) in passing, demonstrating her orientation toward speculative fiction. Digital objects line the walls of the main gallery and are perpetually animated, a stimulation of jittery GIFs. The names of content experts flash and link to pre-recorded interviews as hidden Easter eggs among the maximalist wall-to-wall collection. The vibrant aesthetic of the environment is owed to the use of high-key, saturated colors of mostly blue and red, which together form a bold purple. This color palette is a way to “subvert the formal or traditional architecture that we’re in right now.” One could say it’s also a way of pulling us inside our screens and into our long-term memories, accessing the fictional worlds of science fiction film and literature. The speculative fictional worlds of our collective imaginations are here reenacted.

The main gallery of the wwwunderkammer.

The sensation of mutability this produces is intentional. Having worked in a library — Gannis’s first job in New York was running the library at the New York Studio School — she acknowledges the limitations of archives as biased storage sites and narrow communicators of cultural knowledge and invites us to reconsider their static and didactic positions. “In terms of the experience itself, I like it being open to interpretation. You don’t see wall tags, things that are delineating what these different cabinets are, because I think of this as a visual language with a kind of surrealistic bent that is open to interpretation and has more fluidity in that way,” explains Gannis. In formally remaking the archive, she is in a sense rescuing the archive from itself by bringing it to life rather than allowing its contents to get lost in obscurity.

The wwwunderkammer does more than house information about history, politics, art, and cultural values. The work itself is performative. In this way, the wwwunderkammer performs the archive, not merely exists as one. This distinction is important. As we wander around the wwunderkammer together, Gannis clarifies how she thinks of each of the collections, which have their own locations, as places rather than spaces. “Spaces are more functional and serve a utilitarian function,” Gannis muses. “I feel that these are more places: they have a specific intent and cultural resonance.” Objects dance and jiggle in place, music pulsates, hyperlinks flash: all as if electrified by the material contents of the built environment’s infrastructure. The wwwunderkammer radiates an energy unique to the internet: an everchanging, dynamic place of cultural knowledge, both represented by the archivist and the archived. This is also advanced by the collaboration between Gannis and other artists and thinkers who’ve curated their own wonder chambers and given expert interviews with one of Gannis’s alter ego avatars. This phase of the project is about expanding the cabinets Gannis initially conceived based on the scholarship and expertise of others through interviews conducted by Gannis’s AI-controlled avatars, which are accessible from the main gallery. Charlotte Kent reflects on humor and the absurd; Leah Roh addresses the importance of sex positivity, and Regina Harsanyi discusses digital preservation. Gannis has plans to include additional chambers and interviews to increase the depth and breadth of cultural information offered through this evolving project.

A screenshot of Leah Roh being interviewed by Moira.

The wwwunderkammer is doubtlessly the product of a cyberfeminist ethos, which is a feminist approach to the use of and creation with technology that imagines and fosters alternative practices and politics toward operating differently in the world. One of Gannis’s cabinets features Lucille Trackball — an AI-based stand-up comedian Gannis created about three years ago — and is “dedicated to female-identified comedians from around the world, of different abilities and of different gender orientations.” Among other things, it’s a response to both the reinforcing of gender bias through female-sounding voice assistants in computing and the use of humor as a way for women to obtain agency. Lucille Trackball comedically interviews Charlotte Kent to talk more about the latter. AI, in this context, isn’t promoting a new commodity, rather a new interface and intelligence centered on humor. Likewise, AI is used to train the wallpaper lining of the shelves of the cabinets with image datasets Gannis created. Hardly noticeable without having it pointed out, it “speaks to the fact that almost all of our experiences today involve some aspect or mechanism of AI.”

The dark side of AI and computing sit in contrast to the high-key colors as crucial reminders of the reality and complexity of our digital environment and the world in which it is created. Though Gannis dispenses with labels and taxonomies that might restrict meaning, there are signs everywhere of her sociopolitical awareness. The word DECOLONIZE and a reference to Ruha Benjamin’s concept of the New Jim Code — discriminatory designs that encode inequity — flash alongside text that reads BLACK LIVES MATTER and an emoji wearing a protective face mask, among other signifiers of the past year and a half. In other cabinets, the word VOTE, an Etch-a-Sketch, a hashtag, a copy of Frankenstein, endangered animals, and other objects collectively and fragmentedly tell the story of life, death, humanity, society, politics, technology, and more.

As an archive, the wwwunderkammer performs the admission of its own limitations: it relies on the contributions of others, responds well to flexibility, and rejects the goal and claim of completion. These are markers of a unique kind of technical object that pushes against the established order in the age of the database, the primary mode of cultural expression and post-narrative device of the 21^st century, to borrow from Lev Manovich. But Gannis’s work is additionally subversive in its attempt to decolonize the archive through its reimagining, shared authorship, and inclusivity. “We are faced with the reality,” writes Legacy Russell, “that we will never be given the keys to a utopia architected by hegemony.” As a work that performs the archive, the wwwunderkammer is designed to mutate and respond to various needs and prompts, being created in necessary fits and starts, which are sometimes presented in the form of a glitch or problem. Moving the work online is one important way to make it available virtually everywhere and for everyone, but even this has its limitations. Gannis recalls that an earlier iteration of the main gallery was created in a higher resolution, which prevented some visitors in Western Europe to easily access it, based on their connection. Gannis had to reduce the quality of the work, lowering the barrier to entry, to again conform to the language of the internet.

Here it’s easy to recognize hints of Hito Steyerl’s poor image. In her essay, In Defense of the Poor Image, she discusses the hierarchy of images and the neoliberal impulse to insist on the “aesthetic premise” of a “rich image” at the expense of sharing it. The tragedy of this snobbish inclination is that images are often rendered invisible, “disappearing again into the darkness of the archive.” Poor images, by contrast, are “popular images—images that can be made and seen by the many.” For Gannis, sacrificing quality benefits the masses, democratizing the image and thus rendering the archive an accessible place. Likewise, it doubles as a force against the possibility of feeling pedantic. “In a way, being less crisp, it gives more room for the intention of these kinds of constructions, these taxonomies not being static, not being fixed or completely clear.”

The wwwunderkammer behaves more like an archive for the people, a library open to all, than a proto museum, like its predecessor. The work, like every performance, will change and adapt, reflecting the material instability of the digital object as much as the culture, politics, and people it represents.

—

NATASHA CHUK is a critical theorist and writer whose research and interests focus on creative technologies as systems of language at the intersection of formality, expression, interface, and perception. She teaches courses in film studies, video game studies, digital cultures, aesthetics, and art history at the School of Visual Arts in New York City.

Theory on Demand #41
Pandemic Exchange
How Artists Experience the COVID-19 Crisis
Edited by Josephine Bosma

News reports on the Covid-19 pandemic seldom include how the virus and the societal lockdowns affect artists. A lively circuit of cultural events, meetings, and exhibitions has come to an almost complete stop, leaving artists often not just with a significant drop in income but also bereft of their vital and supporting social communities. Art writer and curator Josephine Bosma, feeling quite cut off herself after a year of lockdowns and too much screen time, saw both desperate and relieved outcries from artists popping up through the glossy algorithmic veneer on social media. She decided to reach out to some of the more outspoken voices. From this an interview project was born, which grew into this collection of heartfelt stories and brief reports from artists trying to survive the pandemic and sometimes finding unexpected ways to do so.

Authors: Annie Abrahams, Lucas Bambozzi, Dennis de Bel, !Mediengruppe Bitnik, S()fia Braga, Arcangelo Constantini, Tiny Domingos, John Duncan, Nancy Mauro Flude, Ben Grosser, Adham Hafez, Sachiko Hayashi, Lynn Hershman Leeson, Garnet Hertz, Jennifer Kanary, Brian Mackern, Miltos Manetas, Lorna Mills, Daniela de Paulis, Tina La Porta, Archana Prasad, Melinda Rackham, Michelle Teran, Mare Tralla, Igor Vamos, Ivar Veermäe.

Editor: Josephine Bosma
Cover design: Katja van Stiphout
Design and E-Pub development: Agnieszka Wodzińska
ISBN PaperBack: 978-94-02302-74-8
ISBN E-Pub: 978-94-92302-75-5

Contact
Institute of Network Cultures

This publication is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International (CC BY-NC-SA 4.0)

Pre-Order the book HERE
Get the pdf HERE
Get the Epub HERE

During the first lockdown in March 2020, my whole family freaked out. We thought it was the end of the world. My brother traveled home to Europe from California where he was studying and for the first days, he wore a mask that I had never seen before. It was shaped like a bird’s beak, with two crossing strips of material and sort of pointy in the front. He reminded me of the plague doctors in the 17^th century as he slumped around the house, his head drooped in the pointy mask. In those days my mother was scrubbing her hands so frequently with vinegar and bleach she developed a rash. It was chaos.

I teased my brother about it at the beginning until he told me “it’s an N95, my girlfriend gave it to me & they are impossible to get Klara. I can’t believe you’ve never seen one.”

So the mask, the mask actually makes me feel sexier. I walk down the street and each look I receive seems deeper and more intense. As if for lack of other signifiers the eyes become the one thing we can hook on to.  It also makes me feel safer, I can maintain eye contact longer than usual. I sense more longing somehow. I feel matrixi a bit, whooshing around with a secret purpose. I sometimes forget I am wearing it. I take it off when I realize, struggling on the bike to rip it off with some sense of urgency, even though it makes me feel warm and protected.  But I take it off out of some intuitive principle, to be a human. To expose my human signifiers.

The Austrian chancellor Sebastian Kurz observed that the resistance toward public mask-wearing in Europe stems from the theological roots of Western life. There is an innate belief that the truth is “unveiled”, and that the face is where our personhood is represented. The uncovered mouth betrays our deepest selves. The chancellor mused that this mask resistance is subtly linked to the European resistance to Islamic face-veiling. The act of unveiling features prominently in Christian liturgy, and this part of our history maintains that the only way to truly know God is to see him face-to-face. In Islam, Allah is veiled in light, and mortals cannot face him in this life. Similar to the Christian belief, to face him in the next life is considered the greatest honor and blessing and the only way one can know Truth.

The word mask in itself has sinister roots in different languages; the French word masque means ‘to guard the face’, in Catalan mascara mans ‘blackening the face’ and the Latin word masca means ‘nightmare’. No wonder covering one’s face is often identified with danger and criminality. The mask is used to hide one’s identity, one’s ultimate truth.  Worn to signal a threat to others from the safe confines of anonymity. Worn by bank robbers and hooligans. Worn by protestors and the French Black Block, an anarchist organization that move en masse, all dressed in black and their faces completely masked. They attack and damage storefronts and other symbols of capitalism, and when the police try to arrest one of the Black Block, the other members swarm around the policemen like locus and free their endangered comrade. They work as a hive, empowered by their lack of facial features and unique signifiers.

At the beginning of the pandemic, it was awkward wearing one. Often I felt judged by my radical liberal friends as if I was buying into this plot, this narrative our institutions impose upon us poor plebs. The mandatory mask as a critical stage in conditioning us to accept abuses of our liberties. For the greater good though. I also felt judged for not wearing one in a public space where everyone else was masked as if I was not doing my best to protect society. At the beginning of the pandemic, when we were still less accustomed to it, I received judgmental looks, whether I wore it or not. Or maybe I’m paranoid.

The mask itself has become a signifier, how you wear it and why, a mark of social recognition. The symbol of a mask is emotional, and a site for cultural and political wars. It is not purely a vessel of public health.

Todd McGowan, an American academic studying the politics of the pandemic writes: “Wearing a mask indicates a stance of universality, a liberal belief that you are never simply yourself but always extend into the other, just as the other extends into you.” Universality as a belief that society should be built around the principle of mutual protection. The masked symbolize their belief of being part of a larger tribe, a tribe that doesn’t recognize other masked people as isolated subjects but rather as intrinsically bound to each other. A vision of society that is distinctly anti-capitalist, fighting the prioritizing of isolated individuals as a critique of the ruling liberal philosophy.

According to McGowan, the conservative inclination toward rejecting the mask is in fact rejecting universality and the wider collective. A capitalist approach in the sense that each subject pursues their own identity and interests regardless of its effect on others. The reason why the mask is often ridiculed by representatives of conservative parties, like Trump, Bolasanaro, and the Dutch Thierry Baudet is that “the obstruction of universality is a precondition for the right-wing populist practices, which are based on acquiring an identity through the attachment to a national, religious or ethnic project.” The identity of universalism as demonstrated by the willingness to wearing a mask is thus a barrier to populism, as it offers a universal and inherently compassionate identity.

The added value of libidinal enjoyment drawn from the transgressive thrill of disobeying the social norm only makes the conservative populist agenda more potent, and the possibility of not wearing a mask more exciting.

Though polls do suggest that more conservatives reject masks, the main reason referred to regardless of political identification is the curbing of civil liberties. The term ‘psychological reactance’ aptly fits this phenomenon, which is described by S. Taylor and G. Asmundsonas as a “motivational response to rules, regulation, or attempts at persuasion that are perceived as threatening ones sense of control, autonomy and freedom of choice.”

The feeling of losing control can be universally applied to citizens struggling to see their impact within a quickly spiraling corporatized and digitally bureaucratized world. It’s too easy to draw the line between liberal and conservative, universal and particular, selfless and selfish. This analysis of separating the universalists from the individualists is general enough to make sense, but does not address the morphing boundaries of a post-truth era where the rules that governed political philosophy in the 20^th century do not fully apply.

The anti-mask and anti-Covid regulation protests that unfolded all over the world in fact consisted of people across the political spectrum. As the New York Times reported when covering the Covid lockdown protests in Germany; “It was a bizarre mix of people: families and senior citizens were joined by right-wing extremists, some sporting swastika tattoos.”

The interesting thing that mandatory mask-wearing triggered was a union of the radicals, as demonstrated by the horseshoe theory. The horseshoe theory states that the political continuum is not linear but bent, like a horseshoe, with the most extreme divisions of each camp almost touching in their beliefs. Thus my radical liberal friends may draw information from radical right-wing news channels that support their theories concerning the negative and yet unknown long-term effects of vaccinations and the conspiratorial origins of the Covid battling regulations. Regardless of the outlandishness of most conspiracy theories, they are all tied to an unwavering distrust in traditional media which includes the distrust of traditional scientific methods.

The far ends of the polarized left and right are remote enough on the spectrum of political poles to unite in their belief which is essentially a deep distrust of the current governing organs and the whole political infrastructure in its core; ie. “the system”. The distrust of masks in this context represents crumbling faith in institutions and representative democracy itself and is a reflection not only on the pandemic but on the wider expanse of our political climate. There need not be complex psychological adjustments in mask marketing, because the core of the issue lies with the weakening pillars of confidence that are necessary for a well-functioning society; confidence in ourselves, confidence in others, and confidence in institutions.  All three constituents of that confidence condition each other – taking out one and the other two would implode and collapse.  (Zygmunt Bauman)

To be clear and on the record; the mask you choose and how you wear it can potentially protect people around you from exposure to your viral load.

Under-the-nose/around the wrist; The basic ones, the sheep. They follow regulations but when they wear the mask it is under the nose or somewhat loose, which has no effect whatsoever. They do not wear a mask to actually prevent the potential spread of the infection but do so because one must. They demonstrate their detachment from political engagement by passively following rules.

Ear danglers; the chillers. They slip their mask on fully when they see an elderly couple approaching who seem visibly scared. They don’t mind getting infected themselves and feel the corona crisis is overblown but what can you do.

Under-the-chinners; are in the same category as the ear danglers but different than the under-the-nosers. They show their disregard for prevention and wear it almost as an accessory, the cool-girl attitude of “hey, I’m wearing it ok?”. They enjoy analyzing the current political scape. They are not as radical as the position they choose to represent in these discussions.

The hidden pocket; those whose masks are stuffed in their pocket, so If they can’t enter the bus because the driver doesn’t allow them they pull out this grimy fuzzy thing and put it on in the most necessary of situations. They believe the corona is a farce and dream of living on a farm as a legitimate life direction. They hide their masks.

The real maskers; are seldom seen and far in between. They avoid real-life situations where one can get infected and are some of the very few maskers who are aware that one must never put a mask on any surface, and must exchange the old mask for a new one every four hours. They are aware that the homemade masks made of a single layer of cotton actually prevent no more the 10% of the potential viral load from infecting people in your spray radius. They do not wear cotton masks. You best believe they wear an N95 or a surgical mask and are the ones who carefully observe and analyze the masks others are wearing. Otherwise, they avoid eye contact.

The many hypocrites; are aware of these mask rules, and how ineffective improper mask-wearing is, and preach statistics of mask use preventing the wider spread of the virus. They randomly pick and choose the situations in which they wear their mask fully covering their face, and the under-the-chin occasions.

You probably know which type of mask wearer you are. There is no shame in any of these categories as we are all struggling to orient ourselves in this new era of (post) pandemic skepticism. Not reflected in our celebratory attitudes, the new old normal has a weird gleam to it, and we all know it. Although it is a relief to unmask and unveil our faces, revealing our personhoods to each other, this collective action is accompanied by tangible doubt. For instance, most people in San Francisco, where 90% of the population has been vaccinated, continue to wear face masks religiously, even though all the regulations have been lifted. The ultimate truth symbolized by our uncovered mouths has not been completely revealed after all. The reason the new old normal seems so shallow is because we have not managed to address our trust issues; we have glided over them for fear of having the same liberties we once took for granted swooped out from under our noses again, without having adequate resources to process the process.

In this blog series I explore a burgeoning intimate surveillance culture in neighbourhoods across the world.  At the core of this research is a flourishing network of surveillance technologies produced by Silicon Valley and perfectly tailored to a vigilant and paranoid home-owner. This matters. Because being watched by the state is one thing, but being watched by your neighbours invites myriad more questions.

Where I live in the east of Amsterdam I’m surrounded by generous neighbours. We often exchange news in the building’s stairwell, borrow things from each other and generally care for our communal space. It’s a wonderful place to live and I am comforted by the feeling of togetherness and trust in our neighbourhood. Most of my immediate neighbours happen to also be in a WhatsApp group. When I first moved in I was completely unaware of the group. But, not long after I’d unpacked there was a letter in the post from the police, urging me to join. The letter stressed that by joining the group I could make our neighbourhood “safer and more peaceful”. So of course I did.

For the most part, the dynamics in our WhatsApp group simply mirror the dynamics I experience when I meet neighbours face-to-face. There’s a bit of information sharing, some friendly banter. Occasionally someone flags something suspicious. In one instance a neighbour with a Ring doorbell camera, which records footage of anyone who rings it, posted a video in the group. It showed a young man with well-coiffed hair wearing a black leather jacket. He was lingering outside the door waiting for the doorbell to be answered. It never was. The neighbour, clearly suspicious, urged others in the group to be on the lookout. Another neighbour zoomed in on the footage, screen-grabbed it and posted an enlarged and  pixelated image of the man’s face back into the WhatsApp group. I received the message on my phone mid-way through dinner. I was confused. What makes this person suspicious? And what exactly are we on the lookout for?

This anecdote goes to the heart of my research. For the past 7 years I have been exploring how technology shapes neighbourhoods and influences neighbours. I am particularly interested in what impact our domestic surveillance devices, like smart doorbell cameras and mobile messaging groups, have on social cohesion and our feeling of safety. Most urgently, this research zooms in on the role that technology plays in creating inclusive spaces. With my creative partner Klasien van de Zandschulp, we have researched neighbourhoods across the globe, from our hometown of Amsterdam, to York in England, Johannesburg, San Paulo, New York and the rural farmlands of the Netherlands, interviewing people about how they use domestic surveillance technology to watch their streets and homes. Amazingly, what we’ve found is that neighbourhood surveillance, enabled by technology, is not unique to wealthy cities with plenty of technology. Instead, it happens in all kinds of places across the world, albeit on different scales and with different implications. We see the rise of an intimate surveillance culture. What I mean by this is that neighbours are buying technology like Ring or Nest doorbell cameras and joining messaging platforms like WhatsApp, Nextdoor or Neighbourhoods (from Facebook) to police their space. Intimate surveillance is booming in streets, buildings, gated compounds and townships, enabled by affordable surveillance technology and social media platforms perfectly tailored to a vigilant consumer.

A great example of this is in the Netherlands where you will most likely spot a street sign with the words “Attention! WhatsApp Neighbourhood Watch”. The sign is often placed at the start of a street. It signals to newcomers that neighbours in that area are watching their suburb and circulating information about suspicious people in their local WhatsApp group. Amazingly, these signs, and the groups they represent, have been adopted and seemingly normalised as part of communal life in the Netherlands. The police encourage residents to join these groups, just like in my neighbourhood in Amsterdam. Ordinary folks become the eyes and ears of the police. It’s hard to decipher the true statistics here. One source claims there are approximately 9,000 registered WhatsApp groups dedicated to neighbourhood surveillance. This accounts for about 630,000 residents. Yet, there are thousands of other groups that aren’t registered but they do exactly the same surveillance work.

For a mere €75, you can order a WhatsApp neighbourhood watch sign for your street in the Netherlands. We had this one custom made for our live performance ‘Good Neighbours’ in Amsterdam in 2021. 

WhatsApp neighbourhood groups are however only the tip of the proverbial iceberg. They form a tiny part of a much larger ecosystem of surveillance technologies in neighbourhoods. Another popular device (the rising star of surveillance gadgets) is the Ring doorbell camera. Ring is the humble doorbell redesigned for a paranoid networked society, complete with its own Instagram account and 152,000 followers (as of 2021). In December 2020, when many people were locked down in their homes during the corona pandemic, global online sales of Ring cameras jumped by 180% compared to 2019. In December of 2020, Amazon.com sold nearly half a million Ring cameras to American consumers.

A recording from a Ring doorbell camera in the city of York (UK) where we did part of our research and presented a live performance. 

Besides its doorbell function, the Ring includes a built-in camera and motion sensor. If you press a Ring doorbell it films you. If the Ring owner isn’t home they receive a notification on their phone with footage of the visitor. If someone triggers the sensor by walking past, the Ring camera will record that person, regardless of whether they rang the bell or not. Ring owners can even speak through their phones (via the doorbell) to anyone standing outside their door. Sounds convenient right?

In the course of this blog series I will speak into this question, because there’s much more to Ring than convenience (or safety). I will examine WhatsApp, Ring and a few other platforms that are shaping the order of micro politics in neighbourhoods. Pointedly, these technologies raise urgent questions about surveillance, platforms and society. Most immediately, I want to draw attention to the dangerous practice in neighbourhoods when residents sue technology to mark others as strangers who don’t belong. Social and racial profiling are commonplace and becoming ever-more transparent through technology. As Marleen Stikker from Waag Society reminds us, “Technology is an expression of capital and power”. Said more plainly: it’s often about money. Look no further than Nexdoor, a Silicon Valley social network aimed at local neighbourhoods and infamous for facilitating instances of racial profiling,  recently valued at $2,1 billion (up 30% from its last valuation in 2017). This entire series is about keeping a critical public record of the relationship between neighbourhoods, neighbours and their technologies and to keep the focus on what is at stake.

Dr. Natalie Dixon is an INC research fellow and  founder & cultural insights director at affect lab, a women-led creative studio and research practice based in Amsterdam. Her work explores questions of gender, race and belonging through the lens of technology.

Thinking about the current state of platforms, I’m reminded of Mark Fisher’s articulation of capitalist realism, the idea that we don’t imagine or build alternatives to capitalism because we can no longer envision a world without it. Big tech, in a few short years, has managed to instill within the public a similar state of platform realism. So many are unable to imagine how global communication, media, search, etc. could ever function without the platforms. Despite a growing malaise, it’s become difficult for many to consider a world without big tech platforms as a viable conception of the future.

That means we undoubtedly need to focus some of our energy towards the building of such alternatives. Users of big tech will need to see, feel, and use new avant-garde technologies that center anti-capitalist pro-public values before they ever abandon big tech platforms en masse. But along the way, we also need to engage the world where they are. With 3 billion+ people already signed on, some of this work should happen inside big tech’s platforms themselves.

This isn’t as bad as it sounds, though, because platforms can be fruitful spaces for cultivating criticality. Whether covertly subversive or overtly confrontational, platform manipulations (such as those that can be enacted via browser extensions, online performance projects, etc.) can prompt users to reconsider the role of these systems currently considered as inevitable parts of the 21st century landscape. By exposing the hidden and hiding the visible, hacktivist art, tactical media, and other related practices can help users question the role of platforms in everyday life. Why are they built this way? Who benefits? Who is made most vulnerable? How could it be different?

Such manipulations can also transform big tech platforms into good spaces for modeling resistance to capitalism, as the platforms themselves embody capitalist values in their most distilled and potent forms. The platforms are encodings of tech bro entrepreneurial ideology, agential systems that enact and amplify their beliefs in the importance of scale, the imperative of growth, and the superiority of the quantitative. Examples include my own projects that alter existing platforms to hide their metrics, to confuse their algorithmic profiling, and to distill their central manipulation mechanisms down to their barest essentials in ways that make them visible and tangible.

Other examples include projects by artists such as Joana Moll or  Disnovation, as well as essential software/platform/code/media studies critiques by thinkers such as Wendy Chun, Safiya Noble, Matthew Fuller, Søren Pold, yourself, and others in our community. The more we can illuminate existing connections between wider societal ills and the ways that big tech models, reifies, and amplifies them, the easier any platform exodus will be.

Decentralization undoubtedly holds some promise for dreams of exodus from big tech platforms. But decentralization on its own is not a panacea. We only need look at speculative finance and libertarian crypto dreams to find clues about who feels most excited about decentralization and why (e.g., it’s not about rebuilding the public or strengthening democracy).

In other words, the problem with platforms isn’t, in all cases, centralization per se. Instead, the negatives we contend with on big tech’s platforms are rooted in their software’s alignment with and embedding of the ideologies of capitalism. Global-scale software-based platforms are reflective of the same profit-focused business values that drive big tech’s executives to build those companies in the first place: growth, scale, more at any cost. This foundation is doomed from the start, as it inevitably leads big tech to treat users as resources to be mined, manipulated, and transformed into profit. It makes expendable user-centric values around privacy and agency.

Instead we need a turn away from the private and a return to the public. Without a private profit motive, many of the problems with big tech platforms would fall away. I say this knowing full-well that making such systems public is by no means a solution by itself. We’ve seen unprecedented corruption of and new justified distrust in public institutions over the last many years. But big tech’s platforms are decidedly anti-public, and this positioning is part of what makes them so damaging to privacy, agency, and democracy.

I think we should also experiment with new platforms (public or non-profit private) that enact decidedly different values than what big tech promotes. For example, what would a platform look like if it actively worked to defuse compulsive use rather than to produce it? Or if it wants less from users rather than more? Or if it encourages conceptions of time that are slow rather than fast?

For me, these ideas point towards a shared set of values to consider as we work to dismantle the control of big tech. These include:

SLOW — We need media that actively and intentionally works against the platform capitalist idea that speed and efficiency is always desirable and productive.

LESS — We need alternatives that advance an anti-scale, anti-more agenda. Facebook’s answer to the negative effects of platform scale post-2016 was to foreground Groups to “give people the power to build community.” Four years later that platform-produced power propelled racism and authoritarianism to new heights, culminating (so far) in a violent insurrection at the US Capitol.

PUBLIC — Social media infrastructure for 3 billion+ users should never be driven by profit or controlled by single individuals. Ditto goods distribution (Amazon), information access (Google), etc.

DECOY — To help produce a culture of platform exodus we need new projects/works that get into the platforms and help users turn themselves away from them.

28 June, 2021, https://bengrosser.com/, Urbana, IL USA

Instagram’s Like Hiding Saga is a PR Stunt:

What Facebook’s Darling Hopes You’ll Forget About Social Media Metrics

By Ben Grosser

In the spring of 2019 Instagram announced to the world that it was going to test the hiding of visible “like” counts within its interface. In the words of Instagram Head Adam Mosseri, he hoped it would make the platform feel “much less pressurized” and less “like a competition.” This announcement came at a time when the social media companies were enduring significant scrutiny for their roles in the amplification and virality of disinformation, the erosion of democracy and civic debate, and the destruction of individual self-esteem that was so widely evident that the New York Times wrote: “that Instagram can feel ‘pressurized’ and trigger status anxiety is hard to dispute.”

So, when Instagram made its announcement that spring, not only did it make big headlines, but many publications took it as a given that the decision had been made: likes were going away. The tests to come were merely a formality, many presumed—most without asking what those tests might be testing for, or what different outcomes might mean for the future of visible like counts.

In other words, the media was duped. Despite their stories from the time heralding Instagram’s tests as evidence of the company’s newfound concern for user well-being, it was always inevitably going to lead to either no actual change, or, at best, an anemic one. This is because Instagram is a corporation whose profit depends on continued growth, fueled by the extraction of user data and the production of ever-rising platform engagement. Visible metrics have been, for its entire history, a key component of this production—I would argue they are the central mechanism responsible for Instagram’s success.

So, it should come as no surprise when, after two years of testing, Instagram’s Head reports that their “research” turned up no particular effects from hiding likes. One can hardly help but recall in response other moments from corporate history, such as when the tobacco companies said smoking wasn’t addictive, or when the energy sector says fracking isn’t bad for the environment. Apparently, if we’re to believe Instagram, it turns out that likes just don’t matter much. Nothing to see here!

My own research strongly contradicts Instagram’s findings. I originated the concept of social media “demetrication” in 2012 when I launched the artwork Facebook Demetricator, a free and open-source browser extension that hides all quantifications across the Facebook interface. In 2014 I published a peer-reviewed article about my findings. In 2017 I launched a Demetricator for Twitter, and in 2018 one for Instagram. After a decade of activity investigating, working to erase, and listening to users report about the effects of hiding likes (and other visible counts), it is abundantly clear that social media metrics have profound effects on users. When like/follower/share/etc. counts are hidden, users report feeling, for example, less anxious, less competitive, and less addicted to the platforms. They talk about feeling less compulsive in response to them, less manipulated by metrics to continually like, share, and post. And perhaps most importantly, when visible interface metrics are hidden, users learn and feel for themselves just how significantly their actions had been driven—almost automated—by the presence of the number.

Caption: The author’s original video from 2012 demonstrating and describing Facebook Demetricator, a browser extension that hides visible metrics across the Facebook interface

So what’s really happening with “like” counts? And why might Instagram’s findings be different from my own? Setting aside (for the moment) their vested interest in the perpetuation of platform metrics and their vague assertions without evidence or peer review, I would point to the company’s anemic implementation of metric erasure.

First, Instagram’s like hiding options are laborious to use. To hide others’ metrics takes 6 taps through menus to find the toggle for it, which is buried in “Privacy” settings. Burying that option behind so many steps discourages experimentation and individual testing, leaving the default option (showing likes) as the one most will stick with.

Second, hiding one’s own like counts is not only repeatedly laborious, but incomplete. If I want to hide my like counts on my own posts, I have to tap 3 more times to turn it on every time I post. I can’t just change that setting once and have it affect all posts in the future. More importantly, even when I turn off like counts for a specific post I’ve made, the interface continues to report that metric back to me in several ways. For example, it accumulates the counts into a red and white metric popup every time I load the app—and periodically thereafter (far left in the image below). Instagram also continues to show these counts whenever I look at my notifications tab (far right). In other words, one can’t really hide their own like counts.

Image: Visible like counts on my own posts after enabling Instagram’s option to hide them. On left, the counts as shown in the standard notifications popup that appears every time I load the app and periodically thereafter. In the middle is the count shown when I click “others” from the feed. On the right are the like counts as shown in the notifications tab.

Third is that Instagram has chosen to show all metrics by default. Interface defaults are powerful. They set the conditions upon which any adjustment is evaluated. And most users won’t ever change the defaults anyway. Mosseri reveals his hopes here when he suggests that even those who hide likes might “want to switch back” “after a couple weeks.”

Fourth is that Instagram leaves all other non-like metrics in place. So even if a user hides others’ like counts and (partially) hides their own, they’re still faced with an interface full of metrics. Comment counts, view counts, follower counts, notification metrics, etc. All of these influence the user, and will serve as a ready substitute for metric evaluation when navigating the feed (e.g., it’s easy enough to focus on comment counts if like counts are hidden).

In other words, Instagram’s like hiding test: 1) made it hard to toggle like count hiding on and off, 2) made it impossible to truly hide one’s own like counts, 3) split like metrics into different categories controlled from different parts of the interface, 4) set the default as showing like counts, and 5) left in place all other interface metrics. If a social media company wanted to create a user interface test designed to conclude that hiding like counts doesn’t change much, this would be it. And lo and behold, the outcome from their findings will be continued platform growth—at the continued expense of human anxiety, compulsion, addiction, and diminished well-being.

Ironically, Mosseri confirms some of these effects with his recent statements. For example, he said (as quoted by the BBC):

‘“The spirit of this is to give people a choice,” using the example of going through a break-up in a relationship or switching schools.’

So, Instagram found no particular effect on user well-being, but Mosseri uses moments of extreme life stress as the example for why one might want to hide likes?

Another example Mosseri gave was:

“Maybe you want to be a little bit less worried about how many likes everyone’s getting for a couple weeks or a couple of months, and then maybe you want to switch back.”

So, if you want less worry, you turn off likes? Sounds as if like counts do in fact affect user well-being.

I appreciate Instagram’s decision to enable the hiding of others’ likes. This change will help users blunt the competitive feelings those metrics produce. But the anemic half-implementation of hiding one’s own likes reveals they don’t really want the idea to catch on. Instagram has spent more than a decade conditioning users to focus on the numbers. Any transition away from metrics was thus going to require substantial rethinking of what the platform is and how it works. Tests and experiments would need care and rigor; instead, Instagram came back with small clunky tweaks. A real test would make possible complete erasure of all visible metrics: no like, comment, view, or follower counts anywhere in the interface. This would be accompanied by a one-tap toggle so that users already dependent on the numbers could feel comfortable experimenting with hiding/showing the metrics at any time.

In a statement, Instagram said they consulted with experts during the testing period. Experts in what?, I would ask. Though I’ve worked on this topic for ten years—and released Instagram Demetricator a year before Mosseri started talking about their idea of hiding likes—Instagram never reached out to me for any discussion. Yet, tellingly, I did hear from the company during this period when their legal arm acted to force Instagram Demetricator off the Chrome web store in 2020. Unsurprisingly, this mirrors the actions of their parent company, Facebook, who did the same thing against Facebook Demetricator in 2016. Thankfully, the Electronic Frontier Foundation worked pro bono on my behalf to get the Facebook version reinstated. Given the company’s now repeated attempts to knock my Demetricators off the web, I haven’t worked too hard to reverse this latest move.

This whole saga is a public relations stunt. Instagram announced to the world in 2019 that they were testing the hiding of likes. They gained tremendous positive press from this move, with many lauding how much Instagram cares about user well-being. They then proceeded not to hide likes for everyone but instead to test the feature for two years—an eternity given their resources and capacity—only to come back later and proclaim that hiding likes doesn’t matter much? Not only does this assertion contradict my own research and the experience of countless users, but Instagram has a vested interest in this finding.

Visible metrics are key to the production of user engagement. Engagement is essential for user growth and profit generation. Their hiding tests were incomplete, leaving a user’s own like counts visible in multiple places. They didn’t reach out to some (all?) of us with a long research history on the topic. And along the way they acted to block users from fully hiding metrics via my projects, and even added new metrics to their interface with the addition of Reels. I find their conclusions and statements difficult to trust and would encourage others to be skeptical as well. Always remember: Instagram is a Mark Zuckerberg property. When Mosseri says something, it should be treated with the same level of trust that Zuckerberg has earned.

As a coda, one final comment on timing. Why now? After two years of testing and all the positive press, why come back now and say they’re done? I would point to the strongly negative reaction to the recently floated idea of Instagram for Kids. Many of the concerns expressed thus far have centered on fears around what a platform like Instagram, with all of its negative effects on user well-being, would do to children. What better antidote than to come out in response and say hey, it turns out our research shows that like counts don’t have much effect on anyone, so don’t worry about it! When companies release PR disguised as research, the media should hold them accountable for it.

In de driedelige serie The Digitarian Society onderzoekt Tetem samen met mediakunstenaar Roos Groothuizen en gasten van het Institute of Network Cultures, Waag en PublicSpaces wat er nodig is om verder te komen in onze zoektocht naar een veiliger internet.

De bewustwording over internet dilemma’s in relatie tot online verslaving, privacy en verantwoordelijkheid groeit; niet alleen onder organisaties, in de media en bij de overheid, maar ook onder het ‘grote publiek’. We hebben allemaal wel eens gedacht om alternatieve apps, videoplatforms en social media te verkennen, maar we doen het niet massaal. Wat houdt ons tegen?

Deze serie events gaat verder in op de dilemma’s van de escape room tentoonstelling ‘I want to delete it all, but not now’ die Roos Groothuizen voor Tetem heeft ontwikkeld. Daarin komt de vraag naar voren wat ons tegenhoudt om te stoppen met diensten van bijvoorbeeld Facebook en Google. Hoe worden we een digitariër, iemand die geen producten of diensten gebruikt van bedrijven die hun geld verdienen met het verkopen van persoonlijke data? Of is het mogelijk die moeilijke stap te verzachten door een flexidigitariër te worden, waar je zoveel mogelijke bewuste keuzes probeert te maken, maar nog geen afscheid wilt of kunt nemen van bijvoorbeeld Whatsapp? Het idee is dat we met kleine stappen onszelf en andere mensen en organisaties aansporen om bewuster te worden ten aanzien van de apps die we gebruiken en samen de stap naar een veiliger internet zetten. De drie events vinden plaats op verschillende platforms waarmee we als flexidigitariërs gaan experimenteren.

The Digitarian Society #1
Dinsdag 25 mei waren Geert Lovink en Chloë Arkenbout te gast bij Tatem.

De titel van de tentoonstelling ‘I want to delete it all, but now now’ van Roos Groothuizen komt uit het boek ‘Sad by Design’ door Geert Lovink. Het boek biedt een kritische analyse van de groeiende controverses op sociale media zoals nepnieuws, giftige virale memes en online verslaving. Tegelijkertijd roept Geert Lovink op tot het omhelzen van de digitale intimiteit van sociale media, berichtenverkeer en selfies, in de hoop dat verveling de eerste fase is van het overwinnen van ‘platformnihilisme’. Om daarna de afbraak van – verslaving aan – sociale media in te zetten.

Tijdens The Digitarian Society #1 ontdekten we wie de mensen achter het Institute of Network Cultures zijn en wat er bij hen persoonlijk is veranderd na het publiceren van het boek ‘Sad by Design’. Roos ging met Geert Lovink in gesprek over de schaduwzijde van online platforms, menselijke verlangens die ons tegenhouden en hoe je als individu de theorie in praktijk kunt brengen. In een gesprek met Chloë Arkenbout werd er  ingezoomd op Chloë’s onderzoek naar de macht van memes, media ethiek, morele verantwoordelijkheid, (digitaal) activisme, call out culture en de manieren waarop zij als nieuwe generatie onderzoekers met social media omgaat. Ook werd er Doen, durven of je data gespeeld.

Kijk hier The Digitarian Society #1 terug

The Digitarian Society #1 from Tetem on Vimeo.

“We need to focus on what remains unrendered, or unseen – what we are blind to.” – Rosa Menkman

On Friday evening, NCAD (National College of Art and Design, Dublin) and The Digital Hub hosted a webinar with Rosa Menkman and Joanna Zylinska. It was the fifth event in the Digital Cultures series, and my first time tuning in. I expected a straightforward panel discussion, but after the host, Rachel O’Dwyer introduced the two artists, we were shown two presentations first by Rosa and Joanna. Seeing them back-to-back provided a nice opportunity to notice similarities between their areas of expertise and differences in how they approach machine vision and algorithmic blindspots.

Rosa’s presentation “Destitute Vision” demonstrated her keenness to experiment with alternative forms of lecturing. In a mesmerising 15-minute work, she explores how artistic interventions can help us understand technologies of perception. In a calm voice-over, she proposes that data has the potential to be fluid, but it is the architecture through which it moves that distorts it and molds it into a singular form. Instead of asking what algorithms see, Rosa inquires what they render invisible.

I enjoyed learning about her “BLOB of Im/Possible Images” project, a playfully named 3D gallery that shows images chosen by a group of particle physicists, who visualised important concepts or phenomena that cannot (yet) be rendered. I can see how this type of speculative thinking opens up new possibilities for understanding each other across disciplines and types of expertise.

Still from Rosa Menkman’s “BLOD of Im/Possible Images,” found on newart.city (click on image to visit).

Joanna’s presentation explored her experience of using an Artbreeder GAN algorithm to render images of eyes and brains, which turned into an artwork titled “Neuromatic.” Her choice to focus on these body parts points to an interest in pinning down what exactly constitutes seeing. She explained that even though we know a lot about the human body and its complex processes, the phenomenon of seeing remains somewhat of a mystery.

In her research, Joanna considers what it means for humans to endow machines with the capacity of seeing, and inquires whether machines can see at all. Her approach proves the value of artists borrowing from other fields – in this case, from philosophy – to tackle a concept they deem interesting. Indeed, later in the discussion, Joanna talked about how her practice requires re-learning biology and philosophy and using their knowledges in a way that breaks rules and poses unconventional questions. These methods are usually inaccessible by scientists, who are more limited by funding requirements and goal-oriented methodologies.

What followed the presentations was a productive discussion about collaboration, modes of seeing, and the role visual arts play in rendering visible different technological and biological phenomena. I left the event feeling like I got to look at artistic research from a new angle, one that reveals their playfulness and lack of rigid expectations as assets and activators of interdisciplinary understanding.

Found on Wellcome Collection: Dissection of the skull, showing the eyes with attached nerves and muscles. Lithograph by G.H. Ford, 1864.

In the discussion, Rosa pointed out that scientists want to open up their knowledges to other experts and communities, and that artists are often a bridge between scientific fields and people who are unfamiliar with them. Similarly, Joanna noted that artists often deal with the same themes as engineers or scientists, but the endpoint of their projects tends to differ, and their scope can be broader.

On the topic of interdisciplinarity, Joanna pointed out that jumping between fields reveals similarities between them, but also shows their respective blindspots. She stressed that the aim shouldn’t be to create some sort of (unattainable) universal knowledge, but rather to notice each other’s limitations and find common ground, without flattening the differences that remain.

Still from Joanna Zylinska’s “Neuromatic.”

What started as a conversation about specific themes – machine vision, algorithmic limitations, collaboration – shifted to a meditation on why people desire to model and represent the world. Joanna asked if there is a single world out there to be represented, hinting at the intrinsic subjectivity of perception and sensations.

“Vision is just one of the senses, it is never just vision because it’s always already expanded, it’s environmental, it’s always been haptic. But the human has been constructed as a visual being. There is a history to vision and the human as a visual, visualising subject. We have to address that history.” – Joanna Zylinska

The discussion also carried climate urgency undertones, as the guests noted the importance of recognising non-human actants in the world in our explorations of modes of perception. Instead of seeking a “total vision” that encompasses different kinds of experiences, Joanna suggested that treating this concept as a speculative, artistic question allows for exploring the human desire to understand our limitations.

Kazimir Malevich’s “Black Square” painting: the experience of looking at “nothing”?

Joanna noted she could see a corporation exploiting an idea of “hyper vision.” Yes, I can imagine a neoliberal Tesla-esque project using computer vision to obtain the “perfect” way to see and analyse the world. Elon Musk would announce it at a self-serving event, claiming he is changing the world, only to grant access to this new “product” to a select few, dodging critique and refusing to consider why a “total vision” would be a good idea in the first place. In this ecocentric and capitalist mode of thinking, to see the world from every angle would mean to own it from every angle.

Trees have eyes in Rachel MacLean’s “Eyes to Me”

In the end, it boils down to agency. Knowing that current infrastructures of digital cultures are shaped by profit- and data-oriented corporations, we have to be vigilant when thinking about who acts as a user and who is being used. Both Joanna and Rosa discussed these power structures. They highlighted that algorithms – sometimes perceived as abstract and incorporeal – have very real socio-political consequences, often harming already marginalised groups when used in the hands of immigration enforcement or banks.

For me, the all-encompassing influence algorithms already have was the most important takeaway from this event. Artistic interventions can shed light on the shadowy inner workings of certain algorithms without vilifying them. But we have to acknowledge the limitations of our perception – literal and conceptual – before we engage with other modes of seeing.

Links for further research:

Watch the full event back on YouTube.

See other events in the Digital Cultures series here.

Read Rosa’s recent publication, Beyond Resolution.

Read Joanna’s recent publication, AI Art.

“A journey implies a destination, so many miles to be consumed, while a walk is its own measure, complete at every point along the way.” – Francis Alÿs

Most of us are used to knowing that our devices track how we interact with them and monitor what we do when they are around. But the Health app, built-in on iPhones, has been causing me a lot of grief lately. What started as an innocent interest in the number of steps I take has grown into an issue. Is tracking steps a helpful tool for becoming more active? Or is it more damaging than helpful in this context, that is, is it easier to associate the level of physical activity with productivity and, by extension, self-worth? I propose to explore the differences between pre-pandemic walks and what I’ve been calling corona walks/COVID walks.

A weekly report on the Health app.

Before the pandemic, I knew that my phone had an app installed that tracked my steps. I would look at it occasionally out of curiosity but did not feel compelled to check it often. Then, the pandemic began, and suddenly almost all options for spending time outside seemed dangerous. My relationship with walking started to shift. Going on walks became a promise for a better mood and a better day. The alternative was dire, sitting in a studio apartment, breathing stagnant air, unmoving and worrying about the future. I would walk to take my mind off things and to have at least some variety in an otherwise homogenous routine.

Soon, I found myself performing for my phone. I would check it during walks to see what mark I was hitting. Am I over 5,000 steps, or still around 3,000? When the weather was bad, I would sometimes pace back and forth at home, phone in hand, watching as it registered each step. As an avid social media user, I had found another way to gain instant gratification. I watched the numbers go up and felt better about myself. Until I felt like I’ve performed enough. Then I would leave the app alone, until the next day. Rinse and repeat. But it doesn’t have to be this way.

Artist Stanley Brouwn’s manual step-tracker app. “A Distance of 336 Steps” (1971).

My granddad, a now-retired but still academically active professor, loves to walk. Like many, he believes that walking clears his head and helps him come up with good ideas. I grew up believing that going on walks can solve a lot of things. Above all, it offers a new perspective, getting rid of stagnant energy and providing needed stimuli.

I appreciate the physical and psychological benefits of walking. But being an able-bodied person without a driver’s license or a car means that walking is also my most reliable form of transportation, especially when using public transport is not advised (but, of course, sometimes necessary). So, I find it hard to separate a utility walk from a leisurely walk. I walk fast because I am used to walking to get somewhere, do something. Living in the Netherlands changed this a bit, as now I rely on my bike to run errands. But the habit of walking “with purpose” persists. Even now, over a year into my corona walks, it seems I cannot slow down.

Asking around

I asked on my Instagram story if my friends and acquaintances cared how many steps they were taking and if they used an app to measure their physical activity. Forty people responded, most of them reporting that step counts did not matter that much. But the split was almost even between those who used health apps and those who did not. (See below.) This suggests that some people have health apps, either built-in or downloaded willingly, but they do not check up on them daily, or tracked activities other than walking.

I wanted to know more about other people’s experiences over the last year, so I asked a few close friends about their changing relationship to walking. James said that before the pandemic, he did not go on leisure walks as his job required him to stay on his feet all day. But nowadays, he says, “I always feel better after a walk, even if there were too many people or my feet hurt.” He elaborates: “I had my first proper cry on a walk in about three years. I’ve never felt claustrophobic in my flat but there’s something about how big the outside is that it just felt right, to fill the space.” I love this perspective. It makes me think that going on walks nowadays is a more embodied way to experience something outside of ourselves, something more tangible and fulfilling than observing an endless stream of information online.

According to John Wylie, landscapes represent the “creative tension of self and world.”^[1] So, experiencing a changing landscape can be a way to reconcile something within ourselves, exploring these tensions. Corona walks are also about control. Living through a pandemic is an extreme exercise in letting go, accepting there are some events and consequences we cannot influence or neutralise. So, we go outside to be somewhat in charge of our surroundings. The views change as we walk, serving as a reminder that time continues to pass outside of our homes, outside of ourselves. Still, a level of unpredictability prevails, even on a calm walk.

Walking around Leiden last summer.

Frédéric Gros is a philosopher of walking. In an old Guardian interview, he said: “You can be replaced at your work, but not on your walk. Living, in the deepest sense, is something that no one else can do for us.”^[2] Do we walk to prove to ourselves we are alive, living, and moving through time? It makes sense to me. Walking grounds me, connects me with my body, and helps me relate to other walking, thinking bodies who walked before me.

Walking is also a manifestation of slowness. It is a refusal to optimise, streamline, be efficient and generate profit. Walking requires your attention, and (usually) gets you away from your working self. It asks you to slow down and take stock. This is why I see it as a challenge. My habits speed up my walking pace as my mind starts to wander towards work plans, ideas, anxieties. This inability to take a break is a product of late-stage capitalism. Even when I try to think about something else, it creeps back in, beckoning me to do more, quicker, better, promising I will feel more useful if I increase my productivity. But I do not want to give in. So why am I still compelled to know how far I’ve walked?

Today’s everyday technology allows us to measure everything, monitor performance. Media outlets advise us how to be on our A-game, and how to cut out whatever is unnecessary. But who gets to decide what is and isn’t urgent, needed? Why should I feel compelled to shove my phone under my pillow each night to let it track the quality of my sleep? To go on walks with my phone in hand, feeding it a stream of information about my whereabouts? I do not see how I can benefit from these forms of self-surveillance. Sometimes I wish we could go back to a time when phones allowed for communication and not much else. But we cannot go back. We have to face the privacy threats that come with our wearable personal technologies.

Nostalgic about everyday technology. Artist Maya Man’s Are.na page

There must be a middle ground. Perhaps it is time I disable “Fitness Tracking” on my phone altogether and move however and whenever I want. I do not want to perform for my phone anymore. I want to peel away from it and enjoy time apart.

Looking inwards

Independent, aimless walking allows us to step into ourselves and think about how we relate to the wider world; the actual world, out there, continuing to change even if we are not walking through it and witnessing it. Gros talks about how walking helps to go into autopilot mode, during which we synchronise with our bodies and glide for hours at a time (if your health allows it). This perspective makes walking sound like a primordial, almost ritualistic activity. Why not? Magic has been syphoned out of Western everyday life. Walking can be a vessel for restoring some of that meaning into our routines A refusal to hurry and perform labour makes space for meaningful connections with ourselves and our surroundings.

In the Nintendo Switch game “Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild,” you have the choice of travelling around Hyrule on foot or a horse. Sure, the horse can take me around faster, but I quickly find myself missing the slower pace of walking in-game, and how much easier it is to notice the details I would have otherwise missed.

Exploring the landscapes in “Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild” on Nintendo Switch.

When I talked to my friend Max about corona walking, he said: “I kind of like having my phone tracking steps, but maybe that just comes from growing up playing video games. I like to know the stats from time to time.” I get that, and it is hard to remove ourselves from measuring our performance. Maybe I am making it sound all too serious. If walking can be a ritual, I don’t see why it can’t also be a game. If we treat our data with some distance, we refuse to be controlled by it. Gamifying everyday tasks can be another way to restore some of the joy and spontaneity we’d lost through excessive planning and obsessive control over our performance.

Maybe we are in a contemporary digital panopticon, willingly giving ourselves over to constant surveillance in exchange for surface-level interactions? Foucault says that a participant in a panopticon structure “is seen, but he does not see; he is an object of information, never a subject in communication.”^[3] Our phones were meant to be communication devices, but they act more like data extraction devices. We are given a degree of seeing and engaging, but the price we pay is high – boredom, dissatisfaction, inaction, radicalisation.

I am unsure how to find a way out of this mess. In fact, I might have internalised the panopticon, watching myself from the watchtower as I sit in the cell, pacing and watching the numbers go up. But it can change. I can refuse to participate in the spectacle of constantly measuring myself and my self-worth based on faulty interpretations of productivity. I am growing less interested in my performance, my stats. Doesn’t that take away some of its power?

I have been in locked-down Amsterdam longer than pre-corona Amsterdam. It is sad, but it’s also something I cannot change. So, I go on walks. I see new sights as I glide around town, growing more familiar with these spaces. Sometimes, I catch myself worrying about my stats. Other times, I allow myself to just be, and for that to be enough. Change isn’t linear, but by consistently questioning and readjusting our positioning to digital power structures, we might begin to take back some of the power that self-surveillance holds.

References

^[1] John Wylie, “Landscape and Phenomenology” in Routledge Guide to Landscapes; p. 62

^[2] The Guardian, https://www.theguardian.com/books/2014/apr/20/frederic-gros-walk-nietzsche-kant [Accessed 28 April]

^[3]  Michel Foucault, Discipline and Punish, p. 200

Collectivity, copying, care. Sharing knowledge is key; no one should be irreplaceable. Copy before you transfer. Care about your content and be transparent about your biases, as archiving is never truly objective.

Last Friday, the Networks of Care event series initiated by nGbK Berlin took place. Artist Cornelia Sollfrank introduced Old Boys Network (OBN), a cyberfeminist alliance from the late 1990s in need of archiving and preserving today. Guests revealed their archiving experiences, strategies and pitfalls they encountered while building archives of different types, ranging from initiatives started by national institutions to self-organised independent projects. 

Going into this, I wanted to develop a better understanding the challenges of digital archiving. Now I appreciate the importance of the commons and care in the context of these cultural practices. I will share the most insightful points from the event, and reflect on the significance of informed and honest archive-making.

Sollfrank explained that OBN was hard to define and pin down. It aimed to facilitate discussions about cyberfeminism through research, experimentation and direct action. She noted the challenges of documenting a shapeshifting organisation; sometimes a network, sometimes a group, or a collective with an aesthetic dimension.

OBN home page (click on image to visit).

The talks

Curator Mela Dávial-Freire reflected on the difficulties Museo Reina Sofía in Madrid had archiving materials that belonged to local LGBTQ+ activist groups from the 1990s. Posters, banners, and photographs of demonstrations exposed different archiving issues. Some materials were kept in multiple spaces, their authors/makers were often unknown, and emotional involvement complicated acquiring and circulating the content. Dávial-Freire noted that the project unbalanced the musem’s collection, which gathered millions of documents to date. This was a good thing, as it made the institution reconsider its archiving strategies.

Art scholar Michael Hiltbrunner explained his practical approach to archive-making while gathering information about the early days of the F+F School of Experimental Design (now the F+F School of Art and Design, in Zürich). He worked with time witnesses from the 1970s, when the school was founded, and maintained positive relationships with individuals who provide insights, leads and materials. The goal for his project was to create a platform that has an openness to it, one that allows interaction.

Monoskop founder Dušan Barok noted the importance of working with independent servers. Monoskop’s server allows other websites to use it as a host, free of charge, and offers basic maintenance tools. He clarified that while running a server is not a precondition for creating a digital archive, it is a good solution. He stressed that we should be wary of the current trend of storing information in “the cloud,” as they routinely run statistics and analytics of users.

Monoskop’s main page right now (click to visit)

Curator and cultural worker Laurence Rassel urged everyone to consider sustainability from the beginning of the project, going as far as asking: “What happens when the archivist dies? Who knows how the archive works, how to add to it and maintain it?” Based on her experience as director of the Fundació Antoni Tàpies, where she opened the archive some ten years ago, she highlighted the importance of using free and open-source software. She also mentioned that being transparent with the public and cultural workers about each step of archive-building should not be overlooked.

The aftermath

Based on the talks, I identified overarching themes and most valuable advice: collectivity, copying, care. Sharing knowledge is key. No one should be irreplaceable, and their knowledge should not disappear when they do. Copy content before you transfer. Care about your work and the networks that are involved in its creation and maintenance. Be transparent about your biases, as archiving is never neutral.

In the discussion, a point was raised about the untouchability of archives. Some participants believed that archives are ever-changing, and that with each interaction, they shift just a little into something different. Others said that the value of an archive lies in its autonomy; people may interact with the content or add information, but the very nature of the archive should remain unchanged. I tend to side with the first camp, seeing interaction as added value, but I understand the core of an archiving project should be respected.

I wish there had been enough time during the event to discuss what strategies may be used to build the OBN archive. However, it seems like the project has just begun. I am sure the discussions gave ideas to the OBN team. The meeting left me wondering about the fragility of archives, how we rely on them always being there, but may be disappointed to find traces instead. Digital archivisation does not lift the anxiety of losing content, and comes with its own set of challenges; technical, logistical, even emotional.

Nothing lasts forever. One day, archivists, their archives, and anyone interested in them will be gone. There is no way of telling when this happens. But maybe it doesn’t matter. It is up to us at this moment to decide what feels urgent, and how to record it and share it for as long as it retains a degree of importance. 

Kaucylia Brooke’s “Boy Mechanic” project, documenting the disappearance of lesbian bars in the US and Germany. [Cologne Edition, 2004]

I wrote my master thesis on the ways artistic research activates engagements with queer temporalities. I focused on projects that utilised archives, used archiving strategies, and/or acted as archives themselves. While archival artworks operate on a different set of priorities than the projects discussed during this event, there are similarities between them. In my research, among themes of nostalgia, longing and speculative thinking, I identified an overwhelming sense of community; a desire to relate to others across time (and space), coming together in the present to establish these connections. The question of how to build sustainable digital archives is multifaceted, especially now that cultural events happen almost exclusively online. What traces do they leave? Do archivists recognise their power as individuals who decide what to record, and what to discard? It is clear that only collaborative, transparent efforts can preserve content that would otherwise fade and dissipate, way before its time.

“To stand out of time together, to resist the stultifying temporality and time that is not ours… It is in these ecstatic moments that we arrive (or move inexorably towards) collective potentiality.” – José Esteban Muñoz, Cruising Utopia (2009).

Interview by Hoçâ Cové-Mbede

In March 2021 London Police’s Intellectual Property Crime Unit issued a warning towards students and universities to stop visiting Sci-Hub, the first website in the world to provide mass and public access to millions of research papers, a project designed, programmed and maintained by Alexandra Elbakyan since 2011.

The press statement displays terms and compounds such as malicious, phishing, compromised access, cybercrime, bad actors, fraud and hacking in order to build a specific profile that speculates around the active use of the site. The move is not surprising or impressive for Sci-Hub’s standards, since its rise as one of the most important sources/archives for scientific research globally, Elbakyan has been dealing with constant turmoil: suspensions from social media platforms, permanent blocks, takedown orders, legal prosecution for copyright infringement, spying accusations, censorship and media backlash.

But not all sides are hostile in advance, the scrutiny and feedback taken from public and private conversations about the apparatuses that paywall database-knowledge for profit also devised a reputation for Elbakyan during all these years, cementing her as an unparalleled figure to talk about digital + bypass redistribution (aka the Robin Hood of Science Publishing), and not only that, Sci-Hub’s way to operate and interact puts interesting question marks on the limits of online ownership and the involvement of academic institutions regarding open access.

2021 will bring backward-looking moments for Sci-Hub, in September S-H will celebrate a decade of existence, which hopefully will open reviews about the impact of the uninterrupted service the site provides, analysis on the media-portraits made of Elbakyan by third actors in the public sphere, and our role in the current corporate model of production/access of scientific knowledge.

In June of 2020 I contacted Alexandra to have an extended conversation that covers S-H’s revolution in science, copy + paste archival practices in favour of copyright abolition, US Justice Department targeting S-H as an undercover espionage-project, private ownership of science, prejudices against women in IT, astrology and its nexus with information flow and Elsevier’s attempts to worldwide-block S-H.

This conversation previously appeared in a shorter version on Netzpolitik.org.

Hoçâ Cové-Mbede: Multiple profiles depict you with specific associations and comparisons with other projects or personas historically and culturally related with online piracy in the USA—from Piratebay, Megaupload and Napster to Wikileaks, Edward Snowden and Chelsea Manning. What are your thoughts on how the media covers Sci-Hub? I’m thinking in particular of an article in Nature from 2016 and a profile published in The Verge in 2018, both of which get cited regularly in relation to Sci-Hub.

Alexandra Elbakyan: In my opinion, Sci-Hub’s media coverage was very little, unfair and biased. I would even say that discussion of Sci-Hub was censored in the media. Sci-Hub is a real revolution in science comparable to CRISPR but the media prefer to keep silent about it.

Sci-Hub started in 2011 and from the very beginning was recognized as a revolutionary Open Science project and gained huge popularity among researchers. But only in 2016 did articles about Sci-Hub in the media start to appear. That censorship is perhaps the result of the general perception of Sci-Hub as a Russian project opposed to the US.

I would say that the discussion of Sci-Hub in the journal Nature is very small compared to its real impact. In particular, Nature published very detailed descriptions of such open science projects as Unpaywall with pictures. The Unpaywall project is tiny compared to Sci-Hub, but Nature published only very short pieces about Sci-Hub, without pictures. So some readers of Nature journal who do not know much about the topic will have the wrong impression that Unpaywall is much bigger than Sci-Hub, because Nature has described it in detail while discussion of Sci-Hub was little. But in reality, the opposite is true: Unpaywall is tiny compared to Sci-Hub. If Nature was unbiased to Sci-Hub it would have put Sci-Hub on its cover picture in 2016.

You’re correct that even those articles about Sci-Hub that appeared in the media are focused not on the project itself but on comparisons, trying to belittle Sci-Hub and present it as secondary, while in reality it is revolutionary and unique. In the Verge article, journalists have presented a skewed picture of my conflict with the Russian science fund “Dynasty”, supporting Dynasty. They did not even bother to ask me about the information they collect so I could comment on it!

Wrong information appears not just in the media, but in more reputable sources also, for example, books, such as “Shadow Libraries” published by MIT and in dissertations. I read some of them and there were serious mistakes in my biography and the description of how Sci-Hub works. Again, authors of these works did not even bother contacting me.

However in Russian media the current state of affairs is much worse. An extremely unfair picture of me is being promoted; good facts about Sci-Hub are not published. I am being presented as a person who blocked access to academic literature while the reality is opposite. I opened access and not blocked it.  Also, usually journalists attach to their articles the most horrendous photo of me they can find, instead of asking me to send them a good photo. I guess that some of the bad media publications about me and Sci-Hub could be directly paid by Elsevier.

There’s a current pattern of legal tactics that label common words or compounds employed in open knowledge activities as criminal-by-association in regards to free access and text-private-property. Why do you think these legal tactics under the argument of capitalist loss have been used to try to slow down sharing networks and archival repositories? 

There is a huge industry around science publishing and copyright law in general, and they have enough money and power to support the status quo.

Do you think the measures against you, like the legal prosecution directed by Elsevier to cease Sci-Hub in 2015, are similar to Middle Age’s curses intended to protect against the theft of books?

Alexandra Elbakyan: In the Middle Ages books were copied by hand and it was a very tedious task and books were precious. So to protect books from stealing, a popular method was to insert a curse in the beginning or the end of the book, so that somebody who would steal that book will be cursed and go to Hell or get an illness or something else very bad will happen to them. Because Elsevier and other publishers also insist that their books and articles are being stolen by such websites as Sci-Hub and Library Genesis, I thought that is quite funny if they would also try using curses to protect their articles and books. Perhaps that will be a better method than suing us for copyright?

Images by Hoçâ Cové-Mbede.

It is fascinating how the tense relationship between the USA and Russia during the Cold War plays an important precedent in the public eye to generate plots and theories about the origins and intentions of Sci-Hub on copyrighted territories, even though you repeatedly insisted that Sci-Hub is a project you started in 2011. These theories suggest a plethoric range of possibilities, from a fully state funded project by Russian Intelligence, to an ongoing investigation directed by the US Justice Department that targets Sci-Hub as an undercover espionage-project. What is your response to these accusations and what is behind the constant emergence of conspiracy plots toward Sci-Hub?

Alexandra Elbakyan: First of all, these suspicions are understandable: Sci-Hub is an openly communistic project, coming from the former USSR or Russia, with a picture of Lenin pinned on its twitter page. I studied information security at the university, supported Putin politics and Sci-Hub uses supposedly hacked credentials to log in into university systems. All these facts taken together create a classical picture of some Russian intelligence. Also US authorities could suspect that Sci-Hub is an attempt to influence US researchers by the Russian government.

And the second reason for conspiracies is that Sci-Hub is a very cool and advanced project. So many people think: how could an Armenian woman coming from Kazakhstan create this herself? There should be a team of developers behind her face and so on. We still have a lot of prejudices against women, especially young—still many people think that women cannot code or do some serious work in IT—prejudices against race and countries. Just think of the Borat movie about Kazakhstan! After watching this movie, who can believe that something great such as Sci-Hub—and many people consider it great—can come from Kazakhstan? And so on. The funniest thing here is perhaps that because of all that, who will consider me for any great job at all? Hence all I can work on is a project that is illegal in all countries. But even then that work will not be considered mine. It is necessary to note that these prejudices were much stronger a few years ago, when Sci-Hub started, now they are becoming weaker.

In 2016 Marcia Mcnutt (former president of the National Academy of Sciences) wrote a column for Science Magazine titled My love-hate of Sci-Hub in which she argues that downloading papers from Sci-Hub could create collateral damage for authors, publishing houses, universities, fellowships, science education, among other areas. The love-hate scenario Mcnutt paints is nonetheless confusing for the debate she wants to open about corporate knowledge inside institutions, since the whole text leaves serious cracks in her depiction of the publishing system’s function. Accidentally in the same text, she evidences a chain of normalized exploitation towards researchers in her community—by not rewarding them. To use her own words “Journals have real costs, even though they don’t pay authors or reviewers, as they help ensure accuracy, consistency, and clarity in scientific communication.” If access means power and power is fueled by elevated amounts of money, what are the standards of politically correct access to information aiming for, if not capital accumulation?

Of course Sci-Hub creates damage: damage to the status quo, because old ways of doing things die and a new reality is born—what is perceived as damage to old ways is just transformation and change.

In her article Marcia McNutt says: “Authors do not benefit from download statistics, for example, which are increasingly being used to assess the impact of their work.” That does not seem to be a strong objection to me. After all, the real impact is when some work is cited, not just downloaded? I download many papers for later reading, for example. You can download and read some paper because it has a catchy title, but it will turn out to be useless for your work.

Sci-Hub collects download statistics, although they are not public, but all download statistics have been recorded since 2011 and I have a plan to add the number of views each paper has in the future. So Sci-Hub can be updated to provide such information.

The article goes on… “Libraries cannot properly track usage for the journals they provide and could wind up discontinuing titles that are useful to their institution. As institutions cancel subscriptions, the ability of non-profit scientific societies to provide journals and support their research communities is diminished.” In my opinion, it is very good when institutions cancel subscriptions, because we need to get rid of that outdated subscription model that operates by blocking access to knowledge for everyone who has not paid for a subscription. I don’t see it as damage but as a good thing.

The argument continues that journals have real costs. My response is that the prices currently charged for subscriptions are not used to cover the costs but simply to increase the profits. An example to illustrate this is that papers published in the 2010s and earlier are paywalled. Why? There is no reason—these papers have been published more than 10 years ago. Haven’t the costs of publishing them been covered already? They could be free, but they are being kept with closed access only to extract more profits.

Sci-Hub’s borderless pirate distribution is generating not only scientific capital but also cultural capital, in an availability of knowledge never experienced before. Language barriers aside, the capacities for scientific development in countries with research shortages may have significant growth in the next ten years thanks to Theft Trade Communication.

In a presentation you made this year about the mythology of science titled The Open Science Idea you made an unexpected statement: modern science grew out of theft. What is the nexus between cognition, communism, and theft inside your studies about the cultural history of science?

Since about 2010 I have had astrology as a hobby (yes, I know that is considered to be pseudoscience) and in modern astrology, there is planet Mercury that is responsible for all communication and information flow. That is because Mercury is an ancient god of language and speech, trade, travel, and theft. I thought that corresponds very well with Sci-Hub’s mission  and the common idea behind all these different activities is the idea of communication. We can find similar gods in other cultures and they are also gods of knowledge, and the god Mercury later developed as god of alchemy, astrology or the earliest forms of science. What we can see here is that science from its inception was connected to communication or to the idea of making something common. Hence private ownership of science by corporations is contradictory to science itself.

Is also worth noticing the high contrast amid the graphic assertions from Elsevier and Sci-Hub and what each one represents and stands for in regard to power and information. I’ve always wondered about Sci-Hub’s logo genesis, because in this case the graphisms go beyond the symbolic.

Alexandra Elbakyan: The history of Sci-Hub logo is less intriguing than it appears to be. When Sci-Hub started in 2011, its first logo was a simple Soviet hammer and sickle, and when the mouse pointer hovered upon it, a text showed up stating: “Communism is … common ownership of the means of production with free access to articles of consumption.”

I took this communism definition from a Wikipedia page and it fitted Sci-Hub very neatly. I was lucky because that definition of communism in Wikipedia was only in 2011—if you check earlier versions of Wiki articles about communism or later versions, they do not contain anything about “free access to articles.”

In 2014 I created a group in a social network to bring together Sci-Hub users (vk.com/sci_hub). First I used the Mendeleev table as a logo, after that it was an alchemical serpent. Later I decided to look up some pictures in Google with a key and books to use as a group logo, and found Raven sitting on books, holding a key. I loved that picture and immediately put it up as a logo on Sci-Hub’s social network group. Later in 2015, I decided to re-design Sci-Hub website and create a more current design, and used the group raven logo as a website logo.

Now that you discovered attractive routes to study information patterns and similarities through history, What do you think about the future of file-sharing consumption under severe .net regulations?

It is quite hard to predict the future, but I hope everything will be OK with Sci-Hub and it will have millions of daily visitors, not just half a million, and be recognized as a legal project.

We are in the middle of important changes at institutional, corporate and cultural levels in the context of Open Science and information access. In June of 2020 MIT ended negotiations with Elsevier for a new contract, and recently the University of California also renewed negotiations launching open access resolutions with the company. At the same time, many universities are inaugurating new protocols and initiatives to ensure wide and free access for academic resources. Do you consider the recent measures taken by academic organizations to be enough to abolish the paywall-economy?

As we can see paywalls are still there, and Sci-Hub is getting a lot of traffic. It could help if all—or most—science organizations stopped support of the paywall system, not just MIT and the University of California.

In May 2020 you were nominated for the John Maddox Prize by Fergus Kane after almost ten years of navigating heavily corporate waters. One curious detail about the award is that it has support from the international scientific journal Nature, Nature’s news team covered Sci-Hub’s legal battle in New York courts unfavorably. What is your approach to this nomination and how significant could it be for Sci-Hub’s potential?

I have seen many times in social networks how people say that I should get a Nobel Prize for Sci-Hub! So I expect a Nobel Prize, not just John Maddox, but of course the prize condition of Sci-Hub is just as unfair as its media condition. Sci-Hub has existed for 9 years so far, praised—and sometimes worshipped—by researchers all around the world: many people say that without Sci-Hub they would barely be able to do science, the project is extremely popular and considered to be revolutionary and… in the nine years of its existence it never got a single prize! That John Maddox nomination is a small step towards justice.

Can you elaborate the statement you made about Elon Musk’s Neuralink similarities with your Global Brain project developed back in 2010?

I’ve written a lot about neural chips in my blog and participated in conferences on that topic. Now Elon Musk is working on exactly the same things I wanted to work on and talked about 10 years ago. But there is not as much work as there is publicity: nothing is done yet, but everyone all over the world knows about that Neuralink—so when you talk about brain chips or brain-machine interfaces, people will immediately think that you’re somehow copy-cating Elon Musk, right? In fact, that topic of brain chips is quite old, attempts to develop and discuss something similar were made back in 2003 and earlier, it all started way before Elon Musk, but the advertisement works in such a way that most people think that is Elon Musk’s Neuralink.

A similar thing happened with Aaron Swartz. His name became so strongly associated with that “free science papers” topic that when people finally learned about Sci-Hub it was perceived as nothing but a shadow copy of Aaron Swartz work, while in reality Sci-Hub started and became popular before Aaron Swartz’s case.

Sci-Hub was a unique and extremely revolutionary project, but it became perceived as a shadow copycat just because it was given publicity only after the name of another person has been associated with the idea of freeing science by stealing research papers. In the beginning, it really felt as if Sci-Hub was working hard to free itself from that “copycat“ image. And I wonder whether something similar is being done with Neuralink. Elon Musk is very unappreciative of communism, as we can see from his twitter. So, I wonder if Sci-Hub was somehow the reason behind Elon Musk’s Neuralink.

What is your opinion about Elsevier’s Scholarly Networks Security Initiative (SNSI) founded together with other large publishers that proposes an analysis engine with biometric data and conspicuous usage patterns spyware, to prevent “cyber-attacks targeting institutions” and even hosting a presentation titled “The threat presented by Sci-Hub and other state-sponsored or individual bad actors”?

Actually I don’t know much about that surveillance scandal, I myself learned from Twitter about their plans, some people posted a link to that Times Higher Education article, I wanted to read it but it was not available in full—I had to register in their website. I did that, read the article and then re-posted it in Sci-Hub’s twitter. A well-known Open Access advocate Björn Brembs, who was mentioned in that article, has more on this topic in his twitter. I do not know him, but he often shares opinions in support of Sci-Hub.

You mentioned before that since 2010 you study astrology/modern astrology as a hobby. I would like to ask you to do a prediction about Sci-Hub (or Elsevier).

Ha! You’re the first journalist to ask such questions. Most questions are just duplicates: they ask how Sci-Hub works, why the science must be open, and what I’m going to do next. I cannot give a prediction for Elsevier, because for astrology, you need to know precisely, in minutes, time and place of birth—or, for websites and companies, time and place where they launched first. I can do it for Sci-Hub only. I actually looked into the Sci-Hub natal chart only in September 2017, when my friend’s ex-boyfriend, interested in astrology, contacted me and asked about Sci-Hub.

Sci-Hub has Mars in Cancer in its 10th house. What does that mean? 10th house (out of 12) is the middle of heavens. Mars is a god of war and god of heroes, so perhaps that’s why Sci-Hub is fighting the system. Usually Mars in Cancer is considered to be bad for Mars, because, as I read in one astrology source, Mars is a planet of energy, and inside Cancer that energy is hitting the shell and gets blocked, so the person’s energy is blocked, until sometimes that shell explodes. I thought that is a good metaphor of what Sci-Hub does: that is the service to breaking walls or shells where Science is currently incarcerated. On the other side, that is destiny: Sci-Hub gets blocked everywhere. You can also make a rough prediction, that since Mars is in Cancer, Mars is in a weak position, that usually signifies losers, or people who prefer to sit at home with their mother (Cancer is home/mother sign) than go fighting, because they think that will be smarter. Partially, that description fits Sci-Hub: so far it lost in all courts, because it was never participating—and that is a actually a smart thing to do, because fighting against such a huge corporation as Elsevier, with current law on their side, would obviously make no sense. But in astrology, as well as human life, is more complicated than just win or lose.

To compare, I have Mars in first degree. Aries (the strongest position that Aries can be) in 3rd house. The 3rd house in the human horoscope represents communication, studying and information—people often say that I’m too aggressive when communicating. Another feature I noticed in Sci-Hub’s horoscope is Neptune in the 6th house. That house represents work (not career) and Neptune is the planet of confusion (Neptune in astrology is opposed to Mercury, planet of rational knowledge). I noticed that no matter how much I explain how Sci-Hub works, still after several years people are very confused about it.

There is the 12th house in the human horoscope that represents death and life outcomes, Sci-Hub has the Sun and Venus here, they both bring luck and good fortune. So I hope the outcome of Sci-Hub will be better!

In September of 2020 the http://sci-hub.tw domain was blocked under a Website Infringement Complaints lawsuit by Elsevier using legal representation from Beijing. Can you explain the reasons behind this worldwide block and the suspicious follow-up appearance of fake look-alike Sci-Hub domains?

I have doubts about the real reason for the Elsevier lawsuit. Why? Well, I bought the .tw domain a few years ago from one Russian Internet company and since then, sci-hub.tw was never blocked, while other domains (Sci-Hub had a lot of them) did not live long, a couple of months or so. But the .tw domain was miraculously resilient to this. I was thinking, perhaps Chinese government (back then I did not know about the conflict between mainland China and Taiwan) was silently supporting Sci-Hub because of communist ideas?… What prevented Elsevier from seizing the .tw domain, just like they did with all other domains? (Another resilient domain is .se but Pirate Party in Sweden is backing it up).

When sci-hub.tw suddenly got blocked in September, I contacted that Russian company asking them what happened, because I had no letters from the domain registrar in my mailbox that are usually sent before the domain gets blocked. They took a long pause and then responded that they had asked the company where the .tw domain was registered, but they were silent and did not reply. I asked whether I can ask them myself, and they gave me an email. I sent a letter on 29 September, but then already I felt something was not clear here. The company responded the next day, very shortly, ‘we have sent you the document, please check, thanks’ I asked whether they could send me the document again because I received nothing! After 10 days, they finally responded with a document, explaining that there was a lawsuit filed by Elsevier (I posted that on Sci-Hub Twitter).

Then it popped up. sci-hub.tw was a very popular domain, it popped up first in Google search results, 45% of Sci-Hub users were coming from Google and other search engines (now percentage of search traffic is only 22%) but after it got blocked, it disappeared and instead, some suspicious ‘Sci-Hub’ websites started to appear first in Google (I also posted about that on Twitter)

By suspicious ‘Sci-Hub’ websites I mean scihub.wikicn.top, sci-hub.tf, sci-hub.ren, sci-hub.shop, and sci-hub.scihubtw.tw. These websites are actually the same, and they worked as a proxy to Sci-Hub, so they receive request from the users, redirect it to real Sci-Hub website (using some non-blocked Sci-Hub address) and give user the response, hiding/masking the address of real Sci-Hub. Actually, such websites can, in theory, have good goals, just to unblock Sci-Hub in those places where access to real Sci-Hub is blocked, for example, scihub.unblockit.top or scihub.unblockit.lat work the same way – but we can easily see these as generic services to unblock various blocked websites.

In the case of the websites mentioned above, the first time I encountered this was when one of the Sci-Hub domains was blocked in Russia. In such cases I usually add a new Sci-Hub domain for Russian users to work. After .se was blocked in Russia back in 2019, I quickly added sci-hub.st (if I remember correctly) as a replacement but then I noticed, that surprisingly, instead of this new domain published by me, people promoted some ‘sci-hub.ltd’ website. I opened it and it worked as a proxy, and I really did not like that, also because .ltd domain means ‘limited’ and Sci-Hub should not be limited. I found their IP address and configured Sci-Hub, so that when Sci-Hub is accessed though sci-hub.ltd proxy, it shows the REAL Sci-Hub addresses that people can use instead.

After I did that, the sci-hub.ltd author contacted me, and instead of providing some good reason for his .ltd website, such as “we want to provide access to Sci-Hub where real addresses are blocked” mumbled something about promoting Sci-Hub through this domain!

Then coronavirus happened and I forgot about this, but this September it all resurfaced as a replacement for the .tw website worldwide. These websites are adding advertisements while real Sci-Hub has no advertisements. They use suspicious domains such as ‘shop’ or ‘tf’ which reads as ‘thief’. Just like previously, I replaced their content with real Sci-Hub addresses (.st .se and .do) and they were aggressively fighting it! They tried using multiple proxies to hide their IP, they were desperately replacing and removing real Sci-Hub addresses from my message, they changed my email (!) on my About page (sci-hub.do/alexandra) to some another email registered at 163.com, and later they removed link to my page completely. If they had good intentions, just to unblock Sci-Hub, they could SIMPLY provide real Sci-Hub addresses in the left menu, with an explanation that they are only a proxy to help people when Sci-Hub is inaccessible by real addresses. They did nothing, instead they started to redirect to some Sci-Hub database mirror instead, and for new articles they put a completely fake “proxy search” page, while in fact it does not search anything, is just an imitation of the real Sci-Hub.

I really suspect that these websites are kind of man-in-the-middle attack from publishers (or somebody else!), who are providing fake Sci-Hub websites instead of the real one, to manipulate or control Sci-Hub’s image. But they could not do this with the.tw domain live, they needed to block it in order to replace Sci-Hub with their fake Sci-Hub they can control. This happened soon after I posted “About me” information on Sci-Hub for everyone to read. See? Somebody might want to prevent such information from being posted, so they need a controlled Sci-Hub, so there will be no “About me” or “about Sci-Hub” pages that can provide true facts about Sci-Hub. Media is controlled, but I could post my story on Sci-Hub, and everyone respects Sci-Hub… they want to block this opportunity. Additionally, simple advertisements already create a negative impression of Sci-Hub as some shady website, while real Sci-Hub does not rely on advertisements.

—

Co-edited by Serafin Dinges.

Hoçâ Cové-Mbede is a writer, graphic designer and cultural vector, who focuses on interviews-as-templates to explore topics fueled by Silicon Valley criticism, guerilla media, surveillance aesthetics and technology + information. C-M’s work has been featured on platforms such as the Institute of Network Cultures, The Wrong Biennale, TTT in Art & Science, The Quietus and Metal Magazine.

Alexandra Elbakyan is a web developer and a researcher focused in neuro and cognitive sciences, Open Access/Science and theories of knowledge, with a bachelor degree in Computer Technology and master’s degree in Linguistics from the Saint-Petersburg State University in Russia. Elbakyan is the founder of Sci-Hub, the first pirate website in the world to provide mass and public access to millions research papers.

Maya Man is a young artist, dancer and technologist from New York. Utilising her background in coding and computer science, she makes projects that enhance and expand online experiences. Her work incorporates themes of joy, nostalgia and curiosity all at once, often leaning on early internet aesthetics while projecting a vision of embodied technological bodies into the future.

Maya Man’s personal website (2021). Click to explore.

Maya’s art excites me because it celebrates the possibilities that open up when people and machines work together, and avoids falling into naiveté over the possible risks of such collaboration. I hope more people recognise the potential her works have to change our relationship to the internet and AI. My aim here is to show and discuss a few key works, and invite you to explore Man’s projects yourself, as they are best when experienced first-hand.

Moving with the Machine

“PoseNet Sketchbook” was the first Maya Man artwork I saw online. It is made with a modified algorithm sourced on tensorflow.js. PoseNet tracks a moving body and creates a variety of distorted moving images based on the user’s movements. When I saw the work, I immediately thought of Myron Krueger’s first experiments with immersive environments in the 1970s, like VIDEOPLACE, developed in the 1970s and 1980s.

One of many PoseNet experiments

Still from YouTube video showing one of Krueger’s VIDEOPLACE experiments (1985).

Both works show an interest in tracking and modifying the movements of a body. However, I thought Maya’s work facilitated a more intimate relationship between the participant and the technology capturing their movements. Since the 1970s, our understanding of developing everyday technologies deepened, and various machines entered our daily lives and the very fabric of societies. This shift irreversibly affected how we interact with everyday technologies, and influences the level on which we acknowledge or bypass their existence and visibility.

In Kruger’s immersive environments, the experiences were communal, new and exciting, all-encompassing for as long as participants interacted with the meticulously-built environment. Man’s work, on the other hand, disenchants the spectacle of technological possibility and represents the inseparability of our entanglements with the machine. “PoseNet Sketchbook” exists in multiple places at once, on computer screens of individual users as their shapes shift, distort and layer. The miracle of endless possibility is gone – now, we explore what to do with what remains. Each movement is like a brushstroke, and the effect lasts for as long as the browser tab is open. There is something beautiful and pure in this temporary interaction.

Some of Maya Man’s PoseNet experiments, available to try (click on image).

An intimate staring contest

The idea of close encounters with daily technologies appears in Maya’s other works, establishing itself as a theme. The screens of users are their primary mode of exhibition and existence. Take, for instance, “Glance Back,” a Google Chrome extension that captures the webcam image from a device once a day and prompts the user to record what they were thinking about at that moment.

This process makes visible the data collection that already occurs in search engines and on other platforms that facilitate our online activity. While the browser extension asking you about your thoughts might be jarring to some, it is simply a more streamlined and direct cousin of algorithms that track and predict our actions. “Glance Back” adds nuance to these relations. It acts as a personal diary and prompts personal interest in the performing machine. Unlike other modes of online surveillance, “Glance Back” operates under the agency and consent of the user. Maya explains on the project’s website: “It’s important to note that all of the photos are saved to your browser’s local storage. This means that they never leave your machine. This is a collection shared purely between you and your computer.”

To me, “Glance Back” provides an opportunity to acknowledge the physical and emotional closeness between ourselves and our machines, especially now, when we use them to work, relax, but also socialise with other internet users (our friends and family). Or, more specifically, “Glance Back” allows users to decide whether or not they wish to share such personal data with the extension. Choosing to download it can be an act of making visible the personal connections many of us already have with our devices. However, can it lead to acknowledging this relationship might be toxic? I am not sure. I would love to see Maya engage with the concept of surveillance capitalism and the attention economy further in her practice.

What are you willing to share?

What happens when we willingly share personal information online? A few things. We begin building an archive of feelings and reflections; a sporadic, erratic digitised diary. We hope somebody out there listens, interacts, relates. We might even share things online that we are unwilling to communicate face-to-face. However, doing this invites unwanted attention too, and provides a source that others can use in malicious ways in the future.

Using code as her medium, Maya reinterprets Madeleine’s large file of personal data she’d shared with the artist. Maya built a website that shows notes from Madeleine’s iPhone. What emerges is an intimate portrait of a young woman recording significant, useful and introspective information over the years. For personal use, until now. Looking at the website, I feel like an intruder, even though I am aware she shared the data willingly. Still, it feels too personal to be accessed by just anybody.

Madeleine’s Notes.

I cannot help but keep swiping and reading note after note, and the blue skies in the background add to the whimsical, otherworldly feeling the website evokes. Can this be a modern-day confessional, embedded in code and designed to fit a specific aesthetic, a millennial nostalgic about websites they grew up visiting? I am conflicted, but I keep looking. I realise that this project shows online activity does not have to be so heavily curated. Madeleines.notes and Glance Back take away the users’ ability to select, edit and filter content that reflects who they are. Why not give that agency away? To think how many hours I’ve spent thinking about how to present myself online. I am sick of it now, like many others. I want to refuse to participate in the spectacle, but I am unsure how. Is there an alternative way of relating to social networks? I see Maya’s work can be a stepping stone towards a more balanced and healthy relationship between our actual selves and our virtual/online extensions.

Digital Literacy Now

Maya’s presence online takes many forms, but always carries an interest in embodying compassion and care through machine learning and code. I consider her website to be an artwork in and of itself, a source for artworks and education; points of departure. The Racial Justice Bookshelf needs to be mentioned here. It is a resource made to make it easier to buy anti-racist books from black-owned businesses in the US. Then there is are.na; Maya’s scrapbook of inspiration and information, an ever-growing archive of online happenings and references.

The difficult part is this: Maya’s work does require quite a high level of digital/internet literacy. In the beginning, I struggled to understand how are.na or GitHub even work. However, when I moved past confusion, I started to appreciate and see the exciting potential of alternative platforms, creative coding, and the artistic expression they allow.

“Pretty Machines” on Man’s are.na

Maya speaks openly about her passion for computers and coding, and her interest in facilitating new interactions between bodies and everyday technologies they already encounter and absorb. The future of online content can be more transparent and genuine, based less on the logic of the attention economy and more on the needs and interests of individual users, who come together to experience and share their embodied technological selves. It starts with looking back at the machine that is already watching.

In the early morning of April 14th, 2021, the four editors of the journal DOXA were arrested by Russian authorities. Armen Aramyan, Natasha Tyshkevich, Volodya Metelkin and Alla Gutnikova appeared in court later that day. The purpose of the charges were made clear by the judge – to silence critics – who ordered the editors to house arrest and has restricted them from all electronic communication.

DOXA is a Russian student-run popular journal dedicated to critiques of the modern university. They have served as a clearinghouse for disseminating radical philosophy, especially feminist, Marxist, and anarchist voices. It also hosts editorials about the sprawling Russian university system, highlights student protests, and organizes solidarity for students harassed for speaking out.

The charges against the editors are preposterous. DOXA had posted a rather innocent video urging others to protest without fear and that expelling students for political reasons was unlawful. In response, the Russian communications authority Roskomnadzor demanded they remove the video. DOXA complied and removed the video. Even then, the editors were charged under Article 151.2 of Russian law (“involvement of youth in activities that can be harmful to them”).

Perhaps there is some honor to being charged with the same crime as Socrates? Yet it is remarkable to suggest that university students need protection from DOXA. Only one who uses education to manufacture obedience outlaws critical thinking as self-harm. And it is no coincidence that laws like these are also used against social critics, queers, and migrants.

The Institute of Network Cultures urges all charges to be dropped against the DOXA editors and that all harassment of students immediately cease.

More information:

1) https://doxajournal.ru/ (in Russian)

2) Chronology of Events (in English) https://open-assembly.calarts.edu/index.php/2021/04/14/doxa-chronology-of-events/

3) News report on the Amnesty site: https://www.amnesty.org/en/latest/news/2021/04/russia-police-searches-at-student-magazine-are-a-new-low-for-press-freedom/

4) The Moscow Times: Russian Student Journalists Face Jail Over Navalny Protest Video https://www.themoscowtimes.com/2021/04/14/russian-student-journalists-face-jail-over-navalny-protest-video-a73585

The information above has, in part, been collected by ‘Dark Deleuze’ Andrew Culp, now teaching at Calarts/LA. Please sign his petition. He writes:

This is the follow-up of the three-part blog series of the insightful conversation between film professor, media producer, theorist, and activist dr. Alexandra Juhasz and journalist, historian, and filmmaker Peter Snowdon.

Alex

Peter, I really love the way you write about each of the distinct videos in your book The People Are Not an Image, your deep close readings. You let each small work take time on the page to stand as a separate complex object, while at the same time making larger claims about vernacular video and its place within these movements. YouTube videos so rarely get seen (by critics) with the kind of attention we more typically offer to great works of media art. And then, your writing about the video itself produces that very feeling of mediated-connectedness, or maybe even friendship that we’ve been discussing.

You dedicate each chapter to one video, often beginning with a transcript of audio and some screenwriting direction to let us see the piece, followed by an analysis that develops through what you learn in conversation with each short work. Chapter One, “A Happy Man,” focuses on a video by rideaudur, posted January 17, 2011. You begin:

In this short clip, we hear more than we see a man walking up and down along a main artery (“the avenue,” as he calls it) of a North African city. As he walks, he improvises a poetic panegyric in honor of the people of his country and the freedom they have won for themselves. Yet the people of whom and to whom he speaks are nowhere to be seen. Indeed, as the clip progresses, it may seem that he is less assuming their existence than trying to conjure them into being. (pg, 29)

9. A Happy Man from Peter Snowdon on Vimeo.

Peter

That particular video is one that means a lot to me, as I believe it did to many other people. It is one of the few that made it into my film more or less unedited. And a large part of what I was doing in the book came from something that occurred to me fairly early on when making the film. I had to accept that, as a general rule, I couldn’t keep the videos whole, that I had to edit them. And so the writing became, in part, a project to restore the integrity of each video.

I was seeing short films coming from a place that I had never expected, which were made in an audiovisual language that seemed both very new, but also coherent with languages that I knew from traditions of experimental media work that seemed to me to have nothing to do with this place and time, and which may or may not have been particularly political in their intent. So, when I was describing these individual videos, I really wanted the writing to recreate for me, and thus for the reader, this sense that this may only be three minutes and 27 seconds of screen time, but this is an actual “work,” as solid and as densely wrought and as present as anything you might pay to see in a cinema (or, more likely, a cinematheque…).

If I insist on the sensory and kinetic qualities of these videos, it is because the videos themselves insist on them. They are above all exercises in the concrete, and as such, acts of resistance against the kinds of abstraction that characterize both the practice of government and certain species of intellectual discourse. (…) They do not offer etiologies, genealogies, or any other type of rationalization. They do not explain, much less explain away. They are presentations rather than representations. They are committed to appearance as a space of action in and for its own sake, not as something to be decoded or demystified. (p. 3)

There is so much that happens in each video which needs to be recognised and honoured. So, in some sense, it was a relief to be able to just attend to one video at a time, and not to have to be also thinking of all the others, or negotiating between them, as I had in making the film where I began to understand the work of editing not just at a practical level, but also more theoretically. My hypothesis was that these videos could together tell a story that would be intelligible without any external assistance, without the need for narration or context. That they could do that work themselves, and that all I had to do was trust the videos. But then, I discovered that it wasn’t enough to trust the videos – they also had to accommodate each other, to make space for one another, without any one of them cancelling or erasing the others. Just as you can’t have a collectivity in which each person does nothing but proclaim their individuality, you cannot have a film in which each shot runs its full unedited length. And in this precise sense, editing is, by its very nature, a political enterprise.

Alex

In this sense, so too is videomaking. It is always an act of selection, framing, argument-building, and affect-production in service of communication or inspiration. But I need to emphasize that not all vernacular video is political video, and this is where I find your close readings and associated theorizing of this body of work so important. You are writing about video that engages self-documentation with a revolutionary duty. You outline the many conditions that need to be in place for people-made video (always in conversation with or even as corporate media) to be active in a project of world-changing and revolution-making. You bring to our attention a kinetic, affective regime, in its formal dimensions, and as a body of video made of individual work by individual people—how this makes us feel, and what it asks us to do.

Figure 10: Still from The Uprising(2013) / YouTube video uploaded by feb tub, February 14, 2011.

Peter

My focus was on disrupting definitions that decree what is and is not possible. I was consciously writing in opposition to a lot of the rhetoric and ideology around YouTube and social media which seemed to posit a form of “sharing” which is actually not an act of sharing at all. In particular, the term “vernacular” is often used in a very apolitical, and watered-down sense. I wanted to reclaim the word vernacular as that which is outside of, and resistant to, the administered and governed life. I took this from Ivan Illich, who I had first read back in Paris in the 1990s. It wasn’t an accident that these videos which seemed to be contesting the conventional, Euro-American sense of the vernacular as a kind of inoffensive amateurization, rather than a space of resistance and contestation, were happening in these specific places and at this particular time – that is, within an Arab world where, as Mohamed Bamyeh has argued, a centuries-old “civic ethics” still persists today, not as some sort of ossified tradition, but as “an old, rational and enlightened common attitude” that continues to guide people as they work through the trials and tribulations of everyday life.  In these countries, there is still a certain real experience of shared space as itself a form of never-ending negotiation, and community as something tangible, not merely aspirational. And this is true not only in working-class neighbourhoods or farming villages, but also to a large extent for many strata of the middle classes, including those who might be seen to have benefited from economic liberalisation, in so far as their position remains contested, and often fragile.

Alex

You use the word vernacular two more times in the book. On top of “vernacular video,” you also take up this verb, vernacularization: video that records daily life and in so doing understands this new kind of visibility as part of a larger political project that you say exceeds the local. It must be local to make it vernacular, but the vernacularization occurs in its mediation and distribution when technology assures that the daily exceeds the local. You claim that this is performative. There’s a necessary self-awareness in the enacting of the self, and the place, and its dailiness, which is written formally and received affectively and hence politically.

Figure 11: screengrab of YouTube video uploaded by webamri amri, 29 January 2011.

I wrote something quite similar about AIDS activist video when I was theorizing my own community-based video activism by, for, and about urban women of colour and AIDS. While realist practices might seem to outsiders as untutored, unintentional, and not of the more rigorous practices of artists or intellectuals, media coming from and for a movement knows itself with a formal self-awareness. This is a political awareness because it is generated through an often dangerous personal act of coming into voice and community. It is performed and received as such by viewers from that place. That’s easy to feel for its local viewership (which is the point), but harder to name for others, I think. And that’s what you’re attending to when you so carefully engage in close readings of the quick, daily, but connected mediation of actual bodies and their political lives.

Can you talk about the tension between how vernacular videos document actual people, bodies, and their political lives and how these fit into vernacular anarchives: a complex assembly of all these discrete videos—and their people— that is bigger and more convincing than what any one video can do.

Peter

Maybe this goes back to what I alluded to before, that my own formative experiences of community were not experiences of unproblematic self-identity, but rather of complex and even disruptive forms of displacement. Community doesn’t always coincide with itself, or with the local. Perhaps it would be better to think of it as a certain way of being with displacement and non-coincidence, and not as their absence or their abolition. And then, community always needs an outside. The question is what is the relationship to that outside – is it generative, or is it simply erasure and violence? Somewhere we’re afraid of? Or somewhere we can escape to?

These videos are very much addressed to an outside—to multiple outsides—in a way that is not strictly bounded or policed, though at times there are boundaries which are, and have to be, very firmly asserted. But in general, their address is open. They don’t exist as atoms but are already an assemblage. Even in each individual video, there’s a sense that it’s the collectivity of videos that matters, not any single gesture. And the power of that assemblage is not simply numerical. It’s not simply a question of how many people are in the street, or how many videos take over the internet. What matters is to create an intensity which can attract people to it. So, between the individual video and the anarchive as an open totality, there are all these specific associations and assemblages that come into being for a certain time, and act as attractors of energy, as provisional poles of clarity, and as creators and distributors of meaning.

If filming was a means of participation for the filmer, then the videos that were produced and uploaded were not just documents of that participation, but rather (in the most direct sense) invitations to others to act in their turn. (…) More specifically, they were inviting the viewer not only to emulate but also to compete with what they had seen, to try to exceed the model in revolutionary fervour. (p. 175)

Figure 12: still from The Uprising (2013) / YouTube video uploaded by 5000zukoo, September 21, 2011.

Alex

You suggest that the possibility of an outside is critical for an ethics of solidarity: what you call “a we.” This calling comes from of a local, every day, but also, of course, exceptional I that is living and taping in-community in-revolution. There could be, or perhaps there must be, an anticipated outsider—a you—who is called by this performative address, someone who is outside the local, someone who needs this representation, someone who might connect. That is one reason, among many, why each I is making and distributing each short videotape: to be seen and heard, yes, but also to connect to other I’s in this articulation. In your book, you write about that person, that outsider, that imagined or hailed viewer, as being close by, in proximity, although not exactly local: ideally in one of these countries in revolution, and thus called not just to look or connect but also to the/their street. The call asks: who’s going to join us in the street and become the we?

Figure 13: screengrab of YouTube video uploaded by Iyad El-Baghdadi, 2 February, 2011.

But what of the “we” who is not nearby, not in or of the region? We who hear the call and cannot respond. Before the internet, if you made a work like this it would stay local, and it would take many years for it to circulate to others around the world: a local call displaced by time. You suggest that for this body of video from the Arab Spring, and because of social media, this nearby in place happens in real time. But I think about this differently. I actually understand the production of this kind of “we” as a failed promise of YouTube; the deep lie of the internet; and an aspect of your theorizing of vernacular video that is not yet complete. What does it mean when we reach that person, those people, in great numbers—really reach an outsider, and you, who is distant and other. Yes, the reaching happens, the call is heard, but the associated doing that you build into your theory of vernacular video stays impossible, even if it is felt in each work.

Figure 14: screengrab of YouTube video uploaded by LLWProductions, 20 March, 2011.

The energy of the call and response to the street that you find so intoxicating in these videos is consumed differently for another “we” that is made up of distant viewers, like me (and not you!), even as or perhaps because the intoxication of the local and the revolution is so very evident, so skillfully produced, in each iteration. Voices from afar on the internet are intoxicating, yes, and just as often also paralyzing. We can’t help, we can’t go there. And things on the internet, even when they are intoxicating, are also always interchangeable. For that other, for this we, there is another consumption and a different politics. What is the value of vernacular video for viewers who can’t join in the street, who never will even as they are moved by the videos, if momentarily but frequently?

Figure 15: screengrab of YouTube video uploaded by LLWProductions, 20 March, 2011.

And then, of course, there’s difference in time as well as distance. Over time, the videos stay there online, and they also stay the same. Do they continue to call for a “we,” even as their insurrections are over, or have failed? How do they work now, still there in their “anarchive.”

Peter

In 2001, there was a major uprising in Algeria which almost brought the regime to its knees. I remember following this, both through daily reports in the French and Algerian press, and by listening to stories told by my friends, which they had heard from their families back “home.” Shortly afterwards, I came across Jaime Semprun’s book, Apologie de l’insurrection algérienne,  which had a huge impact on me (though I later understood how partial some of his sources probably were, and thus the potential for other interpretations of these events). I remember how at the very end of this short text, he writes that, while we cannot know whether this insurrection will fail or succeed, what we do know already is that there has never been a group of revolutionaries who were so completely isolated, both inside their own country and outside it, as those in Algeria in 2001.

From this, I inherited a sense that an essential question for those on the outside – and so, for me, in 2011 – was, what could we do to address and alleviate this isolation? That is, how could we retrieve and restore forms of international or transnational political practice which already, in 2001, seemed to hang in the balance? This was very much in my mind when I was working on the film and book. Semprun also says that anybody in Europe who is following what is happening in Algeria through the newspapers can only feel ashamed of their own failure to stand up to the forms of oppression and dehumanization under which they themselves live.

And so, it seems to me that he suggests two axes along which we can approach these different degrees or kinds of outsiderness: the transnational other and the ethical other. And both these forms are in need of re-activation.

While obviously most people who watch these videos outside the places where they were made – or even within those countries – do not act, that is not necessarily the fault of those videos. If we are in Brussels or Paris or London or New York (or in some province of one of the countries of which these cities claim to be in some sense the capital) and we do not act, it is not because there is nothing to do and no one to act with. After all, even if we do not go there, “our” governments often do, with armies and weapons that are operated by our compatriots and funded by our tax dollars. And the people who live “there”, and whose only aspiration is perhaps to continue living there in peace, increasingly and massively take the enormous risk of coming here, because the risk of staying where they are even one day longer has become quite literally intolerable.

So perhaps we should see our inaction rather as one symptom of a larger problem – a problem of modes of isolation, demotivation, and disempowerment, that do not require literal physical distance to play a structuring role in our lives, and which can be questioned and ultimately overcome starting in many places, not just one. And perhaps our anger and frustration with these videos, and with the passivity-enchancing effect we imagine they may regularly (but not infallibly) have on people around us, is just one part of a larger process that is actively pushing many of us to act, not just against video, but against the causes of (this kind of) video, too.

In any case, we cannot isolate video as one total self-sufficient moment or action, and then find it wanting. No single form of communication will ever be adequate in itself. Video may be useful as part of a larger process, but it is not a substitute for that larger process. And the basis of that larger process, if it is to be fruitful, has to begin with the recovery of lived practices of mutual support and trust, not only within, but also across the frontiers and barriers that are used to divide and separate us.

So, perhaps what we are lacking is not so much the means to act from wherever we may happen to find ourselves, but the capacity to see through the barriers that are carefully placed in the way of our impulses to solidarity. The question, then, for the images of vernacular video would be: do they act to naturalise those barriers, to make them seem even more immovable and opaque? Or to reveal them for what they are – artificial, impermanent, and fragile in proportion to the force that has to be deployed to defend them?

In any case, we cannot simply say that for we who are “outside” or far away there is nothing to do, that there is no concrete way to convert affective solidarity into action. The crucial role played by so many diasporas, and their allies, in the decolonial and national liberation struggles of the 20^th century is sufficient to demonstrate the opposite. And today, when the world is even more intricately interlinked by transnational infrastructures of circulation and extraction, the potential for strategies of distributed solidarity and disruption is, if anything, even greater than in the past! Andreas Malm’s recent call to revive the North-South anti-imperialist fronts that characterised the second half of the 20^th century as the only strategically adequate response to climate change is just one example of how this potential could be channelled into meaningful action.

But beyond that, I think these videos and the worlds they invoke should also encourage us to question our definition of “action.” Historically, many of the most potent forms are in fact assertive inaction: the boycott, the strike… What we saw across the Arab world in 2011-12 is perhaps better figured as a series of massively disruptive interruptions in the forms of habitual activity that support and sustain existing forms of power and governance. Occupying squares, or marching slowly down streets, are themselves, first and foremost, ways of bringing traffic to a halt, of preventing the unquestioned continuation of all those other connections between us – the ones we do not choose, the ones we may not want.

In a world that is running to its ruin in large part because of the psychotic addiction of a small but influential minority of people to producing things that nobody needs (and to producing the desires that can make those things seem necessary), the refusal to produce anything, to “do” anything, even to desire anything, can still, I think, be a radical act – and depending on how it is configured, perhaps, the most radical. And this potential – to down tools, to cease to consume, to withdraw our attention and our participation, to become not only more self-reliant (materially, emotionally, and intellectually) but also less productive, less visible, less “active” – is always available, everywhere. It is not equally possible for everyone, of course; but it is equally available. Making it equally possible, equally imaginable – that is the work.

Alex

So, your work with vernacular video, your new book about it, and this conversation all focus on ethical media engagements: through friendship, hospitality, and lived community. These are less actions than better ways of being human, together, by making use of technology, as needed. You suggest that there is a vernacular form of mediamaking that produces, invites, and moves this ethics of engagement. I think we are together suggesting that deeper commitments—beyond a received-hail and its linked feelings of being seen or a momentary exhilaration—must align with the call to connect through representation for this work to be revolutionary or perhaps transformative. Are we making a case for the mediated local, a known, felt, and sharable here-and-now of a specific person for a known people?

Figure 16: still from The Uprising / YouTube video uploaded by FreedomRevolution25, January 24, 2012.

Peter

I certainly don’t want to minimise the importance of the local in any way. As long as our economies and lifeways have not been completely deracinated, then the local will continue to be where many of our most important relations emerge and flourish. But I don’t want to fetishise it, either. There are many different kinds of relationships that we can embrace on many different scales. Effective change will probably require us to mobilise across many or even all of them, in different combinations and for different purposes. Strong linkages, after all, can surely work both ways– to facilitate trust, but also to block change. The devil seems to me, as always, to be in the detail.

As for the question you raise about what happens to these videos when the insurrections are “over,” when they have “failed” (whatever that means – and without denying that, in one very real sense at least, their immediate aftermath has been catastrophic both for those from this region who were most directly involved in these movements, as well as for the larger society around them), this is a very important one. But in writing, I have always felt that part of my work is, precisely, to keep the question of success or failure open. In 2013, 2014, many other people were writing about these events as if they were already history. And to me, already then, that just seemed wrong. 

In 2013, I spent almost two months in Egypt. And I remember the second time I came back I was physically depressed by the experience – by what I was picking up from what was going on with my friends. Most of them were not frontline actors: they were of my generation, already in their late 40s or 50s, and it was often their children who’d been in the streets more than they had. And I wanted to write against that depression, and all its suppositions and assumptions. I was looking for something like an antidote. So it seemed to me more important at the time to try and keep this idea alive: that these videos were still speaking to us in the present tense. And therefore, that the possibilities that they had opened were somehow still alive. And it is part of the nature of moving images – their perpetual, ineliminable present tense – that they are constantly moving us to respond to them as if they were present – as if what they show us is still unfolding. Even if that presentness is, in some sense, a fiction – the fiction that is embedded at the heart of every act of viewing an audiovisual document (or of reading an essay, or a poem, or…): that the past is not yet past, and so that the future of that past might still turn out differently. That it, somehow, still depends on us, on what we choose to do.

It was the same when I made the film: I wanted it to end in such a way that whatever was in the newspaper the next morning, I wouldn’t feel like I’d foreclosed a future that was still unfolding, by over-committing to one specific concrete narrative, to one particular outcome, whether it be labelled “success” or “failure.” And, when I watch the film again myself, I see how my own response varies wildly from screening to screening. Of course, that’s true of all images, and of all art and all media. Our perception, our changing awareness, is an index of how we’re reading ourselves into the image at any particular viewing. Our reading, our response, is always a function of the state which we ourselves are in. Our ability to engage or not to engage with what an image may be proposing varies widely, and often in ways we are not aware of. This is part of the radical openness of media – that they expose us also to our own radical openness, and thus, ultimately, to our own capacity for change, both personal and collective.

––

Read the final part of the conversation here.

This is the first of what will be a three-part blog series in which we present the insightful conversation between film professor, media producer, theorist, and activist dr. Alexandra Juhasz and journalist, historian, and filmmaker Peter Snowdon. Last year, the two held multiple virtual conversations at the digital roundtables of Zoom about the ubiquity of such communication methods and underlying philosophical themes such as being human in communities across distance in times of the pandemic.

In the Fall of 2020, Alex Juhasz, in lockdown at home in Brooklyn, NY wrote an email to Peter Snowdon in Belgium. They didn’t know each other, but he had quoted her once or twice in his new book, The People Are Not an Image (Verso: 2020), which she had just completed reading. They knew of each other, as people of certain intellectual/art worlds are wont to do. Over a few email back-and-forths, she explained that beyond complimenting him on his book, she hoped for something quite a bit more: might they talk? Could they record this, transcribe it, and try to share what emerged from their digital encounter about online video? These resulting words have been both edited and changed for clarity, and at one or two points extended, to give space for tracks of thought unfolding. What follows became something they named and did together online during COVID (to which they both ultimately succumbed over this time!): a demonstration of some possibilities for being alive, human, and connected, in what we hope is a non-sentimental, non-simplifying kind of way, albeit via corporate technologies and their dominant capitalist platforms.

Alex

Peter, I want to start by situating ourselves in place and time and technology—a conversation recorded and transcribed from Zoom—for reasons related to our kindred theories and practices around what you call “vernacular video.” I also need you to know that this will be my last scholarly endeavor for a while. My mother is really sick and I’m flying to Colorado this afternoon. I’m very stressed out. But I also need you to know that I prepared for this conversation as one of the last things I did in my own specific space of COVID-inspired trauma. I was just as re-energized and excited by your book this morning as I was the first time I read it, and this reminded me that our intellectual and activist commitments, and the ideas and practices that matter to us as individuals and allies, are part of what makes me feel most alive, human, and connected. So, that’s where I’m coming from: a little distracted and stressed and also a human being meeting and talking with you for the first time on a video-screen about activist digital media, what I myself called “ThirdTube” in 2007 in my born-and-stay-digital Learning from YouTube (MIT Press), so many years ago now in the short but fertile life of social media and its dominant capitalist platforms.

Figure 1: View of corporate mall/long-stay hotel complex where Alex lived, isolated for a month, in the outskirts of her hometown of Boulder CO.

Peter

Thank you for that—for making the space and time to talk at a moment that is so fraught for you, and for letting me know that for you, this conversation isn’t just another piece of work, but—like all the best things we call “work”—something that gives you energy.

It’s a strange period. As we speak, I’m sitting in an unorthodox position myself, not surrounded by books or DVDs for once, because I’m in the bedroom! My partner and I, we’re both working from home in an apartment that is large enough, but still isn’t really designed for that. But it’s quite nice in some ways to be in what is not my usual space! And I’m really grateful to you for reaching out because this is the first evidence for me that the book physically exists, aside from one friend who posted a photograph of it on Twitter just before I completely bailed out of social media in order to try and remain relatively sane. So, it’s nice to feel that the connections that can arise by publishing a book can continue in different forms in this time and even make possible some things which weren’t possible—or were at least a lot less likely—before.

Figure 2: Corner of Peter’s workspace, with detail from Anna Boghiguian’s painting of the street on Geziret El-Manial, Cairo, where Anna and Peter were neighbours in the late 1990s.

And what you said about feeling human through being engaged with reading or watching actually resonates a lot with my feelings when I was working on the whole project: which for me is indivisibly made up of the film I made back in 2013 (The Uprising), the book I have just published, and also—just as vitally—all the invisible networks of roots and tendrils around them and which connect them to each other, and which are by far, for me who was in them, the larger part of the iceberg. For there was something about the insurrections that broke out across the Arab world in 2010-2011, and about the videos produced by their actors which, when I encountered them at the time they were being made, reconnected me with a sense of my own humanity. So, if the book serves any purpose, I would hope that it is one of reconnection—in a non-sentimental, non-simplifying kind of way—that mirrors some of what I experienced when watching and working with these videos the first time.

Figure 3: Still from The Uprising (2013) / YouTube video uploaded by Gigi Ibrahim, 24 March 2011.

Alex

I have gotten into the practice of reaching out to authors when I read a book that moves me. Usually just a short email of recognition and thanks. But in your case, I wanted more! I was writing voluminously in its margins as I was reading; I was so active and excited. I no longer really work on YouTube. But this isn’t because I’m not interested in its potential, or what we can learn about people, technology, activism, and video inside of and because of this corporate media behemoth. So, I didn’t just want to read you, I wanted to talk with you about people-made video, so many years after I had spent too much time in that very space. And I wanted to actively engage with you as a writer and thinker, because while our work shares an object, a political sensibility, a shared training in avant-gardist or formalist media traditions, our findings are often quite dissimilar. I’m excited to learn with you and I’m really thankful to you for your book. This is a review, a celebration, a conversation.

I thought we could start by you explaining the book and the larger project.

Figure 4: Front cover of The People Are Not an Image (Verso Books, 2020)

Peter

I think everything I do is part of my own learning process. So, I hope the book remains open-ended in its inquiry. Now that I am in some sense detached from the arguments I put forward – if only by the simple fact of the book being out there, in the world, in material form, and I cannot change it anymore – I can step back a little and look at them again.

The book grew out of making the film, The Uprising – a montage film made exclusively out of videos posted to social media in 2011-12 by the actors of the Arab revolutions. But the film too grew out of something else, because it was not originally intended to be “a film.” It became what it is through a series of decisions that were made over the years, and which were all oriented towards trying to help these videos reach as many people as possible. While I was working on the film, over two years of research and editing with my friend and partner in crime, Bruno Tracq, I was seeing lots of things that I couldn’t put in it and having lots of ideas that didn’t fit into the constraints that we had set. So, I began to write about these things in order to provide an outlet for everything that was bubbling. Over time that slowly grew into this book.

And there was also a more formal context that encouraged the choice to seek an outlet in writing: I was only able to do all that I did because I had, at a rather late age, entered a PhD program for which I had been awarded a very generous bursary. This meant I was able to give up other forms of gainful employment for a while and really just focus on my filmmaking and writing. I was doing a practice-based PhD, so as the written component, I was able to present a piece of writing that was more like a book than a traditional dissertation. I wanted above all to write something that could stand on its own, independently of the film, because I didn’t want the reception of the book to be conditioned by people’s reception of the film – I wanted it to be able to win its own audience, including among people who might not like, or might even be quite hostile, to the film itself. So, the book isn’t an attempt to explain the film, though I hope that it can provide a context which may lead some people to be able to see the film differently than they would have done without it.

In any case, the book and the film are driven by the same underlying invitation, which is that I want people to look at the videos produced by the actors of the Arab revolutions. I want people to actually take the time to see these videos and to form their own responses and reactions to them. I want to persuade people that it’s worth taking the time to engage with these images as an aesthetic proposition, not just a data point for social scientists. And I want to argue that both the videos themselves, and the act of posting them online, are worthy of our attention, whether we feel ourselves to be addressed by them directly, or less directly.

Alex

I am drawn to be in conversation with you in large part because you are doing work that I think of as in conversation or connection to mine: a practice-based engagement with contemporary political media.

You started this project by making a film, but your making was not disconnected to your writing or your PhD work. And that was not disconnected to a political project in which you seem deeply invested. Your orientation and practice as a media maker and writer invested in digital culture called to me because I don’t have many compatriots in a practice-based project itself rooted in a deeply felt and enacted political and theoretical engagement in the space of media. In my own PhD research in the eighties, I was making AIDS activist video with a VHS camcorder within my own activist community. My collective’s video activism (The Women’s AIDS Video Enterprise) became part of my doctoral research that itself evolved into my first monograph on activist media, AIDS TV: Identity, Community, and Alternative Video (Duke 1995).

Figure 5: AIDS TV and screengrab from “We Care: A Video for Care Providers of People Affected by AIDS” (The Women’s AIDS Video Enterprise, 1990)

These linked meditated iterations—making, thinking, and writing—about activist media were embedded within the first decade of the ongoing AIDS pandemic in North America. And that raises my first question: what was your political stake and position in relation to the uprisings and their videos? And did that change through the period you were making the film, and then writing your book, that is through your praxis?

Peter

Perhaps what I am most conscious of, also coming out of other films that I’ve made, whether they were explicitly political or not, is that all of them extend for me out of something that one might call not simply an ethics, but also a politics of friendship. I’ve realized over time that one reason why I’m a lousy would-be professional filmmaker is that I don’t enjoy making films with people who are not or could not potentially become my friends. There has to be a sense of complicity, and of mutual play, which can possibly – but not certainly – open up on to a deepening sense of trust. So, I guess I see friendship in this context as both a politics, and an experiment – something that may not work out, a risk that has to be taken, and which is deeply imbricated with the eventual success or failure of the film. And for me, this is far more important than anything more rationally identifiable, like a conceptual or ideological alignment, or even some participatory protocol that is meant to safeguard against the abuse of power, but will probably, or even inevitably, fail.

Alex

I’m curious to know what led you to believe that you could be in an ethical friendship with these human beings, these video makers. My practice as a community-based activist video maker and theorist has led me to try to make video in communities in which I already reside. So, it’s not even friendship for me, it’s shared alignment in a known community. I made AIDS activist videos when I was an AIDS activist. I made a documentary about leftist understandings of media and the scale of political movements with and about my sister, Antonia, a well-known activist and writer in the United States during and about ending the Bush administration (Scale: Measuring Media Might, 2007). I understand making media where I live, and with those with whom I want to change the world, as a feminist ethics of documentary. So, do you want to talk about how potential friendship was a facet of your politics or practice of with these videos?

Figure 6: Flier for Scale: Measuring Might in the Media Age (digital video, 58 mins, 2007)

Peter

Perhaps the basic question is, why was I watching these videos in the first place? And the simple answer is that at the time when these revolutions broke out, a lot of my closest friends were living in these countries – were from there, had been born there – and I wanted to know what was going on with them.

My work on these videos was therefore one outcome of my own personal journey over the preceding twenty years. And there were two essential stages to that. The first was when I moved from the UK to live in Paris in 1992. I was there for five years, and by the time I left, essentially 90% of my time was spent among friends who were Algerian immigrants or the children of immigrants. At a certain moment, when I was beginning to struggle with the fact of being a foreigner in Paris, through a series of chance encounters, these people had – from within their own even more complex and conflicted situation – taken me in, and adopted me, as it were. There was one family in particular who gave me a sense of being at home, even though – and, perhaps, especially because – this was with and among people who were never going to really feel straightforwardly at home themselves. This was my first real encounter with structural racism, not as something analysed in a book, or implicated in my own relative privilege (“relative” as in “situated,” not “relative” as in “less than”), but as something directly impacting the people who were at the centre of my life. But it was also more than that – it was an experience of great generosity welling up out of the centre of that injustice, despite and beyond it. From these friends, I learned something important about being a human being which connected with and deepened things I already knew, if more obscurely, through my own family background, as someone who had grown up at one generation’s remove from the working class. And if I had to sum that up in one word, it would be, hospitality.

My friends in Paris were not all Algerian, of course. When my time in Paris ran out, I’d been working for a year or so on short-term contracts with UNESCO, where I’d met people from across the whole world, including most of the Arab region. And so, as I was beginning to think about leaving a city where I felt there was no professional future for me, and I didn’t have a clue about what to do with my life, an opportunity came up through an Egyptian friend to go and work there. I jumped at that opportunity. After all, I had spent several years writing documents for UNESCO about what was wrong with the way that “the West” dealt with other peoples and their cultures, but I’d never been outside Europe. And I thought, well, what if I’m all wrong about that? I should go and see!

So, I went to Egypt and lived there for three years, working at the English edition of the Al-Ahram newspaper, and that was also a deeply transformative experience for me, both personally and politically. Not least because Cairo in general, and the paper in particular, were a meeting point for people from well beyond Egypt: from Palestine of course, but also from Sudan, Zimbabwe, Ghana… what felt like a large part of the African continent. It was also a place that looked east, towards the Indian sub-continent and the rest of Asia, in a very different way from the way that Europe did. Which meant that when I finally went to India, I arrived there from Egypt – not just in the sense that that was where I got on the plane, but conceptually, too. This helped reconfigure my inner map of the world, not just intellectually, but also physically and intuitively. It helped me realise in my bones that there isn’t just one world, one map, but many, and that “my” map – the one I had grown up with – had no particular importance or priority, in and of itself.

Figure 7: Guy Fawks, Cairo, 9 October 2012 (march to commemorate the martyrs of Maspero). Photo: Peter Snowdon

After I came back to Europe in 2000, I spent much of the next decade travelling back to Cairo at every opportunity. It was Cairo that still felt like “home,” like the place where my most important, and most vital, friendships were. I put a lot of energy into maintaining that as best I could, despite the distance. So, in 2011, when the revolutions broke out, almost the first thing I did was go online looking for my friends.

Remember, in the first days of the Egyptian uprising, there was a concerted attempt by the regime to disrupt communications with the outside world. So, I couldn’t get in touch with anyone by email, and the telephone lines weren’t working. But many of my friends were journalists, as I had been when I lived in Cairo. I knew that if anyone had access to a satellite phone, it would be them. I might be able to find them online to see if they were safe, even if I couldn’t talk to them directly. Almost immediately, I fell down the rabbit hole that is social media in times of popular unrest. And at the bottom of the rabbit hole were not just many of my friends, who were, by and large, doing okay, but also all these people making videos. And suddenly, I was spending all my waking hours hanging out with these videos, and with the people who were making them, some of whom I knew personally, and some of whom I came to know, or at least be in contact with, through the online connections forming around these events.

A lot of this activity was sharing videos and talking about them, and that combination of circulation and discussion stuck with me. Everything I’ve done since is basically an attempt to enlarge (or recreate) the circle of that initial sense of residing in a community through video – a community of discourse and exchange that goes well beyond just looking at images, and includes many, many layers of displacement and non-coincidence.

Alex

Your words resonate with what draws me to social media as well. I became a theorist of the internet and internet video in the decades after my AIDS work because my media praxis has always been medium agnostic. I am not a theorist or maker of video or film or websites per se. Rather, I’m an activist and a human being who wants to be in community and change the world with like-minded people using whatever medium is at hand. Your “being human” in community across distance is particularly resonant to me, especially because I’ve been recently working on practices of media proximity, given the protocols of social distancing and the fact of fake news (fakenews-poetry.org).

Figure 8: Participants at the New Haven Fake News Poetry Workshop, one of 25+ held around the world from 2017-ongoing.

My current work on fake news and radical digital media literacy (including a 2021 book co-written with Nishant Shah, Really Fake! that blends out creative renderings of situated authentification through stories, poetry, photos, and dating, in its many senses, temporal and inter-personal) strives to be human together while not letting go of technology. Media suit or align with their people, struggles, and places. I appreciate how your work on vernacular video is situated in a specific local and temporal struggle—what became known as the Arab Spring—itself locally and differently experienced across the countries of the region, and the changing conditions of their struggles. You name here and with more detail in the book, how making video and then also talking about and sharing this is a powerful place for political empowerment, agency, and humanity making—well, I agree with you—and am pleased to learn about this in both its situated and distributed formats.

Peter

For me, too, these videos were never just about “video”. They were always about experimenting with the multi-layered nature of community via technologies that preserve or repurpose some of those layers in order to bring us together differently, even as they create new kinds and qualities of distance and absence. And that is also what we are doing “here” today – coming together differently to trace out yet another path, or at least one segment of what may become one, through these fields of presence and absence we call “media”.

––

Read the follow-up to the conversation here.

Over het plezier van samen servers overbelasten

Gisteravond vond onder leiding van The Hmm en PublicSpaces een virtuele tour plaats rond verschillende alternatieve platforms. Ongeveer 90 online deelnemers bezochten 5 open source platformalternatieven voor sociale media, samenwerktools, videoconferencing en onderwijspresentaties. Platforms waar eigen databeheer, hosting en de privacy van gebruikers voorop staan, en zo wel degelijk een alternatief bieden voor de infrastructuren van o.a. Google en Facebook waar we niet van lijken los te komen.

De tocht startte via de eigen livestream van The Hmm, waarna er uitstapjes naar de 5 platforms werden gemaakt. Bezoekers kregen steeds een link in de chat om zo naar de volgende stop te kunnen navigeren. Je kon echter ook in de livestream blijven hangen en daar de presentaties van de ‘platform hosts’ volgen. We ‘lurkten’ en namen online ruimtes over bij Fediverse (Mastodon), Ethercalc, Mozilla Hubs, Nextcloud en de command line interface Terminal.

Het platformhoppen verliep echter verre van vlekkeloos. Geluid viel soms weg, het laden van websites duurde erg lang, we kregen foutmeldingen en overbelastten servers. Maar dat was juist vermakelijk. Je zou het niet zeggen in tijden waarin de zinsnede ‘je staat nog op mute’ ons de strot uit komt en elke schermhapering ons irriteert, maar hier viel dat allemaal weg. Recent onderzoek van de Boekmanstichting naar online evenementen in coronatijd laat zien dat bezoekers bereid zijn over technische problemen heen te stappen, als het onderwerp interessant genoeg is. Gisteravond bleek dat eens te meer. Het onderwerp was nota bene de functionaliteit van deze platforms, en de improvisatie die van zowel hosts als bezoekers nodig bleek om de tocht voort te zetten, zorgde voor een gevoel van gezamenlijkheid. Het technisch trouble shooten was niet langer ruis, maar verplaatste naar de voorgrond. Na die eerste korte vlaag van irritatie, zagen we er met z’n allen de lol en het belang van in: de chat stroomde vol met triomfantelijke berichten als ‘We broke it!’

Een gevoel van eigenaarschap maakte zich daarnaast (onbewust) van ons meester. Gezamenlijk testen en ervaren hoe deze alternatieve platformen werken, zorgt voor frictie. Ze worden niet gehost door Big Tech met hun bijbehorende financiële en personele middelen, maar zijn kleinschalig en kunnen dus soms geen negentig mensen tegelijkertijd aan. Dit drukt je met je neus op het feit dat we gewend zijn geraakt aan geruisloze ervaringen op gratis platforms waar we niets zelf in de hand hebben. Het plezier van ontdekken, leren snappen hoe iets werkt is echter een broodnodige eerste stap naar dataeigenaarschap. Online evenementen als deze laten zien dat er behoefte aan is, dat het leuk is, en dat het kán!

Paz Sastre (ed.). Manifiestos sobre el arte y la red 1990-1999. EXIT Libris.

(Texto en español a continuación)

During the 90s, manifestos devoted to exploring the relationships between art and the ever-expanding net abounded. After the fall of the Berlin Wall and the rise of the World Wide Web, the era of the “pioneers” of the 80s was fading and the limits of the “electronic frontier” and its future were beginning to be discussed. Artists, activists, hackers, writers, musicians, researchers, curators and theorists expressed in manifestos their political concerns and aesthetic stakes of the time, which are still relevant today. This publication, in Spanish, brings them together for the first time in a selection populated with web links that exceeds the margins of printed paper and transforms the book into a time machine, a non-stop journey through the “cyberspace” of the 20th century.

With selected texts from: VNX Matrix, Hakim Bey, Marko Peljhan, Critical Art Ensemble, Mark Dery, ADILKNO/BILWET, Sadie Plant, Matthew Fuller, Mark Amerika, Antoni Muntadas, Luther Blissett, Roy Ascott, TechNET, Strano Network, Richard Barbrook, Andy Cameron, Morgan Garwood, John Eden, Association of Autonomous Astronauts, Monochrom, Vuk Ćosić, Akke Wagenaar, Alexei Shulgin, Old Boys Network, Andreas Broeckmann, Guy Bleus, Pit Schultz, Geert Lovink, David Garcia, Guillermo Gómez-Peña, Francesca da Rimini, Claudia Giannetti, Bruce Sterling, El Aleph, Amy Alexander, autonome a.f.r.i.k.a. gruppe, Sonja Brünzels, Ben Russell, James Wallbank, Redundant Technology Initiative, Natalie Bookchin, Paul D. Miller a.k.a. DJ Spooky and Randall Packer.

We hope you enjoy this trip and support us by purchasing the book or making a donation when you download the free digital version so that we can continue to explore the manifestos of the 21st century about the art and the net in future publications: https://exitmedia.net/EXIT/en/exit-libris/263-manifiestos-sobre-el-arte-y-la-red-1990-1999.html

Here you can download the ebook: https://exitmedia.net/EXIT/es/exit-libris/267-manifiestos-sobre-el-arte-y-la-red-1990-1999-pdf.html

—

Who wants a ‘perfect’ algorithm?

Yesterday, the Nxt Museum hosted a Q&A with filmmaker and activist Shalini Kantayya. She is the director of the investigative documentary “Coded Bias” (2020) which exposes and explores the biases of artificial intelligence technologies prevalent yet mostly invisible in daily life. During the event moderated by filmmaker Bogomir Doringer, Kantayya stated that in the discussions surrounding the ethics of AI, the solution is not always technological, and it will likely not materialise in the never-ending race towards optimum efficiency. A different approach is needed to tackle the inequalities and biases built into AI.

In her film, Kantayya gives the spotlight to computer scientist and digital activist Joy Buolamwini, whose research into face detection algorithms helped expose their biases on the basis of race and sex. Alongside Buolamwini, multiple scientists and government watchog groups in the documentary explain and expose the biases that are programmed consciously and unconsciously into algorithms that perform inaccurately when interacting with photographs of women and people of colour.

Shalini Kantayya and Bogomir Doringer discuss algorithmic biases exposed in Kantayya’s film “Coded Bias.”

Kantayya explains that the aforementioned inaccuracy is not the only issue. It is, of course, a symptom of the monopoly and inclusion problem of Silicon Valley. Kantayya notes that employing people of different marginalised experiences makes the biases in Big Tech visible, and provides the companies with teams of talented and passionate people able to diversify the data feeding the biased machines. However, she also states a change in employment strategy is not a solution to the continuing threats surveillance and its algorithms pose.

Doringer and Kantayya discussed the importance and logistics of campaigning for a more humane future of technologies. Kantayya stressed that “we cannot miss our humanity” as we continue to develop machines and ideas, and that we need science communicators and artists to work together to facilitate AI literacy. This collaboration will provide an easy-to-digest and engaging way of understanding the science behind it. Alongside education, Kantayya identified engaged and organised citizens as another crucial force behind positive change, as they have the capability to put pressure on lawmakers to recognise the threats of algorithmic biases.

Buolamwini’s recommended reading on real-world impacts of algorithmic bias – click on image to read more on her “Gender Shades” page.

Inequalities became amplified in 2020, with a new wave of civil rights activism sparked by the murder of George Floyd by police enforcement in the United States. Kantayya notes it took both tragedy and civil unrest for some Big Tech companies to acknowledge their use and abuse of facial recognition; only in 2020, two years after Buolamwini released her first study on the topic. Still, companies like Amazon, Google and Facebook continue to collect data and predict our patterns using biased machines. “We do not want perfect invasive surveillance,” says Kantayya when discussing the aims of companies to increase the accuracy of their algorithms. “We do not want a perfect algorithm.” Buolamwini agrees, sharing in a DLD conference talk that it’s not just about the accuracy of the system itself, it’s about deciding what kinds of systems we want in the first place. If a system (algorithm) functions efficiently in a surveillance state built on oppression based on race, gender, and class, whom does it serve, if not the oppressor?

Towards the end of the Q&A, Shalini Kantayya encouraged viewers to recognise data rights as human rights. She also shared resources for further education and research on the topic (linked below). Participants were invited to unleash new imaginations about how these technologies can be used in a human rights framework. Big Tech companies must be held accountable for their active participation in racial profiling and the continued surveillance of citizens. Accessing and sharing education tools is a good step individuals can make to start organising and secure a more humane future of AI.

You can watch “Coded Bias” here for free until the 27th of March 2021: https://nxtmuseum.com/community/ 

Links for further research and engagement:

Big Brother Watch UK https://bigbrotherwatch.org.uk/ 

Algorithm Justice League https://www.ajl.org/about

Gender Shades http://gendershades.org/overview.html

Growing up, my friend had a Nintendo Entertainment System knock-off called Pegasus. I think it was only sold in Eastern Europe in the 1990s. I spent a few summers in her attic, playing a variety of side-scrolling and vertical-scrolling pixelated games. It was fun to see each other get better at different levels and challenges, but we never took it seriously and would often move on to other ways of filling our lazy summer days. Thinking back, video games were a nice addition to my childhood, but they did not leave a lasting impression.

Then I went to university and met peers who considered video games their passion. I began to understand this fascination; you get attached to certain characters, enjoy impactful art styles and soundscapes, and ride the adrenaline high of in-game combat. Over time, I began to enjoy video games for those reasons too. But I also wondered about an alternative to the narrative-driven, action-packed genre that continues to dominate the industry.

I bought my first console in 2018. I chose the Nintendo Switch; it was compact, versatile, and more approachable than other consoles, which continue to be surrounded by valorising discourse. I wasn’t interested in discussing which console might be the best. I just wanted to have a good time using the one I had picked. Enter Animal Crossing: New Horizons, which turns one year old this week. I got New Horizons in April 2020 as a birthday gift, and haven’t stopped playing it since.

My “Animal Crossing: New Horizons” loading screen (2020).

For the uninitiated, Animal Crossing: New Horizons is the fifth edition of Nintendo’s Animal Crossing series. It is a real-time simulation game in which players inhabit, customise and maintain a town also populated by a selection of anthropomorphic animal neighbours. The game does not have a clear objective or a skill improvement system. You spend your time collecting fruit and seashells, fishing, catching bugs, gathering fossils, and crafting items from materials you harvest. I understand that this type of gameplay and aesthetic may not be for everyone. I have to admit that when I first saw the promotional materials for New Horizons, I didn’t think it would be the type of game I would enjoy (too cutesy, too mundane, too surface-level?). I was wrong.

New horizons, new perspectives

Animal Crossing: New Horizons is the pinnacle of slow-paced gameplay. There is no way to ‘binge’ it, reach an ending or speed up in-game processes (although hackers did make some useful changes many players wanted to see from Nintendo’s updates). What you see is what you get. When you collect all your fruit, you have to wait a few real-life days to harvest it again. There are only a few items sold in your island’s shop each day, so if you can’t find something, you have to wait until it becomes available (or trade with another ACNH player using the online play feature; more on that later). New Horizons requires you to be patient while you make small improvements to your island, and contemplate the daily flow of your life there.

Thanks to the relaxed pace of the game, and the open-ended interpretation of its goals and purpose, players gain satisfaction from completing mundane tasks. I take great pleasure in cross-pollinating my flowers, picking up weeds and branches, and replanting trees and shrubs to customise the look of my island. There is a rituality in these tasks, a silent significance in the way I pay attention to this virtual space. Game designer Gabby DaRienzo calls it tend-and-befriend mechanics.^[1] Instead of the fight-or-flight response many fast-paced video games trigger in players, this type of game instead operates on maintenance and relationship-building. The island is yours to beautify and customise. You talk to your neighbours, add a nice bench to your park, and craft items for your home. Life is good. At a time of heightened unpredictability, having a virtual space that is both unable and unwilling to catch you off-guard brings a well-deserved sense of safety.

The opening of my island’s campsite.

I have to admit I’ve grown quite attached to villagers who live on my island. During the many months of solitary isolation in the spring and summer of 2020, befriending the animals in New Horizons brought me an unparalleled level of tranquility and joy. And now, having somewhat grown used to the unpredictability and brutality of my COVID-19 reality and all of its political, social and cultural complications, I continue to seek a sense of security in New Horizons. Last year, art critic Gabrielle de la Puente shared her experience of the game, identifying it as one of the few sources of joy and repose in lockdown. I wonder if Gabrielle still plays New Horizons, and how her relationship with the game changed.

The idea of safety has been on my mind a lot in recent months. What do I need to feel safe? A few things come to mind: shelter, access to food, water, a support system of family and friends. Then there are needs like access to medical care (made more complicated while living abroad without proper health insurance), financial security, and, unfortunately, physical distance from others. In the tensest moments of the pandemic, playing New Horizons remained one of the very few activities I identified as wholly ‘safe.’ I did not have to ascertain the proportions between risk and reward; I could just log on and feel at ease. My friends and I would visit each other’s islands and find comfort in this unique togetherness.

In-game socialising

Our chibi in-game selves were allowed and able to sit close together. While we played, we would talk in a group call via Discord. It was precarious compared to the experience of spending time together in person, but it did produce similar levels of comfort and closeness. The social aspect of the game is one of its best attributes. Online forums swell with requests from players to swap items and ingredients. I participate in a few exchanges, and each time I feel a mixture of nerves and excitement knowing guests are coming to my island. I would play every day, sometimes prioritising in-game errands over my own, entering into a convoluted relationship with this extension of myself on the screen.

Media researcher Brendan Keogh notes that “videogame play is a complex interplay of actual and virtual worlds perceived through a dually embodied player.”^[2] Whenever I interact with my New Horizons island via my in-game avatar, the game reacts, blurring my perceived boundaries of virtual and actual, embodied and outer-bodied. On a particularly draining day sometime in the summer of 2020, I watched my New Horizons character breathe peacefully in bed, and wept in mourning for a sense of tranquillity I thought I’d lost forever. Perhaps I was beginning to envy my avatar for their lack of apocalyptic anxiety over the state of the world. Perhaps this sense of envy was not a positive coping mechanism while under immense stress and in solitude. My circumstances now are different compared to March 2020, but I still find myself returning to New Horizons to seek the comfort of its routine, and to enjoy the temporality of an imagined world without fascism, disease, poverty and conflict. Over the last year, the game encouraged me to reflect on the unattainability of the type of life lived in New Horizons, and consider ways to bring elements of that tranquillity and egalitarianism into offline spaces.

Pixelated presence and absence

I can’t help but think about the future of my Animal Crossing island. Since it is a real-time simulation game, time passes on my island when I am not playing. This is one of the great things about the Nintendo series; the knowledge that your neighbours do not need your presence to go about their daily routines keeps you humble. But what would happen if I abandoned my Animal Crossing island altogether? Say my console falls victim to planned obsolescence, and I am no longer able to access the game. Or I find another way to pass the time and discard my New Horizons SD card.

I like to imagine my anthropomorphic friends would eventually start to pluck weeds and collect fossils without me. Some might even move to other islands, and invite a new cast of characters who collect fruit, change up decorations and customise furniture. Would my villagers start to miss me? Would they send me in-game letters asking if I was alright? I wouldn’t know, too busy spending time somewhere else. The lights in my lavish Animal Crossing home are off. Nobody is home. At the moment, New Horizons is an integral part of my pandemic routine. But circumstances change, as do habits. It won’t last forever.

In a recent privacy panic, I searched through my Facebook settings to see if I could make my account more secure. I stumbled upon a section asking what I want to happen to my account when I die.

Facebook’s memorialisation settings

It took me by surprise. Death is a bureaucracy nightmare, and it now comes with online consequences. Who will look after my accounts, my passwords, who will have access to all the documents sitting in folders on my laptop? Who will adjust the screen brightness? Does it even matter? If I stop playing New Horizons, will my villagers assume I am dead or are they unable to make such conclusions? They don’t need me, after all. My island will continue to prosper inside the console, unaware of the lived realities around it.

I am a young and healthy person who got lucky enough to reflect on death in the abstract, and from a distance. Its looming threat seemed so far removed it was easy to disregard. This ignorance changed a few years ago when I lost a friend. And then last year, dread-scrolling through pandemic news and statistics, with the poignant words of poet Clint Smith bouncing around my head:

When people say, “we have

made it through worse before”

all I hear is the wind slapping against gravestones

of those who did not make it, those who did not

survive to see the confetti fall the sky […]”^[3] 

Some users reported feeling disturbed when they discovered there is a DIY recipe in New Horizons for a gravestone – or a “Western-style stone.” Others started using it to create compelling and meaningful spaces on their virtual islands to reflect on loss and grief. There are graveyards adorned with flowers, themed rooms, a variety of spaces for remembrance, all located on otherwise lively and wholesome islands with inhabitants who never have to face death and loss.

Gravestone area from Twitter user @emiface

In the times of COVID-19, players channel grief and anxiety into in-game projects to dull the pain that comes with the inability to gather with loved ones: to grieve, to celebrate, to co-exist. The more I played Animal Crossing: New Horizons, the further I realised how meaningful and transformative its impact has been on me, my friend group, and communities of fans online. We process our trauma with and through our virtual islands, our vibrant shimmering pixels imbued with so much meaning. A way to feel at ease, for a little while, before we resume to negotiate the complexity of our embodied experiences.

I am reminded of Jan Robert Leegte’s exhibition Inside/Outside from a year ago. His hyperreal landscapes were designed to continuously withstand a raging storm. I felt a techno-utopian sense of the sublime watching the work shift and roar. Multiple monitors in the space performed a beautifully crisp scene of devastation and endurance. It is unstoppable, designed to continue performing. Animal Crossing: New Horizons offers a similarly alluring and crisp artificial landscape, one you can manipulate and experience interactively, but one which also shifts and changes outside of your influence. Both pieces of media are entangled in a mess of relations between code, hardware, nature, and embodiment.

Jan Robert Leegte’s “Performing Landscape,” Upstream Gallery, 2020. [My own photograph]

Limited by restrictions and concerns, we find ourselves searching for respite in unusual spaces. It might be a little unhealthy to expect it from one source, so I do try to find meaning and connection in a variety of interactions, offline and online. But if something clicks, like the rhythm of life in New Horizons, I will not abandon ship. However, when I am inevitably interrupted by some unpredictable force, I will be comforted knowing that weeds will continue to grow on my island, even if I am not there to pick them.

References

^[1] Gabby DaRienzo, Exploring Grief in Animal Crossing: New Horizons, http://www.orderofthegooddeath.com/exploring-grief-in-animal-crossing-new-horizons

^[2] Brendan Keogh, A play of bodies: how we perceive video games (Cambridge: MIT Press), 2018, p. 55

[3] Clint Smith, When people say…, https://readwildness.com/19/smith-people

Part of a series by the Institute for Contemporary Art Research at the Zürich University of the Arts, Aesthetics of the Commons investigates the fruitful intersection between the idea of the commons, and the aesthetics of practices that relate to the concept. Overall, the publication ponders how to enact a shift in academia, arts and humanities away from private ownership and individualism towards collective sharing and care through tangible actions and approaches.

Rather than providing a streamline argument and a neat list of aesthetic characteristics, Aesthetics of the Commons proposes “a series of propositions on how to think about practices that try to respond to some of the crises that make up the present moment.”^[1] Its strength lies in the broad understanding of the commons, as well as the wide spectrum of expertise from ten contributors: Olga Goriunova, Jeremy Gilbert, Judith Siegmund, Daphne Dragona, Magdalena Tyżlik-Carver, Gary Hall, Ines Kleesattel, Sophie Toupin, Rahel Puffert, and Christoph Brunner. Together, they offer different lenses through which we observe initiatives that demonstrate ways of widening access to resources and practices. They all build on ideas of care and collaboration rather than privatisation and commodification, operating somewhat outside of the capitalist market and, inevitably, entering into conversation with its inner logic.

Each essay is self-sufficient in its own right, so readers and/or researchers seeking a specific perspective can engage with just a part of the publication and walk away from it with needed resources. However, considering them together allows for a deeper understanding of the core issue the book addresses: how to recognise and learn a variety of approaches that allow for a more accessible and collectively-shared pool of not only knowledge, but also other resources and meaningful relations. Its structure proves its very point, showing that a variety of perspectives is the most effective way to facilitate discourse and extract meanings.

Third in the sequence, Judith Siegmund’s “Which Aesthetics of the Commons?,” would have made an excellent opening essay. It considers the classical concept of the arts as parallel to the commons, since both are often defined and categorised by their “otherness” to politics and the economy. Siegmund adds nuance to this understanding, proposing that aesthetic independence and freedom do not exactly define the commons. She calls on readers to recognise the interdependency between commons, social structures, and economic hierarchies, as well as the potential the commons possess in shaping future relations:

“[…] It is productive and sustaining in any case to interpret commons as economically organised projects – indeed, as economies of their own – that are able to comment on (if not correct) the leading principles and convictions of today’s (commercially-driven) economy.”^[2] 

“Which Aesthetics of the Commons?” provides an insightful overview of the complex relations between (the creation and upkeep of) commons and contemporary power structures that govern based on a largely different set of priorities. Placing it at the start of the book would have provided a stronger base for readers who are relatively new to this mode of thinking. It certainly gave me much-needed context, which helped me engage with the remainder of the texts.

Recent features on Tactical Tech, a project discussed in-depth in AotC.

Aesthetics of the Commons provides an in-depth look at initiatives that demonstrate how the arts, academia and socially-engaged practices can blend to produce much-needed perspectives of futurity and hope. It features topics ranging from the politics of open-source digital libraries (Olga Goriunova’s text) to offline communal agricultural spaces that seek to preserve and activate cultural heritage (Daphne Dragona’s text). Throughout, authors refer to each other’s research and build on it in their own considerations, which constructs a network of mutual interest and, in a way, care. Again, the content of the publication confirms its ethos – to consider context, recognise difference, and construct strong bonds through these acknowledgements.

After reading Aesthetics of the Commons, I felt compelled to reconsider my relationship to ideas of care and solidarity. Even though they are practices that many people (like myself) identify with and valorise, we rarely act on them outside of the realm of what seems feasible and low-effort. Gary Hall and Daphne Dragona both identify the commons as a potentially transformative response to the escalating political, environmental, and social crises. We are under immense stress as we observe the world turning in a threatening direction. We are anxious about our financial situations under an unsupportive system that values wealth above all else. We look for community but struggle to find it due to online distractions, echo-chambers, paywalls, or offline limitations that keep meaningful projects from flourishing. 

This publication shows that utopian world-building can take place, in archives and libraries built with consideration and care, and amongst communities in networks that share much in common, or share very little yet still choose to support one another, envisioning a better future. I am now compelled to consider how these networks of solidarity may look, and whether I came across them recently. Knowing more about how they manifest, I feel informed to join an effort to help them strengthen and persevere, pushing against commodification and privatisation. What is your object of care? What happens when you apply the idea of the commons to it? Aesthetics of the Commons offers a glimpse into how to mediate the relations between your object of care and its complex, changing surroundings, through practices that are open, radical, and hopeful.

Read Aesthetics of the Commons here.

Read more about projects discussed in the publication:

1. Sakiya
2. Pirate Care
3. Tactical Tech
4. Calibre
5. UbuWeb

References

^[1]Felix Stalder, Cornelia Sollfrank, Shusha Niederberger, eds., Aesthetics of the Commons, (Zürich: Diaphanes) p. 32

^[2]Judith Siegmund, “Which Aesthetics of the Commons?” in Aesthetics of the Commons, p. 96

QAnon; The ARG

Remember Alternate Reality Games? As some observers have pointed out, QAnon definitely feels and functions like an ARG. It’s got open and collective storytelling, multiplatform content, puppet masters, die hard players, hidden clues… a blurry boundary between fiction and reality. Conservatives and progressives like to accuse each other of deficient skills when it comes to internet virology. But QAnon proves The Right Can Definitely Meme. It is one of the most addictive and ambitious media project of our times. A Brechtian double whammy, both hammer and mirror.

The aesthetics of the QAnon ARG herald a new (but old) political reality. In 1936, Walter Benjamin wrote “Fascism sees its salvation in giving these masses not their right, but instead a chance to express themselves… The logical result of Fascism is the introduction of aesthetics into political life.” QAnon completes the (re)introduction into political life of a popular fascist aesthetic, reaching its apex in the ultimate ARG-cum-Flashmob: Jan 6, 2021 USA.

PlAy It BeFOre YoU LivE It!

I myself was engaged in exploring the pedagogical uses of Fake News. From 2009 to 2013, I ran a number of ARG’s at my college. The games covered everything from budget cuts to public education, to racism on campus, Islamophobia, and US-Mexico relations. The idea was that in order to fix reality, we first had to break it. There’s something very powerful about the idea that the breaking is the fixing, and I think we desperately need to reinvent ways of doing that. But as we found out, everyone can play that game, so we become entangled in a competition to see who can create the best “imagined communities,” as Benedict Anderson would call them.

Facebook and the Business of Bullshit

Under this new aesthetic regime, reality is whatever receives the most Likes, Shares, and Re-Tweets. If I tweet that the sky is green, or that global warming is not real, and I can get you to retweet my post more times than the opposition, my reality wins. We have gone from communication as the sharing of meaning, to communication as the gamefication of meaning.

Taking a page from Harry Frankfurt, this looks a lot like bullshit; it’s not just about spreading lies, but about creating the social architectures and spaces where the lies are treated as the Real. Big Tech has found a way to monetize the psychometric targeting of this bullshit and is laughing all the way to the bank.

But the problem is not just Facebook’s shameless opportunism. It is the emergence of a whole new social order that Nick Couldry and I call “data colonialism” (see our book or our article). Data colonialism entails the appropriation of human life so that data can be continuously extracted from it for profit and control. Simply put, whereas historic colonialism grabbed land and bodies, data colonialism grabs our lives, through the abstracting and extracting medium of data. Our point is not that there is a perfect correspondence between historic and data colonialism. We don’t want to trivialize 500 years of brutality. But while there are important differences in terms of the form and the content of both forms of colonialism, the function is the same. And that function is to extract and to dispossess.

The bad news is that data colonialism is a global phenomenon, re-organizing the world along two centers of power: the US and China. But the good news is that, while accounting for local nuances, strategies developed to resist data colonialism can also be global.

Non-alignment as Alternate Reality

In collaboration with others, particularly Juan Ortiz Freuler, I have been engaged in trying to launch a Non-Aligned Technologies Movement, or NATM (see this, and this). It’s very much a work in progress, and we don’t have much to show for it yet. Our inspiration is the original Non-Aligned Movement, a consortium of nations that during the Cold War attempted to forge a path beyond the equally unattractive choices of capitalism and communism. Today, we need options to navigate between the profit-motivated Scylla of Silicon Valley and the control-motivated Charybdis of the Chinese Communist Party.

While the group hasn’t agreed on specific goals, I am proposing that they can be framed in terms of the divestment and boycott strategies that have already been employed to resist other forms of colonialism. But those tactics need to be supplemented by initiatives in education, culture and solidarity.

In short, this is not about opting out of GAFA and BATX (although it’s great if you can!). This is about finding ways of engaging in open and decolonial research to study and articulate the dangers of extractivist technologies, and how to resist them (education). This is about finding ways to participate in a process of re-imagining a world without extractivist technologies by creating a space that incorporates diverse voices and perspectives (culture). And it’s about linking to other people engaged in the same struggle, and using the power of collective action (solidarity).

Maybe we need an ARG for that!

—

Ulises A. Mejias is professor of Communication Studies and director of the Institute for Global Engagement at SUNY Oswego. He is the author of Off the Network: Disrupting the Digital World (2013, University of Minnesota Press), and, with Nick Couldry, of The Costs of Connection: How Data is Colonizing Human Life and Appropriating it for Capitalism (2019, Stanford University Press).

This posting is based on an earlier contribution to the Empyre list.

Only a few weeks into the first wave of Corona, Zagreb-based artist Ana Kužmanić launched www.artwithoutplace.com to collect testimonies of cultural workers around the world. One year and 45 testimonies later, the contents of the website were bundled and published as a book by Oaza Books. You can order the gem here: http://www.oazabooks.com/?page=books&book=art-without-place.

P.s. readers will encounter a testimony by yours truly, a time capsule dated April 2020. It reads:

‘Critical theorists have been shouting ‘PRECARITY!’ in the faces of anyone who would hear them for years. We know the story by now. Or, so we thought. It is only now, in the Corona-lockdown, that many of us really feel what precarity is, beyond an ever-looming feeling of being on the edge: once crisis sets in, the precarious are the first to be hit. Structures of social security are shaken and dissolve. What follows is economic free-fall.
In the Netherlands, the government provides freelancers, including those in the cultural sector, with something of a basic income during these months. This is, however, not enough for most artists to live off, let alone to pay for studio rent and material costs. And even if it is, the long-term effects are unclear. What happens to the young artists, whose precious exhibitions and other jobs are canceled? What about the freelance teachers, whose lessons at academies have been canceled once of a sudden? What will happen when artists can’t afford their studio rent anymore, and studio complexes go bankrupt? One thing is clear: the infrastructures and social property we will lose now, won’t come back when we go back to ‘normal’.
On top of it all, it’s hardly allowed to ask these questions. According to public discourse, there are only two types of legitimate artistic production in this time: 1. bringing solace, and 2. making face masks. It is, apparently, the task of artists to veil (crises, faces, themselves), rather than to unveil.
I see artists around me struggling with this situation. They are so used to be confronted with their superfluidity in society, that they started to believe in it. How to ‘just’ continue to make work, as if nothing happened? It’s interesting how artists should ask themselves these questions, while banks, airlines, and oil companies receive government bail-outs.’

When it comes to printing a book, Print-On-Demand (POD) is an interesting option. However, there is a lot to consider to get the print right and end up with the book you have in mind. The book Satellite Lifelines: Media, Art, Migration and the Crisis of Hospitality in Divided Cities by Isabel Löfgren is published by Institute of Network Cultures. Comparing how the print turns out when it’s done by the Swedish POD service Publit or the American Lulu Press results in the following reflections.

Printing Local, Shipping Global

In all cases, it’s nicest when you can make use of local companies in the production chain of a book. Isabel lives in Stockholm herself, the Stockholm based Publit makes for a logical print on demand service. The print I’ve received from them was sent by mail from Malmö, where the printer ExaktaPrinting AB is located.

One of the printers of Exakta. Source: their Twitter account @exaktagroup

On the other hand, Lulu’s headquarters is based in Morrisville, USA. Following the DHL tracing information, the books are shipped from Poznán in Poland. (Except for this article that announced Lulu’s new printer in Australia, the company is incredibly secretive about where they get their books printed.)

Poznán knows many printers – which one actually produces Lulu’s prints remains a mystery.

Shipping costs vary greatly between the two different POD’s. Publit’s shipping costs depend on weight and delivery address – the book is 584 gram and would travel approx. 850 kilometers to Rotterdam – running the shipping price at 295 SEK (29,10 euro). A quick search tells that shipping within Sweden is much cheaper; it would cost 71.76 kr (€7,06) to send the book back to Stockholm. Other Northern European countries have similar shipping fees the Netherlands (Denmark €23, United Kingdom €29). Shipping to Brazil, where the writer is from, would cost €63,78. The same print from Lulu ships to Rotterdam for €4,84 (with additional taxes of €1,75).

The production of the Publit print costs 145.56 kr (€14,33) with a listed price of 193 kr (€18,99). The same Lulu print costs €14,61 and is listed for €29,22. So, when you’re ordering from Sweden, the Publit print definitely wins in terms of pricing. The further away from Sweden, the more the Lulu print could be considered.

Customer Support

It’s important to be able to get in contact with the POD customer services – for whatever questions that come up in the process of publishing. Publit has great customer support, responding very quickly and thoughtfully to all my questions, ranging from preparing the files to detailed questions on how the print turned out. Lulu is known for not having great customer support. After a test print cut off 1 cm too many of the book, they did respond rather quickly and sent a new print free of charge (although in black and white instead of color, one step forward, one step backward.)

Lulu’s print mistake, ‘trimmed in excess of our accepted variance’.

The Print Itself

And the most exciting question: which print turned out better?

We’re comparing a softcover/paperback print of Satellite Lifelines, a color book of 309 pages, with dimensions 156.00 mm x 234.00 mm.

The Publit print: yellow-toned paper and a structured paper cover (pictured left).
The Lulu print: color standard on white paper with a matte finish of the cover (pictured right).

Cover:

Publit: The structured cover is very beautiful, the colors of the pattern look great. The paper is a nice thickness and the un-printed inside of the cover works beautifully. One possible downside is that the print wears off on the edges, which could be solved by getting a laminated cover instead. It can also be embraced as part of the type of the paper.

Lulu: The cover overall looks good. It’s a smooth print, the matte finish looks nice. The particular colors of the pattern aren’t as fresh as the Publit print. The paper of the cover is rather thin, and is shiny on the inside. On both prints I’ve received, the back of the cover seems to have ‘bubbles’, the paper isn’t fully flat.

Binding:

Publit: Overall, the binding looks good. If you look up close you can see the glue in between the cover and the first page. The books opens easily and doesn’t seem to damage after opening it.

Lulu: The pages are glued neatly – no glue rests to be found.

Inlay:

Publit: The text is easy on the eye. Especially the black and white pictures of concrete buildings looks beautiful on the yellow toned paper.

Lulu: The print overall looks good, but the paper doesn’t lend itself as beautifully for images.

Other:

Publit prints info such as a barcode and QR code on the final page. Lulu’s final pages are empty.

So the winner is … Publit!

For the most beautiful print, order via Publit. Depending on where you’re located, a Lulu print might be preferred due to shipping costs. (Or hack the system and get a Swedish friend to sent it to you by mail!)

Tips & Tricks

As everyone who has ever got something printed-on-demand knows: there are a few general rules to have a better chance at getting a proper result.

1. Always (!) get a test print.

2. Triple check your files on color profiles (Lulu confusingly uses RGB instead of CMYK. A first print ended up with black and white images in a pink tone, probably as a result of not using the right colour profiles in the files).

3. This also counts for bleeds and margins. If you print with Lulu you can check this in the preview. I kept on getting errors when uploading my files with the correct bleeds, this was solved by starting a new ‘project’.

All in all, nothing is better than reading a book in print, feeling the paper and getting a close look at the images.

Satellite Lifelines: Media, Art, Migration and the Crisis of Hospitality in Divided Cities by Isabel Löfgren is available for ordering:

‘Will the post-corona universe be just another future or something new “to come”?’ – Slavoj Žižek

Corona is a reset. A chance to learn. An opportunity to grow. After all: never let a good crisis go to waste. True enough, there’s plenty of injustice in the world to justify a thorough reset. But the question that crossed everyone’s mind at least once in the past year is: what kind of reset will this be? Or, to use the phrase commonly used in the Dutch public debate, what will the ‘new normal’ be like?

During the better part of 2020 and the start of 2021, in-person gatherings have been reduced to a minimum. While understandable in terms of crisis management, these measures deeply affect public life: education stalled, cultural activities were decimated, and the institutions of Dutch democracy have entered into uncharted and wobbly territories.

Funny enough, a part of the public debate moved to the streets in the meanwhile. A wild discussion about the old and the new normal has unfolded – through posters and stickers. The beauty of this debate is its conciseness: a poster or sticker only has to get across its message (whether political, cultural, or nonsensical) in one image. Let’s take a tour.

Stay Sane Stay Safe

During the first months of the first lockdown, the international – but predominantly Dutch – campaign Stay Sane Stay Safe was launched. It seemed like every socially aware designer alive was on board. Within a matter of days, hundreds of posters were uploaded, promoting to ‘flatten the curve’, ‘stay in’, ‘keep distance’, and ‘call your grandma’.

This was nice. Harmless. Sane and safe. It was March, and the weather outside was beautiful. You would almost think that corona was nothing more than a reason to make sleek posters and act woke.

The New Normal

Not much later, Dutch graphic designer Rob Simon made a series of posters around the ‘new normal’ (signed with ‘Georgies’). Rather than promoting social distancing and mask-wearing, he raised questions. Simon stated in an interview with a local newspaper that he wanted to ‘trigger people to think’.

While these posters show a degree of discomfort about temperature checks at supermarkets and bonuses in the banking sector, they’re not necessarily critical. They refrain from any overt political statement and remain purposely vague. But there is a shift when compared to Stay Sane Stay Safe: from happy obeying to active thinking.

What Do You Really Really Feel?

Well into the summer (August-September), a group of Amsterdam-based community artists also started raising questions under the hashtag #HoeGaatHetEchtMetJe? Going back to the local basics, and realizing that those hit hardest by the crisis are often least visible in public space, these artists went into the different neighborhoods of Amsterdam and asked people intimate questions to find out how they were ‘really’ doing. From the conversations, a selection of quotes was printed on posters, distributed through the city, and launched at Framer Framed. The more political (although by no means party-political) reasoning behind the project is not hard to guess: it is the task of artists and art institutions to challenge the aesthetic regimes of the sensible, that determine what is visible and what is not.

Corona and Solidarity

There were skeptics from the start, mainly among the ranks of anthroposophists and conspiracy theorists. Vague critiques of the child-rape by the ‘deep state’ or collective poisoning by ‘big pharma’. Sentiments and fantasies that represented a materially valid dissatisfaction, a good Marxist would say. I don’t want to be the Big Psychologist here (or the Big Material Dialectician, for that matter). However, I think it’s fair to say that they hardly presented any serious threat to the dominant political narrative of crisis management.

But in November 2020, while the measures were loosening, the first real cracks started appearing in the narrative of common cause and uniform solidarity. It started becoming obvious how the corona measures impacted certain parts of the population more heavily than others. The education gap was demonstrably widened. Reports of domestic violence rose. Some people fled to their holiday destinations while others stayed home because of financial troubles. As the sociologist Justus Uitermarkt put it: the common trust and conformism started to wear off. No-brainer solidarity once of a sudden turned into a political question.

In fact, already since July 2020, a poster was circulating in Amsterdam (as well as on Reddit), which read: ‘We cannot go back to normal. Because “normal” was exactly the problem.’

The Great Reset

From something that we all just had to do and accept, it slowly became clear how corona measures – and the political decisions behind them – impacted some people harder than others, materially as well as psychologically. Now the end is in sight, the question is no longer so much if we will get there, but how. Which companies and organizations will make it through? Who will lose their job (or sanity) before it’s all over? Do we let students go to university, or do we rather open nail and hair salons first?

In a recent Jacobin Magazine article, Slavoj Žižek joined the discussion. We should reject, he asserts, the false dilemma of choosing between things that we can imagine. The left-leaning and liberal world sighed with relief as Biden was elected president of the US. But we know that Biden’s centrist and bipartisan politics of reconciliation and ‘healing’ in fact signal a return to pre-Trump normality. Alternatively, the great reset might lead to a tech bro utopia – a corporate Great Reset.

We can imagine both of these post-reset normalities, either as a return to 2019 or as an extrapolation of the ever-increasing power of Big Tech. But do we have to choose between a return to the old, exploitative normality and a post-Covid corporate Great Reset that promises to be even worse? What we really need, Žižek states, is ‘a socialist reset that can win justice for all and save the planet from climate apocalypse’.

This is where the public discussion is at in The Netherlands as well. We’re close to a reset, but what kind of reset? Do we stick with the lazy and unpolitical narrative of unavoidable crisis management, or will we manage to stretch and expand our imaginations?

Who remembers the first time they heard the term ‘Girl Boss?’ For most, it was around the time founder of the fashion brand Nasty Gal, Sophia Amoruso, published her autobiography ‘#GirlBoss’ in 2014. Since then, the term has grown in popularity to the extreme, creating its own aspirational ‘category’ of woman, archetypal image, and countless spin-off self-help guides, websites, YouTube channels, podcasts, ‘influencers,’ a Netflix series, merchandise, seminars and courses – to name but a handful of #GirlBoss lifestyle commodities.

Amoruso’s #GirlBoss book covers her path growing a multi-million-dollar company, Nasty Gal, out of an eBay vintage-resell store. It tells/sells an authenticity story of a woman going against the grain (including shoplifting, which “saved her life”) in the face of changing media, technologies, and social circumstances. Amoruso’s mantra is “Life is short. Don’t be lazy.” It captures the zeitgeist of millennial women ‘thinking divergent,’ ‘being fearless,’ and ‘staying game strong,’ to pursue and monetise their passions. Shortly after the book’s release, marketeers caught onto the sellability of the Girl Boss ideal, which quickly spread into visual culture. Seven years later, the Girl Boss continues to linger on social media platforms, but who is she now? What does she indicate about real contemporary setbacks? And how does she fit into today’s discourses? First, let’s begin with an explanation of what exactly is a ‘Girl Boss.’

How to Construct a Girl Boss

The Girl Boss is a boss, but not in the traditional sense. The Girl Boss does not perpetuate the image of a middle-aged CEO dressed in a suit. After all, that image is unattainable, being reserved to only one gender identity. The Girl Boss might wear a suit, but she will make it playful and pop-coloured. It will be a statement. For a magazine feature, she will pose with her arms crossed, camera aimed from below, and shot against a skyscraper backdrop. Then, she will gush over her children in the interview and reveal her favourite beauty products and fitness routines. She may be the owner of a fast fashion brand that mistreats garment workers in Bangladesh, but she will sell you a banging t-shirt with ‘The Future is Female” printed across it.

Since the Girl Boss has had to pave her way, having been overlooked or underappreciated by fellow (male) entrepreneurs, her story hinges on self-determination and unparalleled work ethic (what Amoruso calls “sweat equity.”) Having ‘made it’ despite no end of obstacles, the Girl Boss now has it all; a successful business, incredible discipline, an army of assistants and interns, a loyal squad of girlfriends, and a wardrobe of effortlessly chic fashion to go with it.

The enduring appeal of the Girl Boss lies in her ability to succeed as a business owner whilst retaining traditionally ‘feminine’ characteristics. She’s a killer in the boardroom, and never has bags under her eyes. The Girl Boss elevates herself beyond the need to act like ‘one of the boys.’ She is 100% herself, and unapologetically so. A girl’s girl in a world of businessmen with all the accessories to prove her success: an It bag, red-soled stilettos, and a bad-ass sports car to zoom away in.

Not only has the Girl Boss achieved financial independence; she hasn’t given anything up to achieve it. The Girl Boss promise is that great monetary success is possible and can be attained without compromise. In ‘having it all’, the Girl Boss embodies a post-feminist dream of equal-opportunity access to educational resources, mentoring, start-up capital, and financial security. Not just security – abundance. In this dream, no patriarchal structures are holding her back. Her life, imagined collectively on social media platforms through pastel images and energetic videos, is not a humble brag. In this rendering, her life also does not include dealing with workplace misogyny, harassment, and she does not have to experience ongoing derogatory treatment. There are no pay gaps, no sexism or racism in the workplace. There are no gatekeepers. Only a free market, which any woman can circumnavigate via hard work. “Life is short. Don’t be lazy.” The Girl Boss is a queen of her kingdom, and nothing can snatch her crown.

The Girl Boss makes no apologies for her femininity because her femininity is an asset. It is a crucial ingredient in the recipe of how to make a Girl Boss; the construction of a business owner who refuses to change herself to blend into a male-dominated field. In this sense, the Girl Boss challenges the preconceived notions of what success looks like. Emerging into the world of money and power, the Girl Boss brings the promise of change with her. Her mere presence in this space represents all women everywhere, paving the way for others to follow, and displaying that it is possible to reach such levels of success as a woman. The Girl Boss is the poster child for equal opportunity. However, behind her dazzling facade still lies a reinforcement of patriarchal archetypes that restrict women more than they empower them. It calls to question: Who actually benefits from the presence and prominence of the Girl Boss? Scholar Mary Beard offers some food for thought, suggesting that “We have to be more reflective about what power is, what it is for, and how it is measured.”^[1]

TikTok, Instagram, and Pinterest overflow with Girl Boss content. Here, you will find luxurious shoes and bags, important-looking paperwork, beautiful pens, extravagant sunglasses, fun on rooftops, glamorous cars, champagne flutes, and flawless manicures, all sewn together with inspirational quotes about perseverance. Girl Boss social media grids are sleek, colour-coded, and establish an alluring image of independence and wealth. These images of playful expensive nail art and impractical-but-‘boss’ heels run counter to the content of the male ‘hustler’ entrepreneur – equally ubiquitous on social media platforms. Despite the now household-ness of the Girl Boss ideal, the majority of the entrepreneurial lifestyles promoted and venerated across social media still minorly cater to women. The aforementioned self-identifying ‘hustlers’ mainly identify as male and are generally ignorant towards misogyny in the world of business – which it doesn’t take long to notice when perusing their sub-Reddit homes such as /r/entrepreneur, /r/investing, /r/CareerSuccess, /r/startups, or /r/growmybusiness. Hustlers are not interested in addressing the inequalities that affect access to education, funding, and mentorship. They’re interested in making money. What lingers, no matter the sub, is a pervasive association between positions of power and masculinity. One that endures as a signifier to the past when the subjugation of women made it impossible for them to pursue independent careers or make self-governing decisions.

The Construct Crumbles

It comes as no surprise that many journalists and theorists link the term ‘Girl Boss’ with the infantilisation of women. The ‘Girl Boss’ label categorises the successes of women as separate from, and inferior to, the achievements of their male counterparts. Since the glory days of Sophia Amoruso’s brand (circa 2010-2015), the popularisation of Girl Boss wavered, and critical engagements with the concept weakened its persuasive powers. The year 2020 saw many Girl Bosses resign over allegations of toxic workplace cultures. Still, #GirlBoss tags persist on social media and millions of users interact with Girl Boss content every day, seeking to personify the (unattainable) ideal of the Girl Boss that presents itself as something within reach. After all, being perceived as a success is just as important as success itself; and perhaps the aesthetics of life in big business alone are more compelling than the reality of pursuing such a career. More on this in the next section.

The Girl Boss imaginary romanticises the idea of wealth but does not take into account the methods by which it may be acquired. In this sense, the Girl Boss is a neoliberal pawn; an affluent individual whose inspiring story supposedly proves the accessibility of success and demonstrates that opportunities wait for anyone willing to work hard enough. Don’t spend too much time thinking about what business the Girl Boss owns, how it operates, or who may be affected by it.

“Simply incorporating women into positions of power does not guarantee equality or justice in the larger sense. We always seem prime to celebrate individual advancements of black people, people of colour, women, without taking into consideration it might simply mean that previously marginalised individuals have been recruited to guarantee a more efficient operation of oppressive systems.” – Angela Davis

Reflecting Angela Davis’ expanded contemplation; would it be sensible when examining the Girl Boss figure to consider a more communal approach instead of accepting another archetype representative of individual success? How else might we reach a collective redefinition of ideas of power and influence? This is not a proposal that seeing women in business is a setback for women everywhere. On the contrary, it is necessary to elevate women’s voices and provide increased access to positions of power. However, that in itself does not guarantee structural changes in the workplace, or the conduct of influential bodies of power. Ruby Staley writes: “When female CEOs and managers mimic the behaviour of the archetypal male boss, the patriarchal barriers placed in front of women in the world of work remain the same – they aren’t deconstructed, instead, they’re reinforced.”^[2] The Girl Boss facade of glamour and empowerment might be exciting and motivating to some aspiring women in business, but the prominence of this figure does not automatically challenge expectations, nor does it change the fabric of economic inequalities. Here, we also encounter the danger of tokenism; women and marginalised people are regularly exploited as tokens of diversity in conglomerates that could not care less about truthful representation, nor more equal access to opportunities and professional development. Women deserve more than a pity promotion motivated by pressure to meet a diversity quota.

What Comes Next?

Girl Boss and hustle cultures share many characteristics. For one, they refuse to acknowledge wider contexts of individual success stories. They both thrive on social media platforms where inspiring imagery and self-help tips taken out of context convey a message of an unhealthy dependence on work and quantifiable achievement. Both versions love easily digestible images and use short videos that entice users with promises of financial independence and lives of luxury. The more one encounters this kind of content, the more likely they are to start seeing their employment status as a definer of self-worth and identity. I fell victim to this trap when diving into online Girl Boss culture. Even though I lack the aspiration to be a business owner or a millionaire, I did catch myself feeling envious of the status enjoyed by these figures. Like many people, I too long for a life free from financial worries, unrestricted by the high prices of some comforts. It did provoke me to think… If I bit the bullet and went corporate, maybe it would be worth it? If I started to seek out a highly paid job, maybe I would be happier?

What Girl Boss culture has never really acknowledged is that the very incident of becoming a CEO might not automatically lead to satisfaction. Juliette O’Brien states: “It’s not just that hustle culture and productivity obsessions are exhausting, incurious, and self-aggrandizing. It’s that, on their own, they can offer an anemic, superficial, and tedious experience of life.”^[3] In an ironic turn of events, O’Brien’s critique was published by none other than GirlBoss.com, a networking platform Amoruso founded in 2017, and abandoned two years later. It seems as though through its evolution over the past few years, GirlBoss.com’s online content – created by Amoruso and others – has gradually increased its nuance around issues like toxic productivity, whilst its male-counterpart ‘hustle culture’ continues to hold strong with the workaholic mantra of doing “whatever it takes.”

The destabilising ripple effect of the COVID-19 pandemic marks a seismic shift in relationship to work. For one, it makes start-ups, side hustles and passive income more desirable and marketable. Anything to stop feeling threatened and endangered by an unpredictable economy and unstable employment. Some Girl Bosses claim a pandemic is a prime time to set up a business. These calls only multiply existing pressures to perform productivity, monetise interests, and invest whatever time and money you might have left into new sources of stress and anxiety. Instead, let’s follow Davis’ lead and focus on how oppressive systems dictate and demand these unattainable standards.

Plenty of work remains to be done about improving the societal positions of women within self-employment, labour, business, kinship and family. It might not be the kind of work the Girl Boss undertakes. Today’s online activity needs to shift in a new direction, away from the mythologisation of an egocentric figure and their individual successes in a “man’s world.” In recent years, there is a tendency to provide platforms to marginalised voices and to consider the bigger picture of intersections between labour, gender, race and class. Mobilisation via the online is another way to shift away from the hustle narrative, instead offering mutual support and resources to those interested in business and ethics. These gatherings can and should include users who resonate(d) with the Girl Boss narrative. Pink typography is not all bad; it might encourage users to dream and speculate about a future where gender does not dictate access to wealth and power. However, it is not sufficient, and the aesthetics of the online Girl Boss are much more likely to mask the impossibilities of standards they propose, instead of debunking them.

References

^[1] Mary Beard, Women in Power, https://www.lrb.co.uk/the-paper/v39/n06/mary-beard/women-in-power [Accessed Feb 2021]

^[2] Ruby Staley, Thank God We’re Finally Moving Past Girl Boss Culture, https://fashionjournal.com.au/life/thank-god-were-finally-moving-past-girl-boss-culture/ [Accessed Feb 2021]

^[3] Juliette O’Brien, Is Hustle Culture Actually Hurting Us?, https://www.girlboss.com/read/productivity-culture [Accessed Feb 2021]

The Institute of Network Cultures is looking for an

intern with production and research skills

Internship period: April 1st until July 1st, 2021 (0.6-0.8 fte/3-4 days a week).

The Institute of Network Cultures (INC) is a media research center that actively contributes to the field of network cultures through research, events, publications, and online dialogue. The INC was founded in 2004 by media theorist Geert Lovink as part of the Amsterdam University of Applied Sciences (Hogeschool van Amsterdam). The Institute of Network Cultures has a tradition of experiment in digital and hybrid publishing.

For more information, see: https://networkcultures.org/.
For an overview of all INC publications, go to: https://networkcultures.org/publications.
For previous work on this topic, check out our research programs Making Public, The Art of Criticism, the Digital Publishing Toolkit, MoneyLab and Tactical Visual Culture.

You will be a part of a small team within a large institution. Tasks within the team may include:

• assisting with general office operations
• attending meetings
• collecting and reviewing interesting and relevant literature
• being part of the crew at INC events

We are looking for an enthusiastic, energetic, inquisitive (former) student with knowledge of and a demonstrated interest in internet culture, net-critique and/or digital publishing. As the INC has an international scope, active English skills are required, in speaking and writing. In addition, you have strong writing and communication skills, and experience with social media management and web administration. You balance a desire to learn, take initiative and suggest better practices and take constructive feedback. A background in (graphic or interaction) design, art (history), cultural studies, or media studies is an advantage.

Monthly compensation: € 400 gross (0.6-0,8 fte)

For further information, you can contact info[at]networkcultures[dot]org or send a CV and motivation letter to the same email address.

“30 years. 18-hour days. Not 8-hour days, 10-hour days, 12-hour days, 18-hour days. If anybody thinks you can be successful without paying that price, you’re wrong.” – Grant Cardone

If you have an account on any of the most prominent social media platforms, you are already somewhat familiar with ‘hustlers’. Sure, you might have seen a relative promoting their side business or a distant friend sharing content about their start-up, but hustlers are something else. Think less personal and more marketable. In recent years, ex-life coaches, motivational speakers and business owners developed a habit of sharing their insights on being a successful entrepreneur – or ‘hustler’ – online.

The term ‘hustling’ was popularised two centuries ago, used both within and towards black communities in the US. Isabella Rosario explains that depending on the context, it either referred to demanding work conditions black people had to endure or was used in a derogatory sense to link black people’s labour to laziness. Then, “throughout the 20th century, hustle was used to describe the reality of what many poor black people had to do to make ends meet.”[1]

This version of ‘hustling’ recognises the inequality of the economic playing field, where engrained prejudice halts opportunities and access to better working conditions and better worker rights. Rosario notes that the term was eventually noticed by corporations like Uber in the mid-2010s when it was appropriated and slowly transformed into a label for a movement which worships the middle-aged white CEO. It rid itself of most race and class consciousness to give way for the contemporary digital hustler to form.

The hustler creates online content that matches the mannerisms and presentation of what we imagine a successful business owner may be. They provide life advice, share inspirational quotes and promise land of equal opportunity where anything is possible. The hustler is a capitalist hero. They observe the free market as it spontaneously evolves and harnesses its potential. How do I achieve anything I want? – you might ask the hustler. They provide answers: aim for constant productivity and dedicate most of your time to work. In short, you have to commit to the grind if you want to reach new heights. It’s like a digitized American Dream, repackaged into bite-sized shareable content. How does this dogma function online?

The Making of a Hustler

The hustler shudders at the thought of working a 9 to 5 job, ‘making someone else rich.’ They would rather make himself rich. If you do not succeed, well, you did not try hard enough. Inspirational entrepreneurial images and videos often rely on ‘masculine’ buzzwords and aspirations, inadvertently setting up an unrealistic standard for virtually everyone: those who aspire to live like this and those who don’t but are bombarded by the expectations anyway. Never give up, master your daily routine, work when they sleep, never look back, be your own boss, be confident, don’t you want this new watch or car? Don’t you want to provide financial security for your family? Working for someone else is not very masculine of you. You should take your future into your own hands.

“Pay the price today so you can pay any price in the future.” – Cardone

Take Grant Cardone, a real estate mogul who built his career in part providing entrepreneurial courses and life advice. As a hustler-influencer, he serves as a blueprint for other budding entrepreneurs and hustlers, showing up on social media feeds in a suit, showing off his lavish lifestyle, and promising you that you can do it too. In the same breath, he will claim that if you think life is too expensive, you are simply not making enough money. Do not stop to think why so many services are unattainable, sometimes for people who indeed work one, two, three jobs and still struggle to make ends meet. Structural issues and inequity dissolve in the eyes of the hustler-influencer. The identity of a hustler offers salvation from these dire circumstances, allowing entrance into a neoliberal haven where innovation and hard work always pay off, judged by the neutral gaze of the market.

In unscripted, chaotic news anchor-style videos accompanied by his wife Elena, Cardone rambles about what men should provide for women, cutting her off at every possible moment, and proclaiming authenticity is his best feature. He frames his derogatory and uneducated claims as something positive, unapologetic, masculine. Fellas, sometimes people will dislike you, and you just pay them no mind. “I’m just an authentic person. You either like me or you don’t,” he says, leaving no space for criticism or reflection, claiming they are distractions. And of course, his fans should follow if they want to stay focused on the things that matter; money, money, money.

Occasionally, in fragments taken from longer motivational videos, Cardone shares a down-to-earth anecdote or past struggle on social media to ensure you know that successful businessmen are just like you. And you can be like him if you commit.

Cardone blends business advice with personal advice, a popular approach amongst hustler-influencers. It comes as no surprise since their version of reality sees the individual and their profession as inseparable entities, a brand which depends on being perceived as a success. Keep following his content to grow your chance of making it big. Increase his wealth just in case it leads to increasing yours. And if it doesn’t, well, it might be time to purchase another coaching course. The creation of the hustler continues; he should be like Action Man, built to optimise his performance in the workplace and inside a nuclear family unit. It screams 1950s, except now the hustler also exists in code, on marketable websites and on social media apps, where he waits for the algorithm to match him with users in need of a little entrepreneurial inspiration.

Why join the grind?

The aspiring hustler asks: What is the point in working so many hours just to make someone else up top richer? Why am I expected to work 40+ hours a week in a job I do not find useful or fulfilling? What’s in it for me? Hustler-influencers answer; you cannot let yourself be exploited by some big corporation (but look at my one, how successful!). Don’t you want to be like me? I don’t have to worry about living from paycheck to paycheck. I don’t have to meticulously budget my expenses, I just spend. And you can have it too.

The aspiring hustler gives into the equal-opportunity narrative. They embrace the grind, deciding to utilise the ‘free market’ they simultaneously fear and worship to become a business owner or a CEO. And they wish to find others who are on a similar journey. Online hustle culture awaits, inviting them to join like-minded hard workers and dreamers who are not like the rest. Sometimes, the hustler is still a teenager, worried about their prospects and searching for alternative ways of making money. They find #grindtok or #hustletok and they are inspired. Look at these people, working for themselves and earning so much, making it look so easy. I want what they have. And the algorithm provides, offering videos like “Ages 13-25 and wanting to make money online?” or “How to make $50/hour even if you are just 14 years old!”. The pressure builds – what’s your excuse?

Forget inherited wealth, unethical business practices, manipulative marketing tactics, and capitalising on others’ financial worries. Hustling is an equal-opportunity endeavour, remember? Many budding entrepreneurs online ignore the skeletons dwelling in the closets of these figures. Besides, if overworking yourself is so glamorous, then those who are the most successful must be working the hardest. Right? The hustler-influencer is a creature of conflictual ambiguities, preaching hard work but automating and outsourcing much of the labour he performs. Claiming authenticity is his best asset, but operating like a charlatan, lining his own pockets while he promises you wealth. He praises small business endeavours, but supports tactics and policies that crush their potential, and elevate already well-established conglomerates. As long as you believe the hustler-influencer’s act, he will continue to benefit from the attention.

We all want financial freedom and fulfilment. But when we dream of freedom, we do not dream of exploitation. Still, such is the root of many businesses that hustlers and budding entrepreneurs idolise. On his never-ending path to exorbitant wealth, the aspiring hustler becomes a target of exploitation. A self-inflicted unsustainable work ethic makes their journey all the more painful. It makes them depend more on continuing help from hustler-influencers. Don’t stop until you succeed. No matter how compelling, this cult of the self-made entrepreneur is showing cracks and has been for some time. Echoing the growing criticism of ‘the hustle’ and marketable workaholism, many TikTok users identify glamorisation of exhaustion, gentrification, and manipulation in comment sections of hustle videos. I invite them to dream bigger and consider how the near future would look if we transitioned away from toxic productivity towards something more beneficial.

How to Be Hustle-Free

Fernández-Herrería and Martínez-Rodríguez propose a deconstruction of the neoliberal entrepreneurial self. They believe it is possible through the embrace of the Internet as a tool for establishing communication paths focused on cooperation and collaboration, not on predatory competition. In this way, a new identity can emerge; one “far removed from the capitalist worldview, now establishing emerging entrepreneurial visions which feed on values and forms of collaborative commons.”[2] In an adjusted search for community, the online hustler could soon find alternative bonds through the Internet of Things: advice instead of pressure, support instead of guilt, and connection instead of rivalry.

In the meantime, the aspiring hustler should allow themselves leisure time, rest, and critical reflection away from hustler-influencers and their clickable life advice. This is the only way to start to minimise immense pressure to perform, which inevitably leads to exhaustion and burnout. We must create some distance between our work and self-worth. This task is daunting since the waves of glamorised workaholism seem to be crashing from all sides. But if we challenge this way of thinking, we will preserve our mental health and function better in the long run. What would our routines look like if we were able to separate ourselves from our labour? Here, we might find enjoyment in daily tasks, and grow to appreciate many aspects of our lives we are often too busy to notice.

Aspiring entrepreneurs deserve better than empty promises from millionaires who sell unachievable daily routines and convince them to take big financial risks in exchange for the promise of eventual monetary gain in the future. At the centre of this is the conviction that hard work is empowering and a one-way ticket to success. Understandably, many people want this to be true. In a sense, it would signal a meritocracy and an equal-opportunity society.

However, this mentality serves the continual protection of individuals who stockpile wealth and utilise it to dominate industries, keeping smaller businesses from flourishing and silencing workers who demand better conditions. To deconstruct hustle culture, we must make it clear that so many business owners who are put on pedestals as self-made geniuses came from generational wealth, which increased their chance of launching and maintaining businesses. This perspective should help the hustler realise that reaching heights of Bezos, Zuckerberg or Musk is unachievable for reasons other than a lack of determination or self-discipline. Billionaires might humour new entrepreneurs and aspiring hustlers with quotable tips and tricks about productivity and hard work. It is nothing but a mirage. They have no profitable reason to expose their pitfalls and collective efforts on which they rely to maintain their conglomerates. But if we start to shift attention away from big business owners and hustler-influencers, we will make space for more meaningful bonds with like-minded people who deserve real advice and support from more reliable sources.

Following a passion, pursuing a career or starting a business all require resources, education, and support. We do not achieve anything alone, and it is in our collective interest to recognise the value in networks of support and care. There is work to be done. Debunking the myth of the great self-made CEO demands many structural changes. We can start by gathering together online and using the Internet of Things to our advantage. It would no longer benefit an influencing and capitalising minority. If an online hustler shares his productive 5 am morning routine, but no one is there to hear him, did he make a sound?

References

[1] Isabella Rosario, When The Hustle Isn’t Enough (npr.org), https://www.npr.org/sections/codeswitch/2020/04/03/826015780/when-the-hustle-isnt-enough?t=1612350702554 [Accessed 20 Jan 2021].
[2] Alfonso Fernández-Herrería, Fransisco Miguel Martínez-Rodríguez, “Deconstructing the neoliberal Entrepreneurial Self: A critical perspective derived from a global “biophilic consciousness,” Policy Futures in Education, Vol. 14(3), pp. 314-326.

(re)programming is a season of close encounters with world-class thinkers debating key issues, from infrastructure and energy to community and AI, hosted by the Spanish author Marta Peirano and live-streamed every third Monday of the month.

The curator

Program

See the full program here

15-02-2021: Trigger (with Kim Stanley Robinson)

15-03-2021: Infrastructure

19-04-2021: Energy

17-05-2021: Interdependence

21-06-2021: AI

20-09-2021: Data

18-10-2021: Community

15-011-2021: Accountability

Theory on Demand #40
COVID-19 from the Margins.
Pandemic Invisibilities, Policies and Resistance in the Datafied Society
Edited by Stefania Milan, Emiliano Treré and Silvia Masiero

COVID-19 from the Margins: Pandemic Invisibilities, Policies and Resistance in the Datafied Society stems from the blog ‘COVID-19 from the Margins’, launched in May 2020 to amplify the multilingual voices of social groups and individuals silenced in the overly-quantified narrative of the pandemic. Featuring contributions in five idioms, the anthology explores five core themes of the first pandemic of the datafied society seen from the perspective of the disempowered: human invisibilities and the politics of counting; perpetuated vulnerabilities and inequalities; datafied social policies; technological reconfigurations in the datafied pandemic; and pandemic solidarities and resistance from below. The five themes offer a snapshot of the social costs of the pandemic in countries as diverse as South Africa, China, Peru, Iran, Spain, New Zealand, India, Brazil, Indonesia, Russia—and counting. It gives voice to the untold stories of communities struggling to survive in the crisis, such as gig workers, indigenous groups, domestic violence survivors, impoverished families and vulnerable people, racialized individuals, migrants, rural dwellers, and the LGBTQ+ community.

‘COVID-19 from the Margins caringly and thoughtfully demonstrates why the multiplicity we call “the poor” is more than ever at the receiving end of the worst effects of globalized, patriarchal/colonial racist capitalism. But they are not passive victims, for their everyday forms of activism and re-existence, including their daily tweaking of the digital for purposes of community, care, and survival, has incredible insights about design and digital justice that this book takes to heart as we strive to undo the lethal effects of “the first pandemic of the datafied society”,’ wrote anthropologist Arturo Escobar (University of North Carolina, Chapel Hill & Universidad de Caldas, Manizales) commenting on the book.

The book is a multilingual conversation that celebrates linguistic and cultural diversity but also de-centers dominant ways of being and knowing while contributing a decolonial approach to the narration of the COVID-19 crisis. Moreover, it brings researchers, activists, practitioners, and communities on the ground into dialogue to offer timely, critical reflections in near-real time and in an accessible language. The result is a heterogeneous, polycentric and pluriversal narration, which invites the reader to enact and experience the “Big data from the South(s)” approach as an interpretive lens to read the pandemic.

Order and download to the book HERE

Teaching Into the Void

Lives of Data maps the historical and emergent dynamics of big data, computing, and society in India. Data infrastructures are now more global than ever before. In much of the world, new sociotechnical possibilities of big data and artificial intelligence are unfolding under the long shadows cast by infra/structural inequalities, colonialism, modernization, and national sovereignty. This book offers critical vantage points for looking at big data and its shadows, as they play out in uneven encounters of machinic and cultural relationalities of data in India’s socio-politically disparate and diverse contexts.

Lives of Data is edited by Sandeep Mertia. He is a PhD candidate at the Department of Media, Culture, and Communication and Urban Doctoral Fellow at New York University and he is an ICT engineer by training, and former Research Associate at The Sarai Programme, Centre for the Study of Developing Societies, Delhi.

Get the book here:

https://disrupt.impakt.nl/#OPENING_SCREEN

“Dopamine is the metaphor of our age,” says Geert Lovink in ‘Sad by Design’ (2019). We seek instant gratification. Online shopping fulfills our wildest and most superficial desires in a few clicks. Not only by buying (useless) stuff, but also in finding attention, likes, and, when we are completely overstimulated, in finding peace with mindfulness, yoga, or completely ‘off the Wi-Fi grid’ in nature. Disrupt and Reflect examines the economies behind the internet where our short-term needs are constantly being triggered and our impulse control is constantly being tested.

Disrupt and Reflect is a web project that is alternately extremely over-stimulating and very calming. It is a collection of creative and critical reflections in which, at different tempos, the viewer becomes part of the mechanisms of acceleration and stillness as they are currently occurring in our digital society. The online project consists of talks and artist presentations, accompanied by video interviews with the participants. Disrupt & Reflect is a collaborative project with the research track Post-Digital Cultures at Fontys University of Applied Sciences.

When everyone is always connected, disconnection and quietness is a scarcity. Less distraction, less incentives, more human attention. Of course, ‘less of more’ also makes money: technologies that regulate your internet use, Wi-Fi-free cafes, technology-free retreats and spas; the web is full of solutions for those suffering an information overload. The burnout industry is booming. Click – click – click – I just bought another self-help guide that promises a better, more efficient version of me. Digital detox has become a mainstream sales strategy where human contact is considered a luxury item. And due to COVID-19 we have all become screenagers, we have all experienced moments of digital fatigue, and a lack of real human touch and dopamine shots. Have a monetized hug by watching ‘~Cozy~ Hugs & Kisses ASMR ’ (633.998 views) on YouTube.

For this project we commissioned artists and theorists to critically and creatively reflect on how these apparently opposite modes of ‘overdrive’ and ‘nothingness’ behind the internet and digital technologies work. Their contributions are accompanied with random roulette interviews. How can we create a more nuanced understanding of the overwhelming influence of digital technology and the human capacity to deal with it in a healthy way? How can we come up with smart solutions that do not continuously take our self-discipline to the test? How can we escape the attention economy?

With contributions by: Anxious to Make (Emily & Liat) https://anxioustomake.ga/, Katriona Beales katrionabeales.com/, Roos Groothuizen roos.gr/, Dasha Ilina https://dashailina.com/, Annika Kappner http://www.annikakappner.com/, Dr. Gerald Moore, Pinar Yoldas https://www.pinaryoldas.info/

Webdesign: TeYosh (Sofija & Teodora) https://www.teyosh.com/

Curated by Nadine Roestenburg

Satellite Lifelines: Media, Art, Migration and the Crisis of Hospitality in Divided Cities just launched and can be found online!

“Hospitality is central to the question of political frontiers where admittance and refusal across state borders may be a matter of life or death, and also touches on the fundamental ethical question of the boundaries of the human, the constitution of the subject, how and why we set these up, and ways in which we can attempt to bring them down. A majority of migrants today now seek refuge in cities rather than in camps, prompting us to reconsider the way in which we need to rethink urban space to accommodate newcomers more long-term. Who has the right to belong? And on what terms? As we can no longer separate cityscapes from mediascapes, we need to also reconsider how these now almost indistinguishable ‘-scapes’ constitute ‘connected’ places of exclusion and belonging. In this dilemma of who is in or out, the political unwillingness and inability of dealing with the notion of the Other, the blame has been assigned to those who are assumed to “unprogrammable” within national narratives, which resulted in the ad nauseam repetition of the term “refugee crisis”.

What I argue is that it is not the refugee, migrant or immigrant who is in crisis. If we shift the lens to include host societies as part of this so-called crisis, my suggestion is that we instead call it a “crisis of hospitality”, where host societies are equally implicated in this dilemma. What we lack in political and media discourses is a language of hospitality, a way to properly name these issues and these subjects if we are to act politically towards emancipatory politics of the right to the land, the right to the city, the right to belong, and the ethical responsibility towards the Other.

Considering that politics, urban planning and media platforms are unable to resolve this dilemma, in Satellite Lifelines, I turn to philosophy and art instead.  Satellite Lifelines is a the same time philosophical inquiry, a historical survey of divided cities and politics of urban exclusion, and artistic research. I take the reader to a multiethnic suburb in Sweden, where a participatory art installation on satellite dishes on modernist façades become a surface for understanding host-guest relations. In working closely with residents in a co-generative capacity, notions of belonging through transnational media and multiple reflections on what it is we call home flourished. Is it the vibrations from television broadcasts from faraway homelands resonating in large TV screens in living rooms while in exile? Is it the notion of community building from the ground up, which provides the grounds for social, urban and media justice movements? Or can home be found in the essential meeting with the Other through the face, as Emmanuel Lévinas suggested? Questions about being trapped in eternal guesthood also came to the surface, and suggestions as to how art projects through a “hospitable turn” can open pathways for the right to host.”

– Isabel Löfgren

Download or order a copy of the book here:

When web developer Joel Calvez quitt Facebook, he realized he had no accessible overview of events anymore – “newsletters and Instagram are just not the same, they give glimpses, but they don’t tell you what you could do this Saturday”. That’s why he started his project Public Data for Public Events (publicdata.events), a simple, low-tech, FLOSS solution, where you can curate your own calendar based on the event data that institutions made publicly accessible – all you need is their domain-name. And most importantly, all of this is completely open source and independent from closed platforms such as Facebook.

As we made our INC event data public to support Joel his project, we sat down with him to talk about his plans, how Public Data for Public Events works exactly and, of course, the politics behind it. 

Pop-up on apocalendar.today, Joel his personal calendar.

Hey Joel! First things first. Why quit Facebook and not Instagram?

Yes, tell us more about it. How does it work, exactly?

“You could see it as a dumbed-down, special-case of the semantic web, perhaps. If the semantic web was an airplane, this is a bike without gears. All the event data is already out there, locked up in various websites of institutes that organize events. It’s not like we need to put more effort into writing it and publishing it for yet another platform. It just needs to be opened!  That’s basically what I’m doing. Public Data Events exists out of three projects.”

Okay. Tell us more.

What’s the second project?

And the third?

Can anyone make one? 

“Yes! The model I propose for the third project is just one proposal. Someone else might have a different idea – hopefully mine won’t be the only one. My proposal is based on federated personal ownership. You go to apocalendar.today, because you trust me. Brussels.fyi is run by Byrthe Lemmers is Brussels and you go there because you trust them. They have one calendar and the rest comes from my server, so they trust me to subscribe to my list. This way, if one of ‘my’ calendars get hacked, you can trace it back to me through a network of trust, and you can see it’s not Byrthe’s fault, for example. This model won’t work with 50.000 calendars of course, but hopefully the first two projects are independent enough for it to be possible to experiment with different models on top of this data in a collective manner.”

Does this work for events only?

And how about censorship. Could I organize an off the grid LHBTIQ+ event in Russia and put it on there safely?

What about the other side of this – what if right extremists decide to create their own domain and share their events with the same technique?

Let’s get away from the hypothetical for now. What kind of institutes would be interested in this now?

How would you balance publicly funded and commercial organisations?

apocalandar.today – casually notice the INC events on there as well

What’s your personal motivation for this project?

“I spent the last 10 years trying to make new things in a practice close to conceptualism, which started to feel a bit introspective – too much self referencing within the traditional arts and into the medium itself. This is my attempt to try something different. I wanted to try and do something more political in a way that didn’t feel forced to me, so I stayed close to the heart. Perhaps, it’s partly a response to the detachment created by COVID and the transient nature of being an independent without a boss or employees as well – I want to go out more. I hope this will become a long term thing. I’ve been getting very rewarding responses on this project.”

What kind of responses?

Why does the world need this?

By the way, could non-programmers create a calendar too?

Where do you see this going in the future?

“Every organization added to this project that uses an automatic export is adding to a continuous stream of public data. When they fill their website, they automatically fill my calendar. I’ll keep trying to add these sources the coming year. It won’t be a superfast process, but once it’s added, it’s automatic. If I have collected enough data, it will be easy to say “look here to stay updated”, but that will take some time. Like I said, my hope is to find some funding soon, to be able to give some money to these organizations to speed up the process of opening up the data. That would make it easier to say ‘look developers, here is nice public data to experiment with’. If this idea really takes off, I’ll need a solid non-profit organization underneath it too, for support and to maintain its independence.”

We’re sure you’ll pull it off!

https://www.universiteitleiden.nl/en/events/2020/12/lccp-symposium-memory-for-the-future-thinking-with-bernard-stiegler

Leiden University Center for Continental Philosophy (LCCP) and the Institute for Science in Society of the Radboud University of Nijmegen welcome all interested persons to a symposium on Bernard Stiegler’s work on 3-4 December 2020.

Bernard Stiegler’s unexpected passing away in August 2020 left many things unfinished. His philosophical work, that had started by a seminal theory of technics as memory and evolved towards an interrogation of the automatic society, now examined from the perspective of anthropic and neganthropic tendencies of the world marked by pervasive AI, ultra-liberalism and climate catastrophe. His influence went also beyond philosophy to many practical engagements.

In order to commemorate the span of this multifaceted work, but above all in order to probe its future, the Leiden University Center for Continental Philosophy (LCCP) and the Institute for Science in Society of the Radboud University of Nijmegen summon a meeting of both academics and actors from civil society. The meeting will surely summarize his philosophical legacy, but above all it will explore possible futures in the spirit of Bernard Stiegler’s philosophical project, both practically and theoretically.

How should we take care of the world marked by ubiquitous digitalization, global ecological destruction and increasing economical turmoil? How should we face this reality in thinking? What should philosophy consist of when digitalization has entered the domain of knowledge production and cultural reflection? Is philosophy mainly a matter of concept production or also an engagement with reality? What is philosophizing for Stiegler, and how should we philosophize with Stiegler and after him?

Due to Covid restrictions the symposium will take place online. More than anybody else, Bernard Stiegler led us to interrogate both the misery and the emancipative potential of this media, so let this also be an occasion for putting this element of his thinking in practice.

The program will be updated on the symposium website, see below. People interested in the symposium should register with the conference secretary Donovan Stewart: donovanstewart@protonmail.com

https://www.universiteitleiden.nl/en/events/2020/12/lccp-symposium-memory-for-the-future-thinking-with-bernard-stiegler

On the 9^th of November, our friends from the Centre for Digital Inquiry, Warwick’s hub for critical digital research, organize a public talk about their ‘COVID-19 App Store and Data Flow Ecologies’ project.

Apps have emerged as a key part of the response to COVID-19 around the world. Initial research and critical assessments of COVID-19 apps, however, have raised a number of important concerns from issues around privacy and security to the adoption rates required for their effectiveness. This project contributes to emerging public and policy debates through digital methods research of COVID-19 apps.

Their approach is unique because they are moving beyond an analysis of single apps, but they look at multiple apps and their inter-relationships. Critical data studies have demonstrated that a focus on relations between apps and data infrastructures is vital since no apps operate in isolation.

Some facets of the project include: mapping algorithmic and curatorial ordering practices in app stores, tracing data flows by capturing network connections, decompiling apps to identify third-parties, and performing data-centric walkthroughs to consider the mediation of information disclosure and consent. By combining these methods, the project aims to provide an assessment of the governance risks and ethical challenges posed to the public by COVID-19 apps.

On the 9^th of November investigators Dr. Michael Dieter (Centre for Interdisciplinary Methodologies, University of Warwick), Dr. Anne Helmond (Media Studies, University of Amsterdam, Netherlands), Dr. Nathaniel Tkacz (Centre for Interdisciplinary Methodologies, University of Warwick), Dr. Esther Weltevrede (Media Studies, University of Amsterdam, Netherlands) and contributing researchers Fernando van der Vlist (University of Siegen, Germany) and Jason Chao (University of Siegen, Germany) will have an online dialogue about their project.

Mapping the Covid-19 App Space
November 9th, 09:30 – 1-:30 am GMT
Online
Register here

This project is funded by an ESRC COVID-19 Rapid Response Grant and partnered with the Ada Lovelace Institute.

What does it mean to infiltrate the other side of the argument?

The Fetish for the Image and the Digital Ethnographer

Coming from the field of design, my online feeds and timelines are flooded in aesthetics. Even after carefully picking accounts to follow and pages to like, the aestheticized image keeps on slipping through. Especially the iconic black and white Brutalist picture. It isn’t completely surprising, since a particular Brutalist Facebook group holds more than 40 of my digital friends. Brutalism photography is a celebration of its architectural rigidness, there is a certain appeal to its straight lines, awkward shapes, and obvious similarities to graphic design. Is it a building or merely a fetishized image?

On a regular afternoon, waiting for the train, Facebook suggested to me a ‘group I might be interested in’: Society for the Nonpreservation of Brutalism. With none of my Facebook friends already there, the Society for Nonpreservation feels like a Secret Society, a virtual sense of belonging to something with a seemingly official status. Upon sending my member request the group double checks if I comply with their values. “1. Least fave brutalist building?” and “2. Do you secretly like brutalism though?” as if they are waiting for Brutalist lovers to infiltrate their sacred space of dislike …

To set up a Society for Nonpreservation means there is a serious threat of others who strive to preserve what one would like to see demolished. Quite quickly after Brutalist buildings were constructed in the 50s as low-cost social housing in Great Britain, the general opinion about them shifted. By the 70s, what was once a socialist agenda of providing housing for everyone, became a symbol of totalitarianism.^[1]

The revival of Brutalist popularity seems to be sparked or at least perpetuated by social media, with Instagram accounts and Facebook groups flooding in concrete loving imagery. The #SOSBRUTALISM campaign, book, and exhibition, has collected 42.7k Instagram followers to “save the concrete monsters!”. The Brutalism Appreciation Society, of which many of my digital friends are a part of, has over 127k members. Voicing concern over this development, the Society for Nonpreservation forms a counterweight.

While it is very easy to think about the reproducibility of the brutalist building within Instagram and blogging, I think one also needs to think about the relational networks, cultures, and ecologies of images that are being reproduced by new connectivities online. I think that is a correlation to the kind of aspiration the architects and designers had about the new communities they were also trying to imagine and revisualise in the spaces.

– Victory Walsh at RA talk ‘The concrete fetishes: the ghost of Brutalism’s radical social agenda’^[2]

I’m not an architect. My quest into the Society for the Nonpreservation of Brutalism is more digital ethnographic than anything else, employing participant observation to study the community that is formed around the Nonpreservation argument. Not involving myself in the argument itself, but rather in the way the conversation is held, I focus on the form rather than the content of the discussions. Consciously not disturbing the regular interactions, I embody a fly on the wall, taking note of what is happening. Not very different from the classic lurker, the passive social media account everybody has in their digital friend groups, I join in, listen, and watch.

As discussed in Schutz’s essay The Stranger, the observer ought to look at an environment as being a total stranger, to expose the social and cultural construction of an environment that might be taken for granted by its members.^[3] Moving beyond what I think I know about digital societies, yet acknowledging my bias as a secret lover of the fetishized image, I’m a stranger in disguise.

Nonpreservation Observation: Jokes and Politics

I return to my new community – the Society for Nonpreservation that is. Once I’m allowed in (answers to the questions: 1. The Barbican 2. Maybe, I’m not sure), the description text of the group welcomes me. Clearly stating what to expect, it reads:

Some people want to preserve brutalist architecture–they’re the people who don’t have to live with it. From Boston to Birmingham, from Tel Aviv to Tiraspol, cities the world over have been scarred by these inhuman, concrete monstrosities. They’re unpleasant to look at and worse to walk by. They damage the historic and unique character of a place. They must go.

Created on the 13th of August, 2019, the group now has 1.6k members. Contrary to the Appreciation Society, the Society for Nonpreservation is public, allowing non-members to view its content. Posts are made on a regular basis, approximately once a week.

Jokes, memes, and gifs

Taking a look at the discussion section of the Society for Nonpreservation, one finds what one expects to find. The members share images of what should not be preserved, generally met by likes, shares, and comments; expressions of agreement. There is a lot of “hideous!” and “how fugly” to be found, as well as some “ooooh i’d love go go unpreserve that one yes i would”. A poll allows members to vote for the worst brutalist building ever – the winner is Boston City Hall. A Google review of the same building is shared, Boston City Hall – 2 stars “The outside is the worst looking building on the planets. I built a tree fort When I was 9 or 10 that was better looking”.

These kinds of disapproving jokes is what the majority of the group’s content consists of, and let’s be honest, the reason for me to stay in the group and have a good laugh. The best ones are the visual references, it is an easy joke to make – things always tend to look like other things. But when the comparison is apt, and housing complexes do look like themed wedding cakes and stacks of washing machines, I can’t help it for a grin to appear on my face.

Socio-political arguments

Underneath the wrecking ball gifs and “I hope the Groningen earthquake takes care of this” comments, there are larger socio-political arguments at play. The first layer is the difference between an image and the lived experience: “These kids live in the suburbs and only know architecture through Pinterest and never have to wonder what it’s like to actually Iive and work in the buildings they think they like.”

More than “objectively ugly architecture”, Brutalism is seen as “a pseudo-intellectual competition”, not validating “the experience of people who live, work and pass by it day to day”. Similarly, the idea of the building versus the experience of the building is emphasized, but with an added layer of “elitism” on the behalf of the “Pinterest kids”. The “objectively ugly architecture”: is later explained by someone else: “… said that Brutalism is ‘objectively’ ugly. Is that overreach? Perhaps, but barely: what else would you call a style that ACTIVELY and EXPLICITLY rejected beauty — that acknowledged that ‘beauty’ was a norm, called it evil, and then sought to embody its opposite?”

Building on the idea versus the lived experience argument, ivory tower architects are the ones to blame: “Brutalism often looks great on paper. That’s the whole problem. It’s self centered, ivory tower architects who don’t think past the drafting table and don’t care how a building is actually realized assuming that their designs are brilliant because of some obtuse geometrical logic that doesn’t actually make a building livable.” When another post points out the fascist ideas of star architect Le Corbusier, “FYI, all these students, architects and designers who often think they’re radical leftists are supporting the work of an actual Nazi collaborator”, the political character of the group can no longer be disputed.

Trolls

The elitism argument resulted in easy critique as brutalism itself was created as housing for the masses, yet this critique is quickly shut down in a way that closely resembles the expelling of trolls. “Brutalism was essentially a troll movement against the average person’s aesthetic sensibilities, so it makes sense that people who like would troll people who don’t.”

When someone disagrees with something, their argument is easily taken as favoring brutalist architecture. A comment to the ‘brutalism is a pseudo intellectual competition’ -rant reads “Lol did you read what you wrote? Are you instead into the funeral parlor aesthetic of the suburbs?”, which is immediately met with “did you even read the group description?” and “Are you lost”?. An “its beautiful” comment is met with a gif of a silence gesture. Starting with the questions upon being led in, throughout the group admins and members question the intentions of potential pro-brutalist. “Guys be careful it seems like pro brutalists are trying to infiltrate the group”.

The comment “So is this group for ironically hating brutalism or for real?” is met with “for real”, and later “why would anyone assume that a person’s hatred of ugly ecologically disastrous buildings is ironic?” The Society for Nonpreservation is clear about its point of view. Sharing a link to The Other Group, The Appreciation Society, results in the comment “Why do you guys need to come in here and post this stuff. I dont come to brutalism groups and post good architecture” and “Like actually can you please just leave or stop posting if you’re just here to troll? Let us have this little corner of the internet while numtot drools over concrete slab”.

Similar lived experiences

Having such disdain for a particular architectural style, begs for a good origin story. If not personal  trauma, then what can elicit such a strong response? Members share their personal experiences throughout the discussion. Replying to a post of a university student who was afraid of developing Stockholm syndrome for her brutalist university buildings, a member says that working and studying in brutalist architecture “only radicalised me more”. Studying philosophy “in despair” at De Vrije Universiteit in Amsterdam, to spending 3 years in law school “in brutalist monstrosity”, the urge to Nonpreserve exceeds strictly theoretical arguments.

In sharing their lived experiences, members reach out to see whether others are from their region. “Post the worst brutalist buildings in your city!” is met with 50 comments – mostly buildings in Israel, the US, and Canada. To the poll “Where do you live now?”, a majority votes for “NYC is not in New England”, “Northeast US”, and “Southern US”. Whereas for Brutalist Appreciators one’s physical location might not matter as much, for Nonpreservationists one’s place of residence has more meaning. People relate to architecture through their geopolitical context, where one lives and how policies (do not) regulate housing influences the experience of living among ‘monstrosities’. Within the group, people look for others from their regions:  “As someone who grew up near the UMass Amherst campus, I had to see this thing too many times. Any other Western Mass peeps here?”

The Other Groups

The Society for the Nonpreservation of Brutalism is a counterweight to The Other Group, its enemy The Brutalism Appreciation Society. Within the myriad of Facebook groups, some are more like-minded, such as Preservationist Memes for Turret-Oriented Teens (“We’re here to enjoy old buildings and not to fight, so please take the ‘but muh density’ elsewhere, thanks.”), Dank Neo-Traditional Architecture Memes for Premodern Teens (“Surreal Memes dissing LeCorbusier are encouraged”), and liking brutalism is not a personality (whose standpoint is self-evident).

The relationship to the famous group New Urbanist Memes for Transit-Oriented Teens, or numtot in short, is more complex, as a member states “So they’re basically going back to Corbusier in that group? NUMTOTS are so bizarre. That group messes with my brain. ” An ex-numtot states “So this group is anti-NUMTOT, right? I had to leave because it was turning into a hyper-density, Kowloon-level circle jerk. (No offense to the mods, they’re cool af.)”. Someone replies: “we’re anti to the hyper density shit for sure” and “Also, not that this group is anti left wing, it’s a mix of people from all political spectrums but there’s a lot of …open communism there and I think most people here don’t go that far”. The numtots are seen as ill-informed: “A lot of people in NUMTOTs don’t really know as much as they think they do, especially on things like architecture. I say this from experience being an observer in the group.” Within the context of the Society for Nonpreservation, the numtots become, in turn, the subject of a meme.

Opinions and the Architecture of the Platform 

The question remains – how does the Brutalist discussion play out online? Is the formation of groups yet another example of the much-discussed (and disputed) echo chamber and filter bubble? Does the Facebook group facilitate polarisation and intellectual isolation? Sunstein’s work on the echo chamber argues that joining groups with ones own views and values, cuts people off from information that might challenge these beliefs.^[4]

Similar (and sometimes exactly the same) imagery circulates in groups on both sides of the Brutalism argument, the difference is to be found in the values and arguments that are assigned to them. Unlike the filter bubble, the members of the Society for Nonpreservation consciously decide to position themselves on this side of the argument. The algorithm has not strategically filtered the wrecking ball comments over the adoration ones. The group’s opinion in Brutalism is clearly of a homogenous nature, the name portrays its standpoint and seemingly pro-brutalist arguments are shown the door.

However, the Society for Nonpreservation exists within a larger hybrid media ecology. Other groups are actively discussed, their conversations observed, and new Nonpreservationist members originate from them. In its origin, the Society for Nonpreservation is a counterweight to Appreciation Society. The true vacuum, as such, doesn’t hold up. When architecture turns image and these images circulate online, the Facebook groups are simultaneously a stage for and a product of this imagery, existing within and because of ecologies of virtual communities, perpetuating yet negotiating their ideas.

What does it mean to infiltrate the other side of the argument? For my opinion on Brutalist architecture, I’m not sure. Having spent hours looking through posts and comments, I can’t say I have grown fond of the Nonpreservation argument, nor the Appreciation one. Sometimes I enjoy the image, as to get lost in a dystopian alternate reality. Yet, having visited the Barbican and not being able to find my way out of the complex for more than half an hour, this particular lived experience could have turned me into a Nonpreservationist. The entrance question number 2. “Do you secretly like brutalism though?”, I could best answer with ‘Maybe, I’m not sure. Try to convince me of your argument, if you please.’

I do believe that becoming part of the other side of the argument gives a breath of nuance every argument on the internet could use once in a while. What to do with the Brutalist buildings comes second to listening to what the opponent has to say, in all their likes, comments, gifs, and argumentation. If not because of your investment in the topic, then the jokes are worth passing by for. You don’t have to agree to share a laugh, after all.

References

All images are fragments from Society for the Nonpreservation of Brutalism, modified to guarantee the privacy of its members.

^[1] “Brutalist Architecture: What Is Brutalism?” Architecture & Design. https://www.architectureanddesign.com.au/features/list/a-look-at-brutalist-architecture.

^[2] Walsh, Victoria. “The Concrete Fetishes: the Ghost of Brutalism’s Radical Social Agenda.” Royal Academy: Futures Found The Real and Imagined Cityscapes of Post-War Britain. Lecture presented on March 20, 2017.

^[3] Schuetz, A. (1944). The Stranger: An Essay in Social Psychology. American Journal of Sociology, 49(6), 499-507.

^[4] Sunstein, Cass R. Republic.com 2.0. Princeton, New Jersey: Princeton Univ. Press, 2009.

Hello world!

My name is Karina Zavidova, I am a designer, an independent researcher and a migrant in the Netherlands. I am currently conducting a survey on the working conditions of non-EU citizens in the Dutch arts & culture sector. My definition of ‘cultural work’ in this survey is intentionally broad. I have been researching the subject for the past three years and at the current stage I want to go back from looking at particular aspects of the subject to very general questions. How aware are we of the differences in day-to-day work of creative professionals in NL based on their citizenship?

The assumption is that there is a lack of accessible information, but also a lack of general understanding of the situation. There is no overview of  citizenship-related differences such as immigration-related costs, the difference in job opportunities etc. While I am not trained in working with data, I am very inspired by a long-standing tradition of artists and designers investigating their own working conditions and mapping the situation and current practices in the field.

The survey doesn’t focus on numbers but rather on recording the current experiences of migrants and their peers. After collecting responses for the rest of 2020, I will be looking at the results and working on a variety of ways to supply the missing information: via a reader or a publication and via more active formats, such as workshops. Dealing with inequalities based on citizenship in creative work, I am interested in understanding how my experiences correspond with the experiences of others and I am aiming to develop practical methods to work with such inequalities. The survey is open to all types of citizenship, as I would like to gather information not only about non-EU citizens but also about a variety of roles, partnerships, networks and collaborations where people with different citizenship backgrounds work together.

The link to the survey is http://zavidova.com/test/

In case the website embed doesn’t work here’s a direct link to the form
https://docs.google.com/forms/d/e/1FAIpQLScrSHbogoLB0fhbdgzSDV99aIrntXtRrd70EUADHbWcYPPixw/viewform

Thank you!

Karina 
(zavidova@gmail.com)

Budapest University of Theatre and Film Arts students have not only occupied their university, they have now redesigned the university completely and started new ways of teaching with their ‘experimental teaching republic’.

Photo: REUTERS/Bernadett Szabo.

Earlier this October, nearly 100 students occupied their university after the right-wing national government of prime minister Viktor Orband transferred ownership of the public university to a private foundation and appointed a new board of trustees, without an open and public vacancy, made up completely by government associates, and therefore stripping the university’s power completely.

When the new academic year started in November, students and teaching staff left the traditional ways of the education framework and have started a self-proclaimed ‘experimental teaching republic’. This new form of education is based on a free way of teaching, which aims to consist of a common creative process – without being bound to institutes, fields of studies, a course catalog and attendance lists. The new board of trustees currently has no influence on the university and its members and associates are denied access.

Photo: Bernadett Szabo/Reuters.

The Budapest University of Theatre and Film Arts is not the only university affected by the right-wing national government of prime minister Viktor Orband. The Central European University (CEU), which was founded in Budapest by George Soros, Hungarian-American philanthropist and investor, in 1991, was forced out of Budapest because of its dual legal identity, as it was registered in both New York State and in Hungary. A new controversial law Orband initiated in 2017 demanded that foreign universities must have a “parent” university in their country of origin. Other elements of the reform included the privatisation of 13 state universities that are placed in the hands of government associates – such as the Budapest University of Theatre and Film Arts. This month, Europe’s top court ruled that Hungary broke EU law when they forced CEU to shift most activity abroad.

The Budapest University of Theatre and Film Arts protest has been supported by theater groups, students, actors and university faculties in Hungary and around Europe. The Institute of Network Cultures thinks autonomy in educational institutes is extremely important and supports innovative and experimental forms of education. The Institute of Network Cultures supports the Budapest University of Theatre and Film Arts in this process and stands with them in solidarity.

Contagion Design: Labour, Economy, Habits, Data
International Symposium
22 October – 12 November, 2020
Hosted by Institute for Culture and Society, Western Sydney University
https://www.westernsydney.edu.au/ics/events/contagion_design

Organizers: Gay Hawkins and Ned Rossiter

How is contagion designed? How do labour, migration, habits and data configure contagion? Across a program of four weeks of discussion and debate, this event explores the current conjuncture through these vectors to address issues of rising unemployment, restricted movement, increasing governance of populations through data systems and the compulsory redesign of habits. Design logics underscore both biological contagion and political technologies. Contagion is redesigning how labour and migration are differentially governed, experienced and indeed produced. Habits generate modes of exposure and protection from contagion and become a resource for managing biological and social life. Data turns contagion into models that make a virus actionable and calculable. But can the logic of pre-emption and prediction ever accommodate and control the contingencies of a virus? The aim of this event is to explore these issues and their implications for cultural, social and political research. If contagion never abandons the scene of the present, if it persists as a constitutive force in the production of social life, how might we redesign the viral as the friend we love to hate?

This event organised by the Institute for Culture and Society at Western Sydney University includes speakers from the ICS together with national and international colleagues.

Please note: there are 4 events held over a 4-week period. The details of each event are included below, including the links to register. You may register for all or some of the events. Please register separately for each event you would like to attend.

Full pdf of the symposium program can be downloaded here.

Migration and Labour
22 October, 11:30am – 1pm
Register on Eventbrite: https://tinyurl.com/yyyhns6s

Chair: Brett Neilson
Ritajyoti Bandyopadhyay, ‘Economic Informality and Democracy in India at the Time of Covid-19’
Joyce Liu, ‘What Comes After the Lockdown? A New Wave of Nationalisation and the Local Divide’
Anne McNevin, ‘Temporal Contagion as an Antidote to Renationalization’

Contagious Mutualities
29 October, 4–5.30pm
Register on Eventbrite: https://tinyurl.com/y6x2brga
Chair: Katherine Gibson
Stephen Healy and Declan Kuch, ‘Contagious Mutuality: Spreading Postcapitalist Possibilities’
Peter North, ‘Building Back Better in the UK or Back to Work?’
Teppo Eskelinen, ‘Redefining Community in Nordic Countries After the Pandemic’

Habits of Contagion
4 November, 4–5.30pm
Register on Eventbrite: https://tinyurl.com/y4yto3jo
Chair: Tony Bennett
Franck Cochoy, ‘On the Art of Burying One’s Face in a Band: How the Sanitary Mask Encounters the Habits of Laypersons and Experts’
Ben Dibley, ‘Demophobia and the Infrastructures of Infection’
Gay Hawkins, ‘Social Distance: Security, Suggestion, Insecurity’

Data Contagion
12 November, 11am – 12.30pm
Register on Eventbrite: https://tinyurl.com/y5ed2lb6
Chair: Ned Rossiter
Mark Andrejevic, ‘Biometrics “at-a-distance”: Touchlessness and the Securitization of Circulation’
Rolien Hoyng, ‘Datafication and Contingency in Circular Economies’
Orit Halpern, ‘Resilient Natures: Algorithmic Finance, Radical Events and Ecological Models’

Questions

[1] I want to know your thoughts about the multiple profiles that depict you with specific word-associations and comparisons with other (Swartz / Piratebay / Napster / Megaupload / Wikileaks / Snowden / Manning, etc.) (punished) projects/public personas historically and culturally related with online piracy in USA. Even when you pointed out the problems of some of these profiles on your personal blog/s in the past, is crucial to address and insist about media development and treatment around your name in a wide spectrum in recent years, simply because that could trigger more attentive-branches about reductive misconceptions or elaborated images that some people may have about you.

I’ll take two cases as examples, a mainstream profile-feature published by The Verge in 2018 and an article from Nature in 2016 titled Paper piracy sparks online debate, both are highly cited/added in platforms and social media channels to identify and introduce people to your work, but at the same time both also developed specific agendas, avoiding open support (and probably legal threats or loss of sponsorship), is media output really engaging Sci-Hub’s aims and copyright enforcement accusations with the proper treatment?

[2] In the last three decades, ideas and activities associated with the word hacker were transformed radically, from being originally conceived in the background of programming-jargon, to get prosecuted with ‘illegal stickers’ ruled under the law, is a similar trend in which legal apparatuses label common words or compounds used in sharing networks and open knowledge activities as criminal-by-association in regards to free access and text-private-property. Conveniently, is an alarming reminding of the protective measures used in the Medieval Ages to prevent book-theft that you referenced in your text Анафема!, phantom-language for speculative punishment.

Why do you think these legal tactics under the argument of >capitalist loss< have been opportune to try to slow down sharing networks and archival repositories?

[2a] Do you consider these measures, like the legal prosecution directed by Elsevier to cease Sci-Hub in 2015, are similar reminiscences of Middle Age’s curses in the sense of status protection < via knowledge in XXIst century capitalism?

Here’s an extract of the actual complaint:

This is a civil action seeking damages and injunctive relief for: (1) copyright infringement under the copyright laws of the United States (17 U.S.C. § 101 et seq.); and (2) violations of the Computer Fraud and Abuse Act, 18.U.S.C. § 1030, based upon Defendants’ unlawful access to, use, reproduction, and distribution of Elsevier’s copyrighted works. Defendants’ actions in this regard have caused and continue to cause irreparable injury to Elsevier and its publishing partners (including scholarly societies) for which it publishes certain journals.

[3] Is fascinating how the tense relationship between USA and Russia during Cold War plays an important precedent in the public eye to generate plots and theories about the origins and intentions of Sci-Hub on copyrighted territories (even though you repeatedly insisted that Sci-Hub is a project you started in 2011), these theories suggest a plethoric range of prospects, from a fully state-funded project by Russian Intelligence, to an ongoing investigation directed by the US Justice Department that targets Sci-Hub as an undercover espionage-project.

What is your response to these accusations?

What is behind the constant emergence of conspiracy plots toward Sci-Hub?

[4] In 2016 Marcia Mcnutt (former president of the National Academy of Sciences) wrote a column for Science Magazine, My love-hate of Sci-Hub in which she argues that downloading papers from Sci-Hub could create collateral damage for authors, publishing houses, universities, fellowships, science education, among other areas. The love-hate scenario Mcnutt paints is nonetheless confusing for the debate she wants to open about corporate knowledge inside institutions, since, the whole text leaves serious cracks in her depiction of the publishing system’s function. Accidentally in the same text, she evidences a chain of normalized exploitation towards researchers in her community by not rewarding them in this excerpt:

“Journals have real costs, even though they don’t pay authors or reviewers, as they help ensure accuracy, consistency, and clarity in scientific communication.”

If access means power and power is fueled by elevated amounts of money, what are the standards of politically correct access to information aiming for, if not capital accumulation? Sci-Hub proposes a deep change into the file-share landscape.

[5] Sci-Hub’s bounder-less pirate distribution is generating not only scientific capital but also cultural capital, knowledge-availability never experienced before. Language barriers aside, the capacities for scientific development in countries with research shortages may have a significant growth in the next ten years thanks to Theft Trade Communication.

In a presentation you made this year about the mythology of science titled The Open Science Idea you showed an unexpected statement: modern science grew out of theft.

What is the nexus between cognition, communism, and theft inside your studies about the cultural history of science?

If Sci-Hub could release an official theft-ethos, what it would contain?

[6] Is also worth noticing the high contrast amid the graphic assertions from Elsevier and Sci-Hub and what each one represents and stands for in regard to power and information. I’ve always wondered about Sci-Hub’s logo genesis, because in this case the graph-isms go beyond the symbolic.

[7] I’m curious about the links and connections generated in the Master’s Program in Linguistics/Biblical Languages you were part in 2017, in a series of texts you’ve shown interesting readings about mythology, knowledge, theology and the ancient roots of copyright and intellectual property. You’ve been compiling information from figures like Колумба (or Saint Pirate), Hermes and antique repositories like the Library of Ashurbanipal to highlight one common denominator, the systematic exclusion of the premise “spread the word” and the consequent copy_paste counter-measure techniques to unlock this information_s.

Now that you discovered attractive routes to study information patterns and similarities through history, what is your future-vision to redefine file-sharing in an established .net regulated consumption landscape?

[8] We are in the middle of important changes at institutional, corporate and cultural levels in the context of Open Science and info-access, in June of this year MIT ended negotiations with Elsevier for a new contract, and recently the University of California also renewed negotiations launching open access resolutions with the dutch company. At the same time, many universities are inaugurating new protocols and initiatives to ensure wide and free access for academic resources.

Do you consider the recent measures taken by academic organizations are enough to abolish the paywall-economy?

[9] Earlier this year you were nominated for the John Maddox Prize by Fergus Kane after almost ten years of navigating into heavily corporate waters with Sci-Hub, one curious detail about the award is that it has support from the international scientific journal Nature, Nature’s news team covered Sci-Hub’s legal battle in New York courts with unfavorable handling.

What is your approach to this nomination and how significant could be for Sci-Hub’s potential?

Reference:

[1] Karaganis, J. Shadow Libraries (1st ed., p. 6). The MIT Press.

When did creative work become so boring? How did ‘digital-first’ come to dominate everything? …and why is nobody talking about it?

Offline Matters is a handbook for anybody experiencing digital overload in their lives and creative work. Part insider exposé, part worker-manual, this book is for any creative seeking help on:

• Navigating the possibility of offline alternatives
• Countering overwork culture, exploitation, and dulled-down ideas
• Recovering what you loved about your creative calling

… away from the confines of our screens. We are dreaming of offline. Not as a romanticised past, a punishment, a quick detox, or a WiFi-free café. Offline is not a lifestyle. It’s a space of opportunity.

Please visit the website of the book: https://www.offline-matters.com/

By the end of Offline Matters, you’ll have a new perspective on the dry digitality that defines creative work today – and a set of strategies for going beyond it.

Offline Matters is a handbook of radical strategies for creative workers. Theguide blows open the true state of today’s creative work where digital solutions are doctrine, overwork culture results in burnouts and ideas churn out into depressing marketing noise.

Part of the vanguard of young minds exposing the insides of contemporary workplaces, Jess Henderson represents the growing body of precarious creative workers. In “saying what nobody else is saying,” Henderson addresses an array of issues from a stance of mutual aid and solidarity.

A wake-up call for the digital age, Offline Matters is pro-flourishing rather than anti-technology. Take this countercultural ride of togetherness through an offline-first approach to creative work. From ideas that unlearn the limiting habits of most workplaces, to insider advice on avoiding clichés and reducing digital overload, this book offers practical thoughts for a creative life that questions pervasive productivity mandates.

About The Author

Jess Henderson is a writer, research, theorist and founder of Outsider, and insider-activist project within the creative industries. At just 26, whilst working as a brand strategist at numerous prominent creative agencies, Henderson began Outsider as a critical space for industry insiders exploring the possibilities of ‘offline’ in the realm of creative work. Beginning as a subversive email newsletter titled ‘Outsider Weekly’*, Outsider became a mysterious cult figure in the industry through its opinion pieces and counter-cultural ideas, experiments, and events.

This book culminates three years of research conducted under the project and is also its sweet kiss goodbye. Jess is a senior researcher of the Institute of Network Cultures, now based in Zürich, where she is conducting research on a theory of the burnout. She continues to write, speak, and guide workshops on the missed opportunity of offline connections and the industry’s technodeterminist fallout on both workers and audiences.

https://nofun.tips/

https://networkcultures.org/nofun/ 

Praise 

“Offline Matters is a much needed take-down of the whole ‘cult of creativity’ from the inside. This rattle gun attack on the perniciousness of the creative digital work will leave you aghast and amused in equal measure.”—Oli Mould, author of Against Creativity

“For any creative who has had to cater to corporate dimwits in order support their art, here’s a terrific guide to bringing your best work into the commercial sphere without selling out or compromising your craft. This is a book about how to break free from the data-driven expectations of your client’s spreadsheet, and retrieve the true novelty that makes you valuable in the first place.”—Douglas Rushkoff, author of Team Human

“This book is extremely timely. The pandemic has obliged everybody to stay online almost all the time. Offline Matters reminds us that life is (also) elsewhere. The neologism ‘offline’, which did not exist twenty years ago, has philosophical relevance. This book is hoping we can discover it.”—Franco ‘Bifo’ Berardi, philosopher, theorist and activist

“Today we are all called upon to be the content providers of our own lives. This can be exhausting and estranging. Fortunately Jess Henderson has arrived to help us get offline, not into the pasts but into the presence of our lives. With compassion and humour Henderson brings us back to ourselves and it turns out we are not predestined to be profiled and branded.  Offline Matters is the mutual help book we need right now!”—Stefano Harney, co-author of The Undercommons: Fugitive Planning and Black Study

“Jess’ has written a kind of outsider/artist/creatve/inventor SURVIVAL MANUAL for our over-amped, information-overloaded, hypercommunicative age.

Anyone seeking encouragement, inspiration, moral support, and IDEAS would do well to study these pages, preferably in a solitary room with no music playing and no laptop showing ‘news’ (or a cellphone constantly pinging). Electronics in another room, please!”—V. Vale, founder of RE/Search and Search & Destroy

“Offline Matters couldn’t come at a more important and critical juncture in our human existence… The insights within this book highlight the current creative plight we’ve gotten ourselves into and the cracks within many cultural and societal pillars.

This book is a great step in helping us reclaim and reconsider our roles within the current structures we’ve all been players within. Many of us can read along nodding in agreement and the examples surely represent thoughts we’ve embraced at some point. But this book isn’t about reprimanding us so much as help us understand how we can move forward. We’ve become so subservient to other factors out in the world and this is a stern reminder to take back control of something that can provide an immense amount of personal and community value.”—Eugene Kan, co-founder of MAEKAN and Hypebeast

“Consider this book a rehabilitation program for a creative thinking populace unknowingly addicted to vain online activity. Through these influential pages, Henderson bestows upon their readers the tools necessary to free one’s mind from the constraints of the virtual realm so they may focus instead on something much more important… Reality.”—James T. Padlow, THE PEN NAME

“I have followed Jess’ writing since she created Outsider; an anarchic newsletter/witty commentary against the establishment, and its pervasive contentment with the same old marketing bullshit. I waited in anticipation, sometimes for months, to receive news from the trenches… Just like the white space between the lines in a book, it was like reading every unspoken truth, every unheard sigh, every roll of the eyes in our industry. Someone had to say it and thank god it was Jess. We need this book.”—Alvaro Sotomayor, Creative Director at WIEDEN+KENNEDY

Interview with Jess Henderson: https://maekan.com/article/offline-matters-with-jess-henderson/
Article in Amsterdam Alternative: ‘Shock Me. Please’ https://amsterdamalternative.nl/articles/9917

It is with joy that we present Let’s Get Physical: A Sample of INC Longforms, 2015-2020 (INC Reader #13), which gathers thirteen essays that have been published in our INC Longform series over the past years. The book is available for free as pdf and on paper, epub to follow soon. Below you can read the introduction to the volume. And do make sure to check INC Longforms for even more delicious reads.

—

What difference does five years make? A world of difference, no doubt about it. But, at the same time: ‘everything changes, and everything stays the same’.

I remember quite distinctly how, when I started working with the Institute of Network Cultures in 2012, many of the people around me had no idea of what we did and why. Why would you want to make a critique of Facebook (as we did in the Unlike Us project) when people enjoyed it so much? Why question the monopoly of Google on the search engine market (as Society of the Query did) when it so worked so well? Then Snowden happened, and while the implications of his revelations didn’t initially sink in with the broader public, they certainly did after Cambridge Analytica. The platforms that started out as your new best friend dirtied their reputations one after another and all by themselves: like the urban parasite Airbnb destroying livelihoods and communities, the all-encompassing warehouse of Amazon turning into a fresh-from-hell reinvention of the nineteenth century factory, or the complete and utter leeching of capital by Uber. Now, no one doubts whether the tech industry and Silicon Valley deserve scrutiny, even if billions still use their services.

A lot can happen over just a handful of years, while at the same time debates like these seemed to lay in waiting for ages, simmering in the back rooms of hacking clubs, art spaces, and academia. Still, there’s no saying where we’ll stand in another couple of years, or even the very near future. As I write this from home, confined to self-isolation, or quarantine, or whatever you wish to call it – just like a staggering number of people all over the world (and I’m very much aware that those who have the option to self-isolate in a home study, like me, are among the lucky ones) – it is hard not to look at the recent past with a kind of astonished bewilderment. Who could have figured that even the most dedicated tech critic would breathe a sigh of relief over the options offered by social networks and communication platforms to keep in touch with loved ones, co-workers, or even total strangers in a midnight rave via video conference? At the same time, it didn’t take long before the first worrying stories began to emerge about the use of the same tech to surveil citizens under lockdown in unprecedented ways and for workers in the platform economy to become more precarious than ever (if not ditched completely).

Longforms, a Short History

Amidst the rumbling, we find a reason to celebrate. This volume marks the five-year anniversary of the INC Longform series, which saw its first instalment in April 2015. Since then it has featured some thirty essays by smart, talented, often young writers. The topics they address range from emotion analysis through facial recognition technology to neo-cybernetic forms of (post)politics, among many others. Just like five or eight years ago there is criticism of tech monopolies, the notion of free labor, and the erosion of the social, but new issues are put on the agenda as well. Issues that we at INC think will gather increasing importance over the next five years, even if it’s impossible to look beyond a couple of months at the moment.

Before I go into these topics shortly, allow me to recount a short history of the INC Longform series. At the INC, publishing is a research topic in and of itself. The web for a large part may be considered a publishing medium (and revolution), so to approach the internet from a publishing perspective opens up many pathways for critical internet research, ranging from information politics, revenue models, and DIY practices, to cultural critique per se. Being an applied research center, we take pride in investigating the web-as-publication by publishing a range of works ourselves. And so, for the past decade and a half, we have grown into an experimental publisher of theory, toolkits, and anything else we think should enter the public domain.

The INC Longform series is no exception to the principle of research-by-doing. It all started with a collaboration with the Domain for Art Criticism and several cultural publications and platforms in the Netherlands and Flanders, who sought to (digitally) augment their practice as cultural critics. We tried our hands at podcasts, photo-essays, dialogic critique, collaborative writing, and, of course, longforms. In those days, ‘longform’ was no less than a buzzword – which is not meant to dismiss it, on the contrary. After years of suffering the torture of the bullet point article and the myth that no reading would ever take place online, the tide was turning. ‘Longread’ was no longer a dirty word, even if this concept has deteriorated over the past years to mean any piece of text that runs over a thousand words.

One of the most famous and referenced media productions of this period, at least among journalists and online writers, is without a doubt ‘Snow Fall,’ The New York Times 2012 epitome of multimedia longform production. While ‘Snow Fall’ set the standard for online longform publications, it was also almost impossible to achieve such standards for anyone for anyone else beyond a behemoth like The New York Times. You could say the contemporary history of longforms started at its peak and immediately descended from there. But this has only made it more interesting, opening up possibilities in many exciting directions. In our own DIY approach of the genre, we asked how we could put the technology to our own use, opening it up and making it available to those with tiny budgets and no helpdesk. The surge in longform writing moreover coincided with a revival of the essay, which has meant a great deal for more theoretical writing as well. Not shying away from the personal voice, juxtaposing examples from different sources, and allowing the reader to distill what is most important out of an open and searching narrative: these are traits that – luckily – have found their way into more academic styles.

The blending of online, multimodal, essayistic, and academic forms has been referred to as the blooming of the ‘para-academic’ by both Lauren Elkin and Marc Farrant in The Digital Critic. The para-academic is just as ambiguous and multi-faceted as it seems. It speaks to the general public, while also incorporating theory in sometimes quite weighty manners. It can follow a more artistic or literary approach, while making propositions or critique at the same time. It can comply with academic standards, while acknowledging the subjective and even personal. Often, concrete projects and personal experience, or practice-based, artistic, or applied research lies at its base. All essays in this collection relate to such a para-academic framework, which I consider as one of the most interesting recent developments in online writing and publishing practices. Of course, the rise of the para-academic (also) leads back to the precaritization of academia itself. It is within this context, too, that we hope to offer a place for writers to find an audience from all over the world, and to connect them through themes and times.

The INC longform series was thus set up with a focus on research content presented to a wider audience, designed for reading on the phone or tablet (remember those?), and would put text first, with other media playing a so-called ‘para-textual’ role. The (audio)visual material would complement the text and aid the reading experience but would not be necessary for appreciating the arguments made. There were several reasons for this delineation. Firstly, the written word was INC’s forte; secondly, we would not be able to make images, videos, or infographics especially for these publications, and would not be able nor willing to pay for expensive copyright; and thirdly, we would want the web pages to load easily for those with restricted bandwidth. With this in mind, you could say that we – per Hito Steyerl – enacted a ‘defense of the poor image’. It is a strategy that is pursued in this volume as well. Images may be a proven method to draw the reader in, but to do so they do not have to be flashy, High Design visuals. Au contraire, a vague, copied, meme-like reproduction can do the same.

If anything, the longform genre stirs up questions about the connections between the different types of media used. What is the function of images or other media in such a publication? What is this para-textual role that they play? What do they have to offer? There are many answers to those questions – pedagogically, images offer a different way of conveying information, esthetically, they make an article attractive. Within the context of reading on the web, which was so long deemed lost forever, you could also say that quite literally, an image offers distraction within an article. The web is the ultimate distraction machine, whether you believe in longreading online or not, and you cannot expect for a reader to pass undis- tracted through a couple thousands of words. So, you might as well offer modes of distraction yourself. The image allows for a pause and for a switch in ‘reading style’; looking at an image activates a different kind of attention, after which ideally the reading can resume afresh. This multimodality makes the longform format perfectly attuned to our times.

A Turn to the Physical

To close off, here is a short overview of what to expect. It wasn’t possible to collect all the longforms we’ve published over the years in one volume, and so this sample was guided by the question what topics we expect to grow on the agenda over the next five years. The title of the collection points to the overarching message: just like these longforms turn from pixels into paper, the internet itself physicalizes. Sure, the internet, media, and technology in general were never not physical to begin with, but it seems especially evident now that the post-digital age is characterized by a physical turn. This is not to reaffirm a dividing line between the virtual and physical. Rather, it is about their interaction – not just of humans with screens, but also of screens, algorithms, and other technologies with us and among each other as well, and within a shared environment that doesn’t care whether it’s called online or offline. The post-digital condition is first and foremost an entangled one.

This is undeniable in the first part titled ‘Affects & Interventions’, which puts forward the question of emotions, treats human-computer affection over interaction, and regards tangible and social relations in a world made up of post-human entities.

‘Class Lines’, the next section, investigates work and leisure. The analysis of users laboring for tech in a one-way street of exploitation is nuanced by sketching out the complexities of working in a thoroughly technological ecosystem, where the same tools are used for pleasure and for toil or could at least be appropriated as such. ‘Meme Politics’ then dives into the propelling of visual culture onto center stage of politics. Both the spread of extremist ideologies, communities that form around popular culture, and global politics are affected by the means of the meme. The final section ‘Architectures of Control’, looks into the physical interferences of technologies on the organization of information and people, and how they are used for control, oppression, and biopolitics. That may not be a happy note to conclude with, but it may serve as a reminder that while public discussion of big tech, social media, and platform capitalism has grown enormously over the past half-decade, the power of this same trio seems to have grown in parallel. If critique has become more mainstream, let’s make sure to keep it so.

A final thank you goes out to all the writers, editors, and collaborators on the series over the years, and most specifically to Leonieke, Jess, Matt, Inga, Isabella, Gráinne, and Silvio, who worked on the research back in the days, and to Elvira, Kirsten, Laura, and Barbara, for making this publication a physical reality.

Miriam Rasch, April 2020

We know how it sounds when the voice of those who are absent animate their words as we read them, as if from the inside of the text. How long after a disappearance is a voice activated through a postcard, a note on a piece of paper or a book? I reach for Bernard Stiegler’s books soon after receiving the news of his death in early August. There are many in my shelf, but far from all of the more than thirty that he wrote since the first volume of “La technique et le temps” in 1994. I read and I hear.

We are always out of step with ourselves. To be inscribed into life as an individual is to let oneself, perpetually, be shaped by other individuals and the traces of those that are no longer among us. It is only in death that we catch up. It is in death and in our transition to becoming traces that we reach pure presence, Stiegler writes. There ceases the eternal change.

It was through books, during a five-year long incarceration (1978-83) when the rest of the world was denied him, that Stiegler approached philosophy. He became fascinated with how the discipline through its history had been uninterested in technics. It was technics, encompassing everything from scripture to the production of books, that had made it possible for the traces of philosophy to reach all the way to him: a jazz-club owner and before that peasant who had, in one of the vicissitudes of life, started to rob banks and that now with the help of the philosopher Gérard Granel (previously a regular at Stiegler’s club) studied in his little cell.

It was Granel who pointed Stiegler on the way to Jacques Derrida. A philosopher whose engagement with language as technics had led him to formulate a way to show how also the text was out of step with itself. Stiegler came to study with Derrida as his supervisor. It was the beginning of a brilliant career as a philosopher and a public intellectual for the former convict. Early on he became interested by the new digital technologies and made himself into one of the thinkers who most systematically and persistently analysed and criticised the society that the digital and automatic was giving birth to.

By a culture scared to be questioned, Stiegler was often dismissed as a tiresome Cassandra entertaining a bestiary of hellish predictions. What he feared most of all was that the technological development had taken a tragic turn towards the nightmarish desert of the exhaustive calculation where nothing, not thought and not even dreams, would survive. A catastrophic automation captured by a suicidal capitalism destroying all the necessities of life. The collective knowledge of man had led to a technology that could be used to destroy all knowledge.

In the 2016 book “Dans la disruption” (with the telling subtitle: “how not to go mad?”) Stiegler recounts a scene from 1993. It is Sunday morning after a party that he has been to with his children Barbara and Julien, at the time twenty-three and nineteen. Barbara suddenly asks him why he always is so silent and sombre. He answers that they are now ready to be addressed as adults. He is sombre as prison has taught him the measure and price of things, but also because he has understood that the world was approaching what seemed like a trial that could lead to its dissolution. Yet he promises to never stop studying this trial, to keep on looking for a way in which the worse can be turned to something better and, all this failing, leave traces to inheritors resembling ourselves, with the testimony that there were those that fought and did all in their power to find a way forward.

We are, claimed Stiegler, beings whose need of external technical support is foundational for our existence. But every new technical development is both a poison and a cure, with other words a “pharmakon”. Living together with the necessary technics demands constant care transforming therapeutically that which poisons us, into something capable of curing. Care is knowledge, thinking, investment, something able to create the improbable, a generative madness that leads to new dreams. Knowledge is also the realization that something will also always escape our understanding. Without knowledge we become proletarians forced to adapt ourselves instead of being able to adopt a technical object and make it ours. We risk self-inflicting stupidity and scream for someone to blame (a scapegoat, a “pharmakos”, linked to “pharmakon”) to numb our pain.

His texts are often concerned with the distance between the “I” and the “we”. The two are eternally joined, but hopefully not synonymous. Predatory industrial extraction of our attention through the new digital technologies have for aim to eradicate this difference. It leads to a totalitarian system that reduces us (even our children, those who have not become adult and that we were there to protect) to interchangeable consumers. The development has perverted our infinite desire to finite drives and let short-sighted stupidity take the places of long-term knowledge. Political, media, economic and ecologic system have been undermined by our carelessness.

In 2003 the old left-wing sympathizer Stiegler dedicated a book to the voters or the xenophobic France party Front National. Not because he shared their opinions, far from it, but because he, despite that enormous political distance that was between them and him, felt near their pain. Individuals in a society that has lost faith in itself lack the primary narcissism and desire that facilitates the conversions of an “I” to a “we”. It is in desperation to reach this “we” that the scapegoat is created. It was this that the extreme right had done with the immigrant, and that Stiegler refused to do with the voters of the extreme right.

The path from the poisoned side of the technologized industrial society, that makes both poor and rich miserable, was for Stiegler not less technology. Such a retreat was impossible. He disliked all talk of “resistance”. We had to, though knowledge and care, instead invent new turns. It was a labour taking place in the attempts to create a “we”. For this end he sought to initiate dialogues and collaborations with other researchers than those in philosophy and with those outside of academia: politicians, religious leaders, artists, activists and industrialists – even with the digital enterprises that for short-term gain profited on the decomposition of the social. One large project that was launched in collaboration with a number of disadvantaged municipalities in the north of Paris 2016 had for aim to build a practical laboratory for new ways of living with today’s technology and to create a “contributive economy”.

It is desperately sad that Stiegler died as the world had taken a sharp turn towards the valley of the shadow of death with a depressing combination of climate crisis, pandemic and systemic loss of knowledge. We who feel the shame stand to inherit his thought, but how is thinking inherited? I read and with a sorrow inside I can hear him stress the word “nous” in French (we) and the almost homonymous “nous” (νοῦς), the classic Greek concept for intellect and reasons. How can we find the courage to think a future like ours?

Stiegler readily acknowledged the inheritance from Derrida (and the poisonous inheritance from Martin Heidegger), but clarified: to be faithful an inheritance means to criticize it, explore its boundaries and venture beyond. A trace has to lead to new bifurcations that puts us in front of the unknown. Knowledge cannot be preserved through repetition alone.

To die is to become a trace, something that contains both process and difference. Paradoxically, Stiegler also claimed that to die was to become a pure presence. Read through Derrida (who died in 2004, 74 years old, far too young like the now eternally 68-year old Stiegler) it is an enunciation hung over both sides of the scales of metaphysics. From the impossible perspective of the dead it is possible to be purely present, but then one can no longer exist. And the dead is unable to register how she is part of the constant developments between traces and fellow humans, even though she is still very much part. The thought as care must be extended to encompass and re-negotiate the “I”, the trace and the “we”, by the living through the dead.

Already in his first work Stiegler described the external (and therefor technical) memory as a process where lived history is “inscribed into death”. It lingers contrary to the “law of life”. Memory has, as he would later return to, therefore all the possibilities to continue life by other means than just life. A death that life needs to become new thoughts. Parts of the philosopher of techincs Stiegler, has now become technical objects himself. Even his equally warm as uncompromising voice, saved on thousands of recordings.

In 2009 Stiegler accepted to come and speak for a small and insignificant reading group that I organised together with Tania Espinoza at King’s College in Cambridge. In a somewhat confused time in my life he opened the door to a generous and intensively honest exchange that lasted up until, and beyond, his death. The history of the “I” is in its particulars rarely interesting, but because of its accidental nature there is sometimes no better illustration of the possible birth of the non-totalitarian “we” that Stiegler fought for. Contingency, as in personal meetings and singular circumstances, should not be reduced to “luck”. Through care we are capable of building conditions for that we cannot foresee. In the case of Stiegler, among other things a humane prison system (after his release partly destroyed) that allowed and facilitated his becoming a philosopher.

He who saves the life of one human, saves all of humanity. Thus it is written in both the Talmud and the Quran. As long as there is time, there is time for care. Towards the end Stiegler, himself without religious faith, affirmed that only a miracle could save us – often enunciated with the addition “God willing”: “Inshallah”.

Axel Andersson

(Swedish original published in Svenska Dagbladet 14 August 2020)

This summer Eurozine launched their podcast titled Gagarin. I was invited to join Réka Kinga Papp, editor-in-chief- of Eurozine, to talk about my book Frictie and the accompanying Eurozine essay Friction and the aesthetics of the smooth.

Listen to the episode over at Eurozine or find it in your podcast app.

“What does the worship of big data have to do with positivism, and how does friction help create resistance? Philosopher Miriam Rasch talks her essay in the inaugural episode of Gagarin, the new Eurozine podcast.”

More podcasts discussing Frictie, data ethics, de-automation, translation and poetry, and much more can be found here (mostly in Dutch).

Agony and the Ecstasy: Zoom Burnout, Teletopics and the Age of Covid by Patrick Lichty

The era of Covid lockdown is Zoom-time. Although at the time of this writing, the crest of the wave is starting to pass, its impact is evident. In over three months of lockdown, stay at home, 24/7 Zoom culture has come to dominate global telepresent communications, standing in for ever-present cyber-vernissages, online conferences, talks and visits. The need to work, communicate, and even socially function has necessitated the rise of platforms like Zoom and Adobe Connect[1], and what I have come to understand as platform politics and their neoliberal connotations.  Although places like The Well was founded and John Perry Barlow’s “Declaration of the Independence of Cyberspace” [2] was created under the notion of cyberfreedom and fluid congregation outside of the agendas of capital, the Covid pandemic has created a scenario where the private sector has found tenterhooks into the foundations of institutional communications. This is not to say that Social Media (sic) does not do this, but one of the differences I want to allude to is the institution-in-itself (e.g. Facebook) as opposed to platform as channel of communication for institutions themselves.

Unlike a public utility, Zoom, as well as others like Adobe Connect and Facebook Rooms, are portals in which institutions found a necessity for network that was not facilitated by a commons, but by corporations, and by agendas of maximizing connections and communications. These two effects (institutional adoption of private protocols)[3] and the necessity of a will-to-connect)  are the poles in which capital has pushed further into the control regimes of markets, networks, and political engineering as to where private interests further govern sociocultural concerns. It even got the UAE to release its national ban on VoIP communications, which is usually fairly rigid[4], as it provides a significant revenue stream. Such a comment isn’t so much about any particular country, but the effect that Zoom has had on global communication under the Covid crisis.

Fig. 1 – The next Zoom Generation (Stock Photo, Shutterstock)

The idea of having online platforms be the lens for focusing social interaction isn’t new. Second Life, with its inherently capitalist foundations tried to tout itself as the 3D World Wide Web, almost like an analogy to the 3D Internet analogue in the Robert Longo movie, “Johnny Mnemonic”[5].  With the neoliberal dream of the Linden Dollar superceding John Perry Barlow’s Declaration of the Independence of Cyberspace, FOMO-driven corporations from Domino’s Pizza to American Apparel flooded into the platform.  Christian von Borries’ documentary, “The Dubai in Me”,[6] imperfectly compares financial speculative evangelism between Second Life and the ‘Dubai Miracle’, much of which operated on the notion of rotating real estate speculation. For some time, this was reflected in Second Life, when the mythology of Chinese real estate trader Anshe Cheung  (FIG.1) announced that she had made her first million dollars on virtual real estate[7].

However, the differences between a foundation based on a technology (HTTP) and that based on a single-provider platform that clusters technologies under a single provider (Second Life), in that a provider (Linden Labs) takes a majority of the profit, and that the upsurge of traffic caused multiple technical issues, caused most of those glittering dreams to collapse within 2-3 years. Corporation after corporation pulled out of SL, and or years articles announced its demise.[8] With the Covid crisis, Second Life is in a resurgence, but this is driven by its community; not corporate buy-in. Another difference is that while the interaction with the World Wide Web is relatively simple, Second Life required a relatively powerful machine and at least a couple days learning SL’s rather cumbersome interface. In interaction and commerce design, the rule is that the least friction yields the greatest returns.

Fig. 1. Anshe Chung – First Millionaire in Second Life (Image published under Fair Use)

The socio(economic) frictionlessness is actually one of the more problematic points with platforms like Zoom, or Adobe Connect, and so on.  In the artworld, the friction that artists thought had to happen was a value proposition based on an exclusivity or access to an event or an object.  In cities large enough to have a community that harbors a consistent local art “scene” (e.g. Dubai, Istanbul, Tehrran, even Chelsea NYC), there are effects that come along with this social cohesion. Taking this in mind, with accessibility comes the expectation to attend.  Once you are there and become part of the scene, there are expectations to be met, places to go and to be seen. This is a crucial point – the demand to see and be seen. If a community like the art world, that in part is dependent on personal engagement, having access implies a demand to engage. Further linkage to privilege in the case of Zoom is multilayered, from communities that wish to engage, and from the company, wishing to focus social capital through its portal.  These sites of privilege include the access to equipment itself, and the fact that in order to have longer than 40-minute meeting access, one has to pay a fee to Zoom. This imposes another financial protocological layer beyond the assumed internet utility charge.

What is important about this will-to-access is not that it is from the community; it is resultant from the platform as well. These effects are the result of Galloway’s protocological layers in the sociotechnological network. The first layer of a demand-to-access is the expectation to attend by those in the mis-en-scene – but the other is that of the platform itself. In the end, the platform is a cybernetic system that is a control apparatus and a form of Deleuzian regime of control[9].  Although Adobe Connect has also been adopted widely (there is an understanding that it may go offline due to its dependence on Flash technology, which is being phased out by Apple), the frictionlessness of the Zoom platform has allowed it to be quickly adopted by the institutional community.  Again, without having a professional account, interactions are limited to 40 minutes.  This reiterates the socioeconomic limits to access to further neoliberalization of communications.  The emergence of a solution in a panic event-space mitigates an acritical adoption in light of necessity. The notion of panic adoption has resulted in the institutionalization of Zoom as one de facto standard without full best practices development.  There is a need, there has to be a solution, and the market supplies one, and it has to be adopted as soon as possible.  Just Do It.

The other challenge with post-COVID networked society is that the notion of access falls under the panoptic optical regime of neoliberal capitalism.  What this means is that, as Sara Cook noted in the discussions surrounding the Sleep Mode exhibition at Somerset House,[10] that internal documents by companies like Facebook consider sleep a challenge to their business model of attention optics. The show described sleep itself as a tactic against neoliberal infocapitalism’s need to consume and convert every possible resource into use-value. In another text, Event Horizons,[11] I describe that even if sleep were to be conquered, there would be the Malthusian limit of the sidereal day itself. How do you multiply the cognitive load of the attention span of one human being as convertible labor once the physical limits of the system are reached. Perhaps there are exotic solutions like parallel cognitive loading across multiple machines, monitor arrays like the bridge of the hovercraft Nebuchadnezzar from the 1999 movie, The Matrix.[12] Perhaps there are even more abstract metaphors likening the deterioration of attention to the evaporation of a black hole due to Hawking Radiation – but the reality is far more simple. A human being is simply not going to stay awake 24 hours a day to comment on your cat video, and taken to extremes, we simply cannot fulfill Zoom’s, Second Life’s, or whoever’s desire for us to be alone together constantly, forever public, forever panoptic.  It is an ontological equivalent to the 2008 financial collapse – expectations for access, like capital productivity, continue to balloon until all methods to appease the machines collapse, mitigating solutionism.[13]

It’s just not going to happen. Computers, and digital networks for that matter, are simply not sustainable technologies.

With the Covid crisis in the foreground, and the Climate crisis looming behind it, the sociocultural terrain has changed.  With the Coronavirus not going anywhere soon, and the automation of the labor-site, even if that labor is merely visibility, collapsing into the home, institutions see no need to be entirely physical anymore, and like the “gig” economy, investiture in the physical space is no longer entirely necessary.  Therefore look for a more “hybrid” ontology.

Relating to New Media Art of the 1990’s, There are some parallels largely minus the capital, when the network was the necessary channel for connection, then due to the small size of the community, now due to the necessity to distance.  But the frictions of infrastructural support are less with the privately funded model of Zoom.  In the neoliberal environment, when governments pull away from funding of infrastructures, favoring market politics, the ability to link capital to the network facilitates the platform. Period. Even incrementally, with minimal cost, this is a wringing out capital from the socioeconomic frame of need to solution, and Zoom life is the solution.

It’s a cost-benefit solution. Online portals like Zoom that create less frictioned telepresence give access to more programmes, create more opportunity to interact by the screen. But on the other hand, there is the pressure to take ten classes a month, be at twenty vernissages, call ten friends, up your productivity tenfold – from your home. A 2020 Washington Post article cites a National Bureau of Economic Research paper stating that the average American work week increased 48 minutes a day, and that meetings went up 13%.[14] And of course, this extra time behind screens will take mental and physical tolls in the techno-enabled world, like “Zoom anxiety”.[15]

It’s a win-win for neoliberal culture. Actually, it’s back to “The Matrix”, where we are tied into our scopophilic pods, viewing and being viewed. Zoom as new Panopticon, regulated by the frictions of the platform, epidemiology, and socioeconomic politics. As this writer sees the age of 60 on the horizon, speaking from a personal perspective, the cost-benefit of being increasingly online has not always realized itself, and in moving back to America in 2021 from the United Arab Emirates, there is a desire to be truly “hybrid”, that is to say, more engaged with the real, like more family time, friends, cooking, seeing nature, and being physically present.  This is also ironic in that VR artists are becoming more obsessed with realism through programs like Substance and ultra high rez scans, as can be seen on the Unreal Marketplace, an asset space for game-engine based media developers.[16] Reaching back into the real from the “Desert of the Real”.[17]

Fig. 3 “Welcome to the Desert of the Real”, Meme. (Author unknown, published under Fair Use guidelines)

But from this writer’s perspective, this is the frission that venturing closer to the event horizon of total access leads towards; the lure of connectedness while being paralyzed at the computer screen. In Virilio’s “The Third Interval”, from his volume. “Open Sky”,[18] he discusses the impact of networked presence on the body and the urban environment.  The notion of critical mass in the context of the lived environment is presented as analogy to develop the idea of critical space, in which the teletopia eliminated the body’s movement. He dates himself in centering on the megalopolis, where the Covid crisis points toward a return to the countryside, maybe not for the agricultural class, but the telematic class.

While the motor created a general mobilization of the population, collapsing space[19], telematic communication only requires the individual to be mobile on the spot. “Interactive desktop home shopping today”, as was coopted from a British advertisement for this writer’s Haymarket Riot Web series of critical rock videos[20], echoes paleofuturist ideas of pushbutton living, or even the idea of Holodeck technology from television shows like Star Trek: The Next Generation.[21] The conquest of real space by the motor, as Virilio states, is replaced by the control of real time with the frozen, instantaneous 24/7 access of the network.  Stephen Graham, in his introduction to Third Interval,[22] writes provocatively that the model for the future is that of the online disabled citizen; the paralyzed body that is saturated by endless telematic mobilities. While Virilio takes the critical stance toward this movement, contemporary Covid culture at least seems to be seeing the new teletopia with a more idealistic view.

The metaphor for the online disabled individual, constantly seen and viewed, frozen by the will to access, with neoliberal social media desiring the eyeball’ attention, leaves it to be constantly pointed at the screen, like a contemporary version of the scene from Kubrick’s adaptation of A Clockwork Orange.[23] This leaves the McLuhanist individual of the electronic global village in a conundrum of the benefits of immobility, and the instrumentalization by neoliberal capitalism. Having everything you would want from your own Matrix pod is the existential paradox of Zoom-life. The teletopia is the new meme-dream, as long as one accepts its regimes of control and the technical, social and political blind spots that come with it. It is also a site of resistance, as it is neoliberal forces that encourage this effect, and as Sarah Cook suggested, perhaps sleep, managing willful disconnection and social intentionality are the things that will shape the post-Covid culture.  For the time being, the telematic necessity forces humanity’s lifeblood through the funnel of the online telecommunications portal, but the approach to the event horizon of the 86400 second a day attention span event horizon, reconsidering quality of life versus being servile to services begs questions in the time of Covid and the Zoom-time burnout.

References:

[1] Although at the writer’s institution Adobe Connect was discontinued; apparently this was just licensing, but as Adobe’s discontinuation of support for the Flash technology takes place at the end of 2020, the future of the platform is in question.

[2] J.P. Barlow, A Declaration of the Independence of Cyberspace. Davos: Electronic Frontier Foundation. 1996.

[3] Alexander R. Galloway. “Protocol: How Control Exists After Decentralization” Cambridge, Mass: MIT Press, 2004.

[4] Bernd Debusmann. VoIP Services Banned in UAE, Telecoms Warn. ArabianBusiness.com, ArabianBusiness.com, 31 Dec. 2017, www.arabianbusiness.com/technology/386703-voip-services-banned-in-uae-telecoms-warn.

[5] Longo, Robert, William Gibson, Peter M. Hoffman, Don Carmody, Keanu Reeves, Dolph Lundgren, Takeshi Bīto, Ice-T, Dina Meyer, Denis Akiyama, Henry Rollins, Tracy Tweed, Don Francks, Barbara Sukowa, and William Gibson. Johnny Mnemonic. Culver City, CA: Tri-Star Pictures, 2003.

[6] Christian Von Borries, THE DUBAI IN ME – Rendering the World. Masseundmacht, Film, 2010.

[7] Roger Parloff, Anshe Chung: First Virtual Millionaire. Fortune, Fortune, 27 Nov. 2006, fortune.com/2006/11/27/anshe-chung-first-virtual-millionaire/.

[8] Rather than include one of the endless articles that heralded one of the many gleeful announcements of Second Life’s “demise” (an effect that I attribute to the corporate sector’s bitterness on a failed ROI). included is an article on its persistence. Emanuel Maiberg, “Why Is ‘Second Life’ Still a Thing?”, 2020, www.vice.com/en_us/article/z43mwj/why-is-second-life-still-a-thing-gaming-virtual-reality.

[9] Patrick Lichty.  Notes on Control by Patrick Lichty. Arebyte Gallery, 2018, www.arebyte.com/notes-on-control.

[10] Sarah Cook. Sleep Mode Broadcast. Somerset House – Sleep Mode Broadcast, Somerset House , 23 June 2020, www.somersethouse.org.uk/whats-on/sleep-mode-broadcast.

[11] At this time, Event Horizons is currently a set of notes in development on the limits of the leverage of human attention and strategies of resistance.

[12] The Matrix. Village Roadshow, Film, 1999.

[13] Robert Reich. director. Who Rigged the System, 27 June 2018, www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y_sjfchNsiM.

[14] As an academic who had to adjust to Covid-19 situations abroad, McGregor’s appraisal seems extremely accurate, or even somewhat modest. McGregor, Jena. Remote Work Really Does Mean Longer Days – and More Meetings. The Washington Post, WP Company, 4 Aug. 2020, www.washingtonpost.com/business/2020/08/04/remote-work-longer-days/.

[15] Constant online interaction has created new classes of pathology, like Isolation Sickness and Zoom Anxiety. Degges-White, Suzanne. Dealing With Zoom Anxiety. Psychology Today, Sussex Publishers, 13 Apr. 2020, www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/lifetime-connections/202004/dealing-zoom-anxiety.

[16] The irony of this is that this quote came from one of the endless processions of online conferences that “Zoom-time” has facilitated, providing almost more insights and information than can be tracked.

[17] Although this quote, coined in the “Construct” scene of “The Matrix” is often attributed to Jean Baudillard in relation to his text, “Simulations and Simulacra”, it is actually the title of a title of Lacanian media theorist, Slavoj Zizek. Welcome to the Desert of the Real. Verso Books, 2013.

[18] Paul Virilio, “The Third Interval” The Cybercities Reader, by Stephen Graham, Routledge, 2004.

[19] The notion of spatial collapse through the technological acceleration of the body through the motor in the form of transportation technology the central theme of  Paul Virilio, “The Art of the Motor” University of Minnesota Press, 1998.

[20] While Haymarket Riot is a progressive Southern Rock band founded in the 1980’s by frequent creative partner, sociologist Jon Epstein, during the 1990’s, it changed to an Industrial genre trio with Sam Seawell, in which I created a series critical/tactical theory rock videos that were inserted into American graduate sociology programs as a early tactical media intervention. The quote was included in the first of the “Web” series, “The Voice of World Control” https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-CIvqdVUH34&list=PLFrQ2uiujisaR7OuJOenh-bU65CbdcOMW&index=6&t=142s

[21]  “Star Trek – The Next Generation, Episode 13: The Big Goodbye“. Video, Paramount, January 11, 1988.

[22] Actually, Graham does “The Third Interval” a service in teasing out the notion of the online disabled individual in the introduction, which is only inferred in the original Virilio text.

[23] Stanley Kubrick and Anthony Burgess. A Clockwork Orange. Los Angeles: Warner Bros, 1971.

Biliography:

J.P. Barlow, “A Declaration of the Independence of Cyberspace”. Davos: Electronic Frontier Foundation. 1996.

Sarah Cook, “Sleep Mode Broadcast.” Somerset House – Sleep Mode Broadcast, Somerset House , 23 June 2020, www.somersethouse.org.uk/whats-on/sleep-mode-broadcast.

Bernd Debusmann, “VoIP Services Banned in UAE, Telecoms Warn.” ArabianBusiness.com, ArabianBusiness.com, 31 Dec. 2017, www.arabianbusiness.com/technology/386703-voip-services-banned-in-uae-telecoms-warn

Alexander R. Galloway, Protocol: How Control Exists After Decentralization. Cambridge, Mass: MIT Press, 2004.

Stanley Kubrick and Anthony Burgess, A Clockwork Orange. Los Angeles: Warner Bros, 1971.

Patrick Lichty, “Text: Notes on Control by Patrick Lichty.” Arebyte Gallery, 2018, www.arebyte.com/notes-on-control.

Robert Longo, William Gibson, Peter M. Hoffman, Don Carmody, Keanu Reeves, Dolph Lundgren, Takeshi Bīto, Ice-T, Dina Meyer, Denis Akiyama, Henry Rollins, Tracy Tweed, Don Francks, Barbara Sukowa, and William Gibson. Johnny Mnemonic. Culver City, CA: Tri-Star Pictures, 2003.

Emanue Maiberg, Why Is ‘Second Life’ Still a Thing?, 2020, www.vice.com/en_us/article/z43mwj/why-is-second-life-still-a-thing-gamling-virtual-reality.

“The Matrix.” Village Roadshow, Film, 1999.

Jena McGregor. “Remote Work Really Does Mean Longer Days – and More Meetings.” The Washington Post, WP Company, 4 Aug. 2020, www.washingtonpost.com/business/2020/08/04/remote-work-longer-days/.

Roger Parloff,.“Anshe Chung: First Virtual Millionaire.” Fortune, Fortune, 27 Nov. 2006, fortune.com/2006/11/27/anshe-chung-first-virtual-millionaire/.

Robert Reich. Who Rigged the System. Who Rigged The System, 27 June 2018, www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y_sjfchNsiM.

“Star Trek – The Next Generation, Episode 13: The Big Goodbye“. Video, Paramount, January 11, 1988

Paul Virilio, The Art of the Motor, University of Minnesota Press, 1998.

Paul Virilio, Paul. “The Third Interval, .” The Cybercities Reader, by Stephen Graham, Routledge, 2004.

Christian Von Borries. director. THE DUBAI IN ME – Rendering the World. Masseundmacht, Film, 2010.

Slavoj Zizek. Welcome to the Desert of the Real. Verso Books, 2013.

“I was not born to be forced. I will breathe after my own fashion.”
Henry David Thoreau, Resistance to Civil Government.

(Please check the CALL FOR CONTRIBUTIONS for the new issue of LAVA – Letters from the Volcano! https://lavaletters.org/ & https://lavaletters.org/call-def.pdf)

We can’t breathe.

After 50 years of neoliberal barbarism – which has accelerated the necrotic tendencies inherent to the cancerous logic of white growth and colonial and post-colonial depredation –, the resources of the planet, together with the political awareness of (white) humankind in terms of ability to handle the on-going collapse, are running short.

After the mutation and expansion of capitalism metastasis as a way to resist the social movements that have raised worldwide in recent history since ’68, and that have been trying to provide the antibodies to the depraved looting of the planetary body, we’re reaching a global necrotic edge. At this pick, which produces all the symptoms of vertigo (spinning, tilting, swaying, nausea, vomiting, eye jerking, headache, sweating, ear ringing), breathing turns into the root of all other political categories, and the strategy to deal with the panic associated to vertigo.

We can’t breathe.

Social movements in recent history have attempted to articulate a variety of new breathing patterns against the automatic and mechanical hyperventilation enforced by the capital, trying to give a collective body to the millions of brains that across these last 50 years felt they couldn’t breathe at the pace of the planetary slaughter. Carbon dioxide has been taking over the brain of civil society and the lungs of the planet, capitalism hyperventilation has been gobbling all the available oxygen and is now disposing of the zombified body of the collective planetary intelligence and sensitivity as a mere externality. The planetary body is now filled up by the metabolic waste produced by capitalism hyperventilation, and the trillions of human and non-human entities that compose it, are asphyxiating.

We can’t breathe.

We can’t breathe because the expiration phase of planetary capitalism entered a phase of spasm that not only flood the collective human and non-human body with toxic by-products, but also impede the proper inspiration of oxygen to the parts that willingly or not have been almost completely swallowed by the system. This produces awful contraction and neurotic jerks that not only hinder the functioning of the singular body but also its capability to coordinate metabolically and politically with the heterogeneous elements that compose the planetary collective it is part of, and depends upon – and which, ultimately, make it always and from the beginning, plural, and not singular. Inspiration lacks oxygen and inhales poisoned AIR, while the expiration of the human and non-human parts becomes cumbersome because their bronchioles are clogged. As a consequence, the possible conspiration of the multiple bodies which tries to articulate a new breathing pattern is under siege, and the collective body colonized by the capital is either taken by spasms, or paralyzed.

We can’t breathe.

Both spasms and paralysis are revealing the current condition of suffocation, and the challenge ahead consists in finding ways to build an insurrectional politics capable to listening to the spasms and the stiffens: to reticulate the spasms when they converge towards forms of collective and autonomous breathing away from the iron lung of the capital, and to diverge them when they stiffen accelerating the expansion of the cancer they’re the expression of. Jerks and paralysis not only produce spastics movements, but also the internal bleeding of the organs in charge of supporting the vital function of a complex heterogeneous system, both at the individual and collective level, human and non-human alike. The bleeding leaks out from the membranes that contain it, and reveals its incandescent nature.

LAVA spills out at every latitude and longitude, in its human and non-human forms. Do we remember the last spasm and its bleeding? Do we remember the visceral sound of the Volcano exploding, only a few months ago, and its furious LAVA running unchecked, burning everything on its way? Do we remember the fires burning from Australia to California to Siberia to Middle-East and Africa, as a result of capitalism’s ecological devastation, revealing once more the deep gash cutting through the strangled planetary body?

The convulsions of a planet under the pressure of a chocking game gone wrong for too long trigger its incontinence, which bleeds out into a hemorrhaging scream of toxins, and enters into a vicious feedback loop with the human forces that produce them, accelerating the destruction of ecological niche able to support complex forms of life and their diversity and the delicate condition necessary for a virulent and fragile species called humankind. By doing so, these forces turn into subject-less meta-political vectors and become signals for a politics that need to involve from its inception the non-human breathing pattern our seemingly “own” is indissolubly bound to, to turn them as symptoms of a disease and political action and not as accelerators of the catastrophe.

Do we remember the almost simultaneous human spasm which echoed this planetary non-human bleeding? Do we remember the global insurrection that took over more than fifteen countries worldwide in the fall of 2019, during which the exasperated body of an inter-worlding coalition of youngsters attempt to gasp some oxygen out of the gas chamber of global neoliberal barbarism, in contexts as diverse as Chile, Lebanon, France, Hong Kong, and counting? For a moment, the intrusion of the EARTH as a political vector resonated with the violent scream of its human counterpart, and articulated a gasping which lasted long enough to give a glimpse of a new breathing pattern where human and non-human LAVA melted together to become a new ground for FIRE, from where ultimately a new form of life could emerge.

Only a few months ago, the human and non-human LAVA involuntary converged to bleed together with the anguished state of things: capitalism is rotting and it is rotting everything inside of it, capitalism is hyperventilating because its resources are running short: the human/non-human assemblages start giving signs of agony and torment, and capitalism needs to consume them faster and faster wrongly believing it can gobble what’s left to gobble to sustain its accelerated infecting breathe before its sources of breathing can generate the antibodies necessary to regain control over their singularizing breathing. Capitalism doesn’t work differently from cancer, taking over the whole organism part by part to finally consume it until it dies, eventually halting also its own reproduction, and leaving nothing behind for reconstruction. Capitalism is pandemic.

We can’t breathe.

We can’t breathe because the virus of capitalism doesn’t push forward evolution via the transversal recombination of genetic sets, allowing evolutionary jumps that increase diversity exponentially. This is what lysogenic viruses do since before the beginning of life, against the biological myth of autopoiesis, which conceptualizes the livings as individually and independent closed units, mimicking in biology the neoliberal doctrine of individualism at the level of the single organism in the very same way that Darwinism does at the level of the specie. Instead, the virus of capitalism proceeds via necrotic exponential zoonosis that infects living and non-living alike, turning them into ashes. The virus of capitalism produces SARS-CoV-2, a biological virus which is human-engineered not because it is a weapon of biological warfare went out of control, but because if it has been capable to branch out to the world of the humans it is because capitalism has actively destroyed the biological niches from where this virus is coming from, or eradicated from there the animals who carry it, selling their plumes, skins, bones, organs, at the fair of human gratuitous inter-species genocide.

We can’t breathe.

The on-going pandemic expresses the bleeding of the planet by turning the spilling non-human LAVA of the fall of 2019 into an invisible entity capable of permeating humans’ orifices first and later the cells’ membranes whose metabolic filtration allows organisms to survive, hacking their engines, and reproducing endlessly. Like LAVA, SARS-CoV-2 is formless and capable to take the forms it encounters, yet it marks the passage from a visible and incandescent material which is how the LAVA appears with the fire burning and the human upraises during the last fall, into an invisible and rarefied being filling the interstices and the intervals between humans and things, and making them, all of a sudden, visible. SARS-CoV-2 is paradoxical because, by its very invisibility, it makes visible, by its very formlessness, it takes and gives form, turning the explosion of the human and non-human LAVA into its implosive phase, suspending the roaring scream of the explosion by bringing an apparent silence and suspension, turning the magmatic element into something closer to AIR, rather than WATER – to which the human magma have resembled, during the 2019 insurrection.

The non-human LAVA of fires produces clouds of smoke and releases tons of carbon dioxide into the atmosphere, while the human LAVA and its watery, shapeless consistency partly solidifies and partly evaporates, stiffen under the toxic repression of the State or forced to change elemental status after the arrival of the virus, which impede public gatherings and the erotic conjunction of bodies defining the human magma in the fall. The toxic AIR – infested of carbon dioxide, tear gases, and similar chemical weapons – turns even more weaponized by the particles which humans emit while breathing or talking, potentially containing a virus capable to attack other humans and engulf their breathing. The implosion of the Volcano traps the LAVA inside a crust of digital mirrors, outside of which a fully invisible cloud of smoke takes over the world of the humans. SARS-CoV-2 assaults specifically the respiratory traits of human beings, producing shortness of breath difficulty breathing fever chills cough fatigue muscle aches headache new loss of taste and smell sore throat congestion runny nose nausea vomiting diarrhea persistent pain or pressure in the chest confusion inability to wake or stay awake bluish lips or face – roughly making visible to a greater number of people the result of the strangling grip of capitalism.

The disease the virus produces, COVID-19, forces capitalism do slow down, and attacks also the white parts of the world which have been partially screened from capitalist acute damages (or which have been affected at a lesser degree than the poorer parts of the planet), and gives a taste of the on-going conditions of catastrophe non-white humans have been exposed to since a long time. Nevertheless, capitalism manages to react immediately attempting to produce its last virulent mutation, accelerating the production of the alienated and zombified forms of life it requires for its subsistence.

The exogenous colonial orientation which allows the primary accumulation necessary to bootstrap capitalist globalized society – exogenous spatially in the starting process of colonization of faraway lands and people – intensifies lately its endogenous traits (long-lasting in the colonization of the female body, dating way before the exogenous colonial phase) towards minorities and all kind of diversities (bodily, neuronal, and broadly biological and ecosystemic) in both militarized occupation toxic exploitation and normalization of the human (personal and public spaces) of life, as much as of the non-human elements (living and not) that allow him to survive.

Lately, because of the pandemic, the neoliberal barbarism based on designing molecularly the expressivity of desires and its consequent immediate capture and capitalization slow down for a moment in the offline world to intensify in front of the screens: millions of humans are locked up into their houses, interacting only via digital devices that sterilize their bodily fluids and track every single click, while they order compulsively on Amazon or while they stare, terrified, at the dizzying numbers growing exponentially from statistics obsessing over a curve to flatten, without any agency beside that of staring at their screen, and buy more on Amazon.

The LAVA of the fall of 2019 implodes into a hygienist securitarian dystopia which gives form to the last schizophrenic mutation of neoliberal barbarism: on one side, the system wants to open and go back to normal as soon as possible to halt the economic collapse, on the other, it displaces the attention from both essential and non-essential workers being forced to work during the pick of the pandemic (either without proper gears and health coverage, and the latter risking their life not even to provide basic services but simply to allow the rich to get richer), to the need of arresting runners with their dogs, because if you have a dog you’re allowed to go out, because in this last mutation a dog is freer than its owner. In so doing, capitalism injects the policing demon into civil society, which cheerfully supports drones and cops chasing people exercising on empty beaches, forgetting about the non-essential workers dying of COVID and spreading the virus around.

On one side, it gives the right of expression to people willing to open the economy and, as a consequence, to eugenically exterminate the weakest and poorest members of the society, mainly non-white, on the other, everybody else needs to fuck the shut up, and polices each other from the windows when not busy staring at screens, breathing at the rhythm of the next death toll notification.

We can’t breathe.

Although at the beginning of the pandemic crisis, the virus has been ingenuously looked as an ally to the previous phase of volcanic eruption, capable to lock financial markets and global logistics, it became clear quite quickly that the implosion of the Volcano was preparing a phase of a massive transfer of wealth from the poor to the rich, and that the vulnerability of the classes in need would have increased – and that, ultimately, capitalism was attempting its ultimate genetic mutation. For doing so, capitalism needed to attempt its latest massive hyperventilation, depriving the weakest of the last bits of oxygen available, and getting rid of them the same way an infected limb gets chopped off from a moribund organism to increase its possibility of survival.

The cancer of capitalism – cancer that has already transformed itself into a composite, flexible and yet monocultural body –   tries to get rid of the elements it can exploit less or it needs to provide for, so to be able to concentrate its effort to the resilient parts of the body which try to resist it. Mass testing has been avoided pretty much everywhere because capitalism has money to store bombs and weapons but not enough to store reagent or produce and distributes immediately test-kits, and if during a war any kind of factory can turn into a factory of weapons and bombs, during a pandemic which kills the weakest, it cannot turn into a facility to produce masks and ventilators. Yet, capitalism claims it is a war, but only to scare people, enforces security policies which instrumentalize care (of which capitalism doesn’t give a damn, as proven by delaying locking down economy, betting on herd immunity, forcing non-essential workers to go to work), and concentrates wealth.

We can’t breathe.

The human and non-human spasms and stiffens of the last years reveal as Janus-faced, ambiguous, with toxins turning anti-bodies, and vice-versa. When the liberating spasms attempt to free themselves from the strangling of capitalism, they produce and accelerate its very stiffening as the sole necrotic answer of a system that, closed to collapse, cannot handle them differently without otherwise burying itself, and yet paradoxically burying itself (and everything with it, and this is the problem) by doing so, as well. When the stiffening spasms attempt to recompose the rotting pieces of the system – in the form of the allegiances between de-territorialized global capital and localized fascism, which play opposite on the surface but in reality preserve the same structure of power – new insurrectional explosions emerge which try to smooth up the rigor mortis of a walking cadaver and reanimate the parts still capable to breathe enough oxygens to face reality and do something about it.

The implosive phase of the Volcano, in the form of the SARS-COV-2, understood as a non-human force driven by capitalist factors and immediately capitalized by them, served to contain the previous explosive phase in which non-human forces in the form of fires and human forces in the form of insurrections burning up the symbols of capital – from police cars and military vehicles to banks to high-end shops to malfunctioning supposed to be public transportation privatized and turned into speculation engine – were finally producing a spasm capable to synchronize and diverge similarly fashion to how neoliberal barbarism proliferate, and with the same violence.

After a few months of lockdown, which has produced revolutionary stiffens and fascist spasms, a new insurrectional subjectivity seems to emerge at the pick of the necrotic horizon, resilient to vertigo. Playing death during the crisis hoping that the disruptive force of the virus would have helped to unmount some of the bolts of capitalism, didn’t seem to work alone – or, better, did work in the form of acts of refusal such as organized rent strikes or work strikes only once supported by an active agenda which helped these refusals to be sustained in the long term, and sided by pro-active activities such as re-appropriation and re-distributions.

The inflamed WATER of the 2019 fall in its human and EARTH(ly) expressions evaporated into a toxic AIR, where oxygens is taken away and human and non-human beings alike are forced to a form of atomized digitally supported breathing never experienced in history, which accomplished the detaching of the breathing from the planetary body, in a form that resists the endo-symbiotic metabolic laws of the planet, where breathing is circular, cyclical, transversal across beings, heteropoietic, and intrinsically opposed to capitalism forced hyperventilation, covered by an autopoietic dress which masks the heterogeneous elements that instead are necessary for its survival, and which the vest is suffocating collapsing them at an increasing speed, to sustain its growth, a growth which indeed starts to lack its substratum, a growth of mirroring respiratory machines which start exhaling their metabolic waste on each other, covering up their toxicities by cosmetic interventions and botox surgeries appealing crowds on Instagram and Facebook but eventually incapable to resurrect a dead body of which the primary sources are starting to lack.

The toxic AIR can be infused with oxygen again only if the painful spasms of the collective planetary body manages to expropriate enough oxygen from the cancerous cells of the capital to initiate an intra-planetary breathing exercise capable to precipitate a trophic cascade of inter-species ontological eroticism repristinating the cycling equilibrium of intra-respiration. Circulating clean oxygen into the locked coffin of capitalism where the zombified planetary body oscillates between spasms and stiffens will inevitably make the atmosphere inflammable, and produce FIRE. The cancerogenic prison of capital could at that point burn and turn into ashes, and the remnants of the collective planetary body surviving from the final explosion of the Volcano could finally start anew.

Because enough is enough, and we can’t breathe.

After the first pick of the pandemic, FIRE is the new WATER for the fight of a transversal inter/intra-species insurrectional spasm inside an almost completely sealed coffin, of which the last spikes are tentatively nailed down in the upcoming decade. Most likely, the pandemic will hit back, but the securitarian iron spell seems now broken and unable to contain the magmatic rage of the Volcano, and dogs will not be freer than their owners, no more. FIRE erupts again in the world of the humans with the slaughtering of an Afro-American named George Floyd (Rest in Power) by a US pig who has suffocated him for 8 minutes and 46 seconds, and which has prompted the alchemic transformation of toxic AIR into purifying FIRE, fueled by the pressure that the implosion has exercised to the magma which exploded in the fall of 2019, triggering a new explosion.

The upraise of LAVA and of breathing is not a matter of re-composition, as in the wet dreams of white revolutionary theory, but of polyphony, strategic accelerations and slackening, simultaneous disjunctions and conjunctions to resist algorithmic connection and ecological depredation, it is the necessary and extenuating need of constant and daily civic guerrilla within the boiling viscera of the Volcano:

In the concentration camps of Xinjiang.

In the starving crowds of Bogota and Santiago de Chile and Guayaquil forced to protesting and looting, having to choose between risking COVID tomorrow or die of hunger today.

In the Mediterranean graveyard and its coastal concentration camps which have been trying to tame its explosive vitality and the inevitable beginning of a new emerging culture.

In the Hong Kong protesters sharing insurrectional tactics with other movements worldwide and trying to resist the manipulations of a decadent American Empire while fighting an expanding Chinese dystopic nightmare.

In the Beirut Molotov day against financially protected sectarianism. In the prisoners’ upraises of France, Italy, and across Latino-America.

In the foyer of the Gilet Noir, in the Black Live Matter movement burning police stations and looting banks and corporate businesses and re-emerging unpredictably stronger from the rotten-egg-smelling asshole of an increasingly more unequal and fascist United States of America.

In all the places of the planet wracked by anguish and despair slowly but inevitably and at times subconsciously building an insurrectional consciousness as an inevitably survivalist strategy far from the white polite dreams of revolutionary theory.

In the inorganic and haphazard revolts of a wounded planet where the shapeless needs to approach the corpse before re-emerging from the ashes like a phoenix – against the professed normality of glittery silenced and indifferent genocide of difference, against the return to normal and against the new normal. It’s either the survival of one, or the others.

AIR is toxic, and from Eric Garner’s I can’t breathe (another Afro-American chocked to dead Rest In Power by another US pig Fuck 12 a few years ago) to George Floyd, the scream associated to the spasm of asphyxia has turned collective. The lapilli of LAVA seem to be capable to converge and diverge at an increasing speed, the scream of a single turns into the roar of the growing many, and I can’t breathe becomes We can’t breathe. Let’s move towards the inorganic, towards a molecular geological thaumaturgy and become EARTH, let’s diverge anxiety from exhaustion by socializing anxiety so to turn the stiffening emerging from exhaustion into the intervals between the contradictory spasms and their rhythms of implosion and explosion, so to be able to expand the intervals and prepare therein the intensification of insurrectional eruptive spasms, let’s turn the generational betrayal into an inter-generational reversal of roles and responsibility, let’s turn toxins into antibodies as in the plasma therapy.

Come hell or high water, extinction for extinction, better to extinguish throwing bombs at the oppressor and making orgies of sweats and spits and muds dancing and singing with rocks and plants and animals in between battles feeling the warmth of each other breath and proximity, than dying miserably staring at our own deaths live over a screen. We can’t breathe. Let’s the FIRE begin.

Bibliographical Note

The text is inspired by:

Berardi, F., Breathing: On chaos and poetry. MIT: Boston, 2019.

Azar, M., Berardi, F.,“I can’t breath as schizo-analysis: chaosmosis, poetry and cinema”. Interview with Franco “Bifo” Berardi, La Deleuziana, The schizoanalytic clinic, n. 9 / 2019.

Mbembe, A. “The Universal Right to Breathe”. Critical Inquiry, April 2020.

After the fifth episode of the Selfies Under Quarantine series, here at the Institute of Network Cultures we discussed how such online courses, but also lectures and debates can make more use of the video essay form. If there is such as thing as the ‘visual turn’ in education, away from mere reading (text)books and articles and discussing them in class, how can we use the increased visual literacy among students? Why only passively look at video conferencing session? Over the past months we heard enough about Zoom fatigue… Can we please talk back to the media, change the architectures and get more involved ourselves in order to beat the boredom that comes with one-way top-down interpassivity of webcasting? One possible way is to leave behind the PowerPoint sheet form and start to apply the Snap/TikTok video aesthetics to the world of theory, critique and reflection. No fear to leave behind the Gutenberg Galaxy, let’s explore post-textual forms of thinking, research and critique.

Three students of Donatella Della Ratta’s selfie class (enrolled in the Selfies and Beyond: Exploring Networked Identities’class at John Cabot University/Rome, Spring 2020) were willing to produce small video assignments on the topic of the politics and aesthetics of the online self.  Thanks to Donatella for organizing the video essays and thanks to Briana Di Sisto, Natalia Stanusch and Giulia Villanucci!

In the coming period INC will focus more on video integration of critical content and networks. What does full video integration mean for book production? How can we take video beyond the trope of the archive (such as our own channel on Vimeo)? Can we think through the video? This is an ancient debate, but one is bound to become even more contemporary, and urgent, with the rise of memes, video witnessing (-> George Floyd case), emojis, short videos, data visualization and the tactical uses of drones.

Enjoy!

Selfies in Quarantine by Briana Di Sisto

Alienation. A Digital Autoetnography by Natalia Stanusch (see also her related essay on the INC site about emojis, here)

Nine to Five, Quarantine Shift by Giulia Villanucci

Author: Patricia de Vries

Cover design: Katja van Stiphout
Production: Sepp Eckenhaussen

Institute of Network Cultures, Amsterdam, 2020
ISBN: 978-94-92302-52-6

This publication is licensed under the Creative Commons
Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International.

Get the book here

Order a print copy here

Download .PDF here

Download .ePub here

Edited by Geert Lovink and Andreas Treske

INC Reader #14

Download it here, as e-pub, pdf or print-on-demand (via Lulu):

Video Vortex Reader III: Inside the YouTube Decade

What is online video today, fifteen years into its exponential growth? What started with amateur work of YouTube prosumers has spread to virtually all communication apps: an explosion in the culture of mobile sound and vision. Now, in the age of the smart phone, video accompanies, informs, moves, and distracts us. Are you addicted yet? Look into that tiny camera, talk, move the phone, show us around — prove to others that you exist!

Founded in 2007, Video Vortex is a lively network of artists, activists, coders, curators, critics, and researchers linked by the exchange of ideas, materials, and discussions both online and offline. Video Vortex has produced two anthologies, a website, a mailing list, 12 international conferences, several art exhibitions, and more to come as the internet and video continue to merge and miniaturize.

The first Video Vortex reader came out in 2008, followed by a second in 2011. This third anthology covers the turbulent period from Video Vortex #7 (2013) in Yogyakarta, across the meetings that followed in Zagreb, Lüneburg, Istanbul, Kochi, and finally Malta in 2019, where the foundations for this publication where laid before its production began in the midst of the corona crisis.

The contributions herein respond to a broad range of emerging and urgent topics, from bias in YouTube’s algorithms, to the use of video in messaging, image theory, the rise of deepfakes, a reconsideration of the history of video art, a reflection on the continuing role and influence of music video, indy servers, synthetic intimacies, love and sadness, artist videos, online video theory in the age of platform capitalism, video as online activism, and the rise of streaming. Click, browse, swipe, like, share, save, and enjoy!

Contributors: Annie Abrahams, Ina Blom, Natalie Bookchin, Pablo deSoto, Ben Grosser, Adnan Hadzi, Judit Kis, Patricia G. Lange, Hang Li, Patrick Lichty, Geert Lovink, Gabriel Menotti, Sabine Niederer, Dan Oki, Aras Ozgun, Daniel Pinheiro, Rahee Punyashloka, Oliver Lerone Schultz, Alberto Figurt, Ana Peraica, Peter Snowdon, Andreas Treske, Colette Tron, Florian Schneider, Jack Wilson, Dino Ge Zhang.

We hope to be able to offer a (free) printed edition soon!

While we’re publishing a lot, here at the Institute of Network Cultures, trying to facilitate critical reflection on the corona crisis with diaries and essays from around the world, we’re also planning a restart of INC so that we’ll have space and resources for new urgent projects and research networks in this corona period/economic crisis.

As you may have noticed, we’ve just wrapped up our two-year publishing Making Public research project with Here and Now?

Digital publishing research (and output) will continue, as will the MoneyLab network that just got a board. The board can be rearched here: moneylab-board@networkcultures.org. As MoneyLab #8 Ljubjana was cancelled because of the corona crisis it turned into a weekly online lecture series. The program you can find here.

However, with a considerable legacy of projects, networks, publications and a heavy website aka archive, we noticed that we had to spend more and more time just on the maintenance work. It became harder to start new things (also due to changes in the Dutch funding structures). Finally, we’re about to do something about this.

As a start, five mailinglists (MoneyLab, Video Vortex, re-search, Unlike Us and CPOV) have been discontinued and have been replaced by one INC list called synthesis (also responding to the widespread idea of email being a ‘dead medium’).

If you want, please subscribe here: http://listcultures.org/mailman/listinfo/inc-synthesis_listcultures.org.

The synthesis list has three objectives:

1. To inform the wider net community about INC projects and activities.

2. To foster debates about net criticism, tactical media, hacktivism and research into critical network cultures from multiple perspectives such as design and the arts, activism and research.

3. To create links between different INC research fields that were previous running as different projects about online video, crypto currencies, search, social media, future of art criticism etc.

The name ‘synthesis’ expresses a desire to overcome different disciplines, fields and scenes in order to strengthen the critical forces in arts, tech and society.

Soon we will see what other new channels will work to debate, maintain communities, inform and support each other. Please approach us if you have ideas and suggestions, also for common projects, grants, publications, campaigns and other forms of poetry.

Keep on questioning, Geert and the INC team

For the further development of its publication strategy – combining digital and print publications with web-based content and other media – the Institute of Network Cultures is looking for an

intern with production and research skills, for an internship with our digital publishing team

Internship period: August 31^st until December 18^th, 2020 (0.8 fte/4 days a week).

The Institute of Network Cultures (INC) is a media research center that actively contributes to the field of network cultures through research, events, publications, and online dialogue. The INC was founded in 2004 by media theorist Geert Lovink as part of the Amsterdam University of Applied Sciences (Hogeschool van Amsterdam). The Institute of Network Cultures has a tradition of experiment in digital and hybrid publishing. On the front line of development in publishing, we explore the promises of the digital for the (cultural) publishing industry.

For more information, see: https://networkcultures.org/.
For an overview of all INC publications, go to: https://networkcultures.org/publications.
For previous work on this topic, check out our research programs Making Public, The Art of Criticism, and the Digital Publishing Toolkit, and see the PublishingLab, which INC has previously collaborated closely with: https://networkcultures.org/projects/.

In this internship, you will work on international publications in the field of online media in different formats (print, .pdf, .ePub), as well as blog series, longforms, and other digital-born formats. The internship offers both practical experience and a chance to conduct research in the field of hybrid and digital publishing.

This internship offers you the chance to:

• produce .PDF- and .ePub-books from scratch, using the INC digital publishing workflow
• update the website and blog, including the possibility to write contributions for the blog
• identify possible authors, books, events to write about
• assist with the production of new titles, both print and electronic, including editing manuscripts
• learn how and why applied research in the field of digital publishing is conducted
• think along for future possibilities and strategies for urgent publishing

You will be a part of a small team within a large institution. Other tasks within the team may include:

• assisting with general office operations
• attending meetings
• collecting and reviewing interesting and relevant literature
• being part of the crew at INC events

We are looking for an enthusiastic, energetic, inquisitive (former) student with knowledge of and a demonstrated interest in digital publishing. As the INC has an international scope, active English skills are required, in speaking and writing. In addition, you have strong writing and communication skills, and experience with social media management and web administration. You balance a desire to learn, take initiative and suggest better practices and take constructive feedback. A background in (graphic or interaction) design, art (history), cultural studies, or media studies is an advantage.

Monthly compensation: € 400 gross (0,8 fte)

For further information, you can contact geert@xs4all.nl or send a CV and motivation letter to the same email address before the 13th of June, 2020.

I Present You with Myself: Facebook Avatars and Apple Memoji, or a Brief Account of the Evolution of Emoji*

By Natalia Stanusch

While swiping through Facebook’s people you might know suggestion window, I got genuinely dazed. Among profile pictures of photographed faces, I saw a cartoonish face with exaggeratedly wide-opened eyes and mouth with chopper-like teeth. Her vein-less and wrinkle-less face was as texture-less as her licked brown hair. She was set against a plain purple background, suspended in digital nothingness. And yet when I read the name below the picture, I realized that I know her. This was my friend. This was also Facebook’s new feature – Facebook Avatar. Facebook introduced it gradually over the course of a year, but only after it conquered the US on May 15, it conquered the rest of the globe, with lots of news outlets writing about it (for example CNN, CNBC, TechRadar, and Adweek). But Facebook, which used to be attaching names to real faces, now gives users the option to present themselves as ‘personalized emoji.’ What should we make out of it?

With Covid-19 cozily sitting at our global table for the past few months, we collectively leaped into online communication. There is no better moment than now to think about how we simile, joke, laugh, and cry online, especially while we are doing it now more than ever. The short answer is: and

Without face-to-face bodily cues, emoji have been extensions of our sociality and personality online. Facebook Avatar, just like Apple memoji, is supposed to represent you in the virtual space and function like emoji which look just like you. What Apple memoji, Facebook Avatars, and their grandpa Bitmoji – let’s call them all personalized emoji for now – have in common is that they embody, upgrade, and extend what emoji offered: a real-time catalogue of ourselves, where we can pick and choose our emotions, looks, identities. We might think of them as silly. But they are not. Instead, they are becoming, more and more, us.

How did we get here? On the origins of

Emoji is a yellow smiley face that one chooses from an emoji keyboard on the smartphone. Emoji is one of the seven reactions Facebook offers. ‘Emoji’ is a borrowing from Japanese 絵文字, where ‘the e of emoji means “picture” and the moji stands for “letter, character.” So, the definition of emoji is, simply, a “picture-word”’.[1] The history of digital smileys goes back to the last decades of the twentieth century, but since its beginning it was artificially constructed by designers and engineers for communication companies. Apple initiated the emoji craze by introducing the emoji keyboard on their iOS devices back in 2011. By 2015, emoji were everywhere. Emoji fit perfectly into our communications style, our ‘hybrid writing’,[2] which mixes up written, audio, and visual messages into one digitalized flux. Emoji and personalized emoji both resemble what they send for (a sad face is a sad face) and replace specific words (sad is replaced by a sad face). However, emoji are not words. They are visualizations of emotions and feelings, something which is lost in the disembodied online presence. Emoji thrive as the quintessence of online communication, being digital substitutes for both body and emotion. Emoji take the self out of the conversation by replacing it with a menu of yellow faces.

Emoji and emotion

Can one genuinely choose over ? To understand personalized emoji, we have to talk about emoji first. Up to 70 percent of our daily communication comes from non-verbal cues,[3] but online, once the screen is tapped, the message is lost. Emoji translate these non-verbal cues into the digital communication space. While emotions materialize in our facial expressions, the way in which they materialize is more classifiable than emotions themselves. Paul Ekman is considered one of the first psychologists who studied facial expressions as a code. By studying the so-called ‘micro-expressions – fleeting facial features’,[4] Ekman created an ‘atlas of emotions,’ with over ten thousand facial expressions, that is now used broadly by scientists, semioticians, and even the police. His goal was to identify the specific biological correlates of emotion and how they manifest themselves in the configuration of the parts of the face.[5]

His major findings indicated that emotions materialize in facial expressions in a similar manner across Western and Eastern cultures, with limited and predictable variations involved. Putting aside whether it is an outcome of inherited or learned behavior, emoji embody the facial materialization of emotions. Whatever the feeling is that you might feel, emoji visualizes it for both you and the person who’s reading it. So maybe emoji are actually a pretty genuine representation of ourselves?

If so, we are pretty happy people. In the past years, several studies implicated a relation between emoji use and users’ positive emotions. Emoji show playfulness,[6] up to 70% of emoji used express positive emotion,[7] and ‘the emoji code is used primarily to enhance the positive tone of an informal message’.[8] More recent research proved that rather than to praise the positivity of the smiley face, one should see it as a mask. Online, positive content and reactions are more likely to ‘receive reinforcement’[9] than their negative counterparts. To sum it up: you will not genuinely choose over , at least if you want to get likes and retweets.

For one thing, emoji and personalized emoji force the user to self-reflect when choosing them. You have to reflect upon how you feel and what emoji represents your feeling best at the moment. It is a receiver-oriented self-reflection, however. You don’t reflect upon your emotional state to understand it or fix it but to translate it so that it is understandable to other users. It is a mediated and artificial representation of invisible and immaterial emotions. One study suggests that over ‘72 per cent of British eighteen to twenty-five-year-olds believe that Emoji makes them better at expressing their feelings’.[10] But while face-to-face communication is involuntary and unconscious, emojis are voluntary and conscious. Emoji provide the user with the agency to choose emotions as if they were a catalogue of clearly-defined products, a menu of dishes that always taste the same. Emoji seem to create an obfuscated view of communication, where meaning is stable and visible, and each feeling can be directly named, each emotion classified, and each message delivered.

Emoji Corporation: Facebook and Unicode

Basically, emoji, memoji, Facebook Avatar, and Bitmoji, all look pretty much the same across different platforms and express the same emotions. Reason? Only a few companies create their own emoji, personalized emoji, and their design. The transition of emoji to the mainstream was possible mostly thanks to an organization called Unicode. Unicode establishes a universal code for emojis across all platforms. But Unicode itself is made up of big players: ‘Oracle, IBM, Microsoft, Adobe, Apple, Google, Facebook and Yahoo, with (…) the committee reps of these tech companies are overwhelmingly white, male, and computer engineers – hardly representative of the diversity exhibited by the global users of emojis’.[11] These companies not only decide how emoji look across different platforms and how they vary (famous case of a water gun on iOS devices showing as an actual gun for Android and Samsung users), but which emoji exist and which don’t. You can petition to Unicode to include a new emoji (for example, the dumpling emoji was ‘democratically’ added because of a single petition to Unicode), but the final decision is still taken by ‘technological authorities’.[12] While both emoji and personalized emoji are supposed to facilitate face-to-face cues online, your body and emotions have to first fit into Unicode’s emotion boxes.

Social media companies took major steps to show that they care to please the digital mortals. Only a few weeks ago, Facebook added a new reaction option, or rather a new emoji reaction, called Care. The yellow smiley holding a heart is a cute gesture but is not that much help in the time of a global pandemic. Some memes quickly pointed that out.

(translation: I knew that you were very concerned with the pandemic, so I prepared for you a hugging reaction. Oh, Vishnu! All our problems resolved! We have a hug!)

But Facebook, similarly to other companies, does it for a clear purpose: these emoji reactions ‘comprise a simpler classification than the thousands of emoji’.[13] Despite the popular phrase that ‘data is the new oil,’ a growing problem is a flood of data most corporations begin to experience. The amount of data collected is meaningless for algorithms which are not able to analyze it efficiently. Emoji are easier to classify by algorithms, and are incomparably simpler and more limited than any language. David Auerbach, a former Microsoft and Google software engineer, explains Facebook’s decision behind employing emoji reactions as follows,

“Those classifications permit Facebook to match users’ sentiments with similarly classified articles or try to cheer them up if they’re sad or angry. If reactions to an article are split, Facebook can build subcategories like “funny-heartwarming” and “heartwarming-surprising.” It can track which users react more with anger or laughter and then predict what kinds of content they’ll tend to respond to in the future. (…) If the restricted set of six reactions has the effect of narrowing emotional diversity, social media and advertising companies view this trade-off as the necessary cost of gathering better data on users.”[14]

Personalized emoji are just another step in this ongoing simplification of us for the sake of algorithms. But Emoji as ‘emotion visuals’ are no longer enough. We have to be given new features to keep up the digital hype. Despite the boredom factor, emoji are more than just clues: they represent us. And we want to be represented more and more accurately, and this is where personalized emoji come in. As Jeremy Burge, an emoji historian and the founder of Emojipedia, explained,

“Increased representation on our personal devices is important, and companies have recognized this by offering alternatives to the Unicode emoji set in recent years. Apple has Memoji, Samsung has AR Emoji, and Google has Minis, which all allow far more customization of individual people than Unicode could ever offer. (…)  they do fill a role that Unicode may never be able to.”[15]

Me, my, mine: memoji

Recently, Apple has been promoting an online Worldwide Developer Conference on their website. Knowing Apple, one would expect highly saturated images of cool-looking people embodying the idea of powerful individuals with MacBooks on their lap. But not this time. Their promo image depicts three figures emerging from the black background: three memoji. They are looking at their virtual MacBooks, and are just as colorful and individualized as actual Apple people would be. Cool design, you can say, and I would agree, but there is much more behind this image than solely its design. Apple is substituting real people with their virtual memoji/avatars/personalized emoji. This design shows the confidence that viewers will understand that memoji are not cartoonish characters, but real, professional, and cool people. These people are online, hence the looks. You want to be as cool as they are? You better get your memoji ready.

While most of us might use personalized emoji because they are ‘fun,’ or to be ‘cool,’ those who design them take it seriously. Apple and Facebook take one step at the time in familiarizing millions of users worldwide to the idea of personalized emoji; it took them six years to arrive at the point where my friends start to replace their profile pictures and comment with their Facebook Avatars, while others WhatsApp me with their memoji. Since my friend changed her Facebook profile picture to her Facebook Avatar, is it still a picture of her? Apple would say yes. I don’t think the answer should seem so obvious.

The 0-1 mask

The idea of an avatar has long been present online. In gaming, one chooses how to “represent oneself during the ensuing social interactions”[16] in the game. Online games provide the opportunity to “graphically represent oneself”,[17] but this representation has nothing to do with one’s physical appearance. Sure, I can choose to have brown eyes like in the real life, but I can choose anything else too, just like I choose to have a sunflower as my WhatsApp profile picture it. I decide on what will be my embodiment in an image as if I was creating a logo that represents me but not my physical looks. But now, there’s memoji. While personalized emoji are your digital (physically-based?) representation, they are used in seemingly daily, ‘real’ conversations.

A virtual world of a game feels way less real than Facebook. Since Facebook, Instagram, Whatsapp, and iMessages took over our sociality from the physical world, it is still real sociality, with real issues rather than virtual quests, fights, and deaths. The problem with memoji and Facebook Avatars is that they assume that either the digital can fully replace the physical with no loss whatsoever, or that digital is indeed the only real realm there is. How I look physically does not matter, what I do physically does not matter, what I feel physically does not matter, but what my memoji is doing does matter, because that’s what others see. To be socially accepted, to be authentic, to express oneself, one enters the highly controlled and standardized system of personalized emoji, provided and controlled by a few powerful who, as stated before, care little or less about real-life implications of their inventions.

You can say that one’s avatar – memoji, for example – cannot replace one’s physical self. But psychologically speaking, one study points out that the more you use the avatar in the game, the more you feel like it was you; ‘in high-use situations, users’ neural activation patterns indicating an emotional connection with their avatars have been measured as roughly equal to the neural patterns indicating an emotional connection with their biological selves’.[18] Think which one you would use more frequently and more emotionally: an avatar-character in a game or a personalized emoji in texts on Messenger, Facebook comments, etc., on daily bases, hour after hour, week after week. As one more and more uses the mask of personalized emoji, one becomes the mask.

My digital ‘I’

Emoji design our emotion just as memoji design our self. Each design element impacts us, mostly without ‘conscious intention or awareness’,[19] such as color. Research proved that color is ‘a dominant visual feature affecting consumer perceptions and behaviors’.[20] Already in 1942, it has been proposed that colors such as yellow – the color of emoji – are ‘naturally experienced as stimulating and disagreeable, that these colors focus people on the outward environment, and that they produce forceful, expansive behavior’.[21] Recent research claims that ‘we alter our facial expressions to match the emotivity of the emoji. Without knowing, we end up mimicking the emoji expression’[22] or even that ‘emoji might indeed play a role in shaping cognition and possibly consciousness.’[23] Still, there is little or less research done on how emoji and memoji influence our self-perception.

Think of the 2009 film Surrogates, where a part of society remotely controls humanoid robots, which are their avatars through which they interact with others. Some reject this concept, resulting in a break with the society: ‘the enhanced separate themselves from the unenhanced, left to fend for themselves in poverty’,[24] yet for humans, as ‘embodied beings, something is missing from disembodied experience’.[25] While both emoji and memoji provide digital materialization of oneself, the cliché that by this avatar-enhancement, we ‘are missing something deeply human’.[26] should not be taken for granted.

We enter a new digital ground where design covers much more than just data harvesting and software. Memoji, and any of its lookalikes, is an unprecedented mix of digitalized techne and psyche. Who are we in it? Rather than talk data, we should talk human. What are the consequences of substituting oneself with personalized emoji? What are its implications for the continuous human-tech merge? How might it intrinsically change the notion of sociality, emotions, communication, and human? Should I paste here my friend’s Facebook Avatar/memoji, or should I see it as a picture of her which is inherently and only hers to use, publish, and show? Who owns your personalized emoji legally speaking? Can anyone use it after you die? You can become this digital doll though. Embrace your personalized emoji: your digital you. There’s no way back, right? It’s pretty, it’s fun, it’s free, it’s equal for me and you: it’s precisely everything that the real world isn’t. But, at some point, you will have to face your real, physical face.

—

Biography

Natalia Stanusch studies Communications and Art History at John Cabot University, Rome. Her research interests include the visual fusion of digital and physical, the intersection of new media arts and social media and issues related to digital images. She is the creator of Hashtagart.blog where she questions recent developments from the crossroad of new media arts and digitalization. She’s been also involved in several projects in the past years, for example as a co-author of “Kid-Directed Family Vacation Planning: Using Ideas from Creative Kids Around the World” (2016) and was an editorial assistant for “The Social Issue in Contemporary Society: Relations Between Companies, Public Administrations and People” (2019).

Notes

* This text was inspired by a research paper presented at Professor Donatella Della Ratta’s course CMS 365 ‘Selfies and Beyond: Exploring Networked Identities,’ John Cabot University, Spring 2020.

[1] Marcel Danesi, The Semiotics of Emoji, London, UK: Bloomsbury Academic, an imprint of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc, 2017, pp. 2.

[2] Danesi, The Semiotics of Emoji, pp. 5.

[3] Vyvyan Evans, The Emoji Code: How Smiley Faces, Love Hearts and Thumbs Up are Changing the Way We Communicate, London: Michael Omara Books Limited, 2017, pp. 78.

[4] Vyvyan Evans, The Emoji Code, pp. 75.

[5] Danesi, The Semiotics of Emoji, pp. 62.

[6] Dwi Noverini Djenar, Michael C. Ewing and Howard Manns, ‘Youth and language play,’ in Dwi Noverini Djenar, Michael C. Ewing and Howard Manns, Style and Intersubjectivity in Youth Interaction, Boston/Berlin: De Gruyter, 2018, pp. 193-230.

[7] Danesi, The Semiotics of Emoji, pp. 22.

[8] Petra Kralj Novak, Jasmina Smailović, Borut Sluban, and Igor Mozetič, ‘Sentiment of Emojis,’ PLoS ONE 10.12 (2015), doi:10.1371/journal. pone.0144296.

[9] Chiara Rollero, Adriano Daniele, and Stefano Tartaglia, ‘Do men post and women view? The role of gender, personality and emotions in online social activity,’ Cyberpsychology: Journal of Psychosocial Research on Cyberspace, 13.1 (2019), http://dx.doi.org/10.5817/CP2019-1-1.

[10] Evans, The Emoji Code, pp. 26.

[11] Evans, The Emoji Code, pp. 23.

[12] Danesi, The Semiotics of Emoji, pp. 47.

[13] David Auerbach, ‘How Facebook Has Flattened Human Communication,’ Medium, 28 August 2019, https://medium.com/s/story/how-facebook-has-flattened-human-communication-c1525a15e9aa.

[14] Auerbach, ‘How Facebook Has Flattened Human Communication.’

[15] Jeremy Burge, ‘New Emojis Are Here. We’re Not Ready,’ Medium, 12 November 2018, https://onezero.medium.com/new-emojis-are-here-were-not-ready-e7f9de4779d2.

[16] James K. Scarborough and Jeremy N. Bailenson, ‘Avatar Psychology’, in Mark Grimshaw, The Oxford Handbook of Virtuality, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2014, p. 2. Available at: doi: 10.1093/oxfordhb/9780199826162.013.033.

[17] Deborah Abdel Nabi and John P. Charlton, ‘The Psychology of Addiction to Virtual Environments,’ in Mark Grimshaw, The Oxford Handbook of Virtuality, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2014, p. 6. Available at: doi: 10.1093/oxfordhb/9780199826162.013.022.

[18] Scarborough and Bailenson, ‘Avatar Psychology’, p. 5.

[19] Andrew J. Elliot and Markus A. Maier, ‘Color and Psychological Functioning,’ Current Directions in Psychological Science 16.5 (2007): 251, https://www.jstor.org/stable/20183210.

[20] Ioannis Kareklas, Frédéric F. Brunel and Robin A. Coulter, ‘Judgment is not color blind: The impact of automatic color preference on product and advertising preferences,’ Journal of Consumer Psychology, 24.1 (2014): 88, doi:10.2307/2661798h.

[21] Andrew J. Elliot and Markus A. Maier, ‘Color and Psychological Functioning,’ pp. 250.

[22] Danesi, The Semiotics of Emoji, pp. 172.

[23] Danesi, The Semiotics of Emoji, pp. 172.

[24] Dónal P. O’Mathúna, ‘Movies,’ in “Movies.” In Robert Ranisch and Stefan Lorenz Sorgner (eds) Post- and Transhumanism: An Introduction, Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang, 2014, pp. 294.

[25] Dónal P. O’Mathúna‘Movies,’ pp. 294.

[26] Dónal P. O’Mathúna‘Movies,’ pp. 294.

References

Auerbach, David. ‘How Facebook Has Flattened Human Communication,’ Medium, 28 August 2019, https://medium.com/s/story/how-facebook-has-flattened-human-communication-c1525a15e9aa.

Burge, Jeremy. ‘New Emojis Are Here. We’re Not Ready,’ Medium, 12 November 2018, https://onezero.medium.com/new-emojis-are-here-were-not-ready-e7f9de4779d2.

Danesi, Marcel. The Semiotics of Emoji, London, UK: Bloomsbury Academic, an imprint of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc, 2017.

Djenar, Dwi Noverini, Ewing, Michael C., and Manns, Howard. ‘Youth and language play,’ in Dwi Noverini Djenar, Michael C. Ewing and Howard Manns, Style and Intersubjectivity in Youth Interaction, Boston/Berlin: De Gruyter, 2018, pp. 193-230.

Elliot, Andrew J. and Maier, Markus A. ‘Color and Psychological Functioning,’ Current Directions in Psychological Science 16.5 (2007): 250-254, https://www.jstor.org/stable/20183210.

Evans, Vyvyan. The Emoji Code: How Smiley Faces, Love Hearts and Thumbs Up are Changing the Way We Communicate, London: Michael Omara Books Limited, 2017.

Kareklas, Ioannis, Brunel, Frédéric F. and Coulter, Robin A. ‘Judgment is not color blind: The impact of automatic color preference on product and advertising preferences,’ Journal of Consumer Psychology, 24.1 (2014): 87-95, doi:10.2307/2661798h.

Nabi, Deborah Abdel and Charlton, John P. ‘The Psychology of Addiction to Virtual Environments,’ in Mark Grimshaw, The Oxford Handbook of Virtuality, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2014. doi: 10.1093/oxfordhb/9780199826162.013.022.

Novak, Petra Kralj, Smailović, Jasmina, Sluban, Borut, and Mozetič, Igor. ‘Sentiment of Emojis,’ PLoS ONE 10.12 (2015). doi:10.1371/journal. pone.0144296.

O’Mathúna, Dónal P. ‘Movies,’ in “Movies.” In Robert Ranisch and Stefan Lorenz Sorgner (eds) Post- and Transhumanism: An Introduction, Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang, 2014, pp. 287-298.

Rollero, Chiara, Daniele, Adriano, and Tartaglia, Stefano. ‘Do men post and women view? The role of gender, personality and emotions in online social activity,’ Cyberpsychology: Journal of Psychosocial Research on Cyberspace, 13.1 (2019). http://dx.doi.org/10.5817/CP2019-1-1.

Scarborough, James K. and Bailenson, Jeremy N. ‘Avatar Psychology’, in Mark Grimshaw, The Oxford Handbook of Virtuality, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2014. doi:10.1093/oxfordhb/9780199826162.013.033.

Internet-related tips for protesters (document in development here)

Whether you are protesting in person or working in digital spaces (or both) covering your browsing habits, metadata, and search histories is important. These can be ordered as evidence, or can expose others even months or years later. Even without a court order or direct governmental surveillance, your data history can be bought from aggregate services, both legally and illegally.

On the internet, you are tracked. You are tracked everywhere you go, whether by your ISP, advertisers, cookies, or the site itself. This will be your IP address (a unique identification number per network), where in the world you roughly are, other places you have been on the internet, and often what social media accounts you hold. Even just the browser you use can tell someone who you are because of the ‘headers’ your computer sends, called a Browser Fingerprint. Because there are only so many combinations of hardware and software, you may have a unique “fingerprint” simply because your computer’s particular combination is rare. See: https://webkay.robinlinus.com/ https://panopticlick.eff.org/

Personal privacy on the internet has been eroded from all sides, including advertisement and commerce, weak government protections, hacked databases, products and services which leak your information (via selling it or accidentally and ambiently). But also, the internet was never really made to be anonymous. It takes work anonymize your information.

~~~

AT THE PROTEST:

On phones / other smart devices:
Turn off your phone or leave it at home
Police can track phones through cell towers – this can confirm your presence or identify you later
Messages can also be intercepted by “stingrays”, which pose as cell powers -> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Stingray_phone_tracker
If you use Android, leave it at home – they have a history of being hacked by police- > https://money.cnn.com/2016/02/25/technology/android-apple-police-encryption/index.html
If you have an old/spare/burner phone, consider bringing that instead- even without a sim card, having an empty phone that can connect to wifi and bluetooth might be helpful.
If you do bring your phone
Think about what you have stored on it and if it could put you or anyone else at risk. Delete contacts and messages as needed.
Back up your data, in case it is lost.
Set a difficult passcode
NOT face or thumb Id, not a year or all one number in a row
Turn off home screen notifications – don’t let anything show without unlocking your phone.
Set your phone to go to lock screen extremely quickly
Turn on airplane mode, which will keep your phone from broadcasting.
Make sure that Airdrop isn’t on.
If you lose your device or it is confiscated:
Revoke access & log out of applications remotely
Changing your password to accounts can sometimes force a log-out
Or you can do it manually per account- search “<service name> revoke access for devices”
Use Signal or other encrypted messaging systems to communicate
Police can still surveil metadata (when you’re sending messages to, when) but not the actual contents of an encrypted message
https://signal.org/en/
TURN OFF LOCATION SERVICES!! This will keep you from attaching GPS coordinates to photos.
iphone -> https://support.apple.com/en-us/HT207092
android -> https://support.google.com/accounts/answer/3467281?hl=en

On taking photographs:
Photographs can be extremely useful, but:
Take photos without unlocking your phone
Do not take pictures of anyone that could be identifiable
If you capture a person in a photo, BLUR OR BLOCK THEM OUT
After you take pictures, screenshot them to remove exif data
Exif data stores information on the image such as shutter speed, if a flash was used, date and time, and GPS information. See- > http://exifdata.com/
This can be evidence – don’t post something directly, but screenshot the image so that information is overwritten.
After you screenshot the photograph, delete the original.
IF YOU POST PHOTOS/INFORMATION ON THE INTERNET, know that this is saying that you were there. Never tag anyone else without their express consent or discuss private plans in a publicly visible space.

On keeping yourself from being identified:
Wear a bandana/mask, sunglasses, and cover any identifying features, especially tattoos.
Don’t wear clothes that have identifiable logos on them, or that are unique. Stick to solid colors, or all-black.
Don’t buy stuff, and if you do use cash! Credit cards / digital payments are immediately traceable.
Bring a change of clothes for after the protest, or if you have to get away quickly.
Bike or walk if you are able – License plate readers may be in use.
Regarding CV Dazzle (https://cvdazzle.com): this is cute and cyberpunk and folks like to share it, but it is not as effective as just blocking your face. AI gets better every day, and if you’re still identifiable to a human you’re still at risk. If anything, colorful facepaint might might you more identifiable.

~~~~

ON THE INTERNET:

If you’re doing research or online activities that shouldn’t be tracked to you, here are some ways to cover yourself, ordered roughly from least to most difficult/serious.

Use Firefox –
Firefox just got a recent upgrade with increased tracking blocking and other data protections, especially over Chrome.
Don’t install plug-ins you don’t trust, but do install plug-ins that help keep your data safe –
https://www.eff.org/privacybadger
UblockOrigin https://getublock.com/
No software without a privacy statement that you believe –
Even stuff you download to your computer that isn’t online can send information
No Dropbox
They are a very anti-privacy company. Use https://onionshare.org/ for filesharing.
No Googling things, use DuckDuckGo
Use Incognito mode
Not honestly a solution, but confuses some tracking.
Burner accounts
Always make a new email with no info for new accounts.
Use a fake name
This is legal and you should do it to avoid having your information data mined across services.
Turn off location sharing on your computer –
https://www.tenforums.com/tutorials/13225-turn-off-location-services-windows-10-a.html
https://appsliced.co/ask/how-do-i-disable-location-services-on-my-mac
Never pay with a credit card, use a third party like Paypal, or cash or bitcoins are better
Delete cookies and browsing history a lot.
Turn off Javascript – this is a bummer but really helpful, https://noscript.net/
Use the Tor Browser
Tor browser – > https://www.torproject.org/
Tor makes your traffic semi-anonymous by routing through nodes around the world.
This is how you access the darkweb but you don’t have to go to darknet sites, just use Tor for regular browsing.
There are also other browsers/systems, like Freenet and I2P.
Use a Proxy or a VPN (or both)
A Proxy hides your IP address makes it look like you’re somewhere else, but don’t encrypt your data. Good for lowstakes things.
A VPN also makes your IP looks like it is coming from somewhere else, but is significantly more secure.
More-> What is the difference between a VPN and a Proxy? https://www.howtogeek.com/247190/whats-the-difference-between-a-vpn-and-a-proxy/
Some Proxys:
https://hidester.com/proxy/
https://hide.me/en/proxy
You can read more about VPNs and pick one out here: https://ssd.eff.org/en/module/choosing-vpn-thats-right-you
Expect to pay for a good VPN, though some have free versions.
You need to make sure your VPN has had a public audit to ensure that it has no logs, aka no record of what you have used their internet connection for.
Use Proxygambit – http://samy.pl/proxygambit/
Use an anonymizing OS-
A virtual machine that resets on boot, running on (secure) portable media. You want an encrypted key with Tails or ZeusGuard, or even Windows To Go. Assign a random DHCP address on start. Iron key is a good place to start – > https://www.ironkey.com/en-US/ https://youtu.be/3sx41MXPgPg

Once you’re all set up, check against DNS leaks –
https://dnsleaktest.com/
https://dnsleaktest.com/what-is-a-dns-leak.html

~~

IF YOU’RE BEING TARGETED:
And need to button up your online presence in case of identify theft/ hacking/ harassment/ threats/ etc (thanks @somenerdliam from Twitter for some of these links):

Search your old emails
Go through each email you can think of that you’ve used
You’ll need access to them so that you can access other websites you may have signed up to using them.

Delete accounts from forgotten services
Use the search function for each email account and look for “Sign up”, “Welcome”, etc.
Recover and log in to each service.
Purge any content and messages, as the account may be archived even after its ideleted.
Make a note of your username, password, the service, and email used
Delete the account.
If you can’t find where, search “delete account” + “<service>”. You may have to email support.
If you remember being on other sites, go to those sites and enter all your old emails in the recover password box.

Check if your information is already public
Now that you have a list of usernames, emails, and services, see if these are part of a data breach anywhere
Search on Duckduckgo/Google/other search engine for your email and account names.
You will potentially find pastebin links or databases with leaked information. Note what usernames and passwords show up.
Many databases are not indexed by search engines: use https://haveibeenpwned.com to check when and what is public.
If anything shows up, this is the first priority to change or delete!

Remove old information from Google
Even if you delete old accounts, there is cached information about them.
Use the Google Console to request them to delete/update their search engine (which usually takes months organically) to remove those cached results. You have to provide a link to each. https://www.google.com/webmasters/tools/removals

Don’t let Google track you
Here is where you can go through each of Google’s services. Turn them off for every account you have. https://myaccount.google.com/activitycontrols
You can see (and scrub) your old activity here: https://myactivity.google.com/myactivity
You can report content for legal removal here: https://support.google.com/legal/answer/3110420?visit_id=637092788967151292-3839576181&rd=1

For every service you use, strip down privacy settings to the core.
What is possible will change service to service – it is safer to not have an account, but be sure to change your settings where possible.
Facebook is particularly bad, but if you do want to use Facebook make sure all of your information is set to private so people can’t access photos and information about you.

Delete old emails
After you’ve gone through your old emails for signups, etc, you should delete them.
This is not for stuff you will need in the future, but for personal information that could be used against you or embarrass you.
If you think you might need these emails, make sure to change your security questions and password.

Secure account practices
Change all your passwords regularly, at least a few times a year.
New databases are sold or leaks happen daily.
Never use the same password, passwords that are similar to each other, or personal information in your passwords.
Its easy to guess where an underscore or 0 might go to edit a password. There are even programs that run through password permutations automatically.

Delete your old content regularly
Delete tweets and old photos. If you are a personal target, this information might be studied intensely.
Be careful of posting about your social circle and folks who are physically near you. Even if you have tight data practices, your neighbor might not- and if a hacker knows they are your neighbor, they also know where you live.

~

More links –
https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2016/11/digital-security-tips-for-protesters
https://ssd.eff.org/en/module/attending-protest
https://www.wireshark.org/tools/oui-lookup.html

~~

I’m not an expert – if you have additions or corrections, @ this thread on twitter: https://twitter.com/everestpipkin/status/1266601091229155328

The Exception of the Minorities: Pandemic and Subversion

A Dialogue with Federico Zappino by Lorenzo Petrachi

Federico Zappino is philosopher, translator and queer activist. He translated into Italian work of Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick, Judith Butler and Monique Wittig. Among his recent works are Il genere tra neoliberismo e neofondamentalismo (Gender Between Neoliberalism and Neofundamentalism, ed. 2016) and Comunismo queer. Note per una sovversione dell’eterosessualità (Queer Communism. Notes toward a Subversion of Heterosexuality, 2019).

Lorenzo Petrachi is co-founder of the research group Dalla Ridda, in Bologna.

The interview appeared first in Italian OperaViva Magazine, April the 2nd 2020 and was translated by Eleonora Stacchiotti.

OHO group (Nasko Kriznar), Red Snow, 1969, 8 mm film, silent, colour film, 2’40”, Marinko Sudac Collection.

Lorenzo Petrachi: Almost two months after the declaration of the state of emergency, the measures that have been taken against the spread of Covid-19 are widening the gap that merges and separates two inherently different sets of signs. On the one hand, there are practices of control and domination that address the problem by holding the individuals responsible, for instance, as with the increasing attitude towards blaming the others, authoritarianism and militarisation – which engender forms of slanderous psychosis. On the other hand, the exasperation of inequalities, the healthcare crisis and the fear for the coming bailout of the failing real economy are making tangible the variety of forms of solidarity and struggle, movements that emphasize interdependency over individualism. The pandemic definitely brought about a radical call as regards the question of our existence, especially by doubting the rationalities informing the government of the individuals and, more fundamentally, of the emerging entanglement of people and objects.

These organized practices with their particular subjects have proven to be unable to respond coherently to an adventitious, global problem and are on the verge of an inescapable transformation, although very uncertain in its nature. During one of the most recent mobilisations against neoliberalism in Santiago de Chile, a light installation on a building claimed No volveremos a la normalidad porqué la normalidad era el problema. In these recent days, a growing number of people are sharing this slogan on their social accounts, with a clear reference to the current crisis. Nevertheless, the current crisis is unprecedented for a number of reasons and this is why it is still not clear how this is going to turn out. It is still not clear how the joyful colors of (the more and more realistic) utopia are going to blend with the dull grey of the continuously extended state of exception. Are we then so sure that the “normal”, in these peculiar times, is our enemy?

Federico Zappino: I do not think I can be counted among the defenders of ‘normality’, because this term refers to the white, capitalist, hetero-patriarchal order established on the principles of environmental degradation, of violence and of institutionalized politics of inequality towards women, sexual and gender minorities, poor people, non-white people, people with disabilities and non-human beings. This is what the ‘normal’ actually looks like. Whoever takes part to a politicized minority perfectly knows that the ‘normal’ is the main problem. And those who are still willing to be included – without fighting for the subversion of it – are witnesses of the enormous fascination that the realm of normal has even on those who are oppressed. For this reason, I agree to the spirit of the light installation realized by the Chilean artistic collective Delight Lab, and I completely understand the reason why so many people borrow and make use of such a slogan in these melancholic, uncertain and endless days of collective grief.

However, we can first observe that there is a difference between a crisis induced by a political conflict waged by social movements in the order of “normality”, to which the Chilean slogan refers, and an epidemiological crisis. The current crisis is induced by a pandemic that has plummeted on a global society rather demobilized by the decennial crossfire of neoliberal and neo-fundamentalist policies (institution of the self-entrepreneur subject, dismantling or privatization of public and social services, restoration of the heterosexual family as a form of natural welfare), and which is politically managed through the establishment of a state of exception which – at least from what we can experience in Italy – replaces day by day pieces of ‘normality’ with increasing forms of coercive ‘social distancing’, disciplining, individual blaming, authoritarianism, even with the deployment of military means and practices.

The ‘normal’ that is being replaced by the state of emergency does not correspond with the white, hetero-patriarchal and capitalist order – that is, on the contrary, reinforced by the crisis. The state of exception is replacing the “public”. And while the State-Capital-Heterosexual Family tryptic gains centrestage, the exceptional decrees show us how public space is precisely the precondition for the exercise – albeit unequal, and violently repressed if exercised by minorities – of all those freedoms such as walking, moving, gathering, expressing themselves, protesting, mourning a loss. Of all those freedoms, namely, which have meaning only in their collective and public exercise, and which fail when their condition of possibility fails.

To avoid any misunderstanding, what is at issue here is not whether the state of exception is justified by the need to stop the spread of the virus, whose causes, figures and territorial impact require further detailed analysis. What is a cause of concern now is that even now that health workers and all the workers in the production chains deemed “essential” are denouncing the shortage of protective gear and the lack of the medical resources to face the pandemic, the state shows that it wants to “defend society” by investing in population control devices such as drones, geo-location or monitoring of telephone cells, encouraging the population to relate those who break the rules of what is called “social distancing”, and much more. It would be irresponsible to consider these dark sides of the problem as relatively important, because they are evidently interconnected with the less dangerous aspects of this lockdown.

Lorenzo Petrachi: For instance, some argue that we are called to reflect on the traumatic desolation of the present in order to produce the inner feeling of existential crisis that will not be forgotten once the pandemic is over. Others insist that the pandemic is giving us the “chance” to witness first-hand the precariousness and the vulnerability of human life as the other side of the coin of the hegemonic vision of a subjectivity defined by sovereignty, ownership and entrepreneurial attitude.

Federico Zappino: I am not sure if I completely disagree with what you just mentioned. I believe that dwelling on loss, collectively lingering in mourning, rather than indulging the imperative of removal and restart at any cost, as if death had no effect on those who survive, can be not only transformative for the rethinking of the meaning of a community itself, but necessary. The point is that the labor of mourning does not need to suspend political criticism, as many, animated by dangerous forms of compassionate humanitarianism, suggest. On the contrary: if there was one thing that minorities learned from the HIV pandemic between the 1980s and 1990s, it is that the way to honor the many deaths was to politicize their causes, and to “ideologize” in order to subvert them. It was precisely in that context that queer criticism took shape, for example.

I think this has to do with the fact that, as minorities,  we know that life is vulnerable and precarious regardless of the pandemic: the likelihood that our life is taken away prematurely is a consequence of the marginal position we have in society. If we extend this assumption, we can understand that any form of vulnerability, including those induced by the pandemic, have never happened on an abstract level, but usually occur in specific social conditions. Hence, insisting on the vulnerability and precariousness of (non-)human life only makes sense in relation to the fact that an epidemic is such also, and perhaps above all, in relation to the sanitary means and structures that such a situation requires – or on the contrary, the absence of such means and structures. The heavier the cuts in medical resources, the more authoritarian the emergency measures. This must be made clear. If then we can also grasp the eugenic subtext underlying this connection (in Italy there are a few thousand beds in intensive care for a population of sixty million inhabitants), we can easily understand how it makes no sense to understand as two distinct things ‘governmental’ power and ‘sovereign’ power of life and death over the population.

There would be no need to threaten the application of eugenic criteria for access to limited places in intensive care if these places were not limited, and if their number was proportionate in an egalitarian sense to the idea that the population, in its complex, it is vulnerable. What constitutes an insult to vulnerability is the neoliberal brutalization of public health resources and structures. Clearly, this cannot only be reduced to a critique of what has been done so far by the political classes that have facilitated neoliberal measures, but must be turned to a present demand for a radically different future: we must no longer listen, not even by mistake, that some subjects “deserve” more than others access to medical treatments. This “value”, I fear, has to do with their productive and reproductive capacity of species and whiteness, and which, therefore, ratifies and consolidates the differential value accorded to people in line with principles like gender, race, age and psychic and physical ability. A materialistic and egalitarian commitment to vulnerability requires us not to accept death – or the need to choose who deserves to live – as a tragic fatality.

Lorenzo Petrachi: The connection that you make between the healthcare crisis – that has to do of course with the public financial cuts – and the growing authoritarianism of the governmental measures is fundamental in various ways. Pointing at this specific interdependence allows us to become aware of the difference between a disciplinary society and ours, by avoiding easy associations between the condemnation of violence of the state and the latter’s irrationality. What we are highlighting here is not the excessive suspension of the exercise of fundamental freedoms, but the modes of operation of a number of governmental rationalities working together. Your analysis also reworks the concept of “normal” that, similarly to “power”, results to be less monolithic than what it seems to be at first glance.

Federico Zappino: My idea is that only emphasizing the multiplicity of rationalities of government we can protect ourselves from the risk of channeling our critical and political attention in one-way ways, as it happened too often on the sidelines of the issuing of emergency decrees. This is no time for binary oppositions. No fans needed. We collectively need to keep a watchful eye on a number of elements like the legitimacy of exceptional measures, the pandemic-induced reshaping of the relationship between capital and labor, the instrumental function of authoritarianism to the neoliberal decimation of public health resources, or the eugenic drifts that threaten, in an unacceptable way, to preside over the distribution of these scarce resources.

Moreover, we need to be aware of the strengthening of nationalisms, induced by the fact that health systems are national and that, in the absence of global and common forms of health organization (as Judith Butler seems to suggest), any vaguely cosmopolitan idea fails at the first pandemic, as evidenced by the closure of all borders. We must be aware of the discursive and mediatic invisibilization of homeless, migrant, disabled and queer populations. Finally, it is of vital importance to acknowledge the hegemony of the heterosexual family and the re-naturalization of the exploitation of work and the violence based on gender that are given within it.

At the same time, I believe that it is fundamental to emphasize that there is no reason not to go back to “normal” if we understand the normal as the restoration of the public space. I believe that minorities should not be taught that public space is constituted and torn by power relations: yet it remains the only space for social and political transformation. Therefore, going back to “normal” is necessary. We need to go back to “normal” to enable the meeting of bodies, freedom of movement, freedom of assembly, social conflict, forms of solidarity that fall outside the capitalistic monopoly of digital platforms. Having the possibility of gathering with other people in the public space to demonstrate, to protest, to mourn – also in the name of those who cannot do it, so to go against such an impossibility: aren’t these forms of the “normal”? The point, if anything, is to start immediately to understand what needs to be done once we have returned, and net of what we will find there, certainly not by our choice. The paradox created by the state of exception is that we must go back to “normal” in order to subvert it. We can subvert it by mean of the political, cultural and social instruments that are part of the public space that we envision as radically democratic.

The state of exception cannot be a condition of social transformation, unless this is done through violence – a perspective that does not look intriguing to me. As I understand them, the claims of minorities are requests of a radical subversion of cultural, political and economic factors causing the social differences at the base of systematic inequalities. But the strength of these instances does not need to double the violence that produces them: the anger and the grief we feel can be turned into a transformative politics rather than a violent one.

Lorenzo Petrachi: As regard as the coaching to keep a daily routine during the lockdown, it is interesting to observe how the political use of certain kinds of normality incites the population to keep a productive rhythm with lines like “Put your makeup on as if you were going to work”, “Set your daily goals”, “Stop wasting time and set a schedule”. It is precisely this efficient lifestyle, this form of entrepreneurial and proprietary freedom that is showing its inconsistency and its being unsustainable during this moment of global crisis. The fact that the exceptional measures  stopping the ‘normal’ are still promoting this mode of existence – by reproducing the ordinary repressive structures that you, in your book Comunismo Queer, put at the intersection between modes of production of the subjectivities, of relational spaces and of social relationship – is even more revealing about the true nature of the ‘normal’. The order to stay-at-home, for example, not only does not take into consideration the homeless, but also does not take into account the limits and the iniquities of the majority of people that are living most of the times with their heterosexual family or on their own. This is what is emphatically supported by the popular banner hanging outside a Spanish house: “La romantización de la cuarentena es un privilegio de clase.” The presumably good sense to prioritize basic necessities on an institutional, economic and individual level is based once again on an established meaning of “necessity”, that does not deal with the impact of such measures on different subjectivities. How can we shy away from this evidence?!

Federico Zappino: If we observe the “micropolitics” of this state of exception we can see that it needs to ensure the reproduction of “normality” right in the middle of its suspension. This exhorts us to look at normality in a less dogmatic way, detecting different regimes of competing normalities, so that it is evident that the suspension of a certain kind of normality takes place by means of the corroboration of the modes of production which, historically, come together in its determination.

It was not necessary to wait for a pandemic to find out that the capitalist modes of production operate by transforming ecosystems deeply and irreversibly, to the point where, as some argue, pandemics should be understood as anything but dysfunctional as regards the modes of production themselves. Yet, since the epidemic broke out Xi Jinping has repeatedly (often turning to Trump) asserted that in no way will the virus affect the Chinese economy, which, from his point of view, will restart stronger than before. In Italy too, we are witnessing a precise political will to maintain productive ways and sectors whose “essentiality” is to be proven, and in working conditions often unsuitable for the context of a pandemic. This allows us to highlight in new ways the dependence between a specific mode of production and the form of life it generates, the latter which continue to depend on the former even if the price to pay for this dependence is life itself.

The same goes for all the modes of production of subjectivity which, from my perspective, offer human and symbolic resources by means of which capitalism can assert and reproduce itself. In Italy, the anthropologist Miguel Mellino brought attention to all the racist limits of the governance of the pandemic, insisting that migrants – who often work in agricultural production chains – are made totally invisible by media and institutional discourses. Mellino wonders: “Are there no infections among migrants? Are there no hospitalizations? Or maybe they are not assisted or not even counted? Or are they not even considered as worthy of representation, speech and even less of tampons?” For Mellino, in other words, the state of exception exacerbates a racist rift, reproducing specific white coordinates of social reproduction. In my view, the state of exception is also the product of a heterosexual rift.

While psychologists and pundits urge men and women to dress and put on make-up as if they were going to work – that is, to reproduce the heterosexually regulated “society” even in the times of “social distancing”–, the lives of those constituting an exception in the exception remain equally invisible from the public discourse, still obliged to abide by the criminally binding injunction to stay-at-home: the lives of those who do not have a home or an income, and the lives of those who live in situations of mental distress – and we know how many women and queer and trans people live in situations of housing, income and psychic precarity.

Likewise, women trapped in violent heterosexual contexts who, due to the suspension of public space, can only count on incomplete forms of support from anti-violence centers or other supportive and solidarity relationships; women who bare the full domestic brunt of taking care of children, of elderly or of sick or disabled people, in the general suspension of school and social activities; queer, trans, gay, lesbian, bisexual adolescents and pre-adolescents, in contexts of legal and economic dependence on violent or hostile parents (in most cases fathers), and especially in non-urban contexts; sex workers, for whom the alternatives are either risking exposure in the suspended public space or having insufficient financial resources to pay bills and rent. The list could go on: what is relevant here is that public silence on these issues is only one of the effects of the “heterosexual social contract”, as Monique Wittig would call it. Just like the capitalist modes of production and the white domination, what I call “heterosexual mode of production” is inscribed in the material and cultural hierarchies of the exceptional government of the pandemic crisis, and is clearly reinforced by it. Precisely for this reason, we need to present it with its limitations, in a way that cannot be deferred.

Lorenzo Petrachi: I would like to go back to the issue of public space again, which you have defined as a necessary condition for social and political transformation. In the state of exception, on the contrary, it is not possible to protest using the traditional methods of assembly and demonstration, and even the possibility of striking, in its various forms, is precluded to many of us. Furthermore, the only means we have to communicate and to express our dissent – means that for a not negligible part of the population are unfortunately the only ones imaginable – are owned by private companies. Yet, now more than ever, the success of a number of demands seems not only urgent and unpostponable, but also more plausible. If it is true that restrictive measures unfolding before our eyes have definitively re-entered the field of the politically contingent, the same must be said also for the unprecedented horizons opened by the crisis.

Consider, for example, the claims relating to the suspension of rents and bills, the claim for universal income, the visibility of prison conditions, the certainty of the value of public health… To all this we must add not only the elaboration of unheard practices of social solidarity even in times of “social distancing”, but also the awareness that comes with each of these instances. In other words, are the suspension of public space and the relative difficulty in organizing the struggles sufficient grounds for postponing the articulation of our claims until later? We must undoubtedly return to normal in order to have the necessary means to transform it completely; but can we miss, in this situation and in its narrow limits, the opportunity to create a precedent? We are encountering an exceptional scenario. It is a matter of understanding what about this exceptionality is destined to become transitory and what, for better or for worse, will establish itself.

Federico Zappino: Hoping to go back to “normal” in order to have the means of public space that allow for its subversion, does not mean postponing this subversion towards an indefinite future. Just as the state of exception induced by the pandemic illuminates problems and contradictions of a social system based on inequality and violence, and aims to preserve it, at the same time it begins to favor the possibility of forms of solidarity and resistance which, for the first time in a very long time, seem to be on the brink of possible. In fact, they can create a “precedent”. The demand for an income independent from productive work is perhaps among the most important and the most transformative of social demands. However, its effectiveness, and that of any anti-capitalist practice, will depend largely on the way in which, in the public space, we will manage to thematize and subvert the specific modalities that exploitation and exclusion assume, because each of these modalities refers to specific ways of production that concur in defining what, in generic terms, we then call “exploitation”, “exclusion” and, above all, “capitalism”.

When we talk about exploitation, are we sure to include within it also the exploitation of women’s domestic work by men, in the vast majority of heterosexual cohabitative contexts? When we talk about the exclusion of the minorities from the public space, are the material and economic implications of this concept clear for us or do we limit ourselves only to those aspects that we like to define as “cultural”? Is it clear for us that the cultural construction of entire social groups as “diverse” means exposing them to the greatest likelihood of poverty, indigence, violence and premature death? Are the links between symbolic and verbal violence and its substantial premises and material consequences clear? If we do not keep all these implications in mind, and if we do not endeavor to subvert them, a highly transformative instrument such as the universal income can easily be turned into its opposite, that is, an instrument to normalize already existing power relations.

The vast majority of women will continue to serve a man inside the house – but with an income; and so on. Any means that aspire to be “universal”, however, must deal with the fact that the universal has always been internally torn by power relations, and in the absence of an effort aimed at healing that fracture, every universality will be destined to reproduce as much. This aspect is very difficult to understand if you are not part of a minority group, or if you are not aware of it. My idea is that only by thematizing and keeping together all the forms that exploitation and exclusion assume, we can understand what capitalism needs in order to function – and indirectly, also what needs to be done to subvert its unjust and violent order. This, at least, is what I have attempted to illustrate in Comunismo Queer. Until a few weeks ago, the various currents of queer, feminism, anti-speciesism, decolonial thought could be conceived as utopian, brave, full of hope and anger, certainly ridiculed by those defending, consciously and unconsciously, the sad and criminal heteropatriarchal, white, capitalist and speciesist “normal”. The exceptional thing is that they could instead constitute the theoretical framework from which to draw inspiration from now on for the next transformative and instituting practices.

While we’re publishing a lot, here at the Institute of Network Cultures, trying to facilitate critical reflection on the corona crisis with diaries and essays from around the world, we’re also planning a restart of INC so that we’ll have space and resources for new urgent projects and research networks in this corona period/economic crisis.

As you may have noticed, we’ve just wrapped up our two-year publishing Making Public research project with Here and Now?

Digital publishing research (and output) will continue, as will the MoneyLab network that just got a board. The board can be rearched here: moneylab-board@networkcultures.org. As MoneyLab #8 Ljubjana was cancelled because of the corona crisis it turned into a weekly online lecture series. The program you can find here.

However, with a considerable legacy of projects, networks, publications and a heavy website aka archive, we noticed that we had to spend more and more time just on the maintenance work. It became harder to start new things (also due to changes in the Dutch funding structures). Finally, we’re about to do something about this.

As a start, five mailinglists (MoneyLab, Video Vortex, re-search, Unlike Us and CPOV) have been discontinued and have been replaced by one INC list called synthesis (also responding to the widespread idea of email being a ‘dead medium’).

If you want, please subscribe here: http://listcultures.org/mailman/listinfo/inc-synthesis_listcultures.org.

The synthesis list has three objectives:

1. To inform the wider net community about INC projects and activities.

2. To foster debates about net criticism, tactical media, hacktivism and research into critical network cultures from multiple perspectives such as design and the arts, activism and research.

3. To create links between different INC research fields that were previous running as different projects about online video, crypto currencies, search, social media, future of art criticism etc.

The name ‘synthesis’ expresses a desire to overcome different disciplines, fields and scenes in order to strengthen the critical forces in arts, tech and society.

Soon we will see what other new channels will work to debate, maintain communities, inform and support each other. Please approach us if you have ideas and suggestions, also for common projects, grants, publications, campaigns and other forms of poetry.

Keep on questioning, Geert and the INC team

For the further development of its publication strategy – combining digital and print publications with web-based content and other media – the Institute of Network Cultures is looking for an

intern with production and research skills, for an internship with our digital publishing team

Internship period: August 31^st until December 18^th, 2020 (0.8 fte/4 days a week).

The Institute of Network Cultures (INC) is a media research center that actively contributes to the field of network cultures through research, events, publications, and online dialogue. The INC was founded in 2004 by media theorist Geert Lovink as part of the Amsterdam University of Applied Sciences (Hogeschool van Amsterdam). The Institute of Network Cultures has a tradition of experiment in digital and hybrid publishing. On the front line of development in publishing, we explore the promises of the digital for the (cultural) publishing industry.

For more information, see: https://networkcultures.org/.
For an overview of all INC publications, go to: https://networkcultures.org/publications.
For previous work on this topic, check out our research programs Making Public, The Art of Criticism, and the Digital Publishing Toolkit, and see the PublishingLab, which INC has previously collaborated closely with: https://networkcultures.org/projects/.

In this internship, you will work on international publications in the field of online media in different formats (print, .pdf, .ePub), as well as blog series, longforms, and other digital-born formats. The internship offers both practical experience and a chance to conduct research in the field of hybrid and digital publishing.

This internship offers you the chance to:

• produce .PDF- and .ePub-books from scratch, using the INC digital publishing workflow
• update the website and blog, including the possibility to write contributions for the blog
• identify possible authors, books, events to write about
• assist with the production of new titles, both print and electronic, including editing manuscripts
• learn how and why applied research in the field of digital publishing is conducted
• think along for future possibilities and strategies for urgent publishing

You will be a part of a small team within a large institution. Other tasks within the team may include:

• assisting with general office operations
• attending meetings
• collecting and reviewing interesting and relevant literature
• being part of the crew at INC events

We are looking for an enthusiastic, energetic, inquisitive (former) student with knowledge of and a demonstrated interest in digital publishing. As the INC has an international scope, active English skills are required, in speaking and writing. In addition, you have strong writing and communication skills, and experience with social media management and web administration. You balance a desire to learn, take initiative and suggest better practices and take constructive feedback. A background in (graphic or interaction) design, art (history), cultural studies, or media studies is an advantage.

Monthly compensation: € 400 gross (0,8 fte)

For further information you can contact geert@xs4all.nl.

Editors: Geert Lovink and Sepp Eckenhaussen

Proofreading of previous versions: Dr. Jo Tacchi and Dr. Christy Collis

Cover design: Katja van Stiphout
Production: Sepp Eckenhaussen

Institute of Network Cultures, Amsterdam, 2020
ISBN: 978-94-92302-63-2

This publication is licensed under the Creative Commons
Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International.

Get the book here

Order a print copy here

Download .PDF here

Download .ePub here

Read an excerpt in English from Frictie over at Eurozine:

Seamless design is an important dogma of dataism. Without unpredictable behaviour, however, there’s no data to retrieve. A wholly predictable future is just a continuous present, a tyranny of choices on offer. But returning to our time-honoured language is similarly impossible. What we need is a politics of de-automation.

More on the book can be found here (in Dutch): Out now: Frictie – Ethiek in tijden van dataïsme, Miriam Rasch

Interested to know more? You may always drop me a line on miriam [at] networkcultures.org

Throughout the years Hackers & Designers have been exploring and imagining different network concepts and networked practices in many ways. Looking back at some of our activities dealing with ‘Network Imaginaries’ we are getting very excited about the upcoming Summer Academy!

Without rendering the current events as an opportunity we restructured our annual H&D Summer Academy into a distributed workshop program. In earlier editions we worked together with approximately 25 participants during 2 intensive weeks. While we promote the importance of physical encounters for community building, making friends and allies, having discussions and start new initiatives, we think its important to stay safe. Our proposal is to collaborate with smaller groups in different places in the world, help each other with developing and facilitating remote learning formats that will be presented and shared online, with a bigger group of participants. In one week in July we will be all hacking and designing in our own local communities or at home while being connected with the larger H&D network. H&D will support the different initiatives with resources and expertise, and by ensuring a learning infrastructure that is accessible and available to all participants.

We therefore invite creative practitioners whose interest lie in critically and practically engaging with technology, to join us in reflecting and reimagining distributed practices. Whether it be fashion designers, system administrators, or disobedient citizens—we invite the H&D community and the wider public to learn together about network technologies in experimental and hands-on ways. Under the overarching title ‘Network Imaginaries’ we will challenge and activate participants to use and push the boundaries of existing technology and programming platforms (webware, hardware, software), online/offline networks, high and low tech (internet, IPFS, darknet, peer2peer, blockchain, bot networks), and user experience, all in a practical manner—and while addressing the ethical implications of the proposed technologies and processes.

Are you a collective or a group of people interested in workshopping topics, technologies and practices revolving around ‘Network Imaginaries’? This call is for you!

How does the distributed HDSA work?

We will select 6 workshop initiatives.
You will have one month time to develop a ‘workshop script’ that is accessible for anyone to join. This could be a translation of an already existing workshop (developed for a physical space) or an entirely new workshop script developed for this exceptional circumstance. That means a clear outline of the workshop, a video tutorial if needed, or a well documented readme file, and a list of the necessary equipment.
We offer a fee of 500€ for each workshop development including 100€ of material costs.
The 6 scripts will be made available to all participants on the week of the summer academy July 20-25
Workshop facilitators should be available for occasional questions from participants during the workshop week July 20-25.
You will be welcome to also join any of the other proposed workshops during that week, either as a collective or individual!
Submit your proposal here before May 15

Or read more on our website!

The Summer Academy will take place July 20-25, 2020.

AN OPEN CALL FOR PARTICIPANTS WILL FOLLOW ON MAY 15, 2020!

Verschenen op 6 mei 2020 bij De Bezige Bij, Amsterdam, Frictie: Ethiek in tijden van dataïsme van Miriam Rasch, onderzoeker bij het Instituut voor Netwerkcultuur.

Dataïsme is het geloof dat alles te vertalen is in data. Data leggen de wereld vast en maken haar beheersbaar. Maar voor wie en met welk doel? De onderliggende aannames van het dataïsme staan zelden ter discussie. Is de mens echt als algoritme te begrijpen? Wat gebeurt er met de dingen die niet in data te vatten zijn? En waarom wordt de dataïstische toekomst voorgesteld als onvermijdelijk?

Tegenover het ideaal van een geautomatiseerde wereld stelt Miriam Rasch een herwaardering van frictie: niet alleen als manier om weerstand te bieden aan de eis van transparantie en constante communicatie, maar ook als het startpunt van ethische reflectie. Frictie opent de weg naar ‘de-automatisering’ als mogelijkheid om woorden en dingen weer als nieuw te laten schijnen. Hoe kunnen we in dataïstische tijden ons eigen verhaal blijven vertellen?

Lees het eerste deel van de inleiding bij Athenaeum.

Lees de recensie die op 6 mei verscheen in Trouw.

Bestel het boek bij je lokale boekhandel, zoals Van Gennep in Rotterdam (waar een aantal gesigneerde exemplaren te vinden is), Athenaeum in Amsterdam of Bijleveld in Utrecht.

Luister bovendien hier naar de bijbehorende Spotify-playlist en kijk hieronder naar een korte impressie van het boek:

Frictie: Ethiek in tijden van dataïsme by Miriam Rasch from Institute of Network Cultures on Vimeo.

Episode 1 with introduction: https://networkcultures.org/blog/2020/04/09/selfies-under-quarantine/

Italian translation: https://not.neroeditions.com/selfie-dalla-quarantena/.

Episode 2: https://networkcultures.org/blog/2020/04/16/selfies-under-quarantine-episode-2/

Episode 3: https://networkcultures.org/blog/2020/04/23/selfies-under-quarantine-students-report-back-to-rome-episode-3/

Episode 4: https://networkcultures.org/blog/2020/05/01/selfies-under-quarantine-students-report-back-to-rome-episode-4/ 

Episode 5 (final episode): DIGITAL IS THE NEW ‘NORMAL’

In collaboration with Danielle, Shaina, Briana, Jackie, Marta, Gabriella, Sydney, Elena, Sophia and Natalia

As this is the ending week of our semester, we go for lighter readings:

Human Contact is Now a Luxury Good

I just called to say…the Phone Call is Back

Zoom Fatigue is Taxing the Brain

The week of May 4^th is ‘liberation’ week in Italy. After two months of heavily enforced lockdown, we can finally go out. We can walk around, go to parks, and a few other things. We can, at least, breathe some little more freedom. We can celebrate a break from the technology that has kept us connected yet has also enslaved us during this time.

I propose my students to read the ‘Zoom fatigue’ article as I want them to understand that their exhaustion, their feeling of being drained, is my own exhaustion, is everybody’s exhaustion.

(Zoom calls according to Saturday Night Live – via Jackie)

When Sophia writes: “I’ve noticed that, as things have transitioned to the virtual space, I have become significantly more anxious and maybe even stressed to communicate via facetime apps with my friends, family and classmates”, she is describing a feeling we have all felt.

We have all felt drained after sitting for hours in our apartments, working on our laptops, or maybe just doing nothing, scrolling down for hours.

Why is technology so tiring? What’s in it that sucks all our energy, leaving us worn-out and nothing but numb?

I think of David Cronenberg’s mind-blowing novel, Consumed, exploring the (self) consuming, cannibalistic dimension of technology quite literally and in a super gory style (that I love). Technology is already fused with our body and eating it up from the inside, whether we like it or not.

“Was the iPhone a malevolent protean organism, the stem-cell phone, mocking him who had cameras with real physical shutters whose sound you couldn’t turn off? Promising to replace every other device on earth with its shape-shifting self—garage door openers, solar timers, television remotes, car keys, guitar tuners, GPS modules, light meters, spirit levels, you name it?” 

Technology consumes us, silently, with its apparent lightness, giving us the illusion of having no weight. The illusion of being transparent, fluctuating. It blinds us with the promise of eternal connection and, yet, as Jackie writes:

“The technology that continued to separate us even under the guise of connection has become another blockade between ourselves and the world. It really is hard to consider apps like Zoom and Facetime a means of remaining socially connected when technology is impairing our ability to read and conceive physical social cues. A video call with a friend sheer miles away ends up feeling like we are being pulled further apart …The very social circumstance many of us have built for ourselves is just being torn down again as the devices we’ve once used to desperately connect make us cringe as they are synonymous with work. I can’t even watch videos on my laptop without feeling as though I am still in school, even as I consciously know I am avoiding schoolwork. The entertaining function of my laptop is almost nonexistent no matter what the screen shows me”.

Maybe it’s because the lines are now more blurred than ever between work and leisure, between what we DO for a living and what we ARE in life. These devices trick us with the promise of a smooth, seamless transition from life into work, and the other way around. Reality is, though, that the condition of ‘smart working’, the condition by which we are stuck in our little acquariums from where sometimes we re-surface and visually manifest ourselves in a “brady bunch style”, is the ‘comfort’ zone where power wants to keep us confined.

Do we really want that? Do our bodies need that, crave for that?

“Video calls seemed an elegant solution to remote work”, the National Geographic article says, “but they wear on the psyche in complicated ways”. After reading about the effects that screen life generates on our brains, Shaina concludes: “We are not designed to multitask the way screen mediated communication requires. So if you find yourself feeling exhausted while doing nothing, you too may be a victim of Zoom fatigue.” And Sophia acknowledges: “mentally, I have felt so exhausted from the transition to online learning and I definitely feel a sense of defeat as a result – so, to hear that there are deeper reasons behind it, was relieving to me.”

Every time we use these platforms, we are drained ‘by design’. The more we go deeper into our screen life, the more we will be consumed and eaten up, in a weird process of self-cannibalism à la Cronenberg.

This is why I look with concern and distress at expressions such as ‘the new normal’, ‘the new normality’. Hardly a day goes by without receiving emails, newsletters, invitations to ‘webinars’ that dub this phase of our lives as the new normal (normality).

PHASE 2 BEGINS!
For many this phase may not mean much, but we still want to celebrate as we all start our
NEW NORMAL

(From a food delivery service)

This invitation to a ‘web live conference’ says “the dawn of a new normality’

And this one focuses on “Culture facing the ‘condition of normality’”

The operation of re-branding an emergency situation, such as the one we are currently in, as if it were an emerging order, a brand new ‘business as usual’, is deeply problematic and very concerning to me. In this ideological ‘new normal’ technology replaces the body as a clean, safe, sanitized space for so-called social (socially distanced) interactions. It suggests that people can still work and have fun from a distance, fusing and confusing labor and leisure, keeping us atomized while providing the illusion that we are all connected.

But there is no global village in ‘a brady bunch style’. No connection in connectivity. No possibility whatsoever for sociality in isolation, even if networked.

Social distancing strives to become the new black. We should oppose that, staunchly and fiercely, first at a language level. Becoming used to describe something that is physical distance as ‘social distancing’ and calling an emergency situation the ‘new normal’ bear the risk of reifying abstract concepts and making them part of our daily reality.

“Ideas and opinions are not spontaneously ‘born’ in each individual brain: they have had a centre of formation, or irradiation, of dissemination, of persuasion-a group of men, or a single individual even, which has developed them and presented them in the political form of current reality.” 

Antonio Gramsci, Selections from the Prison Notebooks

I’VE JUST CALLED TO SAY…I LOVE YOU

In the desert of the physical where quarantine and our ever-increasing hyper-mediated life have relegated us, something vaguely reminiscent of our bodies, a little remainder of our organic existence is resurfacing and regaining attention. It’s our *voice*.

A year ago, I joked with my students when asking them to ‘separate’ from their networked devices for 24hrs as a part of our auto-ethnography ‘experiments’ for the class: “you can still use the phone as a phone”, I told them. “I mean, to make voice-calls”. They would stare at me in awe, their gazes betraying their inability to even conceive to perform an old-fashioned action such as dialing a number without even texting to check whether possible or not to bug someone out of the blue. How rude. How inappropriate. For them, Stevie Wonder singing “I’ve just called to say I love you, I’ve just called to say how much I care” in “just another ordinary day” was archeology of the past.

But now things might be changing a bit, the New York Times solemnly declares. Because of the quarantine, because of the craving for anything physical, even if as disembodied as a voice. Yet, still human. Still not ‘scripted’ or ‘rehearsed’ as a voice in a voice message. Still spontaneous and not orchestrated or studied in every single detail as a textual conversation.

Natalia speaks of “the glow of the other human being” that can be perceived from an old-fashioned phone call. “After a few seconds or browsing through the lost corners of my mind, I can recall at least a dozen of moments I remember from all of these 3-to-4-hours-long phone calls I shared with my highs chool friend each week for months, yet I can barely recall a similar amount of memories that would relate to texting with a single person”.

Gabriella adds: “ Every time I use my computer I feel that I have to check Moodle, when I wake up I feel I have to check my email, this shift to online learning has made me anxious every time I use one of my devices. I personally don’t enjoy facetime or zoom or any video chat application, I would rather talk on the phone or obviously physically face to face. I just feel lucky that I got to come back home, to Guatemala before everything exploded worldwide. If I was in Rome, alone in my apartment, I am pretty sure I would be calling people 24/7 and would be so eager to see them virtually face to face, but thank God that is not the case and we can stick to the old fashion way, phone calls”.

Conversely, Marta admits her phobia for voice calls: “I never call…. I really do stress my brain a lot because I hate talking on the phone. The only person I call is my mom… Talking on the phone gives me a lot of anxiety. The thing is that I grew up texting whereas the older generation only had the possibility to call. Now, there are so many ways to communicate and talking is only one of them. You can email, use whatssup, Instagram DM’s, Facebook chat, Twitter, Snapchat and much more. Most of the time, my best friend and I only communicate by sending each other random picture on Snapchat. That’s it. There is no text and no voice involved, yet we can perfectly communicate. In 2020 silent communication is possible and sometimes fast and fun, but it can also destroy relationships due to avoidable misunderstandings”.

Danielle talks about those misunderstandings that can be generated through text. “Texting can be dangerous. Loss of tone, keyboard courage, and ‘receipts’ as us milenials refer to proof. Through texting there have been plenty mishaps on my end. The countless amount of times I have screen-shotted a conversation between myself a someone fighting, trying to send it to another person and I by accident send it directly back to that person… awkward. That isn’t a factor with phone calls. Neither is keyboard courage. On text I will find myself typing up condescending texts at times, whereas in person I wouldn’t be as daring. Texting skips over our holistic selves for sure. It creates a new person”.

Shaina admits: “When my phone rings the first thought that comes to my mind is ‘Ugh!’  I, like many others, prefer texting over calling for communication. But I do not think it is the ideal form of communication. When texting you are unable to multitask the way you could if on a phone call. The other night I was making chicken for dinner and my friend kept texting me and every time, I would have to wash my hands and then answer so I didn’t get chicken juice all over my phone. It would have been much easier to just call her and put my phone on speaker and we could have communicated without interrupting my cooking every few minutes. The other part about texting that makes it less efficient than calling is response time is up to you. On a normal phone call the conversation is back and forth with no hesitation between responses. When texting, sometimes people can take hours to respond. This can be especially frustrating if you’re waiting on important information. In quarantine, I have been off my phone more than normal some days, trying to disconnect for a little. This caused problems between my boyfriend and I. Normally, we text each other when we have time in between class and work and whatever else we are doing. Now that we have nothing going on, there really is no excuse for why we can’t text 24/7. I started to feel that our conversations were getting boring. Every day the same thing. “What are you doing today?” “Nothing really, probably get some homework done, what about you?” “Same.” There is nothing new and exciting to talk about because there is nothing new and exciting happening right now with everyone being on lock down basically. I found it exhausting to drag these dry conversations out all day long. So I stopped answering as frequently. I didn’t think this was an issue because for me this had become my ‘quarantine normal’, to look at my phone maybe once an hour and respond to any notifications and then put it away again. But my boyfriend overthought the scenario and created false reasonings in his head of why I wasn’t answering him. One night, he came forward and expressed that he felt I didn’t want much to do with him anymore. He said by me not answering and talking to him all day long he felt unwanted. I felt horrible for making him feel that way. He thought that I was just ignoring him while I continued to text my other friends and be active on my phone. I explained to him that that wasn’t the case at all.

Texting leaves so much room for misunderstanding which can become extremely problematic for a relationship or even work related issues. When we text we lose such a huge part of communication as we know it. We no longer have a face to face interaction, we lack tone, mannerisms and expressions, all non verbal communication is eliminated. These are important factors for humans because we are naturally social creatures who rely on these aspects to fully understand a dialogue”.

(via Marta)

Sophia also gives her take on the matter: “I definitely agree that there are important social cues lost through messaging, but I also wanted to point out that with those people whom we are closest too, there are ways in which you might develop a sort of texting language with them. For example, my family is very close and we often message in a group chat when we are apart from each other. In this chat my mom and I are usually on the same page and know exactly what one another means because we know each other so well both in the physical world AND the messaging one. But often my dad and brother don’t understand the exchanges my mom and I share in the chat and I think that’s super interesting how out of a group of people so close, my mom tends to understand my texting language more than they do”.

Gabriella concludes with a smart remark on my own behavior when I send back comments to students.

“Professor Della Ratta tends to capitalize her comments on our reflections, and before understanding that she does it for them to be visible, I would take it personally. However, she also feels the need to clarify why she is doing it since many people can take it as yelling, or as something negative.  This is an example of how most messages online can be misinterpreted. Not only I misunderstand my professor but imagine how I feel when my boyfriend writes something, and it sounds to me mean because it lacks an exclamation mark or it has no emojis, or he is using the wrong emoji, or why did he write a period, is he mad, did I do something to piss him off?? It is soooooo exhausting!!!!”.

Well, Gabriella, I hope that at least he does not use CAPS, or yellow highlighters when talking to you

TOUCH ME (NOT)

Speaking about disembodiment, and trying to give a name to her lurking anxieties, Briana writes: “What is it that I’m really missing? Every time I’m in bed, ready to go to sleep, for some reason I cannot relax enough to fall into Morpheus’ arms. I start playing with my hair, caressing my cheeks, tapping on my lips, delicately touching my eyelids, brushing my eyebrows; I hug my stuffed animals, rubbing their fur. And I fall asleep. You guessed: I am missing touch. Not whatever touch: the intimate, loving touch that only another human being can provide. Let me tell you, the fact that I caress myself is not only weird to read for you, it’s weird for me to do in the first place. It’s some sort of non-sexual-masturbation. The nurturing act of touching is necessary for the brain to learn to connect human contact with pleasure, and it sets the base for empathy.

(“Since everyone was exercising during quarantine, I decided to do the same. I wore my gym clothes and took pictures. And never exercised”)

What scares me most of all about COVID-19 is not the lack of freedom, but rather the fear of touch that will follow: physical contact, in fact, is the easiest way to get infected. Even though screens have made us feel closer to each other, helped us work online and keep track of time and what was happening in the world, their smooth, anonymous texture cannot replace the touch of another human. Screens can receive our tapping, scrolling, caressing, but they can’t give it back to us.

(“I edited my friends into my pictures to feel closer to them”)

I once read that if we want to have an empathetic culture, we have to learn how to touch and be touched: the thought that this virus might severely affect – and by affect I mean decrease – this kind of human contact, the kind of human contact that can make us empathetic and build strong relationships since birth, makes me sick”.

(via Briana)

Cronenberg is a master in describing a society where physical, organic life has already changed into something else, something tech. “That was life with Naomi”, the male protagonist of Consumed concludes, thinking about his lover. “Disembodied (…) No smells, no sights, no sounds. He had been in his phone, Naomi a voice in his brain. On his laptop”.

This hyper-reliance on tech seems to have become already part of our daily lives. Sydney describes something that could have been thought as a sci-fi like situation just a few years ago, but now happens ‘normally’ IRL.

“My sister lives in Virginia and she’s helping the robots around town!”, Sydney’s aunt told her and her family.   “Our mouths were agape”, Sydney writes. “What robots are you talking about?”

Here is a link  describing what is happening in my aunt’s sister’s hometown of fairfax, virginia.   their delivery is now brought via robot.   “that’s so cool!” my mom exclaimed.   “it’s frightening,” was all i could manage.   according to the article, ‘the robots are outfitted with multiple cameras, two-way audio, and can navigate hurdles like curbs.’

At this rate, traveling to the grocery store seems moot when there are robots that will do it for you.   ordering and deciding which brand is the best for you also seems moot when there are even more roots that will do it for you.   perhaps one day, food delivery will all be electronic.   we once hunted and gathered.   now we just gather, or rather, purchase.   we are only one step away from getting rid of this method completely.  there will be no human contact in stores…no cashier interaction, no saying hello to familiar people, and no longer contemplating which food to buy.  Human contact will become even more of a luxury in this regard”.

Natalia also reflects on tech-mediated daily life. “Avoiding screens seems barely possible. As most of the world is becoming more and more dependent upon screen-mediated communication, it’s becoming the privilege of a few not to be online. If you’re not Facebook, you do not exist, unless your existence is *rich* enough to speak for itself, with no need for textualization and statistics of hyperlinks to acclaim your status. Avoiding the online is a possibility granted by social standing; it is a matter of having a choice or having no choice: being not able to afford to be online or being able to afford not to be online”.

Elena tries to see the glass as half full: “Human contact is now a luxury good: screens used to be for the elite. Now avoiding them is a status symbol.”

“Elite or not elite? Good or bad? I believe that considering digital devices either good or bad for us is limiting. On one hand digital devices make us waste time, enslave us, even make us less dependent on face-to-face communications and more “human” interactions …but saying that they ruin our life is also wrong. In fact, like wine, if “used with parsimony” they can make our life easier. With the spread of COVID-19 I realized it even more. Without my digital devices, I would not have been able to finish this semester, I would not have kept in touch with my friends, my parents would have had to stop working, I would not have seen all the memes about Salvini and Conte…It hurts only thinking about it. Jokes aside, like a knife can kill or heal, a hand can slap or caress, digital devices can either be a tool or a weapon. Too much use leads us to suffer from technostress*, too little use would lead us to loss.

Obviously, there is no way we can escape from this screen mediated life. The medium is the message, right? This only means that phones are infrastructural and therefore, whether we like it or not, we will forever need them (unless there is an apocalypse…hopefully not). Here comes my question: since we can’t get rid of them, why don’t we learn to appreciate them and use them to our advantage?”.

(Picture of me in pajamas, reconciled with my laptop)

(via Elena)

SO, WHERE DO WE GO FROM HERE?

A couple of weeks ago, after reflecting on Eva Illouz’s chapter on net romance, Danielle wrote the following on our Moodle forum:

“This invoked a very broad question within me. I have thought of this question the entire semester with every single material we read and with every conversation we have, yet never wanted to ask because it seems stupid. But why does studying any of this matter? Why does it matter to all of these scholars, to us, to “expose” or view technology as capitalism. Is it to give us the power to be enlightened on what is “truly going on”? Going back to that original idea of a scholar we read whose name is slipping my mind currently, “even though we know what is happening we will do it anyway.” or something along those lines. After this class and during this class we have and will continue to utilize the internet, continue to create dating profiles, to like and share memes, to elevate our online personas.

Is it in effort to understand the world in which we currently live in? To grasp the current human status? Is it an effort to disgust us and get us to limit our use? I think of it and compare it to cigarettes. Smokers know all of the negative effects, the main one causing premature death, yet the addiction keeps the users using and nothing changes. Does knowledge shape action and habits…no, not when addiction is involved. I don’t think any amount of research or ideology will wean billions of people of an interface that is designed to be addicting. Maybe that isn’t the goal… but what is and does it differ from person to person. Although this may seem off topic. This broad question is really the heart and soul of the class- what are everyone’s opinions”.

WOW, I thought. How bright and smart is this young woman who writes such a honest thing challenging her professor and her peers (and even before final grades have been submitted). I saw this question surfacing many times, emerging silently in my students’ gazes. But never was it phrased in such a thought-provoking manner. I was hoping some of the others take advantage of Danielle’s question and say something (e.g. it matters for credit, no?!). Nobody did, though. Maybe for the reasons listed here by Jackie:

“I think a lot of us have had times where we asked ‘why the heck are we doing this’, but some existential things are better left unsaid and thus buried into our subconscious. Nonetheless, I am thrilled to think about it now”

(DISCLAIMER: I’ve re-proposed everyone to think about Danielle’s question as we approach the end of the semester)

“To frame my answer, I offer the scene in which the rest of us have not noticed nor actively responded to Danielles question. Why did we do that? Why don’t we actively read each others when work it’s so accessible to us now, and why don’t we respond with our thoughts immediately? If the internet meant to allow us to connect, why don’t we use it to do so? Studying our identities as formed by the intent is like Alice falling down the rabbit hole—but aren’t we all just so damn curious as to why Alice decided to stick her head too deep knowing no good would come of it?

The complexity of the human mind is something that we can only attempt to comprehend, but by separating it into these little things (ie adolescent behavior, abnormal psych, language acquisition, and of course our new networked identities) we are trudging forward to mapping what makes us human (and for the capitalists its also a step towards making the perfect apocalyptic artificial intelligence with such knowledge). I think searching for reasoning beyond this natural curiosity is futile and has the same impact as me asking why you took this class—so you were interested, okay, but about your interest made you stay unlike the group of our few and fleeting men that left after the first day of class? Why does studying our networked identities matter to you and your degree, and eventually your career?

Personally, though I am clearly a tech obsessed lunatic, I label myself as different than the mass of identities out there, but throughout the class I was able to use critical theory to understand why everyone, including myself, is the way they are. This knowledge certainly not useless as, beyond sheer understanding, I found it to be vital to developing a much needed empathy and considering what it really means to connect”.

(Thank you, Jackie, for mentioning the word “empathy”, something that it is much needed in our daily life as much as in critical theory).

Shaina says: “I am glad Danielle’s question was re-surfaced because this is something I have thought about as well during the course of this class. What is the point of learning anything?

Before this class, I have never taken any communications course and even the liberal arts courses I have taken are limited. My home base school is a research institution and I am a science major studying kinesiology. I learn mainly about how the body works and with that information I try to apply that knowledge to my own lifestyle habits to create a healthier me. I also enjoy sharing that knowledge with others to help them with their own bodies.

The first few weeks of this course, I thought the information was interesting but I did not really care much about it because it has nothing to do with my major or future career. I’ll be honest, I took it for credit. But, with all that we have learned, I have caught myself applying the information in a useful way. I would definitely say this class has changed the way I use apps. I have tried to eliminate the majority of my social media (but Instagram is something I can’t seem to let go of). I was tired of feeling consumed by my phone. This class has laid out why I am so addicted to my phone and social media. With this new understanding, I was able to pinpoint a lot of where my habits stem from. Some are by design of the apps, some are simply human psyche, but regardless I was able to find answers. This class has made a huge impact on how I now view the digital world.

I think that is the purpose of learning, to apply that knowledge to something greater than the classroom (or whatever setting it was learned), however that may be”.

Elena adds: “…that would allow us to find an equilibrium, the “just right”…this class gave me the opportunity to know better my physical and digital self, making me realize, as a result, that we should truly know our cyborg’s identity to make the best out of it”.

Sydney recalls Euripides’ quote “Question everything. Learn something. Answer nothing”, and observes: “How sad that quote is, and it makes sense when you realize that Euripides is one of Greece’s most infamous tragedians. Isn’t this class a tragedy? It is all about taking away the veil of reality, the comfort of real life, and learning how awful the internet can really be and how it can negatively affect us. I don’t think we are necessarily answering something big here. Our professor has never given us a multiple choice question where only one answer is correct. Everything has been about expanding our view on what it means to be an internet user. We question everything we know. We have learned so many things (algorithms, theories, etc.), but we have never really answered huge questions. And I think that’s okay. Euripides didn’t answer anything, but his name is still remembered 2,500 years in the future because he was brave enough to challenge society and ask questions. That’s our job”.

Finally, Danielle goes back to her own question, writing about critical theory: “I think at first the idea pissed me off… why must we make everything about capitalism??? But after all of these classes, it was a lot cooler than I thought it would be. Something I would never come to on my own. The whole point of college for me was to have a pool of people that love thinking as much as I do, and I wouldn’t have made this comparison on my own”.

Natalia has made her own drawing of (how I call him) “Uncle Marx”.

I can only add something from another “critical theory” giant, Antonio Gramsci:

“The point of modernity is to live a life without illusions while not becoming disillusioned”.

(Gianluca Costantini – image via: gramscitorino.it)

But let’s not forget Neo and Morpheus, who deeply inspired this ‘red pill’ class.

  PS.

HOW TO DISAPPEAR COMPLETELY

As an ending note, Natalia writes about invisibility and disappearance. She made me think about this Radiohead’s song “How to disappear completely”.

I, we, wish that you disappear from the zone of discomfort and anxiety where you might have been in these past months, and reappear in a place of light and lightness.

“In a little while
I’ll be gone
The moment’s already passed
Yeah it’s gone”

Goodbye, for now, and see you in that lighter place!

From Natalia’s blog.

“A desire to become this thing—in this case an image—is the upshot of the struggle over representation. Senses and things, abstraction and excitement, speculation and power, desire and matter actually converge within images.” 

—————————————– “In fact, it is a misunderstanding that cameras are tools of representation; they are at present tools of disappearance. The more people are represented the less is left of them in reality.”

~ Hito Steyerl

The Invisible …?

I’m the invisible man
I’m the invisible man
Incredible how you can
See right through me

When you hear a sound
That you just can’t place
Feel somethin’ move
That you just can’t trace
When something sits
On the end of your bed
Don’t turn around
When you hear me tread

I’m in your room
And I’m in your bed
And I’m in your life
And I’m in your head
Like the CIA
Or the FBI
You’ll never get close
Never take me alive

Now I’m on your track
And I’m in your mind
And I’m on your back
But don’t look behind
I’m your meanest thought
I’m your darkest fear
But I’ll never get caught
You can’t shake me, shake me dear

I’m the invisible man
It’s criminal how I can
See right through you

Look at me, look at me

A new INC essay, Coronavirus and Web 2.0: Philosophical Questions and Answers by Lorenza Saettone, now available, in Italian, here as pdf, and here as an e-pub file. Thanks a lot to Tommaso Campagna for the design and technical work.

Italian philosopher Lorenza Saettone and I started corresponding at the end of my  ‘Sad by Design’ year, 2019. The collaboration became concrete soon after when Lorenza offered to write an essay about the role of philosophy concerning the internet in the lockdown months of 2020. Saettone majored in epistemology and cognitivism at the University of Genova. Her two BA ‘new media’ theses dealt with the formation of the identity online and offline and the philosophical novelties of Web 2.0. Her current master’s research, also in Genova, focuses on coding and robotics. She describes herself as a theorist and poet who aspires to become a high school teacher, investigating how technology can help teachers with their job. Students need media education. She believes the competences that Europe wants are all linked to digital literacy: learning languages to communicate, maths and science to write algorithms. And to gather a ‘metacognition’, to be able to develop an awareness of others, our own processes and the context—all aspects that are missing in the current educational programs.

In Coronavirus and Web 2.0: Philosophical Questions and Answers Lorenza Saettone talks about the inconsistencies of connections in a period of distancing and the tools with which to read ourselves and the reality around us. As we can read in the abstract, the lockdown measures call for separation such as the digital divide and the metaphysical division between virtual and real, a dualism that does not exist in practice. Art is also distancing in many ways: for example, it allows us to transcend borderline situations, but also to look at reality itself from a more distant, and therefore more lucid, point of view. Through a case study, the author analyses how culture also offers the possibility to approach people authentically, despite the restrictions. All these thanks to the web. Without the internet, how could we now realize our essence as human beings? The web allows us to work, communicate and mirror ourselves: on social networks we produce an infinite amount of selfie and narratives, i.e. biographies. But why do we post? Why are scientists uncertain? Why all the conspiracies? Are we ready to realize, in practice, what science fiction only hypothesized earlier in literary form? What are the risks and virtues of Big Data applied to the pandemic? How would the philosophers of the past guide us? How could art help?

The text we publish today, on May 6, 2020, of Lorenza Saettone is a full seize INC Network Notebook essay that embodies what philosophy in this age of the COVID-19 pandemic could look like, published in Italian, INC’s second language, awaiting translation. Those familiar with Latin languages can read it, for sure. Other too, as the condition described is, sadly, a universal one, and its poetry is there, for all to enjoy.

Below a short interview with Lorenza Saettone, in English, to give a context to the text.

Geert Lovink: Can you tell us something how this text came into being? Where did you write it? How did you experience the lockdown and quarantine? What’s the life of a writer without libraries, book stores, people to meet and discuss ideas? Should we praise the productivity that European romanticism (and its emphasis on solitude) so often seems to suggest? The fact was, most likely, that you were online, all the time.

Lorenza Saettone: I have to admit that my life has changed little. I used not to go out even before the arrival of the virus, avoiding restaurants, appetizers, cafés and business dinners. I’ve never loved the crowd, but at least now I can have a legal, and social justification for being non-social. Regarding solitude, there’s a poem written by Emily Dickinson that comes to mind entitled There is a Solitude of Space. She is the best witness of loneliness. Dickinson says that the only true solitude is the one when the soul is alone, in the presence of itself. Even Death is a social phenomenon in comparison to the loneliness of the self-reflection. The soul is sheepish when it is naked, looking at itself:

There is a solitude of space

A solitude of sea

A solitude of death, but these

Society shall be

Compared with that profounder site

That polar privacy

A soul admitted to itself –

Finite infinity

Indeed, the lockdown hasn’t made us automatically lonely. Actually, we have never been so busy. We have to escape the room, because, as Pascal said, we can’t be firm, deep-rooted, at a certain point, while we think to our Whys. When we are bored, it is more likely that we reflect on our misery (and mystery). This is why we escape, physically, or through our conscience, benefiting from each opportunity to distract ourselves. We escape the room, breaking its restrictions. To do that we invent every sort of reasons for not trusting experts. These reasons are invalidated by our interests.

In my view, the Internet is a wall that distances us from others. We can see people through it like we had the superpowers of Nembo Kid. The sight isn’t a participatory one, and, as far as we can spy through a keyhole, we remain outside, we can’t pass through it, and hug those that live on the other side, virtually. When, like at this moment, the web is added to the other material walls we are closed in, it becomes an opening. The wall isn’t only a ‘dividing peace line’, it is also a shared wall, one you can use to put up advertising posters, or ‘cave arts’ to testify your passage and to build together a tradition. In our rooms, the internet is the last chance, by which realizing the human Entelechia. For sure, the drifts and the side effects of improper use of the instrument are not minor. Conspiracy thinking and cynicism are widespread, and social networks create interest groups around these topics. The number of likes justifies their position.

Virtuality isn’t enough: this is proof that before this quarantine we didn’t live just online. Life was settled in the paradox of the interreality.

During the lockdown, I spent my time ‘poking the old mare’, as Socrates taught us. When it comes to writing I comment and post online. My essay is one of those dialogues. I strongly believe that philosophers must exit their ‘philosophical store’, and start to engage in the real job. Art and philosophy are on the Wittgenstein’s staircase, that’s true, but they are on watch!

I am concerned about the fate of artists. In fact, I don’t know how much longer they are prevented from organizing concerts and performances. To help them, I proposed, already in February, to plan live concerts using Twitch. Donations would have been a virtual hat for sustaining such a project—and our healthcare system at large. My idea has been converted into a Facebook Group with thousands of followers (called Quarantena Tour). Our streaming events, where we share art and high-level debates, are proof that platforms can support the construction of a community of people, linked by their entire Being.

GL: Your text seems to struggle with the extraordinary gap in Italy between theoretical sophistication and the dirty reality of a country that struggles with institutional collapse, incompetence, family dependencies, corruption and bureaucracy. The same contradiction was noted early on between the supposedly high level of Italian health care and the overwhelming amounts of death. Your reflections on digitalization are in sharp contrast with the ‘digital divide’ that has become visible now that everyone and every institution had to switch to online, overnight. Is this a specific Italian problem?

LS: Italy was unlucky to have been the first to manage an unknown virus. People experienced the uncertainty and falsifiability of science, up to the point that they thought these were merely philosophical speculations. Incoherence among virologists has caused political confusion about what measures had to be applied. Italian corruption has not betrayed our expectations. Again, it has given us the proof of what is the major Italian evil, but this time it is not the fault of the South. This mafia is in Lombardy, and it hasn’t got the lupara, the sawed-off shotgun.

I must confess that, aside from initial mistakes incoherence and the lowdown caused by an infinite bureaucracy and by business interference in managing the public healthcare system, Italian people demonstrated with facts to have run the first phase very well, and now lovers can finally come together. The lockdown could have been easier if we had invested more in digital literacy. The E-learning and the smart working would have been less traumatic if we had developed a right digital literacy among the broad population—not limited on being able to post a short video where we lip-sync on Tik-Tok.

GL: There is no English translation (yet). What is your text proposing? Which role can philosophy play? When we look at Agamben, Žižek and others, the ‘philosophy of technology’ is rather absent in the of the first three months of the Corona crisis. Needless to say that all writers, intellectuals and researchers have been intensely using the internet. What do you propose to integrate thinking and the digital? And how do see the role of pre-digital thinkers? Are they merely there to bring salvation?

LS: I have chosen to write the essay in Italian, my mother language. As a philosopher, I needed to dig deeply into questions and answers with my most familiar tool. I will translate the essay in English because it is fair to overpass linguistic borders (damned collapse of Babel!), to be a guide for more people, in particular now that this situation is a pandemic emergency, a global one.

With regards to the role of thinkers dealing with technical issues, we should remember that there is no such thing as a neutral point of view. Perspectives are conditioned by the observer’s conceptual framework. As Albert Einstein said, there is a necessary and fruitful collaboration between philosophy and science. When he examined the world, he employed a certain kind of reasoning, which was a mixture of art, philosophy, religion, ethics. Technology needs philosophers. It must be led, recounted, hence it must be introduced into the social grid. It can’t be accepted without an idea of humanity. This is what leads to the construction of code, apps and devices. Only a founding discipline like philosophy can offer a concept of what men and women are. Ethics is essential for justifying each research. We understand this point now more than ever because we are truly experiencing what risks may involve researches that deal with a virus that can extinct our species.

We cannot exit philosophy. Each justification why we should avoid to philosophize is in itself practising philosophy. Again, we can’t go off-topic when we are doing philosophy, because everything is its object, also what’s supposed to be ‘off-topic’. This is why philosophy can’t save us. It is the slavery of not being able to be slaves: hence it represents the paradox of the Freedom – recently the freedom is too often invoked, and without a vademecum about it.

Episode 1 with introduction: https://networkcultures.org/blog/2020/04/09/selfies-under-quarantine/

Episode 2: https://networkcultures.org/blog/2020/04/16/selfies-under-quarantine-episode-2/

Episode 3: https://networkcultures.org/blog/2020/04/23/selfies-under-quarantine-students-report-back-to-rome-episode-3/

Episode 4: LOVE (NOT) AT FIRST SIGHT

In collaboration with Danielle, Shaina, Briana, Jackie, Marta, Gabriella, Sydney, Elena, Sophia and Natalia

This week we read  excerpts from Eva Illouz’s Cold Intimacies. The Making of Emotional Capitalism

and watched the video: ‘How Emotions Are Made’

‘Thought that I was going crazy
Just havin’ one those days, yeah
Didn’t know what to do
Then there was you

And everything went from wrong to right
And the stars came out to fill up the sky
The music you were playin’ really blew my mind
It was love at first sight’

This is Kyle Minogue singing her 2001 hit ‘Love at the first sight’. I’ve always liked Kyle and her crazy choreographies, her bright colors and disengaged music.

She releases ‘Fever’ on October 2001, a month after 9/11. The world has changed forever. Her style has not. Looking at it now, the ‘Love at the first sight’ video is so 90s. Geometric shapes moving on the screen, digital adds-on (a staircase and skyscrapers, too – not concerned at all of the connection with the disappeared Twin Towers one could quickly make), and a symmetric dance by an orange-yellow dressed chorus build a futuristic atmosphere. Cheerful, not dystopian.

The shape, the patterns, the moves of the dancers: everything in this video seems to suggest that love is a mathematical formula, governed by the mechanical rules of attraction. This is how it should be, and how it will be. The joy of predictability, the relief of not having to act (or react), as chemistry will do it for you.

‘I was tired of running out of luck
Thinkin’ ’bout giving up, yeah
Didn’t know what to do
Then there was you

And everything went from wrong to right
And the stars came out to fill up the sky
The music you were playin’ really blew my mind
It was love at first sight’.

Love at first sight is not just an experience that some -maybe many- of us have enjoyed or will enjoy. It is  a common trope in Western literature, cinema, pop culture. Falling for someone immediately after seeing that ‘stranger’. Even Plato talks about love at first sight when addressing the need to search for our missing, significant ‘half’:

“… when [a lover] … is fortunate enough to meet his other half, they are both so intoxicated with affection, with friendship, and with love, that they cannot bear to let each other out of sight for a single instant’.

But recently I’ve seen popping up on my Facebook wall an ad that provocatively asked me to throw away all my Western baggage, from Plato to Kylie. It said (and I regret not to have had the promptness to save it):

‘Love is not always at first sight. Join Academic Singles!’.

In this world of efficiency and speed, romanticism and attraction seem to have been replaced by ‘suitable proposals’ and ‘permanent relationships’ with ‘the right partner’–  as Academic Singles guarantees.

Love at the first sight turns into love at the first click -provided that you diligently fill your questionnaire to allow the A.I to find the perfect match.

‘The questionnaire worked for me’, says Laura, 35yrs old, on Academic Singles. ‘Although we had many other matches, we had lots in common, more than with any other match’.

What happens, Illouz asks, when ‘knowledge’ precedes attraction? When a questionnaire comes before the body?

Danielle calls it ‘the applicant pool’ the online dating space that we build upon our ‘knowledge and cleverness’. She writes: ‘In connection to the video on emotions that we watched, online dating creates a new vast realm of predicting, with your brain constantly filling in information where it is missing…’

Disclaimer: Danielle has not met her boyfriend Nick by picking him in the ‘application pool’

Elena also reflects on the construction of her online persona brought to life through a mix of what Illouz calls ‘uniqueness and standardization’.  She shows us her Instagram bio and elaborates on it:

‘’I am unique because I consider myself a world citizen who studies at JCU, works as a model at FC model agency and has studied abroad twice: in Pittsburgh and in San Diego. My personal motto is: Keep your heels, head and standards high. I put a clipboard with a heart because acting is one of my biggest passions. Hi everyone, that’s me…the one and only”.

Although it might be true that I am the only person in the world with that specific Instagram bio…another 1 billion Instagram users have one. I am not so unique, am I? Everyone writes a different, “unique” Instagram bio, but at the same time, instagram bios are a standardized format to present ourselves on the media platform. We ideologically perceive the content of our instagram bio as unique, but the medium standardizes it.

Do instagram bios say who we are or do they only testify our nature as Instagram users? To put it in another way: is our Instagram bio the title of our book (life) or the label of a product (us commodities)?

I believe that we are all soup cans on a supermarket shelf who use all kinds of marketing strategies (i.e. posting pics when our followers are the most active) to be sold. More specifically, we are Andy Warhol’s Campbell soup cans.

Warhol, Andy

None would deliberately want to be a soup can…but Zuckerberg was intelligent enough to change our mind about it…putting sparkles on sh**. I don’t think uniqueness exists at all in the realm of social media. If I post a meme on my Instagram story I show what is relatable for me that therefore characterizes me as a person. After all, aren’t we what we like? Wrong. That meme doesn’t tell anything about me but about a big, standardized, portion of people who think like me. Thoughts are, for the most part, shared….or better, standardized. The simple fact that a meme is successful (or better, sticky) is because it is universal. If that very meme is only relatable to me and, in other words says communicates my uniqueness, wouldn’t be successful. Uniqueness is almost counterproductive’.

Elena’s writing reminds me of what Margaret Mead once said: ‘I am absolutely unique. Just like everyone else’. How true.

Shaina also confesses: ‘I like to think that I am not like the rest. I am unaffected by social media, I don’t care that much about followers or likes, I can cut ties at any moment and not care. I am not too strategic with what I post, when I post it, how I caption it. To me, these things are not important in life. To me, face to face interaction surpasses any online interaction I have had before. But the more I learn about how the internet and social media works, the more it is becoming clear that I am just as much a victim as anyone else.

Yesterday, I started watching a series called “The Circle” on Netflix which is, overall, the ultimate social media game. The goal of the game is to get everyone to like you. One of the contestants of the game reminded me much of myself. He started the game having little to no involvement with social media, refused to conform, skeptical of those obsessed with social media, and told himself he would never care the way others do. As the game begins, he is quickly surprised. He does not act any differently than his true self to fit in, but he begins to feel the repercussions social media can have on one’s emotions and self perception. He struggles with the concept of staying true and unique while also fitting in to be accepted. At first, he is kind of ignored, his pictures aren’t as glamorous as everyone else’s, he isn’t a fan favorite. As time goes on, he becomes one of the top players in the game. Throughout this journey though, he experiences an emotional roller coaster. At first when he is not getting much “special attention” he is upset, he feels he doesn’t belong. As he begins to gain acceptance within the group (by gaining likes on his posts), he feels ecstatic. I am like him’.

DISEMBODIMENT AND DISAPPOINTMENT

Briana reflects on Illouz’s account of women being disappointed when meeting IRL men they had been datedonline. ‘Sometimes their handshake was too mushy, sometimes they didn’t look exactly like their pictures. To “disappoint” means to fail to fulfill hopes or expectations. Now, to which extent are those people who fail to meet hopes or expectations responsible for those? Can we even call this a disappointment, as if it was their fault? Aren’t hopes and expectations quite abstract, aren’t they fantasies we create in our minds?

One might argue “but they edited their pictures, they manipulated their online self and I was just expecting what they displayed on their profile”. Can’t argue with that, it makes sense. But who did not ever manipulate their online self? Who? You never put on a filter o changed the lighting of your pictures? You never cut a piece of your legs out of a picture because you thought they looked chubby? You never tried to edit out pimples, wrinkles or cellulite? Really? Congratulations if all the answers to these questions are ‘no’, cause I would answer ‘yes’ to all of them.

What makes me feel authentic is not avoiding to edit my pictures, but rather admitting that I do it. Here is a picture of me before and after edits. The one on the bottom is on my public Instagram profile; the one on top, rests in the privacy of my phone gallery.

Manipulating our online selves is completely normal, almost natural. The online is the place in which we can be the better, ‘perfecter’ version of ourselves, and to be honest, I appreciate having this opportunity. But I cannot be disappointed IRL, it would be hypocritical of me: I could be the ‘disappointment’ in the first place. Even though it is normal to have hopes and expectations, we cannot carry them into real, physical life from the online world, or else we will, 99.9% of the time, feel disappointed’.

Marta connects the disappointment we sometimes experience when we meet our ‘matches’ with the disembodiment to which the digital condemns us to.

‘I believe disembodiment plays a huge role in disappointment because it deludes people and it sets extremely high expectations. When you are online you CHOOSE what to post. Not only do you post the best parts of you, but you also manipulate and alter your image to your likeness.  You can edit your pimples, but you can’t get rid of them. You can use apps to reduce the size of you thighs, but real life doesn’t come with an editing software’.

On disembodiment and disappointment, Gabriella seems to agree: ‘This is the reason why I don’t believe in online dating, the most important thing for me is how my body automatically reacts when I meet someone for the first time. I like getting to know someone face to face for the first time rather than doing it online. The body acts a certain way for a reason and we should embrace it instead of detaching it through technology’.

(Gabriella and her boyfriend- not ‘found’ on apps)

Sydney adds: ‘we like to think that we have freedom of choice, but dating sites are much like the technological form of Avatar: The Last Airbender’s  main villain, ozai (that is the title of the show I’m currently binging).

Tinder, Bumble,Hinge, etc. are all the same.   We are given a destiny much like avatar’s protagonist zuko was bestowed one:   present yourself and find a partner.   He was given an endless supply of ships, soldiers, and training.   he was given endless resources to find the avatar.   and yet he failed every time and could not achieve this.   it led to disappointment.   no matter what, he could not win.   his fantasy of returning home and restoring his title of prince will never be fulfilled.   and that’s a lot like what has happened to us.   we are given a task that seems to have endless possibilities and where we can use our strengths/build our character – and yet we can never seem to fulfill this fantasy, and we are inevitably disappointed.

we now separate ourselves from our bodies and allow others to judge it.

i can put on as much perfume as i like, and he won’t smell it through a video call.   hell, maybe he hates the scent in real life, and if i wore it on an actual date, he would immediately think nothing between us could ever work, all because of one spritz of floral aroma i put on my neck’.

Yet, there are people who might get disappointed not at physical selves hanging out IRL, but actually at one’s digital self. Elena is in that crowd. She confesses:

‘I broke up with a guy because I was disappointed not – as Illouz would imagine- by his physical self…but by his digital flaws.

He was spontaneous and completely nuts. Just like me. I liked his weird laugh and the way he gesticulates. His hand gestures accentuated his energetic personality. I liked his posture, something in between elegant and casual. I liked that he used a wide range of facial expressions…even if some of them were quite cringy. I didn’t like him just because he is a hot, muscular actor. I liked the details of his physical self. I met him right before this quarantine started and our relationship was just perfect. Cringy and perfect.

…But then something went wrong. I started noticing the awkward and OUTRAGEOUS grammar mistakes he makes while texting me on WhatsApp. SO MANY. Call me superficial but I started seeing him with different eyes.

Also his audio messages were quite annoying and unnecessarily long. He made me waste so much time listening to him doing weird, cringy mouth noises. And I hate wasting time. He even dedicated me a poem by Bukowski that I found disgusting and nonsense. I love poems but that one was just ridiculous. (and it’s the first poem you find on the internet when you google “poems for her” which is highly embarrassing. If you’re curious: “When God created love” link). The simple fact that he doesn’t have a good taste for art upsets me. He sent me a video of him singing a song he wrote even though he knows he hasn’t a note on his head. The lyrics of the song were super cringy. Not to mention that time we asked each other trivial questions on Skype. He chose the category “philosophy” because “I am a master in this subject”, he said. Well, he also said that Aristotle invented Plato’s Myth of the Cave. Last but not least…he might turn me on IRL but he sucks at sexting. Everything he does online makes my heart cringe. Interestingly, I like his cringy physical self but I hate his cringy digital one.

I broke up with him because his “digital flaws” ruined my perception of his physical self. I broke up with his digital self’.

(DIGITAL) BODIES UNDER QUARANTINE

Life seems to have accelerated under quarantine, quite the opposite compared to what the word evokes: stillness, quietness, isolation, solitude. Is it still possible to conceive such emotions in the online domain, where pretty much everything seems just to spin, to accelerate, to encourage us to endlessly scroll-down, click, like, share, ‘do’ something?

Gabriella reflects on this endless digital whirlpool we live with, even more so in times of quarantine: ‘I was scrolling through Instagram before going to bed, right after writing my blog post on how social media is superficial and all that… (image the power it has over me, it’s absurd! I criticize it, but there I am happy to be scrolling). In a matter of 3 minutes, I found three sponsored Instagram stories that contribute to the speed of technology during these times. Some say it is time to relax and to enjoy life, to meditate to get to know yourself, to find inner peace, to heal, and to become a better person after this is all over.