A message came through at Dare last week that was reinforced on Tuesday by The Writer‘s storytelling event. It’s about the version of your story that you present to the world, and how that compares to your real story or the way you see your story yourself.
Karen McGrane, whose brilliant keynote you can watch on the Dare website, believes that insecurity comes from comparing your own behind-the-scenes with other people’s highlight reels. This isn’t new, but social media and the web mean that those highlight reels are much more in your face, wherever you turn. Carefully edited Facebook photo albums, LinkedIn pages that list achievements and and important connections, Klout scores, Twitter followers and retweets… Other people’s success and confidence is all around us, bringing into stark contrast our own failings and weaknesses and mistakes.
And then this week, storyteller Nick Hennessey talked at The Writer’s event about ‘front garden stories’ and ‘back garden stories’ in the context of organisations. The way I understood this is that there’s the version of a company’s story that’s presented to the world, through advertising, press releases, brand and so on. This is the front garden story: the way the company wants to be seen and the values and principles it claims to have. Then there’s the ‘real’ story that’s experienced inside the organisation: the values that are actually demonstrated, the way people behave, and the inevitable mistakes and lessons learnt. This is the back garden story – the unedited, authentic, this-is-how-it-is story. I don’t think there was a suggestion that the two stories should be the same, but that there should be an awareness of the gap between the two and what that says about the authenticity of the company.
(This ties in with another Dare presentation, on culture and change, by Dave Gray. Dave talked about ‘espoused theory’ (what we say we value) versus ‘theory in use’ (the values we demonstrate) and the impact the gap between the two has on culture. His full talk will also be available on the Dare website shortly.)
One of the things that I think made Dare different to other conferences was that it allowed – encouraged, even – people to tell their own personal back garden stories. Most industry conferences that I attend have agendas filled with people sharing the secrets of their success, demonstrating their award-winning projects, doling out pearls of wisdom to help others reach the same great heights. The thing is, we all know that we’re usually only getting half the story. Behind the shine, every great success is preceded by failures or mistakes or learning experiences, whatever you want to call them. Every project has its obstacles and backward steps. And every individual has downs as well as ups while working on those projects or doing those great things. We just don’t often talk about those bits.
At Dare, those uncomfortable, painful, challenging experiences took centre stage. We listened to people who’d made (or narrowly avoided) bad decisions, had projects that didn’t go to plan, battled depression, or taken great risks that didn’t always pay off. And while there may not have been so many practical, actionable takeaways as you might get from other conferences or events, every single person who attended did seem to find real value in Dare. For me, it’s because the stories were authentic and allowed me to compare my own behind-the-scenes with other people’s behind-the-scenes. There were no highlight reels at Dare – not in the conventional sense, anyway. The highlight reels here mapped psychological or emotional milestones rather than career paths and material achievements. And once the first few brave people shared their back garden stories, everyone else started doing the same. It’s what prompted my last post, and it’s also prompted some very honest discussions that I’ve veered away from in the past.
On a personal level, I think it’s very helpful to keep in mind that distinction between behind-the-scenes and the highlights reel – it sounds obvious, but it’s something that’s all too easy to forget. But there’s also an important message in here too for teams or organisations, about how you portray yourself and the way you work. Nick pointed out that, these days, we’re pretty good at spotting a phony, inauthentic story, so that front garden versus back garden question is a good one to keep in mind when telling your own story.
It’s been many months since I last posted on this blog, and I’m not really sure why. In truth, there are probably many reasons, but I think part of it is a question of self-doubt. I’m not writing this now in search of flattering reassurances – I’m writing it because themes of not knowing, waning self-confidence and feeling like a fraud have been cropping up everywhere I turn lately and so I thought perhaps it was worth sharing my perspective.
I don’t think I’m lacking in self-confidence generally. As a child and teenager, yes, I probably was. But since leaving university I’ve become much more comfortable in my own skin and with the kind of person I am. At work, too, after that first year of just getting to grips with working life, I found myself often challenged but generally confident in my abilities and skills. When I joined my current organisation, I knew it would take some time to adjust: it’s a juggernaut of a company compared to my previous employers, a very different environment, my first real in-house role. But, two years on, I still feel like ‘the new girl’.
For a long time, I put this down to the size and complexity of the organisation – maybe everyone takes years to settle in. But I look around at colleagues who’ve been here a similar length of time, or less, and they appear settled, confident and at ease in a way that I don’t feel. And recently I’ve come to realise that I don’t just still feel ‘new’; I feel like I’ve lost my confidence.
Some of this comes from a good place. I’m lucky to be working in a team that isn’t content with the status quo; we’re trying new things, pushing clients and budgets and partners to do more than they’ve done before, aiming to always be on the leading edge of things. And the edge is an uncomfortable place to be – for me at least. I know it is exciting and very rewarding, but it’s also risky and challenging and daunting. I guess some people – like many of my colleagues – jump off the edge and take control of the lack of control, whereas I’m more likely to be looking back at the gap between the solid ground and me, taking tentative steps rather than that running jump. And, like pulling off a plaster or walking in a straight line blindfolded, that tentative approach is counter-intuitively more painful and more difficult.
I’m also really lucky to be working alongside very talented people. I feel like I’m always learning from my colleagues, being inspired by them, and benefiting from their experiences and skills. And that’s great – I love learning and I want to feel like I’m developing and being developed. But the flip side of this is that I very often feel unworthy. That’s a slightly dramatic word, perhaps, but it’s that feeling of being pulled along on a tide of other people rather than leading the way. I look at my colleagues and don’t quite feel like I measure up. And while learning is great, everyone likes to feel they’re the one inspiring other people sometimes, don’t they?
The problem is that, despite rationally knowing that some of these feelings of uncertainty are just the reverse view of something very positive, those feelings are still there. I have a very busy mind, I’m naturally anxious and my emotions are always close to the surface.
The other problem is that those two good things aren’t the only causes of my loss of confidence. I’m also increasingly feeling that, in order to be successful and to make the impact I want to make, I need to be different from how I am. Some of the changes I’m okay with; they won’t necessarily be easy for me but I consider them development areas and look at them as just improving aspects of myself. But there are other changes that I don’t really want to make. I don’t want to compromise my values or the things I think I do really well, just to fit into a mould defined by other people. So this is something I’m wrangling with a lot at the moment.
It’s worth saying that this is not some crippling anxiety. I’m still doing good work on projects, I’m really involved in my immediate team, and I have strong relationships at work and externally in the industry. I don’t feel useless or lost or ineffective; I just don’t feel as confident in my role and the value that I add as I did a few years ago, and I’d like to get that feeling back.
There isn’t any quick-fix solution to this, but I do think that separating out the different causes of my loss of confidence is a good first step. I also know that I won’t be the only person in this situation – last week’s Dare Conference highlighted just how common it is to feel like a bit of a fraud, or that you’re winging it. I’ve been in two minds about whether or not to post this, but I do think it’s important to be open and I also think that our community is a very supportive one, so I decided to be a little bit brave and post it. Be gentle 🙂
I’m horrendously behind with E-learning and Digital Cultures – I’ve not yet looked at the fourth week’s material, but I’m still hoping to get my ‘digital artifact’ in by tonight’s submission deadline. In the meantime, here are my thoughts and reflections on the week three material. The broad topic is ‘being human’ and the threats that technology poses to ‘the human’, and this week’s resources focus on re-asserting the human.
Mediation and the illusion of non-mediation
Several of the resources this week raise the question of mediation, non-mediation and the illusion of non-mediation. It’s interesting: some accounts suggest that moving images on a screen act as barriers between us and reality, while others suggest that they break down barriers.
This year’s series of Black Mirror has come at the perfect time, as many of the ideas and themes link to this course. Without wanting to spoil the story, the second episode, White Bear, looks at the way in which mediation via a screen affects our moral compass. Why do so many of us watch real things happening on screen that we’d never tolerate in person? Why are we prepared to be passive voyeurs just because there’s a screen between us and what’s happening, rather than step in to stop something bad unfolding?
It’s inevitable that brands will find the positive spin on things in their advertising (there was a stark contrast between the adverts and the short films in the second week’s materials too). But BT’s ‘heart to heart’ advert is actually closer to the White Bear position than I’d have expected. It rejects the vision painted by Corning and Microsoft of screen-based technology bringing people together, suggesting that while it’s good for immediacy it lacks emotion and truth. For quick chats and trivialities, online is fine; for the meaningful heart-to-hearts, the phone is better: it’s ‘the closest you can get to actually being there’.
Unfortunately (though not surprisingly) BT have done exactly the same as Microsoft and Corning by painting an ideal and incomplete picture. The only alternatives to phones that the advert shows are text-based online communications, when in reality screen-based technology can do a lot more than this with video chats and so on. It also uses nice filming techniques to illustrate their tagline, conveniently ignoring the fact that phone calls are still mediated communication. You can’t see what the person at the end of the line is doing, where they are, what emotions are passing across their face…
Both White Bear and the BT advert position the screen as divisive, mediation which results in something being lost: emotion, morality, authenticity, closeness. In contrast, Steve Kolowich’s 2010 article (‘The Human Element’) argues that the screen has the power to make interactions more human.
In a nutshell, Kolowich asks why distance education can be just as effective as classroom education but struggles to retain students. His suggestion is that it’s the lack of the ‘human’ in distance learning. And his solution is to add more video into course delivery. (He actually advocates audio interactions, too, but for me the bulk of his argument is centred around video.) Acknowledging that there are downsides – such as webcams or other visual engagement inviting prejudices or distractions – Kolowich argues that the illusion of non-mediation (that is, the sense of ‘being there’ facilitated by seeing the other participants) encourages increased trust and investment from students.
What is ‘the human element’?
It’s interesting that for BT that sense of ‘being there’ comes from hearing a voice, but for Kolowich it comes from seeing a face. And – as far as e-learning is concerned – this is the crux of the matter. What is that ‘human element’ that we so often seek to achieve in online learning?
When I started out in instructional design five years ago, we tried to achieve it through using photographs of people, good quality voiceovers rather than computer-generated audio, and a natural and conversational tone of voice in the copywriting. As video became more ubiquitous, this became the favoured mode of inserting the human into online learning. Unfortunately, a stilted talking-head clip of someone who’d rather be anywhere but in front of the camera reading from an autocue doesn’t necessarily cut it. Documentary-style clips of life in the workplace, interviews with employees, more sophisticated character-led dramas: all these approaches are attempts to make what we do more ‘human’.
The evolution of live online facilitation has been shaped by similar questions. The standard was once a PowerPoint slide deck, one-way audio presentation and perhaps a Q&A panel for participants; now the LPI is helping people make the most of the available technology to create a more effective – and more human – experience, incorporating webcams and freer two-way conversation via chat panels and microphones, for example.
What’s interesting to me, though, is that it’s about more than voices or faces. A human presence doesn’t necessarily equal a human experience. Haven’t we all had frustrating conversations with people in call centres? It’s a real person, you’re hearing a real voice, you’re talking in real time – and yet it doesn’t feel ‘real’. They’re reading from a script, or the discussion is driven by the boxes they need to fill in on their computer system. Likewise, most of us have experienced disappointing presentations or classroom training sessions: being in the same room as colleagues and the trainer doesn’t guarantee a good experience. If it’s not brought to life, if it’s not invested with emotion, then what benefit does this live set-up offer over a mediated or non-human offering (like an online course or a textbook)?
Insights, not outcomes
Having reached this point in my thinking, I turned to Lowell Monke’s article, ‘The Human Touch’, and found it articulated a lot of what I was thinking. In worrying about how best to use new technologies to make virtual experiences more ‘human’, we are perhaps missing the point.
There are so many things in Monke’s article that interest me. He compares the current failure of computers to improve education and attainment with the failure of motion pictures to replace textbooks in education, as was predicted decades ago. It seems we’ve always had a (technologically deterministic?) tendency to assume that each new milestone in technological advancement will revolutionise education in and of itself. Unfortunately those assumptions and predictions rarely become reality, and there has yet to be any evidence that the massive investment schools are making in computer equipment leads to higher achievement. His take on the problem is, I think, that we devote too much energy to teaching students the technicalities of how to use technology: how to use various software to speed up calculations or processes; how to use the internet to research topics. We don’t invest in teaching them how to really make the most of it – how to use it to enhance, not define, their lives and learning.
Monke notes that teenagers with access to the internet have a huge amount of power and the potential to do a lot of damage. So if schools need to teach children how to use technology, they also need to help them develop the ‘moral and ethical strength needed to resist abusing’ that power. This made me immediately think of Little Brotherby Cory Doctorow, a book I’ve just read after it was recommended earlier in the course. This novel is all about the damage that tech-savvy teenagers can do when they put their minds to it, because their experimentation and fearlessness means their understanding of technologies so quickly overtakes that of their teachers and the authorities. It’s a great read and – as the postscripts at the end of the book show – rooted far more in reality than science fiction.
However, Monke also rejects technological determinism and argues that we need to ‘not start by asking what children need to do to adapt to a machine world, but rather, which technologies can best serve human purposes at every educational level and how we can prepare children to make wise decisions about their use in the future.’ I do agree with this, but I think there is an important way in which we do need to teach children to adapt to a machine world. Kids are online so young these days and have only a superficial understanding, if any, of the dangers this exposes them to. I strongly believe that schools (as well as parents) have a responsibility to teach children how to use the internet responsibly in terms of keeping themselves safe.
The phrase that really stuck with me, though, was this: ‘the task of early education is not merely to prepare students for making a living; it is to help them learn how to make a life.’
In this, I saw a link to Steve Fuller’s TEDx Warwick talk, ‘Humanity 2.0: Defining humanity’, in which he establishes humanity as artifice and education as one of the most ancient forms of that artifice. He jokes that education is a dying art, which I interpreted as meaning that its original shape and purpose has changed to the point of disappearing. These days, in the Western world at least, education is imposed on the masses and is increasingly about rote-learning information. In ancient times, education was something for a select few, and it was about teaching people to live and work together – to develop skills for interacting with other people and with the world. Likewise, Monke regrets that – in part because it is allowing itself to be shaped by available technology – education is no longer about ‘wisdom, truth, imagination, creativity, and meaning’. Instead it’s about empowering students to take control of learning, setting and meeting standards, assessments and productivity.
This is something we are guilty of in corporate learning, too, perhaps. Are we (not just in online, but in all forms of workplace learning) in danger of letting outcomes replace insights? Clearly, workplace learning has a different purpose from school education, but perhaps we do sometimes forget the ‘development’ part of L&D, focusing too much on training and not enough on personal growth, learning and development. For me, ‘the human touch’ in learning comes not from a physical presence in a room or from a streamed video via a webcam, but from building a human perspective into the content, regardless of the delivery mechanism.
The other resources
There was such a wealth of resources this week, touching on so many different ideas and themes. I tried to keep myself focused on things that I could most easily link back to my work or to ideas from previous weeks, but here’s a quick round-up of the rest (excluding Neil Badmington’s ‘Introduction: approaching posthumanism’ and the short film World Builder, both of which are worth a look but didn’t quite fit in to my trains of thought here).
The Toyota ‘real deal’ advert addresses the opposition between technology and reality that’s suggested in the BT advert, amongst other resources. In this pixellated world, we are not just surrounded by but immersed in technology, and authenticity has become a black market commodity. As the main character drives the car, he starts experiencing ‘authentic’ emotion and then literally breaks out of the artificial world and into the real world (there’s also an opposition set up between the urban and the rural). Of course, his means of breaking out relies on technology – albeit not digital technology – and I also found it interesting that he doesn’t appear to become ‘real’ himself. I wonder whether this mirrors the BT advert in that they both try to present an unmediated ideal, but our reliance on technology (the telephone, the car) is such that this ideal proves impossible – and whether this parallels our attempts in education and workplace learning to inject something human into technology-mediated experiences or to create that illusion of non-mediation.
I just picked out a small moment from Steve Fuller’s TEDx talk, but his main focus is what defines humanity. He concludes that humanity is artifice, not least because there has always been ambiguity and shifting ideas about where the line is drawn between humans and non-humans, because there is such diversity in the physical and mental qualities that might define us as humans, and because not everything about us is necessary for us to be classed as human. They’re made out of meat is a darkly funny take on the same topic: what it is to be human. Initially, we assume the two characters in conversation are human because that’s what they look like – suggesting that we, at least in part, define ‘being human’ in terms of physical form. As their conversation unfolds and the situation becomes clearer, this definition of humanity collapses and lines between humans and animals (beings we’d define as non-human) becomes less clear.
In 2009, Rebecca Johnston wrote a paper called ‘Salvation or destruction: Metaphors of the internet’ whilst working towards her PhD. I was surprised to see a relatively old paper on the resource list for the second week of E-learning and Digital Cultures, but actually found it interesting reading. Johnston analysed a sample of editorials from 2008 in the USA, to identify categories of metaphors used for the internet, concluding that there were four main categories: physical space, physical time, salvation and destruction. The latter two clearly link to the course as parallels of the utopian and dystopian accounts of technology and digital culture that we’ve been looking at.
Salvation and destruction
All the examples of metaphors of the internet as salvation (including handling information or transforming business) and as destruction (eroding revenue, supplanting mainstream media, internet anarchy) are commonplace and it’s easy to think of many more. But I wonder if this is a bit simplistic – which perhaps Johnston nods to when she references the metaphors comparing the internet to water: both life-giving and destructive. I understand the point that metaphors shape how we understand and then respond to or interact with something, but I think so many of these phrases and metaphors are ingrained to the point of not really carrying those strong connotations anymore.
One thing I do find interesting in looking at this article alongside the videos I’ve been watching for the course is the significance of dialogue – or the lack of – in the films. In the first week’s films, all but one were silent. Those three were fairly distinctly dystopian in their presentation of technology and society. Inbox was silent in that there was no spoken dialogue, but there was a written dialogue between the two characters, and this film was also the one which presented the most ambivalent account of our relationship with technology. This could be coincidence, but looking at the films from the second week there does seem to be a pattern. The two adverts are silent and towards the utopian end of the scale; the three short films include dialogue and present a more complicated view of future technology and society.
So there’s a correlation between the introduction of language and more complex, less utopian accounts. I’m wondering if the introduction of language necessarily muddies the waters and makes any simplistic description problematic – whether that’s via a visual medium such as a film or via written accounts like those Johnston looks at. She does acknowledge that destruction and salvation metaphors combine to produce an overall cultural system that expresses mixed feelings about the future impact of the internet, but I’m not even sure that many of the metaphors can be simply categorised into ‘salvation’ or ‘destruction’ in the first place.
Self-fulfilling prophecies
The cycle which Johnston describes whereby metaphors can become self-fulfilling prophecies is an interesting one. We evoke a metaphor in order to explain something new, unfamiliar or unknown. That metaphor brings with it ‘entailments’, almost cultural baggage, which shape our understanding of the unfamiliar thing being explained. That understanding obviously shapes our actions and interaction with the new thing, which in turn reinforces the notion that the metaphor has explained the thing or experience. So metaphors bring with them the risk of limiting the potential of the new by anchoring it in the old.
The example that came to mind as I read this was that of virtual classrooms. In seeking to describe the new opportunity offered by the internet to bring learners synchronously together online, we reached for the universally understood concept of the classroom. Unfortunately, the entailments of this metaphor include the chalk-and-talk approach and poorly-designed PowerPoint slides (for example). So those ingrained connotations, perhaps subconsciously, influence the way in which we began using the technology. We simply moved very average (or perhaps even poor) classroom sessions and structures online, rather than embracing the range of features and opportunities afforded by this new internet-enabled technology.
Of course, things have moved on and hopefully there are fewer and fewer virtual classroom sessions run this way, but it’s interesting to consider whether, had the technology been called something else and described via a different metaphor, our use and experience of virtual classrooms would look very different today.
Skeuomorphism: visual metaphor
Although it’s not mentioned at all in Johnston’s article, I kept thinking about skeuomorphism and its relation to this discussion. Of course, that’ll be because I just read a couple of posts about it recently (it wasn’t a word I knew at all 18 months ago!). But I think it is relevant. If you don’t know what skeuomorphism is, read this article from Scientific American, which explains the concept. Then read this post from Bianca Woods about some of the problems with it.
As Bianca says, ‘skeuomorphism works when it’s being used to acquaint people to something new by using the look and feel of something they already know’ – it’s a visual metaphor. In some cases, it’s predominantly for explanatory purposes (unless cameras themselves become extinct and forgotten, the camera icon is always going to be the best way to represent the camera feature on a smartphone). In other cases, designers are drawing more on the emotional pull of the old or familiar (such as the page turning effect on digital books). But the other side of skeuomorphism is that sometimes it damages the experience it seeks to enhance. It prioritises form over function, it references overly out-dated things, or it compromises basic good design principles.
In the same way that metaphors for the internet might prevent its being used to its full potential by anchoring it in the past, the physical and the familiar, so does skeuomorphism risk holding back brilliant digital design by harking back too often, too strongly or too unthinkingly to the physical world. This is something we in online learning need to be very aware of – skeuomorphism has been very popular in e-learning design but we need to making more thoughtful, conscious decisions about when it works and when it doesn’t.
In addition to the two ad films depicting visions of technology in the future, last week’s E-learning and Digital Cultures content (I’m a bit behind!) included three further short films taking different stances on future technologies, possible uses and misuses of them, and how they might shape society.
Sight
I wasn’t surprised to see this film – presumably inspired by Google’s Project Glass and similar technology – on the list, as it had already come to mind earlier in the course. I’ve watched it several times over the past few months and each time it both engages me and gives me the creeps…
Like Inbox, this film seems to slip between utopian and dystopian suggestions – though perhaps in a less subtle manner. Initially the Sight Systems augmented reality contact lens technology appears intriguing. It provides novel entertainment, useful information (such as nutritional values of available food), and convenient assistance (during cooking, for instance). In this way, the future vision proposed here is not so different from the utopian picture being sold by Microsoft and Corning in their ads. Technology is always there, always on – in a good way.
The first hint of this being taken too far is when the guy re-starts chopping his vegetables in order to get the perfect score for this activity. We soon realise how all-encompassing the technology is, as the contents of his apartment are revealed to be entirely computer-generated. And then it starts getting really creepy when he goes on the date. What I missed the first time I watched this film is that the girl references a rumour that Sight Systems use their technology to manipulate people. It becomes apparent later that the rumour was true and that the technology has reached a point where it can be used to manipulate unknowing individuals.
Aside from the obvious malicious and dangerous implications, Sight differs from the two ads in a few key ways:
Both ads imply a future where the technology is available to all. Everyone will have these devices and there’s a level of equality. But this film disrupts that harmonious vision, exploring what the implications would be in the far more likely scenario that different aspects of the technology will be available to different groups of people – and the determining factor won’t necessarily be money. Who holds the power and what will they do with it?
Following from this, the nasty undercurrent that characterises this film is at least in part due to the ubiquity of game-based badging. If scores and badges are the primary measures of success in everything you do, how soon do other drivers and motivations start becoming irrelevant? Traditional checks on our behaviour – morality, ethics – risk being sidelined by the lure of increasing digital rewards.
There’s no learning here – it’s all about convenience, entertainment, gaming and social interactions. This isn’t in itself a bad thing – it’s just what this short film has chosen to focus on – but it’s interesting I think that the two ads chose to show how technology can be used to enhance the serious stuff as well as the lighter side of life.
Having said it’s partly about social interactions, there actually isn’t any bringing together of people in Sight as in the two ads. The male character operates in his own, largely digitally-generated, world until he goes on the date. But even there, he has to be pulled away from his augmented reality and into the un-augmented real world; his attention flicks away constantly to check scores, update statuses and so on. There is no relationship being built (as in Inbox) or developed or improved as in the two ads.
I think what makes this film so disturbing to me is that it is based on technology that’s currently being developed: it’s a clearly dystopian vision by the end and yet it’s not that far-fetched. There’s a lot that’s really fascinating about its potential, but this film raises questions about how far it can be taken and the potential for more unwelcome developments with the wrong motivations behind it.
This film reminds me a lot of the young adult dystopian fiction that I’ve read over the past year or so (see a sample on my other blog). A teenager (or pre-teen) has grown up largely unquestioningly in a future society, but begins to demand more in terms of answers and explanations, often in anticipation of whatever event, ritual or decision marks them leaving childhood behind. In Charlie 13, that event is the implantation of a tracking device on your 13th birthday.
I find it interesting to compare the future societies depicted in these books. In some cases, life appears completely transformed (in The Hunger Games, for instance). But in others, society remains unchanged aside from one key thing. In The Declaration, it’s that a medication has been developed which extends life indefinitely. In Unwind, it’s that abortion is outlawed but parents can give up their children at a later point. And in Charlie 13 it’s the implant which gives the authorities eyes everywhere. Aside from this, everything else looks relatively unchanged – houses, furnitures, clothing and so on all seem quite normal.
The landscape is pretty bleak, not too dissimilar in atmosphere to that shown in New Media. But there’s a difference: this isn’t everywhere. From the first moments of the film we understand that there is a clear distinction between ‘society’ and ‘outside society’, and the chain link fence raises questions about whether something bad is being kept out or whether people are being kept in. Charlie is already nervous about having his tag implanted and intrigued by what lies outside the boundaries, but it’s a brief conversation with a man outside the fence, a ‘deserter’ who is presumably Charlie’s long-lost father, that decides him.
What I like about Charlie 13 is that the technology itself isn’t presented as being repressive or oppressive (there’s a lack of determinism, I suppose). Tracking technology and all-seeing authorities are not necessarily bad things, but there is a hint that the authorities abuse it when Officer Harker tells Charlie’s mum that he and his best friend have been declared ‘incompatible’. That divide between those who have complete control over or access to the technology and those who are subjected to it is even more evident here than in Sight. It’s the human use and implementation of the technology that’s concerning.
At one point, Officer Harker tells Charlie that ‘the chip makes you part of something bigger’. Isn’t this one of the major draws of social media and technology? This is partly what Microsoft and Corning are selling in their ads, but Charlie is able to see beyond that appeal, and he tells Harker ‘it’s not real though, it’s not the way it’s supposed to be’. What Charlie is really frustrated by and resisting is the lack of information and the lack of choice. He’s smart enough to realise that – despite what the big corporations might sell in their ads – technology is more often than not divisive. It’s not equalising; there will always be people who have more access to the technology than others, and there’s always the potential that those people will abuse that power.
Plurality
This film almost takes the idea of surveillance and all-seeing authorities from Charlie 13 to another level. In this version of the future, every movement made by anybody is monitored and tracked, not via an implanted chip but via their DNA. There are benefits to this of the type promoted by Microsoft and Corning: the ease and convenience of paying, starting your car, travelling without needing cash, keys or passports. On top of this, the ‘grid’ has contributed to rapidly falling crime rates.
The added twist to Plurality compared to the other films is the introduction of time travel, which is used as a mechanism for imagining the future consequences of the grid. The authorities detect a ‘plurality’ – the same person detected in two places at the same time. During the ensuing chase, we see a society which is dramatically different from ours (unlike in Charlie 13). There’s a lot of Minority Report style technology, augmented reality, personalised adverts and digital greetings. Having caught both versions of Alana, the authorities question them until they determine which is the plurality. She confesses and says that she has come back to stop the grid because of what she knows it will lead to in the future. She tells Foucault that ‘you’ve replaced freedom with the illusion of safety, but we’re not safe’.
Safety and security is an omnipresent issue when it comes to technology, whether it’s personal Facebook privacy settings or corporate digital security. And I think what Alana means is that by tightening up security to such an extent, the authorities are not only reducing crime but also making themselves and society more vulnerable. There’s one system, the grid, which contains every piece of information about every person in the population; if that system is compromised, there’s no back-up and the consequences could be devastating. There’s perhaps a warning in here to organisations that are responding to social media and new technologies by locking things down.
I’ve not had time to read Cory Doctorow’s novel Little Brother, suggested by the course organisers as related reading on the educational implications of this kind of society, but I’ll add it to my ever-growing reading list. I’m also going to have a browse of some blogs by other participants in the course, because the specifically educational implications of this version of the future are not clear to me at the moment.
Good To Great 