Now and Then

The comparison between 'now' and 'then' is often central to discussions of new technology, and is especially evident in the NYTimes piece ('Attached to Technology and Paying a Price'). Richtel is constantly invoking a comparison between the 'way things are' and the 'way things were', either directly (e.g., "For better or worse, the consumption of media [...] has exploded. In 2008, people consumed three times as much information each day as they did in 1960") or by implication.

But I wonder what relevance exists in comparing a digital/networked present to a non-digital (or other-digital) past. Many of the arguments made during the first video we watched last class (the hip hop one, with all the shots of sad people in dark rooms looking at empty, soulless screens) revolved around us being 'less' connected/present/happy now, with our omnipresent technology, versus an alternate, past existence without that same technology. Using a perspective which relies on conceptions of 'less' (or 'more') of anything makes an implicit value judgment, i.e., there is a correct or right amount of time to spend using technology, and we are using it more than that amount.

Which is not to say that whatever that amount is is not a reachable (or even worthwhile) goal; it might be important to reduce our use and be more socially present. But, in it's oft-presented form, the argument is based on a dichotomy which does not exist. You cannot go back to the past, 'before' the technology. Even if you do not use the technology, the option to use it still exists in the world, and this is very different than simply not using a technology because you couldn't, because it didn't exist. A baseline or a version of 'normal' which is conceived based on the rules of the past cannot be relevant to today, because what was once normal by necessity—by a lack of options, and by a lack of critical awareness—is now a choice, regardless of what one chooses. Why should past definitions of normalcy influence current behaviors?

"Sorry to bombard you with questions."

Hine ends her email query asking peoeple about their "offline contexts" with thanks and an apology to her perspective respondents (p. 75-76). And I was struck, while reading both Hine's chapter and Thomas' paper, how important it is in virtual ethnographic studies to approach participants on their own terms. Not just using their nicknames or their language in your communication, as is particularly noticeable in the way Thomas respects the online identities of the children in her study, but, more simply, the fact that that communication is itself virtual. Since you want to know about children online, you have to actually go in there and see what they do online.

After presenting her list of initial questions, Hine offers a compelling rationale for 'restricting' herself to online interactions, in part by suggesting that this limited focus is not a restriction at all; there may not even be a boundary between offline and online identities. While acknowledging this openness and permeability has potential hazards—that answers and identities may be misrepresented or fabricated—it's crucial to understanding the context behind those answers and identities.

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Later, I was struck by a particular diptych of quotes, during Hine's reflection on her interaction with Campaign for Justice webmaster Peter: "that even behind web sites which give no clues to the identity of their producers there were individuals with biographies, emotions and commitments" and, in the next paragraph, "this ethnography is about what the Internet made Louise" (p. 80). The key words in these statements, for me, are "behind" and "made." They seem to be contradictory; how is it that an identity could exist 'in spite of' (as the first quote suggests, as if the web site is a mask to hide behind) and 'because of' online interactions? This paradoxical struggle seems central to understanding online identities, where issues of 'real'-ness and authenticity are questions of portrayals and portrayers.