A couple of weeks ago, I had something happen to me which made me
consider (yet again!) how much our relationship with new media has
shaped our real-world (or non digital) lives. As a graduate student
with Comparative Media Studies at MIT, I had been preparing my thesis
(the culmination of almost two years of research in school) for final
submission for graduation in June 2008. Like my other compatriots at
CMS, I had basically been living in front of my laptop for months:
writing new sections of my chapters, making last minute revisions, and
formatting all my citations and footnotes. However, unbeknownst to me,
my computer was hatching its own devious plan - one which was unaligned
with my goals of finishing the thesis and thus graduating from MIT. A
year previous, I had faced down a "screen of death" (according to
Wikipedia) on the very same laptop. I was left computer-less at the
exact time when I needed it the most, finals week. I had found myself
not only without computing tools, but also without my precious data (I
was writing papers and making an educational website at the time). For
the most part, I had to reconstruct what I was doing from printed
pages, my memory, or scattered hand-scribbled notes. Thought it was
difficult, I ended up scraping by - relying on several desktop
computers, burned CDs and flash drives along the way to help me finish
the term.
This time however I did not
think of myself as that lucky - when my computer (logicboard) died, it
seemed unreasonable to scrape together my notes and start anew - after
all, I had been working with a document that I had been revising for
weeks and weeks. Basic ideas are one thing, but recovering citations
and source information is quite another. Yet, even though I was
bracing myself for extreme disaster, it never seemed to come.
Miraculously - with all my Google Doc usage, emailing out, saving my
information on remote sites - I found that I not only had one good copy
of my thesis, but several copies, saved and transfered at different
points of revision. I found that my other files like photographs and
videos (which normally I would have been upset about losing) were also
strangely distributed across the web through sites like YouTube and
Facebook. While I had previously thought of my life as being contained
in one place, it was suddenly shown to me as a vast network for links
and uploads.
This got me thinking... what
are the materials that comprise one's life? It might be silly to think
that computer files are so integral to one's sense of self, but
remember about 15 or so years ago, when people used to say that they'd
most likely save their photo albums and letters (behind family members
and pets, of course) from their house if it was burning down? In that
previous age, we used to think of physical objects as the keys to
unlock our memories and experience. Today, teenagers take more photos
than ever (using digital cameras and cell phones alike), but do these
'objects' hold the same value? The digitalization of these formerly
tangible objects has certainly devalued them for me - while I'm
photographed today more than ever, I also tend to look at these
photographs less than before. For some reason, my laptop folder full
of digital photos (most of them passed onto me through the Internet
using sites like Facebook and Ofoto) are less precious to me than the
old box of paper photos sitting on my top shelf, or the leather-bound
family albums tucked away in my parents' living room. Somehow those
photos feel like 'mine,' whereas the other photos of me that crop up on
Facebook or elsewhere seem like public property - it's like comparing
your own copy of your favorite novel to a copy of that same book at the
library - or maybe even its pages as can be seen on Project Gutenberg
or Google Books. In general, my experience with my computer has made
me see first-hand how our personal notions of property and ownership
are changing as a result of our increasingly networked and digital
world. Older notions of 'mine' and 'yours' don't really seem as
applicable today or as easy to define as they did previously.
Because
we are a research group dedicated to these ideas of new "skills and
cultural competencies" which are needed to fully engage in the digital
participatory world, it seems reasonable to consider the perspective
from which we are defining these things. While I used to consider
photographs, videos and texts as "private property," now they seem to
be (at least to me and perhaps those students younger than me) just the
materials that comprise the Internet, available for public use. While
this concept has been extensively discussed in its legal dimensions in
the press, I wonder about how we at Project NML will begin to deal with
it on a personal, cultural level. Will a string of texts between
high school sweethearts ever hold the same weight in the future as a box
full of love letters that you find in your parents' attic? Or does the
ease of erasure and circulation of texts and information give rise to a
new way of thinking about these artifacts of the past? Who knows? The
only thing is - as I move forward in trying to define essential
concepts of ownership, authorship, appropriation and remixing (for the
Project NML Teachers' Strategy Guide: Reading in a Participatory
Culture), I hope to remember that my ideas about these terms are
strongly formed by my hybrid experience of the digital/tangible world,
and that I should remain sensitive to the fact that ideas around these
are continually being shaped and re-shaped by teens in the digital
world today.
I was thinking about similar things two weeks ago when I decided to backup my laptop. I had heard that you and some other people had computer death, so I wanted to be on the safe side. When I sat down to copy important files to an external hard drive, I could hardly find anything that didn't also exist on my email or google docs. This makes me think differently about my laptop, more like it is just a portal...