The Watchers Watch with Increasing Watchfulness . . . Or, Why Google Glass Offends Me

Not so long ago, a guy came into my work wearing Google Glass.  (Or, as the convention should go, glasses.)  I responded . . . poorly.

It's hard to think of yourself as a person who would become affronted by the mere existence of an otherwise not-that-consequential a thing.  In fact, it's weird thinking that I'd ever dislike Google Glass.  It seems like something that the sci-fi nerd in me would love.

I watched Star Trek: The Next Generation as a kid, and was really in awe of Geordi's visor.  I thought it would be cool to have access to all those parts of the electromagnetic spectrum that the human eye simply didn't evolve a need to see.

The idea of recording everything you saw had a kind of voyeuristic thrill to it as well.  The beauty of a sunset was something that should be captured instantly; recording everything made recalling everything a snap; I believed that this kind of access would fundamentally improve lives in a still-as-yet-undefined way.

But when Google Glass actually entered my life, I was incensed.  "Is that on?" I demanded.  The wearer, to my chagrin, answered me literally.  "Yes."  And I was off.  "You have no right, it's an affront, an invasion, blah blah blah."

The thing is, being on and recording are two different modes of operation for Google Glass.  Yeah, it was powered on and he could access information and the like, but it wasn't recording.  Apparently in a nod to Star Trek (I opine), you have to tell it turn on.  "Ok, Glass, record a video." 

So this poor fellow was not recording anything, as much as my tablet, or some random stranger's iPhone was not recording video, though it has that capability.

Glass, however, is a third eye that is forever looking out at the world, and the uncertainty of whether or not that eye was watching me left me uneasy.

This, I think, is a subject worth pondering.  If the eye remains unseen, do we care that it's watching?  Certainly, the revelations by Edward Snowden have revealed the unseen watcher watching with increasing watchfulness (say that five times fast).  As American's (and differently-nationed citizens) grapple with that realization, the way in which they mediate their own lives also changes.

That, I think, is what offended me so much about Google Glass.

For a moment, let's consider that we are all mediated selves.  That is, we understand our place in the world through our relationships with other people; we moderate our behavior to conform to social and cultural expectations.  Our actions are mediated by how others perceive them.

Yet, we are also mediated by how we present ourselves to the world.  Facebook and other social media allows us to edit ourselves -- to self-photoshop (metaphorically, but also literally) -- and though we can argue the fundamental philosophical implications, that mediation is under our control.

Google Glass eliminates that control.  We no longer mediate ourselves as much as we are caught on camera unmediated.

The worst part of talking heads and the political echo chamber of the cable news cycle is that they so often take things out of context, or fail to treat the subject with humility or compassion.  People misspeak.  They sometimes speak out of ignorance.  Or they have been purposefully misquoted.  In effect, they are mediated by others without their consent.  Google Glass highlights many more ways that can happen.

And frankly, I have the right to mediate myself however I choose.  I may want every action caught on camera -- the wit with the wisdom with all the flatulence in between.  But I may not.  I have the right to be treated with compassion and humility.  We all do.  Part of what erodes that compassion is the increasingly sophisticated surveillance with which we have to contend.

The watcher may watch with increasing watchfulness, but the effect of being watched is to lose part of our own souls.  That's why I don't like Google Glass.

The End of the World . . . Or, What Do Cabin in the Woods and The World's End Have To Do With Syria?

Before we begin, if you haven't seen them already, go watch Cabin in the Woods and The World's End.  They're both fantastic movies and deserve to be seen.  Don't worry, I'll wait.

***

Okay.  Now that you're back, and imagining that about half of you reading this still haven't seen these two movies, fair warning: there be spoilers ahead.

On Tuesday September 3, Secretaries Kerry and Hagel, with General Dempsey outlined for the Senate Committee on Foreign Relations the Obama Administration's reasons for specific and limited use of the American Armed Forces in Syria.  As far as I can make out, their reasons are limited to the same hyper-masculine honor-culture bravado we should all remember from high school: If we don't stick up for ourselves, we'll get walked all over.  In effect, by not intervening when we said we would (the whole "red line" over use of chemical weapons) we would appear weak to the leaders of other rogue states, such as North Korea and Iran. 

http://www.polgeonow.com/2013/08/syria-civil-war-map-august-2013-11.html

The trouble is, we've all grown up since then.  Imagine if you confronted the same schoolyard bully as an adult.  They're locked in their six (or sixteen) year old body while you have a decade or more of experience, wisdom, social connections and money to leverage against them.  Responding with the use of force is silly.  But in honor culture, any slight must be met with strict, unmitigated force.  It is the rational of the street thug who, when asked why he behaved as he did, responds with a simple, "because he dissed me."  The excuse is as hollow to our ears as the Administration's justifications to intervene in Syria.

This kind of internationalism is morally bankrupt, and threatens to drain the coffers of the United States and its allies. 

As I listened to the arguments, I was increasingly (and a little uneasily) aware of certain similarities between non-interventionists in Congress and the protagonists of the two movies cited above. 

These two movies, one American, the other British, reveal a distinct rejection of authoritarian intervention.  They highlight a growing concern that our leaders (or traditional authority in general) is unable to adequately speak to our desires.  At their hearts, they reveal a desire for liberty regardless (or in full knowledge of) the consequences. 

But more broadly, they signal a rejection of meddling that has important repercussions on the foreign policy of sovereign nations.  It seems hardly coincidental that last week the British Parliament voted against the Prime Minster's appeal to stand with the United States in opposing Bashar Al-Assad's regime.  The "special relationship" shared by Britain and the United States was fostered in the Second World War and persisted throughout the Cold War, as fears of imperial communism gripped both nations.  But following the Cold War that relationship has been frequently tested, most lately by revelations of pervasive spying by the NSA on British citizens.  But the revelation had been strained since Gulf War numero dos.  These latest allegations of weapons of mass destruction seem to have broken British credulity. 

In fact, we see that growing incredulity mounting in popular films.

In Cabin in the Woods, the familiar horror trope is turned on its head.  After a group of teens arrive at a--you guessed it--cabin in the woods, supernatural forces begin killing them off.  In the end, only two survive and they are confronted with the knowledge that the entire situation was a requisite sacrifice to ensure that a much greater evil was not released.  Their deaths, in a sense, release the pressure on hell and keep Earth safe that much longer.  With this knowledge, our two survivors have the option of sacrificing themselves for the greater good of mankind, or allowing Satan to roam the Earth.  They decide that mankind doesn't deserve to go on.  It's a surprising ending, but not wholly unexpected.  Manipulated by shadowy government agents throughout the movie, their lives and deaths are treated callously and marked by dark humor; the audience is meant to view the agents' behavior as representative of traditional authority in general--callously disregarding the lives they're meant to safeguard.

In The World's End, a group of five friends reassemble thirty years later to finish a pub-crawl they began when they were eighteen.  With the gloss of youth tarnished by failure and loss, they painfully reunite and return to their childhood town but quickly realize that the town has changed.  The changes go beyond cosmetic, and are not limited to McDonaldification, or Starbuckification.  Instead, the people themselves are plain and unassuming, but nevertheless retain an ominous blandness.  They are Stepford Wives writ across the population.  Our heroes discover that the town has been invaded by aliens. 

But the aliens' invasion isn't necessarily malevolent so much as it's paternalistic.  They want to shape human culture to become more genial, so that we can enter galactic civilization which views us as parochial barbarians.  In the end, our heroes' drunken belligerence persuades the aliens that we simply aren't worth it.  The results are . . . Apocalyptic. 

These two movies, the British resolution, and the growing reluctance of American citizens to take government intrusion (from the NSA to the TSA) lying down all signal a sea change in popular political culture.  Secretary Kerry called this "armchair isolationism" that would embolden terrorist groups.  Americans rightly dismiss his belligerence as exaggerated and unnecessary.  Moreover, it condescends to thoughtful analysis and retards debate.  Instead, this is a moment to reflect on the force America wishes to be in the 21st century.