Facing Death Via Technology: A Reflection

This blog over the course of the past semester has, in a way, served as a personal journal in which I’ve been able to detail my learning, how I began to make connections between relevant academic concepts, and how I integrated my learning into my real-world understanding of life around me. While I didn’t notice any trends in terms of how the nature of my blog posts changed throughout the semester, I did find a number of themes that ran throughout my writing.

One thing I touched on a few times was how we use technology to mediate our interactions with the world around us. “How else have we intentionally designed technology to mediate or fuel our fear?” I ask in my post regarding Merry’s use of her video camera to mitigate her fear in Head Full of Ghosts . This question was rather prescient, as it turns out I later address how we might use technology to fuel our fear of things in my post on virtual reality military technology in the Black Mirror episode: “Men Against Fire.”

My blog posts are peppered with my own personal reactions to various assignments, books, articles, and other media. I discussed how the Black Mirror episode “Be Right Back” “prompted me with a number of questions regarding how I myself might approach a situation in which I could interact with a reconstructed version of a dearly departed loved one.” I examined and questioned my personal reaction to the concept of the “Grief Police” when I asked “So why is grief something we (maybe just read: I) are (am) so judgmental about — especially when we have all experienced it?” In reflecting upon the reading and writing this response, I was able to critically examine my own judgements and biases that affect my non-academic life.

I also spend some time addressing the social ramifications of the technology with which we engage, referring to how things might go horribly wrong in the future if we aren’t careful about how we utilize technology. In “a world that in some ways is becoming more and more like a video game — things get scary.” 

 

 

“As we continue to study the “death of technology,” I’m inclined to argue that technology never really dies, as it is simply a product of humankind.” I think it is absolutely key that we keep this in mind moving forward into unknown technological territory. Technology is only as dangerous or helpful as we, humans, make it, and it isn’t going away any time soon.

Main character in Men Against Fire confronts a “roach”; Funny enough, this is also a selfie of me — staring down the remainder of finals after completing this reflective blog post. Source: The MancUnion

 

Technology Doesn’t Die; Humans Do.

The combination of Station Eleven by Emily St. John Mandel and “Rethinking Repair” by Steven J. Jackson shifted the way in which I am thinking about the death of technology. Ultimately, technology can’t really die. Sure, iPhone screens can crack and circuits can short, but technology is more than any given individual artifact; it is the sum of its many, many parts and the system that maintains them.

Jackson asks us to consider “broken world thinking,” which is the concept of innovation that begins after everything has already crumbled. In this way, technological innovation still exists. The difference is that where we used to innovate from raw materials — we would be working with the remnants of broken, crumbled technology. Take, for instance, the trucks that were repurposed in Station Eleven to serve as the horse-drawn carriages in the caravan.

 

Abandoned truck; What I imagine the repurposed caravan trucks may have looked like in Station Eleven; Source: Deviant Art

Jackson defines repair as “the subtle acts of care by which order and meaning in complex sociotechnical systems are maintained and transformed, human value is preserved and extended, and the complicated work of fitting to the varied circumstances of organizations, systems, and lives is accomplished” (222). In this way, repair and innovation go hand in hand, as the repairs we make transform the world in which we live.

As we continue to study the “death of technology,” I’m inclined to argue that technology never really dies, as it is simply a product of humankind. Station Eleven could be painted as a story in which we witness the death of technology, but what we really see is the death of humankind (for the most part) and with that the systems and manpower that technology requires to be sustained.

The Commodification of Sites of Tragedy and Death

Yankovska and Hannam’s “Dark and Toxic Tourism in the Chernobyl Exclusion Zone” prompted me to attempt to recall other examples of dark tourism in the world … and I struggled – so I Googled. What I found was that “dark tourism,” which has made its name known more recently as socially unaware tourists choose to post macabre selfies from sites of death and tragedy on social media, has been around for a long time. Mark Twain wrote of Pompeii in Innocents Abroad, the Taj Mahal is a tomb on just about everyone’s travel bucket list, and tourists flock to bloody sites such as Gettysburg battlefields and Holocaust concentration camps.

An abandoned Ferris wheel stands on a public space that has become overgrown with trees since the city of Pripyat was evacuated in the wake of the 1986 Chernobyl disaster. Source: National Geographic

In “Is ‘Dark Tourism’ OK?” Robert Reid argues that while dark tourism is certainly nothing new, the way in which it is represented and marketed definitely is. Reid maintains that what makes or breaks the acceptability of a dark tourism site is the intention behind the place. The commodification of death and tragedy might leave a bad taste in our mouths, but I think it comes down to why the sites are marketed as tourist destinations in the first place. Sites such as Auschwitz, for instance, are places of historical significance and can serve as a space for healing and recognition of the gravity of events that took place there.

So my question is: where do we draw the line? Visitor centers? Cafés? Gift shops? At what point does the commodification and touristic tendencies of these sites taint the experience of the grave atmosphere of such places?

Honoring the Victims of Maternal Filicide: A Baby Book

Artist’s Statement

This baby scrapbook is dedicated to children who have been (at least allegedly) murdered by their mothers. This tragic, unimaginable, and reprehensible act, sometimes referred to as “maternal filicide,” is one we rarely discuss outside highly charged debates surrounding recent cases. It is often left untouched by arguments of reason and levelheadedness, given the repulsion by which it is regarded – and with good enough reason, too. I am entirely horrified by what motivates mothers to kill their own children. This project was no easy task, given the amount of research into gruesome cases of maternal filicide and the details surrounding these murders. This book is, in a way, haunted by the memories of these children that were killed, by the details and motivations surrounding the murders that remain unclear, and by the injustice of it all.

I decided to limit my focus to three high-profile cases, so that I can highlight the way in which the cases were treated by the media and processed by the general public. I focused on Caylee Anthony, whose cause of death was reported as undetermined and whose mother, Casey Anthony was tried and found not guilty of her murder. The Casey Anthony trial garnered unprecedented attention across the globe. I included the death of Addison Weaver, a baby who was wrapped in a plastic bag and discarded in the trashcan outside the Delta Gamma Theta sorority house at Muskingum University in Ohio by her mother, Emily Weaver. This was the second case of its kind in the 21st century at Muskingum University. The mother, Emily Weaver, was found guilty of the murder and sentenced to life in prison without parole. Finally, I included the murders of Noah, John, Paul, Luke, and Mary Yates, all systematically drowned in a bathtub by their mother in their Texas home.

I chose the form and aesthetic of a baby book for this project partially for the shock factor, and partially as a way to comment on the lives and memories that these children could have had had they survived past their infancy or young childhoods. The light pastel colors, soft fonts, patterns, frames, and illustrations are all intended to lull the viewer into a false sense of ease and security – a hauntedness that reminds us what their lives might have been. The photos of the children before they were killed and the photos of the mothers’ mug shots and court proceedings are intentionally juxtaposed against the soft backdrop of the baby book to elicit a sort of cognitive confusion.

The Casey Anthony trial was a national melodrama that captivated audiences all across the United States. Although Anthony was found not guilty of child abuse, manslaughter, and murder (Barnett 2016, 14), this case exemplifies the way in which mothers accused of such an unthinkable crime are represented in popular media. Caylee Marie was reported by her grandmother, Cindy Anthony, approximately a month after she had last seen the child alive. The report set off a massive search for the missing toddler, eventually leading to the discovery of her remains in the woods near her grandparents’ house. Casey claimed that Caylee had been kidnapped by a babysitter, and then switched her story to claim that she had drowned in the family pool and was then buried in the woods by her grandfather, Casey’s dad, George.

After the toddler’s remains were found, however, focus was placed primarily on the activities and demeanor of Casey during the month long period in which her daughter was missing. The media had a field-day covering Casey’s lack of merit as a mother and painted her as a callous, calculating liar. Much of the attention was centered on the drinking, partying, and shopping she was doing, the clothes she was wearing, and the men she was dating while Caylee was missing. During her trial, spectators from all across the country flocked to Orlando, Florida in an attempt to procure one of the highly coveted public seats in the courtroom. One woman in attendance said that Anthony’s “stories are so extreme and fantastic, it’s hard to believe they’re true, but that’s what engrosses people. This case has sex, lies, and videotapes just like on reality TV.” (Barnett 2016, 13).

When a jury of her peers found her not guilty, social media went wild with shock and threats of vigilante justice. The social media coverage of this case allowed journalists and their audiences to interact and to air their grievances and outrage. Facebook groups, posts, and tweets questioned how long Anthony would make it outside of prison before being “taken out” and urged citizens to track her whereabouts and make sure she didn’t “slip into hiding” (Barnett 2016, 14). Social media was an outlet for those who felt invested in the outcome of the case and created the illusion that by engaging via the Internet, a person had acted or contributed constructively to the case. While there was a great deal of vilification of Anthony, there was very little shared on how we might avoid such a tragic case in the future. Over the course of the investigation and trial, Casey Anthony became one of the most nationally prominent villainous celebrities and the token “bad mom.”

Emily Weaver was tried and convicted for giving birth to a baby girl in a sorority house bathroom and then disposing of the baby (who proceeded to die from asphyxiation) in a plastic bag in the trashcan outside. She was sentenced to life in prison without parole because the judge didn’t think she seemed the least bit remorseful. Prosecutors argued that Weaver knew she was pregnant all along and engaged in risky behaviors because she had never intended on keeping the baby. One of the most surreal aspects of this case is that virtually the exact same thing had happened at this university in 2003 when Jennifer Bryant dumped her newborn baby in a campus trash receptacle, pleading guilty to the charges but maintaining that she had thought the baby was stillborn. Bryant was sentenced to three years but served only six months in prison.

Andrea Yates was portrayed as a picture-perfect mother who was mentally troubled and unstable. She attempted suicide twice months after the birth of her fourth child and a few years before the murders. Despite the symptoms of what was later diagnosed as postpartum psychosis, a rare condition that affects approximately 0.1 percent of mothers, Yates’ family never saw her as a threat to her children because they believed she loved them so much (Barnett 2016, 66). Yates, however, saw herself as a terrible mother who was failing to save her children from the temptations of Satan. Sometimes she thought she was possessed by Satan himself and other times she believed she was carrying out a prophecy.

Some accused Yates of being a lying trickster (an all too common trope assigned to women) who was feigning her mental illness in an attempt to get off the hook for her actions. She was initially charged with the crime of which she admitted she had committed and sentenced to life in prison. Upon appeal, however, she was found not guilty by reason of mental insanity and committed to a mental facility where she remains today. Referring to our understanding of the events and the motivation of Yates, journalist Dahlia Lithwick said, “Perhaps it comforts us to believe that anyone who violates the sacred mother-child bond is simply crazy; it would be unimaginable if these mothers were making rational criminal decisions” (Barnett 2016, 71). We label women who kill their children as nutcases, so as to more neatly fit these anomalies in our understanding of what women and mothers should be.

In her chapter on “Woman as Possessed Monster” Creed argues that many horror films explore female monstrousness and the inability of the male order to control women whose perversity is expressed via her rebellious body (Creed 34). As is evidenced by these and other cases of maternal filicide, it is easier for us to understand women who kill their children as monstrous anomalies rather than perhaps the product of a system that rarely provides enough support or acknowledgement for women who struggle with the demands of motherhood.

In “Beyond the Grave: Facebook as a Site for the Expansion of Death and Mourning,” Brubaker et al. discuss how the removal of geographical barriers via social media changes the ways in which people grieve and mourn. They also examine how the social expansion of mourning has changed the dynamics surrounding death. This is especially evident in these cases, where the public – perhaps even from states away, geographically and socially removed from the immediacy of the situation – grieves the children murdered and calls for justice via tweets, comments, and likes.

Tragic stories of women killing their children are nothing new; they date back at least as far as the Greek tragedy Medea. The facts about these real life tragedies are not shared via statistics, however, but shrewdly crafted into human interest stories that inform and explain things in a way that create and reinforce cultural norms. The way we talk about these cases and these women matter. The way they are portrayed by the media matters and affects the general discourse and the norms and values with which we continue to instill upon each new generation of mothers.

Click here to view the baby book

References

Barnett, Barbara. 2016. Motherhood in the Media: Infanticide, Journalism, and the Digital Age. New York: Routledge.

Brubaker, Jed R., Gillian Hayes, & Paul Dourish. 2013. “Beyond the Grave: Facebook as a Site for the Expansion of Death and Mourning.” The Information Society 29: 152-163.

Creed, Barbara. 1993. “Woman as Possessed Monster” In The Monstrous Feminine. London Routledge. 31-42.

 

The Science of Vampires

Fusion’s article “If death becomes optional, will only the rich get to live forever?” reminded me of a recent conversation I’d had with a friend in which we discussed the “vampires” of Silicon Valley. Researchers have found that blood transfusions of newer, younger, blood plasma seems to reverse, or at least stall the aging process. In this way, those who can afford it may be able to seriously extend their lifespans by “consuming” the blood of young donors, who would likely be compensated monetarily.

Could something as common as blood could be the secret to immortality? Source: Gawker

 

A team at Professor Thomas Rando’s neurology lab at Stanford answered one of the most perplexing questions researchers have faced regarding longevity: Why do all the tissues in a body age at roughly the same rate?

They hypothesized and tried a number of theories out on laboratory mice. Their experiment worked better than expected. Stem cells in the older mice started to divide again, restoring muscle, liver and even brain cells, when transfused with the plasma of the younger mice.

Something from the young donor blood was making the stem cells behave as if they too were young again — at the very least, stalling the aging process.

Various tests have shown that the effects of these transfusions are present in muscles − including the heart, bones and nerve cells. It promotes repair of spinal injuries and encourages the formation of new olfactory neurons. All of this seems to be linked to more active stem cells. Initially, the research will be used to see how these transfusions might serve as a treatment, or perhaps cure, for Alzheimer’s and dementia patients. The promise and potential of such bodily interference, however, appears extensive.

The social ramifications of such research are stunning when you really think about them, as Fusion’s article suggests. If this is the way forward to longevity, certainly the rich will live longer, but we must also consider from where/whom this blood is drawn and what that means in a world where our economic inequalities are so plainly written on our bodies.

Source: Forbes

The Trouble with Grief

One of the things I found most troubling with this week’s reading “Enter the Grief Police” was my own reaction. This article hit hard to home and forced me to confront and examine my own behavior and perceptions when it comes to experiencing and performing grief.

When I read this piece, I found myself siding with the “Grief Police” to one extent, but also vehemently reprimanding them on the other. When celebrities die (shout out to the year 2016)  or someone in the local community passes away, many people have taken to showing their grief in a very public manner, through the use of social media platforms such as Facebook or Twitter. In so many of these cases, when I see the grief of my “friends” (are social media contacts really friends? That’s a whole different subject…), I cringe. Unless it’s a close friend or relative, I assume that their “grief” is superficial or all just for show — for attention. When a celebrity dies I think, “How on earth does this actually affect your life, dude? Get over it.” When someone posts concerning a community member that has passed, I’m likely to question what their actual real life relationship was with the person.

People all around the world mourned a man they had never met, and grieved him publicly. Source: Eyewitness News

But this is all entirely unfair of me, too, because I do the same thing. I grieve in public, I ask for the support and kindness (read earlier: “attention”) of others recognizing my own pain, and I express my relationship to those who have passed along via public social media, somehow seemingly desperate to prove that I am affected by their passing.

So why is grief something we (maybe just read: I) are (am) so judgmental about — especially when we have all experienced it?

Voyeurism & The Postmodern Gaze

www.youtube.com/watch?v=zlIw8cr8yDA?rel=0

Sources:

Freeland, Cynthia A. The Naked and the Undead : Evil and the Appeal of Horror. Boulder, Colo : Westview Press, 2000. Web.

Keisner, Jody. “Do You Want to Watch? A Study of the Visual Rhetoric of the Postmodern Horror Film.” Women’s Studies 37 (2008): 411-427. Web.

Sontag, Susan. “The Imagination of Disaster.” Against Interpretation, and Other Essays. New York : Delta Dell, 1966. 209-225. Web.

Othering in a (Not So) Futuristic Dystopian Reality

Our class discussion of zombies the other day immediately reminded me of one particular episode of Black Mirror: “Men Against Fire.”

***SPOILER ALERT***

In this episode, soldiers are fitted with special technology in their senses (eyes, noses, etc.) that augment and modify their senses. They are able to see holographic maps and blueprints so as to more efficiently breach enemy inhabited buildings. Essentially, they are equipped with military-grade virtual reality goggles, but they are not clued in on just how powerful the technology they use might be.

Throughout the episode, soldiers hunt these creatures called “roaches” throughout the countryside. These “roaches” are horrible looking humanoid creatures reminiscent of zombies and they are very clearly monstrous. The main character is a new soldier and ends up killing his first roach while out on a run. In the thrill of the moment and in the face of such monstrosity — he stabs a roach to death, repeatedly stabbing the growling creature until it falls still and silent.

Main character confronts a “roach” Source: The MancUnion

Towards the end of the episode, his military-grade augmented senses start to glitch out. We come to find out that without his modified vision, the “roaches” that he has been hunting are actually humans just like him. The government developed technology that was able to monstrosize an entire race of people because they were other, less than, or genetically inferior — and convince one group of humans to kill another because they thought of them as “roaches” rather than people.

In class, we discussed how video games make it easy/necessary to kill aliens, Nazis, robots, masked men, zombies, terrorists, monsters, pests and vermin. What’s so horrifying about this episode is the combination of a real technology — virtual reality — with real world realities in which we demonize entire groups of people. Some might argue that video games teach us that it is acceptable to kill things that are less than human, and when we mix that with a world that in some ways is becoming more and more like a video game — things get scary.

It’s Never About the Zombies … So Who Is It About?!

I tend to couch my admission that I’m a raging fan of The Walking Dead with “but it’s not about the zombies!” It’s never about the zombies. Once I realized this, I became much more receptive to watching and reading other works in the Zombie Apocalypse genre. Typically, works of zombie or living dead horror center on the humanity and relationships of the living characters. Zombies are horribly one-dimensional. Some are more frightening than others (seriously, fast zombies are the WORST), but ultimately they function more as props than as characters.

The real story emerges as we follow the living and their attempt to both survive and retain compassion for other living humans and a sense of right and wrong. We feel for the characters we meet as we come to appreciate their humanity in the face of so much gruesome and horrifying death. The best part of any zombie story is attaching ourselves to likable characters and watching their journey unfold as they struggle to survive.

A few of the survivors look on at a world turned upside down. Source: Channel4

So, what struck me as terribly odd in the first two episodes of Dead Set is how little I liked ANY of the characters. The members/participants of Big Brother are all presented as obnoxious. The producer is a giant jerk. Kelley is clearly supposed to be the object of most of our sympathy — but we find out quickly that she is cheating on her seemingly otherwise innocent (and adorable) boyfriend. So far, I do like the boyfriend (Rick), but he is a very minor character at this point.

I’m trying to understand what exactly the intent of the character development might be. Are we supposed to find the good in otherwise off-putting people in the face of disaster? Is the show remarking on the good of people even within the ugliest portrayals of humanity? Seriously, Dead Set — throw us a bone!

Managing and Creating Fear Via Technology

Chapter 17 of A Head Full of Ghosts was the most frightening chapter to me so far. I was especially struck by the suspense that is created leading up to the blanket scene in which Marjorie seemingly has a demonic episode (or perhaps it really is just a performance) and Merry captures it all on camera. While this was the most frightening moment in the book for me, Merry seemed to be handling the suspense fairly well, considering her circumstances. I wondered why this might be and recognized that throughout the scene she was managing the situation and her own experience by using her video camera as an intermediary.

Instead of experiencing the terror of the blanket scene firsthand, she watched it through the camera display, distancing herself from what was happening right in front her. This prompted me to ponder how else we go about managing fear through our use of technology. When I looked into it further I found that companies have found a way to use this tactic in reverse — using the camera to bring us closer to terror.

A ghost is presented just in front of the “Night Terrors” player through the screen of a smartphone. Source: Dailymail.co.uk

A new game, called “Night Terrors,” uses the camera on your smartphone in conjunction with the accelerometer and GPS to create a map of your house and overlay horrific images of demons and zombies into the comfort of your own home. This augmented reality video game uses algorithms to configure the dimensions of your house and then to place monsters and ghosts on the screen as if they are standing in front of the player. Coupled with surround sound headphones that make it seem as if floorboards are creaking or someone is breathing right behind you, it could be quite the fright!

How else have we intentionally designed technology to mediate or fuel our fear?