Privacy and Humanity: Reflective Post

 

Looking back through my past blog posts there were two themes that I seemed to revisit time and time again. The first was privacy and the digital world. The second was what defines us as human.

I tended to look at the idea of privacy in relation to the digital world by inserting myself into situations we read about and attempting to see how I would feel. Head Full of Ghosts first sparked my thoughts on this issue, and I tied those ideas to an article I had read about a TV show that broadcast a man’s death in the ER without his family’s consent or knowledge. That blog post can be found here. After I considered how I would feel in that situation, I came to the conclusion that this was a particularly cruel thing to do because of loved ones that might see it. I wrote that many of the materials we had looked at thus far in class, “provide examples of how technology has the potential to create digital ghosts, but also how these reminders of the dead can “haunt” living friends and relatives without their consent and in a far more vivid way than was possible prior to recording technology.” I revisited this idea most clearly when I created a digital will for myself and detailed the experience in another post, found here. Here, I came to the conclusion that I didn’t particularly care what happened to my digital possessions unless they would help friends and family grieve. In that case I thought they should have access to them. Finally, I revisited this theme with a blog post on the way the stories of people’s deaths are often used in campaigns without their consent. That post can be found here. Just like in my first post, I put myself into the shoes of the woman who I wrote about and found, “While undoubtedly these campaigns have the potential to make a positive difference in many lives, I can’t imagine I would particularly want details of my private struggles to be used without giving it the ok.”

Since I was little all over the place in these blog posts, I tried to sum up my final thoughts on privacy in the digital age. Personally, I wouldn’t want anything I hadn’t shared with the online world during my life to be shared after my death. Moreover, I was primarily concerned with how the sharing of these things would impact those I loved. While I didn’t realize I had focused on this issue so much in my blogs until after I finished writing it, I also looked at privacy in my final project in relation to how it is portrayed in Station Eleven. By the end of the semester I had settled more firmly on the idea that the extent to which the digital world invades our privacy is not great. I concluded, “Mandel’s treatment of remembering in Station Eleven at least forces us to question if the extent of information provided by the digital age can be just as much a burden as it is a gift in remembering the dead.”

The second issue that I addressed frequently in my blog posts was what makes us human. In my first blog post, found here, I commented that zombies seem to be particularly horrifying because superficially they maintain much of the appearance of their human counterparts. At that point, I had difficulty coming up with a concrete definition of when something stops being human (and in retrospect I never really came up with a detailed definition). I revisited this idea when I looked in depth at an episode Dead Set. That blog post can be found here. I wrote, “While I watched, I felt as though this set the characters up for a rather bleak outcome no matter what: either they died because of their humanity, or in fighting “the other,” they lost what made them better, or at least different, in the first place.” From this, it seems that in part, I define humanity by the ability to empathize. I reiterated this is my second project, where my podcast used an episode of Supernatural in parallel with a Dead Set episode to look further into this idea. In that project I extended my claims further to the idea that, “empathy for the monstrous is what makes us human, though…this is not the easiest path to follow.”

To provide a final conclusion or sorts to these thoughts, I attempted to synthesize what I have learned from the two themes that I addressed the most frequently in class. I’ll be the first to admit it was kind of a stretch. But anyway, here it is: if I choose to define humanity by our potential for empathy, then technology has the ability to increase our humanity via facilitating human connection and understanding (an example of this is in my third project, Pictorial Memorial) or it can threaten it in a number of ways such as the numbing flood of excess information or even the invasion of privacy as I detail in a number of my blogs.

My snapchat project is the only one that didn’t get any love in this post, so here’s a cool selfie from my title page to finish out my digital studies career.

How Do We Measure a Life?

In reading the last few chapters of Station Eleven, there was one quotation that particularly stuck with me. At the beginning of chapter 53, Emily St. John Mandel details Arthur Leander’s last day on Earth. She describes how Arthur, “made his late breakfast—scrambled eggs—and showered, dressed, combed his hair… all of the small details that comprise a morning, a life” (317).

I noticed a similarity between this quotation and a song from the famous Broadway musical Rent: “Seasons of Love.” In this song, the main characters contemplate how you measure a year in a person’s life.

“Seasons of Love” seeks to understand how to measure a year. It is not a big leap to go from a year to a life, as a life is the culmination of all the hours, mornings, days, and years in a person’s existence. Thinking on this quotation and the message in “Seasons of Love,” I began to wonder: how do we measure a person’s life after their death?

I believe that this is one of the fundamental questions at the heart of Station Eleven. How are we remembered after we are gone? I believe that the best exploration of this question is found through the book’s use of Arthur. Arthur is remembered by Kirsten after he is gone thanks to the legacy he left behind due to his fame. Tabloid pictures of Arthur, along with Dear V., along with a few shadowy memories, inform Kirsten’s view of Arthur. However, Clark also remembers Arthur and remembers the person he met when they were both young upstarts.

I am not sure what Mandel is trying to say with regards to how we are remembered. Is she saying that we are remembered by the legacy we leave behind or by the people in our lives that we have touched? Perhaps, Mandel is saying that we are remembered for “all of the small details that comprise” our lives. Regardless, I think that this is a question that deserves exploration when discussing Station Eleven.

Recognizing the Flaws of the Pre-Apocalyptic World

I haven’t seen or read a whole lot of post-apocalyptic narratives, but several years ago I read The Road by Cormac McCarthy and couldn’t help but compare it to what we have read thus far in Station Eleven. In The Road, a man and his son are traveling through a decidedly more brutal post-apocalyptic landscape than Station Eleven, with the two struggling to survive. Throughout the book, the man often thinks back to his wife and the son’s mother who committed suicide in order to escape what she saw as an inevitable end where she would be raped and murdered as they traveled. I felt particularly conflicted by aspect of the plot. While objectively for me this seemed like a reasonable decision, when reading the book I couldn’t shake a feeling of animosity towards this character, as though I had higher standards of bravery and morality of characters surviving the apocalypse. In contrast, when I read Frank’s suicide in Station Eleven, I had no sense of antipathy so I attempted to figure out why. After reflection, it was the line, “I remember thinking that I never wanted to see a war zone again, as long as I live (183),” that stuck with me. In contrast with other post-apocalyptic narratives, Station Eleven does not make out the world before the apocalypse to be a utopia. For Frank, the things he has already seen and lived through are likely just as bad as what is now happening, and this is probably the case for many people in the world. Even in a less drastic sense the pre-apocalyptic world for Arthur and even Miranda is distinctly un-idyllic. Kirsten’s reflections on the death that surrounded Shakespeare (57) also served as a reminder that gruesome deaths are not unique to the world after the collapse. For me, it was almost as though because Station Eleven recognized that the pre-collapse world was in many ways incredibly flawed, that it was acceptable for the characters to be more imperfectly human as well.

In contrast with Station Eleven, The Road’s reflections on the pre-apocalyptic world seem to only see the beauty of what was and never will be again.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Mandel, Emily St. John. Station Eleven : A Novel. First edition. ed., New York, Alfred A. Knopf, 2015.

McCarthy, Cormac. The Road. 1st Vintage International ed. ed., New York, Vintage Books, 2006.

Arguments Against Globalization

While reading Station Eleven, I could not help but think of two movies: Contagion and Outbreak. Both of these films have a premise similar to that of Station Eleven: an outbreak of mysterious disease decimates the world’s population. However, the diseases in Outbreak and Contagion—Motaba and MEV-1, respectively—do not lead to the failure of technology in the same way that the Georgia Flu of Station Eleven does.

Contagion, Outbreak, and Station Eleven are all examples of a common fear held by today’s society: a pandemic. Whether it be man-made or naturally occurring, today’s society is in a constant fear of biological villains or weapons. This is a theme that I have noticed in many other stories as well. But why are we so afraid of this theme?

Reflecting on this question, I thought that the greatest fear found in Contagion, Outbreak, Station Eleven, and other stories containing pandemics stems from the globalization of our world. Our world is so connected; we can travel great distances in almost no time at all. The ease with which we can spread around the world is something that we take for granted, as made evident by the Traveling Symphony’s traveling difficulties in Station Eleven.

If we are made to fear the connectivity of the world, we are therefore made to fear the world’s globalization. Are these stories thus arguments against the globalization of the world? To prevent the spreading of disease, should we not be able to travel as easily as we can? Does our globalization need to end?