Media and Real Life

Perhaps the most interesting reading for me this week was the Dibbell article, "Rape in Cyberspace". I'm not going to lie, I have talked to people online that I haven't met in person, but the idea of getting so invested in an imagined online community to consider someone making a voodoo doll of you and manipulating it on a text-only online server a violation of personal space is just ludicrous to me. It really does speak to the power of such imagined communities, going all the way back to the very first reading of the class.

And that's what I was struck with most this week - how everything has seemed to come together. Wednesday's lecture really hit home, because it helped me to finally realize what I should have figured out in the first place: that, as Prof. Chun said, you have to give in to ideas that you disagree with to really expand yourself and learn. There were many readings this semester I disagreed with, and one screening in particular I intensely disliked, but in retrospect, it all fits in nicely and creates quite the incredible library of voices to draw on.

The enduring question for me from this course is, what does media foster? Community? Individuality? Conformity? Self-expression? Or both? It creates communities - both imagined and real; for example, I can ask millions of people around the country about the latest episode of The Office and instantly strike up a conversation. But at the same time, I am encouraged to upload my own media to YouTube and create my own material on Facebook wall postings and messages; certainly, this is blatant free labor, but there is no denying that these are invaluable forms of expression for our generation. Whether or not I take another MCM course, it will be difficult for me from here on out to look at media the same way when I watch the news or hear about a new social networking or Web 2.0 initiative. I suppose the final question to ask is not how media does, but how it will do - how it will evolve. What will we be viewing, listening to, taking part in decades from now?

Comparisons!!!

The moment in the opening of Julian Dibbell’s piece, A Rape in Cyberspace, where he acknowledges his belief that the world of “LambdaMoo existed somewhere in a concrete sense” is worth noting in relation to Wednesday’s concluding lecture because the intersection between media and reality is a theme we have been exploring throughout the course (7). Dibbell himself acknowledges that “he isn’t the first person to make this kind of mistake” since not just new technologies, but old technologies too (like the book) can evoke worlds which also share the power to sustain this kind of belief (8). Something we might wish to consider in section tomorrow are some points of departure between something like LambdaMoo and, say, the flow of television—maybe Joyrich’s (I think) notion that television not only creates family but can act as a kind of friend. Or we could think about it in relation to the gaze, voyeurism, and cinema and Benjamin’s notion of distracted spectatorship. What is it about being given instruments of some control that alters the experience for us. Or many others; these are just some potential starting points.

Also, this request is probably in vain, but can I just make a plea to everyone that we don’t compare LambdaMoo to Facebook. It’s not that there aren’t comparisons to be made, but after presentation week (and the presentations were great), if I ever have to talk critically about Facebook again any time soon I think my head is going to explode. So just be forewarned.

Blurred Distinctions

Yesterday afternoon I stumbled into a conversation that forced me to think harder about the issues presented in "A Rape in Cyberspace", not as abstract, distanced phenomena but as legitimate questions of responsibility and perversion that penetrate even to levels of Internet and media usage that are becoming near-universal. I grew up in a household where video games were strictly prohibited, a situation that for me was never very problematic; I found plenty to occupy me otherwise, and I had a legitimate excuse for coming in last at every social gathering where games like "Halo" were the main event. While I enjoyed myself, I always maintained a little bit of skepticism for some of the more indulgent uses of the medium. Yesterday, a friend was discussing her experiences playing Grand Theft Auto for the first time while home for Thanksgiving, and I took the opportunity to jokingly chide her for enjoying such a fantastically violent game. "Come on," she said in retort, "it's perfectly fine to kill people in a video game! Everyone knows it isn't real." "A Rape in Cyberspace" still fresh in my mind, I wanted to ask how she would feel about a video game involving rape instead of murder. If you know it's not real, is it still okay? Is one crime less socially acceptable or more disturbing to imagine than the other? While I didn't say these things, I can imagine she would have, like me and I hope, most people I know, been averse to such a game - it just doesn't seem right. Yet it is undeniable that in today's gaming medium, games where killing the opponent(s) is the central goal make up a large percentage of the output. It seems that society has, at least in terms of gaming, loosened the taboo on socially sanctioned electronic depravity in a very specific way limited exclusively to the act of taking a life.

Of course, the world of a game is not necessarily equivalent to a world such as that of LamdaMOO in every way; in their embracing of the Internet and networking in ways gaming has just begun to explore, networks such as Lambda fundamentally imply a much more passionate personal investment. You don't play your avatar, you are your avatar; the objects of your interaction are not computer generated, but real people. But similar questions emerge: is this space one where it is acceptable to act out fantasies inappropriate for the "real" world, or is it a place real in its own right, where your actions resonate just as they would in the physical world? Are disturbing digital romps such as that of Mr_Bungle actually a boon to physical society, as some have argued, allowing sociopaths to excise their cruel tendencies in a space where tangible harm is minimized, or does accepting this sort of behavior online create a dangerous precedent? If people can become so invested into these virtual worlds as to experience powerful emotions related to their interactions there, we must remember the blurring of boundaries can be just as easily turned in the other direction. Yet in condemning the use of Internet space as an outlet for depravity, we must take a hard look at ourselves as well. Who among us has not once taken pride in a bloody video-game victory or something comparable, seemingly safe within the realm of imagination and unreality? It's certain the act of killing in a video game is not comparable to Mr_Bungle's voodoo doll crimes in LambdaMOO, but the question of why is much less clear, and should give us pause.

The strict rules in the community of LambdaMOO established after the events described in "A Rape in Cyberspace" will ensure behavior of this type is punished in the future, much as law does in the physical space of a nation. But if we agree that virtual depravity towards others is wrong, would we even be able to prevent it in the larger public space of the Internet in general? What Mr_Bungle did, when stripped of all emotion, involved typing in a series of commands and sentences. Were these acts attributed to his avatar and others truly actions, or do they merely constitute speech, protected under our Constitution and those of other nations? It seems that given the reality of the LambdaMOO world to its devoted users, and the genuine shock and horror at these sentences Mr_Bungle created, they are actions with legitimate consequences, and should ideally be treated as such. The distinction between speech and action in a space as blurry as the Internet, though, is one that may prove difficult to define in the coming years; what is certain is that it will be an issue for both theorists and lawmakers, of the digital and physical varieties alike.

The Gamer Position: Protected or Vulnerable?

I thought LambdaMoo and the article “A Rape in Cyperspace” were very interesting. Initially, I was a little surprised how seriously the LambdaMoo community took the virtual rape. But this led me to think about how online games and networked media facilitate a kind of unique interactive experience in which there can be a melding of a person’s identity in the physical world and the person’s digital representation. This was a concept I wrestled with when working on my group project about surveillance of virtual worlds. In that project, we recorded a video from Second Life of a gamer called Nova being sexually harassed by another gamer called Day. Day, a complete stranger, constantly declared his love for Nova and asked her why she didn’t love him back. Eventually, Nova was disturbed enough to temporarily leave the game and come back as an alternate avatar. This encounter shares some similarities to the Bungle affair in LambdaMoo. Thus, these online games seem to offer two totally different relationships between the gamer and the media. On the one hand, the anonymity they give the user can serve to remove inhibitions that are active during normal societal interactions. The gamer is hidden behind a protective screen, and his/her newfound freedom can be put to nefarious purposes.

In cyberspace, there rarely are consequences for being an asshole, and thus many people use these games to unleash their perverse fantasies and sadistic side. When playing online games, especially shooters, I’ve witnessed gamers viciously bullying other gamers (especially newbies or younger kids) for little or no reason at all except that they can get away with it. This is regulated to a certain extent on private servers where “admins” set behavioral rules and enforce them with their power to kick or ban players from the game. These “virtual laws” are very reminiscent of LamdaMoo, where, upon entering, you are confronted with a long list of conduct regulations.

The presence of these rules hints at the existence of an alternate mode of online interaction. Dedicated players often become invested in their virtual persona and reputation as an extension of the self---thus negating the protection of anonymity and making the gamer more vulnerable. The gamer partially disavows the mediation of the screen and comes to associate himself/herself with his/her digital representation. Interestingly, unlike in modern computer games, one’s digital representation in LambdaMoo is entirely literary, but nonetheless, the virtual rape victims still identified intensely with their virtual character. Thus, the identification is not based on an actual visual representation (except perhaps a mental one). It is probably also significant that the LambdaMoo rape victims were LambdaMoo veterans. Their investment in their characters was most likely built up over time. I wonder if Mr. Bungle’s antics would have had the same impact on a LambdaMoo newbie.
I think the dual and seemingly paradoxical experiences of protection and vulnerability offered by online games are fascinating and deserving of more analysis.

I thought both articles we read this week were very interesting and relative to our generation. It’s the contrast between these different types of interaction via internet that fascinates me.
It seems like the relationships in these two examples are extremely different, and I wonder how you could define their degree of “reality” vs. “truthfulness.” The LambdaMoo relationships described by Dibbell have a certain intensity to them that I don’t think can be compared to MySpace or Facebook interactions. For instance, the fact that “virtual sex” can be fulfilling or that so-called “cyberrape” can be hurtful enough to move someone to (real-life) tears shows a high degree of vulnerability and emotional investment in these cyber relationships that I don’t think is as present in social networking situations. Personally, I couldn’t imagine someone feeling like they could be raped through Facebook; partially, perhaps, because it is so largely based on real-life connections that users do not have the same comfort level expressing things over the internet that they would not be comfortable expressing in reality, as they often would have to face the real-life consequences when they see the affected person again.
On the other hand, most Facebook relationships are based on actual interactions as well as cyber-interactions, which in my mind would make those relationships deeper. “Facebook friends” generally know each other’s voice, appearance, style of dress, social affect and relationships to others in addition to their profiles, whereas LambdaMoo users interact only through their cyber-selves. Do these different levels of knowing someone make Facebook relationships more true than LambdaMoo ones?
If we look at the concept of truth as Dibbell presents it, it is connected to vulnerability. Dibbell’s article, I think, shows that LambdaMoo users allow themselves to be very vulnerable within that setting. But what risks are they really taking in a world that they could technically disconnect themselves entirely from with the click of a mouse? Or simply start over with a new character and blank slate, just like Mr. Bungle? We don’t have that escape route within our workplace, or our school environment. So while our Facebook interactions may be less emotionally intense, I feel like they involve a similar degree of vulnerability simply because the stakes are higher in a world where we can’t start over. While Dibbell’s idea of the truth of the LambdaMoo world is very convincing, and I would agree that the interactions he describes are true in that they do truly affect us, I think it is still a very different kind of truth than that of the real world or those networking sites more directly bound to reality, simply because of the possibility of escape.

On a completely different note, one of the most interesting things to me about Boyd’s article, which Professor Chun also brought up in lecture and I hadn’t really thought about before is the concept of the public declaration of relationships that is a part of networking sites. In “real life” we are rarely confronted with the need to label our relationships, except perhaps with girlfriends/boyfriends. But how does it affect a relationship when it is labeled as “it’s complicated.” What does it mean to declare someone a “friend” or a “top-friend” and how does that affects real-life interactions? Also, why do we feel the need for this kind of public declaration which we do not seem to feel in other settings? These were just questions that I had never really asked myself before, and I thought would be interesting to discuss.

Real and True in Cyberspace

     The reading "Rape in Cyberspace" raised questions of the new ethics that will emerge with the increasingly real world of cyberspace.  Following the assaults in LambdaMOO, users found it imperative to act.  Indeed, some users related their own real-world sexual assaults to that which took place in the world of LambdaMoo.  The case became complicated as debate burgeoned around when and how to establish a system of rules and governance, especially when the case could potentially end in what would be the equivalent of a user's "death sentence."  

     The reading further problematizes the notions of "real" and "true" we have been dealing with in this section of the course, as well as, the role of ethics accompanying the transition from the real to the cyberreal.  We have already seen real world practices transition into cyberworlds such as Second Life where you can use real money to buy virtual property.  The line between real life and virtual life seems to become increasingly blurred.  What is real in virtual lives is not necessarily true, as demonstrated by the Sarah Parker case; however, as the article showed, users still expect some universal truths and values to hold and view the emotional shock of such events as real.  What is at stake in this?  Is this going to effect our perception of real life reality or for that matter, our perception of the reality of virtual life and how we act in that sphere?   

     Furthermore, social networks such as Facebook already are incorporated into our daily life and conversation so that these virtual networks offer a new genre of "flow."  Should cites such as SecondLife, TinyWorld, and Lambdamoo become as integrated into daily life as Facebook, will we need them as Danah Boyd argues we need online social networks to legitimize our own being?  It is an interesting thought: to need the virtual to legitimize the real and it would certainly be an interesting result that from our initial desires for escape we create a medium through which to define our reality.   

Cybercrime?

The article "A rape in cyberspace" brings up a number of interesting issues about digital actions, reality, and how virtual actions should be dealt with (and punished). Considering that lamdamoo is largely based on fiction and fantasy, how can actions within lamdamoo be interpreted? Dibbel draws an interesting parallel between real life and virtual life on moo, suggesting the physical realities that may often accompany virtual sex. But do digital actions necessarily reflect any sort of real life intentions or desires? Does Mr_Bungle's rape of two characters represent any sort of desire to commit such actions in the real world or merely a desire to stir up trouble and controversy in a digital space? Perhaps a bit of both. The internet is often viewed through the lens of anarchy. There is little outside regulation on the internet. There are rarely real life consequences for internet actions. Perhaps this is because of just how much any action that occurs on the internet is fictional. Mr_Bungle's rape was essentially fictional, regardless of what connections it has to the real world. This relates to the social networking article by Dana Boyd and the idea of constructing a self within a social networking site. Users create an image for themselves to project to others that, by it's nature and by the conscious efforts of the user, will always be somewhat fictional. It would seem that fiction and the internet are eternally bound to each other. This fictionality is just what makes the internet so hard to regulate. How can any internet action be punished when the actual reality of the action is so dubious? It seems the only regulation that can logically be put into place is that of the community itself. Internet and virtual communities must, for the most part, regulate themselves. Moo users decided the fate of Mr_Bungle. By using a moo or becoming a member of an online community such as a forum, the user must be aware that he is opening himself up to various experiences he may or may not want to have and cannot control. There is a famous theory that goes something like "a normal person with the anonymity of the internet becomes a total asshole." The lack of any real consequences on the internet promotes bad behavior. It's often seen as a space where "anything goes," but it seems that the line has to be drawn somewhere. The question is: where do we draw it?

Trying to Appreciate LambdaMOO

I had two very different experiences while visiting LambdaMOO, which I guess is to be expecting seeing as I only visited the site two times.  Anyway, during my first login I just explored the house a little.  I tried “looking” at a few objects, but that proved fairly uninteresting.  Possibly if I weren’t examining couches and lamps it would be a little more exciting—in earlier Resident Evil video games you pretty much do the same thing:  static sceneries are meant to be explored, and objects are to be “looked” at in order to solve puzzles.  In Resident Evil, though, your character is represented visually, and a more interactive element comes into play when you shoot zombies.  Maybe the texts programmed into LambdaMOO could be fun, but what I saw/read was not.

 

After looking at a few boring objects, I got lost in some sort of wine cellar.  The maze of barrels I was in was pretty impossible to navigate out of, but luckily (kinda) someone teleported into the room to check on me.  Her name was Jill.  Jill had us teleport to a new room, I forget which, but it was a public room that she claimed had a better vibe.  I could actually see why she wanted to leave the barrel-room.  It’s interesting that some people have just been able to accept and be affected by the LambdaMOO universe, and take seriously the fictitious environment.  In this new room, a red flag went up when she asked if Alex stood for Alexander or Alexandra.  Soon after I was offered cybersex.  I realllly had to go to dinner after that point…

 

During my next login, a character approached me and asked if I was in LambdaMOO for a class.  He had obviously encountered other MCMers the day, and said if I needed any help I could just ask him.  I first asked if everyone just uses the system  now to “live out” sexual fantasies; I suppose it’s more anonymous and accessible than phone-sex.  He said that “veterans” like himself don’t do that.  His screenname, though non-representative of his real-life self, had acquired a certain personality over the years that would be unable to engage in those activities as completely anonymous.  He told me about LambdaMOOs heyday when it had a huge waiting list to become a character, and the rooms would be filled with others.  All that seemed to be left was a lonesome residue of an imagined community that I had never been a part of, and therefore could never fully appreciate.  LambdaMOO reminded me of an old, crude video game.  Newer, flashier versions are available (AIM), but there may not be too much more substance.  Part of it is our willingness to imagine the space.  The rudimentary Mario found in the original Donkey Kong may be more of a Mario to some than the Mario found in the latest Mario Galaxy.  As I left LambdaMOO, the character I met was feeding a seemingly untamable bird—an activity that seemed unfulfilling to me, but to someone who has submitted to this universe and this imagined community, it may hold much more significance, and that much more pleasure may be gained from the textual challenge.  

Danah Boyd introduces the relationship between the online and the offline construction of identity in her article “Why Youth (Heart) Social Network Sites: The Role of Networked Publics in Teenage Social Life;” however, I feel as though she glazes over a crucial aspect of this relation. She basically discusses the active production of an online identity as “individuals must write themselves into being” as they “construct these profiles,” (13) clearly indicating the conscious creation of an online self. This construction of the online identity is driven by the desire to “present the side of themselves that they believe will be well received by these peers” – teens essentially create an identity that will please their assumed audience of “peers that they know primarily offline” (13).
I have always found this relationship between one’s online and offline identity to be intriguing – the notion of actively constructing a new identity online in a profile for people you already know to explore. What is really interesting is when there is a clear inconsistency between the two, and from personal experience, I have found this to be a fairly common scenario. It seems to me that some people find the online profile as a method of re-creating oneself, uninhibited by social anxiety – for some, the online profile can be a mode of representing one’s “true self.” However, how true is this “true” self if it differs from the identity that one has created in the real world through face-to-face social interactions? Is one profile more influential or a more accurate representation of oneself? How consistent does one have to be between online and offline representations of oneself? Or maybe one doesn’t even have to be consistent. Ultimately, is it possible (through the two mediums of the online and the offline) to create two simultaneous identities that are both equally true?
Similarly, the relationship between the virtual and real that Julian Dibbell’s article regarding “cyberrape” discusses makes me question the legitimacy of the virtual world and the exchange of words. Dibbell claims that “in real-life reality [virtual sex] is nothing more than a phone fuck stripped of even the vestigial physicality of the voice” (16). First of all, I disagree with the connotation of the phrase “vestigial physicality of the voice” – vestigial or not, the voice is a key factor legitimizing the reality of the situation, giving the participants the reassurance of the humanity of their partner. Disposing of this voice and entering into the realm of mere text diverges away fro the last link to human connection. I disagree with Dibbell’s over-simplification of all forms of interaction (text, voice, and even sex) as a mere “exchange of signs” (17) – although they are all true, each form has a different investment, a different level of certainty, hence a different sense of reality. Regarding the notion of “cyberrape,” I do believe that one can be emotionally impacted and violated through the medium of text since this interaction is in all senses true – however, I don’t think that one can even begin to compare the reality and the lasting impact between a rape executed through text and a rape executed through real human interaction. Text solely thrives in one’s mentality (allowing one to always question its realness), while physical sex and human interaction (through the investment in tangibility) is irrevocably real.
On that note, my experience on lambdaMOO has been an interesting one. After chatting for a significant amount of time with a 26-year-old (apparently) character named “Brew,” he/she helped me create a character name for the chatroom. The next day, somehow I received an email from this “Brew” character. Upon receiving the email, I felt violated and concerned that some unidentified character had left the comfort of the enclosed (and seemingly fictional) virtual world of lambdaMOO and entered into the reality of my personal life. Through the knowledge of my email (which I did NOT give to him/her), this person discovered my name, school, and location. Although Brew didn’t physically walk up to my front door and interact with my personally and I didn’t hear the sound of his/her voice, knowing that this stranger has access to my reality even through text, I am still legitimately creeped out.

TatooineMOO

I found A Rape in Cyberspace to be downright intriguing. I don’t know how many people were regulars on LambdaMOO at the time of the incident, but it seems like most of them were either in the very room or attended the meeting afterwards. To me, it is remarkable that so many people, likely holding real jobs and obligations, were able to come together in such an organized fashion in this text-based world. When I visited, things didn’t seem much at all like I thought they would when I was reading.
I went through the tutorial first, and then, having pushed a secret button in the linen closet, fell down a chute into the living room. There was no one in the house. I expected people to be hanging out in and around the living room at the very least. I did an @who and got a list of 99 people all hanging out each in what seemed to be his own room.
When I decided to explore, I found that there were more places than I cared to bother with. Not only that, but the dense room descriptions stealthily embedded with the cardinal directions I would need to get around made travel stilted and in one case, seemingly impossible. I went into the kitchen, and I couldn’t figure out how to get back, so I tried the patio. Eventually, I found myself in front of a Buddha in a Japanese garden many rooms south of the house. I ran another @who, couldn’t figure out how to teleport, and eventually joined a random character in “La Cantina de los [a phrase that changed regularly],” the room I deemed the most populous. The description mentioned something about a hint of evil, and I definitely got that vibe. One person I looked at turned out to be some sort of disgusting bird creature. Nobody was talking for quite some time, but eventually the bird and the character I had used to join the room began drooling over the idea of a Reuben sandwich. I waited a while longer, but nothing happened, even when I prompted them, so I left the MOO.
The image of a strangely happy and social community that Dibbell created was shattered. I now know LambdaMOO only for its dark and lonely cantina (I felt like Luke at the Mos Eisley Cantina) and confusingly mapped, empty house. Oh, and the pronoun referring to the bird creature was “we.”