How the Internet Is Like a Dying Star - 0 views
newsletters.theatlantic.com/...al-media-reactionary-doom-loop
internet time horizon despair powerlessness culture tech
shared by Javier E on 13 Jun 22
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We are experiencing the same problems and having the same arguments. It’s all leading to a pervasive feeling, especially among younger people, that our systems in the United States (including our system of government) “are no longer able to meet the challenges our country is facing.”
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The internet, as a mediator of human interactions, is not a place, it is a time. It is the past. I mean this in a literal sense. The layers of artifice that mediate our online interactions mean that everything that comes to us online comes to us from the past—sometimes the very recent past, but the past nonetheless.
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Sacasas asks us to revise the notion of real-time communications online, and to instead view our actions as “inscriptions,” or written and visual records. Like stars in the galaxy, our inscriptions seem to twinkle in the present, but their light is actually many years old.
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“Because we live in the past when we are online,” Sacasas suggests, “we will find ourselves fighting over the past.”
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my hunch is that people feel stuck or move on because online, these events feel like things that have happened, rather than something that is happening.
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“What we’re focused on is not the particular event or movement before us, but the one right behind us,”
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“As we layer on these events, it becomes difficult for anything to break through. You’re trying to enter the information environment and the debate, and you find layer upon layer of abstraction over the initial point of conflict. You find yourself talking about what people are saying about the thing, instead of talking about the thing. We’re caking layers of commentary over the event itself and the event fades.” This is, if you ask me, a decent description of the last five years of news cycles.
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“I think it also has to do with the proportion of one’s daily experience to dispatches from the past,” Sacasas said. Pre-internet, “the totality of my day wasn't enclosed by this experience of media artifacts coming to me.”
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the smartphone-bound, reasonably-but-not-terminally online people—the amount they spend engaged with the recent past has increased considerably, to the point that some are enclosed in this online world and develop a disordered relationship to time.
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Constantly absorbing and commenting on things that have just happened sounds to me like a recipe for feeling powerless.
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“That feeling of helplessness comes out of the fact that all our agency is being channeled through these media,” he said. “We have these events that are ponderously large, like climate change or gun control, and to view them only through the lens of what happened or the abstraction of what people are saying strips away the notion of our agency and makes it all feel so futile.”
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the social-media platforms we live on push us toward contribution, and they make it feel necessary. Yet what is the sum total of these contributions? “If I'm cynical,” Sacasas said, “what I think it generates is something akin to influencer culture. It creates people who will make money off of channeling that attention—for better or for ill. Everyone else is stuck watching the show, feeling like we’re unable to effectively change the channel or change our circumstances.”
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ubiquitous connectivity and our media environments naturally lend themselves toward an influencer-and-fandom dynamic. If the system is built to inspire more and more layers of commentary, then that system will privilege and reward people who feed it
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On an internet that democratizes publishing, what this might mean is that all media takes on the meta-commentary characteristics of political or sports talk radio.
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When the Depp-Heard trial began gaining traction online in April, Internet users around the world recognized a fresh opportunity to seize and monetize the attention. Christopher Orec, a 20-year-old content creator in Los Angeles, has posted a dozen videos about the trial to his more than 1.4 million followers on Instagram across several pages. “Personally, what I’ve gained from it is money as well as exposure from how well the videos do,” he said. You can “go from being a kid in high school and, if you hop on it early, it can basically change your life,” Orec said. “You can use those views and likes and shares that you get from it, to monetize and build your account and make more money from it, meet more people and network.”
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if you were going to design a nightmare scenario, it might look a bit like what is described in this Washington Post story from last Thursday:
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Like the Depp-Heard coverage, the forces that Sacasas describes can be deeply cynical and destructive. They’re also almost always exhausting for those of us consuming them
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Examining and discussing and understanding the past is important, and our technologies are enormously helpful in this respect.
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Sacasas compared the way our media ecosystem works—and all these feedback loops—to a novelty finger trap. “Almost every action generates more difficult conditions—to struggle is to feed the thing that’s keeping you bogged down.”
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As politicians—especially those on the far right—transition into full time influencers, they no longer need to govern even reasonably effectively to gain power. They don’t need to show what they’ve done for their constituents. Simply culture warring—posting—is enough. The worse the post, the more attention it gets, and the more power they accrue.
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There's a reason Marjorie Taylor Greene raised $9 million and Sarah Palin has only raised $600,000. MTG has recognized something Palin used to know. Her job is to say something terrible every day so we do all her viral marketing for her.
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One outcome of elected officials adopting the influencer model is a politics that is obsessed with, and stuck in, the past. I don’t just mean a focus on making America “great again,” but a politics that is obsessed with relitigating its recent past.
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we are forever talking about Hillary’s emails or Hunter Biden’s laptop or Merrick Garland’s thwarted Supreme Court seat or the legitimacy of the previous election.
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How do we break the cycle? Is silence our best weapon to starve the attention? That feels wrong. I don’t have answers, but Sacasas has given me a valuable guiding question: How do we train our attention on our present and future, when so much of our life is spent ensconced in dispatches from the recent past?