Foreword
In the social sciences, most course readings and assignments tend to take the form of individually-authored research papers. However, in my work as a professor, I repeatedly find that students respond to my anthropology courses in unpredictable and creative ways that transcend my expectations. For instance, they have produced drawings, zines, podcasts, songs, and poems inspired by course materials, often in collaboration with each other. I encourage such responses, because different people find their best voice in different genres and media. In the study of digital technologies, which can be perceived as inaccessibly ‘technical’, I consider it especially important to cultivate an inclusive space for diverse forms of expression and literacy.
Artistic and poetic responses can reveal the political stakes of the ideas studied, often more intimately and clearly than conventional papers do. The following poetry collection by Shama Mohamed and Dorota Olsavska is an illustrative case. Informed by anthropological research, the two poets have crafted insightful meditations on the social implications of digital technologies and artificial intelligence. Their poems explore the dystopian applications of predictive policing and algorithmic risk scoring, the persistence of racialised and gendered bodies in virtual game-worlds, and the human labour rendered invisible behind seemingly automated systems such as search engines. The last poem honours the legacy of María Teresa Freyre de Andrade, a Cuban librarian who formulated an alternative approach to informatics and computing. Mohamed and Olsavska offer a touching depiction of the manifold entanglements between machines and people.
—Rodrigo Ochigame
the sky turns pink on concrete realm
beneath cold stars that dimly glow
lay the drops of broken glass
under heavy crust of snow
.
dry coughs flow like strings of notes
a cigarette loose from old lady’s lips
as she bends the wire, cranks the plastic wheels,
between lines of static buzz a voice
speaks of news in fighting crime
a key to brighter dawn
.
“the gove … ment … innovative system in use
… success … been proven … in a humane
target crime … at their … home …”
.
and as the speech fades in dusty fog
it’s bloody clothes that grace the roads
like salt, lost coins, and gravel stones
words in snow of broken bones
written for the moonshine breath
that lingers after uniforms
- d
power on
ASWD keys
or simple arrows
whichever you wish
tab to inventory
space to jump
check connection
left click and right
take a deep breath
fill in your name
headphones plugged in
and press new game
.
WELCOME!
step into the arena
of simulation divinity
worlds with no bonds
you can be anyone
lone street soldier
nightly passenger
dragon tamer
fighting for survival
or rejoicing in tasks
have a skin
time for good looks
3-inch-thin waist
perfect boobs
what do you say?
limited shades?
don’t overthink!
sword of gold?
flamethrower?
a king-slayer’s axe?
here’s an achievement
rubies and gems
we care about you
now fly!
join the dance!
.
oh, one final rule
a catch we concealed
mute is an impostor
accent a certain miss
if unsure, don’t speak
be normal
the normal normal
when you get uneasy
and it seems like
they might tilt their gun
you must face away
and press shift to run
- d
1:07 AM at a local store
the pale freezer lights hurt
I lost my contacts again
now everything looks blurred
smirk at the checkout camera
go on!
they already know what I bought
and what I’ll return for
in case I forget
unless …
I purchase 357 lemons
I’d never financially recover from that
but I like messing with the algorithms
imagine them bewildered and mad
.
on the way home I pass new Mars
oh, how strange it looks down here
spacesuit sleeves full of jazzy cans
muscles ache as if pierced by pins
odd shady figures are at my heels
many things they loathe about me
but most the bold blue
tattoo on my chin
.
I should fix the bathroom’s flickering bulb
only cool morgue ambiance stays
as I let my bag drop down to the ground
the cables flow and commands stray
sink into the network like a drop of lye
immersed in the mission with no end
accompanied by my glowing friend
to work and live and live and work
again and again and again …
.
*Incoming message*
Dear 357 / A
Truly and sincerely.
A decision has been made. You are not deemed in urgent need of medical care.
Your appointment is therefore postponed.
.
my mind blows up at the sight
are the texts cloned? what’s their plan?
I curse loudly as I crumple the red can
this close to throwing my tech against the wall
but no! I’m sorry, my computer!
I’d never …
I know metal is not all there is to you my dear
even you write better love letters than me
.
Dear 357 / A, please remain a dreamer
your eyes keep forgetting to see
thank you for staying resilient
even though you shouldn’t be
- d
He sits bent over in his little cubicle
Doing magic
But unlike the magicians from the books of his childhood, he isn’t admired
He is locked away, out of sight
Made to labour in exchange for nothing
.
Sometimes, when he sits in this cubicle
He daydreams
Of pulling back the curtain
And showing the world who’s really behind the near-perfect results
Of Google, Bing, and Co.
None would be what they are without him
.
But when he opens his eyes, he is back in a reality far from magic and glamour
Sighing, he remembers last night’s argument
‘‘Can’t you quit?’’, his wife asked him, eyes swimming in tears
The desperation that filled the little crammed room
‘‘No’’, he said, ‘‘it’s all we have.’’
.
Sometimes, though, he dreams of quitting
Especially on days like yesterday
When his salary does not appear
He dreams of throwing in the towel
He would leave his small cubicle and not look back
.
He could give his wife the life
She’d dreamed of
The life he’d promised her
No more disappointing looks from in-laws
Instead, a pat on the back, and a “mighty fine man you are”
.
All of this would be possible if he were a magician
Giving us the show of our lifetime
s
Books should not be elitist, she thought, they should be for everyone. So, without hesitating she brought the books to the people, to anyone. A bus and motivated helpers were all it took. Loading the bus; book upon book. Education is the key to success. How to win a revolution without knowledge? Her mobile library became a haven for the oppressed, a place for disgraced pamphlets to flourish. Activity, not passivity; books that search for owners. With unique alacrity, María gave the last orders. A biblioteca popular was born, revolutionising popular notions of the library. No more dusty librarians that looked at you with scorn, the second you talked too loudly. Instead, a modern institution, bringing books to the people. That was her contribution. What is yours?
s
‘‘You’re doing great, you’re doing great’’
Her monotone voice repeats over and over
Does she not know that I feel anything but first-rate?
Does she ever stop to wonder?
.
A renegade is what I feel like
Doing the one thing I said I wouldn’t do
Reproducing death instead of life
Turning that into a game, too
.
Flashbacks loom before my eyes
I ask to stop, but she won’t let me
The air is rife with sighs
Articulating my agony
.
In pain I crouch down on the floor
‘‘Go on’’, the voice commands
I stifle a sob, my throat is sore
If only she knew what she demands
.
Video games feed off my real experiences
War, anger, sadness, a blast
A pastime for young, innocent audiences
Their joysticks re-enacting my past
.
No escape
I want to pull those stupid VR-glasses off my head
The ones replaying the landscape
Hot tar, war tanks, the smell of sweat
.
This is far from comfortable
Choking on tears, I relive the scene
I do not feel admirable
Meanwhile, her voice is serene
.
It urges me on
Devoid of emotion, impatient, snappy
All I want is to be gone
All I want is to be happy
.
Instead, I am stuck here
My experiences only food for the game
In my memory, my comrade’s end is near
Serving a higher power without a name
.
This is my worst nightmare
I am begging my warden to set me free
But nothing breaks her unflinching stare
There is no end to this story
s