copyright 1995 by Jen Clodius
This paper was originally presented as one of
three keynote speeches at MUDshop II: Learning Spaces, on Sept. 6, 1995, in San
Diego CA. My thanks to John P. Crane and Dr. Todd J. Satogata for reading and
commenting on earlier drafts.
Good morning, and welcome!
Kirstie [1]asked me to speak this morning about the weird part of working on the net: the people. I'm fascinated by how people use computers to communicate; my dissertation research is on community-formation on the Internet. I'm trying to discern how people are forming "communities of interest" rather than being geographically bound, and how they are using the Internet to broaden their horizons to create "communities of ideas" once they've broken through those geographic boundaries.
People are meeting and becoming friends with a broad variety of folks with divergent and different views -- people whose lives are completely different from their own -- on the net. People are exposed to new ideas, to new information, to alternate points of view. Sometimes, even if they continue to disagree, people begin to understand each other's viewpoint. But the Internet is not going to create a utopia. Neither is it going to end the world. Let me begin by reading a paragraph I recently came across:
New tech fever. There's no hiding from it -- news of it has waylaid every form of media, screaming from newspapers, journals, and advertising posters. Companies form seemingly overnight to exploit some new wrinkle. Hotshot entrepreneurs rush products into the marketplace. Competing products cancel each other out. Standards form and wars break out over competing standards. Newer technologies leapfrog into prominence. Hucksters abound with ridiculous claims. Pundits declare a utopia round the corner or the end of the world as we know it. Jargon leaps into widespread use; new words are overheard almost daily. An excited public lines up to pay big money for a glimpse of it. (Booth 1995:1)
No, this wasn't written about the Internet, or computer-mediated communication, or even the World Wide Web. [2] That paragraph was written about the birth of cinema -- in 1895.
This morning, I want to talk about three aspects of communities on the net: the good stuff, the problems that aren't problems, and the problems that are, indeed, problems. Because many of you are familiar with the writing that Reed Riner and I have done about academic MUDs and because many of you heard my remarks at the last MUDshop, I should comment that most of these examples will be drawn from a social MUD: DragonMud. DragonMud is the oldest continuously-operating MUD on the net, founded in 1989 by my co-administrator, John Crane. DragonMud currently has a population of about 5000 players, with a "core" group of about 500 people, and has been my primary area of research for almost five years.
There is certainly some sense of common purpose that can develop between students within academic surroundings, though I would suggest that this is the result of mutual-adversity bonding more than a matter of choice. People do form study groups, they do ask "How'd you answer that last problem?" in the corridor -- but I hesitate to call this "community". "Community" requires friendship and personal involvement above and beyond solving common problems.
There are lots of people-stories that we can all tell: the support of the community when a pal had to undergo extensive testing and abdominal surgery, helping someone overcome initial loneliness after they've moved to a new city to attend grad school, coping with losing a deaf player in a big-city airport... People come together to support and encourage each other. This kind of community caring requires time and attention, however, and it is more difficult to accomplish in a term-specific MUD that must necessarily deal with pedagogical time restrictions.
This is not to suggest that one can log onto a MUD and get homework answers. In these non-monetary systems, information and attention become the medium of exchange. Players will give suggestions and point to possible solutions, but generally will not actually solve a player's academic problem for them -- especially if the requesting player has not invested the time and energy to become a member of the community.
Recently a (short-lived) player logged on and offered a free UNIX account to anyone who would write a three-paragraph comparison of two poems. While he cloaked his offer as a "contest", the restrictions placed on the "three paragraphs" (including the fact that he had to have the responses by that evening) made it clear that he just plain hadn't done his homework -- and probably didn't intend to do so. He found no takers. Not only was his offer perceived as being "bogus" (as another player succinctly put it), but he had no non-monetary capital invested in the community upon which he could request a return.
The disadvantage of this leveling is, of course, that _every_thing can be promulgated on the net; some of the most persistent urban legends are kept alive here. This summer I got panicked Email from two folks who'd just been warned about the Good Times virus. And let's not forget the poor dying English kid who asked for postcards...
The sheer volume of information available is problematic. I'm the LANlord for my department, and have been trying to teach my professors how to use Email and web-servers. The rather crude warning that they actually seem to remember when I explain that there is a learning process involved, is that learning to use the volume of information available on the net is like learning to drink from a firehose. If you're not careful, it'll rip your lips off. To be effective, you have to learn to sip cautiously. You cannot believe everything that comes across your screen. Moreover you can't even begin to read, much less assimilate, everything available on any subject. The playing field is so level that anyone can contribute, whether or not their contribution has any value.
In fact, no one can see how many times you pause to re-read what's on your screen,
or if you reach for a dictionary occasionally, or that you're an incredibly fumble-
fingered typist. Until you hit
People meet people from a variety of professions, from all areas of the world.
Perspectives are sometimes unintentionally broadened. One player was crowing
about the fact that federal subsidies for student loans had been eliminated; he
strongly believes that the federal budget must be balanced using every possible
means. Another player, quite upset, responded that she would have to leave school
as a result. The first player commented that he hadn't intended his remarks to be
taken personally, the second replied that, since the budget cut directly impacted her
life, she couldn't take it any way _but_ personally. While this interaction didn't
change the first player's beliefs about the need for a balanced federal budget, it did,
at least, make him aware that there were real people, people that he knew, that were
being affected. The incident didn't change his mind, but it did change his
perspective.
I think we forget this as adults. But, in fact, whenever we think "What if..." or "How
come.." or "There has to be a better way..." , we're playing. We're playing with ideas
and the potential application of those ideas, and that is how we cause change and
create new paradigms.
A former housemate used to define the difference between "work" and "fun" like this:
If they pay you, it's work; if you pay them, it's fun. But the fact that we're enjoying
what we're doing doesn't preclude the fact that we're learning while we're having fun.
Any of us can recite a litany of skills enhanced by MUDding: you learn to type faster,
your spelling improves, your grammar improves. But other skills being learned are
more subtle: you learn to express your ideas in ways more comprehensible to other
people. You learn to multi-task by keeping track of several conversations at once.
You learn to interact with a variety of people.
Moreover, even academic learning can take place on social MUDs. Anyone who
has run Mike O'Brien's "Archaeologist" quest on DragonMud knows more Middle
Egyptian than, perhaps, they'd intended. Another author's "Conspiracy Theorist"
quest sends most people to the library to do background research -- in fact, one
player comment that he'd finally bothered to find his school's library specifically
because he needed to learn enough about the Knights Templar to solve that quest.
Playing is not inherently a Bad Thing.
No, the Internet is not going to reduce our need for other humans and for interaction
with other humans. As a case in point, last weekend was the annual Labor Day
Gathering of DragonMudders. DragonMudders come to know each other so well
that they travel long distances to actually meet face-to-face. A number of years ago,
we instituted the large Memorial Day and Labor Day Gatherings so that people could
meet; smaller gatherings occur in various locations at other times of the year.
DragonMudders may have met on the net, but they're still human. And as humans,
we need physical contact with other humans. We still need to interact in the physical
world.
I am reminded of the Socratic fear of text; writing was, Socrates believed, inherently
destructive to the oral tradition, would reduce people's interactions with each other,
and generally destroy the world as he knew it. Instead, writing expanded the
horizons of most people, taught them to think new thoughts and consider new
perspectives, and generally expanded individual universes. People still got married,
still went to the theater, still talked face-to-face, still argued with their professors -- in
spite of this new-fangled "writing" stuff.
Similarly, meeting people on the net does not reduce our need to be with other
humans. In fact, I would suggest that, because people have the sense that they
already "know" other DragonMudders, they're _more_ likely to attend a Gathering
and meet each other face-to-face. Prior to the MemDay Gathering this year, I asked
a player who describes herself as being "painfully shy" if she was nervous about
attending. "Oh, no!" she enthused. "I *know* everybody. I just haven't *met* them
yet." Her ability to control how she presented herself on DragonMud allowed her to
develop such a level of comfort that the prospect of dealing with face-to-face
interactions was no longer frightening. She learned skills in text that gave her the
confidence to come out from behind her keyboard. Neither text -- nor the Internet --
are going to create social isolates.
Moreover, I would suggest that MUDs create a new oral tradition; we have created
new opportunities for storytellers. Mind you, these stories happen to be in text, but
their very nature and flavor is of the oral tradition. The new storyteller types and
spells as though they are speaking; they use "gonna" and "hafta" and "prolly", even
in text. Moreover, this kind of storytelling is as interactive as the stuff you heard
curled up at your grandfather's knee. The stories are not set pieces; listeners
interact, ask for clarification, interject commentary -- all of which affects and informs
the story being told.
Moreover, geographic distance doesn't affect the participation of those involved;
conversation can take place between groups of distant people in real time.
Response is immediate and interactive among participants.
Because MUDs are so interactive, DragonMudders keep me honest both in what I
write about them and in how I write. After producing a particularly turgid class
assignment written in High Academese, I unthinkingly said something on
DragonMud about "the intersection between epistemology and the hegemonic
discourse" -- and got bludgeoned pretty thoroughly for it. I might write that phrase,
but the oral nature of MUDding made my "say"ing it sound downright silly.
DragonMudders keep me on track with my research, too. Last March, I asked a
group of players about the importance of the objects they carry around, framing the
question "If the entire database was destroyed tonight, what objects would you most
miss and why?" I expected stories about the first objects they'd created, or a unique
object that a special person had made for them, or a memento from a particularly
difficult quest -- much the same type of responses I'd expect about objects in their
lives away from the keyboard. Instead, I got something completely different: a
discussion about how much they'd miss _people_, not objects. Objects could
always be re-created. It was the lack of contact with their friends, with people, that
they'd miss. [5]
4
Speaking as someone who tries to write about how people are using computer-
mediated interactions to create communities of interest, it was a lot easier to keep up
with the literature even six months ago than it is now. Now that we've become
"fashionable", the amount of sheer nonsense written about the net and its users
astounds me. We citizens of the net managed to go from being pedophiles to mad
bombers and back to pedophiles in mere days earlier this summer. Dealing with the
sensationalist aspects of working on the net is going to be a problem of some
duration, I fear.
Text, however, is purely the product of the writer's mind. You aren't subject to the
way I scrub my hair back or the fact that I walk around the room while I talk. In text,
my message is undiluted.
We don't get visual cues in phone calls. But still we manage to communicate. You
don't get vocal inflection in letters or books, but we would be hard-pressed to deny
the evocative nature of poetry. When dealing with text, you DO get a request for
explanation and explication if a letter-writer's meaning or intent is unclear. You get
an analysis of potential meanings in great literature. You get an openness to
possibilities and alternatives... or at least, you can.
It is when we respond automatically that we get into trouble in text. As a case in
point, several friends and I were invited to another friend's house for dinner last
night. My acceptance was tentative, contingent upon MUDshop doings and, frankly,
the state of this talk. I forgot to cancel until yesterday morning. Once I canceled via
mail on DragonMud, I got in response "Thank you for not letting me know earlier."
Now, I _try_ (although not always successfully) to be responsible, and I did have a
more-than-reasonable reason for the delay. Nonetheless, my initial reaction was a
bit, shall we say, terse.
I'm not claiming any particular wisdom here, but I can say that I was (for once) smart
enough to walk away from the keyboard before responding. I knew that my pal was
annoyed with me; his text made it clear just HOW annoyed he was. Had that
interaction been face-to-face, his reaction would have been diluted by nods, frowns,
grimaces, all of the non-verbal cues that are supposed to intensify messages.
Instead, I would contend that (especially in this case) text alone was more than
sufficient to express my pal's displeasure at my late cancellation.
To some extent, this relates back to the problem of the density of text: MUDders
tend to be thoughtful in text. MUDders, especially, have a long tradition and (largely
justified) pride in the skill with which they manipulate words. When your client only
allows two lines of text, you become skilled at evoking senses and moods in minimal
space. But this requires thought, and thought takes time. There's no way around
this problem (at least, as far as I can see) except not logging in at all.
Nonetheless, as educators and as MUD administrators, this is an on-going concern.
The diversity of players and interactions on the net is a benefit, but problem players
are still a problem with which we need to deal.
The Internet is not going to create an information utopia. It isn't going to solve all of
our problems. It isn't going to replace our need to be with other humans. It isn't
going to be applicable to every kind of teaching nor to every subject. It isn't even
going to lower the price of sliced bread.
The Internet is, however, going to meet some needs in some new ways. It will
provide new opportunities and means for some people who wouldn't otherwise have
access to information and knowledge. It is going to allow us, as educators, to reach
students who we might otherwise miss.
As with any new technology, we're still learning how to use it appropriately. There
are some plusses: development of communities of interest, the broader
disbursement of information through the "invisible college", the leveling of the playing
field, and an individual's ability to control their representation of themselves. There
are some problems we've yet to solve: dealing with sensationalist aspects of working
on the net, the inherent density of text, the requisite time involved, and the need to
create safe space for interaction. And there are some unfounded fears: we're not
going to develop generations of social isolates, nor are we going to create folks who
can only communicate in text.
What we do create is a medium through which diversity is encouraged across a
multiplicity of lines. Age, professional title, physical appearance, and gender mean
little. Instead, prized traits include creativity, wit, friendliness, the ability to
communicate via text, and the simple desire to participate.
And finally, working on the Internet is going to give us the opportunity to have some
(dare I say it?) fun in the process.
[1] Dr. Kirstie Bellman of ARPA, and the sponsor of
MUDshop II.
[2] At this point in the talk, Vijay Saraswat suggested
"Windows 95?" to much laughter from the audience.
[3] See, for instance, Gresham 1994.
[4] See Riner and Clodius, 1995, for a more extensive
discussion about how students use MUDs as a Goffmanesque "backstage" to
practice skills they want to incorporate into their lives away from the keyboard.
[5] Parenthetically, working on DragonMud is an
anthropologist's dream -- and nightmare. My informants read what I have to say
about them, and boy, do they tell me when I get it wrong.
\
Broadening Horizons:
People do make friends in MUDs. One player recently commented "I'm not all that
antisocial... it's just that in my life, everyone I know is just like me! This mud has
made me able to meet people from backgrounds that I never would have met
otherwise."
PROBLEMS THAT AREN'T PROBLEMS
MUDs are Games:
Yes, they are. Moreover, MUDding is fun. So what? Humans learn by playing. Any
parent has stories about the concentration -- and fun -- demonstrated by an infant
playing with his or her voice as a prelude to learning to talk. Learning to play
baseball teaches hand-eye coordination, how to follow rules, teamwork, and a host
of other necessary skills.
Social Isolation and Interaction:
Rather than creating social isolates, computer-mediated communication creates
opportunities for interaction that wouldn't otherwise exist. As one player put it
recently, "Isn't SOME interaction better than no interaction whatsoever? So what, if I
prefer to type instead of talk. At least I'm interacting." Or, as another player said, "If
I wasn't mudding, I'd be staring at the TV most evenings. If I'm gonna stare at a
screen, why not stare at one I can talk back to?"
PROBLEMS THAT ARE PROBLEMS
Sex Sells:
Sex, or even the implication of it, attracts attention. So does terrorism. In fact,
there's so much sensationalism about the net that it's a wonder than any of us
managed to ever log on in the first place. And our perspectives certainly change, as
Van Der Leun points out so aptly in his article "This is a Naked Lady". What was
titillating as a kid becomes a bit more worrisome as we become parents and
educators.
Text May be TOO Dense:
It has been suggested that smileys evolved to solve the problems in communication
caused by the lack of non-verbal cues in text. Godwin suggests, rather, that
miscommunication occurs not because of the lack of non-verbal cues, but because
text is too dense as a medium. If you're in a face-to-face conversation, you're
exposed to gestures, tics, and personality traits that cannot help but be a distraction.
As you're listening to me, you may be making notes -- but you also may be jotting
down a grocery list. You can get the gist of my message with or without paying total
attention. My gestures may be broad or small, but they don't actually do more than
add emphasis or distraction; they're not inherently part of my message.
Time:
The amount of time that working on the net takes is another real problem. Those of
us who log on "just to check Email" know that things take longer than you intend or
expect. That "Let me just glance" hope is futile, and when we're honest, we know
that checking Email when you need to be out of the door in fifteen minutes is just
plain stupid.
Creating Safe Space for Interactions:
I wish I knew how to solve this one more quickly. Wouldn't it be wonderful if we
could find a way to weed out the dweebs, the abusive tiny.jerks, those who won't
even try to learn? (Gee, this sounds like Real Life...) This is a problem that we're
not going to solve, because the same paradigms that operate in our everyday lives
are in operation on the net. There are helpful people, there are those who are good
at explaining difficult concepts. There are dictators, there are those who want step-
by-step instructions for every possible contingency. There are those who are
genuinely nice people, there are folks with whom you'd rather not bother. How...
human!
CONCLUSIONS
EndNotes:
References Cited