
Though the fashion for Foucault has come and gone, the PoMo
maître has left us with the indelible realization that power
and surveillance are tightly bound up together. He repeatedly portrayed
society as a giant panopticon, in which power holders exert surveillance
over the rest and in which subjects' awareness of constant surveillance
is a reminder that punishment awaits if they step out of line. The rulers
would know, and they would respond.
It is not surprising, then, that a traditional role of architecture
has been not only to make efficient surveillance possible, but also publicly
to represent the presence of surveillance. Jeremy
Bentham's own panopticon prison design is not unique, but only one
of the most extreme and vividly diagrammatic examples. After all, civic
and institutional buildings are normally constructed by those in power.
So we see prominent watchtowers on the walls of old cities and of modern
jails, monumental police headquarters buildings bristling with electronic
antennae in city centers (look at Parker Center in downtown Los
Angeles), receptionist and guard desks conspicuously placed in building
lobbies everywhere, and even little signs saying "Police take notice."
As the electronic era dawned, George Orwell presciently anticipated
that telecommunications devices would take over these roles; in the world
of 1984 the television monitor became an ever-present instrument
of surveillance, and the displayed face of Big Brother was a constant,
graphic reminder that he was, indeed, watching. But Orwell did not bother
to think through the technical details, and this scheme would not really
have worked-not with the primitive electronics that Orwell knew about,
anyway. Where would Big Brother have put all the corresponding monitors
on the receiving end? Where would he have found the labor force to watch
them all? How would he have sifted through and collated all that information?
What actually happened was far more subtle and insidious. Instead
of one Big Brother, we got a vast swarm of Little Brothers. Every computer
input device became a potential recorder of our actions. Every digital
transaction potentially left fingerprints somewhere in cyberspace. Huge
databases of personal information began to accumulate. And the collation
problem was solved; efficient software could be written to collect fragments
of information from multiple locations in cyberspace and put them together
to form remarkably complete pictures of how we were conducting our lives.
We entered the era of dataveillance.35
The last time I came face-to-face with the Little Brother dataveillance
force was in a car salesman's cubicle. In response to the Honda
hawker's two-finger typed command, a jittering old printer spewed out a
TRW credit report, a minutely detailed
listing of all my credit transactions and transgressions, going back years
and years. Many sources had been combed and correlated electronically to
put it all together: the databases of banks, stores, collection agencies,
credit unions, insurance companies, motor vehicle agencies, magazine subscription
services, and a lot more.36
It was an impressive performance; TRW's electronically mediated surveillance
had never faltered, and it had not missed anything. That printed report
was as vivid a demonstration of power as any face peering out from a display
screen.
But this is just the beginning; our lives have been leaving
increasingly complete and detailed traces in cyberspace as two-way electronic
communications devices have proliferated and diversified. Telephones were
the first such devices to find widespread use; they soon yielded telephone
company billing data-records of when, where, and by whom calls were made.
Then bank ATM machines and point-of-sale terminals in retail stores began
to produce transaction records. As personal computers were plugged into
commercial online networks, they too began to create electronic trails.
There is more of this to come. As switched video networks become
extensively used for everyday purposes-shopping,
banking, selecting
movies, social
contact, political
assembly-they potentially will grab and keep much more detailed portraits
of private lives than have ever been made before. And wearable
devices-ones that continuously monitor your medical condition, for
example, or perhaps the cybersex suits that some journalists have avidly
imagined-may construct the most up-close and intimate of records.
Life in cyberspace generates electronic trails as inevitably
as soft ground retains footprints; that, in itself, is not the worrisome
thing. But where will digital information about your contacts and activities
reside? Who will have access to it and under what circumstances? Will information
of different kinds be kept separately, or will there be ways to assemble
it electronically to create close and detailed pictures of your life? These
are the questions that we will face with increasing urgency as we shift
more and more of our daily activities into the digital, electronic sphere.
Contention about the limits of privacy and surveillance is
not new, but the terms and stakes of the central questions are rapidly
being redefined. Isolated hermits can keep to themselves and don't have
to keep up appearances, but city dwellers have always had to accept that
they will see and be seen. In return for the benefits of urban life, they
tolerate some level of visibility and some possibility of surveillance-some
erosion of their privacy. Architecture, laws, and customs maintain and
represent whatever balance has been struck. As we construct and inhabit
cyberspace communities, we will have to make and maintain similar bargains-though
they will be embodied in software structures and electronic access controls
rather than in architectural arrangements. And we had better get them right;
since electronic data collection and digital collation techniques are so
much more powerful than any that could be deployed in the past, they provide
the means to create the ultimate Foucaultian dystopia.37
[ Comments
|
Search
|
Choice
Sites |
Main
Entrance |
Contents
|
Surf
Sites |
Ordering
Info ]
City
of Bits WWW Team
©
1995-1997 MIT
|