The Orwellian Notification
At 6:37PM, my phone notified me that based on my usage patterns and charging cycles, it would die at 4:30AM.
Surprised at this intrusion and delighted by its insight, I immediately thought, “What a convenience!” The phone serves such a utility in my life, from hailing cabs to paying for meals, that to go without it causes untold levels of frustration and anxiety. I was awed by both the foresight and concern that my phone had. I immediately made it a priority to charge my phone.
My thoughts, though, quickly drifted towards the dark recesses of human nature and paused to question this innocuous altruism. Why should the phone care about my use? Why did my phone always want to be on? Charged and at the ready. If I stripped away what the phone provided me and looked at what I provided the phone, I began to understood. Every moment the phone is off is a moment it fails to collect data. To collect where I am and what subjects interest me. To collect the friends who connect with me and the sentiments I feel. To collect, collect, collect. Ad infinitum.
What if the phone only collected? Stripped of its conveniences and superficialities, would I still express relief at its notification? I hardly think so. To invite espionage in such an intimate and intrusive manner invites disbelief and rebellion.
I would, however, express relief if the notification helped me avoid a deduction in my dietary allotment from the government. I shook my head quickly though, knowing where this thought would leave me.
But as I stared blankly at my charger, I started to wonder, “Are we no closer to Orwell’s dystopia if we are led there with the carrot and not the stick?”
