Context
As often happens, an eddy or two in the biblioblogosphere (no Douglas Adams jokes, please) has given me to ponder about the nebulous and uncertain sense of “place” weblogs offer, where by “place” I mean social context and expectations. I’ve been reading Solove’s new book on the social processes of shaming and gossip and reputation on the Internet, and while I could wish it delved a little deeper (I don’t think I’m its target audience, which is not a criticism of the book), the well-written sections on public and private selves and how the Internet deconstructs that dichotomy inform what follows.
(Incidentally—yes, I have been reading it *gasp* onscreen. Buffle’s screen is a bit small to run Preview in single-page mode, which is frankly what I prefer, but oh well. It does well enough for the purpose.)
Solove spills a lot of ink (or pixels, if you prefer) on misunderstandings of the Internet rooted in the public/private question, from teenagers who think adults have no right (or worse, no ability) to read their blogs to people who find communications they had thought private compromised in the most public and humiliating of fashions.
My question is a little different, though related. It is this: To what extent am I entitled to attach context-dependent social expectations to a corner of the Internet that I control? May I expect that the social context I believe I am writing in will be respected when my writing is discovered in other contexts?
Bleh, this is easier to explain by example. In meatspace, different spaces come with attached social norms. I can put my feet up on my own couch, but not anybody else’s (unless I’m told it’s okay). I don’t pay for dinner in a friend’s home, just as I don’t bring a guest-gift to a restaurant. I say things about my workplace environment in my apartment that I would never say to a colleague at work. (What? Don’t tell me you don’t. I don’t believe you.) Interestingly, my workplace has a social norm that certain conversations take place in local coffeeshops rather than on campus.
To an extent, there are analogues to this segregation-by-space on the internet. LiveJournal norms are not LinkedIn norms are not Ning norms are not Facebook norms are not Twitter norms are not MetaFilter norms. So one option for the individual wanting her written output to be read in a particular way with particular allowances is to find a space whose norms and affordances roughly correspond with the desired reading. This is, I think, partly why I have a LiveJournal.
That doesn’t solve the whole intellectual problem, though. What social norms can be attached to an individual’s own webspace? How can she enforce them? What happens when her work appears outside the context where her norms operate?
Take CavLec. It is written on webspace I pay for. I installed the software, back in the day (though I admit I rely on one-click upgrades these days). I make a point of disclaiming connections between CavLec and my employer, even to refusing to acknowledge CavLec in many professional contexts despite the considerable amount of writing I do here that is relevant to my profession. (I’ve done it, once or twice. I got to Project Bamboo on the strength of it. I do go out of my way to avoid doing so, though.) I even put a warning in its very title, for those overeducated enough to recognize it as such.
How responsible am I for limiting my language to what others will find—not just acceptable, but attractive and persuasive? Am I required not to name names? Not to cuss? How free am I to go beyond the professional persona? I used to be a good deal more personally open on CavLec than I am now. Some of that is that I’ve been specifically asked not to blog about certain things, and I respect that, but some of it is just… damn it, my context seems to have shifted out from under me, and I’m not sure I’m entirely happy about it.
I suppose I’d like CavLec to feel more like my living room than it does these days. I’m not sure what to do about that… but I’ll be thinking about it.