Soon, a rigidly organized system of citizenship has sprung
from the app, with students assigned to different areas of the school based on
their rating, and being assigned clothing from worker’s uniforms to white togas
based again on rating. What’s more, the official governmental structure (in
this case, the college’s bureaucracy) happily bends to the will of the app. The
highest-rated users are allowed to control the air conditioning; the school’s
dean serves as the stage manager for the app’s official functions. And in spite
of the obvious problems this app might cause, the school-wide beta test was
pre-approved by one of the school’s advisory committees.
A "four" serving a "five". |
The madness only comes to an end when the students realized
that they have been used by the company. The data from the beta test has been
processed and incorporated into the final app, which now costs $0.99 to
download. In addition, the app has sold the users’ data to other companies,
leading to a deluge of unwanted email advertisements. At this point, the
student body decides to stop consuming, and collectively deletes the app. Without
a corporate struture to uphold it, the system of citizenship the app engendered
(which began as a monarchy and was later toppled by a worker’s revolution)
dismantles almost immediately.
This is not only a great example of the confluence of
consumerism and citizenship, but of the fan cultures Liesbet van Zoonen
discusses. The app users act both upon their affective relationships as fans of
one another, and cognitive processes, in manipulating the system to advance
their own status and degrade that of others (47). The app-users organize
ritualized functions in which they can officially rate one another, with great
aplomb or opprobrium for success or failure (47).
In this respect, Community
is provoking the ‘affective intelligence’ van Zoonen sees as essential to effective
political processes (39).
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