What is the globe?

What is the globe?

With its sparse oases and isles now fully mapped, its arid deserts and snowy peaks mastered by commercial flight, its vast blue oceans crisscrossed with submarine communication cables, and all of it constantly surveyed by satellites, it seems impossible to talk about human civilisation today without first talking about the planet as a whole on which we make our home; the globe.

I touched on this in my last post. Be it through ‘globalisation’, the ‘world stage’, the ‘world wide web’, the ‘global village’, ‘global warming’, the ‘GFC’, the ‘UN’, the ‘WHO’, the ‘GPS’, ‘world politics’, ‘world peace’ or ‘saving the planet’, the ‘globe’ has become the first fact of modern life, the rubric under which our day to day lives are processed and make sense.

We hear an awful lot about it, but what actually is this elusive ‘globe’? What do we really mean by that word? It’s possible to start ruling out certain possibilities. For instance, the ‘globe’ is definitely not Earth. When people talk about the ‘world’ or the ‘globe’ in the way they so often do, it’s clear they’re not talking solely and scientifically about a lonesome third rock from the sun in an obscure corner of the universe. They’re talking about something else.

Specifically, it has to do with life, biology, the defining characteristic of our otherwise unnoteworthy planet. To some extent it includes all plant and animal life, but its scope is primarily focused on a much narrower phenomenon which smells… slightly anthropocentric.

Let’s cut to the chase. The globe is all about us. Humans.

What is the globe?

But even this doesn’t get to the bottom of it. When we talk about the ‘globe’ we’re not just talking about any other species or a collection of individuals living their own lives in isolation from one another. We’re not even talking about every single human being on this planet. Instead, what we’re talking about is a network of ideas about people, and the interactions and relationships between those people. From families, friends and neighbourhoods to social networks, markets, ethnicities and nations; we’re talking about an impersonal vision of the aggregate of all interpersonal relationships, both real and imagined, and attempting to explain them as a functioning whole.

Because of this, the ‘globe’ is looking more and more like an idea which is impossible to know anything concrete about. Put simply, the ‘globe’ is a metaphor for humanity, an abstract notion very loosely defined, perhaps more symbolic or poetic than actual, and not nearly as inclusive or all-encompassing as we’d like to imagine (more often than not it’s expressed from a decidedly Western perspective). We tend to talk about the globe as though it’s a single person, something we’re somehow at once a part of and apart from. But is this the best way to understand humanity today? Is humanity best thought of as a globally conscious entity?

In other words, is it helpful to conceive of humanity as a single, synchronised actor, aware at all times of what it’s doing, where it’s going, as though it’s headed in a direction or toward a coherent objective at all? Or is it better to imagine ourselves as pockets of isolated, unaware, uncoreographed chaos and mess? It’s clear that one conception has more sway over the other in modern cultural discourse, but it’s just as easy to see that both are always there. What does a preference for the former really get us? What is its explanatory power over the latter, and more importantly does it really map onto reality?

These are pretty tough questions, and they’ll take time to dissect fully. But they’re the sorts of big, open-ended questions this blog was set up to explore. With help.

Let’s start small. What does the ‘globe’ mean to you? Be as creative as you want in your answer.





Is Facebook the way to world peace?


It’s no secret that Facebook is sold to us as the lovechild of globalisation and innovation. It’s heralded across the Western world as a way to bring together businesses and buddies, countries and cultures into a participatory and egalitarian community. Zuckerberg is seen as a modern-day wizard genius extraordinaire, and in many ways Facebook is talked about as though it’s synonymous with the entirety of the Internet itself (as we saw earlier this week when the ‘Internet’ was brought down by an error in Facebook’s Connect code).

But just how much of this is actually true? I mean, maybe we’ve just fallen for Facebook’s clever marketing. Or maybe its marketers were helped along by the fact that Facebook itself fits seamlessly into a preconceived idea we’ve all grown up with, a sort of self-advertising narrative of progress through globalisation. Either way the question stands, just how does Facebook bring the world together?

The picture below was compiled by Facebook engineer Paul Butler way back in 2010, and it fits into this narrative like a final jigsaw piece. Each line represents a relationship between two people – the brighter an area the more concentrated those online relationships. It’s truly breathtaking.


Thousands of images just like this one are presented to us daily as a form of documentary reinforcement for the triumph of globalisation, a fact many of us wouldn’t second-guess. But when we take a critical step back from our discourse, you can’t help but notice a very different picture hiding inside this one.

All you have to do is stop looking at the faint blue lines and instead concentrate on the vast empty spaces between them.

Notice specifically the giant black holes in Central and Northern Africa, Russia, the Middle East, Central Asia, China and Oceania. If this image shows the extent of Facebook’s reach, there’s a significant portion of the world which isn’t represented here. And of the relationships Facebook facilitates, the majority of them are remarkably insular, occurring intensely within a country but less so outside its borders and immediate region.


It’s a peculiar pattern supported by this highly-recommended data visualisation published by Facebook Stories last year. Almost every country you click on, the largest bubbles are of its immediate neighbours, with the sort of exceptions you’d expect (Spain-Latin America, UK-Australia-India etc.). Most of these links are remnants of a pre-Internet age, from things like European colonialism and post-WW2 migration – but as for any new, radical, quirky or novel cross-cultural exchanges, there just isn’t the volume you’d anticipate. This isn’t the profile of a vast, interconnected network –  it’s more like a chain, or a series circuit.

A lot of this is explicable by what media theorist Joseph Straubhaar has called cultural proximity, “the tendency to prefer media products from one’s own culture or the most similar possible culture” (2003, 85). Because of this Straubhaar notes the formation of certain media markets and that:

These markets might more accurately be called cultural-linguistic or geocultural markets rather than regional markets because not all these linked populations, markets, and cultures are geographically contagious.” (2007, 171)

For the most part though, voices like Straubhaar’s haven’t been absorbed by the zeitgeist. Instead, talk and images of how Facebook is the ultimate global village cum democratic network, how we are all connected, how a combination of the Internet and technology will save us all, and so on, can leave us with a compromised image of the actual world around us which systematically under-represents the majority of humanity and overstates the role of the Internet.


We’re often reminded that Facebook, if it were a country, would have the third largest population on the planet, with something like 1 billion active monthly users. That sounds impressive on paper – until you remember that this means 85.7% of the world’s population is NOT on Facebook.

This isn’t the way it’s talked about though – Facebook is touted as being synonymous with the Internet itself. But looking at these figures, this would be like saying the entire world was Hindu.

What’s more, the minority which is on Facebook isn’t spread evenly across the world. About one in two people in the US use Facebook, giving it the highest number of national users. Brazil comes in second with one in three. India comes in third with almost 63 million users, but this is only 5% of India’s population.You can’t look at the volume of users alone and conclude that Facebook has reached the same level of cultural penetration abroad as it has in the US, now effectively one nation under Facebook – yet you’d be forgiven for thinking that it has.

To see more of how global Facebook users are distributed check it out here.

Internet Users by Percentage of Population

At this point, it’s sobering to remember that the Internet is not as far-reaching as we’d imagine. Only a third of the world is online. It’s weird to think, given how self-propagating it is, for a discursive two-thirds of the world’s population the Internet is largely non-existent. In fact, graphics like the one above compel us to paint a portrait of the Internet which is drastically lopsided.

For example, most of the websites on the Internet are in English (about 57%), but you’d be mistaken to think that 57% of Internet users come from English-speaking countries. I know – that’s just logical, yet this seems to be the prevailing belief. In reality, the number of Internet users in China dwarfs the number of those in the US by more than double. India, Japan and Brazil follow respectively.

Of the top 20 countries sorted by the number of Internet users, only 3 are officially English speaking. (source)

Internet users as percentage of world population

It’s when you see statistics like this that you realise our rhetoric is wrong and talk is cheap. We talk about ‘the West’ and ‘the Third World’, and a divide between the developed/developing world, but in light of honest inquiry these terms can’t help but seem condescending – and more fundamentally – inaccurate.

Undoubtedly Facebook seems all-pervasive and unavoidable. But when we take a step back and look at the bigger picture, it turns out that Facebook is used by the minority of the minority of the world, about a third of a third (1 billion users). That’s significant yes, but on equal footing with (if not slightly below) the combined cultural force of Chinese microblogging and social networking platforms QQ (712 million users), Qzone (>400 million, part of the QQ network) and Weibo (>300 million). This is a side of the coin we’re rarely presented with – and if we are, it’s downplayed.


The closer you look, the more it seems that the Internet is not one unified, globally aware cultural force, but that there are in fact many different Internets separated by cultural proximities that rarely come in contact with one another. The Internet looks very different to many different people. Commentators refer to this phenomenon (although with slightly different connotations) as cyberbalkanisation, or my personal favourite, the splinternet.

There’s a disparity here between reality and what we perceive. And this should be alarming – especially when so much of discourse is weighted toward the antipodal, dreamy-eyed vision of globalisation – because it gives us a false impression of the world around us. It seems to pander the minority, and seems to value their role in shaping global discourse disproportionately. And it compels us to whitewash the globe with a narrative of all-inclusive connectivity which can only ever be understood as progressive, regardless of the truth.

Graphics like Butler’s are elegant but ultimately deceptive, and they tend to oversell the unifying power of Facebook (and more broadly the Internet) in our modern world. As an analogy, Facebook increases the sensor size without increasing the megapixels – we’re given a bigger picture but with no greater resolution.

If anything I hope this post helps us avoid tripping into the pitfall of conflating what occurs on Facebook at a local level with what’s happening on the global level, and encourages a humbler inspection of the true breadth and depth of globalisation.

But what do you think? Does the discourse surrounding Facebook enrich our global consciousness and work toward world peace? Or does it give us a more parochial and pixelated view of the world? 

Looking forward to seeing your thoughts.




Does Facebook bring us closer?

What does Facebook do

Poke. Poke. Like. Tag. Like. Comment. Stalk. Share. Message. Backstab. Poke. Like.

Ok, that was a tad simplistic (I forgot Farmville), but this pretty much sums up a day in the life for many of Facebook’s 584 million daily active users. And it’s pretty normal to us now.

Being around since 2004, Facebook is way past the point of novelty and has become a ubiquitous fact of modern life. 1 billion registered users would make it the third largest country in the world, and 604 million daily active mobile users would make it one of the most fast-paced. It’s undeniable that today a large part of our lives are lived beneath that cosy blue banner.

For these posts though I want you to take a step back and out of your comfort zone by asking just how, if at all, Facebook works as a surrogate for social presence. And I want to look at this question on a few levels, first the local, then the global (part 2) and finally the commercial (part 3).

In the rise of Facebook (and other social networking sites), we’ve sort of tacitly assumed that a comment on someone’s timeline is directly equivalent to a comment made face-to-face, or that a ‘like’ is the same as giving a holla by tipping your hat (as though we live in some Dickensian fantasy-world). In fact this is the only way our behaviour on Facebook makes sense. If we stop thinking of a mouse-click as a symbolic action synonymous with an actual social activity, the whole framework falls down. It’s only because we attach a face to the click that the click carries actual social weight.

Wanted Cursor

A lot of this seems unnoteworthy, and you’re right. For the most part this suspension of disbelief is harmless and is useful in facilitating, replicating and even substantiating our social networks. I’ve talked about how interactions over Skype are neurochemically watered-down versions of face-to-face contact, and in many ways our interactions with one another on Facebook are an even more diluted version of that. Written sentences and mouse-clicks can never fully capture things like body language, subtle changes in tone, or that irreplaceable feeling we get when being physically present with people we know and love. But they do help humanise the otherwise impersonal task of personal computing.

EDIT: In fact it’s been shown that engaging in a mental simulation of a physical activity, when done for a long time in multiple sittings, can produce to a slightly lesser degree the neurophysiological changes equivalent to those that would occur if you had physically done the activity itself. Put simply, by imagining something vividly enough, the brain can essentially rewire itself (but crucially, not as strongly as it would if actually doing the thing). So far this has only been documented in activities which involve fine motor skills, but considering how interrelated regions of the brain are, it may be the case, although this should be taken with a massive grain of salt, that socialising through a simulator like Facebook as a precursor for social behaviour may actually contribute net positively to our ability to socialise, not negatively as touted by mainstream media. If you’re interested in this area of neuroplasticity, I highly recommend checking out this great video by ASAPscience and this ARN article from 2005.

At the same time though, this mentally social mindset can come at a physical cost. Not a large one, but a noticeable one. Robert Putnam puts it neatly in his 1995 essay Bowling Alone when talking about television and its effect on ‘privatising’ downtime:

Television has made our communities (or, rather, what we experience as our communities) wider and shallower. In the language of economics, electronic technology enables individual tastes to be satisfied more fully, but at the cost of the positive social externalities associated with more primitive forms of entertainment.”

In the same way, our number of Facebook friends can easily skyrocket into the hundreds, but the lived reality of our relationships is always much humbler. What we have is width without depth. 

This claim is somewhat quantified by recent study. In 2011, researchers at Kent State found that although broadcasting the best of ourselves to a large number of friends on Facebook boosts our self image, when times get tough the perceived social support we need is just not there. Meanwhile, a more down-to-earth and others-orientated approach to using Facebook yielded smaller networks but an increase in perceived social support. Another paper in 2012 saw those low in self-esteem ‘friend’ people on Facebook more actively as a type of compensation, rather than a means to facilitate preexisting interpersonal relationships.

And in a Cornell study led by Matthew Brashears which gained considerable media coverage, it’s suggested that the number of people we consider close friends – when modelled – has steadily contracted since 1985 to 2010, from 3 down to 2.03. I should say, as Brashears himself stresses, that this doesn’t mean we’re becoming antisocial, or asocial. It simply means that social activities are becoming increasingly subsumed and supplemented by non-traditional forms in which closeness’ is positioned as a cog within a broader paradigm of ‘connectivity’.

Being connected, not necessarily close, has come to characterise the narrative through which we understand our relationships today.

Closeness Vs Connectivity

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying we can’t and don’t have meaningful relationships with friends, family, neighbours etc. It’s obvious that we can and do. But when we talk about connectivity, and look at the ways that word is used today, it’s clear that it’s referring to something else while being equated to the type of interaction we experience with friends, family, neighbours etc., regardless of whether it’s directly analogous or not. When conflated in this way it becomes important to think about the new criteria for locating and categorising those real, meaningful, close relationships within a larger conceptual spectrum of relationships which aren’t so real, or not real in the same sense, yet still carry important social significance in today’s world.

This is getting quite dense. Let’s backtrack. On one hand we have relationships with real people in the real world – anything from soulmates to Starbucks to strangers. On the other hand, we also deal with close replicas of those relationships online, modeled off of profoundly different social dynamics (such as anonymity, absence, asymmetricity). Call it the uncanny valley of human interaction.

But we talk about them as though they’re the same, and we use the same language of ‘connectivity’ to talk about them both. This in turn makes us conceive of them in the same way. It seems these two distinct clouds of relationships converge and collapse in the metaphor of the ‘social network‘, which in many ways is the go-to, if not the only, descriptor for modern interaction. But is it helpful to entangle the question of modern personhood in computational analogies like these? Is someone’s connectability as important an attribute of their identity as their surname or portfolio?

I’m probably overthinking this. Probably. Definitely. Forget I said anything.

As with most things it’s hard to pinpoint what ultimate effect Facebook has on our immediate social networks, and just how much of those networks are inflated by empty space. I think a distinction between closeness and connectivity is important, but not sacrosanct, in conceptualising this issue. If closeness describes the depth, the quality of relationships, then connectivity describes the width, the quantity of them, and the activities associated with cultivating visibility.

If that’s the case, maybe Facebook doesn’t bring us quite as close as we think. But what do you think? On a local level is Facebook better at facilitating width, or depth? Or both equally? What functions of Facebook would you group under each category?

Til next time,


Are there communities right under our noses?

A couple of years ago when I was still at university, I was behind a project called “I was here” which looked at how people interact with public space and the communities within them. To do this I made a bench, set it up every day for a week in a high-traffic location on campus, covered it in a sheet and with pens attached, essentially asked for it to be written all over, vandalised and defaced. And it was.

What you see in the picture above is from the fourth day of this project, where throughout the course of the day people had scrawled messages of love, animosity, pop culture references, internet memes, poems and emoticons. If you’re interested you can see bigger versions and transcripts of the sheets from the other days here on my flickr.

What I like about this project is the way it makes a usually invisible community materialise seemingly out of thin air, and the sort of narrative of interaction left in its wake. For a start, it’s a good gauge for the mental age of the campus, with each sheet invariably a vast documentary expanse of playful giddiness dotted with gnomic tidbits. While the majority of comments are what we’d call ‘immature’ at first glance (insults, pranks, trolling, innuendo etc.), I think this is more a symptom of the inherently rebellious act of defacing public property, basking in an anonymity we normally never exploit, than on the psyche of passersby. Even if it’s invited it still feels like you’re exposing yourself.

And in many ways the people who wrote on these sheets did precisely that. Every scribble, no matter how unnoteworthy, tells a story. And over the week, these small scribbles morphed into plot points on a much larger narrative arc.

This sheet from the first day sets up some key themes which would reappear throughout the week. One of these are the complex webs of interaction you can see in the top left corner, where someone writes a message, a revisionist comes and adds to it or crosses sections out, and others join in to amend it by drawing arrows and underlining. Most times this took the form of objections to religious messages, but there are other, more humorous encounters, for example, debating the sexuality of ‘Will’ and references to Magritte’s ‘Ceci n’est pas une pipe’. Humour was definitely used as a bonding mechanism. Bonding to who though, who knows.

By the second and third day there were recurring characters. E+K confessed their love on more than one occasion, a stickman superman appeared falsely claiming ownership for the project and then vanished. A poetic brick graced the bench twice, as did someone who found the art ‘strangely arousing’, and as I later found out one girl was responsible for a large number of illustrations across multiple days (self-dubbed the ‘I think everybody should like everybody‘ girl).

If at the start of the week the bench was a strange piece of art, by the end it had become strangely familiar and trustworthy. Many advertised their websites or societies and clubs. In a sense, the sheets stopped simply recording the thoughts of passersby and came to represent the preexisting campus community as a whole. On top of this, once I revealed my identity, people felt comfortable writing more personal messages and even mobile numbers. In just one week, very real people had identified themselves on a completely impersonal surface.

Yet there’s something inherently deceptive about all this, and that is, for all the apparent humanity captured on these sheets, almost all members of this fractured community are figments of each other’s imagination. It’s impossible to know exactly who wrote each part when – not only for us now, retrospectively, but also for the people at the time. For them, they were communicating with a statement written by someone earlier who could only be imagined, and likewise, who they were writing to was only an imagined counterpart in the yet-to-be-determined future. Despite appearances, at no point do two people directly connect; the only thing which interacts are our ideas of people.

Splitting hairs? Probably. But something which really came home to me when taking this project out is how we cope with understanding others when we’re not in the same place at the same time.

Instinctively we seem to shape presence out of absence, familiarity out of anonymity, but it’s all done client side. A lot of this is explained philosophically and psychologically by a theory of mind; the ability to imagine what another is thinking, and is an important aspect of healthy cognitive development. However, it’s these asymmetric encounters (that push our ability to develop accurate theories of mind) which are increasingly typifying how we interact with each other online and, ironically, are key to conceptualising connectivity today.

Seeing this dynamic in another context (on a bench) is an important step toward realising that the way we ‘connect’ online is only a small part of a larger phenomenon in the paradox of modern connectivity.

So besides benches, what other invisible communities do we unwittingly stumble into and out of on a daily basis? Where else do communities exist stubbornly outside their constituent’s peripheral vision and how could you make that community more visible? What strange interactions have you had which break the anonymity of modern life? Let me know your thoughts on this and more below.



How do you connect?


For the upcoming weeks, I’ll be writing on this question. Follow-up content will be posted along the same lines, inspired by discussion in the comment section, or even contributed directly by fellow bloggers. I’ll also be going outside myself on a quest to document how people connect in the modern world around me. In essence, this is meant to be a collaborative inquiry into particularly salient issues of the global age, and if it works, I’ll do it again with a different topic. It’s still early days though.

So with that, how do you connect? Write 5 of your favourite ways to connect to the people and the world around you. How do you use the internet to connect with friends, family, or others? Do you have any peculiar habits or ways of connecting online? And lastly, what are you connecting to when you connect with the internet itself?

Leave your thoughts below and I’ll be back tomorrow with an in-depth post on a particular aspect of this question.



Are we really connected?

Are we connected?

With the new year upon us it seems a good time to start this blog, so here goes.

So much of modern life is predicated on a notion that we are all connected, all the time. It’s pretty easy to feel this way too, in fact it’s almost unavoidable.

But this blog is set up to question, if not dispel that idea. In fact a lot of things make a lot more sense when you flip it around. Now more than ever before, people are living on many different globes. Societies and countries seem violently polarised. Divisions are clear cut from afar, but made up of even smaller divisions up close. Face-to-face contact seems to be a precious commodity. And yet despite all this, there’s a disproportionate emphasis placed on the overarching idea that we are all connected. Or is there?

When we take a step back from our screens, is the global age really that different? Is it really more connected or less? Or the same?

This blog is a space for thinking differently (even dangerously) about people and culture in the ‘global’ age. It’s a space to tell your stories, offer your perspectives, and get a glimpse into other people’s worlds, because after all, behind every person is a human.

At the end of it, this blog hopes to get to the bottom of just how truly connected we really are, and hopefully, genuinely, find a way of talking about connectivity which reflects our world in a more meaningful way.

But what do you think? Leave your thoughts below or discuss other’s (I’ll try incorporate some ideas in the next post). Write a blog in response and I’ll gladly reblog it. Or just introduce yourself. Let’s start connecting.



PS: Happy new year!