<html><body><div style="color:#000; background-color:#fff; font-family:HelveticaNeue, Helvetica Neue, Helvetica, Arial, Lucida Grande, sans-serif;font-size:12pt"><div><span>Isn't the topic a manifestation of the problem it identifies?</span></div><div style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-size: 16px; font-family: HelveticaNeue, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, 'Lucida Grande', sans-serif; background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; "><span><br></span></div><div style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-size: 16px; font-family: HelveticaNeue, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, 'Lucida Grande', sans-serif; background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; "><span>And the length of the replies? How could anyone have time for this?</span></div><div style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-size: 16px; font-family: HelveticaNeue, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, 'Lucida Grande', sans-serif; background-color: transparent; font-style: normal;
"><span><br></span></div><div style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-size: 16px; font-family: HelveticaNeue, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, 'Lucida Grande', sans-serif; background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; "><span>Bernie</span></div><div class="yahoo_quoted" style="display: block; "> <br> <br> <div style="font-family: HelveticaNeue, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, 'Lucida Grande', sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; "> <div style="font-family: HelveticaNeue, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, 'Lucida Grande', sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; "> <div dir="ltr"> <font size="2" face="Arial"> On Sunday, November 17, 2013 8:16 PM, Adam D Trowbridge <atrowbridge@saic.edu> wrote:<br> </font> </div> <div class="y_msg_container">Three points on a map of history of constant employment analysis,<br clear="none">listed chronologically<br clear="none"><br clear="none">1. Postscript on the Societies of Control (1992), Gilles Deleuze<br clear="none"><a
shape="rect" href="http://www.nadir.org/nadir/archiv/netzkritik/societyofcontrol.html" target="_blank">http://www.nadir.org/nadir/archiv/netzkritik/societyofcontrol.html</a><br clear="none"><br clear="none">"In the corporate system: new ways of handling money, profits, and<br clear="none">humans that no longer pass through the old factory form. These are<br clear="none">very small examples, but ones that will allow for better understanding<br clear="none">of what is meant by the crisis of the institutions, which is to say,<br clear="none">the progressive and dispersed installation of a new system of<br clear="none">domination. One of the most important questions will concern the<br clear="none">ineptitude of the unions: tied to the whole of their history of<br clear="none">struggle against the disciplines or within the spaces of enclosure,<br clear="none">will they be able to adapt themselves or will they give way to new<br clear="none">forms of
resistance against the societies of control? Can we already<br clear="none">grasp the rough outlines of the coming forms, capable of threatening<br clear="none">the joys of marketing? Many young people strangely boast of being<br clear="none">"motivated"; they re-request apprenticeships and permanent training.<br clear="none">It's up to them to discover what they're being made to serve, just as<br clear="none">their elders discovered, not without difficulty, the telos of the<br clear="none">disciplines. The coils of a serpent are even more complex that the<br clear="none">burrows of a molehill."<br clear="none"><br clear="none"><br clear="none">2. The Brand You 50 : Or : Fifty Ways to Transform Yourself from an<br clear="none">'Employee' into a Brand That Shouts Distinction, Commitment, and<br clear="none">Passion! (1999), Tom Peters<br clear="none"><a shape="rect" href="http://www.amazon.com/The-Brand-You-Distinction-Commitment/dp/0375407723"
target="_blank">http://www.amazon.com/The-Brand-You-Distinction-Commitment/dp/0375407723</a><br clear="none"><br clear="none">Note: This book described the sensation as Ian Bogost's essay<br clear="none">describes, in the most positive, pro-corporate terms possible, 14<br clear="none">years ago. See also: "The Brand Called You" (1997)<br clear="none"><a shape="rect" href="http://www.fastcompany.com/28905/brand-called-you" target="_blank">http://www.fastcompany.com/28905/brand-called-you</a><br clear="none"><br clear="none">"In The Brand You50, Peters sees a new kind of corporate citizen who<br clear="none">believes that surviving means not blending in but standing out. He<br clear="none">believes that "90+ percent of White Collar Jobs will be totally<br clear="none">reinvented/reconceived in the next decade" and that job security means<br clear="none">developing marketable skills, making yourself distinct and memorable,<br clear="none">and developing
your network ability. Hislist-filled prescriptions<br clear="none">cover everything; for example, "You are Your Rolodex I: BRAND YOU IS A<br clear="none">TEAM" (no. 22), "Consider your 'product line'" (no. 25), "Work on your<br clear="none">Optimism" (no. 35), "Sell. SELL. SELL!!!" (no. 47). While the book is<br clear="none">overwhelming at times--its hyperactive typography pretty much shouts<br clear="none">at you--any baby boomer thinking about his or her career will find<br clear="none">much to consider." --Harry C. Edwards<br clear="none"><br clear="none"><br clear="none">3. The Coming Insurrection (2007), The Invisible Committee<br clear="none"><a shape="rect" href="http://tarnac9.wordpress.com/texts/the-coming-insurrection/" target="_blank">http://tarnac9.wordpress.com/texts/the-coming-insurrection/</a><br clear="none"><br clear="none">"The order of work was the order of a world. The evidence of its ruin<br clear="none">is paralyzing to
those who dread what will come after. Today work is<br clear="none">tied less to the economic necessity of producing goods than to the<br clear="none">political necessity of producing producers and consumers, and of<br clear="none">preserving by any means necessary the order of work. Producing oneself<br clear="none">is becoming the dominant occupation of a society where production no<br clear="none">longer has an object: like a carpenter who’s been evicted from his<br clear="none">shop and in desperation sets about hammering and sawing himself. All<br clear="none">these young people smiling for their job interviews, who have their<br clear="none">teeth whitened to give them an edge, who go to nightclubs to boost the<br clear="none">company spirit, who learn English to advance their careers, who get<br clear="none">divorced or married to move up the ladder, who take courses in<br clear="none">leadership or practice “self-improvement” in order to
better “manage<br clear="none">conflicts” – “the most intimate ‘self-improvement’”, says one guru,<br clear="none">“will lead to increased emotional stability, to smoother and more open<br clear="none">relationships, to sharper intellectual focus, and therefore to a<br clear="none">better economic performance.” This swarming little crowd that waits<br clear="none">impatiently to be hired while doing whatever it can to seem natural is<br clear="none">the result of an attempt to rescue the order of work through an ethos<br clear="none">of mobility. To be mobilized is to relate to work not as an activity<br clear="none">but as a possibility. If the unemployed person removes his piercings,<br clear="none">goes to the barber and keeps himself busy with “projects,” if he<br clear="none">really works on his “employability,” as they say, it’s because this is<br clear="none">how he demonstrates his mobility. Mobility is
this slight detachment<br clear="none">from the self, this minimal disconnection from what constitutes us,<br clear="none">this condition of strangeness whereby the self can now be taken up as<br clear="none">an object of work, and it now becomes possible to sell oneself rather<br clear="none">than one’s labor power, to be remunerated not for what one does but<br clear="none">for what one is, for our exquisite mastery of social codes, for our<br clear="none">relational talents, for our smile and our way of presenting ourselves.<br clear="none">This is the new standard of socialization. Mobility brings about a<br clear="none">fusion of the two contradictory poles of work: here we participate in<br clear="none">our own exploitation, and all participation is exploited. Ideally, you<br clear="none">are yourself a little business, your own boss, your own product.<br clear="none">Whether one is working or not, it’s a question of generating contacts,<br
clear="none">abilities, networking, in short: “human capital.” The planetary<br clear="none">injunction to mobilize at the slightest pretext – cancer, “terrorism,”<br clear="none">an earthquake, the homeless – sums up the reigning powers’<br clear="none">determination to maintain the reign of work beyond its physical<br clear="none">disappearance.<br clear="none"><br clear="none">The present production apparatus is therefore, on the one hand, a<br clear="none">gigantic machine for psychic and physical mobilization, for sucking<br clear="none">the energy of humans that have become superfluous, and, on the other<br clear="none">hand, it is a sorting machine that allocates survival to conformed<br clear="none">subjectivities and rejects all “problem individuals,” all those who<br clear="none">embody another use of life and, in this way, resist it. On the one<br clear="none">hand, ghosts are brought to life, and on the other, the living
are<br clear="none">left to die. This is the properly political function of the<br clear="none">contemporary production apparatus."<br clear="none"><br clear="none">On Wed, Nov 13, 2013 at 12:33 PM, Trebor Scholz <<a shape="rect" ymailto="mailto:scholzt@newschool.edu" href="mailto:scholzt@newschool.edu">scholzt@newschool.edu</a>> wrote:<br clear="none">> Here in New York, it's a beautifully clear and frosty morning and I am<br clear="none">> excited to see the list coming back to life a bit. It's so great to hear<br clear="none">> your voices again. And there are still some 2300 of us on this list.<br clear="none">><br clear="none">> Hey, a year from now, we will kick off a conference at The New School<br clear="none">> that will build on some of the questions that we raised in 2009<br clear="none">> (<a shape="rect" href="http://digitallabor.org/" target="_blank">http://digitallabor.org</a>), a discussion that continued in
many venues<br clear="none">> since then. You might have seen that we dropped "Digital Labor: The<br clear="none">> Internet as Playground and Factory" book earlier this year.<br clear="none">> (Get it now: <a shape="rect" href="http://tinyurl.com/lkr2m9v" target="_blank">http://tinyurl.com/lkr2m9v</a>). I'm quite keen on reactivating a<br clear="none">> moderated exchange between artists, labor historians, designers, legal<br clear="none">> scholars, and media theorists about these topics. But for more<br clear="none">> information about the 2014 event, you'll have to wait until next week.<br clear="none">><br clear="none">> For now, I am posting a short article by video game designer, critic and<br clear="none">> researcher Ian Bogost. Yes, the author graciously granted me<br clear="none">> permission to post his text here. What about his idea of hyperemployment?<br clear="none">> Are we all hyper-hustlers now? For me,
at least when<br clear="none">> narrowly thinking about the crowdsourcing industry, the term is<br clear="none">> contradictory because of the very fact that workers in that industry<br clear="none">> are defined as independent contractors and platform owners stubbornly<br clear="none">> refuse to recognize them as employees (e.g.,<br clear="none">> <a shape="rect" href="http://tinyurl.com/bhxohqk" target="_blank">http://tinyurl.com/bhxohqk</a>). But then, he is really talking more<br clear="none">> broadly about exploitation, and there is so much more going on in that<br clear="none">> article.<br clear="none">><br clear="none">> A more inclusive definition of employment<br clear="none">> (<a shape="rect" href="http://tinyurl.com/pewx54k" target="_blank">http://tinyurl.com/pewx54k</a>), a closer look at the meaning of<br clear="none">> exploitation online, or the Swiss Unconditional Income Initiative<br
clear="none">> could all be entry points that could help us to reboot the discussion about<br clear="none">> various forms of invisible labor on the iDC.<br clear="none">><br clear="none">> best,<br clear="none">> Trebor<br clear="none">><br clear="none">> =<br clear="none">> Trebor Scholz<br clear="none">><br clear="none">><br clear="none">> ...<br clear="none">><br clear="none">> Hyperemployment, or the Exhausting Work of the Technology User<br clear="none">> Feeling overwhelmed online? Maybe it’s because you’re working dozens of jobs<br clear="none">><br clear="none">> In 1930, the economist John Maynard Keynes famously argued that by the<br clear="none">> time a century had passed, developed societies would be able to<br clear="none">> replace work with leisure thanks to widespread wealth and surplus. “We<br clear="none">> shall do more things for ourselves than is usual with the rich<br
clear="none">> to-day,” he wrote, “only too glad to have small duties and tasks and<br clear="none">> routines.” Eighty years hence, it’s hard to find a moment in the day<br clear="none">> not filled with a duty or task or routine. If anything, it would seem<br clear="none">> that work has overtaken leisure almost entirely. We work increasingly<br clear="none">> hard for increasingly little, only to come home to catch up on the<br clear="none">> work we can’t manage to work on at work.<br clear="none">><br clear="none">> Take email. A friend recently posed a question on Facebook: “Remember<br clear="none">> when email was fun?” It’s hard to think back that far. On Prodigy,<br clear="none">> maybe, or with UNIX mail or elm or pine via telnet. Email was silly<br clear="none">> then, a trifle. A leisure activity out of Keynes’s macroeconomics<br clear="none">> tomorrowland. It was full of excess, a
thing done because it could be<br clear="none">> rather than because it had to be. The worst part of email was<br clear="none">> forwarded jokes, and even those seem charming in retrospect. Even junk<br clear="none">> mail is endearing when it’s novel.<br clear="none">><br clear="none">> Now, email is a pot constantly boiling over. Like King Sisyphus<br clear="none">> pushing his boulder, we read, respond, delete, delete, delete, only to<br clear="none">> find that even more messages have arrived whilst we were pruning. A<br clear="none">> whole time management industry has erupted around email, urging us to<br clear="none">> check only once or twice a day, to avoid checking email first thing in<br clear="none">> the morning, and so forth. Even if such techniques work, the idea that<br clear="none">> managing the communication for a job now requires its own self-help<br clear="none">> literature reeks of a foul new
anguish.<br clear="none">><br clear="none">> If you’re like many people, you’ve started using your smartphone as an<br clear="none">> alarm clock. Now it’s the first thing you see and hear in the morning.<br clear="none">> And touch, before your spouse or your crusty eyes. Then the ritual<br clear="none">> begins. Overnight, twenty or forty new emails: spam, solicitations,<br clear="none">> invitations or requests from those whose days pass during your nights,<br clear="none">> mailing list reminders, bill pay notices. A quick triage, only to be<br clear="none">> undone while you shower and breakfast.<br clear="none">><br clear="none">> Email and online services have provided a way for employees to<br clear="none">> outsource work to one another. Whether you’re planning a meeting with<br clear="none">> an online poll, requesting an expense report submission to an ERP<br clear="none">> system, asking that a
colleague contribute to a shared Google Doc, or<br clear="none">> just forwarding on a notice that “might be of interest,” jobs that<br clear="none">> previously would have been handled by specialized roles have now been<br clear="none">> distributed to everyone in an organization.<br clear="none">><br clear="none">> No matter what job you have, you probably have countless other jobs as<br clear="none">> well. Marketing and public communications were once centralized, now<br clear="none">> every division needs a social media presence, and maybe even a website<br clear="none">> to develop and manage. Thanks to Oracle and SAP, everyone is a<br clear="none">> part-time accountant and procurement specialist. Thanks to Oracle and<br clear="none">> Google Analytics, everyone is a part-time analyst.<br clear="none">><br clear="none">> And email has become the circulatory system along which internal<br clear="none">>
outsourcing flows. Sending an email is easy and cheap, and emails<br clear="none">> create obligation on the part of a recipient without any prior<br clear="none">> agreement. In some cases, that obligation is bureaucratic, meant to<br clear="none">> drive productivity and reduce costs. “Self-service” software<br clear="none">> automation systems like these are nothing new—SAP’s enterprise<br clear="none">> resource planning (ERP) software has been around since the 1970s. But<br clear="none">> since the 2000s, such systems can notify and enforce compliance via<br clear="none">> email requests and nags. In other cases, email acts as a giant human<br clear="none">> shield, a kind of white collar Strategic Defense Initiative. The<br clear="none">> worker who emails enjoys both assignment and excuse all at once.<br clear="none">> “Didn’t you get my email?”<br clear="none">><br clear="none">> The
despair of email has long left the workplace. Not just by<br clear="none">> infecting our evenings and weekends via Outlook web access and<br clear="none">> BlackBerry and iPhone, although it has certainly done that. Now we<br clear="none">> also run the email gauntlet with everyone. The ballet school’s<br clear="none">> schedule updates (always received too late, but, “didn’t you get the<br clear="none">> email?”); the Scout troop announcements; the daily deals website<br clear="none">> notices; the PR distribution list you somehow got on after attending<br clear="none">> that conference; the insurance notification, informing you that your<br clear="none">> new coverage cards are available for self-service printing (you went<br clear="none">> paperless, yes?); and the email password reset notice that finally<br clear="none">> trickles in 12 hours later, since you forgot your insurance website<br clear="none">>
password since a year ago. And so on.<br clear="none">><br clear="none">> It’s easy to see email as unwelcome obligations, but too rarely do we<br clear="none">> take that obligation to its logical if obvious conclusion: those<br clear="none">> obligations are increasingly akin to another job—or better, many other<br clear="none">> jobs. For those of us lucky enough to be employed, we’re really<br clear="none">> hyperemployed—committed to our usual jobs and many other jobs as well.<br clear="none">> It goes without saying that we’re not being paid for all these jobs,<br clear="none">> but pay is almost beside the point, because the real cost of<br clear="none">> hyperemployment is time. We are doing all those things others aren’t<br clear="none">> doing instead of all the things we are competent at doing. And if we<br clear="none">> fail to do them, whether through active resistance or simple<br
clear="none">> overwhelm, we alone suffer for it: the schedules don’t get made, the<br clear="none">> paperwork doesn’t get mailed, the proposals don’t get printed, and on<br clear="none">> and on.<br clear="none">><br clear="none">> But the deluge doesn’t stop with email, and hyperemployment extends<br clear="none">> even to the unemployed, thanks to our tacit agreement to work for so<br clear="none">> many Silicon Valley technology companies.<br clear="none">><br clear="none">> Increasingly, online life in general feels like this. The endless,<br clear="none">> constant flow of email, notifications, direct messages, favorites,<br clear="none">> invitations. After that daybreak email triage, so many other icons on<br clear="none">> your phone boast badges silently enumerating their demands. Facebook<br clear="none">> notifications. Twitter @-messages, direct messages. Tumblr followers,<br
clear="none">> Instagram favorites, Vine comments. Elsewhere too: comments on your<br clear="none">> blog, on your YouTube channel. The Facebook page you manage for your<br clear="none">> neighborhood association or your animal rescue charity. New messages<br clear="none">> in the forums you frequent. Your Kickstarter campaign updates. Your<br clear="none">> Etsy shop. Your Ebay watch list. And then, of course, more email.<br clear="none">> Always more email.<br clear="none">><br clear="none">> Often, we cast these new obligations either as compulsions (the<br clear="none">> addictive, possibly dangerous draw of online life) or as necessities<br clear="none">> (the importance of digital contact and an “online brand” in the<br clear="none">> information economy). But what if we’re mistaken, and both tendencies<br clear="none">> are really just symptoms of hyperemployment?<br clear="none">><br clear="none">>
When critics engage with the demands of online services via labor,<br clear="none">> they often cite exploitation as a simple explanation. It’s a sentiment<br clear="none">> that even has its own aphorism: “If you’re not paying for the product,<br clear="none">> you are the product.” The idea is that all the information you provide<br clear="none">> to Google and Facebook, all the content you create for Tumblr and<br clear="none">> Instagram enable the primary businesses of such companies, which<br clear="none">> amounts to aggregating and reselling your data or access to it. In<br clear="none">> addition to the revenues extracted from ad sales, tech companies like<br clear="none">> YouTube and Instagram also managed to leverage the speculative value<br clear="none">> of your data-and-attention into billion-dollar buyouts. Tech companies<br clear="none">> are using you, and they’re giving precious little back in
return.<br clear="none">><br clear="none">> While often true, this phenomenon is not fundamentally new to online<br clear="none">> life. We get network television for free in exchange for the attention<br clear="none">> we devote to ads that interrupt our shows. We receive “discounts” on<br clear="none">> grocery store staples in exchange for allowing Kroger or Safeway to<br clear="none">> aggregate and sell our shopping data. Meanwhile, the companies we do<br clear="none">> pay directly as customers often treat us with disregard at best, abuse<br clear="none">> at worst (just think about your cable provider or your bank). Of<br clear="none">> course, we shouldn’t just accept online commercial exploitation just<br clear="none">> because exploitation in general has been around for ages. Rather, we<br clear="none">> should acknowledge that exploitation only partly explains today’s<br clear="none">> anxiety with
online services.<br clear="none">><br clear="none">> Hyperemployment offers a subtly different way to characterize all the<br clear="none">> tiny effort we contribute to Facebook and Instagram and the like. It’s<br clear="none">> not just that we’ve been duped into contributing free value to<br clear="none">> technology companies (although that’s also true), but that we’ve<br clear="none">> tacitly agreed to work unpaid jobs for all these companies. And even<br clear="none">> calling them “unpaid” is slightly unfair, since we do get something<br clear="none">> back from these services, even if they often take more than they give.<br clear="none">> Rather than just being exploited or duped, we’ve been hyperemployed.<br clear="none">> We do tiny bits of work for Google, for Tumblr, for Twitter, all day<br clear="none">> and every day.<br clear="none">><br clear="none">> Today, everyone’s a hustler.
But now we’re not even just hustling for<br clear="none">> ourselves or our bosses, but for so many other, unseen bosses. For<br clear="none">> accounts payable and for marketing; for the Girl Scouts and the Youth<br clear="none">> Choir; for Facebook and for Google; for our friends via their<br clear="none">> Kickstarters and their Etsy shops; for Twitter, which just converted<br clear="none">> years of tiny, aggregated work acts into $78 of fungible value per<br clear="none">> user.<br clear="none">><br clear="none">> Even if there is more than a modicum of exploitation at work in the<br clear="none">> hyperemployment economy, the despair and overwhelm of online life<br clear="none">> doesn’t derive from that exploitation—not directly anyway. Rather,<br clear="none">> it’s a type of exhaustion cut of the same sort that afflicts the<br clear="none">> underemployed as well, like the single mother working two
part-time<br clear="none">> service jobs with no benefits, or the PhD working three contingent<br clear="none">> teaching gigs at three different regional colleges to scrape together<br clear="none">> a still insufficient income. The economic impact of hyperemployment is<br clear="none">> obviously different from that of underemployment, but some of the same<br clear="none">> emotional toll imbues both: a sense of inundation, of being trounced<br clear="none">> by demands whose completion yields only their continuance, and a<br clear="none">> feeling of resignation that any other scenario is likely or even<br clear="none">> possible. The only difference between the despair of hyperemployment<br clear="none">> and that of un- or under-employment is that the latter at least<br clear="none">> acknowledges itself as an substandard condition, while the former<br clear="none">> celebrates the hyperemployed’s purported
freedom to “share” and<br clear="none">> “connect,” to do business more easily and effectively by doing jobs<br clear="none">> once left for others competence and compensation, from the convenience<br clear="none">> of your car or toilet.<br clear="none">><br clear="none">> Staring down the barrel of Keynes’s 2030 target for the arrival of<br clear="none">> universal leisure, economists have often considered why Keynes seems<br clear="none">> to have been so wrong. The inflation of relative needs is one<br clear="none">> explanation—the arms race for better and more stuff and status. The<br clear="none">> ever-increasing wealth gap, on the rise since the anti-Keynes,<br clear="none">> supply-side 1980s is another. But what if Keynes was right, too, in a<br clear="none">> way. Even if productivity has increased mostly to the benefit of the<br clear="none">> wealthy, hasn’t everyone gained enormous
leisure, but by replacing<br clear="none">> recreation with work rather than work with recreation? This new work<br clear="none">> doesn’t even require employment; the destitute and unemployed<br clear="none">> hyperemployed are just as common as the affluent and retired<br clear="none">> hyperemployed. Perversely, it is only then, at the labor equivalent of<br clear="none">> the techno-anarchist’s singularity, that the malaise of<br clear="none">> hyperemployment can cease. Then all time will become work time, and we<br clear="none">> will not have any memory of leisure to distract us.<br clear="none">><br clear="none">> This article available online at:<br clear="none">><br clear="none">> <a shape="rect" href="http://www.theatlantic.com/technology/archive/2013/11/hyperemployment-or-the-exhausting-work-of-the-technology-user/281149/"
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