7. The Potboiling Selfes
Continuing in the vein of discussing more humanistic issues in the field of technical writing, I enjoyed this week’s readings almost as much as last week’s. While Greg Wilson’s “Technical Communication and Late Capitalism” grabbed me most in last week’s batch, Cynthia L. and Richard J. Selfe’s “The Politics of the Interface: Power and Its Exercise in Electronic Contact Zones” made me the most excitable. And not in a pleasant way, I suppose.
“The Politics of the Interface” was certainly a tough pill to swallow. For the uninitiated, the Selfe’s mission here is to denude common (and implicitly colonial) principles underlying the interfaces of the very machines this is read and written on/with. The authors write that “In effect, interfaces are cultural maps of computer systems…such maps are never ideologically innocent or inert” (432). So far, I’m buying it. The Selfe’s go on to criticize the institution of the desktop (of the interface variety) which, “Construct[s] virtual reality, by association, in terms of corporate culture and the values of professionalism.” Continuing this discussion, they claim that “The interface does not, for example, represent the world in terms of a kitchen countertop, a mechanic’s workbench, or a fast-food restaurant– each of which would constitute the virtual world in different terms according to the values and orientation of…women in the home, skilled laborers, or the rapidly increasing numbers of employees in the fast-food industry” (433).
In my relatively short time in Academia, there have been some arguments I’ve read that seem to me obviously swollen with bogus claims and bombastic, yet unremarkable, theses (especially common and all the rage right now seems theses re gender and sexuality: e.g.: Luce Irigaray’s ‘e=mc2 being a ‘sexed equation’). I’ve read the Selfes’ claim with this same “Give me a break” reaction. In their criticism of the desktop interface they contrast the desktop with alternative interfaces that might be more fair (the mechanic’s workbench, the kitchen countertop). We have, I think a pretty unfair comparison; these alternatives are certainly more specific than just ‘desktop’ (there are modifiers for the interfaces). If our desktop was the CEO’s Desktop or The King’s Stationary Unit, I could maybe see the basis for criticism, but it’s just called a desktop. The image of the interface is entirely up to the user, so I’m not sure of its derivation anyways. As far as organization goes, would it be uncommon for a kitchen to be organized in such away that could mirror a literal desktop? A apparatus to house untencils, trash for items needing discarded, a system that stores machines (drawers: folders).
Also, this is perhaps the first text I’ve read to criticize rationality as a reigning principle for functionality. The Selfes’ harangue IBM’s DOS’ environment of using “rationalistic traditions of making meaning” which prevents one from using a computer device in a “intuitive rather than logical manner” (437). If you’ve seen Superbad (not the movie) or recent electronic poems/e-lit in the past few years, you’ll know that the digital’s hyperrationalistic language can foster what we might call experimental web spaces or means that are used for more than just “using text than reading it” (Bernhardt 411).
These kinds of issues seem sensitive to criticism, or at least, I feel an a low level unease having reactions to texts like this that aren’t immediately positive and in line with their clams. I haven’t read the other posts yet (I make a conscious effort not to read others’ posts before I write mine in fear of destablaizing my initial thoughts to our readings), but I hope we can talk about this in class– if these kinds of criticisms are utterly unaware and potboiler or are actually raising issues that will ultimately help make electronic literacy more widely available and void of political biases.
WORKS CITED
Selfe, Cynthia L. and Richard J. Selfe. “The Politics of The Interface.” Central Works in Technical Communication. Eds. Johndan Johnson-Eilola and Stuart A. Selber. New York: Oxford, 2004. 428–445. Print.
Aaron, I’m glad you wrote about Selfe and Selfe’s article. While I am sympathetic to most of their arguments, I had a similar reaction to some sections of their piece. The interesting part of the desktop metaphor (and something that John pointed out to us a few weeks ago) is that it could have been something different. However, given the environment in which it was developed, it makes sense that the desktop metaphor was chosen (rather than, say, the fast food restaurant metaphor). And, while the desktop metaphor may reinforce corporate values, we can also modify it to suit our needs.
I have to admit I’m sort of surprised by both of your criticisms to Selfe and Selfe. I read it mostly in agreement with the position they were taking. Sure, we have to consider the environment in which the “desktop” was developed—the developers used the icons they knew. And sure, interfaces can be manipulated to suit our individual needs. But how so? Off the top of my head, I can’t think of too many ways how my laptop interface could be customized to someone “other” than myself—myself being the white, middle-classer that I am. I don’t want to challenge too strongly here. I’ll just be curious to hear both of your thoughts in class. I also wonder about our (sub)concious responses to an article like Selfe and Selfe. As white, middle-classers (and not as the “other”), an argument like theirs is ultimately a personal affront to us, calling us colonialists incapable of global or inclusive thinking. We are ethnocentrics, they’re saying. So when we have reactionary or critical responses to an article like “The Politics of the Interface,” are we responding intellectually to a weak argument? Or are we responding defensively to an attack against our very being? I found the latter to be the case a couple of years ago when I was taking a postcolonial literature class. I found myself taken aback again and again by my peers’ refusal or inability (subconscious or not) to engage many of the texts because they were always going into the text with their “dukes up,” so to speak, reading the texts in a defensive mode, ready to criticize first, therefore rarely ever taking a moment to self-reflect on how the text was, perhaps, speaking to or about them or influencing their personal (not academic/intellectual) reactions. Again, I hope nothing I am saying here will cause either of you to take offense. I’m just always curious about mine and my peers’ reaction to a text like this that essentially calls us out—the white, middle-classers (both male and female in this case). Is it true? Are the authors validated? Is the argument completely off-base? And as for interfaces, specifically, could developers add, in the initial setting up of a new computer or digital device, the option to customize the “desktop” interface (even beyond your device’s primary-language selection) to something more conducive to each user and their social, gender, economic, and cultural status? Is an option like that necessary? How much do the “other” users care? Is the fact that I just asked that question—how much do they really care—perpetuating the very perspective and language Selfe and Selfe are writing about?
I have to admit I’m sort of surprised by both of your criticisms of Selfe and Selfe. I read it mostly in agreement with the position they were taking. Sure, we have to consider the environment in which the “desktop” was developed—the developers used the icons with which they were familiar. And sure, interfaces can be manipulated to suit our individual needs. But how much so? Off the top of my head, I can’t think of too many ways how my laptop interface could be customized to someone “other” than myself—myself being the white, middle-classer that I am. I don’t want to challenge too strongly here. I’ll just be curious to hear both of your thoughts in class.
I also wonder about our (sub)concious responses to an article like Selfe and Selfe. As white, middle-classers (and not as the “other”), an argument like theirs is ultimately a personal affront to us, calling us colonialists incapable of global or inclusive thinking. We are ethnocentrics, they’re saying. So when we have reactionary or critical responses to an article like “The Politics of the Interface,” are we responding intellectually to a weak argument? Or are we responding defensively to an attack against our very being? I found the latter to be the case a couple of years ago when I was taking a postcolonial literature class. I found myself taken aback again and again by my peers’ refusal or inability (subconscious or not) to engage many of the texts because they were always going into the text with their “dukes up,” so to speak, reading the texts in a defensive mode, ready to criticize first, therefore rarely ever taking a moment to self-reflect on how the text was, perhaps, speaking to or about them or influencing their personal (not academic/intellectual) reactions.
Again, I hope nothing I am saying here will cause either of you to take offense. I’m just always curious about mine and my peers’ reaction to a text like this that essentially calls us out—the white, middle-classers (both male and female in this case). Is it true? Are the authors validated? Is the argument completely off-base? And as for interfaces, specifically, could developers add, in the initial setting up of a new computer or digital device, a user’s option to customize the “desktop” interface (even beyond your device’s primary-language selection) to something more conducive to each user and their social, gender, economic, and cultural status? Is an option like that necessary? How much do the “other” users care? Is the fact that I just asked that question—how much do they really care—perpetuating the very perspective and language Selfe and Selfe are writing about?
Sorry…I just posted that same long comment twice. :-/ Having some frustrating internet issues. Sorry about that!