Fodder for the internet monster
Early one morning, sipping a cup of coffee, I started my first task of the day. I sat down at my computer, took steady aim with the mouse, and began a series of rapid-fire shots: delete, delete, delete, delete, delete...
'Are you the one we've been looking for?' The words suddenly popped up in my junk mail, jolting me from my drowsy state. 'Feeling overweight lately?' How did they know? The night before, I had decided to indulge at dinner, and was still feeling the effects.
The messages continued. 'Diets that work.' 'Shed those pounds fast.' 'Do you have a weight-control problem?' Fighting obesity seemed to be a recurring theme in my junk e-mail. At first I found the junk-mail adverts merely irritating; at worst, it was slightly alarming to see my name in the subject line.
Then I began to feel a personal threat: Was someone out to 'delete' me? While trying to send out an e-mail, I was blocked by a security page. It asked me to read eight letters of the alphabet - they were partly screened, and difficult to read - and type them into a rectangular box. The internet site had doubted my identity! It was checking to see that I wasn't a little electronic spam bug, sending junk mail into the cyber world.
I carefully typed out the letters I saw in the graphic, but a sudden fear gripped me. What if I misread the letters? Then they really would think I was a bug and squash me right away, never allowing me to send e-mails again.
In today's e-world, where we converse through MSN, commute with our iPods and consume through eBay, the demarcations are strikingly clear. You're either in or you're out - and there are continual tests to pass, making you feel you're always on the brink. 'They' test for our true identities: technologically adept web surfer or pesky bug that should be exterminated?
Some try to fight this system, but find themselves grossly outnumbered. Others simply want to complain by phone, which leads them into the labyrinth of a company's automated complaint-processing system: 'To continue in English, press '1' now. To inquire about your account, press '1'. To file a complaint press '2'.'
You demand: 'Why haven't I received notices to explain your recent activities?' (Accusatory tone).
They reply: 'Please send a request through e-mail. We will respond in a timely manner.'
You: 'I don't have e-mail.' (Weakening).
Them: 'You can also view our latest activities on our website at www...'
You: 'But I don't have a computer, either.' (Downright feeble).
Them: 'Thank you for calling. Goodbye.'
There are no apologies or explanations in the e-world. If you're unable to keep up, you can't complain about it: in fact, you can't even complain about not being able to complain. One cannot protest against not existing because only those who exist are able to protest.
First they seduce you with what they know you need, then they discriminate against you and destroy your confidence. Finally, when you depend on them for everything but the air you breathe, they terminate you.
If you don't know how to log in and download, then you can't access government forms, make dinner reservations or buy plane tickets. You can't even manage your own money in the bank.
The Web is ideal for filtering out people who are unfit to exist. As in the film Narayama Bushiko directed by Shohei Imamura, the non-essential people are set aside, left to flounder in the vast, uncivilised brush - until, one by one, they stumble, fall and disappear from sight.
Lu Ping is Taiwan's cultural envoy in Hong Kong
