Why I Stay There is a particular sound a phone makes when a swarm arrives. It is a stutter, a fast run of notifications that does not let up, that keeps coming while you hold the thing in your hand and watch your own name turn into a target. I have heard it more than once. I have learned what lives inside it. Death threats. My home address, posted for strangers to keep. The venues of my lectures, named so that someone might come. Rape threats aimed at the women in my life. The flat medieval promise that I will be hanged. I have read these in the small hours of a Palmerston North night, in a quiet house, with my children asleep down the hall and the Manawatลซ running dark past the window, and I have felt the precise thing the swarm is engineered to make a person feel, which is alone. I know how these swarms are built, because I study them for a living. I have watched a sitting member of parliament point the machinery at me and then sit back while it ran. That is the part people o...
The culture-centred blog of Mohan J. Dutta — Massey University, Aotearoa. Home of The Margins Review: critical intellectual opinions from Aotearoa to the world.