<div class="header-image"></div> <table class="table-header"> <thead> <tr> <th colspan="2"></th> </tr> </thead> <tbody> <tr> <td>2024-10-14</td> <td style="text-align: right;"><a href="About.md" class="internal-link">About</a></td> </tr> </tbody> </table> # Manifesto for a Better Internet: Preface ![90s-CRT2](../Blog/Assets/90s-CRT2.png) ### That's the Way It Was and We Liked It The Internet used to be very different from what it is now. 20 to 25 years ago, most people were not yet online, and those who were, for the most part, still were using dialup access. This means that most websites were made frugally, with speed in mind. File sizes had to be small. There was virtually no video. Sites were mostly static, with a few exceptions like shopping carts or chat rooms. To get some idea of what chatting online was like, take a look at the chats for live YouTube videos. That's what chatrooms were, only without the video. It worked, but was only really usable with a dozen, maybe two dozen people *at most*, depending on how chatty people were. Anything more than that was just a chaotic mess. What was customary was to announce your "a/s/l" (age/sex/location, with location usually indicating country) upon entering a chatroom. **Nobody** used their actual names or said anything identifiable about themselves online in those days. It was viewed as foolishly unsafe. But people wanted to know who they were talking to, so it was considered polite to let others know this by providing your a/s/l. This "anonymity by default" was very pervasive and, as more people started coming online, became a primary bit of advice that everyone gave. It was dangerous to give out any information that could personally identity you, as thieves could learn the best time to break into your home (by knowing when you would be away on vacation, for example). Today, we see a host of reasons to not give out real identities, though it has become customary to do so. Online chatrooms were a bit of a passing fad, simply because they were so chaotic. It was really hard to have an actual conversation in them. But bulletin board style forums were extremely popular, and fostered many niche communities. I belonged to many, but two in particular were the doom9 forums, which was dedicated to video encoding (essentially making DVD backups) and xbox-scene.com, which was for modding the original Xbox. This brings me to 2 important points: communities were organised into small, niche groups, and they had a subversive nature to them. These specific examples themselves were about making digital copies of DVDs into .avi files, and modding Xboxes to be able to run unsigned code. The first gaming emulator I ever ran was on a modified Xbox, thanks to that site. Each of these examples centred around circumventing digital rights protections. There was a large pushback against this sort of thing, as it did facilitate piracy. But the pro-consumer argument is, we were using products that we bought and paid for. I bought the movie. I should be able to make physical backups, and share them even, as was [permissible with music cassettes in the days of dual tape decks](https://www.nytimes.com/1985/11/21/arts/issue-and-debate-royalties-on-recorders-and-blank-audio-tapes.html). It's the same with the Xbox. The original Xbox was just an x86 PC. With only a slight modification, it could behave like one too. It was possible to have a complete Linux distribution (Gentoo) running on it relatively smoothly. These were legal grey areas at the time. In Canada, there wasn't any law to deal with it. In the US, the DMCA could be interpreted to prohibit such copying, or to allow it, depending on which side of the argument you fell, but a precedent had yet to be set. My perspective was that once I paid for something it was mine to do with as I pleased. If I bought a toaster and thought of a way to use it for something other than making toast, I had every right to take it apart and do with it as I pleased. No one would argue that. Why was it any different for a gaming system? There was an excitement about being online in those days. It was a place to gather with like-minded people, and figure out ways around the system. The anti-consumerist movement was in full swing by this time, and we were striking back against a system that was increasingly antagonistic to the average consumer in many ways. Bands were sueing fans for sharing music, and for [much more than the value of the music they were sharing](https://www.cbc.ca/news/science/downloader-faces-the-music-fined-222-000-1.684892). And, for once, [we were winning](https://www.nytimes.com/2003/09/19/business/despite-suits-music-file-sharers-shrug-off-guilt-and-keep-sharing.html). Today, there is an illusion of this same phenomena, but it is constructed by the corporations we were actively fighting against in the past. It might feel like "fighting the system" when angrily tweeting about the "MAGA chuds" or the "snowflake SJWs" and "woke agendas," but [this sideshow was put there on purpose](../Blog/2024-07-02%20AdBusters,%20Occupy%20Wall%20Street,%20and%20the%20Great%20Culture%20War%20Swindle.md). It's important to recognise that this is only fighting against other working-class people, rather than an oppressive system of government, or corporate greed. We need a reliable way to wrap our heads around this, to recognise and point out the distractions. I fear, however, that it's impossible while mucking about in social media feeds that are tailored for angry misdirection. By contrast, the old-school forums had no feeds. They were the same for every user. When navigating to a website hosting one of these forums, you saw the same posts everyone else saw. They were much more like having a small, close-nit group of friends than the larger platforms. But with anonymity as a standard, all barriers were broken. Sex, race, class, religion, and political affiliation were truly irrelevant. Even giving a customary a/s/l only presented everyone with the person you wanted to show. If you wanted to present as female, you told people you were female. The truth didn't matter--online you could be whomever you wanted, and no one would question it. The only important thing to consider was the topic at hand: in the case of my two examples, Xbox mods, or encoding video. Intelligent advice and instruction remained as such, no matter who was giving it. The details of the person were far less important than the wisdom being imparted. Much of what I'm describing is lost in the era of merging real-life and online identities. Algorithms designed to elicit anger only foster tribal fighting, rather than cooperative communities. The fighting, vitriol, insults, and name-calling occurs whether behind a pseudonym or not. Authentic identities did nothing to curb animosity; it's only grown worse. We are fighting each other rather than coming up with real solutions to any problems. The only thing anyone can think of to do is to go out and protest, which really just means inconvenience everybody, and consequently, drive everyone away from what might be actual causes to fight for. In a series of posts comprising this manifesto, I'm going to focus on several ways that internet communities would be better by just taking a few steps backward, and perhaps a few more forward. I don't think it's necessarily too late, but it will take a concerted effort to convince a good chunk of the public that there is even a problem. It's a shame that the most active users online have no memory of the times I'm referencing here, and so cannot really have a concept of what it was like. This will make it difficult, but not impossible, to convince them that it can all be better. The Internet can be better. *Life itself* can be better when everyone's not tethered to the Internet.