Recently I was both surprised and quite amused to discover that Anna is using Twitter, since it was only a few months ago that she expressed serious distaste for the idea, questioning why anyone would waste their time with such frivolous communications. When she showed up on Facebook a few months later, I was so surprised and confused, thinking this new contact couldn't possibly be who she seemed to be, that I had to ask her who she really was. Of course, with her background, motivation and experience, Anna has very quickly figured out how to make frivolous communication platforms useful, while still questioning the implications and consequences of using them. I read her blog post as a kind of "wake-up call", a reminder to stop and reflect with a sense of "what just happened?"

Although I understand and share – at least to some extent – Anna's concerns about the incompatibility of "Web 2.0 toys" and data protection, I think there are also other serious and questionable concerns at stake. In retrospect, I find it a bit disturbing to realize how quickly and easily I slipped into a state of mind last month that blocked out all of those concerns.

My initial interest in "social networking sites" was more of a kind of academic curiosity stemming partly from my involvement in Lottie Child's Street Training project with Kunstraum Goethestraße in Linz. My interest in the idea of exploring "public spaces" online, however, was almost immediately sidetracked by the first hurdle of establishing some kind of "identity" to be able to move in online spaces at all. I think I lost sight of that concern, though, as Facebook turned out to be a way of staying in touch with various family members, especially the younger generation, but also one sister-in-law, my sister and even – much to my surprise – two of my technophobe brothers.

I almost deleted my Facebook account on September 2nd: Facebook had somehow become one of the most convenient and entertaining points of everyday contact with my sister. Along with more frequent and lengthy conversations via Skype, we had fallen into a habit of posting "status updates" that were really messages for one another, and my sister was good at using comments on Facebook to express her wonderful, sarcastic sense of humor. On September 2nd I was a bit startled by her "status update" and responded with a question about whether I should be worrying about her again. I was still waiting for a reply from her when the terrible news came that she was dead. In the end, I was glad that I didn't have the presence of mind to delete my account immediately. When I was frantic that I had no way of reaching my godson to tell him I was on my way and would be with him as soon as I possibly could, I sent a message to his girlfriend via Facebook asking her to contact him and let him know I was coming, hoping she would also be able to look after him until I could get there. That worked. It also set a pattern for family communication in the days and weeks that followed. With some of the family in Michigan, where my sister had lived, some in New Mexico with my terminally ill mother, and worried cousins and spouses left behind in Austria and England, in between phone calls and emails, we used Facebook to let one another know where we were and what was going on in the different places.
At some point it briefly crossed my mind that I also have contacts on Facebook who are not part of my family, who might find some of the messages at bit odd, to say the least. I didn't bother to think about it, though, figuring that any of my contacts from the worlds of art and media with hundreds of other contacts probably wouldn't even notice. What I find surprising and a bit disturbing now in retrospect is how easy it was to fall into the trap of feeling that this was somehow a "private" space. Along with Anna's misgivings about issues of data protection, I think there is another level of questioning who is reading what and why and how that might also be important. I know there are any number of educators, journalists, concerned parents frequently issuing dire warnings to young people that they should be careful about what they post online, that pictures from what felt like a fun party could well come back to haunt them, for instance. Cautionary tales about students getting into trouble are myriad. I'm not sure that is necessarily the most useful approach, however.
In addition to connections with my godson and his girlfriend, I now also have connections with my godson's roommate and his girlfriend's mother, who are all informed that I use these connections to check on my godson. When I met the roommate, I had neither the time nor the presence of mind to be diplomatic or polite and told him quite plainly of my concerns, namely that while many of my godson's friends would probably be all too willing to help him forget his problems, I wanted to know whether any of them could also help him get his life together. I was quite relieved by the roommate's response. However, the several hundred Michigan college kids connected with my godson and his roommate are probably not aware that a concerned older woman in Austria is looking carefully at the pictures and messages they post. Does it matter? I don't generally consider myself a prude, I firmly believe that people need to "let go" sometimes, step out of everyday routines and responsibilities. I think one of the hardest things that young people have to learn is to find a balance between those different states of being and to be able to make the transitions back and forth between them. Maybe all the concerned educators, journalists and parents just need to learn to read these kinds of posts differently. What worries me more is the illusion of privacy engendered by elaborate registration processes, arcane "privacy settings" and the formation of purportedly self-chosen and ostensibly closed groups. Even though I know intellectually why commercial communication platforms promote this illusion, emotionally I walked right into the trap.

The next realization that hit me was the possible consequences of entrusting personal memories to a commercial platform that stores them "somewhere". While my godson was waiting for his mother's siblings to arrive and take over, he deleted his mother's Facebook account and set up a "memorial group" for her instead. Although it seemed like a sensible idea at the time, now I find myself wishing I could go back and read some of her posts and comments again, but I can't. Most of the traces of her seem to have vanished. In a way, I suppose that might be considered fitting, analogous perhaps to the way few traces may be left of everyday conversations, except for the memories of them. However, in the brief statement that my elder son wrote for my sister's memorial service, he pointed out the importance of preserving traces of memories. As my son remained at home in Austria trying to write something for us, he realized that although my sister had always been a strong emotional presence in our lives, he had not actually seen her face to face since before his illness. Since his illness affected his memory in some ways, he found he had no memories of his own of being with my sister, but had to rely on accounts and pictures from others – borrowed memories, in a sense. That makes me think that the traces of relationships really are too precious to be entrusted to a commercial "service" that ultimately only stores them in exchange for the data they yield that can be used for targeted advertising.

It is so seductively easy to make use of a commercial service that can be accessed free of charge (i.e. as long as an Internet connection is available) in exchange for seemingly trivial personal information, which needs so little effort or thought. Any possible alternatives require more awareness, skills, determination and motivation. Following the experience of having yielded so easily to that seductiveness, despite knowing better and actually having the requisite awareness and skills, I think I need to look more closely again at what is really at stake and what possibilities there might be for dealing with this reality – not only responsibly, but also in a way that could be emotionally satisfying.