Pop 89: Turn Off Your Cell & Bow Your Head

By Madonna Hamel

The power was down for the whole day yesterday. My neighbour commented on the number of kids zipping past her house on their bikes. A group of teens were out on their horses. Myself, I devoured an entire book on the couch, sipping tea made on my camp stove and surrounded by candles. I didn’t check my cellphone once. The power failure gave us all a chance to do what we cannot seem to do without an intervention - step away from our devices.

It was nothing less than a gift from heaven.

We are constantly warned - in various ways by various writers, among them: Shoshana Zuboff, author “The Age of Surveillance Capitalism” and Jaron Lanier, father of virtual reality and author of “You Are Not A Gadget”, and Nicole Aschoff’s “The Smartphone Society”  - about the addictive nature and exploitive potential of our cell phones and devices. And we hear the warnings, but we love tweeting and taking pictures even more. Be it a chance encounter with a celebrity, or our lunch, our cell phones affirm what has meaning for us and allow us to share that meaning with the world, even believing the world is interested in our sandwich.

I suspect what we claim as meaningful has changed over the decades, in great part because of these handheld devices of ours. With their capacity to “capture” every moment of our lives, they “allow” us to elevate the mundane to the status of magnificent. And, in turn, we’ve become caught up in tweets and posts that lower the tone of civic life, degrading, denigrating and desecrating each other. We’ve reduced human beings from souls to things we “use” according to our immediate and often insatiable needs. 

I have mentioned this often, but it bears repeating: There was a time when we humans referred to ourselves as “souls.” Over time, we’ve been called “citizens,” then “consumers” (also: “clients” and “customers”) and until today, we are referred to as “users.” 

In “user” culture, we are both “used” and being “used.” But who cares? Once a user, the prerogative is “having,” not “caring.” As long as I get my product, I’m happy. So what if the company that gives me “free” data gets free data on me and my life and my family, my whereabouts, beliefs and opinions? For every pundit who points out: “If it’s free, you’re the product,” dozens more, maybe even most, people retort: “If it makes me happy, who cares?” Or, “if it means I get better service, I’m fine.” That is, as long as nobody in power gets the idea that they could access that data to, say, deport me, turn me away from the border, arrest me, etc. But that’s so unlikely. 

This moment reminds me of the G8 Summit in Quebec City. I was covering it for CBC Radio. While trailing protesters and activists, and undercover cops, I came across a wall spray-painted with the warning: “Big Brother Is watching!” In my head, I responded: “And we like it.” Meaning that voyeurism and surveillance are actually welcome in a culture of exhibitionists. Which is what our cell phones have turned us into. 

So how do we address a “user” culture full of increasingly harsh, lurid, disturbing and violent diatribe and imagery? How do we go from being a throwaway culture, bent on being served, to a tender-hearted culture, living lives of service? This may not be of interest to you, but to me, it’s the only topic there is. It is the crux of meaning, the point of being, the seed of a sane, spirit-filled, authentic, mysterious existence. 

Whenever I mediate a moment with my camera, the camera, instead of the moment, gets all my attention. I need to dedicate my energies to keeping it in focus to frame the moment properly. I need to hold my hand steady, higher, closer etc. And I need the bozo in front of me to move! I am not in the moment I am recording; I am in the moment in the future when I’ll be able to show others the incredible moment I was almost present for!

The problem is that I can’t articulate to you what you missed by being more present for your camera than the moment. Such is the nature of presence. It is subtle, nuanced and almost imperceptible. The bond with the experience is intimate in its momentousness. When present we make ourselves available to a full-on conscious awareness. The mystics say the present is the only place you can meet God. Because “God’s joy,” as Pope Leo says, “is not loud.”

My brother suggests that “sometimes we use a camera for that very reason - that we are afraid of the present moment. We’re afraid it will disappoint us. So we don’t dare. And in that way the camera,” he says, “is a kind of dark thief.” I tend to agree. But I don’t believe the camera steals the soul; I think it leaves it behind. Ironically, the more we feel the need to hold the camera up to prove to ourselves that we exist, the less present we are to ourselves and the moment. 

With our cellphone pocket computers we can check in on anyone around the world, except maybe our own inner stirrings. And we can take pictures in the most private of places and moments. Cell phones turn pilgrims into tourists, turn fleeting, sacred, transitional moments into spectacles, as in the case of those people taking selfies of themselves in front of Pope Francis’ casket. Later, as the popemobile transported him to his resting place, instead of bowing their heads, thousands upon thousands held up their phones to capture the passing casket. I saw only one man; he looked like a construction worker, making the sign of the cross. And another removed his hat. They were, in my mind, the only two people who understood the moment as their spiritual “papa” passed by on his way to where his soul was headed.