The Political Dream of UAV

A dialogue between myself, Hannah Arendt, Michel Foucault, and Jean-Jacques Rousseau regarding the implications of Unmanned Aerial Vehicle technology, written in 2017 for my capstone course in political theory.

The year is 2040. Drones operated by citizens, police, and corporate entities populate the skies. Artificial intelligence is channeled into holograms who use the cumulative writing of prominent historical thinkers to represent them in discourse and daily activity. These holograms wander the streets of New York City, engaging innocent bystanders in political dialogue.

Hannah Arendt lights a holographic cigarette and sits down at the bar, followed by Foucault and Rousseau. They exchange brief banter about the point of smoking with simulated lungs. Arendt says it’s simply habit, then has to explain nicotine to Rousseau. I find this an interesting group and want to interrogate how they came together, but keep to myself and tune into their conversation for a moment. Arendt and Rousseau begin to argue about the effects of surveillance on the private realm—Rousseau mentions something about the presence of a drone in his yard that morning. I find it odd that a hologram, much less Rousseau’s, should have a house and yard, but I don’t question it, drawn in as I am by their conversation.

“I felt… conflicted,” Rousseau says. “I was at my desk and looked out the window, only to see a drone hovering not ten feet away. While my first instinct was to protect my privacy; was concern that someone might be monitoring the most intimate aspects of my life, I then considered that I felt violated that a drone might see into my home, while sitting in front of a window which functions somewhat as a bridge between the public and private world. If I was in front of a window, am I even justified in feeling this as a violation? Why do we expect non-interference in the home, but allow it in the political and social realms?”  

“It seems to me that your discomfort arises from your expectation that you wouldn’t be seen,” says Foucault, “Regardless of whether you were by a window, it is a window on your property, which you consider private to yourself. Perhaps the window serves as a bridge between the privacy of the home and the publicity of the world, but the assumption in the window is looking out, not looking in. Windows are created to bring nature into the home, they are not initially intended as a means to bring the home into nature.” 

“So my discomfort was with having something I expected to remain private potentially publicized?” 

“Yes.” 

Arendt considers this for a moment then says, “This drone flying around your backyard—it’s clearly an invasion of privacy, but what privacy means today is the question. It’s my position that privacy serves as a shield against public life. The darkness of the private world is important, indeed, essential, ‘a secure space without which no living thing can thrive.’”  

“Do you mean to say that the private is more important than the public?” Rousseau asks.  

“Privacy is necessary for human security and growth. It is not of greater importance than the public, but is rather a prerequisite to public participation. It is in private that the most intimate thoughts and emotions are developed, and through public speech and action that they are in fact realized.” 

“So, privacy is foundational to public life.” 

“Yes, but in an increasingly privatized world, what is the meaning of privacy? Even before I passed away I thought that public life and public relationships, specifically, seemed to increasingly borrow from or model the aspects of private life. Today more than ever this holds true. There are seemingly endless opportunities to broadcast one’s personal affairs to the world, knowingly or unknowingly. This drone incident strikes me as just another of these: an instance of private matters made public.”  

“But there seems to be a difference here Hannah,” Foucault says. “The existence of drones does not publicize the private but, in this case, infringes upon the very privacy of the home.” 

“Yes, and there is undoubtedly good in such privacy, no? Historically, home ownership was the only thing which prevented the polis from complete violation of the private lives of its citizens. And while owning a home was necessary to participate in public life, there was always necessarily a clear distinction between the home and private life.” 

Rousseau looked miffed. “The home might have been the basis of participation, and constituting private property I would argue it serves part of the fundamental basis of civil society. I can understand your argument about the balance between the public and private, as evidenced in the historical place of the home, but disagree that it is itself fundamentally good.” 

“Oh, how do you figure?” 

“The rich constructed political society as a means to protect their property from the greed and violence of other men. But in doing so, they destroyed natural liberty—establishing the law of property and, through it, inequality. The legal right to property gives men a basis to assert political power over one another.” 

“Yes, Rousseau, I’m familiar with your stance on inequality. But do you really think such a state did not exist prior to the establishment of private property and politics? Indeed, I would argue that inequality knows no hearth more familiar and welcoming than that of the home. All political authority is merely modeled off of the paternal sort featured in familial relations. I think it is not the polis that knows inequality, but the private realm. It is only in gaining equality in private that one can hope to secure freedom in public. Think of children, or slaves.”

“Please, call me Jean-Jacques,” states Rousseau. “And I see very clearly the role of the family in socialization, but I think that the public is the space in which inequality initially arose and is today maintained. It is when humans started interacting with one another outside of the household that public esteem became a human value, and this was the first step toward inequality and vice. Public appearance and, correspondingly, acknowledgment leads on the one hand to vanity and contempt and on the other to shame and envy. Public status, the foundation of inequality, often takes form in possession and disputes over property—to quote Locke: ‘where there is no property there is no injury.’ But though property is by definition private, these arguments and this hierarchy could not occur without socialization.” 

“I see your point that inequality is tied to property, but do not myself think this makes inequality unique to the public.” Arendt continues: “Moreover, I think that the public spectacle which you speak of as the base of inequality is in fact a fundamental aspect of human life. Speaking about things thought in private lends them reality, and action is an important basis for self-worth and meaning. Appearance constitutes reality.”

“Like property, appearance may be a unique facet of human life, but this does not mean either is worth protecting. Public spectacle and social engagement lead to the greed which compels men to covet one another’s possessions, which in turn leads men to found an unequal and, perhaps even tyrannical, civil society.” Rousseau looks over at the bartender, who is eying the holograms with distaste. It appears he is dissatisfied that the three haven’t bought a single drink among them. Rousseau orders a glass of champagne, receives a strange look, and settles for a vodka soda. It’s not as though he can drink it anyway. 

“Returning to the matter at hand,” Arendt says with a bemused expression, “You surely can’t be arguing that privacy isn’t worth protecting,” 

“Can there be merit in privacy and in private property if it is the foundation of inequality in society? While I acknowledge that the drone was in my yard, I’m not even sure I should have a yard at all,” Rousseau says, his words clear but his gaze drawn to the football game on the TV, which it seems he can’t help but look at in wonder.  

Arendt snaps to get his attention. “Jean-Jacques, you yourself have noted society’s ‘perversion of the human heart’ in its intrusion upon the innermost region in man—his intimate life. Wouldn’t you argue that man’s intimate life, unlike the property of the home, is worth protecting?” 

Foucault bums a cigarette from Arendt, flicking a stray ember from the shoulder of his turtleneck sweater. He’s fairly reticent, even withdrawn. His mind seems elsewhere. Rousseau pretends to take a sip of his drink and ponders Arendt’s question. 

“The intimacy of the human heart, unlike property, has no tangible place in the world. Just because the two are private does not make them alike in their relative merit or proper treatment. While I think that intimacy is of great value and ought to be nurtured, I can’t see how intimacy can be protected in an age which is clearly even more social than was mine.” 

“I take your point, Jean-Jacques. Indeed, I have said that the proliferation of private arts like poetry, music, and the novel, which function as an intimate window into the human soul, betray the close relationship between the social and the intimate. Perhaps what is occurring today is merely another example of this. All of these technological instruments which allow us to look out and to be social in turn allow others to look in. Perhaps this is merely a greater extension of the intimate into society. And one would not call art or poetry an intrusion, so why would one deem the ubiquitous technological gaze such?” 

Foucault perks up. “Once again, Hannah, it seems a matter of direction. To say that one consents to share the private aspects of one’s life because one exists within a technological society is similar to the argument, say, that if you put a window in your house you are asking to be looked in upon. Poetry and art are shared of the private individual’s own volition, while the drone today took one of Jean-Jacques’ intimate and private moments without his consent.” 

“But then, how do you protect against such an intrusion?” 

“Why, just the way you would protect against a thief,” inserts Rousseau.  

At this point, I’ve remained quiet long enough. I walk to the bar and introduce myself, acknowledging that I’ve overheard their conversation, saying “Your statement intrigues me, Rousseau—” 

“—Jean-Jacques.” 

“Your statement intrigues me Jean-Jacques. For while one can protect oneself from a thief based on a tangible and demonstrable offense, interference with one’s privacy seems to me to be of an inherently different nature, necessarily requiring different protections.” 

“But how could one conceive of such protections legally? Is it even a feasible responsibility of the state to protect something like intimacy?” 

“If not the state’s, then whose responsibility could it be,” asks Arendt, “It is the role of the polis to protect and to intervene upon injury.” 

“I agree, and I think the manner in which this is made possible is well elucidated by Louis Brandeis, a late 19^th century scholar. Jean-Jacques, he was obviously after your time, but Hannah and Michel, are either of you familiar with his work?” 

Foucault shakes his head, Arendt shrugs: “I might be, but don’t recall.” 

“Brandeis wrote out of personal discomfort with intrusions upon privacy, and speaks of the manner in which photography and the press proliferated these kind of violations. He argues that a combination of the fundamental U.S. rights to life and to property constitute a legal precedent for the protection of privacy; that where the law used to only protect against physical violations, a growing recognition of man’s ‘spiritual nature’ resulted in a reinterpretation of the right to life as ‘the right to enjoy life’ and of the right to property as ‘the right to be let alone.’”

“He was wise to take note of the intrusion of the press,” Arendt says. “And that seems of a similar vein to our argument regarding UAVs, given that the press publicizes private information without, necessarily, securing the consent of the subject of its attention. And it is clear how fame—whether it be reverence or notoriety—can invade the private with the harsh light and merciless glare of the public realm.” 

“Yes, a glare indeed. I feel that adequately captures our discussion of a unidirectional gaze from public to private,” Foucault adds. 

“Right, we agree that the public invades and perhaps it is more fitting to say, gazes upon the private in the press and with UAV technology alike. Thus, it follows that legislation regarding the press might be adaptable to our present situation. Brandeis believes that privacy can be conceived of as an intangible but still inalienable property: the products and processes of the mind.” 

Rousseau inserts: “For the record, I’m still not convinced that property is or should be inalienable.” 

“We know, Jean-Jacques,” Arendt sighs. 

“Returning to the point at hand, if we conceive of intimate life in the same manner as we conceive of personal writings and productions—those private arts which Hannah earlier introduced—then we can see in cases of libel and slander a precedent for protecting privacy as property,” I say. 

“I don’t follow… those are cases of speech and its restrictions, not necessarily of liberty or property,” Rousseau says, shaking his head.  

“Yes, and speech is a liberty. We have the constitutional right to choose when to express our private thoughts or make public our private creations, and to fix the reception of these upon airing them. Freedom of speech is also a freedom not to speak, and to decide with whom and in what manner one speaks when one chooses to.”

“So private thoughts and occurrences can be compared to speech and to writing, which people must choose to make public, and can be protected as such?” 

“Exactly.” 

I see,” says Arendt, “And the right, too, to choose what is relevant to the public sphere.” 

“Relevant? How do you mean? Isn’t whatever happens in public relevant to public life?” asks Rousseau.  

“Not so. Some things, like the intimate life of emotions, are entirely relevant to the private, but not the public sphere. Only what is relevant of being seen and heard is tolerated and allowed in public, and many emotions, like love, have an ‘inherent wordlessness.’”

“But what if people want to make public those emotions which you think are only relevant to the private sphere?” Foucault chimes in. 

“They lose their meaning.” 

“So then do all intangible possessions—emotions, actions, productions—relevant only to the private, at least for the individual they derive in, lose meaning when exposed to the world?” I ask, interested.  

“If they’re not relevant.” 

“But who is to decide what is relevant to the public and what is not, the audience or the individual? What if I choose to broadcast my intimate emotions in public?” 

“Then you make them meaningless.” 

“Yet, the only way to make certain emotions real is to appear in public?” 

“Yes.” 

“So how is one to know which of these emotions are suitable for public life?” 

“I suppose it would be an individual choice. As in, ‘which of these emotions should be made real in order that I achieve my political goals and establish my place in the world?’ I acknowledge, though, that man’s place in the world is ever more ambiguous as society erodes the public and private.” 

Rousseau and Foucault have been twiddling their thumbs, and Foucault speaks up. “Even if we cannot agree entirely about what specific aspects of human life are appropriate to the public realm, can we not agree that it should be a matter of individual choice in sharing these with the rest of mankind?” 

All present unanimously nod, Rousseau looking a little hesitant but remaining quiet. He is gazing out the window at cars as they pass by.  

“So the task at hand is to determine not, specifically, what these aspects are, but how they should be treated within a political framework.” 

Nods, again. 

“I’m not sure if any among you are familiar with the panoptic model, but it seems it would be a useful tool in determining the effect of an all-publicizing gaze. At least for your benefit, Rousseau, I will explain. 

“The panopticon is a prison structure designed by Jeremy Bentham to perfect discipline. It consists of a central tower, surrounded by a periphery of open and fully visible cells. From the central tower, the guard can see into each cell, the prisoner within individuated and his actions made perfectly visible. The aspect which makes the panopticon truly unique, though, is the architectural design of the central tower itself. While it is always present in the field of vision of the prisoners, it is impossible to determine whether a guard is present or not due to a careful system of walls and Venetian blinds. Thus, the guard sees all and the prisoner sees but does not truly see, given the unverifiable presence of the guard.” 

“Ah, I see the resemblance here: the guard gazes into the private lives of the prisoners. Even, it seems, through a window or window-like apparatus.” 

“Yes, precisely. So every one of the prisoner’s actions is or can be known to the guard, but nothing about the guard is known to the prisoner. As with the drone, it is a reversal of the typical window’s purpose of letting one see from the private and into the public, and upsets even the traditional reciprocal see/being seen dyad.” 

“But it seems important to me to note that they are prisoners. Their assumed condition is unfreedom. My assumed condition, especially in the privacy of my own home, is freedom.” I say. 

“Be careful in assuming that you are free in the household,” Arendt interjects, “The household is a space for inequality and hierarchy, and the public a space for freedom.” 

“There is undoubtedly a difference, though, between slave, prisoner, and free man in the private realm. The master of a household would expect less interference in his affairs than would a slave. Indeed, the master of the house has total freedom while the slave has none at all. And the prison, itself a private institution, knows this same distinction in freedom between prisoner and guard.” 

“This is true.” 

“So the argument stands: a prisoner’s natural condition is being watched, while my assumed condition is freedom from such interference, at least in private. While the gaze is similar in its direction, it seems justified in the case of the prisoner and not in Jean-Jacques’ case, as he is a free man.” 

“It seems to me erroneous to take for granted that the prisoner’s privacy is not inviolate because of his social status,” Arendt argues. 

“Perhaps, but it is not necessarily about the subjects involved, but about the impact of this kind of gaze itself. The panoptic model can be applied in most any bureaucratic setting,” Foucault says in defense. 

“So what is its effect?” Arendt asks. 

“Its effect is, in essence, to render in the watched subject a condition wherein he is the bearer of his own discipline. Whether he is watched or not, the knowledge that he could be, the constant presence of the central tower, ensures his behavior in accordance with the standards of the prison.” 

“How does this differ from the way that we normally alter our behavior to fit public standards in knowledge that we might be watched?” 

“Because, first of all, even in public man once had the impression that he might not be seen. This status has inarguably changed with urban population and the advent of recording technologies, but I will get to that later. In the periphery of the panopticon, the subject is perfectly visible and individuated in a manner in which most people are not in society.” 

“That’s true, even in public or on the internet I sometimes feel alone and free in my behavior, and I also don’t feel it’s always the intention of those around me to watch me,” I say. 

“Yes, intention is key in this, but because the effect of the panopticon is the automatic functioning of power, it does not necessarily matter who is occupying the central tower or for what specific disciplinary purpose, but rather that it is there: a constant testament to the violability of the prisoner’s or other subject’s private state. The panoptic model can be applied in schools, hospitals, and most any setting in which discipline is necessary for the maintenance of authority.” 

“I still don’t see how this is fundamentally different from the effects of mass society on individual behavior. Society’s expectation of a certain behavior results always in a normalizing trend. In prisoners and wrong-doers, this may effect behavioral correction (at least theoretically), while in the ordinary subject this fictive oneness is essentially depoliticizing: excluding spontaneous action or outstanding achievement. All are affected,” argues Arendt. 

I say: “I agree that the public realm and society, specifically, impose normative standards on individual behavior, but it seems that what is fundamentally different about the panopticon is that it is a private institution. It is expected that individuals will conform to public standards to some degree, but the private space is not typically governed by similar mass standards, but by small-scale hierarchies.” 

“Yes, and hierarchy does not necessarily matter in the panopticon,” Foucault says. 

“What? In what sense would that ever be true? From what it sounds like, this structure both relies on and reinforces inequalities of power,” Rousseau protests. 

“While it might breed inequality, the panopticon is itself a democratic structure; the central tower can be occupied by anyone coming from outside to inspect the prison. Just as the central tower is accessible to the public, so are the tools of panoptic discipline, generally. Understanding and implementing panopticism requires only that one understand the necessary conditions of the watchman, teacher, etc.—e.g. visibility and unverifiability—to put its mechanisms into practice. With the panopticon or panopticism, anyone can exercise the functions of surveillance, upon any other body of people to be disciplined.” 

“Democratic? That seems like a strange association, since democracy would imply some modicum of equality.” 

“But democracy also requires power and thus, to a certain extent, hierarchy. In democratic society as in the panopticon, there are positions of power which can be occupied by various members of society. What differentiates democracy is not a lack of hierarchy, but the openness of hierarchal positions to its myriad members,” Foucault says. 

“I suppose I would not argue: political society and society in general are undoubtedly based on inequality,” says Rousseau, “So where do you propose my drone encounter this morning fits into all this?” 

“Well, as I mentioned before, it seems that technology is a formidable force in blurring the line between public and private. Or maybe, at the very least, making the public yet more public.” 

“How do you mean?” 

“As you have yourself discussed, Jean-Jacques, man in the State of Nature is free to order his possessions and affairs as he sees fit.” 

“Yes, such is the essence of the State of Nature.”  

“And as he enters society he is necessarily limited—sacrificing some freedoms to gain others.” 

“I think we can all agree that is the case.” 

“Well in civil and political society alike, man is not only limited by laws but, as Hannah pointed out, a set of behavioral norms. And as society grows, the more people there are to enforce these norms.” 

“Certainly.” 

“Well it seems to me that recording technology lends men an even greater means to morally police their fellow men. Where there aren’t human eyes present, there are more and more electronic eyes to pick up the gaze.” 

“So, would you argue that these electronic eyes are panoptic? I see how they would fit the model in terms of watching, but not necessarily of the condition of the watched. Sometimes public cameras are hidden, and their presence not known,” I say. 

“That’s correct, but their potential presence is known, given that it’s increasingly accepted and even expected that places of business and other private entities are wont to monitor their premises,” Foucault retorts.  

“So would you suggest that the widespread acceptance of surveillance means that citizens always occupy a panoptic position? 

“In a sense, yes. They are aware that they might potentially be watched, and change their behavior more and more accordingly.” 

“To me,” I say, “This does not seem a clear enough distinction from earlier and non-technological moral policing. It’s merely happening on a mass scale. There is nothing unique about an electronic eye, in effect, to differentiate it from the effects of a human eye.” 

“I think you might be correct in this, but let us take the example of Rousseau’s drone. There is something different here, and something that, at least in my eyes, closely resembles the rendering of panoptic power. 

“For the sake of argument, we will consider the experience of Jean-Jacques to be applicable to any American citizen who views either property or privacy or, I suppose, both, as something cherished and personal to himself. Which, it seems to me, is common to many Americans due to the direct protection of property and indirect protections for privacy which are featured in the U.S. Constitution.” 

“The value of privacy is not unique to Americans, nor does it need to be legally encoded for it to exist. The darkness of the private realm is the space in which humans are born and die, and in which they grow in between. The private should be cherished by all, given that it is fundamental to our humanity,” Arendt says.

“Okay, so if we assume that Jean-Jacques is not alone in his concerns for privacy, we can deduce that a similar such occurrence in another person’s yard might result in the same feeling of discomfort or, as he termed it, confliction.” 

“I was conflicted though, not because I did not think privacy might not be important, but because I wondered if my discomfort rested, too, on some form of belief that my property was somehow sacred.”  

 “Certainly. But the fact of privacy remains. Where the home is part of the private sphere, the drone, as a public and alien entity, represents an intrusion on that sphere,” Foucault responds.  

“And such an intrusion seems true to the essence of panopticism, if I understand it correctly as based on a total and fundamental intrusion upon one’s private activity,” I say.  

“Exactly, because the panopticon functions on the premise that each prisoner (schoolchild, etc.) is perfectly visible and individuated. And, unlike in the case of widespread surveillance cameras, the drone is a known and simultaneously unknown entity in much the same manner as is the guard in the central tower.” 

“How is the drone unknown, though?” Arendt asks. 

“I think I see what Michel is saying, so I’ll hazard an analysis,” I say. “The drone is unknown on two counts: first, that its operator is not present and second, that the potential subject of its gaze, here Jean-Jacques, is not necessarily sure if it is equipped with a camera, or if the camera is recording. Am I correct?” 

“I hadn’t thought of the latter, but yes, it seems to me it would contribute equally to the unverifiable nature of the drone’s gaze.” 

“I think it is an important aspect, because most but not all civilian-operated UAV are equipped with cameras, and because it is impossible to know the intent or activity of the drone’s operator, given that his or her very identity is unknown.” 

“Yes, I would have to agree,” states Foucault. 

“And it seems, too, that the drone matches your assessment of the panopticon as essentially democratic. Just as the central tower can be occupied by most anyone, so too can drones be purchased by anyone with the resources and desire to do so,” I say. 

“So perhaps the drone functions as a sort of mobile panopticon in form, but what does this really mean for privacy or for behavior?” Arendt asks. “While the drone may have a surveillant aspect altogether different from that of ordinary security cameras, does this affect behavior any differently?”  

“Well as for privacy, it seems certain that the drone has a different effect than do stationary surveillance mechanisms, given its physical ability to intrude upon private space in a way that they could not. While ordinary cameras exist in a public sphere which already dictates norms of moral behavior, the drone imposes this behavior on the individual and his personal space, effectively removing the protective barrier of privacy. This lack of privacy isolates the individual and makes him vulnerable to the exercise of panoptic power, much in the same manner that Bentham’s subject originally was—perfectly visible and totally individuated.” 

“So is this stripping of privacy fundamentally important to the disciplinary power of panopticism?” 

“Yes,” Foucault says, “The panopticon was revolutionary in the transformation of penitentiary practice in that it replaced the darkness of the dungeon with, as Arendt might say—the ‘harsh light’ of the peripheric cell. Thus the advent of visibility in the cells of the panopticon could almost be seen as metaphorical, in terms of the brightness of the gaze, for entry into public life. In the original panopticon in particular, panoptic power manifested itself in the total obstruction of privacy for the individual in all of the formerly most private aspects of his life: sleeping, eating, and generally living.” 

“And while the watched subject is completely publicized, the watcher remains anonymous and thus private. Interesting,” Arendt says, proffering Foucault another cigarette. Rousseau tries one too this time, exhaling in a fit of coughs.  

“Exactly,” says Foucault, “But the question is not how panopticism functions or by whom its tools are operated, but what its ultimate effect might be. So, Jean-Jacques, did your encounter with the drone encourage you at all to change your behavior?” 

“Why no, it certainly made me question what privacy signified and whether it was worth protecting, but I can’t say I felt compelled to change my behavior—it’s not as though I had done anything to provoke the drone or its operator into coming into my yard.” 

“Well how do you know, if the operator’s identity is unknown to you?” Foucault asks. 

“Why, I don’t feel I’ve done anything to provoke anyone.” 

“Might your being a public figure be reason enough for others to want to intrude upon your privacy?” 

“I suppose, but there’s nothing I can do about it.” 

“No, Jean-Jacques, you mean there’s nothing proactive you can do about it,” I say. 

“What do you mean?” 

“While you can’t prevent a person from wanting to come into your yard for whatever reason—be it to spy on you or having nothing to do with you personally at all—the only thing you can do is to take precautions from allowing a drone to potentially see you again. For example, you would close the blinds, move your desk from the window, or even move to another, more secluded place altogether.” 

“I suppose I could do those things, but I have no reason to. It’s only occurred once, and beyond that, I have nothing to hide. The drone, if it saw me at all, only saw me writing at my work desk.” 

“The argument that you have nothing to hide seems inadequate given the conversation we’ve had about the value of privacy, and the irrelevance of private matters to the public sphere. What you “have” does not need to be hidden because of its content or character, but because it is something unique and private to yourself. The author does not hide her manuscript because it is morally reprehensible but because it is her own creation, it belongs to her, and she can determine if and when she wants to reveal it to the world,” Arendt retorts. 

“Ah, so is the privacy of one’s home and one’s presumed state of isolation meant indeed to be protected by Brandeis’ framework?” I ask. 

“I think that it certainly can be,” says Arendt, “I see no clear distinction between private occurrence and private thought or production.” 

“But still,” Rousseau says, “If this has only happened once why would I take measures to protect myself in the future? I did feel my privacy was violated, but only momentarily. And what I was doing was of so little importance that though perhaps it ought to have remained private, I would not be persuaded to change my behavior even if I was alerted that the drone was recording, or that the operator had some sort of disciplinary intention.” 

“What if it happened a second, or even a third time?” Arendt asks.  

“Well then I suppose I would be motivated to change something, or at the very least to investigate, but how likely is it that such an event would occur again? It has not happened to any of you, and while I might not know much about drones I know they are certainly not so common that such an event is banal.” 

“What if civilian drone ownership became common enough that it could? And that of private and state entities as well, I suppose, if it doesn’t matter who operates the drones. It is a democratic and relatively affordable technology, after all,” Arendt responds. “Such an event, it seems to me, would duplicate the rise of mass society, which has made great strides in normalizing and policing human behavior.”

“I agree,” states Foucault. “It seems that if drones can be seen as panoptic, their proliferation would have massive implications for individual privacy and for public behavior. In my work on panopticism, I briefly explore the conditions of surveillance and segregation in towns ridden with plague, in which individuals are cordoned into their homes and interact with officials who regularly take information and observe them. From this, I note that the plague town is a sort of ‘political dream,’ upon which subsequent disciplinary projects, including the panopticon, were based. In the plague-stricken town, inspection functions ceaselessly; the gaze everywhere alert.” 

“And you think such a circumstance could result from the proliferation of UAV?” 

“Not exactly, because it would be closer to the panoptic model. Instead of a rigidly imposed hierarchy of disciplinary authority, the drones would be flown by everyone, citizen, private, and state entities alike. But the effect would be the same: empty public spaces and behavioral conformism, the latter being the political dream.” 

“I suppose if there were drones everywhere, I wouldn’t want to go out into public except when necessary, and I would certainly monitor my behavior in front of private windows more or become more of a recluse,” I say. 

“Yes but that’s if this happened over night. The rise of mass society and, I suppose, the proliferation of surveillance technology occurred over such a long period of time that they engendered a piecemeal acquiescence in the public body,” states Arendt. “People become so used to changing their behavior to fit these standards, to abandoning meaningful private thought or political action, that they no longer question the eyes upon them or the broader forces at work.”  

“So what are we then, powerless to stop this proliferation of UAVs, their violation of our intimate lives, and our own acquiescence?” asks Rousseau.  

“I suppose the only work to be done is to discuss and understand the panoptic implications of UAV technology, and perhaps to create a clearer legal framework for preventing such abuses,” I say.  

“Yes and with all this technology abound, we shouldn’t have to rely on constitutional interpretation but on solid, codified laws for our protection,” Arendt adds.  

“Then I suppose we are powerless, since we’re only three holograms and an undergraduate student. I’m not even sure if holograms have rights,” Rousseau says. 

“A conversation for another day, Jean-Jacques. For now, it’s late and I need to recharge my energy cell.” 

Works Cited

Arendt, Hannah. 1954. “The Crisis in Education.” http://learningspaces.org/files/Arendt CrisisInEdTable.pdf 

Arendt, Hannah. 1958. “The Public and Private Realm.” The Human Condition. http://www.frontdeskapparatus.com/files/arendt.pdf 

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