Pandora’s Vox

As I clicked through the boxes defining my acceptance of the contract, I realized that I probably made a mistake moments after clicking okay to one, in particular. Was I being paranoid? I have tried to read through these contracts many times, but they usually don’t say anything profoundly relevant to me. The fact that I void all my legal rights and privacy while they are completely free of liability for any problems occurring as a result of my participation was acceptable to me at the time. Why not? Everyone else was waiving their rights.

But something about the wording and the use of the phrase “voting profile” seemed unusual and creepy. I should have read the contract more carefully, but at that point, if I tried to go back, I risked losing all the information I had already entered. It had taken me at least 15 minutes to get that far. I convinced myself that it was probably just awkward wording or my own misreading, and, after only a moment’s pause, I continued the contract form.

Yet, I am quite certain it was this okay that stripped me of my personal ability to vote, handing more and more power over to the intelligence of the profile I would develop over the following year.

Several years earlier, a former music streaming software company transformed itself into a voter education and facilitation company. Its phenomenal success was completely unexpected as it transformed an apathetic and ignorant populace into a politically active, super-charged-voting-body. By combining cutting-edge game design with the well-known “you might also be interested in…” marketing techniques, people of all demographics became hooked on politics.

As players developed their profiles, topics that matched their interests were presented to them. Their voting records, of course, were part of their personal profiles. Concerns about privacy and data hacking were assuaged after five years of no known security breaches. The encryption technology created by the company was even more cutting edge than their game design, spinning off into a separate multi-billion dollar company. The stock holders could not have been happier.

The rest of us, however, were at least as happy to have our voices heard and to feel our political power was making a difference. We were completely addicted and it felt good. It felt like we were doing something important with our lives while being entertained at a level on par with what people used to describe about reading a good book. We were participating characters in a continuously unfolding novel, and we were making it!

However, making money and holding a steady job are usually not the highest concerns of people addicted to a more intense form of reality. The mundane necessities of paying bills was something we were able to hold at bay for an unbelievable amount of time through a combination of strategic voting and personal debt.

That was until the first time I was denied access to my account: I was dazed and completely unable to comprehend.  After regaining consciousness of my financial and physical reality over the next several days, I vowed never to get sucked into playing Pandora’s Vox again. But winners never quit, and quitters never win.  Before I knew it, I had paid my fees and was back at it, voting with passion on bills and laws that seemed infinitely important to me. Maybe it was the music or the genius of the script writing software, I do not know, but this was the Meaning of Life for me and countless others.

After the seventh time of being kicked off the system - for not paying my subscription fees - I returned to notice something unusual: My voting trends had continued unabated. It was as if I had never left. I reviewed the proposals and the measures and was perfectly happy with how I had voted, but I had never actually voted.

Every day, my profile showed more votes and proposals that I had made while I was sleeping. My activity was enormous and growing exponentially. I was concurrently participating in local, provincial, national, and international decisions even while I was reviewing them. However, no matter how angry I was at this fraud, and how critically I reviewed my record, I could not have voted as well or written as many excellent proposals as my virtual self was doing while I was wasting time stewing in my anger and confusion. Despite myself, I was more than pleased with each vote I reviewed.

Yes, this was the ultimate in representative democracy. Over the past year, I had created my own personal political representative to tirelessly work for my deepest and most personal interests at local and international levels.

After realizing this, I logged off and went for a long walk, late into the night. I allowed my subscription to run out and did not renew it. After logging off that day, five years ago, I have not personally voted since. I know that my political voice is being heard and I am being represented by my profile much better than I could represent myself. My addiction was not so pleasing; it turned into a deep depression which did not fade for a full year, but it did eventually abate.

To this day I do not know how I stand on the ethics of this virtual representation. I cannot deny that my Pandora’s Vox knows me better than I know myself; I am convinced of this fact. Perhaps I should ask myself what I truly think.