Mine and Society's Relationship With Technology

The juxtaposition of the 1964 Futurama video with the melancholic “Mad World” cover creates a powerful commentary on our technological expectations versus reality. As I watched these contrasting visions—one optimistic, one cynical—I found myself reflecting on my own complex relationship with technology and its impact on both my personal life and our broader society.

As a political science major in my junior year, I’ve become increasingly interested in how technology shapes democratic institutions and social behaviors. The concept of technological determinism—the idea that technology drives historical change and shapes social structures—has significantly influenced how I view our technological landscape.

The utopian promises presented in the 1964 World’s Fair footage—underwater cities, climate control systems, and efficient urban planning—represent a distinct vision of progress that differs greatly from our current reality.

Instead of these grand infrastructural innovations, we’ve developed an intricate web of social media platforms and digital communication tools that have transformed human interaction in ways those futurists never anticipated.

My personal relationship with technology remains complicated. There have been countless nights when I’ve intended to research electoral systems for a paper but found myself inadvertently consumed by social media for hours.

During midterms last semester, I attempted to delete certain apps from my phone, only to reinstall them within days. The longest period I’ve managed without social media was an unintentional hiatus during senior year during midterm season.

Surprisingly, after the initial withdrawal symptoms subsided, I experienced an unexpected sense of mental clarity and focus that allowed me to finish reading a book by Pope John Paul II (the Saint my school was named after) after my English teacher, Mr. Corley, suggested it to me.

My friends’ technological usage varies considerably. My best friend Bridget is constantly digital multitasking, simultaneously engaging in FaceTime calls, consuming content, and completing assignments. 

In contrast, my former classmate Will deliberately minimizes his digital presence, often arranging in-person meetings rather than maintaining extensive online communications. His approach initially struck me as somewhat pretentious, but I’ve grown to appreciate his perspective, mainly as I’ve observed the effects of constant connectivity on my own concentration.

After participating in several protests, technology’s impact on activism has become particularly relevant to me. I’ve noticed a troubling pattern where substantial activism gets reduced to performative online gestures—posting a symbolic black square for Blackout Tuesday or sharing an infographic without engaging in meaningful advocacy work.

At one protest against police brutality in 2020, I was struck by how many attendees seemed more focused on capturing content for their social media than engaging with the speakers and organizers. This digital substitution for tangible engagement represents a concerning trend in how technology shapes political participation.

My approach to my digital footprint has been heavily influenced by an incident from my high school years. A classmate had her college acceptance revoked due to offensive content she had posted years earlier.

This cautionary tale, combined with my mother’s professional experience in administration and human resources, instilled in me a heightened awareness of online permanence. When I Google myself, the results display a carefully curated professional presence—my periodically updated LinkedIn profile, my Instagram featuring primarily campus events and occasional travel photos, and a dormant Facebook account maintained largely for family connections.

The concept of technological “unintended consequences” feels increasingly relevant to my generation. Social media platforms designed to connect individuals have paradoxically contributed to widespread feelings of isolation and inadequacy.

I’ve experienced those moments of comparison-induced distress when confronted with the curated highlights of others’ lives, knowing intellectually but struggling to remember emotionally that these representations are selective and often misleading.

The verification methods we were taught in middle school—evaluating URLs, identifying authors, checking publication credentials—appear increasingly inadequate against sophisticated misinformation techniques. Between AI-generated content, convincing deepfakes, and algorithmically targeted distribution, distinguishing reliable information becomes progressively more difficult.

Despite these concerns, I maintain that technology offers substantial benefits. Last year, during a period of personal difficulty related to processing childhood trauma, I found tremendous support through an online community that provided resources and understanding I might not have accessed otherwise.

These positive experiences remind me that technology itself is neutral—it’s the application and surrounding structures that determine outcomes.

Moving forward, I believe the key lies in developing more intentional relationships with technology. This includes personal habits like implementing focused study periods with digital distractions disabled, engaging in unmediated social interactions, and deliberately seeking diverse information sources.

While these individual actions may seem minor, collectively they represent a reclamation of agency in our technological environment.

EOTO #2 Reaction

The presentations on media theory concepts from Group Three offered fascinating insights into how information flows and influences our society, and one of the solo presentations. Three concepts caught my attention: the spiral of silence, the Overton window, and the Army Robot Dog.

Kyra’s explanation of the spiral of silence theory showed how people often self-censor their opinions when they believe they’re in the minority. According to her, this theory was developed by Elisabeth Noelle-Neumann, who defined it as the study of how our willingness to express controversial opinions is affected by our perception of their popularity. 

This connects directly to concepts we discussed earlier in the semester, particularly the chilling effect, or cancel culture. Both phenomena create environments where people become hesitant to express certain viewpoints out of fear of social punishment or isolation, exactly what the spiral of silence describes.

When people fear backlash for expressing unpopular opinions, they remain silent, creating the illusion that those opinions don’t exist. This further reinforces the cycle, making it even harder for diverse viewpoints to enter public discourse.

Kyra mentioned how this affects her personally, noting that she finds it difficult to voice her opinion when she feels she might be judged. She also pointed out that people are more likely to listen to opinions that align with their own, which creates barriers to meaningful dialogue.

Michael’s presentation on the Overton window particularly resonated with me. He explained that this window represents the range of political possibilities the public is willing to consider and accept. What struck me was his point about how long it can take for this window to shift on major social issues. He mentioned women’s suffrage, which took until 1920, and civil rights legislation in 1964. 

This connects deeply with my personal history - my grandmother participated in the Civil Rights Movement, marching and advocating for rights that today seem so obvious but were considered radical at the time.

As a Black woman, I’m acutely aware that people like my grandmother had to forcibly push the Overton window wider through decades of struggle and sacrifice. Their persistence created space for the freedoms and opportunities I now enjoy, though the struggle continues today.

Michael highlighted how minorities, including women and people of color, are often the most affected by these slow-moving changes, as they’ve historically been marginalized in American society. It’s humbling to realize how recent these shifts are in our history and how much work remains to be done.

Finally, Bernadette’s presentation on the Army Robot Dog fascinated me, given my background in the Navy. She explained how these mechanical canines are being developed to replace traditional service dogs in military operations. 

She outlined how military dogs have long been used for their ability to scent, track, detect, and even attack when necessary. The robot versions offer advantages like not requiring rest, food, or medical care, while also addressing ethical concerns about putting animals in danger.

Having served in the Navy, I’ve witnessed firsthand the critical role technology plays in modern military operations. Technology continuously evolves to keep personnel safer while improving mission effectiveness.

These robot dogs represent the next frontier in that evolution, potentially reducing risk to both human soldiers and animal partners.

I appreciate Bernadette’s balanced approach, noting both the advantages (like limiting risk to humans and animals) and the challenges (such as high costs and vulnerability to hacking).

These three concepts demonstrate how complex the media landscape and information environment have become. From the psychological mechanisms that can silence diverse opinions to the gradual shifts in what society deems acceptable to discuss, to the technological innovations changing how we operate in high-risk environments, understanding these dynamics is crucial.

Age of AI Video Reaction

Watching PBS’s “In the Age of AI” documentary in class left me fascinated and uneasy about our technological future. What struck me most was how accurately the 2019 documentary predicted the AI landscape we’re navigating today in 2025. 

As a political science major, I couldn’t help but analyze the power dynamics unfolding between the US and China in what the film dubbed “the race to become an AI superpower.”

The second half of the documentary opened with AlphaGo defeating Lee Sedol, the world champion, at the ancient game of Go. This wasn’t just about a computer winning a board game—it represented a pivotal moment when AI demonstrated it could think creatively and strategically in ways humans hadn’t considered before. 

What frightens me most is how AI is being weaponized for surveillance and social control. The segment on China’s treatment of Uyghur Muslims in Xinjiang was particularly disturbing. 

A Uyghur man works at his shop
in Kashgar in the Xinjiang region.

The documentary showed how the Chinese government deployed vast surveillance networks with facial recognition to monitor an entire ethnic population. As a Black woman in America, I can’t help but draw parallels to how surveillance technologies have historically been used against marginalized communities here.

Last summer, I interned at PFCF
 & Summer Reading Stations.

The economic implications are equally concerning. The documentary highlighted how primarily AI-driven automation has already eliminated manufacturing jobs across America’s Midwest. One economist in the film noted that automation, not offshoring, was responsible for about 80% of job losses. 

This resonates with what I’ve observed in my own community. Growing up in a neighborhood where many families relied on manufacturing jobs, I’ve witnessed firsthand how automation has gradually displaced workers. Last summer, during my internship with the non-profit my sister works for, Partners for Children and Families of Moore County, NC, I spoke with numerous families struggling to adapt to this new economy where their skills were suddenly obsolete.

Privacy feels like a luxury we’ve surrendered without fully understanding the consequences. Shoshana Zuboff’s concept of “surveillance capitalism” resonated deeply with me. Every click, search, and interaction online becomes what she calls “behavioral surplus”—data that predicts our future behavior. 

As someone who studies political systems, I’m troubled by how this undermines democratic participation when our data can be used to manipulate public opinion, as we saw with Cambridge Analytica.

What surprised me was learning about Alastair MacTaggart’s campaign in California to regulate data privacy. His story gives me hope that ordinary citizens can push back against trillion-dollar tech companies. 

His privacy initiative eventually led to the California Consumer Privacy Act, proving that democratic processes can still function as checks on corporate power.

The documentary presents two diverging visions of AI’s future: China’s model of state control versus America’s market-driven approach. Both have serious flaws. The Chinese model enables unprecedented state surveillance, while the American model has created vast wealth inequality and undermines privacy for profit. 

As a political science student who spent time at the Naval Academy before receiving a medical honorable discharge, I'm particularly receptive to how this technological race impacts national security.

My brief time at Annapolis gave me unique insight into how defense strategists view AI as both opportunity and threat. The documentary highlighted China’s Belt and Road Initiative spreading their surveillance technology globally, creating what one expert called a “bamboo curtain” of digital infrastructure across developing nations. 

What keeps me up at night is how AI could transform warfare itself. Autonomous weapons systems, cyberattacks enhanced by machine learning, and disinformation campaigns powered by deepfakes all represent threats to national security that we're only beginning to understand. 

Though my military career was cut short for medical reasons, that experience taught me that technological superiority has always been America's military advantage—but for the first time, we're at risk of losing that edge.

Despite these concerns, I see tremendous positive potential in AI. It could revolutionize healthcare, help us address climate change, and make education more accessible. The documentary mentioned how AI could free us from routine work and “push us to do what we love.”

Propaganda: A Thing of the Past or Present? - EOTO #2

When most people hear the word “propaganda,” they immediately think of World War II posters or Cold War messaging. But as I’ve learned through both my classes and personal experiences, propaganda remains a powerful and prevalent force in our contemporary society, showing up in both helpful and harmful ways. When most people hear the word “propaganda,” they immediately think of World War II posters or Cold War messaging. But as I’ve learned through both my classes and personal experiences, propaganda remains a powerful and prevalent force in our contemporary society, showing up in both helpful and harmful ways. 

As a Black woman attending predominantly white institutions since my freshman year, when I started attending a private, Catholic high school, I’ve become hyperaware of how information can be selectively presented or omitted to shape narratives. 

In my AP US History class, my teacher skipped over significant portions of slavery and the civil rights movement, reducing complex struggles to a few sanitized paragraphs in our textbook. This selective presentation of US history reaches further than just my high school class, and it is a subtle but effective form of propaganda, controlling which stories are told and which voices are amplified. 

That is in stark contrast to him sometimes using me as a “real world” example. For example, there used to be clauses in new house deeds saying that houses couldn’t be sold to those of African descent. “If Destini wanted to buy Jane Doe’s house for $200,000 but John Smith wanted to buy it for $100,000, Jane would have to sell it to John because he is white and Destini is of African descent.” 

Propaganda is the deliberate, systematic attempt to shape perceptions, manipulate cognitions, and direct behavior to achieve a response that furthers the desired intent of the propagandist. What makes today’s propaganda different isn’t necessarily the intent but rather the sophisticated delivery methods and psychological techniques used. 

Not all propaganda serves malicious purposes, though. Many public health campaigns use propaganda techniques to promote positive societal outcomes. Anti-smoking initiatives represent one of the most successful applications of positive propaganda. Graphic images on cigarette packaging and emotional testimonials from former smokers have dramatically reduced smoking rates, especially among young people. 

Similarly, HIV/AIDS awareness campaigns have employed propaganda strategies to reduce stigma, promote testing, and encourage safe sex practices. When I go into student health, there are emotional appeals and clear information about prevention EVERYWHERE: posters, brochures, and free condoms. 

Environmental advocacy often uses propaganda techniques, too. From carefully selected imagery of endangered polar bears to simplified explanations of complex climate science, these campaigns create emotional connections that inspire action. 

While propaganda can serve noble purposes, its use as a tool for manipulation and division remains common. The Russia-Ukraine conflict has been accompanied by sophisticated propaganda from both sides, with social media serving as the primary battlefield. In my Contemporary Politics class, we analyzed how each side crafts narratives designed to influence international opinion. 

The digital environment has enabled unprecedented precision in propaganda targeting. Unlike mass propaganda of the past, today’s disinformation campaigns can micro-target specific demographic groups with tailored messaging. I’ve noticed this firsthand in my social media feeds, where I receive very different political content than my white roommates, despite our similar interests. 

A more subtle form of contemporary propaganda involves the selective inclusion or exclusion of content in educational curricula. The controversies in several states regarding teaching African American history hit close to home for me. When researching, I realized that schools (on all levels) have textbooks that contain almost no mention of systemic racism or the full horrors of slavery or are taught in ways that minimize those parts of American history.

By minimizing discussions of systemic racism or sanitizing historical injustices, these curriculum decisions shape students’ understanding of national identity and social issues. As someone who had to supplement my education with independent reading and community knowledge, I recognize how powerful the control of “official history” can be. 

Technological advances have transformed modern propaganda, making it harder to recognize. Social media algorithms prioritize emotionally charged, divisive content, inadvertently becoming propaganda distribution systems. The ability to create convincing but fabricated videos and images has created new challenges in distinguishing fact from fiction. 

A few months ago, a deep-fake video of President Trump and Elon Musk engaging in some indecent activity created by AI was circulated widely in the HUD building before being debunked. However, the damage was already done, as many people believed it was true, and they formed opinions based on the false content. 

As propaganda techniques become more sophisticated, developing media literacy becomes increasingly important. We have to learn to identify emotional triggers, logical fallacies, and visual techniques used in propaganda, which can help us navigate the complex information landscape we all face. 

When I recognize that propaganda remains as prevalent today as in any historical period, just in different forms, I can better evaluate the messages I encounter daily. For students like me, who come from communities whose stories have often been manipulated or erased, this awareness isn’t just academic—it’s essential for preserving our authentic histories and advocating for truth. 

In our world, where information has never been more abundant, yet truth sometimes seems increasingly elusive, recognizing and analyzing propaganda is not just a skill for passing classes but a necessary tool for engaging with society and protecting my identity and community.

Rogers' Diffusion of Innovation Theory and TikTok

When TikTok emerged during my freshman year of high school, I initially dismissed it. Between honors classes, track practice, and trying to navigate the social dynamics of high school, adding another social media platform to my digital routine seemed unnecessary. I already had Instagram and Snapchat—wasn’t that enough?

Yet within months, TikTok had infiltrated our school hallways. Friends huddled together between classes to film dance challenges, and lunch table conversations revolved around viral videos from the night before. This rapid adoption perfectly illustrates what we’ve been learning about in class: Rogers’ Diffusion of Innovations theory.

Rogers’ theory provides a fascinating framework for understanding how new technologies and ideas spread through society. The adoption curve identifies five distinct groups: innovators (2.5%), early adopters (13.5%), early majority (34%), late majority (34%), and laggards (16%)—each representing different attitudes toward innovation.

Viewing TikTok through this lens reveals clear patterns. My friend Calie, who downloaded it while still Musical.ly, epitomized the innovator profile—always first to discover and try new platforms regardless of mainstream approval. The early adopters followed soon after—those classmates who recognized TikTok’s creative potential before most of us.

I reluctantly joined during the early majority phase after countless “you have to see this” moments wore down my resistance. My English teacher, Mrs. Walls, initially banned phones in the classroom, but she eventually incorporated TikTok-inspired assignments and represented the late majority. And there were definitely those students and teachers who remained steadfast in their refusal to participate—classic laggards who proudly announced, “I’ll never get on TikTok.”

What resonates most deeply about Rogers’ theory is its application beyond technology to social movements. The example of women’s suffrage particularly stands out to me. Visualizing that century-long struggle on Rogers’ adoption curve transforms how I understand social change. 

Those first suffragists were true innovators who faced ridicule and resistance for demanding voting rights. The early adopters joined despite significant social costs, while the early and late majority followed as public opinion gradually shifted. The laggards opposed women’s voting rights until the constitutional amendment made their opposition irrelevant.

This perspective has me reflecting on other social justice movements throughout history. The fight for civil rights, LGBTQ+ equality, and ongoing struggles for equity all seem to follow similar patterns of diffusion, with brave innovators and early adopters paving the way despite tremendous resistance.

As I evaluate new technologies now, I consider Rogers’ five factors that influence adoption: the innovation itself, adopter characteristics, communication channels, time, and the social system. These elements provide a structured way to assess whether a new technology aligns with my needs and values.

In a world constantly introducing “the next big thing,” Rogers offers a valuable framework for thoughtful decision-making. Sometimes being an early adopter means discovering something transformative before others. Other times, there’s wisdom in waiting to see how a technology impacts society before embracing it.

The theory has even made me more conscious of my role in diffusing ideas I believe in. When I advocate for sustainability initiatives on campus or promote mental health awareness, I’m participating in the diffusion of important innovations—not just technological ones, but social ones that have the potential to create meaningful change.

Privacy: Is it a Thing of the Past?

We live in a time where our every move leaves digital traces that may never disappear. As I watched these TED Talks on privacy, I felt that creeping unease we all experience when we realize just how exposed we truly are in the digital age.

The concept of “electronic tattoos” is particularly unsettling. Every tweet, photo, and check-in creates permanent marks that follow us forever. Unlike physical tattoos, which we choose, these digital imprints often form without our full awareness. When the speaker compared our situation to Greek myths, it clicked for me – we’re all a bit like Sisyphus, eternally pushing our digital reputations uphill, never able to escape them.

What really sent chills down my spine was learning about mass surveillance happening right in our own neighborhoods. It’s not just the NSA or big tech companies tracking us – it’s our local police departments too. Those innocuous-looking cameras on traffic lights and police cars? They’re systematically capturing our license plates, tracking where we go, and keeping that data indefinitely.

This hit home recently when my mom got a ticket from a red light camera. She was frustrated about the fine of over $200, but I was more disturbed thinking about the larger system behind that single photo. That camera wasn’t just enforcing traffic laws – it was logging her location and travel time, and building a data point that could become a comprehensive map of her movements. The red light camera reimbursement program in Greenville, NC, has now been ruled unconstitutional by the NC Supreme Court.

What struck me was how normal this seemed to her: “That’s just how things work now,” she shrugged. But should it be?

The speaker mentioned one man who requested his data from the local police and received hundreds of photos documenting his daily life, including images of him with his daughters in their own driveway. I wonder how many photos exist of my mom’s car in government databases, tracking her trips to the grocery store, doctor’s appointments, or visits to family, all without her ever consenting to this tracking.

Meanwhile, some tech companies are fighting back by building encryption into their products. The battle between surveillance capabilities and privacy protection continues to escalate, with government officials pushing against encryption tools that could keep our communications private. It’s a complex balance between legitimate security concerns and preventing abuse of these robust surveillance systems.

Perhaps most heartbreaking was hearing about “digital domestic violence” – how personal images can be weaponized by ex-partners online. The speaker’s eleven-month legal battle shows how our laws haven’t caught up with technology’s capacity for harm. Most victims lack the resources to fight back effectively.

The next time my mom gets annoyed at a traffic camera, I plan to use it as an opportunity to talk about what happens to that data after the ticket is issued. Because understanding these systems is the first step toward reclaiming some control over our digital footprints – those electronic tattoos that otherwise might follow us forever.

So what can we do? Is there anything we can do? How do we move forward when “Big Brother” is always watching? 

Anti-War Voices I've NEVER Heard

As I was scrolling through Antiwar.com and The American Conservative, something hit me hard. These websites are filled with powerful voices speaking out against U.S. military actions worldwide, yet my friends and I have never heard of them. Why is that?

My grandmother, my boyfriend, 
and I at his graduation.

It reminds me of my grandmother’s stories. She was on the front lines during civil rights protests in North Carolina in the 1960s. I still visit her in Washington, NC, on the weekends I’m in town visiting my boyfriend, who lives in Greenville, NC. She’s usually sitting on her rocking chair on her porch with me listening as she describes marching despite threats, standing strong when others tried to silence her. She tells me about her first day at a newly desegregated school—how the silence was deafening as she walked down that hallway.

“Baby,” she says, squeezing my hand, “when everyone’s saying the same thing, that’s exactly when you need to listen for the quiet voices saying something different.”

Her words echo in my mind when I think about how America treats antiwar voices. During the Progressive Era, hundreds of Americans were jailed simply for opposing World War I.

People like Eugene V. Debs were imprisoned for years just for giving speeches questioning the war. He actually received one million votes for president while serving a 10-year sentence. It became a landmark Supreme Court case: Debs v. United States (1919), which upheld his conviction under the Espionage Act of 1917, holding that it did not violate his First Amendment rights to freedom of speech. That history isn’t ancient—it’s a reminder of how fragile free speech can be when it challenges power.

The First Amendment was designed specifically to protect unpopular speech, especially criticism of government actions like war. Yet turn on any major news network during military conflicts today, and you’ll find retired generals analyzing strategy and politicians debating tactics—but rarely anyone questioning whether we should be involved at all.

I wonder why networks that claim to value diverse perspectives somehow manage to exclude consistent antiwar viewpoints. Is it because defense contractors sponsor news segments? Or because challenging military action gets labeled “unpatriotic”? Maybe it’s just easier to go with the flow than to question the powerful.

As a junior studying political science, I’m learning how crucial dissent is to democracy. My grandmother taught me that progress never comes from everyone agreeing with the status quo. It comes from those brave enough to stand apart and ask uncomfortable questions—even when doing so has historically meant persecution.

That’s why spaces like Antiwar.com matter. They’re continuing a proud American tradition of dissent that dates back to our founding. They remind us that true patriotism means holding your country accountable when it strays from its ideals.

A picture of my mom during
her time in the Navy.

As a Navy brat with both my mother and father having been Sailors, as well as being a Navy veteran myself, I am obviously not an anti-war voice. Even though I may not be an anti-war voice, that does not mean that those who are shouldn’t be able to voice their opinions on how our government reacts. I believe that sometimes war is necessary, but do I believe in all of the actions of our nation’s militaristic actions? No, but I do believe some things are necessary, and there are a lot of behind-the-scenes things taking place that we are not aware of.

So I’ll keep seeking out those quieter voices, remembering what my grandmother still teaches me today: just because a voice is marginalized doesn’t mean it isn’t speaking truth.

My mom, dad, older sister, granny, and uncle.