Performances of Marginalized Identities in Virtual Worlds

A dissertation presented to

the faculty of the Scripps College of Communication of Ohio University

In partial fulfillment

of the requirements for the degree

Doctor of Philosophy

Michelle Calka

December 2012

© 2012 Michelle Calka. All Rights Reserved.

This dissertation titled

Performances of Marginalized Identities in Virtual Worlds

by

MICHELLE CALKA

has been approved for

the School of Communication Studies

and the Scripps College of Communication by

Benjamin R. Bates

Associate Professor of Communication Studies

Scott Titsworth

Interim Dean, Scripps College of Communication

ii

Abstract

CALKA, MICHELLE, Ph.D., December 2012, Communication Studies

Performances of Marginalized Identities in Virtual Worlds

Director of Dissertation: Benjamin R. Bates

This dissertation explores performances of identities in virtual worlds such as

World of Warcraft and Second Life. While virtual worlds are popularly imagined as spaces where any performances of identity are possible and welcomed, constraints of both design and culture create a dominant or preferred performance of identity in online spaces. This project specifically focuses on performances of identity that do not fit in with an idealized standard of appearance or behavior in avatar bodies. The question that drives my research asks how technology might enable and constrain constructions and presentation of virtual identities. I analyze the discourse of three distinct groups: A pacifist guild in World of Warcraft; a wheelchair dance club in Second Life; and an autistic advocacy group in Second Life. I use Burke’s cluster criticism as a method of discourse analysis, applied to texts from their websites and visual aspects of their virtual spaces, to understand how their performances participate in or resist normative identities and explore the rhetorical implications of resisting the preferred identity. Foucault’s notion of power functions as a primary theoretical orientation. While each of these groups resisted the dominant performances of identity, they each had different rhetorical strategies and purposes for performing marginalized identities. Enacting resistance involves a complex performance that requires a keen understanding of the dominant ideologies of the culture and depends on the goals of the group. This project highlights

iii the difficulties of maintaining a performance that openly resists the preferred performance of identity and the power relations that create these cultural norms.

iv Acknowledgments

I am grateful to many people for their support during this project. I am first indebted to my advisor, Benjamin Bates, for his guidance, mentorship, friendship, and meticulous editing skills. I offer thanks to my committee members, Raymie McKerrow,

Devika Chawla, and Ted Welser, for their encouragement, enthusiasm, and belief in my ability to finish. The perspectives they offered have been enormously valuable. I am grateful to Ohio University, the Scripps College of Communication, and the Department of Communication Studies for four years of support that made my doctoral education possible.

I owe many thanks to my colleagues at Manchester University for their support and encouragement through the end of the dissertation process. Judd Case, Mary

Lahman, and Dave Switzer have been sounding boards and cheerleaders throughout my first year as a professor. I am most grateful to Jo Young Switzer for taking time out her busy schedule to coach me through the end and ensure my completion. I could not ask for a better coach.

I am grateful to Donna Weimer, Professor of Communication at Juniata College, for seeing my academic potential, putting me on the path to graduate school, and continuing to mentor me in the years since I left Juniata. She is the model for how I want to teach and mentor students.

Finally, I thank my partner, Joel Diana, for his support during the entire doctoral program experience. I am grateful for his patience, encouragement, and presence.

v Table of Contents

Page

Abstract...... iii Acknowledgments...... v List of Figures...... viii Chapter 1: Introduction...... 1 Significance of Study...... 2 Context...... 5 Overview of Research Design ...... 7 Research Questions...... 9 Virtual Identity...... 11 Motivations and Typologies ...... 11 Virtual Identity Studies ...... 16 Postmodernism, Identity, and the Body...... 23 Embodiment, Stigma, and Performance ...... 29 Embodiment and Corporeality...... 30 Performance ...... 36 Disability...... 38 Heterotopias...... 40 Chapter 3: Methods...... 46 Theoretical Framework...... 51 Cluster Criticism...... 54 Chapter 4: Case I - Sisters of the Forsaken...... 63 Research Context ...... 63 Cluster Analysis...... 68 Pacifism...... 68 Combat/Killing ...... 74 Discussion...... 75 Conclusion ...... 83 Chapter 5: Case II - Wheelies in Second Life...... 86 Research Context ...... 86

vi Description of SL...... 86 Wheelies Description ...... 88 Cluster Analysis...... 91 Wheelies as e-topia ...... 92 Control ...... 94 Change ...... 96 Rubbish ...... 98 DJ Spaz ...... 100 Discussion...... 100 Conclusion ...... 113 Chapter 6: Case III - Autistic Liberation Front in Second Life ...... 116 Introduction...... 116 Research Context ...... 116 Cluster Analysis...... 120 Autistic...... 121 Voices ...... 125 Curebies ...... 128 Puzzle...... 135 Finding Agon ...... 138 Burke’s Pentad...... 138 Curebies and Puzzle...... 140 Autistics and Voice ...... 142 Discussion...... 144 Conclusion ...... 151 Chapter 7: Discussion and Conclusion ...... 153 Discussion of Findings...... 153 Implications ...... 164 Limitations of Research...... 167 Directions for Future Research...... 168 Bibliography ...... 170

vii List of Figures

Page

Figure 1: Upraised Fist Billboard at ALF Site...... 119

Figure 2: Autism Memorial Wall...... 120

Figure 3: Cartoon on ALF Website ...... 133

Figure 4: 1926 Eugenics Exhibit on ALF Website...... 134

Figure 5: Autism Clock from autismanswers.org...... 135

viii Chapter 1: Introduction

This dissertation project was born out of eight years spent immersing myself part- time in virtual worlds. While traversing the virtual landscape, I became quite familiar with a dominant style of performance, a preferred way of being in the world. This dominant strategy included playing by the preferred rules, following the outlined routes of advancement, and conforming (for the most part) to the norms of bodily presentation in terms of gender and ability. With the exception of the occasional non-human avatar, I became somewhat desensitized to the homogenization of bodies in the online world.

However, over time, I began to encounter or hear about players who rejected these definitions of what is “normal.” I discovered avatars that were obese, ambiguous in race or gender, visibly disabled, or otherwise chose to engage the world in an unusual way.

With the popular adage that you can be anyone you want on the Internet, I began to ask,

“why would a player choose to reject the idealized standard in favor of presenting a marginalized identity?” This question brought about others: “How are these alternative identities performed?;” and, “What happens as a result of players problematizing the norm and performing an alternative reality in an alternative reality?” My interests in rhetoric, power, identity, and virtual worlds led me to these questions, and these questions became the core of this project. This introductory section will outline the significance of this study, the theoretical context of the study, and an overview of the research design.

Significance of Study

Our understanding of virtual environments and how they are used is still fairly limited, but their worldwide popularity is tremendous. These virtual worlds could be game-based, such as World of Warcraft, or an open space for interaction that is not goal driven, such as Second Life. Both of these styles of virtual worlds are addressed in this dissertation, and both are enormously popular across a wide demographic of users. As of

October 2010, World of Warcraft reached 12 million concurrent subscribers from around the world (Blizzard Entertainment 2010). The virtual world of Second Life claimed that users have spent over 1 billion hours logged onto their servers (Linden Lab 2009). Player demographics cross all genders, socio-economic classes, education levels, and generations. In a study of 30,000 Massively-Multiplayer Online Role-Playing Game

(MMORPG) players, Yee (2006) found that the average MMORPG player was 26 years of age and spent 22.71 hours a week playing (16-19). Meadows (2008) listed the Second

Life population as 44 percent female, with 70 percent of users between the ages of 18 and

34 (7). The time, money, and relationships invested in these worlds are not trivial.

Although examining the demographics and economics of MMORPGs is valuable, one aspect of these virtual worlds that strikes me as particularly interesting is the representation of a user through an avatar. According to Messinger, et al. (2008), the term avatar is derived from “avatara,” a Sanskrit word meaning “reincarnation” (2). While the virtual avatar is not an actual reincarnation, the sense of the same person inhabiting a new body is similar, as described in Chapter 2:22 of Easwaran’s (2000) translation of the

2 Bhagavad Gita1. Mark Stephen Meadows (2008) defined a virtual avatar as “an interactive, social representation of a user” (13). In other words, on its most basic level, an avatar is a three-dimensional visual tool for interactions with the computer system as well as other people. It is a requirement to enter the world, and it is visible to all others in the world. Avatars can vary widely in terms of species, race, gender, and appearance features.

On a more complex level, an avatar is also “a machine that is attached to the psychology of its user. From within that machine, the driver can peek out, squinting through alien eyes, and find a new world. And, oddly, the driver can also look into himself as if gazing into his navel, and find a new landscape inside as well” (Meadows

2008, 8). Meadows’ quote calls our attention to the idea that avatars are not simply a technical tool of communication, but also a means of exploring and discovering a virtual reality. Communication scholars (and not just those studying computer-mediated communication) have a unique perspective to bring to the study of avatars in virtual worlds; players experience group communication, interpersonal conflict, relationship formation and dissolution, narrative sense-making, and intense immersion that may impact offline relationships.

Each person who enters the Second Life world does so with a default avatar, a human body that represents him or her in the world, which they can alter and modify with relative ease. World of Warcraft allows for a limited range of default avatars based on

1 In some sense, this same self/different body dynamic might explain why one would want to have an avatar that closely reflects their self-perception. On another philosophical level, the Gita’s description of the Self as immutable and unchanging (2:23-25) does not necessarily mesh with postmodern understandings of identity as fragmented, shifting, and socially constructed. 3 race, gender, and class. Since these avatars are visual representations of identity in these virtual spaces, the appearance of an avatar has consequences for the social interaction of that user. The options available to users to customize their avatars both enable and constrain presentations of the self. According to the Second Life wiki, Second Life altered their avatar creation process in 2008 to allow users to choose from a range of default avatars that are racially diverse; however, all of the default avatars are still thin and conforming to gendered norms in terms of appearance and dress (with the notable exceptions of a robot and dragon avatar). Likewise, the standard World of Warcraft human avatar is white, with long hair and large breasts for female avatars and a muscular build with facial hair for male avatars.

Despite the increasing popularity of virtual environments for entertainment, education, and commerce, comparatively little work has been done on the presentation and performance of identity through and within technology, particularly in virtual worlds

(See Salazar, 2009, Poster, 1998, Lee, 2002, Kolko, 1999, and Turkle, 1995). The research that has been conducted in virtual environments tends to discuss identity with online/offline distinctions. Postmodern understandings of identity as fluid, dynamic, and de-centered, however, do not support static delineations of a “real world” self and online alternate other. This project is not concerned with clear delineations of an online and offline self, but will instead explore accounts of identity performances in virtual spaces. I am interested in the intersections of technology and identity as it informs my work on the rhetoric of virtual bodies, particularly on how those virtual bodies enact ideologies within technological constraints. The question that drives my research becomes: How does technology enable and constrain constructions and presentation of virtual identities?

4 Context

My interest in virtual worlds, rhetoric, identity, and critical theory has led me explore the ways that virtual bodies function rhetorically through the presentation and performance of avatars. My dissertation will explore and describe the rhetoric of these virtual bodies and the performance of identity in virtual worlds. In particular, my research will focus on the performance of identities that are considered outside of the norms of play.

Virtual world designers help structure the performance of identity. The connection between a user’s avatar and their selfhood is constrained and limited by game producers, and yet the avatar is the most crucial factor in a player’s performance of the self. It becomes their virtual body. Some virtual environments, such as Second Life, give users a broad range of options to add their own code and alter the appearance and functions of their avatars. In Second Life, users can instantly change their clothing, race, weight, and other aspects of their appearance, or they can add on special modifications created by users, such as extra limbs or a wheelchair. Other virtual environments, such as Blizzard’s

World of Warcraft, impose clear constraints on the construction of avatars, from appearance to abilities. Extremely limited user input is permitted. For most players, this is unproblematic and accepted. As a consequence of these limitations and disciplines, players who seek alternative bodies either accept their limited choices or attempt to utilize their avatars rhetorically within the constraints of the system. At the same time, these forms of resistance still operate within the constraints, reinforcing cooperation with the system.

5 My focus on power and the virtual body leads me to Foucault as a theoretical point of orientation. Foucault’s (1977) concept of disciplining the body is clear in the realm of avatars; in the controlling of available gestures and features, discipline becomes a way of regulating the body. Attempts to resist these constraints make power relations between the game producers and the voluntary consumers apparent. The players are of course free to leave at any time and discontinue play and payment to the manufacturer; this freedom makes the power relation all the more salient. As Foucault stated, “Power is exercised over free subjects, and only insofar as they are ‘free’. . . freedom may well appear as the condition for the exercise of power (at the same time its precondition)”

(2001, 342). Power, then, is not simply a matter of dominance of one party over another; instead, it is a relational force. Freedom and power are not mutually exclusive, but instead intertwined. Power can be productive. Although actors do have some choices, these choices are not free in the sense that an actor can choose any option; rather, there is choice within a set of relations that makes some choices un-choosable or always unchosen and that makes some choices more likely to be chosen. As McKerrow (1989) explained, we need to not only be concerned with a critique of domination, but also a critique of freedom. Freedom implies not just freedom from something, but also freedom to choose.

A perspective that focuses on the relationship between freedom and power works well with an exploration of virtual identity because there is certainly a sense of freedom associated with these performances of the self that can conceal and reveal aspects of identity. However, this freedom is also limited by the structure of the system. This interest in the relationship between power, freedom, and structure also leads me to

6 Foucault’s (1998) concept of heterotopias and the way this concept might illuminate the possibilities for the embodiment of marginalized identities in virtual spaces.

Overview of Research Design

To explore how performances of the self conceal, reveal, and enact aspects of identity through the virtual body, my research will incorporate three primary contexts. These contexts are quite different, but each was selected because it offers a different understanding of the performance of identity. I discovered these groups during the course of my interactions in these virtual worlds and on the forums that accompany these worlds. Further explanation of each context will be given in my methods chapter, but I offer a brief introduction to each to help orient the reader.

The first context is the Sisters of the Forsaken guild. This guild is an all-female pacifist guild in World of Warcraft. Their website and forums clearly outline a policy for the use of the virtual body to enact an ideology of pacifism. The Sisters advocate a position of nonviolence for all members, but, since the players cannot communicate verbally with their enemies, they must enact their pacifism through their bodies. This includes performing virtual behaviors within the established structure of the game such as sitting, lying down, or hugging their attackers. While the pacifist avatars have no distinguishing features from any other avatars in the game, their enactment of an ideology is unique. While other pacifist players are still active, there is no other defined pacifist guild. Although the Sisters as a group are not active, and although World of Warcraft guilds often form and dissolve, the Sisters’ inactivity could speak to the difficulties of maintaining an alternative form of play in a space whose goals are counter to the ideology of the group.

7 The second context is the Wheelies nightclub in Second Life. Wheelies founder

Simon Stevens (2009) claims to be the first avatar to have used a wheelchair in Second

Life in May 2006. According to Stevens, “Wheelies is the world’s first disability themed virtual nightclub based in Secondlife [sic] . . .The club is particularly welcoming to people who visibly use wheelchairs and other impairment specific devices.” The club was reinvigorated in late 2009 with a bigger space and a lineup of DJs. Stevens’ website provides a detailed history of the Wheelies club, including its 2009 reformation as

“Wheelies 74.” I have not located another space in Second Life that is specifically devoted to visible markers of disability. While Wheelies makes clear that they want to be far from the politics of disability and to instead focus on fun, other groups make the political aspect of disability a primary focus.

The final context is the “Autistic Liberation Front” website and space in Second Life.

The ALF worked to build an autistic-owned space within the virtual world. According to their website, their goal is not to promote autism awareness, but to actively work for the rights of autistic individuals. The group wants to represent the “real voice of autism” by being an organization for people with autism, not an organization of allies, family members, or medical professionals. This group is particularly interesting for its militant stance; their attempt to create a space for autistics separate from the rest of Second Life is a rhetorical strategy ripe for analysis. According to their website, the ALF space in

Second Life is currently being dismantled for financial reasons. Although the space and structures still exists in Second Life, this analysis will focus on discourses from the ALF website and incorporate elements from the Second Life space, drawing on the creation of the Second Life space as a performative act.

8 I chose each of these contexts because of the unique angle the members took on performing marginalized identities online. I included Sisters of the Forsaken in World of

Warcraft because the avatars have highly constrained and normalized bodies, but perform those bodies in resistive ways. I chose Wheelies as a context because Second Life offers more freedom to choose in terms in avatar appearance, and the Wheelies club has patrons who chose to adopt a marginalized body form by using wheelchairs. I included the

Autism Liberation Front because members are performing a marginalized identity that often does not manifest itself in clearly physical ways. While they have the freedom to choose and alter their avatar bodies, many of their bodies would appear non- marginalized. Their resistive performance is bound more into their presence in the virtual space of the ALF than the appearance of their bodies.

Research Questions

In an early study on avatars in graphical environments, Kolko (1999) explored how avatars are gendered in ways that affect online interaction. While this project does not specifically address issues of gender, Kolko’s argument for the performance of the body as a rhetorical act is an important point. Kolko acknowledged that online experiences give participants a chance to experience alternative lifestyles and possibilities while escaping from the social mores and identity expectations that constrain their offline selves; however, the body does not completely disappear (178). The creation and performance of these bodies are rhetorical acts. The technology for the creation of avatars has made enormous progress in the last twelve years, yet most avatars still fall into stereotypes. However, some users are seeking ways to resist this norm. Each of these case studies was selected because of its unique perspective on the performances of

9 alternative and often stigmatized identities in virtual spaces. To examine these cases, I will explore a set of common research questions. Because there are different choices to adopt bodily forms and to enact those forms, it becomes important to know how these performances function rhetorically in an online context. Performing a consciously resistant identity first involves an awareness of the normative identity. Therefore, I ask:

RQ1: How do these performances participate in or resist

normative/dominant/preferred identities?

Performing differently from the norm can lead to marginalization by others, but such a deliberate performance serves a rhetorical purpose. My second question addresses both the function of these performances and the consequences of choosing not to adopt a preferred identity. Question 2a deals with the rhetorical purpose of these performances.

RQ2a: What are the rhetorical implications or functions of performing

marginalized identities/bodies online?

Participation in the dominant system allows access to rewards and avoidance of punishments. Question 2b addresses the consequences of performing marginalized identities in virtual spaces.

RQ2b: What are the implications of players’ refusal to perform the dominant or

preferred identity/body?

This project will continue with an examination of relevant literature, an explanation and justification of the methodological choices made in this project, and then an analysis of each case study, beginning with the Sisters of the Forsaken in World of Warcraft and moving on to the Second Life contexts with Wheelies and the ALF.

10

Chapter 2: Literature Review

To frame my research on the rhetoric of identity performances in virtual worlds, I have divided my literature review into three sections. I begin by exploring research on virtual worlds and avatars particularly as they relate to matters of identity. Next, I describe a theoretical framework that focuses on corporeality, embodiment, and the performance of stigmatized identities. I conclude with a discussion of Foucault’s notion of heterotopias.

Virtual Identity

This section on virtual identity encompasses three main areas. The first part highlights research on the motivations and demographics of MMORPG players to contextualize the framework of identity. Next, I discuss and critique some current work on identity performance in virtual environments. In the third section, I explore literature that considers postmodernity, identity, and the (virtual) body.

Motivations and Typologies

When research on virtual worlds has been performed, the usual object of analysis is a massively multiplayer role-playing game (MMORPG). These games, including titles such as World of Warcraft and Lineage, are quest-driven, role-play style games played on servers. Their popularity makes them ready venues for research on gamers and identity.

The research that has been conducted in virtual environments tends to discuss identity with online/offline distinctions. While the online identity is said to be constructed, the offline body is assumed to be natural or given. Postmodern understandings of identity as

11 fluid, dynamic, and de-centered, however, do not support these static delineations of a

“real world” self and online alternate other.

Despite this potential flexibility, there is still structure involved in the performance of identity. Issues of control are prominent here, particularly in regard to enabling and constraining the ability of players to alter the appearance and functionality of their avatars. In addition, players are limited by the constraints of gameplay. For example, high-level quest completion and level advancement can only be achieved through cooperation with other players. However, in a space like Second Life that is designed without quests, gameplay is much more open.

A popular method of researching those who immerse in virtual worlds is to attempt to understand who players are offline and why they play, and then to categorize players based on these motivations. In one of the most comprehensive examinations of

MMORPG players, Yee (2006) attempted to not only legitimate the study of MMORPGs from a communication perspective, but also build a framework for studying them. Yee noted that existing video game research tended to focus either on negative effects or on whether video games can be used for pedagogical purposes. The purpose of Yee’s study was to analyze who plays MMORPGs, their motives for use, and their experiences in- game, particularly in regard to the transference of leadership skills from online to offline.

Yee’s (2006) research yielded some fascinating demographics and statistics about who plays MMORPGs. Yee collected online surveys from 30,000 MMORPG players over a three-year period. Eighty-five percent of participants were male, with an average age of twenty-six. Only 25 percent of users were teenagers. Female players were significantly older than male players, and many females were introduced to the game by a

12 romantic partner. In addition, half of respondents worked full time, while another 22 percent were full time students. On average, respondents spent 22.71 hours a week in game; 8-9 percent spent 40 or more hours a week. In a statistic that is probably surprising to non-gamers, 61 percent reported spending at least 10 hours continuously in an

MMORPG. Yee also reported that 15.8 percent of males and 59.8 percent of females played with a romantic partner, and 25.5 percent of male players and 39.5 percent of female players participated with a family member (16-20). While popular stereotypes portray gamers as socially isolated, many MMORPG players seem to embrace the social aspects of gaming.

Yee (2006) also determined five motivational factors for players: Relationship, the desire of users to interact and form relationship with others; Manipulation, the inclination of a user to manipulate others for personal gain; Immersion, which focuses on the enjoyment of the fantasy narrative; Escapism, how much a user is using the virtual world to avoid offline issues; and Achievement, the desire to become powerful within the game (22-25). Male players scored higher than female players on Achievement and

Manipulation factors, while female players scored higher on Relationship, Immersion, and Escapism factors. Yee further interpreted that, although male and female players have different motivations for playing, their experiences in-game are equally salient (35-

36).

Kolo and Baur (2004, under “Introduction”) described MMORPGs as games that allow players to control their avatar through a variety of human-computer interface modes within an established social space where some form of formalized and sanctioned rules exist. Some rules are explicit, while others are coded norms within the community.

13 The purpose of Kolo and Baur’s research was to understand the social dynamics of gaming. In addition to studying manuals and texts provided by the publisher of Ultima

Online (a MMORPG), the authors acquired participant data through open interviews online in 1999-2000, participant observation in the environment, and participant observation of players playing in their offline environment.

Kolo and Baur (2004, under “Observation Perspectives and Study Design”) divided the experience of MMORPGs into three categories: the offline world, the online world of characters, and the world of data (including interface commands and the code of the environment). These categories frequently overlap; even average players were immersed in the world so frequently and for so long that distinctions become blurred. In addition, the authors offered some useful demographics of MMORPG players. The average age is in the mid-twenties, and over half are employed full-time. Depending on the game, the ratio of female players may be as low as three percent or as high as twenty percent. Generally, the more multiplayer online games provide a sense of community, the more women play. About two-thirds of players surveyed mentioned the potential to interact with thousands of others as an essential motivation to play. The average gaming session lasted about four hours (but could go up to 12 hours), and the typical player immerses for an average of 5.7 sessions per week. At that rate, the average player is immersed for about 23 hours per week (under “The Players”). These statistics are fairly consistent with Yee’s (2006) findings. Kolo and Baur (2004, under “Online Gaming and

Offline Social Interactions”) observed that knowing and meeting people in a virtual world triggers frequent playing, and not the other way around.

14 Whang and Chang’s (2004) study compared the online and offline lifestyles of players of the MMORPG Lineage. The authors surveyed 4,786 players. Their aim was to

“establish the various lifestyles of online game participants by studying their standard of values and preferences in the online game world” (593). The study identified nine major factors that classify online gamers: socially oriented, traditionally norm oriented, outlaw oriented, role play oriented, achievement oriented, materialistically oriented, hierarchically oriented, discriminative, and anti-group oriented (594-598). From this,

Whang and Chang derived three categories of groups that are distinguished by lifestyle.

Single-oriented players focused on accomplishments and are indifferent towards social interaction; twenty-eight percent of players fit this category. Community-oriented players are social, successful, and hierarchically oriented. They showed little tendency towards role-play and appreciated the social opportunities. Forty-five percent of players were in this group. Off-real world players tended towards antisocial behavior, and they focused on materialism and achievement at all costs. Nearly 27 percent of the respondents fit this group, which had the highest inclinations to harm others. The off-real world players were more likely to engage in “griefing,” or illegitimate forms of player killing (596-598).

Interestingly, Whang and Chang (2006) tied their results to socio-economic status, both inside and outside of the game. The community-oriented members had the highest proportion in the upper class of the game world, defined by wealth of items and game currency. On the other hand, the off-real world groups fell on the lower end of the socio- economic scale. Their illegitimate player killing could be compared to the higher rates of crime committed by residents of underprivileged areas of the offline world. In comparison to their offline lifestyles, single players were less likely to participate in their

15 offline communities. Off-real world players, however, preferred to be part of a group, despite their often antisocial behavior in-game. Again, the study framed identity as a

“real self - virtual self” construct and attempted to categorize players by preferred styles.

Yee (2006) and Kolo and Baur (2004) also created these distinctions by focusing on demographics and motivations. While these categorizations are useful for understanding some aspects of the gaming experience, they do not account for the complex nature of the relationship between player and avatar(s).

Virtual Identity Studies

While typologies provide one approach to MMORPG studies, some scholars have focused instead on the issues of virtual identity. The studies presented here explored the distinction between online and offline identities while coming to different conclusions.

Bessiere, Seay, and Kiesler (2004) presented a hypothesis that World of Warcraft players create their avatars to be closer to an ideal self. Those who are dissatisfied with their offline selves may engage in “virtual self-enhancement” through their avatar (531).

Despite this tendency towards idealization, there are still elements of similarity between the representation of the avatar and the person’s offline identity. Bessiere, Seay, and

Kiesler argued that “each participant’s character was more similar to the participant’s actual self than a random other participant’s self” (532). This makes sense, because a player does have some choices about the appearance and actions of their avatar (although they might also choose to randomly select features). The authors also found that a player’s character was more ideal than their actual self on the dimensions of conscientiousness, extraversion, and neuroticism. Bessiere, Seay, and Kiesler also suggested that players might use their online characters with desirable qualities to

16 “reduce their ideal-actual self discrepancies” (535). In other words, the avatar can become a sort of bridge between how the player perceives him/herself and how the player would ideally like to be.

Lee (2002) also explored the relationship between online and offline selves while maintaining a distinction between the two. Lee presented two research questions: “Why do players often react physically in the real world in response to an issue or a problem they encounter only in the online world?” and “What are some intrinsic and extrinsic characteristics of MMORPGs that influence the psychological and sociological aspects of deviant behaviors of players” (1)? Lee conducted a survey of current players and fifteen in-depth interviews with experienced players.

Lee (2002) provided six explanations for player behavior. The first is anonymity.

Since players can traverse virtual environments without their offline identity being known, players may feel “less vulnerable about opening up” (2). According to Lee, when acting in a hostile manner online, it is not necessary to take responsibility for one’s actions. Lee’s second factor was invisibility. Because people can “lurk” online, they may be willing to go places and do things they might not otherwise do. The other explanations are synchronicity, absence of face-to-face cues (which leads to imagining the other person’s characteristics and voice in psychologically freeing way), a lack of socioeconomic and demographic barriers, and interaction effects, where online disinhibition effects interact with personality variables.

Martey and Consalvo (2011, 165) noted that despite the freedom to customize their avatars in Second Life, most avatars are rather homogenized: “Most avatars are human, or at least humanoid, and most of them are recognizably Caucasian; most are

17 young and beautiful; most correspond to traditional gender distinctions in shape and dress. A few are humanoid “tinys,” and far fewer are nonhuman “quads,” that is, four- legged animals such as wolves or dragons.” The authors also observed that the vast majority of avatars in their study had Caucasian features; only 10 out of 211 avatars were clearly non-Caucasian, although 18% of participants identified as non-Caucasian in their offline lives. Their research examined how Second Life users made choices about their avatar’s appearance in relation to group identity and social norms. The authors found that players exhibited anxiety about group norms for appearance, asking others what they ought to wear. Players also wanted to retain symbols of their membership to external groups, such as furries keeping their costume in a steampunk setting or non-heterosexual participants wearing a rainbow necklace. Clothing and appearance choices often correlated to the roles that players adopted in their virtual groups.

In another understanding of group identity, Salazar (2009) uses his social identity

(re)production model to analyze virtual identities in MMORPGs. Salazar used the unit of an “identity liminal event,” or a speech event comprised of one or more speech acts within a particular context (11). Salazar first explored the typologies by which players are often categorized by other researchers, including typologies such as “socializer” or

“achiever.” According to Salazar, these typologies support the construct of a social identity, or the “set of traits and characteristics that differentiate one group from another”

(4). Instead of being concerned with the identity of the individual, Salazar is concerned with the social identity of a group. Salazar acknowledged that discourse and identity are difficult to separate, particularly in online studies, where the discourses of text and avatar performance are all that a researcher has to rely on (8-9).

18 Salazar’s (2009) model is based on a fluid and changing group identity, and so looks at the structure rather than the content of social identity. This identity is a cultural production that is continually reproduced through symbolic codes, which form the basic structural elements. These symbolic codes include narratives, spatial codes, and identity boundaries. These codes create in-groups, who are included as part of the social identity, and out-groups, which could be comprised of close, far, or radical others (6-7).

Interestingly, game designers, who control the possible range of identity performances, usually occupy the category of radical other, because they control the features and landscape of the game.

Talamo and Ligorio (2001) focused on the relationship between a virtual community and the identities presented by participants in the context of an online classroom with students and instructors. The authors argued that identities are multi-vocal and positioned and that they vary in dimensions of anonymity and identification, synchronous and asynchronous communication, and textual and visual information (110).

Through questionnaires and conversation analysis, the authors found that students and instructors used different strategies of identity construction. The strategic identities presented by the user begin with the choice of a nickname or handle for the avatar. Each participant can choose multiple identities, but these are integrated with their own identities and stories. These identities are negotiated based on the individual’s own characteristics and the context and goals of the community. Most students tried out multiple avatars and changed them depending on the feedback of others. The instructors strongly preferred a stable, identifiable avatar. Neither group was very concerned with developing an avatar that looked like their physical offline self. However, their offline

19 selves still crossed over in interactions when users revealed personal information about themselves (114-119).

In their research, Talamo and Ligorio (2001) called into question the separation of an online/offline or “real life” self (119-120). The authors acknowledge that avatars are immersive devices. Just as the physical body is tied to a position in time and space, the virtual body is an extension of the physical body that is tied to a context. These identities are situated, unstable, and socially constructed. For example, instructors needed to have an easily identifiable and consistent avatar in the educational space in order to guide their students, who had more room to play with their identity and adopt multiple avatars. In a final point, the authors suggest that Descartes’ dualism might be erroneous, suggesting instead that “identity substantially coincides with the body” (120).

Kolko’s (1999) essay examined the development of graphical virtual realities

(GVRs), how avatars are gendered in these environments, and how modes of gender might affect online interaction. Kolko made a point that resonates with Turkle (1995): a person’s online identity cannot be completely compartmentalized from their offline selves – “virtuality cannot erase physical reality” (181). Virtual selves are still influenced by gender, geography, economic status, intellect, language, and so on.

In contrast to text-based Multi-User Dungeons (MUDs), Kolko argues that avatar design in GVRs is a rhetorical act with consequences for gender representation (179-

182). Some of these rhetorical elements are built into the mechanics of the game. For example, a male avatar and female avatar will have different options for emoting and gestures (e.g., leg crossing), and this limitation of movement will affect communication.

A designer will usually script these decisions about which details to render, thereby

20 limiting possible messages. This resonates with the radical other of the designers as discussed by Salazar (2009), where the decisions of game designers are constantly present, but the designers are not encountered in regular gameplay.

According to Kolko (1999), avatars still have conventional markers of masculinity (broad shoulders, muscular) and femininity (long hair, breasts). Kolko asserted that there is a need to develop avatars that are not stereotyped, and much of the burden of this task falls on the designers who code the options (183-185). Virtual selves are a collaborative effort among the designers, the "conceptualizers" of the world, the interface designers, component designers, and ultimately the player who chooses among the available choices.

Yee and Bailenson (2007, 271) explored the idea that a change in digital self- representation through altering the appearance of their avatar could have an effect on the behavior of the individual online. Yee and Bailenson call this the “Proteus Effect,” based on the Greek god Proteus, who could take on many different forms (271). Using an experimental method in a collaborative virtual environment, Yee and Bailenson found that participants with an attractive avatar were more likely to disclose information and move their avatars closer to a confederate’s opposite-gender avatar. Participants with a taller avatar were also more likely to be tougher in negotiations than those with shorter avatars (284-5). When many virtual worlds only offer avatar options that are considered attractive and idealized, this can impact the online behavior of individuals. Yee and

Bailenson also suggested that, with many virtual world members immersed for over 20 hours a week, there could be a carryover of behavior into the physical world (286-287).

Their research is particularly important for its demonstration that one’s self-perception of

21 their avatar influences online behavior, regardless of the feedback of other users or whether a user views the avatar as being similar to their own self-image.

Webb (2004) examined “avatar culture through the interplay of emergent and residual forces,” focusing on identity in virtual communities as narrative, representation, and power (560-561). Webb analyzed texts from two chat room channels with avatar features that are changeable but two-dimensional, noting that the avatars are usually humanoid and highly sexualized. Because virtual environments are accessed from an offline world, communication within them becomes part of the ‘lived dimension’ of participant (564).

Webb (2004) drew upon Goffman’s core interaction ritual to illuminate these online interactions. It is useful to expand upon Goffman’s (1959, 1967) theory here because the idea of a socially constructed self is a way to enter into the idea of a decentered, multiple self. Goffman (1959) defined interaction as the reciprocal influence of individuals upon one another’s actions through performances that are situational and co-constructed between the actor and audience. Individuals only need to perform the tactics that are called for by the situation to elicit the desired response. Performances are also persuasive, incorporating all the activity of a given participant on a given occasion that serves to influence in any way any of the other participants. Through these performances, individuals create and maintain faces that are intended to manage their impression on others. Maintaining face requires what Goffman (1967) calls face-work:

“The actions taken by a person to make whatever he is doing consistent with face. Face- work serves to counteract ‘incidents’ – that is, events whose effective symbolic implications threaten face” (12).

22 These faces, and the efforts we make to perform them, yield social information to other social actors. Information that we seek about individuals helps us to know what to expect from the person and how to best act to produce a desired response from that individual (Goffman, 1959). We divide the information we receive into two parts: the part that is easily manipulated by the individual attempting to create or maintain an impression, and the part that the individual cannot easily control, such as nonverbal cues.

According the Webb (2004, 569), the lack of visual gestures and facework online means that participants lack the signals and cues that prompt or avoid embarrassment. This may be true, but it does not support Webb’s notion that virtual users do not need to engage in impression management. Individuals can still be embarrassed or shamed within virtual communities, which could manifest through behaviors including flaming, ignoring, or being rejected from a group.

Postmodernism, Identity, and the Body

While researchers such as Yee (2006) and Whang and Chang (2004) have attempted to identify who immerses themselves in virtual worlds, postmodernists who examine virtual worlds take a broader approach to the understanding of the relationship between identity and technology. A highly influential work in this area was Sherry

Turkle’s Life on the Screen (1995). Turkle’s research sought to understand the negotiation between online and offline identities. Turkle argued that Multi-User

Dungeons (MUDs) are a “text-based, social virtual reality” (181) that provide windows where players can project themselves into alternate roles that may be very different from their offline lives. These roles are not just in terms of fantasy role-play, but also in leadership and social roles. Individuals can test personae in a social environment more

23 receptive to such practices than the offline world. Turkle explained, “Traditional ideas about identity have been tied to the notion of authenticity that such virtual experiences actively subvert. When each player can create many characters and participate in many games, the self is not only decentered but multiplied without limit” (185). However,

Turkle cautioned that this sense of multiplicity is problematic if it manifests itself in selves that cannot communicate.

This sense of “multiplicity, heterogeneity, flexibility, and fragmentation” (Turkle

1995, 178) supports a postmodern conceptualization of identity and the self. The Internet allows users to reframe their identity as multiple and changing and to cycle through different selves. According to Turkle, these explorations can be made without many of the consequences that would accompany such changes in offline life. Turkle noted,

“virtual spaces may provide the safety for us to expose what we are missing so that we can begin to accept ourselves as we are” (263). Turkle raises another important question concerning identity: “What are the social implications of spinning off virtual personae that can run around with names and genders of our choosing, unhindered by the weight and physicality of embodiment” (249)?

While Turkle (1995) was one of the first to explicitly explore online identity, some earlier scholars were paying attention to the way that media alter our sense of self.

Gergen (1991) argued that traditional assumptions about the nature of identity are in jeopardy and that the idea of individual selves is threatened. We have moved from a romantic to a modern to a postmodern understanding of the self (6-10). The postmodern understanding is driven by an increase in social stimulation to the point of saturation, resulting in what Gergen calls the “saturated self” (18-80). This saturation sets the stage

24 for radical changes in our daily experiences of self and other. According to Gergen, what is generally characterized as the postmodern condition is largely a by-product of the century’s technologies of social saturation (48-80). The postmodern condition, as introduced by Lyotard (1984), is essentially a state of disbelief concerning metanarratives, or traditionally unquestioned grand theories that explain knowledge.

Science or the triumph of human reason would be examples of metanarratives. Gergen makes clear the connection between the postmodern questioning of standards of legitimacy and media. Radio, television, personal computers, telephones (and since

Gergen’s writing, cell phones, virtual worlds and GPS) have altered our exposure to each other and created a barrage of information that is more than we can possibly absorb.

Gergen (1991, 145-160) argued that the outcome of social saturation is a profound change in our ways of understanding the self. Social saturation furnishes us with a multiplicity of incoherent and unrelated languages of the self. The fully saturated self makes impossible a coherent, single, identifiable self. The postmodern condition is marked by a plurality of voices vying for the right to claim reality and thereby to be accepted as legitimate expressions of the true and the good. As we become more saturated with relationships, we become increasingly populated with fragments of the other, which further invites incoherence.

According to Gergen (1991), social saturation brings with it a general loss in our assumption of true and fully knowable selves. However, the idea of saturation implies that there is a unified body that is the focal point or “sponge” for these experiences. As we absorb multiple voices, we find that each “truth” is relativized by our consciousness of compelling alternatives. We come to be aware that each truth about ourselves is a

25 construction of the moment. Gergen understood this awareness as potentially positive; the increase in social saturation exposes us to the identities of others, which allows us to recognize the extent of our embedded relationships. With a decreased assumption of a separation between self and other, Gergen claimed, differences become diminished and warfare becomes impractical and illogical.

While Gergen was concerned with the individual impact of technological saturation on the self, Poster (1995) was more interested in the cultural implications of technology and identity. From a cultural theory perspective, Poster argued that discussions of postmodernity and technology need to be combined. Poster noted that “a critical understanding of the new communications systems requires an evaluation of the type of subject it encourages, while a viable articulation of postmodernity must include an elaborating of its relation to new technologies of communication” (533). In essence, the Internet transforms cultural identity because it is not just a vehicle for individuals to express already formed identities. In some ways, Poster’s exploration of MUDs and virtual reality foreshadowed the growth of MMORPGs. Their popularity may be a reflection of an important change in our understanding of the self and our relationship to others. When users spend large portions of time in virtual spaces interacting with others, the meaning of self and community can shift. In comparison to the idea of the merely virtual (which technically refers to a substitution), Poster (1995, 538) noted that, “virtual reality is a more dangerous term since it suggests that reality may be multiple or take multiple forms.” More than one individual can share these multiple realities at the same time, and these individuals can affect the shared virtual space. Poster made several thought provoking points about the direction of technology and identity. According to

26 Poster, the decentralized and widely diffused nature of the Internet could create a second media age born through interactivity (543-546). Although we still struggle with the issues of access and control, the destabilized nature of the Internet reinforces postmodern understandings of subjects as unstable and multiple.

Stone (1995) also acknowledged that the “primary self” is a construction, although we often take for granted that there is such a thing as a primary self subject position. If this assumption is taken away, or if it is acknowledged that everything might be a mask, there is nothing left of the self. Instead of this root self metaphor, we should be thinking of it as a self-in-process that is constantly shifting. In this view, the self is not even contained in the body, but can also be realized through relationships with technology. Bodies are represented through bio/technological systems, including the mechanics of flesh and bone (such as in cosplay). Notions of presence and absence are based in the idea of the body as a center of control and being, but technology, including prosthetic limbs, artificial joints and virtual networked environments, is revising this paradigm. Binaries are collapsed, leading Stone to use the term “technosociality” to explain the hybridity of nature and technology.

The concept of hybridity is useful for understanding virtual identity, but is understood in different ways. Authors such as Bhabha (1994) and Pieterse (1994) have argued for an understanding of cultural hybridity that resists binaries of identity. Stone

(1995) acknowledged that there is not a coherent mainstream understanding of hybrid identities, since such identities are expressed as both liberating and problematic. In a virtual sense, identity can be understood as a freeing experience; but in terms of a

27 psychological condition, Multiple Personality Disorder is considered problematic because of the separation of the unified self.

What these authors provide is a challenge to traditional notions of identity. Our entire understanding of the body as a vessel of the self needs to be questioned. Leder

(1990) contended that though we understand the body as a ground of experience, we rarely experience the body as a lived object. In other words, we interact with others through a body, whether physical, virtual, or hybrid, but we are rarely attentive to the experience of the body. Leder argued that the idea of Cartesian dualism privileged the mind as more important and in control of the body. But when we view our bodies as absent, what does it mean to be embodied? What happens to the abstract concept of self when we incorporate the presence of our physical being? Leder’s claim that the body is outside itself as the means by which we encounter what is “other” becomes somewhat convoluted in a virtual world. As our virtual selves encounter other embodied individuals, converse with chat bots that fool us into believing we are communicating with a person, and witness others’ marks on the virtual landscape, we process these experiences corporeally through our physical bodily senses. These senses become voluntarily mediated by the technology and our vision becomes framed by the screen.

Virtual embodiment involves choices that we do not have with our corporeal bodies. With virtual bodies, we can choose the genders, appearance, weight, and personality of our virtual selves. The virtual body is clearly present in avatar-based virtual spaces– we can see all of it and control the actions of our 3-dimensional avatar.

However, the physical body becomes further absent with the focus on a virtual self. For example, hardcore gamers have been known to keep cups next to their computer to

28 urinate in, because getting up to acknowledge the physical body’s needs would distract from the tasks of the virtual self (Pineiro-Escoriaza 2008). The concept of absence implies the possibility, even the necessity, of presence. The body is always here, always the point of orientation, but we do not limit our minds in this way. If we are caught daydreaming, we might say, “I’m sorry, I was somewhere else.” The body is a field of experience that most individuals treat as a mysterious mass that holds our brain and thus our selves. To understand the arguments of Stone (1995), Gergen (1991), Turkle (1995),

Poster (1995), and Leder (1990), we must rethink the relationship between agency and the embodied self.

Embodiment, Stigma, and Performance

As part of her understanding of this relationship, Hawhee (2009) argued that it is important to keep rhetoric tied to the bodies that induce, create, and respond to rhetoric.

Within this area, I have been particularly drawn to the ways in which virtual bodies in the form of avatars are constructed, disciplined, and performed rhetorically. This idea is most interesting in the case of bodies that have been traditionally marginalized in both online and offline realms, including bodies that are characterized as obese, disabled, or racially or ethnically other. Bodies might also be considered “alternative” if they embody an alternative approach to play, such as enacting pacifism in a violent online video game or choosing to embrace nudity for one’s avatar (which is more acceptable in some virtual worlds than others). In this section of the literature review, I will explore notions of embodiment and corporeality, disability, and the performances of these identities. These areas are not discrete, but instead intertwine around the body.

29 Embodiment and Corporeality

The notion of an alternative body leads to a range of questions: how does one embody these characteristics in a virtual form; how do we respond to a body that does not meet the norm; and what are the implications of the ability to alter (or denying the ability to alter) these characteristics? The designers of virtual worlds make choices about the range of possibilities for avatars, and these decisions can constrain those who seek alternative presentations of the body. The culturally idealized avatar is presented as the default and the norm, regardless of its resonance with one’s self-concept. While Turkle

(1984) heralded the freedom and lack of barriers to creating an entirely separate “second self” online, many users do not choose the route of a second self. The presentation and performance of avatars is wrapped up with self-identity, particularly when users spend copious amounts of time immersed in a virtual world.

The perception of an idealized body is far-reaching. Snyder and Mitchell (2006) argued that eugenic beliefs are represented in mass culture because mass culture sells an idealized body in a quintessentially American form of product promotion. They wrote,

“These images of Caucasian wholesomeness functioned at all levels of mass-market culture as signs of racial purity and idealized national body types free of blemishes, defects, variations, or vulnerabilities that mark the bodies of consumers themselves” (30).

Disability is made invisible from the public eye in multiple ways, including through the placement of disabled bodies in institutions and marketing and media that conceal physical differences. This systematic institutionalization and marginalization has led to what Burke (1984, 7) called a trained incapacity, or "the state of affairs whereby one’s very abilities can function as blindness.” How we view the world is shaped in part by our

30 training, and we develop a trained incapacity to deal with disability when we encounter it.

However, and as Snyder and Mitchell (2006) noted, all bodies are ultimately deviant in some way. By deferring and devaluing disabled bodies, we construct a hierarchy of inferiority based in the body that has consequences for everyone.

Our trained incapacity for seeing difference leads to interesting manifestations in the virtual world. Snyder and Mitchell (2006) observed that the treatment of disability as a curiosity has subjected individuals with disabilities to the gaze of science and speculation. Medical discourse treats disability as a deficit. When we have the possibility of looking culturally “perfect” and eliminating bodily limitations, would we choose to appear otherwise? In fact, an idealized virtual form is often the default option in virtual worlds such as World of Warcraft, and some environments do not allow anything else outside of a narrow range. Second Life, on the other hand, allows users to have a large amount of control over their appearance; they can instantly change their skin tone, hair, weight, height, and so on. Users can also add objects to their avatars that they create or purchase from others, such as clothing or additional bodily appendages. In short, users have choices. What does it mean when they make the choices they do?

The performance of disability takes on new forms in virtual spaces. As Hawhee

(2009) claimed, knowledge is learned and performed through the body. The relationship between one’s self-identity, physical body, and virtual body complicates our understanding of how identity is performed. According to Poster (2001, 75), “mediated by the interface of computers and communications network, the body enters a new relation with the subject, a dissociated yet actual relation that opens identity to new degrees of flexible determination.” Embodiment and subjectivity are deeply intertwined.

31 While several scholars have focused on the possibilities for experimentation and deception in terms of online identity (Hansen 2006, Turkle 1984), many users seek to create avatars that are like themselves. These users seek to include their bodily characteristics that others might perceive as flaws.

McKerrow’s (1998) article, “Corporeality and Cultural Rhetoric,” seems to mesh with Hansen’s (2006) argument that it is possible to understand the body with a zero degree of difference by suspending the automatic attribution of signifiers. While Hansen was concerned with racial signifiers, McKerrow was particularly concerned with constructions of gender. He wrote, “One can, and I believe must, reconceptualize the body as an object without sex or gender . . . once the body is seen in social terms, it has already limited the potentialities for becoming what it might otherwise be” (318-319).

Corporeality is not meant to transcend or overcome mind/body, but rather to erase the lines between them. Corporeal rhetoric seems to assume the prior existence of an unsexed body, but as soon as one is sexed, something happens that becomes an ineradicable difference. But what does this difference like? Can we conceive of such a body as anything more than primordial mass?

Perhaps one way to realize a corporeal rhetoric is with a virtual body. Hansen

(2006) argued that online identity and the virtual bodies are entirely constructed and thus are “unapologetic celebration[s] of the simulacral” (143). It could be argued that all of

Second Life is a simulacrum, as Baudrillard (2001) understood it. Because these hyperreal “copies” take on lives of their own, what constitutes the real – the actual code and data behind the virtual constructions – becomes invisible. The concept of the

32 simulacrum allows for new aesthetic possibilities and opportunities to experience events and places one might not otherwise be able to experience.

Another theoretical lens to explore embodiment is provided by Hayles (1999).

She described the concept of the “posthuman” as a perspective that privileges patterns of information over material or biological factors and displaces consciousness as the core of human identity. The postmodern view also understands the physical body as a sort of prosthesis that we can manipulate, extend, or replace. Essentially, the posthuman is a hybrid of body and cybernetics (2-3). Hayles attempted to show “the complex interplays between embodied forms of subjectivity and arguments for disembodiment throughout the cybernetic tradition” (7). She traced this progression from the mid-to-late twentieth century through concepts of homeostasis, reflexivity, and virtuality. The technologies that govern our organization of information also shift the relationship between bodies and information (29-30).

Hayles (1999) made clear that there is a distinction between the body and embodiment, just as there is a difference between perception and a stable object. We tend to normalize a body relevant to criteria that we establish based on perceptions. She wrote,

“in contrast to the body, embodiment is contextual, enmeshed within the specifics of place, time, physiology, and culture, which together compose enactment. Embodiment never coincides exactly with ‘the body,’ however that normalized concept is understood.

Whereas the body is an idealized form that gestures toward a Platonic reality, embodiment is the specific instantiation generated from the noise of difference. Relative to the body, embodiment is other and elsewhere, at once excessive and deficient in its infinite variations, particularities, and abnormalities” (196-197). This distinction between

33 a perception of what the body ought to be and the embodied physical form also applies to the virtual space, where avatars are embodiments within a shifting context. Although we might not conceptualize the virtual body as a “body,” it is an embodiment that is also connected to an idealized form.

Speaking to the significance of embodiment, Hayles (1999) noted that context is an important factor when considering embodiment. These contexts (extrapolated here to include virtual worlds) determine the form of embodiment. “Though it is true that all humans share embodiment, embodied experience is dispersed along a spectrum of possibilities. Which possibilities are activated depends on the contexts of enactment, so that no one position is more essential than any other. For similar reasons, embodiment does not imply an essentialist self…a coherent, continuous, essential self is neither necessary nor sufficient to explain embodied experience” (201). What Hayles does not consider is who determines the spectrum of possibilities for embodiment. However, the idea that the self can be fragmented and encompassed by multiple embodied forms is an important one for the study of avatars and the performance of identity. By establishing that embodiment does not imply a singular understanding of the self, Hayles expanded upon the arguments of Stone (1995), Poster (1995), and Gergen (1991) by placing a specific focus on the body.

According to Grosz (1995), the body has traditionally been understood as an object to be trained, remade, intervened upon – never as a subject or agent (2). Over time, we have internalized this urge to control and manage the body into a docile body. She wrote, “it is no longer a body docile with respect to power, but more a body docile to will, desire, and mind” (2). The power is not external, but internal. Grosz calls us to

34 rethink how we understand transgression and subjectivity in relation to bodies and the social and personal contexts they live in. Grosz’s work attempted to problematize traditional dualisms of the body and self. Grosz argued that the Western privileging of reason over the corporeal or material, as represented in Cartesian dualism, has led to a

“crisis of reason” that renders the body necessarily present but invisible in regard to knowledge (25-30).

Grosz (1995, 84) closely ties corporeality to concepts of time and space, saying

“bodies are always understood within a spatial and temporal context, and space and time remain conceivable only insofar as corporeality provides the basis for our perception and representation of them.” The body, space, and time, are indelibly tied. The perception of space and time being anchored by the subject meshes well with notions of post-

Newtonian physics. Theories of relativity challenged Newton’s static and deterministic understanding of the universe, and instead called for a more fluid understanding of the interconnectivity of space and time as relational to each other and to the observer (Cain

1999). Each observer perceives of space and time differently based on position, eliminating the possibility of a definable present moment (Cain 1999, 48). This sense of indeterminacy seems to mesh with Lyotard’s (1984) understanding of the postmodern condition, where we question the absolute nature of metanarratives. If legitimacy is no longer assigned by a grand notion of what is true, where does legitimacy lie? The plurality of narratives that Lyotard understands as competing for legitimacy represents a plurality of possibilities for the nature of being (particularly under theories of quantum mechanics). It also seems to connect with Hayles’ (1999) distinction between the body and embodiment, where the embodied form is based on a context of space and time.

35 Understanding the subject, or the body, as a referent point of space and time makes sense in a virtual environment, which mimics “real-time” through a consistently online server. Unlike traditional console-based games that end when the user logs off and pick back up when the user signs in again, the virtual world continues to exist and change while the user is offline. Each user has the opportunity to influence the world in a way that others can experience. As Cain (1999) described the world through a lens of quantum mechanics, “it is human interaction with the quantum world, the observer’s registering of measurements, that determines the final state of the object” (49). While there is no “final state” to a virtual world, it is true the users shape the experience of the space through building, killing, dying, and being, and leave an imprint that is visible to others, at least temporarily. We choose identities in virtual spaces that are both fragmented and fluid as we move through these varying and indeterminate contexts. These identities are chosen and performed with purpose.

Performance

Theories of embodiment are intertwined with an understanding of the performance of the body. In her 1990 book Gender Trouble, Butler argued that gender is not innate, but instead a performance that is repeated, ritualized, and naturalized in the context of the body (xv). Gender is not natural or essential, but instead a social construction. Butler referred to gender as a “corporeal style” (190), where meaning is constructed through the intentional performance. Butler wrote, “because there is neither an ‘essence’ that gender expressed or externalizes nor an objective ideal to which gender aspires, and because gender is not a fact, the various acts of gender create the idea of gender, and without those acts, there would be no gender at all” (190). These

36 performances ultimately constitute the identity they intend to express. Gender does not preclude action; action precludes gender. The consistent repetition of a performance comes to determine the culturally accepted standards for discrete categories of gender.

In the performance of gender, the body is not passive. Instead, the body is an active agent of the performance. Butler (2006) wrote, “the sex/gender distinction and the category of sex itself appear to presuppose a generalization of ‘the body’ that pre-exists the acquisition of its sexed significance. This ‘body’ often appears to be a passive medium that is signified by an inscription from a cultural source figured as ‘external’ to that body. Any theory of the cultural constructed body, however, ought to question ‘the body’ as a construct of suspect generality when it is figured as passive and prior to discourse ” (175). Anatomical sex, gender identity, and gender performance constitute three separate dimensions that need not be related (187). Butler calls us to reconsider the relationship between the body, culture, and performance, particularly the Cartesian dualism that understands the body as a sort of tabula rasa for cultural inscription. This understanding of a body that precedes meaning implies the existence of a stable body.

Instead, Butler argued that the performative nature of the gendered body “suggests that it has no ontological status apart from the various acts which constitute its reality” (185).

Butler’s connection between the body, gender, and performance clearly applies to virtual worlds, where the opportunities for performance of identities outside of the accepted norm often do not carry the same consequences as they might in the offline world. While my research does not specifically address gender, I argue that multiple aspects of identity are performed in an online space. These aspects of identity go beyond gender to include race, ethnicity, disability, age, and values. In fact, performance through

37 both a virtual body and text are the only means of expressing identity online. The virtual body is already signified through the choices of game designers in a default avatar, but the choices users make concerning their appearance and actions constitute the basis of identity performance. The repeated performances of other avatars in an online space determine what is considered the norm (such as conforming to a preferred ideology of violence or norms of gender appearance and performance). However, the virtual nature of these performances makes Butler’s point clear. These performances are not innate, natural, or based in a core identity housed within a body. We might repeat offline performances online out of a sense of habit in an attempt to impose the same standards to an online space. However, the fluidity and flexibility of these virtual bodies create opportunities for alternative performances that challenge the notion that the same cultural standards must apply. One of these alternatives is the performance of disability.

Disability

According to Kuppers (2003, 5), disability “is a deeply contested term used to describe individuals (or a people?) that are in a position of difference from a center.” This description encompasses a wide variety of potential meanings far beyond a simple lack of ability or impairment. Broadly speaking, the term “disability” is a marker of the Other, a label used to separate and isolate. Kuppers argued that disability is a social category, like gender or race, that is constructed as biological and categorizes individuals (5). The connection between bodies and meaning is again reinforced; we understand bodies by meanings constructed in discourse. “The body comes to be seen as an arrangement of meanings that is produced by social knowledges” (5). Kuppers drew upon Foucault’s notion of biopower to explain how these social knowledges align bodies. Science creates

38 data about what constitutes a “normal” body, and individuals self-discipline into performances of normalcy. This performativity echoes Butler’s theory that gender is not innate, but instead a socially constructed and repeated performance. Kuppers linked disability to performance as a means of subversion, as a way to break up these social knowledges.

In the introduction to her 1996 edited volume, Freakery: Cultural Spectacles of the Extraordinary Body, Thomson explored the convergence of disability and performance. Thomson’s aim was to “reveal the practices and cultural logic that construct certain corporeal variations as deviant and to denaturalize the generally assumed opposition between normal and abnormal bodies” (xviii). She uses the term “freak” to conceptualize both the embodied performance and the perception of disability. In one of the essays, Bogdan (1996) defined the meaning of the term “freak” as a social construction. According to Bogdan, being a “freak” is not just about a physical condition, but instead a social construction and performance for profit and public amusement (23-

25). As Bogdan claimed, “‘Freak’ is a frame of mind, a set of practices, a way of thinking about and presenting people. It is not a person but the enactment of a tradition, the performance of a stylized presentation” (35). While Bogdan was writing specifically about the traveling freak shows popular from 1840-1940, the concept of a “freak” as a way of framing an individual or group still exists. Even more compelling is the idea that one becomes a freak by choosing to enter into a particular community and perform this role. This choice to embrace a label of identity meshes well with online performances of disability, where a person is not required to disclose a disability, but chooses to do so.

39 Grosz (1996) highlighted that “freak” is much more than a physical category. She wrote, “the term freaks does not simply refer to disabilities of either a genetic, developmental, or contingent kind. Indeed, some classified as freaks…are not necessarily physically incapacitated at all, although, of course, many are. All suffer a certain social marginalization… Freaks are not just unusual or atypical; more than this is necessary to characterize their unique social position. The freak is thus neither unusually gifted nor unusually disadvantaged. He or she is not an object of simple admiration or pity, but is a being who is considered simultaneously and compulsively fascinating and repulsive, enticing and sickening” (56). Here, Grosz challenged common notions of freaks as simply disabled. Instead, the designation goes beyond a physical descriptor to a social category whose implications are fraught with contradictions and ambiguity. This revelation of the complexity behind the term “freak” is important because it emphasizes the notion of the Other in relational terms. The existence of freakery is not in the body, but in the ambiguous reaction of shock, curiosity, and even fear. Freakery is a performance for an audience. In an online space, the decision to present visible markers of disability is also a performance that can both mesh with notions of self-identity and present a challenge to the assumptions of others within the virtual space.

Heterotopias

While embodiment and performance are connected to the body, it is also important to understand that these performances occur within spaces. The nature of these spaces impacts the performances. One concept of space that helps illuminate performances of identity is the notion of a heterotopia. In their book on the cultural and social history of disability, Snyder and Mitchell (2006) outline numerous cultural

40 locations typically occupied by people with disabilities: hospitals, prisons, sheltered workshops, charity networks, and residential facilities. These places are heterotopias, a space for the “other,” a systemic disciplining and marginalizing of the body. Snyder and

Mitchell also “seek to identify ‘alternative’ spaces that disabled people occupy as uniquely marginalized populations” (205-206). While all of the spaces outlined by

Snyder and Mitchell are physical, perhaps we can add a new cultural location worthy of exploration: virtual worlds.

While virtual worlds are sometimes perceived as utopian and idealized because of the perceived opportunity to overcome bodily limitations or prejudices, they actually function more readily as heterotopias. Foucault (1998) understood heterotopias as the opposite of utopias; while utopias are fundamentally unreal in their perfection, heterotopias are narrowed to the space of the other that is in some ways forbidden.

Heterotopias are separated out from mainstream spaces. The separation of “virtual” and

“real” spaces demarcates a heterotopia that functions as a false binary because the two spaces exist in relationship to each other for those who move between them.

Foucault outlined six principles of heterotopias (353-355). First, they exist in all cultures, but take many forms. The two main types of heterotopias are those of crisis and of deviance. Heterotopias of crisis are places where one might be sent in a state of disruption, such as a hospital in case of illness or a boarding school (to defer the onset of male sexuality to a place outside the home). These are not necessarily spaces of calamity or disaster, but rather a place to divert a potential disruption to society. Heterotopias of deviance are places designated for individuals whose behavior deviates from accepted norms, such as prisons and psychiatric hospitals. Snyder and Mitchell’s (2006)

41 description of the institutionalization enacted on the bodies of people with disabilities meshes well with heterotopias of deviance, as it functions to separate groups from the rest of society.

Second, each heterotopia also has a well-defined function, which can change over time. Foucault offered the example of a cemetery as a heterotopia whose function has changed over time. Prior to the 19th century, cemeteries were commonly found under or next to churches, in the center of the city. As people became less sure of the possibility of resurrection, care of the remains took on a greater importance. Death become something to fear, and could spread sickness to the living. Cemeteries began to move toward the outskirts of town. Rather than having the dead amongst the spaces of the living, the bodies were delegated to a separate, distant space, an “other city” (354). Virtual worlds can be thought of as heterotopias whose functions have changed over time and allow for multiple functions within the same space. People might enter virtual worlds for information sharing, escape, distraction, play, relationships or money making, to name a few. The basic original function of the Internet was data sharing. This function has clearly changed over time, and virtual worlds are a permeation of this change.

Heterotopias can also juxtapose different and incompatible spaces and locations in a single space. This juxtaposition seems quite appropriate to virtual worlds, where recreations of “real” places are common in the same space as fictional or imagined constructions. For example, the Sistine Chapel has been rebuilt in Second Life, but one can fly to the ceiling in the virtual version. The recreation was built on the virtual site of a university. This combination of locations is incompatible in the offline world, but makes more sense in a virtual context where such concurrences are likely.

42 Heterotopias are linked to unique time. While Foucault gives examples of circuses and libraries, virtual worlds are also heterotopian in their transitory nature. People enter and leave the space but the space continues without them, moving and yet untouched by the wear and tear of time. Virtual buildings do not decay, and virtual plants do not die.

Another defining feature is that heterotopias are both isolated and penetrable – either one is forced in, or one must gain permission or participate in rituals to get in. In virtual worlds, there are rites of entry such as sign-ups, monthly fees, and then there is a further level of penetration that requires gaining the trust of individuals once inside.

Anyone can enter the space, but not everyone “gets it” and becomes absorbed into the world. Some users may visit once and may never feel the need to return. Others will find community there and participate in additional activities within the space.

Finally, heterotopias function between creating a space of illusion and another real space in contrast to ours. Virtual worlds are heterotopias in that there is space for alternative practices, but these practices occur under the constraints of dominant practices or structures such as economies. There is a sense of freedom in what one can do, including indulging in habits or interests that may not be accepted in their offline lives.

However, this space is not completely separate, and there is often carryover between our online and offline lives. Although discourses in the “real” world construct the virtual world as illusory, there are very real consequences and outcomes for being a part of the heterotopia.

Contrasting with the notion of a heterotopia is Wood’s (2009) notion of an omnitopia. The term “omnitopia” derives from the not-place of utopia and Foucault’s notion of heterotopia, or “other place” (10). Wood understood heterotopias as a sort of

43 “social safety valve” (112) where deviant behaviors can be performed and managed, a type of third space dislocated from the rest of reality. In contrast, omnitopias are a place of enclosure into the same place; airports, chain hotels, and malls are a few examples of this. Such places take pride in creating a sense of sameness and consistency, devoid of meaningful human contact. However, many inhabitants of omnitopias find a sense of pleasure in this consistency and even a sense of ownership of favorite omnitopic spaces

(153-154).

Wood (2009) understood omnitopia as “a lens upon our age of ubiquity, a period in which all people, places, and things become accessible from any point in a global network. In the age, traditional distances recede, enabling a sphere of interaction that renders each point equidistant from every other point” (8). Omnitopia is both physical and structural and exists in space, place, and time (8-10). Wood’s notion of an omnitopia might seem to fit virtual worlds because all members are accessing the same space and, in the case of MMORPGs, encounter the same quests, landscapes, and in-game structures.

However, the lack of consistency in experience makes virtual worlds more clearly heterotopic. While omnitopias are lacking in meaningful interaction with others, virtual worlds offer the opportunity for significant communication and identity performance.

The literature covered in this review spans across the diverse but related areas of virtual identity, disability, embodiment, performance, and heterotopias. While virtual identity research is often focused on MMORPGs, no one has yet applied theoretical understandings of corporeality and performance to avatar-based communication in virtual worlds. The literature discussed here opens a space for understanding how virtual bodies can function rhetorically as deliberately performative entities. A focus on how virtual

44 worlds can function as heterotopias highlights how the space itself impacts the performances within the space and allows for performances of marginalized identities.

The next section will discuss the methods and contexts for this research.

45

Chapter 3: Methods

In order to answer my research questions, my research methods for this project consisted primarily of textual analysis of the websites and forums associated with these spaces. Specifically, I employed Burke’s (1937, 1941, 1954) cluster criticism approach.

These sites and forums are essentially accounts of performances written by the performers. This is important because it gives the actor’s interpretation of the situation and action. Not every performance was documented on these sites, but these documents shed some light on the motivations for these performances, as well as reactions to the performances through the comment sections. I also included visual aspects of the Second

Life sites as discourses for analysis, in keeping with the idea that the structure of the space shapes the nature of the performances. The performers themselves build much of the content in these virtual spaces, making the spaces a part of the performance as well as artifacts in their own right.

The textual fragments that I collected into texts for analysis are mainly composed of blog posts and comments on the groups’ websites. In cases where groups have multiple linked websites (such as the Autism Liberation Front, whose main site houses multiple pages), I included relevant texts from those pages. Relevance is determined by whether or not the text addresses their online presence and the bodily performances of identity, particularly within the context of Second Life or World of Warcraft. For example, the Autism Liberation Front houses blog pages for individuals involved in the organization. Some of these blog postings are basic “what I did today in my offline life” posts, and are less relevant to this project, while blog posts that specifically describe their

46 online actions and thoughts related to ALF are more relevant. The Sisters of the Forsaken occasionally make posts concerning other MMORPGs that they play. These are not relevant to my topic for analysis, unless they explicitly compare the experience to World of Warcraft. Instead, posts and comments that describe the Sisters’ mission, actions, and ideology would be considered relevant. The collection of these documents began in 2008 for Sisters of the Forsaken and 2010 for the ALF and Wheelies as part of other course projects during my graduate program. While these contexts continue to shift and new texts are added, I ceased adding fragments for analysis as of January 2011.

Although there are many possible methodological approaches that could be used to explore the research questions, a textual analysis was the most practical and fitting method given the context. Although my original intention was to do participant observation, the ephemeral nature of the online communities made that approach prohibitively difficult. The Sisters of the Forsaken pacifist guild in World of Warcraft has been inactive for over a year, although a blog post from late 2010 hints at their possible return to the world (by April of 2011, they had yet to appear). The Autism Liberation

Front (ALF) is in the process of dismantling their Second Life site. The Wheelies nightclub is still present in Second Life, although I have yet to encounter anyone there.

While I could have selected different groups to focus my research on, there was no guarantee that they would remain active and not suffer from the same constraints as

Sisters of the Forsaken, the ALF, and Wheelies.

Although ethnographic work or survey research could not be done with these groups, what I did have to work with are traces of discourse. The textual fragments that these groups leave provide a glimpse into their mission, their virtual performances of

47 identity, and in some cases, their inability to sustain their presence in a virtual world.

While the pacifist guild might be inactive, I still have records from their website of their prescribed behavior for members and discussions of the ways to manage pacifism in a world where violence is the dominant playing style. I also have the text of the Autism

Liberation Front’s website as well as screenshots from their Second Life build. The creator of Wheelies, Simon Stevens, has created multiple documents and videos that detail the purpose behind Wheelies and the need for disability activism in virtual spaces. I used these fragments to construct three different case studies of how deviance is performed in virtual worlds from these contexts.

In particular, I looked for non-conformity that manifests itself through visible acts of or on the virtual body. Of these three contexts, Wheelies is the only space where most of the avatars have clear visual markers of disability, e.g., wheelchairs. While avatars in the Autism Liberation Front might have such visual markers, they are not a central feature of the performance of autism. In World of Warcraft, there is no option for expressing difference on the body; all of the avatars fit a game-determined formula. The

ALF members and WoW pacifists perform their identities through the actions of their virtual bodies to disrupt normalizing discourses.

While my text for analysis is not a single, bounded piece of discourse, there is precedent for creating a text out of fragments of discourse. McGee (1999) advocates for a form of rhetorical criticism where the critic/theorist constructs a text from discursive fragments. In a reversal of the way rhetorical analysis is traditionally practiced, McGee argued that the primary task of speakers and writers is interpretation, while text construction is the task of audience and critics. Since the act of criticism produces

48 additional discourse, the critic must balance these tasks. The focus of criticism should not be on a singular text, but rather on engaging the tensions between text and context. Burke

(1941) also supported the idea of using multiple related texts for analysis. While a critic may choose to limit their sources to only what is publically available in the text, Burke suggested that critics ought to “use all that there is to use” (23). In this case, using all that there is to use involved analyzing the discourse produced by each group over time and across various topics related to the group. Foss (1984) used a similar approach by conducting a cluster analysis of a set of discourses created by members of the Episcopal

Church establishment in response to calls to ordain female priests. While the texts might have different authors, each piece relates to the mission or functions of the group and the performances of group members. Since these blog posts and comments are relatively short, using only one apparently finished text would not provide enough data for analysis.

Joining together textual fragments gives a broader picture of the motivations of each group.

Each of these fragments is significant because, when the critic assembles textual fragments, she can map a structure of discourse that reflects the underlying relationships between that discourse and the context in which is it created and sustained. McGee

(1999) delineated three structural relationships concerning a given discourse and its context that this assemblage can highlight: relationships between discourse and its sources (such as invention); relationships between discourse and culture (conventional wisdom, constraint, empowerment); and relationships between discourse and influence

(which deals with the interconnectedness of discourses and judgments of beliefs, salience, etc.) (70-72). While all three of these relationships can be found across all three

49 texts, one of these relationships seems more significant in each of the texts. As a site created for the performance of disability, Wheelies relates most strongly to the relationship between discourse and its sources. Given the culture of violence that permeates World of Warcraft, the relationship between discourse and culture is expressed most strongly to the Sisters of the Forsaken. The social change focus of the ALF lends itself well to an analysis of discourse and influence.

McGee’s (1999, 71) notion of doxa, or conventional wisdom, guides much of the way virtual worlds operate. It may seem that games attempt to break conventional wisdom through the creation of unrealistic scenarios, such as allowing avatars to fly or battle fictitious monsters. However, the emerging culture of a virtual space produces its own guidelines and wisdom. The opportunity to challenge virtual doxa may result in empowerment, or it can lead to silencing or disciplining by others. The probable result depends on the context. As McGee (1999) noted, text cannot be separated from context because “discourse ceases to be what it is whenever parts of it are taken ‘out of context’”

(73). This interdependence of text and context reminds me to stay within the virtual culture for my analysis and make critiques based on what is valued in that context, even if that culture is also fragmented.

The traces left by these groups, both in worlds and on web pages, offer an opportunity to construct a rhetorical history of these groups even after the groups have disappeared. A rhetorical history, in this sense, draws upon Zarefsky’s (1998) fourth definition of the phrase: “the study of historical events from a rhetorical perspective”

(30). In understanding these fragments as pieces of rhetorical history, I examine them

“from a perspective that emphasizes rhetorical choices and perceptions” (Bates 2003, 51).

50 The advantage of the perspective of rhetorical history is that it allows a researcher to collect fragments of related discourses and create a text for analysis, allowing the critic to

“use all there is to use” (Burke 1941, 23). While the groups might shift focus or disappear, their missions remain important. Their inability to sustain themselves might also be significant. Through this analysis, we can learn more about why these groups faded away and what their lack of sustainability says about power relations in the virtual world.

Theoretical Framework

Michel Foucault’s understanding of power provides the primary theoretical focal point for my critique of domination in discourse. Power can be both repressive and productive – it naturalizes social relations to the point that maintaining these discourses becomes normal. As McKerrow (1989) described, for Foucault, power is not a possession, but a part of social interaction that creates and sustains social relations that give form to ideology.

McKerrow’s (1989) description of a critique of domination and freedom focuses on the discourses that create and maintain power. Ideologies in this sense are rhetorical functions that are mobilized to legitimate the interests of some groups over others. These dominant interests are framed as belonging to “the people” in order to naturalize the power as beneficial to a group that has varied interests but no real class content.

McKerrow’s concept of critical rhetoric is particularly salient to virtual environments by transferring concepts of what is real. He wrote, “the social relations in which people participate are perceived as ‘real’ to them, even though they exist only as fictions in a rhetorically constituted universe of discourse” (103). The individuals who participate in

51 these virtual worlds create the social system and the ideologies that underlie the social system of the virtual world. While some people perceive a virtual world as a fictitious, unreal space, the social relations are quite real to the individuals involved. Power naturalizes these social relations so that it becomes understood as normal. This normalization makes change or resistance difficult: “Challenges are therefore abnormal and irrational by definition” (McKerrow 1989, 99).

According to McKerrow (1989), critical rhetoric explores the dimensions of freedom and domination and serves to “demystify” how rhetoric reveals and conceals relationships of power and knowledge. The examination of discourse is the means toward this demystification, and “the task of a critical rhetoric is to undermine and expose the discourse of power in order to thwart its effects in a social relation” (98). A critique of domination focuses on the interrelationships between domination, power, and ideologies

(92-93). A critique of freedom expands the critique of power relations to establish “never ending skepticism” (McKerrow 1989, 96). This reflexivity is important since changes implemented after critiques are also social relations imbued with power, and are thus worthy of continued examination and transformation. As McKerrow (1991) wrote, “a

‘critique of domination’ implies freedom from powers of oppression; a ‘critique of freedom’ implies freedom to pursue other power relations. They are complementary, not incompatible, analyses of the discourses of power” (75). The theoretical framework of critical rhetoric serves less as a method than as a guiding orientation to my analysis of the ways that virtual worlds enable and constrain performances of identity. In terms of the actual analysis, I will use Burke’s cluster criticism as a specific method for analyzing the connections within and across these texts.

52 Foucault and Burke are obviously different in numerous ways, and the application of their ideas to rhetoric is certainly evidence of these differences. Blair (1995) explored some of the differences and similarities between Burke and Foucault in an attempt to understand how they might be compatible in rhetorical studies. Blair compares and contrasts Burke and Foucault’s stances on three areas: biography and agency, Burke’s symbolic action with Foucault’s discourse, and the relationship between history and criticism. Burke placed great importance on a human as the agent of action and user of language, and so looking deeper at the biography of an author is a logical step in analysis.

Foucault, on the other hand, questions using an author’s biography as a source for interpretation, noting that the connection between an author and their work is not a clear singular relation. Foucault’s interest is instead on “asking how it is that particular utterances come to be articulated and what happens when someone articulates them”

(Blair 1995, 130). The question is not just about who speaks, but also about who is authorized to speak, on which topics, taking which positions, and how that discourse is controlled and circulated (Foucault 1972, 50-52).

In terms of meaning, Burke argued that language is symbolic action; for Foucault, the symbolic nature of language and language as action are entirely different (Blair 1995,

131-135). To summarize in Blair’s words, “one might characterize Burke’s position by suggesting that, because language is symbolic, it constitutes action. And Foucault’s quite different view might be summed up by saying that language is symbolic and that it constitutes action” (Blair 1995, 134). While Burke is more focused on the symbolicity of language, Foucault is more focused on the actional use of language. For Foucault, action leads to meaning, rather than meaning leading to action. Burke is also concerned with

53 discovering trends in texts during analysis, while Foucault might not find the patterns as significant, and instead look at the action of saying something over any other possible thing that might be said (Blair 1995, 142-143).

In terms of history, criticism, and social change, Blair (1995) posited that both

Burke and Foucault were concerned with these issues, particularly in regard to language.

Both believed “that the use of language is an action with consequences” (Blair 1995,

145). Both link history to language use, agreeing that language is what makes history possible, and they share a concern about the theme of progress in history and unifying historical events. Both of these concerns can result in a sense of complacency about the present condition and prevent change (Blair 1995, 147-149). Burke’s perspective by incongruity and Foucault’s critical work both highlight ways of problematizing history and the structures of knowledge. Blair (1995) noted, “Burke sees historical documents as the sites of motives and possible symbolic transformations. Foucault conceives them as gestures of preservation and/or change. In both cases, the point of marrying history and criticism is to explore the conditions of historical change, in order to finally be able to enact change” (152). As Blair’s (1995) article illustrates, Burke and Foucault can be compatible in a critical discourse analysis, particularly in a rhetorical history such as this one.

Cluster Criticism

Burke first introduced the idea of cluster criticism in 1941 in The Philosophy of

Literary Form. Burke posited that every writer, consciously or not, uses sets of

“associational clusters” that create implicit equations among ideas, acts, images, and situations. The interrelationships among these clusters reveal an author’s motives. Burke

54 suggested that an author could not possibly be aware of all of these associations in the act of writing; rather, these associations can only be discovered through careful study of a work after completion. The task of discovering these associations falls to the critic. In uncovering these clusters, the critic is attempting to discover “what goes with what” in order to draw out the themes present in a work or set of works (20). McGee’s focus on construction of the text might seem to be in conflict with Burke’s language here. It is important to note that while Burke uses terms such as “find” and “discover” to explain how the critic establishes the associations, Burke is using these terms out of a concern with the critic grounding the analysis in the words of the actual text(s) being analyzed.

Different critics will read different associations, and the critic will not “find” a single correct answer. In this case, I as the critic am constructing the text for analysis through fragments of texts. Drawing from McGee, the author then interprets that assembled text.

The process is one of both invention and discovery. While Burke seemed to be concerned with the motives of a singular author, this project uses multiple texts and multiple authors that identify with a group and seeks to articulate their motives.

In his “Dictionary of Pivotal Terms,” Burke (1959) defined clusters as

“significance gained by noting what subjects cluster about other subjects (what images b, c, d the poet introduces whenever he talks with engrossment of subject a” (232). Burke posited that through analyzing clusters, a critic could reveal an author’s motives by uncovering “symbolic mergers” (233). The term motive is important in this definition, but the meaning of the term can be interpreted differently. Benoit (1996) noted that many scholars (including Holland 1955; Foss, Foss, and Trapp 1991; Hart 1990; and Crable and Makay 1972) interpret Burke’s concept of motive as some sort of cognitive,

55 unconscious force or a set of factors that prompts human action (67-69). Benoit, however, interpreted Burke’s term as “utterances that usually occur after actions, intended to explain, justify, characterize, or interpret those actions” (70). This interpretation places focus on motives as the explanatory accounts that follow a given action or set of actions rather than an internal or situational influence whose primary importance precedes the action. The idea is not that traditional understandings of Burke’s motivations are wrong, but instead that the discursive accounts include a rationalization of the pre-action motives. To conceive of motives as something that are present only before action might account for various factors in a situation (Burke’s pentad comes to mind), but might discount the rationalizations that are codified into language after an action is performed.

These accounts provide an important resource to help a critic establish motive. Benoit argued that the concept of the discursive motive expands upon the traditional understanding of pre-action motivation(s), since an explanatory discourse is likely to include some representation of the pre-action motive (70). We may never really know an actor’s thought processes, but we can glean some information from the explanatory accounts that a rhetor creates after the act. Benoit referred to several places throughout

Burke’s works that highlight motive as a linguistic act, not as an internal or situational compulsion. This understanding of motives as post-action discursive rationalizations is important to my analysis because the textual fragments are essentially accounts of performances. Each of these accounts in some way attempt to explain or justify performing in ways that go against the norms of these virtual worlds. Moreover, with both Foucault’s and Burke’s focus on the primacy of language, an examination of what is written or spoken is possible for the critic, while an internal or situational motivation that

56 precedes action cannot be examined except through the language spoken or written about that action. These discursive accounts highlight that motives are not just present before an action, but also after.

In cluster criticism, the word is the basic unit of analysis and the starting point for criticism. Burke (1954) justified the use of the singular word as a basic unit for interpretation in his claim that, unlike letters and sounds, “the word is the first full

‘perfection’ of a term” (284). However, the word is understood here not as an individual, stand-alone term, but instead something that exists in relation to other words. The meaning of the words themselves changes when they are consistently clustered with other terms. As Burke (1959) noted, “words may contain attitudes much more complex and subtle than could possibly be indicated in the efficient simplifications of a ‘practical’ dictionary” (329). This is where the idea of symbolic mergers comes in. Burke (1941) also stated, “To know what ‘shoe, or house, or bridge’ means, you don’t begin with a

‘symbolist dictionary’ already written in advance. You must, by inductive inspection of a given work, discover the particular contexts in which the shoe, house, or bridge occurs”

(89). For example, a bridge over water means something different than bridge as a card game – the symbolic meaning is contextual. This passage lends support to grounding an analysis within a text (or similar texts), and in this case, within textual fragments that can be used to construct a text for analysis. These symbolic mergers become important across authors and documents as similar terms are grouped together in similar ways.

In offering cluster criticism, Burke (1941) outlined a perspective that is helpful for the critic in determining what motivates a work. First, Burke suggested that we ought to look for dramatic alignment, also called an agon, or “what is vs. what” (69). In looking

57 for these conflicts, the critic should be able to draw quotes from the text for support of the interpretation. Having identified agon clusters, Burke suggested paying attention to critical points in the text such as beginnings, endings, and major shifts in tone, structure, plot, or character development (78-79). Finally, critics should look for underlying imagery that symbolizes or represents the agonistic aspects of the text (83). These images will not share the same meaning across different texts, so it is important to analyze their presence within their contexts.

To apply this perspective, Burke (1954) recommended that a critic begin the process of a cluster criticism by choosing the key terms. In selecting terms for analysis, a researcher may either begin with a particular topic in mind or attempt to locate the

“salient traits” of a text (288). Burke (1954) suggested beginning this process by indexing terms as they are encountered in the text, in order of appearance (290). These indexes can be thematized or entitled using a guiding question such as “suppose you were required to find an overall title for this entire batch of particulars. What would that be?” (1954, 290).

In other words, and in a term often used by Burke, the critic is looking for consubstantiality among terms; the critic seeks their common purpose or spirit (1954,

290-291). When it is not possible to look for a frequency of terms because of the short length of a text, a critic can look for amplification, or a theme that is recurring or restated in multiple ways and using different terms (1954, 295). Burke’s (1954) list of topics to index included terms that seem particularly striking to the critic for “acts, attitudes, ideas, images, and relationships” (296). In an early mention of what he later developed into agon criticism, Burke (1954) also recommended noting oppositions and juxtapositions.

58 As in the Philosophy of Literary Form (1941), Burke (1954) again called for the critic to pay attention to beginnings and endings of sections and stylistic breaks (296-299).

Other authors have contributed to and expanded upon Burke’s cluster criticism method in significant ways. For example, Berthold (1976) more clearly defined Burke’s procedure of cluster criticism. Like Burke, Berthold holds that the first step in this process is the selection of key terms. These terms should be selected based on frequency of use and intensity. The critic then establishes a “god” or dominant term over all others.

The next step is the cluster analysis, where the critic looks for the associations of key terms within the text. These terms could be associated in several ways: through proximity to each other in the text; through a cause-effect relationship; through imagery; through mutual relationships to third terms; or through use in a particular context (303). The third part is the agon analysis, which examines the opposition of terms to each other, or the instances of symbolic conflict. That is, for each identified God term, the critic looks to see if it clashes with a Devil term. The critic begins with the key terms found in the cluster analysis and analyzes them in context to determine the opposing terms. This opposition could be discovered in a direct opposition in the text, a placing of the two terms in competition, or through the use of imagery (303-304). Berthold (1976) also outlined several uses for cluster criticism beyond uncovering an author’s motives. It can be used to compare the discourse of multiple rhetors, evaluate the audience’s perception of a speaker’s concepts, and uncover the key terms in social movement rhetoric (309).

In his book Kenneth Burke and the Drama of Human Relations, Reuckert (1963) elaborated on Burke’s method of indexing terms. He argued that, “indexing is a method for finding out ‘what goes with what,’ ‘what implies what,’ and ‘what equals what’ in a

59 given work. The method is simple: the essential meaning of an image, term, or sound is equal to the sum of whatever it is identified or associated with in a given work” (175).

This indexing speaks to Burke’s point that the clusters reveal motives or situations.

Unlike a content analysis, in cluster criticism it is not the literal meaning of a word that is important; rather its use in the context of other words, as it reveals a deeper metaphorical relationship. Burke’s interest in dramatism is reflected in the idea that these relationships are also contentious; this conflict is highlighted in the agon analysis, or dramatic alignment (86-87). The agon analysis looks for points of conflict and converts the findings of a cluster analysis into a social drama with a protagonist and antagonist.

Rueckert suggested that these dramas are representative of internal conflict within the soul of the author as a “self in quest” (90).

More recently, Lynch (2006) described the cluster-agon method as a combination of critical/rhetorical and empirical methods. Rather than relying on existing texts, Lynch integrated focus group research in order to explore the clusters that emerged among groups discussing race. Lynch’s analysis primarily discovered key terms through frequency counts (which is the case with this project), but also critically analyzed the relationships between the terms. Lynch’s work is also significant because the multiple voices in the focus group used the same terms that ultimately became part of the clusters.

This approach demonstrates that cluster criticism can be used to discover the motives of a group beyond a single author or voice.

Since I worked with multiple texts by multiple authors, Burke’s method needed to be modified slightly. Rather than move through the texts to index terms in order of appearance, I read through each text multiple times, marking frequencies where

60 applicable. I primarily paid attention to what struck me as amplified terms that carried a stronger rhetorical force or were highlighted within the text as being a particularly important part of the group’s worldview. Often, the same or similar terms or motives appeared across multiple texts, indicating a potentially significant term. I visually mapped these terms into clusters based on their proximity or connection within and across the texts while looking for similarities among supporting terms. These similar terms shared what Burke (1954) referred to as consubstantiality. While each term in itself might not carry as much rhetorical force, when categorized together they can represent important associations. My perspectives on performance, critical rhetoric, and power relations influenced how I read these texts and how I determined which terms were associated with one another.

During the analysis, I discovered that conducting an agon analysis separate from the indexing was not necessary; instead I chose to integrate the agon analysis into the process of indexing. The conflicts and contentions were discursively outlined in each case. Since each group is defined in part by its resistance to norms, much of the discourse involves delineating this resistance. While the groups did not use the term “resistance” per se, the idea of resistance was a God term in the discourse. In this process, Devil terms were assigned to those that the group rallied against. This rhetorical construction of a conflict might be especially important since many individuals might not be aware of the existence of these groups that attempt to resist the norm; the broader virtual society is not aware that they are involved in a conflict. While the struggle was apparent in the discourse of these groups, there were occasionally terms that were shared across both sides, indicating a rhetorical ambiguity.

61 The next chapter presents the first case study, the pacifist guild Sisters of the

Forsaken in World of Warcraft.

62

Chapter 4: Case I - Sisters of the Forsaken

The purpose of this chapter is to analyze the first case study, the Sisters of the

Forsaken, a pacifist guild in World of Warcraft. This chapter will first provide background information on World of Warcraft and how the virtual world functions. The second section is a cluster analysis of the texts of the Sisters of the Forsaken guild. My analysis delineates two opposing ideologies: Combat as a preferred performance in

World of Warcraft and pacifism as a resistance to the normalized violence. The last section integrates my analysis with my research questions, and explores the rhetorical implications of these performances of marginalized identities.

Research Context

As the most successful Massively-Multiplayer Online Role Playing Game

(MMORPG) ever released, World of Warcraft has garnered the attention of scholars interested in computer-mediated communication (Ducheneaut & Moore 2004; Kolo &

Baur 2004; Peña & Hancock 2006; Yee 2006), virtual economies (Castranova 2006), and media effects on education (Steinkuehler 2004). In their exploration of the social dynamics of online gaming, Kolo and Baur (2004, under “Introduction”) defined a virtual game worlds as a space that allows players to control their avatar through a variety of human-computer interface modes, that take place within an established social space, and that has formalized and sanctioned rules. Some rules are explicit, while others are coded norms within the community.

As a quest-driven game, World of Warcraft players are expected to complete quests (usually with others) in order to advance in the game and experience levels. These

63 quests often involve fighting or killing other players and NPCs (non-player characters, or characters that are created by the game manufacturer to fulfill a specific function).

Moreover, the fastest way to gain experience, and thereby advance one’s abilities and wealth in the game, is through quest-related and one-off combat. Because killing NPCs and others’ avatars allows access to greater skills and better equipment, many players will

“grind,” or kill the same NPCs over and over again to build experience and wealth.

Since its release in late 2004, World of Warcraft has won over two dozen international awards. There is currently a month-to-month subscription fee of 15 USD for game play. Users may create multiple characters that interact within the three- dimensional world, but a player may play only one character at a time. Each character, or avatar, is limited to one realm or server, which is chosen upon character creation. The realms are geographically specific. Players in North America, Australia, and New

Zealand must play on a North American server, European players must play on a

European server, and so forth.

The narrative behind World of Warcraft runs cross-platform with novels, previous games, tabletop RPGs, e-books, and hypertextual histories. The history is detailed enough that it extends over 10,000 years (Baxter et al. 2005). The preferred narrative of the game focuses on a longstanding conflict between two factions, the Alliance and the Horde, in their efforts to control the mythical world of Azeroth. The factions have settled on an uneasy stalemate that is escalating into war. When a player logs into the game for the first time, they must choose a faction, race, and class. Players who choose the Alliance faction may opt to play a Human, Gnome, Night Elf, Dwarf, Draenei, or Worgen. Players who choose Horde may choose an Orc, Tauren, Troll, Forsaken, Goblin, or Blood Elf. Within

64 their own factions, players may choose from a variety of races and professions, as well as features of their appearance. There is no option to upload new features in this environment; players are limited in their appearance by the constraints of the game designers. Once they player chooses, they cannot change factions (although players are free to create characters of the opposing faction, provided that they are not the same server). Contact between the two factions often leads to battle on player-versus-player servers. This contact is further complicated because the factions do not speak the same language. Players may also form or join guilds with other players for companionship, trading, or protection.

If an avatar is killed by an NPC or another player, the body remains in the world at the site where it died. All other players can see the remains and the name of the avatar.

The avatar’s “spirit” is taken to the closest cemetery, where the player is given a choice by an angel of resurrection to either be brought back to life in the cemetery for a price, or the avatar may run back to its body and be resurrected for no penalty but a temporary

“resurrection sickness.” Players may choose to resurrect in the cemetery if the area where they died is too dangerous to safely return to.

Players may choose from a number of styles of play that are dependent on the chosen server. “Player vs. Player” (PvP) environments are heavily competitive between the two factions. Any player may attack any player of the opposing faction at any time.

However, playing on a PvP server often leads to “ganking,” or the unprovoked killing of another player of the opposing faction who cannot possibly fight back. One alternative is

“Player vs. Environment” (PvE) servers, which focus on challenges built into the game.

Players are not automatically flagged for PvP, although they may choose to engage in

65 PvP battle by attacking the enemy faction. Since players cannot be attacked without declaring their intention to fight, there is less open combat and more focus on built-in monsters and the narrative. A third option is Role Playing (RP) servers, where players are expected to hold true to the fantasy/medieval narrative of Warcraft and role-play accordingly, staying in character. While all RP servers are default PvE, there are several

PvPRP (player vs. player role playing) servers available. These choices, like the options for appearances, are constrained by the system. A player must choose an environment for each avatar he or she plays, and the avatar cannot move between these options.

World of Warcraft offers several options for in-game communication. Players may communicate to everyone in their area by utilizing the general chat channel, or they may look for groups, trade, or alert players to the presence of the opposing faction on separate channels. If a player simply types something, all players in the immediate area will receive the message, and a speech bubble with the text will appear over the character’s head. Players may whisper to only one player, communicate within their guild on a separate channel, or talk to players in their group via another channel. The channels appear concurrently as lines of text in a scrolling window in the corner of the screen, and are differentiated by color so that several channels may be viewed at one time. In addition, players can use “emotes” to communicate with other players. Emotes (an abbreviation for emotions) are expressions of action typed in by players which causes the player’s avatar to perform an action. Some will cause the avatar’s virtual embodiment to perform an action or say something, while other emotes will only appear as text. For example, “/bow” or “/laugh” will cause a visible action or audible laugh, while a command such as “/hug” or “/grin” will cause the text to appear, but no physical action in

66 the avatar. Based on personal observation, many higher-level players choose to use third- party voice communication systems, which allow them to audibly speak to those they are grouped with to facilitate faster responses than typing during intensive fights.

The game is set in real-time, with appropriate day and night cycles set to the time zone where the servers are housed. Whenever and wherever the player chooses to exit the game and leave the world, it will not be the same upon return. There is no option to save, undo, or go back. The world will continue with or without the player.

Although the vast majority of the quests involve combat, some players and guilds of players choose to play with self-imposed challenges in the game. One of these challenges is playing as a pacifist. According to Elliott (1980), definitions of pacifism are often contradictory, incomplete, or simply unstated in pacifist research (28). To clarify the term, Elliott offered a conceptual definition of pacifism that focuses on the relationship of pacifists to others. The components of this definition include physical and psychological nonviolence, which requires the conscious objection to these forms of violence in favor of alternate types of conflict resolution (32); active value orientation, which is “the willingness to perform behaviors designed to achieve a situation commensurate with one’s own norms, values, and goals” (34); and an internal locus of control, or a sense that events are contingent on one’s own actions (34). This definition transcends the notion of pacifism as a political policy, concerned only with establishing or maintaining peaceful relationships between nations. What constitutes pacifism in this context is an individual active form of resistance to the normative way of playing the game. Sisters of the Forsaken is one group that enacts pacifism as resistance.

67 Cluster Analysis

The discourse of the Sisters of the Forsaken creates two clearly opposing agonistic ideologies: combat/killing and pacifists/pacifism. These terms, as found in the text, form the key terms that identify the ideologies. Around these terms cluster other terms that relate to qualities, actions, and oppositions to these ideologies. While these ideologies appear to be in contest, the pacifists exist only in some acceptance of the game’s dominant ideology of violence. This dominant ideology emerges from the structure and narrative of the game. This analysis will first explore the pacifist/ism cluster, followed by the combat/killing cluster, and discuss the relationships between the two.

Pacifism

The pacifist/ism term clusters most strongly with the terms Forsaken, peace, enlightenment, honor, death, and vigilance/vigilantism. Each of these terms illuminates some quality with which the pacifists choose to identify. The combination of these qualities reveals a group identity of active resistance to the norms of the game. The primary mission statement of the group first introduces the Sisters as a group dedicated to

“evangelical pacifism.” This style of play is immediately presented as an alternative to traditional styles of play with their first line of the mission statement: “Sisters! Horde,

Alliance, we are all Forsaken!” The term Forsaken carries multiple meanings here.

The term Forsaken is tied to pacifism primarily as an identification term for the group, since it is not only part of the name of the guild but also a specific term in the

WoW lore, identifying with the Undead race in the game (Baxter et al 2005, 51-53).

While the guild’s initial call (as cited above) refers to both Horde and Alliance (opposing

68 factions), the guild must be established as either Horde or Alliance on each server – it cannot have mixed membership. Therefore, while the call might include both factions, only one faction can actually exist as Sisters of the Forsaken on each server. The discourse of the Sisters also clearly implies a preference for the Horde, and at one point in their mission statement refers to the Alliance as “ruthless deathdealers.” Their preference is also specifically for the Undead race, and the guild requests that members use the Undead language in public, referring to the other Horde races as “lower orders.”

The term Forsaken also entails a sense of renouncement, or active resistance on the part of the guild, but also a sense of abandonment within the world by game creators and designers. The game designers are referred to in a blog post from February 16, 2009 as “sanctified elders” who “lie,” “scheme,” and “condemn us to ten-thousand deaths.”

The never-ending storyline of the game means that a player never wins or completes the game; the virtual world is ongoing. The Sisters call out the inconsistency of building in combat and killing as an integral part of gameplay; death is essentially meaningless in the virtual world since players and in-game creatures can easily respawn. According to their mission statement, “We live and die in a Fool’s Valhalla of senseless death and wanton destruction. So long as we strive for what neither Horde nor Alliance can ever accomplish – each other’s final destruction – so long shall we fight and due to delight

Great Evil and only to discover that, Humans, Night Elves, Dwarves. Gnomes, Dranei,

Orcs, Tauren, Trolls, Undead, Blood Elves, WE ARE ALL FORSAKEN.” By listing all of the races in the world, the Sisters unite them in their sense of being forsaken. The game designers have built a space that is somewhere between a world and a game – a world in the sense that it is ongoing and real time, but game-like in the sense that any

69 changes in the world are not permanent and are quickly undone, thus rendering all forsaken in their ability to make meaningful changes in the virtual world.

The group also refers to themselves as forsaken in that they have renounced the typical style of play in favor of an alternative performance. In the beginning of their mission statement, the guild outlines that their style is play is wholly different from the typical: “Preferring discovery, the unusual, to someone else’s race to a finish, members are more likely to have over a half dozen alts than a single character over 40.” While the guild texts do not specifically delve into what it means to be forsaken, the term “sisters” implies a familial relationship, an intimate connection. The term “sisters” could also imply nuns, who are typically members of a female religious community, with term

“nun” deriving from the Late Latin word nonna meaning, “tutor.” 2 Understanding the term “sister” in the sense of nunhood implies a commitment to the cause as well as a sense of wisdom able to be taught to others. What it means to be forsaken can most clearly be seen through comparison to its opposition, Combat. This cluster will be discussed in greater detail in the next section.

The terms “peace” and “peaceful” appear multiple times throughout the texts, extolling both the benefits of being peaceful and the specific performative actions necessary to demonstrate peaceful intentions. In a blog post entitled “Good Karma

Hunting” from September 13, 2010, Tzuzeku encouraged actively helping the opposing faction as a signal of peacefulness; she wrote, “Always come to the assistance of a potential adversary waylaid by too many or too strong creatures. This is the most obvious

2 nun. Dictionary.com. Online Etymology Dictionary. Douglas Harper, Historian. http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/nun (accessed: June 19, 2011). 70 way to signal peaceful intentions to those you assist, as it represents an emphatic renunciation of an ideal opportunity to kill even a significantly superior opponent.” The mission statement also outlined several physical actions to be performed to “spread their message of peace…to those who cannot be reached by words as they do not share our language…the recommended response to attack or threat of attack is to bow or salute, and, if the assailant persists, to sit or lie upon the ground.” These actions are meant to reveal peaceful intentions and hopefully to prevent the assailant from attacking further.

All of these actions are built into the game, and typing a command such as “/bow” will cause the avatar to visibly perform the action. The term peace is also used in several cases as something to be worked toward – from the mission statement, “striving for peace between Horde and Alliance” and “in its steadfast pursuit of peace and non-aggression between Horde and Alliance.”

The term enlightened or enlightenment appears often in the texts to describe the mindset of the pacifists (“unenlightened” is used to describe players who ascribe to the usual violent mode of play, as evidenced the combat/violence cluster). To be enlightened implies a sense of liberation from ignorance, knowledge, and even superiority. In the mission statement, the guild states that their members should not only practice pacifism against other players, but against non-player characters (human or otherwise) as well. It states, “The Sisterhood encourages its Sisters to pursue their own enlightenment by extending, as far as practicable, the gesture of non-violence and non-aggression to the other humanoids, beasts, elementals, and even demons of our land.” Enlightenment is positioned as the opposite of violence, and even Alliance can be enlightened: “the most enlightened among them shall succeed, increasingly, in shaming and this restraining their

71 own most unfortunately deluded fellows who expect accomplishment and praise for dealing death where it is neither feared nor resisted.” The term “enlightened” is consistently contrasted with the qualities of the “unenlightened,” furthering its use as a desirable quality.

Two other important terms in the cluster, honor and death, are discussed together here because they cluster so strongly together throughout the texts. The mission statement puts forth that Sisters are encouraged to “put into actions and not mere words the noble sentiment of death before dishonor” (italics in original). This statement implies that death is a choice and something that must be performed to enact the ideology. The attacking party is seen as dishonorable, and death is a more honorable option than fighting back or running. Death becomes an especially interesting term in that it clusters with both pacifism and violence. The guild draws a distinction, however, between honorable death and senselessly violent death. As written in the mission statement, “Sisters must be prepared to accept death at their hands rather than run or fight back when dishonorably attacked…As we Undead know especially, there can be no dishonor in such a death for such a cause. Rather it is the assailant who dishonors him or herself through the shameful display or mercilessly beating upon one who, in fact and in gesture, is already a passive corpse.” Self-sacrifice is preferable to self-defense, and killing others, even if one is attacked by an opposing player, is a dishonorable act that can lead to sanctioning by the

Sisterhood. However, there is such a thing as honorable combat; the Sisters declare designated Battlegrounds and informal dueling or tournaments as outside of the pacifist doctrine, since these spaces and fights are entered into with the “mutual respect of players across faction.”

72 The final terms in the cluster, vigilance and vigilantism, also emerged as strong terms related to the Sisters’ ideology. In one sense, vigilance refers to a sense of awareness of surroundings – the Sisters say such vigilance is necessary to avoid combat.

However, vigilantism takes on a different purpose within the guild, which the mission statement acknowledges is a contested practice. In this case, “Parties of Vigilance” are guild-leader sanctioned groups that are given license to “teach the most recalcitrant, repeat Alliance offenders the error of their murderous ways through sanctioned acts of terror, even unto death.” In such cases, the guild suggests that the Party of Vigilance is better off “frighten[ing] an offender into a flight so precipitate that he is dragged down and killed by the beasts of the field, without credit to oneself, than to bloody one’s own hands with his loathsome self.” In other words, rather than directly fighting the offender, the Party frightens the offender away so that he runs into a dangerous situation and is killed by NPCs. The Sisters are warned that such vigilantism must not be undertaken without special license. Azzara, another guild leader, disagrees with this path, writing in a blog post on September 23, 2007, “The Mistress Tzu and I have an ongoing disagreement as to the place of vigilantism in our world, she feeling that punishment should be meted out to those who trample the weak and down trodden and I believing that the decision to act in such a fashion is a disguise, a snare to entangle the self righteous. It is preferred, I believe, to always lead by example…” The concept of vigilantism represents a major rift in the ideology of the guild.

While the terms Forsaken, peace, enlightenment, honor, death, and vigilance/vigilantism cluster together to give a sense of the ideology of the pacifists, their stance seems most clear when we look for what Burke (1941) called dramatic alignment,

73 or agon. The existence of the Sisters as a resistant group requires an understanding of what they are resisting against. I use the terms combat/killing for this cluster, which outlines the Sisters’ perspective on the dominant style of play and their understanding of the game ideology they refuse to accept.

Combat/Killing

In opposition to the ideology represented by the Sisters, the texts of guild also discuss the typical style of play. An analysis of the discourses that describe this style created a cluster that I have termed combat/killing. Many of the terms used to describe the dominant or preferred style of play highlight the differences between the average player and the Sisters. The terms that cluster most strongly here include unenlightened, aggression/ive, destruction, and death.

Unenlightened is used specifically as an oppositional term to the enlightened pacifists. The players who adopt the dominant style of play and engage in violence are referred to in the mission statement as “vile, unenlightened Alliance predators” and again as “vicious, unenlightened and ignoble Alliance fighters.” Aggression is also a key term that clusters with the dominant style of play. While the guild refers to their own practice as “the arts of non-aggression” in the mission statement, aggression is both an act and a quality of the dominant play style. The Sisters speak of the need to “diffuse aggression” from other players and act in ways that do not draw aggression. Destruction clusters with combat/killing because it is the goal of the game, but also an impossibility, according to the Sisters’ mission statement. “We live and die in a Fool’s Valhalla of senseless death and wanton destruction. So long as we strive for what neither Horde nor Alliance can ever accomplish – each other’s final destruction . . .” The game producers are held as

74 responsible parties for the creation of this goal; the Sisters refer to the game producers as

“the Great Evil that threatens us all…delighting in our path of blind mutual destruction.”

A post from February 16, 2009 indirectly refers to the gamer designers as “sanctified elders” that “lie and scheme, condemning us to ten-thousand deaths.” This is an interesting movement for the guild to make, because it acknowledges that the world is not, in fact, in their control – someone else is creating the experience that has greater power. By calling attention to this power structure, the Sisters declare their stance of resistance not only to the violence of other players but the game itself. The final term, death, is a shared term since it also clusters with the Sisters’ qualities. However, the guild specifically refers here to “senseless” death, or death without honor. Combat and killing are an “unpleasantness” to be avoided. In “Good Karma Hunting,” Tzuzeku refers to

“wasteful cycles of revenge killing.” In the mission statement, the guild also outlines this cyclical nature and its opposition to the enlightened growth of the pacifists: “The path of the killer has no end, brings no peace, no security, no satisfaction, and but for a very, very few of the most vicious amongst us piled up neither wealth nor honor” (I find the use of

“us” is an interesting word choice in a text that otherwise outlines strong opposition to this style of play. Perhaps it is connected with the argument that all players are forsaken

(but most are unenlightened to it).

Discussion

This cluster criticism highlights a clear conflict between a dominant ideology of violence and a competing resistant ideology of pacifism in the virtual game world. This discussion section explores some of the rhetorical implications of the performances of

75 these ideologies. While I have attempted to divide this discussion by research question, the answers are not so easily separated.

RQ1: How do these performances participate in or resist normative/dominant/ preferred identities?

Two competing ideologies are readily available in these artifacts: pacifism and violence. While the intention of the Sisters is to resist the dominant ideology of the game by performing an alternative identity, the pacifists exist only in some acceptance of the dominant ideology of violence. The marginalized identities of the Sisters are deliberately performed, indicating a clear awareness of their positionality within the world. There cannot be resistance without an awareness of what they are resisting.

The labeling of these ideologies becomes important to understanding how these discourses function concurrently in the virtual world of Azeroth. As McKerrow (1989) outlined in the principles of critical practice, naming is an interpretive, symbolic act (105-

106). When contexts shift, the meanings inherent in social practices also shift, and the subject becomes fractured into multiple selves that are legitimized or delegitimized by reactions to the label. What does it mean to call oneself a pacifist and embrace that label in this world? These players choose a label for themselves that reflects a virtual embodiment of ideals that they may or may not possess in other aspects of their lives.

This naming, usually through membership in a pacifist guild, is the only marker that instantly identifies a pacifist to other players (provided that the other players are aware of the guild). However, even if a player is not aware that another player is a pacifist based on guild title, they may become aware of it if they attempt to engage in combat with the pacifist player. Defying the norms of self-preservation, the Sisters perform their pacifist

76 ideals most clearly when they are attacked, by bowing or saluting at their attacker and sitting or lying on the ground. As the mission statement points out, some attackers may stop when they realize that their opponent is not fighting back; however, many will continue to attack. At this point, the attacked Sister lives the ideology by dying by the ideology. This is a clear resistive performance to the dominant norm.

Even as the Sisters perform resistance, they also participate in the performance of a dominant identity. While the group claims to be “avowedly pacifist” and honoring

“death above dishonor” they make an exception for violence in situations where the players mutually elect to fight, such as duels and battlegrounds, where players do not

“die” in the same way as they do in the rest of the virtual world. Battlegrounds are not the only exception that the group makes. The concept of the Parties of Vigilance obviously implies some acceptance of the norms of violence of the game, even as their alternative style of play resists the notion that all gameplay must involve violence. Under certain circumstances, groups of players are authorized to commit “sanctioned acts of terror” against players of the opposing faction who continually attack them. The guild is quite clear that these circumstances must happen with permission of the leaders of the guild and offers a caution to those who might choose to undertake such a mission on their own:

“She who does so dishonors, renders ineffective, and risks reversing the most noble efforts and achievements of The Sisterhood, as well as of each and every last one of her

Sisters. She who commits such a fundamentally selfish error of judgment must either mend her ways, immediately upon instruction, or be cast out as a danger to all.”

However, by formally sanctioning the violent behavior, the guild disempowers their members by treating them as incapable of deciding when these measures should be

77 chosen. Disobeying the guild leads to social discipline through shunning. While there is some debate within the guild about whether or not such vigilantism is ever appropriate, its discussion in the mission statement codifies it as a legitimate practice.

RQ2a: What are the rhetorical implications or functions of performing marginalized identities/bodies online?

With the Sisters, we see an ideology that is constructed and enacted through both discourse and performance. There are several possible rhetorical functions for performing as pacifists in a virtual world that is imbued with violence. One possible function of these performances is to resist the dominant ideology for the sake of resistance and making clear the power relations at work in the world. The goal may be less about enacting pacifism per se as a distinct ideology. According to a comment from Tzuzeku on

September 16, 2010, discussing her participation in the Lord of the Rings MMORPG, she wrote: “But it’s just not the same being an RP pacifist in a world where no one can waylay and kill you.” She then contrasts this with the Age of Conan MMORPG, “where, of course, most delightfully, most everyone not only can and will kill you but seriously lusts in their heart to do so.” This quote has several potential connotations. On one hand, are we really dealing with a true pacifist ideology, or simply a desire to role-play being different? The role-play aspect is significant here – it implies the acknowledgement of a performance that may not be a reflection of one’s beliefs, and the Sisters chose to play on an RP server that values the performative aspect. On the other hand, does a pacifist ideology have its fullest expression when one lives and dies by it? It seems counterintuitive that one who proclaims ideals of nonviolence would seek out a war zone, but perhaps this is a space where the message is most appropriate. By enacting pacifist

78 behaviors in the world, the Sisters are attempting to make clear a power relation between the game designers and the players. The repetition of the questing and combat built into the game create a cycle where death is inconvenient but essentially meaningless. Perhaps the Sisters are practicing a critical rhetoric themselves by attempting to disrupt and call into question the norms of violence and the idea that there is only one way of being in the

(virtual) world.

In a game called World of Warcraft, pacifism is clearly not a preferred identity to perform. However, the Sisters may also place a stronger emphasis on the craft in the

World of Warcraft. Other writings on the Sisters’ blog highlight more than just pacifist behaviors. One post, entitled “Creatures of the Market” (February 17, 2009) and seemingly written by Tzuzeku (she discusses herself in the third person), focused on the economy of the game. She wrote, “These days, an indifferent war gamer, I seek instead to dwell virtually, searching out different paths, odd choices, the less usual option and unexpected availabilities – any direction but that of The Game’s shortest and quickest race to the top, to the “end game,” to the best and last word in gear, or toward the top of the PvP corpse pile. I seek the world in the World of Warcraft. And I find it most distinctly in the Auction House: that there is indeed a genuine economy there in operation, one capable of supporting virtual life, almost without questing.” Another blog post entitled “Good Karma Hunting” from September 13, 2010 gives tips for players to continue their hunting and gathering of resources for their professions while avoiding combat with other players. These tips include disclosing one’s presence to an opposing player to eliminate the element of surprise and avoiding killing beasts unnecessarily that might leave a trace of one’s path in the world. The focus here is on the ability to explore

79 the world and grow in their craft (such as leatherworking or herbalism) without the distraction of fighting other players (even though being attacked would be an ideal opportunity to display their pacifist behaviors). This separation of war from craft is another potential function of their performances of marginalized identity. The resistance to the norm leads to a rethinking of the norms of the game.

RQ2b: What are the implications of a player’s refusal to perform the dominant or preferred identity/body?

One of the implications of a refusal to perform a dominant identity deals with the space itself. The space of Azeroth is homogenized by the game designers in such a way that it is impossible for a player to alter the space in any meaningful, long-term way.

Death is temporary, NPCs and farmable resources respawn, and the landscape is reset after each player plays through storylines that affect the landscape so that other players can experience them. This lack of an ability to change the space leads me to conclude that

World of Warcraft is neither a heterotopia nor an omnitopia, but could be more accurately described as a homotopia – a space of sameness, flatness, and homogenization.

While some virtual spaces function as heterotopias that can accommodate difference, World of Warcraft functions as a flattened space that requires players to be compatible with dominant norms for them to succeed in the game in a way that is fully recognized by others. Pacifists cannot advance easily in the game because most of the quests involve violence or killing. Language is also a created barrier in the game; players cannot communicate with the opposing faction via spoken/typed language. The storyline and functionality of the game is designed to create an unbridgeable space between the

Alliance and Horde. There is no grey area, no possibility for neutrality. In order to even

80 enter the world, a player must choose a side. This division becomes the guiding narrative for the game, and the narrative is intended to cause players to suspend disbelief and kill the avatar of another player simply because the game tells them they ought to.

Foucault understood heterotopias as spaces for marginalization and difference, separated from mainstream spaces. Some virtual worlds, such as Second Life, could be more appropriately described as heterotopias because they can function as spaces of deviance separate from the rest of society (this will be described in more detail in the next chapter). However, World of Warcraft does not allow for deviance from the norms of the game. It is true that a player could begin a pacifist character and remain level one indefinitely, running around, dying, respawning, but never advancing or experiencing the world beyond the starting area. To what extent can one dwell in a world when prevented from leaving a very small zone? Moreover, this starting space is not a space of difference or on the margins. The starting zone is one where everyone enters as a level one player with no skills, no experience, and likely not even clothing or tools. This space is also at the center of each faction’s controlled area; the starting zone is usually close to the largest town of one’s own race, and the starting zone is generally well-protected by NPCs. To be able to experience difference – interact with other races and members of other factions – one cannot remain level one because one will never be able to leave their homogenous hometown and survive. The Sisters of the Forsaken choose a different tactic. Instead of a pacifist approach that would prevent exploration, the Sisters opt to enjoy some important parts of the game, such as experiencing and exploring the world, interacting with others, and advancing in their craft, while rejecting the violent components of gameplay.

Advancement through experience-giving tasks becomes nearly impossible without

81 accepting and performing the ideology of violence. The structure of the game allows for many choices and quest paths, but all choices push players in the same direction: towards war. This homogenization does not allow players to create or find a heterotopic space in

World of Warcraft. Deviance from the mainstream is not only unwelcome, it is pushed out of the world as entirely as possible. Players always return to a space designed by creators, and players cannot substantially alter either the landscape or the dominant ideology of the game.

In order to address the virtual space that discourages difference, I propose describing World of Warcraft as a homotopia. Diversity is permitted only within the established combinations of genders, races, classes, and professions. It might be described as the “other side” of the heterotopia, the mainstream, where norms are strictly enforced. However, in this case, there is no heterotopia to escape to, no social safety valve: the options seem to be to conform or leave the world. Space and power are inherently connected. As Foucault (1982/1994) noted, “space is fundamental in any form of communal life; space is fundamental in any exercise of power” (361). Space is also tied to the practice of freedom, but is not alone a determining factor for freedom. Instead, social relations and the exercise of freedom occur within spatial distributions. These elements work together. Liberty is not tied to place. The exercise of liberty can happen within the space, but it is the practice and not the space itself that determines liberty.

Foucault said, “I think that it can and does produce positive effects when the liberating intentions of the architect coincide with the real practice of people in the exercise of their freedom” (355). While the structure of the homotopia may not be encouraging of freedom to practice alternative ideologies, it does not mean that those within the space cannot find

82 some room to resist. Foucault reminds us that “no matter how terrifying a given system may be, there always remain the possibilities of resistance, disobedience, and oppositional groupings” (354). While we may not think of World of Warcraft as a terrifying force of systemic oppression, gamers should be aware of the structures of the game that determine their possible options and outcomes. Performing differently allows them to express self/ideas, but at the cost of not winning the game. Performing a preferred identity allows them to win the game, but in a way that requires them to accept the ideas of the powerful other, the game designers.

Conclusion

At the root of the tensions between ideologies of pacifism and violence is their interdependent nature. Although one cannot exist without some understanding of the other, this analysis reveals that it would be incorrect to assume that pacifism/violence are simple, rigid opposites. Is pacifism necessarily equivalent to opposing the existence/expression of violence in all circumstances? Or as some of the Sisters of the

Forsaken might support, is violence occasionally needed to make space for pacifism to exist?

In the end, the Sisters’ disappearance from the virtual world speaks to the difficulty of maintaining a group committed to the difficult task of performing a non- preferred identity. The world of Azeroth goes on without the Sisters, but the Sisters cannot go on without the dominant ideology of violence in Azeroth. The world is hostile to their peaceful intentions; otherwise, Parties of Vigilance to deal with players who repeatedly attack pacifists would likely not be considered. The world is designed to be hostile, and pacifists cannot use this virtual space as easily as combatants. But, if there

83 were no opportunity to be attacked, performing a pacifist ideology would simply be performing a body. The non-preferred performance can only exist insofar as the preferred performance is allowed to be dominant.

While it is important to note that the structure of the game itself (and the long history behind the World of Warcraft franchise) originally created this ideology of combat/killing, it is the players themselves who perpetuate this ideology through their actions and social relations. The rewards for performing the dominant identity are appealing: One accumulates wealth, rare goods, and titles. Success in battle leads to honor. Although honor points are not given for killing significantly lower-level players, the established narrative of the opposing faction as enemies has created enough of a psychological benefit to kill that many players will still kill an easy target, regardless of the lack of material benefit. Others can see these benefits, making combat-enacted performances a mode of earning social and economic capital in the game.

It is difficult to imagine what an alternative power relation would look like.

Players are free to choose servers where they are not able to attack (or be attacked by) the enemy without marking themselves as willing to engage in combat. A server with no player killing would make playing as a pacifist a far easier endeavor. However, the

Sisters instead chose a player vs. player style server that highlights and privileges combat between players. They chose a path of direct resistance or objection to the dominant ideology. This path would inconvenience them, as dying in a virtual world is not permanent, but is costly in terms of time and money). This path also inhibits their ability to advance and explore the virtual world. I conclude that the Sisters would not want the power relation to be different, or for pacifism to become a preferred ideology in the

84 virtual world. If pacifism were the norm, it would be invisible. The embodiment of pacifism requires the presence of violence. This conclusion is further supported by

Tzuzeku, as previously quoted: “But it’s just not the same being an RP pacifist in a world where no one can waylay and kill you.” The Sisters have choices. Perhaps they chose a

PvP server because they want to reach the most violent of players with their ideology.

However, it seems more likely that they perform a marginalized identity for performance’s sake: They perform as a deliberate act of resistance and as a statement that there are multiple ways of being in the (virtual) world.

This chapter has explored the ways that the Sisters of the Forsaken enact the resistant identity of pacifism in a world that privileges violence as the only means of advancement. In performing as pacifists, the Sisters accept that they must perform under the constraints of the dominant ideology, for they would not exist without it. The rhetorical implication of the refusal to perform a dominant identity is that the ideology that governs the space becomes clear. Most players do not perceive the limitations because they are happy to work within the dominant ideology. The act of resistance makes these power relations apparent, and opens for critique the social construction of these power relations.

The next chapter will cover the second case study, the Wheelies dance club in

Second Life.

85

Chapter 5: Case II - Wheelies in Second Life

This chapter will analyze the second case study, Wheelies, a wheelchair dance club in Second Life. First, I will provide a description of Second Life and the evolving setting of Wheelies. The next section uses cluster analysis to explore a variety of texts about Wheelies, most of them created by the Wheelies founder, Simon Stevens. My analysis finds clusters of Control and Change that oscillate around Stevens’ vision for

Wheelies as an e-topic space. The last section integrates my analysis with my research questions, and explores the rhetorical implications of these performances of marginalized identities.

Research Context

Description of SL

In order to understand Wheelies as a virtual nightclub, it is helpful to understand a bit about how Second Life works. Unlike World of Warcraft, Second Life is not a game per se; it is a virtual world. There are no quests or objectives to complete, nor are there formal opportunities for advancement. According to Linden Lab (2009), the creator of

Second Life, the space is “the leading 3D virtual world where people meet and socialize with friends, enjoy live music, play games, explore and create virtual environments, shop for virtual goods, and participate in the world's largest user-generated virtual goods economy.” Users have spent over one billion hours logged in to the world and spent roughly the equivalent of one billion U.S. dollars in virtual commerce (Linden Lab 2009).

While it is difficult to tell the actual number of flesh-based users due to the presence of

86 “bots” and individuals that might sign up but never use it, Linden claimed over six million registered accounts worldwide by 2009.

Second Life experienced a decline in users since its initial success in the mid-

2000s. In June 2010, Linden Lab cut its workforce by 30% to improve cost efficiency as

Second Life saw its user base decline as other social networks gained prominence.

However, Second Life seems to be experiencing some resurgence. A management change at Linden Labs in early 2011 and user experience improvements have led to a 40% increase in users in 2011 (Handrahan 2012). CEO Rod Humble stated that Second Life has one million people logging in every month and generates 75 million dollars per year.

Second Life’s next goal is to add in new user interface features that will make navigation and design of the space easier for users (Handrahan 2012).

Each person who enters the world does so with a default avatar, a human body that represents him or her in the world, which they can alter and modify with relative ease. Users can create, collect, or purchase a nearly limitless variety of objects to customize their experience, including clothing, hairstyles, glasses, makeup palettes, bodily appendages, facial features, vehicles, buildings, and land. Avatars can be male, female, androgynous, or anywhere in between, and can vary dramatically on weight and height. Avatars can also be human, animal, or a mythical creature, or have animalistic features such as wings or a tail. An avatar could very closely resemble the physical body of the user or be completely fantastic.

According to secondlife.com, there are nearly half a million acres of virtual land, with more land being added as more users sign up. Users can purchase developed or undeveloped land to build homes, businesses, gardens, forests, or whatever else they

87 desire. Land can be purchased on the mainland for a more public experience, or on a private region where users can control most aspects of the experience, including who can enter, day and night cycles, and the weather. Purchasing land involves some financial investment; there is an initial fee to acquire and set up the land, and an ongoing monthly fee to maintain the server space. The initial cost of the land/property varies widely based on existing structures, desirability of area, and size. The monthly cost of keeping the space also depends on the size of the land. Owning land also requires an upgraded

Second Life account, which requires a monthly, quarterly, or yearly fee. Many groups, including universities, news agencies, and museums, have purchased or rented virtual land in Second Life to create a virtual presence. Users can seek educational opportunities, shopping, real estate development, and a variety of online dating opportunities. The customizability of Second Life has attracted niche groups that may not necessarily have the same opportunities to connect offline. Among these groups are people living with disabilities.

Wheelies Description

Wheelies founder Simon Stevens (2011) claims to have been first avatar to use a wheelchair in Second Life in May 2006. Stevens has had cerebral palsy since his birth in

1974. According to his website, he also has mild asthma, chronic pain, and bipolar disorder. His cerebral palsy affects his “speech, mobility, hand control, balance, and continence to a significant degree” (2011). He currently lives in Coventry, England, and works as an independent disability consultant and runs his own company, Enable

Enterprises.

88 According to Stevens, “Wheelies is the world’s first disability themed virtual nightclub based in Secondlife [sic]. Founded in September 2006 by myself (Simon Walsh in SL), Wheelies has provided 10,000s [sic] disabled and non-disabled people around the world with a safe, fun and supportive environment. The club is particularly welcoming to people who visibly use wheelchairs and other impairment specific devices.” Since its founding in 2006, the club has gone through numerous changes and restarts. According to

“The Wheelies Story” (2010), Stevens began in Second Life in 2006, and intended to set up a disability training center in Second Life that included a nightclub. While the training center did not materialize, the club did. Stevens explained the rationale for the club: “The reason why I decided I needed a nightclub within my Secondlife ‘portfolio’ was that it was an era where everyone was owning and running nightclubs in the circles I was in, and so I wanted one! Since I was disabled, I thought it would be fun to have a disability themed club. It was never intended to be just for disabled people and at the time I was the only disabled user I knew.” The club first launched in June 2006 on the mainland.

Stevens soon sold this space and purchased a larger space in a castle, but again sold that and opted to purchase an already-built club on the mainland. However, Stevens was not happy with the look of the pre-made club and scrapped it to build a new one from scratch.

The next iteration of Wheelies opened in September 2006 with a lineup of live musicians and DJs. This version of the club received some media recognition, including from the Canada Broadcast Corporation and CNN, according to “The Wheelies Story.”

However, in November 2006, the club was destroyed by a piece of litter (the details of this are unclear). Stevens sold the land for financial reasons and took a hiatus. In May

2007, Stevens relaunched Wheelies with a new staff on a “Second Ability” island, and

89 the club continued to grow with more visitors. By February 2008, Stevens’ financial situation prevented him from staying financially involved in the club, and he turned control of Wheelies over to a special education lecturer and her partner. They rebuilt

Wheelies in a new piece of land aimed at disabled SL users. By June 2009, Stevens had become concerned that Wheelies was not financially stable or being supported by the groups who claimed to support it. Stevens also expressed concern about the values that the space was representing. He wrote about an accessibility workshop in SL, “The workshop was suggesting that the access needs of avatars using wheelchairs were fake or false as some people deemed them as artificial as opposed [to] what they see to be the real access issues of people with sensory impairments, particularly visual impairments…the use of Helen Keller as the ‘hero of disabled people’ suggested the sl disability community now had become more biased towards blind issues but also

American values” (p. 7).

Since Stevens no longer ran Wheelies, but was still associated with the Wheelies name, he created a new club called “Wheelies 74” in a space close to the existing

Wheelies club. Wheelies 74 opened in December 2009. The original Wheelies club changed their name to “Club Accessible,” and Stevens relaunched Wheelies 74 as

Wheelies in April 2010. However, Stevens did not feel that the current space allowed for enough visitors or growth, and so Stevens purchased a new island called “Llamdos” –

“sod m all” backwards (sod being British slang for “fuck”3) to house the club (Stevens

2010, p. 8). Wheelies still exists on Llamdos, although I have not encountered other users

3 http://en.wiktionary.org/wiki/sod 90 in the space. In April 2011, Stevens launched a new Wheelies venture, a jazz club called

“Wheelies Boardwalk” on the Llamdos island.

The use of “Llamdos”/ “sod ‘em all” is an interesting choice that reflects Stevens’ attitude toward the world. The club has gone through numerous iterations and cycles of launching and shutting down the club. These cycles seem to happen because of financial reasons or Stevens’ perception that the club no longer meets its original goals or values.

Stevens literally says “fuck them all” one more time in the development of Wheelies.

Stevens makes clear that he wants Wheelies to be far from the politics of disability and focus on fun. However, his drive to create the perfect fun space free of politics paradoxically creates a greater focus on disability politics. Stevens seems to be attempting to control the virtual space in order to create his idea of a utopia, and while he wants the space to be recognized and popular, he is resistant to allowing others to influence the space.

Cluster Analysis

The key terms in this analysis were drawn from several sources, most of which were linked to from Stevens’ own personal website. The artifacts included the Wheelies

Business Plan document from early 2007, where Stevens first outlines the Wheelies vision; “Its Wheelie Happening” [sic] (essentially a fundraising letter from 2009 asking for sponsorship for Wheelies 74); “The Wheelies Story” (2010), an extensive history of

Wheelies from Stevens’ perspective; and, Stevens’ personal webpage. I also used two artifacts related to Wheelies but not created by Stevens: A BBC Weblog article from

2006 entitled “Staying in is the New Going Out” on the launch of Wheelies (and associated comments) and the transcript of a YouTube video called “Wheeling in Second

91 Life” where Judith, a woman with cerebral palsy, is interviewed while she goes to the

Wheelies nightclub in Second Life and interacts with Simon Walsh (Simon Stevens). In addition, I included a web documentary on Stevens entitled “Behind the Drool” (2009).

While this documentary on YouTube does not address Wheelies, it does give a clearer sense of who Stevens is, which is important to understanding the motives of the rhetor.

The discourse surrounding Wheelies tells a story of one person’s vision for an online space and the (virtual) reality that continually interferes with the realization of that vision. While Stevens attempts to create a coherent narrative for Wheelies, the collection of these fragments of discourse reveals broad themes of control and change that are often inconsistent. The clusters also seem to point to a desire to have Wheelies function as a sort of “e-topia” for disability, a vision that motivates the oscillation between grasping at control and inevitable change.

Wheelies as e-topia

The first cluster encompasses Stevens’ vision for Wheelies. The discourse created by Simon Stevens portrays Wheelies as a fun, positive space. Stevens described the island on his personal page as “a place for uncomplicated fun, honest social interaction, innovative enterprise, and forward thinking. As the island develops it will be regarded as a safe place to meet, work, play, and discuss.” In The Wheelies Story, he describes the club using phrases such as celebration and enjoyment, safe and friendly place, and bring the fun back to disability. His 2009 call for sponsors, entitled “It’s Wheelie Happening,” describes Wheelies as a “providing informal support in a fun, safe, and easy manner.”

The Wheelies business plan from 2009 calls the club “a friendly environment where disabled and non-disabled sl users can meet and dance without fear of prejudice.” Stevens

92 seems to have a clear vision for what he wanted Wheelies to be. He is insistent that

Wheelies be a supportive, comfortable space for people with or without disabilities to relax and socialize. He asserts that Wheelies is a space of inclusion that “crosses boundaries of impairment, ability, gender, race, sexuality, nationality, language, and time zone.”

Interestingly, Stevens at one point resists the idea of Second Life as a utopia, writing that there “was a select few who saw Secondlife as a form of escapism and a virtual utopia rather than the reflection of real life society as it is now. It was therefore assumed that everyone who used Secondlife wished their avatars, their reflection of themselves in the virtual world, to be as perfect as they could, I however had different ideas!” (“The Wheelies Story 2010, 3). He says Second Life in general is not a utopia, but rather a reflection of "real life society." What Stevens seems to be doing here is challenging the idea of Second Life as a utopia as he perceives others to imagine what a utopia would be. His idea of a virtual utopia seems to be a safe, fun space for individuals with disabilities. However, the term utopia literally means “no place;” therefore, the term e-topia is used here to reflect his goal that such an ideal space could be realized in the virtual world. While Stevens never uses the term e-topia, the word can still function as an organizing principle around which the other terms fit. The vision of a utopia he is resisting is that virtual worlds are spaces where people can escape from their offline realities and adopt bodies that fit a social mold of perfection – which would exclude bodily disabilities. While Stevens sees Second Life as a reflection of offline society, this perspective makes his own utopic space impossible to sustain.

93 Stevens seems to want Wheelies to be a sort of perfect space, and this desire is reflected in his tendency to shut it down and start over every time he perceives that he is losing control over it. That vision of Wheelies as an equal, safe space is also contradictory with his negative discourse in other texts about able-bodied culture. While he says he wants Wheelies to be this great place for everyone, disabled or not, his desire for control and negative discourses indicate a particular motivation toward an online e- topia for disabled individuals that, by the very nature of his claim that SL is a reflection of reality, cannot exist.

Control

Much of the discourse that Stevens creates concerning Wheelies reflects a desire for control. In multiple documents, he refers to the publicity that Wheelies has received from Newsweek International, the BBC World Service, and winning a UK Catalyst

Award, using terms such as recognition and achievements. This recognition of Stevens’ vision is important to his sense of control over the space; these acknowledgments function as justification for him keeping a tight rein on the brand. Success and impact also become important terms in this cluster, such as when Stevens describes winning the

UK Catalyst Reward in “The Wheelies Story:” “One huge highlight of Wheelies success was in 2008 when I was presented the Revolutionary Award of the UK Catalyst Awards by Gordon Brown, the UK Prime Minister. It was incredible that a small virtual nightclub could receive such high recognition but it does show out [sic] small things can have just a large impact. While Wheelies impact in the rl may have been very successful, its time in sl was not as easy as some people may believe.” Stevens clearly connects his leadership to the success of Wheelies, which is not inappropriate, but does highlight why there is

94 such a motive of control. The recognition serves as a justification for his vision and values for Wheelies as being correct.

Stevens also speaks of the original plans, original objectives, and original purpose and structure for Wheelies, but always in the context that the original goals were no longer being fulfilled, and so it was time for change. For example, “the club had also taken on a political dimension which did not make it fully inclusive to an international or pan-impairment audience, and therefore I felt the club was no longer meeting its original objectives. I therefore had two options to change this situation. The first would be to battle with the current owners in order to restore Wheelies to its original purpose and structure, which would have been difficult. The second was to start again with a fresh new sheet” (Its Wheelie Happening). Framing the desire to control Wheelies as a “battle” emphasizes Stevens’ need to fight for his vision against those who would prefer different plans, objectives, or structures for Wheelies. Another key term in this cluster is values, although what exactly these values are is a bit unclear. Stevens says that the space “is firstly to be my official presence in Secondlife and to reflect what I do, who I am and my values.” In this context, the island is secondly designed to be an exemplar of true inclusion…” (simonstevens.com). This explanation highlights both his connection to the space and need for control as well as his e-topic ideals. The term Values makes another appearance as part of an oppositional cluster, which will be discussed in the relevant cluster; the presence as part of the opposition cluster indicates the term values is an agon term. The terms intended and rebuild are also indicative of his motive for control in the face of change. These terms also reflect that the original objectives were no longer being met, and Stevens must rebuild to attain that original vision.

95 Stevens’ motive of control can be understood by understanding how his own identity and life narrative is concomitant with the history of Wheelies. He admits that the

Wheelies story is as much about his story as it is about the club, which may shed some light on his need for control. Stevens posits that cerebral palsy is not a disability, but a religion and a culture. However, cerebral palsy is also likely to affect many aspects of his life, including a lack of control over basic functions and his ability to work. The pattern of movement in Wheelies seems to oscillate with his own life changes, such as when he sold the Second Life space for money that helped him get by in his offline world. When control of one’s own life is limited, it is not surprising that one would have the desire to control something, especially a project such as Wheelies, which has been a way of gaining recognition and fame. The vision of control articulated in this cluster becomes a way to claim agency not only for Simon but also for all users of Wheelies. They have an e-topic space where disability is not a limitation on (second) life activities, but simply another avatar difference that corresponds to their bodies in their offline lives.

Change

The Change cluster is closely related to the theme of control. Stevens is clearly concerned about change, specifically regarding the Wheelies space, but also change in his personal life. In the Wheelies Story, Stevens writes of the difficulties of change: “I have learnt in life that nothing stays the same and this was certainly true in Secondlife, where change was easy, often too easy.” Stevens frequently describes change in negative terminology such as scrap, break, and disrepair. Some phrases that reference this from the Wheelies Story include “I arrived to find the club in total disrepair with very little

96 hope to being functional for the foreseeable future” and “I decided to scrap it and have a new club built.”

In other places, however, change is described as potentially positive, using terms such as rebuild, start again, and opportunity. For example, in the Wheelies Story,

Stevens writes: “…it was becoming quite clear that Wheelies had to be rebuild [sic] and restarted!” Start is used many times throughout the texts, such as the following phrases:

“it was a place to start,” “it was the start of something exciting,” and “in a spontaneous move to start Wheelies.” Opportunity appears in multiple contexts as well, such as “I had no idea what I was letting myself in for and how much this new opportunity would change my life” and “with a new island come a new opportunity to success and this is where we are now, on the verge of a new chapter for Wheelies as it continues to portrays my developing values to the world.”

The concept of time is also an important key term in this cluster. It is referred to several times across discourses, most notably in The Wheelies Story: “In SL things happened very quickly and I have often felt a month in RL is like a year in SL. So when I started using SL everything happened very fast and I had a lot of changes in quite a small time.” “I believe in no other time in the world could such a concept had made such a unique impact in such a short time.” While Stevens reflects on time in both Second Life and his offline life, he also refers to time as part of the rebuilding process: “Once I had decided to build the new club, Wheelies 74, I took a lot of time to develop the idea and the club.” Change and time are interrelated concepts. Change indicates a destruction of the old and the onset of the new, but change takes time – even in a space where time may feel different, as Stevens found in Second Life.

97 Rubbish

Stevens only uses the term rubbish once, in the “Behind the Drool” documentary.

However, this term fits to encompass an oppositional cluster – the ideas that Stevens actively resists. Most of these oppositional terms do not appear in Wheelies discourses, but instead are part of interviews or his personal webpage. These terms form a sort of shadow cluster that reveals some underlying motives. The key terms here include norms

(as opposite of disabled), able-bodied culture, able-bodied rubbish, and medical research.

In the Wheeling in Second Life video, the interviewer asks Judith, who is at

Wheelies in Second Life, how many people visit Wheelies. She types the question with her headstick to Simon, who types in response “disabled or norms? Few 100 I guess.”

While Simon does not distinguish the number of disabled versus “norm” users, the fact that he initially asks about the distinction indicates that he separates the two groups. This seems to contradict the rhetoric of Wheelies, which is meant to be a safe and nonjudgmental space for people with and without disabilities. Stevens indicates that he does indeed divide the two categories of users, although their use of a wheelchair in

Second Life may have no relation to their use of a wheelchair in their offline life.

It is not only “norms” that Stevens opposes, but also too much focus on other forms of disability. When Wheelies was being managed by Virtual Helping Hands, a disability organization in Second Life, the island held a celebration of Helen Keller Day, including a workshop on accessibility issues for blind individuals in Second Life and the introduction of a virtual guide dog. Simon was asked to give the introductory speech and was presented with an award, which he perceived as a slight. “The virtual guide dog had

98 made the needs of virtually impaired avatars ‘cute’ and so they were now receiving a lot of the attention. The use of Helen Keller as the ‘hero of disabled people’ suggested the sl disability community now has become more bias towards blind issues but also American values. As someone who played a key part in creating and developing the sl disability community as a British wheelchair user, I was clearly becoming quite insulted with what

I was hearing!”

The terms able-bodied rubbish and able-bodied culture are used in the Behind the

Drool documentary: “The problem with disabled rights, it’s about adopting able-bodied culture, about adopting the need to work, the need to have fashionable clothes, the need to look beautiful, and why? That’s all able-bodied rubbish.” In the same documentary,

Stevens rails against medical research aimed at curing cerebral palsy and the medical field in general: “If you give a pound to medical research, that’s one pound less I’m worth” and “at the moment doctors don’t inform people about the realities of disability.”

These terms reflect a rather different set of values than the ones Stevens espouses in the Wheelies texts, texts which focus on Wheelies as a fun space far from the politics of disability. In fact, at one point in the Wheelies history, Stevens complained that “the

‘disability’ theme became a greater focus of the club, more than I would have wanted.”

On the one hand, the space ought to be fun and not focused on disability, but welcoming to those with and without disabilities. On the other hand, Stevens is very much concerned with the status of people with disabilities, particularly wheelchair users. This internal tension contributes to the dynamics of control and change, and adds to the difficulties of ever making his e-topia a (virtual) reality.

99 DJ Spaz

The final cluster deals with Stevens’ self-description. His website and Wheelies itself are in means of self-promotion, not only for recognition but also for paid work.

While his self-talk does not fit without the control/change model, it is important for understanding how Stevens understands his online identity. I use the term DJ Spaz here as it is what he calls himself when he DJs at Wheelies in Second Life; the surrounding terms represent how he constructs his identity as disabled, online and offline.

Stevens describes himself as a “leading disability issues consultant, activist and trainer, and social change agent” on his website. He describes his personality with terms such as determination, passion, commitment, open, and honest. In relations with others, he describes himself as a “great host, friend, and companion.” He credits cerebral palsy with “providing him with a very good sense of humour in a positive way” while acknowledging that the disease affects his speech, balance, hand control, and continence.

The term impairment emerges as a key part of his identity. He discusses his disability as a part of himself quite often, noting that he’s quite comfortable using an avatar with a helmet and wheelchair.

Discussion

RQ1: How do these performances participate in or resist normative/dominant/ preferred identities?

While the Sisters of the Forsaken seemed to resist the dominant performance of identity for the sake of resistance and to make clear the power relations in the world, the resistance function does not seem as crucial for Wheelies. Instead, the Wheelies performance of marginalized identity is a conscious construction of identity-as-disabled.

100 Simon Stevens, as Simon Walsh/DJ Spaz, displays himself as disabled because his disability is a part of who he is; he does not enact his online identity as disabled to inconvenience others or show how normative the identities of others are, but to act in a way that is most comfortable for him. This is apparent from the DJ spaz cluster, where he presents his identity as disabled and as an expert in disability issues. He owns his impairment as a natural and even positive part of himself, but it is not the totality of his personality.

In the Behind the Drool documentary, Stevens explains that having cerebral palsy is not a disability in the sense of being a limitation, but an integral part of who he is. “A lot of people see me as a village idiot. Some are really patronizing…‘wow, what a super hero this man is’ although it’s quite normal for me. Well, for some people it’s brain damage, for me it’s my culture, my religion, it’s the way I am…it’s a movement…it’s so artistic when you look at it, the way people with cerebral palsy are like snowflakes; all different yet all the same form…and also on a cultural level, because we are all born disabled, we all have different but the same needs – different from other people, and different from disabled people.” This acknowledgment of both how individuals with visible disabilities might be seen by others as well as the positive aspects of the impairment point to the root of Stevens’ e-topic vision for Wheelies. While users should not have to deal with patronizing or negative attitudes towards their disability, they often do. However, having a space where they can perform their disabled identity without fear of prejudice – a “safe” and “fun” space – would be a welcome relief.

At least some other users who use wheelchairs in Second Life agree with Stevens’ perspective. Wheelie Catholic (2007), a blogger who identifies as a wheelchair and

101 Second Life user, agreed with Stevens’ identity-as-disabled perspective: “for me, using a wheelchair has nothing to do with accessibility, however. It's about exercising my choice to enjoy Second Life without feeling like I have to hide my disability and who I am.”

Wheelie Catholic quotes Stevens in the post, who keenly makes the connection between the embodied avatar and a performance of identity: “The avatar is a powerful device in ensuring an inner self-identity . . . So for some disabled people, Second Life is an opportunity to escape from their impairment. Disclosure is optional and this ‘second life’ often suits people who became disabled after birth. There is, however, a group of disabled people, including myself, who wish to appear disabled within Second Life . . .

Within an environment which is perceived to be barrier free, it challenges the very nature of impairment and disability when someone chooses to appear disabled” (Wheelie

Catholic 2007). Titlevariesslightly (2007), another blogger who uses a wheelchair in

Second Life, supported this idea in a comment to Wheelie Catholic’s post: “Someday I will have a glorified body that does amazing things. And then I suspect I won’t need any mobility aids. But for now, the wheels are a part of how I relate to the world. Seems incomplete not to include them on a virtual me.”

The act of discussing why they use wheelchairs in Second Life seems to acknowledge that these virtual residents are not performing the dominant identity; it is unusual enough to make note of it. While many people undoubtedly choose Second Life avatars that are unlike their offline selves for the purposes of performance, these users recognize the close connection between themselves and their avatars; there is not a clearly distinct Second Life/Real Life divide, where the separation may allow for a more distinct, and some might say fictional, performance. This merging of online and offline

102 identity supports the research of Talamo and Ligorio (2001), who interpreted the virtual body of an avatar as an extension of a physical body with a contextual and fluid identity.

While Talamo and Ligorio found consistency in online and offline identities, they noted that users were not concerned with an avatar that looked like their offline self. However, if a disability is a defining characteristic of how one understands his/her self, then it makes sense that the characteristic would be presented online as well.

While Second Life is arguably a space with greater freedom of personal expression than other virtual worlds, there still seems to be a sense of marginalization for the expression of disabilities. The dominant or preferred identity may be easiest to identify by what it is not. Judith, the woman with cerebral palsy in the “Wheeling in

Second Life” YouTube documentary, noted that while she does not always use her wheelchair in Second Life as she does offline, people treat her differently based on the presence of her wheelchair online. She said, “just like in real life, I find the attitude of people in Second Life to people with disabilities [is disappointing]. I have run an experiment myself. I've gone to this particular site as an able bodied person, got out on the dance floor and danced for half an hour with different avatars or different people, or whatever you call them. Then I've gone away, put myself in my wheelchair, gone back, the same people were there and they didn't want to know me.” Her experience emphasizes that the accepting attitude Stevens attempts to cultivate at Wheelies is not the same across Second Life. The reaction of those at the dance clubs at seeing Judith’s avatar in a wheelchair could be because of the awareness of her disability, but it could also be the sudden appearance of it; if Judith’s performance is not consistent (either able bodied or disabled), others could find it disingenuous.

103 Second Life could be used by some individuals with disabilities to find comfort in escape and the performance of the dominant, unquestioned identity that they are not free to express in their offline lives. Such a performance would be in line with the research of

Bessiere, Seay, and Kiesler (2004) who found that World of Warcraft players were more likely to create avatars that represented an ideal self, particularly in regards to personality characteristics. However, this would only apply in the Wheelies context for users who found their disability to be a negative or not-ideal part of their identity, which does not seem to be the attitude of Stevens or other Wheelies users. The function of escape seems to be what is expected based on the comments to an article about Wheelies entitled

“Staying in is the New Going Out” (Crippled Monkey 2006). Kopilo responded, “the point is that he couldn't go out and socialise and SL gives him a platform so that he can meet his needs (ie socialisation) even in his current physical state. This gives him an escape from reality, a breath from being physically unable to do things.” Another reader,

Mike, responded, “A lot of people get great comfort from being able to do such things and some people are housebound.” These comments from individuals who do not openly identify as having a disability reflect the stance that Wheelies is a means of escape from the daily inconveniences of having a disability, rather than a space for everyone.

The choice to appear disabled may be a choice more in line with one’s own identity and physical embodiment, but it also offers the opportunity for those without disabilities to experience a bit of what it might be like. While being in a wheelchair is not a requirement to party at the Wheelies virtual nightclub, there were extra wheelchairs by the entrance to accommodate anyone wants to use one within that space in at least one iteration of the club, While I do not mean to imply that these opportunities are identical to

104 the lived experiences of people with disabilities, the possibilities to connect with others that historical and social factors often separate might be one fissure in the heterotopia that can change our relationships and patterns of interaction in the offline world.

RQ2a: What are the rhetorical implications or functions of performing marginalized identities/bodies online?

Discipline is a form of power intended to produce what Foucault (1977) calls docile bodies through observation and normalization. “A body is docile that may be subjected, used, transformed, and improved” (136). Foucault’s (1977) concept of disciplining the body is clear in the realm of avatars; in the controlling of available or preferred gestures and features, discipline becomes a way of regulating the body.

However, this is not just on the part of the designers of the space, but a social discipline of what is normalized or acceptable. In the case of Wheelies, Stevens seems interested in a normalization of difference via bodies in wheelchairs, but only this particular sort of difference; his sense of being insulted by the prominence of the blind community is evident that there is still a desire for a sort of standardization to match his own expectations. There is a sense, then, that Stevens is concerned with the disciplining of bodies, despite his statements of acceptance for all disabilities.

While the disciplining of bodies is important, perhaps the more interesting aspect is Simon’s attempt to discipline the space of Wheelies. The clusters of change and control create an oscillating dynamic concerned more with the space than with the people who inhabit it. In my own forays into the Wheelies space over the last few years, I have never encountered another individual in the club, although Stevens continues to create new club iterations. This does not mean there are no users, but Simon’s attempt at creating an e-

105 topia in the Second Life space seems more important than the actual amount of users would warrant. Since discipline and power are closely tied to space, it is useful to explore how Foucault’s connection between space and power can be further elaborated and the disciplining of space connects to the clusters of control and change.

Foucault’s interest in space is bound to the notion of power. He acknowledges that “space is fundamental in any form of communal life; space is fundamental in any exercise of power” (2000, 361). Foucault seems to understand space as a space of power, noting that discipline operates in the context of particular spatial orders. However,

Foucault does not emphasize the power of space. In an interview on geography in

Power/Knowledge (1980), Foucault asserted that space is not just geographical; it is more importantly political (68). In much of Foucault’s writing, space is important when it functions as a space of power. These spaces for the exercising of power include asylums, hospitals, and cities. These spaces are constructed entities whose purpose is the disciplining of bodies and the maintenance of social order. The space itself might not have agency in the exercise of discipline, but the structure must be maintained for discipline to be effective. The context of the space should not be downplayed in the relationship between bodies and power. As much as space can be disciplinary, space can also be disciplined, although Foucault does not often discuss control of space as much as he discusses control of individuals within space. Foucault (1977) explored the construct of the Panopticon as a site of invisible and potentially constant surveillance. The panoptic system relies on enclosure, partitioning, and spatial control to enact control of individual bodies. The architecture is a key component in control.

106 In Space, Knowledge, and Power, Foucault (2000, 348-364) addressed that space alone is not a condition for the exercise of freedom. “If one were to find a place, and perhaps there are some, where liberty is effectively exercised, one would find that this is not owing to the order of objects, but, once again, owing to the practice of liberty”

(Foucault 2000, 355). Foucault emphasized that the space, or what is in the space, is not responsible for the freedom; the freedom is in the practice of the people in the space.

However, space is not completely irrelevant. “This is not to say that the exercise of freedom is completely indifferent to spatial distribution, but it can only function when there is a certain convergence; in the case of divergence or distortion, it immediately becomes the opposite of that which had been intended” (Foucault 1994, 356). Foucault goes on to say that architecture can have positive effects if the intentions of the architect for freedom coincide with the practice of the people. But at its core, “liberty is a practice”

(354). Freedom exists in action, and cannot be established by a project or architectural structure. Stevens’ desire to control Wheelies is connected to discourses of keeping

Wheelies in line with his vision of a free place to have fun without worry about judgment

(despite his own propensity to judge). However, he overemphasizes the place of Wheelies within the space of Second Life as key to this freedom. It is not the architecture of

Wheelies that creates the e-topia; it is the users exercising their freedom to perform their identities, disabled or not.

In Second Life, Stevens found such spatial control to be impossible. While he acknowledges that Second Life is not a utopia but a reflection of reality, he still maintains a vision of a virtual e-topia tied to place. Somehow Wheelies could be this ideal space where people with and without disabilities could relax and have fun and cross the social

107 boundaries that keep individuals apart offline. However, these boundaries of

“impairment, ability, gender, race, sexuality, nationality, language, and time zone,” as

Stevens describes on his home page, do not disappear when one enters a virtual space, because one’s identity does not disappear. Stevens’ perception of the power of the space led to specific expectations for the space that could be this e-topia.

Second Life users can “own” virtual property as they can own terrestrial property and buy or build whatever structures they choose within the limits of their Linden dollars, coding skills, and/or the user interface. While this allows for a great amount of creativity, the space itself and the structures within it cannot be an e-topia. Each time Stevens describes moving Wheelies in The Wheelies Story, he primarily describes the architecture of the space: “top floor of a small centre built in some unremarkable piece of the mainland;” “a castle which had a great garden;” “this club had an almost cartoon feel and looked like a multi-story car park, this certainly was not going to be a success;” “a fish tank style club with fish showing underneath the dance floor;” “at the end of the pier, this glass circular club was the new home of Wheelies,” and so on. Stevens’ sense of control is tied to the space and architecture of Wheelies. When he senses that he loses control over the space, he restarts Wheelies someplace else in hopes of finding that e- topia. However, drawing in Foucault, it is not the space that creates freedom; if freedom is to be exercised, the space must coincide with the actual freedom of the individuals in the space. The space cannot give freedom, and the space cannot erase social markers or be an e-topia on its own. I suspect that Stevens’ continual moving of the club made finding and keeping an established user base difficult. It cannot be an e-topia without people exercising their freedoms.

108 RQ2b: What are the implications of a player’s refusal to perform the dominant or preferred identity/body?

Refusing to perform a dominant identity online has implications for the bodies of participants as well as the construction of the space itself. As with Sisters of the

Forsaken, one of the implications of refusing to perform a dominant identity concerns the control of space in a fluid environment. However, there are also implications for the virtual bodies of players, who voluntarily take on what Goffman (1963) calls stigma.

While they may carry such stigmata on their offline bodies, the choice to adopt the stigma symbol of a wheelchair online is a conscious act of identity performance and resistance to conceptions of a normalized body. These implications are intertwined; the context determines the possibilities of bodily performance.

The first implication primarily concerns the space. A refusal to perform the dominant body leads to a constant search for a space where the marginalized identity can be “properly” performed. Each time that Stevens creates a new club, he is trying to create a space that normalizes difference. This actually supports the dominant identity by implying that the marginalized identity cannot be performed in other spaces; it must be separated from the mainstream in order to be accepted. When the space no longer meets

Stevens’ image of the virtual e-topia for disabled users, he tries again somewhere else.

The performance of identity cannot be separated from the context of the space, which raises the question of whether it is the space that no longer suits Stevens’ vision, or the performances that cannot fulfill his vision. As Foucault (1994) argued, the exercise of freedom involves the convergence of both the intentions of the architect and the practice of the people (355-356). While Stevens cannot control the performances, he is the

109 architect of the space – but it is not enough to ensure that the performance will meet his ideal of freedom of performance.

The second implication is that users willingly take on bodily stigma. While non- disabled users can cross the boundaries into Wheelies, and there is nothing physically stopping disabled users from visiting other clubs, the fact that Wheelies exists specifically for disabled users indicates the presence of the stigma. Goffman (1963) used the term stigma to reference “the situation of an individual who is disqualified from full social acceptance” (preface) and “an attribute that is deeply discrediting” (3). The stigma is most often in relationship to the attributes of others, a marker of comparison, leading

Goffman to refer to stigma as “a special kind of relationship between attribute and stereotype” (4). Goffman outlined three different types of stigma: physical deformities of the body, character flaws, and familial stigmas such as racial, national, or religious membership (4). The use of a wheelchair might fall into the first category. The presence of a wheelchair marks an individual as not normalized and functions as a stigma symbol, which Goffman (43) called “signs which are especially effective in drawing attention to a debasing identity discrepancy, breaking up what would otherwise be a coherent overall picture, with a consequent reduction in our valuation of the individual.”

Goffman observed that when stigmatized individuals are in “mixed contact” situations with normals, both parties could experience anxiety, uncertainty, and potential discomfort (12-18). This perhaps explains Judith’s experiences of being ignored while she is using a wheelchair in Second Life. The possible social implications of performing a marginalized identity might be the cause of Stevens creating a specific space with the intention of full acceptance of disability. However, there is no obligation to perform as

110 disabled online; the choice to do so is an expression of self that opts to embrace the stigma through the use of a stigma symbol.

According to Goffman, a stigmatized individual could respond to their stigma in several ways. One response is to attempt to correct or eradicate the cause of the stigma

(9). A second type of response is to attempt to overcome the perceived limitations of the disability by mastering skills not normally seen as possible, such as an amputee learning to swim (10). The third response, and the one most aligned with Wheelies (and in the next chapter the Autistic Liberation Front), is to “break with what is called reality, and obstinately attempt to employ an unconventional interpretation of the character of his social identity” (10). In other words, rather than attempt to correct the cause of a stigma, they can embrace it and understand it not as a negative trait, but as a positive one.

Goffman said that most people who could do so would choose to pass as normal by managing the potentially discrediting information about themselves (42): “Because of the great rewards in being considered normal, almost all persons who are in a position to pass will do so on some occasion by intent” (74). Online, passing would certainly be easy to do, and no one they interact with would suspect otherwise. On the other hand, the stigmatized individual can empower him/herself by owning that stigma. An individual with a stigma “can voluntarily disclose himself, thereby radically transforming his situation from that of an individual with information to manage to that of an individual with uneasy social situations to manage . . . One method of disclosure is for the individual voluntarily to wear a stigma symbol, a highly visible sign that advertises his failing wherever he goes” (100). In this case, the virtual wheelchair serves as a stigma symbol. There is not shame in the bearing of the symbol, because their disability is not a

111 flaw but a part of who they are. “The stigmatized individual can come to feel that he should be above passing, that if he accepts himself and respects himself he will feel no need to conceal his failing” (101). While some Second Life residents with disabilities may enjoy the freedom to interact in the virtual world without fear of being judged by performing a normalized body, the space allows them the option of displaying whatever identity they choose.

Of course, the choice to bear the stigma symbol of a wheelchair is not without consequence. Because they have the option of performing the normalized identity but choose not to, they risk being labeled as social deviants, who “flaunt their refusal to accept their place and are temporarily tolerated in this gestural rebellion, providing it is restricted within the ecological boundaries of their community” (145). Wheelies serves that community function that allows for the safe performance of the deviant identity.

However, as Judith’s experience illustrates, performing that identity outside of the space labeled as “disability friendly” can have social consequences.

Second Life functions more clearly as a heterotopic space than World of

Warcraft. Second Life has the ability and user controls to accommodate difference by allowing for a range of performances of identity. Wood (2009) understood heterotopias as a sort of “social safety valve” (p. 112) where deviant behaviors can be performed and managed, a type of third space dislocated from the rest of reality. It is neither real nor imaginary. While Second Life is somewhat dislocated from reality (there is virtual property) and does permit a range of behaviors (such as fetishes) that would be considered deviant offline, social conventions are not totally absent. Wheelies most clearly functions as what Foucault called a heterotopia of deviance – designated for

112 individuals whose behaviors deviate from accepted norms. Stevens insists that Wheelies is a safe and fun space to interact without fear of prejudice. In order to make good on that claim, the space must be separate from the rest of the world (which, as Stevens realizes, is not possible).

Foucault’s characteristic of the function of heterotopias changing over time is also evident in Wheelies. As the space and membership evolved, the focus often shifted, such as when the blind community began using Wheelies. Stevens was not accepting of this change, but it is indicative of a heterotopia. While Stevens desired to control the space and implement his own objectives, plans, and values on Wheelies to create the e-topic space, the heterotopia is not static. As Second Life grew (and shrank) in numbers and space was bought and sold, the function of Wheelies also changed. Finally, Second Life and Wheelies specifically function as a heterotopia in relation to other spaces.

Heterotopias connect spaces of illusion to real spaces and allow the socially constructed space to between the ideal and the real to exist. Wheelies is the e-topia; not a utopia, but not the offline world, either. Wheelies functions as a heterotopia of compensation – “their role is to create a space that is other, another real space, as perfect, as meticulous, as well arranged as ours is messy, ill constructed, and jumbled” (Foucault 1986, 27) Wheelies offers an opportunity to compensate for the injustices of the offline world; but the realization of that compensation is illusory for Stevens.

Conclusion

Within the potential heterotopia of virtual spaces, there is room for resistance against dominant social attitudes. Snyder & Mitchell (2006) noted that when citizens with disabilities are removed from the public eye in the physical world, stigmatizing beliefs

113 become reified – but if we actually encountered these differences, we might not construct it as being alien. As Snyder and Mitchell said, “this approach to the subject reproduces the conflict itself from one generation to the next by re-creating human difference into mysteries. How do we reacquaint ourselves with those marked as deviant while banishing them from social view?” (155). While institutions are slow to change, perhaps the fluidity of a virtual world, although flawed in itself, can provide an outlet for overcoming stigma and discomfort and making connections.

A virtual world provides new possibilities for the construction of spaces that challenge our assumptions about what is normal. According to Anderson (2005), “spaces in the built environment can be viewed as monuments in which ideals of normalcy and deviance are cemented” (258). Spaces in the virtual environment function similarly.

However, there are opportunities to build spaces that are not only accessible to those with disabilities, but also provide unique encounters that most do not get to experience in the physical world.

Stevens set out with such an optimistic vision of a fun, safe, friendly place for social interaction with a particular appeal towards users in wheelchairs (which Stevens admits were few). Wheelies would be heterotopic e-topia, where users could perform their identities without fear of prejudice. However, the dynamics of control and change in the space of Second Life and Stevens’ own life led to struggles for control of the space and Stevens’ unyielding vision. While Stevens claimed to want Wheelies for everyone, crossing the boundaries of all social categories, his discourses reveal that his vision was far more particular, rejecting ideas associated with able-bodied culture and American values, as evidenced by the Rubbish cluster. Despite his transability vision, he also

114 rejected the Virtual Helping Hands group that focused on blindness, because they took away too much focus from the “Wheelies” part of Wheelies.

The cycles of starting up/rebuilding Wheelies undoubtedly made it difficult to establish a regular fan base for Wheelies after its early success, and the significant drop in

Second Life accounts in the past few years has also had an impact. Stevens’ vision remained, but without the users to inhabit the space and perform their identities, it served little purpose except as a reminder to Stevens of his success and accomplishments. Like

Sisters of the Forsaken, their absence speaks to the difficulty of performing and maintaining marginalized identities in a virtual space – identities that are still disciplined into a normalization of difference.

The next chapter will analyze the final case study, the Autism Liberation Front website and Second Life space.

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Chapter 6: Case III - Autistic Liberation Front in Second Life

Introduction

This chapter will present the final case study, the Autistic Liberation Front’s

(ALF) website and Second Life site. First, I will provide a description of the ALF as an organization as well as of their website and Second Life space. Next, I use cluster criticism to analyze the discourses found on their website and Second Life space. The clusters here reveal an agon between how the ALF understands their own identity as autistics seeking to have their voices heard and how they believe they are perceived and treated by those who wish to “cure” autism. The last section integrates my analysis with my research questions, and explores the rhetorical implications of the ALF seeking agency in an online space.

Research Context

The text for this project on the Autistic Liberation Front is the website for the group, autistics.org, as well as their Second Life site, which has been discontinued since this project began. The website is a challenging text for rhetorical analysis; the page is fragmented in its construction, with multiple broken links. The group also refers to themselves using multiple names, including autistics.org, Autistic Liberation Front, and the Real Voices of Autism, which functions as both a name and a slogan. I use the name

“Autistic Liberation Front” here to maintain consistency and because it best captures the spirit of the movement.

Calling themselves a “liberation front” frames the goals of the group as a social movement; the phrase has been used by a number of other (often extreme) movements,

116 including the Earth Liberation Front, Animal Liberation Front, Darfur Liberation Front, and various National Liberation Fronts. By aligning themselves in name with such groups, the Autistic Liberation Front establishes themselves as separatists from other autism groups such as the Autism Society of America, which the ALF calls on their home page “an organization composed almost entirely of non-autistic people and controlled entirely by non-autistic people, which performs few if any useful functions for autistic people, and which on numerous occasions has advocated against the best interests of autistic people.” The Autistic Liberation Front is seeking liberation not from the condition of autism, but rather from the people and organizations that advocate for a cure

(sometimes called “Curebies” by movement members). While the ALF does not specify which functions the Autism Society of America provides or fails to provide, it cannot adequately advocate for the group because it does not have sufficient autistic membership. While the ALF does not specify exactly how many autistic members would be sufficient, a majority of non-autistic members and a few token autistic members does not qualify.

The group seeks equality and understanding of their unique perspective on the world, not to be treated as genetic anomalies. From their perspective, the current perceptions and treatment methods of autism are inadequate for the way the autistic brain actually functions. While there are differences between autistics and non-autistics, the

ALF believes that these differences should not be ignored or fixed, but instead respected and even celebrated. The ALF’s website further reinforces this message by selling shirts and other items promoting their stance, including a shirt that reads “cure what?” with

117 black and white photographs of famous people purported to have autism, including

Albert Einstein and Andy Warhol.

In terms of social networking features, the autistics.org website has its own set of active discussion forums, blog hosting for users (although many of the linked blogs are broken, several remain active), and a social networking and dating site for the autistic community (both of which are currently inoperative, although in 2009 the social networking site listed over 300 members). Despite the variance in activity level, these are examples of the services that the project provides to autistics, which orient primarily around social support and connections rather than research and medication.

The Second Life presence was created as a side project in line with the goals of the ALF. The group wanted to “create an autistic-owned region of Second Life,” according to their website. The space was designed by and for autistics to meet and communicate, and one of their regular events was a weekly political discussion in Second

Life. They also intended to use the space for an online conference of autistics and allies in 2008, although it is unclear whether this conference ever occurred. The Second Life space greets visitors with a billboard of an upraised fist with a rainbow of colors, representing the autistic spectrum (see figure 1).

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Figure 1: Upraised Fist Billboard at ALF Site

The text of the billboard reads “Welcome to Porcupine, Home of the Liberated

Autistic Territories of Second Life.” The space’s main feature is a towering building that contains a museum about autism and how autistics have been treated (including restraining chairs, medications, and a model of the Tower of Hanoi, a mathematical game sometimes used to classify autistic children based on the strategies they used to attempt to solve the puzzle. The tower also contains two meeting spaces, the Tesla Room and the

Einstein Auditorium. These rooms honor two individuals who the group believes were autistic or had autistic tendencies. The site has a library with “works of autistic authors and historical authors believed to be autistic,” according to their website description.

Above the building is “Club Nerd,” an autistic virtual nightclub with trivia. One of the most striking features of the space is a memorial wall in a grassy area of the region displaying photographs of smiling children (figure 2).

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Figure 2: Autism Memorial Wall

A note card next to the wall of photographs reads, “the children shown on the blocks opposite the Autism Memorial are some of the many autistic children murdered in recent years. Items shown with some of the children are of things they enjoyed to play with.” A stone wall next to the pictures reads, “In memory of all those who have suffered and died. Remember.”

Due to financial and technical constraints, the Second Life project has been discontinued (Ballastexistenz 2010). The space still exists and all features are still available to visitors, but it is unoccupied and not updated. Together, the website and

Second Life space constitute a discourse for analysis.

Cluster Analysis

The discourses for this cluster criticism analysis consist primarily of the text of autistics.org website, the online home of the ALF, which is now archived. While there are many possible texts linked from the autistics.org site, this analysis focuses on the texts that are contained within the site, including news updates, a description of their mission, the original project proposal, and a description of the Second Life space with screenshots. 120 I have also included the main page of the Autism Information Library, which contains abstracts for the articles (there are about 65 articles listed) under headings such as “About

Autism,” “Curing Autism?,” “The Autistic Experience,” “The Autistic Perspective,” and

“Autistic Humor.” These articles and essays are written by autistics, and a call at the end of the library page invites other autistics to submit articles. Other discourses for analysis include two external news articles about the ALF: “Autistic Liberation Front fights the

‘oppressors searching for a cure” from The Telegraph (Harrison and Freinberg 2005) and

“How about not ‘curing’ us, some autistics are pleading” from the New York Times

(Harmon 2004). Finally, the Second Life site itself will serve as a type of visual discourse, implicating the performative aspect of the virtual world with the themes found in the analysis.

While most of the texts for analysis do not directly address the Autistic Liberation

Front in Second Life, the Second Life space still reflects the elements in these discourses.

While members no longer perform in the space, the performance does not need to be grounded in the virtual body. The space represents a performance because the creation of the Second Life space is in itself a performance, not just a place to perform – its existence crystallizes and displays the main themes from the discourses. This analysis posits four key terms: Autistic, Voices, Curebies, and Puzzle.

Autistic

This cluster represents how the autistics understand their own lived experience.

The term “autistic” is widely used across the site. It functions as an indelible characteristic, not a removable trait. Michelle Dawson, an autistic activist, insists in being described as “’an autistic’ or ‘an autistic person,’ versus the ‘person with…’ Just like you

121 would feel odd if people said you were a ‘person with femaleness.’” The terms that cluster around the key term of autistic include real, personality, superior, identity, way of being, human, and potential. These terms reflect the perspective that autism is not a defect, but a different brain wiring that deserves respect.

The term real is a major term connected to autistics. The slogan of the ALF is

“The Real Voice of Autism” in opposition to the Autism Society of America, whose slogan is “The Voice of Autism.” On their webpage, the ALF responds, “When we call ourselves ‘The Real Voice of Autism,’ we mean that we autistics are the real voice of autism, not that we in particular at Autistics.org are. Every autistic, whether he or she contributes to this site, doesn’t know this site exists, or hates what we do here, is also ‘the

Real Voice of Autism.” Real is also used to describe the expertise of autistics on their condition. In the Information Library, an article titled “Psychiatric Medications and

Autism” is taglined “a review of psychiatric medications from a real expert – a teen who has experienced them.” Their perspective is that Autistics are the only genuine voices for autism; others who claim expertise, including medical professionals, cannot understand autistics’ experiences and should not have the right to represent the interests of autistics.

Other terms, including superior, personality, and way of being, indicate a positive view of autism as a part of one’s identity. A site creator named Muskie wrote “I and my experience of life is not inferior, and may be superior, to the NT experience of life”

(emphasis in original). While not all autistics may necessarily subscribe to the idea of their neurological superiority, the ALF does stress the connection to famous thinkers who are purported to have displayed some characteristics of autism. The Second Life site contains a bench honoring Einstein for being autistic as well as the Einstein Auditorium,

122 and a Tesla room honoring Nikola Tesla. Connecting themselves to these well-respected individuals establishes a commonality; for the ALF, the genius of these individuals is based in their autism. Therefore, other autistics also have the potential to be genius, and thus superior to neurotypicals. In addition to understanding autism as a superior trait, the

ALF also understands autism as a positive aspect of one’s personality and a way of being.

It is not a shell that hides a “normal” person underneath, but instead a sort of skin that cannot be removed. In the information library, an abstract entitled “A Place for All” says,

“Autistic individuals have a transcendent beauty. Their traits bespeak a separate, entire personality which is holistic…” The language indicates a positive connotation to autism as a personality. An article in the information library entitled “Don’t Mourn for Us” by

Jim Sinclair says, “Autism is a way of being…it colors every experience, every sensation, perception, thought, emotion, and encounter, every aspect of existence. It is not possible to separate autism from the person – and if it were possible, the person you’d have left would not be the same person you started with.” This way of being is again seen as a positive trait that cannot be removed from the person. Potential is another clustering term that indicates an intrinsic worth; the group discusses supporting autistics to “reach our fullest potential” and “maximizing one’s potential as an autistic person.” Creating a

“liberated” autistic space in Second Life is an attempt to find an online space to help autistics reach their potential.

Another term related to the key term of Autistic is one community, as evidenced by the “One Community Pledge” on the autistics.org website. The pledge affirms all autistics across the spectrum as one community of autistics. It states, in part: “I affirm that we on the autistic spectrum– Kanners and Aspergers, high functioning and low

123 functioning, rich and poor, those of us with additional disabilities and those without, all of us whatever age, race, creed, sex, sexual preference, or any other subgrouping – are one community…I refuse to advocate or support any position, program, or policy which favors one subgroup at the expense of another.” This advocacy for all autistics is important, as the divisions across the spectrum (higher functioning and lower functioning) could create identity rifts in the movement, and higher functioning autistics may be in a better place to advocate than autistics with lower social functionality.

Additionally, some critics of the movement have argued that only high-functioning autistics with Asperger’s are opposed to a cure (Harmon 2004). However, the ALF refutes this, stating that high and low functioning are not easily distinguishable and all autistics deserve rights, regardless of their level of functioning. Moreover, all three site administrators have various impairments: none of them are toilet trained, one cannot speak, and all three “flap, finger-flick, rock, twist, rub, clap, bounce, squeal, hum, scream, hiss, and tic” (Harmon 2004.). Stressing the one community aspect is important to fight against divisions and misconceptions about whom the movement represents.

On a more negative end, the group understands themselves as being silenced in their everyday lives and not included in decisions concerning their care. Silence connects to, and is placed in opposition to, the other key term of Voices as well. In the information library, in response to a rally by a pro-cure group, a contributor writes, “You can no longer assume you’ll be hearing our silence. You are going to need to learn to hear our voices.” The Telegraph article (Harrison and Freinberg 2005) cites a badge from the autistic rights movement: “Here we’re silenced. Parents don’t speak for me.”

124 Voices

This cluster represents what the group is advocating for, or what they have been denied. The term “voices” is used in many places, including the previously referenced slogan. It comes to represent the essence of what the group seeks – a voice (even as some of them cannot physically speak). It stands in opposition to the “silence” terms that have long defined autistics.

Many of the terms that cluster around voices deal with the ideals they seek:

Acceptance, Respect, Dignity, and Self-advocacy. Acceptance is one of the strongest terms because it clearly expresses the opposite of the cure stance in the slogan

“acceptance not cure.” “We need acceptance of who we are and what we are,” said an unnamed campaigner (Harrison and Freinberg 2005). Charlotte Moore, a parent of two autistic children, agreed: “You have to accept the condition, try to minimize aspects of it that cause problems and celebrate the positive sides of autism” (Harrison and Freinberg

2005). Respect also emerged as strongly connected to the goals of the group. “Tell them to start with *respect*” wrote one contributor in the information library. Dignity is closely related to respect; it is important that autistics do not feel denigrated by treatment or services or be treated as children. One purpose of the movement is to “defend the dignity of autistic citizens” (Harrison and Freinberg 2005) and autistics are encouraged to

“advocate for equal rights including but by no means limited to our right to adequate and dignified autism services.” These ideals create a utopic vision of a fully accepting society. Baggs wrote, “If you must hope for something, and I think hope is vital, hope for a world that accepts all of us. Hope for a world with a genuine and dignified place for the autistic person, and for every other person…But don't hope for a cure.” Dignity would

125 allow autistics to obtain services to help them function in the world with pride and be accepted for who they are. The search for a cure robs them of their dignity by saying that their existence is a mistake.

While acceptance, respect, and dignity are things the group wants, self-advocacy is a means to obtaining them. In the New York Times article, Harmon (2004) interviews students at a school for autistics that trains them in self-advocacy, which involves being able to list the positive aspects of autism. Adherents to the movement also identify themselves as “self advocates.” Self-advocacy can take number of different forms, from formal advocacy groups to legal channels. For the ALF, anyone can, and should, self- advocate – and they may do so in ways that are not seen as self-advocacy by those attempting to control them. Baggs wrote, “When people generally said to be incapable of communication find ways of making clear what they do and don't want through means other than words, this is self-advocacy.” This could involve fighting against behavioral interventions or resisting the orders of institutional staff. Baggs continued, “Real self- advocacy involves getting the tools for real power — not bite-sized pieces of power, but the real thing — in the hands of disabled people…self-advocacy is fundamentally about true equality, respect, and power, and about recognizing and changing the current imbalances in all of those things.”

More specifically, the group celebrates autistic pride and neurodiversity. The neurodiversity movement is a term that describes the acceptance of a broad range of neurological states that the group considers natural differences, not social. Autistic pride refers not only to pride in being autistic, but honoring the worth of all humans. In the article “Autistic pride day: Do we celebrate it right?” in the information library, a

126 contributor wrote, “when many people talk of autistic pride…the best we can seem to come up with as a group are a list of things that only some autistics can be proud of

(because others lack those traits) and/or things that put down other people (‘we aren’t stupid NTs and such). I’d like to see us come up with stuff like, ‘we are human, and like all humans, have value.’ We don’t need to prove we have autistic superpowers to be of worth.” This approach honors neurodiversity in that all people, including autistics, should recognize their own value and worth, and the movement encourages others “to recognize autism as part of human diversity.” And, although neurodiversity is not fully manifested

– either by neurotypicals or autistics – in the present, the call for an autistic pride that respects and celebrates neurodiversity becomes one of ALF’s aspirational ideals.

Other terms deal with more practical issues: help, money, volunteers and information. Running the site requires financial and technical resources that the administrators simply do not have. In February 2011, an update said “we have almost zero money right now…we can always use volunteers, if any are capable of the work required.” Another update said, “In about two months we won’t have the money to cover costs.” The original project proposal for the website focused on the importance of information: “to create a global database for information useful to ACs, controlled by

ACs, created by ACs.” NT allies/sympathizers become important to the cause here to help with financial or technical needs. While keeping the website running is one kind of help that the group needs, the reality and needs of day-to-day life take precedence. What the group certainly does want is help, on a practical level – not a cure, but some sort of financial or living assistance, not institutionalization. In the information library under

“Autobiography of Anonymous,” a submitter wrote, “…I didn’t get the help I needed”

127 and “they would not help you unless you were already being helped…Like other social workers he said my wanting to somebody to help me meant I wanted to be a child” specifically because the writer was high-functioning. Many autistics feel that they are not receiving adequate help, or that accepting help means they are completely dependent on others for their care.

Curebies

According to Goffman (1963), many groups of stigmatized individuals have groups or agencies that represent them. Some groups will have a “native” to represent them (one who shares their stigma) while some will have sympathetic outsiders represent them. These agencies can sometimes be at odds with each other: “Action groups which serve the same category of stigmatized person may sometimes be in slight opposition to each other, and this opposition will often reflect a difference between management by natives and management by normals” (24). In the case of the ALF, who argue for self- representation rather than being spoken for by some agencies run by non-autistics, this opposition between natives (autistics) and normals (neurotypicals) is not slight – it is the basis for the movement.

This cluster represents what the group is positioned against, and how they view those who advocate for a cure. This includes pro-cure Autism organizations specifically, but also neurotypicals and society in general. The term “Curebie” is a derogatory label, often aimed at parents and professionals, who are “so anxious for their children to appear normal that they cannot respect their way of communicating” (Harmon 2004). The autistics.org website also features “Curebie Bingo” featuring phrases allegedly used by pro-cure parents such as “my child was stolen and replaced with an empty husk” and

128 “autism is worse than cancer because people with autism don’t die off quickly.” Much of the focus of the phrases is placed on the effect of autism on the parents, such as “but I want my son to go to prom, get married, and give me grandchildren.” The card defines a

Curebie as “A person who wants nothing more than to teach child autistics to speak and adult autistics to shut up.” As an organizing term, “Curebie” includes the people and their behaviors and attitudes towards autistics.

Several of the terms define who the Curebies usually are: “professionals,”

“experts,” and parents. The quotation marks are present in the text, indicating sarcasm.

The group does not believe that medical professionals who advocate for a cure or engage in intensive behavioral therapy for autistics are experts. Usually, parents of autistic children are also invested in finding a cure; while they mean well, the ALF finds this focus to be misguided. At the core of the ALF’s concerns is a lack of understanding about the perspective of the autistics. Muskie wrote, “But a lot of what I’ve found out there, mostly written by ‘experts’ and ‘professionals,’ has been arrogant, insulting, and just plain wrong.” Another contributor, Amanda Baggs, wrote in the information library,

“I recently read part of a book which was written by an ‘expert’ on autism. The author mentioned the autobiographical accounts and essays by autistic people, saying that they might not be a good source of information about what concerns professionals about autism.” This statement reveals the disconnect between the perspectives of autistics and the perspectives of professionals, who may be so focused on the cure that they lose sight of the person being affected by the treatment. Baggs encouraged parents to discard the notion “that medical professionals or parents somehow automatically have a better understanding of the realities of autism than autistic people do.” Understanding autism is

129 bigger than helping someone to communicate in a normal way. Baggs added, “I do remember one statement made by the local Autism Expert™. ‘Maybe we can help you reduce anxiety so you won’t have to rely on your keyboard.’ That’s when any remaining ideas in my mind that this person was a real expert on autism fell apart.” While these approaches may be well meaning but misguided, there is also the sense that some professionals and parents act more maliciously: “It’s going to take turning things round that instead of parents and professionals concocting schemes and then looking around for a Token Autistic to perform a benediction over it, nothing happens without our meaningful input,” said Laura A. Tisoncik, the webmaster of autistics.org. She added, “I know that not every parent is complicit in this… and I know not every professional carelessly or callously destroys lives, and I hear of the occasional autism organization that tries. But I have no illusion that the good guys are in the majority…I also have no illusion that the parent-professional axis will, as constituted, ever do a damned thing for adult autistics…Services go to money, money goes to power, and power right now goes to professionals (insurance payments and research funds) and parents (money to help

"autistic children"). There's no more room in that for us.” This discourse frames parents and professionals as not necessarily using their resources to act in the best interests of autistics, particularly adult autistics. Parents want a cure, and professionals want treatments, which produce more money from both paying for existing treatments and research grants to develop new treatments or a cure. The interests of the medical community and parents are clearly heard, but autistic adults who advocate against a cure are omitted from having their voices heard or accessing resources.

130 While experts and parents take the brunt of the ALF’s criticism, neurotypicals

(NTs) or non-autistics also are separated from the movement. In describing the slogan on their website, the ALF describes the Autism Society of America as “an organization composed almost entirely by non-autistic people and controlled entirely by non-autistic people, which performs few if any useful functions for autistic people.” This sets up a clear division between autistics and non-autistics. Non-autistics are also called neurotypical to distinguish from the autistics as neuroexceptional. In a tongue-in-cheek reversal of pro-cure rhetoric, the group created a page called “Institute for the Study of the Neurologically Typical” which describes Neurotypical Syndrome as “a neurobiological disorder characterized by preoccupation with social concerns, delusions of superiority, and obsession with conformity” which affects “as many as 9625 out of every 10,000 individuals.”

Another cluster under the key term of Curebies delineates what the expert/parent

Curebies are working towards: cure, prevention, treatments, experiments, and eugenics.

Some of these terms are more negatively weighted than others. The cure is mentioned many times as the largest symbolic obstacle. In the information library, an author wrote,

“I think that most people who seek a ‘cure’ for their loved ones’ autism do so with the best of intentions…However, the road to Hell is paved with good intentions.” Another submitter wrote, “If you are working toward cure or prevention, and believe that you are acting out of love or devotion, please realize that the love and devotion are dangerously misguided, and change what you are doing.” From the autistic perspective, a cure is undesirable and in fact not possible. Jack Thomas, an autistic teenager quoted in Harmon

(2004), said, “We don’t have a disease, so we can’t be cured.” All of these statements

131 indicate the disconnection between the autistics and the Curebies in terms of how they understand what autism is and how it should be handled. Since the autistics do not understand autism as a disease or disability, curing or preventing autism does not make sense and is antithetical to their existence as proud autistics. Treatment and experiments are other terms that are used similarly as cure. One information library contributor wrote,

“they never, never get it that just the thought of their so-called “treatments” can induce the same behavior they’re constantly insisting they’re trying to eliminate, in the people they’re targeting…” This statement points out the anxiety caused by the treatments can cause autistics to perform behaviors, such as tics, that the treatments are meant to curb.

The medications themselves can also be problematic, as indicated in an exhibit on dangerous medical interventions in the Autism Museum in Second Life. A note card in the Second Life site on medication says, “we are very concerned both for the health of the child subjects of the experiments and for the health of those children whose parents are finding quacks willing to dose their children for a fee.” The Curebies stance is to seek a cure, or at least normalcy, at any cost. However, the autistics find that these medications are ineffective at curing what is not a disease and have dangerous side effects, particularly for children who have even less opportunity for self-advocacy than adult autistics.

Prevention is the other side of the cure term; if autism cannot be cured, the

Curebies would seek to prevent the condition. This is problematic for the autistic community, who then see their existence as undesirable and threatened. One image on the autistics.org page best epitomizes their attitude toward prevention. The image is a cartoon-style picture captioned “the real meaning of ‘autism prevention.’” The picture

132 shows a red brick wall with a white sign that reads “Autism Prevention (abortion)

Clinical Entrance in Front” (figure 3).

Figure 3: Cartoon on ALF Website

The abortion content of the cartoon is a reference to the ongoing debate within the autistic community about prenatal genetic tests that would screen fetuses for the likelihood of developing autism. While the testing could prepare parents for such a development, many in the autistic community are concerned that it could lead to parents choosing to terminate their pregnancies. This cartoon is consistent with the Autistic

Liberation Front’s stance that autism is a fundamental part of the person, not something to be stigmatized, prevented, or cured.

The group compares the pro-cure/prevention movements to the eugenics movement, arguing that attempts to eliminate autism is no different than other attempts to eradicate “defective” persons. This comparison is evident in their discourse, particularly in a poster comparison called “then and now” linked from the information library. The

133 first image is of a eugenics exhibit from 1926 that calculated the number of “defective” individuals being born and read, "Some people are born to be a burden on the rest. Learn about heredity. You can help to correct these conditions" (see figure 4).

Figure 4: 1926 Eugenics Exhibit on ALF Website

The second image (whose link is now broken and unavailable) is from fightingautism.org and shows statistics that tally the current U.S. childhood autistic population in real time, including a clock with the current time that updates the population and economic cost (see figure 5, which is not the same image as originally posted on the ALF site, but similar in style).

134

Figure 5: Autism Clock from autismanswers.org

By comparing the similarities between modern posters about autism and exhibits during the eugenics movement, the Autistic Liberation Front further separates themselves from pro-cure or pro-prevention autism groups by comparing them to pro-eugenics groups. By comparing numbers that are intended to demonstrate the burden that autistics place on the economy and society, these pro-cure groups are further stigmatizing autistic individuals and promoting the view that autism is an epidemic to be stopped.

Puzzle

The final cluster is organized around the key term puzzle, a word often associated with autism organizations. The Autism Society and other similar pro-cure and research groups use the puzzle pattern to “reflect the mystery and complexity of the autism spectrum” (autism-society.org). However, some autistics take offense to the idea that they can be reduced to a puzzle, an object to be solved, and understand the puzzle piece to symbolically devalue their personhood. This response is most evident in the autistic rights slogan, “I’m an not a puzzle, I am a person.” Chaoticidealism wrote, “I’m a whole 135 person–I don’t have any pieces missing. I don’t need to be put together or fixed. Even people with very low functioning autism are still whole people; and they don’t need to be fixed either. Educated, yes. Treated, yes. But having a disability doesn’t make you any less of a person, even if that disability means you can’t communicate your personhood very well.” The symbol does not appropriately represent the condition of autism any more than it represents an autistic person. Chaoticidealism continues, “the ‘mystery of autism’ isn’t any deeper than the ‘mystery’ of any other disorder whose mechanism we don’t quite understand yet. That isn’t enough to justify using puzzle pieces to symbolize autism, and not (for example) schizophrenia, Tourette’s, or diabetes.” From a rhetorical perspective, the puzzle piece as a symbol is problematic when interpreted by the autistic community. The puzzle represents how the ALF thinks that society and current medical practices understand them as autistics. This is related to the Curebie cluster in that while the Curebie cluster represents how the ALF views the pro-cure groups, the puzzle cluster represents how the ALF thinks the pro-cure groups see them.

The first cluster under the key term of Puzzle deals with the Curebie perception of autism itself. Clustering terms include genetic mistake, suffering, and disease. Muskie wrote, “Perhaps tomorrow I’ll be fired up over…some new paper written by some

‘expert’ from the perception that the neurotypical perception is correct, and my brain is a genetic mistake.” To be understood as a genetic mistake devalues the autistic individual.

This is closely tied to the concept of autism as a disease or illness. Charlotte Moore, a parent of two autistic children, supported the perspective of the ALF by rejecting the idea that autism is a disease, comparing treatment to attempts to correct homosexuality or left- handedness: “neither is a disease and nor is autism. You have to accept the

136 condition…you should not try to make an autistic child normal because you can’t”

(Harrison and Freinberg 2005). If one accepts autism as a disease, the perspective that an autistic (or their family) is suffering naturally follows. While autistics do not dispute that they sometimes suffer, it is not because of a disease. One contributor to the information library wrote, “Autism is not a disease… there are different opinions about how much suffering and misery autism causes. Some people do suffer a lot from it, while for others the suffering is caused primarily by other people, not by autism.” Justin Mulvaney, an autistic teenager with Asperger’s also rejected the idea that he suffers from autism.

“People don’t suffer from Asperger’s. They suffer because they’re depressed from being left out and beat up all the time.” (Harmon 2004).

A second cluster around the Puzzle term reveals how the Curebies understand autistics (from the perspective of the ALF). These terms include abnormal, expensive, and burden. The notion of normal and abnormal plays out across discourses, with autistics not disputing their abnormality, but rather disputing the privileged position of normality as the only way of being. In the library page comparing the tactics of pro-cure groups to the tactics of eugenics, the ALF describes the website of a pro-cure group as lamenting “the cost of "educating" and "caring" for autistic people as a ‘burden on parents and society,’ and compares us unfavorably to the less-expensive normal children, reducing human beings to numbers, dollars, and statistics.”

Finally, there is often assumption that members of the ALF must be high- functioning in order to even organize a movement. Samantha Hilton, a mother of three autistic sons, commented, “the people who organize demonstrations and such like must be very high-functioning autistics and so could probably cope by themselves. But their

137 autism is making them insensitive to the many autistics who are not so high functioning and would find it very difficult to be ‘liberated’ in this way” (Harrison and Freinberg

2005). While high-functioning autistics may be more visible in the movement, they are clear that they want all voices on the spectrum to be heard. However, this is often ignored by pro-cure advocates, who are more willing to make concessions to those with higher- functioning forms of autism, such as Asperger’s. “If those who raise their opposition to the so-called oppression of the autistic would simply substitute their usage of ‘autism or autistic’ with ‘Asperger’s,’ their arguments might make some sense. But I intend to cure, fix, repair, change over, etc. my son and others like him of his profound and typical disabling autism into something better,” wrote Lenny Schafer, a pro-cure advocate

(Harrison and Freinberg 2005).

Finding Agon

These clusters illuminate two apparent points of agon: Curebies vs. Autistic and

Puzzle vs. Voices. The clusters oppose each other in the sense that the Curebies and

Autistics are on different sides of an issue, and the Puzzle vs. Voices represents a symbolic opposition of how the autistics believe they are viewed against how they understand themselves as autistics. We can understand the Curebies and Puzzle clusters together as denoting one symbolic position (as understand by the ALF – we rarely hear the direct perspective of the Curebies in the ALF discourse). Likewise, the Autistics and

Voices clusters reveal a rhetorical strategy that attempts to unify all autistics across the spectrum in advocating for a greater voice in their care.

Burke’s Pentad

138 Burke’s (1969) pentad provides a lens through which the rhetoric of the ALF can be explored. The purpose here is not to conduct a full pentadic analysis, but instead to highlight the differences in the rhetorical motives of the group. The pentad is based on the theory of dramatism, which Burke (1985) defined as “a technique for the analysis of language and thought as basically modes of action rather than a means of conveying information” (89). In other words, language is not just a recounting or a telling of events, but a world-maker that constructs our social reality. As actors in a social world, we create symbols to extend our reality beyond the physical world to the possible world. Humans act with motive, not just by reflex. Dramatism helps critics to understand human behavior and what moves humans to action. The pentad, consisting of act, agent, agency, scene, and purpose, offers a framework for understanding the motives of human actors.

Understanding symbolic action as a drama via the terms of the pentad allows a critic to discover a narrative that illuminates the worldview of the rhetor through the relationship between the terms (Hübler 2005).

In pentadic criticism, the critic must discover the ratios between pentadic elements that drive the text. “Pentadic ratios describe the relationship between important terms within a given drama” (Hübler 2005). In a pentadic ratio there is a dominant term at work – “a term to which all of the others might be reduced” (Hübler 2005). There is also usually a second term that works in relation to the dominant term to define the drama. The focus of the ratio determines how the drama is understood by the rhetor.

Burke is clear that undertaking such an analysis cannot reveal a simplified motive because the motives are intertwined: "they are not wholes, but parts, so that their intrinsic nature depends upon their role in a larger organism" (101). Ambiguities and

139 inconsistencies among the terms are unavoidable and in fact important. There are many possible pentadic ratios at play in a text, and the dominant ratio seems to be heavily influenced by the critic’s perspective on the content the text itself. The ratios presented here are certainly not the only ratios present, but do help to illuminate the motives that seem to drive the clusters.

Curebies and Puzzle

The Curebies (and their understanding of the autistics as a puzzle) is understood by the ALF as being motivated primarily by a Purpose: Agent ratio. It is important to clarify that this is not based on an analysis of the rhetoric of the Curebies, but rather through analysis of the discourses of the ALF that respond to the Curebies. The presentation is thus rather one-sided. In this case, what drives the discourse of the

Curebies is a focus on the end goal of a cure; above all other terms it is this Purpose that colors their rhetoric. The ultimate purpose is the process of finding a cure. It is not an Act because it is ongoing (and arguably impossible to perform). Even if there never is a cure, to the ALF, the search for the cure – the existence of the purpose – is devaluing in itself.

From the perspective of the ALF, the Curebies only want a cure for their own purposes as parents and professionals. The cure represents an end that is ideal for the Curebies and disastrous for the Autistics.

Burke (1969) at times equates Purpose with Mysticism, in the sense of “the unity of the individual with some cosmic or universal purpose” (288). Mysticism becomes a totalizing purpose in the transcendent sense. This is a perspective reinforced by idealism, which Burke connects to the Agent. When motivated by a mystical idealism, Burke notes, the person “envisaged beyond language but through language may be generically human

140 rather than individually human insofar as language is a collective product” (300). That is, the definition of a “cured” autistic would be to make them “normal,” insofar as they fit with diagnostic tests, but such a cure can only occur when the individual autistic is erased through the cure.

Purpose can also have a more practical and action-oriented sense. Burke (1969) points out that “implicit in the concepts of act and agent there is the concept of purpose. It is likewise implicit in agency, since tools and methods are for a purpose” (289). Burke draws on Aristotle to explain how Purpose can be modified against Mysticism for more generalized use. Citing Aristotle, “an end is a good” (292). The purpose is the end, and the debate is about the means to that end.

In the case of the Curebies/ALF, the debate is very much about the end. There are elements of both the mystical and practical at play for the Curebies. Autism, as a Puzzle, is a mystery; it represents the unknown and the unclear. What is clear, however, is the ideal of the Scene: a happy family with “normal” children. From the perspective of the

ALF, such an ideal is misguided and impossible, because it would not be the same child at all if the child did not have autism. Understanding autism as a mystery to be unlocked is idealistic but flawed, because there is not a normal child hiding in behind the autism.

The purpose represents the “why” in the pentad. If the ALF asks, “why are you treating us this way?” their perspective of the Curebie response is “because we want to cure you.”

Continuing that questioning of purpose, as the child in Burke’s example asks the teleological question “what are the hills for?” (290), the autistic might ask, “what is the cure for?” Here we get to the second term in the ratio: Agent.

Ultimately, the Purpose subsumes all other terms; the cure is the ideal end goal,

141 and the hope of its existence represents a rhetorical impetus around which the Curebies gather. While Scene is important here because of the idealism and image of the perfect child in the context of the family life, Agent is arguably the more important secondary term here. In this case, from the ALF perspective, the Curebies are out to eliminate the existence of not just autism, but by association autistics. Agent, for the ALF, is more of a counter-agent. The autistic perspective does not matter; it is not only unheard, but actively silenced. The autistics exist solely as the reason for the purpose, but they are actors only in a token sense. Or, as Burke (1969) puts it, “for Self, is of course, directly under the sign of Agent. But it has the same universalized quality, making it a super-self or non-self, that we noticed in the mystic paradox whereby absolute purpose becomes transformed into necessity” (299-300.) While they want to be agents who act, they are swallowed by the purpose.

Autistics and Voice

From the ALF’s perspective on themselves, the key ratio that motivates the ALF’s discourse seems to be an Agency: Agent ratio. Agency refers to the means or instruments used in an act or to reach a goal (Burke 1969, 228). Agency takes primacy here because it functions, first, as the means that will also serve as the end goal (the purpose) of the ALF.

In this sense, purpose and agency become unified because having a voice is a means to control their care, which is also their purpose. Voice is not the agency of the act from the perspective of pragmatism because the act has not yet occurred. The means, then, (and the end) are deferred and desired. The ALF is driven by a desire for agency that has yet to be realized. Burke explains that agency’s “prestige derives first from the Grammatical fact that it covers the area of applied science, the area of new power” (286). In the ALF’s

142 framing, voice becomes something that can be applied by autistics to seek liberation from

Curebie rhetorics. The stress on the element of agency points to a worldview that emphasizes their victimization. They have been denied of their agency by the Curebies, objectified as a puzzle to be solved, and now they seek to deny the idealism of a cure in favor of the pragmatism of acceptance and voice.

Agent functions as the second term in the ratio and represents both the agent-as- autistic and the agent-as-counteragent to the Curebies. There is first a relationship between Agency and Agent because the agent-as-autistic can only be fully realized through the agency of voice. At the same time, the clusters reveal the importance of autism as an indelible part of one’s identity, putting the focus back on the agent as autistic; there would be no purpose for the agency if the agent were not autistic. The agency has been taken away because of the nature of the agent. This blurring presents less of a tension between the agent-agency and more of a unification through fighting for the means to be an agent. Agent also functions in the importance of the counter-agent, as represented by the Curebies. The discourses clearly place the Curebies as an oppositional agent that actively works to rob autistics of their agency through devaluing and objectification. The ALF discourse frequently focuses on the rejection of the Curebie ideals and approaches, which function in direct opposition to their own notion of acceptance and value. So much of the ALF’s content is about their oppression that it is easy to see how the Curebies as counter-agents are an important element to understanding their motives.

143 Discussion

RQ1: How do these performances participate in or resist normative/dominant/ preferred identities?

Understanding how the discourses and clusters of the ALF translate into online performances of identity is complicated because the Second Life space is no longer actively used. In addition, most of these discourses for analysis are not drawn from the

Second Life site, or even about the Second Life site. The intention to create an entirely autistic-owned space in Second Life was a secondary goal in the movement, a side project that was abandoned when funding became too problematic. However, the creation and existence of the space speaks to the same values represented in the clusters of this analysis. The Second Life site is a performance in its creation, not just a space for others to perform in (although it could certainly meet that function). Since this project focuses on identities in virtual worlds, it is important to make clear the connection between the website and Second Life. The themes present in the ALF analysis are also manifested in the Second Life space. Looking at the space in itself as a performative act of identity offers a different perspective on the function of the space and what it means to participate in or resist a normative identity online than attempting to analyze the virtual bodies that no longer inhabit the space.

As both a performance and performative space, the Second Life home of the ALF resists the practice of a preferred identity as autistic. The elements of the space, beginning with the “welcoming” billboard of an upraised, clenched fist (see image 4), indicate a refusal to accept the rhetoric of the Curebies and instead focus on educating other autistics about the evils of the pro-cure movement and why autism is worth celebrating.

144 The features of the space reflect the same value as the discourses on the website and reveal ways in which ALF embraces their identity-as-autistic while resisting the normative construction of autism perpetuated by Curebies. The first place this is apparent is in the way the space reflects the “Autistic” cluster, constructing how the autistics understand their own experiences. The terms superior, identity, and potential are found in features such as the Einstein bench and auditorium. The bench in the grassy space features a picture of Einstein and reads, “Delayed speech, unconventional behavior.

Perseverated on the nature of light. Nobel Prize, Physics, 1921. Time Magazine’s Man of the Century.” The Tesla room also reflects this sense of pride in their autistic identity. By connecting themselves to highly respected minds who they believe had autistic tendencies, the ALF invokes the potential of autistics to accomplish great things – achievements that may not be possible if not for autism.

The memorial wall of children killed for being autistic also ties into the themes, particularly the cluster of Puzzle. The implications of how Curebies and current medical practices understand autism can have dangerous outcomes for autistics. While it is not clear exactly how the pictured children died or if their deaths were indeed tied to autism

(or even if the memorial is a fabrication), instances of parent or caregiver murder of autistic children have happened (Kozelle 2010). For the ALF, being treated as a “puzzle piece” is a step towards objectification. Being treated as a genetic mistake or abnormality further enhances the dehumanization, potentially making violence a more likely outcome.

This memorial also ties to the cluster of Curebies as an anti-agent, since the Curebies are implicated as the murderers out to eradicate autism (and by association, autistics). The eugenics term tied to the Curebies cluster is very much a part of this memorial as well,

145 hearkening to the practice of segregating, institutionalizing, or enacting violence on autistics, whether that violence be from potentially harmful medical treatments, restraints, or murder.

The billboard with the upraised fist logo also reveals a resistance to the preferred autistic identity in line with the Voices cluster. According to Patton (2006), the symbol of an upraised fist dates back to the French Revolution of 1848. Several other movements have since used the symbolism of the upraised fist, most notably the Black Power movement, and more recently, the Tea Party (Knight 2009). On the surface, the symbol is general enough to express determination and anger for a variety of groups, and it has been used in a variety of colors and permeations to represent varying causes. The subtle rainbow spectrum in the Autistic Liberation Front fist adapts the symbol for the interests of the group, representing the range of the autism spectrum. The upraised fist is a symbol of anger, frustration, and resistance with the implication of the use of force. It is a demand for equal rights and self-advocacy. The meeting rooms in the Second Life space also speak to the ALF’s desire for agency. The rooms function as a space of education, empowerment, and autistic pride. A map in the Tesla Room charting ALF’s progress toward turning the area into a fully autistic-owned area also demonstrates the dominance of Agency as a motive for the ALF; having their own space online gives them a means to connect, educate, and interact with each other while (virtually) embodying their identity- as-autistic and developing a shared resistance to the Curebies, who seek to deny their agency.

The museum mostly clearly ties in with the Curebie cluster, since many of the features of the museum are examples of potentially harmful medications and restraint

146 devices used on autistic children. For the ALF, these treatments are forced on autistics by

Curebie parents and professionals who do not understand the autistic experience. They see the Curebie perspective as driven by the motive of Purpose for a cure, which eliminates or fundamentally changes the autistic agent.

The clusters derived from the website discourses are reflected in the performance of the Second Life space. While the virtual bodies themselves are no longer present to perform in that space, the creation of the space is a performance of identity that resists the preferred autistic identity as understood by Curebies and medical professionals, and instead reflects a “real” autistic identity that advocates for acceptance, respect, and neurodiversity.

RQ2a: What are the rhetorical implications or functions of performing marginalized identities/bodies online?

The rhetorical implications of performing as autistic online involve a redefinition of autistic identity. While the rhetoric of the Curebies define autistics as ill, abnormal, expensive, and a genetic mistake, the ALF understands autistics as humans who have a different brain wiring and way of being, not a disability. Performing in online spaces provides a space for autistics who may know few other autistics in their offline lives to embrace their identities as autistics, connect with each other, and form a common rhetorical vision – one that values their own voices as autistics and positions them against the people and agencies that purport to help them by curing them. In order to establish this common vision, the ALF must also establish a common identity among autistics, as evidenced by the One Community Pledge. Despite the differences in abilities across the spectrum, it is important that autistics not divide themselves by where they lie on the

147 spectrum (for example, identifying more as a Aspie rather than as an autistic). Those with different abilities may at times need to represent the best interests of those who cannot effectively advocate for themselves, even as the group encourages those individuals to seek self-advocacy by whatever means possible (such as resisting forced treatment). At the heart of their discourse is the agon of autistics versus Curebies, with the autistics seeking to reclaim the agency and voice that they feel is denied to them by current medical practices.

When taken into the performative space of Second Life, the rhetorical implications of the resistant performance connect to the context of the space and the motivation for agency. The desire to create an entirely autistic owned space in Second

Life is a desire for self-control. By controlling the Second Life space, they can have a voice and a sense of control that they are denied in their offline lives.

However, if the group ultimately seeks acceptance and integration into society as autistics, the voluntary segregation may be counter to their goals. While their discourses reference neurotypical allies and sympathizers, their strong identity as neuroexceptional may divide them from those who genuinely want to help (not cure) them. While having an online meeting space and informational museum may be geared at connecting autistics and drawing them into the self-advocacy movement, those on the outside may see it as a clubhouse or space of play. There is also the problem that the Second Life space can only be accessed by those with Internet connections and skills, limiting their potential audience. While it was not intended to be the primary home of the group, the lack of sustained users of the space speaks to the problems of money, time, and access.

Establishing a shared identity and rhetorical vision among autistics may only be possible

148 online, but the virtual aspect presents another set of obstacles to the realization of community.

RQ2b: What are the implications of a player’s refusal to perform the dominant or preferred identity/body?

Like Wheelies, the ALF website and Second Life space suggest the desire for a space where marginalized identities can be openly performed. This space is designed by and for autistics with the deliberate exclusion of parents and professionals who might be

Curebies. It is a place for connection and education that autistics may not be able to find in their offline lives. Due to the nature of autism, communication and reaching out to others can be challenging. The Internet provides an important medium for contact with other autistics whose communication options may be more limited in the offline world.

The space’s division from others also defines it as a virtual heterotopia. A key feature is that heterotopias are both isolated and penetrable – either one is forced in, or one must gain permission or participate in rituals to get in (Foucault 1998). Since autism is not as clearly marked on the body as, for example, a wheelchair, it is only through the entry into this space that one claims the autistic identity with their virtual body. The permeable border of this space reinforces its function as a heterotopia. In the case of the ALF, one is expected to be autistic in order to be a part of the community in that space. Heterotopias also function between creating a space of illusion and another real space in contrast to ours. Virtual worlds are heterotopias in that there is space for alternative practices – but under the constraints of dominant practices or structures created by the designers of the space. For the ALF, the real limitations of money, ability, and access became problematic

149 for the continuation of the much of the space. As of April 2012, the ALF was a one- person operation running a skeletal website, but hoping to revive it.

Another implication of the refusal to perform the dominant identity is the opportunity to educate others, both autistics and allies. While the space was created by and for autistics, it appears that some features are meant to appeal to a neurotypical audience. Many of the materials and displays in the museum represent the atrocities committed against autistics, from restraining chairs to potentially harmful medication. If the space is truly designed for autistics, it would seem that many would already be aware of such atrocities, making the function of such displays twofold: One, to increase the anger and resolution of the autistics visiting the space and reinforce their commitment to autistic rights; and two, to educate those non-autistics who might enter into the space about the injustices. This connects to the cluster of Voices, which represents what the

ALF wants. Clustering terms such as education, human rights, and dignity are apparent in the function of the museum; the exhibits demonstrate the wrongs that have been committed to them by the Curebies with their treatments and experiments. These virtual reminders of being robbed of dignity, respect, and acceptance function more to vilify the

Curebies, and less to establish their own identity as proud autistics. In this way, they define their cause by the oppositional cluster of the Curebies. The creation of the exhibits also serves an important function as a virtually tangible artifact that speaks to the autistic perspective on such treatments. It is a kind of agency that allows the group to express their opinions in a way that reaches others, whether autistic or not, in a way that they might not be able in their offline lives.

150 Conclusion

The rhetorical strategies of the ALF are motivated by a need for agency in their own care and a redefinition of their identity as autistics. These strategies are evident in the discourses of their online spaces, where they can more freely construct their performances in opposition to the dominant discourses that understand autism as a devastating and mysterious disease that must be cured. For the ALF, curing autism means fundamentally changing their brain wiring, personality, and way of being, and robbing them of their potential for greatness. The search for a cure is part of a broader process of objectification that finds its strongest symbolic ground around the logo of the puzzle piece, which is widely used by pro-cure autism groups. To be a puzzle piece is to be incomplete, something to be solved. This objectification colors the way autism is understood in culture, and manifests itself in the available range of treatments and therapies. When the ALF sees the primary motive of the Curebies as the purpose of finding a cure, all other motives are subsumed under that purpose, including the agency of autistics. Due to the communication challenges often associated with autism, the objectification of autistics, and the dominance of the Curebie discourse, the voices of autistics are not often heard; they are silent and silenced.

What the ALF seeks is acceptance and practical assistance, not a cure. They are proud of their autistic identity, and see the search for a cure as akin to eugenics. There is not a “normal” person trapped inside of an autistic – the whole person is autistic, and as such should be accepted, respected, and celebrated. Most importantly, they want a voice in their care, some sense of agency and control over what is done to their bodies and minds. The only “real voices” of autism can come from autistics themselves, and others

151 who claim to be experts on autism cannot understand their lived experiences. The

Curebies and the ALF cannot work together because their rhetorical constructions based on their embodied experiences are so fundamentally antithetical to one another. On the one hand, parents of autistic children face a violation of their expectations, unpredictable behavior, and a perceived inability to communicate with their child in any normal way.

On the other hand, the autistics often cannot share their emotions or explain their perspective on the world. Autistics are only incomplete or problematic in the eyes of a culture that values a fairly rigid construction of socially acceptable behaviors and educational processes. Seeing autism as an identity or a disability to be removed creates incompatible goals.

The Internet provides a valuable opportunity for autistics to spread the message about their cause and create a common vision. They can use online spaces, on the web and in Second Life, to find other autistics and perform their shared but marginalized identity as proud autistics and share information and advice. However, issues of money and access make it difficult for some autistics and allies to be a part of their movement.

While the ALF states that all autistics across the spectrum need self-advocacy, there are real challenges to making sure that those autistics with lower communication function are represented. While having higher functioning autistics advocate for their needs against the Curebies is a start, it does not give them true self-advocacy. As the Autistic

Liberation Front and similar anti-cure groups move forward, they must address these challenges and consider other ways of reaching their intended audiences in their search for agency.

152

Chapter 7: Discussion and Conclusion

This dissertation has explored the ways that the performances of identity of three different groups in virtual worlds resist normalized or preferred performances and instead embrace and perform marginalized identities. In this final chapter, I summarize the findings for each of the research questions, exploring similarities and connections among my cases. I then discuss some implications of this research for both designers and users of virtual worlds, explain some of the limitations of this project, and offer directions for future research.

Discussion of Findings

The first research question asked: How do these performances participate in or resist normative/dominant/preferred identities? Each of these groups performed in ways that resisted the dominant identities, but in some cases also participated in preferred ways of performing. This is most clear with the Sisters of the Forsaken, the pacifist guild in

World of Warcraft. The cluster analysis in Chapter 4 revealed that the group connected pacifism with positive terms such as enlightenment and honor, which is in opposition to the dominant style of play and advancement. Combat and killing are key components of gameplay, but the Sisters link these elements with negative terms such as aggression, death, dishonor, and unenlightened. The pacifists see their way as being superior, even as they are clearly aware of their marginalized identities. Although the Sisters oppose the dominant and preferred performance of play, their defiant performance only exists within their implicit acceptance of the dominant ideology of violence. While the guild has the option of choosing a server where there is no player-versus-player combat, thus fulfilling

153 the main component of their pacifist goals, they chose a server that allows and encourages player-versus-player fighting. The performance of pacifism is most evident when they are being attacked, and sit or bow rather than fighting back or running away.

The Parties of Vigilance clause, which allows groups of pacifist players to attack other players who repeatedly attack the pacifists, is another indication of the acceptance of violence as the dominant ideology. When sanctioned by the guild leadership, vigilantism is a last-resort option that uses violence to deal with violence. This controversial approach shifts the performance away from its resistant intentions and adopts the dominant identity as a means of achieving a specific goal of ending attacks on pacifists.

However, if the primary way that the Sisters enact pacifism is through their embodied actions and choices while being attacked, then adopting the dominant identity to stop repeat attackers actually renders absent their own performances of pacifism.

In the context of Wheelies, the wheelchair dance club in Second Life, the performance of a marginalized identity was not about active resistance to a dominant ideology or performance, as it was for the Sisters of the Forsaken. For Stevens and others who used Wheelies, having a wheelchair for their avatar was a natural extension of their own embodiment and revealed their disability as a key component of their identity.

Rather than using the facade of a virtual avatar to conceal a disability, these users recognize the connection between their online and offline bodies, and choose to perform an identity that is closer to their own sense of self. In this sense, their marginalized performances are a conscious construction of identity-as-disabled. The performance was not enacted to actively resist a norm, and Stevens was clear that he wanted Wheelies to be removed from disability politics. However, the fact that he saw a need for a space

154 where avatars in wheelchairs could gather, socialize, and have fun indicates that such a performance is not standard. Second Life users can take on many forms for their virtual bodies, but these performances may not be accepted in all places online (as evidenced by

Judith’s experiment with using her wheelchair in Second Life). While some disabled users may use virtual worlds as an opportunity to escape from marginalized performances and perform a dominant or preferred identity as able-bodied, the Wheelies case presented in Chapter 5 indicates that some users see their disability as an integral and positive part of their personality that they want to have reflected in the presentation of their virtual selves.

The Autistic Liberation Front openly performs identities that challenge the norm.

Since they are no longer virtually embodied in the form of an avatar after the abandonment of the Second Life project, their identity as proud autistics is constructed in the text of their website and the structure and features that remain in their Second Life site. Chapter 6 showed that the ALF’s online performance is resistant both to a preferred identity as neurotypical and to a construction of autism and autistics as negative, a construction perpetuated in the discourse of the Curebies. The ALF’s identity is manifested through a resistance to the Curebie goal of a cure for autism, which ultimately would mean a destruction of their identity as autistic. Like the Sisters of the Forsaken, their performances are in direct opposition to a dominant discourse that understands prevention, treatment, or a cure as the preferred means of handling autism. The Curebies are the counteragents who rob autistics of agency, and the ALF is a performative response to this affront. However, the purpose of the ALF’s performance is not as solely resistant as the Sisters of the Forsaken. Like the users of Wheelies, the ALF is simply

155 performing as they are; their condition is a fundamental part of their identity, and even if they could “pass” without the stigma (as Goffman would call it), they choose to embrace their autism as a key part of their identity and fiercely protect their right to be autistic.

While the Sisters enact pacifism in an MMORPG as a kind of social experiment, the ALF faces very real assaults on their way of being in the offline world. Creating a Second Life space that chooses to highlight the positive aspects of autism while scorning ineffective and dangerous interventions inflicted upon autistics is a performative act that works to construct a common identity among autistics in support of their goals. The attempt to reclaim voice and agency for autistics is a defiant performance against a tide of dominant medical and social discourses.

These cases show that resistance to performing preferred identities exists along a continuum of allowing individuals to perform as they wish (as evident by Wheelies) to claiming resistance while participating in the ideology (as with the Sisters of the

Forsaken) to outright rejection of the preferred identity (like the ALF). Resistance is not a simple concept, even in the virtual world. Enacting resistance involves a complex performance that requires a keen understanding of the dominant ideologies of the culture and depends on the goals of the group. These identities are differently engaged depending on the level of activism. Wheelies and the ALF both seek a safe space to exist and perform, but Wheelies is far less political in nature than the ALF. While Wheelies ostensibly seeks inclusion of everyone, including those who do not wish to adopt a marginalized identity, the ALF is much more exclusive of those who perform a dominant identity. The motivation to perform resistance in the virtual world are not accounted for in any existing typology of player motivation, although Yee’s (2006) motivation of

156 forming relationships may be relevant, particularly for the ALF. Yee (2006), Kolo and

Baur (2004), and Whang and Chang (2004) all tie their motivations and classifications to the context of the game itself. This dissertation posits that players may have motivations that go beyond the game/world and use their online performances as rhetorical strategies to meet broader goals. This supports the findings of Talamo and Ligorio (2001), who argue that online identity construction involves strategic choices, and these identity performances cannot be entirely separated from a “real life” self. These groups construct their own performances of resistance based on the constraints of the virtual world and their own objectives for enacting the performance.

The second research question asked: What are the rhetorical implications or functions of performing marginalized identities/bodies online? The first implication of performing these identities, in each case, is that performing identity involves power relations. For the Sisters of the Forsaken, resisting the dominant ideology functions to reveal power relations at work in the virtual world between designers and users.

Repetitive performances of questing and combat are built into the game and expected as part of the preferred style of play. Avatars regularly die and are resurrected with minimal consequence. As the pacifists choosing to practice pacifism in a combat zone, thus living their ideology through death, they challenge those performing the dominant identity to reflexively consider the impact of their virtual actions. (Most players, however, will not consider their actions, and will gleefully take the opportunity for an easy kill, particularly if the pacifist is of a similar or higher level, thus earning honor points.) Players are trapped in a designer-created path of destruction, and one function of stepping off that

157 path to perform an alternative identity is to reveal how the structure of the game artificially limits player choices for existing in the virtual world.

For Wheelies, the implications of performing marginalized identities again deal with relations of power. In this case, it is about one person’s desire for control over a virtual space and the bodies therein. Stevens seemed to be interested in what Foucault

(1979) referred to as a normalization of difference. Stevens’ response to perceived attention to other disabilities in Second Life speaks to his desire to normalize difference and standardize bodies in wheelchairs. In a sense, performing this marginalized identity online and offline led Stevens to want to discipline other bodies and privilege bodies performing in wheelchairs in his space. Stevens’ desire to create an e-topia where all users can be accepted and have fun comes into conflict with his desire to control the space and standardize the kinds of performances in it. If we consider space as a means of exercising discipline, as Foucault did, maintaining control of the space is integral to maintaining discipline over the bodies in the space. However, the freedom that Stevens wanted for all users, particularly those performing marginalized identities, could not be found in architecture of the space, which Stevens continually found lacking. While

Stevens claimed that Second Life was a reflection of reality and not a utopia, his e-topic vision drove him to continually search for or create a space where the ideal marginalized identity could be performed. The impossibility of creating an e-topic space led to a cycle of club openings and closings, likely alienating the user base and creating a space where, ultimately, no bodies performed. The absence of bodies is a type of performance in itself, where the club that meets all of Stevens’ goals faces the impossibility of being able to control both the virtual space and the bodies in it.

158 For the Autistic Liberation Front, performing a marginalized identity online offers the opportunity to redefine and establish a common identity as autistic. The online space is a medium through which members can work towards reclaiming a sense of agency and voice while encouraging self-advocacy. The textual discourse and features of the Second

Life site serve the function of educating other autistics, resisting the Curebie rhetoric of a cure at all costs, and establishing a sense of autistic pride. The ALF’s performances are less embodied than the Sisters of the Forsaken or Wheelies; in terms of what lasts, their performances are enacted in text and in the design and creation of the Second Life site.

Their identity is performed beyond the body. While the online space of the website and

Second Life offer the opportunity for agency, the group’s struggle to maintain these spaces suggests that agency cannot always be realized. Practical issues of money, technical ability, and Internet access and the cognitive abilities to use the Internet all inhibit the success of their goals.

The common factor of these power relations is that marginalized performances are able to exercise less power that the dominant performances. In each case, there is some larger, often structural, force that works to continue to marginalize alternative performances. In World of Warcraft, this structural force is the explicitly coded narrative and rules for advancement. For the ALF, the structural force comes in the form of economic power relations that exist offline and remanifest themselves online, continuing to marginalize autistics. For Wheelies, it is a lack of access to the tools of discipline that prevent one from creating a truly alternative space in line with the discursive goals of the marginalized. These power relations exist in a complex relationship between the participants, the context of the virtual world, and the constraints of the offline world. As

159 Foucault (1995) observed, power exists in and is sustained through social relations, and these social relations can naturalize constructed ideologies so that they become understood as normal and proper. The preferred performance of identity is a clearly constructed performance influenced by the offline world and a set of ideologies created by game designers and reified by other users. This is reflected in the research of Martey and Consalvo (2011), who found that some participants in Second Life felt anxiety about their avatars fitting in with a group online. Resistance to the normative performance may lead to isolation, ostracism, or absence in the virtual world. Foucault (1972) calls us to consider who is permitted to speak, on which topics, and how discourse is controlled.

Virtual worlds give an opportunity to examine how discourses are managed in a space where the ideology is clearly constructed, and how offline power relationships enter into the online space (or prevent entry into the online space, as is the case with the ALF).

These structural forces are not fundamentally negative, but are part of a broader framework that limits available performances.

The last research asked: What are the implications of a player’s refusal to perform the dominant or preferred identity/body? In answering this question, Foucault’s notion of the heterotopia is a useful concept to apply to understand how players use virtual spaces as unique spaces separated from the mainstream to perform identities that resist the norm.

Part of the reason that the Sisters of the Forsaken struggled in their pacifist performance was because World of Warcraft functions as a homotopia, or a space of sameness, which does not readily accommodate difference. The space is designed for the performance of dominant identity, and the guiding narrative and structure of the game requires a player to choose a side in the ongoing battle. Advancement in the game is

160 dependent upon the completion of quests that require the use of violence in the vast majority of cases. This lack of advancement limits where players can go, ultimately sequestering them into a limited part of the virtual world and marginalizing them even further. Even existence is difficult for those performing alternative identities, as other players will be all too eager to take advantage of an easy target. Game designers construct diversity in this world into neat categories, and those who deviate from those norms are relegated to limited functionality in the world. Either they resist and do not advance, or advance but adopt the ideology of the dominant group. While the Sisters attempt to do both, their tactics ultimately rely on an acceptance of the ideology of violence.

For Wheelies, two implications of the refusal to perform the dominant identity involve space and the adoption of bodily stigma. The refusal to perform a dominant identity means that a space must be created where the dominant identity can be properly performed in a way that normalizes difference. Such a space was difficult for Stevens to create, and no space that he created ever met his vision for long. Stevens was essentially creating a heterotopia of deviance, a space where deviant behaviors could be safely performed away from the rest of the culture. Its function and membership shifted over time, but each iteration of the club was designed as a heterotopic space dislocated from the rest of the virtual world. The potential of Wheelies was not just a fun space where people of any embodiment could perform, but also a vision of e-topia of acceptance. Such a vision could not be realized in the structure of the world and simultaneously performed.

A second implication of the refusal to perform the dominant identity is the adoption of what Goffman (1963) called stigma, a marker of difference. While users could opt to embody more socially ideal bodies, they willingly take on and own the

161 wheelchair as a part of their embodied identity, which also partitions many of their performances into heterotopic spaces (similar to pacifists being limited by the structure of the game to the beginning zones). However, the simple option of a wheelchair is demonstrative of the range of possibilities Second Life can offer for identity performance.

For the ALF, a refusal to perform the dominant identity functions as a way to reinforce group beliefs and educate others. Visitors who read their online texts or visit their virtual museum on the evils of autism treatments may be drawn into the movement as a Real Voice of autism or a neurotypical ally. The existence of the ALF is antithetical to the goal of the Curebies to eliminate autism, and so their performances in an online space are a manifestation of their identity as autistic and a vilification of the Curebies.

For Wheelies, their identity was marked with a wheelchair. For the ALF, whose identity might not be as visible on the body, their presence in the autistic-owned space is a marker of identity. The absence of the virtual body is different from either of the two cases, but demonstrates that text and space are both performances and opportunities to re/claim voice. Their Second Life space and website also function as heterotopias, in that the borders are both permeable and isolated. One claims the autistic identity online by being a part of the autistic-owned space, and the assumption is that one must be autistic to enter. This division from the rest of the virtual world reflects a desire for agency and control that they have been denied by the Curebies. At its core, the ALF site is a counter- topia where they can perform their identities as proud autistics in a space they control.

Across these contexts, three types of heterotopias emerge: the homotopia of

World of Warcraft, where deviance can be performed in a limited way, but is ultimately

162 subsumed by sameness; the e-topia of Wheelies, where the online space was conceived as a way to meet the creator’s goals of fun and acceptance for wheelchair users but that became an uninviting and empty space; and the counter-topia of the ALF, which stood as an act of resistance against dominant discourses and that was bankrupted and abandoned.

As Snyder and Mitchell (2006) observed, people with disabilities are often relegated to marginalized locations such as hospitals and residential facilities, where their performances can be removed and made invisible from the rest of society. These heterotopic spaces are physical, and individuals are often placed there against their will.

A virtual world might seem like a space where users could control their own heterotopia and perform marginalized identities in a way that they cannot in their offline world.

While these contexts do meet the Foucault’s (1998) criteria of heterotopias, these spaces are still under the constraints of dominant practices and ideologies. Each of these sites reveals the limits of heterotopias when placed in conversation with the realities of virtual worlds. Each of these contexts is constrained by structural forces. In World of Warcraft, the capitalist motive to have more money and better goods and achievements can only be realized through combat. For Wheelies, a culture that valued ableism and the founder’s desire for control that honored only a particular type of disability prevented the realization of an e-topic vision. For the ALF, economic issues again prohibited their ability to stay active in the virtual world. In each of these cases, the refusal to perform a dominant identity and create a space for marginalized identities ultimately resulted in the absence of any performances.

163 Implications

The findings of this research can offer insights for both users and designers of virtual worlds. Designers and creators of virtual worlds should understand how their decisions could impact the kind of performances that are possible in the space. Many users may seek the virtual world for reasons other than the creator’s intentions, as evidenced by Sisters of the Forsaken and Wheelies. While World of Warcraft is a game of role playing, violence, and advancement, the Sisters of the Forsaken chose a different path in the world, one that embraced role play but rejected the basic notion that players must fight to advance. However, the structure of the game made it unsustainable to play in such a resistant way. Second Life is not a game and is not based on advancement, but its similar structure likewise influences performances in the world. Those who design and manage virtual worlds should consider the possibilities of resistant performances and whether and how they want to support or discourage such performances. While offering more pathways for interaction or advancement is one potential option, this is not easily accomplished. Doing so could create an overly complicated game or interface that is not sustainable, and may actually drive away users. Another important factor to consider is whether expanding interface or advancement options would just create or privilege a new set of rules that will exclude other ways of being in the world. While it might be a step towards resolving one set of issues, the creation of new power relations is unavoidable.

As McKerrow (1989) posited, a critique of domination is not enough; we must also establish “never ending skepticism” (96) toward the changes we enact after critique.

However, living in the flux of critique and change may not be sustainable for a game that wants to keep users; substantial changes to structure or rules may not be feasible.

164 Specifically related to avatars, designers must also consider the consequences of avatar customization choices. The differences in options between a rigid, mostly stereotyped set of avatars in World of Warcraft and the freedom of customization in

Second Life are substantial, and it seems that Second Life has an advantage for users in allowing user-created customizations such as clothing, accessories, and appendages, as well as a broad range of characteristic scales even technically challenged users can alter

(such as height, weight, skin tone, hair length, etc). The availability of user-created objects allowed Wheelies participants to have wheelchairs for their avatars, which allowed players more freedom to present their avatars in a way that aligned more closely with their identity. For those whose marginalized identities are visibly embodied and who wish to perform those identities online, having options can be a draw to the virtual world.

It is important for designers to consider the amount of control they want to exercise in a virtual world and balance that with user options that go beyond preferred performances and stereotypes. There is not an ideal balance; Wheelies is an example of how users can ultimately sabotage their own goals when given too much control over a space, while the

ALF demonstrates how no one else can play in a user-controlled world. Creating a space that draws and keeps the general public invested while also allowing the performance of a multiplicity of marginal identities is challenge that may not be attainable.

A related point for designers to consider is that while these spaces are designed primarily for play, the users may understand it as much more than that – and may in fact not “play” very much. The creation of an exclusive, autistic-owned space in Second Life is part of an autistic rights social movement, and the space is designed for remembrance, education, and the reinforcement of a communal identity as autistics. It is a space for

165 autistics to connect with other autistics that they might never encounter offline. Other autistics groups such as the “Naughty Auties” use Second Life as a space to practice social interaction and become more comfortable communicating with others (Saidi 2008).

These functions are not for play, but rather serious goals. To understand virtual worlds solely as a space for play diminishes the significance of how some groups use the space.

For users of virtual worlds, this research highlights the difficulties of maintaining a non-preferred identity in a virtual world. It seems that virtual worlds would offer an ideal opportunity to perform identities that could be marginalized in users’ offline lives and connect with others who share the same identity. However, virtual worlds are not e- topias. The members of these groups all shared a common identity that was resistant to the dominant appearance or pattern of behavior in virtual worlds, but these performances were not sustainable in the long term. For the Sisters of the Forsaken, their performances of pacifism in an MMORPG based on conflict could only exist in relation to that dominant ideology of violence. However, the structure of the world itself and the strict rules that governed what behaviors were possible made playing as a true pacifist impossible; there was little possibility for advancement, and so limited opportunities to actually perform the identity. It is impossible for any virtual world to allow for the performances of every possible identity, and it may not be desirable for all identities to be performed in every online space. In Wheelies, the vision of one person for what the space should be (and who should perform in it) was an important factor in actually driving away those performances. For Stevens, the vision of a “true” dance club that met all goals could not be realized, resulting in a cycle of shutting down and starting up new clubs that made it difficult to sustain members. For the Autistic Liberation Front, practical issues of

166 access, time, and money ultimately let to the abandonment of the space. Each of these groups entered a virtual world with a vision of what was possible in that space and perhaps an unrealistic idea of a heterotopia where the group could perform their alternative identities and realize their goals. For different reasons, each one of these groups failed to find what they were looking for in the virtual world. Individuals or groups of users who enter into the virtual space hoping to find a welcoming world where they can perform marginalized identities and connect with others who share their goals might be disappointed to discover that such a vision is not easily realized. Users could face criticism or challenges from other users or managers of the virtual spaces, struggle for control of the virtual space and goals, find difficulties with recruiting others, or deal with the financial and temporal commitment of maintaining the virtual space. While the virtual world does have possibilities and still offers unique opportunities for users for those who wish to perform marginalized identities, these possibilities are tempered by practical complications that must be considered to successfully perform resistance.

Limitations of Research

My original plan for this project was to take an ethnographic approach to the study of these three marginalized groups in World of Warcraft and Second Life.

However, during the design of the research, it became clear that this was not possible; while there was evidence of the groups’ existences in the virtual world and on websites, their performances were absent. I could not locate them engaged in actual performances in the world. This led me to focus on the discourses on their websites and construct those fragments into the text for analysis. I had no contact with the participants, and instead relied on their presentation of themselves in publically available texts of their creation.

167 Active engagement with the participants would have given a richer perspective and more discourse to include in the analysis. Ultimately, this project became less about postmodern conceptualizations of identity and virtual embodiment and more about the performance of resistance.

It is also apparent that these groups are rather esoteric; they are, or were, small pockets of people (sometimes driven solely by one person) with whom most readers would be unfamiliar. They once existed virtually, and at least in the case of Wheelies, seem to have flourished for a short period of time. However, they have all but vanished from the landscape of the virtual world, leaving behind virtual buildings and parks, or in the case of the Sisters of the Forsaken, nothing at all. Their one-off performances and lack of continuity might appear insignificant in the broader scheme of virtual worlds research, which often deal with topics of seemingly greater relevance to scholars and users, such as economics and educational possibilities. While the lack of sustainability of these groups is in one sense a limitation, it is also an important finding of this research.

Their non/participation reveals the difficulty of maintaining an alternate way of being in the virtual world. There are plenty of groups with long-term, sustainable and observable performances in the virtual world, but these groups seem to fall within the dominant performances of identity. Performing an identity that is resistant or threatening to the norm creates challenges of recruitment, advancement (in the case of World of Warcraft), and even existing with the rules of the virtual world.

Directions for Future Research

This research has several possible future directions. I still believe in the value of studying the avatar as a type of identity performance, but as the ALF has shown me, there

168 can be performances in the virtual world that are not rooted in a body, but in the creation of the virtual space. While the performances may be ephemeral and difficult to observe, the design of the spaces themselves (within the constraints of the constructed virtual world) also serve a rhetorical function. These user constructions within the space are not permanent, but do have a stronger sense of longevity than the embodied performances.

Drawing on scholars who have studied the rhetoric of place/space and memory (Aden

1999; Blair 1995), one direction for this research is to analyze the rhetoric of virtual space.

The fleeting nature of online performances, particularly by marginalized groups, has limited this particular project to text and visual discourse analysis. While this was the most practical option for exploring these groups that have all but disappeared online, it does complicate my understanding of the identity of these performers. Having the opportunity to interact with them, ask questions, and observe their (virtually or otherwise) embodied performances would have given me a new perspective on the intentions behind the performances and the rhetorical strategies the users employ. A future project could involve watching players in the offline world as they navigate and perform in the virtual world.

169

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