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 RIP,
LOL ;)
Don’t
expect the Internet to let you die peacefully
By
John Brodeur
On
Feb. 9, in the wake of a National Tragedy—the Feb. 8 death
of Anna Nicole Smith—National Public Radio ran a segment titled
“How Wikipedia Breaks News, and Adjusts to It.” Take a breath
and think on that first part: Wikipedia, which calls itself
the “biggest multilingual free-content encyclopedia on the
Internet”—and whose content is entirely user-generated and
-edited—is somehow considered responsible for breaking
news. Really.
Not to harp on the point, but there are innumerable news sources
on the Web, most—OK, some—of which do a perfectly fine job
of reporting the news. CNN, Yahoo!, or any of the network-news
Web affiliates are typically reliable in their current-events
coverage. And Wikipedia generally serves its own intended
purpose, as a historical record and reference site. So why
would anyone turn there for information on something that
just happened?
Chalk it up to the need for speed. The Internet has, if nothing
else, made us an impatient culture. People have a perpetual
case of Too Much Information. So when the news of Smith’s
collapse in a Florida hotel room began to circulate through
traditional channels, everybody wanted to be the first to
hear and/or share the news of her demise, fact-checking be
damned.
Within minutes, perhaps seconds, of the announcement of her
death, her Wikipedia entry listed the information, matter-of-factly
enough. (According to Jimmy Wales, Wikipedia founder and chairman
emeritus of the Wikimedia Foundation, the news was first reported
by CBS News, although Wikipedia apparently was the first Web
outlet to publish.)
But what happened in the hours to come revealed one of the
inherent problems with the behemoth bathroom wall that is
the Internet: Anyone can say whatever they want and, depending
on context, have it interpreted by others as fact.
In Smith’s case, Wiki savages went to town on Smith’s barely
dead corpse, using the opportunity to take one last jab at
the former Playmate/actress/diet-pill shill. Or, as Manhattan-based
news-and-media-gossip Web site Gawker put it, “Her Wikipedia
page went totally postal.” In some cases, it was described
as graffiti; at most, it was plainly disrespectful, a blatant
display of malice and disregard for the recently deceased.
Of course, seeing the phrase “On February 8, 2007, the bitch
bought the farm” was a little bit funny. And lots of
people have made the crack that “She died of overdose on trimspa.”
“She
died of a drug overdose after collapsing in a Las Vegas casino,”
read one early update. At no point has there been confirmation
of a drug overdose, and the most inept super-sleuth would
have realized that she passed in Hollywood, Florida—although
it was at a Hard Rock Hotel and Casino, so the confusion is
perhaps justifiable.
Another read, “The also stuck bees in her mouth. BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEESSSSSSSSSSS.”
Come on, people, that’s just sloppy. There are numerous methods
of resuscitation, but putting bees in someone’s mouth? No
way. MySpace bulletins are more reliable.
British actor Ian Richardson died the following morning, Feb.
9. While his Wikipedia page did not appear to be, at any time,
as rapidly and viciously defaced as that of the late Ms. Smith—nobody
fucks with the Grey Poupon guy—the following disclaimer was
prominently featured at the page’s header:
“This
article is about a recently deceased person. Some information
. . . may change rapidly as more facts become known. Please
be aware that while vandalism is usually fixed quickly, it
is particularly likely in such articles.”
How can a site that purports itself to be encyclopedic in
any way allow such irresponsible reportage? Vandalism has
no place in the news world. Surely there must be some amount
of control over who can post and edit Wikipedia content—the
whole shebang can’t simply be ruled over by a cadre of dickheads,
can it?
As Wales told NPR’s Robert Siegel, “When an article gets a
lot of news attention, a lot of new people come in and maybe
think it’s funny to mess around with the article. So we’ll
semi-protect it, so that only experienced editors can edit
it for a while.”
That’s comforting. If it weren’t for this elaborate system
of “experienced editors,” the Wiki universe could truly erupt
into a free-for-all . . . a lot like it did on Feb. 8. So
how the hell did that happen, anyway?
Wales goes on to reveal that such a lofty title (experienced
editor) is given to “anyone who has had an account for more
than four days. . . . If someone has been around for at least
four days and not gotten blocked, they’re probably not a completely
ridiculous person.”
Four whole days! Lurkers and aspiring newsies, take heed:
If you want to be taken seriously as an “editor,” you best
register your Wikipedia account now, lest you miss out on
an opportunity to post wisecracks the next time a prominent
public figure, uh, buys the farm.
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