WikiLeaks, a wiki site that helps insiders release information anonymously, was in the news last month when its primary domain name (wikileaks.org) was removed from the Domain Name System. A San Francisco judge ordered the move, which effectively made it impossible to reach any part of the wikileaks.org website directly. Fortunately for whistleblowers worldwide, the site was still accessible via an alternate domain name — wikileaks.be — which was registered in Belgium, and therefore not subject to injunctions from US judges. (Technically, it was also accessible by IP address for those motivated enough to bypass the DNS.)

Two weeks later, the judge reversed his own decision, and wikileaks.org came back online. The case raises some interesting questions, starting with, when you’re dealing with a wiki, who do you sue? The “owner” of the wikileaks.org domain is in Australia, the physical servers are in Sweden and Belgium, and the contributors are anonymous and unlogged. So, when the bank Julius Baer wanted to sue someone for leaking internal documents, the only domestically identifiable party was Dynadot, the San Mateo-based registrar of the wikileaks.org domain. (Of course, the bank’s approach backfired, as it only drew more attention to WikiLeaks — and to Julius Baer’s alleged wrongdoings — than ever before, which was exactly what they wanted to avoid. I, for one, had never heard of WikiLeaks before I heard about the case in the news.)

WikiLeaks is a case study in something completely new: a collectively authored publication where every contributor is fully anonymous and untraceable. At least one other site I’ve seen, Strictly No Photography, uses a similar model to share protected information (photos, in this case). It will be interesting to watch these models evolve, paying close attention to how various legal structures react to them.

I’ve been looking into crowds and mobs, seeking to identify elements common to positive large-group experiences. This week, I picked up Barbara Ehrenreich’s “Dancing in the Streets: A History of Collective Joy,” looking for answers.

During truly ecstatic events, participants have the sensation of merging with the group, becoming part of a larger whole, and having the “experience of self-loss in the crowd.” With the temporary loss of individual identity comes the temporary loss of individual responsibility. Inhibitions are lowered and moral judgement may be impaired, since “the crowd” acts as one force. This explains how ordinary, generally moral people can riot, and how straight-laced conservatives can let it all hang out at Mardi Gras. (Yes, alcohol plays a role, too, accelerating the lowering of inhibitions and an increased sense of connection with others.)

Ehrenreich observes that instances of collective ecstasy are very much non-hierarchical:

Hierarchy, by its nature, establishes boundaries between people — who can go where, who can approach whom, who is welcome, and who is not. Festivity breaks the boundaries down. …

While hierarchy is about exclusion, festivity generates inclusiveness. The music invites everyone to dance; shared food briefly undermines the privilege of class. … At the height of the festivity, we step out of our assigned roles and statuses — of gender, ethnicity, tribe, and rank — and into a brief utopia defined by egalitarianism, creativity, and mutual love.

Ehrenreich refers to our modern era as the “postfestive” era, since centuries of hierarchical civilization have all but eliminated the class-undermining expressions of participatory joy that threaten it.

Given that, how can we design experiences of collective joy for a postfestive people?

During his presentation last week, Colin mentioned his research into sustainability and the cradle-to-cradle concept, specifically. I thought I’d share my recent experience with Green Phone, which I first heard about in this New York Times Magazine article in January. It’s an easy way to recycle old mobile devices — and you get paid to do it. Here’s how it works:

1. Go to greenphone.com.
2. Tell them what model of phone you have, and set up an account.
3. They generate a postage-paid mailing label for you. Print it out, and stick the label on a padded envelope.
4. Put your old phone and accessories in the envelope, and drop it off at the Post Office.
5. Wait a couple weeks for them to receive and test your phone. If it’s in good working condition, they’ll cut you a check! If not, well, they’ll recycle all the parts (including toxics, like mercury) and hey, no big loss on your part — you didn’t even pay for postage!

I had an early RAZR and they cut me a check for $22. (It would’ve been $28, but the screen was damaged.) From my point of view, the best part is that they recycled all my useless accessories, like the charger and earbud, which I could not have recycled myself locally.

Be sure to use my referral code of 50957 to get a 10% bonus. (Just using the link above should work.)

These Mexican chocolate candies, in the style of M&Ms, have letters printed on them. Fortunately, although Lunetas Clásicas are set in the worst typeface ever, they taste fine!

A couple weeks ago, my research into SMS as an interactive medium led me to a friend of a friend who happens to be named Brian House. Brian graciously agreed to talk with me on the phone, and our conversation validated a number of ideas I had about SMS.

Brian’s most well-known project is called Yellow Arrow. Done in 2004, the project involved distributing thousands of yellow arrow stickers, on each of which was printed a unique code. These stickers were sent all over the globe, where user-participants could stick them on surfaces, pointing to things of note. Then, by sending a text message with the arrow’s unique ID, the participant would “register” a “memory” or story about that place or object, such as “this is where we first kissed” or “this is the best chinese food in town.” Subsequent visitors can send in the same text code and will receive back the original story. Yellow Arrow was featured in the recent Design and the Elastic Mind exhibit at MoMA.

The real thing I wanted to talk to Brian about, though, was TXTML, a system he built as part of his Master’s thesis that can be used to create “interactive text-messaging applications.” I’m looking into doing some projects with SMS, and will be evaluating TXTML for whether or not it would be a good tool for what I want to do. In short, it sounds like TXTML is great for creating individual experiences and narratives. Since it’s smarter than typical SMS engines, it can remember each user’s history, and custom-tailor the interaction for each individual. (For example, you text “I am Scott,” and it responds “Hello, Scott, I remember that you like the color blue.”) It may not be suited to mediating the group experiences that I want to design, but I can certainly learn a lot just by working with it.