One Day In The Life of Ivan Denisovich
Considering Western freedom and why we read that book in school
Prison Gifts >>
Click, click, click.
This could be the start of a poem, but it is not. It is a repetitive online chore I am performing. Two thousand products requiring fifty clicks on each, with pauses and scrolling, plus occasional minor decisions. I estimate it will take forty hours.
Click.
The products are my T-shirt designs on a well-known website that sells everything to everyone. Xmas is coming, and we need to be ready for the rush. The Western consumer frenzy knows no limits, so let’s make sure those prices are tweaked and all options available.
Click.
Another product is primed and ready for the rich Westerner. Ivan Denisovich would laugh at my effort. “You call that working,” he would say. In Siberian prisons, they build walls in the cold and hope for a fire.
I wonder about that book they made us read in school as I struggle with my privileged burden. It was called One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich, one of the few things I read that stuck with me.
Click.
Will the customers appreciate my efforts this year? Will they realize how much time it takes to ensure each design has the full-color options available?
Most of the books at school were boring. Shakespeare — shudder. Other stuff long forgotten, brushed away with memories of utter tedium. Cider with Rosie? What was that about? Didn’t care back then, don’t care now.
But Ivan’s Day lingers on.
Click.
Excitement! Found a design that had not previously had some options added. A brief moment of interest. Who knows how many people will purchase this year? Probably none. The excitement fades.
Ivan didn’t want excitement in his day. He wanted to get through it without incident and be grateful for small wins. An extra portion of bread. A cigarette.
I wonder why school chose that book for us to read. It never occurred to me at the time. Not much occurs when you are young. You accept what they tell you. It is not until you get older that thoughts emerge.
Click.
More excitement. I suspect the design I have just updated will be banned when the algorithm notices it. They change the rules, you see. What was allowed last month may not be acceptable now. Need to protect people from dangerous thoughts.
In this case, the design is Scuba Diving. Somewhere in the depths of the software the checks have been misconstrued. It does that quite often. They don’t care. As long as nothing bad gets through.
Ivan came up against the thought police too. For my transgression, I may lose a design. For him — he lost his liberty and was sent to a hard-labor prison.
That’s a win for me and my Western freedoms.
Click.
I’m hacked off now. The frustration of updating designs that might get rejected by the machine is beginning to grate. And memories of school and — why did we read A Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich — are beginning to grate too.
I didn’t quite fit at school. When told something, I wanted to ask why. You are not there to ask why. You are there to learn what they teach. But what if there are questions? You are not there to question.
Ivan had questions. He questioned the state. You are not allowed to do that over there, where they have no freedom. Not like the West, they taught us well.
Click.
Another product completed, ready for Xmas. The celebration of… well, what is it these days? Is it Jesus or consumerism? Can it be both? Anything can be anything as long as you are taught properly.
The school didn’t choose Ivan’s tale for me to read. It was part of the curriculum. The state curriculum. The stuff we are supposed to learn.
My child’s brain back then, if it thought at all, would have reasoned that the book was chosen by the teacher. As if they have any say in what lessons they have to teach.
So teacher was told what to teach me to learn, and the state deemed it important I learn about Ivan.
Click.
I smile, briefly, as I revisit one of my gently subversive designs. Not bad enough to trigger the ever-watchful algorithm, but a small win. The thought of someone else out there wearing it in quiet protest gives me pleasure.
How amusing it is that the book I was made to read should resonate so differently now, after a lifetime of experience, from how they intended. The simple message of how bad the Russian State was compared to our Western freedoms.
Click.
Another pointless product for the proles out there.
Ivan spoke out of turn, and for that, he was punished. The children read this simple short tale and learned their lesson well. I learned it too, for I was but a child.
I sympathize with Ivan. He made the best of his day. Work hard to forget the cold and be glad of your bread and soup. Forget about prison, make it through one more day.
Click.
One thousand nine hundred more products to change. A long way to go. I hope the algorithm goes easy on me.
Bread and soup will be just fine for dinner. In my mind, I will share it with Ivan Denisovich.
This could be the start of a poem, but it is not. It is a repetitive online chore I am performing. Two thousand products requiring fifty clicks on each, with pauses and scrolling, plus occasional minor decisions. I estimate it will take forty hours.
Click.
The products are my T-shirt designs on a well-known website that sells everything to everyone. Xmas is coming, and we need to be ready for the rush. The Western consumer frenzy knows no limits, so let’s make sure those prices are tweaked and all options available.
Click.
Another product is primed and ready for the rich Westerner. Ivan Denisovich would laugh at my effort. “You call that working,” he would say. In Siberian prisons, they build walls in the cold and hope for a fire.
I wonder about that book they made us read in school as I struggle with my privileged burden. It was called One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich, one of the few things I read that stuck with me.
Click.
Will the customers appreciate my efforts this year? Will they realize how much time it takes to ensure each design has the full-color options available?
Most of the books at school were boring. Shakespeare — shudder. Other stuff long forgotten, brushed away with memories of utter tedium. Cider with Rosie? What was that about? Didn’t care back then, don’t care now.
But Ivan’s Day lingers on.
Click.
Excitement! Found a design that had not previously had some options added. A brief moment of interest. Who knows how many people will purchase this year? Probably none. The excitement fades.
Ivan didn’t want excitement in his day. He wanted to get through it without incident and be grateful for small wins. An extra portion of bread. A cigarette.
I wonder why school chose that book for us to read. It never occurred to me at the time. Not much occurs when you are young. You accept what they tell you. It is not until you get older that thoughts emerge.
Click.
More excitement. I suspect the design I have just updated will be banned when the algorithm notices it. They change the rules, you see. What was allowed last month may not be acceptable now. Need to protect people from dangerous thoughts.
In this case, the design is Scuba Diving. Somewhere in the depths of the software the checks have been misconstrued. It does that quite often. They don’t care. As long as nothing bad gets through.
Ivan came up against the thought police too. For my transgression, I may lose a design. For him — he lost his liberty and was sent to a hard-labor prison.
That’s a win for me and my Western freedoms.
Click.
I’m hacked off now. The frustration of updating designs that might get rejected by the machine is beginning to grate. And memories of school and — why did we read A Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich — are beginning to grate too.
I didn’t quite fit at school. When told something, I wanted to ask why. You are not there to ask why. You are there to learn what they teach. But what if there are questions? You are not there to question.
Ivan had questions. He questioned the state. You are not allowed to do that over there, where they have no freedom. Not like the West, they taught us well.
Click.
Another product completed, ready for Xmas. The celebration of… well, what is it these days? Is it Jesus or consumerism? Can it be both? Anything can be anything as long as you are taught properly.
The school didn’t choose Ivan’s tale for me to read. It was part of the curriculum. The state curriculum. The stuff we are supposed to learn.
My child’s brain back then, if it thought at all, would have reasoned that the book was chosen by the teacher. As if they have any say in what lessons they have to teach.
So teacher was told what to teach me to learn, and the state deemed it important I learn about Ivan.
Click.
I smile, briefly, as I revisit one of my gently subversive designs. Not bad enough to trigger the ever-watchful algorithm, but a small win. The thought of someone else out there wearing it in quiet protest gives me pleasure.
How amusing it is that the book I was made to read should resonate so differently now, after a lifetime of experience, from how they intended. The simple message of how bad the Russian State was compared to our Western freedoms.
Click.
Another pointless product for the proles out there.
Ivan spoke out of turn, and for that, he was punished. The children read this simple short tale and learned their lesson well. I learned it too, for I was but a child.
I sympathize with Ivan. He made the best of his day. Work hard to forget the cold and be glad of your bread and soup. Forget about prison, make it through one more day.
Click.
One thousand nine hundred more products to change. A long way to go. I hope the algorithm goes easy on me.
Bread and soup will be just fine for dinner. In my mind, I will share it with Ivan Denisovich.