User:Phoebe/Wikipedia Day

January 15, 2009

Today a project that I have worked on for five and a half years (not so seriously) or three and a half years (pretty damn seriously) turned eight. It's certainly not something that most uninvolved people think about in a concerted way, or perhaps even really notice, but I think that despite all the drama and disorganization, we are really well on our way to changing the world in our first decade. For my personal measure, I've had a relationship with a website that's lasted longer than any romantic relationship I've had, longer than any single educational program I've been in or job I've worked at, and I don't feel too bad about that. I am still committed.

I don't want to get too poetic here. My friend and I like to talk about Wikipedia Syndrome: you know the one, where people start taking things very very seriously and being very very pedantic about it, to the point where, even though they may laugh along with your good-hearted ribbing, you can tell they really don't buy it. Any regular contributor knows what I mean. Wikipedia Syndrome is responsible for edit wars over punctuation; for interminable RFCs and ArbCom cases that really center around the principle of "I won't, I won't, I won't"; for those heart-broken, very loud and stompy announcements of quitting the project; for troll-feeding on the lists because you just can't give it up and they're wrong; for arguing with friends when they gently or not-so-gently point out that most speeches about Wikipedia are dull, that copyediting is still a boring hobby even if you do it online, that 98% of entries are dreck. Wikipedia Syndrome is pervasive, hard to self-diagnose, and prone to appear despite one's best intentions the longer one stays on board.

I've often wondered why this last point is true. Is it that any pedantically inclined project can build a certain type of crazyness after a while? Is it the type of people Wikipedia attracts? (perhaps, but I don't think so). Is it the feeling of close quarters one gets after a while, working on the same projects and same issues over so long, often with the same people? A lack of infusion of new blood, or a certain joy that comes with obsessiveness? I do not know. I do know that I have tried very hard, with varying degrees of success, to catch and prevent Wikipedia Syndrome in myself; feel free to tell me if I seem to be showing signs of it. No one wants to be That Guy, the true geek, the obsessive. Or do we? For all the social dysfunction on the site, what critics and cynics sometimes miss is the marvelous social order that's developed right alongside it. Out of nothing: something useful, and a way of getting it done, and thousands of people who flit in and out, working side by side without incident. Whether you think this is overshadowed by endemic drama and weirdness (and bad writing) I suspect depends rather a lot on your point of view.

When we talk about service -- whether the school-painting parties that show up on national service websites, or the heroics of military service or intense foreign aid missions, or the quiet day-to-day usefulness those of us in the public sector try to provide -- I can't help but think of wiki metaphors as a guide for getting things done peacefully: a barn-raising, when people work together to put up content; open editing, so those with ideas can express them with equality; consensus-building, when there are disagreements. More than anything, I hope that's what this project has provided a model of -- not just a mere encyclopedia. Happy Wikipedia Day.