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Mobile-impaired drivers. #BlackenAsiaWithLove
Mobile-impaired drivers.
So, try to imagine a man driving a motorbike, a 5-year-old standing on the tiny platform between him and the handlebars, a tall toddler standing behind him on the seat, clinging round his neck, and a woman sitting side-saddle behind the baby. Both adults are bent over scrolling on the phone. In the middle of traffic. I see this every day, but a few days back, I saw a toddler playing peek-a-boo with his dad while he was driving. Interestingly, as he struggled to move the baby’s hands away, the man never shifted his eyes away from his phone.
Between the two adults described above, nobody had one good eye on the road. Said plainly, the man was impaired; he drove with one eye, one hand. Look around, so many are. All I could do was laugh. I didn’t find the spectacle funny. I chuckled to myself, mostly about my own helplessness. I feel like there’s nothing I can do about the risk they face, or the danger they place on others. Their kids are at a severe disadvantage, being precociously exposed to such mindlessness. Many of the motorists around here are similarly disabled. It’s a common affliction.
What if the baby decides it’s not time to stop peek-a-boo, as babies do, despite the man using his hand to wave him away in frustration? What if they hit a bump – because he wasn’t looking – and either child slipped? Or, what if some driver is speeds towards you in the exact same scenario? Or, what if either dropped their phone? We know that there is a strong impulse to reach for a falling object – even in traffic. Imagine dropping something that holds great value for you. Would instinct kick in? Could it be worse now since heavy social media usage paves neural pathways of impulsive behaviours?
As I move around on the streets, it’s as if most people have only one hand and one eye on the road. It’s nothing to see someone driving a motorcycle holding their phones to their ear, enthralled in conversation, just one hand guiding their vehicle through torrid traffic and very bumpy roads. Potholes and sewage covers, for example, are regularly too deep to tackle with two wheels, so drivers usually swiftly go around. A quick swerve. What’s more, it’s the normal thing to carry one’s entire family along on these adventure rides. Yet, even with two-to-three generations in tow, I’ve seen drivers driving around with their phone in one hand, dialing, texting or scrolling, lifted so they could see it.
I can count on one hand the number of moto-taxi drivers I’ve had with any hands-free brace to hold the phone as it displays our route. Some, at least, leave their devices in their pockets, and only check-in at stoplights. (I should start mentioning this in my ratings – not just stars.)
Devices? Mobile phones sold in this part of the world have two SIM card slots, but it’s also quite common to see people jostling two phones at a time. Perhaps one for private use, and the other professional, and so forth. It suggests a deeply entrenched mobile phone culture here, now.
In any public space, on any form of transportation, no matter what’s going on, you can look in any given direction and see most people glued to their phones. Alone, with friends, families, co-workers all are online. Face-to-face is never enough. The most distressing is seeing adults snub kids for their phones – or worse get them hooked early and stuff device in their hands, too. What’s a kid supposed to think if mommy and daddy drive while mobile impaired? Yes, kids, it’s not gone unnoticed that parents are spending more time with their phones than their own kids. Even during a commute. Ah, riding with my folks used to be such good quality time.
Smartphones are powerful. So, it comes to no surprise that folks would take to squeezing in every free moment to scroll through social media. If folks aren’t handling it directly, their phones are sitting right there in front of them, the perfect escape for even a moment’s silence, uncertainty, doubt, loneliness, longing, or even curiosity. The mobile provides it all. It has disabled our ability to focus, even when operating heavy machinery.
Why not take time during that long drive to pick and jive with friends on the net? What’s a matter with liking a few of my friends’ Facebook posts at the traffic light? It’s not like my kids have anything interesting to say. I can respond to a few work messages by the time I get to where I’m going; who cares if I slow-up traffic. Oh, let me stop right here, in the middle of the road, to finish this text. This has to be done now; I am unable to refuse. While cruising along, why not just let my friends know that I’m just a few minutes away (even if I’ve already shared my live locations and texted them just as I set off on my way).
Though cognitively we know that we tend to overestimate the things that we can divide our attention between. Vehicles are keenly designed to allow drivers to focus on the road ahead, having a forward-facing display and any needed amenity at one’s fingertips. On two wheels, acceleration and brakes, blinkers and even widely used horns are all there at drivers’ fingertips. Cars compete for the easiest to reach radio, seat, and climate controls. In my last car, I could even do all these things and more from my steering wheel. Yet here, I even seen the biggest, most fully equipped cars being driven around by mobile disabled drivers. These brand-spanking new vehicles come with hands-free technology, but it’s a miss to me as to why there’s no widespread usage of these. Plus, no moto-makers have designed these two-wheelers for one-handed, one-eyed driving.
The pandemic and me – Paula

Portrait de Dora Maar, Pablo Picasso, 1937
The last time I physically went to work was Thursday 19 March, over 12 weeks ago. Within days, I blogged about the panic and fear that risked overwhelming us all in the light of a pandemic. Some of that entry was based on observation and the media, other parts, my own feelings and emotions.
Prior to the pandemic, I had been the kind of person that felt the need to be at work, often for 10-12 hours a day This was partly to kid myself that there was a clear delineation between the personal and the professional (something, I’ve never managed to achieve since joining academia). Part of it was due to my previous career in retail; when there are customers there must be staff, so there is a necessity to presence. Part of it was tied up with notions of work ethic and fear of missing out, dropping out, losing connection. The regularity of the Monday to Friday (and sometimes, Saturdays for events) commute there and back, the same familiar route, the same familiar timetable, the same familiar faces. Even prosaic matters, like my wardrobe, is primarily designed for my professional life, however, #lockdown life requires something different than formal suit, dresses and court shoes. Similarly, make-up seems out of place, why paint your face or nails, without the rest of the professional apparatus, deemed so necessary to what Goffman (1969/1990) identified as The Presentation of Self in Everyday Life.
In his play Huis Clos (No Exit) Jean-Paul Sarte famously claimed that ‘Hell is—other people’ (1947/1989: 45). This is often interpreted as if the company of others is hellish, but that is a misreading. Sartre, like Mead (1934) before him recognised the role of the other, in our own understanding of ourselves. In essence, we can only ever see ourselves through the lens of others. In lockdown that lens dissipates or even disappears entirely, even with technology, which although we appreciate as an enabler of communication, I’ve yet to hear anyone say it is a complete replacement for human interaction.
Nevertheless, lockdown has forced us to look again and not only at our wardrobes. Once the panic and the novelty of not going to work, socialising and all the other activities, that are part and parcel of our lived experience passed, a new normality replaced this. Introspection is often missing in twenty-first century life, even among those of us that spend considerable amounts of time, professionally, if not personally, reflecting on what we’ve said, what we’ve done and how we can change, amend and ultimately improve as human beings. It’s also provided space to consider what we can’t wait to get back to, what we’re glad to have a break from and what we are looking for ways to avoid in the future.
For me, part of that introspection has focused on my need to be present at work. After all, in academia there is less pressure to be on campus, particularly on one which has been designed with the future in mind. There is no office, where I need to water plants, (most of) my academic books are here and I also have a work laptop, as well as my own pc. At home, I can have silence, or music while I work. If I am hungry or thirsty I can satisfy those needs. If I am overwhelmed, I can simply walk away for a little while, without explanation. If I am lonely, confused or need advice, I can pick up the phone, message, video call and everything else that technology can offer. My professional life can pretty much continue without too much interruption.
So what happens when things return to normal, should I throw myself back into the same patterns as before? I am hoping the answer is no, that I will do things differently, not least for my own wellbeing. Although I love the look and feel of the campus, I have always struggled with what, criminologists will understand as the panoptic gaze (Foucault, 1977). The sense that wherever you are, the threat of observation is ever present. The panoptic gaze does not differentiate between deviant or pro-social activity, it simply retains its disciplinary function designed to constrain and control For many, it is an open welcoming space, however, as a person who thrives on quietness, on privacy, on spending time away from human contact, it can have the opposite effect. Not all of the time, but at least some of it, I wouldn’t want to abandon campus life completely. The lockdown has shown me that it is possible to have the best of both worlds
References
Foucault, Michel, (1977), Discipline and Punish: The Birth of the Prison, tr. from the French by Alan Sheridan, (London: Penguin Books)
Goffman, Erving, (1959/1990), The Presentation of Self in Everyday Life, (London: Penguin)
Mead, George Herbert. (1934). Mind, Self and Society: From the Standpoint of a Social Behaviorist. (Ed. Charles W. Morris). (Chicago: Chicago University Press)
Sartre, Jean-Paul, (1947/1989), No Exit and Three Other Plays, (New York: Vintage International)