As the robot disappears beneath the surface, your eyes move away from direct visual contact and onto the screen where you regain a different kind of connection. All of a sudden, your senses become acutely aware of the physical mobility, as well as the limitations, of the robot. I’ve heard experienced ROV pilots articulate this feeling: flying a large ROV, they feel big and slow, whereas a small ROV feels nimble and vulnerable. I’ve heard others — people with no prior experience — talk of their surprise when they started cheering for the robot to succeed, a phenomena the world witnessed when NASA landed the Curiosity rover on Mars. Surprise isn’t quite the right word. It’s more of a realization — a reawakening of your own human spirit. Those of us with the restless gene — the tendency towards wanderlust and an aching for what lies beyond the horizon — see ourselves inside these intrepid machines. Personal computers made us turn inward. Mobile computers made that introspection ubiquitous. As Sherry Turkle and others have articulated, computers have become a mirror of our own selves — our hopes and dreams and fears. Telerobotics is different. It’s outward facing. A new window into our world and universe. … The steady march of communication technologies — radios, televisions, internet, mobile devices — have given us more and more compelling reasons (and options) to join up with some Other Now, a distant space in the present moment. The Other Now is the region just beyond the boundaries of cyberspace. It’s the physical spaces the network enables us to inhabit without actually being there. The innate desire for the Other Now is multifaceted. The obvious reasons are to be closer to family and friends (Facebook and Skype calls), for work reasons (conference calls, meetings), or education (MOOCs, TED Talks). Increasingly, though, we find ourselves in this Other Now for, quite simply, wonder. A good example is the Live Earth Experiment. On April 30th, 2014, NASA flipped a camera on the International Space Station back towards our planet and began live-streaming a view of Earth over the internet. The result has been wildly popular, if not profound. It’s a unique feeling that’s difficult to describe, and certainly a rare type of moment on the internet. Clicking through another link, something you do thousands of times everyday, pushing a play button on yet another video stream and then this little realization goes off in your mind: this is our earth, right now. It’s catching a glimpse of yourself on the convenience store security camera multiplied by Carl Sagan’s enthusiasm in Cosmos. It’s beautiful and mesmerizing. … The coming era of connected exploration picks up where experiments like the Live Earth Experiment leave off. By adding agency — the ability to act inside and manipulate the Other Now — it becomes something much more than a spectator sport. It opens up a whole new world to play inside. … It’s the same draw that has pulled the past few generations of kids (and adults) into video games: distant worlds coupled with intense agency. I’ve marveled that the past year’s enthusiasm about virtual reality, spurred by the Oculus Rift, has largely ignored the potential for connected exploration. I wasn’t completely surprised, though. For me, building and using an OpenROV was the first opportunity I had to experience the feeling, and it was new to my senses. I suspect that the majority of people simply haven’t imagined it yet. It’s all coming, though. And seeing (and flying and diving) will be believing. Perhaps the most important aspect of this potential future: it’s very human-centric. Unlike discussions of AI or autonomous drone deliveries, the reaction to discussing connected exploration is excitement and possibility; not fear and worry. It doesn’t marginalize our sense of humanity; it enhances it. The reactions are not: The robots are taking over! They’ll destroy all the jobs! They’ll destroy us! Instead, the questions are: Does this mean I can do ____? That I could visit _____? That I could explore _____? … ROVs are less threatening than drones, because we quickly understand that they are not a threat and their innate purpose is, like boats, to help us travel further and farther than we ever could alone. These devices are not drones as humans are still very much in the loop. They are distant relatives of the Internet of Things as no thermostat or refrigerator — no matter how smart they become — could open up entirely new worlds. Connected exploration is something altogether new and wonderful. It’s a future that will make your spirit soar, but also one that could break your heart if you lose one of your mechanical friends.
When Bad Things Happen to Good Robots — Backchannel — Medium