I honestly probably wouldn't be paying that much attention to this whole debate (besides noting the myriad facebook status updates, shrugging, and returning to my ethics studying) except for the fact that I went to go look up several famous ethics cases on Wikipedia today and instead received this rude awakening: oh no! What would I do? Surely there was no other website anywhere that can tell me about the Tuskeegee Syphilis Scandal!
That's when I (and many of my peers) realized how dependent I've become on Wikipedia. I turn there to do pre-research sleuthing before I dive into a paper topic; go there to fact check when I blog; rely on it, often, to settle dinner-party disputes about obscure topics. It's a wonderful, crazy resource; wonderful in that it is a treasure trove of relatively well-researched and well-monitored general information, and crazy in that it is free.
But as I paged through the messier interfaces of other websites about my topics, I realized that Wikipedia sometimes makes life too easy. It's convenient to have one site to turn to for quick-fix answers to all of your factual questions, a clean white site neatly organized and easily searchable. However, in turning from Wikipedia to other websites I found fascinating things that would never make it past Wikipedia's editors: personal accounts from Tuskeegee; black-and-white photos of Willowbrook High School; a long, passionate defense from Ashley (the Pillow Angel's) parents about their decision to artificially stunt their handicapped daughter's growth. It's not that this information wasn't there before; it's that, often, my time-maximizing ways would have led me to Wikipedia, to consult the "Ashley Case" page, get my answer, and leave (or continue hotlinking to other Wikipedia articles ad nauseum :) Today, since I wasn't able to do that, I dug deeper, past the test answers to the stories, the faces, and the emotional struggle behind the ethical dilemmas.
And that got me thinking about a scene from Spielberg's Tintin movie (which is really cute and worth seeing if you're bored or babysitting a small child). Towards the beginning, the intrepid boy reporter buys a model ship which brings with it a whole lot of adventure, mystery, and apartment break-ins. Curious about the ship's history, Tintin visits the library (which is beautiful, historic, and very European-looking; sadly, there's nothing like it that I've found in Brussels). He combs through shelf after shelf of books before finding old dusty books of maps, ships, and naval history; he pores over the books until - sapristi! - he finds the story's he's been looking for. There's something about that struggle to find an answer - the hunt, the frustration, the mental (and, sometimes, physical) challenge, the irritation at the gaps in the narrative, and the incredible rush of adrenaline and accomplishment that comes with turning the page and finally finding the missing piece - which sometimes gets lost in an age where everything is digitized and at one's fingertips. There's nothing remarkable about the non-effort of looking something up on Wikipedia (well, not now); and while Wikipedia is doing incredibly cool, important work, democratizing information that used to be the province of scholars with access to prissy European libraries, there's a little nostalgic part of me that wishes, sometimes, that we had more opportunity - or maybe just incentive - to play Tintin in the library.
(Of course, there are plenty of things that aren't on Wikipedia, or the Internet, or even published in books yet; and that's why one does academic research. There are also a lot of shoddily researched and written things on the Internet, and on Wikipedia; and that's why libraries and publishing houses won't be closing any time soon, even if they all go digital.)
There's another, less-technophobic reason that the research chase is thrilling. It's fun because you never know what rabbit trails will come up; what random book is lying next to the one you think you want; what treasures a poorly designed website on your topic might hold; or, honestly, what hot link might be lurking in your Wikipedia article, ready to whisk you off to an even more pertinent article. The fun of research isn't just filling in gaps in your story; it's realizing that there are other stories, and that those stories are often more fascinating and challenging than the one you're constructing.
Research tools, and the freedom to use those tools, enable that kind of eager, open quest for knowledge. Enabling as many people as possible to understand the visceral joy of finding out not only the information they want to find but new information they never dreamed of finding is a noble goal that is in keeping with a democracy's goals of educating all its citizens, regardless of financial circumstance or educational background. SOPA (at least in its current, censor-y form) is thus striking at the heart of a very important part of who we as a nation are, limiting the access of many for the rights of a wealthy few without thought to productive compromises that could preserve both groups' interests.
That said, blackouts aren't always the worst thing in the world. Sometimes, having to change the way you look for something changes the way you see it, too.
On a somewhat-related note: an adorable stop-motion film clip on the magic of (real, printed, Kindle-free) books and the imagination that stories (in any form) inspire:
