James, we can safely assume, did not have access to the internet. His observations about the mind, both detailed and sweeping, laid the groundwork for the ways Americans talk about attention today: attention as an outgrowth of interest and, crucially, of choice. “My experience is what I agree to attend to,” the pioneering psychologist William James wrote in the late 19th century. The 5,978,096th person has died of COVID-19. A United Nations report warned that climate change’s catastrophes are now encroaching so rapidly that without radical intervention, they might overwhelm any effort to mitigate them. Ketanji Brown Jackson is meeting with senators in advance of her Supreme Court confirmation hearings. Colin Jost helped to product-test Scarlett Johansson’s new skin-care line. The January 6 committee laid out a potential criminal case against Donald Trump. Zoë Kravitz wore a Catwoman-themed dress to the premiere of The Batman. A court declared Kim Kardashian to be single again. Pundits are arguing that Putin’s invasion was spurred by American “wokeness.” A Texas state agency began investigating parents for the purported crime of believing their children. His fellow passengers, and then masses of others, were left to contend with all the fallout.Īs I write, the Russian military is escalating its attacks on Ukraine. One day, a man got on a plane with an apparent desire to hijack attention. Our time and our care belong to us right up until they don’t. But in truth, the books argue, that economy makes us profoundly vulnerable. The attention economy may imply fair trades within a teeming marketplace, people empowered as life’s producers as well as its consumers. But the old language fails the new reality. We pay attention it is our most obvious and intimate currency. Americans tend to talk about attention as a matter of control-as something we give, or withhold, at will. The books vary widely in focus and tone, but share, at their foundations, an essential line of argument: Attention, that atomic unit of democracy, will shape our fate.ĭemarre’s stunt helps to make these books’ case, not necessarily because of a direct threat it posed, but because it is a bleak reminder that in the attention wars, anyone can be insurgent. Recent years have seen the rise of a new mini-genre of literature: works arguing that one of the many emergencies Americans are living through right now is a widespread crisis of attention. But I mention him because his exploit serves as a useful corollary. The grim irony of Demarre’s gambit-his lawyer has not commented publicly on the incident-is that it paid off. I did it for the attention: As explanations go, it’s an American classic. He’d wanted their screens to publicize his feelings. His goal, he said, had been to make enough of a scene that people would begin filming him. After the plane landed, investigators asked him the obvious question: Why? COVID vaccines, he told an agent. Fellow passengers spent the rest of the flight watching him to ensure that he remained in his seat. A nearby flight attendant, realizing what he was doing, stopped him. He removed the door’s plastic covering, a federal report of the events alleges, and tugged at the handle that would release its hatch. Last month, as Delta Flight 1580 made its way from Utah to Oregon, Michael Demarre approached one of the plane’s emergency-exit doors. This article was featured in One Story to Read Today, a newsletter in which our editors recommend a single must-read from The Atlantic, Monday through Friday.
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