On a street corner, at the intersection of State and Camp, an unexpected sight caught my eye – a Google Street View car paused at a stop sign. The driver, a young, sturdy man sporting mirrored sunglasses, a light goatee, and a phone glued to his ear, seemed almost a caricature against the backdrop of the brightly colored vehicle. Adorned with the unmistakable Google logo, the car was topped with a small tower, from which protruded a vibrant red ball housing a camera. Its appearance was strikingly peculiar, almost comically so, like a giant, watchful eye on wheels.
I was riding my Vespa and instinctively pulled over to observe this unusual vehicle more closely. As it proceeded across State Street and turned onto Camp, heading in the direction of Audubon Park, its California license plates hinted at its origins. On impulse, I took out my iPhone, activated the camera, and began to follow.
A surge of adrenaline coursed through me, a mixture of curiosity, excitement, and a distinct sense of unease. Cameras are commonplace in any urban environment, particularly in a city like New Orleans. From parents capturing moments of their children’s lives, to tourists framing picturesque houses and trees, to the elaborate setups of movie productions that transform city blocks into temporary studios. The presence of cameras is woven into the fabric of city life, often accepted and even welcomed.
However, this encounter felt different. My mind raced to the countless images captured by these Google Street View cars across the globe. I thought of the individuals inadvertently caught in these digital landscapes, their mundane, private moments transformed into almost surreal scenes by the indiscriminate nature of this technological gaze. These glimpses into unguarded lives, presented without context or consent, raise questions about the nature of public space and personal privacy in the digital age.
I imagined how the everyday residents of New Orleans might appear through the lens of the Google Street View car, their lives and surroundings presented to a global audience, possibly devoid of the nuances that define the city’s unique character. Especially in the aftermath of significant events and ongoing discussions about preservation and change, there’s a palpable sense among locals that outsiders often misinterpret the essence of New Orleans, the intricate tapestry of life as it unfolds on its streets. The Google Street View driver, in his brightly decorated vehicle, wasn’t physically threatening, nor was he breaking any laws. Yet, a feeling of antagonism arose from the very nature of his task. If the aim was to capture the image of my city, and potentially myself within it, no amount of cheerful colors on that car could mask the inherently surreptitious nature of this undertaking. The act of recording, however passively presented, felt like an imposition, a silent claim on the visual landscape of our lives.
