A drone for every home

Drones are becoming the latest military technology to find a home as consumer technology.

The present of military technology has always been the future of civilian technology. From jet engines to GPS and the internet, things invented for war have often found a new lease of life repurposed to make the world better, and drones are no exception.

The first foray into the consumer market is barely recognisable as a drone at all. The Parrot, a 60cm-square "flying toy" that retails for £300, doesn't look a huge amount like a Predator unmanned aerial vehicle. It isn't armed with cruise missiles, for one thing, and it's quite a bit smaller. It's also not based around a plane-type design but is instead a "quadricopter": four rotors, which can spin independently so that the drone flies with a fair amount of stability. But it's an unmanned, fly-by-remote-control aerial vehicle. Definitely a drone.

The Parrot has two cameras, pointing forward and down, which let it be controlled by a smartphone or tablet over wifi. It streams video back to the "pilot", who uses simple onscreen controls to move it around within its 50m range. Out of the box, it is largely a toy. But all that changed when the hackers got hold of it.

Take the Joggobot. By modifying the software which controls the Parrot, a pair of game designers in Australia have created a robotic pace-setter. The drone flies ahead of a runner, keeping an eye on a pattern printed on their t-shirt, and maintaining a steady speed. The creators argue that their creation prompts questions:

Should the robot be a pacemaker for the jogger? If so, can this be motivating? Or should the Joggobot be more like a dog, reacting to the jogger like a pet companion? How does this affect the interaction, and in particular, the exercise experience for the jogger? Will joggers run faster or longer because of the robot? And, maybe more importantly, will the jog be more engaging?

The Joggobot is limited, however, by what the Parrot can do. Although the drone is undoubtedly impressive for consumer technology, it has a battery life of just 20 minutes – barely enough to break a sweat – and can't carry anything beyond its own weight, which means that it can't lug around a change of clothes while you run. 

For real breakthroughs, its not enough to use a toy based on military drones: you have to get hold of the real thing. That's what this Polish protester did, filming a three-way clash between the police, neo-nazis and anti-fascists from the sky:

The widespread availability of UAV technology raises the possibility that the surveillance state can be turned back on itself. Already, sites such as Fitwatch apply the police's logic of Forward Intelligence Teams (squads of officers dedicated to documenting the presence of known "domestic extremists" at protests) to the police themselves, publishing "spotter cards" to warn protesters of police with alleged histories of violence and so on. With civilians in charge of the tools of surveillance, hopefully the sort of mysterious CCTV blackout that, it was claimed, happened when Ian Tomlinson was killed, ought to become rare.

New technology always raises new issues. And there's no better demonstration of that than the Tacocopter.

A sort of half-joke, half-proof of concept, half-genuine business plan, the Tacocopter "combines four of the most prominent touchstones of modern America: tacos, helicopters, robots and laziness", as the Huffington Post's Jason Gilbert puts it. The idea is simple: hungry San Franciscans launch an app, which checks their GPS and bills their iTunes account before launching a drone carrying a taco to whereever they may be.

It doesn't actually exist, of course. But the founders insist that they are serious, with only the minor hurdles of the plan's illegality and impracticality holding them back. The company's co-founder, Star Simpson, told Gilbert that:

Current US FAA regulations prevent . . . using UAVs [Unmanned Aerial Vehicles, such as drones] for commercial purposes at the moment. Honestly, I think it's not totally unreasonable to regulate something as potentially dangerous as having flying robots slinging tacos over people's heads . . . [O]n the other hand, it's a little bit ironic that that's the case in a country where you can be killed by drone with no judicial review.

The practical concerns, described by Gilbert as "minor", as still pretty tricky:

Navigating the treacherous terrain of an urban environment, keeping the food warm, finding a city map precise enough to avoid crashes 100 per cent of the time, avoiding birds, balconies and telephone wires, delivering food to people indoors, delivering food to the right person, dealing with greedy humans who would just steal the Tacocopter as soon as it got to them, etc.

The legal hurdles are what have been focused on heavily by bloggers such as the Economist's Ryan Avent. It's more fun to think that evil big government is keeping us from our robot-delivered street food than it is to handle the fact that it's quite tricky to automatically fly a quadricopter through a city. But as Avent says, "It's a short leap from the ridiculous to the transformative."

Right now, though, most of what we can do with drones is staying firmly in the former category. The pinnacle of consumer drone technology remains the Orvillecopter:

This week's edition of the New Statesman features a cover story on drones, and is on stands now.

A Parrot drone is displayed at CES. Photograph: Getty Images

Alex Hern is a technology reporter for the Guardian. He was formerly staff writer at the New Statesman. You should follow Alex on Twitter.

Flickr: M.o.B 68 / New Statesman
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“I begged him to come home”: Breaking the taboo around texting the dead

Many people text dead loved ones to cope with their grief – but trouble arises when they get an unexpected reply. 

A month after Haley Silvestri’s dad died from a heart attack, she texted him begging him to come home. In the middle of the night Silvestri’s 14-year-old sister had found their father, with his lips and mouth blue, lying on the kitchen floor. “There was nothing there anymore, just a dead body,” Silvestri says. “My father had his first heart attack months before and seemed to be doing OK. Then, this happened.”

In the very first episode of CSI Miami’s seventh season, the protagonist – Horatio Caine – fakes his death. For the first 15 minutes of the episode, the viewer believes the character is truly dead, as the camera lingers on Horatio’s body face down on the tarmac.

Silvestri and her father used to enjoy watching the show together. After he had passed and she realised she would never see her “best friend” again, she picked up her phone. “I texted my dad begging him to come home,” she says. “I begged my dad to please be ‘pulling a Horatio’.”

"My heart was broken and I was bawling as I texted her over and over" 

In texting her father after he had died, Silvestri is by no means unusual. No official figures exist for the number of people who use technology to message their deceased loved ones, but Sara Lindsay, a professional counsellor, clinical supervisor, and trainer, says it is “more common than we think”.

“I see it as a modern and contemporary part of the grieving process,” she says. “I think in a way it's very similar to visiting a graveside, in that the bereaved are reaching out, particularly in the early days, because it takes a long time for people to process the reality that this person has now gone.”

Karlie Jensen, 18, texted her friend immediately after she found out she had died in a car accident. “I texted her as soon as I woke up to the news from my mom that she had passed. My heart was broken and I was bawling as I texted her over and over waiting for a text saying it wasn't her, that my mom didn't know all the facts, and maybe she was just hurt.” Jensen also called her friend and begged her to respond. “I did it because I couldn't let go and couldn't accept she was gone from my life forever,” she says. Karlie continued to text her friend while also calling her voicemail in order to hear the sound of her speaking again. 

Karlie (right) and her friend

After her first text to her deceased father, Silversti also began texting him once a week. She fell into depression, and on her worst days messaged the number. “I think it helped initially because it felt like I was personally writing a note to him, that I knew he only was gonna see,” she says. “I did it because it was my attempt at pretending he was still here and could text me back.”

Lindsay, who has over a decade’s experience of bereavement counselling, emphasises that this behaviour is in no way unhealthy. “I think on the whole it's a very healthy part of grieving, particularly in the first year where the bereaved faces agonising days without their loved ones,” she says. “There is just so much loss and change in their life that’s out of their control, I see this aspect of texting as a small way of being able to reach out and alleviate that pain. That person is suddenly now not there but how they feel about that person hasn't changed.”

"I was going through my phone and I saw his number – I wanted to delete it, but I hesitated I thought maybe I could send a text"

Despite being normal, however, using technology to talk to the dead is a behaviour we rarely – if ever – hear anything about. If the words “texting the dead” make it into the media, they are usually followed by a far more sensationalist “and then they text back!!!!”. Yet although messaging the deceased is popularly seen as the stuff of horror movies and trashy headlines, in reality it is simply a new, modern way to grieve.

Via Mirror.co.uk

“The first time I texted him I was on my bus on the way to school,” says now-20-year-old Dylan Campbell about his cousin Josh, who passed away from leukaemia. “I didn't have many friends so I had no one to talk to. I was going through my phone and I saw his number – I wanted to delete it, but I hesitated I thought maybe I could send a text and someone would reply or I would get something out of it.”

Campbell continued to send his cousin texts for a few weeks, “kind of like a diary”. He says he did so because he regretted not seeing Josh more up until his death, and “had a lot of things to say” that he’d never had the chance to. Linsday says texting in this way is a very healthy way of completing unfinished business. “There might have been something they've never said to their loved one that they want to be able to say and texting is a very normal place to do that.”

"Begging for a dead person to reply to you hurts since you won't ever get what you want in return"

Nonetheless, Lindsay notes that texting the dead can become unhealthy if grief becomes “stuck”, and the texting replaces normal communication or becomes a long term compulsion. Unlike Silvestri and Campbell, Jensen continued to text her friend in the hopes she would text back. She admits now that she was in denial about her death. “Begging for a dead person to reply to you hurts since you won't ever get what you want in return” she says. “I don't know if it helped trying to contact her or hurt worse because I knew I'd never get a reply. I wanted a reply.”

Quite frequently, however, this reply does come. After a few months – but sometimes in as little as 30 days – phone companies will reallocate a deceased person’s phone number. If someone is texting this number to “talk” to their dead loved one, this can be difficult for everyone involved.

“This story doesn't have a happy ending,” says Campbell. “After a few months someone from that number called me and yelled at me to stop bothering them – it was really heart breaking.” When Silvestri texted her father to wish him a happy birthday (“Saying I hoped he was having a great party up in heaven”) someone replied telling her to never text the number again. “I was pissed off,” she says. “Just block my number if it was that serious. This was a form of therapy I needed and it got taken away because someone couldn’t understand my hurt.”

Indeed, behind the sensationalist tabloid headlines of "texting back" is a more mundane - and cruel - reality of pranksters pretending to be the dead relatives come back to life.

"Visiting a grave is a clear recognition that the person visited does not exist in the normal day-to-day state of life, whereas texting allows for a suspension of that reality"

Silvestri, Jensen, and Campbell have never spoken to anyone else about the fact they texted their dead loved ones. Lindsay says that a fear of seeming “mad” combined with cultural phenomena – like the British stiff upper lip – might make people reluctant to speak about it. There is also a stigma around the way much of our modern technology is used in daily life, let alone in death.

This stigma often arises because of the newness of technology, but Christopher Moreman, a philosophy professor and expert on death and dying, emphasises that texting the dead is simply a modern iteration of many historical grieving practices – such as writing letters to the dead or talking to them at their graves. “I don't think the process of grieving is much changed, even if new modes of grieving come about due to new technologies,” he says. In fact, if anything, the differences between old and new ways of grieving can be positive.

“One important difference is in the sense of proximity,” explains Moreman. “I can text a loved one from anywhere in the world, but I can only visit their grave in one specific location. In another way, texting has the same structure whether I am texting someone who is alive or dead, so a sense of proximity also exists in the experience itself.

“Visiting a grave is a clear recognition that the person visited does not exist in the normal day-to-day state of life, whereas texting allows for a suspension of that reality. Some people may complain that new technologies allow us to ignore the reality of death, but there isn't any evidence that one way of grieving is more or less healthy than another.”

Amelia Tait is a technology and digital culture writer at the New Statesman.

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