"On the one hand, intensified global networks threaten to collapse boundaries of all kinds - racial, economic, bodily. On the other, those attempting to cling to the privilege of their racialized class position find new and innovative ways of reconstructing protective boundaries." (Bhattacharyya, Gabriel, Small, 134)

Animal bodies are invoked, claimed, represented and anthromorphically inhabited on the internet in such a cacophonous myriad of ways, some authors view "cyberspace" as a new wilderness, teeming with spectral non-human life in disembodied conditions that unravel the differences between speaking about, for or as animals. Such visions both suppress and rework the embodied experience of living creatures, both human and non-human. This paper looks at how animals and animal practices are represented online, and how these representations reinscribe race and gender.

Animals are useful for "writing" race online precisely because they are non-human. In her discussion of "discursive animals" in historical writing, Erica Fudge outlines how, in the human/animal binary, animals constitute the edge of the "human" category through a calibrating set of differences including "thought, speech, (and) the right to possess private property ". Accounts of animal physiology and narratives of animal practices work up and frame race and gender to rationalize dominant interests, and the violent operations that maintain them.

Animal practices reveal features of human cultures; specifically, how we position and discuss proximal animals such as domestic pets, urban wildlife, and livestock expose human geographies, power relations and processes of othering and ordering human as well as non-human bodies. Jennifer Wolch contends that in the colonial epoch, race was constructed according to regimes of animal classification and physiology and that now, in a postmodern context of global technologies, race is spoken through narratives of animal practices. Discourses of what we do or don't do with animals are where whiteness and white privilege both legitimate and disguise their operations. And, as on colonial maps, extinct species, monsters and human-animal hybrids continue to mark the edges of our earth. In this review of some of the different and intersecting ways that animals and animal practices are referenced online now, I focus on points in the debate where race, gender, whiteness and white privilege emerge.

Various writers have proposed that whiteness is the internet's default POV, that it is constructed as absence, only revealing itself through processes of othering that are framed in moralizing narratives of contagion and underdevelopment. If whiteness ratifies its privilege - its command of POV online - through utterances of moral superiority and biocontainment - how do online configurations of animals serve to shore up this position, while at the same time disguising it? Is there anything else, any animality and animal agency online, running against the grain and counter to narratives of animal practices that would ratify white privilege?

In the New York Times article, "In The Slaughterhouse Some Things Never Die", Charlie LeDuff describes the backbreaking, "stonehearted" work of killing, eviscerating and packing hogs. The grueling and dangerous tasks on the 'kill floor' are divided amongst illegal Mexican immigrants, impoverished blacks and a few white prisoners according to a strict racial hierarchy. Cary Wolfe writes, "…the relations of of hierarchy, domination, and exploitation between humans and animals are uncannily and systematically reproduced in relations of class, race and ethnicity among humans themselves." LeDuff reports on a massive slaughterhouse and meat packing plant located in a desolate area where many illegal Mexican immigrants work to pay off those who smuggled them into the US. Even in desperate circumstances, most workers cannot last a year at these jobs. Human and non-human bodies are fused in a regime of brutal commodification, where exhausted workers claim that even "the hogs' squeals" are extracted and sold.

The regime of the assembly-line on the kill floor. The rate of the conveyor belts and hoists on the kill line. These are set to push bodies to brutal extremes of efficiency; bodies are calibrated by the technology of surveillance and production within a racially-determined framework. These systems were designed, using photographic motion study research and animal experiments, to maximize the velocity and regimentation of workers' movements and animal death; these architectonic techniques create the conditions of psychological detachment required for the killing regimes. Isolation, high security measures and restrictions around entering, photographing or even referencing what occurs at these sites conceal their operations. However, the concealment effort also electrifies such images with voyeuristic potency, making them highly-charged currency in activist counter-narratives.

Animal activists have frequently exposed images of animal suffering through publication of clandestine photography which "saturates the visual animal image with moral connotations" (Burt) The internet is a key repository for this explicit footage, where images of animal bodies in trauma and death circulate in unpredictable contexts of reception.

The project's online version ramps up the controversy; it defensively features letters from Jewish supporters including a prominent endorsement from Isaac Bashevis Singer's grandson and a link to "PETA's new controversial television ad", "They Came at Night". This video POV is from inside the back of a truck, looking out a narrow window at night; as we approach a loading dock into an ominous building, a Yiddish-accented voiceover speaks of the cries of fear giving way to silent terror.

"The Holocaust on Your Plate" was condemned by the Jewish Anti-Defamation League; its director, A.H. Foxman wrote in a press release, "Abusive treatment of animals should be opposed, but cannot and must not be compared to the Holocaust. The uniqueness of human life is the moral underpinning for those who resisted the hatred of Nazis and others ready to commit genocide even today". While PETA might reject this reasoning as speciesism, the campaign's gloss over the uniqueness of the human suffering of the holocaust is a strategy shared by Neo-Nazi's and anti-abortionists; it trivializes race hatred.

Internet technology, specifically how we search for information on the internet, has ramifications for how we encounter racism and speciesism there. Lisa Nakamura describes how hate speech comes delivered in the deceiving guise of 'legitimate' home pages : "…when I recently plugged the search term Holocaust into a popular search engine, I was directed to a neo-Nazi website (and a)… memorial to the holocaust of abortion and its correlations with the Nazi holocaust." "The Holocaust on Your Plate" project's home page - MassKilling.com - no doubt will appear on the same Google search amongst the same ambiguous company.

In alleging that "all people are Nazis", it fuels stereotypes of animal rights activists as misanthropic and extremist, fears that have been mined in pop culture including the 1995 film "12 Monkeys" (director : Terry Gilliam) and the recent "28 Days Later" (director : Danny Boyle), where animal activists/terrorists are responsible for unleashing bio-viral plagues that destroy cities. The US Holocaust Museum asserts the photographs were obtained by PETA under false pretenses.Clearly, PETA has exploited what has become familiar iconography for an agenda that, in drawing analogies, elides differences.

MassKilling.com's graphics evoke holocaust documentaries and books, with a black and red colour scheme and SS-style heading font face. The graphical interface and search ambiguities beg the question, how do PETA's web team construct the race of its users? A letter of support PETA features on the project web site is revealing. The author writes, "Hate that leads to violence, and even genocide, is more common than any of us would like to admit–in all parts of the world. But the Holocaust in Europe is the one that hurts the Western world more. Why? Because it happened "here," Not in Africa, not in Southeast Asia." The "here" the author speaks of is in fact the "here" of the web site - a "western, civilized" world, as juxtaposed with the "other world" of Africa and Southeast Asia. The western, industrial, efficient online geography is coded white.

PETA's campaign does not link animals with raced human bodies that are "disposable" in a globalized economy now. As Bhattacharyya, Gabriel and Small write, "The shift in social organization to a view that regards human labour as endlessly replaceable and therefore dispensable inhabits the handy fictions of race which show us that some people are born only to die." (162) PETA's counter-narrative does not speak of the fusion of racism and animal practices within the "industrial, efficient" slaughterhouses, where animal death is most often the work of marginalized, impoverished "illegal" others. LeDuff's report eloquently demonstrates that the practice of killing animals to meet the enormous North American demand for meat is work for people who are raced, gendered and on the lowest rungs of the workforce. PETA's images do not include these workers whose bodies would provoke consideration of contemporary conditions for a majority of the world's poor. Poverty, hunger, global inequity and the racial features of class division all impact on animal practices, which cannot be detached from cultural contexts without reinforcing narratives of white privilege. An activist strategy based on human/animal binaries ("to animals, all people are Nazis") reinscribes racial privilege, sending the message that planetary environmental enforcement is the responsibility of dominant white interests (a theme taken up, amongst others, by Al Gore).

By way of contrast with the PETA campaign, the work of US artist Sue Coe in the 'Porkopolis' series of drawings on her web site, depicts the co-suffering of animals and people in slaughterhouses. She quotes Adorno in the online caption for her drawing of pigs being dragged into the abattoir : "Auschwitz begins whenever someone looks at a slaughterhouse and thinks: they're only animals." Coe toured slaughterhouses in Canada, the US and Latin America for several years. Photographs were not permitted in these places, however her sketchbook was perceived as innocuous; drawing, then, was instrumental in depicting a situation that could not be photographed.

(in)visibility of cruelty

"…animals inevitably are constituted by the time in which they live. They also have time, but it is edited- by film- manipulated and re-organized- by zoo display- and accelerated- by the mechanization of slaughter. This is the temporality of modernity for all creatures, human and animal." (Burt)

To protect the sensibilities of Victorian white women, "humane animal practices" in fact restrict the visibility of animal suffering and death, while inscribing whiteness and femininity. This (in)visibility is embedded in technologies of representation. Authors including Burt, Wilson and notably John Berger have written historical accounts of the emergence of motion pictures and its impact on how we see (and don't see) animals. Berger asserted an inverse relation between animals and their images - as animals disappear from our everyday lives, animal movies proliferate. This "history of disappearance" (Burt) is rooted in 19^th century Britain, when legislation was introduced requiring that slaughterhouses be kept away from the public gaze. Slaughterhouses were relocated outside of cities, secured and equipped with increasingly sophisticated surveillance regimes and technology. At the same time in the mid to late 1800's, animal bodies figured as key subjects of the burgeoning use of photography in science experimentation. Burt writes,

"the seeing of the animal becomes, in certain circumstances, a complex act that combines a preoccupation with the humane alongside codes that sanction animal killing or experimentation in areas outside the field of public vision." (Burt)

The earliest innovators of motion picture photography focused on animals. Etienne-Jules Marey's chronophotographs are still compilations that analyze the movement of a tethered bird's wings, for example, by suspending the temporarilty of this motion in a collage. The work of Eadweard Muybridge reveals an early task of motion pictures - naturalizing race and gender stereotypes alongside an exhaustive survey of animal motion studies. Muybridge's work shares features with Carl Linné's (Linnaeus') 1735 The System of Nature, where colonialism asserts its order on the surfaces of life in categories including race, gender and species. Muybridge's classification project deploys motion picture photography as the medium for a schema of bodies that inscribes race, gender and species according to analysis of movement. His sexually charged images of naked black men and white women bathing each other are staged for audiences of artists and scientists whose privilege is expressed in access to seeing.

The historical concurrence of the removal of animal suffering from public view with the emergence of photographic techniques and animal representations suggests to Berger and Burt that these images serve to both regulate and compensate for animal presence. Even the vocabulary of film language evokes animal bodies and movement. Lippit suggests that cinema encodes animal traits as a "gesture of mourning" for the disappearance of wildlife; she notes that the film term 'animation' signals a positioning of nature, as animality, in film and semiotic language. Denied language, animals are turned into language. The process of digitalization is one of a "fading of tactility", since online 'nature' privileges sight over other senses (Rodowick). Braidotti calls this a process of making "spectral"; death is elided in a vampiric exchange of embodiment for spectral immortality. She declares that the media industry is a "serious, never-ending, forever dead source of capital; a spectral economy of the eternal return" where various brands of nihilism circulate. In the media economy of the spectral, images live on forever, a "ghastly, ghostly economy of vampiric consumption". (Braidotti 211) PETA's "Holocaust on Your Plate" campaign can be considered as one more chapter within this proliferating saga of death and horror imagery on the web.

"…the dubious notion… is peddled rather too easily and too often, that the "zoo animal" is in some sense not a real animal." (Baker)

Some artists and philosophers see the possibility for renewed engagement with the environment and living animals through study of Artificial Life (AL) and its post-human implications; others fear that these alternate "life forms" on the web might operate as substitutes for disappearing wildlife. How do these animal practice narratives about cyborg animals, Artificial Life (AL), genome repositories and online zoos and Arks, impact on race, gender, whiteness and white privilege? Heisse discusses the wide-ranging implications of the cyborg in reconceptualizing the human body and identity, however in these discussions cyborg animals are little mentioned. (59 Zoontologies). Claire Malloy points out that "… developing discursive articulations of (the) post-human embrace the human-machine schism at the expense of the classification 'animal'." (Malloy, 3). How do spectral animals shore up the human - and white privilege - in ways that flesh ones cannot? And how do artists and activists complicate these stories, if at all?

The internet positions the older, and increasingly unused, facades of sites of animal contact as skuemorphs in Katherine Hayles sense of the term, as design features that were functional at an earlier time. (How We Became Posthuman). There is a proliferation online of digital zoos, arks, safaris, farms, aquaria, circuses and bestiaries, where representations of animals are arranged according to classification systems and contact narratives that can be situated historically in terms of colonial narratives of race and gender. Here, the internet reprises familiar colonial tropes, in a revised disembodied form. The shift from classification in the colonial period to animal practice narratives now as articulations of white privilege reflects the changing space/time and geographies of postmodern urban life. (Wolch).

Digital ‘animals’ circulate in a spectral economy of images and DNA sequences. These can be managed and copyrighted. Gail Davies writes that copyright constitutes the bars and moats containing animals in the electronic zoo. The human-animal interactions involved in obtaining the images (and the digital manipulation of them) are concealed. However, as in zoos of the colonial period, online Arks and zoos contain trophies that testify to the imperial reach and mobility required to obtain the inventory of animal bodies, live or represented. Scientific description of DNA, like the photographic traces of animals, is copyrighted, institutionalizing what Shiva famously calls a neocolonial project of "biopiracy".

Live animals in zoos and pet stores still have agency and act in ways beyond human command; they touch sexually, curl unresponsively into corners and play out the psychological distress of captivity in repetitive pacing and head-banging. They meet or elide the spectator’s gaze. (Davies, Berger).This agency is eliminated in the photographic databases of online "zoos" and "Arks". As with animatronic displays in museums and theme parks, animal behavior is programmed and predictable. Troubling images of animals are repressed, as are connections between human and non-human life.

Animal bodies will show that life cannot be subsumed into representation without loss. Yet, as Hayles points out, underlying our datascapes and narratives of artificial life is an inclination to believe more and more that the essential coordinates of life are data that can be stored and replicated. Basically this is an idea of life as digital, where mind can be stored, independent of body. If we wish to think that "life" circulates through the internet, we also wish to join this life, to find a place for our lives beyond our own human bodies, another dimension, a spiritual and intellectual repository where we might circulate, immortal, amongst the intercessionary powers. It has long been believed that animals can travel between the worlds of the living and the dead. If "cyberspace" is an interstitial world, then we seek to become interstitial animals there. Cyberspace fulfills desires for a wilderness where white tigers live, where our domesticates speak and are touched by us forever. Many versions of utopia are 'peaceable kingdoms' where the lion lies down beside the lamb, where slaughter and consumption are eradicated. It is the horror of the body, its consumptive needs, vulnerability, degeneration and death that fuel a yearning for whiteness - the body as absence and clean power, inviolable, made into mind - that may fuel our desire to believe that the internet is space, our queries are movement, and animality is transcendent.

We call some forms of computer programming "life" because they share features with how we describe and interact with animals. Insects and microorganisms, domestic pets and mythological and spiritual creatures are paradigmatic. We describe how our bodies feel during time online in terms of 'animality' - words including 'traces', 'tracking', 'gathering' and many others imply that the limits and allures of internetworking and research dishevel our habitual bodies in a way that is socially acceptable in domestic space.

We sit before the internet in a query posture. Online, we "move" by typing questions, not even questions but keywords, in a fingerdance of askingishness. Who we are asking and who is answering remain veiled or muffled, what Zizek calls the "murmuring" effect of all the decontextualised utterances. This querying posture we call 'surfing' (a California white-young-male activity, as Davis notes).

There is a 'between us - as us" quality to the internet interface. The physical limits, anonymity and clunky uncertainty of the devices are part of their specific sensual appeal in our exchanges with others. Lingus might call this an allure of "facelessness".

The internet reconfigures our communicative presence (to the place you are in when you make a telephone call?). Our bodies - touch-typing, making tiny calibrated movements with the mouse, the key pad - trigger sensations, hunting-gathering, masturbating, detecting data traces, absenting from attentiveness, and feeling the pulls of its own seeking, disheveling and dismantling in potent washes of drift and effect. But where is this mainly happening? In western domestic space, co-present with "kin" - human and domestic animals, servants, appliances and toys. The human-animal bond in western urban life is modeled on human interrelations. The most plainly enacted is that of 'kinship'. "a primary organizing metaphor for human-animal relations in the western urban domain is the metaphor of kinship (Sabloff 59)." Attention to animal bodies and practices in domestic space reveals a continual mapping of what is inside and outside. We ask Google more questions than we ask our housemates; we touch our domestic animals more that our human companions. The internet operates as a technological domesticate.

In scoping the internet this way, we are eliding its contents and attending to its touch surfaces, velocities and drifts, its qualities of motion and space-like sensations. Do we only feel like we are moving through space online because William Gibson so famously imagined it so? The much-anticipated graphic urbanscape interfaces foreseen by Gibson, other artists and the architects of VRML have not (de)materialized (yet); the interface gateway is thoroughly secured by the linguistic query model of Google. Existing corporate and geographic hegemonies are reconfigured in cyberspace. Power and access to essentials such as food are striated by race, class and geography in the flesh world and this formation is being reproduced online. It is beyond the scope of this paper to thoroughly analyze how the structure of Google reconfigures corporate hegemonies online. Clearly though, Google's dominance complicates stories of "unfettered movement" around the web.

In The Cartography of Bodies, Radhika Monhanram discusses Braidotti's 'postmodern feminist nomadism' in terms of the privileded status of this strategy. She writes that "ease of movement across borders reveals the unmarked European body". (Monhanram 80) Is online searching analogous with the nomadic movement of bodies speculated about by Braidotti and Deleuze, and if so, who are the actors? Is becoming animal online possible? Such movement presumes a body out of crisis, a body comfortable enough to secure its otherness, in a place of transcendent anonymity, a transit lounge or vestibule that is only neutral for those who disappear into whiteness there. Here we can find intersections between race, class and being (or being made) as opposed to becoming animal.

Queries about non-human use of the internet overwhelming lead to considerations of human-machine cyborg interfaces, and to speculations that the internet is "organic", a digital "nature" in where artificial life forms evolve and proliferate. These dovetail with internet role-playing games where participants choose animal avatars.

The online programs described as "life-forms" include emergent programming packets (Artificial Life or AL), data-tracking and search algorithms (web crawlers and spiders) and electronic pets (neopets, game characters and helper/atavar programs with time-based features and graphical icons, often resembling animals and insects).

The Tierra web site has a trippy quality; Ray's cosmic rhetoric linking computer and animal life suggests Carlos Castenenada in the desert landscape of a "Darwinian operating system". The first image one sees on the site is a painting (which could be an album cover, or airbrushed on the back of a van) of a headband-wearing longhaired shaman-type with bowls and pestles who releases a glowing sand-like substance into a pool that reflects the planets and stars.

The Tierra project is being developed alongside a real-world conservation project. Ray links the "biodiversity reserve for digital life forms" with an organic one. The parallelism signals that Ray is concerned with both contexts, but it also metaphorically blurs them. "The digital reserve will be distributed across the global net, and will create a space for the evolution of new virtual life forms. The organic reserve will be located in the rain forests of northern Costa Rica, and will secure the future of existing organic life forms." (as above). Digital life forms are regarded as "life" because of the code's "emergent" self-generating and self-terminating features, which are likened to birth, reproduction and death. Memory packets on the internet are the "nature" or host species in which these programming entities proliferate. Hayles points out that simple mathematical formulae here are regarded as the origin of complexity, rather than tools for understanding the complexity of life. These forms are "life" because Ray describes and observes them as organisms. Other emergent programmers make more modest claims, using the simulations for analysis of bird flocking in flight, for example.

From the onset 'cyberspace' has been regarded as a new world operating according to different rules of embodiment than this one (Davis). Life-like animal representations and creatures on the internet seem to exercise intercessionary powers, like the saints of Santaria. The disembodied murmurs Zizek writes of are heard as the murmuring of ghosts. Perhaps this can begin to account for the profusion of fantastic creatures and anthropomorphic hybrids on the internet.

Web spiders and crawlers feel alive because of the vast scope and extreme velocity of their operations; life is apprehended in their meta-human complexity and intercessionary operations. They are made lifelike by their mysteriousness and responsiveness to our queries. They are alive like sphinxes and (saints of Santeria) are, alive yet immortal, intervening on our behalf or menacing us, watching and conspiring, secretive; helpful or malevolent.

Electronic pets are described as alive because - like domesticates - they require our attention, look cute, and have personalities we can customize. Zizek notes that these virtual pets are instruments of interpassivity, turning children into virtual murderers. My daughter and her friends enjoy amassing these neopets but don't really care much if they die. Rather than provoking awareness of animal death, electronic pets - like our avatars in games - are interesting because they do not die like we do, allowing a painless and reversible restaging of death.

The analysis of anthropocentricism on this site is crucial; rather than reproducing the metaphors without theorization, vivaria sets up a project space for critical enquiry about the economic and social features that condition our ideas of Artificial Life. As Claire Malloy writes, "The nonhuman animal body has become a contested site"; the genetic manipulation, lives and slaughter of livestock animals, for example, trouble the boundaries between bodies and technologies. Anthropomorphic hybrids and discourses unsettle anthropocentric discourses, and reveal features of how race is reconfigured online.

Analysis of animal practice stories online must consider human and animal bodies in terms of labour. Animals and humans labour under shared conditions.The technologies of factory-farm animal life and death, like the technologies of end of life (EOL) care, operate in a racialized context, attached both to animal bodies and to workers including illegal and provisional immigrants on the lowest rungs of the social ladder. On the internet, as in the everyday world, communication with workers, animals and the elderly is socially undervalued or declared impossible, rendering invisible the languages of touch, scent, glance, wakefulness, erotics and other embodied non-verbal non-textual languages. Animal rights activism that relies on human/animal binaries and exploits racism as a metaphor for speciesism fails to account for the ways that racism is reconfigured now. Perhaps anthropomorphic storytelling that fuses animal and human bodies, and challenges too-simple descriptions of online "life", can advance counter-narratives that challenge these structural inequities as they are reconfigured online.

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