Pictures in our heads: Politics of space,time,and memory in Polish virtual reality storyworlds

Abstract

This article examines the entangled politics of space, time and memory in the virtual realm of extended reality (XR). The illiberal right-wing Law and Justice party (Prawo i Sprawiedliwość) has been investing in the creation and dissemination of virtual reality (VR) content centred on historical themes since 2018. By mapping out the experiential geography of populism in virtual places, the article aims to identify the main features of this new immersive mode of politics. The article argues three main points on space, time, and memory: (1) in VR, places are storylived spaces that are conceived and designed by their creators to elicit a specific sense of place, accompanied by specific emotions and thoughts; (2) from an experiential point of view, the past does not exist in VR, only the virtual present, turning VR into a contemporary technology of myth-making and myth-living; (3) since VR experiences become integrated into the autobiographical memory, VR is a technology that shapes the self. In effect, VR storyworlds establish places for the embodied rehearsal of cultural memory narratives.

Introduction

Writing in 1922, American journalist and media critic Walter Lippmann was increasingly concerned about the state of American democracy. One of his main observations was that media put ‘pictures in our heads’ (Lippmann, 1922). These pictures function as a ‘pseudo-environment’, which influences how people perceive themselves and others, who they vote for, and what issues they see as important. Reliance on various pseudo-environments is inescapable so far as the actual real environment is too complex and too overwhelming for individuals to comprehend. For Lippmann, this meant that distortion determines a great deal of people’s behaviour. Individuals or groups with the authority to create and disseminate pictures, while also having the ability to suppress alternative perspectives, possess an unregulated influence over the formation of a political landscape.

However, what happens when media technologies enable not only the transmission of pictures into people’s heads, but also provide a bodily and multisensorial encounter, allowing to touch, interact, feel, and move within a pseudo-environment? When storytelling is becoming storyliving (Arora, 2017; Maschio, 2017) in the new era of immersive digital media technologies, how do these personal and vivid experiences in VR change the way people engage with the past as well as politics in the present?

The illiberal right-wing Law and Justice party (Prawo i Sprawiedliwość, henceforth PiS) has been investing in the creation and dissemination of virtual reality (VR) content centred on historical themes since 2018. VR has been intentionally and strategically harnessed in efforts to, metaphorically speaking, bring a selectively curated past into the present and to bring the users of this technology into the past. In 2023, the Polish government officially announced the launch of a new partnership with Meta, the corporation most invested in advancement of VR and AR as the next big computing platform. The collaboration aims, among other things, to integrate VR in school-history education. Most of the new Polish VR productions deal with the themes of war and conflict. Aside from schools, they are disseminated free of charge via digital platforms and physical venues around Poland. For example, the Virtual Theatre of History functions as a mobile exhibition that travels to smaller Polish towns and villages and displays VR films free of charge in main public squares. Gallery Okno na Kulturę, established in the building of the Ministry of Culture and National Heritage, displays VR films in the centre of Warsaw daily. The ‘Niepodległa’ programme, also funded by the Ministry of Culture and National Heritage, offers custom VR screenings combined with lessons for primary schools (only grades VI–VIII), secondary schools and senior citizens. The ‘Innovative History’ project also travels across the country promoting the use of VR in history education and claims to have reached over 60,000 pupils in grades VII and VIII of primary schools, as well as all grades of secondary schools (innowacyjnahistoria.pl, 2023). Despite recent governmental changes, the distribution of VR content continues to be widespread in Poland.

The historical precedence of the radical right adeptly utilising emerging technologies to further their agendas is well-documented, from the National Socialist Party’s use of radio (Adena et al., 2015) to Donald Trump’s strategic deployment of Twitter (Ott and Dickinson, 2019), and the German AfD’s engagement on TikTok (Bösch, 2023). These examples underscore a consistent pattern where the radical populist right exploit new media platforms to directly communicate with the public, bypass traditional gatekeepers, and rapidly disseminate their narratives. The parallels between the historical instances of new media exploitation by the radical right and the contemporary use of VR by the PiS government in Poland highlight the evolution of media strategies in populist politics. The immersive and compelling nature of VR represents the latest frontier in the ongoing adaptation of populist movements to harness the potential of new media to shape political discourse and memory politics.

Building on this evolution of media strategies for shaping collective memory and identity, VR storyworlds represent a new kind of technologically mediated lieux de mémoire (Nora, 1984–1992). They function as commemorative spaces (Petermann, 2011), which are designed to elicit a distinct sense of place, evoke particular emotions and thoughts, and make users see themselves as an inherent part of the represented place and/or events. Users experience VR storyworlds from ‘inside’, irrespective of whether they are positioned as participants or witnesses. Experiential and immersive proximity to past places and events in VR enables the structuring of personal memories in alignment with the social frames of reference (Halbwachs, 1992). Similar to encounters with the physical spaces, users’ interaction with the virtual locations can ensure a sense of continuity, contribute to identity-building processes, and promote emotional engagement with the past. Virtual spaces can be repeatedly revisited and integrated into commemorative rituals. As story-worlds, they intertwine the memories of events with the memories of places. Similarly to how users can learn to play the piano in VR, they can also learn to adopt collective frameworks of remembrance, practice and embody the performance of these frameworks in VR. Virtual storyworlds encourage specific actions and interactions with the surrounding space, as well as with other users or characters inhabiting it. These (inter)actions play a crucial role in shaping users’ virtual experiences and memories, making the virtual space not just a backdrop but an active participant in the creation of memories.

Halbwachs (1980) observed that collective memory ‘unfolds within a spatial framework’ (p. 139), with the past being remembered in and through the physical environment. For Halbwachs (1980: 130), ‘spatial images’ play an important role in collective memory. VR, as a spatial medium, accentuates this spatial dimension of memory, extending Halbwachs’ insight into the field of immersive spatial computing. VR allows for a meticulous reconstruction of historical places or events. However, VR also introduces the possibility of creating spaces without direct physical analogues. Through VR, users can virtually visit and interact with spaces that are either no longer accessible, have undergone significant changes, or have been imagined into their virtual existence in deliberately biased ways. The immersive realism of VR can make synthetic virtual spaces and events that unfold in them feel genuine and authentic, challenging users’ ability to discern their constructed nature.

The following analysis is organised into three sections, each delving into interconnected topics: the politics of space, the politics of time, and the politics of memory in VR. To empirically illustrate the overarching argument, two Polish VR films, ‘Postcard from the Uprising’ (Polskie Radio, 2018, dir. Tomasz Dobosz) and ‘Wiktoria 1920’ (2020, dir. Tomasz Dobosz), are employed as examples. These two VR films have been selected because they serve as paradigmatic examples of the new VR memory politics of the PiS.

Politics of space

Space is the key dimension in VR. I understand the politics of space in the context of VR as the ways in which the design of spatial environments and storyworlds reflects and is shaped by political power, ideologies, and social relations. VR is a spatial, interactive and embodied technology that immerses users within a virtual environment and utilises their perception of bodily position and movement to boost memory retention and foster a heightened feeling of presence, or a sense of ‘being there’. The VR user is ‘inside’ the picture, not a distanced spectator who watches the pictured events unfold on the screen. Moreover, users can navigate and engage with the elements of virtual environments, and develop an active, dynamic, and self-generated perspective. Although users may feel that their point of view is completely self-produced, it is co-constituted by the technological apparatus and a specific virtual narrative or environment, both of which are created by public and/or private entities with their distinct interests and agendas (Evans, 2019; Lanier, 2017; Wong, 2023; Zuboff, 2019). The sense of proximity and immediacy may make it hard for users, especially those belonging to younger audiences, to sustain critical distance and reflection on the political, economic, cultural, and historical contexts exerting influence on their personal and memorable, even if virtual, experiences.

VR is a place-creating and place-enhancing technology, allowing to recreate places or create places that never existed, visit and explore them, and meet others ‘there’. In the context of VR, I use the term ‘place’ to denote a more particular form of space that is created by individuals and organisations, aiming to generate certain experiences, emotions, and meanings in users. I use the terms ‘virtual place’ and ‘virtual environment’ interchangeably. However, from the perspective of users, virtual environments are places of experience, within which they move, explore, and interact with objects, story characters, and fellow users. According to Hoskins and Halstead (2021: 683), extended reality (XR) technologies (VR/AR/MR) differ from other digital technologies, such as Zoom or videoconferencing that add to the sense of placelessness and an overall loss of place distinctiveness.

Spaces and places are ‘basic components of the lived world’: spaces turn into places when people become familiar with them and attach value and meaning to spaces (Tuan, 2001 [1977]: 3). In the realm of XR, spaces and places are basic components of the storylived world. Virtual story-places are designed by their creators to evoke certain feelings and thoughts, or a specific sense of place. Crucially, however, the place distinctiveness of virtual environments is also co-created by users who are storyliving and moving through them, and imbue these places with personal meaning.

The impact of such storylived experiences in VR on users’ behaviour and perceptions extends beyond the virtual space. Immersive virtual storyworlds provide spaces of encounter with unknown places and people, and model relationality between self and other(s) (Kazlauskaitė, 2022b). Moreover, virtual environments come with implicit and explicit rules on how one is supposed to behave ‘there’ in order to fit into the storyworld or a ‘pseudo-environment’. The ways in which these places and storyworlds are designed organise how users see, behave, and relate to the past as well as the present. They impose a particular virtual self onto the users’ self. The blending of these two selves depends on the sense of presence being achieved while undergoing a virtual experience (Kazlauskaitė, 2023).

The notion of ‘presence’ originates from ‘telepresence’, a term initially introduced by computer scientist Marvin Minsky in 1980. It was meant to describe the sensation of being transported to a distant location through teleoperation. Most of the definitions of ‘presence’ describe it as a feeling of ‘being there’ (Lombard and Jones, 2015: 22). For instance, Sheridan (1992) suggested that ‘presence’ entails a ‘feeling like you are actually there at the remote site’ (p. 120). Steuer (1992) defined presence as ‘the extent to which one feels present in the mediated environment, rather than in the immediate physical environment’ (p. 76). Lombard and Ditton (1997) characterised presence as ‘the perceptual illusion of nonmediation’, signifying the perception that technology plays no part in an individual’s technology-mediated experience. Successfully attained presence hides the technological mediation along with the creators of a particular virtual storyworld and their specific motivations.

The sense of ‘being there’ can be further distinguished into self-presence, spatial presence and co-presence (social presence) (Kazlauskaitė, 2023). Self-presence entails the perception of the body, emotions, or identity of a technology-based representation of ourselves as our own (Ratan, 2013). Spatial presence denotes the sense or state of ‘being there’, while co-presence or social presence signifies a feeling of ‘being there’ with others and engaging with them (Nash, 2018: 126). Co-presence is synonymous with social presence (Lee, 2004). It provides users with the perception of being together with others in space, as well as the perception of access to another intelligence (Biocca, 1997; Huang, 1999) and affective and behavioural engagement (Harms and Biocca, 2004). A crucial element is that a sense of ‘being there’ in a virtual environment is dependent on ‘doing there’ and on bodily movement (Sanchez-Vives and Slater, 2005; Slater et al., 1998; Slater and Steed, 2000). To function properly, each element within the VR system must function in precise synchronisation with the motions of the human body (Lanier, 2017). The illusion of ‘being there’ is created via presenting a stimulus to each part of the body that functions as a sensor: eyes, ears, skin, and the motor system responsible for the sense of body position and balance (Lanier, 2017). However, VR experiences, and particularly those that are built as narrative-based storyworlds, do not permit users to simply roam around and explore. Their creators make intentional choices about how they want to stimulate users’ embodied minds within the limits of a specific narrative progression.

As products of a detailed design and planning process, VR places come with specific rules as well as a narrative arc that determine who the virtual selves are in these places and how they move through them. The virtual self and its surrounding environment are inextricably interlinked. In Polish VR films, both the enveloping space and the positionality of the virtual self are carefully curated. To understand the politics of space in Polish VR productions, it is, first, necessary to examine what kind of places ‘there’ are and what kind of virtual selves the users are assigned in these places. The virtual selves typically have specific characteristics, roles and perspectives imposed by the storyworld creators. The virtual selves and VR spaces are inherently intertwined, constituting integral parts of the same ecosystem within the storyworld.

Two paradigmatic historical VR films that emerged in Poland in recent years are Kartka z Powstania (Postcard from the Uprising, 2018, dir. Tomasz Dobosz) and Wiktoria 1920 (2020, dir. Tomasz Dobosz). Both films deal with histories of war. Postcard from the Uprising tells the story of the 11th day of the 1944 Warsaw Uprising against the Nazi occupation. Wiktoria 1920 is dedicated to the events of the 1920 Polish-Soviet Russian War. Both films convey narratives of Polish history that hinge on the themes of victimhood, patriotic heroism, and valour. Crucially, in both films, users are positioned as characters in the story who actively take part in the unfolding events. Nevertheless, users lack the agency to dictate the actions and behaviours of their virtual selves within the narrative. Any moral choices, acts of bravery or emotional reactions that the virtual characters enact are imposed upon users rather than consciously and authentically lived by them. Herein lies the power of the illusion of nonmediation: if the sense of ‘being there’ is successfully achieved, the virtual self and its experiences are accepted as user’s own (Schöne et al., 2019, 2023).

In Postcard from the Uprising, the user, depending on the English or Polish versions of the film, is positioned as either an American, who came to fight the Nazis all the way from Texas or as a Polish man from the Southern region of Silesia. The user is included as one of the members of a group of insurgents. The film commences in an underground tunnel in Warsaw, where the user’s virtual self meets the other insurgents, upon regaining consciousness after being wounded, and receives assistance from them. Spatial proximity in the VR experience is an important element contributing to the illusion. The other characters speak to the user, make eye contact and enter one’s personal space. As the film continues, the user needs to move quietly along the tunnel with the group until they come across the lifeless body of a female insurgent on the ground and a note on the wall that reads, ‘Beware, Germans’. Users are provided with the opportunity to pause and contemplate this scene, allowing them to reflect upon the significance of the insurgents’ sacrifice. At this point, the group ultimately decides to emerge above ground. As the user ascends the ladder out of the sewer, they catch a glimpse of their hands. It is the first time they witness the full extent of Warsaw’s destruction. The depictions of the devastated Warsaw landscape hold a pivotal role in shaping the politics of spatial construction within this VR film.

Everywhere the users look, they are met with the sight of ruined, crumbling buildings. Amid this grim scene, a high-ranking Nazi SS officer emerges from one of the buildings and takes a seat in a chair. As the users are trying to process this, still peering only partially from the sewer pit, an enormous tank begins to approach, driving directly above their heads, causing the reflex to duck one’s head. This kind of spatial positioning creates a heightened sense of vulnerability and imminent threat because, at any moment, the user may be discovered by the SS officers who patrol above ground. The passing tank hurls a shard of metal over the sewer pit, obscuring the view. In the subsequent scene, the user hears the sniffing of an approaching dog and is then discovered by the towering figures of two aggressive Nazi officers who shout, point their guns, and strike the user on the head with a rifle. Everything plunges into complete darkness.

In an instant, the user awakens only to discover themselves, along with other insurgents and a large group of Polish civilians, held captive by an SS unit in the midst of the ruins that surround them. One of the SS officers approaches the user closely, locking eyes and commanding them to operate a gramophone. The user can see their hand turning the handle of the gramophone. The music sets the stage for a scene in which one of the SS officers selects a young Polish woman from the group of civilians, dances with her, and eventually takes her life. At this point, infuriated by the murder, the user ceases playing the gramophone and boldly refuses to continue, even as the Nazi officer commands them to continue. At that critical moment, the leader of the insurgent group, Władysław, offers the SS officer a grenade, feigning a bribe, and shoves the officer down, shielding himself and the user from the ensuing explosion with a wooden door. The subsequent part of the film places the user in the centre of a firefight against the remaining SS officers. Władysław, who is the leading Captain of the user’s insurgent unit, sustains an injury, and the group seeks refuge once more in the underground sewer tunnel. Here, the user observes Władysław, who reveals how his life was spared by a postcard from his daughter that he had kept in his chest pocket. The scene undergoes a sudden transformation, and the users find themselves in the Warsaw Rising Museum in the present. They are gazing at the postcard encased in a glass box, with an elderly woman, Władysław’s daughter, standing in front, smiling.

Several key elements emerge in the politics of space of this VR experience. Throughout the storyliving in Postcard from the Uprising, users occupy spaces that are both above and below ground. These spaces expose their vulnerability, inferiority in relation to the occupying Nazi forces, and the impact of war’s terror and destruction on civilian life. Users are either trying to hide from or are subjected to the brutal behaviour of the Nazi officers. These spaces also require sacrifice, bravery and resilience. Finally, these spaces are inhabited by other characters (the other insurgents) with whom users form relationships, and their very lives depend on these bonds. In this regard, the VR spaces in Postcard from the Uprising underscore the importance of Polish national unity, the imperative of staying together and united against the enemy. A clear division becomes evident between ‘us’ and ‘them’, both of which are spatially-organised. ‘They’, the Nazi Germans, are outsiders and invaders who destroy and wreak havoc on ‘our’ lived environment. To resist them means to claim and defend ‘our’ space from the invaders. The VR narrative provides a localised setting for the embodied rehearsal of these cultural memory narratives. Users are immersed in a storyworld where ruins become a personal experience of surrounding space, and not merely a picture seen on a page. The fear and vulnerability are spatialised experiences as well, as users need to hide in underground tunnels from the Nazi forces patrolling above ground.

In Wiktoria 1920, similarly, the user is also part of a group of five main characters, all of whom participate in a significant mission essential for victory in the Polish-Soviet Russian War. The group consists of uhlan ¹ Władysław Bronczak, student Jan Węgielski, a female spy posing as a photographer named Pola Lewicka, and a pilot named Merian C. Cooper. ² The users, embodying the virtual self of a Polish man, are awakened by Władysław and Jan, and they find themselves in the forest, at night, in the Polish military camp. This scene is suddenly disrupted by the unexpected arrival of Merian and a wounded soldier carrying a secret message. Their primary task becomes delivering this message to the Citadel ³ in Warsaw. The user, along with Merian, embarks on a plane journey towards Warsaw, but the damaged aircraft is forced to make an emergency landing. During this process, users must parachute from the plane and later find themselves in a field of tall grass, surrounded by the other three characters. It quickly becomes apparent that the area is heavily patrolled by the Soviet troops.

The scene shifts, and the user hides in the tall grass, observing two Russian soldiers approaching the photographer Pola. As they attempt to assault her, Pola resists, leading to a confrontation. Pola successfully defends herself, killing both soldiers. At this point, the other characters appear and introduce themselves to Pola, who informs the group that all routes to Warsaw are blocked. However, Pola has an idea. In the following scene, Jan disguises himself as a Russian, while Pola, Merian, Władysław, and the user walk with their hands bound, simulating being prisoners of war held captive by Jan. This is their strategy to deceive the Soviet Russian troops blocking the roads to Warsaw and to traverse their controlled territory. They all reach the Soviet Russian camp at night. The setting is dark, ominous, and chaotic, filled with the raucous behaviour of drunk Russian soldiers who immediately begin to harass the only female member of the group, Pola. The user can also witness one soldier desecrating a statue of the Virgin Mary by urinating on it.

Upon their arrival, an aggressive Russian soldier approaches the group, assaulting Pola (who is standing behind them). The soldier then hands a pistol to Merian, who attempts to intervene, ordering him to shoot Pola. Merian refuses, prompting the Russian soldier to then give the user a pistol and order them to shoot Pola. The user sees their shaky virtual arm extended in front of them, holding a pistol aimed at Pola, while the Russian soldier points his pistol at their face. In the peak of tension, the user suddenly turns the pistol towards the Russian soldier, firmly gripping it with both hands, and pulls the trigger. However, it becomes evident that the pistol is not loaded. The soldier takes it from the user’s hands, laughs and then threatens to shoot them. The scene is abruptly interrupted by the sudden arrival of a Russian officer with a tortured Polish captive, resulting in a distressing experience. The user is deliberately positioned to witness the events. They hear the agonising screams of the Polish man and, in a shadow theatre-like portrayal, observe the Russian soldier forcing the victim’s hand into a boiling pot and then peeling the skin off. Following this horrifying experience, the group manages to escape the Russian camp.

The film then proceeds to more active battle scenes. The group travels in Pola’s horse-drawn photographer carriage and finds themselves attacked by a group of Russian soldiers. The user assists the other characters in the shootout and sword fight. To secure victory, every member of the group, including the user, must act in unison. Upon reaching a Polish military camp in the forest, Merian departs to repair the plane, while the rest soon become embroiled in an open-field battle with Russian troops. The user participates in a joint attack on these Russian troops while riding a horse, amid artillery explosions, gunfights and sword battles. Eventually, the user sustains a serious injury during the attack. Lying on the ground and regaining consciousness, the user suddenly sees an illuminated figure of the Virgin Mary in the sky. The other characters take the user to the trenches, where Pola shouts at them to wake up. The battle continues, and the group is surrounded and captured by Russian troops. Ultimately, Merian comes to the rescue by flying over the field in his plane and eliminating the Russian troops.

The group then proceeds to Warsaw, where they arrive and deliver the secret message to Warsaw’s Citadel. It is revealed to be the key to the Soviet Russian cipher code, enabling Polish radio intelligence not only to decode the enemy’s messages but also to disrupt Soviet radio communications. The pivotal role of the Polish cryptologists and radio intelligence officers is highlighted. In the penultimate scene, following the successful completion of the mission and the victory in the war, the Polish Chief of State, Józef Piłsudski, personally bestows the Cross of Valour upon each member of the group. This military decoration, introduced in 1920, was awarded to individuals who displayed acts of valour and courage on the battlefield. The film concludes with a scene featuring Polish radio telegraphers jamming Soviet transmissions by continuously broadcasting the Bible during the Battle of Warsaw.

Certain shared elements surface in both VR films. The storyworld narratives immerse users in places devastated, invaded, and under threat from enemy others. This organises the relation of users to the surrounding space, prompting them to mobilise and reclaim control of ‘our’ space from ‘them’. This dichotomy of the good ‘us’ against the evil ‘them’ can be storylived in VR spatially. Furthermore, much like Postcard from the Uprising, Wiktoria 1920 utilises its storylived space to highlight the significance of national unity, heroism, and sacrifice in the struggle against the enemy. The presence of other characters and interactions with them serve to underscore the necessity of depending on others and collaborating towards a common objective. Both films convey a clear message that not just the national victory, but personal survival hinges on firm in-group loyalty and belonging to a group. The nation is under attack. What is ‘out there’ is fraught with danger and threat, and therefore, to remain alone, lacking strong bonds with fellow compatriots, equates death. VR environments provide the setting to live this message out, to experience it in the flesh.

The paradox is that, even though the virtual environments and their accompanying narrative are populated by fictional others, who talk, come close and interact with users, these users are still isolated ‘there’. Experiencing cinematic VR films is inherently the solitary, private experience of an individual. Unity and engagement with fictional others can be enacted and practised within the context of cinematic VR, yet the technical constraints of the cinematic VR preclude the experience of spontaneous and mutual social cohesion with fellow users within VR itself. Polish VR storyworlds nurture the sentiment of feeling connected, united, and proud of one’s in-group, but in isolation from actual others. Fitzgerald (2018) notes that this state of attachment to and longing for an idealised community while simultaneously being disconnected from the actual community is conducive to right-wing populist agendas. Support for right-wing populist parties correlates with strong positive sentiments towards one’s community and locality, but actual participation and engagement in community life make people less likely to support right-wing populist parties (Fitzgerald, 2018). Virtual storyliving allows the rehearsal of cultural memory narratives without requiring direct interaction, offering the convenience of doing so in a headset from home or within a museum setting. This versatility makes VR a powerful technology in the toolkit of right-wing populist parties.

Politics of time

Developers of VR content, which specifically focus on representing the past, market these digital experiences using metaphors such as ‘time travelling’ or ‘bringing the past to life’. What this advertising strategy conceals is that, regardless of the level of immersion, immediacy, and impact, a VR experience ultimately remains a product of deliberate authorship. The politics of time in the context of VR encompasses the ways in which VR storyworlds shape users’ perception of time, selectively emphasise or obscure specific moments in time, and organise the public’s understanding of the past, present and future. The individuals or organisations responsible for crafting VR content infuse it with their own values, ideologies, interpretations, and biases, all while presenting it as a transparent and unmediated means of ‘time-traveling’, as if a headset could become a vehicle transporting users into the past. However, the past is not a tangible place to which we can travel. We can attempt to envision and reconstruct specific elements based on evidence-based analysis (produce histories), but it still constitutes a constructed representation, subject to various competing interpretations. The stakes become even higher when we confront challenging and controversial aspects of history.

However, despite being aware that a VR experience is a product of deliberate authorship, it can be challenging to resist the allure of immediacy and the feeling of ‘being there’. As Tuan (2001 [1977]) aptly points out, ‘space exists in the present’ (p. 119). Space is experienced in the present. Being immersed and feeling present in the virtual story inevitably reduces the perceived distance, both in space and time, but also the psychological distance. The felt presence in VR blurs the boundary that differentiates the past from history. It transforms a story about the past into a user’s storylived experience in the virtual present. From an experiential point of view, there is no past, only the present in a VR storyworld. History, as constructed knowledge about the past, underscores the temporal and cognitive distance, necessitating a level of abstraction that detaches the cognitive self from the past to a certain extent. In contrast, VR promotes a more immediate, sensual, and visceral, mode of knowing through storyliving.

The personal quality of the storylived experience encourages a projective mode of relation to the past (Kazlauskaitė, 2022b). This approach entails shifting the focus towards what it feels like for the user to be ‘there’ and to personally experience the depicted events. It encourages users to imagine and contemplate what their experience would have been like had they been present ‘there’ and ‘then’ (to project themselves into the past), rather than inquiring about the experiences of individuals in the past within their distinct historical contexts. For the latter, a certain level of critical distance and non-immersive reflection is necessary. ‘There’ and ‘then’ becomes ‘here’ and ‘now’. Tomasz Dobosz, the director of Postcard from the Uprising and Wiktoria 1920, explains how he wants users to experience his VR films:

When we watch ordinary films, in the classic technology, we often wonder what we would do if we were there, and we can answer this question for ourselves, I think, only with the help of the imagination, that is to say, we try to embody in some way the person we see on the screen, which is the character, and identify with him. In our film, we put on the goggles and we become one of the insurgents and, via this virtual reality, via the sense of immersion, we trick the brain in terms of physical presence. Hence, yes, we are closer to answering ourselves, inside, the question that I rather throw at the viewers: Answer yourselves, do you feel fear? Do you feel sadness? Do you feel sorrow? Do you feel anger when you see how an insurgent is shooting? Do you want to join in? Do you want to withdraw? (Polskie Radio, 2018)

Dobosz aims to give users the sensation of being transported back in time, making them feel as if they are insurgents in the Warsaw Uprising. In this approach to VR storytelling, the politics of time translates to a politics of temporal collapse – essentially, using VR as a means of ‘time-travelling’, which deploys the sense of presence and emotional engagement to create the illusion of nonmediation. The language of temporal collapse is also echoed by Meta, whose ‘VR & AR for Education’ project in collaboration with the National Research Institute (NASK) in Poland organises workshops for teachers on integrating immersive technologies in the classroom. Jakub Turowski, the Public Policy Director for Central and Eastern Europe at Meta (2023), states:

The sense of presence and the ability to even immerse oneself in the content is a fundamental part of the learning process, and is why the use of VR technology in education has so much potential. Instead of telling students what life was like in ancient Rome, we can show it to them.

The present-focused nature of VR storyworlds likens them to the framework of the mythical eternal present, the temporal realm where the past is timeless and inhabited by the founding heroes or ancestors of a group. Immersing oneself in VR enables the re-experiencing of this timeless past, almost in a ritualistic fashion, all within the present. The past is experienced ‘now’. In the context of Polish national memory politics, VR has therefore evolved into a technology for modern national myth-making. It is not coincidental that Polish VR films focus on narratives of victimhood, martyrdom, heroism, and valour (Kazlauskaitė, 2022a; Peters, 2016). As VR storyliving gains popularity as a widespread form of public history, accessible in museums, various digital platforms and even in school-history teaching, the Polish example highlights how this technology can be misused to disseminate disinformation and propaganda.

Politics of memory

VR storyworlds provide an environment in which users can rehearse cultural memory narratives in an embodied, personal way. This rehearsal significantly influences users’ memory. Empirical research demonstrates that experiences undergone in VR become integrated into users’ autobiographical memory (Kisker et al., 2020; Schöne et al., 2019, 2023). In other words, VR encounters are remembered as events that occurred ‘to me’. Autobiographical memory is distinctive in that it ‘includes memory of the self as the experiencer of the event’ and it ‘links past events together into a personal history that relates self through past, present, and future, essentially forming a life narrative’ (Fivush, 2011: 560). Autobiographical memory also shapes processes of self-definition, self-in-relation, and self-regulation (Fivush, 2011; Fivush and Haden, 2003). VR thus intervenes in the constitution of the self by supplying experiences that become integral to the personal narrative. By shaping autobiographical memory, VR affects the definition of who one is across time and contexts (self-definition), who one is in relation to others (self-in-relation), and how one integrates and resolves emotional experiences (Fivush, 2011). The politics of memory in the context of VR refers to the ways in which VR environments influence users’ perceptions of the past and its relevance to their identity. By altering how users perceive and remember the past in emotionally-charged ways, VR can transform how users perceive the present, what kind of futures they anticipate, and, as a result, shape their decision-making and behaviour. VR provides learning experiences which model users’ expectations and anticipations, both for the present and the future.

Polish VR films Postcard from the Uprising and Wiktoria 1920 deliver experiences of siege and terror, instigated by brutal enemies. They shape the self-definition and self-in-relation within the framework of ‘us vs them’ stories, and they instil the importance of national in-group loyalty. The VR experiences convey that one’s survival is contingent on the support and solidarity of fellow compatriots, influencing not only how individuals perceive themselves across time and contexts but also their relationships with others. The emerging trend in Polish historical VR films appears to adhere closely to a narrowly defined narrative template, encapsulating intricate historical events within stories of good versus evil, as well as heroism, injustice and victimhood, martyrdom, and valour. This template lies at the heart of the grievance-driven memory politics agenda of the PiS government. The politics of memory in VR is, in this case, the politics of national identity.

Memories, acquired through VR experiences, are akin to false or implanted memories (e.g. Frenda et al., 2013; Loftus and Bernstein, 2005; Segovia and Bailenson, 2009). In the case of implanted memories, people remember something that either did not happen at all or happened in a different way. Memories can be implanted through suggestion in a conversation, advertisement, or even social media, but people with implanted false memories do not typically live out these experiences in a visceral way. In contrast, in the case of VR memories, people remember something that really happened to them in the virtual environment and that they experienced in a visceral and perceptually-rich way.

Concerns surrounding memory implantation and manipulation of users’ selves are amplified in the context of neurotechnology and emerging neural interfaces entering the XR market. By the end of this decade, it may become increasingly difficult to use VR and AR without neural sensors as the main form of interfacing with these technologies (HMS Center for Bioethics, 2023). Meta is set to launch its neural interface wristband in 2025, alongside new Ray-Ban Meta smart glasses (Verge.com, 2023). The wristband works using electromyography (EMG), which reads the electrical motor nerve signals travelling from the brain through the arm to the fingers. Once these signals are decoded at the wrist, they are then translated into digital commands on the paired device. With prolonged use, the wristband becomes so efficient at reading these signals that users hardly need to move their fingers to control the XR device. It becomes a ‘mind-reading’ device.

However, neural interfaces are not only mind-reading devices. They can also operate as mind-changing devices. Farahany (2023) warns that neural interfaces can collect a wide range of data about users, monitoring and measuring brain activity, that might reveal and help infer, over time, their emotional and cognitive states, intentions, preferences and habits, mood, and attention levels. Neural interfaces containing brain sensors are already in use globally in a diverse range of settings, spanning from schools in China to the industries of mining, trucking, aviation and construction worldwide to brain sensors built into everyday consumer devices, such as headphones and earbuds (Farahany, 2023). The feedback loops built into VR technology pose the risk of it becoming a kind of Skinner box (Lanier, 2017) that monitors users’ brain activity and applies controlled feedback to modify their behaviour. A VR device paired with brain sensors could, for example, detect users’ emotional states or mood and then make changes in the virtual environment to elicit desired emotions. Similarly, VR could reward certain behaviours or mental states and steer users towards desired behavioural and cognitive patterns, shifting and moulding users’ experiences, their memories, and, consequently, the self. A Skinner box, as Lanier (2017) warned, creates the illusion that users are in control, but it is the entity operating the box that is in control. The stakes in safeguarding mental privacy are high in the age of XR and neurotechnology. Ultimately, it is about the users’ right to self-determination over mental experiences and protection of the self from cognitive and emotional manipulation.

Developers are already working on mixed reality headsets equipped with electroencephalography (EEG) sensors capable of reading brain signals (e.g., Galea headset from OpenBCI, available for purchase in 2024). These headsets differ from current interfaces by incorporating a subconscious feedback loop, whereas earlier and existing interfaces operate via conscious input and feedback. When mixed reality devices are paired up with wearable neurotechnology sensors, machine learning algorithms have access to two kinds of interrelated data: brain signal data and information about what these signals correspond to, providing ways not only to monitor, but also to influence and manipulate users.

A survey conducted on behalf of the Institute of National Remembrance (IPN) in Poland has found that 82% of respondents were willing to use wearable technologies equipped with a variety of sensors (infuture.institute, 2022: 94–96). This survey specifically targeted Generation Z and Millennials, aiming to understand the preferences of young people in learning about history. The IPN report defines wearable technologies as ‘solutions equipped with a series of sensors that can communicate with each other and influence users’ experiences in positive ways’ (infuture.insitute, 2022: 94). Notably, the fact that the IPN is surveying young people’s openness to being tracked by a variety of sensors integrated into technological tools raises significant concerns about the implications of such inquiries for the perceptual and emotional engineering of memory in VR. Furthermore, the same report notes that, for members of the younger generations (Gen Z and Alpha), the difference between the digital world and the physical world is blurring (infuture.institute, 2022: 108). In response to these generational developments, IPN has created an entirely new department, New Technology Division, whose aim is to ‘show history that affects you’ (ipn.gov.pl) and which involves a heavy reliance on immersive digital technologies.

In the process of integrating VR into school-history education in Poland, through the partnership between Meta and the Polish government, there appears to be a lack of scrutiny regarding the use of pupils’ data. If the data on eye movements, facial expressions, and gestures is collected, who will have access to this data and what will they make of it? The new devices that combine mixed and virtual reality with a variety of sensors and machine learning algorithms can intervene in the very process of thinking, to alter experience, thought and emotion processing patterns in the brain. Such developments will undoubtedly impact the ways people of all ages form memories and engage with history. In fact, both Meta and Apple are very interested in shaping users’ memories. Both companies are developing apps for capturing ‘spatial memories’ and ‘reliving’ them in mixed reality devices. In mixed reality, both personal and cultural memories are transformed into dynamic, embodied experiences that can be ‘relived’.

Despite the limited body of research on the political implications of memorable and immersive digital experiences, recent studies have started to reveal significant effects. For instance, research by Weber et al. (2022) has shown that VR can significantly change voting behaviour. The immersive nature of VR strengthens the impact of positive framing and weakens the influence of negative framing in the presented information. A crucial concern highlighted by these findings is that users are typically unaware of how much VR narratives affect their opinions and decision-making processes.

Evaluating the potential impact of VR content on the memory of Polish users requires an examination of the wider Polish memory culture. VR films such as Postcard from the Uprising and Wiktoria 1920 echo and reinforce narrative framings that are already prevalent in school-history, school-literature classes, films, museums, and news media in Poland. These narratives are focused on heroism and victimhood of the Polish nation and they are deeply rooted in Polish society (Bilewicz, 2024; Kazlauskaitė, 2022a). VR immerses users in these narratives, enabling them to live through stories of victimhood and heroic struggle and making them part of users’ autobiographical memory. Although some individuals might resist the narratives depicted in Polish VR experiences, the technology’s impact on the average Polish user is likely significant. This impact is due in large part to the widespread predisposition of Poles towards the emotional framings presented in Polish VR narratives (Bilewicz, 2024).

Conclusion

This article has sought to map out the experiential geography of right-wing populism in virtual storyworlds, drawing on two recent Polish VR films. Space, time, and memory are entangled in the experience of VR. Much like a place is a form of lived space, VR places are storylived spaces, conceived and crafted by their creators to evoke a particular sense of place, accompanied by specific feelings and thoughts. The felt dimension of the sense of place is part of the virtual landscape of a storyworld. As users actively participate in the storyliving of these virtual environments, they further imbue VR spaces with personal significance and feeling that connect individual and cultural memory contexts.

Examination of VR storyworlds, whether in the Polish context or on a broader scale, should start by investigating what kind of places ‘there’ are and what kind of virtual selves users are expected to embody in order to seamlessly integrate into a virtual storyworld. Polish VR storyworlds, developed with the support of the PiS government, characteristically deliver places of external threat that require strong in-group bonds for survival in the harsh environment. VR storyworlds establish places for the embodied rehearsal of these collective and cultural memory narratives. Users can experience vulnerability, helplessness, terror, but also empowerment and valour in the joint fight against the national enemies.

These Polish VR storyworlds are populated by two kinds of people: ‘us’ and those that want to kill ‘us’. They model a survivor mind-set onto the users’ self, which plays on primal instincts related to self-preservation. This kind of storyworld structure leads to heightened emotional engagement as users navigate challenges and threats within the virtual world. A virtual storyworld and a virtual self are inextricably interlinked, forming an interconnected ecosystem of the virtual environment, designed by its creators. If users achieve a sense of presence, or a sense of ‘being there’ in the virtual environment, the separation between a user’s self and the virtual self becomes blurred. The characteristics, roles, and perspectives of the virtual self become intertwined with the user’s own self.

Moreover, in VR, immersion and presence dissolve the conventional boundary between the past and history, transforming narratives about the past into lived experiences within the virtual present. VR puts on display how experience of space and time are interconnected. If space is experienced in the present, then, from an experiential point of view, the past ceases to exist in VR. What remains is the virtual present, which is inhabited by the national heroes and martyrs, carved into an almost mythical-like virtual eternity. In this case, VR becomes a contemporary technology of myth-making and myth-living.

Due to the VR storyworlds relying on the ‘perceptual illusion of nonmediation’, there is an inherent danger associated with the use of VR in public history initiatives and school history. As VR moulds autobiographical memory, it actively intervenes in the formation of the self by providing experiences that integrate into the personal narrative. Through the shaping of autobiographical memory, VR influences the definition of one’s identity across time and contexts (self-definition), one’s relational identity (self-in-relation), and the processes through which one’s emotional experiences are integrated and resolved. It is easy to see why radical-right populist parties might find it appealing to use VR in their political communication. Its implications extend well beyond the politics of memory. This technology has the potential to shape how individuals perceive both themselves and others. VR is therefore a technological tool in the politics of identity with potentially significant dystopian implications.