On YouTube, hundreds of thousands of viewers around the world are staring at an unmoving broadcast of the Sistine Chapel chimney. Occasionally, a seagull will swoop in and perch atop the roof for a few minutes. But for the most part, nothing happens.
On Wednesday, the College of Cardinals started the process of picking the next pope, who will succeed the late Pope Francis. This is a closed-door, sacred ritual, dating back long before mass media made it possible to quickly transmit news with so much public interest. So instead of issuing statements to the press, the conclave signals its progress to the public via smoke — black if they have not agreed on a new pope, and white if they have come to a decision.
While the smoke signal used to be for the benefit of local onlookers, there are now dozens of global broadcasters streaming 24/7 coverage of the Sistine Chapel’s exterior online. There is no narration from a television host — only the ambient noise of the packed city square, and perhaps a smattering of seagull calls.
In a time when YouTubers strive to optimize every last frame of their videos to boost their chances of viral fame, the mundanity of “conclave cam” is oddly awe-inspiring.
It feels like an extension of the Nordic “slow TV” trend, where public networks broadcast commercial-free footage of dull, yet calming scenes. For hours or days at a time, viewers can watch salmon swimming upstream, trains journeying across the countryside, or moose migrating to their summer habitat.
Within the context of YouTube, the surrounding user interface of these “conclave cams” is familiar — the unmoderated live chats move quickly, like a popular creator’s livestream. But unlike a Fortnite Battle Royale, there’s not really much to talk about in the chat. The chimney might emit black smoke, or it might emit white smoke. For the vast bulk of the broadcast, the most exciting moments occur when a bird flies through the frame.
But because it’s the internet, people end up arguing about politics, soccer, and Elon Musk. There’s some nasty language thrown in there. In some cases, viewers will buy superchats — bold blocks of text that are more noticeable in a busy chat — to declare their vision for the future of the Catholic church.
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The point of watching a conclave livestream isn’t to find out when the next Pope is selected — that’s what breaking news push notifications are for. Instead, what’s alluring is the quiet. Office workers may pull up a stream in a tiny window in the corner of their laptop screen, looking over when they see a slight movement of a seagull out of the corner of their eye. When sunset hits, we watch as the sky gets darker and darker, until suddenly it’s night.
There’s something spiritual about this gathering of strangers on a common web page, but it has nothing to do with the actual religiosity on display. It’s the desire for people to experience something together — even if that something includes an unmoderated live chat.
