I haven't actually eliminated my Facebook profile, but I now only
log on once a week, from my computer, for about five minutes, primarily to
scroll my newsfeed to see whether academic friends have shared any interesting
articles. I no longer "like", comment, or share any posts. In this
blog entry I will recount the reason for the decision, as I am well-aware that
many friends have considered leaving Facebook or other social media but have
been reluctant because there are still some benefits, such as keeping updated
about friends and family, or organizing events.
I joined Facebook in 2008, when I was beginning my doctoral
studies. Like other young students I was passionate and full of righteous
indignation about the world's injustices, but before social media these
sentiments were expressed face to face—in seminars, or over coffee with
friends. Facebook provided a new and exciting outlet for these disputes, and
many Facebook debates were very engaging and stimulating. It did not take long
for some to get out of hand and become personal; I'll never forget the
humiliating feeling of being unfriended by someone I actually liked because of
a trivial political dispute. The awkwardness was magnified when I would
encounter this person on campus; we'd politely greet while silently expressing
contempt. This was when I first considered whether to forever delete my
profile, but I chose not to because there was still value in having a separate
way to connect with people and keeping in touch with them—especially since I am
an academic who travels widely and frequently meets new and interesting people.
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| Alone together |
My attitude towards Facebook became more critical when I realized
that people used it to create a kind of parallel universe which aimed to
satisfy personal vanity or the need for esteem. For the most part, mine and
others' posts were motivated by maximizing "likes" and comments. This
meant sharing only the prettiest selfies, or happy events like vacations, or
sentiments that appeal to one's tribe. The plutocrats at Facebook encouraged
these kinds of posts because the "like" function triggered the part
of the brain associated with being liked in the real world. Moreover, they
exploited humans' tendency for reciprocity by allowing us to see who
"likes" our posts, thereby creating a strong obligation to
"like" their posts in return. After doing this daily for many years,
and trying to untether myself from it, I realized that I was, in a certain sense,
"hooked". I did not "crave" Facebook the way I used to
physically crave nicotine. Rather, there was an ingrained psychological habit
which, through the force of inertia or routine, was hard to arrest.
It wasn't only me who felt and behaved this way on social media.
The vast majority of my friends did the same, and many were spending more time
than me doing essentially pointless activities. As time passed, I became
increasingly aware of the cultural effects of this development. One I found
particularly objectionable was the tendency of people to always look at their
phones. When walking on sidewalks, for example, rather than looking straight or
sideways, peoples' heads were pointed downwards, focused on the screen,
expecting others to move out of their way. Eye contact and silent
acknowledgement, friendly or otherwise, mostly disappeared. Now, there was a
ubiquitous body language-based communication among those in the same public
space which expressed a kind of isolation; I found this to be inconsistent with
the republican ideal of public spaces being sites of citizen interaction.
Many have blamed the recent rise of political extremism on the
isolation and group-think associated with social media, and particularly
Facebook. That is a convincing argument with much empirical support, but here
I'll focus on my personal experience of social media in the aftermath of Trump
and Brexit. After these political earthquakes, my social media feed was almost
always full of posts which can be characterized as hysterical and unhinged (Slate magazine aptly called this
"outrage porn"). The need to share angry posts, and the need to see
the posts of others who felt the same, increased the time spent on social
media, creating more dependence which benefited the oligarchs in Silicon Valley
who profit from people’s addiction to their devices. After some
reflection, I concluded that there was something ethically questionable about
this economic model. Standard economic textbooks I studied in university taught
that the market functions by mutually beneficial exchanges which make both
parties—and society—better off. But a
system that allows firms to make billions of dollars from rage and addiction
seemed to produce negative externalities, some of which are hard to quantify
but that nonetheless are very real.
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| Pretty much sums up my view of social media |
In early 2018, I became determined to quit Facebook. Initially I
wanted to delete my profile completely but was reluctant because there were
still some benefits. An important one is organizing events. I have been a
member of a classics book club for 10 years, and it has its own Facebook page
with information on upcoming meetings and books we will read. I also enjoy
dancing and often attend events in the city which include old-school hip hop
and house music; many of the organizers of these events use Facebook to
advertise and provide information that is useful. The second benefit is
intellectual: many of my Facebook friends are academics who often share
interesting articles that I otherwise might not have seen. I did not want to
lose these two features, and so I had to find a way of quitting Facebook
without deleting my profile. My compromise was to drastically reduce the time
spent on the platform. First, I had to free myself from the habits of "liking"
posts and feeling obligated to "like" others in return. To do this, I
simply stopped sharing any posts about anything (as of this writing, I have not
posted anything in six months). The logic is simple: by not posting, I would
not get any likes or comments, and hence would not feel obligated to like or
comment on others’. The next step was to stop the habit of logging on once or
several times a day, and so I decided to check Facebook only once a week (on
Sundays, to be precise). I succeeded, and as of this writing, it has been two
months since I last checked Facebook daily. Now, my social media activity
amounts to scrolling my newsfeed for a few minutes on Sunday mornings. And
since I do not have Instagram or Twitter accounts, I am pretty much free from
social media influence.
The sense of accomplishment is gratifying, and is perhaps comparable to the elation felt after one successfully quits smoking (as an ex-smoker who struggled with the habit for many years, I'm very familiar with that feeling). Moroever, the time not
spent on Facebook is time spent doing things that are actually meaningful, such
as reading literature, or hip-hop dancing, or just walking outside, with my
head looking straight ahead or side to side, or meeting with friends over
coffee, communicating the way we were meant to—in person, while making
eye-contact, and fully absorbing the other's presence—their scent, facial
expression, bodily language, tone and tempo and inflections.
