Showing posts with label Facebook. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Facebook. Show all posts

Alternatives to Facebook: The Mondragon Solution

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Whatever it is, Facebook is the largest of its kind in the world.  Having surpassed by its own measures the one-billionth-user mark in 2012 after only eight years in existence, it can boast that about one out of every seven people on Earth is a Facebook user.  (Just to get this out of the way, yours truly isn't one of them, but my wife is, and I trust her to tell me anything she sees on it that I need to know.)  Depending on your point of view, the fact that Facebook connects that many people—in principle, at least—is either one of the greatest communications achievements of all time, or a threatening sign that a private corporation now holds tremendous power over the lives of more people than most governments do.  This being an ethics blog, I'd like to look at the potential downside for a moment.

As thinkers all the way back to Aristotle have recognized, mankind is a social animal.  What others think and say about us is of vital, even fundamental, importance.  And if a significant part of one's social life takes place through media such as Facebook, social media become more than just one of a number of things you do, like gardening on weekends.  It becomes a near-essential part of your life, especially if you are younger.  A co-worker recently told me about a surprising result of a survey of college-age job seekers.  When asked if they would work for a company that prohibited them from using Facebook on the job, a substantial number of them said no.  As I haven't been able to track down the original survey, this may be an urban legend, but it rings true.

But the essential sometimes becomes the impossible.  I have known several people who have gotten so much grief from people commenting on their Facebook posts that they have quit using it altogether, either temporarily or permanently.  In the more extreme cases, otherwise responsible people have been forced out of jobs for actions which are entirely legal but go crossways to the opinions of large groups—or should I say "mobs"—who enact the online equivalent of a lynching.  As just one example, I can cite the case of Brendan Eich, developer of the JavaScript programming language, who became CEO of Mozilla Corporation in March of 2014.  Within days, an online tweet revealing that he had contributed $1000 to the California Proposition 8 campaign banning same-sex marriage led to an online shaming campaign by gay activists and ultimately his resignation, less than two weeks after taking the job.  And there have been rare but widely reported cases of cyberbullying (not necessarily involving Facebook) leading teens to commit suicide. 

Here's where Mondragon comes in.  In 1956, students at a Spanish technical college founded by a Catholic priest named José María Arizmendiarrieta formed a company that was eventually named after the town where it was based, Mondragón.  This company was not organized along the usual capitalist-ownership lines.  It was a co-operative enterprise and purposely incorporated the principle of subsidiarity, which is a concept from Catholic social teaching that says basically, if you can do it locally, do it locally.  From a humble beginning as a kerosene-stove factory, the Mondragon organization has grown to be one of the largest employers in the Basque part of Spain, and still substantially adheres to the principle of worker ownership, although not every single employee automatically gets a share of the company's profits (or losses, as the case may be). 

In a recent issue of the journal of technology and society The New Atlantis, Baylor University humanities professor Alan Jacobs makes the following proposition:  "If instead of thinking of the Internet in statist terms we apply the logic of subsidiarity, we might be able to imagine the digital equivalent of a Mondragon cooperative."  That may require a little unpacking.

By "statist," I think Jacobs means that vast outfits like Facebook take on the nature of a nation more than a company. In fact, elsewhere in the same article he refers to Facebook as "a state—a Hobbesian state."  More unpacking:  Philosopher Thomas Hobbes (1588-1679) was famous for writing Leviathan, in which he argued that societies form political communities because the alternative was dog-eat-dog chaos in which life would be "solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short."  In exchange for the modicum of protection that belonging to society provides, we agree to let go of certain kinds of freedom or autonomy—in the case of Facebook, you are trusting the organization with highly personal things such as photographs, death notices, and other pieces of yourself. 

In the space I have left, I can only sketch out what a Mondragon-cooperative Facebook-like entity would be like.  For one thing, the money it made would return to the users.  For another thing, it would be a lot smaller than Facebook.  And it might connect only people who are really and truly friends (or relatives), not just some random person who happens by your Facebook site and thinks you are clever, stupid, or whatever. 

As far as I know, there is no fundamental technical barrier to making such an entity.  Right here in my neighborhood, people use some email-related software to send messages to others within a few blocks, and it's already done me a lot more good than Facebook.  The thing Facebook has going for it is the famous leverage of the network effect, first discovered by the telephone companies around 1900.  Because the addition of one more user to a network costs only one unit (say) and leads to everybody on the network having one more person to talk with, economists argue that costs in a network go as N and the value of the network goes as N squared.  While this might have been true in the early days of hardwired networks and has become a universally-assumed truism today, it is not clear to me that with modern software capabilities that old rule still applies.  Of course, real friends and relatives can be nasty too, but at least in the case of a Mondragon-like social media network, the damage would be much more limited.

A pipe dream?  Maybe.  But I think it's worth considering.

Sources:  Alan Jacobs' article "Attending to Technology:  Theses for Disputation" (pp. 16-45) appeared in the Winter 2016 issue of The New Atlantis.  I referred to a website detailing six cyberbullying suicides at https://nobullying.com/six-unforgettable-cyber-bullying-cases/and the Wikipedia articles on Facebook, Brendan Eich, and the network effect.

Happy Friendship Day—Not

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Facebook is the quintessential dot-com success story:  young guy invents software in his dorm room that ends up creating an entire industry and making him a storied billionaire, besides becoming a significant part of the social lives of over a billion people worldwide.  Ethically speaking, on the face of it Facebook looks like a no-brainer:  it's all about connecting people, right, so what can go wrong with that?  Well, plenty, as shown by stories of flaming mobs and online bullying leading in some cases to suicide.  But besides these more spectacular crimes and misdemeanors caused by the general cussedness of humankind, there are things that the software developers do themselves which can go awry.  And here's where it gets personal—very personal.

Back in January, Facebook founder and CEO Mark Zuckerberg called for people to celebrate Feb. 4, the twelfth anniversary of Facebook's founding, as "Friendship Day."  Now Mr. Zuckerberg is free to call for anybody to celebrate anything, and I have no problem with that.  The trouble came, at least in our case, when some anonymous software engineers at Facebook had a bright idea inspired by the call and, as software engineers often do, put it into action without telling the users what they were up to in advance. 

It was simply this:  "Hey, why don't we take some pictures that people have posted in the last year or two and send the pictures to them along with a greeting like 'Happy Friendship Day'?  What could be wrong with that?"  As it turns out, plenty.

Zuckerberg himself is only 31, and it's likely that the average age of the technical staff at Facebook is somewhere around that number.  If you are a well-paid employee of a giant software successful software company, death does not occupy a large part of your personal horizon.  You know it's out there somewhere, and you read about it online with the other bad news, but it's not likely to have affected you personally to a great extent, except perhaps for some old relatives whose funerals you may have attended out of a sense of duty. 

It turns out that in the last two years, my wife, who is 59, has lost five relatives of various degrees of closeness, ranging from a cousin she hadn't seen in years to her last remaining aunt, her sister, and her father.  And in the last few years she had taken pictures of these people, and posted many of the pictures on Facebook at appropriate times.  You can tell where this is going.  Imagine how she felt when a couple of weeks ago, she logged on to Facebook one day and saw under the headline, "Happy Friendship Day" a photo of her father in the hospital during his final illness.  He died almost exactly a year ago.

For the better part of a day, it was like walking on eggs around here.  She rarely gets truly angry, but if Zuckerberg had happened to stop by our house that day, he might have come close to a personal encounter with mortality that he would never forget.

A short time later, she spent several hours systematically taking down every single photo she had ever posted on Facebook that included anyone who has since died.  It was a lot of pictures, but she was determined that the machine was never going to catch her by surprise that way again.

Sometimes I amuse myself by imagining how I would explain various modern technologies to someone transported through time to the present from, say, fifty or a hundred years ago.  Although Facebook shares some features in common with things that existed in 1966—photo albums, high school annuals, and the postal system, to name three—you could not express what it does simply by referring to those things.  And the main feature that would be missing from that description is the way Facebook manipulates the rules, and what happens to your Facebook stuff when they play games with it like Happy Friendship Day. 

Unless you happened to be living in the 1960s with a busybody aunt who lacked any sensitivity to your feelings, I can't imagine someone back then receiving a customized photo album labeled "Happy Friendship Day" that contained pictures of some of the most intimate and painful times in your entire life.  But that is exactly what Facebook did to my wife.  At least if a nosy aunt did such a tacky thing, she'd be standing right there where you could chew her out for it.  As it is, though, the faceless System of Facebook is all she can blame, and her only defense against further manipulations of this kind is to withdraw any possibly pain-evoking images from the System so it can't fool with them. 

Once my wife explained to me what had happened, in the heat of the moment I thought that whatever numskull came up with that idea ought to be tied to a chair and made to watch 200 hours of cat videos.  I now think that is excessive.  But certainly, some live person or persons originated the idea of recycling pictures for Happy Friendship Day, and as Zuckerberg himself has expressed enthusiasm for artificial-intelligence solutions even to programming problems, it's virtually certain that some algorithm the programmers wrote made the selection of which photos to include.  Despite the best programmers Zuckerberg's money can buy, that algorithm did not have feelings, and it was therefore insensitive to the psychic pain that such actions could cause. 

We are in a strange time in which former organizational divisions of all sorts are falling down, and people who were trained to do one kind of work—software engineering, say—find themselves doing very different kinds of work—for example, manipulating on a massive scale items that have deep and powerful personal meanings for literally a billion people or more.  There is an old saying, "Fools rush in where angels fear to tread."  It would have required the discretion and intelligence of many angels to select only those pictures which would have been appropriate to accompany a message such as "Happy Friendship Day" for each one of Facebook's users.  Unfortunately, software is a poor substitute for angelic insight, and the result was in many cases foolish, or worse than foolish. 

For reasons of time and disinclination, I have no Facebook page, other than possibly a dormant one my wife started for me in connection with a book publication.  If anything happens on Facebook that she thinks I need to know about, she'll tell me.  It has had its good moments for her, and we have reconnected through it with people around the globe whom we had lost touch with.  But in the case of Happy Friendship Day, Zuckerberg blew it, at least where my wife is concerned.  And it's going to be a long time before she posts personal pictures on that site again.

Sources:  I referred to an item carried by the Indo-Asian News Service (and no doubt many other outlets) on Mark Zuckerberg's announcement urging people to celebrate Facebook's twelfth anniversary as Friendship Day.  The article appeared at http://www.ndtv.com/offbeat/celebrate-facebooks-anniversary-as-friendship-day-mark-zuckerberg-1265232.

Rumor Mills and World War III: "(The Russians Are Coming)^2" Revisited

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Pardon the geek typography ("^2" means "squared" or "repeat a second time"), but there wasn't enough room to put the movie's full title—"The Russians Are Coming the Russians Are Coming" in the headline comfortably.  Made in 1966 at the height of the Cold War between the old Soviet Union and the U. S., the film portrays what might have happened if a small Soviet submarine ran aground by accident near the shore of a rustic vacation island off the coast of New England.  I date myself when I confess I saw it when it first came out, and it's one of the few comedies I saw as a child that still seems funny to this 60-year-old.

The humor may be timeless, but the plot is not.  It hinges on the fact that with one exception, the most advanced communications technology on the island is the telephone office whose sole manual switchboard is run by grandmotherly Alice Foss, who knows everybody's name in town and takes eccentric Muriel Everett's report of being attacked by Russians with a large grain of salt—at least until Muriel's phone line goes dead.  But by then, the nine Russian sailors who came ashore to find a boat big enough to tow their sub off the rocks have cut the phone wires to that section of town (it was apparently a party line), so the only way word can travel after that is if a person carries it himself.  In the process of spreading the word, the rumor-mill game starts, and a report of one Russian sailor attacking Muriel distorts into a whole troop of Russian parachutists taking over the island's airport.  Most of the rest of the film follows the five-man police force and a separate vigilante mob led by a self-appointed death-and-glory war veteran, who each think the Russians are somewhere different, and charge around town sowing confusion and more misinformation wherever they go.  The mixups are augmented when the Russians make their way to town, tie up Mrs. Foss, and axe the main phone cables.  A rather sentimental and unlikely incident near the end of the film unites all the town's residents with the Russians, but the whole thing nearly ends up starting World War III anyway when the war vet gets to the only two-way radio in town and calls the U. S. Air Force into action.  Universal holocaust is averted only when the townies escort the sub out to sea with their own boats, which leads the Air Force fighters to call off their attack, and the day is saved. 

Try to update the plot to 2014, and you run into trouble right away.  The first American who spots the Russians is the ten-year-old son of a vacationing writer, who refuses to believe his boy when the kid tells Dad there's nine men in black in the garage with Tommy guns.  If something like that happened today, said son would have posted the guys' photos on whatever it is you post photos on when you're ten years old and have a cellphone these days, and inside of five minutes the FBI might have been on the case.  And the same goes for the creaky old plot device of cutting phone lines, which was laid to rest when the first cellphones (mobile phones, as they are called in world outside the U. S.) came out.  Ironically, rather than helping matters, the only wireless link in the movie—the two-way radio—nearly leads to disaster when it's used to call in the Air Force.

It may seem trivial to note the passing of a slower mode of life in which news sometimes had to be carried by hand, so to speak.  But the same thing has happened to our lives that has happened to that fifty-year-old plot.  Those who want to know what is going on in the lives of significant others these days can keep up with them almost constantly with no time lag via Facebook, Twitter, and other social media, and there is some concern that excessive indulgence in such things can be an addictive hazard for some people. 

Back in the 1850s, when the electromagnetic telegraph first began to send news around the country at nearly the speed of light, critics worried that life was simply getting too fast and there would be adverse consequences.  Well, whatever the consequences were, we seem to have adapted to them just fine, and in some ways the habit of keeping in constant touch with others via electronic media is perhaps a return to a very primitive way of life.  An anthropologist I read years ago (and have since lost the reference to) noted that in tribal societies, where work such as farming and handicrafts are done in groups, people chat all the time about other people, mostly, and this is the normal way life goes.  So after an industrial interlude of 150 years or so in which workers left the farm for factories and offices where you were expected to deal silently with your job unless it required you to talk, maybe we are using social media and electronics to return to what used to be normal.  At least, some people are. 

Yours truly does not have a Facebook page.  I have never posted an Instagram, or tweeted, or used a hashtag, or any of that other stuff, though my wife keeps me posted on notable doings of people we know who do those things.  I refrain from these modes of communication not out of any principled objection, but mainly because the payoff doesn't seem worth the effort, at least to me.  Blame it on my Y-chromosomes and the fact that males in general, and engineers in particular, often deal more easily with things than with people.  If I'm going to put in an hour or two learning new software, as a result I'd rather be able to analyze plasma spectra, say, as opposed to finding out that some guy I knew in high school has opened a new restaurant.

To those who enjoy social media and the ease of instant global communication, I say:  good for you.  Go ahead and enjoy them in reasonable moderation.  Only be careful not to start World War III.

Sources:  I referred to the Internet Movie Database listing of "The Russians Are Coming the Russians Are Coming" at www.imdb.com.