About a week ago, a friend posted a link to this article about how Facebook has been not only allowing groups and pages that support white supremacy, but auto-generating them on their own. In addition, they've been linking supporters of one page to similar pages through their "you might be interested in..." feature. People talk about how the January 6th insurrection was an organized event rather than a spur of the moment happening; this is one of the reasons that was possible.
Upon reading this, I underwent a crisis of conscience. I understand that many people, including some of my Facebook friends, have opinions that differ from mine. I accept that. I have, numerous times, attempted to engage them - and total strangers - in civilized discussion (see my July 27, 2020 entry). My issue was that this time it's Facebook encouraging these hateful views. I had friends support my incredulity at what was happening, but say that they simply scroll past the objectionable content. That's the problem, though; we don't see the objectionable content. It's those we have to worry about who see it, who see that their hateful views are shared by others, and who find ways to expand their circles of hate and ignorance. I had to ask myself if this was a deal breaker. At the time, I thought it likely was.
And that was too bad. Facebook offers many benefits: staying in touch with family, friends, and former students; a place to see what is happening in my town; keeping up with my favorite bands; a place to promote my photography (this includes Instagram, which is owned by Facebook). I was ready to pull the trigger and move everything over to Twitter, knowing full well that it would limit what I was able to do and limit who would be able to see it; I think most Facebook folks would not follow me there.
The more I thought about it, though, the more I realized that would be a mistake. The best analogy I can think of is the Thanksgiving dinner with the relative who makes casually racist comments. When that happens, I have three options. Option one is I can ignore it and try to enjoy the rest of the meal with my family. I could continue with Facebook as I have for the past almost fifteen years. The expression says that ignorance is bliss, and that would be 100% true. But I would know in my heart that the problem exists.
Option two is getting up and leaving the table. I could simply walk away. This is where I was heading. I want nothing to do with this entire situation; sorry, folks, but I'm outta here. In the short run, while I would be disappointed to not have the turkey, mashed potatoes, and three different kinds of pie, I simply can't be part of this situation. I can find a restaurant that might be open and have something there. Sure, the food isn't as good, and despite my best offer, no one else at the table is going to come with me, but I can hold my head up and proudly claim that I want no part of this. But, I thought, where does that really get me? Who benefits from that? The problem still exists, and I'm the one suffering.
That leaves me with option three: I stay, but I speak up. I look Uncle Zuck right in the eye and I tell him that what he said is inappropriate and absolutely unacceptable. I've read that it's not enough to be not racist; we have to be anti-racist. We have to call it out when we see it, not simply say, "Well, that's not my belief." Full disclosure: I don't yet know what to do, but I have reached out to the Tech Transparency Project, the Southern Poverty Law Center, and the Anti-Defamation League for suggestions on how this small town English teacher with a few hundred "friends" on the platform can challenge a multi-billion dollar international monolith. I will bring the fight to them. I hope others will join me.
