Barack Obama was right. Russia is a pariah for good reasons, and all the worse for ‘having nothing that other countries want.’
Recent news of extensive Russian infiltration of American social media sites is hardly a surprise. We have known for some time that a country that has retreated from its once-blossoming democracy has been interested in sowing discord in ours. Authoritarian regimes tend to be lazy. It seems to have been easy to ‘play’ American social media to confuse and divide Americans. On the available evidence recently released in two Senate Intelligence Committee reports, the Putin government decided it would do its best to use hostile and divisive information to undermine the Clinton campaign in favor of Donald Trump’s. As is increasingly apparent, the President has an indecent soft spot for Russian money and power. By contrast, the former Secretary of State was always far more critical of Russian ambitions generally, and the annexation of Crimea in particular.
To be sure, it requires a selective memory for any American to criticize others for meddling in the politics of a foreign nation. We used to make it a habit in Latin America and sometimes the old Soviet Union. Even so, it’s a stunning act of hubris when the leader of a government that can’t even decide if they will tolerate rap music decides American elections are fair game. Russians exploited our personal and media freedoms to disperse bogus opinions that were ostensibly from Americans, many apparently aimed at alienating African American voters.
It’s an understatement to note that Russia looks desperate and weak to enforce authoritarianism values at home while exploiting the freedoms of other nations. Barack Obama was right. Russia is a pariah for good reasons and, to paraphrase him: all the worse for ‘having nothing that other countries want.’
The tech sector has always been slow to see the effects of their technologies on the lives of their users.
Aside from possible complicity for our own President, what makes all of this news of Russian interference worse is compelling evidence that major social media giants suppressed awareness of these planted ads, opinions and news stories. According to the Senate reports, a Kremlin-backed group uploaded over ten million tweets to Americans, 1100 videos and over 30 million Facebook posts. All appeared to be coming from Americans.
Facebook is an especially egregious case. Born as the plaything of privileged kids luxuriating in their own narcissism, the fast-growing company expanded under the thrall of being another tech money machine. It’s leaders failed to notice or did not care that Facebook was fast becoming a new kind of agora: a digital version of the town square cherished long ago by early Greek democracies. Along with Google, Youtube, Twitter and Instagram, it prospered on the illusion that it was functioning as just a “personal” form of media. It was meant to make it possible to observe others’ best versions of themselves. Yet the problem with this orientation was that their leaders were slow to notice that their house was on fire. They were abetting a colossal fraud on the American public. Apparently the self-presentation mirror is too alluring to be bothered by bigger ideas like fairness and democracy.
Social media executives tend to see themselves as being in the ‘common carrier’ business, providing channels but not content. Instead, we must begin to insist that they view themselves using the higher standards that apply to content providers. Perhaps they merit less regulation than broadcasters. But the days of making connections without noticing the social havoc they can create need to be over.
The tech sector has always been slow to see how the aggregation of people over time and space would have important consequences for the soundness of our Republic. Too many have been neither interested or motivated to function as corporate citizens, in the full sense of that phrase. As hapless tools of Russian disinformation, they have become a drag on the nation, doing too little too late to protect America’s fragile open society.
We have our orderly collections, sometimes in real space, and sometimes captured in pixels or digital files. All give us ways to display what we want others to know about us.
Several years ago I wrote a essay wondering if we were done collecting. At that time it was easy to notice that online music and “the cloud” had replaced music collections that used to line our walls. The question was then answered in the affirmative, but I’m having second thoughts. The impulse to convert our passions into materials that elaborate our lives seems deeper than I knew. Most of us are active curators. We just don’t think of ourselves with a word used to denote a person who decides what should hang on a gallery’s white walls. And yet we have our orderly collections, sometimes in real space, and sometimes captured in pixels or digital files. Collecting has its own internal rewards. But I’m impressed with how many of us want to show off our passions to others.
This is obvious to any user of Facebook, Instagram or other forms of social media. Facebook dramatically displays images of ourselves and the things and images we will allow to stand in for us. Selfies in particular can become galleries presenting the self-conscious self. We also use social media to relay pieces of the culture that we want others to like as much as we do. Most of the time a post includes a moment when we at least ask ourselves the central curatorial question: Is this post worth my association with it?
Older forms of personal curating continue as well. Model railroaders curate their collections with the passion of medievalists working at the Met. Guitarists rarely have just one instrument; most acquisitions represent a new point on their own learning curve. A lot of of us can’t resist a rare find carefully brought home to gather dust next to others like it. Even a few of us have tattoos forever memorializing moments when exuberance exceeded caution.
You probably live near a town known for its antique emporiums, used book stores and flea markets. All are ready to sell everything from art-deco ashtrays to old lobby posters promoting films. Those stores are a reminder that while we may be done hunting for the basics of life, we are still eagerly gathering.
Alas, after the original curator of a collection leaves the scene, our collections may end up packed away in the attics of our still puzzled heirs.
Collecting turns out to be an acceptable way to have too much stuff. Jay Leno has over a hundred rare cars. Retired newsman Jim Lehrer collects old buses. One of my grandmothers had a prominent display of miniature spoons with the names of such exotic places as Salt Lake City and Tulsa.
But collecting can also have a social function of representing something we hold close to our core identity. The stuff that stays around is emblematic of an individual’s enthusiasms: an expression of a personal aesthetic that still has meaning.
And so we reach the communication angle. In some way a collection on display stakes a claim about who we are. It marks crucial antecedents. We use things to be proxies of our unique affinities and aspirations. I could bore you with the reason a large model Rio GrandeRailroad boxcar is my own Renoir. But it’s enough to note that it sits on a shelf in a ‘man cave,’ ready to be the trigger for a story that is almost never requested.
Alas, like meaning, collections are not easily transferable. After the original curator of any collection leaves the scene, those carefully chosen pieces may end up packed away in the attics of our still puzzled heirs.
This is obvious to any user of Facebook, Instagram or other forms of social media. Facebook dramatically displays images of ourselves and the things and images we will allow to stand in for us. Selfies in particular can become galleries presenting the self-conscious self. We also use social media to relay pieces of the culture that we want others to like as much as we do. Most of the time a post includes a moment when we at least ask ourselves the central curatorial question: Is this post worth my association with it?
And so we reach the communication angle. In some way a collection on display stakes a claim about who we are. It marks crucial antecedents. We use things to be proxies of our unique affinities and aspirations. I could bore you with the reason a large model Rio Grande Railroad boxcar is my own Renoir. But it’s enough to note that it sits on a shelf in a ‘man cave,’ ready to be the trigger for a story that is almost never requested.