By Imlisanen Jamir
“It wasn’t supposed to be like this. People were supposed to get kinder in the future.”
This was a quote from the fictional character Randy Marsh from the hit comedy satire ‘South Park’ in its post pandemic special episode which aired recently. This is the last punch of a joke that runs throughout the entire hour-long TV movie, which is set in the year 2061.
The show takes places in a world where kids stare mindlessly into VR headsets, cryptocurrency is mandatory, and doorbells sing about the future. Whenever anyone announces some societal change, like insects replacing meat on menus, they make sure to announce that it’s because they are in the future, to which the people remark, “I know.”
When journalists and academics talk about the morass of hate and lies online, they tend to focus on tech platforms, rightfully so. The platforms are immensely powerful, and their design can encourage radicalization and the spread of conspiracy theories, amplifying the most toxic forces in our culture.
But online garbage (whether political and scientific misinformation or racist memes) is also created because there’s an audience for it. The internet, after all, is populated by people—billions of them. Their thoughts and impulses and diatribes are grist for the algorithmic content mills. When we talk about engagement, we are talking about them. They—or rather, we—are the ones clicking. We are often the ones telling the platforms, “More of this, please.”
Misery, famously, loves company—and, however shallow, social media provides that in droves. It’s worth asking: What if the internet so frequently feels miserable, and makes those of us posting and reacting feel miserable, because so many people are miserable in the first place? What if we all absorb that misery at scale online and, sometimes unwittingly, inflict it on one another?
But the technology is only part of the battle. Think of it in terms of supply and demand. The platforms provide the supply (of fighting, trolling, conspiracies, and junk news), but the people—the lost and the miserable and the left-behind—provide the demand. We can reform Facebook and Twitter while also reckoning with what they reveal about our mental health. We should examine more urgently the deeper forces—inequality, a weak social safety net, a lack of accountability for unchecked power—that have led us here. And we should interrogate how our broken politics drive people to seek out easy, conspiratorial answers. This is a bigger ask than merely regulating technology platforms, because it implicates our entire social and political structures.
When I open my phone now, I try, as best I can, to see past the abstraction. I try to remember that the internet is powered by real, live people. It’s a frightening thought. But also, maybe, a hopeful one.
Comments can be sent to imlisanenjamir@gmail.com
