Words. Ideas. Actions.

01 December 2022

I heard a conversation today that I wish I had heard before I wrote yesterday's post. It was between host Sean Illing and his guest Ian Bogost on “The Gray Area” podcast. The two were talking about Bogost’s recent article in the Atlantic called “The Age of Social Media Is Ending.” There is a lot in their conversation of interest, but what really caught my ear — especially after spending so many paragraphs last night thinking about the loss of community — was the idea of conversational scale and the fact that communities should be confined and not global.

That point continues to resonate with me, even hours after the final credits of that episode streamed through my headphones. The notion that everyone can talk to everyone, all the time, and that everyone can be heard and understood, all the time, is just laughable. And I don’t think that, as we used platforms which chased growth at almost any cost, anyone stopped to ask, “If everyone is speaking, who is listening?”

Communities gather around common interests. For me, I was able to find mine based on soccer and loud, distorted guitars and the love of political representation. Very rarely was I able to find someone with all of those same interests, but the unique aspect of Twitter was that even though not every Tweet from an account you followed was important to you, the person Tweeting them usually was. And you knew that even though you didn’t love the San Francisco Giants, for instance, as much as they cared about each and every at-bat, you had an appreciation for the joy or agony each October brought to them. 

As I rethink what it means to have to rebuild the online community I had on Twitter, I am reminded that I already have access to many. There’s the Twitter alumni Slack group, where a common past and a common purpose brought us together to help Tweeps find new jobs and has led us to reconnecting in other ways. I also have my content strategy community, where we gather to share ideas and resources and talk about how we can move our discipline forward in the face of repeatedly explaining what it is we do and why it’s important. And then there are the various text threads with friends about music or soccer or Florida politics. Each of these are communities I rely on. But they’re all discrete. With Twitter, I had access to many in these communities at a moment’s notice, all in one place. I guess it’s the immediacy that I miss. But, as Bogost pointed out in “The Gray Area,” maybe some friction is good. Hell, if there was a little more friction to getting these words online, you might not even be reading them. And I’ve yet to decide whether that’s a good thing or not. 

See you tomorrow?

29 November 2022

Fair warning: I have no idea how long this post is going to be tonight. I have a very ranty idea in my head, and a self-imposed deadline to get this out before midnight, so depending on how quickly the thoughts come, and how much or how little editing I do on these paragraphs, the length and conclusion of this post is, at this point, totally unknown. And, coincidentally, that unpredictability pairs very well with what I want to think out loud about this evening. Strap in, and let’s go for a ride.

See, as you probably know, I’ve been watching the World Cup. I always watch, even in this problematic year. I can’t help it. It is my favorite sporting event. By far. It’s why I have traveled to six of them. The reason I bring it up is because I want to tie it to another one of my passions: politics. And this year, more than most, recent results have shown that we put too much faith in “experts” when really they’re just pundits. And I’ve been wondering why.

Let’s start with The Beautiful Game. This tournament, more than most, has been rife with upsets. And not just little surprises. These are big, foundation-shaking stunners. I mentioned in a previous post about Argentina’s loss to Saudi Arabia. That’s still probably the most monumental one. Since then, however, we’ve seen favorites like Germany, Belgium, and South Korea fall to “underdogs.” I mean Japan surprised Germany, and then gets a proper shock themselves from Costa Rica. This tournament has been bananas.

Next, let’s look at the recent mid-term elections. There are a number of reasons why we’re still trying to figure out how, and who, got so many predictions wrong, but one of the underreported aspects of all the horse-race election coverage is accountability. See, when talking heads tell you what they think is going to happen, and then the exact opposite thing occurs, do we hear from them less? No. And why not? Because they’re not measured by how many predictions they get right. They’re rewarded for how many eyeballs watched them make the call in the first place. We’ve incentivized the attention instead of the accuracy. And that can be said for a lot of the news industry these days. 

But if we go deeper and ask why these predictions are so wrong so often, we uncover another flaw in the way our news is presented to us: familiarity. The same people go to the same parties and hear the same stories from the same faces. These get repeated over and over enough to become conventional wisdom. And then we get spoonful after spoonful of it fed to us each election cycle, again and again. 

To combat this, though, some outlets partake in mid-western diner tourism, thinking if they find enough anecdotal, contrarian opinions, they’ve presented “both sides” of an argument. What we really need, though, are facts. And we’re just not that good at finding and presenting those in a way where people will actually pay attention. Instead, we get “roundtables.” And “expert opinions.” And polling (for a great look at polls, take a listen to this episode of “Planet Money”). But all of this is just the same handfuls of people talking about what’s familiar to them, with those also familiar to them, rather than really getting out and discovering what they actually know and what they don’t. Then, we wake up the day after election day to “surprises” and “upsets” and “stunners.” While all these uncertain outcomes make these great spectacles, we need to ask ourselves — whether they’re World Cup Matches or election results — why we’re aghast at these outcomes.  

If we consider these legitimate upsets, we first have to put faith in the systems we rely on for our conventional wisdom in the first place. And, as we’ve seen over and over vividly illustrated in these last few years, our existing systems have — to put it mildly — some blindspots. 

Now, I want to be careful here and not go down the “do your own research” rabbit hole. That’s definitely not what I’m saying. What I’m trying to point out is that there is a place for experts, and there is a place for opinions. But we need to do a better job at separating, scrutinizing, and evaluating them. Let’s go back to The Cup for a moment. When these pre-game talking heads tell you that a team is ranked #1 in the world, do you know what that’s based on? I sure didn’t. And I watch this stuff like my life depends on it. So, what goes into a FIFA World ranking? Well, I “did my own research” and here’s a part of the explanation, according to FIFA themselves: 

The points which are added or subtracted are partially determined by the relative strength of the two opponents, including the logical expectation that teams higher in the ranking should fare better against teams lower in the ranking.

The “logical expectation”‽ Whose, the kleptocrats in FIFA; give me a break! As detailed in FIFA’s own documentation, one portion of the points formula is the “expected result of the match” and that expectation is based on the “difference in ratings of the two playing teams”. Let’s break that down for a second: The formula for the ranking includes a variable for the expected winner which is based on … wait for it … the rankings of the two teams playing against each other. That’s like asking the inventor of the pencil what the best writing implement is. It’s turtles all the way down.

To digress a bit, (I know, this entire post feels like a series of digressions, but please hang with me for a bit more) one of the ways people talk about Twitter is to position it as a global town square. I’ve always had trouble with that for a number of reasons, but let’s assume for a moment that it is. Or was (we don’t have time for a digression within a digression). In this global town square, you’re not going to listen to everyone talking all at once. Even if you wanted to, you can’t. So you pick and choose the conversations you want to be part of. You self-select. You start your own. And then, all of a sudden, you’ve gone from being able to be part of any and every conversation on the globe to a select few where you either feel comfortable or confident. Which probably just reaffirms what you already believe. Think about it, how many times was your mind changed based on something you saw in a Tweet? I bet it’s very few. But you definitely Liked and Retweeted the opinions you agreed with, right? Or added an endorsement to those who put your thoughts more eloquently than you ever could. I know I’ve done that. Many times. So maybe because I did it, I assume you did it, too? See, confirmation bias!

We create these bubbles for ourselves, convinced that we know best. But the confirmation bias is moving us to a place where we are placing so much faith in names that we know that we fail to recognize when we actually have no idea about something. Mainly because we want so desperately to believe it ourselves. But that conviction doesn’t make it true, does it? I don’t really have any great solution for this. I wish I did. I guess I just offer some advice: Be as curious as you are skeptical. Including about all you’ve just read here. Almost everything I think I know I learned from a source I trusted. But I’m old enough to understand that what I learned a few years ago may be outdated. Or too myopic. Or just plain misremembered. Experts have their place. As do lived experiences. And if you put enough of those together, you get just enough information to be comfortable. But I’ve never learned anything new from my comfort zone. Here’s to getting a little more uncomfortable.

See you tomorrow?

15 November 2022

In light of recent news of Tweeps getting fired just for pointing out where the current owner is wrong, I wanted to share an anecdote of what it used to be like at Twitter when you wanted to share a dissenting opinion. Let’s get in our wayback machine together, shall we?

In the Summer of 2018, we were having many debates internally about which accounts should be allowed to remain on the platform. Among the most hotly debated, besides the then-president’s account, was one of a certain Sandy Hook-denying radio host. Jack sent an email to the entire company explaining the thinking and justification for keeping accounts like this alive on Twitter. And I was pissed. 

I drafted an email that I was ready to reply to Jack about what I thought about what we were doing. But I didn’t send it, letting my hot head cool for a bit, thinking maybe I was overreacting. And then we had our regularly scheduled all-hands meeting, called Tea Time.  

After welcoming new Tweeps and recognizing the work anniversaries of others, we moved on to launch updates and plans for the rest of the year. Then came the open Q&A, an important and perpetual part of every Tea Time. Although I don’t remember specific questions and answers, I remember a number of people openly and vigorously questioning our leadership about how and why this account — and others like it — were allowed to continue to spew lies and hatred on the service we were building. There was also a memorable moment involving a bar of soap. 

The answers left me longing. So, I revisited the email reply I had drafted, made a few revisions, and let it fly. Here is a copy of my response: 

Jack,

When this first landed in my inbox, I had an immediate — but poorly formed  — reactionary response. That reply stayed in my drafts folder until Tea Time on Friday. After your invitation to hear from us, I tried to put a bit more thought into this revised response. I hope you'll indulge me for a few minutes.

I whole-heartedly believe our work should be centered on the world’s public conversations, where every voice is allowed to speak. But to treat every voice as if it deserves the same amount of attention is more than misguided, it's dangerous. The easiest analogy I can come up with as an illustration as to why is emblazoned on our own walls: #BlackLivesMatter. I know I don't need to tell you why that hashtag is important. And the movement we’re able to help facilitate every day reinforces my belief that some voices, specifically those trying to correct injustices and advocating for a more equal world, need to be uplifted. As we make choices here, whether it's the shape of our default icon or how we train our machine learning models, our biases and lenses creep through. Being more aware of that, and coming up with strong, well-defined guidelines for how those decisions get made, makes us a better and more transparent company.

We have to be able to understand that there are voices in the world which have either been under represented, or downright silenced, and one of Twitter's greatest powers is providing a way for those to get the attention they deserve. I choose that word deliberately. Deserve. Like it or not, we are directly and indirectly deciding who deserves attention. When we sit back and let the voices on the platform decide who should get attention, we are reproducing the societal marginalization that brought the marginalized to our platform in the first place.

This is where the contradiction in my own argument becomes most threadbare. How can I, on one hand, vociferously advocate to uplift some marginalized voices while, on the other hand, insist on repressing the repugnant? The answer is simple: History. We pride ourselves on being able to learn. We learn from our colleagues. From our upbringing. From education. But we also learn from our mistakes, and the mistakes of those who came before us.

In your email, you said, “We have extremely thoughtful and empathetic people who want the best for all people out there, no matter their background or ideology.” I disagree. There are some ideologies that do not belong in a 21st century society. To ignore what we’ve learned, or reintroduce unenlightened ideologies of the previous centuries, sets us back not just as a company, but as a society. Racism. Sexism. Anti-Semitism. All of these are ideologies that have no place in a civilization that has made as much progress as ours. Just because our left-leaning perspectives happen to line up with humane, compassionate choices does not mean we should over-index or abandon them in an effort to be perceived as more balanced. We don’t need more balance, we need more humanity. And thus, there are some fundamentally benevolent biases that we should not be afraid to embrace. Otherwise, we risk introducing the paradox of tolerance, which can ultimately lead to this: Conspiracy Theories Are Eating This Alt Right-Friendly Site From the Inside.

Last point (and, if you're still reading this far, I’m humbled by your commitment) comes from the book What Price The Moral High Ground? by Cornell University’s Robert H. Frank. He makes an argument about enforcing social norms that guides a lot of my thinking when we discuss topics like this:

“… People associate with one another because — and only because — of the exchange of benefits they expect to reap in the process. Someone who abstains from associating with the violator of a social norm thus punishes not only the violator but also himself.”

We need to redefine our social norms. And we need to do it with confidence and empathy, epitomizing how it can be done in every company in Silicon Valley and beyond. At the same time, we have to be able to say there are some ideas so abhorrent they should not be uttered, much less allowed on our platform. Our recent policy changes provide many examples where we believe that.

I know these are unbelievably daunting decisions to make. But I also have confidence in our people to make the correct ones. I just hope we’re allowed to make them — choosing not to decide is still a choice. Let's make decisions that make us proud. Proud to be part of Twitter. Proud to grow as people. Proud to be humane.

As always, I thank you for your willingness to listen and learn from us.

Jack replied shortly afterward, thanking me for my input and addressing a couple of specifics. And to his credit, he replied every single time I wrote to him over my five years there. Even when I didn’t agree with our decisions, I always knew that he was listening to staff, taking opposing views into consideration, and sharing as much as he could about how our decisions were made.

This is all a long way of saying what is happening now at Twitter is antithetical to the culture that’s been built over the past decade and a half. When I started in 2015, there were 10 well-established company values, one of which was, “Communicate fearlessly to build trust.” What’s happening there now is the exact opposite of that. And even if the current owner wants to change the company culture, and its values, he’s not going to be able to do it overnight. Especially if he doesn’t communicate what the new expectations are.

As he unceremoniously fires more and more people, one thing is clear: Very soon, the loss of institutional knowledge is going to get so drastic that the institution will cease to exist. And at the rate he’s going, failure isn’t just a possibility, it’s an inevitability. Maybe even this weekend when the World Cup kicks off.

See you tomorrow?

11 November 2022

I typed these words without any idea the direction they’ll end up. I’m not going to edit them much after I get done putting them down, either. I just want to see what happens when I don’t have an agenda, but I do have a point. And tonight, that point is just to think out loud. 

See, when I started these posts, I wanted to use them as a way to keep me from Tweeting, a Twalternative, if you will (you can take the guy out of Twitter Marketing, but apparently …). But what I’ve found is that I really miss Tweeting. Even though I’m really enjoying doing these. It’s almost as if, yes, writing is writing, but writing is different, depending on where it’s going to and up. And I think that’s an important distinction people rarely appreciate. 

Let’s say you need to make a sign for a block party. Right off the bat, you know your constraints. There’s the dimension of the paper which restricts the size and number of words you’ll get to use. You also need to take the location of where your sign is going to go into account, so that you can plan for who your audience will be, and when, in relation to the event, they’s see it. And how ’bout the actual content? You know you’ll need some basics like location, date, and time, but if you want people to come, especially if there’s a cost, you might to need to let people know why they’d want to be there in the first place. 

But for a forum like this, with few constraints and an almost unlimited word count, the sky’s the limit. But not really, right? One consideration has to be, “who is going to read this?” Most likely, the audience is just me. That’s fine, but it needs to be noted. If I’m just posting these for practice or as snapshots, there’s still value there. But the value is almost entirely with me. Occasionally, like yesterday, I’ll do something with a purpose and audience in mind. But on days like today, it’s like staying late after soccer practice by yourself because you know there are drills you want to do so that you build muscles and skills you want to improve. And if you only get better at writing by writing, then welcome to this practice session.

I know this is a lot of navel-gazing, especially for a Friday night, but it was a better use of my brain power than trying to follow the continuous, minute-by-minute, seemingly imminent implosion of The Bird App. I don’t know if we’ll actually see it when it happens — there probably won’t be a huge crater and plume of smoke — but as more and more people stop Tweeting, in all likely hood it won’t burn out, but just fade away. However it ends, in a few months or a few hours, I will mourn it. I miss what it was. I’ll miss what it is. But most of all, I will miss what it could have been.

See you tomorrow?