Guest Post by Robin Baranyai:
The age of unregulated digital media is in its death throes. Yet with all the harms social media have wrought – on privacy, electoral integrity, science, social cohesion, and even children’s well-being – the world’s largest social network seems determined to go down swinging.
This moment, in many ways, is reminiscent of an earlier, decidedly non-digital age. Not long ago, the auto industry was the unregulated Wild West of American business. Seatbelts were a mild suggestion; federal safety standards, non-existent. In 1965, Ralph Nader published Unsafe at Any Speed, spurring congressional action to legislate motor vehicle safety.
Through the early 1960s, Ford vigorously campaigned against safety regulation. “The auto industry was the last great unregulated business,” Mark Dowie wrote in Mother Jones in 1977. “If it couldn’t reverse the tide of government regulation, the reasoning went, no one could.”
Dowie’s article exposed how the Ford Pinto had been rushed to market despite the gas tank’s tendency to tear open during collisions and ignite. The new car had failed every crash test over 40 km/h – back when crash test data were confined to secret company memos. Instead of prioritizing lives, Ford forged ahead, relying on internal cost-benefit analyses projecting it would be cheaper to settle lawsuits than retool the production line.
An early radio campaign for the new car enthused: “Pinto leaves you with that warm feeling.” The ad agency dropped the line after the cheap subcompacts gained a reputation for engulfing drivers in flames.
As Facebook chief executive Mark Zuckerberg finds himself once again in the hot seat, his efforts to stave off government regulation appear increasingly quixotic. Internal research, leaked to the Wall Street Journal by former employee Frances Haugen, suggests the company has long known its products can be harmful to children.
Surveys and studies of youth have linked Instagram with diminished self-esteem and poorer body image. A constant stream of curated images and digitally altered bodies puts teenaged girls, in particular, at risk. Algorithms based on engagement quickly can fill a teen’s feed with dieting and pro-anorexia resources.
Facebook says it strives to remove content encouraging eating disorders, and is adding opt-out controls. In a post about the company’s work with kids, Zuckerberg wrote: “I’m proud of the work we’ve done.”
Eating disorders can be deadly, and they have become more prevalent during the pandemic. The New York Times reported a 40 per cent jump in calls to the National Eating Disorders Association helpline since March 2020. More than a third of callers who disclosed their age were between 13 and 17.
It’s overly simplistic to suggest mental illness is caused by an app, but it’s almost certainly a contributing factor. Social media use went up dramatically amid the pandemic. While it gave locked-down teens a much-needed outlet to connect with friends, for those at risk of an eating disorder, the pressure of an image-based app can be extremely damaging. Facebook’s research suggests teens are well aware Instagram can harm their mental health, but fear of missing out (FOMO) keeps them coming back.
This has been called Facebook’s “Big Tobacco moment,” recalling when seven top industry executives appeared before the U.S. House of Representatives subcommittee on health and the environment, and testified – under oath – nicotine was not addictive. The parallels are compelling, including campaigns to actively target youth. (Facebook has paused development of an Instagram service for younger children.)
The Instagram conundrum also can be seen as a modern-day Pinto: a division hell-bent on cornering the market, reluctant to retool its own algorithms, even when the company’s own research shows them to be dangerous. It’s not leaving a “warm feeling.”
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