Opinion
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
4 — Friday, April 5, 2019

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T

his week, following 
outcry related to the 
Christchurch 
mass 
shooting 
in 
New 
Zealand, Facebook 
announced 
it 
would ban white 
nationalist 
and 
white 
separatist 
content 
from 
its 
platform. 
The 
gunman 
livestreamed 
part 
of the attack on 
Facebook, 
which 
resulted in copies 
of 
the 
video 
spreading 
across major social media 
platforms. 
The 
questions 
provoked by the attack — how 
did the gunman radicalize? 
Why has it proven so hard 
for 
companies 
to 
handle 
his 
video 
and 
manifesto? 
— 
have 
highlighted 
the 
content moderation problem 
social media platforms have 
struggled 
with 
for 
years. 
Namely: How do you protect 
the ideals of free speech while 
preventing the spread of vile 
and dangerous content?
Some believe the solution 
is a matter of incentives and 
advocate for holding social 
media companies accountable 
for the content that appears on 
their platforms. For example, 
lawmakers 
in 
Germany 
passed a law that mandates 
social media companies delete 
offending posts within 24 
hours of being notified or risk 
heavy fines. Others advocate 
for the internet as a bastion 
of free speech, like when 
Twitter CEO Jack Dorsey 
referred to his platform as the 
“free speech wing of the free 
speech party.”
Neither 
of 
these 
approaches 
is 
without 
drawbacks. 
Holding 
companies accountable for 
their 
content 
may 
stifle 
competition 
and 
restrict 
free speech. The overhead of 
complying with regulations, 
as well as the risk of litigation 
from disgruntled users, could 
cripple startups who lack 
the resources of large social 
media platforms to deal with 
such threats. Furthermore, 
regulation may incentivize 
companies 
to 
“delete 
in 
doubt,” 
or 
remove 
any 
borderline 
content, 
which 
may have a chilling effect on 
speech.
But unrestricted speech 
is not the answer either. 
A 
number 
of 
examples 
demonstrate 
the 
serious 
consequences of a laissez-
faire approach to this issue. 
For instance, see the role 
of 
misinformation 
in 
the 
2016 election, the spread of 

conspiracy theories leading 
to Pizzagate and the use of 
Facebook to incite violence 
against 
Rohingya 
Muslims.
A more active 
strategy has taken 
hold in recent years 
due to outcry over 
events such as those 
mentioned 
above. 
Facebook 
has 
30,000 
employees 
dedicated to safety 
and 
security, 
15,000 
of 
whom 
are content moderators, and 
a number of countries are 
considering online content 
regulations. 
But 
they 
are 
focusing on a problem which 
may be intractable. Facebook 
moderates billions of posts 
per week in more than 100 
different languages. YouTube 
sees the equivalent of 65 
years of video uploaded each 
day. That scale would be a 
perfect application for the 
automation 
capabilities 
of 
Silicon Valley, if it weren’t 
trying to resolve the nuances 
of human discourse. Though 
artificial 
intelligence 
has 
made significant strides in 
identifying specific content 
such as nudity and graphic 
violence, the subtleties and 
cultural contexts of human 
language 
are 
not 
easily 
automated, 
leaving 
social 
media platforms and their 
content moderation armies 
playing a global game of 
whack-a-mole.
This 
active 
approach 
focuses 
on 
the 
content 
moderation 
machine 
itself 
— the human moderators, 
AI 
systems 
and 
policies 
employed by social media 
companies to address content 
on their platforms. However, 
this misses the root cause 
of the issue: social media’s 
design. The desire to create 
a 
“global 
community,” 
as 
Facebook puts it, as well as 
the emphasis on virality and 
relevancy, as defined by the 
tech companies, are the real 
culprits. Users are inundated 
with content that is meant 
to grab their attention — 
and hold it — for as long as 
possible. This goal to lead 
users down a rabbit hole often 
leads 
to 
recommendations 
of more and more extreme 
material. 
A 
Wall 
Street 
Journal 
investigation 
of 
YouTube found that users 
who 
watched 
relatively 
mainstream 
news 
sources 
were 
often 
fed 
extreme 
video recommendations on 
a wide variety of topics. For 
example, if you searched for 
information on the flu vaccine, 

you 
were 
recommended 
anti-vaccination 
conspiracy 
videos.
Additionally, 
the 
emphasis on virality leads to 
features that quickly amplify 
and 
legitimize 
content. 
WhatsApp’s popular message 
forwarding 
feature 
allows 
users to forward messages 
without any indication of their 
origin, making it seem as if a 
message which may have been 
shared thousands of times is 
coming directly from a close 
friend or family member. This 
feature was recently limited 
after lynchings in India were 
fueled by rumors spread on 
the service.
WhatsApp isn’t the only 
platform that has disabled 
functionality in response to 
tragedy. 
YouTube 
disabled 
part of their search feature 
following the Christchurch 
shooting, and Facebook was 
ordered offline temporarily 
in 
Sri 
Lanka 
after 
false 
rumors led to riots against 
Muslims. This tendency to 
disable functionality during 
crises is telling. When push 
comes to shove, the platforms 
themselves 
acknowledge 
that 
only 
by 
addressing 
problematic features will the 
problem be solved.
This is not to say a 
redesign of these platforms 
would 
be 
simple. 
Putting 
aside companies’ incentives 
to maintain the status quo and 
the legislative hurdles that 
would accompany any sort 
of intense regulation, there 
are 
legitimate 
arguments 
to be made for preserving 
features 
currently 
under 
fire. The same features that 
cause outcry now inspired 
optimism following the Arab 
Spring. A successful solution 
could 
not 
merely 
limit 
functionality, as that would 
ignore the capacity for good 
of these technologies.
Fundamental 
questions 
about free speech and the role 
of technology in society are 
being left to conference rooms 
in Silicon Valley, creating 
a 
situation 
where 
human 
moderators and imperfect AI 
systems implement a global 
censorship regime dictated 
by a handful of corporations. 
The solution for this problem 
is unclear, but whatever it is 
will require reckoning with 
the 
massive 
influence 
of 
social media platforms. The 
model of these sites ensures 
they 
don’t 
simply 
mirror 
society — they change it.

Chand Rajendra-Nicolucci can be 

reached at chandrn@umich.edu.

A

s 
Women’s 
History 
Month 
came 
to 
an 
end, I spent some time 
reflecting 
on 
the 
positive 
female influences that have 
shaped me into the woman I 
am today. Mentors, friends and 
teachers came to mind. But 
most importantly, the woman 
who has had the largest role in 
my development as a woman is 
none other than my mother.
The person I am today – the 
girl who became an outspoken 
woman, graduated high school 
at the top of her class, played 
sports and excelled at her 
extracurriculars and made it 
to a prestigious university – 
would not have been possible 
without 
the 
presence 
and 
influence 
of 
my 
powerful 
immigrant mother.
From waking up with me 
at 5:30 a.m. every morning 
to driving me 20 minutes to 
my bus stop so I could go to a 
better high school to bringing 
plates of fruit to my room every 
night while I was studying, 
my mother has been right by 
my side through it all. She has 
been committed to putting her 
children 
before 
everything 
and putting her education and 
her career on hold for us.
While reflecting on my 
mother’s selflessness that has 
allowed me to succeed, I have 
come to realize that this idea 
of sacrifice is a common theme 
among Arab Americans and 
those from other immigrant 
communities. Even though 
every 
mother 
puts 
her 
children first, the drive of 
the 
immigrant 
mother 
is 
unique. They recognize the 
struggles and the restrictions 
of 
their 
homelands 
and 
channel 
their 
passion 
for 
change 
through 
their 
children.
My parents left Syria to give 
us the life they couldn’t have 
for themselves: a life where 
if you work hard enough, you 

can achieve something for 
yourself. A life where speaking 
out won’t put your life at risk. 
They recognized this sacrifice 
and decided to pour their 
hearts and souls into their 
children living the lives they 
wished they could have had.
A 
recent 
study 
found 
the “immigrant paradox” – 
the idea that the children 
of 
immigrants 
are 
more 
successful than both their 
parents and than those with 
American-born parents from 
similar backgrounds — to be 
true. The study also concluded 
that the immigrant status of 
parents did have an “indirect 
effect” on the success of 
their children. Because of 
the need to break barriers 
and 
achieve 
the 
highest 
accomplishments 
possible, 
immigrant parents tend to set 
high expectations for their 
children’s achievements. With 
many immigrant mothers more 
likely to be stay-at-home moms, 
the reality is that this type of 
achievement-focused mentality 
starts in the home under the 
influence of the mother. 
Part of the reason that 
first-generation 
Americans 
tend to have a greater sense 
of drive instilled within them 
is the exposure to more than 
one 
culture 
and 
mentality. 
The 
cultural 
diversity 
that 
first-generation 
Americans 
share allows them to take 
cultural 
tools 
from 
both 
sides of their identities to 
be the best possible version 
of 
themselves. 
To 
many 
immigrants like my parents, 
hard 
work 
and 
dedication 
mean that you will always 
find 
success. 
My 
parents 
were never scared to hit rock 
bottom because they knew 
life could always get better. 
The optimism and dedication 
that my mother instilled in 
me 
translated 
to 
working 
harder 
to 
move 
forward, 

something characteristic to 
many children of immigrants. 
Coming home from a bad day at 
school or after not doing well 
on a test, I knew I would have 
my mother there for me to lift 
my spirits and reinvigorate my 
devotion to success.
Many immigrant women, 
including my mother, come 
from 
a 
background 
where 
their likelihood to succeed, 
specifically as women, was 
even further restrained. When 
children of immigrants tell the 
stories of their parents coming 
to America and trailblazing 
a new life, it is often a tale of 
the courageous father with 
the mother on the sideline. 
The story is seldom told of the 
woman at home inspiring her 
children – from comforting 
them when they didn’t fit in 
with the other kids at school 
to staying up all night helping 
them with their science fair 
projects. While my mother 
putting me and my dreams 
before her own comes from a 
deep love for her children, she 
also simply couldn’t achieve 
her own goals because of the 
lack of opportunity she faced.
The 
American 
dream 
has special significance to 
the immigrant mother. The 
American dream, generally, is 
the ideal that all Americans 
can have equal opportunities 
for 
success. 
To 
her, 
the 
American dream is seeing her 
daughters do whatever she 
wishes she could have done 
at their age. The American 
dream is seeing her sons break 
generational traditions of toxic 
masculinity. 
The 
American 
dream is starting to raise 
families that make them proud.
And 
to 
my 
immigrant 
mother, I have not forgotten 
you and I have not forgotten all 
that you have done for me.

On social media’s content moderation problem

CHAND RAJENDRA-NICOLUCCI | COLUMN

The forgotten hero of the immigrant mother

MARIA ULAYYET | COLUMN

ELLERY ROSENZWEIG | COLUMN

Size acceptance vs. body positivity
L

aying in my pajamas on 
a lazy Friday morning, 
perusing the feed in 
my 
borrowed 
Hulu 
account, 
I 
begin 
streaming the first 
episode of “Shrill.” 
In this new comedy, 
we follow the life of 
Annie, a writer who 
juggles her work and 
relationships 
with 
friends, parents and 
love 
interests. 
But 
this show is different 
from other female-
centered 
comedies 
because 
… (drum roll please) Annie is 
fat! Did we finally just get a 
mainstream narrative of a fat 
woman where it is not entirely 
about her fatness? Yes, yes we 
did. A show where the main 
plot is not about the fact that 
she hates herself, that she is 
the punchline of the joke or 
that she is struggling to lose 
weight, but where she is just 
a fat woman living her life. It 
feels like a small victory and 
sign that things could change 
in our culture. 
In 
three 
quick 
hours, 
I 
binged 
watched 
all 
six 
episodes and was left in awe 
and 
pain. 
Watching 
Aidy 
Bryant of “Saturday Night 
Live,” who plays Annie, take 
center stage and deal with 
the 
ridiculously 
hilarious 
situations that happen to fat 
women was both entertaining 
and relatable. Her character 
explored 
typical 
things 
like finding out how to be 
confident in her writing and 
what she deserves in her love 
life. But she also had some 
challenging 
moments, 
and 
I found it quite upsetting 
to watch her deal with her 
mother, who was obsessed 
with dieting, or take ridicule 
from an asshole of a boss who 
made physical exercise, or 
“forced fun” as they call it in 
the show, a required activity 
for their office.
Throughout the week, many 
of my friends asked me what 
I had to say about the show 
because they knew I had 
written a piece about “coming 
out” as a fat person like Annie 
did. It was pretty incredible 

to find out that Annie’s article 
is based off of a blog post that 
Lindy West, the writer of the 
book 
and 
show, 
wrote in real life. 
These 
types 
of 
pieces are common 
in fat activism, and 
it was cool to see 
her 
experiences 
pan out on-screen.
However, 
as 
the season came 
to a close, I found 
myself 
initially 
dissatisfied 
with 
the ending. I was somewhat 
disappointed in Annie because 
I wanted more from a character 
who I thought represented 
fat women. I thought she was 
going to display someone who 
radically and unapologetically 
loved 
their 
body, 
even 
if 
they do not look like the 
mainstream image of beauty 
and health. I wanted her to 
win the fights with her mom 
and boss. I wanted her to be a 
woman I could look up to as a 
role model for body positivity. 
But with time, I soon came to 
understand that this show’s 
message is not about loving 
your body or body positivity, 
but rather is a lesson of 
size 
acceptance 
and 
body 
neutrality.
Two weeks ago, I went 
to a talk at the School of 
Public Health where Ragen 
Chastain, a fat activist, writer 
and athlete, discussed weight 
bias and the social justice 
issues 
aligned 
with 
this 
oppression. Listening to her 
unpack the empirical research 
on 
weight 
bias, 
fatphobia 
and how dieting is damaging 
for individuals’ mental and 
physical 
health 
was 
one 
of 
the 
most 
empowering 
presentations I have attended 
at our university.
As her talk came to a close, 
I asked Chastain what she 
thought about body positivity, 
the community online and the 
message to love your body the 
way it is. She said that she 
was conflicted on the way the 
community has transformed 
from radical fat experiences 
into a space for chubby white 
women. And she asked a 

question that continues to ring 
true to me: What about body 
neutrality? This is the idea 
that we don’t need to be in love 
with our bodies but we can 
accept our body’s size, the way 
our bodies look and the way 
they move unapologetically.
In general, the body positive 
community emphasizes the 
importance of loving your 
body and being as positive as 
possible. But if one fluctuates 
in the way they feel about their 
body, they may be set up to fail 
if they never reach the ultimate 
body love that is displayed 
by body positive social media 
accounts. So, if body positivity 
is not attainable, what about 
body 
neutrality? 
Whatever 
path you are on, whether it’s 
wanting to love or accept your 
body, it is probably going to 
be nonlinear, because it is 
difficult to unlearn things 
you were socialized to believe 
about bodies in relation to 
health and beauty.
As I am a white, fat woman 
who continues to discuss body 
size and the way our society 
treats larger bodied people, 
I used to think the body 
positivity movement was only 
empowering and benefiting 
individuals’ body image. But 
now it is clear to me that this 
movement is evolving and 
is not what everyone needs. 
Annie’s story in “Shrill” is not 
a path to body positivity, but 
a path toward size acceptance 
and body neutrality. She is not 
entirely empowered or in love 
with her body at the end of the 
season, and that alone is quite 
radical. As more narratives 
about fat people are entering 
mainstream media, “Shrill” 
should be celebrated as an 
important 
step 
in 
social 
change and representation. 
On the other hand, we must 
remember to think critically 
about the messages the show, 
and others like it, are sharing 
about fat bodies, and what 
social identities are being 
portrayed other than body 
size.

Ellery Rosenzweig can be reached at 

erosenz@umich.edu.

Zack Blumberg
Emma Chang
Joel Danilewitz
Emily Huhman
Tara Jayaram

Jeremy Kaplan
Magdalena Mihaylova
Ellery Rosenzweig
Jason Rowland
Anu Roy-Chaudhury

Alex Satola
Timothy Spurlin
Nicholas Tomaino
Erin White 
Ashley Zhang

Maria Ulayyet can be reached at 

mulayyet@umich.edu.

CHAND
RAJENDRA-
NICOLUCCI

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