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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