Leaving Facebook: You Can Run, But You Can’t Hide

I first quit Facebook in 2010, in response to a talk Eben Moglen gave at NYU about Facebook’s privacy-destroying ways; one of his most memorable lines was:

The East German Stasi used to have to deploy a fleet of undercover agents and wiretaps to find out what people did, who they met, what they ate, which books they read; now we just have a bunch of Like buttons and people tell a data monetizing corporation the same information for free.

That talk–in which Moglen referred to Mark Zuckerberg as a ‘thug’–also inspired a couple of young folk, then in attendance, to start Diaspora, an alternative social network in which users would own their data. I signed up for Diaspora soon after kicked off; I also signed up for Google+. I returned to Facebook in 2012, a few months after starting my blog, because it was the only way I could see to distribute my posts. Diaspora and Google+ never ‘took off’; a certain kind of ‘first-mover status, and its associated network effects had made sure there was little social networking on those alternative platforms.

Since then, I’ve stayed on Facebook, sharing photos, bragging about my daughter and my various published writings, and so on. I use the word ‘bragging’ advisedly; no matter how much you dress it up, that’s what I’ve been doing. But it has been a horrible experience in many ways: distraction, lowered self-esteem, envy, have been but its most prominent residues. Moreover, to have substantive discussions  on Facebook, you must write. A lot. I’d rather write somewhere else, like here, or work on my books and essays. So, I desperately want to leave, to work on my writing. But, ironically, as a writer, I feel I have to stay on. Folks who have already accomplished a great deal offline, can afford to stay off; those of us struggling to make a mark, to be noticed, have to stay here. (Consider that literary agents now want non-fiction writers to demonstrate that they have a ‘social media presence’; that they have a flourishing Facebook and Twitter presence, which will make the marketing of their writings easier.) I know, I know; as a writer, I should work on my craft, produce my work, and not worry about anything else. I know the wisdom of that claim and reconciling it to the practical demands of this life is an ongoing challenge.

So, let’s say, ‘we,’ the user ‘community’ on Facebook decide to leave; and we find an alternative social network platform. I’m afraid little will have changed unless the rest of the world also changes; the one in which data is monetized for profit, coupled with a social and moral and economic principle that places all values subservient to the making of profit. The problem isn’t Facebook. We could migrate to another platform; sure. They need to survive in this world, the one run by capital and cash; right. So they need to monetize data; ours. They will. Money has commodified all relationships; including the ones with social network platforms. So long as data is monetizable, we will face the ‘Facebook problem.’

Facebook and Writers’ Status Messages

My last post on Facebook led me to think a bit more its–current and possible–integration into our lives, especially those conducted online.

As ‘net users are by now aware, almost any site you visit on the ‘net features a Facebook button so that you can indicate whether you ‘Like’ the page and thus, share it with your ‘Friends.’ Of course, in so doing, you also leave a digital trail of sorts, indicating what you have read, what music you have listened to, which videos you have viewed, which jokes you found funny, and so on. As Eben Moglen put it rather memorably at a talk at NYU a few years ago, (and I quote from memory):

In the old days, the East German Stasi used to have to follow people, bug them, intimidate their friends to find out what they read, what they got up to in their spare time. Now. we have ‘Like’ buttons that do the same for us.

The surveillance, the generation of data detailing our habits, our inclinations, our predilections, is indeed quite efficient; it is made all the more so by having outsourced it to those being surveilled, by dint of the provision of simple tools for doing so.

I personally do not get very creeped out by the notion of hitting ‘Like’ on a article that I enjoyed reading–though, struck by Moglen’s remark, I have not done so even once since returning to Facebook in 2010. I do however find it very creepy that Netflix asks me if I would like to share my movie viewing preferences with my friends on Facebook; that seems excessively invasive. 

In any case, I do not think the limits of this kind of ‘integration’ of Facebook with the information we consume and the software we use have yet been reached.

Here is at least one more possible avenue for Facebook’s designers to consider. Many ‘net users access it via an ‘always-on’ connection. Thus, even when they are not actively using an Internet application–like say, a word processor, or a spreadsheet–they are still connected to the ‘net. In the not so distant future, these programs could be designed–by close cooperation between Facebook and the software vendor in question–to supply information about our usage of these applications to our ‘Friends.’ On a real-time basis.

Thus, for instance, when I would open a file on my word processor, my ‘Friends’ would be so informed; they would then learn how long I had continued editing, how many breaks I took, (and of course, if those breaks were online, they would be told which pages I had opened, and how long I had spent there), and so on. Our software would come with this feature turned on; you would have to opt-out or customize your sharing.

This way, all those status messages we are often treated to on Facebook: ‘Hooray, first draft complete!’ or ‘Finally got five hundred words written today’ or ‘I just can’t seem to get anything written today’ could be automated. Extremely convenient, don’t you think? Examples like this–for other kinds of applications–can be readily supplied, I’m sure.

FOSS Licenses: Hackers As Legal Maestros

Over at Concurring Opinions, Biella Coleman writes a very good post on her anthropological work on hackers. In it Biella states what many of us who have looked at the world of free and open source software think:

[M]any developers are nimble legal thinkers, which helps explain how they have built, in a relatively short time period, a robust alternative body of legal theory and laws

I don’t fully agree with the reasons that Biella gives for why this might be so (i.e., similarities between programming and the writing of laws), but I don’t doubt for a second that this is true. Anyone that comes into contact with free and open source software (FOSS) licensing, and with the rich, vibrant discourse that permeates the FOSS community about about copyright and patent law will know that many hackers know the law really well, and they know how to hack the law to make it work for them.

So I found Orin Kerr’s response curiously skeptical:

Can you give a few examples of how the group you have studied are “nimble legal thinkers”? And what are the “robust alternative body of legal theory and laws” that you mention? I think I can say I’ve been somewhat near this space for a few years and I wouldn’t reach that conclusion: I’ve encountered a lot of naive and self-serving legal claims over the years, but not a lot that I would call nimble or robust.

I think the replies in the comments space address Kerr adequately but I’d like to throw in my tuppence in any case. And I’ll do so by talking about what I know best: FOSS licensing.

First, I think FOSS licenses present an alternative body of legal constructs that show how within a political economy that was increasingly becoming proprietary and using copyright, patent and trade secret law to lock down its content (copyright executables; patent algorithms; treat code as trade secrets), an alternative zone of creation can be created, which can flourish, be viable, and be richly productive of more and better code. (Look for instance, at how FOSS licenses solve the problem of protecting their projects from patent infringement lawsuits, and how they solve the problems inherent in multiple-authorship of a body of code).

Second, as for being “nimble” thinkers, I think copyleft licensing is a work of genius–hats off, Richard Stallman and Eben Moglen–and represents, in my mind, one of the cleverest backs to the legal system that I’ve seen. The GPL–in all its incarnations–reveals a deep understanding of the law, and how best to utilize it to bring about desired ends–solving the problem of non-reciprocity that could create a tragedy of the commons–within an existent legal framework (the GPL’s  protection of the commons gives it a practical and ethical advantage over other FOSS licenses). Read GPL V3 and look at how cleverly it addresses the challenges that made it’s release necessary; it’s “nimble” all right. Any lawyer that reads the GPL, understands it, and gets what it is trying to do, should be struck by the sheer cleverness of how copyright law can be made to serve ends that might not look like its original intended ones, but actually turn out to be in great resonance with them.

Third, I don’t think it is any exaggeration to say that a great deal of thinking about how artistic content in the new political economy of the digital world could be distributed and regulated in a way that is respectful of artists and consumers’ interests alike, has been inspired by FOSS licensing. (Creative Commons licensing is a very good example of this; that body of licenses presents an alternative way to deal with artistic content today; it isn’t perfect, but it’s a start, and it got started by FOSS licenses). Sometimes I wonder indeed, if anyone talking about the new digital economy and how to legally configure hasn’t been inspired by FOSS licensing and practices somehow.

When it comes to being “self-serving,” I’d suggest that there is a general tendency in the legal academy to simply not admit that law can be “done” by non-lawyers, that a body of rules built up over a period of time can be “hacked” by others than them.