A school playground in England, 1997. I am 12 years old. I am walking towards the entrance where my mother is waiting to drive me home. I am giddy with excitement during the journey back. Tonight is the night that I’m finally going to get it.
I barely look up as I eat my dinner, shoveling it into my mouth as quickly as I possibly can. As soon as the knife and fork hit the empty plate, I’m rushing upstairs to the computer. I sit in front of the glow of the Windows 95 boot screen until the familiar start-up sound plays. A few clicks later, I’m listening to the screeching and hissing of the modem as I connect to the Internet.
“Welcome to AOL,” Joanna Lumley chirps.
I fire up a program which I spent most of the previous Sunday downloading. It’s a newsreader: an application that connects to Usenet, a distributed discussion system. I press the “Connect” button. I navigate to alt.engr.explosives, where yesterday somebody asked the question as to where they could find The Anarchist’s Cookbook, a fabled, possibly banned, tome of all sorts of forbidden knowledge. Last night’s reply was a pointer to an File Transfer Protocol (FTP) server, of which I copy the IP address, username and password.
I open up another program and paste in the credentials. I hit the button with the lightning bolt on it. It works. I’m in. I navigate through the file system of another computer somewhere in the world. There it is. A text file containing the book that has been elevated to legendary status through conversations at school. I transfer the file to our home computer and disconnect from the FTP server and from Usenet. I look over my shoulder. I look out of the window. I open the file in Notepad and rapidly scroll through the table of contents.
Credit card fraud, picking master locks, making thermite bombs, landmines, mixing napalm, black powder, doing telephone phreaking, constructing pipe grenades. It’s all here. I break out into a cold sweat imagining the knock on the door. I close the text file, delete it and turn off the computer. Can the police recover deleted files from hard drives?
At 1:40 p.m. on Friday 15th March, a man opens Facebook on his phone, taps the camera icon in the top left corner, and then taps “Go Live”. He shares the link with a number of people. Shortly after the video starts, footage from a head-mounted camera depicts the man getting out of his car, approaching a mosque, loading a shotgun scrawled with the names of figures that were participants in major conflicts with Islamic armies throughout history, and then opening fire indiscriminately at innocent worshippers. Seventeen minutes later the live broadcast stops. Within 24 hours, there are 1.5 million upload attempts of the video on Facebook alone. It is unknown how widely shared the video was on other platforms.
The Christchurch shootings, in which 50 people were killed and another 50 were injured, were the worst that New Zealand has seen in recent times. Most notable was the role that technology – especially social media – played in the viral spread of the recorded footage of the incident. In the weeks following the attack, Facebook, Instagram, and YouTube struggled to detect and remove copies of the video posted on their websites. YouTube’s chief product officer, Neal Mohan, noted that it “was a tragedy that was almost designed for the purpose of going viral.” He admitted that the platforms themselves do not have the necessary technology to curb the spread of harmful material. “This incident has shown that, especially in the case of more viral videos like this one, there’s more work to be done,” he said.
Offensive content has existed since the early days of the Internet. My 12 year old self was able to get his hands on a book of questionable legality. However, being an inquisitive computer geek allowed me to jump through the knowledge hoops of understanding dial-up modems, newsgroups and FTP transfers. The barrier of entry to questionable material back then was high: the Internet of the 1990s was still the realm of the enthusiast, and the means in which to find hidden secrets was obscure and technical. I wouldn’t expect the people that post in my local town’s Facebook group to have been able to stumble across that book during the same era. However, I’m sure that some of those same people were exposed to the Christchurch shooting video via shares from people within their social network and via the algorithm that controls the news feed. I’m also sure that if they had the desire to find that video, it would only be a few simple searches away.
It is easier than ever to create, share, and find content online. Search engines are unbelievably good at finding that article that you couldn’t quite remember the title of. Social networks ingest photos and videos at a dramatic rate and distribute them to family, friends and strangers. We have a fast global Internet infrastructure that allows a video to be live streamed from a mobile phone in New Zealand and watched all around the world instantaneously. For the majority of harmless Internet usage, this is a boon. But with information – both good and bad – so readily available, have we reached a tipping point for more regulation?
Platform versus publisher
Historically, social media platforms have defended the presence of harmful material on their websites by reasoning that it wasn’t their job to police what their users were able to share or find. It could be argued that this attitude is in line with the bohemian and techno-utopian Californian Ideology, with its roots in the writings of Stewart Brand, editor of the Whole Earth Catalog. The publication is famous for the line on the back cover of its final issue that Steve Jobs quoted during his 2005 Stanford commencement address: “Stay hungry. Stay foolish.” Our social platforms have certainly been hungry for growth, and they’ve most certainly been foolish.
The Californian Ideology is rooted in “cybernetics, free market economics and counter-culture libertarianism” and upholds a belief that the Internet is beyond the control of the state. Twenty-five years ago, limited bandwidth and the above-average technical literacy required to connect and find information meant that one could feasibly see the ideology as an achievable utopia: a space for a certain type of technically literate intellectual, built by the same people that were consuming it. An early filter bubble, if you will. However, we cannot deny that what we consider to be the Internet today is a vastly different place.
In the early days of decentralized content, finding a webpage was more of an action of stumbling rather than calculated steps, and the creation of content required learning HTML and paying for a hosting provider. Today is different. For most, the predominant experience of the Internet is via social platforms that have been built on top of the scaffolding of the Web and are run by companies that profit from the engagement of their users. Given that the demographics and intentions of today’s social platform users are so varied, there are cases being made that content produced and shared should be subject to stricter laws and tighter controls. The platform versus publisher argument has never been more relevant.
But what do we mean by “platform” and “publisher”? As an example of a platform, consider a telecoms company that provides a landline telephone service. The company is responsible for the quality of the platform, but is not liable for any of the content disclosed during phone calls between individuals. They are simply supplying the infrastructure. A hypothetical call between two terrorists to agree on a target for a terror attack would place clear blame for the criminal activity on the participants, but not on the telecoms network.
Now consider a traditional publisher, such as a newspaper. A newspaper is often a for-profit organization where the content of the publication is created and curated by salaried staff. Hence if a newspaper were to publish material that was considered harmful, libelous or slanderous, then there are existing laws in place to hold the newspaper accountable, regardless of the author.
Given that YouTube, Facebook, Reddit and Instagram are the most popular sites in a majority of the world, it follows that the predominant experience of the Internet for the many is now via content shared on platforms that allow anyone, anywhere to easily publish and distribute content. The argument that these platforms should invest more time into regulating their content as if they were a publisher, rather than a platform, grows ever stronger.
The rise of legislation
In the aftermath of the Christchurch shootings, governments began to prepare their responses. Australia almost immediately proposed legislation that would make it “a criminal offense to not remove harmful material expeditiously”. Failure to do so would be punishable by 3 years’ imprisonment or fines of up to 10% of the platform’s annual revenue. If the bill passes and becomes law, then social media platforms would also need to make the Australian Federal Police aware of any stream of “abhorrent violent conduct” that is happening in Australia, or to face a fine of nearly $1 million Australian dollars.
Recently, the UK has gone one step further and has published the Online Harms White Paper. Similar to the Australian bill, the UK government points the finger of blame at the social networks for enabling the sharing of the video of the Christchurch shootings, but it casts a wider – and arguably more ambiguous – net with the categories of content that it wants to hold the tech giants responsible for. To name just a few examples, it wishes for them to be accountable for all illegal and unacceptable content, the mechanisms in which terrorist groups and gangs recruit, and also for harassment and bullying.
It plans to police this behavior by setting up a new regulatory body for the Internet, similar to how Ofcom regulates UK TV, radio and telecommunications services. This independent body would create and enforce a statutory “duty of care” that the social networks will have to show that they are meeting, both by working with law enforcement agencies to prosecute those engaged in illegal activity and also by providing annual transparency reports. If the independent body finds that any companies are in breach of the duty of care, then charges can be levied. These range from issuing fines of up to 10% of annual revenue and even being able to impose liability and therefore criminal charges on senior management.
The unveiling of the document by Home Secretary Sajid Javid was done so amidst strong posturing. “I said in September, I warned the web giants. I told them that keeping our children safe is my number one priority as Home Secretary,” he stated. “I warned you. And you did not do enough. So it’s no longer a matter of choice. It’s time for you to protect the users and give them the protection they deserve, and I will accept nothing else.”
How much the web giants have already listened to Mr. Javid, despite his insistence, is unknown. However, the white paper is causing a stir.
The world reacts
The ambitions of the UK government are bold. They want the UK “to be the safest place in the world to go online, and the best place to start and grow a digital business.” Given the live streaming of the Christchurch massacre, and the backlash against graphic self-harm imagery on Instagram after the death of Molly Russell, one can at least sympathize with their good intention. Writing in The Guardian, John Naughton is supportive of the motion, stating that “since the mid-1990s, internet companies have been absolved from liability – by Section 230 of the 1996 US Telecommunications Act and to some extent by the EU’s e-commerce directive – for the damage that their platforms do.”
However, this positive reaction is in the vocal minority. It has been argued that the white paper highlights how those in positions of political power understand little about the realities of the Internet and technology. A contrasting editorial in The Guardian argues that with the widespread use of the Internet we have created a space that is subject to all of the existing problems that society already has. “No one doubts the harm done by child sexual abuse or terrorist propaganda online, but these things are already illegal. The difficulty there is enforcement, which the white paper does nothing to address.”
Algorithms and artificial intelligence have an extremely long way to go before they can be trusted to automatically censor content online. The traditional “cease and desist” model does not work when content is produced at such a rapid rate. Additionally, without careful development, software can be biased and even racist, so how can we guarantee that automated means will censor fairly, and is it ethical for companies themselves to decide what is and isn’t allowed to be shared?
To police content automatically, we need to know what is and isn’t acceptable. It has been noted that the word ‘harm’ isn’t actually defined in the paper, even though it is in the title. In the absence of an exact definition, the paper instead uses a variety of examples to make its case, such as the spreading of disinformation and in individuals promoting gang culture. However, some of these are entirely subjective: who makes the decision on what is classed as “disinformation” and “gang culture”? Apart from the obvious threat to free speech, it highlights the need for humans to very much be part of the process of classifying content. Is it always possible to correctly automatically classify a UK drill video from a promotion of gang culture? What about the difference between legitimate fake news and satire? Even humans struggle with this problem.
The reality of using humans as screens for harmful content is not only problematic in terms of potential error and the sheer amount of material needing classified. It also exposes humans to real harm. As Casey Newton wrote in The Verge, employees at Cognizant in Phoenix, Arizona, are contracted by Facebook to moderate posts that have been flagged by users as offensive. This subjects employees to videos of terrorist executions, gang murders, bestiality and violence. Exposing workers to extreme content daily is damaging. Staff help to cope by speaking to visiting counselors and have access to a hotline, but employees are reported to have turned to sex, drugs and offensive jokes in order to manage.
So how is the UK government expecting its white paper to be implemented? It highlights that it has already done some work with the social networks to curb online grooming of minors, however this was little more than a two-day hackathon hosted in the US. Forming an independent regulatory body, defining what harmful content is and drafting a duty of care, and staffing the effort with enough people to make a meaningful difference is no small feat. Does the Home Secretary really know the extent of what he is getting into?
Is pivoting platforms the answer?
As mentioned previously, perhaps it is the case that social networks will always be full of bad actors and harmful content because they are merely a reflection of the society that uses them. Policing that content will always be a losing battle, so in order to win the war, the networks must develop a different strategy. As Nicholas Thompson and Fred Vogelstein write in Wired, “Like the communications innovations before it—the printing press, the telephone, the internet itself—Facebook is a revolutionary tool. But human nature has stayed the same.”
Last month, Mark Zuckerberg wrote that Facebook will be pivoting the service towards a privacy-focused model, based on his hypothesis that the “future of communication will increasingly shift to private, encrypted services where people can be confident what they say to each other stays secure and their messages and content won’t stick around forever.”
As Benedict Evans writes, this pivot is trying to change the platform so that the present issues become irrelevant. He likens this pivot to how Microsoft had to deal with the threat of malware when it opened up Microsoft Office to be a development platform. Macros, which were small user-written programs, could be embedded inside of Office documents and were exploited to create viruses that could automatically replicate themselves to everyone in a user’s email address book. Although the intentions of macros were to save users time on performing repetitive tasks, the 1999 “Melissa” virus managed to infect the Pentagon, and was reported to have caused $1.1 billon of damage worldwide. Evans argues that Facebook is now too open in the same way that Microsoft Office was too open, and the solution is to make it more closed. “Russians can’t go viral in your newsfeed if there is no newsfeed. ‘Researchers’ can’t scrape your data if Facebook doesn’t have your data,” he writes.
It could be argued that the UK’s response, albeit with good intention, is way behind the curve. If Facebook and other social platforms decide to pivot towards private, encrypted messaging, then it is unclear how the proposals will be enforced. In fact, the white paper states that “any requirements to scan or monitor content for tightly defined categories of illegal content will not apply to private channels. We are consulting on definitions of private communications, and what measures should apply to these services.”
Those that strongly oppose the white paper, such as Jim Killock, the executive director of the Open Rights Group, and Matthew Lesh, head of research at the Adam Smith Institute, have spoken out against it. After all, is it really possible to censor websites that are not social networks, such as “public discussion forums, messaging services and search engines” without violating existing rights? Freedom of speech campaigners Article 19 also oppose the motion, saying that “such actions could violate individuals’ rights to freedom of expression and privacy.”
However, with the social networks in the firing line beginning to pivot towards private messaging channels, we may in turn find that the white paper becomes largely irrelevant if it is to eventually become law. The UK Government’s Online Harms White Paper is currently under open consultation. Anyone is able to respond to it online, via email, or in writing until the 1st July.
I suggest that you do so.