Mastodon booms as Twitter enters turbulent time

It’s been strange watching some people go a bit manic as Twitter enters a turbulent time. Many are going across to a new platform and then telegraphing the fact probably hoping that others will go there too and follow them so that they can keep up-to-date with the scintillating content that made Twitter such a hellsite in the first place.

Trump is not the problem and Musk certainly isn’t, but it’s doubly odd to think of a company where the individual stakes of all the participants are considered to be so important that people will go to this much effort – working out how the new technology functions, setting up an account, making a note of the password, tweeting the address – just so that they can abuse others with impunity as they’ve done for the past five years.

Or however long Twitter has been a bonfire of epic proportions.

It’s both sad and amusing to be witness to the mass exodus as people realise that what they’re spent so much time investing in is threatened with disablement or worse: complete annihilation. All those hours sitting in front of the computer screen or staring at the mobile phone, all those “likes”, all those retweets, all that patience exhausted, those yearnings finally rewarded – and then it’s going to be taken away in a flash.

It must be horrible to have put so much of yourself into something that SOMEONE ELSE OWNS in its entirety, your activity discounted because you don’t possess the master sign-on details (or whatever the technical terms is for the main access key).

Your life taken and played with by a hyper-capitalist with a taste for supersonic vehicles. Your life. All those people who follow you and retweet and “like” every tweet you send out filled with your infinite wisdom. All your wit and aggression made subservient to a man you’ll never meet. Parts of you made into an object, a resource (human resources), a statistic, a “handle”.

Though you never got a blue tick.

I can’t really imagine the feelings of such a person because for years I’ve been complaining on a different blog about how Twitter operates to privilege the most extreme expression, the most outrageous words, the most terrible ideas. Surely Musk is only wanting to celebrate this characteristic of the website? Surely he’s making it into the reason for its existence. 

Surely you’d want to be part of that because all of your followers love you for that reason. What is there to complain about if your wishes have finally turned into reality? What more could you possibly want? Do you want to be given the main access key (techno-specialists help me out here)? 

Why not indeed? What else is there to try?

Perhaps Musk can assign control of the platform to a different influencer for a year in turn to see how the site performs with different management. Wouldn’t this be a more democratic solution to the problem of how to manage Twitter? King for a day.

King for a year.

King for the rest of your life, like President Xi Jinping or Vladimir Putin. Master of the twitterverse. Sovereign. In control of your own destiny. Wordlord. Moster. God.

While politics becomes more polarised the bush comes to town

When ‘Q and A’ got shuffled off to 8.30 on a Thursday night I felt vindicated. Years before I’d stopped watching this unpleasant show, with its combative political operatives and quasi-debate, its copying of the flame wars found all too often on Twitter and its loud voices intent on just niggling the opposition into further cornfluffle. 

I needed to coin a word for the almost meaningless vociferations that get read by thousands at all times of the day on social media. The carriers of sarcasm, the producers of temporary victory – moments that lead to nothing but a hunger for something to offset the savage pull of the ravenous vacuum – and the bringers of shame to the angels who might, if they moderated their speech, be able to take part in a process they watch enviously from the sidelines.

Meanwhile, farmers are using social media in creative ways to engage with their customers in the cities, both through TikTok videos produced on mobile phones and through the unnumbered cooking shows that grace our screens. Wherever you turn you see a cooking show where there’s a camera capturing a key ingredient – salt, say, or extra virgin olive oil – being added to a frying pan or bowl as show hosts, busy at 4pm helping viewers get through to dinnertime by making a cake or a stir-fry, talk about the produce they rely on. There’s one show where most of the cooking is done on barbeques, in the field, with scenic backdrops adding colour to what is mostly, in fact, simple fare. 

I watch many of them. We seem to harbour an insatiable appetite for content that features food being made, and so farmers should know that consumers take food personally. We’re getting pork belly hamburgers just as we’re getting Master Chef in the umpteenth season to satisfy our hunger for new flavours. Multiculturalism ties in with this dynamic because one of the first ways anyone will experience a foreign culture is through its signature meals. 

PETA demonstration, Pitt St Mall, 1 September

We can express our political affiliation by avoiding dairy and we can even express things about our politics by saying that we like pad see ew or butter chicken. The other day I discovered by talking with an Indian friend that “masala” just means “spice”, and this conversation raised an understanding of a place that I will probably never visit but that is becoming more and more important as the forces of globalisation continue to operate on our fractured world. 

Food gives us access to the Other, to alternative ways of living, and hence it can enrich our lives even if all we do is buy a takeaway that a member of the precariat brings to our front door on his motor scooter. Food is a highway and a forest, both, and farmers who venture to make content aimed at metropolitan audiences might be surprised by what they can achieve. 

It’s not just the immediate financial spin-offs that matter, it’s the way that such engagement can lift the brand and lead to industry-wide profitability. Reputation matters, and it’s not enough to rely on elected representatives to do the PR heavy lifting. People have to do it for themselves.

Peter Greste talk on a media freedom law sponsored by Macquarie Uni

Last week I went along to a talk and discussion in the centre of town on one high floor of 123 Pitt Street above Martin Place, where I waited the view over the skyline and the harbour was very scenic, the sound of glasses clinking in the background accompaniment to the spectacle I took in from a comfortable seat. I felt privileged to be so high up I was able to see the water. A helicopter flew from left to right and the grey water rippled.

Greste has ideas about a media freedom law and it would take the form of a system in order to address the problem of complacency in a community where the reputation of journalists is low. How to get support from government and people when journos are sort of like pornographers in the reputation stakes? Greste’s response to this issue is a certification process where instead of accrediting specified individuals on the basis of their place of work, or on the basis of the number of hours a week they practice the craft, you get a panel of experts to certify the process they use. This would allow bloggers and random tweeters to have the same access to protection under a potential media freedom law.

Greste also talked about the “grey zone” where meaningful conversations occur, and he says it is diminishing. He pointed out that ISIS had quoted George Bush admiringly where he says, “You’re either with us or against us,” in the aftermath of 9/11, and noted for the record (two cameras were operating at the back of the room, aimed above attendees’ heads) that most laws in Australia that restrict media freedom had been introduced since 2001.

It's in the interest of everybody to have a free press, and Greste described how public costs invariably go up where there is no media oversight. The relationship between the media and politicians is inextricable, he said, the two sets of people being intimately bound together so that the role of either one is unimaginable without the other.

Fran Kelly was on the panel after Greste’s talk and she highlighted the difficulty of getting support for such a certification board. I sort of agree with her, the way the public sphere operates today the nuance and subtlety of Greste’s ideas would be erased by flame wars and people would merely object to another faceless institution having power over their destinies. Politicians would have a key role to play in furthering the public interest in the face of such debates.

The man who invited me to the event arrived almost at start time and the university’s VC was there to give moral support to Greste, whom he praised. A range of people were in attendance, men and women, and there were a number of questions from the audience to lend variety to the evening. I left to get the train home without staying for refreshments, saying goodbye to my friend in the foyer, but thought about how journalists might improve their standing in the community by being more intelligent as to how they go about their business. Instead of following the herd they might be more selective and ignore party platforms. Instead they might look to the future taking the long view, and be more transparent.

Ceremony has meaning and should be recognised

Watching the opening of Parliament I was quite shocked when Andrew Probyn in his rundown of the events dismissed much of what had happened over the course of the day as mere ceremony, as though the only thing that counted was numbers of representatives and their votes on individual Bills. 

This kind of short-sighted attitude allows “expert” like Probyn to ignore the content of the Indigenous contribution to the day’s proceedings, where Paul House exhorted representatives to respect all living things, a clarion call of momentous proportions especially given the appalling rate of mammal extinctions experienced by the continent of Australia.

In fact, the nightly news followed the ABC’s coverage (which included the entirety of the governor-general’s address) by focusing on a few words spoken by the prime minister in respect of outcomes. Albanese said that when you’re old you have only two options looking back over your life: to be proud or to regret. I personally don’t think this is strictly true (I’ll be happy if I feel a mild sense of contentment about what’s happened over the course of my eventful life) but I am not going to quibble with the PM’s advance gloss for his period of leadership at this point in time.

What I want to concentrate on is the double standard in play when it comes to ceremony. For some nationalities (eg the Japanese) form is just as important as substance, and rightly so. We are immensely proud of some aspects of our legacy of peaceful democratic transitions, and we endlessly go on about the past when it comes to sport, but for some reason we won’t admit this to even exist or else we think that relying on the comfort of formalism is a weakness or something to be ashamed about.

Form is tremendously powerful, and not obeying it can have radical ramifications, just think of the process of ordering and paying for food. If something “seems” wrong at one point then you worry that the meal will be spoiled. Not responding in the correct way might also see you accused of trying to get out of the restaurant without paying, which could ruin more than your evening. Driving a car is also a highly formalised routine, with a specified sequence of actions involved in, say, turning a corner safely so that nobody gets hurt and so that you arrive in time at your destination.

But when it comes to politics “form” is a nasty word. We even want to get rid of the Queen for some reason, as if the horrors of US politics had never happened (since 2016 at least) because why you’d want to mix your ceremonial head of state with your executive – in the same person – is beyond me, and we have seen how people become irrationally destructive and even criminal when this is allowed to take place.

In fact we need form just as much as the Japanese. We desperately want to feel like things are going on in the correct fashion even though the world changes so fast that it’s hard to keep up. We want to feel close to people around us even though sometimes we feel the need to get away to some remote location and commune with naked nature. We crave peace yet we get bored if we’re not amused and flattered by some stupid Netflix drama we can switch off at a whim. We relish the companionship of dogs, whose routines come to dominate our lives because they keep us sane.

Yet Andrew Probyn can talk about “mere” form and the next day watch State of Origin: a series (established only in the 1980s) that it’s been talked about expanding because Melbourne feels left out. If NRL isn’t all form, I don’t know how to whip tea.

Richard Marles gets to the root of our problem with China

I was heartened and surprised to hear the deputy prime minister telling China to be more open. The story appeared on the Sydney Morning Herald website today. Surprised because I have no great faith in the ability of Labor politicians to act independent of ideology, though hearing the prime minister, Anthony Albanese, advance broadly the same foreign policy as the previous government was a relief. Labor is not known for its depth of talent and it’s unarguable that most of its operatives come from a very narrow gene pool in the union movement.

This link to the historical left is particularly problematic when it comes to dealing with China because China’s government, also, comes from the historical left. While Labor is vocally proud of the legacy of freedom represented by Westminster democracy, China is still sceptical because of its experience in the 19th century, a time of humiliation and disappointment. While the British monarchy was wrong to allow Parliament to attack China with steam-powered ships, on the other hand the Chinese emperor was certainly wrong to refuse to open up to the West.

So there were mistakes on both sides, but this embedded memoir of suffering and the use of force for illegitimate reasons colours Australia’s relations with the Middle Kingdom today. Marles is certainly right to focus on a root cause of distrust, which is China’s complete avoidance of a free media ecosystem in favour of approved government mouthpieces. Having said that China must be sceptical of the ability of free media outlets to steer public opinion – and thereby the direction of government – in the right way. I have no doubt that the Chinese president feels scorn for Western media given his country’s experience. Even in more recent times, in Australia, media outlets in New South Wales and other states attacked Chinese people in a way that, today, we would find reprehensible if we were exposed to it. 

Of course we are not. Perhaps the Australian government could launch a Truth and Reconciliation Commission like a royal commission that could hold hearings hearing both sides in a public forum. You could have historians and politicians, representatives from local ethnic communities, journalists and writers – all participating in a vibrant gabfest of claim and counterclaim to rival Master Chef in colour and appeal. What would such a forum do for our relations with China? It might show her that being open has its advantages.

Alternative voices in the public sphere silenced by fire

I regret the need to use incendiary terms to express myself but the topic warrants the deployment of the word “fire” especially since there is a precedent in the term “flame war”. The voices I’m talking about are supported by many but heard by few in the channels that matter most to them, which is the traditional media. It’s surprising how powerless people evidently feel when they think that their extreme expressions – surrounding ideas spawned by political debate – don’t matter and that, in fact, the more extreme the expressions that are used the more important must be the views of the speaker.

But when they cave into such impulses they limit the reach of their views because the mainstream media shuts them out. The term “sewer rat” which some journalists use to characterise the angels of Twitter, all those anonymous tragics who gravitate to the heat given off by #auspol like moths to a flame, gets adopted with pride in people’s Twitter handles. It becomes a badge of honour, like a tattoo. 

Graffiti tagging gets cleaned off walls by councils and homeowners in the same way that the aggressive comments of our guardian angels are wiped off the front pages by members of the press gallery. With the noise a lot of legitimate questions become invisible and the polis suffers as a result. The system is rendered less representative and people move further to the margins, so the machine of state itself gets attacked instead of the ideas belonging to other side of the political divide. 

Popularism and popularity become muddled in this grey zone that exists in the moment, but that can be mined for ammunition by the more committed among us. Trawling through old posts put out in the heat of the moment becomes like a raw academic debate: you said this, I said that. Tit for tat and beggar take the hindmost. 

Ring a-ring a-rosey, we all fall down. If only we could use this “work” to practical purpose, but it seems futile to wish for such a thing as people on all sides denigrate those who dare contradict them. In the old days, when I was at secondary school, we had debating societies. Personally, being more interested in art, I never saw the virtue of such things, but now I do. It’s a reminder of the benefit of the old in the face of the new, because perhaps by regularising all the effort, bringing it into some manageable form where different people who fulfill different roles can discuss the issues we all agree are important, we might find that there are solutions to pressing problems that remain to be solved. It should be easier to find common ground. 

Google market listings frustratingly circumscribe data

This is an anecdotal account of a Google failure, but bear with me as it links in with a previous post. That was about Facebook, but the problem is the same. 

So what’s the problem? It’s about how forms pigeon hole people, places and things. It’s about the exceptions that get typecast. It’s about flexibility. With Facebook Marketplace it was the issue of pricing, where I’d want to sell a number of similar items for a unified cost (3 for $5, for example). This time with Google it’s about opening hours.

When you look up a business on Google you usually want a few crucial bits of information in order to accomplish your goals. It might be a street address, it might be opening hours, it might be the phone number. You need to get somewhere to buy something but you’re not sure if you’re going to be on-time. Do you have time to drive with your friends across town and arrive before the places closes? You want to know before setting out so you don’t waste fuel and time.

Not long ago I was in a big rush because Google said that the flower markets that Saturday closed at 8.30am. The website the organisation published said 11am when I’d consulted it the day before when I was at home but my friend’s fiancé (we were intent on getting flowers for the wedding) looked at his mobile phone when we were in the car and said that the markets were about to shut. It was still before eight o’clock but we still had to drive all the way across town. An argument ensued. Everyone was blamed. A cup of soy milk was thrown, wetting the interior of the car.

Later, when we’d got the flowers, I cleaned up the car using a Chux wipe and some water but some of the residue would still be hanging in weeks later. In the event we bought $146 worth of flowers but only two of us ended up getting to the markets as my friend’s fiancé got out of the car, soaking wet, and caught the train back home.

None of this drama would’ve been necessary if Google had a way to say “Stallholders start closing at 8.30am but the facility only shuts at 11am.” The problem is that the interface Google has constructed eliminates all complexity. 

So much anguish because of the tyranny of forms.

I’ve worked in software and so I know that getting the interface between the people and the machine right can take time. You need to anticipate exceptions before you make the rules otherwise you get conflict. You get sharp words. You get recriminations. Heartache. You need to accommodate the richness of life if you want to avoid typecasting people and places. Like Facebook, Google has to change.