Re-engaging political content within social media…

How politics drove me from Facebook in 2016… and why I am deliberately going back in 2020.

When I discovered Facebook — in 2007 or 2008 — I liked it. As a geographic transplant from the PNW, I was delighted by the potential for a media-rich connection to family and friends in faraway places. I reconnected with friends from grade school. I reveled in the punchy back and forth with a menagerie of clever, intelligent people I’ve met over the years. It seemed like everyone had an account, even my snarky but reasonably well-educated Labrador retriever. It was fun. And even from the beginning, that fun included a bit of political content.

At first, that content was a net positive. It was convenient and pleasant to interact with like-minded people. It felt fun and productive to engage in civil discourse with folks I didn’t completely agree with, but respected. I wanted to know them better. I hoped they’d better understand me and my views.

Then the “feel” of Facebook changed — and it felt WRONG

By mid-2016, I grew frustrated. Practically speaking, the platform was a time suck. Intellectually speaking, anyone, let alone a lawyer with a background in commercial litigation and compliance, could see Facebook’s data mining and privacy practices were a growing problem. That probably should have been enough for me to rethink the time, energy, and data I’d invested/donated to my FB presence. But there was something else. Intuitively, I could sense things turning toxic. Facebook simply didn’t feel like a healthy space anymore.

Now, four years post-Cambridge Analytica, it’s clear why. With the 2016 election in full swing the fun, “social media” was first cluttered, and eventually dominated, by political content. Foreign and domestic partisan interests were learning how to manipulate FB and the bazillions of Americans using the site. To my credit, something about that environment raised the hair on the back of my neck, even before the exploits of Alexander Nix and GRU-backed hackers were discovered.

Some of my connections, of all political stripes, were acting badly. I was constantly fighting the temptation to respond in kind. Because I’m a self-described independent conservative, algorithm-driven content took a marked bend to the extreme right. Worse, much of the new “conservative” content had a bizarre, illogical taint. On Facebook, and elsewhere, conservatism, which I’d grown up associating with logic, intellectual rigor, and principled foundations, morphed into something cultish. So-called “conservatives” were casually abandoning the intellectual and moral high ground that had been staked out for decades. Nobody remembered telling Clintonites that “character counts”. Nobody seemed turned off by the neo-fascist vibe dripping from Trumpist rhetoric. Some openly endorsed a racist, xenophobic, flavor of conservatism.

Beating a retreat

My solution wasn’t perfect, but it was simple and effective: I stopped using Facebook. I didn’t delete my profile, but I deleted the app from my phone, deleted the bookmark from my browser, and stopped email and phone notifications. Since that decision, I’ve logged in a few times, usually to see a family photo or video I couldn’t easily see elsewhere. I would like a few photos, update my profile pic, get teased by my wife for liking photos posted months or years ago, and log out, not to return for many months.

I still think that was the right thing to do, especially considering what we’ve learned about foreign election interference and Facebook’s failure to self regulate. At the time I was content to morally and intellectually distance myself from the insanity. I preserved relationships I might have damaged. I wasted less time. I focused on more important things in life.

But with the benefit of hindsight, it’s clear I was, at the same time, making a critical series of miscalculations.

My mistakes

First, I dismissed the craziness, on Facebook and more broadly within the Republican party and Conservative ideology, as something that couldn’t prevail. I couldn’t imagine that a guy as morally and intellectually bankrupt as Trump could win a US election. While disgusted to find Hillary Clinton was the best the Democrats could dredge up, I was certain Trumpist nutters were going to hand her the keys to the kingdom. So I signaled my disgust by voting for a third-party presidential candidate and splitting the ticket with Republican legislators who I thought would place a solid check on a socially liberal chief executive. Then I braced myself on election night to watch the Dems celebrate.

Second, when Trump won, I laughed it off. On election night I stayed up until 2:00 a.m., switching between PBS, CNN, and the major TV networks. I giggled to see liberal pundits squirming and hand-wringing over a Trump victory. And I chortled at the Republicans who puffed up and bustled about as if Trump winning was good for their party. To me, the damage to the “Republican” brand seemed obvious, irredeemable, and immediate. Politicians everywhere were “loosing” in some sense of the word, and that struck me as profoundly funny.

Third, I placed too much faith in reason and integrity. True, the Republican party had disappointed throughout the primary and the general election. But this was nothing new. As an independent, I’ve always seen political parties as incubators for dogmatists and lickspittles. But I’ve also known some pretty smart, thoughtful, party politicians — Democrat and Republican alike. So in December of 2016, I honestly thought Republican leaders and conservative ideologues would be forced to reign in Trump for their good and the good of their party, if not the good of the nation. I believed principle, intellectual honesty, logic, and self-respect would force people like Paul Ryan, Ron Johnson and Jim Sensenbrenner (all of WI, where I now live) to publicly stand up to the president, even if it took working with Democrats, thereby limiting any damage he could cause. I knew good people who had held their nose and voted for Trump. I couldn’t believe they would double down on the guy once his shortcomings ceased being theoretical threats and translated to real-life problems.

Most importantly, I underestimated Donald Trump’s ability to damage the cultural fabric of our country and the core institutions of our government. I knew he was a cad, a bully, and a liar. Setting aside rhetorical style, he seemed an insubstantial, incompetent moron. I knew he would make a horrible leader and civil servant. But I expected his fecklessness to be comprehensive. On this score, I couldn’t have been more wrong.

It turns out that Trump’s ineffective bungling is limited to the important, noble aspects of a presidency. He is, as I thought, worse than worthless when it comes to addressing real problems with national security, healthcare, poverty, climate change, and deficit reduction. But when it comes to the negative side of the ledger Donald J. Trump is a freaking savant.

Hoodwinking the old and the ignorant? Sure! Kowtowing to foreign despots and strongmen? Yup! Undermining the basic distinction between truth and falsehood? Check! Attacking the ability of the press to serve as a check on corruption and malfeasance in government? Done! Self-promoting propaganda? Duh! Reducing the level of competence and integrity across all three branches of government? Can-do! Building a loyal army of toadies and yes men? And how! Betraying long-standing national security priorities for personal political advantage? But of course! Dividing Americans at a time of national crisis? Brilliantly executed! Fumbling the federal response to the most serious threat to public health and economic stability in almost 250 years of American government? You betcha! The list of Trump’s negative “accomplishments” is as endless as it is disgraceful.

Maybe I should have known better. Maybe I shouldn’t have thought we could rely on staffers and career civil servants to steer a President away from disaster. Maybe I should have realized congressional Republicans would sell their intellectual and moral souls to Trump in a Faustian exchange for the power to cut taxes, take (yet another) ineffectual swing at Obama care, indiscriminately roll back decades of carefully crafted regulations, and confirm a guy of questionable character to the Supreme Court of the United States. Maybe I should have realized that nose-holding voters would dig in deep, fixated on Trump’s supposed impact on an economy that would have rebounded over the last 3–4 years even with a rhesus monkey at the helm.

But I didn’t. And I regret it.

What’s this have to do with Facebook?

Withdrawing from Facebook was just one symptom of a broader ailment — disengagement. There were other symptoms and signals. Thousands of times I’ve bit my tongue and stayed silent. I sat and watched, deliberately avoiding politics time and again. Sometimes at work, other times at family gatherings, church activities, and or social events. As I sit here in pandemic-induced isolation, the consequences of disengagement have come home to roost.

A life-long conservative, trained in political philosophy, political science, and the law is better equipped than most to identify, understand, and articulate the many problems with Trump’s approach to the world. When I withdrew, I gave the stage over to the kooks and extremists on both ends of the political spectrum. This was a mistake.

As a US citizen, a Roman Catholic, a political philosopher, a lawyer, husband, a parent — hell as a human fricking being — I owe myself, my family, and the communities I associate with more than silence. I owe a duty to speak and support the truth. I owe an obligation to oppose hegemony and demagoguery, to expose illogical ideas, and call out dangerous conduct. If I value our democratic and cultural institutions I have to do something to protect them, even if the only “something” at my disposal is opening a big, over-educated mouth.

The simple truth is I have shirked these duties. And I’m not alone. Conservative intellectuals, center-right independents, republican leaders, right-leaning libertarians — millions like me knew better but failed to speak up, spoke quietly, fell silent, or were cowed into silence by the volume and vigor of Trumpism. We were wrong.

And so, as we grow increasingly frustrated and alarmed with the situation — with Trump, his toadies, the morons purporting to represent “conservatism”, the lackluster Democratic response, etc. — we are humbled to find we bear part of the blame. I’m partially responsible (albeit in a minor way) for what’s been happening. And the only thing I can think to do about it is to reengage, broadly, and through as many outlets as I have at my disposal.

So, among many other things, I’m diving in. For the first time in almost four years, I’m logging back on to Facebook fully intending to participate to whatever degree I can in the dialogue around where we are and what’s happening to our nation. I’m not planning to pick fights. I won’t become a troll. On the contrary, I hope to model temperance, patience, and civility that is altogether inconsistent with both Trumpism and my growing sense of civic panic. But I’m going to be present. And I’m not giving friends and family a pass.

Fair warning:

If you’re a Trumpist or a Republican apologist peddling political wares in a public form, you need to be challenged. If you pop up on my feed, you should be prepared to politely defend your position to the likes of me — and to do so articulately, logically, and based on principles I can identify and respect (if not agree with). If you can’t or won’t, then you are the problem. You are betraying our country, failing to protect and defend our constitution, jeopardizing two and a half centuries of republican democracy, and threatening the rule of law. In short, you’re playing craps with my children’s future, and its not “OK”.

I do this knowing I’ll be frustrated with what I find. Knowing I’ll lose a bit of respect for friends and family with more extreme views. Knowing that I might hurt a few feelings or compromise a few relationships in the process.

But also do it knowing I love my kids. Knowing republican democracy and the rule of law is a precious legacy entrusted to me and my generation. Knowing this legacy is in mortal peril and must be defended if it is to be preserved and passed on.

Knowing all that, I don’t have a choice.

And if you understand what I’m saying and this article strikes a chord, neither do you.