In the wake of the Ashley Madison hack that exposed 32 million cheaters and the public ruin of dentist Walter Palmer, there is no better time to discuss charges of guilt by social media. Communication platforms have given users of the world tremendous collective power to prosecute and punish. We—the Facebookers, bloggers, tweeters (and re-tweeters)—are an unstable, finicky force that turns lives into a tailspin for both alleged and verified offences. Even as they level the playing field by keeping an eye on powerful figures, online ‘courtrooms’ lack what official jurors can provide—a finite and predictable sentence.
The inherent ethical problem with social media condemnation is its permanence. Unlike weighed, professional consequences or water cooler gossip, online defamation remains there for an unknown period of time, wreaking unpredictable chaos. The correlation between a crime’s severity and its punishment ceases to exist on public platforms.
Take a look at the fall of Jonah Lehrer, a bestselling author caught embellishing quotes in several works, including his bestselling Imagine, a book about the neurology of creativity. After an ambitious reporter dug through Lehrer’s work to find false statements, bloggers and social media users jumped in with their take on the matter. “Smugly self-satisfied and pseudo-intellect are not a pretty combination,” wrote one commenter. “I’ve gone from sad to angry,” tweeted a professor who examined the problem.
In his book, So You’ve Been Publicly Shamed, British journalist Jon Ronson describes Lehrer’s seemingly endless personal and professional descent. Within days of the revelation, Lehrer’s publishers recalled his book and offered refunds to buyers. Jonah had to resign from The New Yorker, and Wired severed its ties with him. Unsurprisingly, the ethics lecture he was due to deliver at Earlham College was swiftly canceled.
Losing a job and being dropped by a publisher are expected, justifiable consequences. Having a career ruined at the hands of buzzing bloggers and feisty commenters is not. When it comes to doling out punishments, all social media users get to chime in, and comments about offenses are tracked open-endedly. Even when they are not interested in causing lifelong difficulties, Internet commenters cannot predict longevity.
Unsurprisingly, fears of lifelong smears lead many digitally shamed individuals to respond with pleas for forgiveness. Public apologies written by relatively unknown digressers developed hand-in-hand with social media, and they are oddly discomforting phenomena. Like Josh Duggar, the reality TV personality caught cheating on his wife, and Justine Sacco, the PR specialist who published an inappropriate tweet, Jonah asked us for a second chance. He offered his apology in front of an audience of 300 at the Knight Foundation’s Media Learning Seminar. Livestream broadcast the speech, and he spoke next to a large Twitter feed that displayed comments from those who wished to offer their two cents. He addressed the audience saying:
My mistakes have caused deep pain to those I care about. I’m constantly remembering all the people I’ve hurt and let down. Friends, family, colleagues, my wife, my parents, my editors. I think about all the readers I’ve disappointed . . . I have broken their trust. For that I am profoundly sorry. It is my hope that some day, my transgressions might be forgiven.
This speech belongs behind closed doors, directed at focused listeners. Lehrer’s offense was not severe enough to involve a formal courtroom or a public plea for compassion; it certainly did not belong on a public stage where uninvolved tweeters could weigh in.
There is something awe-inducing yet uneasy about the collective power social media possesses. Online, posted tirades stack up, living on blogs and in tweets long after their authors forget about them. Individually, we can’t take back the impact of a throng, even when someone asks us to try.
The permanence of online judgment makes it all but impossible for offenders to wipe their slate clean and restart their careers. Moderators can delete particularly vile or threatening comments from old threads, but erasing the most cringe-worthy thoughts cannot undo established perceptions. It is unethical for us to punish wrongdoers indefinitely, but permanence is a core aspect of social media.
But as brutal as our criticisms can be, it would be shortsighted to completely ignore the empowerment associated with social media judgment. An online jury keeps powerful figures and oppressive unknowns in check by democratizing the justice system. You may have the money to hire great lawyers or garner the support of locals to discriminate, but if the greater public gets wind of your offense, your options for redemption shrink drastically. Social media is just too large and too widespread to quiet.
Online rants ignite individuals to come together and promote a cause, albeit through aggressive means. The ongoing saga of a Kentucky county clerk who refused to issue marriage licenses to gay couples despite the U.S. Supreme Court’s ruling to legalize gay marriage exemplifies activism prompted by social media outrage. As news of Kim Davis’ refusal to sign paperwork was released, people passionately expressed their pain and anger over continued legal obstacles.
The lawsuits filed against Davis cast her into the limelight, leading readers to share reactions and respond collectively. A USA Today update on the story garnered over 96,000 Facebook connects, 3,000 tweets, 1,000 LinkedIn shares and 4,400 comments. “She needs to take her bible and go stand in the unemployment line!” wrote one person. “I’ve seen better looking heads on lettuce!” wrote another. The headlines incited mass protests and even motivated a non-profit organization to erect a billboard calling Davis out. “Dear Kim Davis,” it began. “The fact that you can’t sell your daughter for three goats and a cow means we’ve already redefined marriage.”
Davis offended a plethora of people and ignored court rulings, so neither the protests nor her jailing were unwarranted. The billboard was a bit much. After stepping back from the situation and cooling off a bit, it is important to remember that social media reactions will likely haunt Davis and her family for years to come.
It is impossible to tell whether the Lehrer and Davis shaming will prove to be a temporary setback or a lifelong scarlet letter. Punishments that correspond with the degree of an offense and concessions resulting from good behavior are not privileges enjoyed by those judged online. Readers are eager to see justice restored, and the need for balance is often achieved through punishment.
Upon reflection, I believe that most of us don’t want to be responsible for lifelong joblessness, disgrace and the unavoidable ripple effects that public prosecutions have on families, coworkers and friends. Unfortunately, the effect of rage expressed online is ultimately out of our hands. Long after the storm has weathered, guilty parties and their families are left to pick up the pieces.
The court of social media is a place to be feared. It is not structured or vetted, yet its users deliver long-term punishments that outweigh crimes. If we suspect that we have been too harsh in our words, we can always step back, log off and separate ourselves from an outrage. And we will probably never know the extent of our impact. As Ronson wrote, “The snowflake never needs to feel responsible for the avalanche.”
Add new comment