By Arielle Iniko Newton
I’m banned from Facebook again. This time for thirty days. Apparently, “Straights are weird. Goodnight.” is hate speech. The algorithms of a global capitalist enterprise that allegedly shares data with law enforcement, determined that my rhetoric is dangerous. Of course, “danger” is subjective. Because to me, every time I post on Facebook and other social media platforms and am exposed to racists who seek to destroy me, I am in danger.
At this point, we’re clear that the supposed objectivity of algorithms are in fact, anti-Black as fuck. We know that the code white people (most of whom are men) write and develop, are infected with the biases, prejudices, and flat out anti-Black racism that define the most tangible parts of their existence.
We know that despite algos that target niggas like me who firmly think that “straights are weird,” or that “‘Insecure’ needs some queerness because these heteros are annoying af lmao” are the very same algos that posture white racists who advocate for genocide as deserving of a platform free from “liberal bias.” There is still no robust solution in how we circumvent one of the most significant and culturally transformative developments that is decentralized digital communication.
It would be foolish to argue that social media has not ushered in transformative pro-Black activism, organizing, and content creation. After all, my first blog Black Millennials brought me to Ferguson in August 2014.
An emerging writer and novice Black radical furious with the racist and inaccurate coverage of the protests that sparked after the lynching of Mike Brown, I journeyed to Ferguson to share more accurate, grassroots depictions of the righteous anger that has now defined a cadre of Black thought and action leaders.
I connected with other Black folk who felt similar frustration through my Facebook inbox, which led to an incredibly successful fundraising campaign that allowed Black folk to Ferguson to journey together and served as the foundation of the Black Lives Matter Network that exists (with grave challenges) today.
Ever since, I have relied on social media as a substantial organizing tool in my arsenal. I’ve connected with hundreds of Black people who are similarly invested in building a world in which Black people live without the threat of terror, although we may sincerely and greatly differ in our methods of going about building this visionary, futuristic world. I’ve built and severed relationships based only on the public representation that Black people elect to give of themselves which appear across my timelines. I’ve organized protests and actions through Facebook Events, and have fundraised extensively with attuned use of social copy. I’ve watched others amass followings on Twitter, thus catapulting them to a level of celebrity that has since compromised the radical politics they once espoused.
And now, as I am locked away from a personally significant channel of expression that is Facebook, I feel like the work I’ve done is for naught.
Last weekend, when my friend Makia Green asked why I had not seen a post, I told her that I am banned from Facebook and am not checking it as often. She made a salient observation in my refusal to engage with the thoughts of others because I am banned from speaking. Her words were poignant even as I recoiled from them. Her acute observation of my change in social consumption prompted by my banning allowed for levels of self-reflection that I was unprepared for.
I carried this brief interaction with me for a few days, and have landed on how detrimental social media has been for Black Liberation. Although the gains, such as normalizing Black consciousness in a world hellbent on advancing post-racialism and colorblindness as victories and aspirations, were insurmountable, I am now questioning to what expense?
I’m attached to social media through narcissism; my heart races when I receive a mention or notification. I take more seriously the thoughts of a Black someone with a shit ton of followers than those without a flock. I am fearful to post my divergent thoughts on Black men and toxic masculinity knowing how the ease and effortlessness of being labeled a rapidly stupid “pick-me.”
I know the disappointment of not having a post go viral, the weight of feeling surveilled by potential employers and current coworkers, the constant re-examination of past words that exist in a “me” that was not yet fully developed as a militant abolitionist.
I too concave to the obsession with critiquing an opposition that is pro-Black for profit. I drain myself to exhaustion at the never-ending “what’s next?!” or “what now?!” that social media brings to everyday life. And let’s not even mention the trolls that hound inboxes with more inventive rape and death threats.
I am angry when I see people with remarkable words on Black Liberation, then post pictures of their non-Black partners and friends. I am annoyed that “unapologetic” Black Liberation exists in abundance online, but is barely present #irl.
And I refuse to believe that I am alone in holding this blistering weight. This crippling burden. And unfortunately, I do not have a pathway or answer. Some are working to solve the quagmire of social media in organizing life. Groups such as Center for Media Justice, Data for Black Lives, and Data and Society are among a burgeoning sector of organizations committed to ensuring data and technology are more equitable. And while I respect this work, and find it exceedingly necessary, I am still skeptical that these platforms will adapt and readapt in favor of our subjugation.
I am convinced that social media will continue to unravel the necessity of Black Liberation, while allowing for the most nominal and un-doable of gains in the immediate future. I am convinced that we’ll soon exist in a world where the battle of allowing racists to digitally commune is legitimate and vital. I’m sure the concentration of wealth at the hands of the few that fuels all the digital channels that we seemingly and consistently rely on to survive will continue to thrive, despite the painstaking irony of how our contemporary methods are dependent on the very things that work tirelessly to kill us.
Suggested Reading and Listening
“Jared Lanier’s case for deleting social media right now” – The Ezra Klein Show (July 9th, 2018)
“Facebook’s Secret Censorship Rules Protect White Men From Hate Speech But Not Black Children” – Julia Angwin and Hannes Grassegger ProPublica (June 28th, 2017)
“An Open Letter to Facebook from the Data for Black Lives Movement” – Yeshi, Medium (April 4th, 2018)
Arielle Iniko Newton is the senior editor of @RaceBaitR, and an organizer within the Movement for Black Lives. They are currently the Executive Director of the Black Giving Fund, a collective that provides direct monetary support to Black change-makers and social entrepreneurs. @arielle_newton.
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