Did we stop to analyze repercussion when platforming everyone became the norm?
As writers, we think about voice. We think about stories. We think about truth. The untold becomes our thought process. We know that this can be excruciating. We spend hours, weeks, even years perfecting a paper, or the right story. What happens when everyone just writes their thoughts out, for consumption, with no concept, no editing, no self-reflection?
Was giving every single human a platform the best idea for humanity? Or did we just love the new bright, shiny way to “connect” with people.
I remember that first year of college, when Facebook was rising, Myspace was old news, and no one had even thought of Instagram. Back when you had to have a college email address to be accepted on the platform. It was sold as connection with your friends, who you obviously missed because every 18-year-old misses their best friends, who are four hours away. We did not know it started out in a dim dorm room, meant to rate people’s appearance. We thought it was a good deed and that of course, everyone wanted to know where we were at every hour of the day. Who were we to judge the inception? Afterall, we had spent the last few years rating our “best friends” to their faces with the Top 8.
Fast forward two decades later and we are countless platforms deep into everyone’s unmitigated thoughts, 24 hours a day. No fact checks, no limits, honestly, no depth. No breaks from every single person you know, sharing thoughts on any subject, as if expertly researched.
While it is amazing to see people “have their voice,’ did we stop to think that not everyone’s voice is beneficial in a media-sphere on par with a black hole? The reason writing has always been deemed a tough profession is the number one critique we have all received, “what are you saying?”
Creators are hilarious. They bring levity. They bring a break from a mundane Tuesday. Podcasts keep us entertained on our commute to a job most are just doing for the paycheck. They also bring monetization for companies who dictate their ad dollars, and a few random men in the world, who frankly hold no concern for any of us as long as their yacht is fueled.
I know this opinion is not popular to all, and I concede it holds a bit of “old media” thought. As critical thinkers, we do have to ask ourselves what happened to the voices we trusted. Who are they, now, in this time, in this sphere?
If we want our words to hold their value, hold weight in a spherical conversation, we must ask harder questions of ourselves.
Are we contributing value? Or are we contributing to someone’s narrative?
Words used to carry people away to wonderland. You could feel the betrayal of Cesar when he said “Et Tu.” They used to take you on a ride with hells angels in a depth no one could have imagined. Writing, that mind puts you in those places.
Contrary to our entertainment value, revered minds used to deliver us factual updates meant to keep us informed. We were supposed to be informed to be a functional society; to vote on what matters to ourselves and our communities. To be informed meant we were capable of being in the conversation when it mattered.
As writers, we need to implore thought, not simply opinion without contemplation.