What Facebook Is Hiding From You

Eli Pariser's new book The Filter Bubble: What the Internet Is Hiding from You Amazon link is a must-read for pretty much anyone who uses the Internet. Eli breaks down troubling trends emerging in the World Wide Web that threaten not only individual privacy but also the very idea of civic space.

Of key concern to Eli is "web personalization": code that maps the algorithms of your individual web use and helps you more easily find the things that the code "thinks" will pique your interest. Whatever the benefits, the intent of these services isn't just to benevolently help us find the things we're looking for. They're also designed to help companies find unwitting customers. When you open your web browser to shop for a product—or really for any other reason—you yourself are a product whose personal information is literally being sold. Companies that you know, like Google and Facebook, and companies you've probably never heard of (e.g. Acxiom) are using increasingly sophisticated programs to map your personality.

And it's not just creepiness and individual privacy that's at issue here. Personalization is also adding to a civic crisis. It's one thing for code to help us find music, movies and other consumer products we like. But what about when code also feeds us our preferred news and political opinions, shielding us from alternative viewpoints? Personalization now means that you and your Republican uncle will see dramatically different results when you run the same exact Google news search. You're both likely to see results that come from news sources that you prefer — sources that tend to reinforce your existing opinions. Maybe your search will pull articles from NPR and Huffington Post, while his will spotlight stories from FOX News. Both of you will have your biases and worldviews fed back to you — typically without even being aware that your news feed has been personalized.

This filter bubble impacts everyone. And it poses big challenges for grassroots activists and organizers in particular. It's fun and validating to see a lot of stuff you agree with. But consider the implications. People who are opposed to gay marriage are seeing a lot of articles that reinforce their beliefs too. And, perhaps more important, folks who aren't that interested in the issue probably won't see anything about it at all.

Furthermore, even if you think you're right about all your beliefs, how are you going to be equipped to persuade others if you're not exposed to their views?

I don't know of any mass movement in the history of the world that was composed of all self-selecting individuals (at least no movement that lasted longer than a flash). It only became a movement when these and other good leaders helped to move whole communities—most notably black churches and schools—into action as communities. Membership in these communities came to imply movement participation. This is how movements become movements.

For the past four decades or so we've been rearranging our lives to surround ourselves with people who think a lot like we do — phasing out folks who don't share our opinions and tastes. We've chosen our neighborhoods, religious congregations, civic and political organizations, the cultural spaces we frequent, and our friendship circles so that we can experience our worldview reflected back to us and minimize dissonance. With or without web personalization, it makes sense that we would continue to follow the same pattern in our online communities.

What do we, as a small, self-selecting, self-segregating group of folks have the capacity to accomplish — if we're not connecting with others?

On Nov. 15 at approximately 11:45 p.m., I left my 1-month-old MacBook Air in the back of a New York City cab. Quickly realizing my error, I freaked out: Hands shaking, I dialed the city’s Taxi and Limousine Commission, reported the cab’s medallion number (I had a receipt) and jotted down the phone number of city precincts where my cargo could end up (if a good Samaritan turned it in). I tracked down the cab driver; he claimed he never found it. A week later, I reluctantly purchased a new laptop. And that was that.

Until today, when a colleague at Slate sent an email around about the messages Facebook hides in an obscure folder labeled “Other.”

When I did just this, I inhaled sharply: A man had sent me four very important messages: two on Nov. 16, one on the 17th, and another on the 18th.