Tag: platform responsibility

The Precarious Politics of Reigning in Silicon Valley

As our attention turned to concerns about disinformation, hate speech, and data security after the 2016 election, it became clear that the big cyber policy on deck was going to be a fight about Section 230 of the Communications Decency Act (1996).  For some detailed discussion about this legislation, see posts here, here, and here; but in nutshell, Section 230 shields online platforms against liability for potential harm that may result from the conduct of its users.  It is occasionally and improperly associated with copyright infringement, from which platforms are largely shielded by Section 512 of the DMCA (1998). 

Although 230 was never intended to provide blanket immunity for all sites hosting any kind of user-generated content, most courts over the 24 years since the law was adopted have interpreted it as a blanket immunity for all sites hosting any kind of user-generated content.  This includes content that may be posted for the express purpose of causing harm like harassment, defamation, revenge porn, fraud, or disinformation.  230 is the statutory reason why site owners respond with a shrug or, at best, a feeble explanation for hosting material that goes beyond mere offense, as we have seen its power to alter truth itself.  If you were mystified, for instance, by Zuckerberg’s sphinx-like reasoning that Facebook would maintain Holocaust denial pages because they are merely “misinformation and opinion” rather than “hate speech,” that was just one manifestation of the ideological flaw, which helped write Section 230 two decades ago.   

“We were naïve. We were naïve in a way that is even hard to recapture. We all thought that for people to be able to publish what they want would so enhance democracy and so inspire humanity, that it would lead to kind of flowering of creativity and emergence of a kind of a collective discovery of truth.”

Those are the words of former FCC Chairman Reed Hunt lately expressing regret for the adoption of Section 230, clearly identifying the erroneous underlying premise, which many critics now refer to as tech-utopianism.  And while it is somewhat encouraging to finally see a greater appetite for holding platforms accountable for some of their ill-effects, this mood change is anything but clearly definable.  Instead, we hear cacophony of disparate—even competing—rationales for reigning in Big Tech, and if this chaos cannot manifest as rational policy, Big Tech may win the status quo, which they spare no expense trying to maintain.   

For example, voices as incompatible as Vice-President Joe Biden and Senator Ted Cruz have both raised the specter of abolishing Section 230, but for very different reasons.  Biden and others see the liability shield as encouraging a platform like Facebook to continue hosting false information (e.g. Holocaust denial), while Cruz and other Republicans complain that social platforms are biased against conservatives.  But good luck trying to reckon with the devil in those details.

Would Biden include headlines or stories from left-leaning organizations that are inaccurate?  Would Cruz consider social media platforms removing Alex Jones, or the hosting providers dropping The Daily Stormer as examples of anti-conservative bias these days?  It becomes easy to imagine how a pragmatic and sober debate about Section 230 can get lost amid the inherent tribalism implied by just those two voices alone.

From a very different sector, David McCabe reports for the New York Times that a “motley” group of corporations, including Disney, IBM, and Marriott, are gunning for Section 230. “The companies’ motivations vary somewhat,” writes McCabe.  “Hollywood is concerned about copyright abuse, especially abroad, while Marriott would like to make it harder for Airbnb to fight local hotel laws. IBM wants consumer online services to be more responsible for the content on their sites.”

As prefaced above, note that even The New York Times will erroneously include copyright in a conversation about Section 230, though in fairness, the underlying principle—namely that no platform should ever be responsible for material published by users—is fundamentally the same in 230 as the DMCA’s 512.  Still, let us assume that especially because the Times used “Mickey Mouse” in the headline, this story will be interpreted by many as “Copyright maximalist Walt Disney Company wants to break the internet again,” or something to that effect.  And viola!  We are no longer having a conversation about platform responsibility. 

In a similar vein, the Center for Democracy and Technology published an article on its site criticizing a proposal introduced by Sen. Graham to combat child sexually abusive material online; and the article and associated tweet exploits distrust for both Graham and Attorney General Barr as reasons to fear the proposal itself.  Sure, I personally think Sen. Graham is the most prominent wuss in America today; and Bill Barr is batshit crazy, spluttering his views that people without religion lack moral judgment, but …

I don’t trust the folks at CDT either because they are ideologues too—OG tech-utopians who just happen to receive significant funding from Google.  (That, and I am very much opposed to child sexually abusive material.) So, whether the harm that needs addressing is child exploitation, revenge porn, online harassment, or mass disinformation campaigns, if we want to cope with any of these still somewhat novel challenges, we just might have to entertain the possibility that a sound policy proposal will come from some party we do not like in a different political context.

The subtle irony in this last example, of course, is that the folks at CDT would probably never entertain the notion that blanket platform immunity has been a major catalyst to creating the alternate realities that people like Graham and Barr now occupy.  That’s not a partisan view—Senator Wyden is probably Big Tech’s greatest ally in Congress, and I unequivocally called him a liar with regard to the CASE Act—it’s the view of someone who, like many Americans, is weary of policy discussions in which outright bullshit is given equal weight to evidence-based theory and practice.  And with respect to Reed Hunt’s observation, this was an inevitable consequence of giving every citizen a megaphone; but platform immunity like Section 230 is the reason Zuckerberg will call outright bullshit like Holocaust denial an “opinion.”  

Trump Jr. Blasting Silicon Valley Is Unhelpful

In an op-ed for The Hill published on September 30, Donald Trump, Jr. rails against the power of the major internet platforms, saying that “free speech is under attack” by Big Tech.  His complaint, of course, is that the big internet platforms are censoring what he calls conservative voices, blaming “the technology giants that deplatform people at the behest of liberals and then justify the action as ‘combating hate.’” 

Don Jr.’s call to “break up” Big Tech is, ironically enough, a call for the industry to return to its pre-2016 policy of zero platform responsibility, to accepting revenue from any source while making little effort to mitigate hateful, violent, or illegal content—even if it happens to be paid for in Rubles.  Because of course without the babbling chaos that social media created in the first place, there would be no reality in which a patently incompetent and indecent man like Donald Trump becomes President of the United States.  Most real conservatives know this to be true and, I suspect, will be saying so in the relatively near future.

Seeking to align Trumpism with original patriotism, The Donald 2.0 extolls the virtues of a Reddit mob blasting Beto O’Rourke as if this kind of engagement were exemplary of the American Framers’ fondest ambitions for free speech and a free press. He writes …

“The free press that the founders envisioned looked a lot more like the Reddit users who roasted [Beto] O’Rourke than New York Times writers who misrepresent basic tenets of free speech and demand censorship to protect their friends from “online harassment.”  

There is nothing surprising about a Trump making a hash of history.  While Junior is perhaps correct to remind Americans that living in a society with free speech “…can be edgy, brutal, irreverent, and sometimes downright offensive,” he misrepresents the sensibilities of the Framers in a significant and telling way.  Even a digest version of the reading material makes one thing very clear about America’s key architects:  to a man, they were intellectual elitists who harbored few illusions about the hazards of democracy and the consequences of succumbing to the tyranny of the mob. Not even Jefferson, in his most Jacobean zeal, would likely view the average social-media skirmish with anything but contempt for the general abandonment of evidence-based reason in these discourses that so often devolve to threats and harassment. As scholar Mary Anne Franks writes in the abstract of her paper “Fearless Speech” …

“The American conception of free speech is primarily defined as the freedom to say whatever one wants, with little regard for the quality, context, or impact of the speech. Thus, American free speech doctrine is often characterized as neutral with regard to the speaker and the content of speech; in practice, however, it consistently privileges powerful over vulnerable speakers and harmful over critical speech.”

Perhaps most relevant to Don Jr.’s twisted premise is that the Framers who were especially apprehensive about the too-passionate mob, men like Hamilton, are the progenitors of the American conservative tradition.  Those stuffy, patrician, and, yes, arrogant authors of the United States, who tended to display a bit too much anglophilia for the tastes of many of their contemporaries, also served as intellectual ballast in a nation that was born volatile and restless.  The men who wrote the Constitution were students of the Enlightenment, not an angry, pitchfork-wielding rabble.  That was the French Revolution.

The principle that the rule of law is a foundation of liberty spawned a conservatism grounded in reason, truth, and a moral context that was at least definable, if not universal enough to embrace America’s inevitable diversity.  In short, there is no historic or doctrinal link between the Federalists and the straightjacket ravings of someone like Alex Jones.  The Founders never hoped that the speech right would foster a circus, where evidence rooted in science would be trampled by popular consensus—let alone the kind of algorithmic sabotage at work in our politics of the moment.

As surely as MTV made Madonna, Twitter made President Trump—albeit not intentionally.  Where else, other than the miasma of the Twitterverse could a man whose political bona fides began with a racist conspiracy theory attain the highest office in the land?  Big Tech’s folly is not that some of its operators finally had the sense to remove an Alex Jones or a Daily Stormer from their servers, but that they initially promoted a doctrine of internet non-governance, which fostered the only medium in which neo-Nazis and sociopaths were somehow invited into tent of conservatism.  That anyone would tolerate, let alone defend, the President’s recent tweets about “civil war” (a literal incitement to violence and treason), is the apotheosis of Big Tech’s misguided ideologies and a grotesque aberration of the Federalist cause.  

Responding as a member of an unofficial society of Big Tech critics, I find Junior’s rationale for “breaking up” Google, Facebook, et al profoundly dysfunctional and unhelpful in a policy discussion that is already difficult to have.  While many of us are advocating platform responsibility, he wants to goad those platforms to resume hosting all material without restraint, to reinvigorate Barlow’s too-idealistic notion of a world where laws do not apply.  But of course that’s what he would do.  How else could the United States suborn a President who flaunts his contempt for the rule of law and unironically asserts “alternative facts”?  That is the internet ethos in spades, and Trump’s presidency is the Golem that Silicon Valley brought to life. 

Crying Wolf in the Section 230 Debate

After the 2016 election and news began to break about the amount of fake information and manipulative content that was being financed by various parties, it seemed clear that Section 230 of the Communications Decency Act (1996) would soon be the number-one cyber policy issue in the United States.  Recently, in response to the latest horror show of back-to-back spree shootings—and after it was reported that the El Paso shooter posted his white-supremacist manifesto on the basement-dwellers’ board 8Chan—the subject of platform liability once again blew up across news outlets large and small.

Defenders of the online service provider (OSP) liability shield known as Section 230 insist it is the keystone legislation that makes the internet as we know it possible.  But this only begs the first question for framing any reasonable discussion about the broader issue:  Who said the internet as we know it is ideal?

Naturally, the folks who make billions from the web’s current design think it’s perfect in much the same way those who make billions in the extractive industries think the environment is doing just fine.  And the network of organizations and academics who receive substantial funding from Silicon Valley also like to promote the message that we have Section 230 to “thank” for all the wonderful things the internet does for us.  But how true is that statement?

Even before addressing the statute itself, it is important to remember that 100% of internet services that do not depend upon users publishing content to a public platform have nothing to do with Section 230.  In other words, most e-commerce, navigation, reading news, downloading e-Books, streaming movies and music, making travel reservations, emailing, document sharing, and searching databases and archives, etc. are all benefits of digital life that owe little or nothing to the existence of Section 230. So, when the pundits repeat the imperative, “Save the internet as we know it” this is a tad overwrought because the statute concerns one form of internet use—and not necessarily its best use by a long shot.

Facebook, YouTube, Twitter, WordPress, Reddit, Yelp!, and similar providers are entirely dependent upon user-generated content (UGC); and many platforms that are not wholly dependent on UGC (e.g. The New York Times) still consider it beneficial to host comments by their readers.  Even this blog hosts comments, and I would certainly not want to be liable for inadvertently “publishing” material by a third party that could trigger some cause of action.  And that’s where the Section 230 saga begins—with an anonymous user posting defamatory comments on a financial bulletin board in 1995.

“They were drunk on youth, fueled by greed, and higher than kites.” – Jordan Belfort –

The Martin Scorsese film Wolf of Wall Street, starring Leonardo DiCaprio, dramatizes the memoir of Jordan Belfort, who co-founded the sham investment firm Statton Oakmont in 1989 to engage in pump-and-dump schemes—manipulating stock prices and defrauding investors while making millions for Stratton’s employees.  Belfort and his partner Danny Porush were indicted in 1999 for securities fraud and money laundering, but four years earlier, while still riding high in every sense of the word, they were ballsy enough to sue online service company Prodigy because somebody on the “Money Talk” chat board opined that the Stratton guys just might be criminals.

In Stratton Oakmont v. Prodigy, the Supreme Court of New York held that because the platform exercised editorial control over “Money Talk,” this meant the company was a “publisher” of users’ comments and, therefore, liable for any cause of action stemming from those comments.  (On a side note, I am curious as to how the comment(s) met the standard of defamation when Stratton Oakmont was under almost constant scrutiny by securities officials, but older state court records can be hard to locate, and I cannot find the original complaint.) 

The important point about the Prodigy case for cyber policy is that the fledgling internet industry justifiably freaked out at the decision.  At that time, Congress was still drafting the CDA, which was designed to encourage — not discourage — platform responsibility and moderation.  For instance, among the stated goals of the provision …

(5) to ensure vigorous enforcement of Federal criminal laws to deter and punish trafficking in obscenity, stalking, and harassment by means of computer.

So, how is it that Section 230 came to actually shield sites that either refuse to mitigate some of that conduct, or worse, purposely profit from that conduct?  Well …

The “Good Samaritan Clause”

In response to the Prodigy ruling, early internet developers and entrepreneurs presented a very reasonable complaint:  If the government wants service providers to moderate content, but the courts find that moderation will make them liable for users’ material, nobody will ever invest in the development of internet platforms that rely on user-generated content.  The potential liability is just too great, and nobody can effectively scrutinize millions of inputs every hour.

Thus, the ‘Good Samaritan’ Clause was drafted as a statutory remedy to ensure that good-faith efforts to moderate content would not trigger liability.  Specifically, the statute refers to material that users or providers may consider “obscene, lewd, lascivious, filthy, excessively violent, harassing, or otherwise objectionable, whether or not such material is constitutionally protected.” 

In other words, platforms were encouraged to maintain what is often referred to now as “community standards,” and in return, the government made it clear that enforcement of such standards would not render the service provider liable for harmful material posted by their users.  From the statute …

No provider or user of an interactive computer service shall be treated as the publisher or speaker of any information provided by another information content provider,

(2) Civil liability No provider or user of an interactive computer service shall be held liable on account of—

  • (A)   any action voluntarily taken in good faith to restrict access to or availability of material that the provider or user considers to be obscene, lewd, lascivious, filthy, excessively violent, harassing, or otherwise objectionable, whether or not such material is constitutionally protected; or
  • (B)   any action taken to enable or make available to information content providers or others the technical means to restrict access to material described in paragraph (1).[1]

The Current Reality

That was twenty years ago.  The publicly available internet was new and nobody could be quite sure what kind of platforms would emerge as the industry leaders.  Over the intervening years, the courts largely interpreted Section 230 as a blanket immunity for service providers, often citing the statute as grounds to dismiss almost any complaint against almost any service provider.  Consequently, the platform owners enjoyed the financial bounty that comes from hosting EVERYTHING while characterizing their reluctance to remove even harmful material as an ethical mandate to “protect free speech.” 

The predatory, monetize-everything culture of Silicon Valley, supported by Section 230, is how Facebook wound up supporting (and receiving money from) Russian agents targeting the American electorate with disinformation campaigns.  It is how Cloudflare rationalized hosting 8Chan until this month, when the troglodytic chat board was identified in the mainstream media as a crucible for hate-mongering, and where the El Paso shooter published his pre-assault “manifesto.”

But remember that the statute expressly reminds service providers that it is not their job to protect free speech; and this is just a clue as to how the internet industry, with the help of the courts, turned the intent of Section 230 inside out.  Rather than use the government grant of a broad liability shield to engage in responsible moderation, many platforms asserted 230 as absolute immunity and, therefore, shirked moderation—even where clear harm is being done.  Then, to further aggravate matters, the industry promoted this laissez-faire policy as a public benefit.    

Section 230 is the statutory support for conduct like revenge porn, or (perhaps most ironically) it is the law that enables a website to intentionally trade in defamation as a business enterprise.  That’s right.  A Congressional response to a bad defamation ruling in 1995 now protects a site owner who literally uses defamation as salacious content to generate advertising revenue.  That’s how screwed up the current application of the law is.

If Stratton Oakmont was emblematic of the financial-sector corruption that typified the 1980s and 90s, today’s big-ticket hucksters are the internet companies selling the story that our interests are best served by their unfettered ability to monetize not just every bit of content—but our data profiles.  And while many citizens and lawmakers have lately seen through that charade, the tech-utopians will continue to say that recent calls for greater platform responsibility is a “moral panic,” that we have been overreacting to events since 2016.

As the drumbeat grows louder for revision for of Section 230, the vast and well-funded industry voices will cry wolf once again.  They will once again declare that the internet faces an existential threat, and they will once again not clearly define what they mean by “the internet.”  Because, frankly, the companies that will spend the most capital defending Section 230 are the ones whose platforms are not doing the world nearly so much good as they like to believe.  

The Facebook scandals that have unfolded since early 2016 demonstrate clearly that user-dependent sites like social media platforms are opaque in their operations; and there is no evidence whatsoever to indicate that more online “engagement” has produced a more enlightened, rational, civilized, or thoughtful discourse in the collective management of the Republic.  On the contrary, if anyone thinks social media has not been the primary catalyst driving people apart, I’ve got some old Stratton Oakmont positions to sell you.  So, let’s maintain a little perspective as we approach what seems like an inevitable debate over Section 230 reform.