ometimes, the fulfillment of a promise feels like punishment. When the radio was invented more than 100 years ago, the German playwright Bertolt Brecht observed that its full potential could be explored only after it had become a communication tool, rather than merely a distribution channel. After all, there is a big difference between the few being able to speak to the many, and everyone being able to speak with everyone else.
Nowadays, digital technologies have indeed allowed everyone to speak to everyone. But they certainly have not fostered mutual understanding or public reason. On the contrary, open societies seem the least capable of making sensible use of this long–awaited opportunity.
The last two decades have dashed many of the hopes that once came with the digital revolution. Instead of wider access to shared facts, we have fake news. Instead of conversation, we have trolling and shouting matches. Instead of creative diversity, we have new monopolies. Instead of democratic deliberation, we have shouting contests. Those who master the attention game may win it for a while, but they typically produce more noise than enlightenment. The cacophony of public debate grows, because digital platforms are designed to encourage and capitalize on dissonance.
The Reuters Institute’s Digital News Report and other studies have repeatedly shown that those with extreme and fringe political views engage disproportionately with digital content. This is not surprising. Those who are more or less satisfied with the status quo, and well–adjusted to it, generally feel no need to air grievances publicly. Even the great philosopher Jürgen Habermas recently admitted that anger has often motivated his public interventions.
Citizens today do not convert their discontent into carefully considered political arguments, because it is easier simply to rant online. As a result, public attention is dominated by views representing the margins, and consensus feels further out of reach than ever.
Media operatives like Steve Bannon, Donald Trump’s 2016 presidential–campaign strategist, have exploited this technologically driven phenomenon for their own ends. “The real opposition is the media,” Bannon contends, “And the way to deal with them is to flood the zone with shit.” Fill the public arena with enough nonsensical claims and statements, and eventually nobody will believe anything anymore. As more reputable news outlets get sucked into the maelstrom, they will lose credibility with at least some share of the public, leading to the fragmentation of the public sphere.
In her 2019 book, The Death of Truth, the literary critic Michiko Kakutani describes how right–wing populists have appropriated postmodern ideas to deny the very possibility of shared truths. Seizing on the argument that an individual’s worldview is always ultimately subjective, they reject any attempt at discursive comparison, and embrace a public sphere in which the loudest megaphone wins.
Meanwhile, democratic forces in open societies have done too little to counter strategies of manipulation. At this point, anyone who wants to salvage a democratic consensus must first reconstruct the concept of the public square, and show how the diversity of our perceptions of the world is still fully compatible with devising a common plan for the future. Forging social consensus in pluralistic, increasingly globalized societies may be difficult, but it is necessary.
Understanding the structure of the state and the electoral system is not enough. Educational institutions must also teach students media literacy. In an “editorial society” where every citizen can potentially go public at any time, such training (both philosophical and technical) should be emphasized in school curricula.
Likewise, media policy should factor into any program to defend and reinforce democracy, because public reasoning is a basic duty of citizenship. We must not accept the concentration of media power in fewer and fewer hands. We must not stand idly by as overbearing multi–billionaires buy and restructure major digital platforms on a whim, or as more “news deserts” (where objective, independent reporting is no longer economically viable) emerge.
The solution is to develop regulatory policies that acknowledge journalism as a public good that ought to be protected—even privileged. Since factual communication is central to democracy, it makes sense to create and support platforms that are organized on a non–profit basis and thus are insulated somewhat from the constraints and demands of the market. They can contribute to a public sphere largely shaped by private publishers, public broadcasters, and tech–driven platforms. With the right qualitative benchmarks, non–profit institutions can promote innovation and ensure that different constituencies’ voices are heard.
Of course, journalism’s public role changes over time. As the media scholar Jeff Jarvis points out, the task of mediation and moderation no longer refers solely to bringing together the major currents of thought. Journalists must also provide overviews and help citizens orient themselves in new forums such as social media. If a society is increasingly “over–newsed” and underinformed, journalists must aim to provide context and curation, rather than only adding to the pile of information.
We must recognize that innovation is as much a cultural and social phenomenon as it is a technological or economic one. That is a necessary first step toward fulfilling technology’s promise of enlightenment. The fact that everyone can express themselves and inform themselves without hindrance could improve democracy, but only if we are prepared to debate about how we want to debate in the future.
Copyright: Project Syndicate, 2024.
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Must democratizing the media be bad for democracy?
Photo by Elvis Bekmanis on Unsplash
May 6, 2024
Digital technologies have allowed everyone to speak to everyone. That democratization of the media has resulted in attention monsters rather than thoughtful discourse, but it need not have been that way, and it doesn’t need to stay that way either, writes Carsten Brosda.
S
ometimes, the fulfillment of a promise feels like punishment. When the radio was invented more than 100 years ago, the German playwright Bertolt Brecht observed that its full potential could be explored only after it had become a communication tool, rather than merely a distribution channel. After all, there is a big difference between the few being able to speak to the many, and everyone being able to speak with everyone else.
Nowadays, digital technologies have indeed allowed everyone to speak to everyone. But they certainly have not fostered mutual understanding or public reason. On the contrary, open societies seem the least capable of making sensible use of this long–awaited opportunity.
The last two decades have dashed many of the hopes that once came with the digital revolution. Instead of wider access to shared facts, we have fake news. Instead of conversation, we have trolling and shouting matches. Instead of creative diversity, we have new monopolies. Instead of democratic deliberation, we have shouting contests. Those who master the attention game may win it for a while, but they typically produce more noise than enlightenment. The cacophony of public debate grows, because digital platforms are designed to encourage and capitalize on dissonance.
The Reuters Institute’s Digital News Report and other studies have repeatedly shown that those with extreme and fringe political views engage disproportionately with digital content. This is not surprising. Those who are more or less satisfied with the status quo, and well–adjusted to it, generally feel no need to air grievances publicly. Even the great philosopher Jürgen Habermas recently admitted that anger has often motivated his public interventions.
Citizens today do not convert their discontent into carefully considered political arguments, because it is easier simply to rant online. As a result, public attention is dominated by views representing the margins, and consensus feels further out of reach than ever.
Media operatives like Steve Bannon, Donald Trump’s 2016 presidential–campaign strategist, have exploited this technologically driven phenomenon for their own ends. “The real opposition is the media,” Bannon contends, “And the way to deal with them is to flood the zone with shit.” Fill the public arena with enough nonsensical claims and statements, and eventually nobody will believe anything anymore. As more reputable news outlets get sucked into the maelstrom, they will lose credibility with at least some share of the public, leading to the fragmentation of the public sphere.
In her 2019 book, The Death of Truth, the literary critic Michiko Kakutani describes how right–wing populists have appropriated postmodern ideas to deny the very possibility of shared truths. Seizing on the argument that an individual’s worldview is always ultimately subjective, they reject any attempt at discursive comparison, and embrace a public sphere in which the loudest megaphone wins.
Meanwhile, democratic forces in open societies have done too little to counter strategies of manipulation. At this point, anyone who wants to salvage a democratic consensus must first reconstruct the concept of the public square, and show how the diversity of our perceptions of the world is still fully compatible with devising a common plan for the future. Forging social consensus in pluralistic, increasingly globalized societies may be difficult, but it is necessary.
Understanding the structure of the state and the electoral system is not enough. Educational institutions must also teach students media literacy. In an “editorial society” where every citizen can potentially go public at any time, such training (both philosophical and technical) should be emphasized in school curricula.
Likewise, media policy should factor into any program to defend and reinforce democracy, because public reasoning is a basic duty of citizenship. We must not accept the concentration of media power in fewer and fewer hands. We must not stand idly by as overbearing multi–billionaires buy and restructure major digital platforms on a whim, or as more “news deserts” (where objective, independent reporting is no longer economically viable) emerge.
The solution is to develop regulatory policies that acknowledge journalism as a public good that ought to be protected—even privileged. Since factual communication is central to democracy, it makes sense to create and support platforms that are organized on a non–profit basis and thus are insulated somewhat from the constraints and demands of the market. They can contribute to a public sphere largely shaped by private publishers, public broadcasters, and tech–driven platforms. With the right qualitative benchmarks, non–profit institutions can promote innovation and ensure that different constituencies’ voices are heard.
Of course, journalism’s public role changes over time. As the media scholar Jeff Jarvis points out, the task of mediation and moderation no longer refers solely to bringing together the major currents of thought. Journalists must also provide overviews and help citizens orient themselves in new forums such as social media. If a society is increasingly “over–newsed” and underinformed, journalists must aim to provide context and curation, rather than only adding to the pile of information.
We must recognize that innovation is as much a cultural and social phenomenon as it is a technological or economic one. That is a necessary first step toward fulfilling technology’s promise of enlightenment. The fact that everyone can express themselves and inform themselves without hindrance could improve democracy, but only if we are prepared to debate about how we want to debate in the future.
Copyright: Project Syndicate, 2024.
