What's a podcast?

Here's a number: more than 1 billion active monthly YouTube users view podcast content of some kind on the platform. 

Aside from being another data point indicating that more and more people are getting information and entertainment through podcasts, this fact also raises the question of whether the term "podcast" brings to mind something you listen to or something you watch. Podcasts - as audio-only content - have been around for 20 years, deriving their name from a particular Apple device for listening to music and other audio content. Podcasts, as a category, were fairly niche for most of that time - the vast majority of Americans, let alone people around the world, did not listen to any podcasts. Starting in 2013, they start to trend upwards, though not at the hyperbolic or exponential rate of, say, adoption of social media platforms like Instagram or TikTok. Gradually, podcasts became part of the average American's information diet. But like social media, video streaming platforms, and every other high-choice information medium of the 21st century, podcasts offered seemingly infinite variety in terms of topics and perspectives. A few superstars dominated the podcast charts, but the distribution tail was long and listenership fragmented - most listeners never listened to the most popular podcasts. 

During the pandemic, video streaming took off, owing its popularity to the prolonged shutdown of traditional media production. It's funny/sad to look back to the early stages of the pandemic at TV producers' attempts to approximate the experiences TV viewers were used to. The dissimilarities between television (particularly live TV) and this pale imitation were striking. This moment also democratized video production in the sense that the production tools - lights, camera, set design - used by TV talk show hosts were ones readily available to regular folks. It familiarized more audiences with low/no-budget talk show production. As long as you were charismatic, good-looking, and had access to interview other charismatic, good-looking people, who cared what your background looked like, whether you were on a broadcast network, or whether or not you had a studio audience? 

I recently asked a student whether she listens to any podcasts, and after saying that she didn't, she mentioned that she was recently on a podcast (which made me wonder: what would it mean if more people were either guests or hosts of podcasts than actually listened to podcasts? Might the same have been true for blogs during their initial heyday?). At least she thought it was a podcast - she wasn't sure, because it was on YouTube and it was something you watched, not something you listened to. This should give any podcast researcher pause - make sure you understand how your study participants define the term "podcast."

I'd noticed that some of the podcasts I'd listened to on Spotify had added a video component. Of course, traditional news sources like The New York Times had been pushing reluctant writers in front of video cameras for years, since the early days of online video. The visual aspect didn't add much - it wasn't as if they edited together b-roll and interview footage, which would have meant recreating the traditional television news format on a different medium. It was just people talking - either to each other or to us. It seems to have been the rise of TikTok, Twitch streamers, and YouTube-as-first-screen among Gen-Z folks that prompted the more widespread integration of video into formerly audio or text content. Video was just a means by which to reach the large audiences already on platforms like YouTube and TikTok, not a means of adding much in terms of aesthetics or meaning.

During the pandemic boom in video streaming and podcasting, I recall realizing the importance of pre-production and editing (not live editing, as is used in sports broadcasts and other live events, but post-production editing) in the context of these shows. Those were the key separators between live streamers and podcasters, the qualities that made the former feel like an attempt to connect and converse with the audience and the latter feel like an attempt to entertain them, to put on a show. Then there were scripted podcasts like Serial or S-Town which resembled - in their production scale and in their feel - documentaries. Scripted non-fiction video podcasts - perhaps too short and informal to be called documentaries - are common, and as with their audio-only counterparts, they require more time to create than simple streaming content. Somewhere in between, you had podcasts like Freakonomics that edited scripted segments together with interview clips, something more like long-form journalism. 

But rather than written journalism, it's radio that is the obvious antecedent to podcasts. How different is the streamer directly addressing his audience for hours on end from Rush Limbaugh? How different is the group of friends joking around about news, entertainment, and one another's private lives from Howard Stern? Television talk shows - daytime and late-night - are another template. How different is an intimate podcast interview with a celebrity from Oprah? And how different might their effects be on individuals or societies?

Though there are plenty of similarities between talk radio, TV talk shows, and podcasts - enough to make scholarship on those cultural forms a must-read for anyone interested in the effects of podcasts - I can think of two important differences. The first concerns the number of podcasts - many more than were available through local or syndicated radio, through broadcast or cable TV. A lower barrier to entry means more entrants to the marketplace, and so the market for podcasts - in its scale and dynamics - is closer to the market for music: millions of creators, a few superstars, a really long tail. There might be less audience churn than with music, as audiences develop a para-social connection to podcasters and podcasts don't seem as evanescent as musical trends. 

As with any long-tail marketplace, it's a mistake to only study the distribution head (and I feel like a broken record for saying this again, but...) most listeners are not listening to whatever is trending. They're fragmented across the long tail. It's possible (even likely, I'd argue) that the thousands of niches served by millions of podcasts resemble niches served by magazines in the 20th century. Most of the niches and, collectively, most of the podcast audience consist of benign special interest content (think model train podcasts). But there's no way to know until we analyze the content along the long tail.

The size and diffuseness of the podcast market means that no single podcaster has the kind of reach that broadcasters had in the 20th century. Joe Rogan has something like 11 million listeners to each podcast while Howard Stern and Rush Limbaugh, in their heyday, had 20 million each, and that was at a time when the U.S. population was 2/3 the size, and a decent chunk of Rogan's listeners are from outside the U.S. It's worth dwelling on this point because it applies to many podcasters, streamers, and influencers. On the one hand, they have a global reach that broadcasters in the era of nationalized media markets could only dream of. But if we're trying to discern how much attention share they have (and I'd argue that attention share is a precondition to having influence), then you should be using the global population as your denominator, not the national population. In that case, no podcaster has more than 1% of the population's attention, and nearly all of them have less than .001% of it.

The second difference is regulation, or lack thereof. Howard Stern frequently butted heads with the FCC, and Rush Limbaugh had to placate the kinds of sponsors that would have likely steered clear of some of today's most popular podcasters. In the absence of FCC content regulation, edgy talk show hosts become edgier podcasters, moving their small-but-significant audiences closer to the fringes of society. Platforms regulate their content, too - creators can still get de-platformed - but it takes a lot more to get de-platformed than it took to get fined by the FCC. Meanwhile, provocateurs expand the Overton window.

But Rogan, like Stern (but perhaps not like Limbaugh), has to maintain some variety in order to maintain his large audience. Their critics tend to focus on particularly outlandish, offensive, or dangerous moments on their shows, but a quick survey of their output suggests that its not all like that, that they attempt to cater to multiple audiences. Don't like what you're hearing? Skip that episode and tune back in later. If we care about influence, we need to take into account how content varies by episode - not an impossible task so long as researchers can analyze podcast transcripts and look for keywords. 

Just as talk shows were spaces for discussion and commentary relating to social issues, political issues, and current events, so too are podcasts. Terms like "infotainment" and "soft news" can be applied to the category, though some podcasts - in format, production, and reception - are more clearly in the tradition of documentary filmmaking or journalism, and that's the genre of podcast that excites me the most. Documentaries continue to find audiences on streaming platforms, and there is no one type of documentary. It's a vibrant cultural form. Meanwhile, journalism continues its long quest for a business model to replace the one that produced a golden era of civic awareness that is swiftly receding into the past. There are a lot of people in the podcast "space" right now - audiences, creators, investors, platforms. But the medium hasn't reached maturity; it hasn't found its Orson Welles or its Dorothea Lange. For these reasons, if I were to place a bet on a means by which to tell a non-fiction story that had real impact, I'd bet on the podcast. 

Types of audience fragmentation

 I'm embarking on a new large-scale project relating to audience fragmentation. Or rather, I have been embarking on it for the past year - such is the leisurely pace of the post-tenure research agenda. It started as a refutation of the echo chamber as an intuitive but overly simplistic characterization of audiences' media diets in the age of information abundance. Then I realized that someone already wrote that book. 

In researching the idea, I was surprised to find how few studies about fragmenting audiences and echo chambers even tried to capture what I felt was the right kind of data: data capturing the whole of people's media diets - not aggregate audience data, not what individual users post on a particular platform, not even the amount of time or what individuals see on a particular platform, but ALL of what they see across all platforms and media. Unless you capture that, you really have no way of knowing whether individuals have any overlap with one another in what content they consume and/or how many of them are sequestering themselves in ideologically polarized echo chambers. 

In defense of researchers, this is a hard kind of data to get. What media content people consume is often a private matter. It's just hard - for an academic researcher, a company, a government - to get people to trust them enough to get that data. Observing people might cause them to change their behavior. Still, some researchers have made in-roads - working with representative samples, trying to get precise, granular data on precisely what content people are seeing - and I think that if we start to piece together what they have gathered and supplement it with new data, we'll be able to get a better sense of what audience fragmentation actually looks like. 

I've started the process of collecting that data. In a survey, I've asked a sample of college students to post URLs of the last 10 TikTok videos they watched, the last 10 YouTube videos they watched, and the last 10 streaming or TV shows they watched. I'm anticipating that there will be more overlap in the TV data than in the YouTube of TikTok data. But I wonder what counts as meaningful when it comes to overlap or fragmentation. I return to the age-old question: so what?

Let's say you have a group of 100 people. In one scenario, 50 of them watch NFL highlight videos, 25 watch far-right propaganda videos, and 25 watch far-left propaganda videos. In another scenario, all 100 of them watch 100 different videos about knitting. The latter audience, as a whole, is more fragmented than the former audience. The former is more polarized in terms of the content it consumes - half of the sample can be said to occupy echo chambers, either on the right or left. 

It's clear to me while the polarization of media diets matters - it likely drives political violence, instability, etc. But why does fragmentation, in and of itself, matter? 

I guess one fear is that we will no longer have any common experiences, and that will make it harder to feel like we all live in the same society - not as bad as being ideologically polarized, but it's plausible to think that it might lead to a lack of empathy or understanding. But what counts as a common experience? Do we have to have consumed the same media text? Stuart Hall would tell you, in case you didn't already know, that different people watching the same TV episode can process it in different ways, leading to different outcomes. But at least there would be some common ground or experience. 

But what if we watched the same genre of television show, or watched the same type of video (e.g., videos about knitting)? If we contrast the 100 people who all watched different knitting videos to 100 people who all watched videos about 100 very different topics (e.g., knitting, fistfights, European history, coding, basketball highlights, lifestyle porn, etc.), I would think that the former group would have more to talk about - more common ground and experience - than the latter, despite the fact that there is an equal amount of overlap (which is to say, no overlap) in terms of each discrete video they watched. 

Instead of just looking at fragmentation across discrete texts, it would also be useful to look at it across genres or types. It could get tricky determining what qualifies as a meaningful genre or TikTok video. Some TikTok videos share a set of aesthetic conventions but may not convey the same set of values, or vice versa. There will be some similarities across the texts in people's media diets, even if there is no overlap in the discrete texts. The challenge now is to decide what similarities are meaningful. 

‘The Curdling of the Internet’: The Open Public Sphere Internet as Threat Amplifier

A weekend retreat to a cabin in the woods provided me with time to finally get around to reading Jia Tolentino’s essay, ‘The I in the Internet.’ In a way, I’ve been thinking about what Tolentino describes as the ‘curdling’ of the internet for the past two years, since our research team started reviewing research on various forms of online hostility. More broadly, I’ve been thinking about the effects of social media on societies for the past decade.

I’m generally opposed to sweeping pronouncements about the negative effects of the internet, smartphones, or social media, mostly because it doesn’t seem to fit the evidence. Social media use, by itself, doesn’t seem to have much of an effect on well-being or depression; that is, if one person spends three hours a day on social media and the other spends one hour, or no hours, the person who uses more social media is no more likely to feel bad about themselves or about life in general. There’s also evidence that the internet exposes users to a wider range of opinions, rather than sorting users into filter bubbles or extreme echo chambers. Bad things may be happening in today’s world, and social media use might have increased at the same time, but that doesn’t mean that one caused the other to occur.

And yet, despite the apparent lack of evidence of a strong, negative effect of social media use on individuals, I can’t help but wonder if we, as researchers, are missing something, and how we might adjust so as to capture those things.

One way Tolentino’s feeling and the lack of individual, direct effects on social media users can both be true is if the internet/smartphones/social media are having a profoundly negative effect on society in general, but it occurs in some kind of indirect way. The most concise way of describing my hunch about this would be the ‘threat amplification’ effect. These technologies amplify certain voices, making certain kinds of people and behavior that were formerly invisible more visible. A sub-set of highly active social media users see the platforms as battlefields on which an ideological war is being fought, and so they post information that furthers their agendas, and/or a subset of especially passionate people simply express how strongly they feel about some issue. These expressions are perceived as threatening by a sub-set of other users, not necessarily because they contain explicit threats of violence, but maybe because they clash with some fundamental belief of theirs, or portend an escalation in the encroachment on their rights (e.g., the right to free speech; the right to exist; the right to defend themselves). These posts stick out to many people, draw attention to themselves in the way that any perceived threat in our environment sticks out to us. If future visibility of posts is determined through the amount of attention paid to them (via algorithms or 'most read' lists, etc.), then we tend to see more and more of these types of posts as time goes on.

Also, well-meaning users (journalists, re-tweeters, etc.) draw further attention to these posts in an effort to make sure that others see the threat because to ignore the threat would be hazardous. They might do so out of a sense of duty and compassion to others (i.e., they see others are in danger from the threat and must warn them) but might also do so out of self-interest, or in-group-interest. By drawing otherwise apathetic individuals’ attention to the threat, they may enlist them to join their fight. In such a way, much of the online discourse comes to resemble either a threat or a response to a threat.  

If we react to this by leaving the internet, by not participating, this may preserve our piece of mind, but it cedes the public forum of the internet to those holding more extreme views. So, perhaps we try to meet the threat with an equal and opposite assertion of our beliefs or values (which may, of course, be viewed by others as extreme and threatening). Or perhaps we just conform to the now-established norm of value-assertion-through-strong-takes in order to be heard (because in order to gain greater visibility in the form of likes, shares, and subscribers, it helps to conform to norms of what is popular), or simply because humans are prone to unconsciously conform to social norms of expression. All of these would lead to an internet that actually is becoming more threatening (again, defining 'threats' not in terms of what was intended, but how they are perceived by someone), and exposure to it would likely lead to increased polarization, depression, abuse, harassment, toxicity, etc. The internet may not have started out that way, but it could be the case that it is becoming that.

And that’s the tricky part. The internet that Robert Kraut analyzed 20 years ago in his landmark study of the effects of internet use had certain kinds of content and certain kinds of experiences and perspectives posted by users, and the internet that the research summed up in Hancock et al. has other content/experiences/perspectives, and today’s/tomorrows internet has/will have other content/experiences/perspectives. And if those three stages of the internet are sufficiently different from one another in terms of their contents, they may have very different effects. Thus, though we haven’t observed strong negative consequences of social media use, it’s impossible to rule out them occurring in the future, or right now, given the publishing lag and, perhaps, that we're looking at the wrong outcome variables.

The negative effects of internet use may not be depression, narcissism, or physical aggression. They may manifest themselves in voting behavior (e.g., voting for increasingly partisan, extreme candidates, so as to counter the perceived threat from the other side), or some other behavior that reflects a distrust in others (e.g., unwillingness to live in certain places or send one’s kids to schools with certain types of people, a kind of self-segregation). Eventually, this kind of mutual distrust may manifest itself in physical violence. Or perhaps we’ll view one another as very, very different and threatening, but ultimately leave one another alone, co-existing peacefully if not without mutual resentment (stranger things have happened).

But here’s an important limitation: everything I’ve called ‘the internet’ up until this point really refers to part of the internet: the open ‘public sphere’ internet: Twitter, Reddit, comments sections on news websites, the part of YouTube in which YouTubers engage in a kind of running commentary about the world; maybe certain users on Facebook and Instagram who use those platforms in this way. Tolentino does note that she's mostly talking about the 'social internet.' This is the part of the internet in which a single individual can post something that reaches many other individuals (one-to-many). But many of Tolentino's observations also seem to apply to news online, which is tightly linked to Twitter (the bubble that journalists live in is the bubble of the open public sphere internet). It’s worth remembering that the internet is a lot more than just this. It is Netflix and other streaming services: ‘top-down’ platforms in which content is created by a small group of professionals and consumed by a large audience. It is small-group communication via messaging apps (one-to-one, or several-to-several). Tolentino’s observations about online hostility probably don’t fit as well to small group communication online (which is 'social' and is online, though maybe it's pedantic to call it part of the 'social internet), and they only apply to Netflix and other mass media insofar as they try to reflect the zeitgeist of the open public sphere internet.   

The Open Public Sphere Internet as Difference Revealer

Now that there are so many people participating in public discourse online, the open public sphere internet has exposed groups to one another that are so unlike one another to begin with, in terms of their values, experiences, and perspectives, that independent of how aggressive or antagonistic they are, this difference is so shocking and threatening that people get freaked out. That is, it isn’t necessary to have people act in a hostile way toward another group, or in a strategic way so as to counter the messaging of others. Merely by expressing themselves, by showing who they are and what they believe, they may set others off.

Human difference was depicted and conceived in a certain way by mass media. It was often visual, concise, and fictional. So yes, traditional/legacy media depicted difference, but in a circumscribed way, made generic through the use of tropes and bracketed as fiction. While we weren’t consuming images of difference via mass media, we spent our time around people who are not terribly different in terms of beliefs, values, and experiences. We spent a lot of time around family, friends, schoolmates, and workmates. If we were out of sync in our beliefs or values, we often avoided those subjects in order to avoid conflict.

The differences that we see online are differences in values being expressed. Those differences always existed (there were always people who believed something that you would have found abhorrent), but we didn’t have to see them every day. We probably were never going to be particularly good at reacting to these differences. Many of us probably always would have perceived them as a threat to our own values. So, it could be argued that the internet is the first technology, the first moment in history, where we really have been confronted with values differences as they have always been. Of course, these online expressions are not pure reflections of any group's beliefs, are manipulated in various ways (though when we’re quickly scanning a feed and clicking on links, we may not recognize this). Nevertheless, despite the fact that they are not representative of the larger group, they are expressions of the beliefs and values of many real people. And maybe we feel this when we go online; we feel how real they are. They are not fictional characters dreamed up by a screenwriter. These are actual people who actually believe the exact opposite of what we believe.

It’s not surprising that people feel threatened by those differences. And so many folks react to the threat with a kind of siege mentality, and then many subsequent cultural expressions and public life become a reflection of that. And the only alternatives seem to be to carve out small clusters within online life via group messaging apps or forsake social media entirely.

What impact does the curdling of the open public sphere internet have on the world?

Why does any of this matter? Is it just a bunch of people bickering in cyberspace or does it have some clear connection to the rest of civic life? If some of us decide ‘to hell with it’ and only use social media for small-group communication and leave Twitter to the trolls, what would it matter?

I do wonder if the relationship between what is said on the open public sphere internet and power (political power, economic power) could change, or is changing. Perhaps when the open public sphere first became widely used in the United States, most people, including journalists and politicians, saw it as a kind of proxy for public opinion, overlooking the fact that only certain types of people expressed themselves. The apparent connection between what went on in the run-up to the 2016 election (expressions of extreme partisanship, particularly an insurgent group of Trump supporters engaging in a kind of online battle on behalf of their chosen candidate) and the outcome of that election (the election of that candidate) supports this view. 

But what if, in the coming months, the same open public sphere internet were to heap praise on Bernie Sanders and Elizabeth Warren while continuing to deride Donald Trump and deriding or ignoring Joe Biden, and Biden or Trump end up winning the election? What if that inconsistency between opinion on the open public sphere internet and a democratic election outcome were to happen a few more times in high-profile elections in different democracies? Many people might come to believe that opinion on, say, Twitter, neither reflects nor causes shifts in larger public opinion. Once this is acknowledged, I do wonder if at least some people, either in the general public or in positions of power (e.g., widely-read journalists), would be less likely to take their cues from opinion expressed on the open public sphere internet.

There’s a bit of a self-fulfilling prophecy aspect to it, I think. When people believe that Twitter is a bellweather, they look to Twitter and are subsequently influenced by opinion on Twitter. The evidence on which they initially base their belief that it is a bellweather might be suspect, but that doesn’t matter: once they believe it, they essentially bring it into being by assuming that it is public opinion writ large, are influenced by it as such, and, through their writing, influence others. That is, opinion leaders see a popular trend on Twitter and write about it as though it were popular more broadly. Others take cues from the opinion leaders and act on that information, turning it into a truly popular opinion. However, if opinion leaders stopped believing this (and again, it wouldn’t matter whether the reason they stopped believing it made much sense or was supported by evidence), they might ignore it and thus Twitter and the like would lose its power to influence public opinion writ large.

Maybe people in a certain social stratum are already leaning this way, avoiding social media (or at least the open public sphere internet) themselves, raising their kids to avoid it as well. These people are often quite powerful: upper class, working in tech, politically active. If they start ignoring opinion as expressed on the open public sphere internet, I can imagine all of it becoming like certain comment sections of certain news websites: it exists, it is ugly, but most readers simply ignore it, and it doesn’t really have much of an impact outside of itself.

In any case, it’s important to not simply assume that the open public sphere internet has a stable relationship with public opinion in general. I think it’s also worth thinking about the popularization of the open public sphere internet as the first moment in human history that we saw how different our views of the world really are, how directly they conflict with one another (there is also much agreement, though the current iteration of the open public sphere internet doesn’t seem suited to highlight that). It’s hard to imagine such a moment going smoothly. But perhaps it’s a matter of getting over the initial collective shock of it. Or perhaps we just need a little time to ourselves.

Thoughts on Post-2016 Election America: Re-examining the "Fringe Fighting" Hypothesis

In my conversations with people (both online and face-to-face conversations) about the post-election media environment, I'm finding it increasingly difficult to maintain my position as a dispassionate optimist. Is this because the world itself is contradicting that position, or is it because I'm being met with more resistance from those around me? That's what I'm still trying to sort out.

Many of the conversations come back to the premise that America is somehow more hostile than it used to be (not just that our leaders are objectionable and/or dangerous, but that the increasing danger resides in our populous). There are also conversations about what particular politicians are doing, will do, or can do, but I want to set those aside for a moment and focus on premises relating to the American population and the extent and intensity of its hostility toward one another. Previously, I've argued that the impression that we're a nation divided is largely an illusion, that the true conflict is mainly at the fringes, but that was before the election. So, I'd like to revisit that argument in light of discussions of public opinion, fake news, and a general sense of threat.

Essentially, my argument was that the strong disagreement we see in our culture is relegated to small groups of individuals on either end of an ideological spectrum that manifests themselves in highly visible ways. Although it can appear as though our entire culture is in a state of unrest (and is getting worse in this respect), this may be an illusion. To paraphrase myself:

This illusion occurs when we mistake uncommon, extreme online behaviors for exemplars. We implicitly or explicitly link hundreds or thousands of people actually stating a belief online (or, in this case, acting hostile toward other Americans online) with the behaviors and beliefs of a larger mainstream group that, while not actually stating the belief, has stated or acted in such ways that makes it clear that they believe in some of the same things as the group that actually states the belief online. In the U.S. right now, the large groups to which we most often extrapolate are "liberals/Democrats" and "conservatives/Republicans." Dissimilarities between ideas held by the small group actually stating the belief (or actually being openly hostile) online and members of the large group who are not stating the belief (and are not actually being openly hostile online) are ignored in favor of whatever they have in common. This is justified on the grounds that what the small group and the large group have in common is thought to represent a shared, coherent ideological framework (see "Arguing with the Fringes" for further details).

In retrospect, I shouldn't have used the word "fringe" to describe these small groups. The word feels dismissive and judgmental, which is not what I intended. Really, I just want to make a statement about the size of the groups that are in strong disagreement with (and are hostile toward) other Americans. Still, the term "fringe fighting" has a certain ring to it, and I can't think of a suitable alternative word for these groups at the moment, so for the purposes of this post, I'll stick with "fringe."

Arguments/evidence for the Fringe Fighting hypothesis

Though there is more talk about social unrest than there was when I wrote "Arguing with the Fringes," this talk fits a "moral panic" narrative in which people become extremely alarmed over novel behavior that is rapidly becoming popular (often involving media use) and extrapolate to a future world in which the novel behavior radically changes our world for the worse. There are, of course, concerns about rapidly spreading novel behaviors that turn out to be justified, and the dismissal of such concerns as hysterical can have dire consequences. But there are also dire consequences to succumbing to overblown fears, namely rapid declines in interpersonal and institutional trust that are essential to functioning societies, in addition to the "boy who cried 'wolf'" problem (if one's concerns are found by others to be overblown, one loses credibility, forfeiting the ability to call others' attention to future threats). Given the similarities between the talk of social unrest and previous instances of moral panics, it at least seems worthwhile to consider the possibility that concern about Americans' hostility toward one another is a moral panic.

It is also important to ask, "What are we using as indicators of how 320 Million or so Americans think of feel?" How Americans voted and what they say on the internet seem to be commonly used indicators. The majority of Americans did not vote in the last election, so it would be difficult to use 2016 voting behavior to assume anything about how "America" feels about anything. For those who did vote, whom they voted for is a pretty weak signal of any particular belief, as these candidates, in effect, bundle together various disparate beliefs, and some votes are not intended as endorsements of anything the candidate stated or believed but instead are merely "protest votes."

What people say on the internet is also a weak signal of overall public opinion. For one thing, comparatively few people post about politics and social issues (roughly one-third of social media users, according to Pew). And many of those are posting information that is visible only to those in their immediate social circles (e.g., posting on Facebook). Such information is highly salient to individuals consciously or unconsciously forming beliefs about what other Americans believe, but it is hardly representative of Americans as a whole.

We may also question assumptions about the impact the hostility we're able to see is having. The extreme voices may have been largely filtered out because most of their friends unfollowed or hid them. The only people who don't filter out the extreme voices are the ones who already would have believed whatever the poster is trying to convince them of. What good is sharing a news story if very few people follow you, and those few people already knew about the news you're sharing? As a side note, it would be nice to have some information about actual audience and the practice of unfollowing to go along with the information about sharing and 'liking' information online.

Better evidence about what America, as a whole, believes can be found in the General Social Survey, which attempts to look at what ALL Americans believe rather than the few that contribute content to the internet. Data from the survey suggests that American public opinion on a variety of social issues is relatively stable over the past few decades; an abrupt shift in that, though not impossible, would seem unlikely.

Finally, there is evidence that the growth of political animosity in the U.S. is a trend that pre-dates social media, so perhaps social media is just making visible what was already there. It should be noted that animosity (and attitude) is not the same thing as hostility (a behavior).

Arguments/evidence against the Fringe Fighting hypothesis

There is some evidence of growing distrust of the media. If you're not getting your information from the media (or whatever you define "mainstream media" as), where are you getting it from? You could either get it directly from alternative news sources or get it via social media, which carries stories from those alternative news sources. Many existing measures of exposure to news have yet to catch up with the way we consume news. It is entirely possible, given the growing distrust in mass/mainstream media and the lack of good indicators about where Americans get their information, that Americans have quickly shifted toward consuming news stories that frame current events chielfy in terms of conflict between groups of Americans.

What does this have to do with hostility? Well, those intra-American-conflict news stories could play to whatever various groups are inclined to believe about various other groups, play to one's fears (climate change on the Left; undesirable social change on the Right; an unfair, "rigged" economy and government on both the Left and Right), decrease trust and empathy, increase fear and cynicism, and sew dissent. Very few people may be initially fighting with one another, but if those people can disseminate information so as to convince disinterested others that the people on the Other Side of the fight are a growing threat to everyone, they can effectively "enlist" those disinterested others in the fight. What starts as a fringe fight could quickly grow into something larger.

So What?

For a moment, let's assume that there is a problem, that a significant number of people in America disagree with one another to a significant degree. Is this necessarily bad? Disagreement isn't bad in and of itself; arguably, it's desirable so as to avoid the pitfalls of "groupthink." But strong disagreement could lead to incivility (which, some would say, is antithetical to empathy and compromise, and compromise seems like a prerequisite to having a functioning democracy and economy) and censorship (which is antithetical to democracy and the progress of science and education). Incivility could lead to violent attacks (though I've heard at least one scholar argue that arguments can be uncivil and not be bad in these senses). In so far as we see evidence of strong disagreement growing and/or leading to incivility, censorship, and violent attacks, then yes, it's bad.

Assuming we have a problem, what do we do about it? It's possible that the traditional channels by which we sought to address social unrest would no longer work within a decentralized, non-hierarchical information system like today's (or tomorrow's) internet. This is the "everyone finds their own facts" problem (a topic for an upcoming blog entry). Even if you engage in a dispassionate analysis of evidence and find support for the fringe fighting hypothesis, or evidence that people are consuming more and more biased information and wandering further from any objective truth, what are you going to do with that information? You might teach it in a class, but if people don't want to hear it, then people might just start distrusting teachers more. You might publish in an academic journal, but what good is that when the journal loses it's sense of authority and credibility? If you publish in that academic journal and your research is covered by The New York Times, what good is that if fewer and fewer people trust The New York Times?

I'm left with a desire (quixotic as it may be) to try to step outside the problem. I know that many are fond of casting Intra-American conflict (online and offline) as a part of global phenomenon, but here again, I think we're making a facile analogy, choosing to see the similarities and ignoring the many differences. Surely, not every country is experiencing precisely the same kind of online conflict problem that Americans are experiencing. I was reminded of this point while attending this year's Association of Internet Researchers annual conference in Berlin, where I was fortunate enough to present on a panel with researchers from Israel, Denmark, and the U.K. I was left with the notion that not all online discussion forums are the same with regard to conflict, that intra-group conflict is not inevitable in the digital era.

We might also step outside of the internet for a moment. Anecdotally, I've observed a few folks taking a break from social media and news media because the emotional pitch of online discourse became so shrill as to be unbearable. I'm reminded of an idea put forth in Joshua Rothman's book review in the New Yorker (as well as the book he was reviewing, I assume) that our face-to-face interactions with individuals and our feelings about the political groups to which those individuals belong are often in conflict. Short version: we love (or at least tolerate) our neighbors but we hate the political groups to which they belong. The basic idea is that it is harder to hate a person in person. It will be important to see how our face-to-face interactions at work, school, family, and in public places progresses along side our perceptions of behavior online.

So, where to go from here? For starters, it seems worthwhile to examine the framing of news about current events: do we really see an uptick in exposure to intra-American conflict framing, or are our filter bubbles fooling us into think this? It's also important to understand more about the contexts in which online hostility occurs (a goal of my current research project examining hostile behavior on Reddit) and when and where this is associated with offline hostility.

Egg-manning: Arguing with the fringes

I've been thinking more about writer Dan Brooks's post about the death of the Straw Man and the rise of the Egg Man. I'm not in love with Brooks's name for this "egg-manning" phenomenon (for one thing, googling it currently yields pictures of Peyton Manning being egged, which I'm not necessarily opposed to, but is indicative of the requirement of lexical singularity in the age of Google). So far, I've only been able to find one other use of it online (by blogger Tim Hall). But as I read more opinion pieces on both mainstream news websites like the New York Times and encounter news via social media (on Facebook and Twitter, where the person sharing the opinion piece is, in effect, endorsing the argument), I keep returning to this concept.

While straw-manning involves making up an imaginary person who holds a view opposed to your own just so that you can refute it, egg-manning involves finding a real person advancing a real view on social media just so that you can refute it. Finding an actual person essentially justifies the necessity of making your argument. There really are people who must be argued against!

Straw-manning involved assuming that someone out there disagrees with your argument. Egg-manning does not assume this, but instead makes another, typically unstated, assumption. The assumption that egg-manners make is that the person making the argument opposed to their own is part of a large, influential group of people, and that the expression of the argument is part of a larger trend. Rarely is any particular opinion held by only one person; you can search for a hashtag or a term or through various interconnected bits of the blogosphere or social news networks and usually find hundreds or maybe thousands of examples of the argument which you wish to argue against.

The next step in the assumption is the implicit or explicit linking of these hundreds or thousands of people actually stating the argument online with a larger mainstream group that, while not actually stating the argument, has stated or acted in such ways that makes it clear that they believe in some of the same things as the group that actually states the argument online. Most often in the U.S., these large mainstream groups are liberals/Democrats or conservatives/Republicans. Sometimes, they're smaller and/or more amorphous groups, like racists, sexists, Tea-Partiers, Social Justice Warriors, fraternity brothers, hipsters, or many other groups that are partially defined by their stated beliefs and actions. The largest, most amorphous group to be argued against in the U.S. right now is The Establishment. Dissimilarities between ideas held by the small group actually stating the argument online and the large group not stating the argument are ignored in favor of whatever they have in common, which, to the egg-manner, represents a coherent ideological framework.

Even if that group of people isn't large right now, it could become large in the future if its ideas are not argued against. Often times, an example from history is provided to show how quickly ideas can spread if they are not forcefully countered with another argument, a time when silence sealed the fate of a people. In the past, small, vocal groups of people got large less-vocal groups to go along with them. This is intended to make it clear that arguing against a dangerous idea is not so much an act of participating in civil discourse (and thus not subject to the informal rules of civil discourse), but a kind of duty, and that to fail to argue against it would constitute negligence of one's duty.

Sometimes, the egg-manners are correct, as many people who assume things tend to be every now and then: a dangerous view that once was fringe becomes mainstream. It can happen quickly with viral spread of ideas through social media. But other times, the egg-manners are incorrect. The view never becomes one held by more than an un-influential, fringe group online. Of course, if you are able to indefinitely postpone the point at which you believe the fringe idea will become mainstream, you can never be proven wrong, but if we were to require that the aforementioned assumptions be tested (which requires setting a finite time frame in which the fringe idea would become mainstream), I think that many assumptions like this would turn out not to be true.

Then there is the possibility of a backfiring effect: that by arguing against the fringe idea, egg-manners give legitimacy to it, thus bringing about its popularity. Not only are egg-manners raising the profile of ideas with which they argue; they are also providing more examples of opposite arguments for the egg-manners on the other side of argument to use in their egg-manning. There's likely an emotional component to the way in which egg-manning fuels that which it seeks to fight: anger from one side fuels anger from the other.

It's unclear whether egg-manners consider their arguments to be "arguments" in the traditional sense - attempts to convince another person of the truth and/or to provide support for a like-minded person who feels alone - or whether they consider them to be acts of self-expression. If it is the former, the egg-manner should care about the impact of the argument. But if it is the latter, being wrong and ineffective may not matter. It's a rhetorical maneuver that continues to interest me. If only it had a better name.

Perception Becoming Reality: The Effects of Framing Polls and Early Primary Election Results on Perceived Electability and Voting Behavior

National polls (and, in the coming weeks, the results of early primaries) present potentially misleading information about presidential primary candidates' chances of winning the eventual nomination. The actual likelihood depends on a several facets of the primary electoral process: how many delegates are assigned by the voters of each state; whether or not a state is winner-take-all; "triggers" and "thresholds" to allocate delegates to particular candidates; when a given state votes during the process. Add to that the effect of whether or not other candidates drop out of the race and who those voters then decide to vote for.

A lot of this can, and has, been modeled. You can model how many people would vote for each candidate in each state (even if there isn't accurate polling data in some states) based on what you know about the relationship between, say, education and likelihood to support a particular candidate. You can know who each voter's second, third, or fourth choice would likely be (i.e., how things will shake out when candidates start dropping out of the race). You can know what the rules are for delegate allocation in each state and how many delegates are in each state. When you take all of this into account, at least for the Republican candidates right now, you end up with a disjuncture between what the polls and what the early primary results will likely be (Trump and Cruz well ahead of Rubio) and who would actually get the most delegates if the primaries were to all be conducted today (Rubio, probably).

The crazy thing about this is that the emphasis on current national polls and early primary results in the  media (which, as far as I'm concerned, is a misleading picture of how people would vote if the primaries were all held today) might change later primary voters' perceptions of the electability of their favored candidate, causing them to abandon that candidate and switch to another one.

Surely, there will be some people voting in later polls who will "stand their ground" and still vote for their favored candidates, regardless of what national polls or early primary elections say. Also, there are many reasons why those voting in later primaries may change their opinion over the coming months: for example they may get more information about the candidates, or their favored candidate may say or do something they don't like. But I think at least one possible cause of switching candidates has to do with perceived electability, and that perceived electability could be based on the misleading information from national polls and early primary results.

So then, how will the misleading information sway voters?

My guess is that Trump and Sanders (and possibly Cruz) will keep referring to the polls and the early primary results, claiming it to be evidence of their electability. They would do this in hopes of a herding effect. For Republicans, people in late-voting states who would've voted for Rubio will see supporting Rubio as supporting a likely loser. Spending time and energy supporting him would be a waste, and possibly embarrassing. This would cause them to abandon Rubio and either fall in line with the herd developing around Trump and/or Cruz (likely due to an "anyone but Hillary" sentiment) or sit out the primary vote altogether. For the Democrats, Hillary supporters residing in late-voting states who were on the fence and perhaps supported Hillary only because they thought Bernie didn't have a shot would think that Bernie did have a shot, and switch over to Bernie.

However, this strategy of emphasizing national polls and early primaries might backfire for Trump. He'll keep saying he's winning and will successfully convince people he's likely to win the nomination, but this might freak other voters out ("oh my god, he could actually win!"). This might cause people who would have sat on the sidelines to vote against him. It might cause wealthy donors to throw more money at Cruz or Rubio. It might cause other candidates to drop out sooner and endorse Cruz or Rubio. Call this the "panic mode" reaction to the perception that Trump could win.

There are, of course, many X factors that could swing the election: the economy tanks, someone says something stupid, scandals, terrorist attacks, etc. But I think one factor is whether people think national polls and early primary results predict eventual electability. And whether people think this depends on what they hear both from the candidates themselves and from the news.

The news will likely present a "horse-race" framing of the election, not because they want Trump or Cruz or Sanders to win, but because they want a close race, because it's a simpler story, and because this will boost ratings. There is a chance that some news outlets (I'm looking at you, NPR and NYTimes) will try to convey the complex relationship between staggered primaries with various delegate allocation rules and public opinion. I think the likelihood of any of the above scenarios playing out depends on whether news outlets use the simple, misleading frame or the more nuanced one.

Survival of the Angriest

My basic sense of the discourse about politics (articles, comments on online news websites, blogs, TV shows, radio shows) is that a certain rhetorical mode or style unifies those on the far right and far left. It is characterized by anger at authorities on the opposite end of an ideological or demographic spectrum. The "bad guy" in this mode could be those who support a patriarchal society, those who support a racist society, Obama, Bush, Congresspeople, university administration, corporations such as Comcast or Walmart, "Wall Street", unions, mainstream media, etc. I'll call this, for lack of a better term, the "anger-laden" rhetorical style. It succeeds by invoking strong, negative emotions in information consumers (arguably, you could include discourse that invokes or reflects anxiety, but prior research suggests that anger and anxiety operate differently when it comes to news). We could contrast this to a drier, scientific, inquiry-based style (a la fivethirtyeight.com), or a style that attempts to present both sides of an issue in a relatively affect-less way (a la The New York Times or the BBC). I recognize, of course, that no sources are totally bereft of affect-invoking content or style, but that when compared to, say, FoxNews or the Huffington Post, it becomes clear that inquiry-based or relatively affect-less sources employ a style that depends less on pushing the anger buttons of the audience.

I sense that in the arena of news or discourse about public issues, the ratio of anger-laden style information to other styles of information has changed, and that this change is associated with increasing partisanship among political leaders (even while the partisanship of the overall US population changes very little).

It is entirely possible that the angry, negative-affect-laden rhetorical style was always dominant (see the rhetoric of some popular newspapers' editorials, muckrakers, etc.), but I would counter that by noting that the decline in consumption of mainstream news sources (which are more apt to favor an affect-less style) and the ascendance of non-mainstream sources (which are more apt to favor an anger-laden style) is undeniable.

Perhaps the ascendance of the anger-laden rhetorical style of conveying political/public opinion information draws in a segment of the population that didn't spend much time reading or viewing such information at all. In other words, there was always anger-laden, affect-less, and inquiry-based styles of conveying this kind of information, but fewer people overall were spending less time with any kind of political information than is the case now. Now, we have more consumption of such information, which sounds great, but actually the people who are new to the conversation are driving the demand for (and the supply of, in a market-based news environment) anger-laden information. So yes, very few people ever consumed affect-less information and they were probably always outweighed by consumers of affect-laden information, but not to the extent that they are outnumbered now that there has been an influx of new news consumers and new news sources to meet the increased demand. The ratio of affect-less to affect-laden information shrunk in response to the demands of an influx of new consumers

This change in that ratio could push moderates out of the online conversation about politics and away from offline political participation. The moderates would still exist, and any public onion poll would detect their presence and reflect an overall population that didn't go through the increase in partisanship that our leadership has undergone. There might be a spiral-of-silence effect happening with the moderates: they see that their voice isn't represented in the articles themselves or the comments sections and so they spend their time on other things: their own families, their own hobbies and interests.

Of course, any such argument lamenting this shift toward affect-laden information leaves one up to the accusation that one is pining away for "the good old days" when sensible, logical elites dominated public discourse and the political arena while the hot-headed rabble kept to the fringes. It is impossible for me to deny the historical reality that elites often dismissed arguments they didn't agree with simply by dismissing rhetorical styles that privileged emotional, subjective experiences over scientific or quasi-scientific approaches. I certainly recognize the value (and inevitability) of emotion in public discourse, and the fact that all arguments contain some combination of objectivity and subjectivity, of "hot" emotion and "cold" logic.

But I just don't see the current use of an anger-laden rhetorical style as the reflection of pre-existing public opinions and rhetorical styles that were heretofore excluded from public discourse. I see it as driving a shift in political thought and behavior, one that excludes anything other than anger (including positive-affect messages favoring compassion, affection, or understanding). And even though it is problematic to assert (either explicitly or implicitly) the superiority of cold rationality, I think its total exclusion (or even a significant reduction) from public discourse would only lead to an increased inability to see the world through anyone else's eyes, and that this wouldn't be a good thing.

But I'm in idle speculation mode here. I seek evidence of this, and I don't have much to point to right now that would suggest I'm on to something or that I'm dead wrong. Does the ascendance of anger-laden information (if it even is truly ascendant) reflect increased political participation and/or does it increase the polarization of elected officials and the disenfranchisement of moderates, lessening any chance we have at mutual understanding?

Are School Shootings Becoming the New Norm?

It's a familiar story: a string of low-probability/high-consequence events capture the front pages and they become the subject of public discourse, including plenty of editorials. Once it was airplane hijackings or serial killings. Now, it's school shootings. We need to do something to stop this trend of horrible events. In most cases, it's beyond debate whether or not the events are horrible. But are they indicative of trends (i.e., an increase over the prior frequency level of similar horrible events)?

Recently, a statistic has been making the rounds on blogs, social media, and in the mainstream news: 74 school shootings have occurred since the shootings at Sandy Hook in late 2012. The statistic comes from a group that has a rather explicit agenda: Everytown for Gun Safety. While it does give us some information about an important social phenomenon, my initial feeling about this statistic is that when taken out of context (and it is almost always shown without any context), it is apt to mislead.

First, there's the question of how we define "similar events". Do we count incidents in which guns were discharged but didn't kill anyone, or injure anyone? Do we count homicides related to drug deals? Do we count suicides? Do we count accidental gun discharges? Do we count colleges as well as elementary and secondary schools? In the case of the above statistic, Everytown for Gun Safety has counted all of these as "school shootings".

Why does it matter how inclusive our definition of "school shootings" is? Aren't all of these shootings horrible events that we should seek to avoid? In my opinion, yes, absolutely. However, if we're trying to understand a certain social phenomenon and whether a string of recent events are part of a trend, broad definitions only muddy the water. The social and psychological processes involved in suicide-by-gun at or near schools is likely to be different in important ways than those processes as they are applied to individuals like Adam Lanza and Elliot Rodger. Obviously the common denominators are "school" and "gun", and if you're of the mind that gun control is the ONLY solution to the problem of any kind of school shooting, then you may not care about the differences. But you should. Even if you're in favor of gun control and you think it will cut down on the number of people who die each year in school shootings, it won't help to ignore other factors, and I think overly-broad definitions of "school shootings" encourage this kind of ignorance. Is the increase in school shootings due to an increase in angry-young-males lashing out at the world, an increase in drug/gang-related shootings, or both? In order to address the issue, it's important to know.

Is it really a trend? If you just tell someone how many incidents occurred in one year, that doesn't really give them a good idea of whether or not it is part of a potentially alarming trend. This is the real reason I'm writing about this. I was genuinely curious. I wanted to know if the headlines were part of a familiar kind of hysteria about a random rash of low-probability/high-consequence events or if they're on to something. It wasn't easy to tell just by reading the news or the blogs. But there IS data on this. It ain't perfect data, but I think it may help me get an answer, this is one of the things I absolutely love about today's Internet - you have access to data and can see for yourself whether there is evidence to support a conclusion.

I used this list from Wikipedia of school shootings in the U.S., defined as "incidents in which a firearm was discharged at a school infrastructure, including incidents of shootings on a school bus." It included K-12 schools as well as colleges and universities, so the definition is pretty similar to that used by Everytown for Gun Safety. The list draws from newspaper archives. By virtue of their newsworthiness, school shootings seem unlikely to have ever gone unreported, so I think we can safely assume that this list is a fairly accurate record of school shootings and doesn't contain much in the way of systematic measurement error. 

Before I show you what I found, take a moment to guess: how many school shootings do you think there were in 1880? How about 1904? 1970?

(scroll down for the answers!)














Here's what I found:

So yeah, it does seem like there's something crazy going on in the last 18 months if you define school shooting this way. Why do I designate the last 18 months as the time period to pay attention to? It's about the time that the Adam Lanza killings occurred, and it's also near the beginning of the year, but these aren't good reasons to use this date as a cut-off. But if you look at the number of shootings per month, they really seem to go up in January of 2013.

There is plenty of seemingly random year-to-year variation across the whole 164 year period, but the number of incidents tend to fluctuate between 0 and 5 per year. It's worth noting that the last year there were no school shootings was 1981, so you could use that as a the beginning of the trend if you really wanted to.

It was weird for me to read about children shooting themselves in the early 1900's at school. It doesn't fit with my conception of the culture at the time. So school shootings aren't unprecedented, but after looking at this data, it seems hard to deny that the problem has gotten much worse in the past few years (or possibly since 1995 or 2005). If there were, say, 10 school shootings in 2013, I think you could possibly say that it was due to random variation. But there have been 31 in the first half of 2014!

What if we dig a bit deeper and look at the circumstances around each shooting. Do we see differences between the shootings from, say, the early 1900's and the shootings of today? In my search through the shootings since the 1850's in schools, I tried to isolate ones that I thought were similar to Sandy Hook: not suicide; not accidental; and not directed at one particular individual for reasons of, say, revenge or a rejection; not gang-related. I call this kind of shooting "mass school shootings". I include cases in which an individual clearly attempted a mass school shooting but was thwarted (though there are only a few of these, so they don't make much of a difference). Again, I must emphasize: I'm not saying that those other kinds of shootings aren't problems that need to be solved, but only that I want to isolate Sandy-Hook-ish shootings to see if there is indeed a trend. Here's what I found:

Note that the Y axis is different than the Y axis in the first graph. If I had used the same Y axis in both graphs (or included both lines in the same graph), it would've been hard to see the mass shootings line, so this is why I used two different y axes.

If you look at most of the school shootings pre-1966, they're directed at a particular individual and the motives are typically revenge (for a bad grade or being rebuffed by a would-be lover). Again, it was weird to read about mass school shootings similar to Sandy Hook that took place in the 1800's (though there were just two, so it really was anomalous).

As you can see, there's a similar pattern to the pattern in the overall school shootings: not much happens until recently. But what do we mean by "recently"? You could easily put the starting point of the trend at 1985, the first year there were more than two separate incidents of mass school shootings. What about since Sandy Hook? Let's take a closer look at the data, starting at 1985:

So, 1985 was a bad year, and so were 1988, 1998 (the 90's in general were pretty bad for this type of thing) and 2006. 2013 (the only post-Sandy-Hook year in our data set) is bad, but not much worse than these other years. In the first half of 2014, there have been three mass school shootings, but it would be dangerous to extrapolate from that and estimate that there will be six for the year. Extrapolation with such small sample sizes rarely maps on to reality.

In the end, here's what I get from this little exercise. The truth, such as I can determine it from available evidence, is that school shootings in general have become a lot more common in the last 18 months, but it seems unwarranted to say that Sandy-Hook-style mass school shootings have become a lot more common in that same time period. If you wanted to identify a starting point for the cultural phenomenon of mass school shootings, you'd be better off going back to 1985. If I'm looking for a culprit or cause of this phenomenon, I wouldn't look at things that are going on right now in our culture and in our laws. I would look at things that have been around and haven't changed much since 1985.

As would be the case with any phenomenon, my attitude would change if new evidence warranted such a change. If there were no more school shootings this year, I'd stick to my interpretation: nothing new in the world of mass school shootings since '85. BUT if there were 3 or more, then I'd reconsider my outlook.

From looking at this data, I also get the impression that there is an urgent problem with shootings at schools, but that this problem isn't akin to the problem of Sandy Hook or Columbine. Like any compassionate person, I'm appalled at that rapid increase in school shootings you see in the first graph, and I want to know more about why it's occurring and what we can do to stop it. A lot of these school shootings are committed by sane people who have a deep disagreement with another person and (importantly) access to guns. If anything, I think this analysis makes the case of those who choose to pin the problem of school shootings on a lack of proper mental health care and not on gun availability (I'm looking at you, Wayne LaPierre!) a lot weaker. School shootings are skyrocketing, according to the evidence, and most incidents don't involve mental health issues as such. So, maybe addressing the issues of gun availability, conflict resolution, and, perhaps, a cultural component may be an effective way to lessen the number of overall school shootings.

This analysis does NOT make for an easily conveyed, pithy soundbite. Because they need something pithy, the news and bloggers and others have latched on to a pithy-put-misleading alternative - the "74 since Sandy Hook" stat. On the one hand, this stat may grab more people's attention, gets them to click and gets them to post. On the other hand, based on all the evidence I can see, it IS misleading. It's use opens up those trying to convince others of the severity of the issue to attacks based on their use of misleading statistics.

This is, I would say, a familiar story in the use of statistics related to emotionally-loaded, low-probability/high-consequence events. It's a story that's worth returning to when discussing media literacy.

One final note: in my search for information about this topic, I found this article on CNN that actually DID dig a little deeper and found results similar to my own. They found a few more "Sandy-Hook-like" shootings because their definition differed slightly from mine, and (importantly) they had no historical comparison so they can't really talk about trends, but still, it gave me hope for more context when reporting stats in news. Big ups to CNN (though you really need to stop with the auto-playing videos).

Data source: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_school_shootings_in_the_United_States#cite_ref-47

Hardwiring and Software

At last week's symposium on media choice here at Drexel, the term "hardwired" came up a few times. This term pops up a lot these days in discussions of cognition and I wonder whether its use obfuscates as much as it explains.

The particular context in which it was used last week related to news: how and why certain people attend to certain news sources. People, so the argument went, are hardwired to seek out arguments and evidence with which they agree, and when they do happen to encounter counter-attitudinal arguments and evidence (i.e., stuff with which they don't agree), they are hardwired to interpret it as biased. When used in this context, what does "hardwired" really mean?

Hardwired reactions to stimuli in our environment are automatic and, as the metaphor would suggest, more-or-less permanent. Hardwired cognition/behavior are the products of adaptive processes that occurred over thousands of generations. We are born with these reactions; we don't need to be taught. Our startle reflexes, our orientation to faces, and our fear of spiders are all hardwired. Then there are reactions that are learned and, through repetition and conditioning, become automatic. It's easy to just lump both of these kinds of reactions together because they both involve automatic, quick processing of information without any voluntary control. But the hardwired reactions, I think, are harder to change than the automatic learned reactions because they have been around longer.

So let's assume that the aforementioned tendencies relating to news are, indeed, truly hardwired. None of us had to learn to seek out evidence we agree with and to view evidence that we don't agree with as biased. These information processing strategies evolved over many generations. Perhaps they're extensions of our need to preserve a stable sense of self or a coherent picture of our environment and where the rewards and threats lie or our social standing within a group of allies. This leaves us with a few important (and oft ignored) questions about our hardwired reactions to our information environment.

Can hardwired reactions to stimuli be "rewired"? Not easily, if at all. I don't think you could condition folks to seek out counter-attitudinal news and expect them to pass this tendency on to their offspring through their genes (which is what I take "rewired" to mean).

Can hardwired reactions to stimuli be overridden? Yes. Actually, I think this happens all the time. All of civilization, it's been said, is a kind of imposition on many of our hardwired reactions to stimuli, an attempt to override and otherwise control (i.e., repress) reactions that would be destructive in the long run to large numbers of people trying to live together (i.e., society). The repression of impulses is so ordinary that we forget the many ways the contours of society keeps them in check, through laws, rules, social mores, and restricted availability.

How strong is a hardwired predisposition? Put another way: how hard would it be to override a hardwired reaction to stimuli? This is another case in which the question of magnitude (what I like to call the "how much" question) is ignored, and I think it's ignored strategically. If you ignore the fact that some hardwired reactions are far easier to overcome than others, you could say that an inborn impulse that is not that hard to control is just like another inborn impulse that is almost impossible to control - they're both "hardwired". If it's somehow to your advantage to say that some behavior is unchangeable (say, if you're defending ideologically polarizing news coverage because it caters to our hardwired orientation toward information), you'll note how it's hardwired and leave it at that.

Just how hard is it to change behavior that is hardwired depends on the behavior, maybe on when it evolved and what's at stake (i.e., how great the reward or punishment for behaving in ways inconsistent with the predisposition). You can get most people to overcome their hardwired desire for sweets easier than you can get them to overcome their hardwired desire for sexual gratification or desire for novel stimuli or inclination toward competition or cooperation. Hardwired reactions or behaviors vary in the extent to which they are capable of being overridden. It is possible to know how hard it is to change a particular hardwired behavior through experimentation.

What the heck does this have to do with software?

The design of software affects what types of information are available to us in certain places at certain times. There are various reasons we're averse to the idea of restricting availability of information in any way. Information is speech, and speech should be free. More information and more freedom to choose just seem like inherently good things. But really, our access to information is restricted, in some sense, all the time. We see a fraction of all available information, if only because we can only process so much information and the amount to which we have access via the Internet has grown exponentially. The fraction of the total news information to which we pay attention is determined primarily by the aforementioned hardwired reactions to stimuli and software that makes certain information available to us based on our prior impulsive behavior (i.e., what we click on without thinking too deeply about it). Perhaps our hardwired reactions to stimuli determine our news consumption behavior not because they're all that hard to change, but because nothing bothered to stand in their way.

Here's some good news: experimenting with information environments is actually much easier than experimenting with our environment in general (i.e., the one we walk around in everyday). Simply installing browser extensions can remove ads from our information environment or restrict access to whatever websites we choose. Algorithms can recommend counter-attitudinal news stories. Installing a "Respect" button on comments sections, next to the "Like" and "Recommend" buttons, can increase the likelihood of exposure to counter-attitudinal messages.

You can't get rid of those hardwired impulses to seek out information we agree with. But can you override them? I don't think we've explored that question fully yet.

The discussion of hardwiring gets at an important underlying issue: how fixed are any of our characteristics? It's an emotionally loaded question. There's a lot at stake. But it's exciting to be able to explore the possibilities of changing ourselves and our hardwired impulses by changing our software.

The Pros and Cons (mostly cons) of Satire

Last week in our news literacy class, we had a great, thought-provoking guest lecture by Dannagal Young. Young’s work is part of a growing body of research providing evidence of the benefits of watching satirical news programs such as The Daily Show.

So far, we have evidence suggesting that Daily Show viewers vote more than non-viewers, participate more in political campaigns, score higher on political knowledge, and consume more news from other news sources. This seems to answer the critics who worry that satirical news programs might lead to cynicism. But perhaps it doesn’t.

There is an assumption that cynicism would manifest itself as (or co-occur with) apathy. If The Daily Show made viewers cynical, then we wouldn’t expect them to be more civically engaged than non-viewers.

Cynicism or Being Principled?

I’d critique the assumption that cynicism’s connection to apathy is the real worry. I’d define and measure cynicism as negativity about something combined with an inability to respond to evidence. So, would a liberal person acknowledge evidence that, say, unions make countries or states less competitive, or would a conservative acknowledge evidence that gun control laws dramatically reduce injury and deaths. Would they just say "you're misinterpreting the evidence" or "you're not looking at the evidence in proper context" or "you're ignoring this other important piece of evidence". An inability to change one's view based on new evidence is, to me, a problem.

But other people (highly partisan people) might refer to this orientation toward new evidence as “principled”: you think that unions are good no matter what, military intervention is bad no matter what, corporate mergers are bad no matter what, government regulation is bad no matter what. So, are you being cynical or are you being principled? In either case, I suspect that exposure to certain kinds of satire news (The Daily Show, or Rush Limbaugh, who could be understood or defended as a satirist) increases the frequency and intensity of this orientation. Meanwhile, websites that present information on the same topics but do so through presenting evidence in a more-or-less straight-faced manner, like fivethirtyeight, might decrease the frequency or intensity of this orientation.

Dannagal Young pointed out, rightly, that getting people to really consider evidence that contradicted existing beliefs would be pretty hard. In some sense, we are “hard-wired” not to do such a thing. There’s plenty of evidence to suggest that the resistance to certain kinds of evidence is a matter of identity preservation. But it seems worth considering the extent to which media can reinforce this instinct to preserve one’s identity.

Angrier Candidates

Consider the difference between the rhetoric and reputation of two candidates: Bill Clinton vs. Elizabeth Warren. Or, if you’d prefer to compare conservatives: George W. Bush as a presidential candidate in 1999 vs. Ron Paul. In both cases, the former candidate runs a campaign based on a kind of compassionate rhetoric while the latter candidates run based on distrust and anger at established authorities. Which of these candidates’ rhetoric resonates with voters? I’d argue that the satire of Michael Moore and perhaps that of Jon Stewart cause viewers to favor rhetoric that is based on anger against the status quo rather than rhetoric of compassion. Is this necessarily bad? I’m not sure. But it certainly doesn’t move us any closer to a world in which an informed electorate is selecting a candidate based on evidence as to who might be the most effective candidate. It’s just survival of the angriest.

Increasing skepticism, but of whom?

As Young pointed out during her guest lecture, humor and satire have been used to prompt audiences to question authorities since the days of ancient Greece. But the humor also stops the audience from questioning the arguments made by the comedian (or to view the evidence differently). Humor prompts audiences to let their guard down and cultivate a kind of affinity for the comedian and his.her views. Humor is an effective way to stop people from questioning the authority of the comedian. It reduces people’s ability to counter-argue. Again, will this help people select the best candidate? I think it just makes people less likely to consider evidence that is inconsistent with the worldview implicitly endorsed by the satirist.  

Hard-wiring is not fate

So, can media challenge our existing worldviews by cultivating mindful consideration of the issues of the day? Last week, I hosted a symposium on media choice at Drexel University. One of our guest speakers, Talia Stroud, had an argument similar to Young’s about how we are “hard-wired” to defend our ideological in-group or “tribe”. We are predisposed to political or ideological polarization. The instinct to read other viewpoints and arguments as somehow biased and flawed reflect deep-seated, automatic way of acting and thinking. Stroud presented the results of years of research that, I thought, reflected a terrific persistence and a refusal to accept hard-wired predispositions as unchangeable. She presented the result of study after study in which she and her colleagues tried to reduce ideological polarization when people are exposed to viewpoints that differ from their own. Time and again, the interventions not only didn’t work, but often made people more polarized! Finally, she had seen evidence of reduced polarization when she presented news website users with a “respect” button alongside the ubiquitous “like” button. When people are prompted to respect a viewpoint other than their own along with the ability to endorse it through a comment or a “like”, some of them will do so. This subtle change to websites can affect discourse, and I think this change in discourse could potentially reduce ideological polarization.

Even if a large number of people weren’t ever oriented toward objectively considering evidence for or against a politically-charged topic (e.g., man-made climate change, effects of reducing unemployment benefits) in the past, are we to let this dictate what we’re capable of? Are we mistaking predispositions for unchangeable fate? Are we not to even explore the possibility of change? To do so would seem, well, cynical. And Stroud's research shows that there is already evidence that simple tweaks to the media choice environment cause changes in behavior and, perhaps, thinking, despite whatever hard-wiring we have.