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. 

who wants to know

It's been another thought-provoking International Communication Association annual conference. Among other effects, it's caused me to consider writing half-formed thoughts in this blog. Basically, these thoughts would be tweets but for that lack of brevity. Perhaps they'll take the form of rants, provocations, or polemics.

So, privacy. About six years ago, I blogged about the topic. My opinion on the matter (that is, my opposition to privacy absolutism) has not changed, nor (frustratingly) has the public "debate" about privacy. Mostly, I get the sense that privacy situationalists are an increasingly rare breed. Privacy seems to be an issue on which many on the left and right agree: very few people want other people spying on them. On the aforementioned entry, I raised one possible benefit of living in a world where we occasionally ceded our privacy to trusted authorities: reduced threat of being attacked through judicious use of surveillance. Another payoff of relinquishing privacy I wrote about might be an increased tendency to select options with delayed payoff: when no one is watching, you're more inclined to indulge in immediate gratification (fine in moderation, but not so good if it's all you're choosing).

Here's another possible downside to privacy absolutism. Privacy, carried to an extreme, negates our knowledge of one another. If we become distrustful of one another, no pollster, researchers, policy maker, etc. will be able to know anything about human behavior and be able to produce empirical evidence of how we think, feel, and behave. In some sense, privacy is the enemy of knowledge of human behavior.

I suppose there's an alternative though, one I've been exploring recently: the quantified self. It's amazing what we can learn just by tracking our own thoughts, feelings, and behaviors. Still, I sense that there are limits to what this approach can produce. We can understand ourselves through these means, but can we understand each other? If privacy concerns limit our approach to understanding human behavior to self-knowledge, I sense that we'll lose something important.

Stopping Media Addictions

Here's a question about addiction: to what degree does it depend on the environment, as opposed to the brain of the individual?

We tend to think of addiction as something that lives in the brain of an individual. Addiction is, in part, inherited. We can see it when we look at images of addicts' brains. But as I understand it, genes only predispose someone to becoming more easily addicted than other person. And yes, you can see differences between addicted brains and non-addicted brains, but these images don't necessarily tell you to what degree the behavior and its neuro-chemical correlates are products of genes, of habit (i.e., repeated behavior in the past), or of the environment (specifically, the array of options and stimuli one has in front of one's self). So neither of these bits of information really tell us all that much about the relationship of the addict to the choice environment.

Perhaps addiction is the name for a behavior that is less and less responsive to the environment. Instead of responding to the negative consequences of choosing to behave in a certain way (hangovers, social disapproval, damaged relationships, loss of professional status, etc.), the addict continues to repeat the behavior. The more addicted one is, the less it matters what goes on around them. All that matters is the repetition of the behavior.

But maybe we overestimate addicts' immunity to characteristics of their environment. Many approaches to stopping the compulsive behavior associated with addiction attempt to alter the way an individual responds to their environment. This is done through therapy, drug treatment, or other means. But in other cases, we try to alter the behavior of addicts by changing the environment itself: making them go cold-turkey, or removing certain cues in the environment that trigger the behavior. Many times, these approaches don't work. Addicts are able to find the substance to which they are addicted or engage in the behavior again, and its hard to remove ALL triggers in an environment.

But when we think about the environmental-manipulation approach to altering addictive behaviors, maybe we're not thinking big enough. What if we had an infinite amount of control over the environment? We could populate the environment with many other appealing options instead of merely removing the one that is preferred by the addict. Whether or not the addict relapses after being deprived of whatever it is they're addicted to would depend not only on how long they're deprived of it but also on what their other options are. What if we could take an addict who was down and out and plunk them down in a world in which they have many other opportunities for challenging, fulfilling accomplishment, nurturing, nourishing relationships, and spiritual and emotional support? I think that in many cases, the behavior would change, permanently. So addiction really depends on things outside of the individual's brain, but its hard to see this when our attempts to assess the efficacy of such approaches have been so modest.

Of course, it is difficult if not impossible to just plunk someone down in that perfectly challenging, supportive world. But the amount of control an individual has over the stimuli in their environment has changed. In particular, our media environments can be fine tuned in many different ways, though at present they just end up being tuned to suit our need for immediate gratification. We could, in theory, fine tune that environment to gradually ween someone off an addictive stimuli such as a video game, a social networking site, or the novel, relevant information provided by the Internet in general, and replace it with something that satisfies the individual in some way. This would be much harder to do with other addictions, like alcohol. You can't re-configure the world to eliminate all advertisements for alcohol, all liquor stores, all depictions of the joys of being drunk. It's simply harder to alter those aspects of the environment. Because it was so difficult to even try these environmental manipulation approaches to altering behavior, we haven't fully realized their potential.

By fine tuning media environments (rather than just demand that media addicts go cold turkey or other "blunt instrument" approaches to media addiction), I think we'll realize that media addicts are more responsive to their environments than previous thought. I'm not saying that media environments are infinitely manipulable; only that we haven't realized the full potential (or even really scratched the surface) of this approach to halting media addictions.

(Mis)Understanding Studies

Nate Silver and his merry band of data journalists recently re-launched fivethirtyeight.com, a fantastic site that tries to communicate original analyses of data relating to science, politics, health, lifestyle, the Oscars, sports, and pretty much everything else. It's unsurprising that articles on the site receive a fair amount of criticism. In reading the comments on the articles, I was heartened to see people debate the proper way to explain the purpose of a t-test (we're a long way from the typical YouTube comments section), but a bit saddened that the tone of the comments made them seem more like carping and less like constructive criticism. Instead of saying someone is "dead wrong", why not make a suggestion as to how their work might be improved?

One article on the site got me thinking about a topic I've already been thinking about as I begin teaching classes on news literacy and information literacy: how news articles about research misrepresent findings and what to do about this phenomenon. The 538 piece is wonderfully specific and constructive about what to do. It provides a checklist that readers can quickly apply to the abstract of a scientific article, and advises readers to take into account this information, along with their initial gut reaction to the claims, when deciding whether or not to believe the claims, act on them, or share the information. It applies to health news articles in the popular press, but I think it could be applied to articles about media effects.

Now, the list might not be exhaustive, and there might be totally valid findings that don't possess any of the criteria on the list, but I think this is a good start. And really, that's what I love about 538. I recognize it has flaws, but it is a much needed step away from groundless speculations based on anecdotes that are geared toward confirming the biases of their niche audience (i.e., lots of news articles and commentary). And they appear to be open to criticism. Through that, I hope, they will refine their pieces to develop something that will really help improve the information literacy of the public.

The piece got me thinking about the systematic nature of the ways in which the popular press misleads the public about scientific findings. They tend to follow a particular script: The researchers account for most likely contributors to an outcome in their studies and test these hypotheses in a more-or-less rigorous fashion. The popular press does not mention the fact that they accounted for certain possible contributing factors because of limited space and the need to attract a large, general audience. When people read the news article about the research study, they think "well, there's clearly another explanation for the finding!" But in most (not all, but most) cases, researchers have already accounted for whatever variable you imagine is affecting the outcome.

In other cases, the popular press simply overstates either the certainty that we should have about a finding or the magnitude of the effect of one thing on another thing. Again, if we look at a few things from the original research article (like the abstract and the discussion section), we should be able to know whether or not the popular press article was being misleading, and we wouldn't even have to know any stats to do this. 

The popular press benefits from articles and headlines that catch our eyes and confirm our biases. That's just the nature of the beast. Instead of just throwing out the abundant information around us, it's worth developing a system for quickly vetting it, and taking what we can from it. 

What are you doing on that phone?

I wrote a sort of stray observation in the conclusion of my dissertation about a certain attribute of new media technologies: the way in which screens on portable technologies are typically oriented to face toward the user and remain obscure to others. The concerns over privacy vis a vis these media relates primarily to strangers (e.g., governments, corporations) knowing very private things about us and possibly using them against us. But in another way, these devices give us more privacy, privacy in our immediate physical surroundings. The screen orientation makes it harder to see what someone is watching, reading, or doing on their device, but what's more, there is an expectation that others not snoop and try to see what the user is watching/reading/doing.

I've been thinking about this, thinking about how it relates to the fact that we consider it to be rude when others are not paying attention to us but paying attention to their devices instead. I'm not talking about the moments when interaction is clearly expected (e.g., a job interview, a first date). Most of our lives are made up of moments where we are in the presence of others that we could converse with, but that it is not explicitly expected: hanging out with old friends, a lazy Sunday afternoon with a spouse. I think that part of the reason it feel can so alienating or discomforting to be in the presence of someone who is using a device is precisely because we do not know what he/she is reading/viewing/doing.

Here's a counter-example: someone you're hanging out with is reading a book. They're not talking to you, and you can't see precisely what they see (as you would if you were watching TV together), but you know the type of experience he or she is having. With a book, we know where we stand. We know what we're competing with. There is a sense of the psychic distance between ourselves and the person with which we share physical space. With a phone or a laptop? The person could be doing work, seeking out a better-looking partner than you, reading that website you hate, or that one that you love. I suppose that part of the anxiety comes from the fact that even if they're doing something you don't like, you can't do anything about it because you must respect their privacy.

There are ways to test this effect. It would probably work best with significant others, who have a long-term relationship and incentive to stay on each other's good sides and probably have some existing feelings regarding the other person's behavior. Get one person in a room with another who is either reading a book or a magazine, or get the person in a room with another who is on a phone or laptop. You could even have them in rooms with people using tablet PCs that are in one of two orientations: in the first condition, the screen is visible to the other person in the room; in the second condition, the screen is not visible to the other person in the room. Do the levels of anxiety or social exclusion (and the feelings of pain that come with it) increase when someone shares a room with a person using media technologies and they cannot see what the person is doing with those technologies?

If this turned out to be the case, then maybe we need to refine our media use etiquette rules. It's not necessarily a problem when people use digital devices around one another, and even if it is, it's probably unrealistic to expect people who live with one another to abstain from using digital devices around one another for long periods of time. Instead, perhaps we need to have more shared screen time. This is likely the idea behind technologies like Wii U or Chromecast: trying to give us the shared experience that television gave us while maintaining the interactivity and expanded options of the Internet. The only issue might be that we're left with an age old problem: who holds the remote? Who decides on the shape of the shared experience?

Maybe that's the trade-off. In order to avoid the social exclusion that comes with absent presence, we must relinquish some degree of privacy and control over our experiences.

Facebook Photo Album as Everyday Storytelling Device

Let's say you go on vacation for a week. You travel to some interesting place. How do you tell people about your vacation?

Social media is, among other things, the way that we tell people we know (and, sometimes, people we don't know) about things that happened to us. It's a kind of everyday storytelling medium, a way in which we can relate to the choices made by a filmmaker or novelist. As with any form of narrative, Facebook does not include every event that happened from every point of view. There are two "editorial moments" as which people decide what gets left in the story and what gets cut out: the moment at which they decide to take a picture and the moment at which they decide to post it. In addition to determining what gets left in or out of the story, the person assembling a Facebook photo album can re-arrange the order in which pictures are presented.

I can think of several reasons why this kind of temporal re-arranging may take place. You may want to "set the stage" for people looking through your photo album (assuming they encounter it in a linear fashion, starting at the beginning and clicking the "next" button as they go through the pictures). You may wait until the end of your vacation to take pictures of, say, the hotel in which you stayed. But you may put those pictures at the beginning of your album, to orient the viewer. You may also save a picture that you took of an amazing sunset on the second day of you vacation for the last or next-to-last picture of the album, using it as a kind of climax to the story of your vacation (although, maybe it's just me who does this sort of thing).

Do you group all of the pictures of food together? There's a kind of organizational logic to this from the standpoint of the picture arranger. And yet, I would argue, it leads to an inferior experience for the picture viewer. There's a kind of tedium to seeing picture after picture of food. But if the pictures are placed among other events and thing - trips to the beach, happy people, monuments, etc. - then it might feel more like you are experiencing the vacation as the individual experienced it.

But one wonders how much time people spend on telling stories through Facebook. Would people care about having an abrupt ending to an album? The difference between telling a story and simply putting things up is something a viewer might pick up on, at least sub-consciously.

ABRUPT ENDING

The problem of giving consumers what they want

After about a year and a half of intermittent reading, I've finished the terrific Thinking, Fast and Slow. At the same time, I've been co-teaching a class on the future of television. I'm in the process of preparing a final lecture for the class, and I plan on drawing from Kahneman to talk about supply and demand in the world of TV (or whatever TV will become, i.e., some system for the distribution and consumption of video online).

The rhetoric of giving viewers what they want, when they want it is a big part of how new TV technologies and content are being sold. As we move from an environment of restricted choice to one of expanded choice, it would seem that consumers of media are more likely to get what they want. How could it be otherwise?

First, let's think about "what they want": how to define that, how to measure it. There have always been feedback mechanisms built into commercial systems, ways in which producers determine demand so as to know what and how much to supply. In the days of early radio and TV, producers heard from audiences via letters. Then came Nielsen, with ever-improving sampling techniques that more closely reflect what people are choosing, though the Nielsen system and the TV choice environment it worked with had limitations: there were only so many options from which to choose; there were some people (e.g., college students) who were difficult to track and so they didn't show up in Nielsen's picture of audience demand. What if we could eliminate these limitations? Wouldn't we have a more pure picture of audience demand to which we could suit our supply?

Technology improved, costs fell, and these trends helped eliminate flaws and overcome limitations in the feedback system. I'd like to raise two issues related to this improving image of audience demand in the TV marketplace. The first is that there are certain attributes of the TV system that aren't overcome by simply monitoring audience behavior more closely and/or removing restrictions on the viewers, giving them more "control" (which is the general progression of improvements in TV technology). The second is that a market in which supply and demand were more perfectly matched may not be desirable.

No matter how good audience behavior monitoring gets and no matter how cheap it is to implement, it will run up against privacy concerns of the audience. As choice expands, we may get a clearer picture of how people behave in any situation without any limitations, and its bound to reveal some ugly truths about individuals and groups behavior. As much as the audience wants to have its desires understood, it wants to be selective about what it shares about those desires, especially in a world in which desires are so closely associated with identity and potential.

Also, even if we could know exactly how people behaved in a choice environment with few restrictions, are we then permanently locked in to what they will desire? There's a wonderful scene in Mad Men where Don Draper reacts to the in-house psychologist who tells him what her focus group observation revealed about audience preference. Don's objection may be to the difference between what people say they want and how they behave, but I think the more fundamental objection is that people's future desires can't be predicted by their past desires. Advertisers and content producers are in the business of telling people what they will want, and as much as that sentiment rubs people the wrong way, it explains something about audience behavior no amount of data or market research can. Of course these are the words of a defensive ad exec asserting his value in an age where empiricism is creeping into an artistic realm. But I think there's some truth to it.

Don is wrong about not being able to predict future behavior from past behavior if he's talking about certain kinds of individual behavior. But the next trend, the next popular TV show, may not reveal itself no matter how hard you stare at people's current or past behavior. Psychologists may know that people pass on certain ideas to other people in certain ways under various circumstances, but the actual ideas they pass on can be set in motion by anyone with the budget to get in front of enough opinion leaders. Advertisers and show runners are just such people. They survive by developing new tastes, new markets for new stuff, and they can still do it in an expanded TV marketplace. So you have this force that will keep dropping ideas that are beyond whatever audiences currently want so as to do this, no matter how accurate the audience demand measurements get. 

Then there's a point made by Jonathan Franzen at a discussion during last year's New Yorker Festival. He discussed how the number of tweets or mentions on Twitter was now being used as a metric of how worthwhile an up-and-coming writer was to a publisher. That is, a publisher would sign a writer who had 100,000 followers or mentions on Twitter and not one who had 100, just because social media mentions and followers are pretty good indicators of present audience demand. This is another instance of the tightening of the feedback loop between creators and audiences. This could force writers to cater to the audience in ways that they did not before. But this idea makes Franzen and other content creators uncomfortable. Writers spend more time on self-promotion and homogenization of their work and less on developing their voices as creators. Better work is produced, so the thinking goes, when creators are not so beholden to current audience preferences (at least the ones that audiences are capable of articulating). The work is "better" not just from some elitist, subjective judgement of its worth but from a market standpoint: if an author or a show runner takes their cues from the Twittersphere, the product will be less pleasing to that very audience in the long run than if the author or show runner listened to their inner muses.

Finally, Kahneman's book brings to mind that the definition of what an individual wants (and the way that the individual ultimately acts based on their desires) depends on various characteristics of the choice environment, namely the timing of the choice, the number of choices, and the arrangement of available options. For example, whether or not there are thumbnails for similar videos on the side of the screen, as there are now on YouTube, may influence what people click on. Recommended videos on one's Netflix screen is another example, or songs that come up on Pandora. Users could've searched for whatever their hearts desired in the search box, and yet what they viewed was influenced by the arrangement of options, not solely the product of a pre-existing, internal set of preferences.

Two questions that popped into my head toward the end of Thinking, Fast and Slow related to Kahneman's conceptualization of two different kinds of thought processes: System 1 which is intuitive, automatic, fast, instinctual, emotional, and System 2 which is deliberative, slow, rational. Often times, these "systems" or ways of thinking reflect conflicting desires: System 1 wants to eat a burger while System 2 wants a salad. System 1 wants to watch an action flick while System 2 wants a documentary. So how we define consumer desire depends on whether we appeal to System 1 or 2. Here are my questions: What would a world look like that was entirely geared toward System 1, without restrictions? Are we now living in that world?

The inconsistency between what we say we want and how we act under various choice conditions is not infinitely large. Depending on what you compare it with, it could be considered insignificant. It doesn't make much sense to throw out the entire system of valuation because it is flawed. Better to detect the flaws and correct for the flaws in a way brings about positive individual and collective outcomes. The first step is one many people haven't taken: seeing the inconsistencies between what we say we want and what we choose in different circumstances. Then, think about the world or the life that we want and think about how to design a choice environment to bring those about. 

The relationship between supply and demand work in a marketplace of culture objects (e.g., TV shows) has a level of complexity that is not accounted for in the rhetoric that surrounds improving TV technologies such as Netflix and YouTube, both how they are sold and how they are celebrated by the press and by consumers. The relationship isn't infinitely complex, and work like Thinking, Fast and Slow lays out some rules for how people behave in certain choice environments.

Remote Controls

This moment keeps nagging at me, demanding that I think about it, write about it. First, I must acknowledgement the ways in which metaphors, or the likening of one moment in history to the present moment, can hinder understanding. By cherry-picking the ways in which the two moments are alike based on our preconceived notions of the fundamental nature of the present moment while ignoring all the ways that the two moments are not alike (or the ways in which the present moment is similar to another moment in history), we don't move any closer to understanding our current moment. But here I use the past moment not as a means of comparison or metaphor, but as a way of identifying how certain trends in media use got started. 

I'm speaking of the invention and popularization of the television remote control. The remote, along with the increase in the number of channels, marked a crucial lowering of the barrier to toggling among choice. It was possible to browse entertainment options before, but not quite as easy, and that shift toward easy browsing marked a change from comparing several options to one another to what I call entertainment foraging. Our experiences of using media in an impulsive manner and the attendant feelings of guilt grow out of this moment. The internet and mobile devices have merely extended the logic of the remote control to more moments and areas in our lives. Even when we stay on a single website like Facebook or Buzzfeed, we are often hunting or foraging for some unknown thing. We tend to think of media use as content consumption or connection with an other, as individual experiences: skyping with a friend, watching a video, spending time on Facebook. But I'm interested in the moments in between, the time spent looking for something, the time spent choosing, the proliferation of what you might call "choice points". It's the glue that holds together the other moments, but it takes up a lot of time, perhaps as much time as the moments themselves.

When I started thinking about media choice, I thought that change from the traditional media choice environment to the new media choice environment was the change from deliberative choice (System 2, in Kahneman's terms) to impulsive choice (System 1). But eventually I came to believe that even if the options are few, when its a matter of how you spend your leisure time, the stakes are very low, and so you make a quick choice. There isn't much at stake, so why deliberate? Even when the choices were few, we probably still chose impulsively or ritualistically, without much careful consideration. So perhaps our media choices were always usually impulsive, but they were impulsive with many borders or restrictions, different borders and restrictions than the ones we have now. The options from which we chose leisure media experiences were limited by bandwidth and shelf space. The times at which we chose such experiences were limited by synced schedules and clear demarcations between work and leisure times and places. Without the borders, without the restrictions, the options have changed. When the options change (and this is highly counter-intuitive, but supported by a ton of empirical evidence), our choice patterns change. Increasingly, our impulsive choices, collectively or individually, feedback into the system that generates the option menus. Our options, and our selections, are dictated by the impulsive self with less interference from the outside world. This doesn't bode well for our long term self, our abilities to achieve long term goals.

What can we do about it? What are we doing about it? There are new technologies that form a middle layer between media applications that offer us options and our impulsive choosing selves. I call these software applications, like Freedom or Self Control, choice prostheses. Are they effective? That depends. In some ways, use of choice prostheses resembles dieting, and most diets do not work in the long term. In other ways, they resemble choice architecture or nudges, which are more effective in changing behavior in the long term. This is the next step in my research on media choice: to better understand how choice prostheses work and how they might best be used to change our choices for the better. 

A New Kind of Bad Television

I've been re-reading parts of Amanda Lotz's fantastic book "The Television Will Be Revolutionized". Written just 7 years ago about the state of television, it manages to be neither especially prescient nor obsolete despite how rapidly the world of TV is changing. I suppose this is because it clearly describes the relationships among content creation, funding, distribution, promotion, and consumption at one point in time. It doesn't get lost in "blue skies" rhetoric, as Lotz puts it, nor does it dwell on how great content is (another Golden Age of TV) or how consumers are finally in charge. While reading, I thought a bit more about web series and how and why so many of them suck.

Perhaps part of my reaction to these series is simply that they don't resonate with me, but neither do many shows on TV and I can still sense that there is some crucial difference between those shows and web series. I stated earlier that while some web series bear superficial similarities to professionally produced TV content (in production values), they lack a certain something(s): proper pacing, really good acting, good dialog, funny jokes. They remind me of the films I used to make as a 20-year-old film student. Part of me feels entitled to slag off others because I, too, produced content that I'm quite sure was utter crap and bilked others out of $ to help fund its creation. I guess you could argue that I'm just bitter that I wasn't more talented, but before judging me, assume that my argument is at least in part based on an intimate familiarity with the quality of amateur film/TV.  My films and other student films were "awful" in many of the same ways as some web series, only they lacked the polish and distribution and promotion channels of today's amateur TV.

That professional TV has a certain snap that web series don't is not surprising when you consider the fact that creators of professional TV are likely freakishly talented, the top .0001% of people who create content that is intended to appeal to others, and/or they have been at it for 10+ years. Part of the differences, I think, are due to the lack of experience of web series creators.

But the Lotz book, in particular the chapter on distribution, have me thinking about how crowd-sourced funding like Kickstarter yield a different kind of content than the kind of content that has gone through more traditional channels: pitched to execs, tested before small audiences, acceptable to advertisers, in competition with thousands of other ideas for shows.

Let's imagine a show creator who shoots a couple of short episodes of a show and puts them on YouTube. They get over 100,000 views. To finance the rest of the web series, the creator starts a Kickstarter and asks the people who like his videos on YouTube, directly, to help fund the creation of more episodes. These aren't family or friends, so they have no reason to pay hard-earned money to the creator other than wanting to see more of the content they like.

Part of the challenge of making good TV is maintaining a certain level of quality and novelty. Regardless of whether you're telling a serial story, creating a series of standalone episodes, or a reality show, you need to maintain a level of quality and novelty that keeps audiences coming back. This, it occurs to me now, is incredibly hard. Its something that those in the TV business, collectively as an industry with secrets of the trade and individually as showrunners with 10+ years experience, have gotten quite good at over the years. Nothing about the aforementioned Kickstarter scenario yields the kinds of shows that get audience's attention and keep it. Viewers who contribute to the Kickstarter may think that they'll enjoy the next episode(s) of the web series, but its hard to know that for sure, or keep it going indefinitely.

Its not as if I think that professional TV is necessarily all that great. As I said before, I'm aware of how commercial interests can yield lowest-common-denominator dreck that doesn't appeal to large swaths of viewers. But I'd argue that it's mostly an issue of the values conveyed in the work or perhaps a certain type of humor not synching up with would-be viewers. They all still have some mastery of pacing and rhythm that is hard to achieve and really hard to maintain year after year. Web series are likely better at appealing to niche values and esoteric senses of humor, but they're often bad in other ways.

Our Digital Prostheses

For the past few years I've been thinking and writing about a group of technologies that, it occurs to me now, may best be described as choice prostheses. This includes commitment technologies that restrict one's choice (e.g., Freedom, Leechblock, WasteNoTime, StayFocusd, SelfControl, etc.) as well as something like TweetDeck which organizes options. Often, these technologies are in the form of browser extensions, but not always. They are all designed to alter your media use experience, your management of abundant options, in some way. They occupy a layer in between content producers and consumers. They are like lenses, filtering relevant options from irrelevant ones, or immediately gratifying ones from necessary-but-boring ones.

Prostheses developers and users are, in some sense, in an arms race with content producers and aggregators who seek to maximize the amount of attention paid their content. The producers get better and better at hooking us and keeping us in their walled gardens. The most successful websites are not narratives you disappear into, but shopping malls where everything is free. When we think about the experience of using these sites, we see the discrete bits of the experience: the posts in our feed, the stories, the GIFs, the images we click on. What we don't see is the glue that holds the experiences together: the repeated act of selecting from many options, of entertainment foraging. The appeal of such experiences is manifold. We respond to novelty, and immediately gratifying fare (that which scratches us right where we itch at that moment). But I think we also respond to that act of foraging. It is not enough to simply be presented with something new and immediately gratifying. We desire to choose it for ourselves. I'm interested in the outcomes of these moments of choice, the extent to which they are made unconsciously and how they are influenced by the number and type of options and the timing of the decision. But I'm also struck by how much of our leisure time is taken up by these miniature moments of choice. 

The prostheses are what we use when we look at our media use habits and don't like what we see. If our habits are the product of our intuitive System 1 thinking interacting with choice environments designed to maximize time spent on websites, prostheses are a way to change the outcome, to bring our behavior in line with our intentions. 

Hey, let's put on a show!

It's the start of a new semester (or quarter, here at Drexel) and I'm excited to be co-teaching a class on the future(s) of television. We're skyping in a variety of guest speakers, including the producer of two web series. This got me thinking about the nature of web series. Do they have more in common with home-made YouTube videos or professionally produced TV content? Why do people make them? Why do people watch them?

After watching a few episodes of several different web series, I get the sense that they're somewhere in between a series of YouTube videos made in someone's back yard and a television series. This is true of how their produced, distributed, and promoted, but it also feels true (at least to me) of the finished product. Certainly, the look of some of these series is virtually indistinguishable from video content made for television in the traditional mode of production. The move away from expensive sets and toward more hand-held camera work made the aesthetic of "professional TV" easier to imitate. A generation of young people seem to have absorbed (either from film school or just watching tons of TV and film) how to compose a shot. I've watched a few minute-long promos for web series and they look like hip new shows on HBO or Fox. 

But the actual episodes lack something, and most of the ones I've watched lack the same things. The pacing seems slow. It seems slow when you compare it to professional TV and seems glacial when you compare it to YouTube clips or GIFs. I recall thinking during the early days of online video (2005-2011) that no one would ever watch a video longer than 3 minutes online. But I've seen the way college students have incorporated Netflixed 20-minute episodes of their favorite shows into their media diets, so I think that it's not an attention span issue. It's a pacing issue. In web series, more time elapses between jokes. The shots seem longer in duration. 

Also, the jokes seem, well, worse. I know this sounds like arbitrary, groundless criticism, and there's something weirdly personal about bad-mouthing a web series. You're not critiquing a millionaire. You're critiquing someone who bet their life savings on a passion project. Some of these shows are promoted and sometimes funded through word-of-mouth, and word-of-mouth often starts with friends, so in many cases, the audiences are pre-disposed to liking (or saying they like) the show. Early audiences for web series seem divided into two groups: anonymous, cynical "haters" who permeate every corner of online discourse and friends who don't want to see the creator of the show emotionally, professionally, and financially destroyed. 

Unlike professional TV, the content didn't have to pass before a group of experienced judges. People love pointing out how homogeneous TV content is due to the fact that it has to either please advertisers or garner big audiences to stay afloat. They like to point out the many times stuffy execs passed on shows that became hits. These are good points, but still, the system almost certainly weeded out scripts that were too slow-paced or unfunny to entertain people before the shows were actually produced. TV networks and advertisers were flawed proxies for audiences, but, I'd argue, not as flawed as a show's creators and their friends. The web series environment is not a good environment to produce the constructive feedback that is necessary to generate content that many people want to watch. 

Unless, of course, you look at it differently. Maybe making a web series is this generation's version of starting a band. You're making an artistic statement that resonates with your generation, not trying to create the next Two and a Half Men. A handful of successes give creators the impression that their shows can become hits. And getting a decent sized audience (let's say 100,000 viewers) is easier online than with TV because you're pulling from such a large pool of potential viewers (anyone with a broadband connection or a smartphone), much larger than any TV show creator had when they made their show. Get a few opinion leaders to post links to your show and you've got your audience. Keeping them is another matter. In the world of infinite content and distractions, I think it would benefit web series creators to make single-season shows that die before audiences have a chance to lose interest. 

But I think there's an allure to creating a show even if it doesn't become a hit, in the same way that there was an allure to being part of a band even if it never became really popular. People whom you don't know (potential boyfriends/girlfriends, really) get to see you do something interesting, funny, cool. And you get to express yourself and maybe hit it big. 

It's not a precise analogy. I doubt that web series creators will be seen as "cool" in the same way that people in a band are/were seen as cool. But if I were 16-27 and I wanted to do something that attracted the right kind of attention, I might get some people together and make a show. 

What You Search For Is All There Is

I'm still slowly making my way through Thinking, Fast and Slow, and every now and then, ideas from the book pop into my head when considering some type of media use. Today, I was thinking about searching for information online and how the bias of "what you see is all there is" (WYSIATI) might be applied to it (WYSFIATI). Essentially, people have trouble factoring in the effects of relevant information to which they don't have access but that still affects outcomes of interest. People assume, wrongly, that what they see (i.e., the information to which they have access) is all there is (i.e., all the information that is relevant to the outcome of interest).

The types and scope of information to which we had access was largely dictated by physical proximity, our social circles, books, newspapers, TV shows, movies. These sources gave us an incomplete picture of reality. There's nothing wrong with this per se, as long as the individual knows the extent to which and the way in which their information is incomplete. In Thinking, Fast and Slow, Kahneman cites numerous experiments in which people are asked to make decisions based on information which they are told has a particular likelihood (e.g., 50%) of being true. But the more common flaw in decision making seems not to be the extent to which people trust a source, but the extent to which they assume that the sources are supplying them with complete relevant information.

Media users often employ some kind of skepticism toward the information with which they are presented. For example, viewers often discount what they see on Reality TV: they assume that the behavior of people on such shows is authentic in some sense but not in others.

But what about searching for information? You start off with a question about an upcoming decision. Sometimes, you find a relatively concrete, straightforward answer. Other times, you're searching for something harder to answer: whether or not to have children after 40, say, or whether or not to vaccinate your children, or whether or not to travel to the Middle East, or whether o not that lump on your shoulder is a tumor (in my case, thankfully, it was not).

Again, it's important to say that we never had perfect information to help us make these decisions. As a culture, we probably weren't hip to this at first, but in the recent past, and certainly once the internet came along, skepticism (or rather, cynicism) about mainstream media went, well, mainstream. It is true that our personal social networks, newspapers, or books were incomplete and biased sources of information. I think that the information we acquire through online search is incomplete and biased in different ways, but I wonder if the very act of searching increases our erroneous belief that we're getting complete, or near complete, information. The act of searching, of picking your own source, is likely to make you think that you're acting independently.

But search really magnifies certain biases in ways that mainstream media did not. Search results are, of course, not all that there is. They are based on what others click on (and a "click" is as much an indication of immediate curiosity as it is of the veracity of the information) and based on what we've clicked on in the past. So, confirmation bias probably influences search results. But the act of searching from among many (sometimes hundreds or even thousands, if you're especially diligent) sources makes you feel like a careful information consumer, someone who's not simply being spoon-fed information by those interested in making a profit.

Perhaps mainstream media was always interested in making a profit. They also were (and continue to be) interested in maintaining the status quo. It's been pointed out many times how this maintenance of the status quo was a bad thing, how it keeps populations from questioning despotic regimes, antiquated laws, bigotry, etc. But getting free of status-quo-enforcing sources of information has it's potential downsides. We may be disappearing down information rabbit holes based on shock value and pre-existing notions of how the world is.

But the point I wanted to make here relates to the certainty we have when we search that what we find is all there is. It seems to me to be counterproductive to refer to this as the illusion of agency or the illusion of choice, as one might be tempted to do. All decisions are made from incomplete information menus that are influenced by others who do not necessarily have our best interests in mind. But you can be more or less aware of the degree to which the information presented in those menus is complete and how it may be biased. The very act of searching makes it a bit harder to see these things clearly.

The object of media literacy is not to eliminate bias in one's media diet or finally obtain complete information, but to increase awareness of bias and incompleteness.

Post script: what I've really been describing is "What You Find Is All There Is" (WYFIATI). "What You Search For Is All There Is" really describes the sense that the world is defined by what you're curios about or interested in, which is a separate but related cognitive bias.

Hoaxed

A couple of viral stories, or memes, circulating through the information ecosystem over the past month got me thinking about hoaxes and viral media. They're both stories about interactions between strangers. They have the elements of any good story: conflict, a moral element, a character with whom you can identify. They both incorporate pictures of written documents which have the effect of serving as proof of the events (they make the stories slightly more believable than if there were no pictures at all). One took place on an airplane. The other took place in a restaurant. They both turned out to be hoaxes. Many people, including major news outlets, believed them at first.

My initial thoughts on hoaxes and new media revolved around the premise that hoaxes happen when any information dissemination technology is new. They expose the fact that we have placed too much trust in the new source of information. Think of War of the Worlds Halloween broadcast (radio), the quiz show scandals of the 50's (TV), Lonelygirl15 (online video), Manti T'eo (online dating). Whether intended or not, hoaxes help audiences or users develop a proper skepticism toward information from the new technology.

But this latest rash of hoaxes seem like something else. This just seems to be par for the course in the era of decentralized, virally spreading information. It's easy to create and spread a hoax online and an audience can only be so skeptical. This kind of hoaxing and unmasking happens a lot on Reddit. People pretend to have cancer, or make up a story around a photo, e.g., "my 5-year-old daughter made this" in order to garner greater attention or sympathy. As good as digital media is at spreading lies, it seems equally equipped to unmask them. Crowd-sourced Sherlocks put pieces of evidence together to determine the truth of any of these stories.

The situation raises a couple of questions:

Can an online information consumer really spend the energy being that skeptical about all the information he/she encounters online, all of the stories like this one? The signal-to-noise ratio isn't quite so low that people will stop believing certain sources, but that could happen. But with a site like Gawker, I'm not convinced the average reader, after having read a fake story on the site, would be any less likely to believe or go to the site for information. But perhaps that is because Gawker readers seek a certain kind of information, which leads me to my next question.

Does it really matter if stories like these turn out to be untrue? Does that erase all of the meaning? It matters if a story about an attack on the White House turns out to be fake. But these morality play stories go viral in part because they spark a conversation about morals and behavior. The conversation and the thoughts shared about the topic still seem valid to me. Perhaps there is news and there is gossip. Both serve a function, and with the latter, we're more tolerant of the occasional falsehood.

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After listening to an excellent podcast in which Chuck Klosterman, Bill Simmons, and Chris Connelly discussed what we know about the Kennedy assassination 50 years after it occurred, I had another question related to truth and lies in the digital age: are we, in general, developing a more complete understanding of the world around us, or are we somehow moving further away from that? We have better tools for recording, seeing, hearing, and analyzing. We should be better at answering questions about what happened. But those tools developed at the same time as the hoax-spreading machine known as the internet.

There is some theoretically knowable answer to the question of who killed Kennedy and why. But information and knowledge do not move in tandem. William Gibson once said that the future is here, but that it was just unevenly distributed. Maybe knowledge of the world around us is like this. Those with a certain orientation to the technology are moving closer to this knowledge while others move further away.

Post script: There was an interesting article on the Reuters blog about this topic. It features quotes from Jonah Perretti (BuzzFeed) and Nick Denton (Gawker) and is definitely worth reading. Here's a terrific quote from it: "the reasons that people share basically have nothing to do with whether or not the thing being shared is true." The article acknowledges the two types of information circulating - news and info that let's people feeling "fleeting instances of comfort or joy" that are more difficult to verify. But even if you're dealing in the latter, if you repeatedly pass on stories that draw some of their appeal from being real (and let's face it: these little gossipy stories make for sub-par fiction) that turn out to be untrue, you become like the friend who's always telling tall tales and loses all credibility. Not as bad as the news organization that loses credibility, but still, I think people will seek out reliably true "gossip"-type news, shunning sources that get repeatedly duped.

The Circulation of Trauma

Teaching a class on images of war has been an education for me. It is not my area of expertise, which perhaps made it all the more fascinating. I've had the opportunity to meet many wonderful guest speakers, think about things I don't normally think about, and make new connections when thinking about the subjects that I spend most of my time thinking about.

In our most recent class, we screened the powerful documentary Under Fire, which concerned post-traumatic stress disorder among war journalists. After the screening, we spoke with one of its producers, neuropsychiatrist Dr. Anthony Feinstein, and one of the journalists depicted in the film, Pulitzer Prize winner Paul Watson. Both were as candid and thoughtful as people who encounter trauma could be.

Watson's experiences as a war journalist are the stuff of classic tragedy. His telling of his experience being the photographer who helped change American military policy through his photos of dead American soldiers in Mogadishu in 1993 is the emotional climax of the documentary. It is also the basis of a series of poems, a play, and an opera that will be performed in 2014 in NYC. I've always felt a bit queasy about turning one person's suffering into another person's art/entertainment. Maybe it's the commodification that bugs me, the building of a career on the suffering of others. Even if the message affects others in some positive way, that other exploitative layer is there. Watson's pain also seems incredibly personal and private. In some respects, the troubles with the use of Watson's emotional and mental trauma for the purposes of art mirrors the trouble at the heart of his story: the depiction of death and suffering as a kind of desecration, no matter how noble the intentions. One idea I was left to mull over after that evening was how we can discuss trauma without it overwhelming us, or infecting us.

This relates to my musings on the circulation of ideas and stories about personal suffering online. When do our consumption of these ideas and stories and the conversations they give rise to provide us or the sufferer with solace? When do they prompt us to dwell on the suffering? When do they help us work through the suffering? These are "difficult" topics to think about, to speak about, to hear about. Watson had the feeling that there was something fundamentally wrong about recording and distributing these horrible images. Another part of him knew that they were important for the world to see.

Watson knew that some images he saw would overwhelm an audience. When he encountered piles of dead children, he didn't photograph them. He depicted the horror obliquely, showing the children's schoolbooks scattered on the ground. That ability to take in some overwhelming horror of real life and to retain it's essence through storytelling is, I'm understanding, an invaluable part of being a reporter, an artist, and maybe being a compassionate, honest human being.