The facts are well known by now: after a pro-Trump mob stormed the US Capitol building,
causing the death of five people, Donald Trump became digitally toxic and was deplatformed
(Crichton 2021), due to the danger of his violent, incendiary messages, containing
often false or misleading statements. Facebook, Instagram, Twitter and YouTube suspended
Trump’s accounts. Twitter suspended accounts linked to QAnon, the far-right movement
close to Trump. Parler, the right-wing extremist platform frequented by Trump supporters,
saw its app banned by Google and Apple, and Amazon suspended web hosting it. Similar
initiatives were taken by other services such as Pinterest, Reddit, Shopify, TikTok
and Twitch. In a way, it was a success (Rupar 2021): political misinformation online
on electoral fraud fell by 73% (Ostrom et al. 1999), but the question, still echoing
these days, remains: did these companies do the right thing? It is a crucial question
for the future of digital societies and their democratic organisation. Unfortunately,
it is also the wrong question, because it reduces a twofold problem to a binary choice.
For if we are only talking about legality and the protection of public interest, these
are good reasons to answer yes (Conger and Isaac 2021 - updated 12 January 2021),
but if we are also talking about democratic legitimacy and digital sovereignty, these
are good reasons to answer no (Liptak 2021). Luckily, the two answers are reconcilable
(West and Lakier 2021). The crucial variable is time: today, they did the right thing
(finally, some people like me would add), but tomorrow, societies should not depend
on companies doing the right thing if and when they wish, independently of any rules
and democratic accountability. The rest of the article explains why and how this is
the case.
Those approving or disapproving of the deplatforming of Trump agree that, if this
can happen to the President of the USA, it can happen to anyone. The difference is
that those in favour of the ban proclaim that this shows that no one is above the
rules, whereas those against the ban complain that this shows that we are all subject
to the arbitrary, potentially whimsical and unaccountable power of these companies.
The truth is that, for some time, people had been complaining about Trump’s misuse
of social media to spread populist, demagogic, misleading and incendiary messages,
unacceptable both for what they stated (e.g. about the pandemic or the presidential
election) and for what they omitted (e.g. in terms of rejecting or criticising white
supremacists’ actions or propaganda). The violence in Washington and the pandemic,
which has forced people to live increasingly connected and online, have made the public
more keenly aware of the importance of good digital communication and a decent ecology
of social media. What has been clear to researchers for a long time has become obvious
to the educated public as well: the same companies involved in the deplatforming of
Trump are also criticised for abusing their oligopolistic positions and enabling the
spread of so much misinformation and fake news, so the question asked above—whether
the deplatforming was acceptable—is important because it is the symptom of a more
general and crucial historical problem: who is in charge in the infosphere (Floridi
2014a)? Today, digital sovereignty (Floridi 2020a)—understood as the ability to control
our lives online and, increasingly, our onlife experience tout court (Floridi 2014b)—is
also largely in the hands of a few, colossal companies. We have already seen this
with Google and Apple and mobile telephony: through their APIs, the two companies
have decided who can do what and how with mobile phones, even in the case of apps
designed to fight COVID-19 (Morley et al. 2020; Floridi 2020b).
The problem is clearly serious, but I already mentioned that the question—did they
do the right thing or not?—is both simplistic and polarising.
On the one hand, those in favour of the suspension of Trump’s accounts argue that
the platforms in question are private companies that offer services on their own terms,
set by them and freely accepted by the users, and hence that they have the right to
suspend any user as and when they want, if the terms of service are not respected
(Brandom 2021). They stress that the platforms have allowed Trump to communicate for
so long only because, as the President of the United States (POTUS), he was considered
one of those exceptional cases where, for reasons of public interest, messages were
tolerated that would have otherwise led to the suspension of the services if sent
by any other user, but they also conclude that things changed because, in the long
run, communications like Trump’s, which deny the truth (think of Trump’s denial of
the pandemic or of global change) and incite violence, end up harming the public interest,
and ultimately must be moderated and then blocked.
On the other hand, those opposed to the suspension object that this is not only a
question of consistent application of the terms of use—because, in that case, the
same platforms should have blocked Trump much earlier and intervened in many other
contexts (Sri Lanka, Myanmar, India, Ethiopia, (Satariano 2021 - updated 17 January
2021))—but also of economic interest, unaccountable arbitrariness and a risk of ‘censorship’
(but note that this is a loaded word that prejudges as negative whatever content moderation
it is used to describe, (Graham 2021)). The suspension happened so late—they continue—because
Trump was finally an outgoing loser, because past clashes, even personal ones, could
finally find an outlet without repercussion, and because the operation could help
gain some favour with the new Biden administration. Too little too late for society,
too convenient for companies, too risky for democracy. The real problem was not Trump,
soon out of the game, but that the decision to silence a voice—no matter how problematic—was
left to corporate discretion. The reasoning continues by stressing that the companies
in question are not neutral but promote an ideology that is neo-liberalist, anti-conservative
and exclusively focused on the freedom of speech as more important than any other
right (think of privacy or security), as long as such an ideology is coherently but
also conveniently aligned with companies’ business models and strategies. In the case
of Trump, such a Californian ideology may be likable, but in other cases, it could
easily erode pluralism and silence dissenting voices.
Because of these arguments, I observe, those who want to defend the freedom of expression
at all costs end up somewhat paradoxically being on the same side as right-wing and
autocratic powers that have strongly objected to the decision to block Trump’s accounts.
Indeed, more generally, digital sovereignty in the hands of private companies scares
both those who fear it as an erosion of democracy and freedom of speech (Ragozin 2021),
and those who oppose it as a threat to their own authoritarian power (Chunduru 2021).
Thus, the editorial immunity sanctioned by the famous Section 230 is defended both
by those who want freedom of speech protected against censorship, and by those who
want it to ensure that their own violent and extremist contents are not removed; it
is attacked both by those who want to make sure, like Trump (Smith 2020) that platforms
cannot remove any content, and by those, like Biden (Lerman 2021), who want platforms
to be held accountable for removing unacceptable content. The real difficulty is that
it all depends on what it may replace if it is removed.
How can this problem be solved? From a public interest and legality standpoint, companies
did well to block Trump and Parler. They should have done it before, they should have
done it in many other cases too, and they certainly were not too brave to do it so
late. However, by blocking Trump and Parler (think also of the current debate about
Facebook and Australian legislation on the linking and dissemination of news), these
private companies have shown that, de facto, they have a public role which is of crucial
public interest, since they decide what may or may not happen in the infosphere and
hence in the lives of billions of people (Naughton 2021). This was never a simple
matter of communication channels, where providers have no responsibility for the exchanged
contents. In reality, the infosphere is a shared, relational space, a commons, to
use a traditional English legal term (Ostrom et al. 1999; Floridi 2013). It is the
space where humanity spends more and more time and where more and more activities
take place directly or indirectly, from education to work, from socialisation to entertainment,
from commerce to finance, from the exercise of justice to political discussion, from
research to journalism. It is the space that influences every other space, even the
physical one; just think of all the issues surrounding defence and security. It is
a space that should be conceptualised and governed more like a condominium1—like Antarctica
and the Space Station, which belong to everyone—rather than like a new frontier that
can be appropriated and colonised by anybody, or like a space that belongs to no one,
like the Moon. So, those who are worried about the fact that some companies have silenced
Trump and Parler (for example in Germany and France, (Jennen and Nussbaum 2021)) are
right because the sovereignty of this space should not be left to private enterprises,
business strategies, self-regulation and market forces (Breton 2021). It is time to
take seriously the fact that the infosphere is humanity’s commons and hence regulate
its use with open and transparent rules, legally grounded on all human rights and
on human dignity, to avoid arbitrariness, unaccountability, abuse, and discrimination
(Stoller and Miller 2021). One must remember that the companies that suspended Trump
are also part of the problem, not just the solution, because they are also the ones
who first empowered and then disempowered such a demagogue through their platforms.
Companies did the right thing by deplatforming Trump and Parler, for reasons of self-regulation
of services provided and of public interest. Still, it is not right that they have
so much power in the first place, for reasons of accountability and misplaced digital
sovereignty. The conclusion is that this time we were lucky (Goldberg 2021) and the
companies in question acted correctly (if late and partially), but crossing our fingers
is not a viable political strategy, and therefore, we must establish the right ethical
and legal framework to ensure that next time these companies operate in the interest
of all, not just for convenience or if they wish to exercise some good will, but for
reasons of regulatory responsibility and social accountability. This may sound unrealistic,
but it is enough to read the Digital Services Act2 to understand that the European
Union is coming to the same conclusion and building the regulatory framework that
will make an operation like the one against Trump not only justified but also accountable
and not arbitrary (see Article 20). And if this development seems worrisome because
politics should never control free speech, two things must be remembered: that even
the right of freedom of speech knows its limits when aligned and harmonised with other
rights (Wildman 2017), such as that of security against disinformation and incitement
to violence, and that politics is not the same everywhere. It is only there where
those who control the controllers are the controlled themselves that one can talk
of real democracy, and it is only in a real democracy that a limit to freedom of speech
is not censorship but tolerant respect for civil communication, one that hurts nobody
and is good for everybody, as in the European Union. And, to those who object that
suspensions and deplatforming may even be welcome sometimes but never work because
they do not block extreme, intolerant or radicalised views, and that the same unacceptable
forms of communication will reappear elsewhere (Blackburn et al. 2021; Ou 2021), one
may retort that separating what is edible from what is poisonous maybe does not wipe
out the poisonous, but enables one to have a much healthier and safer diet (Bedingfield
2021). True, those who wish to do so will be able to continue to feed on falsehood,
lies, demagogy, nonsense, violence and other unpalatable contents, but with greater
difficulty, and those who want to avoid certain poisons will be able to do so much
more easily, not running the risk of finding them mixed everywhere, indiscriminately,
on open platforms accessible to billions of people.
It is time to be green on our blue technologies: an ethically preferable and legally
acceptable ecology of the infosphere is overdue. Maybe someday, we will thank Trump
for making us reach a tipping point, and finally decide to reform the rules that determine
who controls the infosphere and how.