Apparently the New York Times issued a new social media policy today. Unfortunately, it doesn't do what every major newsroom ought to, which is tell employees they have to get the hell off Twitter: washingtonpost.com/opinions/2021/…
Yes, I understand the irony of a journalist on Twitter saying that journalists should get off Twitter.
It's a collective action problem; I can't solve it myself.
So let me list all the ways that Twitter is bad for journalism.
1) To a first approximation, Twitter produces no traffic. Facebook, yes, though less. Search, yes. Email, yes. But an article can go viral on Twitter and produce like six hits. It's all just people retweeting stuff they haven't read.
2) Nonetheless, Twitter *feels* like it is producing a lot of attention to your work. So journalists tell themselves that they have to spend all day on Twitter to promote their work, even though this doesn't, you know, actually result in anyone reading the work
3) Why does it feel like Twitter is generating a lot of engagement? Because all the journalists are on it, and journalism-adjacent folks like political staffers and think tankers. So Twitter encourages journalists to focus on performing for other journalists.
4) This leads to a lot of groupthink and tunnel vision, where all anyone is talking or thinking about is the exact same thing all the other journalists are talking and thinking about.
5) Like a lot of social media--and texting & IM--Tweeting occurs in a strange liminal space between oral and written culture. The short format encourages people to treat it like they're chit-chatting with friends (an illusion encouraged by the fact that all their friends are on!)
5a) People say a lot of stuff that is totally fine and appropriate in the context of chatting with their friends, like hyperbolic ranting ("People who drive the speed limit in the left lane should be *shot*) or mean-girl gossip (OMG WHAT is wrong with Jodi Ernst's HAIR?)
5b) Only it's written, so it doesn't stay local and in context. Out of that context, it looks somewhere between unprofessional and psychopathic, damaging you and your colleagues, and forcing your institution to either defend the undefensible, or discipline you.
6) Unless you are always uber-careful getting on Twitter is like playing Russian roulette. Most days, nothing happens, but ...
7) And the more important Twitter is to you--the more you feel Twitter freedom is a must-have in your job description--the harder it will probably be to always, ALWAYS exercise the level of restraint necessary to protect yourself and your institution.
8) Of course, Twitter's defenders would argue there are offsetting benefits. And sure. But what are they?
a) You get news really fast on Twitter. I'm all for this. I'm not against journalists reading Twitter, I'm against them Tweeting.
b) It helps journalists build their brand.
9) But the brand-building often comes at the expense of the institution. Journalists get to hone their reputation as a truth-telling edgelord while the parent company gets to deal with the irate subscribers. I get what's in that for the journalists, but not the institution.
10) The disclaimers in the Twitter bio are useless. If you publish your 5,000 word manifesto, "In Defense of Genocide", explaining that your opinions are not shared by your employer will not stop subscribers from demanding to know why they're employing a genocidaire.
11) Twitter is also, of course, used by employees to organize against their employer, and also against fellow employees. This is utterly toxic for institutions: it makes the institution look weak and indecisive, impairing its reputation capital, and it destroys collegiality
12) Again, it's obvious why the employees who engage in these attacks like Twitter, but the institution should protect itself by cutting off this line of attack.
13) In short, Twitter is not a good way to promote the institutional work; it is a good way for journalists to spend all day performing for each other, at the expense of the institution that pays their checks, and also at the expense of the institution of journalism.
14) It has been incredibly damaging for internal conversations to become external. In addition to the problems I've already listed, it has confirmed the worst suspicions conservatives have about the bias of "mainstream" journalists.
15) In fact that "confirmation" is illusory, because the average journalist is not nearly as far left as you'd think if you just sampled what the average journalist on Twitter says. But for some reason, when I tell people that, they prefer to believe their lying eyes.
16) Which brings me to possibly the worst problem with Twitter: it's a sort of optical illusion which makes journalists think a bunch of things that just ain't so. It hacks our evolutionary filters, distorting a small number of folks lazily hitting "retweet" into a major movement
17) Also, it's incredibly addictive, wasting huge amounts of journalist time in exchange for distorting our thinking, harming our reputation, fracturing our attention span, and undercutting our institution and our profession.
Twitter's a lot of fun, but it's not worth all that.
18) However, as I said up top, it's a collective action problem; as long as the other journalists are on, every journalist will also want to be on, and few will have the willpower to go cold turkey. Which is why I am begging purveyors of journalism to make the decision for us.
19) And I am making this plea on Twitter (irony of ironies) because that is where all the journalists are.
Thanks for reading, here's the column. I predict you will not click through and read it, but am hoping you will surprise me. washingtonpost.com/opinions/2021/…
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I use AI to do research (i.e., find things to read, explain parts of academic papers I find ambiguous or confusing), transcribe interviews, generate pushback on my column thesis, suggest trims when I'm over my word count, sharpen podcast interview questions, and perform a final fact check on columns and editorials. But mostly it's compressing the ancillary tasks to the main job: reading, thinking, and writing.
It's also useful for formatting my stream-of-consciousness list of podcast questions into a usable script, suggesting podcast guests, and generating lists of potentially interesting stories for me to check out for columns or editorials.
Things I don't do with it: go into a chat with an AI without my thesis already strongly developed, have it outline or write, accept anything the AI says. ("Please provide linked sources" should be in every prompt).
Time walks without footsteps.
No sound, yet every clock bends to it.
It slips through the ribs of morning,
collects sunlight in quiet pockets,
and spends it slowly on the evening sky.
We try to measure it—
in calendars,
in wrinkles,
in the cooling of coffee left on a table—
but time is never really caught.
It is a river that refuses a map.
A child releases a laugh into the air;
years later the echo becomes memory.
A tree lifts its branches through decades
as if asking the sky a question
only time can answer.
Sometimes it feels cruel—
a thief of voices,
a dissolver of moments we begged to stay.
But sometimes it is gentle, too:
it sands the sharp edges of grief,
turns wounds into stories,
and stories into quiet wisdom.
And somewhere, in the turning of a planet
no one hears the hinge of,
time keeps opening the same door—
moment
after moment
after moment.
Claude:
Time is the river no one sees until they're standing wet to the knees, wondering how they crossed the shore and why they can't go back for more.
It pools in photographs and rings of ancient trees and wedding rings, in the slow forgetting of a voice, the way loss never felt like choice.
We try to hold it—fill our palms— watch evening turn to quiet psalms, as something slips through every seam the way that waking swallows dream.
Yet here it is: this breath, this now, the light that falls across your brow. Not caught. Not kept. But briefly, bright— a match struck once against the night.
Journalism will lose the war on AI because it will hit us from all sides: some writers will make unauthorized use that's hard to prove, some outlets will use it, undercutting everyone else's margins. It won't stop unless readers decide to care, and I suspect most won't
I suspect I will get replies saying "I care" and yes, I do too, because I like good writing better than midwit AI takes. But the taste for well-crafted prose is a very minority taste, and if you are tempted to argue, I point you to 50 Shades of Gray. Case closed.
Highly verbal people who make their living with words have great difficulty modeling the minds of readers whose idea of a good book is self-help, a phoned-in celebrity biography, or a James Patterson novel, but those folks outnumber us by a lot.
I don't think our duty is too ignore it; our duty is to figure out the response that maximizes the future health of our society, while taking into account that Trump's character flaws and intense partisan polarization make the best solution--moral shaming--completely ineffective
Robert Nozick coined a great neologism, "Normative Sociology: The study of what the causes of things *should be*". It's counterpart is normative policymaking: the study of what solutions *ought to work*. A lot of reactions to Trump fall into that basket.
For shaming to work, you have to share a moral community with someone--loosely defined as "the people who could effectively shame *you* out of doing something, at least under some circumstances". Left and right no longer share that moral community.
This article is the worst argument I have read against driverless cars, and I've read a few. Unfortunately, I think this what's running through the minds of a lot of city planners: let's stall the development of an incredible lifesaving technology to bail out transit.
Why is this a bad argument? Well, for starters, Waymos mostly don't substitute for busses. They substitute for Ubers, taxis and personal driving. The capital requirements for these things are huge and will never be as cheap as cramming dozens of people into one vehicle.
Number two, as a political argument, this moral exhortation fails as a political strategy. No one is going to ride the bus because poor people can't afford Waymos. Nor will they ignore the tradeoffs between busses (waits outside, transfers, having to walk at both ends) because you tell them to.
My latest column is on the WBD merger drama, and why anyone wants to buy this company. My commenters are extremely mad that I focused on strategy and market economics rather than the specter of David Ellison controlling CNN. So here's why I didn't write about it.
I don't think the possibility of David Ellison owning CNN is even among the top 10 most interesting questions about this merger. It might not even break the top 20. It is a sideshow that has been blown up into the main story by a self-obsessed media.
Why doesn't it matter? Because I regret to inform you that it is no longer 1995. I am not a lithe and energetic 22 year old enjoying a rich and varied nightlife. And the mainstream media does not enjoy one tenth of the agenda-setting power it had back in those golden days.