It offered companionship, enjoyment, and exploration, yet the social media’s dark side posed a threat to democracy long before Elon Musk.
Last year marked the irreversible breakdown of Twitter, now named X. In 2023, engagement plummeted, advertisers retreated, and influential figures drastically reduced or ceased posting. What once was a bustling global platform now resembles a hostile wasteland filled with hate and rumors. On December 18, the European Commission initiated infringement proceedings against X for allegedly violating EU disinformation laws. It is crucial to engage in a broader conversation about the challenges social media presents to liberal democracy. However, comprehending its allure is necessary for this discussion. While the battle for balance and truth may be faltering on X, it persists in other arenas.
I extensively utilized Twitter for several years, acknowledging that social media holds substantial value. Before actively participating, I recognized its significance as a rich source of information. By following authors, experts, journalists, lawyers, politicians, officials, and global institutions relevant to my work or of personal interest, I curated my own transnational newspaper. As a researcher, Twitter significantly saved me time, though I ensured rigorous source verification beyond the platform. As a writer, the platform compelled me to be succinct and compelling within the constraints of character limits, initially 140 and later 280 characters, where every syllable mattered.
Upon actively tweeting in 2017, I had minimal followers initially, which turned out to be an advantage. Without an audience to impress, I freely expressed my thoughts and experimented with various topics. I delved into my professional focus, UK history and politics, shared insights on books, art, music, places I’d lived or traveled, and commented on my home country Germany’s foreign policy, gradually expanding to international affairs and geopolitics.
The response was overwhelming. Five years later, my follower count reached 40,000, acknowledging the possibility of bots. Despite this, it granted me a surreal global reach. Twitter evolved from my public diary to a lively office chat and a virtual dinner party with wise and fascinating attendees. Many like me witnessed and debated significant events: the UK Parliament’s Brexit turmoil, the world halting due to the pandemic, the US Capitol stormed by armed Trump supporters, hasty withdrawals from Afghanistan, and Russia bombing Ukraine. Despite disagreements, conflicts, and occasional fallouts, it strangely felt like we were all in this together.
The most fulfilling online interactions occurred when I posed questions to my followers, often related to my UK history and politics research. Queries about personal experiences during the Falklands War, motivations for joining the armed forces, history books, and national identity prompted hundreds of responses, offering diverse perspectives and shaping my research.
However, the attention had its downsides. Dark aspects of social media were a few clicks away, with some individuals causing genuine fear and instances of outright abuse. While not as severe as experiences of colleagues from minority backgrounds, encountering smart trolls who made me feel awful without explicit language proved challenging. Despite weekly accusations of naivety, arrogance, and more, I refrained from reacting, yet their impact lingered.
Social media’s narcissistic influence is unavoidable. Injecting nuance and factual information into conversations demands time, research, and emotional discipline. Balanced analysis is arduous, while snark and outrage require less effort. The desire for praise and aversion to public correction risk diverting seasoned analysts and journalists toward self-preservation rather than the issues at hand.
In the era of personal brands, meaningful conversation wanes, replaced by judgment. Social media users become mini-embassies, fostering a binary worldview evident in reactions to conflicts like the Israel-Hamas war. The trend toward oversimplification and emotionalization predates Elon Musk’s control of Twitter but has intensified since then.
Guided by an Anglican bishop, I explored the House of Lords, witnessing a debate. A diplomat’s wife sent books for my children, and a schoolteacher invited me to address her pupils. Over time, Twitter connections evolved into genuine friendships, offering trust and support. These bonds, developed through the platform, have enriched my life in ways I wouldn’t have experienced otherwise, making the entire journey worthwhile.
