I screwed up my Facebook feed, on purpose, in 2016. It has never really recovered.
Back then I was writing about the Standing Rock protests in North Dakota, where thousands of non-Native veterans from across the United States went to support the Lakota-Dakotas’ right not to have a massive pipeline cross the Missouri River just north of their reservation. I wanted to hear as many perspectives as possible, so I Facebook-friended people on both sides of the conflict, across the political spectrum, and under a few rocks. I believe this confused Facebook—not about my demographics, which the company always knows, but about what I might like to see.
Facebook’s algorithms, which drive what any of us see individually, are a mystery to most of us. At best they make us passive consumers; at worst, easy pupils to brain-train for nefarious ends. I would support more congressional hearings on the machine-learning tools used by social media, something unlikely to occur now.
The choices the algorithms make are often baffling in part because it seems as if they would be bad for Facebook business. I never see the posts of my own family or closest friends in real life, for example, in my feed. Most times I do not see new posts from other accounts or friends I like to visit. I do not see many posts from communities I am involved in, such as other writers (dozens or hundreds of whom are Facebook friends) or publishing. If a company was looking to score on its presumed goal of connecting people, my feed fails spectacularly.
(Admittedly, I do not ask Facebook to prioritize certain accounts for my feed, and I do not “manage defaults” to help determine what I see. Facebook says my “default” settings for “political” or “low-quality content,” “unoriginal” posts [meaning they have been shared so many times they probably originate from bots], or “sensitive content” already make them less likely to appear.)
What I mostly see are sponsored ads for insurance and many other companies; little reels and videos meant to be funny, “people you may know” (ie, more “friends” to hit up for friendship), old-people meme factories (“Never have I ever: Give yourself one point for each thing you haven’t done”), and suggestions for new groups to follow. I do see constant posts by that academic I never met who complains bitterly that nothing is ever their fault, and posts by that guy who is the husband of one of the worst people I ever knew. I snoozed them, but they came roaring back a month later. And I do see probably one in 10 posts by a half-dozen friends I know only on Facebook and enjoy hearing from. These posts tend to be about cats or wildlife, which are even better. But if we are Facebook friends, and you have ever wondered why I am so rude and uncaring as to not like or comment on your posts, it is because I never see them, and I have to assume you never see mine.
Given all this, I get curious when I see a lot of one kind of thing, especially when that thing is something I would never ask to see. I think: What does Facebook think I am, beyond my address, age, gender, income, and education level?
In short, why does Facebook show me so many Nazis? Facebook’s Nazi problem is historical to their platform (see here, here, or here), but I feel they have found a new way to sneak in historical (WWII) Nazis under cover of various topics of potential interest. In the last month I started screenshotting the trend and harvested maybe two dozen examples.
For instance, I have an interest in history. Facebook presented me with a post from an account called “History Me This” and asked if I would like to follow the account. History could be infinitely various, but the post shows, “The parade of the German POWs in Moscow in 1944. Not many would return home.”
“Thehistoricalmeme” post I got says, “Grandpa’s birthday gonna be wild.” The photo is of the wing of a Nazi warplane. The music is “Musikcorps und Soldatenchor Der Luftwaffe, Alte Kamaraden.”
I like planes. But the post in my feed from “PlaneHistoria” wanted me to see a “Rare pic of the only example of the Messerschmidt P.1101 jet fighter. Germany 1945.”
I love animals. “Animal Wild” showed me two Nazis in a motorcycle and sidecar in winter with a German shepherd wrapped in a greatcoat.
I like movies, and Ryan Gosling. “Nick-hamerla” had made a meme of Gosling as Ken, with the caption, “Me on my way to share my autistically in depth knowledge of German Panzer formations and battle tactics in World War II with a very lucky young lady.”
I am a veteran. A post from an account called “Alyssa Vecchio” said, “Thank you for your service [heart emoji]. An unfinished Type xxI U-boat on the runway at Blohm and Voss in May 1945.”
Even “Battle machines,” an account Facebook suggested I follow, could have showed me a contemporary UAV drone. Instead, the photo was a modern VW Bug convertible painted like a Wehrmacht staff car in olive drab with an iron cross on the door, and a fake (?) machine gun hanging off the back.
I have told Facebook to stop, any way I can think to do. I have said no to the questions, “Do you want to see more posts like this?” and “Are you interested in this post?” I toggle, “Don’t show me posts from this account.” I have reported pages.
When advocates of laissez-faire capitalism say it will fix its own problems, that is a lie. A friend and I were acknowledging that it is a human need to have a sense of belonging, and that social media plays on that need by seeming to open a window to others. What it often does instead is let in a stench.
