I’ve deleted my Facebook account.
For years I suspected they’d been careless with data, and I knew they’d tracked my every move online, but when they helped deliver Trump and Brexit by passing data to nefarious companies and allowing them to target users with fake news and disinformation, it was a step too far. When I think of the misery of families torn apart by ICE and the Home Office, that bigots are happy to operate in the open, and that liberal democracy as we know it is in grave danger, I can’t willingly support the midwife.
My leaving won’t make one bit of difference. And I do understand that Facebook is important to many people as a tool for keeping in touch with friends and loved ones. I’m fortunate that I can continue to do this in other ways. I certainly don’t judge anyone who uses the service.
I do wonder what I’ll do with the time I used to fritter away. Maybe I’ll cook or go for walks. Maybe I’ll write a bit more. Or maybe I’ll go out and actually live life instead of endlessly scrolling and looking for my next dopamine hit.
Fig and Pen 