Philippa Kaur

Social media companies have done well out of the United States congressional hearings on the January 6 insurrection. They profited from livestreamed video as rioters stormed the Capitol Building. They profited from the incendiary brew of misinformation that incited thousands to travel to Washington D.C. for the “Save America” rally. They continue to profit from its aftermath. Clickbait extremism has been good for business.

Video footage shot by the rioters themselves has also been a major source of evidence for police and prosecutors. On the day of the Capitol Building attack, content moderators at mainstream social media platforms were overwhelmed with posts that violated their policies against incitement to or glorification of violence. Sites more sympathetic to the extreme right, such as Parler, were awash with such content.

In testifying to the congressional hearings, a former Twitter employee spoke of begging the company to take stronger action. In despair, the night before the attack, she messaged fellow employees:

When people are shooting each other tomorrow, I will try to rest in the knowledge that we tried.

Alluding to tweets by former President Trump, the Proud Boys, and other extremist groups, she spoke of realising that “we were at the whim of a violent crowd that was locked and loaded”.

The need for change

In the weeks after the 2019 Christchurch massacre, there were hopeful signs that nations – individually and collectively – were prepared to better regulate the internet.

Social media companies had fought hard against accepting responsibility for their content, citing arguments that reflected the libertarian philosophies of internet pioneers. In the name of freedom, they argued, long established rules and behavioural norms should be set aside. Their success in influencing law makers has enabled companies to avoid legal penalty, even when their platforms are used to motivate, plan, execute and livestream violent attacks.

After Christchurch, mounting public outrage forced the mainstream companies into action. They acknowledged their platforms had played a role in violent attacks, adopted more stringent policies around acceptable content, hired more content moderators, and expanded their ability to intercept extreme content before it was published.

It seemed unthinkable back in 2019 that real action would not be taken to regulate and moderate social media platforms to prevent the propagation of violent, online extremism in all its forms. The livestream was a core element of the Christchurch attack, carefully framed to resemble a video game and intended to inspire future attacks.

Nearly two years later, multiple social media platforms were central to the incitement and organising of the violent attack on the US Capitol that caused multiple deaths and injuries, and led many to fear a civil war was about to erupt.

Indeed, social media was implicated in every aspect of the Capitol Building attack, just as it had been in the Christchurch massacre. Both were fermented by wild and unfounded conspiracy theories that circulated freely across social media platforms. Both were undertaken by people who felt strongly connected to an online community of true believers.

Read more:
Uncivil wars? Political lies are far more dangerous than Twitter pile-ons

The process of radicalisation

The testimony of Stephen Ayres to the January 6 congressional hearings provides a window into the process of radicalisation.

Describing himself as an “ordinary family man” who was “hard core into social media”, Ayres pleaded guilty to a charge of disorderly conduct for his role in the Capitol invasion. He referenced his accounts on Twitter, Facebook and Instagram as the source of his belief that the 2020 US Presidential election had been stolen. His primary sources were posts made by the former president himself.

Ayres testified that a tweet by President Trump had led him to attend the “Save America” rally. He exemplified the thousands of Americans who were not members of any extremist group, but had been motivated through mainstream social media to travel to Washington D.C.

Stephen Ayres is sworn in during a public hearing of the House Select Committee to Investigate the January 6 Attack on the US Capitol, Washington DC, 12 July 2022.
Michael Reynolds/EPA via AAP

The role of former US President Trump in the rise of right-wing extremism, in the US and beyond, is a recurring theme in Rethinking Social Media and Extremism, which I co-edited with Paul Pickering. At the time of the Christchurch massacre, there was ample evidence that US-based internet companies were providing global platforms for extremist causes.

Yet whenever their content moderation extended to the voices of the far right, these companies faced censure from conservatives, including from the Trump White House. The message was clear: allowing unfettered free speech for the so-called “alt-right” was the price social media companies would have to pay for their oligopoly. Though the growing danger of domestic terrorism was apparent, the threat of antitrust suits was a powerful disincentive for corporate action against right-wing extremists.

Social media companies have faced significant pressure from nations outside the US. For example, within months of the Christchurch attack, world leaders came together in Paris to sign the Christchurch Call to combat violent extremism online. The document was moderate in tone, but the US refused to sign. Instead, the White House doubled down in alleging that the major threat lay in the suppression of conservative voices.

In 2021, the Biden administration belatedly signed up to the Christchurch Call, but it has not succeeded in advancing any measures domestically. Despite some tough talk during the election campaign, President Biden has been unable to pass legislation that would better regulate technology companies.

With the midterm elections looming – elections which often go against the party of the president – there is little reason for optimism. The decisions of US lawmakers will continue to reverberate globally while ownership of Western social media remains firmly centred in the US.

Facebook CEO Mark Zuckerberg.
Anthony Quintano/Wikimedia Commons

Read more:
How self-publishing, social media and algorithms are aiding far-right novelists

The failure of self-regulation

The spirit of libertarianism lives on within companies that exploded from home-grown start-ups to trillion dollar corporations within a decade. Their commitment to self-regulation suited legislators, who struggled to understand this new and constantly shape-shifting technology. The demonstrable failure of self-regulation has proven lethal for the targets of terrorism and now presents as a danger to democracy itself.

In her chapter in Rethinking Social Media and Extremism, Sally Wheeler asks us to reconsider the basis of the social licence social media companies have to operate within democracies. She argues that, rather than asking whether their activities are legal, we might ask what reforms are needed to ensure social media does not cause serious harm to people or societies.

Now central to the provision of many public services, social media platforms might be deemed public utilities and, for this reason alone, be subject to different and higher rules and expectations. This point was amply if unintentionally demonstrated by Facebook itself when it blocked many sites – including emergency services – during a disagreement with the Australian Government in 2021. In the process, Facebook shone a spotlight on the nation’s growing reliance on a poorly regulated, privately owned platform.

Amid the national outcry following the Christchurch massacre, the Australian government hastily introduced legislation intended to increase the responsibilities of internet companies. Reportedly drafted in just 48 hours before being rushed through both houses of parliament, the bill was always going to be flawed.

Effective reform demands that we first recognise the internet as a space in which actions carry real-world consequences. The most visible victims are those directly targeted by threats of extreme violence – mainly women, immigrants and minorities. Even when the threats are not enacted, people are intimidated into silence, even self-harm.

More insidious but perhaps just as harmful in the long term, is the overall decline in civility that drives public discourse towards extreme positions. On social media, what is known as the Overton Window of mainstream political debate has not so much been pushed out as kicked in.

There is broad agreement that existing legal and regulatory frameworks are simply inadequate for the digital age. Yet even as the global pandemic has accelerated our reliance on all things digital, there is less agreement about the nature of the problem, much less about the remedies required. While action is clearly needed, there is always the danger of overreach.

The functioning of democratic society depends as much on our ability to debate ideas and express dissent as it does on the prevention of violent extremism. Our challenge is to balance free speech against other competing rights on the internet, just as we do elsewhere. The current approach of simply ratcheting up the penalties faced by social media companies is more likely to tip the balance against free speech. In a communication landscape that is increasingly concentrated in the hands of just a few major corporations, we are in need of more voices and more diversity, not less. More

In August 2022, a statewide referendum in Kansas saw citizens overwhelmingly reject a plan to insert anti-abortion language into the state’s constitution. It comes as a slew of similar votes on abortion rights are planned in the coming months – putting the issue directly to the people after the Supreme Court struck down the landmark Roe v. Wade ruling.

But are referendums and citizens initiatives good for democracy? It may seem like an odd question to pose on International Day for Democracy, especially at a time when many feel democracy is imperiled both in the U.S. and around the world.

As someone who researches democracy, I know the answer isn’t simple. It depends on the kind of initiative and the reason that it comes to be held.

First, some simple distinctions. Referendums and citizens initiatives are mechanisms of direct democracy – instances in which members of the public vote on issues that are commonly decided, in representative systems, by legislatures or governments. While with referendums it is typically the government that places questions on the ballot, with citizens initiatives – more common at the state level in the U.S. – the vote originates outside of government, usually through petition drives.

The Chicago Center on Democracy, which I lead at the University of Chicago, recently launched a website that tracks many of these direct democracy efforts over the past half-century.

Appealing to the masses or settling scores

That a majority of democracies retain some form of direct democracy is a testament to the legitimacy with which citizens’ voices are heard, even when, in fact, most decisions are made by our elected leaders. Often, national governments call referendums to bring important questions directly to its citizens.

But why would governments ever decide to turn a decision over to the people?

In some cases, they have no choice. Many countries, among them Australia, require that constitutional amendments be approved in popular referendums.

In other instances, such votes are optional. United Kingdom Prime Minister David Cameron, for example, was under no obligation to undertake a 2016 referendum on continued EU membership. Colombian President Juan Manuel Santos had plenty of legislative support that same year to ratify peace accords with a rebel group through an act of congress. But he turned the decision over to the people, instead.

Pushing a Brexit referendum backfired on then-Prime Minister David Cameron.
Brian Lawless/PA Images via Getty Images

One reason leaders voluntarily put important issues before voters is to solve disputes within their own political parties. The Brexit vote is a case in point. The U.K. Conservative Party was deeply divided over British membership in the EU, and – as Cameron later acknowledges in his memoirs – his position as head of the party, and thus as prime minister, was increasingly threatened.

In these instances, the government is in effect using the people as a referee to decide an internal dispute. It is a high-risk move, though. For Cameron, going to the country meant the end of his premiership. And six years on, the U.K. is still dealing with the fallout of that vote.

Sometimes leaders seek public support on issues about which they expect powerful opposition upon implementation. Colombia’s Santos expected resistance to the peace deal from opponents, including wealthy landed interests. He used the people as a kind of force field to protect the policy. But again, the strategy backfired. The Colombian accords were defeated, and have since faced powerful resistance when subsequent attempts were made to implement them through legislative approval.

But do these two high-profile instances illustrate fatal flaws in referendums, and direct democracy in general? Perhaps not.

Though plenty of disinformation circulated before both votes, the results probably fairly accurately reflected the people’s preferences. Moreover, they illustrate the perils to political leaders of placing issues of crucial importance before voters – they can’t be sure they will like the results.

And when their referendums fail, they may set back causes that these politicians care about. For example, Brazil held a referendum on gun control in 2005. It failed, and later pro-guns rights president Jair Bolsonaro used its failure to try to loosen restrictions on firearms, claiming that the failure of the referendum allowed him to do so.

Tool of demagogues

Sometimes the prime minister or president does prevail. A kind of referendum was used in Australia in 2017 to pressure the legislature into legalizing same-sex marriage. Conservative politicians were willing to hold a vote, with the same kind of “referee logic” as in Brexit – they were opposed to same-sex marriage, but preferred to go along with the public’s will, rather than continue to fight over this internally divisive issue.

In the end, the pro-marriage equality prime minister opted for a “postal survey” rather than a formal referendum. And the gamble worked for Australia’s leader – a very large majority expressed support of same-sex marriage and the prime minister got his way.

For every Colombia-style debacle, in which a leader holds an optional referendum but fails, one can point to governments putting matters to a popular vote to produce a force field, and winning. The approval of the public can make policy immune to –- or at least undermine – later opposition. Such was the case of same-sex marriage in Ireland, passed by referendum in 2015. The following year, Ireland settled the issue of abortion access, overturning a ban by a two-thirds majority.

Referendums are not only used by democratic leaders but also by autocrats and demagogues. Russian president Vladimir Putin put a series of constitutional reforms before voters in 2020, including one that overturned Putin’s prior term limit in office.

Accusations of fraud and intimidation followed the vote. The process could hardly have been more at odds with direct democracy and the autonomous expression of the people’s will.

Getting policy to line up with people’s will

There are no national referendums in the U.S. But American voters have a great deal of experience with initiatives at the state level – and with state-wide referendums, as well. These votes have the potential to force governments to abide by the people’s will in cases where legislators may be resisting popular policies.

Yet problems can arise with these exercises in direct democracy. Even though they are presumably citizens’ initiatives, the influence of political parties, special interests, lobbyists and big money can turn them into something quite different, as was the experience of California in the 1990s – which in turn undermined the public’s satisfaction in the initiative process.

But recently we have seen a spate of state initiatives that seem more promising – where majorities of citizens are demanding that their state legislatures bring policy more in line with public opinion. Florida voters approved ex-felon voting; Arizona voters approved bigger budgets for public schools; Missouri voters forced a reluctant legislature to expand Medicare in their state. All of these initiatives were backed with popular public support.

Most recently, Kansans said “no,” in referendum, to inserting pro-life language into their state´s constitution.

‘Let the people decide!’

The potential for mechanisms of direct democracy to improve citizen representation depends on the context in which they are held, including the manner in which they are placed on the ballot and the motives of those who placed them there.

At one extreme are autocrats like Vladimir Putin who held votes that augment his power and the length of his term. At the other are citizens frustrated by legislators whose actions stray far from public opinion. In between are measures sponsored by governments that may want to insulate policies they care about with the help of the people’s backing, and parties that throw their hands up, in the context of internal divisions, and say, “let the people decide.” More