A tale of wise men, fools and Facebook

A tale of wise men, fools and Facebook

The camouflaged iceberg hit the already punctured Titanic, and we mistook it for a lifeboat. I wasn’t on the ship when it happened; I learned about it, naturally, from Facebook, Twitter and Line. If social media had a smell, it would smell like dust and rotting fruit (or to some, flowers). More likely it would smell like napalm in the morning, as Robert Duvall said in that film. It would smell like fear mistaken for the stench of victory.

To the matter at hand: What would we do without Facebook? What would we do without that postmodern plaything that assists our pre-modern instinct — the instinct to speak our mind? The hypothetical question became reality on Wednesday afternoon, when the bomb dropped and www.facebook.com was put to sleep. Did the second iceberg hit? Were we unplugged from one of our last oxygen tanks? Was it the curse of censorship or a blessing that forced out the evil time-waster?

Of course it was the malfunction of something called a gateway. Or maybe it was much simpler: it was destiny. The confusing reports only added to the confusion, because the first tweets (another oxygen tank) by news agencies said that the ICT Ministry admitted to pulling the plug — a temporary censorship, a nip in the bud — but then the coupmakers insisted that it was just a technical glitch. Fifty agonising minutes later, traffic was restored. More food pictures, more selfies, more nonsense, more cat videos. Also more theories on whether it’s possible for a faulty gateway to stop access to just one particular website and not the rest. You can do your own research. But without a doubt I believe the official explanation; that’s what we do to preserve peace.

Facebook is not life, but grudgingly I admit that Mark Zuckerberg has invented something remarkable. Without intending to, he has solved the fundamental philosophical human question: how do we know that we exist? Or still exist. A number of poets, philosophers, and quantum physicists tried and failed, but not Mark. Granted, Heidegger, Schopenhauer and other German-sounding names succeeded in solving it in the last century, but they did so in a language and brainwork that I and 99% of the world’s population do not quite follow. Religion works too, but in a way that sometimes makes you feel bad about existing. Marriage is another great invention — you exist wholesomely to your spouse, you have meaning to the other person 24/7 — but the complications, as we all know, are heavy, depressing, even maddening.

By allowing us to be the sole arbiter of all issues, Facebook, the most solipsistic among the social media platforms, reassures us (or deceives us) that we exist. More than that, it makes sure that we’re constantly aware of our existence, at least to those who’re smart or stupid enough to sign up in the first place and who keep looking at their newsfeeds like alcoholics at their drinks. It’s a deception, of course — and yet one that has unfortunately become so convincing that it has assumed the shape of reality.

The 50-minute Facebook blackout on Wednesday provoked such panic and outrage not just because we’re middle-class junkies of the virtual life (that we are), but because we’re paranoid that at a time when our existence has become small, when we’re reduced to soundless ghosts, when our voice is not being heard because the sound of guns being cocked is louder, when we fear that what we think has been relegated to insignificance and when we feel suffocated and muffled — this strange Zuckerbergy thing is our little consolation. An illusion, maybe, that we still matter, and the idea that someone might take it away feels like the last straw.

When the National Council of Peace and Order detained a reporter, the public reaction was muted. But when Facebook was down for less than an hour, all hell broke loose. This weekend, the NCPO will talk to the Facebook office in Singapore to seek their “cooperation” in blocking “provocative” sites, and by implication it means that the military is attempting what Turkey, Egypt, Iran and other democracy-in-suspension countries have tried before and failed: to arm-wrestle with the unstoppable force of technology.

Facebook isn’t life. It isn’t happiness. It isn’t even real. It may help rally troops, imaginary troops, but it’s not terrorism. And in some circumstances, it can be a bin into which people can dump their trash and let some steam off at a time when the air feels thin. Wise men should know best and leave it alone.


Kong Rithdee is Deputy Life Editor, Bangkok Post.

Kong Rithdee

Bangkok Post columnist

Kong Rithdee is a Bangkok Post columnist. He has written about films for 18 years with the Bangkok Post and other publications, and is one of the most prominent writers on cinema in the region.

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