I have been disappeared by Facebook.
Well, not totally disappeared yet, although I recognize that could happen any day now. So far, I’ve just been made essentially invisible. It happens. I do understand one should not get one’s feelings hurt by an app, but still. Facebook algorithms, I further understand, are managed by some faceless Facebook Artificial Intelligence machine, and no actual human beings are involved other than the evil cabal sitting in a dark room somewhere setting in motion mysterious controls over the most intimate details of our psyches.
My psyche is in pain.
Ten or fifteen years ago my granddaughter created a Facebook page for me because, she said, it was imperative that I get into the 21st century and besides, this was how I could keep in touch with my grandchildren. They, of course, have now moved on to Instagram and Twitter and who knows what other wondrous technological barriers to personal interaction. But meanwhile I have come to enjoy Mark Zuckerberg’s toy. Long lost, faraway friends have become friendly and familiar, friends and nodding acquaintances from other pieces of my convoluted life have arisen, even some current friends and (older than the grandkids) family members reappear on my merry page. And try as I might to avoid patronizing the maddening ads I’m satisfied that I spend enough on its sponsors to keep Mr. Zuckerberg in the style to which he is accustomed and thus have repaid my free-space debt a few zillion times over.
So now I resent being disappeared by his algorithm crew; it seems an undeserved case of disinFacebookfranchisement.
Here’s what does show up on my feed – after “Fran, we care about you . . . Your memories on Facebook . . .” In order of appearance:
Something posted by a nice young woman whom I did like (in the original sense of the word) when she waited tables in my building six or eight years ago.
Something re-posted by a distant friend of my daughter.
Something else re-posted from a 4-year-old post by someone whose name is vaguely familiar so I must have Facebook friended him sometime in the distant past.
Something posted two days ago by a woman who lives in Borneo and whom I must have Facebook friended at some point because we do have a few things in common even if we’ve never met.
Two more ads. At which point it’s time to give up and quit scrolling.
Here’s what does not appear in my feed: Anything posted by my children or other family members, anything posted by good friends, Facebook ‘Close Friends’, or by others with whom I’ve been happily, frequently interacting over the past 10 or 15 years.
I assume Facebook is sharing my own posts with one or two people who are Facebook Friends but don’t really remember who I am – since part of my disappearance is the total absence of comments or emojis of any sort on the three photos I have bravely posted over the past week. This, of course, is the final blow to one’s fragile ego: Nobody likes my posts!
It is very dark down here in the dungeon of the disappeared.
Hi Fran, this is Mary May and was wondering how you are doing ? I still need to email you about a book project my brother funded about my parents. I will love to have you written something about the special bond of my father and you father Dr. Moreland. You are probably the only one I knew that had seen them together when my father went to Randolph Macon. I will be in San Francisco in January to see a show. I will love to see you. There is no update about the Moreland lectureship yet for 2022. If there is one, I will love to invite you and we can visit Ashland together.
Say it loud and say it clear Sister! Thanks for the Heads Up!
I am embarked upon a journey to escape from the dungeon. Very strange & mysterious, but we do not despair. Xoxo
I see your facebook posts of travels and your walks. Sorry to hear you feel you are in a dark hole.
At least I continue to walk above ground. Happy holidays!
We all love you to bits. Silly Facebook,
Don’t remember seeing your recent photos. Zuckerberg doesn’t deserve your benefit of the doubt. Would an email list serve work instead of the faceless book?
I am examining my options. I particularly like Faithful Reader Bob Dodge’s suggestion that I simply withdraw, and wait for Mark Zuckerberg to notice my absence when his wages go down.
Oh dear, I share your hurt Fran.
It is lonely down here in the dungeon, but not so much anymore ‘cause I know you’re down here too.
Perhaps we can form a Dungeon Group. Xoxo
Being a FaceBook virgin I can’t share your pain and anguish, however, I think you might be proud to find yourself unburdened by Mark even though you have been paying a smidgeon of his paycheck over these decades. Mark might note the decrease in his wages and decide to restore your account, just to do you a favor. Happy Holidays my friend!