In light of recent news of Tweeps getting fired just for pointing out where the current owner is wrong, I wanted to share an anecdote of what it used to be like at Twitter when you wanted to share a dissenting opinion. Let’s get in our wayback machine together, shall we?
In the Summer of 2018, we were having many debates internally about which accounts should be allowed to remain on the platform. Among the most hotly debated, besides the then-president’s account, was one of a certain Sandy Hook-denying radio host. Jack sent an email to the entire company explaining the thinking and justification for keeping accounts like this alive on Twitter. And I was pissed.
I drafted an email that I was ready to reply to Jack about what I thought about what we were doing. But I didn’t send it, letting my hot head cool for a bit, thinking maybe I was overreacting. And then we had our regularly scheduled all-hands meeting, called Tea Time.
After welcoming new Tweeps and recognizing the work anniversaries of others, we moved on to launch updates and plans for the rest of the year. Then came the open Q&A, an important and perpetual part of every Tea Time. Although I don’t remember specific questions and answers, I remember a number of people openly and vigorously questioning our leadership about how and why this account — and others like it — were allowed to continue to spew lies and hatred on the service we were building. There was also a memorable moment involving a bar of soap.
The answers left me longing. So, I revisited the email reply I had drafted, made a few revisions, and let it fly. Here is a copy of my response:
Jack,
When this first landed in my inbox, I had an immediate — but poorly formed — reactionary response. That reply stayed in my drafts folder until Tea Time on Friday. After your invitation to hear from us, I tried to put a bit more thought into this revised response. I hope you'll indulge me for a few minutes.
I whole-heartedly believe our work should be centered on the world’s public conversations, where every voice is allowed to speak. But to treat every voice as if it deserves the same amount of attention is more than misguided, it's dangerous. The easiest analogy I can come up with as an illustration as to why is emblazoned on our own walls: #BlackLivesMatter. I know I don't need to tell you why that hashtag is important. And the movement we’re able to help facilitate every day reinforces my belief that some voices, specifically those trying to correct injustices and advocating for a more equal world, need to be uplifted. As we make choices here, whether it's the shape of our default icon or how we train our machine learning models, our biases and lenses creep through. Being more aware of that, and coming up with strong, well-defined guidelines for how those decisions get made, makes us a better and more transparent company.
We have to be able to understand that there are voices in the world which have either been under represented, or downright silenced, and one of Twitter's greatest powers is providing a way for those to get the attention they deserve. I choose that word deliberately. Deserve. Like it or not, we are directly and indirectly deciding who deserves attention. When we sit back and let the voices on the platform decide who should get attention, we are reproducing the societal marginalization that brought the marginalized to our platform in the first place.
This is where the contradiction in my own argument becomes most threadbare. How can I, on one hand, vociferously advocate to uplift some marginalized voices while, on the other hand, insist on repressing the repugnant? The answer is simple: History. We pride ourselves on being able to learn. We learn from our colleagues. From our upbringing. From education. But we also learn from our mistakes, and the mistakes of those who came before us.
In your email, you said, “We have extremely thoughtful and empathetic people who want the best for all people out there, no matter their background or ideology.” I disagree. There are some ideologies that do not belong in a 21st century society. To ignore what we’ve learned, or reintroduce unenlightened ideologies of the previous centuries, sets us back not just as a company, but as a society. Racism. Sexism. Anti-Semitism. All of these are ideologies that have no place in a civilization that has made as much progress as ours. Just because our left-leaning perspectives happen to line up with humane, compassionate choices does not mean we should over-index or abandon them in an effort to be perceived as more balanced. We don’t need more balance, we need more humanity. And thus, there are some fundamentally benevolent biases that we should not be afraid to embrace. Otherwise, we risk introducing the paradox of tolerance, which can ultimately lead to this: Conspiracy Theories Are Eating This Alt Right-Friendly Site From the Inside.
Last point (and, if you're still reading this far, I’m humbled by your commitment) comes from the book What Price The Moral High Ground? by Cornell University’s Robert H. Frank. He makes an argument about enforcing social norms that guides a lot of my thinking when we discuss topics like this:
“… People associate with one another because — and only because — of the exchange of benefits they expect to reap in the process. Someone who abstains from associating with the violator of a social norm thus punishes not only the violator but also himself.”
We need to redefine our social norms. And we need to do it with confidence and empathy, epitomizing how it can be done in every company in Silicon Valley and beyond. At the same time, we have to be able to say there are some ideas so abhorrent they should not be uttered, much less allowed on our platform. Our recent policy changes provide many examples where we believe that.
I know these are unbelievably daunting decisions to make. But I also have confidence in our people to make the correct ones. I just hope we’re allowed to make them — choosing not to decide is still a choice. Let's make decisions that make us proud. Proud to be part of Twitter. Proud to grow as people. Proud to be humane.
As always, I thank you for your willingness to listen and learn from us.
Jack replied shortly afterward, thanking me for my input and addressing a couple of specifics. And to his credit, he replied every single time I wrote to him over my five years there. Even when I didn’t agree with our decisions, I always knew that he was listening to staff, taking opposing views into consideration, and sharing as much as he could about how our decisions were made.
This is all a long way of saying what is happening now at Twitter is antithetical to the culture that’s been built over the past decade and a half. When I started in 2015, there were 10 well-established company values, one of which was, “Communicate fearlessly to build trust.” What’s happening there now is the exact opposite of that. And even if the current owner wants to change the company culture, and its values, he’s not going to be able to do it overnight. Especially if he doesn’t communicate what the new expectations are.
As he unceremoniously fires more and more people, one thing is clear: Very soon, the loss of institutional knowledge is going to get so drastic that the institution will cease to exist. And at the rate he’s going, failure isn’t just a possibility, it’s an inevitability. Maybe even this weekend when the World Cup kicks off.
Bones of Birds
15 November 2022
Growth mindset.
In light of recent news of Tweeps getting fired just for pointing out where the current owner is wrong, I wanted to share an anecdote of what it used to be like at Twitter when you wanted to share a dissenting opinion. Let’s get in our wayback machine together, shall we?
In the Summer of 2018, we were having many debates internally about which accounts should be allowed to remain on the platform. Among the most hotly debated, besides the then-president’s account, was one of a certain Sandy Hook-denying radio host. Jack sent an email to the entire company explaining the thinking and justification for keeping accounts like this alive on Twitter. And I was pissed.
I drafted an email that I was ready to reply to Jack about what I thought about what we were doing. But I didn’t send it, letting my hot head cool for a bit, thinking maybe I was overreacting. And then we had our regularly scheduled all-hands meeting, called Tea Time.
After welcoming new Tweeps and recognizing the work anniversaries of others, we moved on to launch updates and plans for the rest of the year. Then came the open Q&A, an important and perpetual part of every Tea Time. Although I don’t remember specific questions and answers, I remember a number of people openly and vigorously questioning our leadership about how and why this account — and others like it — were allowed to continue to spew lies and hatred on the service we were building. There was also a memorable moment involving a bar of soap.
The answers left me longing. So, I revisited the email reply I had drafted, made a few revisions, and let it fly. Here is a copy of my response:
Jack,
When this first landed in my inbox, I had an immediate — but poorly formed — reactionary response. That reply stayed in my drafts folder until Tea Time on Friday. After your invitation to hear from us, I tried to put a bit more thought into this revised response. I hope you'll indulge me for a few minutes.
I whole-heartedly believe our work should be centered on the world’s public conversations, where every voice is allowed to speak. But to treat every voice as if it deserves the same amount of attention is more than misguided, it's dangerous. The easiest analogy I can come up with as an illustration as to why is emblazoned on our own walls: #BlackLivesMatter. I know I don't need to tell you why that hashtag is important. And the movement we’re able to help facilitate every day reinforces my belief that some voices, specifically those trying to correct injustices and advocating for a more equal world, need to be uplifted. As we make choices here, whether it's the shape of our default icon or how we train our machine learning models, our biases and lenses creep through. Being more aware of that, and coming up with strong, well-defined guidelines for how those decisions get made, makes us a better and more transparent company.
We have to be able to understand that there are voices in the world which have either been under represented, or downright silenced, and one of Twitter's greatest powers is providing a way for those to get the attention they deserve. I choose that word deliberately. Deserve. Like it or not, we are directly and indirectly deciding who deserves attention. When we sit back and let the voices on the platform decide who should get attention, we are reproducing the societal marginalization that brought the marginalized to our platform in the first place.
This is where the contradiction in my own argument becomes most threadbare. How can I, on one hand, vociferously advocate to uplift some marginalized voices while, on the other hand, insist on repressing the repugnant? The answer is simple: History. We pride ourselves on being able to learn. We learn from our colleagues. From our upbringing. From education. But we also learn from our mistakes, and the mistakes of those who came before us.
In your email, you said, “We have extremely thoughtful and empathetic people who want the best for all people out there, no matter their background or ideology.” I disagree. There are some ideologies that do not belong in a 21st century society. To ignore what we’ve learned, or reintroduce unenlightened ideologies of the previous centuries, sets us back not just as a company, but as a society. Racism. Sexism. Anti-Semitism. All of these are ideologies that have no place in a civilization that has made as much progress as ours. Just because our left-leaning perspectives happen to line up with humane, compassionate choices does not mean we should over-index or abandon them in an effort to be perceived as more balanced. We don’t need more balance, we need more humanity. And thus, there are some fundamentally benevolent biases that we should not be afraid to embrace. Otherwise, we risk introducing the paradox of tolerance, which can ultimately lead to this: Conspiracy Theories Are Eating This Alt Right-Friendly Site From the Inside.
Last point (and, if you're still reading this far, I’m humbled by your commitment) comes from the book What Price The Moral High Ground? by Cornell University’s Robert H. Frank. He makes an argument about enforcing social norms that guides a lot of my thinking when we discuss topics like this:
We need to redefine our social norms. And we need to do it with confidence and empathy, epitomizing how it can be done in every company in Silicon Valley and beyond. At the same time, we have to be able to say there are some ideas so abhorrent they should not be uttered, much less allowed on our platform. Our recent policy changes provide many examples where we believe that.
I know these are unbelievably daunting decisions to make. But I also have confidence in our people to make the correct ones. I just hope we’re allowed to make them — choosing not to decide is still a choice. Let's make decisions that make us proud. Proud to be part of Twitter. Proud to grow as people. Proud to be humane.
As always, I thank you for your willingness to listen and learn from us.
Jack replied shortly afterward, thanking me for my input and addressing a couple of specifics. And to his credit, he replied every single time I wrote to him over my five years there. Even when I didn’t agree with our decisions, I always knew that he was listening to staff, taking opposing views into consideration, and sharing as much as he could about how our decisions were made.
This is all a long way of saying what is happening now at Twitter is antithetical to the culture that’s been built over the past decade and a half. When I started in 2015, there were 10 well-established company values, one of which was, “Communicate fearlessly to build trust.” What’s happening there now is the exact opposite of that. And even if the current owner wants to change the company culture, and its values, he’s not going to be able to do it overnight. Especially if he doesn’t communicate what the new expectations are.
As he unceremoniously fires more and more people, one thing is clear: Very soon, the loss of institutional knowledge is going to get so drastic that the institution will cease to exist. And at the rate he’s going, failure isn’t just a possibility, it’s an inevitability. Maybe even this weekend when the World Cup kicks off.
See you tomorrow?