Back in 2008, I believed the internet would save the world. I worked at an exciting internet company (at the time) and eagerly drank the Kool-Aid, but my personal experiences also fueled my optimism. A group of friends and I had visited Nandi Hills, and, appalled by the litter, we started a campaign to clean it up. The internet connected us with diverse minds, helped us raise funds from strangers, and facilitated a surprisingly effective on-ground effort.
Around the same time, social media was beginning to capture humanity's attention. Once again, I embraced an optimistic outlook about its potential to transform our lives. A few years after our Nandi Hills cleanup, groups on Facebook (chief among them, The Ugly Indian) organized larger-scale drives across multiple locations in my city. In my own neighborhood, we organized a cleanup, and social media made it far easier to rally people.
A revolution seemed imminent. Everything was about to change: the way we met new people, stayed connected with old ones, exchanged ideas, and shared knowledge. With these tools, we believed we could question biased information, liberate our minds, topple autocracies, and give a voice to the voiceless.
Sixteen years later, I’m plotting my escape from all of them—because we missed the fine print. Facebook felt like it was helping us stay in touch, but was it really? It helped topple autocracies, but it also helped bad actors meddle in elections. Twitter was a rich source of information, but you had to wade through a sea of hostility. LinkedIn was great for professional networking, but it became a firehose of inauthenticity. WhatsApp remains the best messaging app, but it has enabled lies to spread at the speed of light. Instagram seemed like a fun space to share moments, but was it worth the constant feeling of inadequacy?
And now, as I try to quit them all, I hear that Nandi Hills is dirtier than ever.
