Sir Tim Berners-Lee writing in The Guardian about why he gave the World Wide Web away for free, how we might instill that ethos back into broader digital culture, and the dangers of an unregulated & unchecked AI industry:
Somewhere between my original vision for web 1.0 and the rise of social media as part of web 2.0, we took the wrong path. We’re now at a new crossroads, one where we must decide if AI will be used for the betterment or to the detriment of society. How can we learn from the mistakes of the past? First of all, we must ensure policymakers do not end up playing the same decade-long game of catchup they have done over social media. The time to decide the governance model for AI was yesterday, so we must act with urgency.
For the open social web to thrive, we need to go back to real communities with real-world use cases and solve their problems better than anything else. Not the needs of individuals within them, but of the interconnected communities themselves. We need to build social networks that deeply support their needs, and then social media that helps them thrive.
The WiFi unexpectedly went out at my house last Friday. It was completely random — working fine one minute, then zero connectivity the next. I restarted my router a few times and checked all my connections. No luck. I couldn’t spend much time troubleshooting because I was on a deadline for work, so I left the house and worked the remainder of the day from a neighborhood coffee shop.
The technical issue that brought down the WiFi isn’t important. What’s important is that it was something I couldn’t fix myself and the provider needed to send out a technician to resolve it. The extra-important part is that they couldn’t put us on the schedule until the following Tuesday. This meant we’d have no internet at home for five days.
As an elder millennial, the thought of an offline extended weekend excited me. I remember well, and often long for, pre-internet living. This wasn’t the case for my 13-year-old who lives on YouTube or my 18-year-old ESPN freak who was on his way home from Penn State (they were on a bye) to visit for the weekend.
What transpired over those few offline days was special. Yes, our phones still had cellular connections, so we weren’t completely disconnected. But lack of WiFi meant our laptops remained closed, our tablets untouched, and our smart TVs dark.
Instead, we spent quality time together, mostly outside. We built a fire. We made margaritas. We took a few family walks with the dog. We cooked a Sunday football feast and watched the game using an antenna. We looked each other in the eye as we talked, and it was nice.
Those five days reinforced for me that life feels richer when I’m not constantly plugged in. Sometimes absence can create space for much needed presence. When Tuesday came and the technician completed his work, I was almost reluctant to reconnect because I now realize the connectivity I’d been missing wasn’t the WiFi at all.
Students, activists, tech whistleblowers, and self-proclaimed Luddites have been undertaking a series of actions, readings, and protests that will culminate next weekend, on September 27, at what they’re calling the S.H.I.T.P.H.O.N.E. (Scathing Hatred of Information Technology and the Passionate Hemorrhaging of Our Neo-liberal Experience) rally at the High Line in New York City.
Big tech has built machines designed for one thing: to hold your attention. The algorithms don’t care what keeps you scrolling. It could be puppy videos or conspiracy theories about election fraud. They only care that you keep consuming. And unfortunately nothing keeps people engaged quite like rage.
The executives at these companies will tell you they’re neutral platforms, that they don’t choose what content gets seen. This is a lie. Every algorithmic recommendation is an editorial decision. When YouTube’s algorithm suggests increasingly extreme political content to keep someone watching, that’s editorial. When Facebook’s algorithm amplifies posts that generate angry reactions, that’s editorial. When Twitter’s trending algorithms surface conspiracy theories, that’s editorial.
They are publishers. They have always been publishers. They just don’t want the responsibility that comes with being publishers.
For years, these companies have hidden behind Section 230 protections while operating more like media companies than neutral platforms. They’ve used recommendation algorithms to actively shape what billions of people see every day, then claimed they bear no responsibility for the consequences. It’s like a newspaper publisher claiming they’re not responsible for what appears on their front page because they didn’t write the articles themselves.
We need to be honest about what these algorithms are doing to our democracy. They’re not just amplifying existing divisions, they’re creating new ones. They’re not just reflecting polarization, they’re manufacturing it. Every time someone opens one of these apps, they’re being shown content specifically chosen to provoke an emotional response. That’s not neutral. That’s manipulation.
This isn’t a technology problem. This is a business and choice problem. These companies could change their algorithms tomorrow to prioritize accuracy over engagement, community over conflict, human wellbeing over profit. They choose not to because extremism is more profitable than moderation.
The solution isn’t to ask nicely for these companies to do better. We tried that. The solution isn’t to hope users will abandon these platforms en masse. That won’t happen as long as the network effects keep people trapped.
The solution is regulation. Real regulation. Not the performative theater we’ve seen in congressional hearings, but actual laws with actual consequences.
We need algorithmic transparency. These companies should be required to disclose how their recommendation systems work and what content they’re amplifying.
We need algorithmic accountability. When an algorithm recommends content that leads to violence, there should be consequences. And we need algorithmic choice. Users should have the right to see chronological feeds, not just algorithmically curated ones designed to manipulate their emotions.
Most importantly, we need to end the liability shield these companies hide behind. If you’re going to operate as a publisher, making editorial decisions about what content gets amplified, then you should face the same legal responsibilities as any other publisher.
Turn off the internet. Or fix it. Those are the only choices we have left. The time for hoping these companies will self-regulate is over. The time for treating algorithmic manipulation as an inevitable part of modern life is over. We know what these systems do. We know who they hurt. The only question left is whether we’re going to do something about it.
As a member of Gen X, I sometimes find myself getting nostalgic for my youth. When this happens I put on a Fugazi record or dive into an At the Drive-In live performance wormhole. That typically satisfies my urge. If you ever find me doomscrolling nostalgia-based AI slop, please just end me.
As if you needed any more reasons to delete your Spotify account, here’s an entire book describing the harm Spotify afflicts on artists and the culture of listening. It’s academic at times, but super informative and I enjoyed it. Long live Bandcamp.
Pour one out for dial-up internet from AOL, which will be officially discontinued on September 30th. Many of us cut our adolescent internet teeth back in the day to those omnipresent CD-ROMs and that glorious sound of the dial-up modem handshake. A small part of me is sad about this.
The work of a product team, when working with new technology, is to abstract away as much of this complexity as possible, so that it feels friendly and approachable to new people.
I stumbled upon this post by David J. Roth and can’t stop thinking about the concept of “brains being defeated by phones.” It so eloquently sums up the state of humanity right now and one of my biggest fears is that there’s no walking back from it.
Not physical letters, but digital letters that arrive with traditional mail’s rhythm. It’s a private group newsletter that everyone contributes to and receives. It’s intentionally slow, purposeful, and deeply gratifying — a low-stress, high-signal way to stay connected that creates meaningful moments in a social world dominated by drive-by likes and fleeting attention.
I love this concept and I’m thinking of a number of cool topics worth exploring in this small group format:
A record club where we share new additions to our collections
An adventure club that shares highlights and recaps of running, cycling, hiking or climbing endeavors
A BBQ club focused on smoker & grill experiments and recipes
If one of these ideas resonates with you, hit me up. Awesome stuff, Naz and Scott!
Update: I created a club called Get in My Earholes that asks the question, “What’s the best record you’ve added to your collection recently?” Feel free to join the club…first letter goes out on 8/9 and then every 2 weeks after that.
This informative post from A New Social does a great job highlighting the nuances and differences between bridging and cross-posting on the open web:
Notably, bridging results in more unified conversations, while cross-posted conversations are more fragmented.
My site bridges to both Mastodon and Bluesky, which is great because I never have to look at either in order to participate in conversations on both platforms.
An AI “band” is racking up hundreds of thousands of monthly listeners on Spotify. What kind of world are we living in? Soon there will just be an opaque layer of robots between all human connection.
Not to get morbid, but turning 47 yesterday started me thinking about the persistence and legacy of this site if I were to suddenly get gone. One of the main purposes of StaticMade.com for me is to leave a public mark or a detailed record of my time, thoughts and consciousness while on this planet. How might I ensure it persists if something unforeseen happens?
If you have ever paid for hosting with us, and you haven’t violated our terms of service or community guidelines, we keep your blog online forever, even after you’ve stopped paying for your subscription.
I think this is a very proactive and generous policy. So as long as there is a plan for domain management, the site should remain online in perpetuity. Thanks Manton!
I dream of a web that’s small and strange and wonderful. Where personal websites grow like gardens – each one unique, crafted by hand, reflecting the beautiful weirdness of its creator. Where the web feels big because it’s made of small, individual voices.
I dream of a web where people own their words. Where our thoughts live on our own property, not rented from a company that can disappear voices on a whim. Where writing exists because you have something to say, not because the appetite of the algorithm demands it.
I dream of a web where linking is loving. Where hyperlinks have power, where blogrolls make comebacks, where discovery happens through human curation rather than manipulation by machines. Where following a thread of links can lead down rabbit holes of genuine fascination.
I dream of a web that respects our attention. Where websites load quickly because they’re not bloated with tracking scripts and surveillance infrastructure. Where reading an article doesn’t trigger an onslaught of analytics events and cookie consent banners. Where the interface serves the content, not the advertiser.
I dream of a web that’s accessible to everyone – not just those who can afford the latest devices or fastest connections. Where sites work on old phones and slow networks because the creators remembered that the web is for everyone, not just the privileged.
I dream of a web where communities form around shared interests rather than shared platforms. Where discussions thrive, where posts feel like letters from friends, where feeds let you choose your own reading rhythm instead of surrendering to an infinite scroll.
I dream of a web that’s built by humans for humans. Where the goal isn’t to automate away human expression through artificial intelligence, but to amplify the unique perspectives that only humans can offer.
I dream of a web that moves at human speed. Where conversations unfold over days and weeks instead of milliseconds. Where depth matters more than virality, and reflection is worth more than reaction. Where you can disappear for a month and come back to find your community still there, still talking, still caring.
I dream of a web where silence is golden. Where not every moment needs to be documented, shared, or optimized for engagement. Where digital sabbaths are respected, where being offline isn’t a productivity failure, where the most profound connections happen when the screens are dark.
I dream of a web that doesn’t just connect our devices, but connects our souls. That doesn’t just transfer data, but transfers meaning.
What returned: a sense of calm. I could go to sleep without being scored. I could go for a walk without a badge. I started noticing things again - how I feel after coffee, the way my breath slows near water.
She’s a much more eloquent writer than I am, but her thoughts are very similar to mine on the topic of quantified self.
For those curious, I’m rocking a Timex Expedition these days and not looking back.
With respect and syrup, this dude hacked the Waffle House website as a hurricane barreled toward his home in Florida:
The Waffle House Index is an (incredibly) unofficial tool used by FEMA to gauge the severity of natural disasters. Why Waffle House? Because they’re infamous for not closing even during the worst of storms. If the House is closed, that means things are getting real. The problem with the Waffle House Index is that there’s not really an actual “index” you can check.
What a great story! And great to hear Waffle House was (somewhat) cool about the whole thing.
Pittsburgh-based nonprofit news outlet PublicSource is experimenting with a new printed edition, although not the typical format for which legacy media is known. Taking a page from the underground publishing playbook, PublicSource is releasing neighborhood-focused zines intended to meet communities where they are – at coffee shops, community centers, their neighbor’s home – and create a hyperlocal publication with impact.
Zines are independently published, noncommercial publications that are often handmade and focus on very specific subject matter. They carry a storied history, with some scholars tracing zine lineage back to Thomas Paine’s political pamphlet Common Sense in 1776. The modern era of zine culture in the U.S. was ushered in during the late-19th century’s amateur press movement and carried through the 20th century with help from the Harlem Renaissance, science fiction fandom and punk rock movements.
PublicSource’s foray into zine publication is in the spirit of these previous movements, but also brings with it a reaction to the digiral culture of our day. Halle Stockton on the rationale:
We intentionally chose the zine format: a small, printed publication you can hold, flip through, pass to a friend or tuck into your bag. It’s low-tech and high-touch. It slows you down just a little. It doesn’t ping or scroll. And it doesn’t require an algorithm to find its audience.
There’s something profound in Stockton’s phrase “high-touch.” The tactile experience of paper creates engagement that’s very different from media that’s mediated through a glass screen. The physical act of flipping pages, the inability to hyperlink away to endless distractions, the constraint of finite space – these aren’t limitations. They’re features. They force both writer and reader into a more intentional relationship with the stories.
I think this is an interesting move for a media outlet like PublicSource. Journalism needs to become more local. It needs to connect with people on the issues that directly impact them, their neighbors and their neighborhoods. It’s smart PublicSource considers the zine project to be one element of a broader strategy to “inform and inspire the Pittsburgh region through the power of deep, independent journalism,” because the artisanal nature of the format does raise questions about scalability.
While most of our information these days arrives through algorithmic feeds and endless scroll, there’s something quietly revolutionary about a folded piece of paper that exists entirely outside that system. PublicSource’s zine experiment reminds us that sometimes the most innovative approach is also the most ancient one: putting words on paper and handing them directly to your neighbors.
Whether this model can scale remains to be seen, but perhaps that’s missing the point. Zines were never about scale – they were and continue to be about connection, community, and the radical idea that everyone has a story worth telling. Maybe what modern journalism needs isn’t more reach, but more touch.
Greg Storey on the binary nature of AI discourse these days:
The assumption that tools passively rewire us, no matter our intent, no matter our context, no matter our discipline, is reductive at best and infantilizing at worst.
Worth a read. This is more nuanced than AI is evil / AI is the future.
I fed Claude some examples of bi-weekly stakeholder updates for products I previously managed. I then asked it to learn the format, understand the tone of the writing, and help me draft a first installment for a new initiative I’m leading. We chatted for a few minutes about the voice I desired, recent progress by the team, and the health of the project. After I provided adequate context, Claude generated a draft for me to review. The initial version was very good and only required a few copy and formatting edits. I was happy with the result and it saved me about an hour this morning.
Note: This post is the first in an ongoing series called How I Used AI Today, inspired by friend and former colleague Beck Tench who does something similar over on LinkedIn. I’m starting to believe the thinking and narrative around generative AI is becoming too binary. The intent of this series is to keep me publicly honest and intellectually responsible with my use of this emerging technology.
It pains me The Center for Humane Technology posted this statement in opposition to the state moratorium on AI legislation on their Substack, but it is a good statement, so I’m sharing.
A 10-year moratorium on state action fundamentally misunderstands the speed at which this technology is being developed and deployed, and the ways our governance institutions need to adapt to meet this moment.
Remember where we were just a year ago with respect to AI. A decade-long moratorium on regulating this grift is not only insane, but it’s dangerous for IP, the environment and worker’s rights.
Let’s not let all the good the internet has given us over the years be overshadowed by keyboard warriors with virtual beer muscles who’d never say to our face what they type from behind a screen. There is still positivity online. Find it. Celebrate it. Share it. Let’s be the web we need right now.
The social web is at an inflection point. After years of centralized platforms dominating our digital lives, we’re witnessing a resurgence of alternatives built on open protocols. I believe this is something to celebrate, yet I’ve noticed a recent rift of technologists, developers, and early adopters engaging in debates about which approach is more “pure” or “truly open.”
The Mastodon/ActivityPub camp points to federation and existing implementation. The Bluesky/AT Protocol proponents highlight architectural advantages and planned interoperability. They’re both right and each side has compelling arguments, but they miss a fundamental truth: the web was never meant to be a monoculture.
The early web thrived because it wasn’t beholden to a single implementation or approach. HTTP, HTML, RSS and other foundational web technologies weren’t prescriptive about how they should be implemented. They simply defined interfaces that allowed different systems to communicate. This protocol-first approach created a healthy ecosystem where experimentation was encouraged and diversity was a strength, not a liability.
If today’s web is built in the spirit of the web we were given by its creators, platforms simply shouldn’t matter. Protocols should.
When Tim Berners-Lee gave us the web, he didn’t dictate which software to use or which browser was the “true” implementation. Instead, he offered protocols that allowed for interoperability while encouraging innovation at the edges. The result was a renaissance that transformed human communication. The web we knew and loved.
The challenge we face today isn’t deciding which social platform is more ideologically pure. It’s building systems that return agency, privacy and control to users while maintaining the convenience and network effects that drew people to centralized platforms in the first place.
This isn’t a zero-sum game where one protocol must “win” while others fade away. Let’s take email as an example. Email has thrived for decades with multiple protocols working in concert. Different implementations serve different needs, and the ecosystem is stronger for it.
The real metric of success shouldn’t be which protocol gains dominant market share, but whether users regain control over their digital identities and social connections. Can I own my data? Can I choose which clients I use to access the network? Can I move between providers without losing my social graph? These questions matter far more than whether a particular implementation uses federated servers or a distributed approach.
As someone who’s been thinking about the intersection of technology and human experience for years, I’ve come to believe that technical debates often obscure the more important human questions. In reality normies don’t care whether their social media runs on ActivityPub or AT Protocol — they care about connecting with friends, sharing ideas, and being part of communities.
Perhaps what frustrates me most about the current discourse is how it forces people to choose sides in a battle that shouldn’t exist. The brilliant minds crafting today’s open web are wasting energy fighting each other rather than working together to build alternatives to the centralized offerings from big tech.
What if, instead, we embraced a both/and mindset? What if Mastodon/ActivityPub and Bluesky/AT Protocol were seen as complementary approaches, each with strengths and weaknesses, each contributing to a richer, more resilient social web?
It’s already this way for me. By leveraging the POSSE (Post on your Own Site, Syndicate Everywhere) philosophy via Micro.blog, I am able to post & reply on both Mastodon/Fediverse & Bluesky without ever seeing or touching either platform. Because the underlying protocols for each are well architected and documented, Micro.blog’s creator Manton Reece can build his platform above their protocols. The Ghost blogging platform is heading this direction too. This is the future.
The path forward isn’t choosing between competing visions of openness. It’s embracing the plurality of approaches while insisting on core values of user agency, data ownership, and interoperability. In that spirit, let’s redirect our energy from debating protocols to building the web we want to see — one that’s truly open to everyone, regardless of which particular technical approach gets us there.
AI is a tool, and judgment, for the foreseeable future, remains our job. It doesn’t matter how cool your hammer is, it’s still on you to decide which nails need hammering.
I believe this rationale can be extended beyond AI, to most things in life.
Andy Cush in Hearing Things on quitting artist-abusing platforms like Spotify:
Music just sounds better when you’re not streaming it. Not only because the audio quality is often literally higher, but because you’re forging a connection with what you’re hearing that’s strengthened by your choices.
The best ideation networks are asymmetric. They aren’t little echo chambers. They’re cognitively and temperamentally diverse. They combine the formal and the chaotic. The spreadsheet brain and the poetry brain. The person who reads footnotes and the one who interrupts with metaphors. You want disagreement. You want stakes. You want someone who’s willing to say: this doesn’t hold.
Joan writes the kind of posts where you begin nodding with each new paragraph and by the end you’re saying to yourself: F*ck Yeah. I’m not sure how Joan writes with such volume and consistency, but I’ll take it. I look forward to each new post that hits my RSS feed reader.
Who is this for? You. Yourself. Your family. Your friends. Your friend’s friends. Your neighborhood. And they can have it whenever they want. As a gift. A gift from you to them. Not a gift to be measured in engagement, but instead as a body of work. A gift to the web, which is a gift to people.
This is exactly how I’ve been thinking about my site lately, and one of the reasons I’ve been importing extremely old posts from my previous online spaces into the archive here. For posterity. For legacy. To create a document of a life (hopefully) well lived.