Inside the Two Years That Shook Facebookand the World

One day in late February of 2016, Mark Zuckerberg sent a memo to all of Facebook’s employees to address some troubling behavior in the ranks. His message pertained to some walls at the company’s Menlo Park headquarters where staffers are encouraged to scribble notes and signatures. On at least a couple of occasions, someone had crossed out the words “Black Lives Matter” and replaced them with “All Lives Matter.” Zuckerberg wanted whoever was responsible to cut it out.

“ ‘Black Lives Matter’ doesn’t mean other lives don’t,” he wrote. “We’ve never had rules around what people can write on our walls,” the memo went on. But “crossing out something means silencing speech, or that one person’s speech is more important than another’s.” The defacement, he said, was being investigated.

All around the country at about this time, debates about race and politics were becoming increasingly raw. Donald Trump had just won the South Carolina primary, lashed out at the Pope over immigration, and earned the enthusiastic support of David Duke. Hillary Clinton had just defeated Bernie Sanders in Nevada, only to have an activist from Black Lives Matter interrupt a speech of hers to protest racially charged statements she’d made two decades before. And on Facebook, a popular group called Blacktivist was gaining traction by blasting out messages like “American economy and power were built on forced migration and torture.”

So when Zuckerberg’s admonition circulated, a young contract employee named Benjamin Fearnow decided it might be newsworthy. He took a screenshot on his personal laptop and sent the image to a friend named Michael Nuñez, who worked at the tech-news site Gizmodo. Nuñez promptly published a brief story about Zuckerberg’s memo.

A week later, Fearnow came across something else he thought Nuñez might like to publish. In another internal communication, Facebook had invited its employees to submit potential questions to ask Zuckerberg at an all-hands meeting. One of the most up-voted questions that week was “What responsibility does Facebook have to help prevent President Trump in 2017?” Fearnow took another screenshot, this time with his phone.

Fearnow, a recent graduate of the Columbia Journalism School, worked in Facebook’s New York office on something called Trending Topics, a feed of popular news subjects that popped up when people opened Facebook. The feed was generated by an algorithm but moderated by a team of about 25 people with backgrounds in journalism. If the word “Trump” was trending, as it often was, they used their news judgment to identify which bit of news about the candidate was most important. If The Onion or a hoax site published a spoof that went viral, they had to keep that out. If something like a mass shooting happened, and Facebook’s algorithm was slow to pick up on it, they would inject a story about it into the feed.

March 2018. Subscribe to WIRED.

Jake Rowland/Esto

Facebook prides itself on being a place where people love to work. But Fearnow and his team weren’t the happiest lot. They were contract employees hired through a company called BCforward, and every day was full of little reminders that they weren’t really part of Facebook. Plus, the young journalists knew their jobs were doomed from the start. Tech companies, for the most part, prefer to have as little as possible done by humans—because, it’s often said, they don’t scale. You can’t hire a billion of them, and they prove meddlesome in ways that algorithms don’t. They need bathroom breaks and health insurance, and the most annoying of them sometimes talk to the press. Eventually, everyone assumed, Facebook’s algorithms would be good enough to run the whole project, and the people on Fearnow’s team—who served partly to train those algorithms—would be expendable.

The day after Fearnow took that second screenshot was a Friday. When he woke up after sleeping in, he noticed that he had about 30 meeting notifications from Facebook on his phone. When he replied to say it was his day off, he recalls, he was nonetheless asked to be available in 10 minutes. Soon he was on a video­conference with three Facebook employees, including Sonya Ahuja, the company’s head of investigations. According to his recounting of the meeting, she asked him if he had been in touch with Nuñez. He denied that he had been. Then she told him that she had their messages on Gchat, which Fearnow had assumed weren’t accessible to Facebook. He was fired. “Please shut your laptop and don’t reopen it,” she instructed him.

That same day, Ahuja had another conversation with a second employee at Trending Topics named Ryan Villarreal. Several years before, he and Fearnow had shared an apartment with Nuñez. Villarreal said he hadn’t taken any screenshots, and he certainly hadn’t leaked them. But he had clicked “like” on the story about Black Lives Matter, and he was friends with Nuñez on Facebook. “Do you think leaks are bad?” Ahuja demanded to know, according to Villarreal. He was fired too. The last he heard from his employer was in a letter from BCforward. The company had given him $15 to cover expenses, and it wanted the money back.

The firing of Fearnow and Villarreal set the Trending Topics team on edge—and Nuñez kept digging for dirt. He soon published a story about the internal poll showing Facebookers’ interest in fending off Trump. Then, in early May, he published an article based on conversations with yet a third former Trending Topics employee, under the blaring headline “Former Facebook Workers: We Routinely Suppressed Conservative News.” The piece suggested that Facebook’s Trending team worked like a Fox News fever dream, with a bunch of biased curators “injecting” liberal stories and “blacklisting” conservative ones. Within a few hours the piece popped onto half a dozen highly trafficked tech and politics websites, including Drudge Report and Breitbart News.

The post went viral, but the ensuing battle over Trending Topics did more than just dominate a few news cycles. In ways that are only fully visible now, it set the stage for the most tumultuous two years of Facebook’s existence—triggering a chain of events that would distract and confuse the company while larger disasters began to engulf it.

This is the story of those two years, as they played out inside and around the company. WIRED spoke with 51 current or former Facebook employees for this article, many of whom did not want their names used, for reasons anyone familiar with the story of Fearnow and Villarreal would surely understand. (One current employee asked that a WIRED reporter turn off his phone so the company would have a harder time tracking whether it had been near the phones of anyone from Facebook.)

The stories varied, but most people told the same basic tale: of a company, and a CEO, whose techno-optimism has been crushed as they’ve learned the myriad ways their platform can be used for ill. Of an election that shocked Facebook, even as its fallout put the company under siege. Of a series of external threats, defensive internal calculations, and false starts that delayed Facebook’s reckoning with its impact on global affairs and its users’ minds. And—in the tale’s final chapters—of the company’s earnest attempt to redeem itself.

In that saga, Fearnow plays one of those obscure but crucial roles that history occasionally hands out. He’s the Franz Ferdinand of Facebook—or maybe he’s more like the archduke’s hapless young assassin. Either way, in the rolling disaster that has enveloped Facebook since early 2016, Fearnow’s leaks probably ought to go down as the screenshots heard round the world.

II

By now, the story of Facebook’s all-consuming growth is practically the creation myth of our information era. What began as a way to connect with your friends at Harvard became a way to connect with people at other elite schools, then at all schools, and then everywhere. After that, your Facebook login became a way to log on to other internet sites. Its Messenger app started competing with email and texting. It became the place where you told people you were safe after an earthquake. In some countries like the Philippines, it effectively is the internet.

The furious energy of this big bang emanated, in large part, from a brilliant and simple insight. Humans are social animals. But the internet is a cesspool. That scares people away from identifying themselves and putting personal details online. Solve that problem—make people feel safe to post—and they will share obsessively. Make the resulting database of privately shared information and personal connections available to advertisers, and that platform will become one of the most important media technologies of the early 21st century.

But as powerful as that original insight was, Facebook’s expansion has also been driven by sheer brawn. Zuckerberg has been a determined, even ruthless, steward of the company’s manifest destiny, with an uncanny knack for placing the right bets. In the company’s early days, “move fast and break things” wasn’t just a piece of advice to his developers; it was a philosophy that served to resolve countless delicate trade-offs—many of them involving user privacy—in ways that best favored the platform’s growth. And when it comes to competitors, Zuckerberg has been relentless in either acquiring or sinking any challengers that seem to have the wind at their backs.

Facebook’s Reckoning

Two years that forced the platform to change

by Blanca Myers

March 2016

Facebook suspends Benjamin Fearnow, a journalist-­curator for the platform’s Trending Topics feed, after he leaks to Gizmodo.

May 2016

Gizmodo reports that Trending Topics “routinely suppressed conservative news.” The story sends Facebook scrambling.

July 2016

Rupert Murdoch tells Zuckerberg that Facebook is wreaking havoc on the news industry and threatens to cause trouble.

August 2016

Facebook cuts loose all of its Trending Topics journalists, ceding authority over the feed to engineers in Seattle.

November 2016

Donald Trump wins. Zuckerberg says it’s “pretty crazy” to think fake news on Facebook helped tip the election.

December 2016

Facebook declares war on fake news, hires CNN alum Campbell Brown to shepherd relations with the publishing industry.

September 2017

Facebook announces that a Russian group paid $100,000 for roughly 3,000 ads aimed at US voters.

October 2017

Researcher Jonathan Albright reveals that posts from six Russian propaganda accounts were shared 340 million times.

November 2017

Facebook general counsel Colin Stretch gets pummeled during congressional Intelligence Committee hearings.

January 2018

Facebook begins announcing major changes, aimed to ensure that time on the platform will be “time well spent.”

In fact, it was in besting just such a rival that Facebook came to dominate how we discover and consume news. Back in 2012, the most exciting social network for distributing news online wasn’t Facebook, it was Twitter. The latter’s 140-character posts accelerated the speed at which news could spread, allowing its influence in the news industry to grow much faster than Facebook’s. “Twitter was this massive, massive threat,” says a former Facebook executive heavily involved in the decisionmaking at the time.

So Zuckerberg pursued a strategy he has often deployed against competitors he cannot buy: He copied, then crushed. He adjusted Facebook’s News Feed to fully incorporate news (despite its name, the feed was originally tilted toward personal news) and adjusted the product so that it showed author bylines and headlines. Then Facebook’s emissaries fanned out to talk with journalists and explain how to best reach readers through the platform. By the end of 2013, Facebook had doubled its share of traffic to news sites and had started to push Twitter into a decline. By the middle of 2015, it had surpassed Google as the leader in referring readers to publisher sites and was now referring 13 times as many readers to news publishers as Twitter. That year, Facebook launched Instant Articles, offering publishers the chance to publish directly on the platform. Posts would load faster and look sharper if they agreed, but the publishers would give up an element of control over the content. The publishing industry, which had been reeling for years, largely assented. Facebook now effectively owned the news. “If you could reproduce Twitter inside of Facebook, why would you go to Twitter?” says the former executive. “What they are doing to Snapchat now, they did to Twitter back then.”

It appears that Facebook did not, however, carefully think through the implications of becoming the dominant force in the news industry. Everyone in management cared about quality and accuracy, and they had set up rules, for example, to eliminate pornography and protect copyright. But Facebook hired few journalists and spent little time discussing the big questions that bedevil the media industry. What is fair? What is a fact? How do you signal the difference between news, analysis, satire, and opinion? Facebook has long seemed to think it has immunity from those debates because it is just a technology company—one that has built a “platform for all ideas.”

This notion that Facebook is an open, neutral platform is almost like a religious tenet inside the company. When new recruits come in, they are treated to an orientation lecture by Chris Cox, the company’s chief product officer, who tells them Facebook is an entirely new communications platform for the 21st century, as the telephone was for the 20th. But if anyone inside Facebook is unconvinced by religion, there is also Section 230 of the 1996 Communications Decency Act to recommend the idea. This is the section of US law that shelters internet intermediaries from liability for the content their users post. If Facebook were to start creating or editing content on its platform, it would risk losing that immunity—and it’s hard to imagine how Facebook could exist if it were liable for the many billion pieces of content a day that users post on its site.

And so, because of the company’s self-image, as well as its fear of regulation, Facebook tried never to favor one kind of news content over another. But neutrality is a choice in itself. For instance, Facebook decided to present every piece of content that appeared on News Feed—whether it was your dog pictures or a news story—in roughly the same way. This meant that all news stories looked roughly the same as each other, too, whether they were investigations in The Washington Post, gossip in the New York Post, or flat-out lies in the Denver Guardian, an entirely bogus newspaper. Facebook argued that this democratized information. You saw what your friends wanted you to see, not what some editor in a Times Square tower chose. But it’s hard to argue that this wasn’t an editorial decision. It may be one of the biggest ever made.

In any case, Facebook’s move into news set off yet another explosion of ways that people could connect. Now Facebook was the place where publications could connect with their readers—and also where Macedonian teenagers could connect with voters in America, and operatives in Saint Petersburg could connect with audiences of their own choosing in a way that no one at the company had ever seen before.

III

In February of 2016, just as the Trending Topics fiasco was building up steam, Roger ­McNamee became one of the first Facebook insiders to notice strange things happening on the platform. McNamee was an early investor in Facebook who had mentored Zuckerberg through two crucial decisions: to turn down Yahoo’s offer of $1 billion to acquire Facebook in 2006; and to hire a Google executive named Sheryl Sandberg in 2008 to help find a business model. McNamee was no longer in touch with Zuckerberg much, but he was still an investor, and that month he started seeing things related to the Bernie Sanders campaign that worried him. “I’m observing memes ostensibly coming out of a Facebook group associated with the Sanders campaign that couldn’t possibly have been from the Sanders campaign,” he recalls, “and yet they were organized and spreading in such a way that suggested somebody had a budget. And I’m sitting there thinking, ‘That’s really weird. I mean, that’s not good.’ ”

But McNamee didn’t say anything to anyone at Facebook—at least not yet. And the company itself was not picking up on any such worrying signals, save for one blip on its radar: In early 2016, its security team noticed an uptick in Russian actors attempting to steal the credentials of journalists and public figures. Facebook reported this to the FBI. But the company says it never heard back from the government, and that was that.

Instead, Facebook spent the spring of 2016 very busily fending off accusations that it might influence the elections in a completely different way. When Gizmodo published its story about political bias on the Trending Topics team in May, the ­article went off like a bomb in Menlo Park. It quickly reached millions of readers and, in a delicious irony, appeared in the Trending Topics module itself. But the bad press wasn’t what really rattled Facebook—it was the letter from John Thune, a Republican US senator from South Dakota, that followed the story’s publication. Thune chairs the Senate Commerce Committee, which in turn oversees the Federal Trade Commission, an agency that has been especially active in investigating Facebook. The senator wanted Facebook’s answers to the allegations of bias, and he wanted them promptly.

The Thune letter put Facebook on high alert. The company promptly dispatched senior Washington staffers to meet with Thune’s team. Then it sent him a 12-page single-spaced letter explaining that it had conducted a thorough review of Trending Topics and determined that the allegations in the Gizmodo story were largely false.

Facebook decided, too, that it had to extend an olive branch to the entire American right wing, much of which was raging about the company’s supposed perfidy. And so, just over a week after the story ran, Facebook scrambled to invite a group of 17 prominent Republicans out to Menlo Park. The list included television hosts, radio stars, think tankers, and an adviser to the Trump campaign. The point was partly to get feedback. But more than that, the company wanted to make a show of apologizing for its sins, lifting up the back of its shirt, and asking for the lash.

According to a Facebook employee involved in planning the meeting, part of the goal was to bring in a group of conservatives who were certain to fight with one another. They made sure to have libertarians who wouldn’t want to regulate the platform and partisans who would. Another goal, according to the employee, was to make sure the attendees were “bored to death” by a technical presentation after Zuckerberg and Sandberg had addressed the group.

The power went out, and the room got uncomfortably hot. But otherwise the meeting went according to plan. The guests did indeed fight, and they failed to unify in a way that was either threatening or coherent. Some wanted the company to set hiring quotas for conservative employees; others thought that idea was nuts. As often happens when outsiders meet with Facebook, people used the time to try to figure out how they could get more followers for their own pages.

Afterward, Glenn Beck, one of the invitees, wrote an essay about the meeting, praising Zuckerberg. “I asked him if Facebook, now or in the future, would be an open platform for the sharing of all ideas or a curator of content,” Beck wrote. “Without hesitation, with clarity and boldness, Mark said there is only one Facebook and one path forward: ‘We are an open platform.’”

Inside Facebook itself, the backlash around Trending Topics did inspire some genuine soul-searching. But none of it got very far. A quiet internal project, codenamed Hudson, cropped up around this time to determine, according to someone who worked on it, whether News Feed should be modified to better deal with some of the most complex issues facing the product. Does it favor posts that make people angry? Does it favor simple or even false ideas over complex and true ones? Those are hard questions, and the company didn’t have answers to them yet. Ultimately, in late June, Facebook announced a modest change: The algorithm would be revised to favor posts from friends and family. At the same time, Adam Mosseri, Facebook’s News Feed boss, posted a manifesto titled “Building a Better News Feed for You.” People inside Facebook spoke of it as a document roughly resembling the Magna Carta; the company had never spoken before about how News Feed really worked. To outsiders, though, the document came across as boilerplate. It said roughly what you’d expect: that the company was opposed to clickbait but that it wasn’t in the business of favoring certain kinds of viewpoints.

The most important consequence of the Trending Topics controversy, according to nearly a dozen former and current employees, was that Facebook became wary of doing anything that might look like stifling conservative news. It had burned its fingers once and didn’t want to do it again. And so a summer of deeply partisan rancor and calumny began with Facebook eager to stay out of the fray.

IV

Shortly after Mosseri published his guide to News Feed values, Zuckerberg traveled to Sun Valley, Idaho, for an annual conference hosted by billionaire Herb Allen, where moguls in short sleeves and sunglasses cavort and make plans to buy each other’s companies. But Rupert Murdoch broke the mood in a meeting that took place inside his villa. According to numerous accounts of the conversation, Murdoch and Robert Thomson, the CEO of News Corp, explained to Zuckerberg that they had long been unhappy with Facebook and Google. The two tech giants had taken nearly the entire digital ad market and become an existential threat to serious journalism. According to people familiar with the conversation, the two News Corp leaders accused Facebook of making dramatic changes to its core algorithm without adequately consulting its media partners, wreaking havoc according to Zuckerberg’s whims. If Facebook didn’t start offering a better deal to the publishing industry, Thomson and Murdoch conveyed in stark terms, Zuckerberg could expect News Corp executives to become much more public in their denunciations and much more open in their lobbying. They had helped to make things very hard for Google in Europe. And they could do the same for Facebook in the US.

Facebook thought that News Corp was threatening to push for a government antitrust investigation or maybe an inquiry into whether the company deserved its protection from liability as a neutral platform. Inside Facebook, executives believed Murdoch might use his papers and TV stations to amplify critiques of the company. News Corp says that was not at all the case; the company threatened to deploy executives, but not its journalists.

Zuckerberg had reason to take the meeting especially seriously, according to a former Facebook executive, because he had firsthand knowledge of Murdoch’s skill in the dark arts. Back in 2007, Facebook had come under criticism from 49 state attorneys general for failing to protect young Facebook users from sexual predators and inappropriate content. Concerned parents had written to Connecticut attorney general Richard Blumenthal, who opened an investigation, and to The New York Times, which published a story. But according to a former Facebook executive in a position to know, the company believed that many of the Facebook accounts and the predatory behavior the letters referenced were fakes, traceable to News Corp lawyers or others working for Murdoch, who owned Facebook’s biggest competitor, MySpace. “We traced the creation of the Facebook accounts to IP addresses at the Apple store a block away from the MySpace offices in Santa Monica,” the executive says. “Facebook then traced interactions with those accounts to News Corp lawyers. When it comes to Facebook, Murdoch has been playing every angle he can for a long time.” (Both News Corp and its spinoff 21st Century Fox declined to comment.)

Zuckerberg took Murdoch’s threats seriously—he had firsthand knowledge of the older man’s skill in the dark arts.

When Zuckerberg returned from Sun Valley, he told his employees that things had to change. They still weren’t in the news business, but they had to make sure there would be a news business. And they had to communicate better. One of those who got a new to-do list was Andrew Anker, a product manager who’d arrived at Facebook in 2015 after a career in journalism (including a long stint at WIRED in the ’90s). One of his jobs was to help the company think through how publishers could make money on the platform. Shortly after Sun Valley, Anker met with Zuckerberg and asked to hire 60 new people to work on partnerships with the news industry. Before the meeting ended, the request was approved.

But having more people out talking to publishers just drove home how hard it would be to resolve the financial problems Murdoch wanted fixed. News outfits were spending millions to produce stories that Facebook was benefiting from, and Facebook, they felt, was giving too little back in return. Instant Articles, in particular, struck them as a Trojan horse. Publishers complained that they could make more money from stories that loaded on their own mobile web pages than on Facebook Instant. (They often did so, it turned out, in ways that short-changed advertisers, by sneaking in ads that readers were unlikely to see. Facebook didn’t let them get away with that.) Another seemingly irreconcilable difference: Outlets like Murdoch’s Wall Street Journal depended on paywalls to make money, but Instant Articles banned paywalls; Zuckerberg disapproved of them. After all, he would often ask, how exactly do walls and toll booths make the world more open and connected?

The conversations often ended at an impasse, but Facebook was at least becoming more attentive. This newfound appreciation for the concerns of journalists did not, however, extend to the journalists on Facebook’s own Trending Topics team. In late August, everyone on the team was told that their jobs were being eliminated. Simultaneously, authority over the algorithm shifted to a team of engineers based in Seattle. Very quickly the module started to surface lies and fiction. A headline days later read, “Fox News Exposes Traitor Megyn Kelly, Kicks Her Out For Backing Hillary."

V

While Facebook grappled internally with what it was becoming—a company that dominated media but didn’t want to be a media company—Donald Trump’s presidential campaign staff faced no such confusion. To them Facebook’s use was obvious. Twitter was a tool for communicating directly with supporters and yelling at the media. Facebook was the way to run the most effective direct-­marketing political operation in history.

In the summer of 2016, at the top of the general election campaign, Trump’s digital operation might have seemed to be at a major disadvantage. After all, Hillary Clinton’s team was flush with elite talent and got advice from Eric Schmidt, known for running ­Google. Trump’s was run by Brad Parscale, known for setting up the Eric Trump Foundation’s web page. Trump’s social media director was his former caddie. But in 2016, it turned out you didn’t need digital experience running a presidential campaign, you just needed a knack for Facebook.

Over the course of the summer, Trump’s team turned the platform into one of its primary vehicles for fund-­raising. The campaign uploaded its voter files—the names, addresses, voting history, and any other information it had on potential voters—to Facebook. Then, using a tool called Look­alike Audiences, Facebook identified the broad characteristics of, say, people who had signed up for Trump newsletters or bought Trump hats. That allowed the campaign to send ads to people with similar traits. Trump would post simple messages like “This election is being rigged by the media pushing false and unsubstantiated charges, and outright lies, in order to elect Crooked Hillary!” that got hundreds of thousands of likes, comments, and shares. The money rolled in. Clinton’s wonkier messages, meanwhile, resonated less on the platform. Inside Facebook, almost everyone on the executive team wanted Clinton to win; but they knew that Trump was using the platform better. If he was the candidate for Facebook, she was the candidate for LinkedIn.

Trump’s candidacy also proved to be a wonderful tool for a new class of scammers pumping out massively viral and entirely fake stories. Through trial and error, they learned that memes praising the former host of The Apprentice got many more readers than ones praising the former secretary of state. A website called Ending the Fed proclaimed that the Pope had endorsed Trump and got almost a million comments, shares, and reactions on Facebook, according to an analysis by BuzzFeed. Other stories asserted that the former first lady had quietly been selling weapons to ISIS, and that an FBI agent suspected of leaking Clinton’s emails was found dead. Some of the posts came from hyperpartisan Americans. Some came from overseas content mills that were in it purely for the ad dollars. By the end of the campaign, the top fake stories on the platform were generating more engagement than the top real ones.

Even current Facebookers acknowledge now that they missed what should have been obvious signs of people misusing the platform. And looking back, it’s easy to put together a long list of possible explanations for the myopia in Menlo Park about fake news. Management was gun-shy because of the Trending Topics fiasco; taking action against partisan disinformation—or even identifying it as such—might have been seen as another act of political favoritism. Facebook also sold ads against the stories, and sensational garbage was good at pulling people into the platform. Employees’ bonuses can be based largely on whether Facebook hits certain growth and revenue targets, which gives people an extra incentive not to worry too much about things that are otherwise good for engagement. And then there was the ever-present issue of Section 230 of the 1996 Communications Decency Act. If the company started taking responsibility for fake news, it might have to take responsibility for a lot more. Facebook had plenty of reasons to keep its head in the sand.

Roger McNamee, however, watched carefully as the nonsense spread. First there were the fake stories pushing Bernie Sanders, then he saw ones supporting Brexit, and then helping Trump. By the end of the summer, he had resolved to write an op-ed about the problems on the platform. But he never ran it. “The idea was, look, these are my friends. I really want to help them.” And so on a Sunday evening, nine days before the 2016 election, McNamee emailed a 1,000-word letter to Sandberg and Zuckerberg. “I am really sad about Facebook,” it began. “I got involved with the company more than a decade ago and have taken great pride and joy in the company’s success … until the past few months. Now I am disappointed. I am embarrassed. I am ashamed.”

Eddie Guy

VI

It’s not easy to recognize that the machine you’ve built to bring people together is being used to tear them apart, and Mark Zuckerberg’s initial reaction to Trump’s victory, and Facebook’s possible role in it, was one of peevish dismissal. Executives remember panic the first few days, with the leadership team scurrying back and forth between Zuckerberg’s conference room (called the Aquarium) and Sandberg’s (called Only Good News), trying to figure out what had just happened and whether they would be blamed. Then, at a conference two days after the election, Zuckerberg argued that filter bubbles are worse offline than on Facebook and that social media hardly influences how people vote. “The idea that fake news on Facebook—of which, you know, it’s a very small amount of the content—influenced the election in any way, I think, is a pretty crazy idea,” he said.

Zuckerberg declined to be interviewed for this article, but people who know him well say he likes to form his opinions from data. And in this case he wasn’t without it. Before the interview, his staff had worked up a back-of-the-­envelope calculation showing that fake news was a tiny percentage of the total amount of election-­related content on the platform. But the analysis was just an aggregate look at the percentage of clearly fake stories that appeared across all of Facebook. It didn’t measure their influence or the way fake news affected specific groups. It was a number, but not a particularly meaningful one.

Zuckerberg’s comments did not go over well, even inside Facebook. They seemed clueless and self-absorbed. “What he said was incredibly damaging,” a former executive told WIRED. “We had to really flip him on that. We realized that if we didn’t, the company was going to start heading down this pariah path that Uber was on.”

A week after his “pretty crazy” comment, Zuckerberg flew to Peru to give a talk to world leaders about the ways that connecting more people to the internet, and to Facebook, could reduce global poverty. Right after he landed in Lima, he posted something of a mea culpa. He explained that Facebook did take misinformation seriously, and he presented a vague seven-point plan to tackle it. When a professor at the New School named David Carroll saw Zuckerberg’s post, he took a screenshot. Alongside it on Carroll’s feed ran a headline from a fake CNN with an image of a distressed Donald Trump and the text “DISQUALIFIED; He’s GONE!”

At the conference in Peru, Zuckerberg met with a man who knows a few things about politics: Barack Obama. Media reports portrayed the encounter as one in which the lame-duck president pulled Zuckerberg aside and gave him a “wake-up call” about fake news. But according to someone who was with them in Lima, it was Zuckerberg who called the meeting, and his agenda was merely to convince Obama that, yes, Facebook was serious about dealing with the problem. He truly wanted to thwart misinformation, he said, but it wasn’t an easy issue to solve.

One employee compared Zuckerberg to Lennie in Of Mice and Men—a man with no understanding of his own strength.

Meanwhile, at Facebook, the gears churned. For the first time, insiders really began to question whether they had too much power. One employee told WIRED that, watching Zuckerberg, he was reminded of Lennie in Of Mice and Men, the farm-worker with no understanding of his own strength.

Very soon after the election, a team of employees started working on something called the News Feed Integrity Task Force, inspired by a sense, one of them told WIRED, that hyperpartisan misinformation was “a disease that’s creeping into the entire platform.” The group, which included Mosseri and Anker, began to meet every day, using whiteboards to outline different ways they could respond to the fake-news crisis. Within a few weeks the company announced it would cut off advertising revenue for ad farms and make it easier for users to flag stories they thought false.

In December the company announced that, for the first time, it would introduce fact-checking onto the platform. Facebook didn’t want to check facts itself; instead it would outsource the problem to professionals. If Facebook received enough signals that a story was false, it would automatically be sent to partners, like Snopes, for review. Then, in early January, Facebook announced that it had hired Campbell Brown, a former anchor at CNN. She immediately became the most prominent journalist hired by the company.

Soon Brown was put in charge of something called the Facebook Journalism Project. “We spun it up over the holidays, essentially,” says one person involved in discussions about the project. The aim was to demonstrate that Facebook was thinking hard about its role in the future of journalism—essentially, it was a more public and organized version of the efforts the company had begun after Murdoch’s tongue-lashing. But sheer anxiety was also part of the motivation. “After the election, because Trump won, the media put a ton of attention on fake news and just started hammering us. People started panicking and getting afraid that regulation was coming. So the team looked at what Google had been doing for years with News Lab”—a group inside Alphabet that builds tools for journalists—“and we decided to figure out how we could put together our own packaged program that shows how seriously we take the future of news.”

Facebook was reluctant, however, to issue any mea culpas or action plans with regard to the problem of filter bubbles or Facebook’s noted propensity to serve as a tool for amplifying outrage. Members of the leadership team regarded these as issues that couldn’t be solved, and maybe even shouldn’t be solved. Was Facebook really more at fault for amplifying outrage during the election than, say, Fox News or MSNBC? Sure, you could put stories into people’s feeds that contradicted their political viewpoints, but people would turn away from them, just as surely as they’d flip the dial back if their TV quietly switched them from Sean Hannity to Joy Reid. The problem, as Anker puts it, “is not Facebook. It’s humans.”

VII

Zuckerberg’s “pretty crazy” statement about fake news caught the ear of a lot of people, but one of the most influential was a security researcher named Renée DiResta. For years, she’d been studying how misinformation spreads on the platform. If you joined an antivaccine group on Facebook, she observed, the platform might suggest that you join flat-earth groups or maybe ones devoted to Pizzagate—putting you on a conveyor belt of conspiracy thinking. Zuckerberg’s statement struck her as wildly out of touch. “How can this platform say this thing?” she remembers thinking.

Roger McNamee, meanwhile, was getting steamed at Facebook’s response to his letter. Zuckerberg and Sandberg had written him back promptly, but they hadn’t said anything substantial. Instead he ended up having a months-long, ultimately futile set of email exchanges with Dan Rose, Facebook’s VP for partnerships. McNamee says Rose’s message was polite but also very firm: The company was doing a lot of good work that McNamee couldn’t see, and in any event Facebook was a platform, not a media company.

“And I’m sitting there going, ‘Guys, seriously, I don’t think that’s how it works,’” McNamee says. “You can assert till you’re blue in the face that you’re a platform, but if your users take a different point of view, it doesn’t matter what you assert.”

As the saying goes, heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned, and McNamee’s concern soon became a cause—and the beginning of an alliance. In April 2017 he connected with a former Google design ethicist named Tristan Harris when they appeared together on Bloomberg TV. Harris had by then gained a national reputation as the conscience of Silicon Valley. He had been profiled on 60 Minutes and in The Atlantic, and he spoke eloquently about the subtle tricks that social media companies use to foster an addiction to their services. “They can amplify the worst aspects of human nature,” Harris told WIRED this past December. After the TV appearance, McNamee says he called Harris up and asked, “Dude, do you need a wingman?”

The next month, DiResta published an ­article comparing purveyors of disinformation on social media to manipulative high-frequency traders in financial markets. “Social networks enable malicious actors to operate at platform scale, because they were designed for fast information flows and virality,” she wrote. Bots and sock puppets could cheaply “create the illusion of a mass groundswell of grassroots activity,” in much the same way that early, now-illegal trading algorithms could spoof demand for a stock. Harris read the article, was impressed, and emailed her.

The three were soon out talking to anyone who would listen about Facebook’s poisonous effects on American democracy. And before long they found receptive audiences in the media and Congress—groups with their own mounting grievances against the social media giant.

VIII

Even at the best of times, meetings between Facebook and media executives can feel like unhappy family gatherings. The two sides are inextricably bound together, but they don’t like each other all that much. News executives resent that Facebook and Google have captured roughly three-quarters of the digital ad business, leaving the media industry and other platforms, like Twitter, to fight over scraps. Plus they feel like the preferences of Facebook’s algorithm have pushed the industry to publish ever-dumber stories. For years, The New York Times resented that Facebook helped elevate BuzzFeed; now BuzzFeed is angry about being displaced by clickbait.

And then there’s the simple, deep fear and mistrust that Facebook inspires. Every publisher knows that, at best, they are sharecroppers on Facebook’s massive industrial farm. The social network is roughly 200 times more valuable than the Times. And journalists know that the man who owns the farm has the leverage. If Facebook wanted to, it could quietly turn any number of dials that would harm a publisher—by manipulating its traffic, its ad network, or its readers.

Emissaries from Facebook, for their part, find it tiresome to be lectured by people who can’t tell an algorithm from an API. They also know that Facebook didn’t win the digital ad market through luck: It built a better ad product. And in their darkest moments, they wonder: What’s the point? News makes up only about 5 percent of the total content that people see on Facebook globally. The company could let it all go and its shareholders would scarcely notice. And there’s another, deeper problem: Mark Zuckerberg, according to people who know him, prefers to think about the future. He’s less interested in the news industry’s problems right now; he’s interested in the problems five or 20 years from now. The editors of major media companies, on the other hand, are worried about their next quarter—maybe even their next phone call. When they bring lunch back to their desks, they know not to buy green bananas.

This mutual wariness—sharpened almost to enmity in the wake of the election—did not make life easy for Campbell Brown when she started her new job running the nascent Facebook Journalism Project. The first item on her to-do list was to head out on yet another Facebook listening tour with editors and publishers. One editor describes a fairly typical meeting: Brown and Chris Cox, Facebook’s chief product officer, invited a group of media leaders to gather in late January 2017 at Brown’s apartment in Manhattan. Cox, a quiet, suave man, sometimes referred to as “the Ryan Gosling of Facebook Product,” took the brunt of the ensuing abuse. “Basically, a bunch of us just laid into him about how Facebook was destroying journalism, and he graciously absorbed it,” the editor says. “He didn’t much try to defend them. I think the point was really to show up and seem to be listening.” Other meetings were even more tense, with the occasional comment from journalists noting their interest in digital antitrust issues.

As bruising as all this was, Brown’s team became more confident that their efforts were valued within the company when Zuckerberg published a 5,700-word corporate manifesto in February. He had spent the previous three months, according to people who know him, contemplating whether he had created something that did more harm than good. “Are we building the world we all want?” he asked at the beginning of his post, implying that the answer was an obvious no. Amid sweeping remarks about “building a global community,” he emphasized the need to keep people informed and to knock out false news and clickbait. Brown and others at Facebook saw the manifesto as a sign that Zuckerberg understood the company’s profound civic responsibilities. Others saw the document as blandly grandiose, showcasing Zuckerberg’s tendency to suggest that the answer to nearly any problem is for people to use Facebook more.

Shortly after issuing the manifesto, Zuckerberg set off on a carefully scripted listening tour of the country. He began popping into candy shops and dining rooms in red states, camera crew and personal social media team in tow. He wrote an earnest post about what he was learning, and he deflected questions about whether his real goal was to become president. It seemed like a well-­meaning effort to win friends for Facebook. But it soon became clear that Facebook’s biggest problems emanated from places farther away than Ohio.

IX

One of the many things Zuckerberg seemed not to grasp when he wrote his manifesto was that his platform had empowered an enemy far more sophisticated than Macedonian teenagers and assorted low-rent purveyors of bull. As 2017 wore on, however, the company began to realize it had been attacked by a foreign influence operation. “I would draw a real distinction between fake news and the Russia stuff,” says an executive who worked on the company’s response to both. “With the latter there was a moment where everyone said ‘Oh, holy shit, this is like a national security situation.’”

That holy shit moment, though, didn’t come until more than six months after the election. Early in the campaign season, Facebook was aware of familiar attacks emanating from known Russian hackers, such as the group APT28, which is believed to be affiliated with Moscow. They were hacking into accounts outside of Facebook, stealing documents, then creating fake Facebook accounts under the banner of DCLeaks, to get people to discuss what they’d stolen. The company saw no signs of a serious, concerted foreign propaganda campaign, but it also didn’t think to look for one.

During the spring of 2017, the company’s security team began preparing a report about how Russian and other foreign intelligence operations had used the platform. One of its authors was Alex Stamos, head of Facebook’s security team. Stamos was something of an icon in the tech world for having reportedly resigned from his previous job at Yahoo after a conflict over whether to grant a US intelligence agency access to Yahoo servers. According to two people with direct knowledge of the document, he was eager to publish a detailed, specific analysis of what the company had found. But members of the policy and communications team pushed back and cut his report way down. Sources close to the security team suggest the company didn’t want to get caught up in the political whirlwind of the moment. (Sources on the politics and communications teams insist they edited the report down, just because the darn thing was hard to read.)

On April 27, 2017, the day after the Senate announced it was calling then FBI director James Comey to testify about the Russia investigation, Stamos’ report came out. It was titled “Information Operations and Facebook,” and it gave a careful step-by-step explanation of how a foreign adversary could use Facebook to manipulate people. But there were few specific examples or details, and there was no direct mention of Russia. It felt bland and cautious. As Renée DiResta says, “I remember seeing the report come out and thinking, ‘Oh, goodness, is this the best they could do in six months?’”

One month later, a story in Time suggested to Stamos’ team that they might have missed something in their analysis. The article quoted an unnamed senior intelligence official saying that Russian operatives had bought ads on Facebook to target Americans with propaganda. Around the same time, the security team also picked up hints from congressional investigators that made them think an intelligence agency was indeed looking into Russian Facebook ads. Caught off guard, the team members started to dig into the company’s archival ads data themselves.

Eventually, by sorting transactions according to a series of data points—Were ads purchased in rubles? Were they purchased within browsers whose language was set to Russian?—they were able to find a cluster of accounts, funded by a shadowy Russian group called the Internet Research Agency, that had been designed to manipulate political opinion in America. There was, for example, a page called Heart of Texas, which pushed for the secession of the Lone Star State. And there was Blacktivist, which pushed stories about police brutality against black men and women and had more followers than the verified Black Lives Matter page.

Numerous security researchers express consternation that it took Facebook so long to realize how the Russian troll farm was exploiting the platform. After all, the group was well known to Facebook. Executives at the company say they’re embarrassed by how long it took them to find the fake accounts, but they point out that they were never given help by US intelligence agencies. A staffer on the Senate Intelligence Committee likewise voiced exasperation with the company. “It seemed obvious that it was a tactic the Russians would exploit,” the staffer says.

When Facebook finally did find the Russian propaganda on its platform, the discovery set off a crisis, a scramble, and a great deal of confusion. First, due to a miscalculation, word initially spread through the company that the Russian group had spent millions of dollars on ads, when the actual total was in the low six figures. Once that error was resolved, a disagreement broke out over how much to reveal, and to whom. The company could release the data about the ads to the public, release everything to Congress, or release nothing. Much of the argument hinged on questions of user privacy. Members of the security team worried that the legal process involved in handing over private user data, even if it belonged to a Russian troll farm, would open the door for governments to seize data from other Facebook users later on. “There was a real debate internally,” says one executive. “Should we just say ‘Fuck it’ and not worry?” But eventually the company decided it would be crazy to throw legal caution to the wind “just because Rachel Maddow wanted us to.”

Ultimately, a blog post appeared under Stamos’ name in early September announcing that, as far as the company could tell, the Russians had paid Facebook $100,000 for roughly 3,000 ads aimed at influencing American politics around the time of the 2016 election. Every sentence in the post seemed to downplay the substance of these new revelations: The number of ads was small, the expense was small. And Facebook wasn’t going to release them. The public wouldn’t know what they looked like or what they were really aimed at doing.

This didn’t sit at all well with DiResta. She had long felt that Facebook was insufficiently forthcoming, and now it seemed to be flat-out stonewalling. “That was when it went from incompetence to malice,” she says. A couple of weeks later, while waiting at a Walgreens to pick up a prescription for one of her kids, she got a call from a researcher at the Tow Center for Digital Journalism named Jonathan Albright. He had been mapping ecosystems of misinformation since the election, and he had some excellent news. “I found this thing,” he said. Albright had started digging into CrowdTangle, one of the analytics platforms that Facebook uses. And he had discovered that the data from six of the accounts Facebook had shut down were still there, frozen in a state of suspended animation. There were the posts pushing for Texas secession and playing on racial antipathy. And then there were political posts, like one that referred to Clinton as “that murderous anti-American traitor Killary.” Right before the election, the Blacktivist account urged its supporters to stay away from Clinton and instead vote for Jill Stein. Albright downloaded the most recent 500 posts from each of the six groups. He reported that, in total, their posts had been shared more than 340 million times.

Eddie Guy

X

To McNamee, the way the Russians used the platform was neither a surprise nor an anomaly. “They find 100 or 1,000 people who are angry and afraid and then use Facebook’s tools to advertise to get people into groups,” he says. “That’s exactly how Facebook was designed to be used.”

McNamee and Harris had first traveled to DC for a day in July to meet with members of Congress. Then, in September, they were joined by DiResta and began spending all their free time counseling senators, representatives, and members of their staffs. The House and Senate Intelligence Committees were about to hold hearings on Russia’s use of social media to interfere in the US election, and McNamee, Harris, and ­DiResta were helping them prepare. One of the early questions they weighed in on was the matter of who should be summoned to testify. Harris recommended that the CEOs of the big tech companies be called in, to create a dramatic scene in which they all stood in a neat row swearing an oath with their right hands in the air, roughly the way tobacco executives had been forced to do a generation earlier. Ultimately, though, it was determined that the general counsels of the three companies—Facebook, Twitter, and Google—should head into the lion’s den.

And so on November 1, Colin Stretch arrived from Facebook to be pummeled. During the hearings themselves, DiResta was sitting on her bed in San Francisco, watching them with her headphones on, trying not to wake up her small children. She listened to the back-and-forth in Washington while chatting on Slack with other security researchers. She watched as Marco Rubio smartly asked whether Facebook even had a policy forbidding foreign governments from running an influence campaign through the platform. The answer was no. Rhode Island senator Jack Reed then asked whether Facebook felt an obligation to individually notify all the users who had seen Russian ads that they had been deceived. The answer again was no. But maybe the most threatening comment came from Dianne Feinstein, the senior senator from Facebook’s home state. “You’ve created these platforms, and now they’re being misused, and you have to be the ones to do something about it,” she declared. “Or we will.”

After the hearings, yet another dam seemed to break, and former Facebook executives started to go public with their criticisms of the company too. On November 8, billionaire entrepreneur Sean Parker, Facebook’s first president, said he now regretted pushing Facebook so hard on the world. “I don’t know if I really understood the consequences of what I was saying,” h

Read more: https://www.wired.com/story/inside-facebook-mark-zuckerberg-2-years-of-hell/

40 Of The Best Quotes From My Favorite Murder

I’ve been a huge fan of the true-crime/comedy podcast, My Favorite Murder, ever since I began listening to it this past summer. The hosts, Karen Kilgariff and Georgia Hardstark, share their favorite murders and true crime stories while discussing what’s going in their lives in the form of comedic banter to lighten the heavy mood that talking about murder can bring.

If you aren’t familiar with My Favorite Murder (Also abbreviated as MFM), the podcast spun a community of fans and we refer to ourselves as “Murderinos.” Since the debut of MFM in January 2016, the ladies of MFM have said some quotes that are a combination of inspiring, humorous and uplifting, especially for women. I went to their live show in Detroit and it was incredible. Karen and Georgia are amazing human beings; I met them and they are some of the nicest people I have ever met in my life.

Here are 40 of the wisest and comical quotes from MFM obtained from the official “My Favorite Murder” Facebook group and Pinterest.

Pretty pretty print by @pilarprints. #ssdgm #myfavoritemurder #murderino

A post shared by My Favorite Murder Podcast (@myfavoritemurder) on

1. “Get a job. Buy your own shit. Stay out of the forest.”

2. “Here’s the thing: fuck everyone.”

3. “Don’t say ‘sorry not sorry’; Say ‘Listen, you motherfucker!”

4. “All of life is about fixing what you fucked up.”

5. “Please live your life like you’re going to be reenacted in 30 years.”

6. “Don’t leave your drink alone.”

7. “Don’t let your girlfriend fucking leave you behind.”

8. “You’re in a cult; call your dad.”

9. “Don’t call it nonconsensual sex. Sex is sex and rape is rape; use the word rape.

10. “Don’t take things for granted or judge books by covers and don’t do the things that average people get tricked by.”

11. “You can be crazy, just be light-hearted about it.”

12. “If you meet a person [and] you get the weird feeling in your gut, absolutely trust yourself and get out of there.”

13. “We can actually help each other; we should help each other and reach out to each other.”

14. “Talk about your trauma.”

15. “Don’t let people touch you if you’re not comfortable with it.”

16. “Pepper spray first and apologize later.”

17. “If you see something, fucking say something.”

18. “Lock your fucking door.”

19. “Donate $50 dollars to your local library, keep all your fingers.”

20. “Don’t drink and drive, you guys.”

21. Nothing is real; speak for yourself [and] question authority.”

22. “Wash your hands, please. Don’t get murdered by germs.”

23. “Let’s use our powers of anxiety for good and not evil.”

24. “Don’t be a fucking lunatic.”

25. “Bigger dummies than you.”

26. “Toxic masculinity ruins the party again.”

27. “If Florida’s kicking you out, you’re probably a pretty big piece of shit.”

28. “Let’s sit crooked and talk straight.”

29. “This isn’t a positive cult; this isn’t like Sephora.”

30. “My therapist was right about you.”

31. “Look, meth is bad.”

32. “Triflers need not apply.”

33. “Don’t snort shit.”

34. “Don’t be a know-it-all .”

35. “Hey guys, let’s get those rape kits tested”

36. “Can everyone chill the fuck out?”

37. “Leave well enough alone, asshat.”

38. “Just be rude; go up to people and be like, ‘Hi, I know this makes me the weirdo but there’s a weirdo over there.’”

39. Fuck politeness.

40. Stay sexy and don’t get murdered (SSDGM).

If you love true crime, comedy and real talk about life issues, mental health, feminism and more, then you should probably start listening to My Favorite Murder. Even if you don’t (you really should), at least make you always stay sexy and don’t get murdered!

Read more: https://thoughtcatalog.com/jessica-mae-smith/2018/02/40-of-the-best-quotes-from-my-favorite-murder/

To Stop Climate Change, Educate Girls and Give them Birth Control

Climate change is a ubiquitous hydra, a many-headed beast that affects everyone and everything in some form. Solutions to climate change range from the effective and the practical to the potentially catastrophically dangerous—but, in this somewhat heated debate, a potent weapon in our arsenal is falling by the wayside: the empowerment of women.

WIRED OPINION

ABOUT

Robin George Andrews (@squigglyvolcano and robingeorgeandrews.com) is a volcanologist and science writer whose work appears in IFLScience, Forbes, and elsewhere.

Last year a coalition of scientists, economists, policymakers, researchers, and business people published Project Drawdown, a compendium of ways to prevent carbon dioxide from escaping skywards. Drawing from a plethora of peer-reviewed research, the document ranks 80 practical, mitigating measures—along with 20 near-future concepts—that could push back the oncoming storm.

Ranked in order of carbon emissions locked down by 2050, the usual suspects made the list. A moderate expansion of solar farms (number 8), onshore wind turbines (number 2), and nuclear power (number 20) would all save tens of billions of tons of equivalent carbon dioxide emissions. Increasing the number of people on plant-rich diets (number 4) and using electric vehicles (number 26) are effective carbon-cutting measures often proposed by climate hawks, and rightly so. The top spot went to managing refrigerants like HFCs, which are incredibly effective at trapping heat within our atmosphere.

But two lesser-known solutions also made this most practical of lists: the education of girls (number 6) and family planning (number 7). This is a stunning revelation, one that couldn’t be more pertinent, and yet, for the most part, discussions of mitigation and de-carbonization focus heavily on other matters, from the perceived perils and bona fide benefits of nuclear power, to just how quickly solar power is proliferating.

The link between the education of girls and a smaller carbon footprint isn’t as intuitively obvious as, say, phasing out fossil fuels. But dig a little deeper, and the evidence is overwhelming. It’s clear that getting more girls into school, and giving them a quality education, has a series of profound, cascading effects: reduced incidence of disease, higher life expectancies, more economic prosperity, fewer forced marriages, and fewer children. Better educational access and attainment not only equips women with the skills to deal with the antagonizing effects of climate change, but it gives them influence over how their communities militate against it.

Although the education of girls in a small number of countries is at, or approaching, parity with boys, for most of the planet, this remains distressingly elusive. Poverty, along with community traditions, tends to hold back girls as boys are prioritized.

Then there's family planning, something that’s indivisible from the education of girls. The planet is overpopulated, and the demands of its citizens greatly exceed the natural resources provided by our environment.

Contraception and prenatal care is denied to women across the world, from those in the United States, to communities in low-income nations. It’s either not available, not affordable, or social and/or religious motives ensure that it’s banned or heavily restricted. As a consequence, the world’s population will rise rapidly, consume ever more resources, and power its ambitions using fossil fuels. Carbon dioxide will continue to accumulate in the atmosphere.

The education of girls and family planning can be considered as a single issue involving the empowerment of women in communities across the world. Drawdown calculated that, by taking steps toward universal education and investing in family planning in developing nations, the world could nix 120 billion tons of emissions by 2050. That’s roughly 10 years’ worth of China’s annual emissions as of 2014, and it’s all because the world's population won't rise quite so rapidly.

It's farcical that this isn’t forming a major part of the debate over climate change mitigation. It’s not entirely clear why this is the case, but I’d suspect that regressive societal attitudes, along with the tendency of commentators to focus on the battle between different energy sectors, play suppressive roles in this regard.

Project Drawdown isn't the only group that has recently tied population growth to climate change. A study published last summer also found that having just one fewer child is a far more effective way for individuals in the developed world to shrink their carbon footprint than, say, recycling or eating less meat. For women in wealthy countries, these decisions are often freely made, and fertility rates in those countries are already fairly low. In low-income countries, such individual agency—not to mention contraception—is frequently absent, and fertility rates remain high.

Just as policymakers, climate advocates, and science communicators should pay attention to Drawdown’s findings, individuals should also do what they can to make sure such a solution comes to pass. Non-government organizations, like Hand In Hand International, Girls Not Brides, and the Malala Fund aren’t just uplifting women, but they’re helping to save the planet too, and they deserve support.

It's a grim assessment of civilization that, in 2018, humans are still grappling with gender equality. The world would clearly benefit if women were on par with men in every sector of society. We shouldn’t need any more convincing, but the fact that the social ascension of women would deal a severe blow to anthropogenic warming should be shouted from the rooftops.

Incidentally, the solutions in Drawdown also had associated economic benefits or costs associated with them. If 10 percent of the world's electricity was generated using solar farms, then it’d save $5 trillion by 2050, for example. No such value could be put to educating girls and family planning—two human rights with incalculable benefits.

WIRED Opinion publishes pieces written by outside contributors and represents a wide range of viewpoints. Read more opinions here.

Our Warming Climate

Read more: https://www.wired.com/story/to-stop-climate-change-educate-girls-and-give-them-birth-control/

Barber Tells This Shy Insurance Man To Grow A Beard, And It Ends Up Transforming His Life

If our list of men before-and-after growing a beard didn’t convince you that males look way better with facial hair, this story definitely will. Gwilym Pugh was a 21-year-old businessman man who started a successful insurance company in his spare bedroom. However, working from home and injuries made him gain a lot of weight. 280 pounds, to be exact. But his life-damaging lifestyle changed after his barber urged Gwilym to grow a ginger beard!

“At that time I was pretty overweight, working 12 hours a day, plagued with injuries which meant I couldn’t train at all,” the Welshman told Daily Mail. “The business was doing okay, but I decided I needed to get my life in order and wanted to get healthy again.”

Gwilym and his friends formed a folk band several years ago. His barber advised him to grow some facial hair to look the part. In line with his new look, the freshly-baked musician decided to expand his transformation cleaning up his diet. The biggest change, however, was quitting his desk job.

“It was the best thing for my health as I stopped sitting for nine to 10 hours a day,” the man who lost 90 pounds over five years explained. As he was shedding weight and growing his beard, Gwilym created an Instagram account. Eventually, Welsh tailor Nathan Palmer stumbled across it, and things began escalating really fast.

Now, Gwilym is part of the London agency AMCK Models. He has worked on campaigns with Vans, Bud Light, Diesel, and other big names. His hard work even allowed him to become an ambassador for David Beckham’s new male grooming brand, House 99!

Gwilym Pugh was a shy man, working 12 hours a day from his home

Image credits: WalesOnline

But his life was never the same after Gwilym’s barber urged him to grow a beard

Image credits: gwilymcpugh

This is how the man looks now

Image credits: Adam Fussell / AMCK Models

“A picture says a thousand words…. Coming from being 22 years old, overweight, plagued with injuries, and unhappy barely leaving the house”

“I’m happier and healthier than I ever thought possible and doing things that didn’t even cross my mind to dream of”

Image credits: Adam Fussell / AMCK Models

Working as a model, Gwilym is even an ambassador of David Beckham’s new male grooming brand

Image credits: House 99

Despite his success, Gwilym remains humble

Image credits: gwilymcpugh

“I think I’m lucky I got into this profession at the age that I did”

Image credits: Gwilym C Pugh

“I try not to get caught up in it all and my girlfriend helps a great deal wit that”

“Having worked in finance for years, the opportunity to work with creative people and travel around the world is amazing”

Image credits: Exposure London

“It was the best thing for my health”

Image credits: gwilymcpugh

In keeping with his new look, Gwilym’s constantly maintaining his body

Image credits: gwilymcpugh

“Regular osteo treatment and morning mobility and HIIT workouts are what’s in order”

Image credits: Gwilym C Pugh

If this won’t convince you to grow a beard, we don’t know what will

Image credits: Gwilym C Pugh

Image credits: Gwilym C Pugh

Image credits: gwilymcpugh

Image credits: Gwilym C Pugh

Image credits: gwilymcpugh

Image credits: Edo Brugué

Image credits: gwilymcpugh

Read more: http://www.boredpanda.com/overweight-welshman-businessman-transformation-model-gwilym-pugh/

The Formula for Phone Addiction Might Double As a Cure

In September 2007, 75 students walked into a classroom at Stanford. Ten weeks later, they had collectively amassed 16 million users, $1 million dollars in advertising revenue, and a formula that would captivate a generation.

The class—colloquially known as "The Facebook Class"—and its instructor, BJ Fogg, became Silicon Valley legends. Graduates went on to work and design products at Uber, Facebook, and Google. Some even started companies with their classmates. But a decade later, some of the class’ teachings are in the crosshairs of our society-wide conversation about phone addiction.

Fogg's research group, the Persuasive Technology Lab, looks at how technology can persuade users to take certain actions. Early experiments centered around questions like, “How can you get people to stop smoking using SMS?” But when Facebook, then a three-year-old startup, opened its platform to third-party developers, Fogg saw a perfect opportunity to test some of his theories in the wild.

After a few lectures on the basics of behavioral psychology, students began building Facebook apps of their own. They used psychological tools like reciprocity and suggestion to engineer apps that could, for example, send your friends a virtual hug or get your friends to join an online game of dodgeball. At the time, Facebook had just begun promoting third-party apps in its news feed. The iPhone launched in the summer of 2007; the App Store would follow the year later. Fogg’s teachings became a playbook on how to make apps stick just as apps were becoming a thing.

“Within the first month, there were already millions of people using these apps,” says Dan Greenberg, a teaching assistant for the class who later went on to found the ad-tech platform Sharethrough with some of his classmates. After some students decided to monetize their apps with banner ads, apps like Greenberg’s began bringing in as much as $100,000 a month in ad sales. Fogg had a secret sauce, and it was the ideal time to serve it.

In Silicon Valley, Fogg's Behavioral Model answers one of product designers’ most enduring questions: How do you keep users coming back?

A decade ago, Fogg’s lab was a toll both for entrepreneurs and product designers on their way to Facebook and Google. Nir Eyal, the bestselling author of the book, Hooked, sat in lectures next to Ed Baker, who would later become the Head of Growth at both Facebook and Uber. Kevin Systrom and Mike Krieger, the founders of Instagram, worked on projects alongside Tristan Harris, the former Google Design Ethicist who now leads the Time Well Spent movement. Together, in Fogg's lab, they studied and developed the techniques to make our apps and gadgets addictive.

Now, we are navigating the consequences. From Facebook's former president claiming that Silicon Valley’s tools are “ripping apart the social fabric of society” to France formally banning smartphones in public schools, we are starting to reexamine the sometimes toxic relationships we have with our devices. Looking at the source of product designers’ education may help us understand the downstream consequences of their creations—and the way to reverse it.

Engineering Addiction

BJ Fogg is an unlikely leader for a Silicon Valley movement. He’s a trained psychologist and twice the age of the average entrepreneur with whom he works. His students describe him as energetic, quirky, and committed to using tech as a force for good: In the past, he's taught classes on making products to promote peace and using behavior design to connect with nature. But every class begins with his signature framework, Fogg’s Behavior Model. It suggests that we act when three forces—motivation, trigger, and ability—converge.

In Silicon Valley, the model answers one of product designers’ most enduring questions: How do you keep users coming back? Say you're a Facebook user, with the Facebook app on your phone. You're motivated to make sure photos of you posted online aren't ugly, you get triggered by a push notification from Facebook that you’ve been tagged, and your phone gives you the ability to check right away. You open the Facebook app.

Proponents of the model, like Eyal, believe that the framework can be extremely powerful. “If you understand people’s internal triggers, you can try to satiate them," he says. "If you’re feeling lonely, we can help you connect. If you’re feeling bored, we can help entertain."

But critics say that companies like Facebook have taken advantage of these psychological principles to capture human attention. Especially in advertising-supported businesses, where more time spent in app equals more profit, designers can optimize for values that don’t always align with their users’ well-being.

Tristan Harris, one of the most vocal whistleblowers of tech’s manipulative design practices (and a graduate of Fogg's lab), has grappled with this idea. In 2012, while working at Google, he created a 144-slide presentation called “A Call to Minimize Distraction & Respect Users’ Attention.” The deck, which outlined ways in which small design elements like push notifications can become massive distractions at scale, went viral within the company. Over 5,000 Googlers viewed the presentation, which Harris parlayed into a job a as Google’s first “design ethicist.”

Harris left Google in 2015 to expand the conversation around persuasive design outside of Mountain View. “Never before has a handful of people working at a handful of tech companies been able to steer the thoughts and feelings of a billion people,” he said in a recent talk at Stanford. “There are more users on Facebook than followers of Christianity. There are more people on YouTube than followers of Islam. I don’t know a more urgent problem than this.”

Harris has channeled his beliefs into his advocacy organization, Time Well Spent, which lobbies the tech industry to align with societal well-being. Three years later, his movement has begun to gain steam. Just look at Facebook, which recently restructured its news feed algorithm to prioritize the content that people find valuable (like posts from friends and family) over the stuff that people mindlessly consume (like viral videos). In a public Facebook post, Mark Zuckerberg wrote that one of Facebook’s main priorities in 2018, “is making sure the time we all spend on Facebook is time well spent.” Even, he said, if it's at the cost of how much time you spend on the platform.

Facebook's reckoning shows that companies can redesign their products to be less addictive—at the very least, they can try. Perhaps in studying the model that designers used to hook us to our phones, we can understand how those principles can be used to unhook us as well.

Finding the Cure

Fogg acknowledges that our society has become addicted to smartphones, but he believes consumers have the power to unhook themselves. “No one is forcing you to bring the phone into the bedroom and make it your alarm clock,” he says. “What people need is the motivation.”

Eyal’s next book, Indistractible, focuses on how to do that, using Fogg's model in reverse. It takes the same three ideas—motivation, trigger, and ability—and reorients them toward ungluing us from our phones. For example, you can remove triggers from certain apps by adjusting your notification settings. (Or better yet, turn off all your push notifications.) You can decrease your ability to access Facebook by simply deleting the app from your phone.

“People have the power to put this stuff away and they always have,” says Eyal. “But when we preach powerlessness, people believe that.”

Others, like Harris and venture capitalist Roger McNamee, disagree. They believe corporations’ interests are so intertwined with advertisers’ demands that, until we change the system, companies will always find new ways to maximize consumers’ time spent with their apps. “If you want to fix this as quickly as possible, the best way would be for founders of these companies to change their business model away from advertising,” says McNamee, who was an early investor in Facebook and mentor to Zuckerberg. “We have to eliminate the economic incentive to create addiction in the first place.”

There is merit to both arguments. The same methods that addict people to Snapchat might keep them learning new languages on Duolingo. The line between persuasion and coercion can be thin, but a blanket dismissal of behavior design misses the point. The larger discussion around our relationship with our gadgets comes back to aligning use with intent—for product designers and users.

Where We Go Next

Harris and McNamee believe manipulative design has to be addressed on a systems level. The two are advocating for government regulation of internet platforms like Facebook, in part as a public health issue. Companies like Apple have also seen pressure from investors to rethink how gadget addiction is affecting kids. But ultimately, business models are hard to change overnight. As long as advertising is the primary monetization strategy for the web, there will always be those who use persuasive design to keep users around longer.

So in the meantime, there are tangible steps we can all take to break the loop of addiction. Changing your notification settings or turning your phone to grayscale might seem like low-hanging fruit, but it's a place to start.

“It’s going to take the companies way longer than it would take you to do something about it,” says Eyal. “If you hold your breath and wait, you’re going to suffocate.”

Hooked On Technology

Read more: https://www.wired.com/story/phone-addiction-formula/

How Vampire Bats Survive And Even Thrive On Blood

As well as being staples of horror movies since forever, vampire bats are evolutionary marvels. Now scientists are slowly starting to decode exactly how these animals survive by feasting on blood.

Feeding exclusively on blood requires a high degree of specialization. Not only have the bats evolved the tools for the trade – teeth that let them pierce the skin of their meal and shave away any hairs or feathers beforehand, and the ability to distinguish individuals from their breathing patterns alone – but also the capability to live off blood itself.

Blood is not a good food source. While it might be high in protein, it is low in pretty much all other essential nutrients, like carbohydrates and vitamins. In addition to that, such large volumes of liquid – vampire bats can drink up to half their weight in blood every night – also puts monumental strain on their kidneys and bladder. As if that wasn’t enough, blood also tends to be full of deadly bacteria and viruses.

Yet despite all this, three species of bat have managed to overcome these issues and are now the only mammals known to dine exclusively on the red stuff. How exactly they have managed to evolve this feat is still something of a mystery, something that the authors of this latest study has attempted to solve by delving into not only their genome, but also their microbiome, publishing their results in Nature Ecology & Evolution.

They found that the common vampire bat has key differences in the genes related to immunity and food metabolism compared to the 1,200 other species of bats that have diets filled with fruit, meat, or insects. This includes certain bits of DNA, known as transposable elements, which are able to shift their position on the chromosome, being concentrated in the region that dictates immunity, as well as differences in genes that process high levels of iron and nitrogen.

These genetic adaptations are coupled with a highly distinctive gut microbiome. By studying the poop of the bats, they were able to identify up to 280 different bacteria that make up the ecosystem in the bats’ intestines, many of which would cause sickness if found in most other mammals.  

“The data suggests that there is a close evolutionary relationship between the gut microbiome and the genome of the vampire bat for adaptation to sanguivory [feeding exclusively on blood],” study author Dr Marie Zepeda Mendoza, told the BBC.

They think that these changes at both the genetic level and that of the microbiome might have worked in conjunction to allow the animals to make their shift towards feeding exclusively on blood. One suggestion is that perhaps the animals moved from feeding on insects to focusing on blood-sucking parasites such as ticks, before going fully sanguivorous some 4 million years ago.

Read more: http://www.iflscience.com/plants-and-animals/how-vampire-bats-survive-and-even-thrive-on-blood-/

Apples New Spaceship Campus Has One Flaw and It Hurts

The centerpiece of Apple Inc.’s new headquarters is a massive, ring-shaped office overflowing with panes of glass, a testament to the company’s famed design-obsessed aesthetic. 

There’s been one hiccup since it opened last year: Apple employees keep smacking into the glass.

Surrounding the building, located in Cupertino, California, are 45-foot tall curved panels of safety glass. Inside are work spaces, dubbed “pods,” also made with a lot of glass. Apple staff are often glued to the iPhones they helped popularize. That’s resulted in repeated cases of distracted employees walking into the panes, according to people familiar with the incidents. 

Some staff started to stick Post-It notes on the glass doors to mark their presence. However, the notes were removed because they detracted from the building’s design, the people said. They asked not to be identified discussing anything related to Apple. Another person familiar with the situation said there are other markings to identify the glass. 

Apple’s latest campus has been lauded as an architectural marvel. The building, crafted by famed architect Norman Foster, immortalized a vision that Apple co-founder Steve Jobs had years earlier. In 2011, Jobs reportedly described the building “a little like a spaceship landed.” Jobs has been credited for coming up with the glass pods, designed to mix solo office areas with more social spaces. 

Apple campus in Cupertino.
Photographer: Jim Wilson/New York Times via Redux

The building is designed to house some 13,000 employees. Wired magazine, first to pay a visit at its opening last year, described the structure as a “statement of openness, of free movement,” in contrast to Apple’s typically insular culture. “While it is a technical marvel to make glass at this scale, that’s not the achievement,” Jony Ive, Apple’s design chief, told the magazine in May. “The achievement is to make a building where so many people can connect and collaborate and walk and talk.”

An Apple spokeswoman declined to comment. It’s not clear how many incidents there have been. A Silicon Valley-based spokeswoman for the Occupational Safety and Health Administration referred questions about Apple’s workplace safety record to the government agency’s website. A search on the site based on Apple’s name in California found no reports of injuries at the company’s new campus. 

It’s not the first time Apple’s penchant for glass in buildings has caused problems. In late 2011, 83-year-old Evelyn Paswall walked into the glass wall of an Apple store, breaking her nose. She sued the company, arguing it should have posted a warning on the glass. The suit was settled without any cost to Apple, according to a legal filing in early 2013. 

    Read more: http://www.bloomberg.com/news/articles/2018-02-16/apple-s-new-spaceship-campus-has-one-flaw-and-it-hurts

    The Toxic Reality Of Living In Diet Culture And Why Im Doing My Best To Leave It Behind

    Element5 Digital / Unsplash

    Diet culture, better known as the disastrous amalgamation of pop culture, media, pseudoscience, and social constructs we are all systemically smothered by, is something I’d like to break up with. I’ve read and researched the topic, follow all of the #riotsnotdiets accounts, and talk a big game about body positivity. But despite my progressive exterior I secretly worry that I can’t completely break up with this destructive system. While it’s easy for me to champion healthy body and food beliefs for other women, I have a much more difficult time following through for myself.

    Diet culture is unquestionably toxic, but trying to untangle myself from its totality is complicated.

    The holy trinity (body “positive” statements, diet talk, and believing that all foods have a moral value attached to them) of diet culture is difficult to get away from. Individually these aspects can disguise themselves as innocuous, and they thrive in every corner of modern life, which makes escaping them seem impossible. It doesn’t help that engaging in some of these holy trinity behaviors feel good and connects us to other women in a seemingly positive way.

    Julie Klausner, creator of Difficult People, is a woman who has long expressed her separation from diet culture. On one episode of her podcast, How Was Your Week, she goes on a high energy tirade where she discusses how if you were to put two women in a room, one who has just earned her Ph.D. and another who has recently lost weight, that the women who lost weight will receive more acclaim and attention. Julie points out the idiocy in this and the sadness of its truth.

    Last year I found myself in an adjacent situation where I had lost a decent amount of weight around the same time that I started working a new job. My weight loss was a side effect of a serious bout of depression and anxiety, and it wasn’t something I was actively chasing. For months, anytime I met up with friends or colleagues my new, slimmer figure was the first thing they would comment on, and it was clearly the thing that people were most excited to ask me about. Julie K’s hypothesized musing was right. My new job was a significant promotion in my field, and yet it was my weight that those around me wanted to discuss. I knew all the weight loss talk was feeding into long-held, toxic beliefs about women and our bodies, but I also recognized that it still felt good to hear. People used phrases to describe me physically like well-rested, glowing, and most importantly good and skinny. 

    The words good and skinny are often heard together which has caused most of us to believe that skinny is good, and we all want to be good…and skinny.

    While I had never felt more mentally drained and down in my life, I had also never received so much positive praise. The experience felt conflicting.

    Losing weight has a hypnotic effect on others, especially women. People talk to you as if you know a secret and have accomplished a worthy feat. My diet at the time consisted of hardly eating and excessively working out in an attempt to boost my brains natural levels of serotonin/dopamine. During this time, I also developed a handful of mild irrational fears around meat, cheese, and processed food which likely occurred thanks to all the food shaming (vegan*) documentaries I was consuming on Netflix. At first, when questioned about my weight loss I would attempt a vague response like, “I’m just eating better and exercising more.” But after a while, I felt uncomfortable about being misleading.

    I didn’t want to give truth to the deranged diet culture notion of simply eating better and exercising more equating to weight loss equating to a glowing appearance equating to a new job and better life.

    Eventually, I mustered up a more truthful, “I just don’t eat a lot” or “depression,” which I would say adding a hard laugh. This laugh didn’t seem particularly helpful as people often looked uncomfortable upon hearing a closer version of the truth.

    While giving out skinny compliments seems like a kind exchange, it’s just encouraging the cycle of placing ultimate value on our bodies. I know it’s tough, it feels good to get and give these compliments. I still accidentally tell women they look skinny as an automatic comment. It feels nice to make other people light up, and nothing does it as quickly as telling a woman she looks thin. Most people want to make their friends feel confident and happy, but we have to find better ways of doing it. I do think we should be able to compliment one another when we’re looking well rested and glowing, but maybe these adjectives don’t need to be so related to the actual skin in which we live.

    As girls, I believe many of our first addictions were talking obsessively about diets and food. Some of my earliest memories of interacting with adult women as a child are sitting in the kitchen and talking about diets. Growing up my mom was a Weight Watchers discipline, and by age 12 I could rattle off the calorie count and point value to almost any food. Other neighborhood moms were impressed with my knowledge of points and calories and all things numerically related. Early on, I realized that talking about a diet was an essential part of being on a diet, and a great way to positively interact with other women.

    As adult women, talking about food and diet continues to be one of the quickest ways to bond with one another. Food noise is something we all have in common.

    I’ve yet to meet a woman who has never been affected by a cultural desire to lose weight and make her body “better.”

    Diet talk is a quick way to connect and empathize with one another even though by doing so we are continuing to agree with the idea that your body is your value. While I try to not engage, I still get caught up in it at times because I worry that opting out completely will cast me out as a social pariah, and truthfully something about the chatter is addicting. The morning back to work after the winter holiday the first thing I asked my co-worker was, “What are you drinking? Are you on a new cleanse?” I couldn’t help myself, something inside of me desperately wanted to know. We then proceeded to talk about juice cleanses for 10 minutes before coming around to ask one another how our holiday vacations went.

    Even more recently, I slipped up and found myself 20 minutes deep into a conversation about someone’s new life-altering diet at a family shiva. I sat with a plate full of bagel, kugel, and rainbow cake while a woman preached to me about the wonders of Keto. The woman explained how Keto focuses on our bodies natural ability to run solely on fats and proteins. Taking humiliating swallows of bagel and schmear, I actively listened as she continued rattling on about how since she started this new diet her body only needed to eat twice a day. The shame of eating more than two times a day immediately filled me.

    The shame feels right though—it’s an essential part of diet talk. We want the shame. We hope the shame will force us to be good. While I know it’s not good for me, diet chatter does light up part of my brain sending out excessive levels of a pleasure chemical. Maybe it’s the learning part that feels good. Perhaps my brain thinks it’s about to gain novel, life alerting information that will bring an undiscovered happiness to my life.

    Eating is one of the first behaviors we learn how to do on our own. It’s seemingly the simplest survival mechanism for humans.

    1. Ingest food 2. Don’t die 3. Repeat.

    We’ve managed to take this natural human need and turn it into an issue of morality.

    The idea that food is good or bad is beyond damaging to our self-worth, and in recent years this trend has only been getting worse as we’ve started doing it to even the tiniest of our species, babies! Breast milk is better than formal milk, organic vegetables blended on a free-range farm are better than pre-packaged vegetable blends, etc. Cognitively I know food is just food, but emotionally it’s become impossible to feel that way. It feels like eating the good things means that I’m good. This thought is exacerbated by the fact that everything around me is telling me that this is true. Labels declare what is good and even worse what foods can be consumed guilt free. We are so accustomed to adding morals to food choices that we don’t even hear how psychotic it sounds when someone says, “I’m so bad I just ate ____” In fact, we usually agree with them and say how bad we are too. (If you need a reminder of how absurd this actually sounds watch this.)  

    These days I’m trying my best to untangle myself from this food-self-worth mess by constantly reminding myself that food is just food and I’m attempting to disengage from diet chatter, but I still slip up and go back to my old ways like compulsively reconnecting with an ex. Even though I see that the totality is wrong, some parts of it feel right, and maybe I’m masochistic.

    Walking out on diet culture is complicated. We live here. The damage of a system that values body type and food choices over personality is clearly detrimental and interferes with a million aspects of our lives. Somedays I imagine a time and place where my girlfriends and I have become so evolved that we eat without shame and talk about ourselves in a kinder way. Other days, I’m annoyed if no one tells me I look skinny because that stupid phrase is still feeding something insatiable inside of me.

    I want to let go, but breaking up is hard to do.

    Read more: https://thoughtcatalog.com/samantha-mann/2018/02/the-toxic-reality-of-living-in-diet-culture-and-why-im-doing-my-best-to-leave-it-behind/

    Mom Pleads You to Look for These Flu Symptoms After Healthy 27-Year-Old Daughter Dies

    As of mid-January, The Centers for Disease Control reported that the most devastating flu season in years is upon us.

    Emergency Room doctors everywhere are overwhelmed with patients reporting severe symptoms from the dominant H3N2 strain that is resulting in thousands of hospitalizations, and even death.

    According to the CDC’s weekly flu report released on January 13, 2018, 14,401 new cases were confirmed, bringing the season total of laboratory-confirmed cases to a whopping 74,562. Ten children also reportedly died in the week of the 13th, bringing the season’s death toll to thirty.

    Head of CDC’s Domestic Flu Surveillance team, Lynnette Brammer warns that “the elderly, children under 2, pregnant women, and people with chronic health problems” are at the highest risk of developing complications from influenza.

    But a grieving Orange County mom is sending a new message to America after her perfectly healthy 27-year-old died of the flu: Nobody is immune.

    “You never believe it would happen. And the flu, pneumonia—I mean it’s just unimaginable,” Liz Gallagher told CBS2/KCAL9 after her daughter Katharine passed away last month.

    Katharine, a Boston University grad, was living with her boyfriend in Tustin when she came down with what she thought was a harmless stomach bug. Though she was experiencing chills, fever, stomach pain and a persisting cough, the 27-year-old was certain she could kick the flu with a little rest.

    After all, she was in perfect health and had what she thought was a pretty resilient immune system.

    When the symptoms didn’t relent after day three, Liz took her daughter to urgent care to get her checked out. Two days later, she also tried taking Katharine to the ER, but she refused, certain that she would heal on her own.

    “If I get some sleep, I’ll be fine,” insisted Katharine.

    By day 5, her concerned mother was texting her every hour to check in.

    “At 3:20 she texted me that ‘ahh I’m finally laying down,’” said Liz. “And I just texted back ‘get some sleep and text me when you wake up.’”

    But that was the last text Liz would ever receive from her daughter…

    Her boyfriend found her lifeless body laying on the bathroom floor when he returned from work. Katharine had passed away just one hour after sending that final message to her mom.

    “It’s the beginning of the worst nightmare that we’re not gonna wake up from,” says Liz, still shaken by the devastating loss.

    But amidst her unspeakable grief, she still has one ray of hope that keeps her going. If Liz can save just one life by spreading Katharine’s story, she knows her precious daughter’s death will not have been in vain.

    “If young people hear this, they will realize that this is not to be trifled with,” she says. “And that they’re not invincible. Whatever it is that’s going around is really dangerous. If there is even one person who goes and gets checked and doesn’t end up dying in a few days, then it will be worth it.”

    Liz wants to be very clear that her daughter had a difficult time breathing and was dizzy in addition to all of her other symptoms. She has one urgent word of caution: “If you have those symptoms, go to the ER.

    “Young people just think they’re invincible, and most of them don’t want to pay what it costs now to go to doctors,” added Liz.

    “Life is short, and I guess it’s trite to say ‘Live every day the best way you can,’ but nobody ever thinks it will happen to them.”

    Please SHARE Liz’s urgent warning with the ones you love today. After all, it could be the life that Katharine’s story saves. 

    Read more: https://faithit.com/healthy-27-year-old-daughter-dies-flu-mom-warns-symptoms/