Unlike: at Facebook, 85 per cent of the tech staff are men. Photo: Getty
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Silicon Valley sexism: why it matters that the internet is made by men, for men

From revenge porn to online harassment, online spaces are recreating the misogyny of the wider world.

During the past year there has been an explosion of research about, and public interest in, the tech industry’s persistent diversity problems. A story this week in Newsweek, for example, describes the industry as “savagely misogynistic”. At the same time, there has been increased awareness regarding the reality and effects of online abuse. The two issues are not separate, but gendered and dynamically related. Tech’s institutionalised male dominance, and the sex segregation and hierarchies of its workforce, have serious and harmful effects globally on women’s safety and free expression. Consider, for example, what is generally called online “harassment”.

Men and women are having very different online experiences. For women the spectrum of what we call “harassment” is much broader, multifaceted and sustained. One of the primary reasons so many social media companies struggle with responding to online abuse on their platforms is that reporting and complaint systems fail to appreciate these differences. Their founders, managers, engineers are not only not well-versed in these experiences, but, as stories that now regularly punctuate the news cycle show, are sometimes perpetrating the abuses. That systems reinforce the stereotypes and implicit biases of the people who are designing them is old news. What is new news, however, is that the internet makes the effects much more evident.

First, some baseline demographics. The industry is overwhelmingly male and labour is sex segregated. Some examples: Twitter’s staff is 70 per cent male, with men making up 79 per cent of leadership and a whopping 90 per cent of the engineering staff. Fifty-nine per cent of employees are white. There is a similar gender gap at Facebook, where 85 per cent of the tech staff are men. Overall, the company is 69 per cent male, 63 per cent white. At Google, men make up 70 per cent of the staff, but 83 per cent of the tech departments. Only 2 per cent of Google employees are black. At 40 per cent, Asians make up make up a large and growing percentage of people in the industry, however, this is primarily Asian-American men who, as industry expert Anil Dash explained last October, “are benefitting from tech’s systematic exclusion of women and non-Asian minorities”.

These statistics inform a profound epistemological imbalance that results in inadequate tech solutions to women’s user problems. This in turn affects the ways that men and women participate the public sphere. Online harassment of men is not as severe or sustained as that of women. It’s also less likely to be focused on their gender. It is most frequently name-calling and designed to embarrass. A Pew Research study identifying these differences recently described this kind of harassment as “a layer of annoyance so common that those who see or experience it say they often ignore it”. Women, on the other hand, cannot ignore their online abuse: they are more than three times as likely to report having been stalked online and more than twice as likely to be sexually harassed. They make up more than 90 per cent of victims of revenge porn and are overwhelming the subjects of rape videos. A report from Bytes for All in Pakistan last year documented the ways in which technology driven violence against women in social media is exacerbating real world violence. In India, police are grappling with what they call a “revenge porn economy”, being fuelled by gang-rape videos in social media used to extort women. In the United States, a law firm today announced a cyber civil rights project designed to help women whose partners abusively share photography without their consent. According to a survey conducted by the National Network to End Domestic Violence in the United States, 89 per cent of shelters report that victims are experiencing intimidation and threats by abusers via technology, including through cell phones, texts, and email. That women are having these experiences online in disproportion to men mirrors the offline realities of women’s daily calibrations to pervasive harm, the fact of which consistently surprises their male counterparts.

Women are far more likely to report electronic harassment as part of ongoing intimate partner violence and are more likely to report that their online harassment is sustained over longer periods of time. People who experience more sustained, invasive and physically threatening abuse online report higher levels of stress and emotional disturbance. In the Pew study, 38 per cent of women report being very upset by their most recent incident of online abuse, compared with 17 per cent of men. Necessarily more attuned to having to avoid violence or to living with it, women also incur greater costs dealing with harassment. The Pew research found that women are more than twice as likely to take multiple steps to try and address abuse. The toll on their lives can be steep and the actions necessary to address the problem take time, energy and money. Blithely unaware of these differences, male dominated corporate bodies tend towards thinking women are exaggerating their concerns, or are oversensitive “drama queens” who should, as many people think, either “grow up or get out of the kitchen if they can’t stand the heat”.

A reporting system that was designed to appreciate women’s experiences with harassment and discrimination would provide reporting tools that do, at the very least, six things: one, make it easy to report multiple incidents at the same time; two, provide a way for users to explain context or cross-platform harassment; three, have moderators who are trained to understand the reality of women’s safety needs; four, have guidelines that define “legitimate threat” in a way that isn’t only the threat of the kind of “imminent violence”, usually perpetrated by a stranger and most often experienced by a man, but the less visible, more pervasive, harms suffered by women at the hands of people they know; five, give users maximum privacy controls; and, lastly, provide options would allow users to designate surrogates or proxies who can step in to track and report incidents.

Instead, most current systems, almost without fail, do the opposite. Moderators responsible for content and complaints, regardless of gender, are making decisions based not just on the information they are reviewing, but on the way in which the information flows – linear, acontextual and isolated from other incidents. They are reliant, despite their best efforts, on technical systems that provide insufficient context, scale, frequency or scope. In addition, they lack specific training in trauma (their own or users) and in understanding gender-based violence. It’s no surprise that they appear to be tone-deaf to women’s needs when interpreting guidelines, the similarly, structurally, problematic.

Guidelines speak to a salient issue, namely, many companies are spending a great deal of time employing people, most frequently women, to work on community management and customer service, divorced – functionally, spatially, culturally, hierarchically – from systems engineers and senior team management. Moderation systems are overtaxed because of inadequately informed technology tools and business cultures. More egalitarian and empathetic systems architectures would probably obviate the need for a profusion of every-changing and frequently problematic guidelines.

Unfortunately, gender and racial imbalances are shared by the venture capitalists that fund tech, which means that women and minorities are also inhibited from access to the resources that would enable them to innovate alternate solutions. Fewer than 3 per cent of companies that get capitalised have women CEOs.

There is nothing particularly unique about this situation. We live in a world that, until very recently, was designed entirely by men. It affects everything from the way cars are built, jobs are chosen and bathrooms are designed, to how medicine is researched and implemented and laws are written and enforced. In tech, new products routinely reveal the invisibility of women to designers. However, this isn’t about one-off apps that can be tweaked and relaunched, and the potential outcomes of tech sexism, implicit or not, can’t be underestimated or rapidly fixed. Women, we are often told, tend to use social media sites slightly more than their male peers. However, today it is estimated that there are 200 million fewer women online than men. There are many reasons for that gap and the construction of internet platforms is not to blame. However, if these systemic biases are not addressed that gender gap will continue to grow, with long-lasting global economic and social effects. Funding summer tech camps for girls is a great idea, but, ultimately, it’s just scratching the surface.

Last year may have been a turning point in terms of public awareness and women coming forward with their experiences.Google has been training its staff to understand implicit bias. Intel announced a $300m initiative focused on increasing overall diversity and, specifically, the number of women in computer science (currently at a very backlash 39-year low). Facebook, Twitter and YouTube are working with advocacy groups to address harassment. These are positive signs that there is greater understanding of the idea that technology is socially constructed and can be socially de- and reconstructed. In the meantime, however, we have lost a generation of women’s innovative potential to a fully integrated, socially cultivated, self-perpetuating misogyny all suited up in progressive ingenuity.

Photo: Getty/New Statesman
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The mother lode: how mums became the ultimate viral fodder

The internet’s favourite joke used to be "your mum". Now it's "my mum".

“I was like: oh my.”

Terri Squires is describing her reaction to the news that she had gone viral. Last month, more than 213,000 people shared a tweet about Terri – but it wasn’t sent from her account. The 50-year-old Ohioan was propelled to internet stardom by her son, Jeff, who had tweeted about his mother.

“I didn’t really realise what it meant at first until he was like: ‘Mum, you do realise that millions of people have looked at this?’ … When I started seeing those numbers I was like: ‘Oh boy’.”

It’s a funny story – and Terri laughs heartily all she tells it. After coming out of a meeting, she checked her phone and noticed a picture of a missing – white – dog on Facebook. She quickly texted 17-year-old Jeff to check that the family dog, Duey, was safe. “That’s not Duey… Duey’s face is brown,” replied her son. “OK – just checking,” replied Terri.

More than 600,000 people “liked” Terri’s mistake after Jeff shared screenshots of the text message exchange on Twitter. But Terri is just one of hundreds of mums who have gone viral via their sons and daughters. Texts mums send, mistakes they make, things they fail to notice – these have all become the ultimate viral fodder.

In the last three months alone, Gerald’s mum went viral for a microphone mishap, Adam’s mum shot to Twitter fame for failing to understand WhatsApp, Lois’ mum got tricked by her daughter, Harry’s mum was hit in the head with a football, Hanna’s mum misunderstood a hairstyle, and Jake’s mum failed to notice her son had swapped a photo in her home for a portrait of Kim Jong-un.

But how do the mothers behind these viral tweets feel?

“I'm pretty much a mum that everybody wants to talk to these days,” says Terri, with another warm laugh. The mum of three says going viral “is not that big of a deal” to her, but she is happy that her son can enjoy being a “local superstar”. But is she embarrassed at being the punchline of Jeff’s joke?

“Believe me, I have thick skin,” she says. “I kinda look at what it is, and it’s actually him and his fame. I’m just the mum behind it, the butt of the joke, but I don't mind.”

Not all mums feel the same. A handful of similar viral tweets have since been deleted, indicating the mothers featured in them weren’t best pleased. A few people I reach out to haven’t actually told their mums that they’re the subject of viral tweets, and other mums simply don’t want any more attention.

“I think I’ve put my mum through enough with that tweet already,” says Jacko, when I ask if his mum would be willing to be interviewed. In 2014, Jacko tweeted out a picture of his family writing the word “cock” in the air with sparklers. “This is still my favourite ever family photo,” he captioned the tweet, “My mum did the ‘O’. We told her we were going to write ‘Love’.”

“No one ever expects to call home and say ‘Mum, have you heard of something called LADbible? No, you shouldn’t have, it’s just that a quarter of a million of its fans have just liked a photo of you writing the word ‘cock’ with a sparkler’,” Jacko explains.

Although Jacko feels his mum’s been through enough with the tweet, he does say she was “ace” about her new found fame. “She’s probably cooler about it all than I am”. Apart from the odd deletion, then, it seems most mums are happy to become viral Twitter stars.

Yet why are mums so mocked and maligned in this way? Although dads are often the subject of viral tweets, this is usually because of jokes the dads themselves make (here’s the most notable example from this week). Mums, on the other hand, tend to be mocked for doing something “wrong” (though there are obviously a few examples of them going viral for their clever and cunning). On the whole: dads make jokes, mums are the butt of them.

“We all think our mums are so clueless, you know. They don’t know what’s going on. And the fun thing is, one day we come to realise that they knew way more of what was going on than we thought,” says Patricia Wood, a 56-year-old mum from Texas. “People always kind of make fun of their mums, but love them.”

Last year, Patricia went viral when her daughter Christina tweeted out screenshots of her mum’s Facebook posts. In them, Patricia had forgotten the names of Christina’s friends and had candidly written Facebook captions like: “My gorgeous daughter and her date for formal, sorry I forgot his name”. Christina captioned her tweet “I really can't with my mom” and went on to get more than 1,000 likes.

“I felt, like, wow, it was like we’re famous, you know. I thought it was really cool,” says Patricia, of going viral. Her experiences have been largely positive, and as a part-time Uber driver she enjoys telling her customers about the tweet. “But I did have one bad experience,” she explains. A drunken passenger in her car saw the tweet and called Patricia an “asshole”.

Another aspect of viral fame also worried Patricia. She and her daughter were invited on a reality show, TD Jakes, with the production company offering to pay for flights and hotels for the pair. “I have too many skeletons in my closet and I didn't want them to come dancing out,” says Patricia, of her decision not to go. “By the time I got off it, it would be the Jerry Springer show, you know. I’m kind of a strange bird.”

On the whole, then, mothers are often amused by going viral via their offspring – and perhaps this is the real beauty of tweeting about our mums. Since the moment they earn the title, mums can’t afford to be fragile. There is a joy and relatability in “my mum” tweets – because really, the mum in question could be anyone’s. Still, from now on, mums might be more careful about what they tell their sons and daughters.

“When I send Jeff a text now I make sure I’m like: ‘Is my spelling correct? Is what I’m saying grammatically correct?’,” says Terri, “Because who knows where the words are gonna end up?”

Amelia Tait is a technology and digital culture writer at the New Statesman.