Alexander Howard has put together this excellent compendium of comments on Mike Rosenwald’s new Washington Post editorial, “Will the Twitter Police make Twitter boring?” I was pleased to see that so many others had the same reaction to Rosenwald’s piece that I did.

For the life of me, I cannot understand how anyone can equate counter-speech with “Twitter Police,” but that’s essentially what Rosenwald does in his essay. The examples he uses in his essay are exactly the sort of bone-headed and generally offensive comments that I would hope we would call out and challenge robustly in a deliberative democracy. But when average folks did exactly that, Rosenwald jumps to the preposterous conclusion that it somehow chilled speech. Stranger yet is his claim that “the Twitter Police are enforcing laws of their own making, with procedures they have authorized for themselves.” Say what? What laws are you talking about, Mike? This is just silly. These people are SPEAKING not enforcing any “laws.” They are expressing opinions about someone else’s (pretty crazy) opinions. This is what a healthy deliberative democracy is all about, bud!

Moreover, Rosenwald doesn’t really explain what a better world looks like. Is it one in which we all just turn a blind eye to what many regard as offensive or hair-brained commentary? I sure hope not!

I’m all for people vigorously expressing their opinions but I am just as strongly in favor of people pushing back with opinions of their own. You have no right to be free of social sanction if your speech offends large swaths of society. Speech has consequences and the more speech it prompts, the better.

C-SPAN is really quite incredible when you think about it.  When I was growing up in the 70s, there was nothing like it. Like most other Americans, my informational inputs about national news and politics were limited to what a couple of old white dudes in bad suits delivered each night around 6:30 on the three VHF channels I had access to. And no national newspapers were delivered to my small town in rural Illinois, so I had to rely on crummy local papers to fill the void via whatever national reporting they offered, which wasn’t much.

And then came C-SPAN.  C-SPAN alone covers more political and civic-minded activity in the course of a week than most of us probably came into contact with in our entire lives just 30 years ago. Consider these data points, which Peter Kiley, Vice President of C-SPAN Networks was kind enough to help me aggregate. In the 2009 calendar year, C-SPAN provided the following amount of first run programming across their three channels:

• 8,438 overall hours of programming;
• 2,709 hours of House & Senate floor activity; and,
• 1,222 hours of House & Senate committee hearings.

Moreover, C-SPAN recently created the C-SPAN Video Library, which archives 23 years worth (1987-on) of fully searchable (and free) video content, including:

• 161,000 overall hours of programming;
• 56,600 hours of House & Senate floor activity; and,
• 20,152 of House & Senate committee hearings.

That’s incredible. But here’s what’s more impressive: Many people fail to realize that C-SPAN is a private, non-profit company that is provided as a public service by cable industry contributions. It receives no government or taxpayer contributions. From 1979-2009, total license fees paid by cable & satellite companies to support C-SPAN totaled $922 million. That’s what brings you this amazing, unprecedented civic resource.

OK, let me step back and explain why I started thinking about C-SPAN.  I’ve been invited to testify at a Federal Communications Commission hearing this Thursday on “Serving the Public Interest in the Digital Era.” I suspect that one of the laments we’ll hear from some of the participants is the old “deliberative democracy is dead” line. Debates about public interest regulation often take on a mythical tone as regulatory advocates wax nostalgic about some supposedly Golden Era of Civic Engagement when we were all better informed and publicly active. It’s pure rubbish, as I showed in my 2005 book, Media Myths: Making Sense of the Debate over Media Ownership. (See chapter 4, “Democracy, Civic Discourse, and the ‘Public Interest.'”)

Nonetheless, the myth persists and often leads to calls for aggressive regulation of media markets in the name of serving “the public interest.” Regulatory advocates typically claim that government must intervene and layer on regulatory mandates if citizens are to have access to the requisite amount of political programming or civic-minded content necessary for deliberative democracy to survive.

But is there really any shortage political programming or civic-minded content from which to choose today? C-SPAN’s existence alone seems to prove the contrary, but it’s hardly the only platform through which such content is available. Let’s not forget about what the Internet has made available to us. It has given us unprecedented access to public affairs information—local, state, national, and international.

But here’s the thing that a lot of “public interest” advocates always seem to ignore: Regardless of how much beneficial civic content is out there, you can’t make people watch, listen, or read it if they don’t want to. “Today, the scarce resource is attention, not programming,” notes Ellen P. Goodman of the Rutgers-Camden School of Law. “Given the proliferation of consumer filtering and choice, these kinds of interventions are of questionable efficacy. Consumers equipped with digital selection and filtering tools are likely to avoid content they do not demand no matter what the regulatory efforts to force exposure.” [Ellen P. Goodman, “Proactive Media Policy in an Age of Content Abundance,” in Philip M. Napoli, ed., Media Diversity and Localism: Meaning and Metrics (2007) at 370, 374.]

And there is no reason to believe this situation has ever been different or will ever change. Writing in 1922, famed journalist Walter Lippmann noted that, “it is possible to make a rough estimate only of the amount of attention people give each day to informing themselves about public affairs,” but “the time each day is small when any of us is directly exposed to information from our unseen environment.” [Walter Lippmann, Public Opinion (1922), p. 53, 57.]  Of course, in Lippmann’s day, one could have reasonable argued that was because such content simply wasn’t available to the masses. Today, by contrast, the content is available, it’s just that we have a lot of other informational and entertainment outputs vying for our attention.

Absent truly repressive measures to limit choices or forcibly alter consumer media consumption patterns, it will be impossible for policymakers to force the masses to pay attention to what they want them to see or hear in an age of abundant media content and unrestricted choice. “[R]egulation cannot, in a liberal democracy, force viewers to consumer media products they do not think they want in the name of the public interest,” argues Goodman.

Luckily, public officials need not resort to such repressive steps. Even if we only access C-SPAN on rare occasions, or browse political information on the Net at random intervals in the days leading up to an election, that’s more information than we ever had at our disposal in those mythical “good ‘ol days.” We should be celebrating this fact, but I suspect a lot of people at the FCC’s hearing on Thursday will be bemoaning it instead.

I very much enjoyed Dennis Baron’s new book, A Better Pencil: Readers, Writers, and the Digital Revolution, and highly recommend you pick it up. Baron does a wonderful job exploring the history of techno-pessimism and the endless battles about the impact of new technologies on life and learning, something I have written about here before in my essays on “Internet optimists vs. pessimists” (See: 1, 2, 3).

I have a complete review of Baron’s A Better Pencil now up on the City Journal‘s website here.  I’ve also pasted it down below.

Plato Wrote it Down by Adam Thierer

a review of A Better Pencil: Readers, Writers, and the Digital Revolution, by Dennis Baron (Oxford University Press, 280 pp., $24.95)

In the beginning, Dennis Baron reminds us in his new book, A Better Pencil, there was the word—the spoken word, that is. Oral tradition, the passing of knowledge through stories and lectures, was the primary method of instruction and learning throughout early human civilization. But then a few innovative souls decided to start writing everything down on stones and clay. Almost as soon as they did, a great debate began on the impact of new communications technology on culture and education. And it rages on today, with a new generation of optimists and skeptics battling over the impact that computing, the Internet, and digital technologies have on our lives and on how we learn about the world.

Baron, a professor of English and linguistics at the University of Illinois, begins his splendid history of these debates with the well-known tale from Plato’s Phaedrus about the dangers of the written word. The Egyptian god Theuth boasts to King Thamus about how his invention of writing will improve the wisdom and memory of the masses. Thamus shoots back, “The discoverer of an art is not the best judge of the good or harm which will accrue to those who practice it.” Thamus then passes judgment on writing’s impact on society, saying he fears that the people “will receive a quantity of information without proper instruction, and in consequence be thought very knowledgeable when they are for the most part quite ignorant.”

Of course, as Baron points out, we remember this warning only “because Plato wrote it down.” It’s one of the recurrent ironies in the history of techno-skepticism that while “the shock of the new often brings out critics eager to warn us away,” those critics often embrace—or, at the very least, benefit from—the very tools that they want the rest of us to shun. Whether it’s Luddites On-Line winning Yahoo’s “Cool Site of the Day” award, or the Writing Instrument Manufacturers Association promoting National Handwriting Day via the Internet, or Ted Kaczynski’s Unabomber Manifesto attracting unprecedented readership thanks to its availability on the Web, those who have a “common tendency to romanticize the good old ways” of doing things often fail to appreciate how new technology can benefit society—including themselves.

Baron walks us through a litany of historical examples—the printing press, the telegraph, telephones, typewriters, pocket calculators, personal computers, word processors, webpages, blogs, social-networking sites, and more—and identifies the usual pattern: we greet each new technology with deep distrust and dire warnings, but in time we adapt to the new realities. Indeed, as a species, we have an unparalleled ability to learn new ways of doing things. We don’t always like technological change, and often we deeply resent or fear it, but in the end, we learn to live with it and eventually to embrace it.

With the rise of the Internet and digital technologies, we see this pattern unfolding once again. “According to the latest generation of critics and naysayers,” Baron notes, “today it is computers that are producing texts whose value and credibility we question; computers that are giving too many people control over the creation and publication of text; computers that are wreaking havoc with our handwriting.” Contemporary critics also fret over “information overload.”

The backlash against computers and digitization began while the Internet was still in its cradle, with the 1992 publication of Neil Postman’s anti-technology screed, Technopoly: The Surrender of Culture to Technology. Postman’s intellectual descendants include Internet critics such as Lee Siegel, Andrew Keen, and Mark Helprin, whose works drip with disdain for all things digital. They warn of a coming dystopia where truth and authority vanish, culture crumbles, and political polarization breeds closed-mindedness and even the death of deliberative democracy.

These overly pessimistic critics turn a blind eye to both the wonders of the digital age and humanity’s ability to adapt. As Baron persuasively argues, “English survives, conversation thrives online as well as off, and on balance, digital communications seems to be enhancing human interaction, not detracting from it.” In fact, we live in a world of unprecedented media abundance that previous generations would have found unimaginable. As Baron puts it: “The Internet is a true electronic frontier where everyone is on his or her own: all manuscripts are accepted for publication, they remain in virtual print forever, and no one can tell writers what to do.” Such human empowerment is worth celebrating, even if it does have the occasional downside. Abundance is better than a world of scarce choices and few voices.

Baron’s retelling of the history of techno-skepticism is edifying, but it leaves one with the nagging feeling that these debates will never cease. Each generation will witness a technological watershed that brings out a fresh crop of both pollyannas and pessimists. Like Plato, however, most of us will embrace whatever’s next and move forward.