CONFESSIONS OF A WHATSAPP HOSTAGE

 PAUL NWABUIKWU writes on the uses and the dangers of the popular instant messaging platform

The other day, a professor friend, a brilliant and confident fellow, spoke about a WhatsApp encounter that left him feeling unusually helpless. A much older relative had corralled him and others into a community group on the platform, one that he had no interest in. Naturally he was unhappy with the development and the subsequent bombardment of endless, annoying messages that followed did not improve his mood.

Fed up, he exited the group at night. But his courage did not last. The next morning, the elder who had not consulted him before making him a member called to find out why aburo decided to abandon the great initiative working for the collective interest of bla, bla, bla. Chastened, Prof apologised and informed Elder that his departure was a mistake, far from intentional. A few hours later, he was back in the group, licking his wounds in silence.

Many Africans familiar with WhatsApp will understand the interplay of technology, psychology, sociology and culture in that episode. We have all had similar, even identical experiences. While other social media platforms are largely expressions of a “global culture” minted in America, Whatsapp, like a rusted, second-hand car retrofitted and “pimped” into a high-tech luxury automobile with upgraded interiors and sound systems, has morphed into a village square customized for the 21^st century. The platform has evolved to become the most “local” of the big social media, with an unmatched capacity to resonate in the cultural places of the African heart. And the fact that is, for older folks, much easier to navigate than X and Instagram is a big advantage.

In a Facebook post a couple of years ago, I declared that Nigeria is gradually transforming into the Federal Republic of WhatsApp and that millions of us are unpaid staff labouring passionately in the vast public service of this new country. Quite a few friends found it funny. But it’s not a joke. Or perhaps it is a joke barbed with a sharp truth.

Yes, WhatsApp is not just another social media platform, though it shares the same general accessories. Like the others, it has the same broad features designed to make money by keeping users glued to their screens: chatting, phone and video calls, voice messaging, facilities for team meetings, sharing of materials (PDFs, spreadsheets, slideshows, etc).

Like Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and other platforms, WhatsApp’s business model is anchored on deploying all available tricks, legitimate or unethical, to keep the user so engrossed in a succession of tasks and activities that he/she forgets to log off. The longer the users hang around, moving robotically from chatting to posting photographs to sharing memes, to making audio and video calls, etc., the more money the platforms make from advertisements and other revenue sources. It’s a cynical formula in the worst traditions of predatory capitalism.

And the peddlers know exactly how dangerous the drug they want us to get more addicted to is. Many founders – Evan Spiegel, co-founder and CEO of Snapchat; Mark Zuckerberg of Meta (Facebook and Instagram); Neal Mohan, CEO of Youtube; Bill Gates, co-founder of Microsoft; and the late Steve Jobs, iconic co-founder of Apple – have all publicly stated that they strictly limit how much access their children have to the same platforms they enthusiastically market to children across the world. In fact, Gates is famous for banning his children from owning cell phones before the age of 14. It’s a wonder these folks have not sprouted horns on their famous heads.

But let’s focus on the subject and not get distracted like the users of the social media platform under discussion tend to. Like other platforms, WhatsApp is also a magnet for all sorts of information, ranging from news reports from established platforms to dodgy stories from fly by night “publishers” pushing sleaze, celebrity “news” – and lots of rumours. Though it is the favourite of older folks like my professor friend’s village uncle, the influence of WhatsApp is far from completely benign. Group chat pressure on a community page is a minor challenge compared to the fires that have been lit on WhatsApp in many parts of the world.

The 2018 lynching of five men in Rainpada, India after false rumours of kidnapping on WhatsApp has become a major example of the harm that ignorant and malicious viral messages can cause. It led to the decision of the platform to restrict forwarded messages. In Myanmar, WhatsApp was also the anchor for the hate campaigns against the Rohingya that instigated persecution and mass murders that forced the victimized people to flee in droves. In Kenya, WhatsApp played a major role in the violent crisis that has characterized recent elections with partisans across the political divide deploying the platform to demonize and mobilize violence against other groups.

More recently and closer home, the sporadic xenophobic, or more appropriately, Afrophobic violence that has resulted in mass murder, attacks and harassment of black Africans, including many legal residents has been significantly fueled by distortions, half-truths and outright falsehoods spread on WhatsApp. The platform is the playground of the violent bullies of Operation Dudula and other despicable characters whose activities are trashing the image of South Africa.

Nigeria has not been untouched by the poison. WhatsApp has been the unindicted culprit in many religious and communal conflicts, it stoked political disinformation and disagreements during the 2019 and 2023 elections, and it was a major conduit for misinformation and conspiracy theories during the Covid-19 epidemic.

What makes the platform so dangerous is the unique blend of group consciousness and exclusivity fostered by a comparatively superior end-to-end encryption technology. Within that space, friendship and fellowship (and sometimes annoying summons by elders that one cannot say No to) can thrive. But poison and orchestrated wickedness also characterize the platform.

2027 is another good reason to keep an eye on the vibrant village square of Nigeria. 

Nwabuikwu is a member of THISDAY Editorial Board