Must-reads for how to study people’s online behavior (and navigate the ethical challenges that entails!)

I realized after posting my thoughts on how to think about social media as a site of human interaction (and all the ethical and methodological implications of doing so) that I forgot to leave links to what are, bar none, the best resources on the planet for policy makers, researchers, and the general public thinking through all this stuff.

Run, don’t walk, to download copies of the following must-reads:

Charles Ess and the AOIR Ethics Committee (2002). Ethical decision-making and Internet research: Recommendations from the AoIR ethics working committee. Approved by the Association of Internet Researchers, November 27, 2002. Available at:

Annette Markham and Elizabeth Buchanan (2012). Ethical decision-making and Internet research: Recommendations from the AoIR ethics working committee (version 2.0). Approved by the Association of Internet Researchers, December 2012. Available at:

When Science, Customer Service, and Human Subjects Research Collide. Now What?

I’m frustrated that the state of public intellectualism allows us, individually, to jump into the conversation about the recently published Facebook “Emotions” Study [1]. What we—from technology builders and interface designers to data scientists and ethnographers working in industry and at universities alike—really (really) need right now is to sit down together and talk. Pointing the finger or pontificating doesn’t move us closer to the discussions we need to have, from data sharing and users’ rights to the drop in public funding for basic research itself. We need a dialogue—a thoughtful, compassionate conversation among those who are or will be training the next generation of researchers studying social media. And, like all matters of ethics, this discussion will become a personal one as we reflect on our doubts, disagreements, missteps, and misgivings. But the stakes are high. Why should the Public trust social media researchers and the platforms that make social media a thing? It is our collective job to earn and maintain the Public’s trust so that future research and social media builders have a fighting chance to learn and create more down the line. Science, in particular, is an investment in questions that precede and will live beyond the horizon of individual careers.

As more and more of us crisscross disciplines and work together to study or build better social media, we are pressed to rethink our basic methods and the ethical obligations pinned to them. Indeed “ethical dilemmas” are often signs that our methodological techniques are stretched too thin and failing us. When is something a “naturalistic experiment” if the data are always undergoing A/B tweaks? How do we determine consent if we are studying an environment that is at once controllable, like a lab, but deeply social, like a backyard BBQ? When do we need to consider someone’s information “private” if we have no way to know, for sure, what they want us to do with what we can see them doing? When, if ever, is it ok to play with someone’s data if there’s no evident harm but we have no way to clearly test the long-term impact on a nebulous number of end users?

There is nothing obvious about how to design and execute ethical research that examines people’s individual or social lives. The reality is, when it comes to studying human interaction or behavior (for profit or scientific glory), it is no more (or less) complicated whether we’re interviewing someone in their living room, watching them in a lab, testing them at the screen, or examining the content they post online. There is no clearer sign of this than the range of reactions to the news (impeccably curated here by James Grimmelmann) that for one week, back in January 2012, researchers manipulated (in the scientific sense) what 689,003 Facebook users read in their individual News Feed. Facebook’s researchers fed some users a diet containing fewer posts of “happy” and positive words than their usual News Feed; other users received a smaller than their average allotment of posts ladled with sad words. Cornell-based researchers came in after the experiment was over to help sift through and crunch the massive data set. Here’s what the team found: By the experiment’s last day (which, coincidentally, landed on the day of the SOPA online protests! Whoops), it turned out that a negligible—but statistically detectable—number of people produced fewer positive posts and more negative ones if their Feed included fewer positive news posts from friends; when the researchers scaled back the number of posts with negative cues from friends, people posted fewer negative and more positive posts. This interesting, even if small, finding was published in the June 2014 issue of the Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences (PNAS). That’s how Science works—one small finding at a time.

At issue: the lead author, Facebook Data Scientist, Adam Kramer, never told users in the study that their News Feeds were part of this experiment, either before or after that week in January. And Cornell University’s researchers examining the secondary data set (fancy lingo for the digital records of more than half a million people’s interactions with each other) weren’t, technically, on the hook for explaining that to subjects either. Mind you, it’s often acceptable in human subjects research to conduct experiments without prior consent, as long as everyone discussing the case agrees that the experiment does not impose greater risk to the person than they might experience in a typical day. But even in those cases, at some point the research subjects are told (“debriefed”) about their participation in the study and given the option to withdraw data collected about them from the study. Researchers also have a chance to study the impact of the stimulus they introduced into the system. So, the question of the hour is: Do we cross a line when testing a product also asks a scientifically relevant question? If researchers or systems designers are “just” testing a product on end users (aka humans) and another group has access to all that luscious data, whose ethics apply? When does “testing” end and “real research” begin in the complicated world of “The Internet?”

Canonical Science teaches us that the greater the distance between researchers and our subjects (often framed as objectivity), the easier it is for us to keep trouble at arm’s length. Having carried out what we call “human subjects research” for much of my scholarly life—all of it under the close scrutiny of Institutional Review Boards (IRBs)—I feel professionally qualified to say, “researching people ain’t easy.” And, you know what makes it even harder? We are only about 10 years into this thing we call “social media”—which can morph into a telephone, newspaper, reality TV show, or school chalkboard, depending on who’s wielding it and when we’re watching them in action. Online, we are just as likely to be passionately interacting with each other, skimming prose, or casually channel-surfing, depending on our individual context. Unfortunately, it’s hard for anyone studying the digital signs of humans interacting online to know what people mean for us to see—unless we ask them. We don’t have the methods (yet) to robustly study social media as sites of always-on, dynamic human interaction. So, to date, we’ve treated the Internet as a massive stack of flat, text files to scrape and mine. We have not had a reason to collectively question this common, methodological practice as long as we maintained users’ privacy. But is individual privacy really the issue?

My brothers and sisters in data science, computational social science, and all of us studying and building the Internet of things inside or outside corporate firewalls, to improve a product, explore a scientific question, or both: We are now, officially, doing human subjects research. Here’s some background to orient us and the people who pay our research bills (and salaries) to this new reality.

Genealogy of Human Subjects Research Oversight in the United States
In 1966, the New England Journal of Medicine published an article by Harvard research physician, Henry Beecher, chronicling 22 ethically questionable scientific studies conducted between 1945 and 1965 (Rothman, 2003: 70-84). Dr. Beecher’s review wasn’t exposing fringe science on the margins. Federally and industry-funded experiments conducted by luminaries of biomedicine accounted for most of the work cited in his review. Even if today we feel like it’s a no brainer to call ethical foul on the studies Beecher cited, keep in mind that it took DECADES for people to reach consensus on what not to do. Take, for example, Beecher’s mention of Dr. Saul Krugman. From 1958-1964, Dr. Saul Krugman injected children with live hepatitis virus at Willowbrook State School on New York’s Staten Island, a publicly-funded institution for children with intellectual disabilities. The Office of the Surgeon General, U.S. Armed Forces Epidemiological Board, and New York State Department of Mental Hygiene funded and approved his research. Krugman directed staff to put the feces of infected children into milkshakes later fed to newly admitted children, to track the spread of the disease. Krugman pressed poor families to include their children in what he called “treatments” to secure their admission to Willowbrook, the only option for poor families with children suffering from mental disabilities. After infecting the children, Krugman experimented with their antibodies to develop what would later become the vaccines for the disease. Krugman was never called out for the lack of consent or failure to provide for the children he infected with the virus, now at risk of dying from liver disease. Indeed, he received the prestigious Lasker Prize for Medicine for developing the Hepatitis A and B vaccines and, in 1972, became the President of the American Pediatric Society. Pretty shocking. But, at the time, and for decades after that, Willowbrook did not register as unequivocally unethical. My point here is not to draw one to one comparisons of Willowbrook and the Facebook Emotions study. They are not even close to comparable. I bring up Willowbrook to point out that no matter how ethically egregious something might seem in hindsight, often such studies do not appear so at the time, especially when weighed against the good they might seem to offer in the moment. Those living in the present are never in the best position to judge what will or will not seem “obviously wrong.”

News accounts of risky experiments carried out without prior or clear consent, often targeting marginalized communities with little power, catalyzed political will for federal regulations for biomedical and behavioral researchers’ experiments (Rothman, 2003: 183-184). Everyone agreed: there’s a conflict of interest when individual researchers are given unfettered license to decide if their research (and their reputations) are more valuable to Science than an individual’s rights to opt out of research, no matter how cool and important the findings might be. The balance between the greater good and individual risk of research involving human subjects must be adjudicated by a separate review committee, made up of peers and community members, with nothing to be gained by approving or denying a researcher’s proposed project.

The Belmont Report
The National Research Act of 1974 created the Commission for the Protection of Human Subjects of Biomedical and Behavioral Research [2].  Five years later, the Commission released The Belmont Report: The Ethical Principles and Guidelines for the Protection of Human Subjects of Research. The Belmont Report codified the call for “respect for persons, beneficence, and justice” (The Belmont Report, 1979). More concretely, it spelled out what newly mandated university and publicly funded agency-based IRBs should expect their researchers to do to safeguard subjects’ informed consent, address the risks and benefits their participation might accrue, and more fairly distribute science’s “burdens and benefits” (The Belmont Report, 1979).
The Belmont Report now guides how we define human subjects research and the attendant ethical obligations of those who engage in it.

Put simply, the Belmont Report put a Common Rule in place to manage ethics through a procedure focused on rooting out bad apples before something egregious happens or is uncovered, after the fact. But it did not—and we have not—positioned ethics as an on-going, complicated discussion among researchers actively engaging fellow researchers and the human subjects we study. And we’ve only now recognized that human subjects research is core to technology companies’ product development and, by extension, bottom lines. However, there is an element of the Belmont Report that we could use to rethink guidance for technology companies, data scientists, and social media researchers alike: the lines drawn in the Belmont Report between “practice and research.”

The fine line between practice and research
The Belmont Report drew a clear line demarcating the “boundaries between biomedical and behavioral research and the accepted and routine practice of medicine”—the difference between research and therapeutic intervention (The Belmont Report 1979). This mandate, which was in fact the Report’s first order of business, indexes the Commission’s most pressing anxiety: how to reign in biomedicine’s professional tendencies to experiment in therapeutic contexts. The history of biomedical breakthroughs—from Walter Reed’s discovery of the causes of yellow fever to Jonas Salk’s polio vaccines—attest to the profession’s culture of experimentation (Halpern 2004: 41-96). However, this professional image of the renegade (mad) scientist pioneering medical advances was increasingly at odds with the need, pressing by the 1970s, for a more restrained and cautious scientific community driven first by an accountability to the public and only second by a desire for discovery.

In redrawing the boundaries between research and practice, the Belmont Report positioned ethics as a wedge between competing interests. If a practitioner simply wanted to tweak a technique to see if it could improve an individual subjects’ experience, the experiment did not meet the threshold of “real scientific inquiry” and could be excused from more formal procedures of consent, debriefing, and peer review. Why? Practitioners already have guiding codes of ethics (“do no harm”) and, as importantly, ongoing relationships built on communication and trust with the people in their care (at least, in theory). The assumption was that practitioners and “their” subjects could hold each other mutually accountable.

But, once a researcher tests something out for testing’s sake or to work on, more broadly, a scientific puzzle, they are in the realm of research and must consider a new set of questions: Cui bono, who benefits? Will the risk or harm to an individual outweigh the benefits for the greater good? What if that researcher profits from the greater good? The truth is, in most cases, the researcher will benefit, whether they make money or not, because they will gain credibility and status through the experience of their research. Can we say the same for the individual contributing their experiences to our experiments? If not, that’s, typically, an ethical dilemma.

Constructing ethical practice in a social media world
Social media platforms and the technology companies that produce our shared social playgrounds blur the boundaries between practice and research. They (we?) have to, in many cases, to improve the products that companies provide users. That’s no easy thing if you’re in the business of providing a social experience through your technology! But that does not exempt companies, any more than it exempts researchers, from extending respect, beneficence, and justice to individuals sharing their daily interactions with us. So we need to, collectively, rethink when “testing a feature” transitions from improving customer experience to more than minimally impacting someone’s social life.

Ethical stances on methodological practices are inextricably linked to how we conceptualize our objects of study. Issues of consent hinge on whether researchers believe they are studying texts or people’s private interactions. Who needs to be solicited for consent also depends on whether researchers feel they are engaged in a single site study or dealing with an infrastructure that crosses multiple boundaries. What ethical obligations, then, should I adhere to as I read people’s posts—particularly on commercial venues such as Facebook that are often considered “public domain”—even when they may involve participants who share personal details about their lives from the walled garden of their privacy settings? Are these obligations different from those I should heed with individuals not directly involved in my research? How can I use this information and in what settings? Does consent to use information from interviews with participants include the information they publicly post about themselves online? These questions are not easily grouped as solely methods issues or strictly ethical concerns.

For me, the most pragmatic ethical practice follows from the reality that I will work with many of the people I meet through my fieldwork for years to come. And, importantly, if I burn bridges in my work, I am, literally, shutting out researchers who might want to follow in my footsteps. I can give us all a bad reputation that lasts a human subject’s lifetime. I, therefore, treat online materials as the voices of the people with whom I work. In the case of materials I would like to cite, I email the authors, tell them about my research, and ask if I may include their web pages in my analyses. I tread lightly and carefully.

The Facebook Emotions study could have included a follow up email to all those in the study, sharing the cool results with participants and offering them a link to the happy and sad moments that they missed in their News Feed while the experiment was underway (tip of the hat to Tarleton Gillespie for those ideas). And, with more than half a million people participating, I’m sure a few hundred thousand would have opted-in to Science and to let Facebook keep the results.

We do not always have the benefit of personal relationships, built over time with research participants to guide our practices. And, unfortunately, our personal identities or affinities with research participants do not safeguard us from making unethical decisions in our research. We have only just started (like, last week) to think through what might be comparable practices for data scientists or technology designers, who often never directly talk with the people they study. That means that clear, ethical frameworks will be even more vital as we build new toolkits to study social media as sites of human interaction and social life.

Considering that more and more of social media research links universities and industry-based labs, we must coordinate our methodologies and ethics no matter who pays us to do our research. None of us should be relieved from duty when it comes to making sure all facets of our collaborations are conducted with an explicit, ethical plan of action. There are, arguably, no secondary data sets in this new world.

The Belmont Report was put in place to ensure that we have conversations with the Public, among ourselves, and with our institutions about the risks of the scientific enterprise. It’s there to help us come to some agreement as to how to address those risks and create contingency plans. While IRBs as classification systems can and have provided researchers with reflexive and sometimes necessary intervention, bureaucratic mechanisms and their notions of proper science are not the only or even the best source of good ethics for our work—ongoing and reflexive conversations among researchers and practitioners sharing their work with invested peers and participants are.

Whether from the comfort of a computer or in the thick of a community gathering, studying what people do in their everyday lives is challenging. The seeming objectivity of a lab setting or the God’s eye view of a web scraping script may seem to avoid biases and desires that could, otherwise, interfere with the social situations playing out in front of us that we want to observe. But, no matter how removed we are, our presence as researchers does not evaporate when we come into contact with human interaction. One of the values of sustained, ethnographic engagement with people as we research their lives: it keeps researchers constantly accountable not only to our own scientific (and self) interests but also to the people we encounter in any observation, experiment, or engagement.

Some of my peers argue that bothering people with requests for consent or efforts to debrief them will either “contaminate the data” or “seem creepy” after the fact. They argue that it’s less intrusive and more scientifically powerful to just study “the data” from a distance or adjust the interface design on the fly. I get it. It is not easy to talk with people about what they’re doing on online. Keep in mind that by the end of USENET’s long life as the center of the Internet’s social world, many moderated newsgroups blocked two kinds of lurkers: journalists. And researchers. In the long run, keeping a distance can leave the general public more suspicious of companies’, designers’, and researchers’ intentions. People may also be less likely to talk to us down the road when we want to get a richer sense of what they’re doing online. Let’s move away from this legalistic, officious discussion of consent and frame this debate as a matter of trust.

None of us would accept someone surreptitiously recording our conversations with others to learn what we’re thinking or feeling just because “it’s easier” or it’s not clear that we are interested in sharing them if asked outright. We would all want to understand what someone wants to know about us and why they want to study what we’re doing—what do they hope to learn and why does it matter? Those are completely reasonable questions. All of us have a right to be asked if we want to share our lives with strangers (even researchers or technology companies studying the world or providing a service) so that we have a chance to say, “nah, not right now, I’m going through a bad break up.” What would it look like for all of us—from LOLcat enthusiasts and hardcore gamers, to researchers and tech companies—to (re)build trust and move toward a collective enterprise of explicitly opting-in to understand this rich, social world that we call “The Internet?”

Scientists and technology companies scrutinizing data bubbling up from the tweets, posts, driving patterns, or check-ins of people are coming to realize that we are also studying moments of humans interacting with each other. These moments call for respect, trust, mutuality. By default. Every time we even think we see social interactions online. Is working from this premise too much to ask of researchers or the companies and universities that employ us? I don’t think so.

Notes/Bibliography/Additional Reading

[1] The United States Department of Health, Education and Welfare (HEW) was a cabinet-level, U.S. governmental department from 1953-1979. In 1979, HEW was reorganized into two separate cabin-level departments: the Department of Education and the Department of Health and Human Services (HHS). HHS is in charge of all research integrity and compliance including research involving human subjects.

[2] I wanted to thank my fellow MSR Ethics Advisory Board members, MSR New England Lab, and the Social Media Collective, as well as the following people for their thoughts on drafts of this essay: danah boyd, Henry Cohn, Kate Crawford, Tarleton Gillespie, James Grimmelmann, Jeff Hancock, Jaron Lanier,  Tressie Cottom McMillan, Kate Miltner, Christian Sandvig, Kat Tiidenberg, Duncan Watts, and Kate Zyskowski

Bowker, Geoffrey C., and Susan Leigh Star

1999    Sorting Things Out: Classification and Its Consequences, Inside Technology. Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press.

Brenneis, Donald

2006    Partial Measures. American Ethnologist 33(4): 538-40.

Brenneis, Donald

1994    Discourse and Discipline at the National Research Council: A Bureaucratic Bildungsroman. Cultural Anthropology 9(1): 23-36.

Epstein, Steven

2007    Inclusion : The Politics of Difference in Medical Research. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.

Gieryn, Thomas F.

1983    Boundary-Work and the Demarcation of Science from Non-Science: Strains and Interests in Professional Ideologies of Scientists.” American Sociological Review 48(6): 781-95.

Halpern, Sydney A.

2004    Lesser Harms: The Morality of Risk in Medical Research. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.

Lederman, Rena

2006    The Perils of Working at Home: Irb “Mission Creep” as Context and Content for an Ethnography of Disciplinary Knowledges. American Ethnologist 33(4): 482-91.

Rothman, David J.

2003    Strangers at the Bedside: A History of How Law and Bioethics Transformed Medical Decision Making. 2nd pbk. ed, Social Institutions and Social Change. New York: Aldine de Gruyter.

Schrag, Zachary M.

2010    Ethical Imperialism: Institutional Review Boards and the Social Sciences, 1965-2009. John Hopkins University Press.

Stark, Laura

2012    Behind Closed Doors: IRBs and the Making of Ethical Research. University of Chicago Press. 2012

Strathern, Marilyn

2000    Audit Cultures: Anthropological Studies in Accountability, Ethics, and the Academy. London New York: Routledge, 2000.

United States. National Commission for the Protection of Human Subjects of Biomedical and Behavioral Research.

1978    Report and Recommendations: Institutional Review Boards. [Washington]: U.S. Dept. of Health, Education, and Welfare : for sale by the Supt. of Docs., U.S. Govt. Print. Off

Matrix Algebra: how to be human in a digital economy

By Sara C. Kingsley and Dr. Mary L. Gray (cross-posted at CultureDigitally and the Center for Popular Economics 


Ray and Charles Working on a Conceptual Model for the Exhibition Mathematica, 1960, photograph. Prints & Photographs Division, Library of Congress (A-22a)


“Certainly the cost of living has increased, but the cost of everything else has likewise increased,”[1] H.G. Burt, the President of the Union Pacific Railroad, asserted to railroad company machinists and boilermakers.  For Burt, the “cost of everything else” included the cost of labor. His remedy: place “each workman on his [own] merit.”  In 1902, “workman merit” to a tycoon like H.G. Burt squarely meant equating the value of labor, or the worth of a person, to the amount of output each individual produced.  Union Pacific Railroad eventually made use of this logic by replacing the hourly wages of workers with a piece rate system.  Employers switched to piecework systems around the turn of the 19th century largely to reduce labor costs by weeding out lower skilled workers, and cutting the wages of workers unable to keep apace with the “speeding up” of factory production.

Employers historically leveraged piecework as a managerial tool, reconfiguring labor markets to the employers’ advantage by allowing production rates, rather than time on the job, to measure productivity.  Whatever a person produced that was not quantifiable as a commodity, in other words, did not constitute work.  We’ve seen other examples of discounted labor in spaces outside the factory.  Feminist economists fight to this day, for example, for the work of caregivers and housewives, largely ignored by mainstream economic theory, to gain recognition as “real” forms of labor.  Real benefits and income are lost to those whose work goes unaccounted.

As the historical record shows, workers do not typically accept arbitrary changes to their terms of employment handed down by management.  In fact, the Union Pacific Railroad machinists protested Burt’s decision to set their wages through a piecework system.  H.G. Burt met their resistance with this question: is it “right for any man to ask for more money than he is actually worth or can earn?”

But what is a person truly worth in terms of earning power?  And what societal, cultural, and economic factors limit a person from earning more?

In 2014, the question of a person’s worth in relation to their work, or the value of labor itself, is no less prescient.  The rhetoric surrounding workers’ rights compared to those of business differs little whether one browses the archives of a twentieth century newspaper or scrolls Facebook posts.  Ironically enough though, in the age of social media and citizen reporting, the utter lack of visibility and adequate representation of today’s workers stands in stark contrast to the piece rate workers of H.G. Burt’s day.  Few soundbites or talking points, let alone byline articles, focus on the invisible labor foundational to today’s information economies.  Nowhere is this more clearly illustrated than with crowdwork.

Legal scholar Alek L. Felstiner’s defines crowdworking as, “the process of taking tasks that would normally be delegated to an employee and distributing them to a large pool of online workers, the ‘crowd’” (2011).  Hundreds of thousands of people regularly do piecework tasks online for commercial, crowdsourcing sites like’s Mechanical Turk (“AMT”).

Over the last year, we’ve worked with Dr. Siddharth Suri and an international team of researchers, to uncover the invisible forms of labor online, and people who rely upon digital piecework for a significant portion of their income.  Crowdwork is, arguably, the most economically valuable, yet invisible, form of labor that the Internet has ever produced.  Take Google’s search engine for instance.  Each time you search for an image online (to create the next most hilarious meme, or find a infograph for a conference presentation) you’re benefitting from the labor of thousands of crowdworkers who have identified or ranked the image your search populates. While this service may be valuable to you, the workers doing it, only receive a few cents for their contributions to your meme or slideshow presentation.  Additionally, a typical crowdworker living in the United States makes, on average, 2 to 3 dollars an hour.  We need to ask ourselves: what is fair compensation for the value that workers bring to our lives?  How would you feel if tomorrow, all your favorite, seemingly free, online services that depend on these digital pieceworkers, disappeared?

Last fall, we spent four months in South India talking with crowdworkers and learning about their motivations for doing this type of work.  In the process we met people with far ranging life experiences, but a common story to tell – perhaps familiar to all of us who’ve earned a wage for our keep: work is not all we are, but most of what we do is work.  And increasingly, the capacity to maintain a living above the poverty line is elusive, and complicated by what “being poor” means in a global economy. Our hopes for finding more satisfying work, a life valued for what it is rather than what it is not — is no less, even as we confront the realities of today.

Moshe Marvit spoke to the complexities of crowdwork as a form of viable employment in a compelling account of U.S. workers’ experience with Amazon Mechanical Turk. He describes this popular crowdsourcing platform as “one of the most exploited workforces no one has ever seen.” Marvit emphasizes how crowdwork remains a thing universally unacknowledged, in that more and more tasks, from researchers’ web-based surveys and to Twitter’s real-time deciphering of trending topics, depend on crowdwork.  However, most people still don’t know that behind their screen is an army of click workers.  Anyone, who has ever browsed an online catalogue or searched the web for a restaurant’s physical address, has benefited from a person completing small, crowdworked task online.  Pointedly, our web experience is better because of the thousands of unknown workers who labor to optimize the online spaces we employ.

As Marvit points out, and our research also notes, people only earn pennies at a time for doing the small crowd tasks not yet fully automatable by computer algorithms. These crowd tasks, however, add up to global systems whose monetary worth sometimes trumps that of small nations.  Yet, when we ask our peers and colleagues, “do you know who the thousands of low income workers are behind your web browser?”  We receive mystified stares, and many reply “I don’t know.”

The hundreds of thousands of people who regularly work in your web browser are not the youth of Silicon Valley’s tech industry.  They likely cannot afford Google glass, or ride to work in corporate buses.  Some are college educated, but, like people today – they are stuck in careers that undervalue their real worth, in addition to discounting the investments they’ve already made in their education, skills, and the unique set of values they’ve gained from their own life experiences.

Yet, the more our research team learns about crowdworkers’ lives, the more we realized how little we know about the economic value of crowdwork and the makeup of the crowdworking labor force. And as Marvit notes, we still don’t have a good grasp of what someone is doing, legally speaking, when they do crowdwork. Should we categorize crowdwork as freelance work? Contract labor? Temporary or part-time work?

In the absence of answers to these questions, some have called for policy solutions to mitigate the noted and sometimes glaring inequities in power distributed between those posting tasks (or, jobs) to crowdwork platforms, and those seeking to do crowdwork online.  But, we argue, good labor policy that makes sense of crowdwork, from a legal or technical point of view, can’t be adequately drafted until we understand what people expect and experience doing task-based work online. Who does crowdwork? Where, how, and why do they do it? And how does crowdworking fit into the rest of their lives, not to mention our global workflows? When we can answer these questions, we’ll be ready to talk about how to define crowdwork in more meaningful ways. Until then, we resist dubbing crowdwork “exploitative” or “ideal,” because doing so is meaningless to the millions of people who crowdwork, and ignores the builders and programmers out there trying to improve these technologies.

We are all implicated in the environments we rely on and utilize in our daily lives, including the Internet.  Those who request and outsource tasks to the crowd without regard to crowdworkers’ rights, are perhaps, no more at fault than the rest of us who expect instant, high quality web services every time we search or do other activities online.  An important lesson from Union Pacific Railroad still holds true: workers are not expendable.

[1]Omaha daily bee. (Omaha [Neb.]), 01 July 1902. Chronicling America: Historic American Newspapers. Lib. of Congress. <>

How to think about ringing in your ears as something bigger than you

I’ve been feeling the need to freshen up the Blog-ish. What better way to do that than to post a link to a new blog post by another researcher I really love to read:

Check out Mack Hagood’s new piece on tinnitus and the prospects of an applied sound studies:

A Message to the “First Responders” in Gay Kids’ Lives: Why We Need to Ditch the Politics of Blame, Stop Talking About “Cyberbullying,” and Move Toward Sharing Responsibility for the Loss of Tyler Clementi

Mary L. Gray

Senior Researcher Microsoft Research New England, Cambridge, MA

Versions of this post will be cross-posted to socialqueery; the Huffington Post; SocialMediaCollective; and Cultural Digitally

Associate Professor of Communication and Culture, Indiana University

Tyler Clementi’s death on 22 September 2010 was one of the first in a wave of highly publicized youth suicides that fall. In several cases, media coverage and political discourse connected these tragedies to cases of on and offline harassment saturated in homophobic sentiment. Research among students suggests that these hostilely charged environments are the norm rather than the exception. For lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, and questioning (LGBTQ) youth contemplating suicide, parents, peers, educators, faith leaders, and LGBTQ community advocates are key “first responders”—caring individuals on the scene, providing support—in the wake of this ubiquitous animus. Rallying to punish Dharun Ravi, the former Rutgers student standing trial for 15 criminal counts, including tampering with witnesses and evidence, invasion of privacy, and bias intimidation of Tyler Clementi, does not do justice to Clementi’s life nor does it move us one step closer to preventing another young person, like him, from turning to suicide.

Yet, for the past 2 years, anti-bullying advocates have had their collective frustration and political clout harnessed to further criminalize bullying rather than bolster the roles and resources of invaluable LGBTQ youth “first responders” on the ground. States and school districts rushed to crack down on bullies, prompted, in some cases, by their own convictions but, surely in others, by a political desire to appease constituencies without having to take an explicit stand on anything (who could be for bullying, after all). As a result, a record number of anti-bullying policies are now on the books. However, we have no concrete evidence that such top-down policies prevent or counteract bullying, particularly so-called “cyberbullying”—harassment carried out through texting and online social networks. Worse yet, some research on violent harassment among youth suggests that framing the problem as “bullying” actually works against youth reporting violence or identifying themselves as targets of it (Marwick and boyd 2011).

As we move forward, we need to shift from a dead-end politics of blame to build out the sources of support and ethos of shared responsibility that could make a difference, literally, between life and death for LGBTQ young people.

Rethinking homophobia. Tracing a causal link between Ravi’s homophobic actions and Tyler Clementi’s suicide dangerously oversimplifies homophobia. This formula suggests that homophobia is something “individuals have” rather than what our cultural norms perpetuate. Rather than presume homophobia vents an individual’s fear of homosexuality, researchers, such as sociologist CJ Pasco (2009), have persuasively argued that it is a portable (I would argue concealable) weapon for policing sexuality and shoring up the fragile gender identities emblematic of tween and teen life. Young people, like Clementi, searching for communities to reflect who they are must constantly weigh if talking about how they feel, whether it’s with parents, close friends, or complete strangers, will work for or against them. If we are serious about preventing bullying and suicide, we need a calculus that always works in a young person’s favor.

The homophobia expressed in Ravi’s disgust for Clementi’s intimacy with another man, as much as the racism conveyed in Clementi’s joking suggestions that Ravi’s South Asian parents owned aDunkin’ Donuts, signal our limited capacity to celebrate difference. We need to stop telling young people what they shouldn’t say or do and start teaching them—and ourselves—the social and emotional literacies they need to challenge the way they see themselves and each other. It’s time to start having direct conversations with students (beyond the platitude that such name calling “isn’t nice)” about the power that words like “fag,” “no homo,” “bitch,” and others circulate, not only through the person targeted by the slur, but also the person hurling it. Only then can we hope to turn homophobia from an easy insult to a powerful analytic tool for mining our own fears, insecurities, and discomforts with difference.

Expanding parental support/holding parents accountable. One of the few things we know for sure is that parents, guardians, and adult mentors make a difference in the lives of LGBTQ youth. A young person, for example, who lives in fear of a parent’s condemnation is more likely to hurt themselves than a young person who feels supported and accepted at home (Ryan 2009). This is not surprising. But by not explicitly recognizing parents’ roles, we undermine their importance as a strategy for combating LGBTQ youth bullying and suicide. Parents and guardians provide a measure of incomparable respite when they celebrate, rather than stand neutral or second-guess a young person’s decision to question what it means to be straight. A modest expression of acceptance makes a measureable difference. But even that can be a tall order. Adults must negotiate and account for their own doubts and anxieties when a child asks such questions before they can effectively offer first responder support. Parents shouldn’t have to go it alone and, realistically, can’t do it all. They need allies, from family, faith communities, and other positive social networks, to counter the violence and hostility rampant in school environments and circulating online. We will know we’ve reached our goal when every young adult imagines they’d celebrate, rather than endure or suffer through, having an LGBTQ-identifying child of their own.

Focusing on basic research. Educators, researchers, and policy makers need to acknowledge that we know next to nothing about the quality of young LGBTQ people’s lives before we can even begin to contribute to meaningful strategies for supporting them. The data we arm ourselves with, even the universally cited statistics on higher suicide rates among lesbian and gay youth perpetuate a rudimentary, generic picture (Waidzunas 2011). But we have no idea what daily life is like for the average LGBTQ-identifying teen. Right now, there is no national instrument for measuring young people’s positive experiences around sexuality and gender. Most states don’t ask a single question about LGBTQ youth on their annual Youth Risk Behavior Survey, effectively erasing them from the discussion at the state and district level. Indeed, Massachusetts remains the only state with a standing Commission on GLBT Youth that funds support programs in its public schools through its department of education that gather data on the effectiveness of LGBTQ-specific outreach and education. What we need is a nationally funded, coordinated effort that links programming, outreach, and research on behalf of LGBTQ youth. Harvard University’s Born This Way Foundation, launching February 29, and the Massachusetts GLBT Youth Commission’s Research Consortium are 2 good examples of what needs to be done.

Where to go from here. Focusing our collective outrage on prosecuting an individual, whether seeking the harshest punishment we can wring out of Ravi’s case or lobbying for so called “zero-tolerance” policies that automatically expel any student implicated in bullying, implies that homophobia can be rooted out, one bad apple at a time. Turning this into a case of one individual driving Clementi over the edge moves us no closer to seeing the journey that brought Clementi to that edge. When it comes to understanding and preventing youth suicide, our research, educational policies, and legal actions can’t stop at weeding out the presence of homophobic individuals but must demand systems of accountability that address how we individually and collectively perpetuate homophobia in everyday ways. That is why the “first responders” fighting for young people’s federal rights to an equal education and the human right to free expression must call on us to more broadly share responsibility in making those rights universal over narrowly seeking the right bully to blame and lock up.


Alice Marwick and danah boyd. (2011). “The Drama! Teen Conflict in Networked Publics.” Paper presented at the Oxford Internet Institute Decade in Internet Time Symposium, September 22.

CJ Pascoe. (2007). Dude, You’re a Fag: Masculinity and Sexuality in High School. Berkeley: University of California Press.

Caitlin Ryan, David Huebner, Rafael M. Diaz, and Jorge Sanchez. (2009). “Family Rejection as a Predictor of Negative Health Outcomes in White and Latino Lesbian, Gay, and Bisexual Young Adults.” Pediatrics January 2009; 123:1 346-352; doi:10.1542/peds.2007-3524

Tom Waidzunas. (2011). “Young, Gay, and Suicidal: Dynamic Nominalism and the Process of Defining a Social Problem with Statistics.” Science, Technology & Human Values, 0162243911402363-. doi:10.1177/0162243911402363


Mary L. Gray is Senior Researcher at Microsoft Research New England and Associate Professor of Communication and Culture, with affiliations in American Studies, Anthropology, and the Gender Studies Department at Indiana University. She draws on an interdisciplinary background in anthropology and critical media studies to study how people use digital and social media in everyday ways to shape their social identities and create spaces for themselves. Her most recent book, Out in the Country: Youth, Media, and Queer Visibility in Rural America (NYU Press, 2009) examined how youth in rural parts of the United States fashioned “queer” senses of gender and sexual identity and the role that media—particularly internet access—played in their lives and political work.

2 big things happened 1/12/12…

Thursday’s the start of my last grad seminar, at least for the next few years. And it’s also the day word goes out that I’ve officially joined Microsoft Research New England (@MSNewEngland), in Cambridge, MA, as a Senior Researcher. Nancy Baym (@nancybaym) and Kate Crawford (@katecrawford) will be joining the team as well (!!!!!). And, of course, danah boyd (@zephoria) is already on the scene doing amazing work, building bridges between social media research done with a critical, qualitative twist and the phenomenal mathematics, physics, and computer science research that distinguishes MSR. danah boyd’s posted the details here.

And the grad seminar: I’ve got a batch of stellar young scholars here at Indiana University. Together, we’re tackling the thicket of ethnographic approaches to digital media studies to think through what makes ethnographic work different from other approaches to the everyday experiences of media that shape our worlds.

Pretty exciting day.
: )

big day

Tomorrow’s the big day. What makes it so big, you might ask?

Wait for it. Wait for it…