According to some critics, Facebook is responsible for almost every evil ever invented. The social media platform, under the corporate parent Meta, violates our privacy, sells our personal information to the highest bidders, monopolizes the media, earns undeserved billions in profit all but hourly, single-handedly killed print journalism, manipulates our minds with sinister algorithms, spreads inflammatory political disinformation, cultivates an epidemic of manic selfie narcissism, forces us to adopt bogus personas and induces loneliness, envy, anxiety, depression and suicidal tendencies.
And that’s just on a slow day.
I happen to feel largely otherwise. Speak out all you want against Facebook — and I know you will — but I’ve long seen it mainly as a force for good, especially around holidays such as Christmas. Thanks to Facebook, I accomplish a feat possible only 50 years ago mostly through phone calls and letters sent by mail: I stay current with almost all the people I know.
Now I can keep tabs on which former colleague got married or had a child, which high school classmate celebrated a birthday or wedding anniversary, and who took a new job or went on vacation. In the bargain, I get an opportunity to say congratulations. Likewise, I learn through Facebook about someone struggling through a divorce or cancer or grief over a loss and can then say, “I’m sorry,” “Hang in there” and “We’re with you.”
The surprises are endless. Through Facebook, I came back into contact with a former girlfriend from 1967, much to my delight, only for her to remind me immediately of a detail I had somehow conveniently forgotten: that I had broken up with her, and not once but twice. This unfortunate discovery gave me a chance to apologize and ask her to forgive me.
Courtesy of Facebook, I now correspond once in a while with the boss who fired me — unjustifiably, I still feel — from my first job out of college. I’m also once again in touch with an ex-best friend who unaccountably dropped me decades ago.
OK, so Facebook’s total user base worldwide — about 3 billion — dropped this year for the first time ever. Its stock value has plummeted, too. (I own no shares.) Some of its employees are getting laid off. And let’s face it: Co-founder and CEO Mark Zuckerberg testifying before a congressional committee makes for a profoundly unsympathetic spectacle.
And yes, my personal Facebook page sometimes gives me a headache. Someone may post a snarky comment about my family or eating habits or politics (quickly deleted). Certain couples appear never to tire of putting up photos of themselves smiling in front of the Trevi Fountain in Rome or some other illustrious landmark.
But to me, that’s small potatoes. Facebook suits me personally. It enables us to witness the cycles of life from cradle to grave and everything in between. The whole parade of people you hold dearest daily marches before your eyes in word and picture. At its best, Facebook restores memories long forgotten, brings us together with those long lost to us, and gives us fresh chances to make amends with those estranged and redeem ourselves in a spirit of unity and reconciliation.
In 2015, I spent Christmas alone. My wife and daughter had recently moved to Italy, with plans for us all eventually to reunite. We stayed in touch mostly through Facebook video chats. But it was hard going. Suddenly I missed everyone, family and friends living and dead. So I posted the following message:
“Say what you want about Facebook, but today, at least for me, it’s really doing what it’s most meant to do. Create a sense of connection and community on a holiday all about connection and community. That means all the more to me this Christmas. My wife and daughter are on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean, my mother and sister are in California, my remaining uncle and aunt are in Florida, and my cousins are scattered from Denver to North Carolina to D.C. So for me to join you all here right now, even if invisibly and silently, makes me more grateful than I can say.”
So yeah, go ahead and call me sappy. But as it turns out, Facebook is that rarest of rarities: a friend.
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ABOUT THE WRITER
Bob Brody is a consultant and essayist who lives in Italy. He is also the author of the memoir “Playing Catch with Strangers: A Family Guy (Reluctantly) Comes of Age.”
