From What Would Jess Say?:
This industry wants us to think we have mental health issues. The more of us are using the system, the more money they make.
The
more acceptable the language becomes, the easier it is for people to
identify with it, internalise it, and ultimately adopt psychiatric
frameworks voluntarily. Not because the evidence has improved, and not
because the science has evolved, but because the vocabulary has been
redesigned to feel less threatening, less stigmatising, and more aligned
with everyday human experiences.
The end result? Millions of
people now describe themselves using psychiatric terminology, often
casually, often inaccurately, and often in ways that encourage
self-pathologisation. Everything from ‘my depression’ through to ‘I’m a
bit psycho.’ Psychiatry wormed its way in, and now everyone is using the
language - but let me ask you something?
Would you consider
yourself insane? A lunatic? Would you call yourself sick in the head?
Are you deranged? Are you abnormal? Disordered?
Or would you prefer to say that you have ‘mental health’?
Mmmhmmm. (Read more.)
The limits of expertise. From The Public Discourse:
When speaking with parents about the
potential negative effects of social media on youth mental health, it
would have been easy to present them with all the same graphs and social
scientific studies Haidt shared. For instance, it would be easy to tell
them that, on average, more than three hours a day on
social media is statistically associated with a higher likelihood of
depression among adolescents. This has been empirically demonstrated as
more common for girls than boys, and for time spent on platforms such as
TikTok (passive reception of videos) as opposed to Reddit (active
engagement with words). The former Surgeon General’s advisory on the topic, another touchstone in the movement, is full of such evidence from the social sciences.
And yet herein lies immense irony. The
highly technical collection and sharing of this evidence is predicated
on the basic assumption that individual parents are otherwise
ill-equipped to discern when their child’s engagement on social media
has made them depressed (including the factors—age, sex, content—that
make them most depressed). At the most extreme, studies that produce the
“three hours” statistic presume parents don’t know their children at
all and, further, that they must make decisions for their children based
on the outcome of some statistical analysis based on data from kids
that, paradoxically, are also unknown to them.
As I have experienced it, when one talks to actual parents, most (perhaps all) know that their child—this child,
the one in front of their eyes daily, the one that they have intimately
observed since their birth—is addicted to social media, and that it is
bad for their mental health (among other parts of their life). Because
it is their child, they know what their behavior and mood were like
before they signed up for TikTok, and they can see firsthand the changes
to their behavior and mood afterwards. There is no need for statistical
controls or sophisticated computational models to help them discern
this difference. Jonathan Haidt and company, while
helpful, are not required. What is required, rather, is the courage and patience to look.
Further, from all the focus groups I’ve participated in, discussions about why this is happening to their child and what to do about it are best
done with other parents going through the same experiences, as
opposed to fully delegating this work to a remote social scientist who
has no direct connection with the families reading his work. When these
parents I’ve spoken with were allowed to openly discuss what social
media were doing to their kids, the basic situation was quickly
discerned, and some practical, ground-up
solutions were often identified. No “evidence-based recommendations” are
needed. Further, the kinds of solutions identified are rarely limited
to mere “risk management practices,” (e.g., cut off TikTok after three
hours) but tended toward environmental reform—the
kinds of practices, policies, and cultural habits that can be changed
to reduce the risk of this harm for those vulnerable to otherwise
inhabiting a world constantly subjected to it (e.g., several
neighborhood groups are bringing back landlines).
The best part of any presentation I’ve given was when my presentation
on “the evidence” stopped, and discussion between parents and
teachers—the messy work of politics—began. I’ve seen it happen many
times. (Read more.)
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