Online Speech Is Now An Existential Question For Tech

Every public communication platform you can name—from Facebook, Twitter and YouTube to Parler, Pinterest and Discord—is wrestling with the same two questions:

How do we make sure we’re not facilitating misinformation, violence, fraud or hate speech?

At the same time, how do we ensure we’re not censoring users?

The more they moderate content, the more criticism they experience from those who think they’re over-moderating. At the same time, any statement on a fresh round of moderation provokes some to point out objectionable content that remains. Like any question of editorial or legal judgment, the results are guaranteed to displease someone, somewhere—including Congress, which this week called the chief executives of Facebook, Google and Twitter to a hearing on March 25 to discuss misinformation on their platforms.

For many services, this has gone beyond a matter of user experience, or growth rates, or even ad revenue. It’s become an existential crisis. While dialling up moderation won’t solve all of a platform’s problems, a look at the current winners and losers suggests that not moderating enough is a recipe for extinction.

Facebook is currently wrestling with whether it will continue its ban of former president Donald Trump. Pew Research says 78% of Republicans opposed the ban, which has contributed to the view of many in Congress that Facebook’s censorship of conservative speech justifies breaking up the company—something a decade of privacy scandals couldn’t do.

Parler, a haven for right-wing users who feel alienated by mainstream social media, was taken down by its cloud service provider, Amazon Web Services, after some of its users live-streamed the riot at the U.S. Capitol on Jan. 6. Amazon cited Parler’s apparent inability to police content that incites violence. While Parler is back online with a new service provider, it’s unclear if it has the infrastructure to serve a large audience.

During the weeks Parler was offline, the company implemented algorithmic filtering for a few content types, including threats and incitement, says a company spokesman. The company also has an automatic filter for “trolling” that detects such content, but it’s up to users whether to turn it on or not. In addition, those who choose to troll on Parler are not penalized in Parler’s algorithms for doing so, “in the spirit of First Amendment,” says the company’s guidelines for enforcement of its content moderation policies. Parler recently fired its CEO, who said he experienced resistance to his vision for the service, including how it should be moderated.

Now, just about every site that hosts user-generated content is carefully weighing the costs and benefits of updating their content moderation systems, using a mix of human professionals, algorithms and users. Some are even building rules into their services to pre-empt the need for increasingly costly moderation.

The saga of gaming-focused messaging app Discord is instructive: In 2018, the service, which is aimed at children and young adults, was one of those used to plan the Charlottesville riots. A year later, the site was still taking what appeared to be a deliberately laissez-faire approach to content moderation.

By this January, however, spurred by reports of hate speech and lurking child predators, Discord had done a complete 180. It now has a team of machine-learning engineers building systems to scan the service for unacceptable uses, and has assigned 15% of its overall staff to trust and safety issues.

This newfound attention to content moderation helped keep Discord away from the controversy surrounding the Capitol riot, and caused it to briefly ban a chat group associated with WallStreetBets during the GameStop stock runup. Discord’s valuation doubled to $7 billion over roughly the same period, a validation that investors have confidence in its moderation strategy.

The prevalence problem

The challenge successful platforms face is moderating content “at scale,” across millions or billions of pieces of shared content.

Before any action can be taken, services must decide what should be taken down, an often slow and deliberative process.

Imagine, for example, that a grass-roots movement gains momentum in a country, and begins espousing extreme and potentially dangerous ideas on social media. While some language might be caught by algorithms immediately, a decision about whether discussion of a particular movement, like QAnon, should be banned completely, could take months on a service such as YouTube, says a Google spokesman.

One reason it can take so long is the global nature of these platforms. Google’s policy team might consult with experts in order to consider regional sensitivities before making a decision. After a policy decision is made, the platform has to train AI and write rules for human moderators to enforce it—then make sure both are carrying out the policies as intended, he adds.

While AI systems can be trained to catch individual pieces of problematic content, they’re often blind to the broader meaning of a body of posts, says Tracy Chou, founder of content-moderation startup Block Party and former tech lead at Pinterest.

Take the case of the “Stop the Steal” protest, which led to the deadly attack on the U.S. Capitol. Individual messages used to plan the attack, like “Let’s meet at location X,” would probably look innocent to a machine-learning system, says Ms Chou, but “the context is what’s key.” Facebook banned all content mentioning “Stop the Steal” after the riot.

Even after Facebook has identified a particular type of content as harmful, why does it seem constitutionally unable to keep it off its platform?

It’s the “prevalence problem.” On a truly gigantic service, even if only a tiny fraction of content is problematic, it can still reach millions of people. Facebook has started publishing a quarterly report on its community standards enforcement. During the last quarter of 2020, Facebook says users saw seven or eight pieces of hate speech out of every 10,000 views of content. That’s down from 10 or 11 pieces the previous quarter. The company said it will begin allowing third-party audits of these claims this year.

While Facebook has been leaning heavily on AI to moderate content, especially during the pandemic, it currently has about 15,000 human moderators. And since every new moderator comes with a fixed additional cost, the company has been seeking more efficient ways for its AI and existing humans to work together.

In the past, human moderators reviewed content flagged by machine learning algorithms in more or less chronological order. Content is now sorted by a number of factors, including how quickly it’s spreading on the site, says a Facebook spokesman. If the goal is to reduce the number of times people see harmful content, the most viral stuff should be top priority.

A content moderator in every pot

Companies that aren’t Facebook or Google often lack the resources to field their own teams of moderators and machine-learning engineers. They have to consider what’s within their budget, which includes outsourcing the technical parts of content moderation to companies such as San Francisco-based startup Spectrum Labs.

Through its cloud-based service, Spectrum Labs shares insights it gathers from any one of its clients with all of them—which include Pinterest and Riot Games, maker of League of Legends—in order to filter everything from bad words and human trafficking to hate speech and harassment, says CEO Justin Davis.

Mr Davis says Spectrum Labs doesn’t say what clients should and shouldn’t ban. Beyond illegal content, every company decides for itself what it deems acceptable, he adds.

Pinterest, for example, has a mission rooted in “inspiration,” and this helps it take a clear stance in prohibiting harmful or objectionable content that violates its policies and doesn’t fit its mission, says a company spokeswoman.

Services are also attempting to reduce the content-moderation load by reducing the incentives or opportunity for bad behaviour. Pinterest, for example, has from its earliest days minimized the size and significance of comments, says Ms Chou, the former Pinterest engineer, in part by putting them in a smaller typeface and making them harder to find. This made comments less appealing to trolls and spammers, she adds.

The dating app Bumble only allows women to reach out to men. Flipping the script of a typical dating app has arguably made Bumble more welcoming for women, says Mr Davis, of Spectrum Labs. Bumble has other features designed to pre-emptively reduce or eliminate harassment, says Chief Product Officer Miles Norris, including a “super block” feature that builds a comprehensive digital dossier on banned users. This means that if, for example, banned users attempt to create a new account with a fresh email address, they can be detected and blocked based on other identifying features.

The ‘supreme court of content’

Facebook CEO Mark Zuckerberg recently described Facebook as something between a newspaper and a telecommunications company. For it to continue being a global town square, it doesn’t have the luxury of narrowly defining the kinds of content and interactions it will allow. For its toughest content moderation decisions, it has created a higher power—a financially independent “oversight board” that includes a retired U.S. federal judge, a former prime minister of Denmark and a Nobel Peace Prize laureate.

In its first decision, the board overturned four of the five bans Facebook brought before it.

Facebook has said that it intends the decisions made by its “supreme court of content” to become part of how it makes everyday decisions about what to allow on the site. That is, even though the board will make only a handful of decisions a year, these rulings will also apply when the same content is shared in a similar way. Even with that mechanism in place, it’s hard to imagine the board can get to more than a tiny fraction of the types of situations content moderators and their AI assistants must decide every day.

But the oversight board might accomplish the goal of shifting the blame for Facebook’s most momentous moderation decisions. For example, if the board rules to reinstate the account of former President Trump, Facebook could deflect criticism of the decision by noting it was made independent of its own company politics.

Meanwhile, Parler is back up, but it’s still banned from the Apple and Google app stores. Without those essential routes to users—and without web services as reliable as its former provider, Amazon—it seems unlikely that Parler can grow anywhere close to the rate it otherwise might have. It’s not clear yet whether Parler’s new content filtering algorithms will satisfy Google and Apple. How the company balances its enhanced moderation with its stated mission of being a “viewpoint neutral” service will determine whether it grows to be a viable alternative to Twitter and Facebook or remains a shadow of what it could be with such moderation.

MANALAPAN, FLA.— The Deal-Closer. That’s what real-estate agent Jack Elkins jokingly calls the Hinckley picnic boat he docks on the Intracoastal Waterway in the Florida community of Manalapan.

From the road, many of Manalapan’s mansions are shrouded by plantings and foliage, but they are clearly visible from the water, Elkins explained. A boat ride is often the best way to show properties to the wealthy buyers now flocking to the tiny town.

On a recent afternoon, Elkins cruised down the Intracoastal in the The Deal-Closer, passing mansion after mansion, most with their own docks. “When I was a little kid, almost all of this was jungle,” said Elkins, 46, who spent much of his childhood in the area. “There were foxes and parrots and all these wild animals.”

Manalapan, a roughly 2.4-square-mile town with a population of about 400, is just south of glitzier Palm Beach.

While Manalapan has long drawn moneyed residents such as the singer Billy Joel, it has historically lacked the prestige—and price tags—of Palm Beach. That has changed dramatically over the past five years, however, thanks to a series of major home sales.

In 2022, for example, Oracle billionaire Larry Ellison paid $173 million for a historic Manalapan estate. And David MacNeil, the founder of the automotive-accessories manufacturer WeatherTech, has spent a combined $94 million over the past year on a pair of neighboring sites, with plans to build a megamansion there.

“People like Larry Ellison and David MacNeil, these individuals can afford to buy real estate anywhere in the world,” said local real-estate agent Nick Malinosky of Douglas Elliman . “Manalapan is not a second choice for them. It’s their first choice.”

On South Ocean Boulevard, Manalapan’s most affluent corridor, about 21 homes have traded for more than $20 million each since 2020. At least six have sold for $40 million or more, up from only one in that price range during the previous five years.

In 2021, eBay billionaire Jeffrey Skoll bought an ocean-to-Intracoastal estate for $89.93 million, while Joel’s longtime home sold last year for $42.6 million.

Now, however, it is unclear whether Manalapan’s hot streak can continue. Like luxury markets across the country, the town is contending with stock-market turmoil and the fallout from President Trump’s tariffs.

Like many Manalapan residents, local developer Stewart Satter, who is listing a yet-to-be-built spec home for $285 million, is a Trump supporter. During the 2024 election, Satter flew a giant Trump flag above the site.

But tariffs have “created a tremendous amount of uncertainty at the minimum, and that is not good for business,” Satter said. “It’s not good for real estate. People say, ‘Let’s wait. We’re not going to buy a house, we’re not going to build a house.’”

Hitting the big time

Elkins’ cuddly Native American Indian Dog, Bear, lounged on The Deal-Closer’s blue-and-white-striped seats as the boat zipped along the Intracoastal, passing glassy modern mansions and traditional Mediterranean estates.

To catch a glimpse of Ellison’s roughly 16-acre oceanfront estate, Elkins guided the Hinckley through the Boynton Inlet into the choppy Atlantic, where the sandy beach in front of Ellison’s property was visible.

Known as Gemini, the gargantuan mansion was once owned by the late publishing magnate William B. Ziff Jr., who brought in large plantings and trees from South America for the landscaping.

“When I was a little kid, barges were going by our house with these huge trees,” Elkins recalled.

Ellison has approved plans to add more homes to the estate. He also paid about $277 million last year for Manalapan’s Eau Palm Beach Resort & Spa, home to the members-only La Coquille Club, and talk is rife about how Ellison might upgrade the property. Ellison didn’t respond to requests for comment.

It’s a strange feeling, Elkins said, to see Manalapan hit the big time.

Before Covid, the town was often confused with its namesake: Manalapan, N.J. Tiny compared with Palm Beach, Manalapan developed much more slowly than its famous neighbour. It lacks the commercial infrastructure of Palm Beach, and its low-density zoning has kept it largely free of major condos or resorts.

When Satter, the developer, bought four empty lots in Manalapan in 2005, parts of the town looked like “just a mess of woods,” said his wife, Susan Satter. “I said, ‘Is this really how we want to invest our money?’”

Over the next decade, her husband built spec homes on three of the lots and sold them for a significant profit. He kept one, building a mansion there for himself and his wife.

“I thought I’d discovered a really special place,” said Stewart, who tested products for Walmart before turning to spec-home development. “If I had known what was going to happen, obviously, in the rear view mirror, I would have bought the whole town.”

The buyers of Satter’s projects include Ron and Cindy McMackin, who paid roughly $39 million in 2020 for a roughly 15,500-square-foot waterfront house with six bedrooms, then expanded it.

The couple, founders of the mechanical subcontracting company Pan-Pacific Mechanical, had relocated from Hawaii to South Florida during COVID.

“We knew nothing about Manalapan when we moved here,” said Ron, 78. He and Cindy were in the process of moving into a Palm Beach property they owned when their real-estate agent, Lawrence Moens , called. The actor Sylvester Stallone was searching for a home amid the Covid-induced real-estate frenzy, and wanted to see their house.

Before they knew it, they had agreed to sell to the “Rocky” star for $35.375 million, 33% more than the $26.65 million they had paid two years earlier.

This left them without a house. It was slim pickings in Palm Beach, and with five children, they needed plenty of space. Moens suggested Manalapan. At the time, the less-flashy choice was surprising to some of their Palm Beach friends. “I did hear a couple of times from people after that, ‘Why would Lawrence take the McMackins to Manalapan?’” said Ron.

But the McMackins love that it is quieter than Palm Beach, with less traffic. The couple have Sunday dinners with their neighbours, and Cindy has a small group of girlfriends who call themselves the “Manalapan mafia.” The McMackins like it so much that they are building a new, larger home along the same stretch.

Food-service entrepreneur Bob Carlucci and his wife, Aileen Carlucci, paid $11.63 million in 2020 for a roughly 13,000-square-foot Manalapan mansion on the Intracoastal, with a small beach house on the ocean. They are happy to have “discovered Manalapan early, ” Bob said.

Many buyers are tearing down older homes to build new mansions, Malinosky said. Before COVID, Manalapan was seen as more of a vacation destination, so buyers weren’t as choosy. Now that many are seeking full-time homes, however, “they want to make sure that it has the spa, it’s got the 12-car garage, it’s got the fitness centre, it’s got the wellness centre.”

Another prized amenity is a tunnel that runs underneath Highway A1A. Portions of the town are on a barrier island, and some homes sit on the ocean, requiring residents to cross the busy road to reach their docks on the Intracoastal.

Other estates are on the Intracoastal but have small beachhouses on the ocean. A tunnel allows residents to easily go from one side to the other.

Construction of these tunnels has become a rare point of contention between residents. In January, one couple asked the town commission to stop their neighbors from digging under the highway during the tourist season, claiming it was causing traffic to back up.

Building on the coast comes with challenges. Florida building code now requires roofs, windows and doors in high-risk areas to withstand winds of up to 170 miles an hour, according to builder Robert Burrage, who is building MacNeil’s home and four others in Manalapan.

Satter said the property insurance on his personal residence in Manalapan doesn’t include coverage for hurricane damage because it was too expensive. In addition to the annual premium, which was about $150,000 a year, he would have faced a deductible on hurricane damage of about 10% of the assessed value of the house.

He isn’t concerned with rising sea-levels, however. “When I bought my first oceanfront lot, my late father-in-law said, ‘What the hell are you doing? Don’t you know about global warming?’” Satter said. “I sold it at a huge number [in 2016] and made a lot of money. It’s been sold again and again and again—and the water hasn’t done anything.”

Stock market slide

Manalapan’s proximity to Mar-a-Lago has added to its popularity since Trump’s election to a second term, Malinosky said. Many residents support Trump. In the McMackins’ home, a bedazzled MAGA purse hangs in Cindy’s closet and a photo book in the living room shows her attending a Trump event at Mar-a-Lago, where they are members.

But the trade war and stock-market volatility have injected uncertainty into the real-estate market.

Until recently, Hamptons home builder Joe Farrell was considering paying more than $30 million for a building site in Manalapan, he said. He has decided to hold off on any acquisitions for now, however, because of the tariffs and resulting stock-market fallout.

“The market seems to still be pretty good, but people are maybe a little more cautious about parting ways with liquidity,” Farrell said. “I want to see things stabilize before I commit to that kind of capital outlay.”

Elkins said one of his clients considered backing out of a $10 million deal over the last few weeks on Point Manalapan, but decided to move ahead to avoid forfeiting the deposit.

Malinosky said he still sees significant demand for big-ticket properties in Manalapan, especially since many wealthy people are taking money out of the stock market. He said he has closed more than $150 million in deals in the greater Palm Beach area over the past two weeks.

Even with the uncertainty, “there is no shortage of buyers that will spend $100 million right now in Manalapan,” he said.

Shelly Newman, an agent with the Corcoran Group, said she recently sold a piece of land to a spec-home developer for $25 million. And the McMackins are moving ahead with plans to complete their new house, though tariffs have been “the talk of the town,” Ron said.

“I do have a stock portfolio and it is down,” he said. “But I don’t let that affect what I’m doing. We’re very fortunate with resources.”

While Satter agrees with efforts to bring manufacturing back to the U.S., he said he has been blindsided by the extent of the trade war. “I’m not sure about how they’re rolling it out,” he said.

A handful of potential buyers have expressed interest in his $285 million listing, he said, but he realizes the prospective buyer pool is tiny. “There are going to be three or four people who ultimately show real interest and have the capacity to pull the trigger,” he said.

Ultimately, he said he isn’t too worried about the prospects for sale, since he can afford to sit on the property long-term.

Still, real-estate agents said Satter’s property and others may be priced too aggressively, even without tariffs.

British hedge-fund billionaire Chris Rokos is listing his 3-acre Manalapan estate for $150 million, more than triple what he paid for it in 2017. And real-estate investor Vivian Dimond recently cut the price of a Manalapan home by $14.5 million, to $64.5 million. It’s been on the market since September 2024.

For some Manalapan residents, home values are beside the point. Bob and Aileen Carlucci, for example, have no intention of moving.

“We look at each other and we say. ‘This is it,’” Bob said. “You can’t get anything better, we don’t believe—in this country, at least.”