From my perspective, WhatsApp is a terrific tool for convenient communication; fast and often furious. However, there is an important qualification to this assertion: one-to-one chat is champion. Unfortunately, being connected to a group chat is where it all seems to get gruesome.
Even more grotesque are the community groups – a virtual association with several people, many of whom you may never meet in person, and probably wouldn’t choose to socialise with either.
Community groups: a new social dynamic
Adding to the issue is the realisation that you can become part of one of these fractious factions without your explicit permission (unless you have been proactive with your settings). Group administrators – the overlords of this often odious process ─ have the authority to dismiss, but irritatingly have the superpower to pull others into the vortex. This happened to me quite recently; on the face of it the theme of the group was fairly innocuous: the sharing of community knowledge ─ cyber-simulated chat over the metaphorical garden fence.
Since the end of World War II, British people haven’t conducted this ancient art of articulation – in part because our capitalist-run social agenda has become solely focussed upon the accumulation of money ─ the end result being that we are never at home until late at night, and by that time usually too exhausted to even grunt at our neighbours.
An equally persuasive argument is that as an island nation we pretty much don’t like other people – even our own ─ and prefer to hide behind high fences. We don’t really know who lives around us unless they annoy us, drive high-value ostentatious four-by-fours, or wear loud shorts during summer.
Scare-mongering
The WhatsApp group I was sucked into had close to thirty members. I’d physically met 20%, nodded at the same amount, but wouldn’t have recognised any of the others if they passed me in the street. Initially it was reasonably convivial, with members asking for recommendations on the usual topics: trusted traders, changes to bin collections, and the cheapest local fuel prices.
Then trouble-at-mill erupted when a suspicious man was seen loitering around the estate and the group pinged like a heart monitor in an intensive care unit. My criminal justice radar immediately picked up on the obvious security risks and I provided the key agency contacts as a flurry of observations became a tsunami of text.
As the chat went white hot, I noticed a peculiar phenomenon. A significant majority of contributions were crafted in such a way as to cause the maximum alarm and distress, whilst the pragmatic interventions were lucky to get a solitary thumbs-up. It was almost as if most people were drawn to the shock and awe of it all, rather than contributing to a plausible solution. Moaning rather than mending.
What the research says
WhatsApp first became a feature on our mobile phones in February 2009, and although human communication has been the theme of scientific and philosophical evaluation ever since humanity could string a few words together, this mode of mobile talk has seen little assessment; however, in August 2018 Professors Tali Gazit and Noa Aharony at the Department of Information Science of Bar-Ilan University, Israel, reported on their research into WhatsApp groups, and in particular, the special characteristics and dynamics of their members.
In a nutshell, their findings confirmed that psychological factors such as social support were critical influences, although other equally explicit drivers connected with gregariousness and, rather chillingly, narcissism – with the latter two overtly linked to the level of participation. Later research conducted in Brazil revealed another damning indictment: they can be a fertile ground for the spreading of rumours and misinformation.
William Berry, psychotherapist and lecturer at Florida International University, asserts that complaining is nevertheless a method of human connection that allows emotions to be vented, and in many cases, validated, although he notes that this choice may reinforce one’s ego at the expense of others. Paradoxically he concludes:
“Another reason people may complain is that the brain is negative-biased. The human brain, geared for survival, focuses on negatives (as they appear more threatening to survival) than on positives (which enhance life but are less vital for survival). As the brain perceives negatives at an approximated ratio of five to one, there is simply more to complain about than there is to be grateful for.”
Time to get out?
So how easy is it to exit this idiocy? According to Richard Seymour, author of The Twittering Machine, WhatsApp is just as compulsive as other social media platforms. “One thing WhatsApp has in common with these platforms is transience, meaning that you have to respond quickly. Otherwise, what you want to say is lost in the flow, particularly with fast-moving conversations. That pressure to respond quickly and to be concise, to be witty, to grandstand, to showboat – that is very powerful.”
And that intense connectivity can grip even the most resilient. Opting out may only be a simple click but the consequences can be colossal. Research conducted by Christopher Sibona of the Computer Science and Information Systems program at the University of Colorado Denver Business School revealed that 40% of Facebook users would avoid someone in real life who unfriended them, leading to the reasonable assumption that leaving a WhatsApp group may potentially have the same effect. As for the moaners and groaners, their motivation for having their feelings vindicated, rather than seeking a solution, allows even more space for the attention they crave.
So where do I stand on WhatsApp groups that include a disproportionate share of outsiders, or those I wouldn’t care to share a bowl of olives with? Avoid them at all costs – or at least mute them indefinitely!
This article was first published by Ian Kirke in his blog ‘What should we talk about today?’ Read the original article.
