More than 1 million Syrians have fled to Lebanon since the start of the conflict and as many as one-fifth of them may be suffering from mental health disorders, according to the World Health Organisation.But Lebanon’s mental health services are mostly private and the needs of refugees – who may have lost loved ones, their home, livelihood and community – are mostly going unmet.Hoping to support the efforts of overworked psychologists in the region, the Silicon Valley startup X2AI has created an artificially intelligent chatbot called Karim that can have personalised text message conversations in Arabic to help people with their emotional problems.
Quisiera compartir algunas reflexiones, que he ido madurando luego de un año de trabajar en temas relacionados con el análisis de redes sociales (“social network analysis”). Actualmente estamos presenciando una emergente odiosidad del trollero desinformado: miles de adictos a las redes sociales que comentan de todo, que ansían convertirse en líderes de opinión, sumándose a los comentarios clichés promovidos por el “mass media”, sin fomentar el diálogo ni tener un verdadero espíritu crítico, sin leer libros
a masterclass on faking cancer in the modern age. She fooled Apple, Cosmopolitan, Elle and Penguin. She fooled the hundreds of thousands who bought her app, read her blog and believed that her story could be their story.ow would you fake cancer? Shave your head? Pluck your eyebrows? Install a chemo port into your neck? These days you don’t need to. Belle Gibson’s story is
Diagnosed with a brain tumour aged 20, Gibson had four months to live. She blogged her journey of radiotherapy and chemotherapy, treatments she shunned after eight weeks. Instead, she cut gluten and dairy and turned to oxygen therapy, craniosacral treatments and colonic irrigation. Against all odds, she made it. Her followers were inspired. If Belle could make it, maybe they could too.
Gibson launched The Whole Pantry app in 2013, filled with healthy living tips and recipes. She promised a third of proceeds from the 300,000 downloads ($3.79 per download) to charity. Elle named her “The Most Inspiring Woman You’ve Met This Year”, Cosmopolitan awarded her a “Fun, Fearless Female award” and Penguin published her cookbook. Apple pre-installed her app on Apple Watch and flew her to its Silicon Valley launch.
Then cancer re-emerged, and Gibson announced on Instagram: “It hurts me to find space tonight to let you all know with love and strength that I’ve been diagnosed with a third and forth [sic] cancer. One is secondary and the other is primary. I have cancer in my blood, spleen, brain, uterus, and liver. I am hurting.”
If you complain about social media (especially if you post that diatribe on Twitter or Facebook), your friends will tell you one thing over and over: If you think it’s so bad, don’t use it in the first place. Criticism, they propose, is a waste of breath when all you really need to do is opt out. Consider the case of Curt Schilling, who was recently told by some that he should just “get off Twitter” after he struck back at those who had tweeted (truly awful) insults about his daughter.
Those who do manage to escape rarely fare much better: We often treat people who try to extract themselves with contempt, responding as if it were little more than an anti-modern affectation. When Iggy Azalea announced that she was quitting social media, many gloated, with a touch of disdain. As one entertainment gossip site sneered, “This chick doesn’t seem to be quite tough enough for the spotlight. … [S]hould we all just give her her wish and make her irrelevant? She said she’d be wildly happy about it.” Where some elicit scorn for staying, others generate just as much when they go, doomed to mockery either way.
In his new book Terms of Service: Social Media and the Price of Constant Connection, journalist Jacob Silverman argues that we’ve yet to develop a language for discussing what it means to really give up on social media. In a phone conversation (which, naturally, we arranged over Twitter), Silverman told me that responses to critics of social media tend to be strangely antagonistic, reminiscent of the “Love it or leave it!” proclamations that often chase criticism of the United States. And yet we often regard those who do extract themselves—and those who refuse to participate in the first place—as pariahs.
More troublingly, the very conversation about opting out may already be part of the social media machine. As Silverman notes in Terms of Service, “new features on social media tend to be opt-out rather than opt-in.” Services like Facebook ostensibly give us ownership of our data, letting us chose when and how we’ll be tracked. To take control, however, we have to delve deeper and deeper into the sites themselves, digging for options that are, as Silverman puts it, “carefully buried.” Dealing with Facebook on our own terms means engaging with it, more and more deeply. In the process, Facebook all but co-opts the very act of opting out, ensuring that we never really get away, especially when we’re most eager to.
La generación menor de 15 años es la primera que inicia la adolescencia con móvil propio
Los padres, desorientados ante la poderosa atracción de sus niños por las redes sociales
Sara, de 13 años, está de morros con sus padres. Se siente víctima de una injusticia. A pesar de sus buenas notas, han decidido confiscarle el móvil a las 11 de la noche, después de pillarla whatsappeando en la cama de madrugada. Al principio, protestó, clamó, chantajeó. Ahora, es ella la que le tira muy digna el teléfono a su madre, autora de este reportaje, antes de anunciar, cual rea rumbo al patíbulo, que se va a la cama. Sara era, dice su madre, “un bebé adorable”. Una niña risueña, cariñosa y siempre dispuesta a todo. Hasta que, súbitamente, mutó en la chica “contestona, indolente y alérgica a las efusiones” que describen hoy sus progenitores. Una adolescente de libro.
Sara está en plena eclosión hormonal. “Tengo un pavazo que no me tengo”, admite, entre ofendida y orgullosa. Nada que no pasara en su día su hermana Irene, hoy casi una adulta oficial a sus 17 años y medio. La diferencia es que, mientras Irene cruzó la delicada frontera entre niñez y adolescencia acompañada del ordenador situado en el salón de la casa, Sara lo está haciedo con el mundo, su mundo, incrustado las 24 horas en la palma de su mano en la pantalla de su teléfono móvil.
Irene, siendo nativa digital, ha tenido que migrar del PC al móvil. Sara, es nativa movildigital pura. La edad del pavo siempre fue difícil, pero el nuevo pavo digital tiene desorientados a muchos progenitores que, como los de Sara, compraron el móvil a sus niñospara tenerlos más controlados, y han terminado con sus hijos localizados, sí, pero abducidos por una pantalla en la que no saben muy bien qué hacen ni con quién.
What would it mean to turn sympathy into a button? Apparently Facebook has already done so although has not yet made plans to launch it. The button has been developed as a solution to the difficulty of responding with “likes” to a status where someone posts bad news – as if users were not already able to negotiate this small hurdle.
Facebook is proposing a menu of negative emotions that you can select when posting your status, choosing from which will allow people to respond with sympathy. But there’s already the option of commenting on rather than liking bad news statuses – so if someone posts that they’re ill, for example, you can write “get well soon” instead of risking looking like you’re happy about their condition. Given the flexibility that already exists, a sympathy button seems both patronising towards users, and as though Facebook is trying to encroach further into the range and distribution of human emotions by turning them all into clickable options.
What might come after the sympathy button – disgust buttons? Rage buttons? Anyone who has ever kicked a supermarket self check-out machine as it insisted there is an unknown item in the bagging area, will know what machines have done for anger. Emotion buttons on social networks may end up like emoticons in text, which developed as an inventive and diverting way of getting around the difficulty of conveying emotions in a form of communication void of vocal or facial expression. But the trouble is that Facebook works by counting likes. It gives your status a popularity score. So if the sympathy button works in a similar way, that means that users will also get a sympathy score.