Review: Invisible Rulers

Invisible Rulers: The People Who Turn Lies Into Reality
by Renée DiResta
Hachette
ISBN: 978-1-54170337-7

For the last week, while violence has erupted in British cities, commentators asked, among other things: what has social media contributed to the inflammation? Often, the focus lands on specific famous people such as Elon Musk, who told exTwitter that the UK is heading for civil war (which basically shows he knows nothing about the UK).

It’s a particularly apt moment to read Renée DiResta‘s new book, Invisible Rulers: The People Who Turn Lies Into Reality. Until June, DiResta was the technical director of the Stanford Internet Observatory, which studies misinformation and disinformation online.

In her book, DiResta, like James Ball in The Other Pandemic and Naomi Klein in Doppelganger, traces how misinformation and disinformation propagate online. Where Ball examined his subject from the inside out (having spent his teenaged years on 4chan) and Klein is drawn from the outside in, DiResta’s study is structural. How do crowds work? What makes propaganda successful? Who drives engagement? What turns online engagement into real world violence?

One reason these questions are difficult to answer is the lack of transparency regarding the money flowing to influencers, who may have audiences in the millions. The trust they build with their communities on one subject, like gardening or tennis statistics, extends to other topics when they stray. Someone making how-to knitting videos one day expresses concern about their community’s response to a new virus, finds engagement, and, eventually, through algorithmic boosting, greater profit in sticking to that topic instead. The result, she writes, is “bespoke realities” that are shaped by recommendation engines and emerge from competition among state actors, terrorists, ideologues, activists, and ordinary people. Then add generative AI: “We can now mass-produce unreality.”

DiResta’s work on this began in 2014, when she was checking vaccination rates in the preschools she was looking at for her year-old son in the light of rising rates of whooping cough in California. Why, she wondered, were there all these anti-vaccine groups on Facebook, and what went on in them? When she joined to find out, she discovered a nest of evangelists promoting lies to little opposition, a common pattern she calls “asymmetry of passion”. The campaign group she helped found succeeded in getting a change in the law, but she also saw that the future lay in online battlegrounds shaping public opinion. When she presented her discoveries to the Centers for Disease Control, however, they dismissed it as “just some people online”. This insouciance would, as she documents in a later chapter, come back to bite during the covid emergency, when the mechanisms already built whirred into action to discredit science and its institutions.

Asymmetry of passion makes those holding extreme opinions seem more numerous than they are. The addition of boosting algorithms and “charismatic leaders” such as Musk or Robert F. Kennedy, Jr (your mileage may vary) adds to this effect. DiResta does a good job of showing how shifts within groups – anti-vaxx groups that also fear chemtrails and embrace flat earth, flat earth groups that shift to QAnon – lead eventually from “asking questions” to “take action”. See also today’s UK.

Like most of us, DiResta is less clear on potential solutions. She gives some thought to the idea of prebunking, but more to requiring transparency: platforms around content moderation decisions, influencers around their payment for commercial and political speech, and governments around their engagement with social media platforms. She also recommends giving users better tools and introducing some friction to force a little more thought before posting.

The Observatory’s future is unclear, as several other key staff have left; Stanford told The Verge in June that the Observatory would continue under new leadership. It is just one of several election integrity monitors whose future is cloudy; in March Facebook announced it would shut down research tool CrowdTangle on August 14. DiResta’s book is an important part of its legacy.

Facts are scarified

The recent doctored Palace photo has done almost as much as the arrival of generative AI to raise fears that in future we will completely lose the ability to identify fakes. The royal photo was sloppily composited – no AI needed – for reasons unknown (though Private Eye has a suggestion). A lot of conspiracy theorizing could be avoided if the palace would release the untouched original(s), but as things are, the photograph is a perfect example of how to provide the fuel for spreading nonsense to 400 million people.

The most interesting thing about the incident was discovering the rules media apply to retouching photos. AP specified, for example, that it does not use altered or digitally manipulated images. It allows cropping and minor adjustments to color and tone where necessary, but bans more substantial changes, even retouching to remove red eye. As Holly Hunter’s character says, trying to uphold standards in the 1987 movie Broadcast News (written by James Brooks), “We are not here to stage the news.”

The desire to make a family photo as appealing as possible is understandable; the motives behind spraying the world with misinformation are less clear and more varied. I’ve long argued here that for this reason combating misinformation and disinformation is similar to cybersecurity because of the complexity of the problem and the diversity of actors and agendas. At last year’s Disinformation Summit in Cambridge cybersecurity was, sadly, one of the missing communities.

Just a couple of weeks ago the BBC announced its adoption of C2PA for authenticating images, developed by a group of technology and media companies including the BBC, the New York Times, Microsoft, and Adobe. The BBC says that many media organizations are beginning to adopt C2PA, and even Meta is considering it. Edits must be signed, and create a chain of provenance all the way back to the original photo. In 2022, the BBC and the Royal Society co-hosted a workshop on digital provenance, following a Royal Society report, at which C2PA featured prominently.

That’s potentially a valuable approach for publishing and broadcast, where the conduit to the public is controlled by one of a relatively small number of organizations. And you can see why those organizations would want it: they need, and in many cases are struggling to retain, public trust. It is, however, too complex a process for the hundreds of millions of people with smartphone cameras posting images to social media, and unworkable for citizen journalists capturing newsworthy events in real time. Ancillary issue: sophisticated phone cameras try so hard to normalize the shots we take that they falsify the image at source. In 2020, Californians attempting to capture the orange color of their smoke-filled sky were defeated by autocorrection that turned it grey. So, many images are *originally* false.

In lengthy blog posting, Neal Krawitz analyzes difficulties with C2PA. He lists security flaws, but also is opposed to the “appeal to authority” approach, which he dubs a “logical fallacy”. In the context of the Internet, it’s worse than that; we already know what happens when a tiny handful of commercial companies (in this case, chiefly Adobe) become the gatekeeper for billions of people.

All of this was why I was glad to hear about work in progress at a workshop last week, led by Mansoor Ahmed-Rengers, a PhD candidate studying system security: Human-Oriented Proof Standard (HOPrS). The basic idea is to build an “Internet-wide, decentralised, creator-centric and scalable standard that allows creators to prove the veracity of their content and allows viewers to verify this with a simple ‘tick’.” Co-sponsoring the workshop was Open Origins, a project to distinguish between synthetic and human-created content.

It’s no accident that HOPrS’ mission statement echoes the ethos of the original Internet; as security researcher Jon Crowcroft explains, it’s part of long-running work on redecentralization. Among HOPrS’ goals, Ahmed-Rengers listed: minimal centralization; the ability for anyone to prove their content; Internet-wide scalability; open decision making; minimal disruption to workflow; and easy interpretability of proof/provenance. The project isn’t trying to cover all bases – that’s impossible. Given the variety of motivations for fakery, there will have to be a large ecosystem of approaches. Rather, HOPrS is focusing specifically on the threat model of an adversary determined to sow disinformation, giving journalists and citizens the tools they need to understand what they’re seeing.

Fakes are as old as humanity. In a brief digression, we were reminded that the early days of photography were full of fakery: the Cottingley Fairies, the Loch Ness monster, many dozens of spirit photographs. The Cottingley Fairies, cardboard cutouts photographed by Elsie Wright, 16, and Florence Griffiths, 9, were accepted as genuine by Sherlock Holmes creator Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, famously a believer in spiritualism. To today’s eyes, trained on millions of photographs, they instantly read as fake. Or take Ireland’s Knock apparitions, flat, unmoving, and, philosophy professor David Berman explained in 1979, magic lantern projections. Our generation, who’ve grown up with movies and TV, would I think have instantly recognized that as fake, too. Which I believe tells us something: yes, we need tools, but we ourselves will get better at detecting fakery, as unlikely as it seems right now. The speed with which the royal photo was dissected showed how much we’ve learned just since generative AI became available.

Illustrations: The first of the Cottingley Fairies photographs (via Wikimedia).

Wendy M. Grossman is the 2013 winner of the Enigma Award. Her Web site has an extensive archive of her books, articles, and music, and an archive of earlier columns in this series. She is a contributing editor for the Plutopia News Network podcast. Follow on Mastodon.