by Mick Rhodes | editor@claremont-courier.com

Have you ever been surprised by how an unexpected interruption in your routine can derail you?

My Facebook account was hacked last week, causing a minor panic attack with a side of grief and anger. Grief for the possible loss of nearly 20 years of “on this day” reminders of beautiful memories with my family, my work in journalism and music, and all sorts of silly memes. Anger for the loss of control over what I felt was “my” property (even though I am aware all our social media content is owned by the platforms on which they’re posted).

It felt like I’d been digitally burglarized. Violated even. I acknowledge this reaction is strange coming from a vocal critic of what social media is doing to us, how its poisoned our discourse and made us into reactionary outrage monkeys. Sometimes truth comes with a dose of contradiction and a slice of humble pie.

My response was to dig into Facebook’s “help” tools. That’s in quotes because Facebook’s “help” is actually nonexistent. It’s a human-free enterprise. After many hours spent hunched over my desk clicking through prompt after prompt, each terminating at yet another dead end, I was no closer to solving the labyrinthine puzzle. “Something went wrong,” “Can’t match the device you’re using,” and “Does not match the code we sent to your phone,” were among the many messages of defeat I received, all leading back to “It’s not safe to go any further.”

I learned that whomever or whatever hijacked my Facebook page immediately changed my account info to the degree that each avenue of recovery was blocked. The effort was so complete that Meta didn’t recognize the IP addresses of my laptop, iPad or iPhone as “safe,” and the various codes Facebook’s faceless robots were telling me had been sent were apparently going to someone else’s device(s).

This got me thinking about how this happened. And it wasn’t pretty.

On February 4 I posted, “Follow me @mickrhodes.bsky.social … #metaiscomplicit,” on my Facebook page. Two days later, on February 6, my Facebook account was hacked, and I was locked out.

I have no evidence the two events are connected. Why would Meta care about the ramblings of a small-town newspaper columnist? The possibility that I’d been singled out for a hashtag stating the obvious and a post promoting a Facebook competitor is farfetched. I guess it’s possible Meta bots swept Facebook and Instagram looking for derogatory hashtags and curb-stomped those accounts, but that’s just my paranoia talking. Regardless, the timing was curious.

It was a sweaty, frustrating weekend.

I was surprised by how much it affected me, and to be honest, a little embarrassed. After all, I’ve recently been writing about Meta’s and X’s tacit approval of mis- and dis-information with their abandonment of in-house fact-checking, platforming of white supremacists, and other fascism-friendly moves. All this and oligarch in training Mark Zuckerberg cozying up to Trump prompted me to create a Bluesky account in hopes of finding a less toxic social media outlet. You’d think I would have been relieved to have been relieved of my account.

As I write this, my mania has eased. I’ve found many stories about Facebook’s and other companies’ blatant disregard for customer service. Each described situations similar to mine in painstaking detail. My experience is not unique. I’ve also become less paranoid about the possibility that I was singled out, which seems less likely with every passing day.

I remain amused by how much time I have spent trying to get my “property” returned to me. I’ve always thought Facebook was a net loss for humanity, but I’ve found it’s clearly much more deeply ingrained in my routine than I was aware of. I still hit the icon on my phone a few times a day out of habit. It’s a little weird.

I’ll take it as a sign that this is what’s supposed to be happening right now. I’ve talked to several friends this past week who voluntarily disengaged from social media after the November elections. Their rationale was it was bad for their well-being to be constantly enraged. Smart. And, like it or not, (about a third of) America has spoken: this is what it wants. Or thought it wanted. Whatever. So be it.

That’s a pretty sound argument for not sweating the loss of my Facebook page. And if my evidence of life on the platform is truly gone for good, then so be it for that too.

My Funny Valentine

With Valentine’s Day upon us, I am once again reminded of how profoundly grateful I am to have lucked out in love (and life).

Nobody’s guaranteed anything, especially deep, overwhelming romantic love. Yet, my blessings far exceed my most implausible hopes and expectations. I lucked into this idyll, this simple life of funny movies, loud, persnickety chickens, and overseas adventures. And 12 years in, I’m still just so ecstatic to wake up next to her every day.

Happy Valentine’s Day to all you lovers out there, especially to my Lisa.

XoX