Juan Villoro
The last decade of the 20th century saw the emergence of a peculiar invention capable of transforming users into merchandise. I am referring, of course, to the internet, online portals, search engines, and social networks. Silicon screens have become enchanted mirrors where people can search for a new version of themselves and get their wishes fulfilled instantly for free. The new Country of Prosperity is virtual and is just a click away.
But there is no fairy tale without ogres. Entering the enchanted forest can lead to a house made of sweets and the fearsome longings of its owner. If Hansel and Gretel left breadcrumbs along their route to retrace their path, we leave cookies on the network so that others know our route.
In the plot of the Brothers Grimm, the birds eat the breadcrumbs, and the protagonists are lost in the depth of the forest. As they wander aimlessly, they discover a little house made of delicious treats that seem built for an endless feast. The house is inhabited by a sorceress ready to cook the tender meat of childhood. Hansel climbs onto the roof and bites into it while his sister tastes the sugar-flavored snow. The great paradox of the story is that this place does not exist to be eaten but for children to be eaten.
Something similar happens in the networks. A galaxy of options appears before our eyes without us noticing that the main consumer product is ourselves. No planetary business beats the traffic of personal data. This activity is practiced in a sufficiently hidden way to be called “mining.”
In recent days an unprecedented phenomenon occurred. Mark Zuckerberg, the owner of WhatsApp, announced that he would share the information of his users with Facebook and with third parties (the measure does not apply to Europe, where there are regulations that protect customers). This means that your uses and customs will go to the highest bidder.
But not all is lost. Certain platforms seek to protect the identity of their clients and guarantee the libertarian use of the networks. On January 12, a unique piece of news was published: in 72 hours, 25 million users joined Telegram. Thus, the platform exceeded 500 million participants, and the avalanche grew minute by minute. In our condition of “primitives of a new era,” we are witnessing a migration similar to that of the great ice ages.
The protagonist of this change is Pável Dúrov, who at 36 has already achieved the digital privilege of being the first Pável to appear in Google searches. Born in Saint Petersburg, he trained as a philologist (as did Jacob Grimm). For years he lived in Turin, where his father taught philology. His initial interest was translation. He created a network to share books, which successfully led him to become a partner of the social network VK. From the beginning, he set out to offer reliable information to counter the censorship of Vladimir Putin. Despite receiving threats, he kept going; by 2012, it had 150 million users. That year, the electoral fraud that reconfigured the Russian Parliament was recorded in VK. Dúrov refused to give the details of those who made complaints and in 2014 protected Ukrainian dissidents who used VK. Under pressure from Putin, the company fired Dúrov, who had already created Telegram with his brother Nikolai.
Although he has been dubbed the “Russian Zuckerberg,” his behavior is very different. Dúrov had to leave Russia, live in cities where he stayed less than ten weeks, and donated a million dollars to Wikipedia to support the free flow of information.
Still, his shielding policy creates problems in a world where hiding places are not always suitable for storing fritters. According to the BBC, Islamic fanatics and American right-wing groups have used Telegram to recruit members and conspire through encrypted chats.
The forest that the Brothers Grimm conceived in 1812 has its new expression in virtual reality, where misplacement promises sweet rewards. From Jacob Grimm to Pavel Dúrov, philologists know that every word contains a hidden message. It is no accident that Zuckerberg means “sugar mountain.”
This was published in Spanish on January 15, 2021, in Reforma.