“While I was sometimes curious what my sister was laughing at and commenting on, and what my friends liked about it, I didn’t really have much of an interest in social media, and since I didn’t have a smartphone and wasn’t allowed to join any sites at all until I was 13, it wasn’t much of an issue for me.
Then, several months ago, when I turned 13, my mom gave me the green light and I joined Twitter and Facebook. The first place I went, of course, was my mom’s profiles. That’s when I realized that while this might have been the first time I was allowed on social media, it was far from the first time my photos and stories had appeared online. When I saw the pictures that she had been posting on Facebook for years, I felt utterly embarrassed, and deeply betrayed.
There, for anyone to see on her public Facebook account, were all of the embarrassing moments from my childhood: The letter I wrote to the tooth fairy when I was five years old, pictures of me crying when I was a toddler, and even vacation pictures of me when I was 12 and 13 that I had no knowledge of. It seemed that my entire life was documented on her Facebook account, and for 13 years, I had no idea.”– Sonia Bokhari, “The Privacy Divide”. Andando a privacidade — e o silêncio: os dois itens são parentes chegados — pelos caixotes das prateleiras mais baixas dos saldos (a escola ‘influencer’ fixando-lhe o preço máximo por aí, nada íntimo valendo o unboxing patrocinado de um corta-unhas e os dilemas da videovigilância no espaço publico resolvidos amiúde boçalmente com um arroto de «quem não deve não teme»), custa a crer a veracidade deste depoimento: seria extraordinária — como um talento —, contra toda a educação contemporânea, esta percepção da perda de algo de facto valioso.