Last week I did something unusual for me. I temporarily deleted the Facebook app from my phone and told my friends I’d be taking a break. Not forever, just long enough to clear my head.
That decision wasn’t about Facebook itself so much as what was happening in the country. The killing of conservative activist Charlie Kirk left me stunned, saddened and a bit scared. I didn’t agree with his politics, but he deserved to live, speak his mind, and raise his children. The killing was a tragedy, made even worse by what came after.
The crime itself was horrifying. But the online reaction was what pushed me over the edge. Within hours, my Facebook feed filled with speculation, finger-pointing and misinformation. Some posts blamed entire groups of people. Others trafficked in conspiracy theories. And some were written with a level of cruelty that I found unbearable.
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Instead of helping us process grief, social media turned tragedy into another opportunity for outrage and division. That’s when I realized it was time to step back.
For me, Facebook isn’t just about staying in touch with friends and family. It’s also where I’ve often had respectful discussions across the political spectrum. But this time, anger and misinformation drowned out the real conversation. I found myself getting angry too, which is rarely productive. Worse, I couldn’t escape the constant stream of disturbing content.
Hitting pause
So I hit pause. For a few days, no Facebook scrolling or temptation to dive into the comments. I didn’t cut myself off entirely, I still checked LinkedIn, which is more of a professional network, but I needed distance from the flood of raw emotion.
Political violence in America isn’t new, and it spans the spectrum. Recent examples include the killings of Minnesota House Speaker emeritus Melissa Hortman and her husband, the assault on Nancy Pelosi’s husband, the plot to kidnap Michigan Governor Gretchen Whitmer, the firebombing of the Pennsylvania governor’s mansion, the foiled assassination plot against Justice Brett Kavanaugh, and the attempts on Donald Trump’s life.
In earlier times, conspiracy theories took weeks or months to spread. Now, within minutes of Kirk’s death, posts were circulating that turned out to be flat-out wrong. One viral rumor even misread the initials “TRN” on a bullet casing as evidence the shooter might be transgender. It was actually the mark of a Turkish ammunition manufacturer.
I also saw a Facebook post blaming “communists” in the media and calling liberal politicians “loony left extremists.” I couldn’t resist pointing out that the writer was doing exactly what he was accusing others of. Labeling a liberal a “communist” or a conservative a “Nazi” is not only inaccurate but also needlessly incendiary. At the time, we knew nothing about the killer’s motives — and even now, we still don’t fully know.
Stepping away didn’t completely restore my calm. I heard more than enough on the news and even on LinkedIn where some journalist friends were posting about some of their colleagues being fired for commentary that was critical of Kirk while also condemning his killing. It’s as if America lost its sense of values and its appreciation for diversity of thought, free speech and – in rare cases – the sanctity of life.
Amplifying anger
I don’t blame Facebook or other platforms for letting people express themselves. I saw disturbing posts, but nothing I’d censor if I could. What bothered me was how algorithms amplified the most incendiary content—including gruesome videos of the killing, which fortunately I didn’t see but many others did.
Research shows that outrage keeps people engaged, and algorithms have learned to feed it. As researcher Renée DiResta told Status author Oliver Darcy, “Posting ragebait and speculation in these moments can be very lucrative.” One post can quickly become the loudest voice in the room because the system rewards engagement over accuracy.
That’s why stepping away felt necessary. It wasn’t just about avoiding misinformation — it was about refusing to be pulled into a cycle that feeds on anger.
I’m not against algorithms. They help us find movies on Netflix or posts from friends we care about. But on social media, they can also make our feeds more toxic. I once disabled the Facebook algorithm to see posts in chronological order, but the feed turned dull and random. I went back to the algorithm because it made the experience more interesting, even if it sometimes surfaced content I found disturbing.
It’s also worth noting that mainstream platforms aren’t the primary drivers of radicalization. Speaking about Kirk’s alleged killer, Utah Governor Spencer Cox told Meet the Press, “Friends have confirmed that there was kind of that deep, dark internet, the Reddit culture, and these other dark places of the internet where this person was going deep.” To be fair, that doesn’t mean Reddit or Discord should be condemned—most conversations there are about hobbies, product reviews, or mutual support. But some corners do foster extremism.
Social media isn’t the only factor behind our decline in civility. Politicians and pundits set the tone, and too often it’s toxic. When leaders call rivals “vermin” or “scum,” or brand the press as the “enemy of the people,” they normalize dehumanizing language that fans the flames of hostility. Many may shrug it off, but for some, those words become a rallying cry.
As Governor Cox said when the suspect was named, “Only one person is responsible for what happened.” But he also warned that political violence metastasizes because each side is tempted to blame the other. That’s why we need to find ways to dial it back.
One of the most disturbing aspects of this tragedy was the circulation of graphic videos. I didn’t see them, but young people did. Once you’ve seen that kind of imagery, you can’t unsee it. Adults struggle with it — imagine the impact on children.
Parents need to talk with their kids about what they encounter online. And platforms must do better too: covering a violent event doesn’t require exposing people to gore. Words and carefully chosen images can convey the seriousness without causing trauma.
Taking a few days off Facebook reminded me of something simple but important: we don’t have to live inside the algorithm. We can step away, even briefly, and give ourselves space to think and breathe.
I will return to Facebook because social media can be a wonderful tool. It connects us, organizes movements, and gives voice to people who might otherwise be unheard. It’s also a place where I can hear from my friends and engage in meaningful conversations — sometimes disagreeing, but without being disagreeable.
Larry Magid is a tech journalist and internet safety activist.