Facebook Did It Again.
And This Time, I’m Really Pissed Off.
Facebook has suspended my account.
Again.
For the second time in my Facebook life, I’m being forced through the same ridiculous maze of automated checks, appeals, verification and hoops, with absolutely no obvious way of speaking to an actual human being.
The first time, I’d had the account for more than 10 years.
This time, it’s been nearly 15 years.
Fifteen years of connections, conversations, photos, memories, groups, contacts and history.
And suddenly, apparently, I’m the problem.
Somewhere, the system decided I’m guilty
I have no idea exactly what triggered it.
That’s part of the problem.
There’s no friendly human saying:
“Hey Mark, we spotted something unusual. Can you explain?”
Instead, there’s a machine telling me there’s a problem.
Then another machine asks me to prove who I am.
Then another machine decides whether the evidence is acceptable.
And somewhere in that process I’m expected to trust the very system that has just decided I’m potentially untrustworthy.
That’s a pretty extraordinary position to put a legitimate user in.
The scammers have won
And here’s the irony.
Facebook has spent years battling scammers, hackers, fake accounts, bots and people trying to manipulate the platform.
I understand why.
I really do.
But somewhere along the way, protecting the platform seems to have become more important than protecting the legitimate people who actually use it.
The scammers create the problem.
Facebook builds increasingly aggressive systems to stop them.
Those systems inevitably catch innocent people.
And the innocent person gets told:
“Sorry. Nothing we can do.”
That doesn't feel like protection.
It feels like collateral damage.
The really frightening bit
Facebook isn't just another website.
For many people, it has become part of their digital identity.
It's where families stay connected.
Businesses communicate with customers.
Communities organise.
Memories are stored.
People build audiences, businesses and entire careers.
Yet you can potentially lose access to all of that through an automated decision, with little or no meaningful human appeal.
That's an enormous amount of power sitting behind a login screen.
And we willingly handed them the keys.
I’m resigned… but I’m still pissed off
The strange thing is that I’m simultaneously resigned to this and absolutely bloody furious about it.
I know I’ll probably work my way through whatever process Facebook has decided I need to endure.
I'll jump through the hoops.
I'll provide whatever verification they're asking for.
I'll wait.
And eventually, perhaps, I'll get my account back.
But that doesn't fix the bigger problem.
Because the next person might not get theirs back.
And the next time it might be me.
Again.
We need better digital rights
I'm not suggesting Facebook shouldn't have security systems.
Of course it should.
I'm not suggesting scammers should be allowed to run rampant.
They shouldn't.
What I am suggesting is remarkably simple:
If you have the power to suspend someone, you should have the responsibility to provide a meaningful way for them to challenge that decision.
Not another automated form.
Not another loop through a help centre.
Not “try again later”.
A human.
Someone who can actually look at the situation and say:
“Yep. The system got this wrong.”
Because AI and automation are only as good as the systems built around them.
And when those systems get things wrong, there needs to be somewhere for the human being caught in the middle to go.
Maybe it's time we stopped treating social media platforms as untouchable
Facebook doesn't own my identity.
It doesn't own my relationships.
It doesn't own my memories.
And it certainly shouldn't have unquestioned control over whether I can access them.
Yet that's increasingly how these platforms operate.
They give us extraordinary tools.
We build our digital lives around them.
Then they can effectively pull the plug.
No conversation.
No explanation.
No real appeal.
Just:
Account suspended.
Good luck.
That's not the social media experience I signed up for 15 years ago.
And perhaps that's the real lesson here.
Don't build your entire digital life on somebody else's platform.
Because eventually, somebody else's algorithm might decide you don't belong there.
And you may never get to speak to the person who can change its mind.
Guilty without the possibility of proving innocence.
