The algorithm's not the problem. The isolation is. And if we're being honest, that's the part we keep scrolling past because it's easier to blame the feed than to admit we're lonely in it. The piece makes a sharp point: we can't untangle the vicious anti-feminist reaction we're seeing from the fact that so much of our public life now runs through toxic, isolating algorithms. That's not a tech complaint, it's a community one. And for a campus like ours, where belonging is supposed to be the whole pitch, it hits different. We're not just consuming these spaces, we're living in them. That means the anger and the backlash aren't just online noise. They're shaping how we treat each other in study groups, club meetings, and the hallway after class. (For more on how this plays out in civic spaces, check this analysis on digital public squares and this take on algorithmic echo chambers.)
Here's what that means practically. When your feed rewards the loudest, most divisive take, it trains you to see people as positions, not people. That's why a comment section can feel more hostile than a crowded room ever would. You're not looking at a neighbor who's tired and stressed. You're looking at a target. And for women on this campus, that's not abstract. The anti-feminist reaction isn't a distant headline, it's the group chat that goes quiet, the event that gets trolled, the take that makes you think twice before speaking up. The algorithm doesn't invent those feelings, but it absolutely amplifies them. It turns a bad day into a worldview. It makes isolation feel like clarity. That's the part we need to name out loud: the tool isn't neutral, and pretending it is just leaves us more exposed.
So what do we do with that? We don't need to delete our apps or go off-grid. We need to be deliberate about what we feed. Not just the algorithm, but each other. Show up to the in-person stuff. Join the club that meets in a real room. Volunteer somewhere you have to look someone in the eye. That's not a cute slogan, it's a survival tactic. Because the more isolated we are, the easier it is to be radicalized by a scroll. The more connected we are, the harder it is to see a classmate as a caricature. We've got a real advantage here in Pullman: we're small enough that proximity still means something. A coffee shop, a study lounge, a walk across campus. Those are the places where the algorithm loses its grip. They're not flashy, but they're solid. And solid is what we need right now.
The takeaway is simple and a little uncomfortable: stop treating your feed as a public square and start treating it as a tool you control. The algorithm will always push the extreme because extremes get clicks. Our job is to not get pulled in. That means muting the accounts that make us angrier, not smarter. It means logging off when the doom-scroll starts feeling like a personality. And it means being the person who says "let's grab tacos and talk about this in person" when the group chat gets weird. Isolation is the real enemy, and it's one we can actually fight with a text, a walk, or a seat at a table. The algorithm's not going anywhere. But we don't have to let it decide how we see each other. That part's still on us.
