The Lawless Land of Facebook
Poppy Nora is not a graphic designer. They're a scammer who wants you to pay a small fee for their free services. Not on my watch, Poppy. Facebook may not mind, but not on my watch. - Sheriff Craighead Dedmon
I considered titling this essay “Zen and the Art of Facebook Group Maintenance” but I didn’t, because I haven’t read Robert Pirsig’s book by nearly the same name, and because I do not believe the words Zen and Facebook belong in the same sentence together.
As a co-administrator of a large local Facebook group, one of my first daily tasks is to admit new members. Or not. Of the seven requests that came in last night, five of them were scammers, and two were not. How can I tell that they’re scammers, you ask? Let me tell you, sometimes they make it easy. When they answer “What Washington County town are you connected to or interested in?” with “Virginia” or, closer, “Maine,” I have a hunch I’m not dealing with a local.
It’s possible Americans aren’t the only ones who stink at geography.
Scams flow in and out of fashion in the dark underworld of Facebook. Right now, the “I need five people to let me tattoo them” scam is all the rage – I’ve rejected three today alone. Occasionally I still get the “Homemade tamales for sale” scam, or that old standby, “We’re having a craft fair in Machias.” But the “Local eggs and honey for sale” scam is now quite gauche even when they class it up by putting the prices in British sterling – only £5 for local eggs!
That’s how I know I’m dealing with a more highbrow, less genius form of scammer.
Being a woman of a certain age means that I’m not always up on youthful trends. I can admit to being surprised by the return of bushy mustaches and gold chains. And that’s how I now understand falling for the, “Hey Ladies I just took a neon sign-making class and I need to practice for free!” scam.
I ask you, is the idea of trendy neon signs any less likely than the return of shoulder pads and acid-washed jeans? I say no. But I’m just shooting in the dark over here. Fortunately, falling for that scam only meant I allowed them to post. I stopped short of asking them to forge me something about Bud Light in blue and hot pink because I think we all had our fill of that sign in the 80s.
Because of our efforts, Facebook scammers don’t have an easy time getting into our group. But fortunately for the scammers, they have an easy time pretty much everywhere else. That’s because Facebook makes it as easy for scammers as they possibly can. Of the hundreds of scams I’ve reported, Facebook has taken action on exactly zero.
It’s so astonishing, I sometimes imagine that Facebook headquarters is now a vacant, post-apocalyptic office complex with tumbleweeds blowing through and a few bots still wandering aimlessly about, now and then shutting down grandmothers who shared their favorite recipes, on grounds of cybersecurity threats.
Facebook is a lawless land, and I’ll admit it, sometimes I’ve indulged and taken the law into my own hands. “Bad news!” I’ll write to a scammer. “We have a no scammer policy in our group. The groups you’re looking for will be called ‘Criminals Wanted Here” or ‘I Belong in Jail.’ Best of luck!”
Sending a message like that is the only way I know to hear back from Facebook, which has zero issues with its dark underworld but puts a high premium on the language we use with our scammers.
“Your message went against our community standards,” they write.
Pardon me, Facebook. That wasn’t very Zen.