Chapter 1: The Digital Archive's Fragility

Somewhere within the depths of my digital storage lie my academic writings from college and graduate school. While I haven’t revisited them in quite some time, I've preserved them, transferring them across seven different computers over the last 25 years.

Most of these documents are likely saved in outdated Microsoft Word formats, and during a phase, I was also a Word Perfect user, so I have some files in .wpd format. Although I can still access these files now, I wonder how long this will last. It's possible that a sudden computer crash might render them irretrievable (perhaps I should consider moving them to the cloud after I finish this!). Alternatively, I might continue transferring them between devices for years, only to discover one day that they are no longer accessible.

While it's somewhat disheartening to think my senior thesis could eventually vanish, I don't believe it significantly contributed to humanity's collective knowledge. However, the future of my academic papers is analogous to the fate of more critical archives—those found on social media platforms.

Specifically, I'm referring to Twitter (now known as X), which is currently being dismantled at an alarming pace by Elon Musk. I haven’t logged into Twitter in nearly a year, and there appears to be a steady decline in user engagement, with mass exits occurring after Musk's more questionable decisions (his promotion of misinformation during the Israel-Hamas conflict has recently prompted a spike in departures).

Many analysts believe Twitter is spiraling toward extinction, losing users who once relied on it for credible information and leaving behind a void filled with bots and trolls. As I read the news, I envisioned a scenario in which Musk completely obliterates his $44 billion “investment,” leading Twitter to meet the same fate as MySpace and Google+.

Throughout history, humanity has lost far more information than it has preserved. Historians rely heavily on written records to piece together the past. Almost any written document can provide insights—whether it’s a mundane shopping list for an economic historian or the archives of a ruler for a political historian.

However, most people in history have not made an effort to safeguard their records for future generations. Instead, they’ve discarded them, repurposed them for fires, or used them for less dignified purposes (as my ancestors did with the Sears Catalog on their farm).

This loss extends beyond trivial items. The inventory of significant ancient works that have vanished is staggering. For instance, we have lost:

• Over 80 of Aeschylus's plays, one of ancient Greece's foremost dramatists.
• Thousands of Mayan codices destroyed by the Spanish as unchristian texts.
• Most of the Avesta, the ancient scriptures of Zoroastrianism.
• Ninety-seven percent of the Yongle Encyclopedia, an ambitious project by the Chinese government to catalog human knowledge.
• Ninety-nine percent of Sappho's poetry.
• At least 20 books mentioned in the Bible.

I often ponder how our understanding of the past might shift if we had access to all these lost works. Each loss is a significant blow to historians.

Our current dilemma differs slightly. The contents of our so-called “digital public square”—a space where the official statements of global leaders, from President Joe Biden to Iranian Supreme Leader Ayatollah Khamenei, intermingle with cat videos—are now under the control of a single unpredictable billionaire.

If Twitter persists in the coming decades, it could serve as a treasure trove for future historians. Researchers could analyze nearly every facet of our era through tweets—covering topics from dietary habits to political sentiments, and even literary preferences. It represents an extraordinary collection of public discourse from millions of individuals worldwide.

Efforts have been made to archive Twitter content. The Library of Congress attempted to keep pace for a time, but its archival focus has been limited to tweets from prominent individuals since 2017. Political watchdog organizations are also working to save tweets from elected officials, and some users have uploaded an uncertain number of tweets to the Internet Archive. However, if Musk were to abruptly shut down or erase the servers, a large portion of our recent history could be lost forever.

This issue extends beyond Twitter. How long do you think Facebook or Instagram will last? These platforms are all less than 25 years old and, like Twitter, are managed by their own eccentric billionaires. Several social networks, such as Google+, have already ceased to exist. Do you truly believe your social media posts from this week will still be accessible in 2075?

Even in a best-case scenario, where careful measures are taken to preserve all public discourse as these platforms decline, how long will the technology that underpins them remain accessible? Archivists are currently grappling with not just paper records but also obsolete formats like floppy disks, DVDs, and CD-Rs that are increasingly difficult to access. How long will the coding that comprises the archives of a site like Twitter remain readable?

Today, it often feels as if we are navigating a vast, chaotic ocean of information. The sheer volume can be overwhelming. However, the real question is: how much of this information will we be able to preserve for future generations? The answer, disturbingly, hinges on the whims of a few peculiar wealthy individuals.

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Chapter 2: The Historical Context of Information Loss

In this video, Elon Musk and Lex Fridman discuss the potential collapse of the American empire and the implications for history and society.

This video features a debate between Don Lemon and Elon Musk, covering themes of racism, historical parallels with Hitler, and the rising specter of war, highlighting the urgent need for critical discourse.