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Behavioral Scientist
Unpacking the Use of Social Media for Protest Behavior: The Roles of
Information, Opinion Expression, and Activism
Sebastián Valenzuela
American Behavioral Scientist 2013 57: 920 originally published online 6 March 2013
DOI: 10.1177/0002764213479375
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DOI: 10.1177/0002764213479375
The Roles of Information, abs.sagepub.com
Opinion Expression, and

Activism
Sebastián Valenzuela1
Abstract
Recent studies have shown a positive link between frequency of social media use and
political participation. However, there has been no clear elaboration of how using
social media translates into increased political activity. The current study examines
three explanations for this relationship in the context of citizens’ protest behavior:
information (social media as a source for news), opinion expression (using social
media to express political opinions), and activism (joining causes and finding mobilizing
information through social media). To test these relationships, the study uses survey
data collected in Chile in 2011, amid massive demonstrations demanding wholesale
changes in education and energy policy. Findings suggest that using social media for
opinion expression and activism mediates the relationship between overall social
media use and protest behavior. These findings deepen our knowledge of the uses
and effects of social media and provide new evidence on the role of digital platforms
as facilitators of direct political action.
Keywords
protest, social media, information, opinion expression, activism, Chile
The parallel diffusion of social media and social unrest around the world—the Arab
Spring, the Occupy Wall Street movement, and Spain’s indignados, to name a few—
has raised the question about the role of social media in sparking dissent, protests, and
1Pontificia Universidad Católica de Chile, Santiago, Chile
Corresponding author:
Sebastián Valenzuela, School of Communications, Pontificia Universidad Católica de Chile, Alameda 340,
Santiago, Chile.
Email: savalenz@uc.cl

Valenzuela 921
other forms of contentious politics. Similar to earlier debates on media effects,

responses have coalesced around the skeptical camp—dismissive of social media as a
tool for political change (e.g., Gladwell, 2010)—and the convinced camp, which
views social media as central for modern political activism (e.g., Howard et al., 2011).
As more research accumulates, however, it has become apparent that the issue of
whether social media use is related to political action is misguided. There is plenty of
evidence in both developed and developing countries suggesting that people who
engage in civic and political activities—including protest behavior—are frequent
users of social media (Bekkers, Beunders, Edwards, & Moody, 2011; Earl & Kimport,
2011; Pearce & Kendzior, 2012; Valenzuela, Arriagada, & Scherman, 2012; Yun &
Chang, 2011). Rather, the more important issue is how and under what conditions
these new digital platforms relate to citizen activism and protest politics.
Existing research has suggested several means by which social media can influence
collective action, such as providing mobilizing information and news not available in
other media, facilitating the coordination of demonstrations, allowing users to join
political causes, and creating opportunities to exchange opinions with other people
(Bennett & Segerberg, 2011; Chadwick & Howard, 2008; Gil de Zúñiga & Valenzuela,
2011). However, relatively few studies have tested empirically these mechanisms of
social media influence, and most have sampled particular subgroups (e.g., participants
in street demonstrations or young people) instead of the general adult population or
concentrated on one platform exclusively (e.g., Valenzuela et al., 2012). Furthermore,
to date, most data on social media and protest behavior have been collected in either
mature democracies or authoritarian regimes, leaving aside the special case of third
wave democracies—that is, countries that democratized between the 1970s and the
1990s (Huntington, 1991).
To fill in these gaps, this article examines mechanisms by which using social media,
including Facebook, Twitter, YouTube and Google Plus, translates into increased pro-
test activity among the adult population. More specifically, the study examines three
explanations for this relationship—information (social media as a news source),
expression (social media as a space for expressing political opinions), and activism
(social media as a venue for joining causes and finding mobilizing information). The
ultimate goal is to advance the scholarly debate on the use of social media for protest
politics by studying individual-level mechanisms by which interactive digital plat-
forms can lead to political action. To do so, it uses survey data collected among the
adult urban population in Chile in the winter of 2011, a period filled with demonstra-
tions demanding changes in education and energy policies.
Social Media and Protest Activity

Research on political protest and social media—including social network sites, micro-
blogs, video-sharing sites, and other forms of user-generated digital content—is rela-
tively recent, at least when compared to the vast existing literature on general Internet
use, social movements, and political action (e.g., Bimber, Flanagin, & Stohl, 2005;
Hill & Hughes, 1998; McCaughey & Ayers, 2003; van de Donk, Loader, Nixon, &

922 American Behavioral Scientist 57(7)
Rucht, 2004). However, since Facebook became an open service in 2006 and the so-
called “Twitter revolutions” of 2009 in Moldova and Iran, a flurry of studies have tried
to map out the effects of using social media on fueling protests and other forms of
elite-challenging political action.
In general, studies that have taken an individual-level approach have tended to find a
positive relationship between frequency of social media use and protest behavior, in line
with existing research on the digital media–citizen participation link (Gil de Zúñiga,
Jung, & Valenzuela, 2012; Park, Kee, & Valenzuela, 2009; Rojas & Puig-i-Abril, 2009;
Valenzuela, Park, & Kee, 2009; Zhang, Johnson, Seltzer, & Bichard, 2010). A variety of
explanations have been put forth to understand the existence of this positive association.
By enacting individuals’ offline networks online, social media can facilitate access to a
large number of contacts, thereby enabling social movements to reach critical mass
(Lovejoy & Saxton, 2012). Social media can also promote personal and group identity
construction—key antecedents of political behavior (Dalton, Sickle, & Weldon, 2009)—
by allowing multiple channels for interpersonal feedback, peer acceptance, and rein-
forcement of group norms (Papacharissi, 2010). These sites can operate as information
hubs, too (Gil de Zúñiga et al., 2012). Facebook users, for instance, have a “News Feed”
to monitor their personal contacts and stay updated about what is going on with them. On
the other hand, these services allow users to create and to join groups based around com-
mon interests. Thus, those who join social movements and political groups online can
receive mobilizing information that they may not obtain elsewhere and thus encounter
more opportunities to engage in political activities (Yamamoto, 2006). At the same time,
increased participation in online social networks typically helps to build trusting rela-
tionships among members (Gilbert & Karahalios, 2009), further enhancing the potential
of social media to increase their engagement in protest and other political behaviors.
Finding a basis for conversation and social communication, connecting with family,
friends, and society, and gaining insight into the circumstances of others—all these fac-
tors can instill interest in collective issues (Bennett & Segerberg, 2011).
For all the reasons enumerated so far, it is expected that there should be a relationship
between overall frequency of social media use and protest behavior. In hypothesis form,
Hypothesis 1 (H1): Frequency of social media use will be positively related to pro-
test behavior.
This hypothesis, however, is more confirmatory than exploratory, as it does not spec-
ify why the relationship between using social media and participating in protests exists.
Furthermore, some authors (e.g., Boulianne, 2009) have questioned the size and regular-
ity of the relationship between digital media use and political participation—criticisms
that may well apply to social media use and protest activity. These issues highlight the
need for further theoretical development explaining why using social media can cause
protest behavior. In what follows, three possible mediating mechanisms are discussed:
(a) social media as a source for news, (b) social media as a space for political expression,
and (c) social media as a tool for joining causes and finding mobilizing information.
These mechanisms by no means constitute an exhaustive list of explanations for the

Valenzuela 923
relationship between using online social platforms and protesting. However, based on
prior research, they have empirical currency and represent a solid point of departure.
Using Social Media for News

The first explanation for the social media–protest link harkens back to classic research
on uses and gratifications. According to Katz and Gurevitch’s (1974) typology, indi-
viduals use media for surveillance, identity construction, social relationships, and
entertainment. Existing research shows that using media for surveillance and news
acquisition is positively associated with various forms of political activity, whereas
patterns of use related to private entertainment and diversion have a negative or muted
effect (Kaye & Johnson, 2002; Shah, Rojas, & Cho, 2009). Thus, so long as users
expose themselves to hard news and current affairs through social media platforms,
the participatory effects of frequent use of social media should be similar to those
found for traditional news media.
The mobilizing potential of news use takes many forms. Past research has found
that frequent news consumption enables political participation by increasing users’
knowledge of public issues, political causes, and social movements (David, 2009; de
Vreese & Boomgaarden, 2006; Eveland, Hayes, Shah, & Kwak, 2005). Furthermore,
the traditionally negative press coverage of protest movements—which can spill to
social media as the most popular news outlets in social network sites tend to be tradi-
tional mainstream outlets—does not seem to offset individuals’ perceptions of the util-
ity of protests (McLeod, 1995). Previous research has also found that news use is a
major source for interpersonal discussions among people’s networks, offering addi-
tional venues for learning, reflection, and motivation to participate (de Boer &
Velthuijsen, 2001; Eveland, 2004).
Certainly, most of the content available on Facebook, Twitter, and other social media
is not related to public affairs (Zhao et al., 2011), just as most of the content on television
is for entertainment and not news. However, as social media are incorporated into daily
life, it is expected that the content available diversifies as well. Put another way, indi-
viduals surely use social media for personal identity construction, social relationships, or
entertainment; however, there is no reason to think that people who are motivated to
follow public affairs will not use their accounts on, say, Facebook or Google Plus to
consume hard news and public-oriented information (Gil de Zúñiga et al., 2012). In
addition, social media can be used purposefully to search for news (e.g., following BBC
News on Twitter) as well as a source for incidental exposure to news (e.g., browsing the
profile of a friend on Facebook and stumbling on a link to a BBC News story). In either
case, learning can take place, increasing the probability for political action.
Using Social Media for Political Opinion Expression

The second explanation for the observed relationship between social media use and
political protest refers to the expression of political opinion. This explanation suggests

that exercising one’s political voice on social media involves more information pro-
cessing and depth of reasoning, which have been found to be conducive to political
engagement (Cho et al., 2009). As Pingree (2007) noted, “Expression, not reception,
may be the first step toward better citizenship. Its mere expectation can motivate . . .
elaboration of media messages, and the act of message composition is often much
more effective at improving understanding than any act of reception” (p. 447).
In addition to cognitive elaboration, opinion expression can be conducive to politi-
cal protest and other forms of political activity by being a precursor of informal politi-
cal discussion. Since the early work by Lazarsfeld, Berelson, and Gaudet (1944),
research has found that when people talk about public affairs, they are more likely to
mobilize and engage in political activities. This is because conversations involve not
only exchanges of information but also interpretive frameworks that help to process
that information. By allowing people to grapple with ideas, elaborate arguments, and
reflect on the information acquired, conversations are a rich form of political informa-
tion (Huckfeldt & Sprague, 1995; Schmitt-Beck, 2008). Thus, political discussions
can lower the costs of political learning and motivate individuals to participate and
join social or political causes more often. In this context, opinion expression through
social media may be more likely to trigger online political talk, which research has
found to be similarly conducive to political engagement as interpersonal discussion
(Gil de Zúñiga & Valenzuela, 2011; Shah, Cho, Eveland, & Kwak, 2005; Shah et al.,
2007; Valenzuela, Kim, & Gil de Zúñiga, 2012). The textual nature of social media
may result in communications that are more goal oriented than face-to-face discus-
sions (Berger, 2009). If this is the case, then discussions on social media may be quite
efficient at mobilizing individuals to participate.
The fact that several researchers consider political expression a form of political
participation, rather than an antecedent of it, further bolsters the claim that there is a
close link between opinion expression and protest behavior. This explains, for instance,
why traditional measures of political participation in the United States, such as those
employed by the American National Election Studies, include expressive actions such
as displaying political bumper stickers or yard signs. Rojas and Puig-i-Abril (2009)
argued that opinion expression, particularly in an online context, is particularly rele-
vant in emerging democracies where more institutional forms of participation are not
firmly entrenched. On the other hand, certain social media, such as Twitter, enable
users to weave their private and political life together more efficiently by making pub-
lic users’ personal political expressions. Thus, social media may provide an ideal set-
ting for collective action, which Bimber et al. (2005) defined precisely as a “set of
communication processes involving the crossing of boundaries between private and
public life” (p. 367).
Using Social Media for Joining Causes and Mobilizing Information

The third explanation for the relationship between social media use and protest
behavior adopts an instrumental view of the political effects of social media (Xenos

Valenzuela 925
& Moy, 2007). It posits that these platforms enable otherwise disengaged users to join
political and social causes, increasing the likelihood of being further mobilized both
online and offline. This explanation focuses on the possibility of finding mobilizing
information on social media platforms, either by direct exposure to messages and
profiles of social movements, NGOs, and other interest groups, or indirectly through
incidental exposure. For various forms of protest behavior, such as where to go to
attend a street demonstration, knowledge of mobilizing information is essential.
Lemert (1981) argued that mobilizing information comes in three forms: (a) identi-
ficational (names and contact information that people or groups of citizens need to
know to engage in political action), (b) locational (time and place of a political or
protest activity), and (c) tactical (explicit and implicit instructions for how citizens can
get involved). Social media provide apt venues for encountering all three types of
mobilizing information, at least compared to other types of media. The mainstream
news media, for instance, have limited capacity to transmit mobilizing information, as
most journalistic operations perceive that this type of content violates norms of neu-
trality (Hoffman, 2006). Websites specialized in mobilizing citizens (e.g., MoveOn.
org and TakingITGlobal.org), on the other hand, suffer from selectivity bias, as mostly
those who have the psychological predisposition or motivation to seek out those sites
will actually find them (Wojcieszak & Mutz, 2009; Yamamoto, 2006). Social media,
on the other hand, are free from norms of objectivity and were built around personal
connections, not overtly political purposes.
However, it has been argued that the spillover from joining causes on social
media onto protest behavior is more a possibility than a reality. Morozov (2009) has
warned about “slacktivism,” activities that have no effect on real–life political out-
comes but only increase users’ sense of personal satisfaction. The Causes applica-
tion on Facebook is, perhaps, the best example of this virtual type of activism. But
just as it is safe to assume that most people who follow Greenpeace on Twitter or
Facebook do not participate in offline demonstrations organized by it, it is safe to
assume that Greenpeace’s social media presence increases the odds of disseminating
mobilizing information to a larger share of users. And this information is key to
offline participation.
Considering the three theoretical explanations for the expected relationship between
frequency of social media use and protest behavior discussed so far, the second hypoth-
esis to be examined states,
Hypothesis 2 (H2): Use of social media for news consumption, opinion expression,
and activism mediates the relationship between frequency of social media use
and protest behavior.
Method
The data reported in this study were collected in Chile, a country that in 2011 experi-
enced widespread demonstrations not seen since the street protests against military

rule during the 1980s. The outbreak of social unrest caught off guard both the local
political establishment as well as international observers, who so far had regarded
Chile as the poster child for successful democratic rule and strong economic growth in
Latin America (Mainwaring & Scully, 2008; Teichman, 2010).
Although the causes of the Chilean “winter of discontent” are debatable (see, e.g.,
Sehnbruch & Donoso, 2011), the demonstrations were unusual on several accounts.
First, they started amid strong economic performance, with unemployment and
growth rates at their best in almost a decade. Second, the protests targeted very dif-
ferent social issues, namely, the environment, education policy, and the pace of
reconstruction after the 2010 earthquake. Consequently, they brought together—for
the first time since the 1980s—a variety of interest groups, including high school and
college students, their parents, teachers, labor unions, and environmentalists. Third,
the protests were completely autonomous from the two main political coalitions that
have ruled Chile in the past 20 years, the center-left Concertación and the conserva-
tive Alianza. To the government’s dismay, the scattered episodes of violence did not
alter the strong popular support for the demonstrators, as opinion polls revealed that
more than two thirds of citizens approved of them. And, important for the purposes of
the current study, there was much discussion in the press about the role of social
media in fueling unrest, especially after the government’s announcement in June
2011 that it would start tracking Facebook and Twitter “to listen to what citizens have
to say” (Matamoros, 2011, para. 5).
The discussion about the role of social media in driving social unrest in Chile
is justified, if for any reason, because of the sheer popularity of social network
sites and other Web 2.0 platforms among the local population. Although nearly
60% of the population are active Internet users, more than 90% of users have
accounts on social platforms, giving Chile one of the highest levels of social
media penetration in the world (comScore, 2011). In addition, both the student
and environmental movements employed social media strategies—with some
degrees of success (Manning, 2011). After the “Patagonia Without Dams!” cam-
paign against HidroAysén—an energy development to build seven hydroelectric
dams in Chilean Patagonia—the project was put on standby. And 3 months of
unrelenting demonstrations in Santiago and other cities forced the national gov-
ernment to launch a full-blown educational reform plan with more than $4 billion
in fresh public funds.
Sample
The study relied on a representative survey conducted in Chile’s three largest urban
regions (Gran Santiago, Gran Valparaíso, and Gran Concepción), containing 62.5% of
the country’s adult population. The survey was sponsored by the School of Journalism
at Universidad Diego Portales (UDP) and fielded by Feedback, a professional polling
firm, between August 19 and September 6, 2011, in the midst of the three largest stu-
dent protests that took place in Santiago that year. The sample was a multistage area

Valenzuela 927
probability sample stratified by geographical region. Within each region, the sample
was allocated proportionally by urban communes, and within each commune, the sam-
ple was further distributed proportionally by number of blocks. In the last stage, one
eligible adult from each household selected was randomly drawn for interviewing.
Because the survey is part of a larger research project that studies youth participation
in Chile, in addition to the initial 1,000 completed interviews, an oversample of 737
adults aged 18 to 29 was included in the survey design, for a total sample size of 1,737
respondents. To reduce biased estimates resulting from the oversampling of young
adults, prior to analysis the data were weighted to match national parameters for age
as well as for gender and region using 2011 population estimates. The response rate
was a high 80%, most likely because of the survey being face-to-face and among
urban residents only. A full copy of the questionnaire, which was developed by the
author with a group of researchers from UDP, is available in Spanish at www.pren-
safcl.udp.cl/encuestaperiodismo2011.pdf.
Variables
Protest behavior. As opposed to more institutionalized forms of political participation,
such as voting and electoral campaign activities, protest is more diverse, less regular,
and, consequently, harder to measure adequately. It can range from signing petitions
to boycotts, including unofficial strikes and even violent activities. For this reason,
studies of protest based on surveys usually order protest activities along a continuum
with several thresholds of legality (see Dalton et al., 2009). However, illegal protest
activities are infrequent in Chile, consistent with trends of political action in other
democratic societies (Inglehart & Catterberg, 2002). Therefore, protest behavior was
measured by asking about participation in activities representing a transition between
conventional and unconventional modes of political behavior, as well as direct action
techniques, all of which are legal. Specifically, respondents were asked whether they
had engaged in the following activities in the past 12 months (coded 0 for not engag-
ing, and 1 for engaging): (a) attended public demonstrations, (b) attended political
forums and debates, (c) signed a petition to authorities, (d) participated in meetings
with authorities, and (e) sent letters to the media. Subsequently, a protest index was
created by counting the number of affirmative responses to each item. The analysis,
however, also considers the role of social media for each protest activity separately.
As Dylko (2010) noted, a cumulative index taps the breadth of an individual’s partici-
pation but might misrepresent the level or intensity of participation, hence the impor-
tance of employing both disaggregated and aggregated measures of protest activity.
Overall social media use. Survey participants were asked how often they used each of
the following platforms: Facebook, YouTube, Twitter, and Google Plus.1 Response
choices were (a) every day, more than once a day; (b) every day, once a day; (c) at
least three times a week; (d) once a week; (e) two or three times a month; (f) once a
month or less; and (g) never. The frequency of use of each social media platform was

combined into an additive scale of general social media use, reversed so that higher
values reflected higher frequency of use (Cronbach’s α = .70).
Social media for news. To measure the use of social media as a channel for hard news,
two sets of questions were used. First, respondents were asked in open-ended fashion
how many hours on a typical weekday they use social network sites for watching,
reading, or listening to news. A similar question was used to capture respondents’ use
of social media for consuming news on a typical weekend day. Because of the skewed
distribution of these measures, scores greater than 5 were recoded as 5. Then, to create
a weekly measure, the score for weekday use was multiplied by 5 and the score for
weekend use by 2. These adjusted scores were then summed.
Social media for opinion expression. To measure political expression through social
media, respondents were asked whether in the past 12 months they had used social
network sites for expressing an opinion on political issues and/or public affairs. In
addition, they were asked whether they had used social media to spread information
about the HidroAysén dam project and the student movement. These three items were
then added to form a single scale (Cronbach’s α = .83).
Social media for activism. The use of online social platforms for participating in politi-
cal and civic causes was a scale (Cronbach’s α = .79) of the sum of yes responses to
questions asking respondents whether they had (a) joined political, public, or citizen-
led causes on social network sites in the past 12 months; (b) joined groups or pages on
Facebook related to the HidroAysén project; and (c) joined groups or pages on Face-
book related to the student movement.
Grievances. Dissatisfaction with government has long been considered an important

ingredient of social unrest and protest activity (Barnes & Kaase, 1979), thus several indi-
cators of political and economic grievances were included in the analysis. Government
approval was measured as respondents’ level of approval of the president using three
categories: approve, neither approve nor disapprove, and disapprove. The affective com-
ponent of political grievances was gauged with feelings of political anger, which previous
research has found are most directly related to political action (Valentino, Brader,
Groenendyk, Gregorowicz, & Hutchings, 2011). Specifically, respondents were asked to
rate on a 5-point scale (ranging from never to frequently) how often the government has
made them feel “angry,” “outraged,” and “frustrated.” Responses were combined into an
additive scale (Cronbach’s α = .83). Using a 5-point response scale, economic outlook
was gauged with level of agreement with the statement, “Currently I enjoy a more com-
fortable life than when I was growing up.” Government responsiveness was measured
with four items about how much the respondent believes his or her actions influence the
decisions made by the president, members of Congress (senators and deputies separately),
and city mayors. Responses were measured on a 10-point scale ranging from nothing to a
lot and were combined into an additive scale (Cronbach’s α = .92).

Valenzuela 929
Values. The influence of political and cultural values on protest behavior was opera-
tionalized using two variables. For ideology, respondents were invited to place them-
selves on a 10-point scale ranging from left wing to right wing. Subsequently, a dummy
variable identifying leftist respondents (i.e., with a score of 4 or less) was created.
Postmaterialist values were assessed using Inglehart’s 12-item index (Inglehart, 1990,
pp. 74-75), in which three separate batteries of questions are asked, each containing
two materialist and two postmaterialist items. Subsequently, responses were combined
into an index, with postmaterialist responses coded higher.
Resources. Individuals’ material, psychological, and social resources have been shown
to be strongly associated with protest behavior (Verba, Schlozman, & Brady, 1995).
Oftentimes, members of dominant groups (e.g., college-educated males) are more
likely to participate in political and protest activities because they have more time and
have attained greater communicational and organizational abilities. Individuals are
more likely to be recruited into social movements if they are members of groups such
as student groups, unions, NGOs, and professional organizations. Furthermore, orga-
nizations can provide an institutional context supportive of political action. Particu-
larly in the context of Chile, street demonstrations are more common among younger
citizens, especially students. These different sets of political resources were included
in the current study as statistical controls. The respondent’s gender was dummy coded,
with female coded higher. Age was measured by a 14-category ordinal-level measure
ranging from 18 or 19 years old to 80 years old or more. Education was operational-
ized as the highest level of formal education completed using a seven-category item,
ranging from less than elementary school to graduate school. Membership in civic
groups was an item tapping involvement in activities of neighborhood associations,
student groups, and labor unions.
News media use. Consumption of hard news, particularly newspaper and online

news, has been found to be a consistent predictor of various forms of political par-
ticipation (Norris, 2000; Shah et al., 2005). To measure the level of exposure to
political information and public affairs, respondents were asked how many hours on
a typical weekday they use four different types of media: television news (both net-
work and cable), radio news, newspapers (both print and online editions), and
online-only outlets, such as web portals. Answers were coded in open-ended fash-
ion. A similar set of questions measured respondents’ news media use on a typical
weekend day. To make these measures comparable to social media usage for news,
scores greater than 5 were recoded as 5. Subsequently, scores for weekday use were
multiplied by 5 and scores for weekend use by 2, and scores were summed into an
index of weekly news on social media.
Offline political discussion. Face-to-face conversations about politics and public affairs
have been found to be closely related to political participation, including protest
behavior (Jacobs, Cook, & Delli Carpini, 2009). Thus, an additive scale (Cronbach’s

α = .79) of offline political discussion was built from separate items gauging fre-
quency of political talk with family members, neighbors, and friends.
To facilitate comparisons across the different response scales employed, all vari-
ables (with the exception of the protest index) were normalized to a 0 to 1 range, that
is, with a value of 0 for the minimum and 1 for the maximum. Descriptive statistics are
available for consultation in the appendix.
Statistical Analysis
For testing H1 with individual protest acts, a series of logistic regression models were
estimated in which the variables representing grievances, values, resources, news media
use, and political discussion were entered simultaneously with the overall social media
use variable. When considering the aggregated index of protest behavior, both Poisson
and ordinary least squares (OLS) regression models were estimated. Poisson regression
was chosen because it is the appropriate statistical analysis tool for count outcomes and
was found to outperform a negative binomial regression (i.e., the overdispersion of the
protest index was insignificant; Long, 1997). OLS regression was reported because it
has been shown to minimize Type I errors when dealing with count dependent variables
(Sturman, 1999, as cited in Dylko, 2010). Also, OLS is the most common type of regres-
sion used by previous research on interactive technologies and political participation. All
these estimations were conducted using PASW Statistics 18 software.
For H2, a path model relating social media use variables with the protest behavior
index was estimated with Mplus 6.12 software (Muthén & Muthén, 1998-2010).
Before fitting the model to the data, a residualized covariance matrix was created by
regressing all social media use and protest measures on the control variables, including
demographics. This means that any variance accounted for by the tested model should
be interpreted as being above and beyond the variance already explained by the set of
control variables.
Results
Predictors of Social Media Use
Before the formal tests of the hypotheses, it was important to assess the assumption
regarding recent increases in the prevalence of social media use in Chile. An OLS regres-
sion model predicting frequency of social media use indicated that online news use,
youth, and education were major predictors (see Table 1). In other words, social media
use was not random among the Chilean adult urban population. However, there was little
evidence of overlap between those with political grievances, who are news consumers,
and support values associated with protest behavior and those who use social media
more often. This finding suggests that the study’s data allow a meaningful comparison
between social media users who are more likely to protest and those who happen to use
social media but are less inclined to engage in elite-challenging political behavior.

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Table 1. Ordinary Least Squares (OLS) Regression Model Predicting Social Media Use.
OLS b
Anger 0.04 (0.06)
Economic outlook 0.03* (0.02)
Government job approval –0.01 (0.01)
Government responsiveness –0.04* (0.02)
Postmaterialism 0.02 (0.02)
Left-wing ideology –0.01 (0.01)
Female –0.01 (0.01)
Education 0.20*** (0.02)
Civic group membership 0.06*** (0.02)
Age –0.28*** (0.02)
TV news –0.05 (0.04)
Radio news –0.05* (0.03)
Newspaper –0.05 (0.04)
Online news 0.81*** (0.05)
Offline political discussion 0.05** (0.02)
Total R2 .45
N 1,466
Cell entries are unstandardized OLS regression coefficients (b) with standard errors in parentheses.
* p ≤ .05. **p ≤ .01. ***p ≤ .001.
Social Media Use and Protest Behavior

The first hypothesis predicted that there was a positive relationship between frequency
of social media use and protest behavior. The coefficient estimates shown in Table 2
offered support for this hypothesis. In four of the five protest activities considered,
social media use was a statistically significant predictor.
Holding other variables constant, frequent users of social media were nearly 11
times more likely to participate in street demonstrations than were nonusers. Similarly,
heavy users of social media were between 7 and 9 times more likely to express their
demands to authorities and in the mass media, respectively. The predicted odds of
attending citizen-led forums and political debates for frequent social media users were
3 times the odds for light or nonusers. Only the case of petitioning social media use
was not a statistically significant predictor.
To facilitate the substantive interpretation of these relationships for the average
respondent, Figure 1 illustrates the magnitude of the associations between social media
use and each protest activity holding all control variables to their sample means of
modes. As the frequency of using Facebook, Twitter, YouTube, and Google Plus
increases, the likelihood of engaging in protest acts increases. For example, the probabil-
ity of attending a demonstration increases from a mere 4% to 33% across the range of
social media use. The likelihood of contacting media organizations increases substan-
tially, from 3% for the nonuser to 23% for the most heavy users of social media. And the

Table 2. Logistic, Poisson, and Ordinary Least Squares (OLS) Regression Models Predicting Protest Behavior.
932
Attending Petitioning Meeting Contacting Attending
demonstrations authorities authorities media forums/debates Protest behavior index
Odds ratios Pssn b OLS b
Social media use 10.84*** (0.44) 1.96 (0.44) 6.87*** (0.53) 8.60*** (0.50) 3.05* (0.48) 1.17*** (0.18) 0.91*** (0.12)
Anger 3.88 (1.06) 1.69 (1.20) 0.32 (1.47) 28.59** (1.27) 0.31 (1.39) 0.67 (0.51) 0.41 (0.24)
Economic outlook 0.58 (0.31) 0.71 (0.33) 1.18 (0.40) 1.03 (0.38) 0.53 (0.34) –0.21 (0.13) –0.20** (0.08)
Government job 0.56 (0.33) 0.48* (0.34) 0.66 (0.37) 2.45** (0.30) 1.93 (0.34) 0.08 (0.15) –0.05 (0.06)
approval
Government 0.72 (0.33) 3.61*** (0.30) 1.42 (0.37) 0.65 (0.39) 1.11 (0.36) –0.02 (0.14) 0.19** (0.07)
responsiveness
Postmaterialism 19.93*** (0.44) 2.39* (0.44) 0.43 (0.53) 0.41 (0.51) 2.87* (0.50) 0.69*** (0.19) 0.32*** (0.10)
Left-wing ideology 2.38*** (0.19) 1.40 (0.20) 1.69* (0.23) 1.12 (0.24) 3.01*** (0.23) 0.45*** (0.09) 0.23*** (0.05)
Female 1.23 (0.18) 0.64* (0.19) 1.33 (0.23) 0.82 (0.22) 0.69 (0.22) –0.13 (0.08) –0.07 (0.04)
Education 2.41 (0.46) 4.53** (0.49) 2.97* (0.54) 8.43*** (0.56) 3.37* (0.54) 1.06*** (0.22) 0.38*** (0.10)
Civic group member 10.55*** (0.34) 1.47 (0.35) 31.72*** (0.40) 3.24** (0.41) 5.93*** (0.38) 1.15*** (0.15) 0.98*** (0.09)
Age 0.15*** (0.46) 0.97 (0.45) 2.59 (0.51) 4.44** (0.49) 0.72 (0.49) –0.26 (0.21) 0.20* (0.09)
TV news 0.15** (0.71) 1.32 (0.69) 1.52 (0.73) 0.08* (0.98) 0.44 (0.78) –0.55 (0.33) –0.35* (0.16)
Radio news 0.84 (0.56) 0.84 (0.53) 1.54 (0.59) 0.66 (0.63) 2.57 (0.57) 0.02 (0.23) –0.06 (0.11)
Newspaper 0.48 (0.78) 0.38 (0.75) 5.27* (0.76) 3.71 (0.80) 0.03*** (1.02) –0.39 (0.36) –0.14 (0.15)
Online news 15.36** (0.95) 74.38*** (0.98) 0.06* (1.34) 58.80*** (0.96) 27.02*** (1.03) 1.94*** (0.37) 1.82*** (0.26)
Offline political 1.66 (0.36) 5.74*** (0.40) 1.92 (0.44) 0.53 (0.43) 3.72** (0.43) 0.68*** (0.18) 0.18* (0.07)
discussion

Total R2 .48 .31 .27 .23 .30 .48 .38
Weighted N 1,466 1,466 1,466 1,466 1,464 1,464 1,464
Cell entries are logistic regression odds ratios for all individual protest acts, Poisson regression coefficients for Pssn b, and unstandardized OLS regression coefficients for OLS b.
Numbers in parentheses are standard errors. Nagelkerke R2 is reported for all logistic models, McFadden’s pseudo R2 is reported for the Poisson regression model, and total R2 is
reported for the OLS regression model.
* p ≤ .05. **p ≤ .01. ***p ≤ .001.
Valenzuela 933
Figure 1. Social media use and protest behavior.

Lines plot predicted probabilities calculated from the estimates in Table 2, setting all control variables to
their sample means.
probability of meeting with authorities to discuss political grievances also increases sig-
nificantly, from 3% to 18% across the range of frequency of social media use.
It does not come as a surprise, then, that when considering the cumulative index of
protest, social media use was found to be a positive, significant predictor variable—a
consistent finding across Poisson and OLS estimations (see Table 2). Several of the
control variables were found to be predictive of protest activities too. In line with
existing research (Verba et al., 1995), resources were key predictors of protest behav-
ior, particularly education and membership in civic groups. In general, grievances
played a minor role in motivating protest behavior, but postmaterialism and ideology
were important predictors of joining street demonstrations and attending political
forums (for further discussion of this finding, see Inglehart, 1990). Individuals who
spent more time reading online news were more likely to engage in all five protest
activities considered in the study, in line with the overall trend of online news media
being a predictor of political action (Boulianne, 2009).
Testing Mediating Variables

Turning to H2, Figure 2 presents the estimates of the path model relating overall social
media use, specific uses of social media for news consumption, expressing opinions

Social media for

opinion expression
.84*** .61***
(.04) (.10)
.63*** .08ns
Frequency of (.04) Social media (.09) Protest
social media use for news index
.62*** .28*
(.04) Social media (.11)
for activism
Figure 2. Path model of protest behavior.

Weighted N = 1,260. Entries are unstandardized path coefficients (γ and β) with standard errors
in parentheses. The effects of control variables on endogenous and exogenous variables have been
residualized. The correlation coefficients (ψ) between mediating variables were omitted from the figure
for ease of presentation. Fit statistics: χ2 = 3.538, df = 1, p = .06; RMSEA = .045, CFI = .999, TLI = .986,
SRMR = .011.
*p < .05. **p < .01. ***p < .001. ns = not significant.
and joining causes, and protest participation, after accounting for the influence of
demographics and other control variables. Overall, the results show an excellent fit for
the proposed model, χ2(1) = 3.538, p = .06 (root mean square error of approximation
[RMSEA] = .045, comparative fit index [CFI] = .999, Tucker–Lewis index [TLI] =
.986, standardized root mean square residual [SRMR] = .011).2 This result suggests
that the more specific uses of social media help to explain the overall relationship
between social media use and protest behavior described earlier.
As expected, more frequent use of social media platforms was predictive of more
frequent use of social media for information, opinion expression, and joining social
causes. In turn, opinion expression and joining social causes through social media plat-
forms were positively, and significantly, associated with participating in protest activi-
ties. Although using social media for news was not related to protest behavior once all
other variables were taken into account, the three social media activities included in the
model fully mediated the direct effects of overall social media use on protest.
This pattern of findings is clearer when considering the total effects of overall
social media use on protest participation by estimating direct and indirect effects sepa-
rately. As shown in Table 3, general use of social media influenced protest via either
opinion expression or joining causes, but not through news consumption on social
platforms. Thus, the evidence provided qualified support for H2.
Discussion
The purpose of this study was to confirm the individual-level relationship between
frequency of social media use and protest participation and to test possible intervening

Valenzuela 935
Table 3. Indirect Effects of Social Media Use on Protest Behavior.
Indirect effects b
Social media use → social media for news → 0.05 (0.06)
protest behavior
Social media use → social media use for 0.51*** (0.09)
opinion expression → protest behavior
Social media use → social media use for 0.17* (0.07)
activism → protest behavior
Indirect effects (social media use → protest 0.73*** (0.07)
behavior)
Cell entries are unstandardized path coefficients with standard errors in parentheses.
* p ≤ .05. **p ≤ .01. ***p ≤ .001.
processes that explain the existence of this relationship. Three explanations were
examined: information (social media as a news source), opinion expression (social
media as a space for expressing political opinions), and activism (social media as a
venue for finding mobilizing information and joining causes). The data for the study
came from a survey of a random sample of adults living in urban areas in Chile during
the contentious winter of 2011, when street demonstrations about education and envi-
ronmental issues stunned the local political elite.
The statistical analyses indicate that using social media frequently is positively and
significantly related to protest, even after taking into account other known sources of
this type of political action (i.e., grievances, values, resources, and news media use).
The strength of this relationship is comparable to the influence of education and par-
ticipation in civic groups on triggering elite-challenging political behavior. However,
social media use does not seem to be equally important for all types of protest activi-
ties considered. It was more strongly predictive of attending street demonstrations and
contacting news media and was not related to petitioning (most likely because this
activity is not a staple of Chilean politics, as evidenced by the lack of national e-peti-
tioning websites). Thus, social media use appears as a significant tool for certain forms
of activism but by no means should be interpreted as having an equal influence on all
forms of protest actions available to citizens. At the same time, these findings are in
line with the notion that social media platforms are a tool for—rather than a cause of
(e.g., Bond et al., 2012; Kroh & Neiss, 2012)—political action.
The study moves beyond examining direct relationships between social media
use and tests the possible activities that users perform on these sites that would
explain social media’s participatory potential. The analysis indicates that using
social media for expressing opinions and using them for joining causes, but not news
consumption, are important mediating mechanisms. In this sense, the results are
consistent with previous work showing that political discussion and mobilizing
information can lead to participatory behaviors. These findings also indicate that
social media allow users to interweave the private world of family, friends, and

personal life with the public sphere of politics, social movements, and protests
(Papacharissi, 2009). Furthermore, the model presented in Figure 2 also underscores
that social media can fulfill a variety of communicatory needs, including surveil-
lance and deliberative practices. Thus, the argument here moves away from any
suspicion of technological determinism.
The null finding for the information explanation deserves further examination.
Although frequency of social media use was closely related to following news on
these platforms, the latter was not a significant predictor of protest behavior. One
reason for this may be the redundancy of hard news content in social media, content
that is still supplied by mainstream media organizations. Thus, by controlling for
news use in traditional platforms, the variance of protest activity explained by social
media for news became insignificant. A post hoc analysis was conducted to test this
possibility by rerunning the path model without controls for news use in television,
newspaper, radio, and online news. Although the size of the path coefficient of social
media for news was larger, it still did not reach conventional levels of statistical sig-
nificance. This result is further confirmed by the small correlation between using
social media for news and the different measures of news media use. Another, more
prosaic explanation lies in the idiosyncrasies of the Chilean national context. Thus,
future research and cross-national data could further elucidate the matter.
What do these results mean for social movement organizing, political elites, and the
quality of democracy? This study suggests that social media are not so much creating
new forms of protest but amplifying traditional forms of protest, such as street demon-
strations. In other words, social movements seeking to exert changes in society need
to understand that social network sites and other Web 2.0 platforms can aid offline
forms of citizen participation, rather than the two forms (online and offline) being
separate, parallel worlds of activism. Governments and political parties, in turn, must
take into account the discussions, information, and other types of content that are pub-
licly available in social media and use them as additional sources of knowledge about
public opinion sentiment. For the quality of democracy, the positive links between
social media use and protest behavior represent both an opportunity and a challenge.
On one hand, social media seem to reduce the costs of collective action and facilitate
the creation of critical mass, which enables citizens to more easily organize them-
selves and voice their concerns publicly. On the other hand, there is the risk of further-
ing inequality if the population of social media users is skewed toward the
technologically savvy and those with high human, social, and economic capital. In
countries like Chile, with relevant gaps in digital access and use, this risk may be a
cause of concern, as the analysis reported in Table 1 clearly indicates.
Despite the new insights brought by this study, the analysis has several limita-
tions. By employing survey data, it is constrained to self-reports of protest activity
and social media use, which may yield inaccurate measures resulting from social
desirability bias. Another limitation is the cross-sectional nature of the data
employed, which cannot properly address issues of endogeneity between explana-
tory and outcome variables. Although this possibility was addressed somewhat by
employing a host of control variables, future research with panel data may be needed

Valenzuela 937
to sort out this quandary. A third limitation is the potential bleed over between the
different social media activities considered. For instance, is sharing a political video
on Facebook a form of information, opinion expression, or activism? If the video
contains mobilizing information, it would fall under social media use for activism
under the current study’s definition. On the other hand, commenting on the video
would be an act of opinion expression. And for those unaware of the issues discussed
in the video, it may well be a source of news acquisition. Future research, then,
needs to address more thoroughly these conceptual distinctions, following the exam-
ple of Bimber et al. (2005). Related to this, protest behavior is a slippery concept.
The current study adopted Dalton et al.’s (2009) approach, which stems from classic
work on protest behavior by Barnes and Kaase (1979), but it is possible that employ-
ing another conceptualization and operationalization of protest participation would
yield different results.
Limitations notwithstanding, this study provides an initial foundation for research
on the role of social media and protest behavior in emerging democracies where pro-
test has been successful at achieving policy changes. The three explanations for the
social media–protest relationship thus advanced could well be further elaborated in
separate studies, with more detailed measures, in an effort to produce more consistent
theory on the political impact of social media. Future research will also elaborate on
the findings reported in this article by replicating the current analysis in other coun-
tries and political contexts, testing additional mediating mechanisms, and employing
more fine-grained measures of protest behavior.
Appendix
Descriptive Statistics for Variables
M SD Min Max Valid cases
Attending demonstrations 0.16 0.37 0.00 1.00 1,737
Petitioning authorities 0.10 0.31 0.00 1.00 1,737
Meeting authorities 0.07 0.26 0.00 1.00 1,737
Contacting media 0.07 0.26 0.00 1.00 1,737
Attending forums/debates 0.08 0.28 0.00 1.00 1,735
Protest index 0.49 0.91 0.00 5.00 1,735
Social media use 0.18 0.23 0.00 1.00 1,737
Social media for news 0.26 0.32 0.00 1.00 1,587
Social media use for opinion 0.25 0.37 0.00 1.00 1,510
expression
Social media use for activism 0.16 0.31 0.00 1.00 1,737
Economic outlook 0.85 0.27 0.00 1.00 1,729
Government job approval 0.24 0.39 0.00 1.00 1,737
(continued)

Appendix (continued)
M SD Min Max Valid cases
Anger 0.13 0.09 0.00 1.00 1,700
Government responsiveness 0.23 0.28 0.00 1.00 1,737
Postmaterialism 0.46 0.23 0.00 1.00 1,671
Left-wing ideology 0.29 0.45 0.00 1.00 1,737
Female 0.52 0.50 0.00 1.00 1,737
Education 0.47 0.26 0.00 1.00 1,732
Civic group member 0.18 0.25 0.00 1.00 1,734
Age 0.40 0.26 0.00 1.00 1,737
TV news 0.18 0.15 0.00 1.00 1,609
Radio news 0.14 0.20 0.00 1.00 1,604
Newspaper 0.10 0.14 0.00 1.00 1,623
Online news 0.05 0.09 0.00 1.00 1,576
Offline political discussion 0.50 0.32 0.00 1.00 1,711
Declaration of Conflicting Interests

The author declared no potential conflicts of interest with respect to the research, authorship,
and/or publication of this article.
Funding
The author received no financial support for the research, authorship, and/or publication of this
article.
Notes
1. According to comScore (2011), at the time of the survey Facebook, Twitter, and YouTube
were among the most popular social media services in Chile, reaching 91%, 71%, and 14%
of adult Internet users, respectively.
2. Good model fit is achieved with a nonsignificant χ2, an RMSEA value of less than .05, TLI
and CFI values greater than .90, and an SRMR index less than .05 (Holbert & Stephenson,
2002).
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Author Biography
Sebastián Valenzuela (PhD, University of Texas at Austin) is assistant professor in the School
of Communications at Pontificia Universidad Católica de Chile. He specializes in political com-
munication, social media, and public opinion research. His work has been published in the
Journal of Communication, Communication Research, Journal of Computer-Mediated
Communication, CyberPsychology & Behavior, International Journal of Public Opinion
Research, Journalism & Mass Communication Quarterly, and the International Journal of
Press/Politics, among others.

808186
research-article2018
CRXXXX10.1177/0093650218808186Communication ResearchBoulianne
Original Research Article

Communication Research
1–20
Twenty Years of Digital Media © The Author(s) 2018
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DOI: 10.1177/0093650218808186
https://doi.org/10.1177/0093650218808186
Participation journals.sagepub.com/home/crx
Shelley Boulianne1
Abstract
More than 300 studies have been published on the relationship between digital
media and engagement in civic and political life. With such a vast body of research,
it is difficult to see the big picture of how this relationship has evolved across time
and across the globe. This article offers unique insights into how this relationship
manifests across time and space, using a meta-analysis of existing research. This
approach enables an analysis of a 20-year period, covering 50 countries and including
survey data from more than 300,000 respondents. While the relationship may vary
cross-nationally, the major story is the trend data. The trend data show a pattern
of small, positive average coefficients turning into substantial, positive coefficients.
These larger coefficients may be explained by the diffusion of this technology across
the masses and changes in the types of use, particularly the rise of social networking
sites and tools for online political participation.
Keywords
digital media, political participation, survey, time series
Introduction
For more than 20 years, the Internet has captured the attention of pundits and artists
offering accounts of how this media can or may transform our day-to-day lives. For
example, in fictional book/movie The Circle (Goetzman, Bregman, Ponsoldt, &
Ponsoldt, 2017), social network site developers sit around a table to discuss how to
address low voter turnout, proposing a link between the user’s profiles and voter reg-
istration along with a reminder to vote on election day. The idea evolves into allowing
1MacEwan University, Edmonton, Alberta, Canada
Corresponding Author:
Shelley Boulianne, MacEwan University, Room 6-398, City Centre Campus, 10700 − 104 Avenue,
Edmonton, Alberta, Canada T5J 4S2.
Email: sjboulianne@gmail.com
2 Communication Research 00(0)
users to vote online, enabling “true democracy for the first time in human history”
(Goetzman et al., 2017). More than 300 studies have used survey data to test the rela-
tionship between digital media use, such as online news sources and social networking
sites, and offline engagement in civic and political life, such as voting, volunteering,
and protesting. With so many studies published in this 20-year period, it is difficult to
identify the trends. How has this relationship evolved over this 20-year period? How
has the introduction of social networking sites changed this relationship? No single
study or data source can offer an account of how the relationship has evolved over a
20-year period. This study reports on a meta-analysis of existing research. This meta-
analysis weaves together hundreds of studies to examine the evolution of the relation-
ship over time as well as how this relationship differs across the globe. This project is
a critical contribution to scholarship because it offers a wealth of data to challenge or
support existing narratives about the role of the Internet in civic and political life.
Several studies explore trends in digital media’s role in citizen’s political partici-
pation (Bimber & Copeland, 2013; Bimber, Cunill, Copeland, & Gibson, 2015;
Copeland & Bimber, 2015; Strandberg & Carlson, 2017; Tolbert & McNeal, 2003;
Vaccari, 2013). However, the focus has been on single countries and on participation
in election campaigns, such as voting, attending rallies, and trying to persuade others
to vote. While election campaigns are important, they are not the whole story. Citizens
engage in civic and political activities, such as contacting government officials, talk-
ing politics, boycotting, and volunteering in their community, on a daily basis. With
a broader definition of participation, we can observe the relationship between digital
media use and participation across time and space. As digital media use diffuses
across the population, is the relationship growing? Does the relationship increase
gradually or is there a period marking a dramatic change, that is, the rise of social
networking sites? How does the relationship differ cross-nationally? Does the rela-
tionship differ for more democratic systems, compared with less democratic systems?
Is the United States distinctive in terms of digital media use and participation in civic
and political life?
To answer these questions, this article offers a meta-analysis of existing research
that uses survey data to test the relationship between digital media use, such as social
networking sites, online news sites, and other Internet uses, on offline participation in
civic and political life, broadly defined to reflect manifestations across the globe. The
size of this meta-analysis is exceptional, as evidenced by a recent meta-analysis of
meta-analyses studies in communications (Rains, Levine, & Weber, 2018). These
meta-analyses studies include, on average, 50 studies with a range between 14 and 165
studies (Rains et al., 2018), whereas this study summarizes hundreds of studies. This
large database is necessary to examine how the relationship has evolved over 20 years
(1995 to 2016) and across more than 50 countries.
The findings suggest great variation in the effect sizes. Early research showed
small, but positive coefficients between digital media and offline participation in civic
and political life. More contemporary studies show substantial, positive coefficients
between digital media use and participation. The trend is explained by the rise of social
networking sites, more interactive websites, and the rise of online tools to facilitate
Boulianne 3
political participation, such as Change.org and similar sites. While there are some
cross-national differences, they do not align with existing theories about cross-national
differences in digital media effects. Finally, there is little evidence that the United
States is distinctive and there is little evidence that democratic systems are distinct
from nondemocratic systems.
Digital Media in Election Campaigns Over Time and Across Countries

Over the past 20 years, digital media use has been widely studied in relation to its
impact on democratic practices. Political campaigns have adopted this technology
with the expectation that it would connect candidates to voters and could be used
to target campaign materials based on voters’ interests and consequently increase
electoral success (Howard, 2006). Beyond election campaigns, digital media can
be used to acquire and share information as well as build and sustain networks to
facilitate collective action on social problems (Boulianne, 2015). Outside demo-
cratic systems, digital media provide space to organize outside of state surveil-
lance, creating international connections, raising funds, and activating support
(Howard & Hussain, 2013). Ultimately, the goal is to challenge authoritarian
regimes and advance democratic principles (Howard & Hussain, 2013). While this
technology enables social change, digital media can also lead to dire outcomes on
democratic practices, such as social control and political manipulation (Howard,
2015).
Early research showed small, positive coefficients between digital media and par-
ticipation in civic and political life (Boulianne, 2009), but further research was fuelled
by expectations of larger impacts. These expected impacts were described as “more
robust over time and not dependent upon a particular historical context” (Xenos &
Moy, 2007, p. 715). The theories of larger impacts pointed toward the diffusion of
digital media across the population and changes in the types of digital media use. In a
book titled Here Comes Everybody, Shirky (2008) outlined the possibilities presented
by widespread adoption of digital media. Digital media offer tools for people to self-
organize to solve collective problems, leading to quicker resolutions and working out-
side traditional institutional structures (Shirky, 2008).
As digital media use became more widely adopted or became “mainstream” (Xenos
& Moy, 2007, p. 704), the relationship was expected to increase over time. Bimber
et al. (2015) tracked the rise in popularity of online political information in the 2001,
2005, and 2010 British election periods. Greater use of online information was
expected to produce greater impacts on participation (Bimber et al., 2015). In particu-
lar, the effects of digital media were expected to increase as usage spread beyond those
who are already interested and engaged to the average citizen. Rather than mobilizing
a few citizens, the diffusion of digital media could enable the mobilization of the
masses (Shirky, 2008).
Part of the explanation of an evolving relationship relates to evolving uses. Karpf
(2016) made an obvious, but critical, point that
the Internet of 2016 is, in important respects, different from the Internet of 2012 or 2006,
or 1996. The devices we use to access the Internet, the sites that we frequent on the
Internet, and the ways we use those sites are all in a state of flux. And this is all happening
while the medium itself diffuses to broader segments of the population. (p. 17)
In the contemporary period, mobile phones and tablets have become popular devices.
Social networking sites have become popular sites. Social networking sites may be
distinctive as a form of digital media use. A meta-analysis focused on early uses of the
Internet (1995-2005) found an average standardized coefficient of .07 (Boulianne,
2009). A meta-analysis of social media found a substantially larger average standard-
ized coefficient of .125 (Boulianne, 2017). However, a direct comparison of results is
complicated by the different scope of these projects. The 2009 meta-analysis focused
on the United States (38 studies), whereas the social media meta-analysis had a global
scope (133 studies across more than 25 countries).
Social networking sites are not the only change. Websites moved from being simply
broadcast tools into tools that citizens could use to send text messages to friends, self-
organize, and campaign on behalf of their parties (Bimber et al., 2015; Stromer-Galley,
2014; Vaccari, 2013). These changes in websites could prompt larger impacts of digi-
tal media on engagement. A meta-analysis of web interactivity experiments demon-
strates positive outcomes on attitudes and behavior intentions (Yang & Shen, 2018).
However, this line of research on political campaigns found the relationship to be
minimal (Bimber et al., 2015; Stromer-Galley, 2014; Vaccari, 2013).
Few studies have examined the relationship between digital media use and political
participation over time. Bimber and colleagues found idiosyncratic and nonlinear rela-
tionships between digital media (exclusively online political information) across dif-
ferent types of election campaign–related activities from 1996 to 2012 in the United
States (Bimber & Copeland, 2013; Copeland & Bimber, 2015; also see Tolbert &
McNeal, 2003) and in the United Kingdom from 2001 to 2010 (Bimber et al., 2015).
They suggested that the 2008 election may be an exception in a pattern of inconsistent
digital media effects across different types of political activities (Bimber & Copeland,
2013) because of the unique features of the Obama campaign and the rise of social
media. They revisited these findings with 2012 election data and concluded that the
relationship continues to be idiosyncratic year to year (Copeland & Bimber, 2015).
Bimber and colleagues offered theories of why the relationship might be idiosyncratic,
including the media affordances offered by Twitter and YouTube as well as other plat-
forms. These platforms offer greater choices for elites to mobilize voters, which make
digital media effects highly contextual and variant (Bimber et al., 2015). Finally, the
rise of self-directed action and network effects make digital media effects path-
dependent and nonlinear (Bimber et al., 2015).
Vaccari (2013) was also skeptical of a linear relationship after studying multiple
election cycles. He proposed that digital media technologies change across time, but
the process is not linear, but rather nuanced and granular (Vaccari, 2013). The data
offered on the 2007 and 2011 Australian elections suggest that the relationships
between digital media use and different forms of participation vary in each election
Boulianne 5
cycle, but do not show a consistent pattern of increasing or decreasing effects (Vaccari,
2013). In the Italian elections of 2006 and 2008, the relationship was significant in
2006, but not in 2008 (Vaccari, 2013). In contrast, Strandberg and Carlson (2017)
found similar (positive and significant) relationships in the 2007, 2011, and 2015
Finnish elections.
Election campaigns are interesting because they are distinct periods of innovation
in digital media technologies—high stakes games lead to innovations and risk-taking
in the use of technology. These innovations feed into the next election cycle in part
through the hiring of staff to work on new campaigns (Kreiss, 2012, 2016). This pro-
cess of innovation may also have impacts outside the electoral context and across
nations.
The U.S. presidential election campaigns are closely observed internationally,
which can lead to cross-national innovations in the use of technology. For example,
innovations in the 2008 Obama campaign have served as examples for political cam-
paigns across the globe. Kreiss (2016) described the Obama campaigns as prototypes,
inspiring future campaigns. Chadwick (2013) offered many examples of how the
Obama campaign strategies were considered in the U.K. 2010 election, because they
were “tried and true methods” (Chadwick, 2013, p. 7). Bimber et al. (2015) also noted
the 2008 Obama campaign’s impact in the 2010 U.K. elections, which led to some
initial hypotheses about “stronger relationships in 2010 than the previous years”
(p. 26), following results from the 2008 American National Election Study (Bimber &
Copeland, 2013). This process of technology adoption presents a challenge and oppor-
tunity for studying the relationship between digital media and participation across time
and space. Although the distinct effects of Obama’s digital media strategy would be
evident in the 2008 results in the United States, the effects would only be observed in
2010 in the United Kingdom. As such, each country would be following a similar
trajectory but on a different timeline. Despite theorizing about the diffusion of effects
from the United States to the United Kingdom, the data offered more significant rela-
tionships between digital media and various political activities in 2005 in the United
Kingdom, not in 2010 as expected (Bimber et al., 2015). However, the findings point
to the importance of looking simultaneously at how digital media effects differ cross-
nationally and across time.
Vaccari (2013) wrote that
the implicit premise . . . has been that the difference between digital politics in the United
States and in other Western democracies is simply a time lapse-that what happened and
worked in America will sooner or later happen and work in other, somewhat similar
countries. (p. viii)
Vaccari (2013) argued the effects in the United States are specific to its institutional
and organizational character, making it an exception or deviant case, rather than a
model for Western democracies. While institutional structures are important, they
seem most likely to explain why the relationship between digital media and citizen’s
election participation might be context specific. The mobilization processes around
elections are structured by a country’s election laws and unique institutional struc-
tures. Thinking about citizen’s participation beyond election campaigns, the relation-
ship may be more consistent across different countries.
Cross-national survey work has been limited and when this work is conducted, the
measures of digital media use and citizen’s participation are rather weak. For exam-
ple, the World Values Survey includes a question about general Internet use and mem-
bership in civic organizations, which hardly covers the exhaustive ways of using
digital media and being engaged in civic and political life. Gainous, Wagner, and
Abbott (2015) used the Asian Barometer survey (nine countries) to examine digital
media effects and found that the effects do not differ by type of political system
(Freedom House democracy index), but differ according to how participation is mea-
sured: election campaign (traditional) versus protest activities (signing petitions,
street protests). In another article, they used the Arab Barometer (seven countries)
and find that the effects of Internet use on participation (voting, petitions, street pro-
tests) depend on the degree to which the Internet is free from restrictions (Wagner &
Gainous, 2013). In both studies, Internet use was measured as frequency of use (daily,
weekly, monthly, etc.) with no specificity in how this technology is used (Gainous
et al., 2015; Wagner & Gainous, 2013). In sum, the cross-national comparisons sug-
gest that contextual issues (e.g., Internet freedom, but not the Freedom House democ-
racy index/aggregate scores) may be important to how digital media effects manifest
themselves on citizen’s participation. Furthermore, this research suggests that to
understand cross-national differences requires examining citizens’ participation out-
side the electoral process.
Digital Media in Civil Society Over Time and Across Countries

Civil society includes the sphere outside state institutions. There are multiple streams
of civil society to consider—the extra-institutional political sphere represented by
social movement organizations, such as Greenpeace, with related platforms, such as
Change.org. There is also the charitable sphere represented by nonprofit organiza-
tions, such as the Red Cross, Oxfam, and other charitable groups with related plat-
forms, such as gofundme. Compared with research on election campaigns and digital
media, there is far less research on digital media effects in civil society and on civic
engagement (see Boulianne, 2015).
As discussed in relation to elections, the diffusion of technological innovations may
originate in the United States and transfer elsewhere. For example, the United
Kingdom’s 38 Degrees, a “hybrid mobilization movement” (Chadwick, 2013;
Chadwick & Dennis, 2017), is modeled after MoveOn.org (and Australia’s GetUp!).
However, there is likely more coevolution of digital media and digital media effects on
participation in civic life. This coevolution could manifest as a consistency in digital
media effects across countries because of common platforms. For example, Change.
org is the “world’s largest social petition company” (Karpf, 2016, p. 64). The website
boasts more than 100 million users, including more than 100,000 organizations across
196 countries (www.change.org/about). A similar organization, Avaaz.org also has a
Boulianne 7
global presence with similar number of countries and members (https://secure.avaaz

.org/page/en/about/). The tools of participation in civil society are international.
Furthermore, unlike elections where the major players are national parties, in civil
society, the major players are international. For example, for Change.org, the target of
these campaigns may be government, but they may be nonprofit international organi-
zations, such as the Red Cross or multinational corporations, such as Shell Oil or Fox
Broadcasting Company (Karpf, 2016, Chapter 3). The process of mobilization facili-
tated through these sites may transcend national borders. This mobilization process
starts with a petition, leads to collecting contact information, then possibly the forma-
tion of a group; this group could then organize other activities, including offline pro-
test events. Karpf (2016) provided many examples of movements that begin as online
petitions and lead to more robust movements. Earl and Kimport (2011) offered many
other examples. They describe these processes as e-mobilizations, where “the web is
used to facilitate the sharing of information in the service of an offline protest action”
(Earl & Kimport, 2011, p. 12). This e-mobilization process may transfer across national
boundaries. The mobilization processes are more transnational than the mobilization
processes that happen around elections and in relation to voting. In terms of cross-
national patterns, the mobilization process would be easier in democratic countries,
which may be more receptive to petitions and protect the rights to assembly for groups.
Nonetheless, the mobilization process could work outside democratic states. Again,
the Freedom House scores related to democracy (political rights, civil liberties) are
relevant moderators of the relationship between digital media use and participation in
civic and political life.
The effects of digital media in the civic sphere may be more linear because efforts
to engage digital media do not follow the ebbs and flows of an election cycle. The
work of civil society organizations continues linearly, rather than stops at the end of
a specific campaign. Karpf (2016) argued that this is a key distinction between elec-
tions and political advocacy—elections end with a clear outcome, which can be eval-
uated as successful or not, whereas political advocacy is continual, with no clear end,
and is evaluated in terms of small scale changes. In sum, the research questions are as
follows:
Research Questions 1: How does the relationship between digital media and par-
ticipation differ cross-nationally? Does the relationship differ for democratic sys-
tems? Is the United States distinctive?
Research Questions 2: How does the relationship between digital media and par-
ticipation differ across time? Is there a period marking dramatic change? Are the
U.S. trends different?
Method
A meta-analysis is a “statistical synthesis” of data (Borenstein, Hedges, Higgins, &
Rothstein, 2009, p. xxiii). Meta-analyses are most often used to summarize the effects
of an intervention and often relies on “effect sizes” to assess the effectiveness of the
intervention (Borenstein et al., 2009; Ellis, 2010). In this study, the analysis is restricted
to those studies employing survey research to assess the relationship between digital
media use and participation in civic and political life. The analysis of survey data tends
to use systematic analysis approaches and standardized estimates, enabling some
degree of comparison of estimates across studies. The value of this meta-analysis proj-
ect, specifically, is to enable a comparison of coefficients across time and across dif-
ferent political contexts. Compiling the results of these studies into a systematic review
helps to illustrate the big picture of how the relationship has evolved across time and
space. This meta-analysis addresses a clear gap in the evidence about the relationship
between digital media effects and participation. There is no study that can account for
yearly variations in the effects of digital media on participation, covering a 20-year
period. Likewise, there are no studies that can account for this relationship in more
than 50 countries. Finally, there are no single studies that can claim to summarize the
results from more than 300,000 respondents, as this meta-analysis does.
Search Strategy
The studies were originally compiled using searches of academic databases and
Google Scholar, using a combination of keywords to measure digital media use as well
as participation in civic and political engagement, such as “civic or political” and
“engagement or participation.” The search process began in May 2015 and concluded
in October 2017.
Unlike other meta-analysis studies that run a query to produce a sample of studies
from a handful of databases (Matthes, Knoll, & von Sikorski, 2018) or focus on a
handful of journals (Rains et al., 2018), this study seeks a census of the entire body of
research. Academic databases, such as Communication and Mass Media Complete,
have a bias toward published manuscripts. The ISI Thomson Web of Science social
sciences citation index (see Table 1) search was our starting point, but this database
has known biases toward North American journals, which is detrimental to the research
questions in this article (Harzing, 2017). To address this problem, Google Scholar was
used as a supplement to traditional academic databases.
The abstracts were reviewed to identify whether the study presented survey data. If
survey data were used, the full study was tracked down and reviewed to determine
whether the relationship between digital media use and participation was assessed.
This search query and review process produced a set of more than 300 relevant survey-
based studies that focused on campaign or news websites, email, social networking
sites, blogs, chat rooms, petition-signing websites, and so forth. In terms of types of
digital media to include, we included any measure of digital media use where the
device or uses required an Internet connection, for example, mobile apps that require
an Internet connection, such as online news sites. The most popular measures of digital
media use were centered on political information, which includes use of online news
sources and social networking sites’ news features, as well as campaign websites. The
second most popular measures of digital media use focused on generic measures of
frequency or use versus nonuse, as illustrated in the Gainous et al. (2015) and Wagner
Boulianne 9
Table 1. Highlights of Cross-National Differences in Average Effect Sizes.
Number of studies Average

Country k = 243 across studies SD
Australia 3 .138 .053
Belgium 3 .064 .033
Canada 4 .127 .099
Chile 3 .120 .035
China 14 .163 .134
Colombia 4 .110 .026
Germany 13 .090 .092
Hong Kong 13 .162 .111
Israel 2 .146 .168
Italy 3 .310 .054
Lithuania 2 .257 .014
South Korea 10 .136 .153
The Netherlands 3 .059 .005
Singapore 3 .136 .076
Sweden 9 .206 .240
Taiwan 5 .113 .134
United Kingdom 12 .195 .211
United States 127 .130 .121
and Gainous (2013) findings. For offline participation in civic and political life, the
activities studied were related to voting, volunteering, boycotting, participating in
street marches, and so forth. The most popular approach to measuring offline partici-
pation was to blend civic activities and political activities, such as combining voting,
volunteering in the community, and protesting. The second most popular approach is
to focus on election campaign participation exclusively.
In addition, studies were excluded if they focused on behavior intentions (e.g., intent
to vote) or attitudes toward digital media use (e.g., trust in online news, motivations for
using social media) as the focus of this meta-analysis is on activities, not attitudes. For
this specific article, studies and/or coefficients were excluded when the measures
blurred online and offline activities, such as measuring consumption of printed newspa-
pers and online newspapers or if the measures blurred online and offline political activi-
ties, such as voting with signing online petitions. There were less than 15 studies that
were excluded for this blurred measurement approaches (e.g., Chadwick, O’Loughlin,
& Vaccari, 2017). These “hybrid” approaches (Chadwick, 2013) merit a separate analy-
sis with distinct research questions. The core research questions center on how online
activities relate to offline activities; the spheres are treated as distinct, reflecting popular
practice in the literature. This distinction also offers clarity around the independent and
dependent variables. This topic is revisited in the “Discussion” section. The list of stud-
ies are published as supplemental material on the journal website, as are additional
details on the search and analysis strategy.
Analysis Strategy
While the database of research contains more than 300 studies and more than 2,000
coefficients within these studies, the analysis presented in this article focuses on stan-
dardized coefficients, largely derived from multivariate models accounting for the
impact of demographic variables. Standardized coefficients are the most common esti-
mates reported in this body of research. Sometimes unstandardized ordinary least
squares coefficients are reported, alongside standard deviations and in these cases, we
standardized the coefficients by multiplying the coefficient by the standard deviation
of x divided by the standard deviation of y.
However, there is a good deal of research focused on logistic regression analysis,
which does not have agreed-upon standardization techniques. For example, Menard
(2004) presented six different options for standardizing logistic regression coeffi-
cients. Within this body of research, few studies offer standardized logistic regression.
Indeed, the literature on election effects across time all use logistic regression analysis
(Bimber & Copeland, 2013; Bimber et al., 2015; Copeland & Bimber, 2015; Strandberg
& Carlson, 2017; Tolbert & McNeal, 2003; Vaccari, 2013). Because of the lack of
agreement on standardization of logistic regression coefficients, these coefficients are
excluded from the analysis. However, there are many other studies using the multiple
years of the American National Election Studies (e.g., Chan, 2014), so the omission is
not detrimental to the research questions.
Several studies report more than one data set within the study. These data sets are
identified as distinct if they are based on different time periods (e.g., Emmer, Wolling,
& Vowe, 2012; Kelm & Dohle, 2018; Pearce, Freelon, & Kendzior, 2014), by country
(e.g., Chan, Chen, & Lee, 2017), or distinct samples, such as teenagers versus young
adults (Kim, Russo, & Amna, 2017). For this article, where the focus is on standard-
ized coefficients, there are 225 studies containing 251 distinct data sets. After account-
ing for these different data sets within studies, the multiple coefficients are averaged at
the data set level, according to meta-analysis recommendations (Lipsey & Wilson,
2001). In other words, if the study included multiple measures of digital media use, for
example, campaign websites and social media use, these multiple estimates are aver-
aged prior to using the coefficient in the analysis. This approach offers a high-level
assessment of digital media effects, without getting into the specifics of measurement.
The approach is necessary to provide a holistic view of digital media effects across 20
years of changing uses.
Likewise, if the study examined participation in election campaigns as well as in
civic or protest activities (e.g., protest), these multiple estimates are averaged prior to
using the coefficient in the analysis. This approach is a practical necessity as the most
common method of measuring participation involves blurring electoral, civic, and pro-
test participation (Boulianne, 2015). The data set–level averages are then used in com-
puting the grand average, as well as the averages at the country level and for specific
years. While the different estimates are based on different measures of both the inde-
pendent and dependent variables, as well as contain different statistical controls in the
models (see discussion in Becker & Wu, 2007; Peterson & Brown, 2005), these
Boulianne 11
Figure 1. Standardized coefficients for 251 data sets.
challenges are offset by the benefits of conducting a meta-analysis. A meta-analysis of

existing research is the only way to capture year to year variations across 20 years of
data collection as well as to capture cross-national variations in the relationship
between digital media use and engagement.
In addition to examining cross-national differences and year of data collection, we
assess whether the relationship differs for democratic systems. We replicate the
Freedom House scores analysis offered by Gainous et al. (2015). Using the Freedom
House (2017), we coded each country’s classification. These classifications are based
on degree of democracy observed in each country, as measured by the extent to which
civil liberties and political rights are protected (as mentioned, the right to assembly is
critical), degree to which the Internet is free from restrictions (important to digital
media effects, as per Wagner & Gainous, 2013), as well as the degree to which the
press is free and independent. In addition, Freedom House (2017) provided a summary
score comprised of 25 different indicators. All of these classifications are assessed in
trying to understand cross-national differences. The Freedom House (2017) edition is
based on observations from 2016. Ideally, this information would be based on the year
of data collection for that country. Unfortunately, this report is only available after
2006, which is halfway through the time period covered by these studies.
Findings
As Figure 1 illustrates, the standardized coefficients (k = 251) range between –.090
and .686 on a scale between −1.00 and +1.00. The average coefficient is .137 with a
standard deviation of .129. Approximately, one third of coefficients are between .05
Table 2. Pearson Correlation of Coefficients and Freedom House (2017) Scores.
Average coefficient
k = 240
Democracy score −.036
(25 indicators, low to high) p value = .582
Political rightsa −.049
(low to high) p value = .453
Civil libertiesa .024
(low to high) p value = .712
Degree of freedom of the press −.057
(not, partly, free) p value = .382
Degree of Internet freedom −.036
(not, partly, free) p value = .580
aReverse coded from the original Freedom House (2017) scores.
and .10 on the standardized scale (±1). Almost all of these coefficients are derived
from multivariate models that account for the influence of demographic variables. On
average, the models contain 12 independent variables and explain approximately 27%
of the variance in the dependent variable. On average, the valid sample size used in the
models is 1,400 cases. Figure 1 illustrates strong variation in the coefficients, raising
questions about why the coefficients vary so dramatically. This article investigates two
possibilities: cross-national differences and trend differences.
Table 1 highlights the cross-national results of countries reporting more than one
study. As mentioned, within each of these studies, there are multiple coefficients.
These coefficients are averaged at the data set level before being used in the calcula-
tion of country-level averages. Based on 127 studies, the average coefficient for the
United States studies is .130 (SD = .121), compared with .144 (SD = .138) for 124
studies conducted outside the United States. The difference was not significant (F =
.806, p =.370, ANOVA). According to these results, the United States is not distinctive
in terms of average coefficients. Indeed, the average coefficient for the United States
is similar to that observed for Canada and Australia. In addition, the average coeffi-
cient for the United States is similar to that observed in Singapore, which does not
have a free press system.
Freedom House (2017) scores are used to assess whether the relationship differs for
different types of political systems (Table 2). There are five classifications used in the
Freedom House (2017) report. None of the classification systems correlate with the
size of the coefficient. Using the three categories for press systems (not free, partly
free, and free), the average coefficients are .139 (SD = .119, k = 21) for not free sys-
tems, .154 (SD = .119, k = 36) for partly free systems, and .128 (SD = .124, k = 183)
for free press systems. The difference was not significant (F = 0.725, p = .485,
ANOVA; also see correlation analysis, Table 2). Using the three categories for degree
to which the Internet is free from restrictions (not free, partly free, and free), the
Boulianne 13
Figure 2. Trend line for all countries.
average coefficients are .147 (SD = .132, k = 16) for not free Internet systems, .139
(SD = .092, k = 23) for partly free Internet systems, and .131 (SD = .126, k = 201)
for free Internet systems. The difference was not significant (F = 0.153, p = .858,
ANOVA; also see correlation analysis, Table 2).
Because there are few studies prior to 1998, these results have been pooled. These
effects are averaged to form the start of the trend line (.025). There were only three
studies conducted in 2016 with an average of .295. Figure 2 presents the average coef-
ficients based on year of data collection. There is some volatility in the coefficients in
the last few years, despite a large number of data sets tracking these trends. The aver-
age coefficient increases dramatically from 2012 to 2013, drops down in 2014, before
returning to 2013 levels in 2015.
In Table 3, the yearly averages are provided with a 95% confidence interval. Greater
variance in each year’s average is a function of the number of studies in each year
(more studies decrease the interval size) and variance of the estimates in each year
(greater variance in the estimates increases the interval). Some years offer a clearer
picture of the effects, compared with others. However, the key point is that the effects
are increasing across time. Put simply, there is a strong correlation between year of
study and effect size (Pearson correlation of .322, k = 244, p < .001).
For U.S. studies (k = 125), the Pearson correlation between year of study and effect
size is .310 (p < .001) and for non-U.S. studies (k = 119), the correlation is .346 (p <
.001). There seems to be little difference between the United States and other coun-
tries. Figure 3 presents average coefficients U.S. studies compared with non-U.S.
studies, starting with 2003 when there are a consistent set of estimates outside the
United States (see Table 3 for year-to-year variations). In both cases, the trend line
Table 3. Trend Estimates With 95% Confidence Intervals, Sample Sizes.
14
All data sets, F = 2.263, United States, F = 1.903, Non-United States, F = 1.586,
p = .002, ANOVA p = .020, ANOVA p = .086, ANOVA
Lower Upper Lower Upper Lower Upper

Year k Average SE 95% CI 95% CI Year k Average SE 95% CI 95% CI Year k Average SE 95% CI 95% CI
1995 2 0.025 0.005 0.015 0.035 1995 2 0.025 0.005 0.015 0.035
1996 1 0.015 1996 1 0.015
1998 7 0.065 0.017 0.032 0.098 1998 6 0.062 0.020 0.023 0.101 1998 1 0.080
1999 3 0.015 0.007 0.001 0.029 1999 3 0.015 0.007 0.001 0.029
2000 8 0.077 0.022 0.034 0.120 2000 7 0.072 0.025 0.023 0.121 2000 1 0.116
2001 4 0.062 0.030 0.003 0.121 2001 2 0.030 0.010 0.010 0.050 2001 2 0.094 0.056 −0.016 0.204
2002 2 0.049 0.036 −0.022 0.120 2002 2 0.049 0.036 −0.022 0.120
2003 12 0.079 0.030 0.020 0.138 2003 7 0.129 0.033 0.064 0.194 2003 5 0.009 0.037 −0.064 0.082
2004 7 0.077 0.026 0.026 0.128 2004 6 0.085 0.029 0.028 0.142 2004 1 0.029
2005 7 0.107 0.040 0.029 0.185 2005 2 0.166 0.102 −0.034 0.366 2005 5 0.083 0.042 0.001 0.165
2006 6 0.102 0.029 0.045 0.159 2006 3 0.119 0.052 0.017 0.221 2006 3 0.084 0.033 0.019 0.149
2007 8 0.090 0.032 0.027 0.153 2007 4 0.061 0.006 0.049 0.073 2007 4 0.118 0.065 −0.010 0.245
2008 33 0.158 0.020 0.119 0.197 2008 27 0.168 0.023 0.123 0.213 2008 6 0.117 0.024 0.070 0.164
2009 11 0.087 0.019 0.050 0.124 2009 6 0.092 0.019 0.055 0.129 2009 5 0.080 0.038 0.006 0.154
2010 23 0.126 0.026 0.075 0.177 2010 9 0.186 0.053 0.082 0.290 2010 14 0.087 0.021 0.046 0.128
2011 9 0.164 0.048 0.070 0.258 2011 2 0.285 0.215 −0.136 0.706 2011 7 0.130 0.030 0.071 0.189
2012 40 0.158 0.024 0.111 0.205 2012 19 0.123 0.023 0.078 0.168 2012 21 0.189 0.041 0.109 0.269
2013 16 0.235 0.049 0.139 0.331 2013 4 0.287 0.144 0.005 0.569 2013 12 0.218 0.048 0.124 0.312
2014 33 0.140 0.020 0.101 0.179 2014 10 0.103 0.025 0.054 0.152 2014 23 0.156 0.026 0.105 0.207
2015 9 0.248 0.047 0.156 0.340 2015 2 0.197 0.069 0.062 0.332 2015 7 0.263 0.059 0.147 0.379
2016 3 0.295 0.085 0.128 0.462 2016 1 0.362 2016 2 0.261 0.135 −0.004 0.526
Note. 95% CIs calculated as average ±(1.96 × standard error). This table presents standard errors, whereas the rest of the article presents standard
deviations. The standard deviation can be computed by multiplying the standard error by the square root of k. CIs = confidence intervals.
Boulianne 15
Figure 3. United States  versus non-United States  trend line.
shows a gradual increase in effects over time, but there are some years where the effect
sizes are slightly larger than expected based on an assumption of monotonic changes.
There are also some points in the trend line where the coefficients diverge for the
United States compared with other countries. While the difference is dramatic, some
caution is necessary given the small number of studies. The average coefficient in
2003 for the United States is .129 (SD = .088, k = 7) and outside the United States the
average is .009 (SD = .083, k = 5). Another point of divergence in the trend line is in
2011; the average coefficient for the United States is .285 (SD = .304, k = 2) and
outside the United States the average is .130 (SD = .079, k = 7).
Discussion
Clearly, there is a positive relationship between digital media use and participation in
civic and political life. Early research showed a small, but positive average coefficient
and more contemporary research has shown a substantial, positive coefficient. These
results provide some reason to be optimistic about the significance of digital media in
citizen’s participation. Why are contemporary coefficients stronger?
Social networking sites explain some of this increase. A 2009 meta-analysis, based
on the United States, estimated the average effect as .07 (Boulianne, 2009). This meta-
analysis focused on early types of digital media use, such as online news, emailing,
and time spent online. In contrast, a new meta-analysis focused exclusively on social
media (based on studies across the globe) estimated the average effect as .125
(Boulianne, 2017). As such, social networking sites explain some of the trend line.
However, social networking sites are not the only story, as the trend line did not show
a dramatic and consistent change with the introduction of social networking sites.
Websites have become more interactive, which may produce larger effects. In addi-
tion, the rise of digital media tools (e.g., Change.org) to enable online political
participation helps explain the rise in offline forms of engagement (online petitions
lead to boycotting, street protests, etc.).
As for cross-national differences, these findings do not support existing theories in this
field of research. Following Gainous et al. (2015), we explored cross-national differences
based on Freedom House scores, but did not find differences. The results do not suggest
that the United States is distinctive in its digital media effects, addressing Vaccari’s (2013)
hypothesis. The U.S.-specific trend line replicates the pattern of small coefficients becom-
ing larger over time. The trend line does depict some idiosyncratic and irregular patterns,
which were also observed based on data from the American and British election studies
(see Bimber & Copeland, 2013; Bimber et al., 2015; Copeland & Bimber, 2015).
However, the dramatic increases do not align with the cycle for U.S. presidential elec-
tions. By focusing on election periods, we cannot see the role of digital media in everyday
political activities. The relatively little research on civil society compared with election
campaigns (Boulianne, 2015) means we know little about how these effects have evolved
over time for these forms of participation. The metadata offer a broad picture of increas-
ing effect size, but we cannot infer that the relationship between any single political activ-
ity or any single digital media use increases across time. Specifically, we cannot address
whether the relationship between online political information and voting is increasing in
the United States.
The year 2017 will likely mark another period of large effects between digital media
use and participation in the United States. Although 2017 is not an election year, this
year seems to be a critical year related to the mobilization of citizens, particularly in the
form of street protests. Digital media seem critical to the street protests, particularly the
Women’s March, March for Science, and People’s Climate March (Fisher, 2018). This
scholarship largely focuses on left-wing movements, leaving many unanswered ques-
tions about the use of digital media for right-wing movements. Indeed, research has
largely treated all forms of participation as normatively good, when clearly some forms
of participation facilitated by digital media may have dire consequences, such as the
White supremacy movement in the United States (see Hedrick, Karpf, & Kreiss, 2018).
Looking more globally, the relationship between digital media use and participa-
tion seems to gradually increase over time. These gradual effects may be linked to an
incremental process of technological innovations by civic groups (Karpf, 2016). These
technological innovations are not as bound to national context, which may explain
why there are few cross-national differences observed in this meta-analysis study. As
mentioned, key organizations and elites in the civil sphere are international players,
which may also explain why we see similar effects across political contexts. This is not
to say that each individual country does not have periods of peaks in their trend line
connecting digital media use and participation; however, at the global level, there is
some consistency in the trajectory of the trend line. Although country-specific trend
lines would be interesting, such analysis has been limited to elections (Bimber &
Copeland, 2013; Bimber et al., 2015; Copeland & Bimber, 2015; Strandberg &
Carlson, 2017; Tolbert & McNeal, 2003; Vaccari, 2013).
In sum, the effects of digital media on participation were smaller in the early years
and have become much more dramatic. This overall trend is consistent across a variety
Boulianne 17
of political contexts. Further research should move beyond the comparative election
focus in trying to understand transnational effects of digital media on civic and politi-
cal life. The focus on elections restricts analysis to campaign participation, whereas
citizens are engaged in civic and political activities on a daily basis, for example,
boycotting and talking politics. Existing international work suggests that cross-
national differences are observed when exploring these types of activities (Gainous
et al., 2015). Further comparative work should move beyond the democracy scores
and similar classifications used in the present study and others (Gainous et al., 2015;
Wagner & Gainous, 2013). Instead, further research should look to transitioning sys-
tems (moving toward or away from democratic practices) as well as those where the
free press scores and Internet restrictions do not align. In particular, what role do digi-
tal media play in a system where the traditional press is not free, but the Internet is free
from restrictions? These countries, which include Israel, Italy, and Greece, may offer
unique insights and perhaps unique effects of digital media on participation in civic
and political life. Finally, further research might want to reevaluate the separation of
online and offline activities implicit in this body of research, opting to study hybridity
in media use (Chadwick, 2013) and mixing modes of participation, blurring boundar-
ies between online and offline activities. While these hybrid approaches are rare, they
do offer new lines of inquiry about media effects on participation.
Returning to the introduction’s description of The Circle, there are limits to what
digital and social media can and should do in a democratic system. In particular, the
proposed strategy to reduce the effort to vote comes at a cost. The movie, as well as
Howard (2015), points to the high potential for surveillance, social control, and politi-
cal manipulation in digital media. While the Internet may be beneficial for collective
organization, as suggested by Shirky (2008), the ease of organization is not limited to
prodemocratic, high-consensus groups. As such, scholarship should attend to both the
positive and negative consequences of online mobilization.
Acknowledgments
The author would like to thank Stephanie Belland, Eric Mosley, and Josh Armstrong for their
research assistance on this project. The author would also like to thank Rachel Gibson, Daniel
Kreiss, and Lauren Copeland for comments on earlier drafts of this article. This article won the
2018 Best Conference Paper from the American Political Science Association’s section on
information technology and politics.
Declaration of Conflicting Interests

The author declared no potential conflicts of interest with respect to the research, authorship,
and/or publication of this article.
Funding
The author disclosed receipt of the following financial support for the research, authorship, and/
or publication of this article: The project was funded by MacEwan’s Research Office (March
2016).
ORCID iD
Shelley Boulianne https://orcid.org/0000-0002-8951-1098
Supplemental Material
Supplemental material for this article is available online.
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Yang, F., & Shen, F. (2018). Effects of web interactivity: A meta-analysis. Communication
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Author Biography
Shelley Boulianne earned her PhD in sociology from the University of Wisconsin–Madison
(2007). She conducts research on media use and public opinion, as well as civic and political
engagement, using meta-analysis techniques, experiments, and surveys.
Image Events, the Public Sphere, and Argumentative
Practice: The Case of Radical Environmental
Groups*
JOHN W. DELICATH
Department of Communication
Center for Environmental Communication Studies
University of Cincinnati
Cincinnati, OH, 45221, U.S.A.
and
KEVIN MICHAEL DELUCA

Department of Speech Communication
Institute of Ecology
University of Georgia
Athens, GA 30606, U.S.A.
ABSTRACT: Operating from the assumption that a primary dynamic of contemporary public
argument involves the use of visual images the authors explore the argumentative possibil-
ities of the ‘image events’ (staged protests designed for media dissemination) employed by
radical ecology groups. In contextualizing their discussion, the authors offer an analysis of
the contemporary conditions for argumentation by describing the character and operation of
public communication, social problem creation, and public opinion formation in a mass-
mediated public sphere. The authors argue that image events are a form of postmodern argu-
mentative practice, a kind of oppositional argument that creates social controversy, and
animates and widens possibilities for debate. They further suggest that image events are a
postmodern form of argument involving acts of protest which deliver images as argumen-
tative fragments. Employing the tools of traditional argument theory the authors describe
how images are capable of offering unstated propositions and advancing indirect and incom-
plete claims in ways that function to block enthymemes and advance alternatives. In con-
cluding, the authors discuss the implications of image events for our understanding of the
public sphere and the possibilities for argumentation in a postmodern age.
KEY WORDS: controversy, image events, oppositional argument, postmodern public com-
munication, public sphere, radical ecology groups, visual argumentation
‘Image events’ are staged acts of protest designed for media dissemina-
tion and they have been a central argumentative practice of radical ecology
groups, especially Greenpeace and Earth First!.1 The next few paragraphs
describe, only briefly, some of the image events of Greenpeace and Earth
First! that we interrogate for their argumentative possibilities.
On June 27, 1975, off the coast of California the Soviet whaling ship
Vlastny, armed with a 90-mm cannon loaded with a 160-lb exploding
Argumentation 17: 315–333, 2003.

 2003 Kluwer Academic Publishers. Printed in the Netherlands.
316 JOHN W. DELICATH AND KEVIN MICHAEL DELUCA
grenade harpoon, departs in pursuit of sperm whales. Unlike any previous

hunt, though, the Vlastny is pursued by six Greenpeace activists in three
inflatable rubber dinghies intent on confronting the whaler. One Zodiac,
bobbing in and out of sight on the rough swells, manages to position itself
between the harpoon ship and the nearest whale. Without warning, the
harpoon gunner fires over the heads of the activists, striking the whale.
Though Greenpeace’s direct action failed in its most immediate goal of
saving the whale, it succeeded as an image event. Greenpeace caught the
confrontation on film and it became the image seen around the world,
shown by CBS, ABC, and NBC News and on other news shows spanning
the globe. The consequence of this image event for Greenpeace was, as
Hunter, director of Greenpeace at the time and one of the activists forced
to duck by the harpoon observed, that ‘[w]ith the single act of filming
ourselves in front of the harpoon, we had entered the mass consciousness
of modern America’ (1979, p. 231).
Since then Greenpeace has performed thousands of image events on
issues ranging from whaling to nuclear testing to hazardous waste.
Greenpeace activists have steered rubber rafts between whaling ships and
whales, chained themselves to harpoons, spray-painted baby seals to render
their pelts worthless, and plugged waste discharge pipes. They hung a
banner from an observation tower over Niagra Falls gorge that read ‘Save
Ancient Forests,’ the famous border site being an apt location from which
to criticize the logging policies of both the United States and Canada.
During the recent confirmation hearings for Interior Secretary Gale Norton,
Greenpeace, in protest of prospective Bush/Norton policies, graced the
Interior Department headquarters with a banner reading, ‘Bush & Norton:
Our Land, Not Oil Land.’ A picture of the draped headquarters illustrated
The New York Times coverage of the hearings (Jehl, Douglas, ‘Interior
Choice Faces Sharp Questioning,’ 1/19/01, A22).
On the 1981 spring equinox, members of Earth First! unfurled a 300-
foot long plastic ribbon down the Glen Canyon Dam in order to simulate
a crack in the dam; symbolically cracking the monument to progress
clotting the Colorado River. With this image event, Earth First!, a radical,
no-compromise ecological group debuted in the public consciousness. Since
the protest in Glen Canyon, Earth First! has deployed an array of tactics,
most notably ecotage or monkeywrenching (sabotaging of machinery used
to destroy natural areas), in defense of natural ecosystems. Image events,
however, have been one of the more central rhetorical activities of the group
as they attempt to change the way people think about and act toward nature.
In their efforts to stop such practices as the clear-cutting of ancient forests,
the damming of rivers, the depredations of ranching, oil, and mineral inter-
ests on public lands, the loss of biodiversity, and the general exploitation
of wilderness, Earth First! activists have resorted to sitting in trees,
blockading roads with their bodies, and chaining themselves to logging
equipment. Extensive tree-sits (occupying the upper reaches of a tree to
IMAGE EVENTS 317
prevent its being chopped down) throughout the Northwest have provoked
public awareness and saved ancient forests, most notable among these
efforts being the Headwaters Forest tree-sits, the Cascadia tree-village, and
Julia ‘Butterfly’ Hill’s two-year sojourn in the redwood tree named Luna.
In Texas, Bugis Cargis used a bicycle U-lock to lock his neck to a 52-ton
tree crusher, stopping logging for 24 hours in the beginning of a successful
effort to halt the logging of 2,600 acres of pine forest in Sam Houston
National Forest. In Florida, Earth First!ers immobilized a mobile home
appropriately festooned with slogans to block the siting of a cement kiln
near the Ichetucknee River in an effort to protect the river as well as
the air and water of the local community. To encourage Home Depot to
do the right thing, Earth First! activists unfurled a banner off a crane at
their headquarters in Atlanta, Georgia reading, ‘Stop Selling Old Growth
Wood.’
The image events of Greenpeace, Earth First!, and other radical ecology
groups bear directly upon a complex set of issues concerning the practice
of argument in a visual culture and the possibilities for radical politics in
a postmodern age. To explore these issues, we follow the lead of others in
what can best be described as a ‘visual turn’ in argument studies,2 and
investigate ‘the possibility and actuality of visual argument’ (Blair, 1996).
We seek, however, not to answer the question of whether images can be
arguments. Nor do we advance a comprehensive theory of visual argument
capable of accounting for the complex ways in which images may argue
or the argumentative functions they may perform in the context of public
deliberation. We agree with Shelley (1996) and Barbatsis (1996) who
recognize that there are different kinds of visual argument and that different
conceptual tools are necessary for analyzing different kinds of visual mate-
rials.3 Our discussion here is unique to image events – staged acts of protest
intended for media dissemination.4 Our thesis is that image events are best
understood as a form of argumentative practice – the implications of which
can be meaningfully understood by investigating the argumentative function
of images of protest.
Serving as rough maps for our travels through the landscape of con-
temporary public argumentation and the possibility of visual argument are
the works of G. Thomas Goodnight and Michael Calvin McGee. Following
Goodnight (1991) and Olson and Goodnight (1994) we argue that image
events are a form of postmodern argumentative practice, a kind of oppo-
sitional argument that creates social controversy and which animates and
widens possibilities for debate. Following McGee (1990) we suggest that
image events are a postmodern form of argument that employs acts of
protest to deliver images as argumentative fragments that serve as inven-
tional resources for public deliberation and which shift the responsibility
for argument construction to audiences. Employing the tools of traditional
argument theory we describe how images, operating as argumentative frag-
ments, are capable of offering unstated propositions and advancing indirect
and incomplete claims in ways that function to block enthymemes as well

as advance alternatives.
DETOUR THROUGH THE CONDITIONS OF CONTEMPORARY PUBLIC

COMMUNICATION
In order to understand image events as a form of postmodern argumenta-

tive practice and to explore the argumentative functions of images, we must
first take note of the unique conditions for public argument and delibera-
tion in postmodern society. We do so by discussing three features of the
landscape of contemporary public communication: the possibilities for
participation in the public sphere; the texture of public communication;
and the dynamics of social problem construction and public opinion
formation.
The public sphere

The mass media represent one of the, if not the most, pivotal institutions
of the public sphere. In an electronic age, the televisual public sphere
occupies prime real estate in the landscape of public deliberation. Of course,
television is not a level playing field; it is not Habermas’ (1962) idealized
bourgeois public sphere of undistorted communication. Subaltern publics,
social movements, and environmental groups in particular, face a number
of obstacles in terms of their access to the media and the control of their
image. In order to participate in the most important arena of public dis-
course, in order to be more than an enclave, activist groups must use the
tactic of image events.
Within the conventional usage of Habermas’ (1962/1989, 1974) liberal
public sphere, however, image events do not register. That is, they neither
count nor make sense within the rules, the formal procedures, of such a
public sphere. They are not talk by preconstituted rational subjects directed
toward consensus, the deliberative rhetoric that according to Goodnight
(1982) is characteristic, even constitutive, of the public sphere. Indeed,
Habermas would likely point to image events as further evidence of the
disintegration or refeudalization of the public sphere – a return to the
spectacle of the Middle Ages. We would disagree. While image events of
radical ecological groups are often spectacular, they are not the displays
of the rulers, but rather, the rhetoric of subaltern counterpublics (Fraser,
1992, p. 123) who have been excluded from the forums of the public sphere
by the rules of reason and the protocols of decorum.
In a social field characterized more by the conflictual process of
hegemony than communal deliberation and community consensus, the
public sphere needs to be understood not as a civic forum, but as ‘the struc-
tured setting where cultural and ideological contest or negotiation among
IMAGE EVENTS 319
a variety of publics takes place’ (Eley, 1992, p. 306). This conceptualiza-

tion of the public sphere avoids restricting it to the medium of talk char-
acterized by rationality and recognizes that the ‘public sphere was always
constituted by conflict’ (Eley, 1992, p. 306). In other words, while today’s
televisual public sphere is not the liberal public sphere of which
Habermassians dream, wherein a reasonable public through deliberative
discussion achieves rational public opinion, neither is it simply the medieval
public sphere of representative publicity that they fear, a site where rulers
stage their status in the form of spectacles before the ruled.
As Gronbeck reminds us, the ‘telespectacle [image event], for better or
for worse, is the center of public politics, of the public sphere . . . we must
recognize that the conversation of the culture is centered not in the New
York Review of Books but in the television experience’ (1995, p. 235). And
while the civil rights movement of the 50s and 60s was catalyzed by
powerful pictures and eloquent words, radical ecology groups rely exten-
sively on image events to argue against environmental destruction and in
favor of alternative ecological futures.
The texture of contemporary public discourse

A variety of scholars have noted the changing nature of public communi-
cation in an electronic age, and specifically, the centrality of images and
the visual to questions of social issue creation and opinion formation
(Goodnight, 1991; Gronbeck 1990, 1993, 1995; Jamieson, 1988; Nelson
and Boyton, 1995; Olson and Goodnight, 1994; Szasz, 1994). Perhaps not
surprisingly, many authors making such observations couch their discus-
sion in terms of the debased nature of politics in an age of media specta-
cles (Bennett, 1992; Entman, 1989; Hogan, 1991; Postman, 1995; Sabato,
1991; Zarefsky, 1992). These authors similarly agree that the changing
nature of public communication and, inevitably, public argument, are the
result of the technologies and practices of the mass media, the centrality
of access to the media for political action, and the conditions of a public
regarded as fragmented and distracted, bombarded by media messages.
Debased or not – a question we will take up in a moment – public com-
munication takes place in a context dominated by mass communications
technology and charged by the prominence of dramatic visual imagery.
Andrew Szasz (1994), for example, explains that ‘political communica-
tion increasingly relies on the production and display of political icons
rather than symbols, iconography rather than rhetoric, both because the
means of communication require it stylistically and because it is assumed
that displays of spectacular images are the only way to break through the
indifference of the intended audience’ (pp. 62–63). Kathleen Hall
Jamieson’s investigations of contemporary political rhetoric lead her to
conclude that ‘in the age of television, dramatic, digestive, visual moments
are replacing memorable words’ (1998, p. x). Such changes in even tradi-
tional political rhetorics necessitate a different approach to public argument

– one that can account for the rhetorical dimensions and argumentative
functions of images. As Szasz (1994) points out, ‘approaches continue to
emphasize the word-centered production of meaning – with central terms
such as claims, rhetoric, and discourse – at a time when . . . political com-
munication and the production of meaning is increasingly accomplished
through images, not words, through visual rather than verbal representa-
tion’ (p. 57). Theories of rhetoric and argument that would too readily
dismiss image events as debased forms of more authentic, reasoned, debate
fail to understand the need to explore social problem construction and
opinion formation in terms of the way people actually gather and process
information.
Social problem construction and public opinion formation

The changing dynamics of public communication have had significant
effects on the process of social issue construction and public opinion for-
mation. The centrality of rhetoric in the construction of social problems
and public opinion has been well documented in the work of Murray
Edelman (1977, 1988) and others, many in the field of communication
and argumentation. However, so profoundly has public communication and
cognition changed in a televisual public sphere that the analysis of polit-
ical discourse must now account for the argumentative functions of images.
Szasz (1994) argues there is a ‘qualitative newness to the issue-creation
process in the contemporary United States’ noting that ‘the texture of the
process of “social problems construction” is qualitatively transformed as
claimsmaking rhetoric increasingly takes the form of iconography’ (pp. 57,
63). Graber (1988) argues in her discussion of how audiences make sense
out of and use television news that ‘the television age demands a recon-
sideration of our print-age value structure, which routinely prizes abstrac-
tions conveyed through words more than the realities and feelings conveyed
through pictures’ (p. 174). The implications are clear; we need to find a
way of theorizing how images give meaning to social problems and the
role they play in contemporary public argument. Following Szasz (1994)
we suggest that,
[W]e need to find a way of thinking about opinion formation that recognizes the dis-
tinctiveness of a process that relies more on image than the word, a process that is more
figural than discursive, a process that creates ‘meanings’ in which the cognitive content
is underarticulated and is dominated by highly charged visual components (p. 57).
What we’ve done in taking this detour is really to have just scratched
the surface of complex and fascinating relationships concerning much
broader questions about the changing nature and operation of public dis-
course in the postmodern condition. We limit our already abbreviated dis-
cussion to recognizing the existence of what Jenks (1995) calls a ‘visual
IMAGE EVENTS 321
culture.’ We suggest that in a ‘visual culture’ there is necessarily visual

argument. More specifically, we argue that conditions are such that images
are capable of operating as claims-making, reason-giving, opinion-shaping
communication and therefore instrumental to the practice of public
argument.
IMAGE EVENTS AS ARGUMENTATIVE PRACTICE
Far from being stunts of the disillusioned, image events are best under-
stood as a form of argumentative practice, the rhetoric of subaltern coun-
terpublics who have been purposely excluded for political reasons from the
forums of the public sphere. Image events and other critique performed
through spectacle comprise a central argumentative practice of groups
forced to exploit the economic and technological dimensions of the mass
media and to struggle to control their image and message in the televisual
public sphere. Responding to the historical conditions as they are: ‘the
explosive growth of the instruments of mass transmission and the tragic
silence, fragmentation, and alienation of publics who might be heard’
(Goodnight, 1990, p. 193); they reflect the attempt of groups to empower
themselves while working in hostile territory (DeLuca, 1999; Cassidy,
1992). In today’s mass mediated public sphere corporations and nations
stage spectacles certifying their status before the public while subaltern
counterpublics participate through performing image events (among other
tactics), employing the consequent publicity as a social medium through
which to hold corporations and nations accountable, help form public
opinion, and constitute their own identities as counterpublics. We argue
that image events constitute a form of oppositional argument (Olson and
Goodnight, 1994) uniquely capable of generating social controversy in that
they challenge norms of public participation as well as widen the possi-
bilities for argumentation and deliberation.
As is the case with oppositional argument, image events challenge the
‘appropriateness of social conventions’ and ‘draw attention to the taken-
for-granted means of communication’ (Olson and Goodnight, 1994, p. 250).
The tactic of affecting public debate through the act of protest, an act of
confrontation and agitation, is to articulate ‘disagreement over the speech
acts that implicitly define the parameters of argument contexts and grounds’
(Goodnight, 1991, p. 5). More specifically, dramatic acts of protest like
image events challenge norms as to what constitute acceptable means of
communication. As such, image events make the implicit claim that direct
action protest, non-violent civil disobedience, and critique performed
through spectacle are acceptable forms of political participation. The
significance of this cannot be overstated. To dismiss image events as rude
and crude is to cling to ‘presuppositions of civility and rationality under-
lying the old rhetoric,’ a rhetoric that supports authority and allows civility
and decorum to serve as masks for the preservation of injustice while those
marginalized or underresourced are silenced (Scott and Smith, 1969, p. 7).
Indeed, we adopt Anne Norton’s stance that ‘critical readings, directed at
giving voice to the silent language of the image, are necessary for the self-
determination of the subaltern and any approach to political equity’ (1993,
p. 168).
IMAGE EVENTS AS ARGUMENTATIVE FORM
We preface our discussion of ‘form’ by noting our uneasiness with such a

category, especially the elements of classification and closure that it brings
to the table. Nevertheless, a better conceptual schema for comparing what
characteristics image events share with traditional argument currently
escapes us. We explore the possibility that image events are a form of visual
argument by investigating the proposition: ‘The image is the argument.’
We take as a given the fragmentation of society and discourse character-
istic of the postmodern condition. Following McGee (1990), we suggest
that contemporary argumentative practice reflects this fragmentation. And
while Hogan (1991) laments the situation, we argue he is correct in noting
that ‘the “electronic age” encourages memorable phrases and visual images
– “mere shards” of political argument that can be telegraphed to the national
audience by the news media’ (p. 101). We suggest that image events are
an argumentative form characterized by fragmentation. Image events com-
municate not arguments, but argumentative fragments in the form of
unstated propositions, indirect and incomplete claims, visual refutation, and
implied alternatives. These fragments constitute inventional resources
capable of assisting public argumentation and deliberation. That is, images
provide fodder for argumentation and a source for generating arguments.
In one sense, inventional resources are quite literally the elements (claims,
data, warrants) with which to formulate arguments.5 In another sense, inven-
tional resources are those materials that serve to inspire argumentation and
provide ammunition for novel and innovative arguments.6
To characterize image events as a form of argument we must first note
that fragmentation or incompleteness is not inconsistent with claimsmaking
and refutation. Scholars of argument have previously recognized that
messages can operate as arguments incompletely and indirectly (Hazen,
1991). Along such lines, Gronbeck (1995) has suggested that images are
propositional. He argues that ‘if we think of meanings as called up or
evoked in people when engaged in acts of decoding, then not only words
but also pictures, sounds, and other sign systems certainly can offer us
propositions of denial or affirmation’ (p. 539). We read image events as
delivering unstated propositions, offering indirect claims, and advancing
objections with dramatic imagery.
Delivering a dead seal to politicians and chaining one’s self to a tree do
IMAGE EVENTS 323
not express arguments completely, nor do they express direct disagreement.

However, they are propositional in that such acts advance claims about
the practices in question. The images of such acts incompletely and indi-
rectly make claims that suggest the illegitimacy of seal hunting and clear
cutting. Although unstated, indirect, and incomplete, image events are fun-
damental to claimsmaking in the media.7
To continue to make the case that image events constitute an argumen-
tative form – or at least share important characteristics of traditional
argument – we suggest that postmodern arguments may no longer operate
in discrete entities. In a landscape where public communication is charac-
terized by fragmentation it is difficult to expect that arguments will be con-
structed with the singular components of claim, data, and warrant. Here we
note that images of protest may function as any one of the three elements
in Toulmin’s (1958) model of argument. The image of an Earth First!er
buried in a road can be read as (1) a claim: ‘there should be no more roads
built into wilderness areas’; (2) a warrant for claims such as: ‘there should
be no more roads built into wilderness areas’ offering the reason ‘it’s worth
getting arrested or hurt to prevent it;’ or (3) as evidence for claims such
as: ‘there should be no more roads built in wilderness areas,’ or, ‘direct
action to save wilderness is justified/necessary.’8 A close reading of the
images on television news suggests that visual arguments comprise an argu-
mentative form that is really a form only in the most generic sense of the
word. Image events constitute a form of visual argument that operates in
fragments: dramatic images that advance indirect, incomplete, and unstated
propositions; refute unstated assumptions; operate as evidence for claims;
or otherwise serve as inventional resources for future deliberation.
Finally, consistent with Olson and Goodnight’s (1994) description of
oppositional argument, the claimsmaking of image events functions in ways
that may block enthymematic discourses about Nature, Humanity, and
Progress. Earth First!’s protest at Glen Canyon Dam clearly rejects the asso-
ciation of the dam with Progress. Earth First!er’s passionate embrace of
trees, wildlife, and ecosystems defies dominant assumptions that Nature is
a storehouse of resources and that Progress consists of exploiting the store-
house. Greenpeace activists placing themselves between whales and
harpoon guns challenge the hierarchy that places humans at the top of the
food chain and disrupts assumptions about the value of human and animal
life. In the next section, we continue our discussion of the argumentative
function of image events by exploring the larger implications that image
events suggest for argumentation in a postmodern public sphere.
THE ARGUMENTATIVE FUNCTION OF IMAGE EVENTS
The argumentative functions of image events are best explained in terms

of their operation as inventional resources and the possibilities they afford
generative argument. We use the term generative argument based upon

Zulick and Laffoon’s (1991) discussion of generative rhetoric, although
they do not use the term specifically. In one sense, we simply mean to
suggest that particular opportunities, forms of advocacy, and kinds of
arguments can serve to ‘generate’ argumentation and debate. In a manner
consistent with Zulick and Laffoon’s application, we also use the term
generative argument, more specifically, to locate opportunities to increase
the number of participants in the public sphere, expand opportunities for
public advocacy, and broaden the horizon of possible ideas in social con-
troversies. Generative argument involves animating the possibilities for
public debate and generating new lines of argument. Zulick and Laffoon
(1991) suggest that generative argument may subvert or re-invent the
boundaries of public discourse and empower disenfranchised groups to
speak.
Image events create opportunities for generative argument as they are
sources of confrontational and creative claims-making and refutation. They
may spark the imagination, inspire argumentation and debate, and promote
innovative argumentative practices. Environmental image events create
opportunities for generative argument by increasing the visibility of envi-
ronmental issues, subverting the privilege of dominant environmental dis-
courses, and expanding the range of thinkable thoughts with regards to
environmental matters. To the extent that they challenge taken-for-granted
assumptions and disrupt the existing grid of intelligibilty, environmental
image events are uniquely capable of animating public argument and re-
articulating the rhetorical boundaries of environmental knowledge.
We identify three significant functions of image events with regards to
their ability to create social controversy, animate and widen the possibili-
ties for public argument, expand the opportunities for participation in the
public sphere, and enhance public deliberation.
(1) Image events broaden the scope of participation in the public sphere
to include subaltern counterpublics. In a public sphere that has been for
too long, both in theory and practice, constrained by narrow notions of
rationality and civility, visual argument, and image events in particular,
challenge what are appropriate, acceptable, and legitimate acts of partici-
pation, and extend the margins of the public sphere to include counter-
publics who employ dramatic acts of protest in order to perform critique
through spectacle.9 The past decade was witness to increasingly frequent
uses of image events. Image events became a common tactic in the reper-
toire of protest for many advocacy organizations. AIDS activists, animal
rights organizations, anti-consumer culture advocates, and grassroots envi-
ronmental justice groups have all engaged in dramatic acts of protest staged
for media dissemination in order to more effectively articulate their posi-
tions. Most recently, the democratic globalization movement has made
effective use of image events at meetings of the WTO, the IMF/World Bank,
the Summit of the Americas, and at counter-summits like the World Social
IMAGE EVENTS 325
Forum in Porto Alegre, Brazil. Shut out of the decision making processes
of the institutions of the world’s economy, activists and advocacy organi-
zations have taken to the streets, employing image events (among other
tactics), to force their way on to the public agenda and into the public debate
about world trade and the global economy. The growing popularity and,
to some extent, legitimacy of image events in the past few years has
increased the range of participants in the public sphere, expanded the kinds
of issues on the public’s ‘radar screen,’ and broadened the scope of public
argument on many important issues.
(2) Image events deliver argument in powerful ways capable of creating
opportunities for debate and producing moments of generative argument.
Image events are provocative gestures that function as oppositional argu-
ments to ‘widen and animate the nondiscursive production of argument’
(Olson and Goodnight, 1994, p. 252). An important dimension of opposi-
tional argument is its delivery in the act of protest – in placing bodies on
the line – in the performance of critique, and in the case of image events,
the dissemination of images of protest in the televisual media. To explain
the signifcant role of delivery in the argumentative function of image events
we explore Nelson and Boyton’s (1995) suggestion that ‘the argument is
in the delivery.’ The expression, ‘the argument is in the delivery,’ is
intended to emphasize the inherent role of delivery in the articualtion, eval-
uation, and effectiveness of argumentation. Delivery is no less central when
it comes to understanding the argumentative functions of image events. The
fact that it is acts of protest and subsequent images of such actions circu-
lating in the mass media which deliver argumentative fragments makes
the delivery of image events significant.
First, image events deliver argument in the act of protest. The fact that
protest is the mode of delivery of image events calls attention to form and
performance. Image events do not merely attract attention for a more
traditional form of argument, but, rather, they constitute the site and sub-
stance of the argument. Image events enact an alternative form of argument
that contests more conventional norms of argumentation. In short, an image
event, like other forms of oppositional argument, ‘unsettles the appropri-
ateness of social conventions, draws attention to the taken-for-granted
means of communication, and provokes discussion’ (Olson and Goodnight,
1994, p. 250).
Second, in image events it is an action, an image, not words, that serves
as the basis for claims-making and refutation. Argumentative fragments are
delivered in the form of images and those images are delivered (dissemi-
nated) on television news. What is significant here is the unique opera-
tions of images in the current context of public communication. The visual
modes of argumentation characteristic of image events are well suited to
the conditions of contemporary public debate and current patterns of social
issue construction and public opinion formation. More specifically, the very
process of making sense of television news highlights the centrality of
images and the role of visual communication in shaping our understanding

and awareness of issues. Image events are an effective tool for addressing
the problem of the ‘distracted and disinterested’ audience. Here the issue
is not simply getting the public’s attention, but communicating to them in
a manner that is consistent with how they process information and formu-
late opinions. To the extent that image events communicate fragments of
argument in the form of highly charged visuals they are possibly quite effec-
tive in shaping public discourse and affecting public debate. Andrew Szasz
(1994) explains:
Addicted to the consumption of superifial imagery, habituated to a state of distraction,

deaf to complexity and subtlety, the news consumer watches, hears, or reads news stories
in a way that preserves, even enhances their iconic quality: the strong visual and emo-
tional components dominate; attitude formation takes place without much need for detail
in the cognitive component (p. 63).
The televisual qualities of dramatic acts of protest may have an another

advantage in shaping public opinion. Audiences are likely to have powerful,
visceral responses to images of protest delivered in television news. Based
upon their analysis of visual and aural argument in political campaign ads,
Nelson and Boyton (1995) suggest that ‘the principles of political cogni-
tion’ imply that ‘visual and aural argument is more vivid, visceral, and
effective than the verbal phrarses that it sometimes complements and other
times overpowers’ (p. 547). Indeed, Andrew Szasz’s (1994) analysis of
toxic waste and Kathleen Hall Jamieson’s (1988) work on the effectiveness
of images in political discourse both suggest that images of dramatic acts
of protest are likely to generate strong viewer response. This increases the
likelihood that image events will spark, inspire, or otherwise motivate
audiences to confront issues and also increases the possibility that these
argumentative fragments will be remembered and stored as inventional
resources for deliberation and argumentation.
Third, images events deliver arguments in one of the few forms likely
to make their way to mass audiences. Image events deliver argumentative
fragments capable of presenting ideas that otherwise would probably not
receive a hearing in the public sphere. In an era where more lengthy and
involved challenges to the dominant order rarely receive the public time
and space to be fully (or even partially) articulated – image events may be
a promising form of argumentative activity, one capable of crystallizing
more complex political positions into a visual signifier. We suggest that
image events operate as ‘synoptic moments’ where more complex polit-
ical and philosophical positions are encapsulated in the only form likely
to be articulated in the electronic mass media. Image events reduce ‘a
complex set of issues to symbols that break people’s comfortable equilib-
rium, get them asking whether there are better ways to do things’ (Veteran
Greenpeace campaigner quoted in Horton, 1991, p. 108). Image events are
crystallized fragments, mind bombs that work to expand ‘the universe of
IMAGE EVENTS 327
thinkable thoughts’ (Manes, 1990, p. 77). While radical environmental

groups inhabit a difficult space within the corporate-controlled, mass
mediated public sphere, it is not a hermetically sealed space. There are
cracks and opportunities for resistance, aberrant sense-making, counter
discourses, and new lines of argument. Image events deliver the kinds of
inventional resources in a manner uniquely able to capitalize on such oppor-
tunities and to exploit the cracks in dominant ideologies necessary for
moments of generative argument.
(3) Image events and other critiques performed through spectacle
animate the possibilities for public discourse and expand the range of
relevant rhetorics in social controversies by generating new lines of
argument. This has much to do with the unique dynamics of argumenta-
tion characteristic of image events. First, image events implicitly advance
alternatives. Images of acts of protest are more than moments of refutation.
Unstated claims, indirect refutation, and incomplete arguments do more
than negate or affirm propositions. A single image of a dramatic act of
protest can implicitly advance alternatives to the practice being protested.
Greenpeace, by spray painting the fur of baby seals and sailing between
whaling ships and whales, argues against reducing animals to economic
resources and instead proposes that animals have intrinsic worth and
inalienable rights. Earth First! activists sitting in trees and buried in roads
contest accepted notions of property and speak for the preservation of
wilderness.
Second, even in moments of refutation image events may function as
more than acts of negation. With image events the act of negation creates
opportunities for generative argument. As they block enthymemes, image
events seek to create disidentification. The Earth First!ers at Glen Canyon
Dam wanted the public to reject the identification of the dam with Progress
and to call into question the manipulation of Nature. Creating disidentifi-
cation is a creative gesture. Breaking the association of the dam with
Progress not only challenges the value of the dam, it calls into question
the larger principle of Progress predicated on the exploitation of Nature.
Thus acts of negation may open up possibilities for the creation of new
lines of argument and new ways of thinking. Image events are ‘resistant
gestures’ (DeLuca, 1996a, p. 76) designed to ‘throw sense off track’
(Biesecker, 1992, p. 357). DeLuca argues that image events, because they
do not make sense according to the logic of the established order, force
reflection and may crack open the door to new modes of thinking. That is,
image events may work because they are outside the sense-making rules
or grid of intelligibility established by a society’s dominant discourses.
By calling into question the assumptions of the established order image
events may not only refute dominant articulations, but may create oppor-
tunities for new identifications.
Third, image events shift the responsibility for argument construction
to the audience. Image events do not produce immediate persuasion. Rather,
they serve as inventional resources for future argumentation and delibera-

tion. Image events, as they operate in the televisual public sphere, have a
quality that suggests they may be stored, become a part of a public’s
memory, and later serve as fodder for argument. Images of protest are likely
to be remembered and activated by subsequent encounters with related
rhetorics. Images on television news become a source of ‘visual knowl-
edge’ that will be decoded and perhaps employed in ways that are central
to public argument and opinion formation (Jenks, 1995, p. 10). As inven-
tional resources, images necessarily require assembly into discursive argu-
ments. As such, the responsibility for argument construction shifts to the
audience. Following McGee (1990), we suggest that when it comes to argu-
mentation in the televisual public sphere, argument construction is some-
thing required as much by audiences as advocates. As fragments, unstated
propositions, moments of refutation, and implied alternatives, image events
function as incomplete and indirect arguments that require construction.
We have argued that images, as argumentative fragments, can function as
claims, warrants, or data. If it is true that images can function to make
claims, refute assumptions, and advance alternatives then how image events
impact public argumentation depends largely on how the audience encoun-
ters, assembles, and utilizes the fragments.
The indirect and incomplete nature of what are largely unstated propo-
sitions makes image events host to a variety of argumentative possibili-
ties. By locating the responsibility for argument construction with the
audience, image events create opportunities to combine popular and formal
political discourses and thereby expand the possibilities for public argu-
mentation. The fact that audiences will engage these claims in relation to
other argumentative fragments gives them a unique and quite possibly
fruitful role in issue creation and opinion formation. As inventional
resources that may be combined with other political and popular discourses,
images events constitute a meaningful opportunity for generative argument.
Gurevitch and Kavoori (1992) suggest,
in an age when images are all pervasive, the entry of ‘issues’ into the public sphere
becomes a question of the degree and power of images to reach the largest possible
audience, to draw sustenance from the range of genres that saturate the viewer while at
the same time contextualize the image in culturally and politically fundamental ways
(p. 418).
The boundaries of arguments included in the public sphere are expanded

by image events that require an audience to make sense out of them as they
resonate with other cultural and political rhetorics. It is in this sense that
Gurevitch and Kavoori (1992) speak of the ‘unique capacity of images as
constructors of texts’: ‘while in the immediate institutional sense, media
spectacles may be seen as “disruptive,” in the larger culturalist sense, tele-
vision spectacles, seen as social texts, should be regarded as playing a role
IMAGE EVENTS 329
in expanding and configuring’ the horizon of possibility with regards to

what information and opinions may come to play a role in the creation
and resolution of social problems (pp. 415, 418).10
While Hogan (1991) argues that ‘televisual rhetoric’ ‘supplants both
the technical and public voices in national and political dialogue’ (p. 105),
it is not so clearly the case that all visual argument involves ‘the substitu-
tion of drama for analysis and reason’ (p. 104). Far from being something
that undermines ‘real’ argument and debate, visual argument, especially
in the form image events, fosters and compliments important forms of
public deliberation. Indeed, what our analysis of radical ecology groups,
Olson and Goodnight’s (1994) examination of anti-fur advocates, as well
as Szasz’s (1994) account of the toxic waste movement, suggest is that the
rhetorical force of images and the production of political icons, in their
ability to exploit the conditions of the mass communication technology that
defines the televisual public sphere, can enhance public deliberation.11
CONCLUSION
It is interesting that Goodnight (1991) expressed the need to analyze

controversy in terms of coming ‘to see controversy with fresh eyes’ because
it is exactly in analyzing the argumentative functions of visual imagery that
we can advance our understanding of social controversy, political argu-
mentation, and public deliberation. In performing such an analysis, our
point is neither to valorize nor condemn images. Rather, with the morphing
of the public sphere into the ‘public screen’12 of our televisions and com-
puters, our move is a recognition of the now-dominant role of images in
public argumentation. Consequently, our response is not a moral judgment
(images as ‘good’ or ‘bad’), but an attempt at critical understanding of the
new terrain of public discourse and politics. To that end, though we analyze
the image events of environmental activists, our examples are meant to be
illustrative of a much wider process. Our analysis of environmental image
events is applicable to image politics in general and is particularly relevant
to contemporary social movement politics, whether of the left or right.
Clearly, constructing image events was a crucial strategy of activists at
the anti-WTO protests in Seattle – hard hats and turtles marching arm in
arm remains a lasting, poignant image. Similarly, pro-life activists have
deftly exploited the opportunities in a mass-mediated public sphere by using
images of fetuses to provoke emotions and garner support. Image events
are an argumentative strategy and practice uniquely suited to the contem-
porary televisual public sphere/public screen.
NOTES
* An earlier version of the essay was presented at the Eleventh NCA/AFA Conference on
Argumentation, Alta, UT, USA, August 1999.
1
The term image event was coined by DeLuca (1996a). The choice of the term ‘image
event’ is deliberate. There are related terms at work in various literatures. However, none
of these terms emphasize the rhetorical texture of images, discuss the qualitative differ-
ences in imagistic and other symbolic discourses, or treat the visual rhetoric of media dis-
seminations in positive terms. For a complete account of related terms and the distinctiveness
of image events see DeLuca (1999).
2
We locate the visual turn in argument studies in previous scholarship at the Alta confer-
ences on argumentation (Simons and Birdsell, 1989; Hogan, 1991; Gronbeck, 1995; Nelson
and Boyton, 1995) and the special issues of Argumentation & Advocacy (1996, vols. 1 &
2). We suggest that visual argument is better understood within the broader context of visual
communication. Related are a host of recent developments: the study of visual literacy, visual
persuasion, visual manipulation, visual rhetorics, visual ideographs, and visual metaphors
with objects of inquiry such as advertisements, art, architecture, cartoons, documentary films,
museum displays, photographs, political campaign spots, presidential debates, television,
music videos, and DeLuca’s (1996b, 1999) previous work on image events.
3
We also suggest that televisual imagery should be addressed ‘independently and own its
own terms’ (Barbatsis, 1996, p. 69).
4
Image events are distinct from other visual imagery analyzed in previous studies of visual
argument. Image events are distinct for many reasons: they are acts of social protest; the
participants are clearly advocates; they are intended to shape public opinion; they are designed
for media dissemination; they are broadcast on television news and photographed for news-
papers; and the images are of acts of protest.
5
In this sense, ‘inventional resources’ belong to the traditional rhetorical category of inven-
tion: the discovery (locating the resources of argumentation, i.e. topics, appeals, evidence)
and formulation of argument (choosing particular resources, composing arguments, and
arranging them). Specifically with regards to invention, we point out that image events com-
municate argumentative fragments that are potentially stored and activated later. Operating
like seeds of argumentation, image events constitute a resource that can be remembered,
and a source of invention for those television news audiences in the future. In this case of
image events, invention must include, as Francis Bacon suggested, discovering the sources
of argument based upon rememberence. Only here, invention becomes the task of the
audience. This is consistent with our claim that image events shift the responsibility for
argument construction to audiences.
6
This use of the term ‘inventional resources’ is consistent with Zulick and Laffoon’s (1991)
discussion of ‘enclaved publics’ and how ‘resources’ like identity, community knowledge,
and distinct languages can generate possibilities for new political discourses.
7
Lake and Pickering (1998) go so far as to suggest that refutation is possible with images
in what they describe as visual, nonpropositional, argumentation.
8
For more discussion of how images can provide reasons for claims see, Blair (1996); Lake
and Pickering (1998).
9
For a more exhaustive account of the implications of image events, as social protest
designed for participation in a mass mediated public sphere, on the study of social move-
ments (especially within communication studies) see DeLuca’s (1999) theoretical diagnostic
and overhaul of social movement theory.
10
It is important to note that while there are differences in what Gurevitch and Kavoori
define as ‘television spectacles’ and what we regard as image events, our research suggests
that both (spectacles and image events) rely on context and the assembling of other relevant
discourses and images for their rhetorical force, and in so doing, bring together public and
popular discourses which we both agree expands the possibilities for deliberation in the public
sphere. It should also be noted that we agree with Gurevitch and Kavoori’s conclusion that
IMAGE EVENTS 331
the line, theoretical or otherwise, separating public and popular discourses is impossible to
maintain. It is blurred by the very conditions of communication in an electronic age. Our
argument is that the blending and blurring of information types and sources does not
necessarily undermine healthy deliberation, but rather may expand the horizon of possi-
bility with regards to what information and opinions may come to play in the creation and
resolution of social problems.
11
There is good cause to suggest that Hogan’s findings about the operations of visual
argument are not inherent in image politics. Hogan’s arguments are based on an analysis of
the nuclear freeze movement. That the nuclear freeze movement, and their most credible
and influential spokesperson (Helen Caldicott), substituted images for what Hogan con-
siders real argument, in no way serves as evidence of an inherent function of the imagistic
rhetoric of political communication to substitute for and undermine deliberative argument.
We find the case of images used in the nuclear freeze movement to be unique not only in
terms of the issue itself (nuclear arms reduction and nuclear war), but also in terms of: why
images were employed rather than other rhetorics (for their value as fear appeals), the nature
of the images employed (‘up-close’ images of devastation after a nuclear war), the arguments
that those images were supposed to reinforce (that nuclear war is an unimaginable horror),
the other arguments available to the nuclear freeze movement that were supposedly ignored
in favor of employing images (technical discourse, including issues of verifying a nuclear
freeze agreement), and how the movement approached their audience (‘as patients needing
treatment’).
12
For an introduction and development of the concept of the public screen, see DeLuca
and Peeples, 2002.
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Changing Media Landscapes and Political Participation
Marcelo Santos, Universidad Finis Terrae – CIDOC
Sebastián Valenzuela, Pontificia Universidad Católica de Chile,
and Millennium Institute for Foundational Research on Data (IMFD)
Abstract: This chapter discusses how a constantly changing media landscape affects political
participation. After pointing out the affordances brought forward by digital communication
technologies, six game changers are identified: information overload, changing habits of
media use, crisis of media business, the shift from audiences to content creators, the
emergence of new agents of information sharing and user cues. The chapter then discusses
how and to what extent such game changers influence the different dimensions of political
activity, from electoral to protest participation and then discusses the public role of private
platforms. The final section concludes the chapter by highlighting the importance of
critically assessing changes in media communication when examining political participation.
Specifically, a call is made for adopting an innovative, dynamic attitude towards digital media
research, while maintaining the focus on political deliberation.
Keywords: media landscapes, digital media, audiences, social media, news media, media
consumption, media production, media circulation, media habits, political participation
For most citizens, politics is a mediated experience. Television, online news sites, and social
media are central to how people learn about the political world. Thus, any review of
contemporary trends in political participation requires an analysis of current media landscapes
and how these impact on political participation patterns, dodging utopian and dystopian
accounts of technological determinism. In a quantitative review, Boulianne (2018) analyzed
more than 300 published studies on the relationship between digital media and political
participation, covering a 20-year period, 50 countries, and survey data from more than
300,000 respondents. Her results show a positive, albeit weak, relationship between the
diffusion of digital media and political participation, both off and online. To understand
current forms of political participation, then, one must consider the contemporary media
landscape, in which digital media and social media platforms have become central to citizens
around the world.
The purpose of the current chapter: to critically review how recent changes in media
landscapes intersect with different dimensions of political participation. To do so, we begin
by discussing the transition from mass, traditional media to networked, digital media. Then
we focus on three dimensions of media systems—consumption, production, and circulation
of content—and present six game changers triggered by the digital revolution. We then link
such transformations with potential effects on political participation, and close with a
discussion of future developments in this area.
From Mass Media to Digital Media
For most of the 20
th
century, the relationship between media and political participation followed a rather
hierarchical, top-down logic. The power of the media over citizens was signaled by a
plethora of effect theories that conceived a one directional influence from the mass media to
the public, including gatekeeping, framing, priming, agenda setting, spiral of silence,
cultivation, two-step flow, and so on (see, e.g., Oliver et al. 2019). The power of the media
was a consequence of mass communication, which Greenberg and Salwen (2014: 62)
defined as “the diffusion of messages from a seemingly powerful, single source to a large,
heterogenous audience; the public nature of the messages; and the lack of (or delayed)
feedback from receivers to the mass communication source”. While the contemporary digital
environment has rendered this description outdated, it highlights three dimensions of media
landscapes that are still relevant: consumption, production, and circulation.
Digital, in turn, means binary, programmable data (Manovich, 2005). This
fundamental change on the material nature of the structures behind digital communication
technologies brings forward affordances such as: (i) reproducibility of content, as opposed to
analogous data contained in physical media, such as books, disks and so on; (ii) data storing
and processing, which allows for the creation of multiple, dynamic, significant relations
between data points; (iii) interoperability, meaning data can be accessed and manipulated
from different devices, remotely accessed; and (iv) interactivity, which refers to the
“reciprocal communication or information exchange, which afford interaction between
communication technology and users, or between users through technology” (Bucy and Tao
2007: 647).
Affordances alter the consumption, production, and circulation of media content, thus
transforming political participation, too. Data reproducibility impacts content circulation

1
because information can now be seamlessly stored, copied, edited, and so on. Data
storing also translates into trackability, as every user interaction is a potential data point that
can be accumulated and then processed by algorithms for different purposes, from
customized news feeds to contextualized advertising, affecting both political information
circulation and consumption. Interoperability means that different devices have access to the
same sources as content adapts to the device, also affecting consumption. In addition,
interoperability suggests that content can be created by different media platforms than the
platforms used to consume it—for instance a mobile phone video stream feeding a live TV
newscast. When combined with interactivity, these practices have an impact on both content
outputs (as digital media allow for production, circulation and commentary by myriads of
sources) and inputs (as digital consumption practices may include different forms of
feedback), especially as digital platforms become more user-friendly.
In the next section, we highlight six game changers in media landscapes, followed by
a discussion on how they transformed political participation.
Six Game Changers
1. Information Overload
Digital media accelerated the transition from an environment of information scarcity to one of
information overload. The diversity of information sources, which was initially celebrated as
a step forward in the democratization of the public sphere (Shirky 2008; Castells 2009;
Zuckerman 2014), has become a challenge in terms of access to reliable, high-quality,
political information (Lewandowsky et al. 2017). Information disorders such as
misinformation and disinformation have grown exponentially, contaminating the media
environment and challenging the ability of online users to find accurate political information
(Wardle and Derakhshan, 2017).
Information overload is one of the many consequences of a high-choice media
environment. Others include increasing the fragmentation and polarization of political
attitudes, factual relativism and inequalities in political knowledge (Van Aelst et al. 2017: 19).
2. Changing Habits of Media Use
Media habits have changed dramatically in the 21st century. These changes have operated at
the level of devices employed—from electronic mass media to digital computers and mobile
devices—as well as forms of information exposure. While the latter has always ranged from
purposive to incidental (Kligler-Vilenchik et al. 2020), the rise of algorithms created by
private platforms such as Facebook has altered information exposure. Designed as tools for
user engagement, algorithms allow us to carry our content preferences with us. Thus, the
popularity of platforms has led to a growing “Matthew Effect” (Kümpel 2020), where people
who are already politically interested become more exposed to political information both
incidentally and intentionally, whereas those that have little to no interest are less exposed to
political content. Consequently, political inequalities on social media have grown (Kümpel
2020; Thorson 2020).
Adding another layer of complexity, mobile instant messaging services (MIMs) are
becoming modal platforms for political information (and misinformation), informal political
discussion, and collective action co-ordination, particularly in countries of the Global South
(Goel et al. 2018; Milan and Barbosa 2020; Valenzuela et al. 2019). Though MIMs were
designed originally as interpersonal communication tools, specific affordances such as
Telegram’s channels and WhatsApp groups have enabled one-to-many broadcasting
and bipartite networks to spread political content to peripheral groups (dos Santos 2018).
A consequence of changes in media use is the risk that citizens’ political decision-
making processes rely less on institutionalized sources of information. As the boundaries
between professional news media and social media contacts blur, it is becoming increasingly
difficult for most users to distinguish high-quality information sources from low-quality ones
(Qiu et al. 2017).
3. Crisis of Media Business Models
In terms of content production, the digital revolution triggered a crisis in the economic model
of news media organizations, which still produce most of the political content consumed by
users. Although traditional media have appropriated social media as outlets to attract traffic
and publicize their content, Google, Facebook and Amazon get most of the advertising
revenue (Sterling 2019). News media companies have struggled to adapt to a platform logic,
where speed and virality of content often prevail over verification and quality. Additionally,
several countries have witnessed a long-term decline in public confidence in the news media,
especially in Europe and the Americas (Newman et al. 2020; Tandoc et al. 2018). To the
degree that low trust reduced news media use, the viability of journalistic organizations that
have historically provided the bulk of political information remains perilous.
4. From Audiences to Content Creators
As the economic and cultural context that shapes digital media incorporate the user as a
content creator (Wunsch and Vincent 2007), such technologies become pervasive in what
Ganesh and Stohl (2013) call digital ubiquity. In such context, audiences interchange roles,
sliding from content consumers to commentators to producers, publishers, advertisers and so
on (Ridell 2012). One outcome of these changes is the exponential growth of user-generated
content (UGC) through platforms such as social media. Though UGC is more limited in
reach (Santos 2018), it may still have greater aesthetic appeal (Pantti 2013) and be perceived
as more authentic (Allan 2014). Because differs markedly from professional media narratives,
it challenges the prevailing forms and practices of the so-called mainstream media.
UGC usually presents little or no contextual information regarding the creation of the
content and its transmission (Mortensen 2015), presenting challenges to validate or verify the
claims made around the content: its location, timestamp, authorship and so on. UGC may be
verified by journalists and fact-checking organizations, but the evidence regarding the impact
of such work on correcting misperceptions is mixed (Walter et al. 2019).
5. New Agents of Information Sharing
Within the dimension of content circulation, information technologies have become politically
contested. Debates about internet neutrality and algorithmic accountability are two poignant
examples. The current state of affairs is diverse around the world: while Chile has the first
law in the world that allegedly protects net neutrality (Santos 2012) and Europe has advanced
in protecting citizens’ data with the General Data Protect Regulation (GDPR), there are no
established global standards. Furthermore, the ability of national and supranational institutions
to enforce such type of regulation is debatable (S. Livingstone, personal communication,
November 16 2020).
Digital and social media seem to operate with a “Wild West” logic where the same
platforms have become the auditors of its business operations (Hintz 2015). The problem
generated by the absence of some sort of accountability of algorithms that mediate
users’ access to their content feeds has been highlighted in the past few years. This became
manifest after the Cambridge Analytica scandal, when as many as 87 million users had their
data mined in unauthorized ways by a private company to orchestrate several political
propaganda campaigns (Lapowsky 2018). As a consequence, platforms have gradually shut
down access to their data by third parties, including researchers (Bruns 2018).
6. User Cues
As platforms harvest users’ interactions and process them with algorithms that personalize
content display dynamics, newsfeeds and dashboards have become individually customized
information systems. These systems are based on the information introduced by users,
combined with cues and signals interpreted by the platforms’ algorithms when users interact
with them.
While there is vast criticism of social media algorithms, the practice of “gaming” such
algorithms for commercial or political purposes has led to a quick growth of non-human
users, managed to boost, challenge, praise or loathe content. Networks of bots (automated
systems) and cyborgs (humans doing repetitive tasks with fake users) work to manipulate the
systems in order to pave the way to the content or ideas they work or praise for –
alternatively, they may work against a set of users, issues and so forth, in what Treré (2016)
called “algorithmic manufacturing of consent”. Public opinion founded on the salience of
issues that circulate on social media might, thus, be compromised. Platforms’ response for
such forms of manipulation of content diffusion dynamics are, to date, tepid. Additionally,
users tend to share content that they have not read (Holmström et al. 2019), which may help
the spread of false claims and rumors.
Influence of Media Changes on Political Participation
To properly engage in political activities, citizens need relevant, opportune, and reliable
information (Delli Carpini and Keeter 1996). Historically, informal conversations, first, and
the news media, later, were the main sources of political information for citizens. In
developed democracies, the history of news-making is typically divided into an initial period
where news content was predominantly partisan, mingled with propaganda and
advertisement, and a second moment where news became gradually professionalized, and
organizations became predominantly profit-oriented and politically moderate (Schudson
1998). Of course, the news media took a different path in regions such as Latin America,
where media systems remain ‘captured’ by economic and political elites (Guerrero and
Márquez-Ramírez 2004), or in countries in Africa, the Middle East and Asia—perhaps most
notoriously perceived in China—where autocratic regimes hold a tight control over the news
media. Despite these cross-national differences, the rise of digital technologies has
transformed news media systems across the globe. With it, the relationship between media
use and political participation has changed, too. In this section, we review this relationship as
it changes according to different participation forms.
Electoral Participation
Initially, digital campaigns followed the logic of broadcasting, using the new channels for the
diffusion of information. When the political world realized the potential of interactivity, new
forms of digital campaigning ensued, such as crowdfunding. The 2008 US election,
particularly Barack Obama’s campaign, was probably the best example of this second wave
of political digitization (Carr 2008). This rather optimistic perspective of digital media and
elections gave way, however, to a current, more pessimistic perspective on the role played by
digital technologies in elections. Thus, social media have been used for state-sponsored
campaigns of digital propaganda, unauthorized manipulation of personal data, inorganic
inflation of politicians’ followers and messages by automated or semi-automated agents, and
the channeling of official communication into alternative digital channels with the intent to
avoid accountability with traditional media. Brazilian right-winger Jair Bolsonaro, for
instance, gave his first speech as president elect via Facebook Live.
Another visible trend in the realm of electoral participation is related to how changes
in media landscapes have deepened the personalization of politics (Adam and Mayer 2010).
Social media “appear as a perfect reflection of the condition of individualization (Bauman
2001; Beck and Beck-Gernsheim 2002) of contemporary societies, allowing us to deal with
others while not having to engage fully with them” (Gerbaudo 2012: 13). If citizens have
been paying more attention to the person, not the party, the possibility of being informed
directly by such person through individual channels allows bypassing scrutiny by traditional
watchdogs such as media or NGOs. Analogously, rather than following the media, users face
the possibility of following the journalist; instead of following the movement, follow the
activist (Santos and Condeza 2017).
Individualization also manifests in networked dynamics, for example when individual
overly intense activity become Bastos and Mercea’s “serial activists” (2016), or when a user’s
strategic position on the network that could lead her to a more relevant role on the diffusion
of information (Santos and Condeza 2017), at the same time obfuscating the agency of the
traditional institutions, such as media, parties, social movements. Additionally, self-expression
mingles with political participation as an abundant production of personal imagery
pops on social media during protests (Santos 2018). It is part of what Theocharis (2015) calls
digitally networked participation, where the very act of communicating is a form of
mobilization; and such communication entails an important element of self-expression and
identity-related elements. As a young interviewee said to The Economist (2019), “Activism
has become one of the easiest way to project yourself as cool”, as young people attempt to
craft a political desirable self (Polletta and Jasper 2001) on their digital networks.
While enabling to engage directly with the “real” person of interest, there are
consequences for the excessive dependency on a personality rather than a representative
organization. Though the recent rise of populist politics is associated mainly as a result of a
cultural backlash after a few decades of progressive social advances and economic crisis
(Inglehart and Norris 2016), social media allows political actors to bypass journalistic
scrutiny, weakening accountability and dialogue not only by not engaging but also by
aggressively accusing professional media of being “fake” (Walter et al. 2019).
Protest Participation
The use of digital technologies has promoted decentralized forms of mobilization. Some
authors rely on the network metaphor as they refer to digitally networked forms of
participation (Theocharis 2015) or networked movements (Castells 2012), in which citizens
rely less on traditional organizations with a definite set of values and more on the horizontal
networks of peers. Bennett and Segerberg (2012) define the “logics of connective action”, in
reference to Mancur Olson’s ([1965] 2002) logics of collective action. For these authors,
there is a continuum from traditional social movements that rely on strong demands, agreed
by a closely tied group, to different levels of flexibility, where personal action frames, that is,
flexible, inclusive frames to the issues, are claimed by networked constituents, brought
together by low-to-intense mediation of technology. The low barriers, topic flexibility and the
intensive adoption of digital technology also enable the transnationalization of protest, leading
to phenomena such as the “serial activists” detected by Bastos and Mercea (2016) on Twitter
—probably generalizable to other social media platforms. The authors claim that regular users
that engage with a very high frequency with a variety of social issues, regardless of the
latitude where the issue takes place.
The tenuous nature of social movement frames and groups connected mainly via
digital social networks allow for a faster diffusion of calls for action while also to a loosening
of the original impulse for participation and the adoption of predominant frames. Porto and
Brant (2015) and Pinto (2017) argue that was the case during 2013 decentralized popular
mobilization in Brazil’s jornadas de junho (June events). As protests became more massive,
demands originally associated with the left (urban public free transportation) lost focus and
were co-opted by the opposition to spark a generalized discontent against PT, the ruling left-
wing party. As such, these protests might lead to contradictory outputs such as the
impeachment of Dilma Rousseff in Brazil in 2016 or the counter-revolution in Egypt after the
downfall of Hosni Mubarak in the aftermath of the Arab Spring. In the words of the formerly
techno-optimistic Wael Ghonim (2015) “I once said, ‘If you want to liberate a society, all you
need is the Internet.’ I was wrong”.
Still, it is difficult to measure the long-term effects of techno-centered forms of
political participation. For instance, the Chilean student movement of 2011 exhibited a strong
use of digital technology (Valenzuela et al. 2014) and was successful in bringing about a
1
major reform to educational policy. However, this movement also had a strong
presence on the streets, with massive demonstrations, and four of the student leaders became
elected to Congress as deputies. Gerbaudo (2012: 5-6), studying the Occupy movement in the
United States, concluded that digital media were instrumental to what he called
choreographies of assembly: “They are means not simply to convey abstract opinions, but
also to give a shape to the way in which people come together and act together” led by “soft
leaders [such as] influential Facebook admins and activist tweeps”.
In explicating how social media use might affect political participation, the literature
offers four prominent explanations (Boulianne 2015). One holds that digital networks
increase exposure to “weak ties,” augmenting users' likelihood of both learning about
opportunities to participate and being asked to participate in civic life (Gil de Zúñiga et al.
2012). Secondly, users learn about news from what other users post, and since they are
exposed to the news incidentally by their contacts, this type of information may be influential
(Bode 2012). Thus, social platforms may enable citizens to learn about political issues, which
facilitates participation in civic life (Xenos et al. 2014). Third, users in social media have
more chances to be contacted by political organizations, and through this contact, be asked to
participate on their behalf. And fourth, participation is contagious among users of social
media, as they are affected by contacts who post political opinions (Bond et al. 2012).
Existing research shows that social media can influence political participation through
several mechanisms, including cognitive elaboration, information gain, political discussion,
and group identity (Gil de Zúñiga et al. 2012; Valenzuela 2013). Research about political
uses of Twitter during election time has shown that this platform not only engages partisan
individuals that try to extend their offline political reach (Jungherr 2015), but also involves
1
racial and secular minorities in the political process by either broadcasting information
on the campaign or having conversation with others, and these interactions mobilize and
acknowledge them (Graham et al. 2013).
The lowered costs of participation may seem attractive to democracy defenders as it
projects shiny images such as that “here comes everybody” (Shirky 2008), the “architecture
of participation” (O’Reilly 2013) or the “participatory” dimension embedded on Ethan
Zuckerman’s “new civics” (2014). However, while digital technologies reduce the cost of
joining causes and publicizing information, fostering the creation and enabling the
maintenance of connections, its adoption as a form of political participation has been
contemptuously labeled “slacktivism” (Morozov 2012). In other words, the slacktivism
hypothesis assumes that such new forms of political expression are naïvely perceived as more
impactful than they are, therefore discouraging offline participation. Though there is evidence
of a largely positive relationship between social media use and political participation
(Boulianne 2015), Kwak et al. (2018) suggest that such correlation is fragile as it is not
perceived in young people and neither in those with politically diverse networks.
Additionally, the lower barriers represent an opportunity also seized by other agents
with less strictly democratic inspiration, in what Quandt (2018) calls dark participation:
“negative, selfish or even deeply sinister contributions (…) to the news-making processes”.
As such, dark participation amalgamates: “(a) wicked actors, (b) sinister motives and reasons
for participation, (c) despicable objects/targets, (d) intended audience(s), and (e) nefarious
processes/actions” (Quandt, 2018: 41, emphasis on the original). Within this definition, many
recent examples qualify, such as ISIL infamous beheading videos that became viral on social
media thanks to botnets (Al-khateeb and Agarwal 2015), “Unite the Right” Charlottesville
1
deadly rally (Fausset and Feuer 2017), 4Chan’s QAnon conspiracists (Moore 2018)
or Reddit’s misogynistic Red Pill community initiated by former New Hampshire State
Representative Robert Fisher (Bacarisse 2017).
The Public Role of Private Platforms
As digital platforms have become a quintessential part of people’s communication
environment, they become also instrumental to citizen’s political activities. As previously
discussed, such activities include democratic as well as antidemocratic behaviors,
nevertheless they are regulated almost exclusively by the platforms, relying on their resources
and will to enforce their terms and policies. As digital media entrepreneurs self-label their
products as “platforms”, they attempt to dodge the responsibilities assigned historically and
legally to media outlets and position themselves as neutral entities (Gillespie 2010).
In spite of that, research shows plenty of politically motivated activity in the so-called
platforms. The messaging app WhatsApp, for instance has been used for social mobilization
(Treré 2020; Milan and Barbosa 2020), the dissemination of disinformation related both to
racism (Goel et al. 2018), and to electoral processes (Gragnani 2017). Another MIM,
Telegram, has been associated with terrorist practices (Karasz 2018) and Nazi propaganda
(Bedingfield 2020), while it is also widely recognized as the most important platform for
activism in Iran (Kargar and McManamen 2018; Akbari and Gabdulhakov 2019) and other
countries with more surveillant regimes. Gursky et al. (2020) called the systematic political
manipulation of messages through encrypted messaging apps “encrypted propaganda”, as
they unveiled influence operations in Mexico, India and United States.
Semi-public Facebook has been on the eye of the lawmakers particularly in the
United States due to the Cambridge Analytica revelations related to 2016 elections in
that country (Cadwalladr and Graham-Harrison 2018). After profiling micro-segments
following psychographic assessments built over leaked private Facebook user information,
the consulting company customized political messages for the Trump 2016 presidential
campaign, Brexit and others. While the magnitude of the effects of such strategies are an
ongoing debate, so are the ethical aspects of this kind of big data approach to politics, forged
on irregularly obtained data, appealing to emotional fragility of the users, detected because
her emotional cues are collected by a platform such as Facebook. One of WhatsApp’s
founders and former Facebook shareholder Brian Acton broadcasted on Twitter: “It is time.
#deletefacebook”.
These events reveal the other side of the personalization issue: not only user data is
analyzed to customize the content feed, recommendations and so on, it is also used to create
commercial, political or other sorts of advertising content in a sort of artisanal-massive
political communication practice, where micro-segmentation is combined with psychographic
profiling and messages are crafted for very specific targets with customized persuasive
messages either for commercial purposes or political propaganda (González 2017; Risso
2018). The effects of such practice are yet to be measured convincingly (Santos,
forthcoming), but as famous Cambridge Analytica whistleblower Christopher Wylie said,
metaphorically: “There’s not a debate on how much illegal drug you took (…) If you’re
caught cheating, you lose your medal” (Amer and Noujaim 2019).
The lack of regulation on the infrastructural level also has an impact on the dynamics
of access to political information. Commercial practices such as zero rating promotions
—and free, but restricted access to internet selected content in services—such as
Facebook’s FreeBasics, for instance, create siloes of “free” information from restricted
sources, while the rest of the internet is paid for.
As digital platforms step aside from their public role, an ongoing struggle emerges
between platform self-regulation, state regulation and growing pressure for enforcement of
citizen media literacies, such as the competencies to identify, scrutinize and avoid
disinformation. Amidst all those variables, it is no secret that digital divides will only increase
inequalities when considering the competencies needed to exercise political participation in,
through, or with digital media environments. It has become increasingly evident that
regulation is a complex but inevitable road, as the free market of digital mediators sink in
oceans of disinformation and operations of social manipulation.
The social role of digital technology is also visible in form of e-politics as technology
enables different approaches to deliberative processes. These may take advantage of
digitization to make decision-making and bureaucratic processes faster, more efficient and in
some cases even more inclusive, or may involve new dimensions of participation, such as
opening data to citizen scrutiny.
In the first case, pre-existing participatory processes such as consultations, petitions,
budgeting, voting are taken to the digital realm, where technology not so much changes their
shape, it changes their speed, accuracy, efficiency, efficacy, all as a function of the
populations access and skills related to technology. Such participatory processes are not
novel, and digital technology assumes a mediating role. We could say they are digitized
participative political processes.
In the second case, though, digital technology has a more prominent role since it
1
enables unpredicted uses to information delivered by means of open government
initiatives. If the Watergate scandal was brought up by investigative reporters, today’s
watchdogs are more likely data social scientists, crossing data patterns, linking networks of
interest or visualizing epidemic dynamics – such as has been in the aftermath of the Covid-19
outbreak—or identifying far-right, white supremacist, and neo-Nazi individuals and
monitoring the success or failure of legal action against them (Levin 2020).
One way or the other, Iceland’s failure to institutionalize a crowdsourced grassroots
constitutional experience in 2011 (Landemore 2014) proves that political processes and
institutions are not to be substituted by technologies and alternative forms of organization;
instead, they should be integrated.
Conclusion
Communication history has shown that salvationist accounts of technology as a cure-it-all
solution are reoccurring (Marvin 1988; Pavlíčková 2012). It has also shown that the effects of
such technologies go beyond a simplistic interpretation of that technology in particular. The
emotional impact of such sort of innovation frequently exceeds its cognitive effects. For
example, the infamous tale that the display of “The Arrival of a Train” by the Lumière
brothers had people running away on fear that the train would come off the wall was
dismantled by Gunning (1985). Also, just after World War II, Lazarsfeld et al. (1948) proved
that media effects on political behavior are conditioned and limited, rather than the common-
sense, theory-non-theory perspective (as defined by Wolf, 1994) that the media operate as a
hypodermic needle or a magic bullet that has direct, uniform, short-term effects on
individuals.
What seems to be the point of connection here is that new communication
technologies go as far as to bring upon changes. But what kind of changes? Changes on what
to achieve or changes on how to achieve them? There are definitely positive and negative
effects according to the predominant set of values and social norms of the times and
geopolitical region in which it is inserted – for instance, democratic liberal values in the case
of most western nations – or the macro variables such as political and media systems or
regulation and enforcement systems. This dialectical approach to changes in media
landscapes contrasting pros and cons is but a starting point to any research dealing with the
impact it may have on political participation.
Furthermore, the innovative environment into which digital media are inserted
demand a continuous follow-up by the researchers: technologies change, valid methods
change, means of social appropriation change, regulations change and so on, in a chain of
effects that turn digital media into a moving target. An integrated approach to the
relationship between those dimensions is bound to be beneficial to the research. For example,
one perspective may be too optimistic about the contribution by users on their social media
channels as to the democratization of media, fostering diversity of sources and pluralism of
perspectives. That is, because the same phenomenon has as diametrically opposed side-effect
the information overload, one of the foundational technological issues that help set the stage
to the disinformation pandemic we have been facing over the last decade or so.
Finally, though there are definitely a myriad of new instruments, techniques and
technologies in the current media landscapes as compared to pre-digital or even 10 years ago,
it remains a field in which political actors dispute the meaning or the framing of events, the
salience of issues, visibility of actors. Whether they are disputed with traditional public
1
relations firms, paid advertisement, image events (Delicath and DeLuca 2003), news
gatekeeping, or with streams of tweets, posts, memes, published by journalists, ordinary
users, bots or cyborgs and live streams of personal or professional mobile cameras, mediated
by human, algorithmic or mixed editors or—perhaps the most realistic option—all of the
above. As important as the pursuit for innovative interpretations of the relationship between
the new landscapes of media and political participation is to detect which are the
contemporary failed metaphors, the magic bullets of the XXI Century. “Are Filter Bubbles
Real?”, asks Bruns (2019). One thing is certain, though: Media landscapes may change
quickly, may change deeply, but communication will always remain a cornerstone of political
participation as it is imbricated in political deliberation.
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Article
new media & society
12(3) 347–364
The politics of ‘platforms’ © The Author(s) 2010
Reprints and permission: sagepub.
co.uk/journalsPermissions.nav
DOI: 10.1177/1461444809342738
http://nms.sagepub.com
Tarleton Gillespie
Cornell University, USA
Abstract
Online content providers such as YouTube are carefully positioning themselves to
users, clients, advertisers and policymakers, making strategic claims for what they do
and do not do, and how their place in the information landscape should be understood.
One term in particular, ‘platform’, reveals the contours of this discursive work. The
term has been deployed in both their populist appeals and their marketing pitches,
sometimes as technical ‘platforms’, sometimes as ‘platforms’ from which to speak,
sometimes as ‘platforms’ of opportunity. Whatever tensions exist in serving all of these
constituencies are carefully elided. The term also fits their efforts to shape information
policy, where they seek protection for facilitating user expression, yet also seek limited
liability for what those users say. As these providers become the curators of public
discourse, we must examine the roles they aim to play, and the terms by which they
hope to be judged.
Key words
discourse, distribution, Google, platform, policy, video,YouTube
In October 2006, Google purchased YouTube for $1.65 billion, cementing their domi-
nance in the world of online video. The press release announcing the purchase included
quotes from the two proud fathers, trumpeting the symbiosis of their companies’ future
partnership:
The YouTube team has built an exciting and powerful media platform that complements
Google’s mission to organize the world’s information and make it universally accessible and
useful,’ said Eric Schmidt, Chief Executive Officer of Google. . . .
‘By joining forces with Google, we can benefit from its global reach and technology leadership
to deliver a more comprehensive entertainment experience for our users and to create new
Corresponding author:
Tarleton Gillespie, Department of Communication, 315 Kennedy Hall, Cornell University, Ithaca, NY14853,
USA.
Email: tlg28@cornell.edu
348 new media & society 12(3)
opportunities for our partners,’ said Chad Hurley, CEO and co-founder of YouTube. ‘I’m
confident that with this partnership we’ll have the flexibility and resources needed to pursue our
goal of building the next-generation platform for serving media worldwide.’ (YouTube, 2006a)
A few months later, YouTube made a slight change to the paragraph it uses to describe
its service in press releases. This ‘website’, ‘company’, service’, ‘forum’ and ‘commu-
nity’ was now also a ‘distribution platform for original content creators and advertisers
large and small’ (YouTube, 2007c).
Intermediaries like YouTube and Google, those companies that provide storage, navi-
gation and delivery of the digital content of others, are working to establish a long-term
position in a fluctuating economic and cultural terrain. Like publishers, television net-
works and film studios before them, established companies are protecting their position
in the market, while in their shadows, smaller ones are working to shore up their niche
positions and anticipate trends in the business of information delivery.
YouTube’s dominance in the world of online video makes them one of just a handful
of video ‘platforms’, search engines, blogging tools and interactive online spaces that are
now the primary keepers of the cultural discussion as it moves to the internet. As such,
again like the television networks and trade publishers before them, they are increasingly
facing questions about their responsibilities: to their users, to key constituencies who
depend on the public discourse they host, and to broader notions of the public interest.
Specific disputes, particularly about intellectual property and privacy issues (Grimmelmann,
2007), have spurred bursts of rulemaking that are beginning to establish protections and
obligations for these content intermediaries.
In the context of these financial, cultural and regulatory demands, these firms are
working not just politically but also discursively to frame their services and technologies
(Gillespie, 2007; Sterne, 2003). They do so strategically, to position themselves both to
pursue current and future profits, to strike a regulatory sweet spot between legislative
protections that benefit them and obligations that do not, and to lay out a cultural imagi-
nary within which their service makes sense (Wyatt, 2004). In this article I will highlight
the discursive work that prominent digital intermediaries, especially YouTube, are under-
taking, by focusing on one particular term: ‘platform’. The term ‘platform’ has emerged
recently as an increasingly familiar term in the description of the online services of con-
tent intermediaries, both in their self-characterizations and in the broader public dis-
course of users, the press and commentators.
The point is not so much the word itself; ‘platform’ merely helps reveal the position
that these intermediaries are trying to establish and the difficulty of doing so. YouTube
must present its service not only to its users, but to advertisers, to major media producers
it hopes to have as partners and to policymakers. The term ‘platform’ helps reveal how
YouTube and others stage themselves for these constituencies, allowing them to make a
broadly progressive sales pitch while also eliding the tensions inherent in their service:
between user-generated and commercially-produced content, between cultivating com-
munity and serving up advertising, between intervening in the delivery of content and
remaining neutral. In the process, it is offering up a trope by which others will come to
understand and judge them. As a term like ‘platform’ becomes a ‘discursive resting point’
(Bazerman, 1999), further innovations may be oriented towards that idea of what that
Gillespie 349
technology is, and regulations will demand it act accordingly (Benkler, 2003). Moreover,
such terms ‘institute’ a way of being: as Bourdieu (1991: 119) put it, they ‘sanction and
sanctify a particular state of things, an established order, in exactly the same way that a
constitution does in the legal and political sense of the term’. And using the word ‘plat-
form’ makes a claim that arguably misrepresents the way YouTube and other intermedi-
aries really shape public discourse online.
‘Platform’
This discursive positioning depends on terms and ideas that are specific enough to mean
something, and vague enough to work across multiple venues for multiple audiences. To
call one’s online service a platform is not a meaningless claim, nor is it a simple one.
Like other structural metaphors (think ‘network’, ‘broadcast’ or ‘channel’) the term
depends on a semantic richness that, though it may go unnoticed by the casual listener or
even the speaker, gives the term discursive resonance.
I want to begin by highlighting four semantic territories that the word ‘platform’ has
signified in the past, by looking at the Oxford English Dictionary’s discussion of the
term’s etymology. The OED notes 15 different uses, in what I see as four broad catego-
ries; the emergence of ‘platform’ as a descriptive term for digital media intermediaries
represents none of these, but depends on all four.
Computational
The computational meaning is itself relatively new, the last of the OED’s categories, just
one facet of a term that has a rich range of uses and connotations. In a technical context
like this, the use of the term ‘platform’ certainly points specifically to its computational
meaning: an infrastructure that supports the design and use of particular applications, be
they computer hardware, operating systems, gaming devices, mobile devices or digital
disc formats. There were the ‘platform wars’ of the 1980s, between PC and Mac; we have
since witnessed platform wars between competing search engines Google and Yahoo,
competing social networks Facebook and MySpace, competing mobile phone environ-
ments Apple iPhone and Google Android. The term has also been used to describe online
environments that allow users to design and deploy applications they design or that are
offered by third parties. An example is Facebook, which in 2007 made public its API
(application programming interface) to allow third parties to design PHP or Javascript
widgets that users can incorporate into their profiles (Facebook, 2009).
Architectural
The first definition in the OED and the oldest is architectural: ‘A raised level surface on
which people or things can stand, usually a discrete structure intended for a particular
activity or operation’ (OED, 2006). In this sense ‘platform’ has been broadly used to
describe human-built or naturally formed physical structures, whether generic or dedicated
to a specific use: subway and train platforms, Olympic diving platforms, deep-sea oil rig
platforms, platform shoes. This meaning is most directly connected to the etymological
origins of the word itself: in its earliest appearances, the word appeared as two words –
‘platte fourme’ or a variation thereof – a clear emphasis on the physical shape.
Figurative
From this, the term developed a more conceptual usage, as ‘the ground, foundation, or
basis of an action, event, calculation, condition, etc. Now also: a position achieved or
situation brought about which forms the basis for further achievement’ (OED, 2006).
Thus we might describe our entry-level job as a ‘platform’ for climbing the corporate
ladder, and Emerson can complain that ‘conversation in society is found to be on a plat-
form so low as to exclude science, the saint and the poet’ (cited in OED, 2006). The
material ‘platform’ for physical industry becomes a metaphysical one for opportunity,
action and insight.
Political
We now refer to the issues a political candidate or party endorses as their ‘platform’; this
usage first emerged from the more architectural meaning, referring first to the actual
stage constructed for a candidate to address an audience, from which they would articu-
late their political beliefs (hence the International Platform Association, formed by
Daniel Webster and Josiah Holbrook in 1831, to celebrate the art of oration). The term
eventually drifted from the material structure to the beliefs being articulated. Puritan
ministers in colonial New England could issue their statement on the governance of the
church as ‘The Cambridge Platform’ in 1648; in 2008 the US Democratic and Republican
parties could support their respective presidential candidates by publishing their party
platforms – for the 2008 Republicans, ‘a platform of enduring principle, not passing
convenience’. We still sometimes refer to individual political positions as ‘planks’, or
ask where a candidate ‘stands’ on an issue, subtle reminders of the term’s legacy.
Curiously, a term that generally implied a kind of neutrality towards use – ‘platforms’ are
typically flat, featureless and open to all – in this instance specifically carries a political
valence, where a position must be taken.
All four of these semantic areas are relevant to why ‘platform’ has emerged in reference
to online content-hosting intermediaries and, just as important, what value both its speci-
ficity and its flexibility offer them. All point to a common set of connotations: a ‘raised
level surface’ designed to facilitate some activity that will subsequently take place. It is
anticipatory, but not causal. It implies a neutrality with regards to the activity, though less
so as the term gets specifically matched to specific functions (like a subway platform), and
even less so in the political variation. A computing platform can be agnostic about what
you might want to do with it, but either neutral (cross-platform) or very much not neutral
(platform-dependent), according to which provider’s application you would like to use.
Drawing these meanings together, ‘platform’ emerges not simply as indicating a func-
tional shape: it suggests a progressive and egalitarian arrangement, promising to support
those who stand upon it. Even the architectural version suggests gaining a vantage point:
‘Platform, in Architecture, is … a kind of Terrass Walk, or even Floor on the Top of the
Gillespie 351
Building; from whence we may take a fair Prospect of the adjacent Gardens or Fields’
(Harris, cited in OED, 2006). Subway platforms allow riders to step directly on to the
train, instead of loitering below among the dangerous rails. But the ‘platform’ is defined
not just by height, but also by its level surface and its openness to those hoping to stand
upon it. Even in its political context, where the ‘platform’ by definition raises someone
above the rest (and is rarely used to describe the beliefs of ordinary citizens), the term
retains a populist ethos: a representative speaking plainly and forcefully to his constitu-
ents. In any of ‘platform’’s senses, being raised, level and accessible are ideological
features as much as physical ones.
In the discourse of the digital industries, the term ‘platform’ has already been loos-
ened from its strict computational meaning. Through the boom and bust of investment
(of both capital and enthusiasm), ‘platform’ could suggest a lot while saying very little.
Microsoft, as just one example, regularly referred to Windows Media as a ‘platform’
(Microsoft, 2000a), developed a ‘Commerce ‘platform’ (Microsoft, 1999), described the
‘.Net’ web services, their move to internet computing, as a ‘platform’ (Microsoft, 2000b),
signaled their embrace of mobile devices by rebranding Windows CE as the ‘Media2Go
platform’ (Microsoft, 2003), and unveiled the ‘next-generation online advertising plat-
form, MSN adCenter’ (Microsoft, 2005) in 2005 – as well as consistently using the term
in the more traditional computational sense to describe the Windows operating system.1
In fact, nearly every surge of research and investment pursued by the digital industry –
e-commerce, web services, online advertising, mobile devices and digital media sales –
has seen the term migrate to it. Though nearly all of these still refer to, if not a
computational infrastructure, than at least a technical base upon which other programs
will run, certainly the term was already exceeding this semantic boundary.
It should come as no surprise then that the term would again gain traction around user-
generated content, streaming media, blogging and social computing. There has been a
proliferation of ‘platforms’ just in online video: the visible ones whose names are known
to users, such as YouTube, Veoh, Revver, MTV’s Flux and Kaltura, and the invisible
ones that are known only to commercial producers looking to stream their content, such
as Brightcove, Castfire, Real Media’s ‘Helix Media Delivery Platform’ and Comcast’s
thePlatform service. These join the blogging platforms, photo-sharing platforms and
social network platforms now jostling for attention on the web. It now makes rhetorical
sense to use the term to describe a computational service, but detach it from the idea of
further software programming. Just as two examples, a recent Pew report cataloguing
types of ICT users noted that: ‘The advent of Web 2.0 – the ability of people to use a
range of information and communication technology as a platform to express themselves
online and participate in the commons of cyberspace – is often heralded as the next phase
of the information society’ (Horrigan, 2007). ‘Platforms’ are ‘platforms’ not necessarily
because they allow code to be written or run, but because they afford an opportunity to
communicate, interact or sell. Describing News Corp’s purchase of MySpace in the
pages of Wired, Jeremy Philips (vice-president) also found the term useful: ‘News Corp’s
traditional media business has two legs: content and distribution,’ he says. Then he
sketched a circle in between. ‘That’s where MySpace fits. It’s neither one nor the other,
though it shares aspects of both. It’s a media platform, and a very powerful and adaptable
one. Which is why it has such enormous potential’ (Reiss, 2006).
Others are helping to put this term into wider circulation. In an attempt to define
another term he helped coin, Tim O’Reilly of O’Reilly Media, whose business seems to
be discursive as much as anything else, proclaimed that ‘Web 2.0 is the network as plat-
form, spanning all the connected devices; Web 2.0 applications are those that make the
most of the intrinsic advantages of that platform’ (O’Reilly, 2005). In classic O’Reilly
style, he draws a term from the computational lexicon, further loosens it from the spe-
cific technical meaning and layers on to it both a cyber-political sense of liberty and an
info-business taste of opportunity. This discursive move is not without its detractors. It is
not clear whether Marc Andreessen had O’Reilly in mind when in a blog post he tried to
tie the word back to its computational specifics:
‘platform’ is turning into a central theme of our industry and one that a lot of people want to
think about and talk about. However, the concept of ‘platform’ is also the focus of a swirling
vortex of confusion … whenever anyone uses the word ‘platform’, ask ‘can it be programmed?’
… If not, it’s not a platform, and you can safely ignore whoever’s talking – which means you
can safely ignore 80%+ of the people in the world today who are using the word ‘platform’ and
don’t know what it means. (Andreessen, 2007)
Despite Andreessen’s objections, this broader meaning of ‘platform’ is finding purchase.
Users, advertisers, clients

It is the broad connotations outlined earlier – open, neutral, egalitarian and progressive sup-
port for activity – that make this term so compelling for intermediaries like YouTube as a
way to appeal to users, especially in contrast to traditional mass media. YouTube and its
competitors claim to empower the individual to speak – lifting us all up, evenly. YouTube
can proclaim that it is ‘committed to offering the best user experience and the best platform
for people to share their videos around the world’ (YouTube, 2006c) and offer its You
Choose ’08 project as a ‘platform for people to engage in dialogue with candidates and each
other’ (YouTube, 2007a). This more conceptual use of ‘platform’ leans on all of the term’s
connotations: computational, something to build upon and innovate from; political, a place
from which to speak and be heard; figurative, in that the opportunity is an abstract promise
as much as a practical one; and architectural, in that YouTube is designed as an open-armed,
egalitarian facilitation of expression, not an elitist gatekeeper with normative and technical
restrictions. This fits neatly with the long-standing rhetoric about the democratizing poten-
tial of the internet, and with the more recent enthusiasm for user-generated content (UGC),
amateur expertise, popular creativity, peer-level social networking and robust online com-
mentary (Benkler, 2006; Bruns, 2008; Burgess, 2007; Jenkins, 2006). Of course these activ-
ities, as well as the services that host them, predate YouTube. But YouTube has been
particularly effective at positioning itself as the upstart champion of UGC.
The promise of sites like YouTube, one that of course exceeds but nevertheless has
found purchase in a term like ‘platform’, is primarily focused on ordinary users. The
‘You’ is the most obvious signal of this, and has itself found broader cultural purchase,
but the direct appeal to the amateur user is visible elsewhere. YouTube offers to let you
‘Broadcast Yourself’, or as they put it in their ‘Company History’ page, ‘as more people
Gillespie 353
capture special moments on video, YouTube is empowering them to become the broad-
casters of tomorrow’ (YouTube, 2009a).
This offer of access to everyone comes fitted with an often implicit, occasionally
explicit, counterpoint: that such services are therefore unlike the mainstream broadcast-
ers, film studios and publishers. Unlike Hollywood and the television networks, who
could be painted as the big bad industries, online content seems an open world, where
anyone can post, anything can be said. YouTube was distinctly not going to play the role
of gatekeeper, nor even curator: it would be mere facilitator, supporter, host. YouTube
celebrates videos that go viral, suggesting that their popularity is more genuine because
they were not manufactured by its maker or the media industry.
Of course, YouTube’s aspirations are greater than being repository for America’s fun-
niest home videos: it is looking to profit from it. It is important to remember that YouTube
is funded almost entirely by advertising (Allen, 2008). This is certainly downplayed in
the specific appeal to regular users, especially to the extent that commercial advertising
is not a neat ideological fit with the ethos of the participatory web – not to mention that,
for the most part, the users generating the content do not enjoy any revenue in return
(Cammaerts, 2008; Petersen, 2008; Terranova, 2000, 2004).2
YouTube has yet to turn a profit based on its advertising model: an April 2009 report
estimated that YouTube would earn $240m in revenue, but against $711m in costs, pri-
marily for bandwidth and licensing (Manjoo, 2009). These data have been challenged.
But it has long been clear to YouTube that banner ads and sponsored links would by
themselves be insufficient. From early on, YouTube has aggressively sought strategic
partnerships with professional media companies, to include commercial media content
alongside its user-generated submissions.
Although commercial media are still a minority of YouTube’s total content, they dom-
inate the lists of most popular and most viewed, particularly music videos from major
label artists. More than that, most of YouTube’s UGC cannot be paired with advertising.
Until recently, YouTube only inserted pre-roll or overlay ads into videos from commer-
cial partners. Most advertisers are wary of pairing ads with user-generated videos, despite
their occasionally massive viral circulation, out of fear of being associated with the
wrong content. YouTube also does not want to undercut its defense against copyright
complaints by inadvertently profiting from infringing material posted by a user.
Commentators have reported that YouTube only pairs ads with 9 percent of the content it
streams to US users, which is less than a third of its total traffic (Learmonth, 2009).
The business of being a cultural intermediary is a complex and fragile one, oriented
as it is to at least three constituencies: end users, advertisers and professional content
producers. This is where the discursive work is most vital. Intermediaries like YouTube
must present themselves strategically to each of these audiences, carve out a role and a
set of expectations that is acceptable to each and also serves their own financial interests,
while resolving or at least eliding the contradictions between them.
Curiously, tropes like ‘platform’ seem to work across these discourses; in fact, the real
value of this term may be that it brings these discourses into alignment without them
unsettling each other. Using the same terminology they employ to appeal to amateur
users, YouTube sells its service to advertisers: ‘Marketers have embraced the YouTube
marketing platform and [sic] as an innovative and engaging vehicle for connecting with
their target audiences, and they are increasing sales and exposure for their companies and
brands in many different ways’ (YouTube, 2009d). ‘Platform’ in its more figurative sense
also works as well for media partners. YouTube can promise all of the following, under
the rubric of the ‘platform’:
YouTube provides a great platform for independent filmmakers to build and grow a global
audience for their short films and video projects. (YouTube, 2007b)
YouTube is a platform for promotional as well as educational videos, and we are honored to
partner with PBS as they bring their unique video programming to our 21st century community.
(YouTube, 2008b)
We look forward to partnering with them [Warner Music Group] to offer this powerful
distribution platform to our artists and their fans. (YouTube, 2006b)
This is not the promise of free expression YouTube makes to its users, nor is it the com-
putational meaning. Rather, it is a figurative ‘platform’ of opportunity. In this case, it is
a distinctly commercial opportunity: when YouTube added ‘click-to-buy’ links to retail-
ers like Amazon and iTunes alongside certain videos, a post to the company blog noted:
‘This is just the beginning of building a broad, viable eCommerce ‘platform’ for users
and partners on YouTube’ (YouTube Team, 2008b). This is increasingly, perhaps always
was, a ‘platform’ from which to sell, not just to speak.
As a web-based host of content with a visible brand presence for users, YouTube may in
fact be the exception in the world of online video. Many more intermediaries, rather than
setting up sites of their own, instead provide the less visible back-end for streaming video
that appears to come directly from the artists, producers, studios or broadcasters. These
intermediaries, then, rarely need to speak to users; their rhetorical efforts are entirely for
their business clients, typically media producers and advertisers. This business-to-business
discourse generally prefers terms like ‘solution’, ‘service’, ‘infrastructure’ or ‘experience’.
Yet even here, and perhaps even more plainly, ‘platform’ offers a powerful way to convince
advertisers to use them to reach consumers. Brightcove, the current market leader among
video streaming services,3 introduced BrightcoveTV in 2006, designed to compete with
YouTube for UGC, but quietly stopped supporting it after a year, and shut it down entirely
a year later (Brightcove, 2009b). Now Brightcove is exclusively
an Internet TV platform. We’re dedicated to harnessing the inherent power of the Internet to
transform the distribution and consumption of media. Brightcove empowers content owners –
from independent producers to major broadcast networks – to reach their audiences directly
through the Internet. At the same time, we help web publishers enrich their sites with syndicated
video programming, and we give marketers more ways to communicate and engage with their
consumers. (Brightcove, 2009a)
Intermediaries must speak in different registers to their relevant constituencies, posi-

tioning themselves so as to best suit their interests in each moment (Gieryn, 1999).
However, ‘platform’ unproblematically moves across all three registers, linking them
Gillespie 355
into a single agenda. For advertisers, YouTube can promise to be a terrain upon which
they can build brand awareness, a public campaign, a product launch; for major media
producers, it offers a venue in which their content can be raised up and made visible and,
even better, pushed to audiences. At the same time, the evocative rhetoric of ‘you’ and
UGC fits neatly, implying a sense of egalitarianism and support, and in some ways even
in the political sense, i.e. giving people a public voice (Couldry, 2008). The term offers
a seamless link between the discursive registers in which YouTube must speak, even in
the same breath: ‘Ultimately, the online video experience is about empowerment.
Consumers of online video are empowered to be their own content programmers, con-
suming the relevant mix of mass, niche and personal media they demand. Advertisers are
empowered through data to better understand and engage with their audiences. And con-
tent owners are empowered, through sophisticated identification tools, to control their
content and make smart business decisions with their content’ (Hurley, 2008).
To an audience of content providers, the CEO, Chad Hurley, went so far as to suggest
that YouTube is the new television, retrofitting the term ‘platform’ to seal the analogy:
A small group of innovators introduce a new technology that has the ability to entertain and
engage people on a massive scale. Advertisers willing to risk money on this untested platform
are hard to come by. Content owners are reluctant to embrace it for fear of alienating their
existing audiences. And experts hail this new platform as signaling the demise of another. As
some of you may have guessed, this is not only the story of YouTube. The year is 1941, nearly
70 years ago, and CBS has just launched its new television network amidst cries that it means
the death of radio. (Hurley, 2008)
This is where a term like ‘platform’ and the connotations it currently carries with it are
so useful. YouTube and others can make a bid to be the new television, convincing media
producers to provide their valuable content and advertisers to buy valuable consumer
attention, on the back of UGC and all its democratic, egalitarian connotations, offered to
them as television’s antidote.
Policy
Maybe it is too easy to find such overly broad and idyllic promises when looking at the
rhetoric of advertising and promotion, so rife with optimistic overstatement. Of course,
not every term or idea resonates with people and seeps into the public discourse. That the
term ‘platform’, for describing services like YouTube, has moved beyond its own hyper-
bolic efforts and into common parlance, does suggest that the idea strikes some people as
compelling. But the way in which an information distribution arrangement is character-
ized can matter much more, beyond it merely fitting the necessary sales pitch or taking
hold as part of the public vernacular. These terms and claims get further established, rei-
fied and enforced as they are taken up and given legitimacy inside authoritative dis-
courses such as law, policy and jurisprudence.
As society looks to regulate an emerging form of information distribution, be it the
telegraph or radio or the internet, it is in many ways making decisions about what that
technology is, what it is for, what sociotechnical arrangements are best suited to help it
achieve that and what it must not be allowed to become (Benkler, 2003; Lyman, 2004).
This is a semantic debate as much as anything else: what we call such things, what prec-
edents we see as most analogous and how we characterize its technical workings drive
how we set conditions for it (Streeter, 1996).
This is not just in the words of the rulemakers themselves. Interested third parties,
particularly the companies that provide these services, are deeply invested in fostering a
regulatory paradigm that gives them the most leeway to conduct their business, imposes
the fewest restrictions on their service provision, protects them from liability for things
they hope not to be liable for and paints them in the best light in terms of the public inter-
est. As Galperin (2004: 161) argues, ‘Ideological paradigms … do not emerge ex nihilo,
nor do they diffuse automatically. There must be vehicles for the creation and transmis-
sion of ideas. Several organizations perform this function, among them universities,
think tanks, trade groups, companies, government agencies, advocacy groups, and so on.
For any policy issue at stake there is no lack of competing paradigms to choose from.’
YouTube’s parent company Google, in its newly adopted role of aggressive lobbyist
(Phillips, 2006; Puzzanghera, 2006), has become increasingly vocal on a number of policy
issues, including net neutrality, spectrum allocation, freedom of speech and political trans-
parency. Sometimes its aim is to highlight the role of some Google service as crucial to the
unfettered circulation of information: whether to justify further regulation, or none at all,
depends on the issue. In other moments, it is working to downplay its role, as merely an
intermediary, to limit its liability for the users’ activity. (This is hardly unfamiliar in the regu-
latory agendas of traditional media distributors: Hollywood studios will demand of Congress
stronger copyright laws or trade protections at one hearing, then request that the government
stay out of the rating of content, proclaiming the value of deregulation, at the next.)
In this effort to inhabit the middle, rewarded for facilitating expression but not liable
for its excesses, Google and YouTube have deployed the term ‘platform’ as part of their
legislative strategy. For example, their representatives have been outspoken in their sup-
port of the net neutrality effort. In their policy blog, a Google analyst, Derek Slater, praised
a House bill to that effect, saying that ‘the bill would affirm that the Internet should remain
an open platform for innovation, competition, and social discourse’ (Slater, 2008). This
idea was repeated in a policy mission statement Google made available just after the elec-
tion of President Obama (Google, 2008). Notice not only the use of ‘platform’, here (as
with O’Reilly) referring to the entire internet, but also the kinds of beneficial applications
it can host: technical, economic and cultural. As with YouTube’s careful address to part-
ners, advertisers and users, these three aims are held together by the role Google imagines
for itself as a provider of information, eliding any tensions between them.
Google and YouTube have also positioned themselves as champions of freedom of
expression, and ‘platform’ works here too, deftly linking the technical, figurative and
political. In response to a request from Senator Joe Lieberman to remove a number of
videos he claimed were Islamist training propaganda (a request they partially honored),
the YouTube team asserted, ‘While we respect and understand his views, YouTube
encourages free speech and defends everyone’s right to express unpopular points of view.
We believe that YouTube is a richer and more relevant platform for users precisely
because it hosts a diverse range of views, and rather than stifle debate we allow our users
to view all acceptable content and make up their own minds’ (Youtube Team, 2008a).
Gillespie 357
In other moments, calling their service a ‘platform’ can be a way not to trumpet
their role, but to downplay it. Online content providers who do not produce their own
information have long sought to enjoy limited liability for that information, especially
as the liabilities in question have expanded from sordid activities like child pornogra-
phy and insider trading to the much more widespread activities of music and movie
piracy. In the effort to limit their liability not only to these legal charges but also more
broadly to the cultural charges of being puerile, frivolous, debased, etc., intermediar-
ies like YouTube need to position themselves as just hosting – empowering all by
choosing none.
Historically, policy debates about emerging technologies and information intermedi-
aries have been marked by key structural and spatial metaphors around which regulation
has been organized (Horwitz, 1989). For instance, before their deregulation the tele-
phone companies were bound by two obligations: first, they must act as a common car-
rier, agreeing to provide service to the entire public without discrimination. Second, they
can avoid liability for the information activities of their users, to the extent that they
serve as a conduit rather than as producers of content themselves. Both metaphors, com-
mon carrier and conduit, make a similar (but not identical) semantic claim as does ‘plat-
form’. Both suggest that the role of distributing information is a neutral one, where the
function is merely the passage of any and all content without discrimination. Unlike
‘platform’, there is the implied direction in these terms: bringing information from some-
one to somewhere. In the age of the ‘network’, another spatial metaphor that does a great
deal of discursive work in contemporary information policy debates, an emphasis on
total connectivity has supplanted direction as the key spatial emphasis. But, to the extent
that all of these terms figure in such discussions as a means to claim limited liability for
the information provided, they are similar tactics in pursuing specific regulatory frame-
works (Sandvig, 2007).
The term ‘conduit’, and more importantly the commonsense meanings it encapsu-
lated, shaped not only telephony, but later policy debates about whether internet service
providers could be regulated according to the same framework. Internet service provid-
ers (ISPs) sought to enjoy the conduit protections enjoyed by the telephone companies
when they lobbied for Section 230 of the Communication Decency Act. With the passage
of the Digital Millennium Copyright Act (DMCA), a limited liability was established for
both ISPs and search engines: so long as you are a neutral distributor of information and
are not aware of specific violations, you are not liable for the violations of users; if made
aware of a violation, you must make reasonable efforts to intervene.
YouTube’s official policy positions itself squarely inside the DMCA safe harbor
(YouTube, 2009b). This has been YouTube’s defense strategy in response to infringe-
ment suits brought by individual producers whose material was uploaded,4 and is the
central question in the current lawsuit against YouTube brought by Viacom. Viacom
asserts not that YouTube engages in copyright infringement (like an individual file-
trader) or facilitates copyright infringement (like Napster), but that it does not diligently
enough respond to the takedown notices sent by the content companies, and enjoys a
financial benefit from the infringement that slips through. Viacom, of course, is careful
to work against the metaphoric characterization of ‘platform’ and conduit; in their court
documents, they typically refer to YouTube as a ‘distributor’ (Viacom, 2007).
Edges
The idea of the ‘platform’, then, does quadruple duty. It fits neatly with the egalitarian
and populist appeal to ordinary users and grassroots creativity, offering all of us a ‘raised,
level surface’. It positions YouTube as a facilitator that does not pick favorites, with no
ulterior motive other than to make available this tidal wave of UGC. Yet the idea of the
‘platform’ not only elides the presence of advertisers and commercial media producers,
it serves as a key term in seeking those businesses and making plain how YouTube can
host their content too. Whatever possible tension there is between being a ‘platform’ for
empowering individual users and being a robust marketing ‘platform’ and being a ‘plat-
form’ for major studio content is elided in the versatility of the term and the powerful
appeal of the idea behind it. And the term is a valuable and persuasive token in legal
environments, positing their service in a familiar metaphoric framework as merely the
neutral provision of content, a vehicle for art rather than its producer or patron, where
liability should fall to the users themselves.
To the degree that information intermediaries like YouTube claim to be open, flat and
neutral spaces open to all comers, the kinds of interventions and choices these providers
actually do make can be harder to see. But these ‘platforms’ do have edges. Burgess and
Green (2008: 1) suggest that YouTube offers ‘patronage’ for user expression, noting two
sides of this role: ‘YouTube Inc can be seen as the “patron” of collective creativity, invit-
ing the participation of a very wide range of content creators, and in so doing controlling
at least some of the conditions under which creative content is produced.’ These condi-
tions are practical, technical, economic and legal, and they stray far from the hands-off
neutrality suggested by the ‘platform’ rhetoric. YouTube and Google have pursued a
specific business model that, while it does not force them to emulate the traditional gate-
keeper role of broadcasters and publishers, nevertheless does have consequences for
what they host, how they present it and what they need from it. These drive decisions
about content, availability, organization and participation (van Dijck, 2009). And the
sites these intermediaries provide have distinct technical affordances, designed to serve
their particular clients and purposes. Conditions are unavoidable; it is merely a question
of what kind of conditions, and with what consequences (Sandvig, 2007).
Whether these interventions are strategic or incidental, harmful or benign, they are
deliberate choices that end up shaping the contours of public discourse online. Take, for
instance, YouTube’s recent announcement (in a blog entry titled ‘A YouTube for All of
Us’) that it would strengthen its restrictions on sexually suggestive content and profanity,
by three means: first, the removal of videos deemed inappropriate according to a new
standard; second, the assignment of certain videos to the adult category, which limits
what under-age registered users can see and requires all users to click an assent to watch-
ing objectionable content; third, and most troubling, the institution of technical demo-
tions: ‘Videos that are considered sexually suggestive, or that contain profanity, will be
algorithmically demoted on our “Most Viewed”, “Top Favorited”, and other browse
pages’ (YouTube, 2008a). While a representative of YouTube indicated that these techni-
cal demotions are designed to keep prurient (and popular) videos from automatically
populating the front page of the site, they nevertheless also shape how videos are found.
Gillespie 359
The videos will still exist, but will be rendered harder to find; site indexes that purport to
represent user judgments will in fact do so only within parameters unknown to users.
The fact that everyone’s content is posted and indexed also makes it more readily
locatable and identifiable by third parties who might want it removed. This is most
apparent in the disputes about copyright infringement: in its eagerness to partner with
major media producers, YouTube has provided tools like ContentID, which allows copy-
right owners to automatically search for audio or video they believe matches their intel-
lectual property and automatically issue takedown notices to those users. In December
2008 and January 2009, for example, Warner Music Group (WMG) sent thousands of
takedown notices to YouTube users, in what critics called a ‘fair use massacre’ (Jansen,
2009; von Lohmann, 2009). The videos targeted were not only copies of WMG-owned
works, but also amateur videos using their music in the background, or musicians paying
tribute to a band by playing live along with the commercial recording as a backing track
(Driscoll, 2009; Sandoval, 2009). WMG could issue so many takedown notices so
quickly only by using ContentID. This kind of content fingerprinting, being both easy
and oblivious to nuance, encourages these kinds of shotgun tactics. But it is YouTube’s
complex economic allegiances that compel it to both play host to amateur video culture
and provide content owners the tools to criminalize it.
Conclusion
A term like ‘platform’ does not drop from the sky, or emerge in some organic, unfettered
way from the public discussion. It is drawn from the available cultural vocabulary by
stakeholders with specific aims, and carefully massaged so as to have particular reso-
nance for particular audiences inside particular discourses. These are efforts not only to
sell, convince, persuade, protect, triumph or condemn, but to make claims about what
these technologies are and are not, and what should and should not be expected of them.
In other words, they represent an attempt to establish the very criteria by which these
technologies will be judged, built directly into the terms by which we know them. The
degree to which these terms take root in the popular imagination, whether in the rhetoric
of the industry or in the vocabulary of the law, is partly the result of this discursive work
(Berland, 2000; Gillespie, 2006; Pfaffenberger, 1992).
However, these terms matter as much for what they hide as for what they reveal.
Despite the promises made, ‘platforms’ are more like traditional media than they care
to admit. As they seek sustainable business models, as they run up against traditional
regulations and spark discussions of new ones, and as they become large and visible
enough to draw the attention not just of their users but of the public at large, the pres-
sures mount to strike a different balance between safe and controversial, between
socially and financially valuable, between niche and wide appeal. And, as with broad-
casting and publishing, their choices about what can appear, how it is organized, how it
is monetized, what can be removed and why, and what the technical architecture allows
and prohibits, are all real and substantive interventions into the contours of public dis-
course. They raise both traditional dilemmas about free speech and public expression,
and some substantially new ones, for which there are few precedents or explanations.
We do not have a sufficiently precise language for attending to these kinds of interven-
tions and their consequences. And the discourse of the ‘platform’ works against us
developing such precision, offering as it does a comforting sense of technical neutrality
and progressive openness.
Acknowledgements
Many thanks to the Institute for Social Sciences at Cornell University for their generous support
of this work. Thanks also to Shay David, Josh Greenberg, Lee Humphreys and our ‘new media
and society’ working group for their helpful comments.
Notes
1 Thanks to Stephen Purpura for this observation.
2 In 2007, YouTube began a revenue-sharing program with select ‘YouTube stars’, then later
opened it to any user applying to be a ‘partner’ that YouTube approved (YouTube, 2009c.)
Approved partners get a cut of the Adsense revenue from ads paired with their videos. YouTube
has not been forthcoming about exactly how much revenue it shares; one journalist estimated
it as 80 cents per 1000 views, though YouTube then responded that different users get different
cuts (Gannes, 2008a; Gannes, 2008b).
3 Brightcove distinguishes between end-user destination sites like YouTube and ‘Internet TV
platforms’ like itself; it claims to have the largest share of this market (Allaire and Berrey,
2007; Brightcove, 2009a; Schonfeld, 2008).
4 See the court documents related to Tur v. YouTube Inc., English Football Association Premier
League v. YouTube Inc. and Grisman v. YouTube, Inc.
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Tarleton Gillespie is an Assistant Professor in the Department of Communication at

Cornell University, with affiliations in the Department of Science and Technology
Studies and the Information Science program. He is also a fellow with the Center for
Internet and Society at the Stanford School of Law. His book, Wired Shut: Copyright and
the Shape of Digital Culture, was published by MIT Press in 2007.

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Opinion Expression, and

1Pontificia Universidad Católica de Chile, Santiago, Chile

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other forms of contentious politics. Similar to earlier debates on media effects,

Social Media and Protest Activity

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Using Social Media for News

Using Social Media for Political Opinion Expression

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Using Social Media for Joining Causes and Mobilizing Information

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Grievances. Dissatisfaction with government has long been considered an important

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News media use. Consumption of hard news, particularly newspaper and online

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Social Media Use and Protest Behavior

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Odds ratios Pssn b OLS b

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Figure 1. Social media use and protest behavior.

Testing Mediating Variables

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Social media for

Figure 2. Path model of protest behavior.

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Table 3. Indirect Effects of Social Media Use on Protest Behavior.

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Declaration of Conflicting Interests

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Berger, C. R. (2009). Interpersonal communication. In D. W. Stacks & M. B. Salwen (Eds.),

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Original Research Article

1MacEwan University, Edmonton, Alberta, Canada

Digital Media in Election Campaigns Over Time and Across Countries

Digital Media in Civil Society Over Time and Across Countries

global presence with similar number of countries and members (https://secure.avaaz

Table 1. Highlights of Cross-National Differences in Average Effect Sizes.

Number of studies Average

Figure 1. Standardized coefficients for 251 data sets.

challenges are offset by the benefits of conducting a meta-analysis. A meta-analysis of

Figure 2. Trend line for all countries.

Lower Upper Lower Upper Lower Upper

Figure 3. United States  versus non-United States  trend line.

Declaration of Conflicting Interests

KEVIN MICHAEL DELUCA

Argumentation 17: 315–333, 2003.

grenade harpoon, departs in pursuit of sperm whales. Unlike any previous