This morning’s printing of a controversial advertisement in the National Post piqued an interesting curiosity. What is the state of spending protest (read “boycott protest”) in the online economy?
Frankly, I plan to continue to read the Post (I would self-identify as a regular online reader) despite being pretty turned off by their decision to print the spot. I thought it showed poor editorial character and moral tact (although, I would add, I defend the rag’s right to publish the content of their choosing).
I have spoken to people, however, who have cited this event as the final straw in their relationship with the paper. They plan to boycott. But boycott what?
It used to be simple: cancel your subscription. You could even take it so far as to boycott their advertisers, other patrons (Starbucks, say), or cut off anything else under their parent umbrella. But the online realm is a different story. Cancel your subscription? What subscription? Few actually subscribe to the Post online. Advertisers? Have fun sifting through those. Other patrons? Say goodbye to your handy aggregators. Parent company? Good luck; they likely provide your Internet access in the first place (…do this step last?).
I doubt anyone I spoke to would even entertain this girth of recourse. More likely, they will just make a conscious effort to avoid NaPo’s site for awhile while the wounds heal. But can they even do that?
Take a case as simple as a shortened link, for example. For those unfamiliar, the explosion of microblogging ushered in a new series of services loosely referred to as ‘URL shorteners.’ Born of the necessity to fit monstrous web addresses into the tight quarters of a 140 character Twitter-esque post, these services allow for a full URL, say http://www.thestar.com/business/article/1061515—video-whiskey-sweetening-up-to-appeal-to-women-drinkers?bn=1, to be converted to this: http://is.gd/39NzUh; or even this:
The feature is now commonplace across online content sharing platforms, even those without specific space or character restrictions, like Facebook or Tumblr. Further, as these sites begin to integrate shortening services into the automated coding of their platforms, the practice has become largely involuntary for end users.
Sounds awfully convenient; maybe. But imagine that you are one of those new National Post haters, browsing your favourite Twitter list when you come across this:
@yourbuddy316 Wow, #flag debate heating up in HoC! http://is.gd/g675Dj5
The dilemma becomes clear. Where is this link taking you?
Most browsers allow you to preview the end URL by hovering over the shortened link, but not all. Similarly, mobile devices offer no indication where you might end up.
This is obviously not a huge issue. But it is an issue.
Part of the beauty of the capitalist structure is that consumers have the power to guide their environment with their purchasing decisions. In real life this is a decision to spend money. Online, it is a click.
Imagine for a moment walking into your local corner store on Saturday morning, giving them two dollars, and receiving a daily of their choosing. Oh, and no refunds or exchanges. Not gonna happen. But on the Internet, at least for now, we accept it.
Yes access to the vast majority of news content is free to the user, but the fact that we’re not forking over any cash is irrelevant. The currency of news online is clicks, and so long as that remains consumers’ primary means to guide the industry the ability to choose the target of the ad revenue we generate is paramount.
Think of the amount of traffic revenue the Post generated from Christie Blatchford’s Layton column which, somewhat ironically, was likely driven primarily by outraged leftists. If they could choose to link incessantly to the National Post site all over again, would they?
I guess the end question can be distilled to “In this model unfair?” No. Popular content must be monetized and rewarded. But should the new economy of clicks be scrutinized? Yes. Consumers deserve the right to choose.
