“Working at a large tech company like Facebook is when you know you’ve made it in life”— at least that was along the lines of words that I often heard growing up. This mantra was incessantly drilled into me throughout my upbringing, much like how being a doctor or lawyer is expected of many children. For me, working at Facebook has always been an absolute yes because of the company’s ability to create impact, its reputation of distinguished employees, and most importantly, the financial security it promises.
While articles like the “Facebook Papers” and “Working for Ethically Complicated Organizations” offer important perspectives on the moral implications of joining a company like Facebook, my answer remains unchanged. I would work at Facebook because I was raised in a single-parent household where my mother worked day and night, sacrificing her own life so that I could climb the social ladder and eventually land a job at a company where my family historically never had access.
The irony, however, hasn’t gone over my head. I come from a community that has arguably been harmed by companies like Facebook. My mother herself is an example of worker exploitation. Yet, my choice to pursue this career path is fundamentally one of survival. There’s no fear quite like wondering where you’ll live or when you’ll eat next. I would argue that my duty to provide for my family and loved ones, as discussed in the reading, is a sufficient justification for this decision. The ethical complexity is substantial, but so is the reality of economic necessity.
Nonetheless, I recognize that taking a job at Facebook does not exempt me from ethical responsibility. If I were to accept the role without acknowledging the company’s ethical scandals and frequent prioritization of profit over user safety, then I would be no better than those who turn a blind eye. But I would argue that we all, in many ways, already are bystanders of ethically questionable work.
Consider the researchers who conduct animal studies at Stanford, the students who contribute to those labs, the professors who work in the department, the donors who fund the research, or even the humanities professor who teaches in an adjacent department and thinks they have no connection to animal studies. Don’t they have just as much ethical obligation? What makes the humanities teacher different from the researcher conducting animal studies? They are distinguished by their proximity to the ethically questionable actions mentioned in the article; the humanities teacher has more distance from the research. Yet even at a distance, they remain implicated because the distance does not erase their connection to Stanford.
The key here, and my goal in my career, is to do what is morally right within my specific line of work. Just because I work at a company like Facebook doesn’t mean I agree with all of their actions, and it certainly doesn’t mean I can’t work to create positive change from within. Ultimately, the most effective way to improve ethically compromised companies is to fill them with ethically conscientious individuals who are committed to creating internal change.
