rDuring my holiday, I would emerge and introduce myself as “offline.” A more precise answer would be France, where internet access is indeed available. However, I intentionally limited my usage. Constantly checking your phone undermines the entire purpose of escaping.

In the last decade, the idea of a vacation has shifted to signify a break from the digital world rather than simply leaving home. The respite begins with logging off, rather than with boarding a flight; decluttering work emails, archiving professional WhatsApp chats, and removing social media apps signify that transition.

Gains don’t manifest immediately. The dissonance may echo in your mind for days before you finally sense a deeper peace, marking a shift in rhythm. It’s a stark contrast between navigating the internal currents of your thoughts and the relentless rush driven by societal demands. The difference grows sharper, and upon returning to work, you find yourself inundated with notifications and alerts.

I’m not advocating for the analog past. You won’t find me lost without Google Maps. I don’t believe that society was better off when the clergy held absolute authority or when people were more susceptible to superstitions.

We are now entering the third decade of the first digital century. The revolution is irreversible, and we tread into uncharted territory. History has seen explosive advancements in connectivity due to significant innovations in communication technology, but only a few have been truly transformative. Naomi Alderman refers to these shifts as an “Information crisis,” claiming we are experiencing the third iteration, with the printing press representing the second.

While comparisons may not be exact, the scale of our current experiences is immense and immeasurable. We have little understanding of just how far we have traveled down this digital path. AI is only in its infancy.

Readers of the Gutenberg Bible in the late 15th century had no means of predicting how movable type would revolutionize social, cultural, economic, and political frameworks in Europe. Are we better prepared to envision the world another century of digital transformation will bring?

My brief two-week hiatus from technology didn’t yield significant insights, but it highlighted that these ongoing transformations are profoundly cognitive. When you step away from the constant stream of information or dial it back, you come to appreciate the chaos of the rest of the time.

Our brains have evolved to interpret a relatively small dataset from our immediate environments, tracking predators and figuring out survival strategies. We are organic processors. Yet, the capacity for rational judgment can be constrained by how quickly sensory signals can be transformed into coherent mental models, determining our subsequent actions.

While we possess remarkable abilities, they often falter under conditions of sensory overload. This doesn’t negate our capacity to process the profound shifts we’ve undergone or our ability to perceive the world at a rapid pace. Just as we adapted to urban life after centuries of rural existence, we can adjust to the influx of stimuli. However, these swift changes can be turbulent, stressful, and often violent. This information crisis induces a cosmological shift, altering how humanity organizes and views itself. Hierarchies crumble, societal norms are rewritten, and morality is reevaluated. A new philosophy is emerging; traditional beliefs are being discarded.

It’s no wonder that democratic systems struggle to adjust in this upheaval. A lone Congress on a small island in the North Atlantic is moving to impose new global tech regulations.

During my brief internet hiatus last month, key provisions of the Online Safety Act came into effect. Social media platforms and search engines are now required to restrict access to content deemed harmful by new legislation for minors (including content promoting abuse, pornography, self-harm, terrorism, and suicide).

Tech companies are lobbying vigorously for change. Donald Trump’s administration views it as an infringement on free speech. Nigel Farage concurs, threatening to repeal the law if he comes to power. The Labor Minister has accused the reform leader of siding with the interests of pedophiles.

As a compliant adult user, it’s difficult to ascertain whether these new restrictions will achieve their intended objectives. The aging process is no more concerning than the daily personal data submissions we make in exchange for a seamless digital experience.

Reports suggest that non-pornographic news and public health sites have been inadvertently blocked. Critics argue that these protections can be easily circumvented with minimal digital savvy. It appears that an overzealous approach by tech companies or a lack of risk management is leading to inconsistent filtering. However, the implications for political freedom – the potential hindrance to free speech that some equate with extreme censorship – seem negligible.

Indeed, the framework for monitoring information involves the potential for a more oppressive agenda. Future administrations could redefine what constitutes “harmful” content, which could include government criticism or anything undermining traditional family values. Advocates of the new legislation should be wary of its potential misuse.

Yet, some of its most ardent opponents, particularly those aligned with Trump, are hardly trustworthy defenders of political freedom. Their motives stem not from a genuine concern for free speech but from the commercial interests of entities overseeing much of our digital information landscape. The system is riddled with toxicity, with those profiting from the chaos refusing accountability, resisting regulation for the same reasons encountered by polluters since the Industrial Revolution: simply because they can. It’s more profitable when they don’t have to clean up their own mess.

Online safety regulations may have flaws, yet they might also be necessary. Currently, it’s a minor skirmish in a broader battle that will determine how power dynamics shift in the wake of the ongoing information crisis. It sends a subtle but vital message: a cry for help from politicians struggling amidst digital chaos.