🎧 Listen | 8:44 mins

It’s commencement season, and I’ve been thinking a lot lately about college. My own 20-year reunion is this year, a milestone that can make you look backward and forward at the same time.

I went to Carleton College, a liberal arts school in Minnesota. Having grown up in Alabama, where we had snow days if near-freezing temperatures were forecast, I was sold on Carleton the moment I saw its footage of a student cross-country skiing to class.

Besides the snow, going to Carleton was my first small rebellion. My childhood was sandwiched between two types of conservatism: the political conservatism of my social circles and the traditionalism of my Taiwanese family. Needless to say, I was surrounded by many strong opinions about the right way to live, the right thing to study, and the right kind of work.

So when I tell you that my college experience gave me the most idealized version of higher education, it’s not an exaggeration. Going to college opened my mind and my world — figuratively and literally. It gave me space to experiment with who I might become.

I admit it: when I was at Carleton, most of my classmates leaned left. But of course, conservative students were on campus too. While I can’t speak for them, I personally never felt that our political disagreements would preclude friendship. Despite spirited debates in class, we could still hang out afterwards. We all wanted to help people, even if we disagreed on the details. We all loved Stir-frydays and baking cookies. We all loved Professor Mary Easter.

That said, I had the pleasure of going to college pre-social media, which arrived on our campus in my junior year. Facebook is very different now than it was then.

And so is college.

◾

Today, viewpoint diversity – particularly at elite universities – has become one of the central discussion points about higher education. On one side, critics argue that universities have traded open inquiry for ideological conformity. On another, they say that academic freedom is being conflated with freedom of expression.

At the same time, public trust in colleges and universities – like trust in nearly all institutions – has steadily declined. And in recent years, these debates have advanced from philosophical to political, with concrete consequences. Federal funding for universities has been cut or made conditional. Tenure protections are changing, as are curricula. And with its high cost mixed with an uncertain future of work, more young people are questioning the value of higher education itself.

@avayuergensShould you go to college? 🏫

Tiktok failed to load.

Enable 3rd party cookies or use another browser

And college students are more digitally connected than any previous generation. Whereas I relished the classroom as a gateway to new perspectives and worldviews, today it is just one access point of many. Students – or anyone – can discover new subjects and hold intellectual debates continuously and on repeat, as digital and physical life collapse into each other.

Despite these tensions, there is one thing that university administrators, professors, and students can agree on. A university’s central role is to serve as a place for open inquiry – defined as the ability to ask questions, share ideas, and challenge popular views and assumptions.

So why are universities generally absent from the spaces where open inquiry now happens for most people?

Yes, I’m talking about digital platforms.

You only need to see the footage of the recent altercation between Cornell’s President and students to understand why the omnipresence of phone cameras may feel personal to faculty and staff. Not to mention the relationship between phones and focus in the classroom; AI’s impact on teaching, learning, and intellectual property rights; and the way social media has reshaped who gets seen and treated as experts.

In short: it’s complicated.

◾

Of course, universities are working hard to adapt. Last month, Yale released the findings of a year-long faculty committee on trust in higher education. The report is comprehensive, with recommendations spanning affordability, admissions, and community engagement.

It repeatedly calls for strengthening Yale’s relationships with both internal and external stakeholders – to open the gates and communicate effectively. But when you dig deeper, you see that it mostly refers to traditional tactics like hosting town halls and advisory councils, doing more Yale-centered comms about its mission and decisions, and offering more online learning opportunities.

The report contains almost no meaningful discussion of actual digital participation. It’s a surprising omission, considering the high demand for academic content online, as we saw with the #Hillmantok movement last year. People want content with depth, but in a way that connects with how they live. There needs to be a step between hearing a university’s mission statement and signing up for their course on a learning platform.

@afamstudiesWelcome to Intro to African-American Studies Spring 2025!

Tiktok failed to load.

Enable 3rd party cookies or use another browser

It’s hard to reconcile universities’ commitment to debate and open inquiry with their disengagement from the spaces where these now take place. Doing so not only distances institutions from the public; it also disregards the world that students are stepping into, one that is increasingly shaped online.

Of course, personal agency matters here; not every professor wants a public profile. But universities have every reason – for trust-building as much as for risk management – to support those who want to engage online, and to recognize that work as legitimate.

◾

How can university leaders balance the importance of participating in the digital world with the responsibility to protect the institution as well as faculty, staff, and students?

Every institution will carry different priorities, guardrails, and resourcing. That’s fine; there is no blanket right way to do this.

Here are five ways to start:

1. Develop clear policies on individuals’ digital engagement.

If you’ve been reading Feed for Thought for a while, you know how much I love an internal policy to address issues like online conduct, branding, messaging alignment, and post-employment considerations. I’ve designed plenty of principles-first guidelines for organizations, and while it forces hard conversations, a good policy makes every other decision easier because it gives you a north star and defensible position.

2. Integrate digital literacy into faculty development and student curriculum.

Learning how information flows, how creators build trust, and how to be a responsible consumer online is an essential skill for everyone, whether they make content or not. For those who do, it makes all the difference to have support with deciding which platforms to use, getting started, protecting their safety and privacy, and engaging with others.

3. Make room for both device-free and creator spaces.

You don’t have to have one or the other – they’re complements. I think phone-free classrooms and study areas are a great idea. And recording studios and editing tools belong on campus too.

4. Have a crisis response plan.

Any kind of public engagement comes with risks. The good news is: it’s mostly predictable. When I did crisis response at Uber, having a playbook and knowing everyone’s role in it helped to make intense moments more manageable. And it made sure that we were consistent in protecting our organization, employees, and customers, even in a worst case situation.

5. Offer a carrot.

Beyond making space and time, universities can reduce the stigma around academics’ engaging online. Could public engagement count toward service requirements? Could online writing become part of the academic publishing process? Even small institutional signals can go a long way in framing digital participation as legitimate scholarly work.

◾

Universities once stood at the center of intellectual life because campuses were where open inquiry happened. Today, much of public debate has moved elsewhere.

Will universities join in? ◾

Over the past year, I’ve had many similar conversations with health providers, professors, and public servants about how digital platforms are changing their work.

Everyone agrees on the diagnosis: people now go online first for information. Anyone can shape public opinion about a field. Trust in institutions is falling, and that affects how experts do their jobs.

For doctors and nurses, it’s becoming harder to treat patients who increasingly disregard their providers’ advice.

For public servants, it’s becoming harder to secure funding for vital work.

And in some cases, these dynamics lead to political uncertainty that poses existential risk.

Part of the reason is that digital platforms haven’t just changed how people access information — they’ve changed how people decide whom to trust. Institutional credentials still matter. But they now compete with other credibility signals: accessibility, familiarity, and personal relatability.

And yet, when I ask experts whether they would participate online themselves — to help make their knowledge more accessible, familiar, and relatable — the conversation almost always takes a turn. Hesitation sets in.

◾

These dynamics aren’t new. Public trust has been moving from centralized authority to private individuals over the last two decades.

Companies have adapted by moving away from corporate messaging towards personal storytelling featuring founders and employees. Big brands like Starbucks and Ulta have taken it further by incentivizing staff to post about work on personal accounts. The idea is: if both employer and employee can benefit, why not do it together?

@bigpictureclubThe Pay-Less-Earn-More model: companies pay us a lower salary but we earn more from our own platforms #sheerluxe #futureofemployment #corporatejobs #creatoreconomy @SheerLuxe

Tiktok failed to load.

Enable 3rd party cookies or use another browser

So far, it’s working. Business is now the only major institution that people still trust.

It’s understandable that government, academia, and healthcare take a more cautious approach to technology. Much of this work is publicly funded, involves sensitive data, or operates in highly-regulated spaces. And the tech sector’s track record doesn’t always inspire confidence. Caution is necessary and often built into institutional processes. Sometimes, skepticism even feels like a badge of honor.

But two things can be true: opting out can be an act of principle, and absence has consequences.

In today’s digital ecosystem, absence connotes silence. And silence isn’t neutral. In fact, 53% of people assume the worst of entities that stay silent on social issues.

For those who built their careers inside these institutions, the consequences are personal: the perceived value of expertise itself is eroding. More young people question whether higher education is worth it and many plan to never work for a traditional employer. This isn’t shocking in a world where institutional credentials don’t seem to impact your career trajectory.

@drjessicaknurickThis from the administration that brought you the “ENDING ILLEGAL DISCRIMINATION AND RESTORING MERIT-BASED OPPORTUNITY” executive order. 😒 Help stop the nomination for Casey Means for U.S. Surgeon General! Contact your senator, especially if they serve on the Senate HELP committee and make your opposition clear. 📞 Call: Dial the U.S. Capitol switchboard at (202) 224-3121 and ask to be connected to your senator. 📧 Email: Go to your senator’s website and use the contact form 🗣️ What to say: “I’m a constituent and I’m asking Senator ___ to oppose confirming a wellness entrepreneur who did not complete residency training as the next U.S. Surgeon General. This role requires medical credibility, scientific grounding, and real public health leadership.” If you live in Louisiana, Senator Bill Cassidy, a medical doctor, chairs the HELP Committee and has significant influence over what happens next. Call his office and make your voice heard. For more info, please see my stories.

Tiktok failed to load.

Enable 3rd party cookies or use another browser

◾

Some experts are stepping into this gap on their own. Doctors and nurses post health information to educate the public and counter false messaging. Academics write newsletters to share and refine ideas faster than the peer review process allows. Politicians make digital-first videos to humanize the political process.

Most do this without institutional support and sometimes face criticism from colleagues for even trying.

@rey_philosophyReplying to @Mark #feminism #leftist

Tiktok failed to load.

Enable 3rd party cookies or use another browser

Among health, government, and academia, the medical field is likely the most advanced in this regard. Many medical programs offer communication training for provider-patient interactions. But when over half of Americans do their own health research online, providers may already be on the back foot by the time the patient comes in to clinic.

Digital literacy and social media training are still rare in medical school. In 2010, the Mayo Clinic launched its Center for Social Media and Social Media Health Network, which offered training and social media rotations for medical residents. They even live-streamed the Center director’s colonoscopy to raise awareness and help reduce fear. The program was ahead of its time, but it was sunset five years ago.

Government isn’t much further along. 62% of OECD member countries have social media guidelines for government agencies, but these focus on privacy and risk mitigation. Only 18% provide practical resources to help civil servants use digital platforms for citizen outreach.

With only 1% of social media users shaping public knowledge for the other 99%, there is real space online for expert voices. But whether experts feel comfortable participating often depends on the institutions they work for.

So what can institutions actually do?

◾

Let’s start with clear social media policies. Most organizations have policies governing their official accounts. What’s less common are guidelines for employees who want to build an independent presence online.

For experts already inclined towards caution, a lack of policy isn’t neutral. It effectively acts as an implicit prohibition. It’s human nature to avoid doing things you believe might jeopardize your job. Case in point: the policy at Columbia University School of Nursing highly discourages clinicians from providing medical advice on their social accounts. That’s enough to deter anyone from even debating the semantics of general health information versus medical advice.

Clear guidelines serve two purposes: they signal permission and they protect the institution.

From a legal and privacy perspective, the model exists — individual accounts can mirror guidelines for institutional accounts. For medical professionals, protecting against legal liability and ensuring patient privacy are key. For all sectors, individual accounts should be marked clearly, indicating that they reflect the person, not the institution. A code of conduct for online interactions should apply to both institutional and individual accounts.

Stanford University’s social media policy provides a solid starting point. But when it comes to staff’s individual accounts, there are more specific questions to consider. For example:

• Employer branding: How can an employee reference their employer’s name and logo online?

• Messaging alignment: How much can employees disagree with or speak beyond their employer’s official positions on topics?

• Political advocacy: Are there limits on discussing political issues or candidates — whether it’s related to their field or not?

• Brand partnerships: Do employees need to disclose or get employer approval for paid collaborations or endorsements?

• Facility and equipment use: Can staff create content on-site or use work devices?

• Post-employment: Should employees agree to non-disparagement if their employment ends?

Much of my career has involved developing governance frameworks like these. I know how complex it can be to get legal, compliance, privacy, comms, operations, and other stakeholders together to address these kinds of questions.

Every institution will have different risk thresholds. But every one can make a clear policy.

◾

But policy alone isn’t enough. You can’t inspire action with just a list of things to avoid. You also need to empower.

In practice, enabling expert participation requires three things: building real capacity, removing practical constraints, and normalizing new professional behavior.

Here are some initial building blocks:

Digital literacy training as a foundational skill

Most experts already have social media accounts, but hesitate to post. So it doesn’t make sense to start with content training. That’s like trying to teach someone how to dive before they’re comfortable swimming.

That’s why I start with digital literacy instead: helping experts understand how information flows online, how people decide whom to trust, and how they shape the information ecosystem — even without posting. These foundational skills are essential for all public interest experts, regardless of whether they ever create content.

Social media training for those who want to be more active

When an expert decides they want to engage more actively online, practical support can make all the difference in their enjoyment and success with it. That might include guidance on choosing platforms, or opportunities to practice in safe, judgment-free environments.

Different experts will have different goals; there is no one-size-fits-all solution. Some may build a personal website. Others might write essays for peers. Or they may choose to speak to a broader public through videos and podcasts.

Being a creator also carries responsibilities. Access to media literacy training helps experts be intentional about representation, transparent about sources, and build a public presence while protecting their privacy.

Time and space

Public engagement is legitimate professional work, and should be treated as such. One practical step is for employers to designate space on-site for writing or recording. Ideally, experts could carve out protected time for public communications as part of their work.

Social listening briefings

Institutions can provide regular updates to help their staff track public discourse about their field. Whether experts spend time online or not, they benefit from knowing how their field is being publicly discussed. No one can do their job effectively in a bubble.

Coalition-building and community

Part of normalizing new professional behavior is to make it a field-wide effort.

For example, when I led Meta’s COVID-19 response, we created a tech coalition that met weekly with the World Health Organization (WHO) to support its global information campaign. Meta and Google helped the WHO to create and distribute content. Tinder – yes, the dating app – provided translation support (after all, they are experts in local slang and nuance!).

In short, competitors found ways to collaborate for a common goal. This partnership made each organization more effective at the work it was already trying to do.

◾

Change won’t happen overnight. But step by step, university by university, clinic by clinic, institutions can help experts engage online sustainably.

Trust in institutions is fragile. Enabling experts to connect with the public isn’t about PR or fundraising. It’s a strategy for ensuring the long-term resilience of the fields experts serve.

If you work inside a medical, academic, or public service institution, I’d love to hear about your experiences. How does your employer encourage staff to discuss their work online? What’s working well? What do you want to see more of? ◾

In the spring of 2020, as the world was shutting down for what was then an unknown and frightening virus, Meta came under intense scrutiny for the volume and speed of COVID-19 misinformation spreading across Facebook and Instagram. Conspiracy theories, as well as general falsehoods about the virus’ origins and vaccine safety were overwhelming people’s feeds and spreading confusion.

At the same time, Meta was rolling out a series of emergency measures, such as enhanced fact-checking support and prominent COVID-19 info centers within people’s feeds. And Mark Zuckerberg publicly committed to giving the World Health Organization (WHO) ‘as many free ads as they need’ to amplify public health messaging.

I had just launched Meta’s first national media literacy initiative in the US, and was also overseeing its corporate ads donations program. Misinformation programming was becoming my beat, and it was an honor to be asked to help design and deliver on Mark’s commitment.

Our first decision was to expand the program beyond the WHO to include government health authorities. COVID-19 was a global pandemic, but the response was fundamentally local. Each country had its own guidance and priorities, from lockdowns and curfews to mask mandates and toilet paper rationing. So a single global messenger wouldn’t suffice. Citizens needed to hear from their local leaders as well.

Our next decision was what kind of support would actually be helpful. Mark’s original offer of free ads was straightforward and strictly budgetary. Think of it as Meta buying gift cards that the WHO could then use to buy ads on Facebook and Instagram.

But very quickly, we realized that focusing solely on media buy would ignore deeper capacity constraints and structural challenges. Many health agencies had never run public information campaigns on social media, and needed help creating Facebook accounts. Others needed translation support – consider that India has 22 official languages, or even a country like Germany has large populations relying on Turkish, Russian, or Arabic – and that minority language speakers are often the most vulnerable to false information.

Even when health agencies had content to share, they often lacked experience using Meta’s Ads Manager to actually set up their campaigns. It makes sense – public health experts are usually focused on science and policy, rather than the latest marketing tools. And let’s face it: Meta’s Ads Manager is not beginner-friendly.

So we evolved the program further. What began as a simple ads donation program to the WHO quickly expanded to include external creative and translation services, plus white-glove, in-house support for account setup, distribution, and measurement for government authorities, UN agencies, and NGOs across 180 countries.

The program ran for three years. By the end, our global coalition reached over two billion people with authoritative health information and measurably increased public interest and perceived safety of the COVID-19 vaccine across all regions.

Cross-sector partnerships are often called for in moments of crisis, but they’re rarely described with operational clarity. And no one has spoken publicly about this particular effort with any detail.

Until now. Here’s how we did it.

Step 1: Make the content

There’s a lot of hype about video today, but even in 2020, video was already the strongest format for engagement. The problem was that very few public service institutions had the capacity or resources to produce it. We were already in lockdown, so organizing professional shoots wasn’t possible. And the kind of stripped-down, phone-shot videos we all know today weren’t yet mainstream enough to make them feel like viable options for government officials or health providers working on the frontlines of the crisis.

So our guidance to agencies defaulted to animations and infographics. It was an improvement over static posts, but still not optimized for a public that was already shifting its trust from authority to relatability.

Second, Meta’s ads system is rigid in a lot of ways – it’s not the free-for-all many assume it is. The company enforces a set of quality rules that advertisers must follow. When we started the program, for example, Meta enforced a 20% rule for text on ads — images with over 20% text were auto-rejected. The rule no longer exists, but text-heavy images are still considered low-quality content which may impact their distribution. The guideline preserves a visual-first feed, but wasn’t feasible for our campaigns which had to be largely text-based due to our production limitations.

In addition, Meta imposes strict spending caps for first-time advertisers — the majority of our program partners — until they establish a track record. It’s a fraud prevention mechanism that makes sense for most cases, but adds unnecessary friction for a time-critical campaign funded by Meta itself.

The most complicated challenge, though, was Meta’s social issues, elections, and political ads policy– which was actually one of my remits while I worked at the company. Introduced after the 2016 US election, it’s meant to address the risk of foreign interference in elections. The policy requires a ‘paid for by’ label on ads discussing politics, elections or social issues – which include health. It also requires advertisers to prove they reside in the same country where they are running these ads.

In an American context, the residence requirement is workable. But globally, it creates a myriad of operational barriers. In Europe, for example, it’s completely normal for an organization based in, say, Belgium or Austria to serve some or all 27 EU member states. Under Meta’s policy, though, they couldn’t.1

For the 20% rule and spending cap, our team had to secure exceptions for each agency participating in our program. We also successfully advocated to change the ads policy for the pandemic. Public health messaging about preventive measures, how vaccines work, or how to access them would not be subject to the same requirements as political ads.

I suspect this is why many of our campaigns are no longer visible in Meta’s Ad Library. While writing this piece, I went back to pull examples from our partners like the WHO, UK National Health Service (NHS), Médecins Sans Frontières (MSF), or the US Centers for Disease Control (CDC). But they’re not there anymore – taken down, per Meta, for violating their ads policies.

It’s true that the ads didn’t meet the requirements. But that’s because the requirements were not designed for urgent public information needs like this.

Subscribe now

Step 2: Distribute the content

My colleagues at Meta were incredible resources of knowledge about what makes an ad campaign successful. Besides content strategy, one of the first things they taught me was the standard cadence for an effective campaign: deliver an ad to the same person two times per week for four weeks.

That’s the general best practice for brands — the frequency most likely to drive a conversion, or in other words, for someone to take your desired action. Exceeding that risks audience fatigue, which can actually have the opposite effect and decrease interest.

So we calibrated our campaigns to those best practices. In Meta’s Ads Manager, the maximum setting per country was roughly 80% of its reachable users on Facebook and Instagram. We set campaigns to reach that maximum, with two impressions per person each week, for four weeks.

And it worked.

By late 2020, the first COVID-19 vaccines were pending approval and we helped the WHO run a global campaign explaining how vaccines are developed and vetted – with the goal of strengthening public confidence before the rollout began. After four weeks, our teams saw statistically significant increases in public interest in and perceived safety of the vaccine across every region.

A necessary disclaimer, though. Facebook and Instagram are incredible advertising platforms, but as I’ve mentioned, they are fundamentally designed for corporate marketing and sales conversion – not public sentiment or behavior analysis. We repurposed Meta’s brand lift tools – meant for measuring consumer affinity – to capture people’s self-reported changes in vaccine confidence, institutional trust, and media literacy skills. It wasn’t perfect, but it was the best available option.

More sophisticated measurement could have provided a clearer picture of how people actually navigated COVID-19 discourse in their feeds – but in the interest of user privacy, it was not pursued.

Equity was our north star

Over three years, our program cost Meta more than $300 million. We were fortunate to do this work at an organization that could fund the actual cost of delivering authoritative health information without cutting corners. It was a privilege, and also an exercise in fiscal responsibility and ethics from the start.

Our driving principle was simple: information is aid.2 Uneven access to quality information makes structurally marginalized communities even more vulnerable. In a pandemic, that vulnerability becomes a matter of life or death.

Our program allocated resources based on the actual cost of running campaigns in each country. Meta’s ads system is an auction: the more competition for an audience, the higher the price of reaching them. That means the cost of delivering the same campaign – with the same parameters and objectives – varies dramatically across countries, depending on how many advertisers are targeting them. And what this exposes is the information inequity that is ingrained in our world.

To put this into perspective: reaching people in the United States was dramatically more expensive than reaching people in India — despite India having nearly double its number of Facebook users. A similar dynamic was true across the African Union, where we could reach hundreds of millions of people across 55 countries for a fraction of the cost of a single US campaign. In fact, we could reach the whole world for roughly the same cost as running a campaign in the US alone.3

This doesn’t just show how crowded the US digital ecosystem is. It illustrates how much more information and content flows toward American audiences, even though it is far more financially feasible to reach people in every other part of the world. In fact, nationwide campaigns could be run in a number of countries — from Central Asia to sub-Saharan Africa, the Caribbean and even parts of Europe — for a few thousand dollars.

And in many of these places, the absence of institutional communication has real consequences. Many countries received the COVID-19 vaccine later than the so-called Global North. Maintaining trust, reinforcing safety guidance, and mitigating people’s frustration all required sustained public communication. But these were also the places most prone to information gaps.

That’s why local capacity building is so critical. As the pandemic taught us, global systems are optimized for scale – not depth or nuance. And focusing on scale alone guarantees that many communities will be missed.

Relatedly, we need to acknowledge that government messengers are not always the right ones. As the crisis wore on, COVID-19 responses became politicized, especially as shutdowns impacted trade and commercial activity.

In a handful of cases, a government partner would ask to use our program to promote official messaging that encouraged in-person activity or celebrated their own response successes, rather focusing on health guidance. Even then, our principles applied: our program was for centering COVID-19 public health.

When governments weren’t the appropriate messengers – either because their message didn’t align, or because they could not credibly reach vulnerable populations – we partnered with NGOs to fill the gaps. Organizations like AARP and AGE Platform Europe for older adults; International Medical Corps and Médecins Sans Frontières for displaced or vulnerable communities; and the National Congress of American Indians for Indigenous populations were essential. They helped ensure that people who might distrust or be overlooked by government channels still received accurate, actionable information from sources that specifically served them.

By the end of 2023, our program had reached over two billion people in 180 countries. Hundreds of government agencies and NGOs had received critical support and new capacity to use social media for public information campaigns. And people’s interest in the COVID-19 vaccine grew, as did their ability to identify potential misinformation.

Though Meta has undergone many changes since then, this infrastructure remains as a model for acute crisis response and information threats – deployed again and again in moments like the conflict in Ukraine, elections in Kenya, and wildfires in Los Angeles.

Aftermath and looking ahead

In 2024, Mark Zuckerberg apologized for Meta’s COVID-related content decisions and suggested they were made due to pressure from the Biden Administration.

That was not my experience. My reality was that hundreds of people across Meta’s policy, product, content review, legal, and partner support teams took very seriously our responsibility of stewarding the world’s largest public square during one of the most frightening periods of our lifetimes. Maybe that’s something Mark regrets now, but I don’t.

What this experience taught me is that it is 100% possible to build cross-sector coalitions, close information gaps, and meet people where they are. Removing misinformation only works if high-quality content emerges to fill the void – but that can’t happen if it’s not there to begin with. And news organizations can’t bear this burden alone, as their industry undergoes its own upheaval.

Institutions and subject matter experts need better support to participate in today’s information ecosystem. The good news is that this is far less expensive and more accessible today than it was in 2020. And we don’t need a tech behemoth to drive this work.

As the digital ecosystem shifts into its next era, now is the moment to organize experts across institutions, sectors, and geographies — not just to respond to the next crisis, but to build the information resilience we need for the future. ▪️

I help institutions and subject matter experts participate online with confidence and integrity. If you or your organization are grappling with navigating the information ecosystem, I’d love to help.

Learn more at my website