The other day I wrote a message to META. Say, I thought and I started to do it. Mark Zuckerberg hasn't slept since then, because it wasn't just any message, I wrote it rather dry. Edge, almost. Through an Instagram video I learned that META will use the information its users share to train “Creative Artificial Intelligence”. The trillion profiles will make you read pictures and texts (they say no private messages; unfortunately, there might be some truth), and the system will learn the associations between them so that it can then create them.

For example, you will learn that in beings that approach the beach it is usual to lie in the towel and make a photo of their shiny thighs, behind which the landscape appears, and that they usually associate that moment with the words peace, paradise or vacation. You will learn that the legs and other parts of the body you teach are from a given mold, and that the interactions increase considerably in the photographs in which the skin is present. You will learn that the word peace is also related to a white bird at the peak, which carries a twig, and with flags from various countries, blue, yellow, black, red, green, white, stars, moles, according to the ideological niche of the user. You might even learn Basque, regular.

What happens is that I didn’t want that “intelligence maker” to learn so many things, at least in the face of my photos. I suffer enough when I feel that my analogue understanding produces little or nothing, and also to feed a parasite that can be more effective than me.

This random video told me how not to fall into that META raid. You can access Instagram settings and send a message in the privacy section.

I sent something to Mark Zuckerberg, don't emoticons, don't bleach, like when the misplaced misplaced lover writes to him telling him in which bar you have to lend his jersey, without leaving him a single joke for a coffee:

“Hi (No, I think I didn’t even say goodbye).

I don't give permission to feed Artificial Intelligence with my information, either now or in the future. This measure does not respect my privacy and violates the right to my privacy.”

I called and left Mark. The poor man did not answer me all night. The truth is, I didn't know if there was the "right to privacy" of the images that each one showed, I wrote it with that certainty to make it look hard, to think I'm a lawyer, to make it scare a little bit.

I didn't have much faith; I was convinced that, by accepting the terms and conditions of creation, you would tell me that I had sold my soul, and now my face is the logo of a Japanese soaps factory, like Homer Simpson, or like Bruce Willis, that would use me to announce a Russian phone company.

But Mark would have spent the night crying thinking about how to answer me, because the next morning, in the mail, I found this letter.

“We have analysed your request and accepted your opposition. That means that from now on we will fulfill your request.”

Isn't that surprising? That's easy! David is able to beat Goliath. I didn't know what I was saying and I was right. Am I a real lawyer? What a more hospitable guy, Mark! Now I am quieter, this is a service, I will spend another two hours watching short videos, to see if I am given another advice for digital sovereignty.