Commentary: How Macinka Became a Living Example of Social Media's Dangers

Whenever the idea of banning social media for young people comes up, one thing tends to get overlooked: it's not only teenagers who end up "dumbed down" by it. A fresh and rather telling example is Czech Foreign Minister Petr Macinka, who allowed himself to be fooled by a fake invitation from a blogger who doesn't actually exist.

If a foreign minister is willing to head into a basement to meet masked strangers simply because they promised to join him in bashing "libtards" and doing other things he finds gratifying, that's the kind of credulity you'd expect from a kindergartener — not a state official. Especially given that Macinka, by his own admission, believed he was being protected the whole time by some sort of "magic button."

An Account Born of Social Media

The story revolves around an account under the name Tomas Paukner — a character who emerged precisely because of social media and found his largest following there. So prominent, in fact, that even Andrej Babiš mentioned him at government press conferences. Yet there's well-founded suspicion that Paukner isn't who he claims to be, and that his real aims differ from what's advertised.

There's little point right now in figuring out whether that's true — lawsuits filed against the people behind the account may eventually clear things up, or they may not. What matters is that the doubts are justified. As with many other social media stories, believing Paukner exists as he presents himself requires an act of faith. And once people believe he exists, they automatically start believing whatever he writes — that's simply how social media users behave these days.

What Else Is the Minister Ready to Believe?

Before heading off to meet a disguised stranger in a basement, Macinka had to believe that Paukner was real — a genuine "Batman" on his side, going after the STAN party, "libtards," Seznam and Deník N. In other words, a foreign minister backed by a whole apparatus of officials, advisers and security analysts believed exactly the same thing as some hypothetical grandmother in a small provincial town.

It's a frightening thought, because it raises an obvious question: what else is the head of the Czech Foreign Ministry prepared to believe? And what is he prepared to do in the name of that belief? Will he next wire the ministry's budget to some unknown caller claiming to be Angelina Jolie, just because he finds her attractive and she promised, in a chat, to marry him? Who knows. But the story doesn't exactly inspire confidence.

Either way, for the sake of Czech national security, it would probably be far more useful to simply switch off Macinka's Facebook. Or, at the very least, allow him access to it for only a strictly limited number of hours a day.

Around Prague, based on reporting by novinky.cz