Throughout the course of the high-profile trial, Zuckerberg consistently resorted to a familiar rhetorical defense—accusing attorney Lanier of repeatedly “mischaracterizing” his statements and previous remarks. This recurring accusation became a verbal refuge for him, a way of subtly questioning Lanier’s accuracy without having to fully reengage with the substance of the arguments. When the conversation turned to internal emails presented as evidence, Zuckerberg’s objections typically revolved around two central points: either the correspondence was simply too old to be useful, or he claimed an absence of any personal connection to the Meta employees involved in the exchanges. His responses, terse and restrained, illustrated a careful attempt to maintain composure while deflecting potential vulnerabilities. At one point, when asked whether he knew Karina Newton, who had served as Instagram’s head of public policy in 2021, Zuckerberg gave a deliberately brief answer—“I don’t think so, no”—a reply designed to close off the line of inquiry. In moments when opposing counsel introduced emails he was only tangentially associated with, Zuckerberg took pains to clarify that he had not actually been included in the relevant message threads, emphasizing precision to limit personal accountability.

Lanier, anticipating the measured pattern of Zuckerberg’s responses, seemed well aware that the CEO’s testimony would likely be insulated by media coaching and a disciplined adherence to prepared talking points. Indeed, Zuckerberg’s core argument remained steady and predictable: that any rise in user engagement across Facebook or Instagram should not be interpreted as manipulation or harm, but rather as a reflection of the “value” users perceived in these platforms. Sensing this tightly rehearsed framing, Lanier insinuated early on that Zuckerberg had been specifically trained to handle uncomfortable questions. “You have extensive media training,” Lanier asserted pointedly. The comment earned a reaction from Zuckerberg, who attempted to downplay the suggestion with self-deprecating humor: “I think I’m sort of well-known to be pretty bad at this,” he replied, eliciting an unusual burst of laughter from the courtroom. Lanier, however, pressed on, producing internal Meta documentation that outlined the company’s strategic communication planning for its executives. These documents, he claimed, detailed the ways Zuckerberg’s team instructed him on how to structure his answers, even in a high-stakes context such as sworn testimony. Zuckerberg, with characteristic calm, offered a guarded retort—“I’m not sure what you’re trying to imply”—while avoiding any direct acknowledgment. Later in the session, Meta’s counsel, Paul Schmidt, attempted to reframe the discussion by suggesting that frequent public speaking was simply an unavoidable part of being the head of a massive corporation. When asked whether he had to speak to the press often because of his position, Zuckerberg responded with a wry understatement—“More than I would like”—prompting another ripple of laughter from the attendees.

Shortly after the lunch recess, the courtroom witnessed a peculiarly fitting moment of irony—a scene that was, in every sense, “meta.” Presiding Judge Kuhl addressed the room with a measured but severe tone, reminding everyone present that recording devices were strictly prohibited. Specifically, she ordered that anyone wearing glasses equipped with recording capabilities, such as Meta’s own AI-enabled Ray-Ban and Oakley models retailing for as much as $499, must remove them during the proceedings. The directive underscored the tension between Meta’s technological innovation and the court’s insistence on transparency without surveillance—a moment in which the company’s products themselves became symbolic of the privacy dilemmas under litigation.

The legal action brought forth by K.G.M. and the subsequent cases set to follow represented an ambitious attempt to bypass the formidable shield of Section 230—a longstanding statute that has historically protected technology companies from being held liable for user-generated content on their platforms. Against this novel legal backdrop, Zuckerberg adhered to a consistent interpretative framework, portraying the lawsuit as a fundamental misunderstanding of Meta’s operational model. When Lanier presented internal evidence showing Meta teams’ attempts to extend user screen time, Zuckerberg countered by asserting that such objectives had long since been abandoned or that the metrics in question were never firm goals but rather comparative benchmarks used to gauge competitiveness within the social media industry. This rhetorical approach allowed him to minimize the moral and strategic implications of the data while maintaining an air of authority. When questioned about whether Meta’s policy on user age limits was effectively meaningless—particularly after Lanier cited an internal email from Nick Clegg referencing the company’s “unenforced” and arguably “unenforceable” rules—Zuckerberg pivoted smoothly toward a narrative emphasizing Meta’s efforts to improve safeguards. He framed violations as inevitable edge cases rather than indicators of systemic negligence, portraying users who circumvented age restrictions as exceptions rather than evidence of corporate failure.

Nevertheless, Lanier continually refocused the discussion on K.G.M., the young plaintiff at the heart of the lawsuit. He reminded the court that K.G.M. had joined Instagram at the tender age of nine—approximately five years before the platform even began asking users for their birth dates in 2019. This fact, simple yet damning, stripped away layers of abstraction and corporate justification. Where Zuckerberg could deflect inquiries about internal strategies or expert analyses—such as studies warning about Instagram’s potentially harmful “beauty filters”—he found himself far less prepared when confronted with tangible, visual proof of real human impact. In a theatrical culmination, Lanier unveiled a massive tarp spanning nearly half the courtroom, displaying hundreds of posts from K.G.M.’s personal Instagram account. This striking visual exhibit, held by seven people, served as a graphic representation of the enormous investment of time and attention the young user had devoted to the platform. As Zuckerberg stared at the collage visible only to him, Judge Kuhl, and the jury, Lanier provided the interpretation himself, remarking that the scale of the display reflected the company’s pervasive influence over its users’ lives. “In a sense, y’all own these pictures,” he said pointedly. Zuckerberg, his voice measured as ever, responded with restraint: “I’m not sure that’s accurate.”

When Lanier concluded his questioning, Schmidt seized the opportunity to shift the tone, inviting Zuckerberg to reframe Meta’s image as one of innovation and human connection rather than exploitation. With visible relief, Zuckerberg regained his composure and spoke with a steadier confidence, emphasizing his founding intention for Facebook and Instagram: “I wanted people to have a good experience with it,” he explained. Moments later, he circled back to his central assertion, distilling his philosophy into a single refrain: that individuals naturally allocate their time according to what they find meaningful and worthwhile. It was a closing statement that encapsulated both the strategic discipline and the emotional distance of a leader perpetually walking the line between idealism and accountability.

Sourse: https://www.wired.com/story/mark-zuckerberg-testifies-social-media-addiction-trial-meta/