Reports have mounted of small businesses being locked out of their Meta accounts, and then being unable to get access restored.DADO RUVIC/Reuters
Vass Bednar is a contributing columnist for The Globe and Mail and host of the podcast Lately. She is the managing director of the Canadian SHIELD Institute and co-author of The Big Fix.
Meta’s various platforms – Facebook, Instagram and WhatsApp – are not just social networks. They are core components of our daily digital infrastructure. For small businesses, they are often a primary storefront, marketing channel and customer-service tool all rolled into one. But what happens when that virtual storefront is suddenly shuttered without warning or explanation?
In recent months, reports have mounted of small businesses across Canada and beyond being arbitrarily locked out of their Meta META-Q accounts. Some are flagged by automated systems as being fraudulent. Others simply vanish entirely, caught in opaque enforcement filters. There is an appeals process that often yields automatic responses without real-time customer support. Worst of all, there is no obligation for Meta to fix its mistake or even acknowledge it.
This is more than a customer-service issue. It’s a structural vulnerability in our digital economy. In the U.S., Section 230 of the Communications Decency Act gives platforms such as Meta a kind of legal invisibility cloak: They’re not liable for what users post and they’re free to moderate however they like. Originally designed to support an open internet, the provision now lets dominant platforms constantly sidestep basic accountability, even when they get it wrong. If your business is mistakenly booted from Instagram or Facebook, Meta isn’t obligated to explain or restore your presence.
The shadow economies that have sprung up to help people restore their banned accounts, ranging from “recovery agents” who charge hundreds to escalate appeals to Reddit threads full of promised hacks and insider advice, are a symptom of the deeper problem: Meta’s unchecked power to act as judge, jury and executioner over digital livelihoods.
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This is also about legitimacy. Small businesses are found and validated through these platforms. The telephone book, an earlier vehicle for discovering businesses, was also privately operated. The Yellow Pages weren’t an initiative of the state; they were run by a for-profit company that sold ad space alongside the listing of residential phone numbers. But even as a commercial enterprise, they functioned within a regulated telecommunications system and their limitations were well understood. If your business was accidentally left out or misprinted, there was a predictable update cycle, human contact, and clear process to fix it.
Today, Meta plays a similar but far more powerful role in how businesses are found and engaged with. Yet it operates without the transparency or procedural fairness that once underpinned even the paper directory.
A lost Instagram account can mean more than a lost customer – it can mean being perceived as untrustworthy or no longer operating. And unlike a listing error in a paper telephone book, Meta’s errors are algorithmic, instantaneous and potentially permanent.
In Canada, the federal government has actively encouraged small businesses to build a digital presence, including through the $4-billion Canada Digital Adoption Program (formerly Go Digital Canada). But it has done little to protect those businesses from the risks of platform dependence that come from pursuing that online profile.
The implications go beyond small business. Earlier this year, Meta joined an appeal of the digital streaming tax, continuing a pattern of brazenly resisting democratic oversight. It has already blocked traditional news sharing in protest of legislation. It abandoned its fact-checking commitments. And the platform’s algorithm now boosts content from far-right pages and misinformation outlets, while refusing to answer for these outcomes.
Associated policy debates often centre on rebalancing the relationship between the state and the platform economy. But this isn’t just about market power or basic platform accountability. It’s about getting the basics right: If your business can disappear because a trillion-dollar company doesn’t feel like investing in timely support, something’s broken.
The reality is that in Canada’s digital advertising “triopoly,” Meta holds a dominant position alongside Google and Amazon, capturing a significant share of ad dollars. While exact market splits are opaque, Meta remains one of the largest recipients of digital ad spend in Canada. A 2024 report found that Meta accounted for about one-third of digital ad spending, equating to about $5.3-billion. Our elbows aren’t up when it comes to the ad stack.
As Canada reconsiders its digital sovereignty, we need public-interest digital infrastructures that reflect democratic values such as transparency, due process and reliable service standards. Meta’s obvious disinterest in safeguarding the livelihoods of its users makes a strong case for a new public vision: one where critical online infrastructure isn’t governed by corporate fiat, but by rules that protect people and businesses first.