Joely Williams
System Error
The first thing Jalen learned about the system was that it breathed- screens inhaling data, exhaling judgment, the whole machine pulsing like it had a heart it didn’t deserve.
It was a forest of screens. Rows of faces. Names braided to movement, to purchases, to moods. The government didn’t call it watching. They called it “Stability Architecture.” They called it “Keeping Everyone Safe.” They called it “We can’t afford another 2039.”
Jalen called it what his grandmother called it: another net.
He learned the interface in a week. Not because he was a genius, though he was quick, but because he was motivated. People who have been watched since birth tend to pace in cages differently. He memorized the pathways like streets in his old neighborhood. TAB to go to next subject. ALT+M to mark a movement as “concerning.” F8 to flag friends.
They liked him because he didn’t talk much. Because he was Black and polite and never late. Because, in meetings, he nodded. Because he always looked like he was taking it seriously.
They never asked him about the old stories. About his grandmother whispering “Yahuah sees, but He doesn’t snitch.” About his uncle tagged “agitator” for bringing water to protestors. About how the family groupchat used voice notes instead of text because voice was harder to scrape. They never asked, so he never told.
The first time he did it, it was almost nothing.
A kid - 17, maybe - had posted a video complaining about food shortages and tagged it with a local mutual-aid org. The system pushed it to “review.” The protocol said: mark it “Organizing-Social,” which would build a file. He hovered over the dropdown.
He thought about his mother saying, “we organized so y’all didn’t have to be scared to organize.”
He changed the tag to “Satires/Humor.”
The video vanished from the queue, filed under “noise.”
No alarm sounded. No supervisor materialized. The ceiling didn’t fall.
That night, he dreamed of wires loosening.
The next week he did it again. A woman searched “how to form a tenants union.” He changed the tag to “academic research.” A pastor downloaded encrypted messaging. “Missions work.” A trans kid googled safe clinics. “Medical curiosity.”
Always believable. Always plausible. Never too many in one day.
The thing about giant systems is that they trust their own size. They think bigness equals truth. That makes them stupid.
Once, he let something through - a nationalist account recruiting. Then, in a separate window, he flagged five bot accounts as “critical,” so the crawler would go waste its time. Sabotage wasn’t just about blocking; sometimes it was about misdirection. Feed the mouth sand.
He made sure to approve random cat videos, recipe searches, birthday plans. He clicked “safe” a lot. It made a pattern of mercy around the people he was quietly moving.
He knew he could get fired. Not jailed - the agency liked to handle things “internally.” Translation: life would get small. Quiet. Bank denials. Travel “delays.” Incorrect medical records. Digital crumbs swept up.
But every time he thought about stopping, he remembered the video of his uncle being picked up at work because he’d been at an “unsanctioned gathering.” The system had called it a “probable riot.” It had been a vigil.
So Jalen kept at it. Little cuts. Little mercies.
Then, one day, he saw a name.
NAOMI D.
He blinked. Searched again. Same.
His sister.
She lived two cities over, taught kindergarten, posted pictures of chickens and paint-splattered kids. She was the soft one. The one who didn’t go to protests. The one who had said, “I can’t live jumped like that all the time.” She’d chosen quiet.
And still.
Her file was under “Tier 3 - Proximity.” Someone she knew had been flagged, so now she was “proximity.” One more association, and the system would start scraping her texts for “threat tone.”
He opened the log.
Her “concerning” action?
She’d sent money - $20 - to a bail fund.
He stared at the screen so long the cursor blinked impatiently.
This, he realized, was the problem with nets. They don’t care what kind of fish you are.
He could have just deleted the action. But deletion is louder than mislabeling. Deletion triggers audits. Mislabeling just makes the machine think it thought wrong.
So he changed the tag to Charitable – Faith Based.
Then he added three fake actions below it:
-Watched children’s crafting videos
-Researched classroom management
-Coupon searches
He pressed save. The file folded around a new story of Naomi: harmless, broke, caring.
Still no alarm.
He leaned back. The floor didn’t drop. The room still hummed.
Then he realized the real sabotage wasn’t one action. It was time.
If he did this for a month, he could bury whole blocks. If he trained one more person to do it, he could create pockets of invisibility. If enough of them pretended the data said “safe,” the data would start believing it.
So he made a tiny guide on a sticky note:
Ways to make things look boring
– tag “research”
– tag “education”
– add children’s content
– faith-based
– wellness
He slid it to the desk of the woman beside him - older, tired, West Indian flag on her mug. She read it. Met his eyes. Didn’t smile. Just nodded, slow, like gears stopping.
The next day, three protest videos disappeared into “culinary.”
The machinery coughed.
Somewhere, outside, someone organized and did not get arrested.
The system still thought it was working.
That’s the thing about sabotage done right:
the machine doesn’t know it’s quiet yet.
END
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Joely Williams is a Bronx-born poet, storyteller, and multidisciplinary creator whose work explores memory, rebellion, and the quiet miracles of survival. Her writing has appeared or is forthcoming in In Parentheses, Louder!, Last Stanza Poetry Journal, and Zoetic Press. She is the author of Put the Phone Down, We Got a Job to Do and curates creative community projects that center healing and language. Find her on Instagram @poems_neverdie .