The Digital Dustbin: How Social Media Platforms Undermine Surveyors, Erase Our Knowledge, and Profit from Our Expertise

I. Introduction: Surveyors, Social Media, and the Illusion of Connection

Once upon a time—though not so long ago—social media arrived with a promise that felt revolutionary: connection. Platforms like Facebook, LinkedIn, and Twitter (now X) vowed to bring professionals together, collapsing distance, breaking down communication barriers, and making it easier than ever to share knowledge. And for the land surveying profession—an industry built on collaboration, mentorship, and collective experience—it sounded like the perfect fit. Finally, a place to swap stories from the field, troubleshoot technical problems, and pass down hard-earned knowledge from one generation to the next.

But what surveyors got instead wasn’t connection. It was extraction.

Today, Facebook and its competitors are less a gathering place for professionals and more a digital graveyard—a place where the knowledge of thousands of surveyors is mined, monetized, and buried by platforms designed not to preserve expertise, but to harvest it. Every shared thread, every detailed equipment breakdown, every hard-won legal interpretation becomes another data point in a machine optimized for engagement and profit, not preservation or education.

Surveyors post photos, videos, case studies, and questions, believing they are contributing to a living knowledge base. What actually happens is simpler—and more sinister. That content is scraped by algorithms, indexed for ad targeting, and then rapidly buried under a tidal wave of newer, less meaningful content. The average lifespan of a post on Facebook is a matter of hours—after that, it might as well not exist. And unlike a library or an archive, there is no system in place to resurface the valuable knowledge that slips beneath the waves.

What’s worse is the illusion of ownership social media creates. Surveyors often assume that because they posted it, because their name is on it, that the information is somehow theirs. But the fine print tells a different story. Anything posted to these platforms becomes the property of the platform—to be used, repurposed, sold, or deleted at will. Years of field experience, hard-earned knowledge, historic photos, best practices—they all disappear into the data vaults of companies like Meta, whose only loyalty is to their shareholders.

And while surveyors build this digital treasure trove for free, the platforms quietly get rich. Worse still, AI companies increasingly scrape this data—yes, including those equipment specs, boundary law discussions, and RTK drone tips—to train the very models being designed to replace licensed professionals. It's happening in real-time. What was meant to educate peers is now being used to automate the profession itself.

That is where Land Surveyors United comes in—not just as a platform, but as a response. A living archive designed by surveyors, for surveyors, LSU is everything Facebook isn’t: searchable, preservable, and owned by the very community it serves. It is structured not for clicks, not for likes, but for the long haul—for education, mentorship, and legacy.

The argument is simple: surveyors cannot afford to keep giving their knowledge away to companies designed to exploit it. What we share should be preserved, not buried. What we know should build the profession, not Big Tech’s AI models. And the only way forward is to choose our own platform, our own archive, and our own future.

II. The Data Extraction Problem: How Social Media Companies Farm Surveyors for Profit

For most surveyors, posting online feels harmless—another photo from the field, another equipment tip shared, another conversation about changing regulations or best practices. But behind the screens, a far more calculated process is unfolding. Platforms like Facebook, LinkedIn, and Instagram aren’t neutral spaces for knowledge sharing—they’re data extraction machines, designed to mine every interaction for profit. And in the case of land surveyors, the extraction isn’t just personal—it’s professional, technical, and potentially devastating to the industry itself.

At the core of the problem is the business model of surveillance capitalism. Social media companies don’t make money from providing a service; they profit by turning the activity of their users into data streams they can sell, analyze, or use to improve their own products. Every discussion about GNSS accuracy, every thread about drone surveying workflows, every photo of field setups or right-of-way monuments becomes part of a massive dataset—a digital goldmine for advertisers, marketers, and increasingly, artificial intelligence developers.

Surveyors are especially vulnerable because the technical knowledge they share online is highly specialized—and highly valuable. Every time a surveyor explains the calibration of a total station, breaks down the pitfalls of a particular mapping software, or discusses the shifting legal standards around boundary law, they are feeding that knowledge into a system designed to commodify it. Platforms collect that data not for the benefit of the community, but to enhance ad targeting, generate engagement, and develop AI models that can replicate or replace professional work.

And it’s already happening. AI developers are scraping social media for real-world examples of surveying challenges, workflows, and solutions. What starts as a well-intentioned conversation about GNSS correction factors in a Facebook group becomes training data for machine learning models designed to power automated mapping tools. The irony is brutal—surveyors are unknowingly teaching the algorithms that may soon be sold back to the market as “smart surveying solutions,” cutting surveyors themselves out of the process.

Even worse, there is no transparency or compensation. The platforms don’t notify users that their content is being harvested. Surveyors don’t get a percentage of the profits when their knowledge helps refine AI. The intellectual property of the profession is being stripped away, commercialized, and weaponized against the very people who created it.

This is not a hypothetical future—it’s happening now. Tech giants like Google, Amazon, and Apple routinely scrape public web content to improve their mapping technologies and AI-driven spatial models. They’re using surveying conversations, images, and technical insights—sourced from social media—to refine systems that could one day replace licensed professionals altogether.

What makes this extraction even more dangerous is that it’s invisible. There’s no notification when your drone calibration post becomes part of a training dataset. No alert when your right-of-way easement discussion gets mined for keywords. Surveyors are being robbed in broad daylight, their expertise sucked into an algorithmic black hole where it benefits everyone except the profession itself.

If surveyors continue down this road—sharing freely on platforms built for exploitation—they risk becoming the unpaid R&D department for the very companies that will replace them. The profession needs to recognize what’s at stake: this isn’t just about losing control of your photos or your comments. It’s about losing control of the profession’s collective knowledge base—forever.

III. The Lost Archive: Why Facebook Is a Terrible Repository for Surveying Knowledge

On the surface, Facebook groups look like bustling communities—thousands of members, posts pouring in daily, lively discussions, and photos from the field. To the casual observer, it feels like knowledge is being shared, preserved, and passed on. But that illusion collapses under scrutiny. The hard truth is this: Facebook and similar social platforms are fundamentally incapable of serving as a true archive for the surveying profession.

The reason is simple—they were never designed to preserve knowledge. Social media platforms thrive on immediacy, novelty, and fleeting engagement. Their algorithms are engineered to prioritize what is new, viral, or emotionally charged—not what is technically sound, historically important, or professionally valuable. A detailed post explaining GNSS vertical accuracy pitfalls may get a few comments, but within hours it is buried under memes, job site photos, or arguments about equipment brands. By the end of the week, it’s functionally invisible, lost to the endless scroll.

Try searching Facebook for a conversation you know happened—perhaps a year-old thread breaking down the differences in state boundary law interpretations. It’s gone. Not deleted—just unrecoverable, buried under layers of newer content. Facebook’s search function is weak, its organization non-existent, and its priorities entirely opposed to professional preservation. It is a feed, not a library.

For a profession like surveying, where context, history, and precision matter, this is catastrophic. Technical discussions, equipment hacks, legal clarifications—these are not fleeting conversations. They are knowledge assets. They deserve to be referenced, cited, built upon, and carried forward. Instead, they are tossed onto the algorithmic bonfire of engagement-driven content, never to be seen again.

Consider how traditional knowledge transfer in surveying has worked for generations: apprenticeships, mentorship, professional journals, published case studies, and permanent archives of legal precedent. These systems ensured that what one generation learned became the foundation for the next. Social media obliterates that model. It encourages reactivity, not reflection. It amplifies spectacle, not substance.

A perfect example: six months ago, a seasoned surveyor shared a comprehensive step-by-step guide in a Facebook group on RTK drone calibration in complex urban environments. The post was detailed, precise, and hard-won knowledge from years in the field. For a few days, it sparked comments and praise. But today, try finding it—it’s gone. Buried under meme wars, “what’s this equipment” photos, and another debate about which total station brand reigns supreme. That guide? Might as well never have existed.

And here’s the kicker—even if you could find it, Facebook owns it now. That knowledge isn’t preserved for the profession. It’s sitting in a server farm, available for data mining, AI scraping, or deletion at the platform’s discretion. Surveyors are pouring their collective knowledge into a system designed to profit from engagement—not protect professional expertise.

Meanwhile, the profession suffers. Younger surveyors duplicate work, repeat mistakes, and miss out on historical context because they simply can’t access the knowledge that already exists. The wheel is reinvented daily—not because surveyors are lazy, but because the platform makes building on past knowledge impossible.

This is where Land Surveyors United stands apart. LSU is not a feed; it is a structured, searchable, living archive—built to ensure that when a surveyor shares expertise, it stays shared. LSU threads don’t disappear. Equipment guides, legal discussions, and case studies are preserved, categorized, and ready to serve the next generation of professionals.

Surveying is a profession that builds on what came before. Facebook ensures we forget. If the community continues relying on platforms designed for erasure, the profession risks losing not just its history—but its future.

IV. The Myth of the 'Surveyor Community' on Social Media

One of the most seductive lies social media tells is the idea that it fosters “community.” Facebook groups with names like Surveyors United Worldwide or Global Surveying Professionals give the impression of a thriving, collaborative network. Thousands of members, daily posts, lively comment threads—it looks like a profession gathered in one digital space, learning from each other and growing stronger together.

But peel back that glossy façade and what you find isn’t community—it’s content churn. These groups are not designed to build lasting relationships, preserve knowledge, or deepen the craft. They are engagement factories, where the goal is not to foster expertise but to keep users scrolling, clicking, and commenting—feeding the platform’s algorithm, not the profession’s future.

The illusion of community is further shattered when you analyze what actually gets engagement in these spaces. Posts that go viral are rarely the detailed technical breakdowns, case studies, or legal discussions that move the profession forward. Instead, it’s memes, field photos with dramatic backstories, or equipment fails that rack up likes and comments. A surveyor could post a rigorous analysis of boundary law changes—only to watch it sink with three likes—while a blurry photo of a total station on a cliff edge pulls in hundreds of reactions and shares.

Why? Because Facebook’s algorithm rewards content that triggers emotional responses—surprise, humor, outrage—not professional insight. The posts that matter most to the profession are the least likely to be seen, shared, or remembered. Meanwhile, what dominates the collective memory of these groups is what the platform deems most profitable to promote—not what is most valuable to the craft.

This is not community. It is a distraction machine—a system that fragments professional identity instead of uniting it. Surveyors begin to see each other not as fellow experts, but as content producers competing for fleeting attention. Over time, this changes the way knowledge is shared: complex topics are dumbed down, disagreements are avoided for fear of killing engagement, and meaningful conversations are replaced by a steady stream of likes and laughs.

More dangerously, this myth of community gives surveyors a false sense of security. They believe they’re connected, that they’re participating in the profession’s collective future. But the truth is, their knowledge is being scattered, lost, or worse—extracted and sold. While surveyors debate the latest meme, AI developers, data brokers, and ad companies quietly harvest everything of value, training systems designed to replicate or replace professional expertise.

The proof is everywhere: ask yourself when the last time was that a major issue—like the defunding of NOAA, the assault on licensure, or the commodification of geospatial data—sparked sustained action from one of these groups. The answer, almost always, is never. Because social media’s version of “community” can’t organize, can’t advocate, and can’t protect the profession. It can only distract.

Contrast that with a true community platform like Land Surveyors United, where conversations are archived, revisited, and built upon. Where expertise is valued over virality. Where the goal is not engagement for engagement’s sake, but the preservation and strengthening of the profession.

If surveyors continue mistaking algorithm-driven groups for real community, they’ll wake up one day to find the profession’s center of gravity shifted—not towards collaboration, but towards irrelevance. A community is not what Facebook gives you. It’s what you build—and right now, the only place doing that for surveyors is the one surveyors own themselves.

V. What We Lose: Historical, Technical, and Cultural Knowledge

The greatest tragedy of relying on social media platforms like Facebook to serve as the surveying profession’s meeting ground is not what gets posted—but what gets lost. Surveying is a profession built on history, precision, and cumulative knowledge, yet the very systems surveyors now depend on are designed to make that knowledge disposable.

Surveying doesn’t just involve taking measurements in the present—it requires understanding the past: the legacy of property lines, historic easements, changes in regulations, and the evolution of equipment and techniques. Every surveyor in the field today stands on the shoulders of those who came before. What happens when that knowledge slips through our fingers because we trusted Facebook to preserve it?

The loss is already happening. Across thousands of social media groups, deep technical threads vanish into the algorithmic void:

• Detailed discussions about boundary law precedents in specific jurisdictions fade as soon as the engagement dries up.
• Historic surveying methods—like chain and compass work or early photogrammetry techniques—get shared once and are never seen again.
• Stories from elder surveyors who witnessed landmark cases or technological revolutions disappear when no one saves the thread.

Unlike a library, a professional journal, or a dedicated archive, social media has no memory. There is no indexing. No citation system. No guarantee that six months or six years from now, the knowledge shared will still be accessible—let alone searchable or intact. The entire knowledge structure of the profession becomes ephemeral, like writing on water.

And this loss isn’t just technical—it’s cultural. Surveying has a rich heritage of language, humor, war stories, and shared experience that binds generations together. Every time a seasoned surveyor shares a story of a once-in-a-lifetime project, a harrowing mistake in the field, or a clever workaround learned from a mentor long gone, they are handing down the soul of the profession. But on Facebook, these stories vanish as soon as the next post lands.

The result? Younger surveyors never hear them. They don’t learn the history. They don’t absorb the cautionary tales. They don’t inherit the craft—they’re left trying to piece it together from equipment manuals and YouTube videos, wondering why it feels like something is missing. And what’s missing is the cultural transmission that once made surveying not just a job, but a vocation.

Meanwhile, as the profession hemorrhages its own memory, the companies that scrape these platforms—AI developers, mapping corporations, and tech giants—preserve every word, every photo, every mistake. They own what surveyors lose. They train their algorithms on this forgotten knowledge, packaging it into tools that claim to replace the very professionals who produced the data.

This is why the myth that “sharing on Facebook helps the profession” is so dangerous. It doesn’t. It helps the platform. It helps the corporations that feed on the data. But it leaves the profession poorer, forgetful, and vulnerable—repeating mistakes that should have been learned long ago.

There is only one answer: surveying knowledge must be preserved where it belongs—inside the profession itself. That means using platforms like Land Surveyors United, where knowledge is not only shared but archived, indexed, and handed down. Where the history of surveying isn’t something that vanishes in a scroll, but a living library the next generation can inherit.

VI. Why Land Surveyors United Is Different—and Necessary

In a digital world where information is fleeting and platforms are designed to forget, Land Surveyors United (LSU) stands as a deliberate act of resistance—a space built not to extract value from surveyors but to preserve it for them. Where Facebook and other social media platforms serve the algorithm, LSU serves the profession. And in this moment of technological upheaval, that distinction isn’t just important—it’s existential.

LSU wasn’t created to chase clicks or boost engagement metrics. It exists because the surveying profession needs—and deserves—a platform where knowledge is treated like the precious resource it is. Every piece of content posted, every conversation, every guide, every shared document is stored, indexed, and made retrievable for the future. This is not a feed designed to scroll endlessly into oblivion; it is a living archive, a library crafted by surveyors, for surveyors.

The structural difference is everything. On LSU, posts don’t vanish. They are categorized by topic, tagged by equipment type, indexed by area of practice. A discussion on RTK drift in coastal zones or a guide to navigating complex right-of-way easements doesn’t just generate a blip of engagement and disappear—it becomes part of the professional record, searchable and reusable for the next surveyor facing the same challenge, whether that’s next week or ten years from now.

Even more critical is ownership. Unlike Facebook, LSU is not a machine for harvesting data. Surveyors own their content, their data, and their professional legacy on the platform. There’s no fine print that grants the platform the right to sell, scrape, or exploit the community’s knowledge. That means the countless hours surveyors spend uploading photos, sharing techniques, and debating legal standards stay within the profession—not in the training dataset of some faceless AI model looking to cut surveyors out of their own industry.

Take, for example, LSU’s LEARN program, which flips the traditional model of knowledge sharing on its head. Instead of giving away expertise for free on a platform that profits from every interaction, LEARN allows surveyors to build courses based on their real-world experience—and get paid for it. This isn’t theory; it’s a working model for professional sustainability in the face of AI automation and data commodification. Surveyors don’t just protect their knowledge—they monetize it in a way that benefits their peers and the next generation.

This approach directly counters the existential threats detailed in our related articles:

• In “The Commodification of Surveying Expertise”, we explored how Big Tech is harvesting surveyor knowledge for AI models. LSU is the firewall.
• In “The Vanishing Surveyor”, we warned about the loss of generational knowledge. LSU is the archive.
• In “The Future of Surveying Depends on Who Owns the Data”, we argued that ownership is the profession’s last line of defense. LSU is that ownership in action.

The truth is this: no algorithm, no AI model, no corporate platform is going to save the surveying profession. Only surveyors can do that—by choosing where, how, and with whom they share their knowledge. LSU was built for that choice. It offers a permanent home for surveying expertise, a place where the profession’s history is preserved, its future is secured, and its members are respected as the experts they are—not just content creators feeding a machine.

Facebook can’t—and won’t—do that. Land Surveyors United already is.

VII. Solutions and A Call to Action

There’s no sugarcoating it—surveyors are at a crossroads. Continuing down the current path means feeding knowledge into systems designed to exploit it, handing over professional expertise to social media companies and AI developers who care nothing for the future of surveying. But it doesn’t have to be that way. The good news is, the profession still has a choice—and the power to reclaim control.

The first step is simple but profound: Stop giving your expertise away for free to platforms that profit from your knowledge while leaving you and your profession weaker. Every time a surveyor uploads a hard-earned solution to Facebook, that knowledge enters a system that sells ads, trains algorithms, and buries expertise. Instead, the community must begin to treat professional knowledge the way it deserves to be treated: as intellectual property, as legacy, as something worth protecting.

Use Land Surveyors United as the Primary Platform for Professional Knowledge

If you’re a surveyor who values the craft, LSU must become your digital home. It is the only platform built for you, by people who understand exactly what’s at stake. Here’s what that looks like in practice:

• Post technical discussions, workflow guides, and equipment troubleshooting to LSU—not Facebook.
• Use the platform’s archive features to ensure your knowledge doesn’t vanish in a feed but becomes part of a living, searchable record.
• Actively contribute to knowledge bases, equipment guides, and legal resource threads where future surveyors can benefit.

Engage with the LEARN Program to Preserve and Monetize Expertise

The days of giving away decades of experience for free must end. Instead:

• Build courses through LEARN, transforming specialized knowledge into revenue while preserving it for the profession.
• Mentor younger surveyors on LSU, creating a generational bridge that social media platforms cannot replicate.
• View knowledge as an asset—one that should benefit the profession, not corporations training AI to replace it.

Push Surveying Associations Toward Data Ownership Advocacy

The profession’s leadership must wake up to the threat of data commodification. Every state board, every national association, every professional society needs to:

• Advocate for data sovereignty in surveying—policies that protect surveyor-generated data from exploitation.
• Educate members on the dangers of freely uploading to platforms like Facebook.
• Develop best practices for digital knowledge preservation, steering the profession away from disposable content culture.

Organize to Protect Professional Knowledge

Surveyors are no strangers to professional advocacy when it comes to licensure or regulatory battles. The same urgency must now be applied to knowledge preservation:

• Establish a surveying knowledge preservation fund or initiative to ensure the profession’s history and expertise are protected.
• Create working groups focused on protecting historical records, case studies, and technical guides from disappearing into digital dustbins.
• Lobby for ethical AI development standards, ensuring that companies cannot scrape surveying content without compensation or consent.

Educate Clients and the Public

Part of the reason this knowledge drain continues unchecked is that clients, policymakers, and even some surveyors don’t see the threat. That changes now:

• Teach clients why professional expertise matters more than machine-learning models or cheap AI mapping tools.
• Publish articles, give talks, and share resources on the value of preserving surveying knowledge for public safety and infrastructure integrity.
• Make it clear: Surveying is not content. It is a profession, a craft, a body of knowledge earned in the field and refined over generations.

If the profession does nothing, the outcome is inevitable. Surveyors will become content creators for platforms that pay them nothing, AI models will cannibalize their knowledge, and Big Tech will control the very tools and data surveyors need to survive.

But there’s still time to change course. There’s still time to build our own spaces, protect our own knowledge, and reclaim our profession’s future. LSU exists because the profession needs a home—a place where expertise is preserved, respected, and passed down, not lost in the scroll.

The call is simple: Stop building their platform. Start building our own.

VIII. Conclusion: If Surveyors Don’t Build Their Archive, Someone Else Will—and They Won’t Give It Back

Surveying is one of the oldest and most honorable professions—a craft rooted in precision, memory, and truth. But no craft, no matter how proud, can survive if its knowledge is treated as disposable. That is exactly what’s happening today as the profession continues to trust its history, expertise, and future to platforms designed to bury it.

Facebook will not save the profession. Neither will LinkedIn, nor Instagram, nor any platform whose business model is built on harvesting data, maximizing engagement, and selling your knowledge to the highest bidder. These companies are not archives. They are extraction engines—mining surveying expertise to feed AI models, enrich tech companies, and leave the profession hollowed out and forgotten.

And once that knowledge is gone—once it’s scraped, buried, or monetized by someone else—surveyors won’t get it back. There is no "undo" button when the cultural, technical, and legal expertise of a profession is lost to algorithms. There’s only regret.

This is the real choice surveyors face now—not between Facebook and LSU, not between engagement and archiving—but between owning their future or surrendering it. If surveyors do not build their own archives, protect their own data, and take control of their digital footprint, someone else will. And those "someone elses"—Big Tech, AI companies, data brokers—will not return the favor. They will not protect the profession. They will profit from its collapse.

Land Surveyors United is proof that another path exists—a space where knowledge is preserved, owned by the community, and passed down. A place where the work of a lifetime doesn’t vanish with the next algorithm change, but becomes part of a permanent record that educates, informs, and strengthens the profession. LSU isn’t about clicks or likes—it’s about survival, legacy, and building something surveyors can hand off to the next generation with pride.

The time to act is now. Because if we wait, the knowledge that defines this profession will belong to someone else—and the next generation of surveyors will pay the price. They’ll pay for access to data we created. They’ll work for the companies that mined our knowledge. They’ll inherit a hollowed-out profession, stripped of its power, its history, and its voice.

It does not have to be that way. But the profession must choose.

Stop building their platform. Start building our own.
Preserve the knowledge. Protect the profession. Secure the future.

Land Surveyors United isn’t just a website. It’s the home surveying needs—before it’s too late.