'For many rural communities, my own included, Facebook has become indispensable' 04 August 2026 Free

Once upon a time, every village had a noticeboard and a community hall, a local historian who knew where all the bodies were buried, and someone who not only knew whose dog was missing but where to find it too.

Today, much of it lives on social media.

Now woven into the fabric of everyday life, it brings with it a whole new set of challenges for how we live and, with calls to ban under-16s from certain platforms, the debate has become louder than ever.

But for all its drawbacks – and admittedly there are many – what of the connection so many people have found online, particularly in rural communities where isolation is a recognised and very real risk?

Facebook turned 21 this year.

Officially coming of age, it has quietly become our virtual village square.

Its critics, hankering after a simpler time where life was lived on the streets rather than on our screens, talk of it as a thief of time, a depriver of privacy, and yet another challenge our young people have to navigate. They worry about our rewired brains that now seek instant, and constant, gratification, fretting about the childhoods they see stolen by the virtual world our children hold in their small hands.

Those in favour cite the joy of being able to stay in touch with family and friends who live far away, and the reduced feelings of isolation as they embrace the technology that enhances their lives.

As one of the 1.6 billion users worldwide, I’m very firmly in the yay camp. I’m not a fan of crowds or concerts, parties or get-togethers, so social media allows me to be sociable without leaving my home. It also allows me to present my best self.

My comments are funnier when I have time to think about what I want to say. My photos only capture my good side (no double chins here), and only my best days get posted on my page.

Facebook has given me a wider social circle too, quite at odds with the handful of friends I’m blessed with in the real world and, superficial as that sounds, those people really add to my life.

Thanks to our virtual relationship, I feel as close to my Australian cousins as I do to my neighbours, even though we have only met once.

When their dad, my lovely uncle, died last year, I joined the online mourners to say goodbye, feeling as sad as if I had seen him regularly, which in a way, I had.

While we can argue that virtual communication is no substitute for real life, for people who can’t get out or travel, it’s a vital means of social connection, and a godsend for those living in remote areas.

The digital equivalent of the village noticeboard, Facebook has helped to set up and coordinate first responders groups, organise tidy towns clean-ups, and publicise church fêtes and school coffee mornings. It has raised millions of euro for charities through fundraisers, while countless support groups offer advice to people navigating illness, grief and life’s many challenges.

More than just an online portal for lost dogs and found friends, and pictures of sunrises and sunsets, it has become the place where local businesses find customers and neighbours rally around families when illness or tragedy strikes.

It’s not perfect, far from it, but at its best it reminds us that community is about people rather than places.

For many rural communities, our own included, Facebook has become indispensable. It’s where we find out about road closures, weather warnings, power outages and local events. So, for all the criticism it attracts, what if it disappeared tomorrow?

Communities may gather differently now, but we still gather. Perhaps that’s the point. So, as I raise a virtual glass to Facebook as it comes of age, I think back to my very first post, when I shared the words of Winnie the Pooh, “It isn’t much good having anything exciting, if you can’t share it with somebody.”