I used to mingle with our unruly, uncivil online populace through Facebook. Before then, we interacted through other social media, like MySpace. I guess that was kind of awkward-middle-schooler phase of social media. Then I unfriended the world, because through social media it has ushered in the end of civility, devolving into an intolerable, self-righteous mob seemingly incapable of civil interaction.
And that was one of the best decisions I ever made.
As the opinion editor of this fine publication, I will on occasion view the Indy Facebook page, just to see what the current tantrum situation is like and who has smeared their shit all over the comments sections. It never ceases to amaze me, not that this phenomenon is unique to The Independent’s comment section.
Raise your hand if you drive. So you’ve witnessed firsthand how people’s behavioral inhibitions seem to drop away when they get behind the wheel. I most clearly recall witnessing this phenomenon when leaving church in Southern Baptist country: First, everyone is all smoochy-woochy and high on the Holy Spirit; next thing you know, they’re cutting each other off in the parking lot in an Olive Garden-induced frenzy, foaming at the mouth for boxed Cabernet and breadsticks. This is why there are “Jesus loves you, but everyone else thinks you’re an asshole” bumper stickers.
There’s something about a steering wheel, a gas pedal, and a windshield that shifts the ego into overdrive. Maybe it’s just a little too much “me” for the average American, already buzzing on an inflated sense of self, to handle.
Give a man a laptop with Wi-Fi, however, and it’s like injecting him with sodium pentothal and Jack Daniels at the same time.
From celebrity Twitter storms to random Facebook gangbangs, I have had and witnessed the most ridiculous interactions of my life with people online, not in person. I think that forums and comment sections are the worst: There, one has real anonymity, if he or she chooses it. It would seem that Facebook, which is most often the opposite of anonymous, would have the opposite effect, yet it somehow seems to be worse.
Maybe it’s because Facebook creates an alter ego. Reality check — you are not your Facebook profile. (I feel like Tyler Durden.) The stream of cherry-picked commentary and media that you share creates a self-portrait, for better or for worse. It’s a virtual monument to yourself. Some people sculpt enviable lives, replete with a flurry of photoshopped selfies and Foursquare “look what I’m doing” updates. (Maybe Foursquare is obsolete now. I’m overjoyed to confess that I have no idea.) Some people use it as exhibitionism, others as a tantrum stage. But the common thread is me, me, me.
I have to wonder if getting on Facebook has the same effect as getting behind the wheel. Your feed is customized to you. Facebook shows you what it thinks you want to see. You are invited to sit in judgment of everything that passes before your eyes. Like? Dislike? Friend? Un-friend? Block? Your little window to the world is purposely rose-colored. As gods surveying their digital dominions, it’s no surprise when that unrestricted ego flares up and lashes out with a vengeance at anything it perceives as a threat to the status quo of self.
It’s not just on Facebook. On seemingly online forum for open dialogue, everyone is right. They appear not to discuss but to declare and deny. Everyone’s version of history is correct, and everyone’s religion is the only true religion. Everyone’s values are the pinnacle of human thought, and everyone’s life is like an interactive Truman Show playing out in real time.
Is the environment this fosters conducive to dialogue, diatribe, or diarrhea?
I think it would be good for everyone to just unplug. You don’t need Facebook … Facebook needs you. It’s a vampire, and your attention and clicks are blood.
But since that’s not going to happen, we can at least commit to civility.
Is what we’re saying helpful or productive, or is it hurtful or destructive?
Is what we’re saying something that really reflects well on us, or does it really make us look childish?
Are we really in control of ourselves when commenting, or are we simply in reflex mode? Are we responding to an ego need to assert ourselves, our opinions, our values, or our perceived superiority? Are we in control, or is your ego?
Here’s a better question: When we are making our angry comments on Facebook or elsewhere online, are we really happy?
Well, are you?
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