I was scrolling through Facebook earlier, because apparently that's easier than rewriting the short story I've been avoiding.
Yeah, I'm talking about the story in Undertow.
Maybe today I'll find that responsibility gene that makes me get up, go to work every day, and do the things that need to be fucking done. Maybe I'll lean into that morality I was preaching about yesterday and find the strength to finish the goddamned thing.
Maybe.
But not earlier.
Nope.
Earlier, I was fucking around on Facebook, scrolling through other people's bullshit while actively avoiding my own responsibilities.
Which, now that I think about it, is a pretty fucking appropriate way to begin another rant about personal responsibility.
And yes, I recognize the irony of what I'm about to do.
It's political season, and I'm about to engage in the exact same social media grandstanding that pisses me off when other people do it.
But I'm a writer.
So I've convinced myself that when I do it, it's somehow less annoying.
It's called literature, Kyle. Look it up.
Anyway.
I've talked about this before, but holy fuck, apparently it needs to be talked about again: People and their goddamned political grandstanding.
Somebody shared a post written by somebody else. Somebody who had apparently decided that Facebook was the perfect place to publish an eighteen-page academic dissertation about...
Wait for it...
How much they hate Trump.
Yeah, I know.
There's a fucking unique position.
Haven't heard that one before.
And look, fine. Whatever. It's a free country, right? Believe what you want. Write what you want. Post what you want.
You're wrong, of course, but believe what you want.
If you want to know why I think you're wrong, go read yesterday's blog, “When Did Liberty Become a Handout?”
But whatever.
What. Fucking. Ever.
So somebody writes this enormous political rant, posts it on Facebook, and naturally, the applause begins.
"Spot on! Sharing!"
"OMG, this is so accurate! Can I share it?"
First off, you don't need permission to share a friend's post on fucking Facebook.
Seriously.
There's a little button right there. It says SHARE.
It's not exactly a complicated piece of technology.
Assuming the post is shareable, click the fucking button.
But here's where I'd like to suggest something.
Maybe temper your expectations.
Because as far as I know, there have been approximately zero documented cases of somebody scrolling through Facebook, stumbling across a repost on Aunt Marlyce's wall, reading eighteen paragraphs of political outrage, and suddenly exclaiming:
"HOLY FUCK! I'M WRONG! I'VE BEEN WRONG ALL ALONG!"
Nobody has ever jumped off the couch, sprinted into the kitchen, and yelled:
"HONEY! COME HERE! YOU HAVE TO READ THIS! WE'VE BEEN VOTING FOR THE WRONG GUY!"
Can you imagine?
Thirty years of political beliefs, personal experiences, values, prejudices, and assumptions, completely dismantled by a Facebook post shared by a woman whose primary online contributions consist of inspirational coffee memes and pictures of her fucking cat.
What a breakthrough.
Somebody call the Nobel committee.
You see, sharing is standard Facebook functionality.
Crossing the political understanding divide?
Not so fucking much.
In fact, I'd argue that the opposite has become standard functionality in modern American politics.
We find somebody who says something we already believe. We share it. Our friends, who mostly believe the same things we do, applaud. Somebody adds a comment about how stupid the other side is. Everybody agrees.
And then we congratulate ourselves for participating in political discourse.
Except...
You're not engaging in political discourse.
You're not debating.
You're not exchanging ideas.
You're not challenging your assumptions.
You're not learning a goddamned thing.
Because there is no conversation.
There's no back and forth. No curiosity. No willingness to entertain the possibility that somebody else might have a legitimate reason for believing something different.
There's just you.
Trying to look smart.
On Facebook.
And all your friends telling you how fucking brilliant you are.
Congratulations.
You've successfully convinced a room full of people who already agree with you that you're right.
What an accomplishment.
And here's where the whole thing starts to bother me.
Not because people disagree with each other. Disagreement is healthy. It's necessary. Hell, I think disagreement is one of the most valuable things we can bring to a conversation.
But we've stopped treating disagreement as an opportunity to understand another human being.
Instead, we've turned it into an excuse to despise them.
We don't ask why somebody believes what they believe.
We decide what kind of person they must be because they believe it.
We assign them a political camp, load that camp up with every horrible characteristic we've been told belongs to it, and then treat the person standing in front of us as though they're personally responsible for every fucking thing we've decided to hate.
And we do it to our neighbors.
Our actual, physical, flesh-and-blood neighbors.
The people who live down the street.
The people who shop at the same grocery store.
The people whose kids go to school with our kids.
The people who might be standing next to us when something goes catastrophically fucking wrong.
Think about that for a minute.
If a wildfire comes roaring through your neighborhood, do you really give a shit who the guy helping you evacuate voted for?
If your car slides off an icy road and somebody stops to help, are you going to demand to see their voter registration before accepting a hand?
If your house floods, your power goes out, or your family needs help, are you going to turn away the neighbor who shows up with a generator because they put the wrong fucking sign in their yard?
I sure as hell hope not.
Because that's the thing about community.
It isn't built out of political agreement.
It's built out of human relationships.
It's built out of people showing up for each other, even when they don't agree about every goddamned thing under the sun.
And every time we reduce another human being to their political affiliation, we chip away at that.
Every time we share another nasty little screed designed to make our side feel righteous and the other side feel despised, we make that divide a little wider.
And for what?
A handful of likes?
A few comments telling us how brave and intelligent we are?
The satisfaction of knowing we've successfully irritated somebody who wasn't going to agree with us anyway?
What the fuck are we accomplishing?
Now, before somebody points out the obvious, yes.
I write political rants.
I publish them.
I share them on Facebook.
And occasionally, I take a certain amount of delight in knowing I've probably pissed somebody off.
I'm not going to pretend otherwise.
But here's the distinction I'm trying to hold myself to.
I don't want you to agree with me simply because you like me.
I don't want you to disagree with me simply because you don't.
And I sure as hell don't want you to decide whether I'm worth knowing based on how I vote, what I believe about taxes, or whether my opinions fit neatly into your preferred political box.
I want you to fucking think.
Challenge me. Tell me where you think I'm wrong. Explain why you believe what you believe.
And maybe, just maybe, be willing to hear why I believe what I believe without immediately deciding I'm your enemy.
Because we can disagree about the role of government, healthcare, taxes, immigration, religion, and practically every other political issue imaginable without deciding that the person across the table is a worthless piece of shit.
At least, we ought to be able to.
We've spent so much time trying to win arguments that we've forgotten how to have conversations.
And the really pathetic part?
We're doing it voluntarily.
Nobody is forcing us to hate our neighbors.
Nobody is making us turn every disagreement into a declaration of war.
We're choosing to do that.
One Facebook post at a time.
So go ahead.
Share your political opinions.
Write your rants.
Argue your positions.
Hell, I'll probably write another one tomorrow.
But maybe, before you hit that SHARE button on the next eighteen-page dissertation about why half the country is full of fucking idiots, ask yourself one question.
Are you trying to start a conversation?
Or are you just looking for applause?
Because if all you want is to hear how right you are, you don't need Facebook.
You need a fucking mirror.
