I’ve spent an unholy amount of time in Facebook posting groups lately.
I’m not inclined today to get into a lot of specific detail about what happens in these groups, because I’m not trying to shame them. But let me provide an overview.
Many groups operate within a robust and complicated set of rules. A common phrase you see in what might be generically described as the “safe space” world is “don’t be an asshole.”
This, of course, sounds entirely reasonable. How could anyone have a problem with that dictum, unless they’re an asshole?
“Being an asshole” is generally shorthand for using traditional bullying techniques such as name calling, resorting to crass ad hominem arguments, and the like. In short, attacking another group member in a personal way rather than discussing their position or statements on the merits. So far, I’m on board.
As with all utopias, though, there’s the danger of being distracted by your own Shangri-La righteousness. I’ve seen people gang up on rule-breakers, group-shaming them, and while it may feel like justice to the folks doing the ganging, to an outsider it looks ugly. I’ve never seen anyone banned from a group or even questioned for talking to a rule breaker this way. It amounts to a rule that you can break the rules, as long as your target is a rule breaker.
I’ve seen a group ban the use of the term “politically correct,” following an odd period where an argument about opera turned nasty. I should clarify that it was nasty in a genteel manner, which means the name calling was more Sesame Street than 42nd Street, and the aggrieved tone indignant, in the manner of wealthy philanthropists, or society grande dames in a Three Stooges short.
Like the beleaguered admin of that group, I find the lugubrious use of “PC” as a pejorative to be insufferable these days, like an invasion of locusts. But I also find the safe space approach to be pervasive and toxic. If you’re tarring your opponent with certain words, to dismiss the person utterly and shut down further discussion, you might be right. On the other hand, you might be left.
It’s one of the few things both sides agree on— if you don’t like what the other person is saying, call them a name and then you can put your feet up and leaf through Maxim, or the New Yorker, or whatever you have on your coffee table. Or your workbench. Or, your butler’s silver tray. I’m trying to include everybody here.
If you call someone a racist, or a Nazi, or an anti-semite, or homophobe, or misogynist, you are telling them that they don’t get to talk anymore, because you’ve exposed them. They may, in fact, be one or more of the above. But whether they are or not, you’re essentially telling them to leave the discussion.
If you call someone PC, you’re telling them that they have zero credibility now, because you’ve exposed them as a clown who’s not only naive enough to think that trashing the English language will stop everyone from being sad, but they’re probably also totally disingenuous about the whole subject, eager to accuse others of various prejudices while overlooking their own. Playing the PC card is similar to playing the race card.
The thing linking these politically unrelated cards is that they’re both designed to win the game, but it’s not exactly like someone calling “Bingo!” It’s more like a kid kicking the board up in the air, so that the tiny little houses and hotels fly everywhere, many under couches and even into cracks in the wall (if you are playing Monopoly in a house that looks like Sluggo’s in the comic strip “Nancy"). It’s more than winning a hand, or even a game. It’s saying, no more games today. I decree it.
I particularly hate when people just type “Wow” in a comment, suggesting that you’ve forced them to clutch their pearls so hard that they can’t even articulate a response. Sometimes “I can’t even” is used this way. “There are no words” is another one much beloved these days, although it does double duty, trotted out to sum up enormities either profound or sick-making. When people conclude there are no words, they might be staring at the Grand Canyon, but it could also be an encounter with a person who doesn’t appreciate Arcade Fire.
For the person who wants to swashbuckle their way into the thread, “Shut the Fuck Up” is the straight flush. It’s like when kids say “infinity” to end an exchange of viewpoints. (I’ll admit that I’m a fan of the thoroughly anti-intellectual “infinity plus one” gambit.)
Even for those who eschew profanity (aristocrats, Maggie Smith, men who look like Maggie Smith, and so forth), the race card and the PC card are essentially clean versions of “Shut the Fuck Up.” And that brings me to my point. (I know, people have shaved and regrown soul patches in the time it’s taken me to get here.)
I’m drawing a line in the sand about “Shut the Fuck Up.”
My hashtag, #pleasedontsaySTFU (or its awkward variant, #pleasedontsayshutthefuckup) will no doubt go viral as hordes of people jump on the bandwagon. You might worry that even a sturdy bandwagon might not be able to support the weight of a horde, but I’d remind you that it’s a metaphor.
What I’m suggesting (and I know this is the part that’s not any fun, unlike the hashtag) is that people evaluate another person’s argument on the merits, rather than just kicking the game board up in the air by calling them this or that. I firmly expect one or more friends to tell me they hope I’m not suggesting we “hold hands and sing Kum-Ba-Ya with Nazis,” or conversely, with libtards. That’s why I’m starting yet another hashtag, #stopsayingkumbayaallthetime.
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