A child raising money for a church just came by the house. Bad timing: he interrupted me while I was reading an article from the Southern Poverty Law Center about gay bashing and the intolerable silence about the issue that still seems to be coming from many churches and church leaders. I had no money for him, though I told him, “I’ll feel safer once I know that the legal definition of marriage has been enshrined in the constitution so that it can never change in any way. If gay marriage became legal," I pointed out, "I could no longer use sanctimonious self-satisfaction in my personal heterosexuality as a means of continuing my tacit acceptance of the unequal treatment of homosexuals. In such a world, surely the living would envy the dead. Thanks for keeping me safe.”
As he left (he at least understood the part about me having no money) I remembered something I learned recently as part of my education in education, but which is (or at least should be) well known to most educators: when you talk to kids, it’s important not to be a sarcastic jerk. It isn’t because kids don’t understand sarcasm—they do. It’s because in the teen or pre-teen brain, sarcasm doesn’t translate into general irony: it is perceived as personal antagonism. It is a speech pattern and tone they use among themselves when tension is high, often accompanied by aggressive posturing. It is a part of their hierarchical behavior, though in some circumstances, it can be a form of bullying. My point isn’t to skewer myself for hypocrisy, others are usually willing to step up when that is required, only to point out that learning to relate to kids requires, first, a lot of unlearning.
So, sorry kid. I should have expressed myself better. I was not wrong to share my views with you, but I could have started by asking you what your own views were, rather than by assuming they were the same as the views of your church, which, I must also acknowledge, I have not read or heard anything about in ten years. For all I know, your church has made the cessation of gay bashing its highest priority. Instead of cash, I should have given you the Southern Poverty Law Center newsletter I was reading - they are replaceable. But I should not have been so clever, smug, or sarcastic.
Sadly, this wasn't the first time (even this week) when I was clever, only to discover later that cleverness wasn't really what the situation had called for. Cleverness is certainly the most powerful hammer I possess—but that still doesn't make everything into a nail.
The problem is, I’ve practiced at being clever for years, and it took a long time before I felt as though I could use wit to successfully express myself. But wit, even when well intentioned, generally comes with at least a small dose of sarcasm. It is a dose most people tolerate perfectly well, particularly those who are over 18, those who grew up speaking English as a first language, those with perfect hearing, those who are emotionally secure, those without deficiencies in information processing, and those with no personal connection to the subject being treated sarcastically. In other words: not everyone.
I often use wit to express my moral opinions through reductio ad absurdum. I often choose to respond to any new situation with (attempted) wit, spotlighting the ironic aspects before I am silently seized by the ones that will make me want to rip out my own heart. Sometimes I exercise my cunning linguistics just for fun, "making sure everyone knows how smart I think I am," as my worst critic would say. (And no, my worst critic isn’t me—I have at least one who is even worse.) While reminding myself that not everything our worst critics says of us is true, I won’t deny feeling gratified when my wit is appreciated. Making people laugh doesn’t bind them to me as friends for life – nor, sadly enough, does it make women fall in love with me – but wit does tend to draw me together with other wits, in whose presense I can at least be sure of a shared joy in playful language. What that usually means is that by the end of any given evening—I'm at the same table as all the other jokers in the room. Clearly, this is both a good thing and a bad one.
Giving up sarcasm is not going to be easy, but it appears that give it up, at least to some extent, I must. So in case I don’t have another chance to say it—thank you, sarcasm, for allowing me to set to right so many of society's ills, while, at the same time, providing me with the life of personal achievement, true love, worldly respect, constant companionship, and fulfilling work that I now enjoy.
Saturday, January 22, 2011
Monday, January 17, 2011
The Fault Was Mine
About a week ago, having learned how easily the thoughtless use of technology can kill, I resolved that I would make kinder, gentler, use of communications technology. Though it seems counterintuitive, I began by unfriending many people on Facebook. Ultimately, I unfreinded about 100 people, bringing my total down to somwhere just under 150 people. Though I didn't realize it at the time, I came very close to hitting Dunbar's Number, which, according to many social scientists, is the size beyond which social groups tend to fall apart due to lack of true cohesion and unity. If you haven't recently (or ever) conducted this sort of Facebook purge, I highly recommend it. This makes Facebook far more fun: like stepping out of a huge crowd into a room where you are among friends; it makes Facebook far more useful: your own posts are seen more frequently by your actual friends, who are more likely to have something to say about them; and it is psychologically healthy: at least 50 of the people I defreiended were people I very muched wished to be friends with, but who had, alas, demonstrated no reciprocal sentiment—at least not for a very, very long time. To be true to himself, I think, a man must know who his friends aren't, just as he must know who his friends are.
I asked a favor of a friend the other day, despite having spoken with her only three or four times and learning only two things about her: the first was that she was quite nice and given to helping others. The second was that we held diametrically opposed opinions on nearly all of life’s significant philosophical questions. When I don’t agree with people, I seldom ask them for favors, they seldom ask me for favors, and I’m seldom inclined to seek them out in order to offer them favors, so before asking for a favor, I first asked for permission to ask a favor, acknowledging that by doing so, I was, if you looked at it a certain way, already asking for a favor.
Her response was something like, "Why would you need my permission to ask me for a favor?"
Good question, but the answer is obvious: because it isn’t done, that’s why. I have had moments 0f despair, on dark days and during darker nights, when I have gazed at my list of 300 "friends" and thought to myself, "This is a list of those who will be there in my moments of triumph, but not one person on this list would be willing to help me right now." In thinking so, I underestimated many of you—my true friends—and for that, the fault was mine.
Perhaps I grew so bitter, in part, because by friending you on Facebook, I grouped you with many people who were not then, are not now, and never will be my friends. Hence, my goal in unfriending so many was to create a list of people who would NEVER look at their OWN list of friends and think themselves alone.
My first strategy, then, as I attempt to use the power of comminications technology for good, is to maintain positive relationships with as many friends as I can. It's just that, before I could begin that process, I had to first accept the reality that some of those I knew long ago had gone so far as to accept my friendship request only to deny every other form of request I made of them, even the implicit request that they respond to my e-mails; they were my lost friends. I also had to accept that some of my friends were friends only in some theorhetical future, in which I was rich enough, famous enough, or good-looking enough to be allowed in their circle; they were my fantasy friends. Finally, I had to identify the small number of those who, for reasons beyond my comprehension, pretended friendship with me through the electronic media while I yet heard tales of their speaking ill of me or acting against my interests; these were my false friends.
And now, they are gone. I'll have no more imaginary friends of any kind. If I’m willing to name you friend, then I will not only offer help and encouragement, but I'll ask for it when I need it, which is far harder. I am doing this for myself, of course: part of emerging from that darkness I mentioned above. I’ve found that actively using this new technology to reach out to others is not only easy, but incredibly rewarding, and I don’t imagine I’m going to stop any time soon. So if I’ve written you a note recently to remind you that you are talented, or goodly hearted, or to remind you that you have meant a great deal to me, and it seemed a little dorky, I trust you to let that pass. Perhaps it just wasn’t the day you needed to hear that.
But the amazing thing, the unexpected thing, the thing that has profoundly changed my attitude, and at least online, my personality, is the number of people who have expressed to me that they really did need to hear what I was telling them. A handful of people have even gone so far as to tell me that, due to misfortune, or crisis, or the cruelty of others—they needed to hear those words right then. To those of you who have thanked me so graciously – thank you. Thank you for letting me know that the words I said to you had value – that I had value. Thank you for not being my imaginary friends anymore.
I asked a favor of a friend the other day, despite having spoken with her only three or four times and learning only two things about her: the first was that she was quite nice and given to helping others. The second was that we held diametrically opposed opinions on nearly all of life’s significant philosophical questions. When I don’t agree with people, I seldom ask them for favors, they seldom ask me for favors, and I’m seldom inclined to seek them out in order to offer them favors, so before asking for a favor, I first asked for permission to ask a favor, acknowledging that by doing so, I was, if you looked at it a certain way, already asking for a favor.
Her response was something like, "Why would you need my permission to ask me for a favor?"
Good question, but the answer is obvious: because it isn’t done, that’s why. I have had moments 0f despair, on dark days and during darker nights, when I have gazed at my list of 300 "friends" and thought to myself, "This is a list of those who will be there in my moments of triumph, but not one person on this list would be willing to help me right now." In thinking so, I underestimated many of you—my true friends—and for that, the fault was mine.
Perhaps I grew so bitter, in part, because by friending you on Facebook, I grouped you with many people who were not then, are not now, and never will be my friends. Hence, my goal in unfriending so many was to create a list of people who would NEVER look at their OWN list of friends and think themselves alone.
My first strategy, then, as I attempt to use the power of comminications technology for good, is to maintain positive relationships with as many friends as I can. It's just that, before I could begin that process, I had to first accept the reality that some of those I knew long ago had gone so far as to accept my friendship request only to deny every other form of request I made of them, even the implicit request that they respond to my e-mails; they were my lost friends. I also had to accept that some of my friends were friends only in some theorhetical future, in which I was rich enough, famous enough, or good-looking enough to be allowed in their circle; they were my fantasy friends. Finally, I had to identify the small number of those who, for reasons beyond my comprehension, pretended friendship with me through the electronic media while I yet heard tales of their speaking ill of me or acting against my interests; these were my false friends.
And now, they are gone. I'll have no more imaginary friends of any kind. If I’m willing to name you friend, then I will not only offer help and encouragement, but I'll ask for it when I need it, which is far harder. I am doing this for myself, of course: part of emerging from that darkness I mentioned above. I’ve found that actively using this new technology to reach out to others is not only easy, but incredibly rewarding, and I don’t imagine I’m going to stop any time soon. So if I’ve written you a note recently to remind you that you are talented, or goodly hearted, or to remind you that you have meant a great deal to me, and it seemed a little dorky, I trust you to let that pass. Perhaps it just wasn’t the day you needed to hear that.
But the amazing thing, the unexpected thing, the thing that has profoundly changed my attitude, and at least online, my personality, is the number of people who have expressed to me that they really did need to hear what I was telling them. A handful of people have even gone so far as to tell me that, due to misfortune, or crisis, or the cruelty of others—they needed to hear those words right then. To those of you who have thanked me so graciously – thank you. Thank you for letting me know that the words I said to you had value – that I had value. Thank you for not being my imaginary friends anymore.
Friday, January 14, 2011
We should be friends to our friends
Today, a group called “Safe Schools Healthy Students” came to Jack Jouett Middle School, where I am a student teacher. Their mission, to stop bullying, has always been critical, but it now grows increasingly urgent due to the mind boggling speed with which the young have mastered new technologies such as Facebook, texting, twitter, e-mail, and other means of mass communication, some of which are unknown to many of their parents and most other authority figures. We know we have to patrol the bathrooms, the halls, and the lunch-lines for bullying—we can even monitor Facebook, text messages, and e-mail, but the bullies have already moved on to other haunts. Only a few weeks ago, a bully might have used Facebook to exclude and ostracize another student by pointing out that he didn’t own the cool new shoes, perhaps because his family was poor and on food stamps. Today, that same bully would probably make the comment to his Xbox live teammates using voice-chat during a game of Call of Duty: Black Ops. That’s a popular game, but even if the means were more obscure, the bully’s cronies, and then his passive supporters, and then the mere rumor mongers, would get the message out – it seems they always do – that someone is different. After the initial talk about cyber-bullying, we took our students back to class to perform a carefully monitored role-play session demonstrating the different forms of bullying, but we had barely begun when the students halted the role-play activity and told us, instead, of the times when they, personally, had been hurt by cyber-bullying. Some of the stories were troubling. More troubling was the suffering that could be seen on their faces and in their body language. Many could not tell their stories while looking into another person's eyes, fixing their own, instead, upon the floor or the ceiling. There was trembling of hands, and a few strange pauses that might have been well suppressed sobs. There was no crying, though my sense was that these students dared not cry in front of each other due to the very problem we were discussing. In two cases, students described ongoing issues serious enough to require immediate adult intervention; that’s not two students in the school, mind you, but two students in a room of fifteen.
But wait, you might say, technology makes life easier for these kids too. Bullying has been around forever, and even the sort involving telephones and computers has existed for decades. True and true. But I knew, after listening to these kids, that what they are dealing with is something different—something worse—than what we ever had to. Try to imagine the most hurtful, embarrassing thing that was ever said or done to you, or the worst, most embarrassing blunder ever made by you, in your pre-teen years. Perhaps it was some gaff or rejection at a gathering on a Friday night. Now imagine that you discovered, on Saturday morning, that the event was recorded, post online, and viewed by 300 people, including friends, acquaintances, and total strangers. Most wrote "LOL" or some other expression of glee, but certain individuals went further, adding their own personal mockery – most if it, hurtful; some of it, quite creative. Imagine now that the most creative and hurtful of these comments received special recognition, including dozens of thumbs-up signs. The hurt would be magnified exponentially.
But now imagine that on Sunday morning, incredibly, the views number in the thousands; the incident has gone viral and is being shared and enjoyed by friends of friends of friends all over the world. The above has actually happened to a great many young people now. Most have chosen to live with the pain, though the loss of social status to the young is truly devastating. Most find the strength to carry on, or start anew, but, inevitably, some have chosen death.
It seems to me that we are heading, at a pace both rapid and rapidly accelerating, towards the emergence of a far more versatile and redundant communications ability, in which the specific means will be irrelevant since they will be nearly infinite, universally available, omnipresent, uncontrollable, and, at the very least, extremely difficult to monitor. To the students at Jack Jouett, that day is, or at least seems to be, here already, for they feel confident in their ability to replace, almost without delay or interruption, any technology denied them. As technology further outstrips traditional means of control, the power of the individual to reach out and hurt others is amplified. Humanity’s intercommunication is increasing so rapidly that we are growing closer to its crescendo, (called the singularity by certain philosophers) yet bullying and hate travel faster and farther than ever before, doing more damage to more innocents.
I rarely use words such as "lets all try to..." It seems condescending and egotistical for any one man to make a request of humanity itself. I don't mind suggesting to my friends, when I feel it is appropriate, that they might adopt new ways of looking at things, but I am loathe to do so when the suggestion sounds like a new-age cliché. So I guess I've been saving this one up for a while. (Here it comes...)
Lets all try to use our new technologies to be nice to each other. We have greater power now—but have we accepted greater responsibility? As I watched the presentation, I wondered how many of my friends were actually in need of a friend at that very moment: someone to listen to them, or someone to encourage them. Millions of people, throughout history, have probably wondered the same thing—but they could only speculate, whereas I could probably find out just by clicking a few buttons. This struck me not as a call for any specific action, but rather, for awareness - the active sort of awareness that comes from actually caring, and also as a reminder of a powerful truth: what we do, and what we say, and how we treat other people matters. Technology won’t give us the power to be friends with everyone, but it might, if we use it wisely, allow us to truly be friends to those who truly are our friends.
But wait, you might say, technology makes life easier for these kids too. Bullying has been around forever, and even the sort involving telephones and computers has existed for decades. True and true. But I knew, after listening to these kids, that what they are dealing with is something different—something worse—than what we ever had to. Try to imagine the most hurtful, embarrassing thing that was ever said or done to you, or the worst, most embarrassing blunder ever made by you, in your pre-teen years. Perhaps it was some gaff or rejection at a gathering on a Friday night. Now imagine that you discovered, on Saturday morning, that the event was recorded, post online, and viewed by 300 people, including friends, acquaintances, and total strangers. Most wrote "LOL" or some other expression of glee, but certain individuals went further, adding their own personal mockery – most if it, hurtful; some of it, quite creative. Imagine now that the most creative and hurtful of these comments received special recognition, including dozens of thumbs-up signs. The hurt would be magnified exponentially.
But now imagine that on Sunday morning, incredibly, the views number in the thousands; the incident has gone viral and is being shared and enjoyed by friends of friends of friends all over the world. The above has actually happened to a great many young people now. Most have chosen to live with the pain, though the loss of social status to the young is truly devastating. Most find the strength to carry on, or start anew, but, inevitably, some have chosen death.
It seems to me that we are heading, at a pace both rapid and rapidly accelerating, towards the emergence of a far more versatile and redundant communications ability, in which the specific means will be irrelevant since they will be nearly infinite, universally available, omnipresent, uncontrollable, and, at the very least, extremely difficult to monitor. To the students at Jack Jouett, that day is, or at least seems to be, here already, for they feel confident in their ability to replace, almost without delay or interruption, any technology denied them. As technology further outstrips traditional means of control, the power of the individual to reach out and hurt others is amplified. Humanity’s intercommunication is increasing so rapidly that we are growing closer to its crescendo, (called the singularity by certain philosophers) yet bullying and hate travel faster and farther than ever before, doing more damage to more innocents.
I rarely use words such as "lets all try to..." It seems condescending and egotistical for any one man to make a request of humanity itself. I don't mind suggesting to my friends, when I feel it is appropriate, that they might adopt new ways of looking at things, but I am loathe to do so when the suggestion sounds like a new-age cliché. So I guess I've been saving this one up for a while. (Here it comes...)
Lets all try to use our new technologies to be nice to each other. We have greater power now—but have we accepted greater responsibility? As I watched the presentation, I wondered how many of my friends were actually in need of a friend at that very moment: someone to listen to them, or someone to encourage them. Millions of people, throughout history, have probably wondered the same thing—but they could only speculate, whereas I could probably find out just by clicking a few buttons. This struck me not as a call for any specific action, but rather, for awareness - the active sort of awareness that comes from actually caring, and also as a reminder of a powerful truth: what we do, and what we say, and how we treat other people matters. Technology won’t give us the power to be friends with everyone, but it might, if we use it wisely, allow us to truly be friends to those who truly are our friends.
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