If You Can’t Say Anything Nice… Stay off the ‘Net
The quote on my Facebook profile page is one I lifted from Nathan Fillion on Twitter: “It costs nothing to say something nice. Even less to shut up altogether.” It’s a lesson a lot of people trolling around on the internet could use these days.
I was bothered last week when Rush Limbaugh was admitted to the hospital with chest pains. Not because I was worried about his health, although it was unfortunate, but because almost instantly (and quite predictably), the comments started on Twitter, and elsewhere, wishing Limbaugh dead and making jokes about his condition. One particularly brilliant person even said that “Obama’s healthcare” saved Rush, apparently blissfully unaware that the “healthcare reform” legislation hasn’t gotten through Congress yet.
Now, I get that a lot of people don’t see the difference between Rush Limbaugh, the human being, and Rush Limbaugh, the on-air persona. It saddens me that people are so knee-jerk in their reactions and filled with hate that they never stop to consider the possibility that someone may just be acting a certain way because it’s their job. But I’ve seen enough interviews with Rush Limbaugh to realize that as a real live boy, he’s not the same person that comes across over the radio waves. And I’d certainly hope the same is true about Al Franken and other “personalities” on the other side of the aisle.
But regardless of whether you can make that distinction, have we lost so much compassion as a society that we would wish someone dead and in hell just because we disagree with them? I do realize that some of the people taking this approach were trying to be funny. I just don’t see laughing at anyone’s pain or a potentially life-threatening situation as funny. And some of it was deadly serious — there was a lot of venom out there.
(By the way, it’s not that I don’t have a sense of humor. For example, after Rush was determined to be fine, Roger Ebert tweeted, “Tests find nothing wrong with Rush Limbaugh’s heart. Physically.” Now, that’s funny. And yet, he apologized!)
Before anyone thinks I just sympathize with Rush Limbaugh due to my political leanings (I don’t — I’m libertarian), the same thing happens on the other side of the political spectrum as well. After journalist Deborah Howell died in a car accident on New Year’s Day, her obituary on PoliticsDaily.com elicited all sorts of commentary about how great it was that an obviously liberal, “anti-U. S.” journalist was gone. Those comments were not only sick, but completely ignorant, considering that she advocated taking measures to try to correct liberal media bias.
I’ve been meaning to write this post for about a week, because I do feel very strongly about treating people civilly and not de-humanizing them with thoughtless commentary. What finally pushed me was that yesterday, the issue became a lot more personal for me.
Yesterday afternoon, the local newspaper posted a link on Twitter about a local boy who was in critical condition after falling through ice into a pond. When I first read the story, I panicked a little — few details were available, but the incident happened in the neighborhood where my godchildren live and often play outside. I was relieved to find out that my boy was ok, but the relief was short-lived when I found out that the boy who was hurt was one of his friends, as were the other boys involved.
Then I made the mistake of reading comments on some of the local news articles. I probably should have avoided it, because I know how vicious and stupid people can be. But I was hoping for some word on how he was doing. What I got instead were ignorant, thoughtless comments ranging from horrifying (that it was “funny”) to merely stupid and offensive (suggesting all sort of potential neglect scenarios unsupported by the facts).
I always hate those comments, especially in response to a story that has not developed enough to really understand what happened. This time, it hit me a lot harder than usual, because I know those boys and their families. I’ve helped supervise them at birthday parties. I’ve attended their baseball games. I’ve seen them trick-or-treating. And I’ve watched them wear out my husband shooting hoops in the driveway. They’re real people.
Furthermore, these are good kids with good parents that are not neglectful. They were out playing, unsupervised, as 10-year-old boys do, and were involved in a tragic accident. Blame and finger-pointing may make some people feel better, but there’s no blame to go around here. Horrible things happen sometimes that are nobody’s fault.
The internet is a wonderful tool for exercising free speech and getting your thoughts out there. It gives us the opportunity to hear voices and perspectives that would never have been heard in the past. (My favorite law professor and blogger, Glenn Reynolds, describes the phenomenon better than I ever could in his book, An Army of Davids.)
I am all for free speech, and healthy debate. I even think that it’s great when people disagree with me, because if they didn’t, who would I have to argue with? What bothers me more and more, though, is the question of whether publishing such commentary may have become too easy to be used responsibly. Just because we are all a few mouse clicks away from getting our voices heard doesn’t mean that we should jump at the chance without thinking first.
Admittedly, I can be as judgmental as the next person, especially in obvious cases of neglect — and I realize that it is possible that I look at this situation differently because I know the boys and their families.
And it is very easy to comment thoughtlessly. All I’m asking is that the next time you’re moved to post a comment, or a tweet, or a Facebook status about someone you don’t know, stop and think for a minute. Stop and remember that these are real people, with real families and friends, who may be hurting. Stop and think about how it would feel if it were someone you loved that was hurt, or worse.
Stop and imagine that you were the one in the midst of a crisis. And think about whether you would want snark and ridicule or sympathy and compassion.
