Monday, December 2, 2024

Why Do We Comment on Prince Harry and Other Stories on Social Media?

 There's nothing like social media to bring out the judgmental parts of ourselves, the parts usually held in check when we actually consider Newton's law that says for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. In other words, if we make snide, cutting remarks in person, the equal reaction may be a bop on the nose or some form of future social isolation. 

Since most social media sites base what little censorship they have on a series of trigger words that are fairly easy to learn or anticipate, commentors aren't generally hampered by the rules. In fact, it's quite possible to come up with a list of current hot topics that attract passionate distractors and supporters in equal measure. And I emphasize passionate.

It took the Prince Harry brouhaha for me to register what was happening. It seemed that everyone wanted to decide who in the royal family wore the white hats and who should be hissed as the villains--sort of a participation game. But, to someone British who has only to open her mouth and be spotted as such, listening to Americans talk in these personal terms about a foreign royal family that owns most of Britain seems--well--rather bizarre. I had to wonder who was Harry to Americans that people should become deeply embroiled in discussions of his royal family responsibility, his freedom or lack of it, and his presumed betrayals (as if society's rules applied to aristocrats--these are the people with the history of killing off family members who opposed them)? 

Perhaps because I was educated in British schools, I have a very good idea how aristocrats work. They don't much value ordinary people. They use them to serve them, farm their fields, and fight the endless wars that mark British history. This means I wonder why ordinary people in America--the people who pitched tea into Boston Harbor--would be so suddenly concerned with their betters, as the aristocrats would assume themselves to be. It would hardly work the other way. Wouldn't Americans find it strange if British readers got caught up in angry debates over whether Ivanka and Jared were being suitably loyal to her father or were just in it for the money? Maybe? For me, I would think that British readers might comment on the Trumps in passing, but to have them fill pages with angry debate--well, that sounds even more bizarre.

Being a good academic with a tendency to over-think everything, I can't resist looking for a theory about passionate debates that rely on the safety of the computer screen. That means I wonder how to connect anything to anything. No Guarantees. 

But could it be that we are bored, isolated, and, perhaps, lonely? Has social media become our substitute for living: come home from work, grad a bite, turn on the computer, and go for it? Is our political life so far removed from our daily lives that we are looking for some way to feel connected to one another: after all, the group that squabbles at least is talking to one another? Are the friendships made on line our new form of community?

But just asking those questions begs another. What makes people click the button and participate? Is it because there's nowhere else that we can discuss things like politics and religion--the two areas that have most engaged our ancestors and seem the most fraught right now? Is it that we can't we talk with one another without an intermediary technology? Are we scared of one another? Do we really need foreign aristocrats as a proxy for any conversation at all? 

It's strange that this isolated privacy should be so. Silence and polity have not been America's history. Would Benjamin Franklin or Thomas Paine have avoided talking about politics when they met upstairs at the Old Tavern? Why are we so worried about having an opinion about important things? Why is it offensive to call a conspiracy theory the paranoid fantasy it is? Has our ideal of equality become the ridiculous claim that all ideas are equally good? Shouldn't we, for example, be able to say that cannibalism is not good without having someone try to claim it as freedom of religion? 

There is no way that one blog or one entry on social media is going to make much of a contribution to the discussion. But perhaps I can partly answer my own question as to why people comment on social media (me included). We are at least expressing a thought or sharing an experience. It's still a bit risky, but not usually dangerous. Social media allows us to experiment, think out loud, and get feedback. It also allows us to get a read on how others are thinking, even if one doesn't get clicks of approval (yes, I succumb to temptation and do look). 

I still find it very strange that people still click on Prince Harry, though.




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Sunday, November 10, 2024

Ceasar and Owning the Libs

 I haven't written this blog since 2019. I'm not sure why I stopped. It may have been dismay over the election. But why? There were many elected who were just as self-focused and blatantly self-serving as today's politicians, yet I kept writing through the time they strutted and fretted upon their stage. It is still something of a mystery to me that something caused me to stop writing. 

As I look back, 2019 was the time when I was busy disbelieving Sarah Palin and the ragtag group that were her family. I didn't take her seriously and thought some of her behavior was just opportunism. I viewed her and those I considered her successors--Lauren Boebert and Marjorie Taylor Greene, as behaving as if they were good-time girls, laughing up a storm while peddling beers to the boys in the bar. 

But there's something new now that has brought me back to the keyboard, and I think I can see it. It's a  tawdry obsession to dominate, which the now-president elect seems to be celebrating. As far as I can see, it is a slogan that has created thousands of gladiators looking for action and dedicated to "owning the libs."

I have to admit that I'm not sure what owning the libs means. 

One picture that comes to mind is a victorious gladiator standing in the Colosseum, sword poised over a poor devil who has a wife and son somewhere. This victor holds his sword high and waits for emperor's signal. Will Ceasar give the thumbs up to mean life? Will the gladiator then pull his comrade up and let the wife and son have their family for one more day? Or will it be thumbs down to mean death? Will the woman then get the body, wipe off the sweat and dirt, and prepare the man for burial?

In those moments before the signal is given, what does the gladiator think about? Does he wonder why the emperor's ego requires him to decide whether a man lives or dies? Does he listen to the roar of an audience that feels powerful watching the death of a man already downed? Does he feel compassion for the man whom he might have shared a beer with? 

If he owned the libs at that moment, I suspect he wasn't thinking at all. He was gloating at having won. Yet what does he have to gloat about? Will the glory in the moment matter in the future? His name may be chiseled on the training area wall. But how long before his name is replaced by whoever vanquishes him? 

Today's celebrity is tomorrow's dust, a truism that applies to any civilization or culture. One day, our buildings will crumble like the Colosseum and lie festering below layers of natural vines--or, as Carl Sandburg said--beneath the grass that covers all. One day, we will be strange, even bizarre, to those who follow us. 

And when that happens, I doubt very much that "owning the libs" will stand as one of the nation's great rallying calls like "A time for Greatness" or "Morning in America."