Unmitigated Bleat

"'Dear me!' said he, turning over the pages, 'what a chorus of groans, cries, and bleatings! What a rag-bag of singular happenings! But surely the most valuable hunting-ground that ever was given to a student of the unusual! . . . Here are the Daily Gazette extracts of the last fortnight. "Lady with a black boa at Prince’s Skating Club"—that we may pass. "Surely Jimmy will not break his mother’s heart"—that appears to be irrelevant. "If the lady who fainted on Brixton bus"—she does not interest me. "Every day my heart longs—" Bleat, Watson—unmitigated bleat!'" (Adventure of the Red Circle).

So spoke Sherlock Holmes of the agony columns in the newspapers in London, England, in 1895. He could have been talking about Facebook, or Twitter, or any of the many other modern agony columns that arrive in our very pockets every minute of every day. Bleat, Watson -- unmitigated bleat.

And I am getting weary of it.

I have increasingly felt that social media has become, well, less social. It has begun to feel ugly to me, and painful. There was a time when it seemed like a place to connect with family and friends. I saw photos and heard stories about the happenings of those I care about. It was fun and kind.

I'm not sure if Facebook and Twitter is changing, or if I'm just getting old and cranky. Both are possible. But more often than not, lately, my reaction to my newsfeeds is not so much "oh, that's nice", but "ouch, that hurt". The change has come about as more and more of us post links and rants about all the things we are against. 

It's a subtle difference.

There's a difference between saying, "I love adopting mutts," and saying, "If you adopt pure-bred dogs, you support puppy mills."
There's a difference between saying, "I love being a vegetarian," and posting a picture of a horribly-abused veal calf and saying, "If you eat meat, this is what you support."
There's a difference between saying, "Here's why I homeschool," and saying, "If you send your kids to school, you're sending them into an academic desert where creativity and excellence go to die."
There's a difference between saying, "Here are some reasons why I support this political leader," and saying, "If you support that political leader you're supporting the next Stalin or Hitler, and you're ok with babies washing up on shore in Greece."
There is a difference between defending that with which I agree and attacking that with which I don't. It is easy to attack another's position; it is much more difficult to articulate and defend my own.

But there's another dimension.

Most of us are too polite, or too kind to rage against our personal pet issues to those we know are directly involved in them.

Most of us would not directly tell the public school teacher in our life that we find public school teachers lazy, irresponsible, overpaid, entitled slobs, but we have no problem posting the article that says such.
We would not go directly to a person we know is voting Conservative, or Liberal, or NDP, and tell them to their face that their chosen party is heartless, irresponsible, uncaring, fascist, anarchist, or whatever adjective you choose to use, but without a second thought, we post such things.
We would not go to the Bible college professors in our lives and tell them that Bible colleges are wastelands of liberalism and the reason why people stop believing, but we dare post such stuff on Facebook.
We would not do that. We would soften our words. We would moderate our approach. We would be less pugnacious and more personable.

The problem is that when we post this stuff on Facebook, we are not taking any time to think about who might be reading it. And so my public school teacher friend learns that I think her a lazy, entitled slob. My Conservative friend discovers that I think she is voting for the next Adolph Hitler. My schoolteacher friend finds out that I think she is crushing my child's spirit. My doctor friend reads that I think she is in a grand conspiracy with big pharma to hide cures and keep me dependent on her and her drugs. My farmer friend realises that I think she keeps her animals in deplorable conditions.

I have found out things like this from my Facebook feed. I have learned that people who are kind to my face may actually think horrible things about me behind my back - at least, if I am to take seriously what they post on Facebook. It has made me suspicious of people. It has hurt me. It has even brought me to tears. You think that about me? Wow.

And I suspect that I have done the same to others. I am under no delusions that I have not posted something carelessly, or perhaps even carefully, that has hurt a friend.

I'm tired of the endless stream of groans, cries, and bleatings as we all stand on our isolated soapboxes and scream out to the world words we would never say if we stood face to face. I would not say to you the things I say when I don't have to look you in the eye and see the hurt there. You would not say them to me if you saw how what you said made my face crumple and my heart break. We would not be so cruel and careless with our words if we could see how our darts hit and stick and make each other bleed.

Oh, sure, we might still hold our precious beliefs. We might still secretly think the things we now tell the world. Or, maybe not. Maybe, if instead of simply lobbing my opinions out there, I was forced to defend them, face to face, and see how they affected you, I would realise I don't have to be so pertinacious. Maybe my cherished ideas would be refined and honed by being held up to others' ideas, instead of becoming hardened and brittle. Maybe my stubborn heart would be softened by the tears of others instead of dried out and impenetrable in the desert of social media.

I have largely turned off the"rag-bag of singular happenings". My heart can tolerate only so much. The "chorus of groans, cries, and bleatings" hurts me too much, too often. I have to protect my heart on too many fronts. I have largely stopped posting. I'm tired of it. It wearies me.

"Bleat, Watson -- unmitigated bleat."

No more.