I have a confession.
In the midst of a furious political row in a bar this week, I snapped and called my opponent a “corrupt libtard.” He fired right back, labelling me a “Harper suckhole.” Many nasty words were then spoken. Fortunately friends intervened before fists started flying.
I have another confession.
None of what I’ve just described actually happened. But a version of it occurs every day there’s political debate online. OK, fine, that’s not true either. First, it’s not really “debate.” It’s more like toddlers squabbling. Drunk toddlers. Second, what we read online is nastier. If George Carlin were alive today, he’d have an impossible time finding seven words you can’t say on the Internet.
The crazy thing is that it goes from zero to ad hominem in 60 nanoseconds. If I dare lift a Twitter finger against Saint Trudeau, my feed fills up with a blitz of what I would label amateurish criticism, only it would be a slur to unprofessionals to call it unprofessional. Meanwhile, someone such as Gerry Butts does his job and promotes his government and the bitter bytes fly the other way.
When did we become so uncivil? I can’t place an exact date on it, but I think it was around the time we invented the Internet and allowed ourselves to communicate anonymously with people we don’t know on matters we know even less about.
First, distance. Not being in the room makes it painfully easy to be nasty. We say online what we would never have the gall to say in person. My favourite parlour game at the moment is to print the comments section from a Trump article and have people act it out in a room. It’s heartening to watch the digital natives re-discover shame.
Then there’s proximity. Never before have so many people had direct contact with elected representatives and the people who either cover or work for them. We now have the chance to tell our masters what we really think and, boy, do we ever, even if we hide behind an anonymous Twitter handle or email address to do it. Amirite, @consbegone666?
Anonymity is toxic when combined with emotional distance and digital proximity. Not only can you now tell the bloody experts what you think, you can do it as rudely as you like without anyone — family, friends or bosses — knowing it was you. Anonymity is an open invitation to plumb our base instincts.
And then there’s the ignorance, whether innocent or deliberate. The majority of online interventions are as on-point as a Brad Trost stump speech at the gay pride parade. This week I spent a few minutes on Twitter debating someone who took issue with me saddling Trudeau with the costs of the 24 Sussex renovation because Trudeau is living at Rideau Cottage. You see, it’s not even his house!
If the distance, proximity, anonymity and ignorance weren’t bad enough, add in some partisanship, which turns any acknowledgement of an opposition point into abject surrender. Online, our heroes are never wrong, the enemy is never right, and the people who support someone else are always idiots.
Given we’re not going to bottle the Internet, our conduct on the digital commons will need to improve. Here, we need to keep the proximity, discourage distance, tolerate ignorance and do away with anonymity.
Having improved — and varied — lines of communications to our MPs is great; the last thing you want is your proxy to get sealed into the Ottawa bubble, where $1,700 limo rides are a thing. But sending them a tweet or an email from the heartland isn’t as effective as calling them or visiting them in their constituency office for a face-to-face conversation. Believe me, it’s harder — but not impossible! — for a politician to fudge or brush you off if you’re standing right there.
Of course, most people don’t have time to interact with — or become perfectly knowledgeable about — government, and so it would be nice if political parties didn’t count on their ignorance when they conduct their business in Ottawa. Playing a cynical card to an ill-informed audience can be effective, but it is ultimately corrosive. Ask the Americans.
There isn’t a hope in hell for online civility until we junk anonymity. First, the easy stuff: News sites shouldn’t allow anonymous comments. Other platforms don’t have it that easy; Twitter, for one, needs to think longer and harder about how to manage anonymous trolls, whose abuse is discouraging some from public life.
Until they do, here’s the rule: If you’re so bloody clever, put your name to it. Until you do, those of us standing under our own names are free to ignore you as we carry on the national conversation.
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Andrew MacDougall is the Senior Executive Consultant at MSLGROUP London and is a former director of communications to Stephen Harper.