If you’re anything like me, your Facebook feed is essentially an echo chamber of your personal beliefs, your benign likes (nice shoes are so nice!), and your not-so-benign dislikes (FALL IN A HOLE AND STAY THERE SO I NEVER HAVE TO LOOK AT YOU AGAIN OR READ YOUR WORDS OF HATRED, Michelle Malkin). My husband, who is a good and tolerant person, sometimes gently chides me about the importance of being open to other points of view. I am not as good and not as tolerant, and so I should never, ever listen to this gentle chiding.

And yet.

Sometimes I receive a friend request that makes me tilt my head and say, “Huh.” Or maybe, “What the hell is this, even?” At the risk of being sued for telling the truth, let’s speak hypothetically: perhaps the request comes from a woman who sat across from me at dinner fifteen years ago. Maybe, while describing the positive impact of “fellowship” on her life, she suddenly declared that Mahatma Gandhi does not dwell in the kingdom of heaven.

And maybe I delicately twisted pasta around my fork and asked, “Oh, really? Why is that?”

“Because,” came her reply, “he didn’t accept Jesus Christ as his lord and savior.” She said this with all the sincerity and intelligence of a 5-year-old slightly behind on her developmental milestones.

I chewed slowly, swallowed, and then confirmed what I’d heard. “So what you’re telling me,” I said, “is that Mahatma Gandhi is in…hell? The actual Mahatma Gandhi? Is in hell?”

She paused for a moment, but then nodded. “Yes.”

Reader, I laughed. I laughed so hard. She narrowed her eyes at me and leaned conspiratorially against her husband. “Oh, no, honey, do you see? She’s not taking me seriously because I’m drinking.”

—

Fast forward a decade and then some, and my curiosity was piqued. Had time and experience changed this person? It must have! Why else would she want to be Facebook friends with me, a woman who had laughed in her face when she shared her belief system? I clicked “Confirm.”

It only took a few months. At first it was all children, sunsets, jewelry, love sweet love, pedicures, cocktails, #blessed, #blessed, and more #blessed.

But then, of course, the inevitable.

The details are tedious, as these things tend to be, so I’ll keep it short: in service to a larger argument, my new Facebook buddy threw her weight behind a lie that extreme conservatives have no problem continuing to perpetuate. Never mind that this lie makes as much sense as the idea that Gandhi is roasting in a bonfire for all eternity. Never mind that a simple search will prove it wrong.

You know what, though? I’m okay if you want to waste your time turning your undies into an origami swan over something that isn’t true. If you were to say, “Why did President Obama lower the flags to half-staff for Whitney Houston and not for our four slain Marines?” I would just sigh loudly and continue my Facebook perusal. But if you say, “Why did that idiot in the White House lower the flags for a black, drug-addled singer and not for the four American heroes slaughtered by a piece of shit Muslim?” well, then, we have a problem.

Because I will fight you.

I’m an offensive fighter. I will not hold up my gloves to protect my head; I’ll just come at you fast, and with so many facts and so much flair that every word I type will feel like a Manny Pacquiao-esque straight left punch to your chin. I will not stop. You will not have the last word, and you will not suddenly be able to raise your level of discourse to properly compete. Your virtual headstone will read, “This One Lost. Bad.”

Of course, it will all be for nothing. That’s what everyone tells me, at least: Why waste your time? Just ignore it. People like that don’t change. Channel your anger into your creative work. But I can’t. Ignoring casually tossed off racism only serves to make people think that it’s okay. Well, it’s not, and I am all day, every day, going to deny you the privilege of thinking that it is.

And of course you’ll unfriend me. And of course I have only one thing to say to that:

#blessed #blessed #blessed