‘Suck It Up Snowflake…’

or: How I failed at an on-line political discourse

It was a strange Thanksgiving — the 2016 one. Weeks before the holiday, social media sights, daytime talk show programs, and public radio stations devoted lengthy chunks of time preparing the American public for the looming prospect of a divided Thanksgiving dinner table. Recognizing how polarized the whole country is, we heard advice on how not to talk politics nor candidates, how to divert the discussion onto less combustible topics like weather, or kids’ grades, or grandma’s arthritis. That is, if we wanted to remain a family and were determined to digest our meals in relative peace.

And yet, I cannot help but consider what my son told me in the wake of November the 8th.

We too spent countless hours arguing about politics, not because we are on the opposite spectrum of the political debate — but because we disagree on how to deal with the divide. I, growing up in the communist regime in Poland where I actively participated in the movement that brought on change in the entire eastern Europe, want to DO stuff. I want to march, I want to carry signs, I want to scream my frustration with the volume of voices around me. I want to call my representatives, heck — I want to show up at their doorsteps and tell them loud and clear: “NO! Not in my name!” I know this brings change — I have seen it before, I have done it before, it worked.

“Not here, not today,” I am told, “we will not change things this way.” We have to influence the mindset of people on the other side of the argument and the only effective way to do so is to engage in conversation. To listen, to respond, to listen, to understand, to listen more, to empathize, to explain, to agree to disagree sometimes. Calling one another names and accusing one another of ignorance — is ignorance in and of itself. Respectful back and forth, every opportunity we have — might, just might, restore some degree of understanding, respect, maybe we will even like one another again.

I listen to my boy. I trust his instincts, I trust his judgement. My son is my moral compass.

A friend posted a comment on social media on Sunday, the day after the ‘travel ban, which is not a ban’ was announced and the whole world seemed to be spinning trying to figure out how to execute this thing. The friend’s take on the executive order diarrhea pouring out of the White House was not a surprise to me — the emotions ranged from a profound sadness to a sense of betrayal by the leaders of this country. This country, that took us all in years ago with a promise of freedom from autocracy and injustice. People chimed in; and since on Facebook, as in life, we tend to be surrounded by friends who think alike, the comments were pretty unanimous. All our voices in unison declared this was wrong. And then a voice of the opposition joined. I thought I would discuss, listen, respond, listen again; I thought I would have an opportunity to engage and do what I was persuaded was the right thing to do.

What happened next — to me — was shocking. I now understand what on-line bullying is. Now I understand. I didn’t before.

The stories we hear about on-line bullying are heartbreaking but deep down inside, we think the kids are just over-sensitive, right? If they are bullied, just turn the computer or the phone off, right? Block the person and that’s that. I do not think people of my generation can fully appreciate the scope and the profound effect of on-line bullying — that is, until it happens to us.

“Dorota, who the f…are you little creep? You can crawl before I smack your turd disgusting face!”

Constitution was cited in the discussion. Response followed:

“You don’t know anything about the law, history and especially about USA Constitution, you ugly dumb stinky vomit lol”

“I can teach you some tricks but you need to focus — buy 2 more neurons, the one that you have is incompetent and soon will flake out lmao heheheeee”

I politely asked for respectful responses. I got this:

“Dorota you’re a bitch and you don’t know how to argue because you’re just dumb as f… so have more shit”

and:

“I know everything better than you so suck it up snowflake, go back to your pot you anti immigrant scum”

and:

“you’re ignorant and dumb with small cock and a tiny arsehole lol consider yourself being slapped like a bitch…”

It got progressively worse. The comments became sexual in nature and disturbingly graphic in their descriptions. Threads followed, like this one — possibly the softest of all: “hey Pussylocker I wanna obstruct your face with a sledgehammer”.

Before I pressed the ‘block’ button, after others reported this user to Facebook, I read one final comment that appeared on my screen:

“you need a wake or something lol you’re destined to be dead”

This one is the one that shook me to my core. This one made me understand.

I misunderstood what my son was telling me — the discussion on his generations’ preferred platform is not the right place and I feel this particular one was an epic fail. We need to do it the old way — talk to real people out there and look them in the eyes. Which I will do every opportunity I have. I will listen, respond, listen again, try to understand, listen some more, empathize, explain, and agree to disagree if necessary. No insults, no patronizing, no belittling, and no judgement.

Dad, maybe I should start with you — because I trust my son’s instincts. He is my moral compass.

Looking to do your part? One way to get involved is to read the Indivisible Guide, which is written by former congressional staffers and is loaded with best practices for making Congress listen. Or follow this publication, connect with us on Twitter, and join us on Facebook.