Why Are Trigger Warnings Up For Debate?
You probably recognize this. It’s a warning — a signal that you should assess your mental state, maybe ensure kids aren’t watching, or turn the volume down so your parents don’t hear sex noises from your room. While television and movie ratings are borne of capitalism and a nonsensical puritan hierarchy of morals — they share the spirit of trigger warnings.
Somehow phrases like “trigger warning” and “content warning” have grown a heavy appendage; I’ve found that many people who read them misinterpret them as some kind of command — “You can’t discuss this topic, it may trigger a negative reaction in someone, and we need to cater to those few individuals.” At best, that is a response in need of serious clarification. At worst, it’s propaganda to invent an “other side,” an attempt to create reasonable opposition to requests of human decency. A trigger warning is not censorship. It’s not an order, it’s not indicative of weakness, and (pay attention) it’s not a joke.
Those of us living with microaggressions, PTSD, abusive pasts, addiction, or even some vague notion of past trauma — we are constantly at war with something you may not have considered: a lack of control.
Our daily lives demand we step outside our comfort zone — whether you post that hilarious joke about gender identity or not, we will encounter something today that will make our skin crawl. So rest assured, should you decide not to post that really amazing meme about B Turner, the job will still get done.
If a friend requests the use of TWs, or if you are “attacked” (fun word by the way) for posting something — it’s not to create an echo chamber of identical opinions.
Wait. Read that again. It’s important.
If someone asks for a TW — it’s not some shallow whiny reaction to something that doesn’t align with their thinking. It’s an attempt to preserve both the open nature of conversation and their health — because they value both.
The question might be, “Could you please use a trigger warning for posts like this?” But what you’re being asked is, “Could you allow me to decide for myself whether I’m able to handle this content?”
Marianna Sachse Follow @mvsachse phrased it perfectly; “As someone who has lost family members to suicide (and experienced several crappy pregnancy losses) I appreciate those warnings so that on a good day I can decide to take a deep breath before diving in and on a bad day I can chose to say, ‘I don’t want to engage in this right now.’ That’s an important choice to make.”
So when you say you don’t believe in censoring yourself, the message you’re sending is that you’re totally fine with having to share porn/dirty jokes/stories about your wild weekend privately to avoid getting “caught,” but the well-being of your loved ones just doesn’t warrant the same effort. And trust me when I tell you: that message is received.
The debate around content warnings is reminiscent of the hype surrounding transgender bathrooms — particularly due to one glaring similarity. Our culture strangely pretends that residential restrooms, shady gas station toilets, and state fair porta-potties haven’t been gender specific since… ever? Likewise, it seems that our collective memories have been rewritten to suggest that shaping our behavior around context is a new phenomenon.
Every year, as Independence Day and New Year’s Eve approach, I see an increasing number of social media posts and mass media coverage pleading for the considerate use of fireworks. It’s fairly well-known at this point that veterans suffering PTSD (among many others) may be sensitive to loud bangs and flashes of light. So, again — it’s really likely that you are already spending your energy taking other people’s welfare into account.
Let’s imagine you decide to give it a try. You take an extra 13 seconds of your busy day to type “TW: Consent violations.” You add “TW/CW: This program will address racially motivated violence and oppression” to a syllabus. You see a friend has posted an image with graphic violence, and you gently remind them that not everyone needs or wants to see it. What you’re actually doing is giving us back some measure of our lost sovereignty.
Honestly, I’m not going to dive into the psychology behind trigger warnings, or what draws the line between being uncomfortable and being triggered. We don’t owe you a reason. If we are a presence in your life that you value, then we’re not obligated to explain how and why your words prompt a nosedive into a past we’re healing from.
You already know that whatever happened to us was wrong, so we know that you are our advocates. Enabling us to regain agency that was lost when our mental health took a hit may seem inconsequential to you. To you, it’s hiding a picture in the comment section. To us, it is a well-needed and well-deserved demonstration that you support us. That our security is important. That you want our day to be a little bit easier. To you, it’s 2 extra letters on a Facebook post. To us, it’s a message that you give a shit.
Gene Demby and Shereen Marisol Meraji are part of the Code Switch team. Code Switch is a relatively new NPR podcast; every week they pick a topic related to race and racial oppression, and unpack that topic as thoroughly as 30 minute segments allow for. This week’s episode, “Warning! This Episode May Trigger Debate” is a conversation around whether we should be using trigger warnings in academia. It’s insightful, challenging, and at times it inspires that type of discomfort which seems to accompany new territory. To be clear, that’s not a critique — talking about things that don’t fit neatly into our cultural norms can feel like being stranded in a foreign country with limited resources, but we don’t get anywhere new without challenging ourselves. It’s absolutely worth a listen:
