Readers note: I wrote this months ago, but just decided to publish it today.
I have to take a few moments to try and put the events of the last couple of days in some sort of personal perspective. I have not posted my thoughts publicly on social media, but feel that I have to say something, even if it is only to myself.
I have been, to say the least, consumed by the terrorist attack on the newspaper in Paris two days ago. I saw a very small video clip, not ten minutes after the event had begun to unfold, and I've not been able to tear my attention away from it for long ever since. Yesterday, as I read the same stories over and over on the BBC and the New York Times, I found myself wondering why it is that I find this so compelling. Why, for example, wasn't I as concerned with the London or Madrid bombings?
It's possible that they simply happened at a time when I wasn't connected, but that's not it. The truth is, I am a Francophile, and I feel a strong connection to the French culture and to Paris in particular. Even though I am not French, and am several thousand miles away, I feel somehow that this is happening to me. In particular, I feel a strong desire to be there now, to go out in the Place de la Republique and stand with all those people, even in the cold, the rain and dark.
I recall how difficult it was to live in Paris during this dark time, and how important the social life of the city was to me. I was alone most of the time I lived in Paris--I can't romanticize my depression because it's what eventually drove me from the city. Still, living there, going out and seeing other people and all the lights; hearing the sounds of the street mixed with constant, far-off sirens; smelling the exhaust fumes mingling with the smell of food--all this is part of the tapestry of memory that I wove during during those long-ago day, and something still retain today.
Seeing pictures of Paris always makes me nostalgic, but seeing the pictures of the Charlie Hebo massacre, especially the murder of the policeman makes me almost desperate to be there. Why, I do not know. That's why I am writing this, hoping to find out as I work my way through it.
Last night, we had dinner with a couple who own a local newspaper. It's an actual paper, printed and distributed in our area of town. 'Hyperlocal' is what they call it, and though it has an online 'presence' (which is to say, a website), it is an actual printed paper which continues to survive, even in these times when everything seems to have gone entirely digital. As the co-editor of my high school newspaper now forty years ago, I would never have supposed that I might praise a local paper just for surviving. Oh, we saw the coming of digital journalism even back then, in 1972 (it was obvious even in the local newsroom), but the printed paper was such a permanent part of my life and culture, even though I had big ideas about the future of journalism I wouldn't have concluded that the profession was simply going to all but vanish in my lifetime.
Well, it hasn't vanished. And even though hyperlocal journalism seems to be an important part of journalism in the coming years, we know that even hyperlocal news can go viral, and that the locality of the news has sometimes less impact than the perception of it's influence. By this I mean that it easy to overestimate the importance of a bit of media and consequently overreact to it by becoming enraged. Just reading the comments on pretty much any website (that still allows them) will prove this point--it is only two steps from 'I don't like that' to 'You are nazi'. Thankfully most of this rage is simply vented with key pounding fury, but occasionally, as we've seen, it provokes unstable and nihilistic individuals into violent action.
So should we refrain from provoking others? Trolls clearly think otherwise. Personally, I find the activities of internet trolls to be among the worst possible uses of the internet. Cats and porn notwithstanding, this whole provocation thing, starting with flame wars, moving to trolling and emerging as violent confrontations seems to be driving a lot--not all, or even most, but a lot--of the 'traffic' on those interwebs.
The hard part for me to reconcile is the fact that is seems like the writers at Charlie Hebo were acting like trolls. It's fair to say that satire can actually have a purpose, but sometimes that purpose is just to offend and nothing more. I am not suggesting that all criticism must be constructive, but seems to me that any one-way conversation (especially trolling) simply to exercise free speech is ironically bound to fail. Something gets said alright, but no one's the better for it. The 'talkers' in this case are simply being self-righteous and smug and the 'listeners' are hurt and insulted.
I am also struggling with the concept of provocation. I find myself asking, what provokes, and why? This is often--perhaps only--a personal question, but trying to answer it seems to bring me closer to what bothers me. Ideally, I could not be provoked. I would be to wise, to circumspect, too knowing to be fooled by provocation, no matter how flagrant. In fact, it seems that the more flagrant the attempt at provocation, the more farcical it becomes, like calling someone a nazi because they prefer the toilet paper from the bottom. It's all a matter of degree from wherever you happen to start. And some things, especially the little things, are provoking.
But what does that really mean? Does provocation lead to violence? Of course, not always. Does it even lead to action? Again, not always. But it does arouse feelings, and these can cause us to react, or even just act. I guess I can only examine this--at least here--from a personal context.
What provokes me?
This is actually an easy question. It's been the same since I can remember. It's this: someone telling me that they know what I am thinking and/or feeling. It provokes me because I know it cannot be true. Of all the things I know to be true, the fact that my thoughts and feelings are know to me first--and often to me alone. If I share them, it's something else, but my thoughts and feelings are mine alone. No one can ever know them but me. It's not just a selfish feeling, though it certainly might be seen that way. I see it as an immutable truth--it is clear that of all the things I know, and that of course is nothing, then then only thing I really know is just that, my sense of knowing nothing. That's not a riddle or a paradox, just the hard edge of truth. It cuts sometimes, so handle it gently.
I say all this to point out that provocation is not so hard, and it's not easily controlled or dismissed with a shake of the head and a knowing smile. Even if you know it's just your button, it's still being pressed and that sets it off. Is anyone immune to this? Is anyone so controlled that they cannot be provoked? If the answer is no, then isn't it just a matter of degree? Isn't your ox the only one that matters? The flame is there, already lit and ready to be fanned.
This does not excuse action in the name of provocation, however. This is the classic defense of rapists, homophobes and racists--forced into action by relentless provocation. It doesn't even have to be relentless, just timely, whenever the insult is perceived, and boom, the spark leads to the explosion.
I have to take a few moments to try and put the events of the last couple of days in some sort of personal perspective. I have not posted my thoughts publicly on social media, but feel that I have to say something, even if it is only to myself.
I have been, to say the least, consumed by the terrorist attack on the newspaper in Paris two days ago. I saw a very small video clip, not ten minutes after the event had begun to unfold, and I've not been able to tear my attention away from it for long ever since. Yesterday, as I read the same stories over and over on the BBC and the New York Times, I found myself wondering why it is that I find this so compelling. Why, for example, wasn't I as concerned with the London or Madrid bombings?
It's possible that they simply happened at a time when I wasn't connected, but that's not it. The truth is, I am a Francophile, and I feel a strong connection to the French culture and to Paris in particular. Even though I am not French, and am several thousand miles away, I feel somehow that this is happening to me. In particular, I feel a strong desire to be there now, to go out in the Place de la Republique and stand with all those people, even in the cold, the rain and dark.
I recall how difficult it was to live in Paris during this dark time, and how important the social life of the city was to me. I was alone most of the time I lived in Paris--I can't romanticize my depression because it's what eventually drove me from the city. Still, living there, going out and seeing other people and all the lights; hearing the sounds of the street mixed with constant, far-off sirens; smelling the exhaust fumes mingling with the smell of food--all this is part of the tapestry of memory that I wove during during those long-ago day, and something still retain today.
Seeing pictures of Paris always makes me nostalgic, but seeing the pictures of the Charlie Hebo massacre, especially the murder of the policeman makes me almost desperate to be there. Why, I do not know. That's why I am writing this, hoping to find out as I work my way through it.
Last night, we had dinner with a couple who own a local newspaper. It's an actual paper, printed and distributed in our area of town. 'Hyperlocal' is what they call it, and though it has an online 'presence' (which is to say, a website), it is an actual printed paper which continues to survive, even in these times when everything seems to have gone entirely digital. As the co-editor of my high school newspaper now forty years ago, I would never have supposed that I might praise a local paper just for surviving. Oh, we saw the coming of digital journalism even back then, in 1972 (it was obvious even in the local newsroom), but the printed paper was such a permanent part of my life and culture, even though I had big ideas about the future of journalism I wouldn't have concluded that the profession was simply going to all but vanish in my lifetime.
Well, it hasn't vanished. And even though hyperlocal journalism seems to be an important part of journalism in the coming years, we know that even hyperlocal news can go viral, and that the locality of the news has sometimes less impact than the perception of it's influence. By this I mean that it easy to overestimate the importance of a bit of media and consequently overreact to it by becoming enraged. Just reading the comments on pretty much any website (that still allows them) will prove this point--it is only two steps from 'I don't like that' to 'You are nazi'. Thankfully most of this rage is simply vented with key pounding fury, but occasionally, as we've seen, it provokes unstable and nihilistic individuals into violent action.
So should we refrain from provoking others? Trolls clearly think otherwise. Personally, I find the activities of internet trolls to be among the worst possible uses of the internet. Cats and porn notwithstanding, this whole provocation thing, starting with flame wars, moving to trolling and emerging as violent confrontations seems to be driving a lot--not all, or even most, but a lot--of the 'traffic' on those interwebs.
The hard part for me to reconcile is the fact that is seems like the writers at Charlie Hebo were acting like trolls. It's fair to say that satire can actually have a purpose, but sometimes that purpose is just to offend and nothing more. I am not suggesting that all criticism must be constructive, but seems to me that any one-way conversation (especially trolling) simply to exercise free speech is ironically bound to fail. Something gets said alright, but no one's the better for it. The 'talkers' in this case are simply being self-righteous and smug and the 'listeners' are hurt and insulted.
I am also struggling with the concept of provocation. I find myself asking, what provokes, and why? This is often--perhaps only--a personal question, but trying to answer it seems to bring me closer to what bothers me. Ideally, I could not be provoked. I would be to wise, to circumspect, too knowing to be fooled by provocation, no matter how flagrant. In fact, it seems that the more flagrant the attempt at provocation, the more farcical it becomes, like calling someone a nazi because they prefer the toilet paper from the bottom. It's all a matter of degree from wherever you happen to start. And some things, especially the little things, are provoking.
But what does that really mean? Does provocation lead to violence? Of course, not always. Does it even lead to action? Again, not always. But it does arouse feelings, and these can cause us to react, or even just act. I guess I can only examine this--at least here--from a personal context.
What provokes me?
This is actually an easy question. It's been the same since I can remember. It's this: someone telling me that they know what I am thinking and/or feeling. It provokes me because I know it cannot be true. Of all the things I know to be true, the fact that my thoughts and feelings are know to me first--and often to me alone. If I share them, it's something else, but my thoughts and feelings are mine alone. No one can ever know them but me. It's not just a selfish feeling, though it certainly might be seen that way. I see it as an immutable truth--it is clear that of all the things I know, and that of course is nothing, then then only thing I really know is just that, my sense of knowing nothing. That's not a riddle or a paradox, just the hard edge of truth. It cuts sometimes, so handle it gently.
I say all this to point out that provocation is not so hard, and it's not easily controlled or dismissed with a shake of the head and a knowing smile. Even if you know it's just your button, it's still being pressed and that sets it off. Is anyone immune to this? Is anyone so controlled that they cannot be provoked? If the answer is no, then isn't it just a matter of degree? Isn't your ox the only one that matters? The flame is there, already lit and ready to be fanned.
This does not excuse action in the name of provocation, however. This is the classic defense of rapists, homophobes and racists--forced into action by relentless provocation. It doesn't even have to be relentless, just timely, whenever the insult is perceived, and boom, the spark leads to the explosion.
