25 February 2017

Troll Litter

Last night I donated about 30 minutes of my life to engagement with a troll on FB.

I deal with trolls as I deal with litter. If I see it while I’m driving, travelling at 70 mph up US 78 to Memphis or 65 to 80 mph on SR 7 to Oxford, I feel a quick stab of disappointment in “people” at the back of my throat and in the pit of my stomach. I’m moving fast so I don’t stop. It costs less than a minute of lifetime and I drive on.

If I see it in my yard or on the block where I live, I grumble about it for a few days -- not all day, just every time I leave the house or stand in the 14’ windows of the music room, watching styrofoam cups and empty potato chip bags tumble in the agitated winds of an oncoming storm.


Eventually I set my jaw, put on my moccasins, and go out to collect the litter.

I live on what is considered a busy corner in this small town. The public library occupies the entire block south of me. A huge historic Presbyterian church and the dainty two-story City Hall face me on the street that forms the western leg of the corner.  Lots of foot traffic as well as vehicular.  It's mostly young people who drop the litter; but the library also attracts older people, unemployed or retired or single moms with kids or the handful of ageless men who seem to spend the entire day walking and loitering. Some of them litter, too.

Usually everyone disappears after sundown but a few months ago a middle-aged couple with a dog took up residence on the library grounds for three or four days.  They caught my attention; the only time I'd seen white people loitering around the library and the only people I'd seen sleeping -- at night -- on the grounds.  I think they were on the road and just resting in Holly Springs for a few days.  Both of them looked like people who'd been spending a lot of time in sun and wind.

I gather the trash from my side of the street on both legs of the corner.  and deposit it, usually, in one of three dumpsters that hug the front wall of my neighbor’s place.  I feel good after I do it and the street looks better. It never takes more than 20 minutes.

So last night was put-on-the-moccasins night for me on FB.  A few weeks after The Election of 2016 (yeah, it's certain to appear in caps from now on), aware of the deepening divisions between people
along political lines, divisions spreading like hairline cracks shattering relationships, eroding the discourse and fracturing the psyches of the nation's people, I wondered will we ever mend these
breaks?  How?  Won't communication, the ability to talk to each other, be essential in any strategy of healing?

I was a proponent of "reach out to them" for a few weeks.  Breathe deep and don't get emotional.  Be rational and nonjudgmental.  Tell the truth and back it up with documented facts.  Walk a mile in their shoes. Meet them where they are.

It didn't go well.  There were a few instances where after a few exchanges the troll stopped screaming.  A couple of them thanked me for the exchange.  But overall, things quickly devolved into a train ride to Crazyville; at least on the troll's side.  I'm not angry at trolls.  I don't feel like screaming at them or smacking them.  They're like litter.  Pick it up and throw it away or drive on by.

Last night's encounter was with a young woman I'll call Lindsey.  She said something about libtards in response to this photo Robert Reich posted.  I commented that to view the problem and the fix for what's messed up in the U.S. through a liberal vs conservative lens misses the mark, quickly garnered a few Likes in the two minutes it took Lindsey to respond in all-cap word-salad rage about atheist liberal scum something or other.

I responded ...  she responded ...  I'm still working the kumbaya angle with her.  I bounced one more; by now, she was way over the ledge in the long grass sputtering and spitting without punctuation.

I lost interest.  I mean, how much communication is possible with an angry person who is screaming lies and cliches?

Some slightly perverse curiosity that I can't explain to you at the moment led me to click onto Lindsey's page.  She looked nothing like I'd imagined.  She is perhaps 20 years old.  Single.  White.  Pretty brunette.  Lot of family photos. 90% God- and Church-related posts in her newsfeed -- and 99% of everything slanted toward anger or outrage or indignation or some really mean humor.

I asked myself:  what are they so mad about?   "They" as in Christians, conservatives, and Republicans.  The Christians have their faith, the conservatism permeates the entire culture and the Republicans have the White House, both Houses of Congress and most of the governorship posts across the nation. What are they mad about?  No, it's beyond "mad" and "angry". Lindsey was enraged.

I almost went back, though I had signed off our exchange with something like "I hope your rage subsides at some soon point and you join the movement to restore democracy in our homeland.  It will take all of us to get this straightened out." I almost went back to ask her "Why are you so angry?  What is it?" but I didn't.  She had been incoherent throughout our discourse and I had little hope of a transformation being sparked by my question.

So

I blocked her.  No more Lindsey.  Litter removed.







1 comment:

  1. I love this post. You've asked the same question I have, "What are they so mad about?" And I wonder how they got so mad so quickly in their young lives. Your analogy to handling litter is perfect.

    I've been quiet on my blog, unable to write much without it being accusatory and pretty angry,too. That's not usually who I am. But lately I've been coming up with some ideas that I could write about and still maintain my Self. Thank you so much.

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