Barnabas Monkeypants

If ever I’m suffering from low-blood pressure, I know that I can easily just log-on to the Internet, go to some newspaper’s site, and click on the comment section linked to a political story. Just by reading a few of these posts, voila! I’m healed.

The problem with these inane authors is that they are able to write whatever they want, knowing full well that they’re protected by the anonymity of the Internet. It’s very easy for someone from Lexington, Kentucky, to say something about Candidate A, only to be told by someone in Anaheim, California, to do something not very nice with a dog. It’s a hollow threat, of course, because there’s no way Mr. California’s going to get on a plane and fly to Kentucky with his pet basset hound.

But if the same thing happened, say, at the local watering hole, somebody would likely get punched in face. Actually, had these two people been within 10 feet of each other, the comments would never have been said in the first place.

What does this mean? Does the safety of hiding behind a username bring out the real feelings of people? Or do they know that, because they face no real repercussions from their remarks, just ramp up the rhetoric to get other people (like myself) in a tizzy?

The fact that much of these comments fly in the face of common decency is troubling. In articles about the thankfully-concluded election, writers regularly attack not only the candidate’s policy (which, when using actual facts and not half-truths and outright lies, is fair game), but their religion, their patriotism, and even their family (these are not fair game). The 65-year-old inside me regularly cries out, “What has the world come to?”

What will this mean for Henry? I’m really afraid that this behavior on the Internet is going to spill out into the outside world. I’m afraid that he’s going to be surrounded by rude, insensitive people. I’m afraid that disagreements are going to be solved not with rational discussion but with insults.

It’s times like this, when I see how terrible people can be (believing that they are, in fact, in the right), when I want to pack up everything and take Kristen and Henry to some deserted area in Montana and never have to see another soul ever again.

I’m not going to do that, of course, but it’s in the back of my mind. Maybe elections bring out the worst in people, and like the cicadas, it will only come around every four (or 17) years. And maybe it’s just me, and I’m overreacting.

As it’s probably clear by now, I tend to do that. A lot.

This entry was posted on Wednesday, November 5th, 2008 at 8:56 pm and is filed under Barnabas, Worry. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.