An article in today's Washington Post about Facebook unfriending got me thinking about the one and only time I have ever unfriended a Facebook contact. My reason was simple and to the point: her posts ran angry, vitriolic, and bitter. I got the impression that she posted only when she was upset. That's her business, but I wearied of fending off the icy wind and decided to make an end of it. I received a re-friending request from her some time later, but declined to accept it. No point in taking a chance.
The Washington Post article quoted an ivory-tower type who used the words instrumentalization and commodifying in the same sentence. Oh, ick. That's almost as bad as the sour rages of my Facebook ex-contact. Nevertheless, he had a point. In his academically incoherent way he was saying that the problem isn't so much in friending or unfriending, but in Facebook's casually disruptive use of the word "friend" to describe contacts. Some of the people on my Facebook list are indeed actual friends, and in that capacity our Facebook contact serves as an accessory, much like e-mail or phone numbers. But others are people I barely know, or have never met in person. That doesn't mean there's anything wrong with them or with our having Facebook contact, but those aren't "friends." They're acquaintances and colleagues, maybe even just colleagues-of-acquaintances or acquaintances-of-colleagues. In particularly I value Facebook for maintaining contact with my ex-students. They can keep up with my doings, just as I can keep up with theirs. But there's a world of difference between keeping tabs on an ex-student and sharing one's intimate secrets over a long dinner and drinks.
Coming back to my one and only unfriending: I acknowledge that I'm overly sensitive to verbal vitriol. For years I carried on a daily e-mail correspondence with a retired college professor. The correspondence developed into a warm friendship of nearly a decade that began to cool, then dissolved, in the increasingly negative tone of his letters. None of the sourness was directed at me, at least not directly. It was partly engendered by some resentment on his part; I had become a practitioner of Theravada Buddhism during the course of our correspondence, and I often related my discoveries, feelings, reactions, and the like to him in my letters. Given that he was a grand old atheistic liberal, none of this sat well with him—even though Theravada Buddhism is distinctly non-theistic. I'm pretty sure my frequent references to Buddhist concepts were getting on his nerves, just as his counter statements tended to get my back up. After my diagnosis of coronary artery disease and the subsequent angioplasty and stent-placement operation, I experimented with veganism and teetotalling for several years. I tried very hard to keep that from being an issue with him or his two long-term companions, but still it put a clamp on social occasions. I didn't fit in to their lifestyle any more. At the same time, it began to seem awfully one-sided to me. Had the temperature of his posts not veered so dramatically downwards, I would have been content to keep up with what was for all intents and purposes a mutual journal. Possibly we could have worked things out. Maybe not.
I'm reproducing my final letter to my correspondent Bill, edited to change a student's name. I wrote it just a decade ago, on April 14, 2002. I still agree with the message.
—–
I saw it immediately and was very quick to apologize to him, both in front of the class and in a note afterwards. I had caused him hurt, for no other reason than my own desire to tell a joke—which some might find entertaining, but mostly because I wanted to tell the joke. It was all about me, but John got hurt.
Now one could perhaps say that if John is a devout Catholic in today’s society he should be pretty accustomed to hearing off-color or disparaging remarks in that direction and if he isn’t, well he had better toughen himself up pretty quickly. But that’s not the point. The point is that John apparently isn’t that tough and the joke hurt his feelings. How I think John ‘should’ be or how anyone else thinks John ‘should’ be is immaterial. It’s how he is that counts.
I could have also taken the stance that it’s my class and I reserve the right to say whatever I want in the class. Academic freedom (even to tell off-color jokes?) is a right and I’m not going to tailor my remarks to fit the sensibilities of every person in the room, so forth and so on, etc. etc. Students who don’t like it may drop the class and find another teacher.
This is essentially the response you’ve given me—that you reserve the right to say what it is that you want to say and if I find it hurtful or bothersome, well that’s my problem and my problem only, and if I don’t like that then we may end this correspondence.
Therefore I have decided that it is best to end the correspondence. I am hoping to end it on a note of gratitude and love: I have deeply appreciated the last decade-plus that we’ve tossed ideas around. I also continue to value and cherish your friendship, and continue to wish you all the best in the world.
—-
I suppose the best conclusion I can offer at the moment is that all relationships—be they personal, via e-mail, or within the relative anonymity of Facebook—are two-way streets. It isn't a matter of invoking the Thought Police or enforcing politically-correct notions of decency in language. It's that elementary principle of thinking before speaking (or posting) and asking yourself: what is the purpose of this speech? Am I speaking in a timely manner, appropriately, with all due regard of others?
That's a pretty tall order in our digital gab-soaked world, especially when blistering rancor tends to garner more page hits than reasoned consideration. Ugly speech blossoms when it is fed and nurtured. I've done plenty to feed negativity; we all have. But if 35 years as a teacher have taught me anything, it's that the proper word at the proper moment can work wonders, just as a careless or thoughtless quip can do appalling damage. Sticks and stones can break your bones, but bones will heal all by themselves given a chance. The emotional havoc wreaked by careless speech is not so easy to cure.