Political discussions on social media: thoughtful or bot-full?

When should I jump into the fray on social media? Do I have a responsibility to speak out every time I see something I believe is wrong? I don’t want to waste energy that I could use to speak out through my creative work instead -- and I’m not sure if I’m ready to face the fallout. 

When I read an upsetting political post, I go through an internal checklist. My first question is: do I know the original poster? If not, I usually assume that a post inflammatory enough to get my attention was made by a bot that only exists to stir up trouble. I decline the bait. If the OP is an online acquaintance or real-life friend, it’s not so simple to decide whether to respond or walk on by. I want to offer support for people who have been marginalized and bring attention to ideas that help society move toward equality and compassion. But conflict -- ugh. My pulse races, I get all hot, and I can’t concentrate on much else while I’m waiting for the clapback. And what if I fail to convince anyone? What if I do a lousy job and leave the discussion in an even worse place?

Often I compose a comment, but before hitting reply, I have to think: do I have the time and energy for this? I end up censoring myself probably more than half the time. Hopefully my real friends will meet my comments with respect, but trolls could still jump in and attack with vitriol and speed. It’s easy to feel bested by the sheer volume of their replies, which is of course their point. I try to post only arguments and data I have vetted with sources I trust, but the friends I disagree with tend to trust sources I don’t. Meanwhile, a skirmish with trolls who are satisfied using random memes and anonymous rants to back up their opinions may be completely futile.

I can still choose to engage, remembering I can opt out whenever I want. I can continue a discussion that reflects mutual respect and thoughtfulness, or I can bow out without fanfare or apology if the OP or any trolls lose track of logic or civility. I admire activists who can think on their feet and hold their own in arguments during protests, hearings, and cable television interviews. I have to admit, social media is a relatively comfortable space for me to hone my own powers of persuasion. I could censor myself less often.

What about close friends? I developed a Trump-era rule: social media political arguments with close friends are a no-no. Even in person, I avoid conflicts with the people I care about most. Online would be worse. My friend wouldn’t hear the tremor in my voice indicating how seriously I’m taking a discussion, how much I’ve invested in changing my own mind from what I learned growing up. My deepest fear is that political arguments may expose a difference in our values that endangers our friendship. If the difference is actually there, though, surely it bears examining? Yet, each of us takes social media (and politics, for that matter) with a different sense of seriousness and responsibility. I have convinced myself social media is not the right place for me to examine my lifelong friendships. 

But -- the stakes are high. We’re talking life and death when we’re talking about supporting Black Lives Matter or protecting social programs or Trans rights. If I could find the courage to toss out my rule, I’d be giving close friends a chance to explain or reconsider problematic posts. And I’ve been in my conservative friends’ shoes. If it weren’t for people who spoke up to me with patience and respect, who listened as I worked through misunderstandings and doubt about systemic racism and other human rights issues, I might still be asleep. Instead I’m on a path toward being “woke.” I’m educating myself,* hoping to be ready to have better conversations in the future, online and in person, sharing some of the lessons I’ve learned about race and privilege. 

One more question. When I make the effort to comment, and keep myself from hitting “Delete,” does my response make the difference I hope it makes? The other day a friend posted a racist meme complaining that there is less outrage about the heinous murder of a white child than there is for the murder of George Floyd. Treading lightly, I commented that the murders were both horrible, but that I must speak out about Floyd's case because he was murdered by a public servant, in my name. My friend responded by expanding the scope of her concerns, and I left her to it. It’s her page. The next day, I saw that she had posted another even more egregious meme on the same theme. I was disappointed. 

Did my response make a difference? My friend probably thought it was annoying, mystifying, or simply irrelevant. But my words will matter to others. Once in a while I hear directly from someone who felt supported by my participation in a social media argument. Or, at a family gathering, a niece or nephew has mentioned appreciating something I posted, when I had no idea they had even seen it. Energy spent on social media — engaging not with bots but thoughtfully with real people, whether online acquaintances or lifelong friends — is actually very similar to energy spent on my creative work. I would never expect my books to have a universally positive response. I remain hopeful that some readers will be moved by the posts I stick out my neck to make, as well as by the books I write.

*I’m currently reading So You Want to Talk About Race by Ijeoma Oluo, and highly recommend it for this exact purpose, preparing to have better conversations about race. You can buy it from your favorite Black bookstore (currently backordered at Mahogany Books) or via Indiebound or check it out from your library.