Think: Does This Need to be Posted?

It's been a week since the shootings in Aurora.  And in that time there have been eruptions all over the media of clashing opinions on what went wrong and how it could have been avoided.  Fingers point in all directions simultaneously attacking and invoking the constitution, and sometimes in direct contradiction.  Some call for censorship of violence in art while at the same time citing the second amendment to defend the ownership of assault rifles.  Bloggers and commenters form opinions, pass judgment and hit "submit" in minutes, often without a second thought, often without pausing to remember that at the heart of the matter is the fact that there are victims here.  The rush to be heard, to express one's opinion bypasses the inclination to be sensitive to survivors.  As revolutionary as the internet and media technology are right now in their capacity to connect people and communicate knowledge, the relatively anonymous setting allows individuals to espouse a range of personal, political, and often judgmental viewpoints. This lends itself to rash and self-serving behavior more likely to sever ties than forge them.  Instead of understanding, we have angry reactionary rifts; instead of dialogue, we have Babel.

Because we do need to talk about Aurora.  Something horrific occurred.  The fact that it was a senseless act doesn't mean that people aren't going to *try* to make sense of it.  It's how we comfort ourselves - if we can figure out why it happened, maybe we can prevent it ever happening again.  And there's some merit to this line of reasoning: if we can grow from a tragedy, that makes it less meaningless and the survivors can feel that perhaps it will not have happened in vain.  But in this search for meaning, we end up on different sides of the blame game, trying to solve the perverted retroactive logic puzzle: "If only _________, then this wouldn't have happened."  As if finding the right fill-in-the-blank would somehow fix everything.  As if crafting the perfect argument it would undo what happened.  As if by blaming the right person or institution, we would somehow be able to hit the big reset button.

Of course we need to examine the factors at play in what happened, but we have to acknowledge that just as the effects of the Aurora shooting were immediately chaotic and widespread, the causes will never be as simple or reductive.  Multiple variables led up to what happened, some of which will probably take a very long time to surface.  But what a lot of people forget in their rush to examine, discuss, pass judgment, and blame is that there are real people, real victims in this scenario.  And using this tragedy as a prop to troll the internet and mainstream media about violence or personal rights or, for God's sake, appropriate parenting in a movie theater is insulting to these people, and ultimately selfish.  How does angrily spewing an opinion while attacking someone else's help anyone involved?  In fact, how does it help the spewer?

The following will seem like a weird tangent.  Bear with me.  Or bail, whatever.

Anyone familiar with the work of Craig Ferguson already knows the following:  he is a class act, he's brilliantly funny, and he's got a dreamy, dreeeeeamy Scottish accent.  Ferguson has had a rough journey getting to where he is.  In his autobiography and his stand-up, he is very open about his past struggles with addictions to drugs, alcohol, and arguably, women.  So he draws on some harsh life experience when he approaches his art.  He's not some snotty hack; he has real substance.  I think he's one of the best late night hosts because he actually seems to listen to his guests when they talk, and it's this ability to empathize that led to what he did right here.

Craig thought about the power of his own words and the people it would potentially hurt. He took his role as an artist and a voice in pop culture and acted kindly, responsibly.  It's sad that I was more surprised by this small example of basic human decency than I was by the fact that a madman unleashed chaos in a crowded theater.  We've gotten so used to people placing a higher priority on saying whatever the hell they want than on considering the feelings of others.  The word "sensitive" has become more inflammatory than any of the 7 more famous ones Carlin was famous for using (that wasn't a shot - I also love me some Carlin).  It happens on the internet, it happens in performances, and it happens face-to-face.

Seeing the above clip reminded me of the fact that a few weeks ago, I was thinking about how Craig was the perfect counterpoint to another comedian in the middle of a media circus:  Daniel Tosh.  When Tosh made his little non-joke about sexual assault, I was admittedly pissed off.  Because even though I admit to laughing at episodes of Tosh.O, my expectations of his particular brand of humor aren't particularly high to begin with.    Commenting on doofy internet videos doesn't take a lot of thought.  It is what it is.  So while I was angry that his response to being called out for making stupid remarks about sexual assault - because I'm sorry, I won't call them jokes because jokes are funny, but that's for another post entirely - I can't say I was surprised.  It was the ensuing vitriol in the media, largely the comment sections of blogs, that really got me heated.  There's this huge misconception about free speech, and a lot of the nastier and more extraordinarily grammar-challenged commenters seem to get behind this misconception:  that free speech means "I can say whatever I want and everyone else has to SHUT UP.  I'm entitled to MY opinion and anything you say against it is you trying to silence me."

Um, no.  Free speech - you're doing it wrong.

Calling Tosh out on a pretty cavalier attitude toward sexual assault and his gross remarks to an audience member that it would be "hilarious" if she got gang-raped isn't infringing on his free speech.  He is free to say what he wants, and people are free to respond in kind.  But what he and his puerile defenders fail to acknowledge (in their scramble to shout louder than anyone else in the room)is that there are victims out there.  And maybe, just maybe, you should consider them or at least be aware of their existence.  So many more than they know.  (I'm not saying we can't joke about horrible and tragic things, but you'd better make damn sure you craft that joke carefully.  You'd better make fun of the right thing.  Tosh failed where others have succeeded.  Lindy West does a nice dissection of the art form here.)  While the Aurora shooting is a shocking single incident, sexual assault is a constant threat in society.  What both have in common is the existence of victims.  The victims of sexual assault however, are much more anonymous and sadly, extensively more numerous.  So many comedians take so much pride in being edgy, and offending groups is like a merit badge.  But seriously, would a comedian get away with making an Aurora joke right now?  Someone would stand up and say something.  Why is what you're saying so important and ostensibly hilarious that you'd take pride in offending a really vast group of people who've been through hell just to have said it?  (I know that's an awkward sentence.  It's 3:20 a.m. right now...)

Commenters and bloggers arguing over free speech often miss a hugely important point:  just because we have the right to say something doesn't mean we should say it.  It's one thing to be passionate about a cause, it's quite another thing to mouth off.  It's like when people say something harsh or cruel, and after getting a nasty look or a complaint in return, throw in this phrase: "What? I'm just being honest."  Well no, you're not *just* being honest, because you're *also* being a jerk.  My favorite of these is, "Wow, you look really tired.  What?  I'm just being honest."   Because if you're being honest, maybe the other person already knows this and doesn't need it pointed out.  Just because it's true - and really, who gets to be the great arbiter on truth? - doesn't mean it needs to be said.  The point is, think about what you're unleashing with this apparent devotion to honesty before you go ahead and unleash it.

(It's taken me a week to write this post.  I started last Friday, then scrapped most of it because I realized I wasn't following my own advice.  A lot of it was angry and reactionary ranting.  I know that sometimes this blog is a typed equivalent of me standing in the middle of a crowd screaming "HEY!  HEY!  I HAVE THOUGHTS!  THOUGHTS, I TELL YOU!  IN MY *HEAD*!!!" but I should at least practice what I preach, so I delayed posting and this has been largely re-written, and it's better for it.)

In our mad dash to make ourselves heard, is it so much to ask that we consider who will be doing the listening?  You want to be heard?  You'll need other people to hear you.  Not caring whether you'll say something devastating  - or intentionally doing so - to those listeners probably means you won't get your point across. That's how conversation works.  It's teamwork. Craig's philosophy is probably why he's such a natural at it on his show.  Why has it become so hard to think before speaking?

Craig says this better than I do.  Maybe it's the accent.  Maybe it's the hour.

Ok, it's definitely both.