Platforms might prove disastrous to civility
Experts warn connections in social media are less emotionally satisfying than those in person
In September 2020, an already fraught and challenging time, my dear friend Ann lost her cat. Scooter had never been allowed outside but was always trying to breach the confines of their lovely home to go exploring. Despite Ann’s best intentions to keep him safely inside, he finally seized an opportunity to escape while she was carrying groceries, dashing between her feet and vanishing into the wilds of West University Place.
Ann, her family and our friends walked the neighborhood for days, putting up posters, calling his name, asking everyone we passed if they’d seen him. Ann also posted Scooter’s photo and a plea for help on West U groups on Facebook and NextDoor.
To our shock and dismay, a woman — let’s call her Betty — responded, “Sounds like a bunch of excuses to me. He wasn’t wearing a collar because he didn’t have one. He got out because you didn’t secure his area. He’s not chipped. Period. You’d be lucky to get him back alive or uninjured.” Many other keyboard combatants chimed in, some agreeing that Ann had failed her pet, others criticizing Betty for her vitriol.
Ann called, crying. That a stranger would add the weight of her judgment to Ann’s misfortune only made her already broken heart ache even worse.
NextDoor, Facebook and other social media platforms can be fun and useful tools. I’ve used these forums to ask for advice, get rid of furniture, share the names of excep
As we spend increasingly more time online, it seems as though we’ve collectively forgotten how to behave in the real world.
tional handymen and plumbers, and publicize events. But there’s danger lurking in the algorithms that may prove ruinous to our self-esteem, our civility, even our lives.
Along with the rise in smartphone use, there’s been a dramatic and devastating rise in depression, anxiety and suicide rates. Experts warn that the connections social media users develop electronically are less emotionally satisfying than in-person relationships, which can lead to feelings of isolation, apathy and aversion to people with dissimilar views. It’s not just the users’ fault; the platforms are designed to segregate groups into their own echo chambers, creating savage polarization that focuses less on the victory of ideas than the domination of the “other.”
They allow, or even encourage, bullies to launch Trebuchet text bombs into the ether without much consideration as to how they’ll land. It’s easy to dehumanize an avatar. Of course, people also come to blows IRL, but the digital remove of electronic interactions gives users permission to forgo common courtesies, to beat each other to death with their fingertips, then simply close their computers and move on.
I wonder if Betty would’ve been as cruel if Ann had encountered her on the street, poster in hand, desperation and heartache showing on her face?
Especially since the pandemic, we aren’t engaging in as many person-to-person interactions as we used to. Working from home means fewer spontaneous water cooler conversations. We can’t make friends as easily at virtual gatherings than at in-person ones. Many younger “COVID kids,” as they’re called, have struggled socially after missing out on two years of typical socialization. Others have fared worse, debilitated by anxiety and other mental health conditions exacerbated by long quarantine periods. And as we spend increasingly more time online, it seems as though we’ve collectively forgotten how to behave in the real world. In ancestral societies, being part of a community was not only practical, it was key to their survival. Our modern culture has made the mistake of trying to substitute virtual coterie for a necessary and real one.
My family moved to West U 17 years ago, when I was pregnant with our second child. I was enchanted by the wellmaintained sidewalks and the astonishing number of people using them. Neighbors walking their dogs, pushing strollers, following little helmeted bike riders, jogging and strolling beneath the shade of giant live oaks inspired a feeling of conviviality.
But just saying hello, while satisfying, is only the first step toward building a real community. To that end, our block began a tradition of hosting potluck parties in the middle of the street once or twice a year, usually fall and spring, when the humidity and mosquitoes aren’t as inhibitory. In West U, residents have the option of requesting permission for a formal street event with barricades by sending a completed one-page application to the public works department, but in Houston, the process requires a five-page form and fee to the mayor’s office. We went through the formal channels the first time, but ever since, we’ve gathered more casually on someone’s lawn or driveway.
Several neighbors, who’d lived only a few houses apart from each other for years, met for the first time. We learned each other’s names, backgrounds, kids and careers. We traded phone numbers and email addresses as well as recipes and recommendations. Now we have a group text that allows us to check on each other quickly during emergencies such as freezes or floods, to share information and to borrow tools or toys or food. Something as simple as a block party has generated a strong sense of camaraderie, allowing us to feel more protected by and protective of one another. Our ancestors would be proud.
The NextDoor imbroglio stemming from Betty’s response about Ann’s lost cat lasted only a day. Another user posted, “I don’t want my neighbors fighting! Let’s find the good in each other! Does it help anyone to be fighting about this and calling each other names? No, it only brings more animosity and turns neighbors against one another. Let’s care about each other. Let’s help each other. Please!” Her comment garnered a large number of likes and even lifted Ann’s spirit somewhat.
A few days later, she looked up Betty’s address, which wasn’t hard to find. Ann carried a plate of homemade brownies to her house and knocked on the door. Betty answered, looking disheveled and sickly. There’s that saying about being kind to everyone because everyone is going through something. Betty was clearly going through it, and Ann immediately softened toward her. She introduced herself and offered the treat, and the two of them sat down at Betty’s kitchen table over a cup of coffee and talked about their online exchange. It turned out that Betty had lost a cat in college under similar circumstances, and had felt guilty about it ever since. The anger that came out toward Ann was, in part, directed at herself. She hadn’t thought that it would make Ann feel as bad as it did, and she apologized.
Scooter never did return home, and Ann and Betty didn’t become friends. But there was some healing between them once they sat down face to face and shared their perspectives. Ann felt a renewed sympathy for the suffering of others. And Betty, one would hope, will think twice before she takes a virtual swipe at one of her neighbors in the future.
As we make our new year’s resolutions this year, let’s consider how we can strengthen our communities. To improve our mental health and social connections, let’s not shout our criticisms from the digital rooftops. Call the mayor’s office (832-393-0868) and demand a simpler process to organize a block party. Or forego the red tape and invite your neighbors to hang out in your yard or a convenient common space.
Let’s all get off NextDoor and go outside — with our pets on leashes — and say hello to anyone and everyone we meet.
Chris Cander is a nearly-native Houstonian and USA Today bestselling author of four novels, the latest of which is “A Gracious Neighbor.” An advocate for literary arts in Houston, she serves on the Inprint advisory board and stewards several Little Free Libraries in her community.