The Weekly Screed (#852)

Get out of the kitchen
by David Benjamin

“Can you see why some of us are whispering? It is the sense of viciousness lying in wait, of violent hate just waiting to be unfurled, that leads people to keep their opinions to themselves, or to share them only with close friends.”
                                                           —  Katie Roiphe

PARIS — There’s a grouch on Facebook named Bill Riley who’s been calling me a lowlife lying liberal (gotta give him credit for alliteration!) and other lame epithets. This is water off an old newspaperman’s neoprene hide but it calls to mind an essay a few weeks ago by Michelle Goldberg about the incongruously tender sensibilities of social-media regulars.

During the 2016 election, Goldberg attended Trump rallies, asking people — between screams — what was bothering them the most. The commonest complaint was “political correctness,” an irksomely vague phrase. She asked what they meant by that.

“People kept complaining that they could no longer say what they really thought. I’d ask what they couldn’t say, but they usually wouldn’t answer. Then I’d ask who was stopping them, and they inevitably talked about being criticized for their political opinions on social media.”

My first response to this astounding admission was, Wait a minute! Social media isn’t really there. It’s cyberspace, an imaginary world populated by a few “friends” who share your beliefs and who “like” every dumb remark and blurry cat photo you post. The rest of “social media” is total strangers, most of them with false identities, half of whom are “bots,” and the rest of whom are ten-year-old porn addicts, fifty-year-old pedophiles, Donald Trump and an infinite number of monkeys.

Of course, I know there are communities on social media, like groups of high-school girls, who are constantly in touch both digitally and in the flesh, who wield inordinate powers of approval or pain in 280 characters or less. But that’s all personal. Goldberg’s Trumpniks were talking politics.

I’ve been writing about politics for 40 years. In that span, “lowlife lying liberal” doesn’t even register among my slings and arrows. When I was running my weekly in Massachusetts, I fielded three death threats, only one of which — from a Mob-connected local thug with a really short fuse — I took seriously. I was chased down Main Street once by members of the local biker gang.

Later in life, writing politics got me fired from at least two jobs, and I was denounced publicly by the Japan Sumo Association for defying its gag order — observed slavishly by every reputable news organization in Japan — about cheating in sumo. This official rebuke remains one of my proudest distinctions.

In all those trials, I stayed true to an unspoken code that sustains the symbiosis of politics and journalism. Politicians can say — and do — whatever they think they can get away with. Reporters can say whatever they want about what the politicians are saying — and doing — as long as all the back-and-forth doesn’t get personal.

Even in smalltown politics, everyone knows how to behave. As a local editor, I applied merciless scrutiny to the Board of Selectmen, Town Manager, Zoning and Health Boards, etc. In my Town Hall contacts, the pols and I were proper, cordial, even friendly But editorially, I was as critical as I felt was necessary. The Selectmen took every shot leveled at them, but rarely took offense. They knew it wasn’t personal.

Occasionally, they publicly disputed my criticism (or basked in the glow of my praise). Once in a while, they dispatched supporters to write Letters to the Editor, aimed at me — to which it was my practice never to reply, lest I corner the market on the “last word.”  I took my shots and held my peace.

Once, a Selectmen with whom I’d been at odds for years approached me. He reminded me that he disagreed with me almost universally and, besides that, he didn’t like me. “But,” he grumbled, “you’re fair.”

This backhanded tribute remains one of my proudest distinctions.

It’s possible, sometimes even pleasant, for politicians to coexist with the journalists who probe, report and expose their every move because — on both sides — they’re professionals. They know the rule. You condemn the sin, not the sinner.

One of Harry Truman’s oft-cited quotes is, “If you can’t stand the heat, get out of the kitchen.” He might well have said this, were he alive today, to those Trumpian snowflakes who revel in calling their political enemies names, but who shrink in dread from the prospect of return fire.

When I started writing about politics, I was getting paid for it. In that capacity, I stuck to the available facts, followed the rules of civil discourse and avoided name-calling — except when it was just for fun. We will always owe Bill Safire a debt of gratitude for “nattering nabobs of negativism.”

More important, I loved standing in the glare of the spotlight, thinking of myself as the voice of the community, or the target of the community’s anger. I made sure my byline appeared on anything that might be the slightest bit controversial, so that people knew whom to blame… or whom to thank. I used to wear a t-shirt around town that read, “I’m Responsible.”

People who delve into politics on “social media” aren’t getting paid for their opinions. Partly because anybody can chime in, without a press pass, for free, “social media” has no rules. There’s no civility. Name-calling is rampant and little that even remotely evokes Safire’s wit. It’s not, in a word, responsible.

All of which makes me wonder why the idiots (like me) who post their political thoughts on social media can possibly feel hurt by disagreement — or outright nastiness — from their fellow social-media idiots. This is amateur byplay. It carries no weight. It gives no heat. It has no kitchen.

So, when fellow idiot Bill Riley leveled his lilting LLL, I smiled. And smiled again when Peter Brown tuned in. Playing on the similarity of the names Bill Riley’ and Bill O’Reilly, he asked Bill about his history as a sexual predator.

I smiled again when Riley took himself seriously on an unserious medium and told Peter to “kiss my ass, you pervert.”

…which would make a cool t-shirt at a Trump rally!