Social Media has revealed to me an important facet of the human psyche. It occurs to me that no matter what race, gender, or religion we belong, we have one thing in common: We are all a bunch of pouty 13-year-olds, who are convinced about the sanctity of our own opinions.
Most of us love to take a grain of knowledge and spin opinions that are as pretty and fluffy, as cotton candy — and about as nutritious. We love airing them to anyone who will listen – and even people who don’t want to listen. We love defending them from “the haters” and “trolls”. (Never mind the fact that trolls live happily in their Scandinavian caves – their happiness rooted in the fact that their thick cave walls block out wireless connections and by extension the internet.) And we love dissing the opinions we don’t agree with – turning into trolls ourselves. (Again, my deepest apologies to the actual trolls, who I am sure are a lovely race.)
But there is a special place in Twitter hell reserved for people who change their stance or are proved wrong on an issue. (One could also argue quite convincingly that all Twitter is hell.)
Don’t get me wrong. I love it when news anchors or politicians are made to chew their own words. But dissing people when they change their stance, sends out the wrong message to the wider tribe.
I have taken part in and observed many a passionate opinion slog fest. However, half an hour into an argument, a sense of disorientation sets in. I am not sure what we are trying achieve anymore.
What started as a discussion shapeshifts into a debate, which shapeshifts into an argument, which shapeshifts into a screaming match, which shapeshifts ultimately into a pouty 13-year-old, who cares only about one thing – being right.
There is no space to admit I might be wrong. Because in a combative environment, admitting one might be wrong means defeat. And we certainly do not like feel defeated.
I have noticed this in others and I have noticed this in myself. All I want to do is tell the 13-year-old that it’s okay if you’re wrong. That the sky won’t come crashing down on you if you admit that you never should’ve worn that eyesore of a stone washed, ripped jeans.
We need to create a world where it’s okay for people to come out and admit that they were wrong. A world in which changing an opinion will not be met with derision from the tribe. Because even the best and noblest among us are, in fact, imperfect apes, who can only get better if they’re given the room to change their opinions.
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