Facebook Lynching

In today’s America, every idea openly expressed that does not strictly conform to a government-approved template opens a cut that bleeds. I guess we still have it better than the people in some countries where they come after you in the dead of night with handcuffs, knives and guns.

In America, they de-friend you on Facebook. Make no mistake, this is our version of jihadists slitting throats – and, in some ways, even more hurtful. (Drew, Steven, Dawn, Tom, Jim, Linda - you know who you are.) You might say that those who would do this were never real friends in the first place. And you might be right. I still see any number of people from my high school and college days who never managed to shed their ‘hippy’ mindset, though most have since washed and upgraded their wardrobes. Most are competent in their professions, conservative in the management of their assets, and responsible toward their children and/or clients. When it comes to politics, however, we are apt to disagree.

I know I’ve changed my stance. And I’m not ashamed to admit it. I feel I’ve grown. At the same time, I do not hold it against anyone who might still be wed to the Leary trope. I’ve even been known to play along should anyone launch into his/her obligatory anti-Bush rant. It would never occur to me to leave feeling insulted, much less with the burden of murderous intent.

Since Obama’s election, we’ve become more divided than ever. This is a fact. I see it in my own life. As the popularity of my blog increases and the news of it reaches into various corners of the web, the defriending has begun. Some have even gone so far as to change their e-mail addresses. This points – not so much to what I am saying, but – to a growing insecurity on the part of the offended. I won’t go so far as proclaiming them ‘revolutionaries’. I know of no one who is. Most live respectable lives. They mean well. It’s just that they can’t seem to let go of something they obviously hold as sacred; that, at one time, may have defined their youth. It’s precious to them as an old, faded image on a photograph might be.

The realization that the world has changed, threatens the sacred nostalgia of the sixties and seventies. Even more ominous is the suspicion that it hasn’t exactly worked out. They might even be finding themselves without a job with no good prospects in sight. But they are likely to blame themselves – or Republicans. I find it telling that Charles Manson has finally broken his silence after 20 years, just to speak in support of our president’s 'global warming' initiatives. By doing so, he closes ranks with the likes of bin Laden, Castro, Ahmadinejad, Chavez and Mugabe - all of whom say essentially the same thing. One might have though all these silent years had produced a rarified wisdom beyond contrition; which just goes to show that a common monastic discipline is no guarantee of acumen. It’s illuminating to see just who all belongs to the active sponsorship of this baseless farce.

It’s never easy to fess up and say we’ve been wrong. It feels much more heroic to double down, even if it means going down with the ship. Many of the people I’ve known are quite willing – now, in the autumn of life – to take it all down with them. It fits in well with the label that’s come to be attached to us: the ‘me generation’. Narcissism is a tough nut to crack and I don’t really blame anyone who is unable to do it. (By the way, did you happen to hear that the author of “Three Cups of Tea” neglected to label his bestselling book as ‘fiction’? These people have become so desperate, even to the point of being dangerous – especially to themselves, I tell you.)

The other day, I saw something new at our local Whole Foods Market. They were selling emu eggs. These are large, dark-green spheres, each one said to be capable of making a six or seven egg omelet. They cost about $30 a piece. I was warned that it is quite difficult to crack them. I immediately thought of the baby emus whose first task in life is to manage their escape. I’m quite sure not all of them make it.

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