The Nazi room

Some friends have said that they regret using Facebook because it makes them like their peers less. That someone they would probably like in person becomes someone they can’t stand because of the opinions they post. I understand this sentiment, and at times I can relate to it. But at the same time, it’s hard to believe that somebody’s defining beliefs and overall worldview would never be expressed face to face if you know them well enough. And if they are hiding certain values, I’m not sure I’d rather be unaware of what those values are.

In the past, I have written that there is no single “true” self. People are multifaceted, and we can be kinder and more complicated than our belief systems. I don’t believe that a human necessarily has only one set of values; they can have several at odds with one another. But even if their values aren’t a neatly matching set, others can still feel alienated by a particular belief they have—even with the awareness that it isn’t their only belief. I know I will distance myself from a person if they express specific beliefs, just as I know I’m not exempt from alienating others with mine.

The internet is a paradoxical place. It’s a space where humans are bolder and more confrontational about expressing themselves, and at the same time more cautious if their words are for public consumption. It’s a place where individuals can perform a one-dimensional version of themselves, and where they can also share sides of their psyche that are not usually seen. It’s a meeting ground where people dismiss each other more readily because it’s easier to see a human as a set of pixels or an algorithm, but people also might offer each other more time. Because the online world is us, an outgrowth of both space and time.

Just as the internet is people and the internet is a place, people are places. Some are homes. Some are locations we think are homes, but turn out to be stops along the way. Some are havens we visit routinely, but where we don’t ultimately live. That’s why I think of a personality as a house. Some houses have consistent themes throughout. Those homes are cozy and predictable. Some prefer that, others find it dull. Some houses are neat and affable in the rooms that are meant for showcasing, but complete chaos in the private quarters. And others don’t hide their mess.

This is the type of home I’d find most disconcerting: The social, guest-receiving rooms are open and embracing. The living room contains an MLK poster and books about environmentalism and civil rights. Then, somewhere tucked far down a hallway, there’s a study full of KKK propaganda and Nazi memorabilia. The resident is flustered upon guests discovering it, but insists it’s “not a racist thing.” They say they have no problem with (X minority group), they just “don’t want them in their country.” (So what does “having no problem with them” mean? Not objecting to their basic existence, provided that existence occurs far away and they never have to inhabit the same space?) The person who owns and maintains this house may not see the space dedicated to bigotry as their “true” room. They may see it as just one coexisting with all the others, no more of a core space than anywhere else. They may even like to have minority friends in the house; just not in that area. But the guests who liked the main quarters won’t feel comfortable there anymore, and it would be especially scary if the house was a place where they’d regularly enjoyed spending time.

That figurative house is who some people are. Some may not actually be aware that they contain that specific room. Others might know about it but blame others for putting the contents inside, not acknowledging that they choose to hold onto those things. And I know my definition of welcoming is subjective; some would feel a lot more embraced in the bigotry room than in the main socially presented areas. But that is how I see it, and I think the internet provides a window into rooms that might not otherwise be seen—even by those who live in the house. The difference lies in whether or not the homeowner justifies that room; whether they respond to its discovery by more carefully hiding the contents, by bringing them out into the open, or by trying to renovate.

Online conversations are unique in the way that so many of them can take place at once, so your entire frame of mind can change by the second depending on who you're talking to and what about. Sometimes this creates shallower emotions during those exchanges, because it gets draining to become fully invested in multiple intense discussions.

Written discourse in general is also unique in the sense that the words hang in the air, existing at all times. So you can be thinking or feeling something strongly, write about it, and then hear others respond once you're no longer so engaged. But to them, the time hasn't passed. This can result in fixating on something you might not otherwise; the opposite of what happens with multiple conversations. Online exchanges can do one or the other.

Both in-person and written communication have an important place, and I can't say one is superior. It just interests me how they bring about such different interactions and thought processes.

There is no single self.

I don't believe in the assumption that people are always their "true" selves on the internet; that anonymity or the barrier of a computer screen grants us the freedom to unleash our full, authentic nature. Nobody has one singular self. We are multifaceted, and different facets are expressed in different settings. This is as true for face-to-face scenarios as it is for online discourse. Just because one particular side of someone is being conveyed, that doesn't mean the others are now invalid. They could all be just as real, even if they contradict one another. And sometimes a specific setting will push someone further into a direction than they'd normally go or incite them to express things they don't usually feel. It's not accurate to point to somebody in a specific scenario and say, "That's who they really are, and everything else they've ever said or done which contradicts this is just an act."

Changing communication

It's often said that the internet has changed the way we communicate. It's true, but there's more to it than that. The online world has changed how we learn and how we educate others. Obviously it's made information a lot more widely accessible—although not all the content can be trusted. Pre-internet, it took more effort to find articles and studies. You'd have to take classes, go to the library, and do other things that would require leaving your home and sometimes spending money. That was a barrier for some who might have otherwise been able or willing to learn. Still, I wonder if the easy access we now have can become a deterrent as well. We know that this wealth of knowledge is only a search and click away, so we let the bookmarks pile up with the assurance that we'll read everything later because we can.

It changes the way we relay knowledge, too. If we want to prove a point or pass along a story, we share links. There's no requirement to first digest it ourselves and then explain it in our own words. We don't have to memorize facts; they're available to go back and reference. This can make it more challenging to talk to people face to face without the internet at hand, because it's frustrating to want to show them exactly what you're talking about but not have the source available.