Final Exam: Callout Culture

One of the questions for our final is, "what sort of culture does [the Internet] produce?" Though it undoubtedly produces multiple cultures, I think one of the most observable cultures is "callout" or "cancel" culture. For those who might not know, callout culture is the act of publicly calling out a person (usually a celebrity or otherwise successful person) for their prejudiced behavior, usually with the intention of damaging (or "cancelling") their career. It is different from the "whisper networks" of women attempting to keep each other safe from abusive or predatory men in an industry, as whisper networks never informed public discourse, and their purpose was to protect women rather than to end careers.

I struggle with callout culture because I personally find value in boycotting racist/homophobic/transphobic corporations and individuals. I also think public callouts can be warranted when it comes to things like repeated sexual assault or domestic abuse, especially when the perpetrators are extremely successful. However, it's often taken too far. People orchestrating callout posts often dredge up posts from when now-adult celebrities were teenagers, or attack other minorities for minor transgressions.

Ultimately, callout culture is not a very healthy or productive form of public discourse. It does not aim to educate or correct people on their behavior, only attacks them. It also can wreak a sort of havoc on public discourse to assume the other side is "evil", as callout culture often does.

Public Discourse and the Road to Repair

In our study of public discourse, it’s difficult not to feel overwhelmed.  The muddling of facts, polarized political sides, and adverse effects of technology are enough to give you a headache and make a manageable solution feel out of reach.  Yet James Hoggan reminds us in I’m Right and You’re an Idiot that “it is not a wise strategy to define a situation as inevitable or out of control” and in doing so you will simply create a “message that leads to paralysis.” 

   
In this case Hoggan was referring to the dangers of framing undeniable environmental problems through the lens of an impending apocalypse, which frightens citizens into an ignorance-is-bliss state of mind that turns off the switch to our planet’s environmental collapse.  This paralysis effect could be similarly applied to the deteriorating state of public discourse, where it is just as temping to ignore the massive problem and try to live your own life as best you can. 

But how do we avoid doing nothing to fix the state of public discourse without falling into the same patterns and habits that got us here in the first place?  I could recycle my trash and tell myself that I’m making an impact, while still driving my car, eating farmed meet, and wasting water.  Similarly, I could read a text on the importance of political collaboration, share my analysis with like-minded peers, and walk away with the consolation of “Hey, at least we’re talking about it.”

But at what point is taking about it enough to give people what Hoggan describes as a “will to find a way out of the dilemma?”  I think it all comes back to who you are talking to and how you approach talking to them.  I have no trouble voicing my opinions and ideas within echo chambers where I feel comfortable, but when was the last time I actively sought out individuals with a opposing standpoints to try to understand their viewpoint and listen with empathy? 

In the wealth of channels and individuals seeking to vitalize public discourse through their own platforms, certain approaches stand out from others in their accommodation to empathetic and collaborative discourse.  There is the widely popular TED organization, which broadcasts its “Ideas worth spreading” to over thirteen billion YouTube subscribers.  The array of poised and diverse individuals with generative ideas and perspectives is a refreshing change from the shouting matches we see in debates and on news broadcasts, but perhaps TED is tiptoeing around authentic public discourse in their politically slanted selection of presenters and speaker-to-audience approach.

Then we have individuals like Steven Crowder, who uses a feigned attempt at “real” public discourse to mask what is clearly an intention to spark polarizing arguments in his Change My Mind YouTube series.  In the videos Crowder sits down with college students to tackle hot button topics, yet his tongue in cheek tagline “Change My Mind” clearly implies he has no intention of doing so.  The videos consistently feature flustered or angry students, a smug Crowder, and a lack of empathetic or collaborative discourse.

Some platforms take a less flammable approach to public discourse without sacrificing substance or the equal presence of both sides.  Jubilee’s Middle Ground series on YouTube offers a unique setting for public discourse in which individuals with specific opposing stances or statuses come together to answer questions and discuss their ideas in what is typically an open-minded an nonthreatening environment.  With clickbait-y titles such as “Can Trump Supporters And Immigrants See Eye to Eye?” or “Can Sex Workers and Pastors Find Middle Ground?” it’s hard to tell whether Jubilee truly wants to facilitate authentic public discourse, or if they are simply playing into our growing desire to see at least some people get along amidst the heightened polarization in our country.   

What do you think of platforms like TED or  Jubilee's Middle Ground?  Are they laying the groundwork for a road to reconstructed public discourse that generates ideas and connections instead of polarizing opposing sides?  Or are they simply a spattering of plastic cups in the recycling bin that provide a temporary, feel-good countermeasure to an ever growing problem?

 

Alt-Right Rhetoric: How Normal People Become White Nationalists

In our last class, we spent some time questioning what attracts people to the white nationalist movement. I wanted to devote some time to the answer, because I think it’s more complicated than “racists feel emboldened in this political climate” (which they do) or “fearmongering can make people believe crazy things” (which it does). What I don’t think we realize is that the white nationalist movement has their recruitment tactics down to an art.

White nationalism operates under a blanket of centrism and general acceptability. They don’t lead with the “white ethnostate” stuff. Though there are exceptions, they recognize that overt Nazism is despised, and they intentionally subvert it. They take advantage of Internet meme culture, mob mentality, and fearmongering to radicalize their members: usually young, socially awkward men. They introduce racist, conspiratorial ideas in increments--gradually getting more radical and overtly fascist as they go--until a person is fully indoctrinated.

They remediate popular memes like Pepe the Frog to spread hateful ideology under a guise of “insensitive but ultimately harmless joking”, which serves to desensitize people to racist ideologies. These jokes are often regurgitated and spread through digital spaces without awareness of the real intent. The facade of humor is essential during this process. It makes hateful ideas both palatable and circulatable, because they’re “just jokes”. It also makes it more difficult to scare away newer members who are not fully indoctrinated, once again because it’s easy to dismiss a joke or accuse somebody of being oversensitive.

At the same time, they appeal to a person’s beliefs in egalitarianism and free speech, and their distaste of socialism and political correctness. Perhaps the most powerful of these tactics is the call to unify against the SJW or “Social Justice Warrior”, a pejorative for those who advocate for civil progress. SJWs are thought to have a shallow grasp of the social issues they stand for, and have a reputation of being overdramatic and easily offended. And the Internet loves to hate them. SJW-bashing isn’t limited to white nationalists, and can be observed in moderate and even progressive spaces. What many people who regurgitate popular anti-SJW rhetoric, though, is that the vilification of the SJW relies on the idea that the left overreacts to falsely perceived problems (like race/gender discrimination), while the right attempts to solve real problems. White nationalists take this hatred that exists everywhere on the Internet and uses it to radicalize people and dismiss valid Leftist arguments.

They also fearmonger. They convince their members that white people, specifically white men, are at risk. Joining the white nationalist movement is a form of self-defense against the non-white “other” who seeks to displace them from their rightfully earned jobs, places at educational institutions, and so on. It takes the blame for all problems, personal and societal, off the white male person. The anti-fascist journalist Deo articulates this in her Medium article, from the standpoint of the unfulfilled and unsuccessful young white man seeking to understand his station in life:

His lack of friendships lies in public schools indoctrinating children with liberal lies, his lack of a romantic partner is the fault of Feminism, his lack of a college degree is due to equal opportunity laws and affirmative action, his lack of employment is the fault of globalist elites, his lack of fulfillment in his life is due to societal anti-whiteness, his unhappiness is the fault of others thrusting ‘white guilt’ upon him.” - “How White Nationalism Courts Internet Nerd Culture”

Through fearmongering, the white nationalist movement valorizes racism. Everything from denying immigration based on race to outright violence and murder is justifiable, even necessary, for the sake of “national security”. Donald Trump’s multiple claims that Latino immigrants are rapists and murderers that must be barred from entering the US is a prime example of this logic leaching into the major political parties. Returning to Jonathan Haidt’s Ted Talk about morality and the principle of “harm/care”, the alt-right teaches its members that white people are unjustly harmed by non-white people.

White nationalist rhetoric also intentionally disassociates from debate. One of the many tactics of the movement is that of “gish gallop”, which floods a conversation with a mass of replies that do not present strong arguments, but nonetheless cannot be debunked due to sheer number. Another tactic is the cry of “fake news”. It doesn’t matter how many nonpartisan, peer-reviewed scientific journals we might offer: any information that contradicts white supremacist pseudoscience is “Leftist propaganda” and immediately dismissed. This is where the call to “punch a Nazi” comes in. Despite its wording, the goal of this movement isn’t to incite violence so much as it is to demand that we stop treating Nazis with civility. We can’t treat Nazis as if they have a valid political platform, because they don’t. They’re Nazis.

In the wake of tragedies like those at Charlottesville, Aztec, and most recently Christchurch, it is more important than ever to be familiar with white nationalist rhetoric so that we may resist the movement and protect the people we know from adding to its numbers.

Brandalism: The Medium is the Metaphor…and the Solution?

Sut Jhally’s sobering documentary, Advertising at the Edge of the Apocalypse, highlights the unflinching grip advertisers have on society, and the detrimental effects a consumer-based, capitalist culture has on our values, consciousness, and perhaps most disturbingly on the environment.  Advertisers continually encourage us to mindlessly enjoy the here and now via the consumption of material goods, and Jhally states that voices of concerned citizens are drowned by the “powerful voice of consumer capitalism, which speaks to us through the multi-billion-dollar megaphone of the advertising industry.” 

Resistance to this industry seems futile, considering the reach advertising media has into every nook and cranny of our lives.  I can hardly drive home to Illinois through the cornfields without billboard after billboard telling me that I need a McDonald’s burger, handmade chocolates, or a pitstop at Love’s to make the trip bearable.  Advertising media is unavoidable and the corporations behind them seemingly untouchable. 

But there is one movement thwarting corporations’ flamboyant billboard advertising, and not through outside protests but through the medium itself: brandalism.  Birthed in 2012 by two British artists fed-up with the saturation of advertising in London, brandalism exploits the lack of responsibility and transparency from corporations and politicians by vandalizing prominent billboards with “subvertisements.”  These subvertisements parody advertisements in a satirical fashion, pointing to the deeper societal and environmental problems that advertisers overlook.

The movement made waves on the internet after a stint in Paris during the 2015 UnitedNations Climate Change conference, where brandalists installed 600 satirical adds highlighting the paradox of polluting corporations sponsoring the conference, posing themselves as a part of an environmental solution when in reality they are the problem.  These subvertisements weren’t scrappy posters, they were designed by professional artists who installed them directly into the glass cases of the original adds.  Brandalist Joe Elan described their work as an act of literally “taking their [public] spaces back because we want to challenge the role advertising plays in promoting unsustainable consumerism.”

Brandalism contradicts the idea that the medium is the message, or in Postman’s case the metaphor.  When we see a billboard, we unconsciously expect a shameless promotion of a product, service, or corporation.  We have become so used to billboard advertisements that their consumerism-driven messages seem natural, no matter how twisted or dishonest they really are.  Brandalism occupies the medium of billboards to target consumers, but without the intention of selling or promoting anything.  Instead, brandalists want consumers to look at their billboards and do a double take.  They want consumers to think about what they’re seeing and to question it.  This method within the medium is far more nuanced than a heated public protest or rally, but the power of brandalism lies in the fact that it takes the meaning of the billboard medium and turns it on its head.  

Unsurprisingly, brandalism has gained little coverage from major news outlets and the overall effects of the movement are difficult to measure.  But brandalism shows that protests against socially and environmentally detrimental advertising does not always mean individuals marching and chanting with picket signs.  Brandalism protests from within the media of advertising itself and instead of shouting solutions it forces citizens to think and ask questions.

Whether or not brandalism can make a noticeable dent in the twisted advertising surrounding us today, it opens opportunities for analytical public discourse about a consumer and capitalist culture.  At the very least, it plants in consumers a healthy skepticism for advertisements and the corporations that drive them.  I can’t help but wonder if the critical analysis brandalism places on advertisements would satisfy Postman.  Perhaps he would prefer a book about it.

Postman & Kinder Eggs

At the end of his novel Amusing Ourselves To Death, Postman states that the solution to the degradation of the collective American mind through media consumption relies on “how we watch” TV.

I can only imagine his horror if he were around to observe how children are watching YouTube today.

As articulated in this article that circulated a couple years ago, children are spending hours upon hours on the supposedly child-friendly YouTube Kids app. Most of what they are watching are algorithmically-generated videos with nonsensical keyword-vomit titles like “Wrong Heads Disney Wrong Ears Wrong Legs Kids Learn Colors Finger Family 2017 Nursery Rhymes”. These videos often feature loved children’s characters like Elsa, Peppa Pig, and the cast of Paw Patrol, but--unlike the original cartoons--sometimes contain age-inappropriate, disturbing content: including depictions of violence, blood and injury, sexuality, and generally distressing scenarios/imagery. These videos are created not through an active effort to harm children, but though algorithmic recombinations of keywords.

The path to these strange knock-off videos starts with the original branded children’s content. For example, Peppa Pig has an official YouTube channel where one can find full-length episodes of the show. A child on the YouTube Kids app might very well be fine if they were to stick to this channel. However, if autoplay is turned on, or a child has the basic motor skills to click the “Recommended Videos” in the column to the right, these off-brand videos will start playing almost immediately.

To YouTube’s credit, they’ve removed a lot of the particularly disturbing and violent videos that were under fire in articles and Facebook parenting communities. The vast majority of these videos are not outright violent or harmful, however. They’re just weird, and I question how they could possibly be helpful for a young person’s development. A particularly significant trend is that of surprise egg videos, which often feature disembodied hands and voices unpackaging small plastic toys from chocolate eggs. An Intelligencer article about this quotes several parents that describe how their children watch these videos: there is no laughter or excitement or discussion of the content, only quiet, rapt attention.

Would Postman call this “entertainment”? I suppose it must be entertaining if its racking up so many views, but it lacks that florid Vegas glitz. These videos overwhelmingly consist of regular adults unwrapping ugly plastic trinkets under yellowish lights, or of low-quality, strangely-textured animation. If Sesame Street teaches kids to love television (rather than to love learning), what do YouTube videos teach kids? Is it still television? Is it harmless? What would Postman say that it means for the American mind?

Debating Debates

When debates are first mentioned, we tend to imagine a more modern version of one. You know, an academic/scholarly/professional setting, a mediator to keep track of time, and some people discussing  a variety of issues in about five minute intervals. But before these modern versions of debates there was a different type of debate, the Lincoln-Douglas style. Unlike modern debates which normally last for approximately 30 minutes, these debates would be hours and hours on end, with each side usually getting at least two hours to speak their part. During these times, it wasn't uncommon for them to pause the debate, dismiss the crowd to eat dinner, and return later for the second half. Despite all of the differences mentioned above, there is a more subtle yet intriguing difference between these debate styles.

During the Lincoln-Douglas debates, both speakers were able to fully and comprehensively explain their point. They had hours to make their case and were able to build the foundation of their argument with facts, background, and more in-depth explanation. In terms of being a participant in the debate, this opportunity to completely get the point across explained to the audience the reason behind why the speaker said what they said, and the audience, in turn, was able to analyze, dwell on, and respond (in their head) to that information. The audience member could, if they wanted to, have a full discussion and cite information given in that debate only, since so much of it was given.

Now a days, during a debate, participants get only a few minutes to state their argument, position, and  some backup information. While the time cut of a debate was inevitable and necessary for today's day and age, it also means that the speakers are robbed of the opportunity to completely state their argument. Since there are gaps in what they get the chance to say, a lot of blanks are individually filled in by the each member of the audience themselves. This leaves a lot of gray area to discuss, a lot of potential points to address, and even information that could be misinterpreted and mistakingly taken the wrong way. Unfortunately, in these modern debate styles, people are unable to address everything, like they could with the previous debate format. Since these compact versions of debates spark controversy and discussion but are not given the full amount of time needed to wholly delve into the topic, members of the audience draw their own conclusions and make their own points, basing them only off of what was said in two minutes.

As the audience members depart and talk about the debate they've just seen, or when the debate is shared on social media, many people don't do the necessary background research needed to take a stand on the debate topic. With so many people taking so many different, and even contradicting, things away from a debate, this leaves opportunity for individual debates amongst people about the original debate itself. Which side was right? Which speaker left out which important fact? Who answered the questions more directly? These are just beginning points of where the discussion would start, but as for where it goes, the possibilities are endless.

Before, debates were just that- debates. Each side came, said what they needed to say, the audience heard what they needed to hear, points were made, and a conclusion was drawn. Today, these shorter debates seem to double as both a mini version of what was happening before as well as a spark igniting the flame of discussion and debate among more and more people, and potentially reaching far beyond the audience in attendance. I can't help but wonder, what would Postman think of this? What do you think of this?  Do the shorter debate times make them more "amusing"?

Reminiscence or Remedy?

      In a world where public platforms are now saturated with heated Twitter feuds and alternative facts, the scope of public discourse is disheartening to most.  One only need look back on the nearly laughable absurdity of the 2016 presidential elections to realize the harrowing epitome public discourse has reached.  The presidential debates of this election left viewers to take away little more than brash antics and personal attacks on character, which were amplified by news networks and both political parties. 
       The current state of public discourse in our country makes it tempting to simply sit back and lament the way things should be, or even more enticing, the way things used to be.  This lingering nostalgia is perhaps best represented in the viral clip from the HBO series The Newsroom, in which anchorman Will McAvoy flatly states that “America is not the greatest country in the world anymore.”  He follows his statement with the glorification of how Americans used to be: strong, innovative, moral, and most importantly, informed by great men.
       While this scripted speech is certainly rousing on the surface, it is little more than that.  McAvoy does not extend his deep rooted reminiscence to a formidable solution for Americans and instead damns his audience of college students as the worst generation ever.  It is here where nostalgia for public discourse, and the overall state of our country, becomes detrimental. 
       It is unquestionable that there are major problems in the realm of public discourse and the path to fixing those problems seems challenging, if at all possible.  However, this is not an excuse for us to give up on the future of public discourse forever.  Learn from the past yes, but don’t become entrapped by it.  We live in a world full of technologies and networks that complicate public discourse and make the needed improvements feel overwhelming.  And overwhelming they are, yet still nothing will be achieved through a passive wistfulness for “simpler times."
       So what can we do now?  As cliché as it sounds, start with individual change.  Stay informed and engage in pro-active discourse within your own circles.  Be ready to speak and listen when it’s time.  We should continue to analyze public discourse through the lens of the past, but we must remember to keep our eyes set on the future.