Showing posts with label offensiveness. Show all posts
Showing posts with label offensiveness. Show all posts

Tuesday, 30 July 2013

Of Twitter, Terror and Jane Austen

So it's been a while. Lots has obviously gone on in the interim - for example, the then-unborn recipient-to-be of the yellow bunny card mentioned in the previous post has been safely delivered into the world, and I was able to go and visit her two hours after she got home from the hospital and pass into her possession the card that had caused all the fuss. So you can stop worrying now.

In truth, things of great magnitude have occurred and I will blog about them at some stage, no doubt - but for now I am occupied with more recent happenings.

You see, four days ago I joined Twitter.

It's not like I wasn't aware Twitter existed. At least four different friends/colleagues had recommended I join or demanded to know why I didn't. I had looked once or twice; considered it a couple of times. In the end, the reasons I didn't and the reasons I then did aren't important here - what's important is that I joined and began selecting who to follow, and among them I added one Caroline Criado-Perez, primarily because I had heard of her on the radio that morning. I liked that she had instigated the campaign to get Jane Austen's image onto a UK banknote and thought she'd be an interesting follow.

Reader, I had no idea.

If you missed the general gist, you can catch up here, but it mostly went:
  • Woman campaigns for renowned and well-loved author to appear on banknote
  • Woman utilises Twitter to launch and expand campaign
  • Campaign successful!
  • THREATS OF RAPE AND DEATH

Now plenty of commentators better placed and informed than I have written extensively about this and the surrounding issues regarding trolling and so forth, but it did remind me of something I hadn't thought of in a long time.

Back when I was about twenty, I often spent my holidays from university working in a Belfast branch of a well-known high street bookshop. It was largely good, as shop work goes; my colleagues were well-read and fun, and I happily spent my wages like a twenty year old does, on leather jackets, cigarettes and beer. Thus did I breeze happily around the shop floor recommending Donna Tartt to everyone when one day the phone went and I answered it, as my job description dictated I should from time to time.

"[Formally approved standard shop phone greeting and offer of help!]" I chirped eagerly - I can't remember the exact words we used for the phone.

The man on the other end had no such greetings. He launched straight into his message, which was delivered clearly and carefully and was this: "As of today, we will be targeting all Catholics who work in [name of shop]. This is the Red Hand Defenders." He then hung up.

It took the wind out of my sails a little, I'll admit. I think I was still smiling when I hung up and told my older and more experienced co-worker, who looked horrified and called for the manager. People kept asking was I okay. A few people (mainly catholics, actually) made silly jokes about it. I honestly felt like it shouldn't have been a big deal and when the police were called I was equal parts embarrassed and gleeful at the thought of missing some work time. And yet after all this, and while I am no delicate little flower in general... I felt a little shaky. A smidge weird. A tad removed from the world, as though I was functioning normally but behind a layer of clingfilm. Without consultation, the manager told me she was phoning someone to come and get me. I didn't protest.

The police interview was standard - what did he say, were those the exact words, was there any identifying blah blah and so on - but I'll never forget something that was said to me during it, because it was so simple and made so much sense and yet I had never ever thought of it. In response to my vague expression that he hadn't said much/I wasn't upset/this wasn't really a big deal, the policeman shook his head.

"Well, they're terrorists," he said. "They're out to cause terror and that's what they do. There doesn't have to be an act of violence - the threat is enough." So simple, and yet I, growing up in a country famous worldwide for its particularly hardy brand of homegrown terrorism, had never thought of it before.

I certainly thought of it today, and yesterday, and the day before while reading some of the threats coming through to Caroline Criado-Perez, Stella Creasy and others - all women who had taken a stand against what they saw as sexism, misogyny and hate speech. Others can debate the rights and wrongs of freedom of speech, censorship and whether a button on Twitter will do the job - and have been doing so in minute detail. What struck me was the idea that when you post a threat to rape and kill someone, stating a specific time and place (for example 8pm at your house, as one poster "helpfully" detailed), you are intending to cause terror. The person on the receiving end, no matter how hardy, no matter how sensible, no matter how convinced you don't really know their address, will feel that flutter that I, a non-catholic good-in-a-crisis sensible former shop-worker, felt. Their mind's eye will forget the utter ridiculousness of a sectarian organisation thinking that shooting shop assistants will help their political cause, or the utter ridiculousness that someone would kill them for putting Jane Austen on a banknote, and will instead picture the threat, however briefly. They will feel the fear. They will be a victim of terrorists.

I cannot fathom what kind of person imagines it is good, worthwhile or fun to threaten strangers online, any more than I can fathom one who sees the sense in strapping a bomb to one's own body and detonating it in a crowded marketplace in the name of a sincerely held belief. What I do understand is that in one way at least they are two of a kind - causers of terror, infringing on the rights of others. Your right to free speech does not supersede your responsibility to avoid harming other human beings intentionally, whether you harm them through direct actions or by the causing of terror. Perhaps the men who do not cringe at the idea of being thought women-haters might feel differently at the prospect of being called terrorists... though sadly the force of their bile - even after two real-life, not-on-the-internet, actual arrests (to date) - does make me wonder.

And how do we deal with terrorists? I suppose that's a question over which to agonise. But I've seen enough movies to know that we do not negotiate with terrorists. We do not succumb to their demands. We don't "ignore them" and "hope they'll go away". It is the duty of society to show them that their behaviour is unacceptable and wrong and that their terror does not have the desired effect of letting them win. We don't let terrorists win.

Sunday, 3 March 2013

Outragings and Offenditures

I have to admit that as one who enjoys being a tad self-righteous, there are some aspects of modern life I find perplexing - that is to say, I don't yet have a hard and fast stance for myself on them. I oscillate back and forth between views - a well structured argument can change my mind on it; I find new information; I read something and find myself not sure whether or not I agree. There are a few of these, and I'm sure I'll discuss them in later rants. But there's one in particular I want to talk about now: comedy.

I have a pretty severely disabled sister. Generally speaking, she is like most other sisters on earth: a pain in the ass who is loved very very much and for whom I would do anything. My sister knows who I am, and can call me by name, and fully understands that I can change her DVDs when they end and make her bowls of Rice Krispies on request. She does not know what electrocution is, or how to call for help if needed, nor does she understand the intricacies of household objects that could set her alight or crush her to death. She would be guileless in the grip of a kidnapper, and helpless without her seizure medication. She has no sense of danger, and her grasp of right and wrong is about level with that of a very young toddler or a labrador puppy. She is vulnerable.

Between us, my family has protected her physically, mentally and legally all her life. We have guarded her against anyone who might abuse her or upset her or give her too much chocolate. We have also made legions of jokes at her expense, from the series of photos when she was a baby in which she is placed in numerous household applicances (washing machine, oven, microwave etc) to the tear-inducingly funny impressions we have done of her more 'ticcy' behaviours for each others' amusement. "You're terrible," my mother will gasp through a face that hurts from laughing, and she's right. It is terrible, and to us it's also hilarious, and much needed. You know that old cliché about 'having to laugh' in a trying situation? People who care for disabled children 24/7 can really do with a laugh sometimes.

These jolly japes sprang to mind a while back when my father, who does seem to be getting a bit more right-wing as he gets older, renounced the dry comedy stylings of Frankie Boyle because he made jokes about people with Down's Syndrome. I tried to point out that it was a bit rich that he felt it was fine for various people to joke ceaselessly (and often in ways which are boringly derivative, by the by) about mothers-in-law, immigrants, women and so on, yet disabled kids were off limits because he had one himself. He said it was because disabled kids can't stick up for themselves; I argued that all kinds of other targets of jokes were similarly unable to retort in any meaningful way and added that the kids couldn't care less, and he retorted with something else and so it went on.

I admit I mostly took the opposing council in that instance because I love a good old debate and playing devil's advocate against my father is... well, it's just a ton of fun for me, because I'm warped like that. Because I am still a little conflicted about the idea of respecting there are some topics that are off limits clashing with the idea of anything being fair game. Which is it? Are we duty bound to censor things that may be hurtful, or do we just get over ourselves and admit that everything is ripe for comedy?

I do genuinely find it a conundrum at times. Some days I think of the likes of Sean Lock or Steve Hughes, talking about the nature of 'being offended', and think how stupid it all is, how people are too sensitive, how you do indeed 'have to laugh' at some pretty rotten situations. I think about how hard it is to legislate for what is or isn't funny, and what is or isn't offensive. Who decides? For fairness' sake, I'd imagine it has to be either everyone or no one, and if it was the former, we'd probably have no comedy at all. I think about controversial things I really love - all the works of fellow (much better) ranters like Charlie Brooker or Bill Hicks; South Park and other brainchildren of Trey Parker and Matt Stone; everything Chris Morris ever did, said or thought. Yes, I think to myself. That has to be the answer.

Then I read something like this article here. I remember what I know about implicit acceptance of lazy assumptions, and how humour can be used to hurt and debase people as well as expose and ridicule stupidity. I recall I live in a society where widely circulated mainstream newspapers frequently equate sex with violence towards women in all kinds of fun and interesting ways that make the world just a little more vile for everyone. I remind myself of the importance of empathy, and think about how funny an 'edgy' joke might be to someone who has actually been forcibly pushed over that edge, for example. And so on it goes, round in circles. Which means that I usually have at least partially mixed thoughts about items of offence and outrage brought to my attention by others.

That fact probably makes the subjects of this article all the more special. Because when I saw the piece online today, I didn't have to 'hmm' and 'haw' about decency vs censorship or anything like that. I didn't have to wonder how I felt or whose rights were affected. All I really had to do was think "Wow... exactly what kind of guy would want to go round wearing a t-shirt that said 'KEEP CALM AND RAPE A LOT'? And exactly what kind of person would want to be seen with that guy?"

We could probably tease out a lot of different answers to those questions, but they'd all have one thing in common - none of them would be people with whom I want to share a world.