Every summer before the dooms-year of 2020, I’d volunteer at my local Markham Public Library camp. For a month, I’d drag myself out of bed at seven to keep a group of toddlers calm for *exciting* lessons about elephant toothpaste or drag-and-drop code. With some effort, they’d stay relatively obedient. Relatively.
But in the afternoon, we’d bring them out to the playground, and suddenly they’d go off like fireworks, becoming barbaric banshees, slamming their feet across the concrete, shrieking, crying when another kid took their spot on the swings or stole one of the twenty sand shovels they were hoarding. I’m a five-foot fourteen-year-old, barely taller than some of the first graders, and I’d become a one-woman zookeeper — breaking up fights, telling the edgy girl not to swear, consoling the child bursting into tears, and plastering on a smile for my supervisors because everything is completely. under. control.
It was such a rewarding experience.
But what’s the point of this story? I hear you ask. They’re kids — of COURSE they’re little demons! Well, as your resident “woke teen”, I’ve come to make an important observation from my seventeen years of life experience. My theory is that nobody in the real world has outgrown this “kid stage”. That the childish behaviour we witness in our parks and playgrounds is echoed by teens, adults, celebrities, and world leaders.
Because Twitter has become our society’s playground, and politics our spark. Because now, instead of throwing a tantrum when we’re “it” in Tag, we throw tantrums when people vote red instead of blue. And instead of debating the existence of ghosts and monsters, we debate the effectiveness of vaccines and the existence of climate change.
Because just like the kids who rally around a brawl, chanting “fight! fight! fight!”, watching their classmates pull out their little fists, we rally around the internet’s never-ending rampage of controversy, fanning the fire through our comments and reactions. Because it’s easier for us to bask in the chaos than it is to do something about the problems we face. And because, above all else, we’re just as stubborn as the children we try to control — crying na na na boo boo when someone doesn’t like the same colours we do.
The internet has become a crucial tool for accessing current events. Yet, it’s also become a breeding ground for polarization and meaningless conflict. Each day, a new group of radical users flood onto social media and public forums, screaming their beliefs in all caps and humiliating naysayers. As a “politically woke” generation, we’ve all been guilty of it. This childish behaviour is why the internet has become so unbearable, and the reason why year after year, our world stays just as broken and divided as it’s always been.
The internet has sparked what I call a political “fight or flight” culture. First, people with strong opinions on a controversial issue wage virtual wars behind the safety of their screens: trolling, wreaking havoc, calling everyone within a forty-mile radius “stupid”, and making it harder for people to hold peaceful discussions — the fight. Second, people who want to discuss the issue now fear being attacked for their viewpoints and become defensive. They shy away from engaging in the conversations, or leave the platform altogether — the flight.
This culture is supported by a psychological theory called the Amplification Hypothesis. It suggests that the more angry and immature you are when trying to persuade someone else, the more the other person will resist being persuaded. For example, the more Mint Chocolate Chip I stuff into your freezer while insisting it is the best ice cream, the more Cookie Dough you’ll stuff into your mouth in revenge.
All this explains why the “fight or flight” culture we’ve established is hurting change. Our childlike instincts push us towards public shaming whenever we see the slightest offensive thing. We wield our “Fascist’’ and “Libtard’’ labels as whips, our hate speech as lassos, herding the users who don’t support our values back into their echo chambers of thought. You don’t believe in banning plastics? Flamed. You don’t understand the need for LGBTQ+ protections and rights? Cancelled. But by turning our platforms into a minefield of swear words, slurs, and key-smashing; we make people resistant. We drive others away from caring about these issues, from listening to what we have to say, from opening their minds to change. We drown out the news articles, the petitions, the educational posts that explain issues like racism or police brutality in this load of confrontational BS.
As young people, the internet is our playground: the platform we use 24/7 to form friendships, play games, and connect with virtual communities. We know how much of a difference it’s made in our lives. We owe it to protect our virtual platforms from becoming so barbaric. On our Instagrams, Snapchats, Twitters, and TikToks, we must change the way we interact with those who disagree. We must put aside the Mint Chocolate Chip and understand why someone might see things differently — why they might find Cookie Dough delicious. Only then can we spread awareness, rally for policies, and inspire movements that improve people’s lives. And the best way to do this is through conversation.
Because it’s easy to reply “Ok Boomer!” to a problematic opinion and leave it at that. But I’ve made it a goal to spark discussions with my conservative parents, to understand their opposing views on welfare and affirmative action. I’m challenging myself to seek out racist peers to understand why they think using slurs are acceptable, and to calmly explain why they can be harmful. Will you be brave enough to do the same?
Our elementary school teachers always told us to “treat others the way we want to be treated”. If we want to push for our version of a better world, we need to put down our fists, use our kind words, and make our playground a place for all to enjoy.
“Kids, it’s as simple as that.”
