As the way we talk to each other continues to change, we must find ways to center our shared humanity | Columns and letters | Spokane | The Pacific Northwest Inlander

MYour friend M’s mother is embroiled in an ideological war of words – via sidewalk chalk. M’s mother lives in a small town in the Pacific Northwest with a nice walking trail. Someone left political and religious messages along the way, and M’s mother started writing replies. Sometimes she argues. Sometimes she is snappy. When the other author once suggested visiting a website, she simply replied, “NO.”

I was absolutely delighted when I heard this story and imagined this affable, somewhat gruff, retired grandma putting a piece of chalk in her pocket before her morning walk and preparing for battle.

Like a few million other people, I recently jumped ship from the sinking ship of Twitter. (Ugh, X)

I was on the platform for more than a decade after being lured by an academic writing conference, and for a long time it was a meaningful place. I connected with fellow writers and Idahoans, met people who shared the unusual jobs I’ve had over the years, and built networks where we shared real ideas, insights, and jokes. I made real friends there, including some I met in person.

But it had become a trash-filled place where most of the “interactions” took place with trolls, scammers and spambots – like so much of the internet. According to the Imperva Bad Bot Report 2024, almost half of the world’s internet traffic is now automated bots, and more will be added as generative AI explodes.

What I love most about M’s mother’s story and the sidewalk messages is what I miss about pre-Elon Musk Twitter: the humanity in it.

M’Mom’s mother’s rival is definitely a real person. I imagine her as a woman, perhaps as a pensioner, perhaps as a young mother with a toddler in a stroller. She may be influenced by bot-spread disinformation online—but at some point in the day, she puts down her phone, picks up her chalk, and heads to the trail.

The mindless hordes on the Internet are built by people, and real people absorb, believe, and amplify their insidious messages. The worst online discourse often doesn’t involve bots at all, just evil, cruel, and violent people. The commonality is that none of these people ever have to see the people they hurt, making it much easier to dehumanize them.

M’s mother and her rival have to write down their messages while other people walk by. When they dust themselves off and leave, they know that other living, breathing people will see what they have written.

There’s a lot of talk right now, at least in my bubble, about how or whether to engage with fellow Americans when you deeply disagree. I tend to maintain relationships within boundaries because I know that respecting another person’s humanity does not require agreeing with them (and being able to actively disagree), and that it is most likely to agree with another person’s opinion to change a topic trust someone who believes differently.

But like most things, it’s much easier to philosophize about than to actually do it.

I remember that one of the things that makes conversations so difficult in polarized America is that there are a few powerful people who do it quite consciously wanted to sow distrust among all of us.

As New Yorker Author Jill Lepore put it this way in her excellent recent essay “The Artificial State”: “In the virtual political reality of the 21st century, much of public discourse is controlled by private corporations that produce and profit from political extremism.”

In other words: There are people who make a lot of money from hate and fear. And the inhumanity of the internet makes it the perfect place for it.

WThen I always gave advice As student journalists, I encouraged them to be conscious of the things they do online by asking them to imagine themselves announcing it on a stage at our school football stadium. I wanted them to remember how many people could be touched by their words.

But I think a better analogy is M’s mother and the sidewalk chalk. Would you be willing to go out and physically bring this message to the world? Would you be willing to write it? one another person, a person who you might stand in line with at the grocery store, or who may be taking care of you in the emergency room, or whose grandchildren might be playing with yours?

Maybe the answer is still yes. At least the original chalk pen works well, and M’s mother happily writes back.

But I like to imagine that if M’s mother were out one day and her rival was caught in the act, she would see someone trying to make a connection – to share a message that she believes is real It’s important to people, even if Ms.’s mother thinks it’s absurd.

And if M’s mother held up her own piece of chalk, her rival might see someone arguing with her, not because she’s a faceless object, but because she’s someone whose life actually intersects with her own.

I can’t imagine them suddenly becoming best friends, going out for coffee and resolving all their differences. But I like to imagine them smiling and recognizing each other as neighbors. ♦

Tara Roberts is a writer who lives in Moscow with her husband and sons. Your novel Wild and distant seas was released in January. Follow her on Bluesky and Instagram @tarabethidaho.