Social Media...

...I owe you an explanation...

In the space of the last week, I've been called ignorant, stupid and a 'mouth-breather'. I'm sure there have been other insults but these are the ones that stick with me. When I decided to give Facebook a rest, someone suggested I should avoid 'controversial' FB pages. Let me tell you those three insults appeared on a page where the members are all, apparently, on the same side and where the admin people assure me they are very hard on people who insult other members. I'm guessing they mean people who swear at other members, because I see no efforts being made to curb this kind of insult. It's playground name-calling this, and I've been hearing it all my life (not just me, a lot of us have) and now I've had enough. 

To be fair, the page where the insults above appeared invited me to become an admin. I thanked them and made the excuse that I was already the admin of 5 groups, but in fact for just a moment I had visions of ploughing through pages of posts with words like the ones I've quoted - and others. And just briefly, I lost the will to live.  

FB is certainly pretty relaxed with a lot of badmouthing. It seems FB groups are expected to police themselves. Maybe that mostly works, but in other FB pages this week, I saw female politicians described as bitch, cow and c*nt - on two occasions by other women. 

A former university tutor once told me 'women are their own and each other's worst enemies'. I guess this is what she meant. 

How has this happened? How have we all got the idea that it's okay to badmouth other people on FB? That we can say whatever we like, often things no one in a civilised society - or in a decent family - would ever say face to face. Maybe it's because almost nothing happens. Or because we can be anonymous. 

Even on my blog, I've occasionally been contacted - and insulted - by someone using a nickname - or, let's be posh: a nom de plume. On my blog I don't tolerate these people because it's my blog and I don't have to. 

But on FB, there's no way to get away from them. This week, I got a nasty message from someone telling me I should be ashamed for posting the pictures of a wee girl on her first day in P2. I'm sure you saw it. Her parents posted it on FB and sent it to the local paper. It's a great set of photos - before and after - and, for me, just illustrates that kids are kids: you can send them out in the morning smart as fresh paint and they'll come back to you looking as if they've gone 10 rounds with a gorilla. So why should I be ashamed? It seems photos like this give paedophiles free rein to exploit kids.

It's tosh, of course. My knowledge of the world of the paedophile is limited but I imagine they're not scouring the pages of FB looking for photos on the pages of 71 year old retired education admin people. 

So what to do? I like FB. I like the craic with family, friends, former colleagues and former students.I love the jokes, the puns, Janey Godley's voice-overs and the photos of cats. 

If, like me, you support Scottish Independence, FB is crucial. Newspapers (apart from the National) and TV stations don't reflect the views of people like me. 

But it seems to me some sort of rage has been unleashed on FB and it is getting worse: nobody talks. Everybody shouts. I am referred to as a Remoaner because I want to stay in the EU. A separatist because I want independence. I've also been called a traitor by Brexit people and by Labour voters who find out I left the party 7 years ago. But people who have stuck with Labour are told they belong to Liebour and the parliament in London is called Wastemonster.

I'd call this childish but I don't want to insult children, whose vision of life is often a lot clearer than that of grown-ups. Maybe social media is in its early days and we'll become more adept at handling it. Meanwhile...well, meanwhile what? For me, I need to stop FB affecting my health and that means switching off, maybe not permanently but long enough to draw breath. So, as I said on several FB pages this week: good luck to you all.