I remember playing softball when I was 13 years old in the PS 100 schoolyard across the street from the James Monroe Housing Project in the Bronx. My team was up by one run in the bottom of the ninth inning facing an opponent with runners in scoring position and two outs. We needed only one out to win. I was playing second base hoping a line drive would come my way to make the final out and go home victorious. In fact, the batter hit the ball well over my head directly to the right fielder, our team's weakest defensive player. What would have been a routine catch for all the other players on the field went past the right fielder. Our team lost on a walkoff error. Eight of us were good ball players and one was not. So we lost. That moment might have been the time I learned the meaning of "A chain is only as strong as its weakest link."
The truth of that expression has emerged time and again throughout my life. The time one fearsome bully in my high school English class threw a rock at the teacher's back, causing us all an afternoon of detention because no one dared snitch on him. Or when I could not suspend my disbelief while watching a staged play because only one actor from an otherwise outstanding cast of eight was hamming it up, ruining the whole theatrical experience. Or the one customer service agent from an employee workforce of ten thousand who acted rudely, spurring me to never again buy from her company. Or the forced lyrics of a song for the sake of rhyming without regard to the verse's underlying meaning, transforming the song from ethereal poetry to mere doggerel. Or the lone wolf bad cop trampling on a citizen's civil rights, reflecting poorly on his entire precinct. These weak links fail to do the right thing. Whether willfully or thoughtlessly, they mess things up for the rest of us. And we must share some responsibility for that.
But some links might be the weakest in the chain through no fault of their own. Think of developmentally disabled individuals, paralyzed war veterans, innocent victims of physical attacks suffering permanent physical injuries, all of whom cannot do the tasks of their more
physically capable counterparts. Or survivors of terrorist incidents,
who suffer permanent trauma. Or hardworking but poorly paid
laborers who cannot afford to make their children look as refined as their
wealthier classmates. If it is true that the chain is only as strong as its weakest link—and we know it is true—then we are a sorry society if we, the supposed stronger links, do not do our best to care for these souls, and then we ourselves are weak.
Perhaps
you have an aging father who cannot function without your help, or a child who
needs your protection and guidance, or a mate slowly recovering from invasive
surgery, or beloved relatives unable to speak the language of the country
in which you and they live. I have met people who detest illegal immigrants, yet
they themselves are the offspring of illegal immigrants; people who
demand retribution against criminals, but not when that criminal is a family
member; people disgusted by the homeless but whose heart goes out
to a homeless person who aided their mother when she fainted from heat exhaustion
on the street; people who hate those on public assistance but gladly
accepted public assistance if some disaster befell them.
I say all of this because our world is in a strange time. Not one political party, but all of us, look the other way when people in government break the very laws they created and are sworn to enforce. We do not seem to mind that those laws apply in the harshest terms toward some of us and do not apply at all to others. We are living in a paradoxical Catch-22 situation, teeming with hypocrisy, contemptuous of morality, scornful of common sense. I am not romanticizing the old days, abundant with gratuitous military actions, segregated school systems, marginalized women, and institutionalized disabled people. But in those times, advocating for ending the Vietnam War in the face of a million corpses, marching for Black Americans in light of lynchings and coloreds-only water fountains, calling for legislation on behalf of women's rights in view of inequitable treatment, and protesting for individuals with disabilities upon consideration of their second-class status appeared even to the most reticent among us to be responsible exercises of civil duty at best and definitive proof of civil rights at worst.
What has changed? It is not a question of what our predessors had that we do not. It is the precise opposite. What did they not have that we do? The answer is technology. The pervasiveness of social media makes everyone an author. Anyone can broadcast on their favorite apps what now passes for news, and it's uninformed news fabricated to vent frustration, resentment, anger, and animosity. People believe those dangerous lies out there because they speak to their basest prejudices and fears. And we're becoming worse for it.
What
can we do about this dystopic world where disinformation flows into our minds at perpetual tsunami force? Three practices come to mind. These endeavors take some effort,
like exercising, dieting, praying, studying, or childrearing. We can act decisively
in our capacities as consumers, communicators, and citizens to recapture our better selves.
As consumers, we can cancel subscriptions to social
media that allow stories and commentaries based on unfounded information. It’s
easy to decide what information is based on reality. When a Facebook ad laments
the passing of your favorite celebrity, simply go to an alternative source like
the New York Times or Wikipedia to corroborate it. This does not mean
you should trust the New York Times or Wikipedia. Fact-check them too. I have
given up entirely trusting any news source. BBC, a news service frequently cited
as reliable, recently devoted the entire half hour of one of its broadcasts to the
irrelevant Prince Harry’s plea for monarchy support at a time when Ukraine was torn
by war, innocents were dying in Gaza, and oligarchs were enriching themselves
at the expense of everyone else. I do not support any one source. If you do not
want to cancel social media subscriptions, you can at least not spend one
second of your scrolling time stopping to view a ludicrous, fictitious story passing as reality. Doing so will make
these stories fade away. Ignoring works wonders with amoral technologies concerned
only with impressions, likes, and screen time.
As
communicators, we have two responsibilities: what we say and what we hear. We can
speak the truth. When we hear something we know to be a lie, we should call it
out. When we are not sure whether what we are hearing is true, we can simply
ask our phone: Did so-and-so die today? Who recognizes the Gulf of America? Has the
United States deported its citizens? How many people were killed in Gaza? It’s
not hard at all. As listeners, we can avoid sources that commonly lie about or
exaggerate facts. Here we should consider not only news outlets and social
media but acquaintances too. I am not saying to stop being friends with such
people, but to limit conversations with them to matters like “Do you think the
Yankees will beat the Dodgers this year? When is trash pickup day? How much do
eggs cost in your town?” Small talk has its place. At least we won't lose friends over it.
As
citizens, of course we can demand more from our representatives. But that’s
just talk. In truth, we must demand more of ourselves. We are part of this
problem. It’s not someone else’s fault; it’s ours. Still, we can wonder aloud—to
be heard by others, allies and adversaries alike—why the situation is so out of
hand. Once our fight for the truth is loud and clear, our representatives will
join in that fight for us. Positive change will then be inevitable.
I
was uncharacteristically at a rock concert the other night. The music was blasting
from the speakers from where I was sitting 40 feet away
from the stage. A toddler, perhaps the child of a stagehand or musician, was
allowed onstage and directly under the stage for the entire 90-minute show. As
I was shaking my head in disbelief, my friend said, “By the time she’s twelve,
she’ll be deaf. Who the hell are those girl’s parents?” True. But it takes a proverbial
village, baby. If we continue to do nothing when someone flicks a lit cigarette
in a draught-stricken forest, we will burn in it.