Poisonous Dialog: Internet Comments

Has anyone really thought about the word comments? A dictionary would try to fluff up the word as if it were a trotting horse who’s just misunderstood. A dictionary might define a comment as a verbal or written remark expressing an opinion or reaction. If the writers were feeling gutsy, they might call it a discussion, especially of a critical nature, of an issue or event.

I typed in the word comment and looked for synonyms. I found pronouncement, judgment, reflection, opinion, view, note, annotation, footnote, gloss, commentary, and explanation. I’m not sure what the internet defines as a comment, but everybody knows online comments. They’re everywhere —- on Facebook statuses, YouTube videos, blog posts, tweets, Facebook photo uploads, and news stories.

Someone who doesn’t use the internet might believe it keeps comments as simply comments, but they’d be wrong. Without our even realizing, the internet has changed the definition. If anybody were to look it up in an online dictionary, I’m sure they’d see a new definition that I’m not seeing. If it hasn’t been changed yet, it’s bound to be.

I haven’t seen an internet comment in weeks, and I’m grateful to leave those atrocities behind. The internet comment wasn’t meant to drop gay or racial slurs or to spread ignorance and hate. In the early days of the online world, comments suggested new ideas and lovely, constructive criticism. They provided feedback that people could use to build even better images, products, or ideas. “This is a fascinating idea! But this would go more with that subject because...,” said a comment in the early days of the internet.

Picture this scene if you will. A teenager bounces in from school. Her ponytail’s flying, and she’s grinning wildly. She doesn’t have any homework because she finished it all a few days ago. She’s a naturally good student who aims to be an artist, and she posts many of her amateur drawings on a social network for artists. She sits down at the computer and opens her emails. She reads that she’s received two new comments on a painting that shows two women seated on opposite sides of a pink petal. Their arms are stretched toward each other, and their faces evoke desperate pleas. Eagerly, she opens the comments, wondering what she’ll see.

“This picture has a lot of depth to it. I like the love that’s displayed by this symbolism.”

“This picture is very thought-provoking, though I really enjoyed your scenic pictures more —- you know, the ones where you paint and draw landscapes and scenes? I don’t like these kinds of pictures, but this one was well done.”

Now picture what would happen today. The girl is called lesbian slurs, sexually harassed, demeaned, and threatened. It’s hard to describe these kinds of internet comments to people who have never used YouTube before.

Today, I stroll around my building and ask people what a comment is to them. Since my building houses blind people of all ages, I meet with a variety of opinions. The older said that a comment expressed an idea. It was a discussion, a type of constructive criticism. The people my age and younger said it was a place to “exercise stupidity.”

The internet feeds intellectual hunger, but it also breeds banality and cruelty. I’ve been thinking about why this is so. It may have to do with online anonymity. Being anonymous makes some people comfortable being the worst online. There are no consequences —- at least not immediately. These people hide behind screen names so long that a serpentine fingernail would stare in bewilderment.

The internet is a place to learn and interact, as well as create, but it cloaks us. I shudder even now when people say they’ll give me feedback. That’s how far we’ve strayed.

This month, I’ve wavered between yearning for the internet and gladness to be away from it. This juxtaposition is strange. When I consider reading the comments, I’m glad not to be exposed to them for at least a little while longer. For a little while longer, I can play any game I want, read any news articles I like, and smile, knowing I’ve avoided internet comments while reading actual content. That’s what I call bliss!

I worry I’m thinking too much. I’d love some hot chocolate right about now.