Have you ever yelled at someone during an argument and had them see your point of view mid-yell?
Me neither.
You don’t have to be a therapist to know that when someone attacks you, the typical reaction is not empathy with the other person’s perspective but a protective sense of defiance or of being wronged.
And yet, that is what is happening on so many levels right now.
We are in our corners of anti-development or pro-vaccine, pro-trucker, or anti-mandate (the list of issues to argue about seems to be growing by the day) and shouting at each other, figuratively and literally.
Like every journalist during COVID, I have been getting ranted at on the regular for a while now, either in person, over the phone or in emails, messages and public posts.
What I feel when this happens is not a desire to more fully understand where the person is coming from, but rather misunderstood and, on my worst days, abused by it.
But recently, something else happened.
A fellow called up and started in on an angry rant about the editorial we published a couple of weeks ago that criticized the trucker convoy.
Though it had plenty of locals writing in support, this fellow wasn’t the only one upset about that editorial.
On this call, though, I took a breath, and so did he and we ended up talking. Really talking.
I learned more about his situation.
The convoy was something that made him feel like there was hope for a life he could tolerate.
I can certainly relate to wanting to feel hope. As we talked, I could picture him in his kitchen and see the cup of coffee in his hands. I could visualize his workboots on the linoleum floor and envision what he saw out the window of the home he worked hard for. I felt his humanity, in other words.
I stand by our editorial, but also want to stress that it was not intended to imply that everyone who supported the convoy is an alt-right, racist or extremist. Some supporters are just frustrated and see this as a way to have their voices heard. We get that.
Some have paid what they see as too high a price in the fight against the virus — they have paid with their jobs, businesses, or their mental health.
I hear that.
This man, to his credit, stopped ranting and explained. I stopped mentally retreating and listened.
To those who shout — either literally or in all caps — at journalists, please understand that we are people too, doing the best we can.
When you hurl unfounded accusations at us or call us names, knowing that our professionalism does not allow us to defend ourselves, or when you message us nasty things on our personal social media accounts, when you shout at us in public, it is hard for us to hear you.
Online harassment, particularly of journalists of colour, is at an all-time high. Journalists I respect and whose work I can vouch for as truthful and responsible have retreated from social media due to harassment.
Others have had to get the police involved multiple times due to threats.
We are not talking about people writing to disagree with a perceived slant of a story or a factual error — that is and will always be fair game. We are talking abuse to the point that an didn’t send his reporter to cover a recent protest in support of the convoy. From past experience, he felt it wasn’t safe, he said.
That doesn’t serve anyone. If we can’t physically see and hear the protesters, how can we accurately reflect what they are upset about and want?
We can’t.
So, it serves us all to stop the yelling and name-calling, take a deep breath and give each other a chance to be heard.
