Finally, and perhaps most importantly, we want to make those who don’t belong to our portfolio of in-groups feel bad: to shame them, or just to wind them up. If the world is going to hell in a handcart, we at least want to feel we’re travelling in a big group of friends. We want to feel the warm sense of bonding that arises from endorsing a fellow group member’s opinions, or best of all from having our own opinions endorsed, through “likes” or other positive feedback. We want to telegraph our good standing as members of certain groups to other members of those groups: the anti-Trump resistance, say, or people who think Brexit is lunacy, or opponents of homophobia, and so on.
Much of the time, though, our real motives emerge from the phenomenon psychologists call “in-group bias”. We may tell ourselves we’re there to inform people, or to get informed, or to try to persuade those who disagree with us.
So baby pull me closer tell me my nightmares are over professional#
The most basic characteristic of the Vortex is a fundamental disingenuousness about what it is we’re doing when we visit social media forums to engage in political debate – a disingenuousness no less evident in the output of many professional pundits and columnists. You are the traffic.Īnd by “you”, of course, I mean me. Yet in reality, when it comes to the divisive, depressing, energy-sapping nightmare that is modern online political debate, it’s like the old line about road congestion: you’re not “stuck in traffic”. One important feature of being trapped in the Vortex, it turns out, is the way it looks like everyone else is trapped in the Vortex, enslaved by their anger and delusions, obsessed with point-scoring and insult-hurling instead of with establishing the facts – whereas you’re just speaking truth to power. If you’re not the kind of person who makes death threats, or uses misogynistic slurs, or thinks Hillary Clinton’s campaign manager ran a child sex ring from a Washington pizzeria – if you’re a basically decent and undeluded sort, in other words – it’s easy to assume you’re doing nothing wrong.īut this, I am reluctantly beginning to understand, is self-flattery. (In the final three months of the 2016 presidential election campaign, according to one analysis by Buzzfeed, the top 20 fake stories were shared more online than the top 20 real ones: to a terrifying extent, news is now more fake than not.) Yet, to be honest, I’d always assumed that the problem rested solely on the shoulders of other, stupider, nastier people. Fake news is rampant facts don’t seem to change the minds of those in thrall to falsehood confirmation bias drives people to seek out only the information that bolsters their views, while dismissing whatever challenges them. I realise you don’t need me to tell you that something has gone badly wrong with how we discuss controversial topics online. Mostly, my ranting continues inwardly, sometimes for hours, so that I can easily find I’ve spent an entire session at the gym, or a trip to the supermarket, mentally prosecuting a devastating argument against some idiotic holder of Bad Opinions who will never have a clue how much I cared. By this time, my stomach muscles have tightened and my jaw is clenched, which is the point at which some people erupt into sweary tirades or vicious personal feuds.
But by the time I remember that, the current is too strong: I’m already firing off sarcastic one-liners, vigorously favouriting posts from people intelligent enough to share my opinions, or else actively searching for updates from commentators whose views, I know in advance, will render me livid. It’s rarely relaxing or pleasurable in practice. Or it’s the inner voice arguing that having finally persuaded the baby to take a nap, I deserve the small pleasure of a few moments on social media. Once the waters claim you, you’re no longer really in control.Īt the very edge, the Vortex exerts only a gentle pull, which usually manifests for me as the thought that catching up with the news might be a relaxing break from writing or household chores. This metaphor is slightly self-serving, since it suggests not a failure of self-discipline on my part but an external force so strong I could hardly be expected to resist it. I have come to think of it as the Vortex: the psychological whirlpool into which I can feel myself getting sucked almost every time I open Twitter, or Facebook, or any of the websites devoted to chronicling the mendacity and stupidity of the world – by which I mainly mean politics – in 2017. But our tribalistic clashes send us spiralling deeper into the void When we feud over Trump or Brexit, it’s easy to believe our in-group is the lone voice of sanity.