7/12/23

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 By Anne Scheck

Trammart News Service 

Whether you are rich, poor, young, old, occupy a high-level profession or clean closets for a living, I can guarantee you that a snark attack starts the very same way for anyone on the receiving end of one. It may be the common equalizer of our time.

You see words, the words are about you, they say hurtful things and they are posted for others to see, too. I know whereof I speak, since snark attacks are part of my life, and something to which I unfailingly respond, “thank you for the comment.” 

After all, cyberbullying, as it is called, is part of that great and glorious right we all enjoy, freedom of speech. And in my work, I seem to invite it. So, I try to never show anything but appreciation for these online outbursts or internet posts about coverage I’ve provided.          But the swirl of controversy about micro-shelters in Monmouth has caused me to rethink that unyielding viewpoint. 

A resident with thoughts on the matter doesn’t have the rhino skin of a reporter. So, when I heard from a snark-attacked member of the community, sympathy was my only reaction. 

“I have been kicked out of this chat room,” came a voice on the phone. Why the boot? Simple. It was a difference of opinion on the homeless issue – a difference that several others, allegedly including at least one elected official, saw as a cause for verbal action. 

I wasn’t surprised. I’ve been hearing complaints for the past couple of years that vitriol is regularly delivered via the internet. It’s now so prevalent – even by public figures -- that many forums and Facebook groups have rules against it. Unfortunately, as a public records request of the city I cover shows, there’s no policy or guide for online behavior by city councilors or commissioners. 

So, I told this caller I wasn’t sure how I could help, but I’d look into it, which is pretty much what I say to anyone who contacts me.

Once I established that there isn’t a recommended social media code of conduct down at city hall for public officeholders, I decided to simply be the nerd I am. So, I researched this topic with the fervor of a duck on a June bug. 

For any of you who are like this resident, who was involuntarily removed from a chat room for expressing an opinion contrary to the group, I’ve turned up a few science-based observations on cyberbullying. They’re straight from OHSU’s biomedical library which, on the day I recently visited, was chock full of helpful staff and database tools.           In fact, if you would like some references, I now have $15 worth of copies from publications ranging from the surprisingly readable “Psychological Bulletin” to a journal with a lot more jargon, “Social Psychiatry and Psychiatric Epidemiology.”  

Here are several reasons for snark attacks, and they apply to people you might think wouldn’t engage in such tactics but do. Bear in mind these are so boiled-down that I expect many scholars would take umbrage at the way my 1-4 statements have been framed. 

1. Covid made us meaner. To be fair, the pandemic affected some of us a whole lot more that way than others. Experts don’t know why. But the loss of civility is rampant. Some say the coronavirus accelerated this trend and didn’t create it. This much is known: it can be far worse online, where de-escalation is not at all the norm and avatar names may be used. One researcher found that snarky tweets directed at state leaders went way up, showing that now “people evaluate government’s performance through actions other than voting.” You may think we don’t need a study to prove that, but now there is one. 
2. Adults can be as bad as kids. Intuitively, you know this, right? The reason we don’t have anti-bullying programs for grown-ups is because few middle-aged cyberbullies see it as a problem. They really don’t. Instead, they tend to see it as a visible means for demonstrating their righteous indignation. “Ordinary people can, under the right circumstances, behave like trolls,” confirmed one article, a rather unsurprising conclusion.
3. Echo chambers create know-it-alls. Got a cause you want to rally around? Whether you are saving the tuna fish or fighting for more study on the boson particle, you are very likely to be surrounded by a group of people who agree with you, egg you on, and deny that snarky remarks are anything but justifiably impassioned declarations. This really is not the path upon which critical thinking skills are prone to kick in. Authorities say this can lead to “deficits in processing information” that could then lead to even more emotion-packed responses – an online vicious circle.  
4. The hurt that is caused is unseen -- but it has consequences. These are called “negative outcomes” in the scientific literature, and one of them is “online disinhibition.” This basically means that, without seeing the damage that is done, the social media behavior is likely to continue. There is less “cognitive empathy,” which in plain English means low levels of a very endearing human emotion known as compassion. 

For anyone who thinks fighting the I-5 traffic and searching like a prowling tiger for a parking space at the top of OHSU’s medical campus is a small price to pay for getting some answers for a snark-attack victim, you are correct! But, as it turns out, the individual who prompted my journey to the medical library didn’t really need this from me. 

In one of the nicest surprises of recent small-town life, I actually met him, face-to-face, at none other than a city council meeting. He’d decided to do the hard thing, show up and tell the city councilors about his own online snark-bite injury. Unfortunately, after his testimony, he left too soon for me to be able to share with him another lesson I learned during my dive into the etiology of snark attacks. 

It sounds so basic, but there are protections, and they are the stuff of a full life. A loving family, good friends, and other personal bonds; These provide a bulwark when bad things happen to good people online. And keep in mind that adults who launch these snark attacks may be lacking these fundamentals, with perhaps chat groups as their outlet. 

So, there you have it. A man who once seemed so wounded on a phone call to me several weeks ago took his complaint directly to a city council.   And even though I know him hardly at all, I saw his courage. He stepped to a public microphone, spoke in a heartfelt way and, when he faltered a bit, I saw his wife rise and reach out to him. 

Every so often an everyday hero who inhabits our locality comes forward, just like this man did – seemingly uncomfortable giving testimony but using the public podium anyway, to address those on the dais. Afterward, people like this resident often say to me, in the foyer outside the council chambers, that they don’t know if their words did any good. Who am I to tell them that they did? I lack a crystal ball. 

But for anyone who is badly snark-bitten, let me fearlessly predict that indeed you can make a difference, by taking on cyberbullies with certainty and self- belief. (Trammart News is solely responsible for the content provided.) 

This is the story of two foster children --- one adopted by us, one we knew for only a short time. I thought about them both every day this month. Sparkling blue pinwheels were everywhere, a reminder. Now, on the last day of April, I want to say thank you to the people who help children.

When we brought home a tiny little girl with night terrors and the seeming inability to cry – communication was either by screaming or stone-cold shutdowns tighter than a clam shell – I grew to recognize the underlying grit on display. We were determined to become her parents.

 It seemed like forever for the adoption to go through, but when it did, in a wood-paneled courtroom, all I felt was relief. The judge and lawyers, meanwhile, looked more jubilant than the family they’d just congratulated. Photos that day show both a surprisingly somber child, with one parent wearing the expression of a tired traveler from a long, hard-fought journey. Which was me, of course.

My daughter had a difficult childhood, but every hard step was followed by a leap. In the place where we lived then, I had great help – from the state. Most of it came from a seasoned social worker named Mary, who viewed me, at first, with a bit of skepticism, I think; We couldn’t have been more different. She was getting ready for retirement, and always wore high heels and dressy skirts. She spoke in a voice in the dulcet tones of a radio broadcaster.

 I was revved up early in my career, always clad in sweatshirts and old deck shoes -- and I can be heard three rooms away. During this month, I think of Mary so much. Even after all these years, I miss her.

I wish she was still here. I always wanted to tell her how great things turned out. And that, years ago, when our daughter was tested for the gifted program in a highly competitive elementary school, she made it in – and when I accidentally received more documentation about why she did than seemed to be legally permitted, I read something that I think was just like Mary would have written. It characterized our home life as “chaotic but stable.” I was pronounced “a strong personality” with this overarching belief in the golden rule that bordered on unrealistic.

Mary told me, during one of our last visits, she considered me an initially hard-to-fathom combination of tough and soft. I like to think that is just what it took to raise a child like ours. Now I look at our daughter, and I wish Mary were alive to see that even though this little girl and I aren’t genetically related, she got that same mix – only a whole lot better alchemy. She’s tough only when the time is right, and soft for everyone.

Perhaps it is no surprise that after our daughter grew up, went off to college, and established her own life, I would want to repay the same system that helped me.

This time, it was different. I was in Oregon. It only took one foster child for me to quit – there were late or missing appointments with state providers, who probably were over-worked but sometimes never told me so. There was, at times,  such bafflingly incomplete assistance that I hired my own child therapist and paid out-of-pocket to get the help I felt we needed. The bright spots were from CASA and caring people who would slip me special atta-gals, one of whom told me “the system is broken.” I mean, it was said just like that.

When I lost that foster child, who was packed off to a higher level of care, I seethed for days about bureaucratic treatment. I still feel a deep, angry, sad knot in my chest when my thoughts go that far back. I believe the pain would still be there had it not been for a great twist of fate.

Shortly thereafter, I was recruited to work for Oregon’s foster care ombudsman as a volunteer. And if you want to find a buried treasure with a trove of gold, I’d suggest you start there, where everyone’s heart is made of that shiny 24-carat metal.

So, as April comes to an end, I think of them. Some of the best people I have known in the world, working day-after-day to advocate, to uphold, to mediate. They were platinum people who navigated a field full of brush fires daily, extinguishing them with methodical expertise.

So, on this last day of April 2023, I am buying Mother’s Day Cards for some of those who remain so committed. I will cross out the part with maternal messages and write in “hero” instead. Because there is no greater benefit to people across the State of Oregon than those who make such differences, and I cannot help but feel grateful to them. Thank you, too, Mary, for being there more than three  decades ago. Thank you, CASA, and thank you, most of all, to my daughter. There is no finer woman. Anne Scheck, April 30, 2023