Lloyd Mullen

Lately it feels like everybody should just take a deep breath and then, let it out slowly, myself included.

Over the past several years our community has reached new levels of hyperbole. Some people have reached the stage where they’re talking of relocating to calmer climes.

It’s not like they’re storming off the playground with the game ball, it’s more like, “do we want to raise our kids where people are calling each other Nazis on social media?”

Being a newspaperman I’ve had to grow alligator skin (accompanied by the inevitable crocodile tears) but just last week, a friend showed me an online comment from someone I have long considered a friend and ally. He suggested the The Leader is a “fascist” organization and that right-minded (in this case, left-minded) people should march on it.

The term “fascist” gets tossed around a lot these days so to  use the textbook definition, a fascist is far right, authoritarian, ultranationalist political ideology often with racist or ethnic superiority. Dictatorial rule — and suppression of the opposition — are hallmark characteristics.

This was from someone with whom my family and I have broken bread, in our home, a lovely person who’s eaten our food and laughed in our living room.

It comes with the territory, I know. Sooner or later, if we’re doing our job, the newspaper is going to anger a lot of people. 

Thankfully not all at the same time — it just seems that way on Facebook et al.

We all know that “social” is the kind of media that’s dedicated to group think, made worse by its algorithms — hate often equals clicks.

With all of the good it can do, it is most adept at alienating people from one another. That isn’t just for the trolls — although trolling is a favorite online sport.

Maybe that’s because it’s so easy, too easy. It lends itself to anonymity where people say things they probably wouldn’t elsewhere.

It’s more difficult to meet with people, in-person and talk about the issues we all face, and discover our common ground.

People still do it. The staff here at the newspaper goes out and talks with business owners, government officials, kids, moms and dads, everyone — because that’s our job.

And that’s the beauty of this work — finding our commonality while being challenged by people who think differently than us — without resorting to name calling.

Look at the word “fascist.”

It used to mean something: It meant jackboots and secret police, not reporters covering zoning disputes and writing columns. We’re not goose-stepping down Water Street, we’re attending city budget meetings so you don’t have to.

Somewhere along the line, disagreement began to feel dangerous. Nuance became a sign of weakness: “accept tyranny or join the revolution — if you’re not on our team, you’re the enemy — even if you don’t want to be on a team.”

What if we went back to something radical, like talking to each other? I know, it’s so 1990s, but imagine sitting down with someone who sees the world differently. Share a coffee. Listen. Maybe nobody changes their mind but you’ll remember there’s a human being on the other side of the argument and you might be surprised that you agree on a lot of important things. So maybe your mind is opened, just a little bit more than it was.

Growing up in this business, I was taught you’re not supposed to have a political affiliation if you run a newspaper. Total neutrality is the gold standard. Truth is, I’ve always leaned left. In Wyoming, they called me a sissy liberal. Now that I’m here, apparently I’m a fascist. Who knew?

We are in the post-truth era, at least online, where there is no middle ground. They’ve pushed the center out of the frame, entirely.

I’d like to think there’s still room for common ground — and common sense.

Language still means something. And without meaning, we’re all just shouting into the wind.