This week, many of us waded into the tumultuous waters of social media to join a chorus of outrage. Michael Jackson, R. Kelly and George Pell have all been tied to a history of sexual abuse. But as we face the fall of more celebrity figures, are we starting to tire of feeling outraged?
Last week, I told a friend that Aladdin was the worst Disney movie. In response, she gasped, closed her laptop (which held a freeze frame of a blue Will Smith), and said:
“I’m triggered”.
With her voice pushed up an octave, and her brow furrowed in a rough impression of Clint Eastwood, she feigned a kind of outrage and prepared herself to defend ‘Arabian Nights’ to the death. But I was mostly struck by the word she used to express her offence.
When it first became part of our everyday vernacular, “triggered” was an important, even valuable term. It was a tool used to vocalise an emotional response to something that compromised one’s mental health, one’s impression of safety, or one’s self-worth. But in the midst of full-belly laughter, I realised that it is now just an effective way to parody the culture of outrage that surrounds us every day.
Outrage is a key part of the way we process, and voice, our opinion and it can be a useful emotion. It can mobilise us, prompt us to reflect and even help translate an emotional response into a positive action. But, more and more, outrage has become a manipulative tool used to bolster a myriad of issues. No matter how important these issues are, it’s hard not be overwhelmed by the outrage required of us in response to them.
We’ve grown used to the kinds of articles, exposés, or revealing documentaries that deal in outrage. The sheer number of them that flood our Facebook threads each week is striking; and each of them carry high stakes. They require our attention and they demonise us, should we ignore them. While I believe that the outrage levelled against Michael Jackson and R. Kelly is warranted, I am unable to berate those around me when they admit to feeling a detached weariness in response the outrage that surrounds them. I admit that it’s a privilege to feel this way but it’s also an increasingly common reaction.
In the chaotic world of social media, outrage has significant power and influence. In 2016, Russia implicitly acknowledged this influence in their attempts to influence the election. Both sides of the political spectrum have sought to create outrage to mobilise certain demographics and prop up their agendas. Marketers, and politicians, know that outrage is a feeling that makes consumers move on issues, and in the process, consume their products.
There are different types of outrage. There is a difference between the outrage we feel at a W.W.F. ad that zooms in on a sad panda amidst a backdrop of swelling violins, and An Inconvenient Truth. There is a difference between feeling sad when Sarah McLachlan plays underneath a montage of lonely puppies in an RSPCA ad, and the idea of a Democrat-led sex-ring in the basement of a pizza shop. This difference comes from our need to assign blame. The outrage incited over “Pizza-Gate” in 2016 was successfully focused on the Clinton Campaign and the already well-established idea of “Crooked Hilary”. Hilary Clinton and her constituents could be blamed – and they certainly were. Suddenly, the Far-Right were mobilised by an idea that could be focused on a name they recognised.
Attributing blame to a specific individual is deeply comforting; it helps us control our outrage and fix it onto a target. Empowered by this focus, we can boycott entire filmographies, mobilise protests against University-held lectures, or vandalise a Hollywood Star of Fame. If we can give our outrage a name, we can act against that name. The easiest course of action is a good tweet, a trending hashtag and a conclusive boycott. Years ago, KONY 2012 gave us a name that served to focus our attention and our charity. Last month, Jussie Smollett manipulated our desire for this kind of focus by creating a hate-crime that could be levelled squarely at the feet of Donald Trump.
Of course, this is not to say that outrage is always negative. Many worthy causes have capitalised on outrage and consequently prompted real change. In the wake of a continuing barrage of interviews, tv series, films and articles that look to incite outrage, we find ourselves responding with lethargy, or not responding at all. It’s hard to ignore that detachment we feel when another “revealing interview” comes up on our news-feed and it’s easy to simply scroll past it. Hovering over this new controversy is the last one. Behind this valuable campaign is the last one you subscribed to and never heard much from again. At the end of that march is another one that might be sadly ignored by people in power. It’s not just the cynics who are weary of activist messaging. There is a general feeling of pessimism that can certainly justify feeling resigned or detached.
In this genre of outrage-centred media, this detachment is painted as a problem. Our inaction makes us responsible, our silence makes us complicit. Our disinterest in the wake of a worthy cause, or another exposed celebrity, is shameful. So, if we struggle to feel the outrage expected of us, we instead experience an arresting feeling of guilt that is just as tiring.
It’s difficult to admit that we simply don’t care as much as we should, or in the way that seems to matter most. Then, in the wake of increasing suspicion toward social media, a seemingly post-truth world, and a general wealth of misinformation, we distrust the ways used to express our outrage, and become weary of anchors that would justify it in the first place.
When Russia’s influence on the 2016 election was uncovered, our outrage became a tool for political manipulation. In effect, this influence showed us how outrage galvanises the dividing lines between different ideologies – whether political or socio-cultural – and eliminates a middle ground. In the midst of outrage, a middle ground is seared earth. Even Vladimir Putin knew that social media is not conducive to constructive conversation; Twitter doesn’t have a hashtag for compromise. So maybe we’re not tired of these causes but tired of the divisiveness that comes from them. We’re tired of the seared earth put forward by social media.
While social media is a powerful tool for creating movements like #MeToo and #BlackLivesMatter, it is not the most effective space for continuing conversations about these issues. Outrage in this space can be manipulated and the need to blame someone can drag even the most considerate person into the fires of online anger. These fires do nothing but burn all involved with the now negative brand of “Keyboard Warrior”, and we’re tired of it.
We would love to hear what you think about outrage in the online sphere. Let us know what you think in the comments below.
