You lie on your friend’s bed waiting for her to come back from the co-op with lemonade. You remember that your mum asked you to call your sister. Your mum has been going through a rough time lately, so you need to do it. You start talking about your week, telling her funny things about your lectures – nothing important – she starts discussing politics with you and you transform her very intellectual, clever, working-woman insights into scenes from Gilmore Girls and parrot them back to her.
You realise that you don’t really have political views apart from the things she tells you. She explains them so convincingly that you believe them, and they become your views so you convince your friends that they should believe these things too. You become informed through her perfectly phrased arguments. You realise that you’re the pop-culture, younger version of her: you have the same intent and desire to argue with people – make sure other people know they can’t talk shit around you about racist things and Brexit – except unlike her, you lack the facts to back you up. ‘Yeah I agree, it’s a bit like when Lorelei made gay jokes about Michele – when you watch it for the 112th time in 2019 it’s just so politically incorrect, don’t you think?’ Nailed it.
Snapchat got to you too soon. Instagram stunted your need for actual knowledge. But it’s ok. You only need the headlines. You can bullshit the hind legs of a donkey and make your point convincing to your friends with references to the tv programmes you all watch.
You’re sat with your friends talking about nothing, showing each other Instagram stories of people you semi-know and making feigned political observations about Brexit and North Korea. You sound informed, like you know things; and even though you all know that you don’t know anything, with a shifty side eye confirming you’re all talking through the abstractly flickering flame of a candle – you all sound so smart and worldly that you think you should definitely all record a podcast. Matt– the only carnivore left in your group – doesn’t understand why you all agree that Beth’s housemate shouldn’t be re-posting #woke Instagram stories about the environment and plastic straws and the oceans eight times a day, when he eats more bacon than anyone we’ve ever met and guzzles the blue milk from the carton. ‘Yeah but – I understand what you mean but…. If he cares about it he’s allowed to post about it,’ Matt’s low voice and Brummy accent defend him like a cheap barrister- lads gotta stick with lads I guess. It’s one of those forehead slapping moments of ignorance which drive you crazy. What’s so hard to understand about not preaching what you don’t practice yourself? You feel bad as your frustration bubbles up to the surface, drowning you in a hot swell of molten anger. He can’t help it if he’s a bit ignorant, he means well. You know that you don’t really keep up with the news, but at least you don’t post about it. Maybe sometimes we should say nothing? ‘Ok I get what you mean, but…. what’s the harm really?’ He pipes up for the 8th time. Surely he’s taking the piss at this point? He metamorphosises into a 4 by 4 truck, reversing down a narrow, one-way country lane without checking his wing mirrors, backing up over and over again expecting a different result.
You wonder on the way home what the harm is, really, in not knowing anything below the surface. You think about the real, physical change that social media has made because of this year’s fashion of veganism, with a considerable push almost definitely coming from reposts on Instagram. Lazy, disengaged youth can gain backing for political and world issues through doing nothing more than tapping a button. They don’t even need to read beyond the headline. It might seem shallow, no one’s really bothering to properly research what they preach to their followers, but real change happens – subway has a new vegan sub, every pub and its mother won’t give out plastic straws. Maybe it is better to post it, even if you don’t care. We’re always in each other’s faces, lighting up each other’s phone screen. We’re always engaged, always informed on what someone else is thinking – always communicating. Does it matter that we don’t really know what we’re talking about? We’re never alone except for when we put our phones down for 15 minutes; probably to be presumed dead.
Creative Non Fiction Writing at Reading 