Don't @ Me!
Taking the oath in the Capitol Rotunda on Martin Luther King, Jr. Day. Forget Political Science. This is Political Culture. And it's the New-Now-Normal.
A Name That Crossed Oceans
In honor of Martin Luther King Jr Day, the first thought that crossed my mind was how did his dad get that name? That’s not one of the facts taught about this man and his day. The second thought was, who was Martin Luther? Once I answered those two questions, I started reflecting on what questions those answers provided. Many it seems, especially in this weird confluence of political and cultural maelstroms we’re living in. Let’s dive in.
The story of Martin Luther King Jr. and his father, Martin Luther King Sr., reveals how names can embody profound ideals. Originally named Michael King, both father and son adopted the name Martin Luther after the senior King visited Germany in 1934 and was inspired by the Protestant Reformer Martin Luther, whose acts of defiance and calls for justice changed the course of history. This change was not just an homage; it was a declaration of values—a commitment to reform, equality, and justice.
This act, seemingly small, speaks volumes about the interconnectedness of human history. A Black preacher from Georgia choosing to align his name with a German theologian from the 16th century reflects a unifying thread that transcends race, geography, and time. In today’s era of political division, it’s worth reflecting on this moment. It wasn’t about race—it was about ideals. It was a recognition that justice and moral courage are universal.
In our modern landscape, where divisions often feel insurmountable, perhaps we can look to this act as a reminder. It’s possible to find unity in shared principles, even across vast differences. The Kings’ choice underscores that the struggle for justice isn’t bound by color or creed. It belongs to humanity as a whole.
What would it look like if we embraced this perspective today? If we saw our shared humanity as the foundation for dialogue, rather than our differences as barriers? The answer might lie in acts as simple, yet profound, as choosing a name—a symbol of who we are and what we stand for.
Don’t @ Me: The Evolution (or Devolution) of Language in the Post-COVID World
Conciseness has long been the holy grail of good writing. "Say more with less," we’re told. It’s advice I’ve lived by, sharpening words to their cleanest edge, trimming the fat until only the essence remains. But lately, I’ve begun to wonder: In our collective quest for brevity, are we unintentionally streamlining our thoughts as well as our language?
In the search for one thing, how many other things are lost, neglected, or never found? And with the acquisition of that thing, what is conquered? Oneself or another? Setting upon a mission necessarily negates all other missions. We’ve distilled our disagreements to zero-sum differences, and our victories have become nothing more than self-promoting put-downs, put-offs, and putsches.
The modern world seems built for the pithy and succinct. Character counts rule our digital spaces, and algorithms favor the quotable over the nuanced. It’s no wonder we’ve adopted a style of communication that prizes speed and impact. But what gets lost in the process? Ideas are reduced to soundbites, questions collapse into binaries, and complex emotions shrink into emojis. In striving for efficiency, we risk forfeiting the depth and deliberation that meaningful expression often requires.
Worse still, the very shape of our thoughts is bending to match this new linguistic reality. Thoughts that are easy to condense—sharp opinions, witty remarks, simple declarations—rise to the surface, while the slow-brewed intricacies of doubt, ambiguity, and exploration often sink unseen. It’s not just that we’re saying less; we might actually be thinking less, too.
And nowhere is this shift more apparent than in the way we argue.
Can We Argue?
What is an argument? And why do we have them? Are they, or should they be, always antagonistic? Are they emotionally damaging? Are they to be avoided?
Language has always been a reflection of its time. It grows, adapts, and bends to match the cadence of our lives. But lately, I’ve been wondering: Are we in an era where language is losing its richness? Where depth is sacrificed on the altar of brevity, and argument—once a cornerstone of discovery—has devolved into little more than a contest of snarky retorts?
Take the phrase “Don’t @ me.” Born from the fast-paced world of social media, it’s the rhetorical equivalent of Talk to the Hand: “This is my opinion, and I’m not here to debate it.” In some ways, it’s a declaration of boundaries—a valuable tool in an age of endless discourse. But it’s also emblematic of a larger shift: the shrinking space for thoughtful argument in favor of hot takes, mic drops, and memes.
It’s not just about “Don’t @ me.” Look at the language we use daily. Shorthand, slang, and colloquialisms dominate our interactions, often at the expense of clarity. Memes distill complex emotions into a single image or phrase. Snarky retorts end conversations before they begin. We’ve become fluent in a new dialect of brevity, one that prioritizes speed and relatability over nuance and understanding.
This linguistic shift isn’t inherently bad. After all, language evolves to meet the needs of its speakers. Emojis, for instance, are a fascinating leap forward—a universal visual language that transcends barriers of age, culture, and geography. But there’s a cost. As we condense our thoughts into character counts and GIFs, we risk losing the richness that comes from fully articulated ideas.
Perhaps more troubling is how this evolution affects argument. Once, argument was seen as a tool for growth—a way to challenge ideas, explore differences, and uncover shared truths. Today, it often feels like argument has been rebranded as inherently bad. To disagree is to attack, to critique is to cancel, and to debate is to invite drama.
Why? Part of it is the medium. Social media, our primary stage for discourse, isn’t designed for depth. Algorithms reward engagement, not enlightenment. A thoughtful essay rarely garners the same attention as a viral dunk. And in a world where attention is currency, we gravitate toward what gets us noticed.
But there’s another layer: the collective exhaustion of the post-COVID world. The pandemic didn’t just isolate us physically; it also reshaped our emotional landscapes. We’re tired—of uncertainty, of conflict, of trying to explain ourselves over and over. In that context, the appeal of “Don’t @ me” is clear. It’s a shortcut to self-expression, a way to assert our perspective without opening the floodgates to endless debate.
The question, then, is this: How do we reclaim argument as a tool for connection rather than division? How do we encourage discourse that seeks understanding, rather than applause?
One answer might lie in slowing down. The very nature of digital communication pushes us toward speed—quick replies, instant reactions, constant scrolling. But meaningful conversations require time. Time to listen, to think, to respond with care.
Another answer might be to embrace the messiness of dialogue. Arguments don’t have to be tidy or decisive. They can be meandering, imperfect, even unresolved. What matters is the effort—the willingness to engage, even when it’s uncomfortable.
Finally, we need to reframe disagreement as something valuable, not threatening. To disagree isn’t to reject someone’s humanity; it’s to say, “I see this differently, and I’m willing to talk about it.” That’s not an act of division—it’s an act of courage.
Language is living, yes, but it’s also shared. And the beauty of shared language lies in its ability to build bridges, not just walls. The tools are already in our hands—whether they’re memes, phrases like “Don’t @ me,” or even a well-placed emoji. The challenge is to use them with intention, to remember that every interaction—no matter how brief—is an opportunity to connect.
The Argument That Changed Everything
Throughout history, some arguments have done more than settle disputes—they’ve reshaped eras. Consider the debates that led to the drafting of the U.S. Constitution. These were no mere exchanges of differing opinions; they were rigorous discussions that laid the groundwork for a new nation. The Federalist Papers, for instance, weren’t just persuasive essays; they were a masterclass in argumentation, designed to win over skeptics and build consensus.
Or take the debates between Frederick Douglass and various defenders of slavery. Douglass didn’t shy away from confrontation. Instead, he wielded argument as a weapon of liberation, dismantling the rhetoric of oppression with clarity and moral force. His words didn’t just change minds; they galvanized a movement.
Even in more modern contexts, arguments have had profound impacts. Think of the televised debates between John F. Kennedy and Richard Nixon. For the first time, the visual component of argument—body language, tone, and presence—became as significant as the words themselves. It wasn’t just what was said, but how it was delivered, that shifted public perception and influenced the course of an election.
These examples remind us that argument isn’t inherently divisive. At its best, it’s a tool for discovery, a way to explore our differences and find common ground. It requires courage, yes, but also a willingness to listen and learn. In a time when language often feels like a battleground, perhaps we can draw inspiration from these moments in history. They remind us that meaningful change often begins with a simple yet profound act: the decision to engage.
A More Humorous Take on Arguments
Of course, not all arguments are grand or history-shaping. Some are downright absurd—and hilariously so. Consider Monty Python’s famous "Argument Clinic" sketch, where a man pays for a proper argument but only gets contradiction. The humor lies in its sharp satire of the futility and silliness that often accompanies debates where neither party truly listens.
Or think of SNL’s Point/Counterpoint sketches, where arguments devolve into personal verbal chaos. Their vitriolic ad hominem attacks are funny only because we see these comments now all too frequently. While exaggerated, these examples poke fun at our propensity to escalate disagreements unnecessarily, reminding us not to take ourselves too seriously.
Even in their humor, these sketches offer insights. They show us that arguments don’t always have to be solemn. They can be playful, self-aware, and even ridiculous. Perhaps there’s something to learn here: If we approached disagreements with a bit more humor and a bit less ego, we might find common ground more easily. After all, who can stay mad when everyone’s laughing?
Check out the playlist for this post, an eclectic hodge-podge of melody and mirth and melancholy, just in time for whatever emotion you’ll be experiencing tomorrow. Just remember, had Harris won - but wait, she didn’t. And there is no close in elections. Just like hand grenades.
Seriously, if you’re having problems dealing with this election, please let us know. Very rarely are we treated with a cogent logical argument in opposition to Trump and his voters. Typically, it’s a vitriolic diatribe of morality-checking, name-calling, and intelligence-impugning, which add nothing to solutions but does all it can to prolong division.
Consider this a safe space to air your “bag of grievances” for the next four years.
Ric
Interesting background of Martin Luther King Jr. good point on sharing ideals.