When did we stop being able to talk? On Tosh, Communication, and the Public Sphere

Last night, I found myself surrounded by a few of my newer (read: boyfriend's) friends, one of whom is a comedian and one of whom teaches special education and is hilarious. I hadn't really been keeping up with the Daniel Tosh stuff (I tried to find a summary of the story, but it’s all opinion pieces and I just can’t bear to read one more), but had been compelled to read a few articles when I was sent a quote from a dear friend. Out of curiosity, with a keen awareness of how potentially volatile this conversation could become, I asked what they thought of the situation. I expected them to side with Tosh and other comedians and they did. What really threw me was when our conversation quickly devolved into people interrupting one another and getting frustrated and losing the whole point of the topic to defensive non-communicative tactics.

            At one point, I felt my own temper boil over and found myself sneering, "Fine, I'm not talking now. Why don't you say something here in this silence?" I hated that I'd said that and I hated that I'd said it to a new friend.

            I love conversation. It's the thing I do. It's my go-to. I love people and I love ideas and all I want to do is mull those over with people, but lately, I've found myself at a loss for words and frustrated because I feel totally unheard. It wasn't just this scenario, a week earlier in a basement on Cape Cod, I found myself in a heated discussion of whether or not people can change. I felt ideas solidify in my mind, but as soon as I expressed them, I heard them fall flat. The person on the other side tore my argument to shreds in a sound, personal, and unrelenting argument. Sure, I might be having a hard time expressing myself, but I really don't think that's it. I can't help but wonder what happened to conversation as an art and how that might be connected to the decay of the public sphere.

            My friend and classmate Kenny Wiley recently found himself in a communication stalemate in Harvard Yard. He tells the story so much better than I ever could, but the point is that Kenny challenged what the people said. He did what every good organizer, preacher, social educator, student, professor, communicator, therapist, (the list goes on) would do: he reacted to what they said and offered a critique. His counterparts (if one could even call them that since they refused to engage in critical discussion of their assumptions) told him to "lighten up, and 'learn to take a joke.' Wow. My years of education and advocacy send me down rage alley, but my humanity makes me think, Okay, fine. They said something dumb. I say dumb things all the time. But, that they couldn't reflect upon it? That they couldn't for a second question how hurtful, even racist, something they said was inexcusable.

            The three examples above have really lead me to question what has happened in our public discourse. I mean, didn't we used to have conversations? Hard ones? I remember as a kid the Monica Lewinksy case or the OJ Simpson trial. Everyone talked about it. Everyone. And they disagreed, but no one in my family (a group of serious hotheads) ever thought anyone was an idiot for thinking one side or the other. Well, maybe they did. I was pretty young at the time (Full disclosure: I thought OJ was innocent. I now question that belief). And, maybe these are terrible examples. Maybe the public sphere died a long time ago, but I want it back.

            Frankly, I'm over mud-slinging. I'm sick of posting a funny MadTV image on facebook that compares Mitt Romney to Mr. Burnes just to be replied to with blind hatred for Barack Obama. I'm sick of having to point out logical fallacies on both sides of a given debate and being silenced. I'm sick of being told that by critiquing Daniel Tosh I am infringing upon his freedom of speech.

            And this brings me back to the question that have been plaguing me this morning: when did we stop being able to talk? When did you stop listening to me and I stopped listening to you and instead we spent time when we weren't talking buttressing our defenses? Why do I end up viewed as the feminist who clearly is against free speech when it's exercised by a straight white male? Why are my ideas supposedly easy to decipher before I've even said anything? Why do my friends, people I count as truly close to me, assume that I've already made up my mind? And, why do I find myself not listening to anything they say when someone advocates for the rape joke? Most importantly, why do all these things lead to an inability to even discuss the matter at hand?

            I miss getting to have a conversation that is really a conversation, one in which the people I am with and I explore a topic, trying to turn over every edge of the debate, wondering what corners we might have missed. I miss being self-critical and being willing to question my own impulses, arguments, and beliefs. I really, really miss having other people "see my point." I haven't heard that phrase in years.

            And, you know, the funniest thing is how undecided I am about the whole Daniel Tosh thing. I think what he said was dumb and just not a very good joke, and I think if he told the audience that they should rape the woman then he crossed a serious line. But, I also kind of think Daniel Tosh is really, really just not funny. So, I don't totally care. I fancy myself a lover of comedy, having practiced with and later trained peer-improv troupes for years. I've made rape jokes and thought that other students' reactions were over-blown. I've argued that "no thing is sacrosanct." Do I regret that? I don't know. Maybe. But, how I feel about that is nothing compared to how frustrated I feel by the fact that we can't even talk about it.

            In Lindy West's acerbic (and hilarious) article, she states:

"...a comedy club is not some sacred space. It's a guy with a microphone standing on a stage that's only one foot above the ground. And the flip-side of that awesome microphone power you have—wow, you can seriously say whatever you want!—is that audiences get to react to your words however we want. The defensive refrains currently echoing around the internet are, "You just don't get it—comedians need freedom. That's how comedy gets made. If you don't want to be offended, then stay out of comedy clubs." (Search for "comedians," "freedom," "offended," and "comedy clubs" on Twitter if you don't believe me.) You're exactly right. That is how comedy gets made. So CONSIDER THIS YOUR F**KING FEEDBACK. Ninety percent of your rape material is not working, and you can tell it's not working because your audience is telling you that they hate those jokes. This is the feedback you asked for.

If people don't want to be offended, they shouldn't go to comedy clubs? Maybe. But if you don't want people to react to your jokes, you shouldn't get on stage and tell your jokes to people."

I can’t help but agree. Maybe I wouldn’t say it that way and maybe I’m less clear on the issues than she is, but I do agree. Public discourse is about providing that feedback. It’s Kenny telling those kids they’re being inappropriate. It’s the feminists telling Daniel Tosh he went too far. It’s pundits critiquing Obama. Or Romney. Or healthcare. Or patriotism. The point is that the public sphere should be about discussion—heartfelt, respectful discussion where something is on the line, where people are willing to listen to others and examine their own beliefs.

            I just want to talk again. I want to talk about things I care about and I want to listen to what people have to say. I want to discuss rape jokes, but I want to do so fairly, understanding that for so many women (and men) rape is not an objective scenario to be discussed, but something they have survived. I want to talk about race because damn, I have so much to learn, but I care about learning. I want to talk about politics because I care about civil rights and I still care about Republicans. I just want to talk because it makes me a better person to have a conversation rather than to sit in a room and make my mind up about things.

            I talk about things because I don't know what exactly I think. I talk about things because I'm confused and I'm sad and for goodness's sake, shouldn't someone be talking about it? I talk about things because I want to understand others and if we all begin a conversation by saying we agree, then haven't we made the most fatal mistake: agreeing based on a assumption that we're assuming the same thing? I talk about things because I think too many people have been silenced. And, I'm sorry if this pisses off other feminists or if it pisses off men, but I think that everyone has a right to be at the table, but critically so. I do not think because you are a comedian you have the right to defend Tosh without thinking about the real harm his words could have had. I do not think because you are a feminist you have the right to say that men "just don't get it." Rape is real. It is horrific. But, at some point, we have to talk about it, listening to what others have to say. We have to reclaim the public sphere because we need it.

            So, how do we do that? I have no idea on a grand scale. But, for myself, I know that I need to start with shutting up. Even if it makes my eyes twitch, I need to sit there and listen to someone’s argument, someone’s emotions, someone’s feelings (no matter how well or poorly informed I feel they are) before I say a damn word. I also need to be unafraid to take some room to share my opinion, not because I am sure but because I think I’m needed in the public sphere, too.

            And, I’m sorry, but I don’t count writing something crazy on someone’s facebook posts about Obama is having a conversation. The internet and facebook have granted us complete and utter lack of accountability and that’s not the kind of conversation I’m talking about. The kind I think we need is a lot less entertaining, a lot more engaging, a lot more exhausting, and potentially a lot more productive. If you can show me holes in my thought and I can show you details you missed in your argument, think about our potential for real understanding. THAT excites me. I don’t care about Daniel Tosh. I don’t care about pundits or theorists. I care about you and me and how I remember it used to be: having real conversations that didn’t end with everyone feeling so unheard and interrupted and marginalized that we couldn’t even look at each other.

            So, next time you see me and we broach a big topic, remind me of what I said. Tell me to let you finish and listen to what I have to say once I start. In short, let’s talk.