Call It Out When You Can -- April 2019

I’m not a naturally gregarious man, I don’t tend to go out of my way to meet people and nor do I tend to say much when I finally do: I’m more likely to listen and to think than to speak up and join in. Combine this with a career where I live at my place of work, and work hours that don’t make me inclined to socialise anyway, and you’re in danger of cultivating a very narrow world view indeed. 

Watching the news and reading the paper keep you informed, but these events are viewed through a lens of your own making and you’re often blind to your own biases.

Nine years ago I was encouraged to stand in the Board of Trustee’s elections and, having duly won a place at the table, took a seat on the board with my white, middle class conservative views which, I’m the first to admit, were very simplistic. It's fair to say I was a zero tolerance disciplinarian with little idea of the many different trials and tribulations faced by both teachers and students every day. 

Nine years later, having being confronted regularly with realities I never knew existed because I’d never encountered them in my own world, I leave the school governance system with a much better understanding of the huge risks faced by our Maori, Pasifika and immigrant children and a deep, abiding respect for the teachers and staff committed to helping them. I’ve shared in some great success stories too, and all of these experiences have helped broaden my views and deepen my understanding of the world beyond my farm gate.

So too with Twitter, the micro blogging social media platform I joined five years ago. Twitter has exposed me to a massively diverse range of views that had never even occurred to me on topics that I thought I was pretty well informed on. Reader, I was not well informed.

A couple of years ago I wrote a terribly racist tweet that I thought was funny; the only redeeming thing I can say about it is it came from a place of ignorance rather than spite. Some people blocked me, some people unfollowed me, many people called me out and a few took the time and energy to explain to me where I’d gone wrong. An African American lady patiently but with barely concealed anger gave me a history lesson and explained why my casual, throwaway tweet could cause so much pain. A friend chastised me privately online until I finally understood the perspective of the people I’d affected.

It’s now a little over a month since the terror attack in Christchurch. I didn’t tweet that day or the next, the outpouring of grief and rage on Twitter was too much for me and I’m not given to expressing these sentiments publicly. There were also a lot of very bad opinions floating about and I didn’t have the energy or inclination to engage with them. I still haven’t tweeted about the attacks because there are plenty of white men pushing 50 telling people what they think, another one wasn’t really needed.

A friend of mine who is an agricultural contractor shared with me an encounter he had on the day of the shooting; he turned up to a farm and was greeted by the farmer and the farmer’s daughter and it was only natural that talk turned to the tragic events unfolding in Christchurch.
“What do you think?” my friend asked as he set to work.
“Well,” replied the farmer, “that’s what’s going to happen if we let Muslims in.”

My friend was horrified and asked the farmer if he truly meant what he’d just said. When he said he did, my friend told him where he could stick his job, then packed up his gear and left. I admire him for that and only hope I have the courage of my convictions if ever faced with the same situation.

It’s easy to call people out on twitter, it’s safe and it has its place but it’s much harder to do it in person. I’m not suggesting we start telling off random members of the public on the street, but I’d like to think Christchurch has taught us it’s not okay to sit idly by and let people spew their hate or hurt others with their callous, ignorant remarks.

Choose your battles, but call it out when you can. I know I will be.