johnmaconline

Once Rupert Murdoch established his “news” and media empire in the US, he uncovered a new business model. 

Once technology delivered a broadcast studio into every citizen’s pocket, it doomed the objectivity model. 

The intersection of these two events inevitably birthed the narrative (formerly called “the party line”) model that we currently enjoy. The media can no longer serve the two masters of objectivity and profit, so they’ve had to choose. That choice was easy because Murdoch showed them the path.

But the problem isn’t the narrative. Not really. The problem is we shove our heads into the echo chamber and start nodding along.

Turn off the damn news.

Posting with #ISupportUkraine or #maga is a virtue signal.
Abandoning Twitter for Mastodon or Truth Social is a virtue signal.
Wearing a mask while running outside is a virtue signal.
Investing only in companies that have high ESG scores is a virtue signal.
Bringing your own hemp twine bags to the grocery store is a virtue signal.
Asking the clerk if the water comes in a glass bottle rather than a plastic bottle is a virtue signal.
Driving around in a giant pickup truck with an American flag flying from the bed is a virtue signal.
Buying a Tesla is a virtue signal. And paradoxically, now, so is getting rid of your Tesla.

Virtue signaling is about communicating personal moral values and the moral values of our tribe. It’s one way of gaining or maintaining status.

But there’s usually something more to it than just signaling moral superiority. As humans, we like to take action. We like to do something. We like to do the right thing. These signals are ways of doing something.

But just because you feel strongly and take the virtue-signaling action doesn’t mean that others are doing nothing, believe the wrong things, or are just plain dumb. 

They’re just doing different things to make the world a better place. 

Building a home on the Outer Banks of North Carolina is very rewarding. But it’s also risky.
Building a home in the desert of Nevada is very rewarding. But it’s also risky.
Building a home in a mountain valley in Colorado is very rewarding. But it’s also risky.

It’s easy to forget about the risk as technology, status, and social norms progress. But that doesn’t mean there is no risk.

Sometimes when we feel victimized, before we drain our outrage budget, we oughta think about rerunning the risk/reward spreadsheet.

We sometimes confuse trust with agreement. I know I’m guilty.

We erroneously think that because we agree with someone or some tribe, we can trust them. This also leads to the flip side: when we don’t agree with someone, we believe we can’t trust them.

We see it all over social media. Can we trust experts? Can we trust the politicians? Can we trust the media? But we’re really just asking if we agree with them

I once had two engineers on my team who disliked each other immensely. I spent many hours listening to each moan about how bad the other was and how “I can’t trust him.” Here’s the thing: each was a good engineer with a high degree of integrity. They just saw the world differently.

I found a solution that appealed to each’s integrity and allowed them to build trust, if not in each other, at least in their work. We created a contract (actually a requirements specification). Each could concentrate on building his piece to conform to the contract, and as long as they trusted that the other’s work conformed (which he could prove through objective testing), we had success. We discussed disagreements in terms of the requirements, not each other’s work. Their commitment to their personal integrity kept us moving forward.

Fundamentally, trust is about integrity, not agreement. The real solution to rebuilding trust in our experts, politicians, and media is to focus on each’s commitment to their integrity.

We like what we like. We get stuck. We confuse inertia with discipline.

If nothing changes, nothing changes. Evolution requires the randomization of some inputs.

Here’s a great idea that’s easy (something I’ve done a few times recently):

• Choose a new or different restaurant.
• Sit at the bar.
• Open the menu and put your finger on something random.

The beauty of this kind of randomization is that it gets us out of our comfort zone and exposes us to a different perspective. Even if you have a bad experience, it’s still a different experience.

And what if you have a great experience?!

The path to empathy and understanding requires new perspectives. New perspectives require different inputs. Randomization can provide different inputs.

I recently passed 100 days in a row of posting to this blog.

What I’ve learned isn’t earth-shattering, life-changing, or revolutionary. The lesson is rather ordinary, actually. But it’s backed up by some heavyweights like Steven Pressfield and James Clear. 

I do think it’s worth sharing:

If I commit mentally (I mean honestly and truly commit), my actions follow. 

I’ve committed not just to 100 days but 365 days. I’m not entertaining the thought of changing it. I’m not allowing any doubts to surface. I’m not worried about holidays, or sick days, or days I’m uninspired. I don’t care if I’m so devoid of ideas by 365 days that I’ve resorted to posting the grocery list. I’m posting every day. 

I’m showing up, and I’m expecting the muse to show up with me. 

There are some other subtle lessons as well. For example, I am always on the lookout since I need a new topic each day. The fear of having nothing to say started the engine, but now it’s a perpetual motion machine. Pay attention and think about the point of view.

And if you’re wondering, no, it’s not always easy. These little posts of 250 words or less take me somewhere between 10 minutes and three hours. I have to make time in my schedule. That’s not always easy or comfortable. I sometimes have to steal from Peter to pay Paul. 

Next stop, 365. 

You’re a hypocrite. Don’t worry, so am I. We all are. 

If you’re a human, you’re a hypocrite. 

“Yes, I’m not what I appear to be. I’m a sinner. I play roles. I have dark parts. I hold ideological paradoxes. I have a plank in my eye.”

I often wonder what our online communities would look like if, rather than spending so much effort policing hypocrisies, we spent that effort looking in the mirror, understanding another’s perspective, and finding common ground.

More empathy. Less town crier. 

Most people don’t care if you vote. They only care if you vote for their team.
Most people don’t care about free speech. They only care when their team is censored or when you say something they don’t like.
Most people don’t care about freedom. They only care if they feel less free.
Most people don’t care about your morality. They only care about enforcing their own morality.
Most people don’t care about illegal immigrants. They only care about what the issue of illegal immigrants represents.
Most people don’t care about criminals. They only care about what their team says about the criminal.
Most people don’t care about your bodily autonomy. They only care about their own body.
Most people don’t care about what you say. They only care about what they are trying to say.
Most people don’t care about you. They only care about what you think of them.

Whenever we’re looking for common ground, we must always remember what the other actually cares about.

We’re easily distracted by shiny objects.

Those shiny objects gain leverage if we put labels on them — safety, anti-vax, ableism, privilege, transphobia, etc.

But if we could look past our distractions for just a minute.

What happens if all public health policies start with a better food supply and more exercise?
What happens if all public education policies start with education?
What happens if all public community policies start with family?
What happens if all public law enforcement and prosecuting policies start with protecting victims?

The problem with shiny objects is that they distract us from real solutions.