The Antidote to Becoming an Internet Asshole

Recently, while waiting for the bus and grieving over the calamity of a dead Iphone battery, I was forced to watch as a guy about my age wearing surf shorts, slippers and no t-shirt attempted to hitch-hike in front of the Kapa’a Big Save bus stop. Because of the nearby dried vomit, the elusive smell of urine, and the lack of social media to distract me-- I kept myself entertained by imagining the look of growing confusion on his face as the minutes ticked by and the cars continued to zoom passed. Finally, the bus arrived 25 minutes late and we both got on together. He said to me "half an hour and nobody picked me up." While I desperately wanted to explain, "it's because you’re covered in sweat and don't have a shirt on," I just politely muttered, "hmmm… weird."

A woman, who seemed more socially accepting of shirtless guys on the bus, or possibly just attracted to the crippling smell of over-ripe Noni, walked up to him with a three finger ET imitation and said, "peace, love, happiness bro, I'm Aurora nice to meet you." He put three fingers up to hers and responded "peace, love, happiness Aurora, my name's Seabliss." With my mind temporarily blown over the discovery of a secret hippy handshake, I missed hearing how the conversation transitioned to the power of Kaua'i's ocean as a physical manifestation of mother Earth's womb; but apparently the ocean here is "where we all come from."

The bus, which had standing room only when I got on (44 people and 32 seats) continued to fill up as we drove through Kapa'a, pushing me further towards the back until I was shoulder to shoulder with the high school sophomores on their weekend pilgrimage to Kukui Grove. When the conversation transitioned from comparing Kapa'a High iPhone fight videos (Ona vs. Chaz seemed like a popular one) to "licking 'okole," I did my best to scoot myself back to the front.

At the stop across from Kintaros a new load of people came on, forcing me again to the back of the bus. Thankfully the conversation had moved on and the sexually liberated high schoolers were now comparing the amount of Instagram followers they each had. All six of them finally lifted their downturned eyes away from their phones when one of the boys exclaimed with disgust that he just got a follow request from a girl who only has 70 followers of her own. "Ew," one of the other girls said, "you know dat Spenc get ten tousan’ followas? 'As why he get all da chicks." With her prophetic words hanging in the air, their heads went back down in unison to continue the hard cultivation of their online personas.

The Hanama'ulu stop nearly emptied the bus and, in order to ensure that my look of bewildered generational disconnect didn't get immortalized in any of their constant stream of Snapchats, I scooted back towards the front. Where my shirtless hitchhiking friend who came to Kaua'i to be re-united with the ocean womb of mother Earth was now engaged in an animated conversation with an elderly local guy. I came up just in time to hear him ask "there an accident or does it always take this long to get through Kapa'a?" The elderly guy answered simply, "get too many fucking people." Shirt-less dude responded "no kidding, huh." Neither of them with any apparent irony or targeted sarcasm.

I breathed a sigh of relief when I finally got off the bus and found an outlet to charge my phone. Life is simpler on social media where it's easy to forget that at the end of the great internet divide there is a human behind the screen. In online confrontations I resort to condescension and repetitive recitals of the same facts, and, in return, I get self-righteous indignation. Complex motives and experiences get simplified into base emotions and simplified rhetoric. When a politician takes a strong ideological stand, she's a self-serving hypocrite looking merely for political advancement. When a farmer goes to work on the west side, they're a greedy baby killing chemical corporation sell-out. When a passionate youth holds a sign at a rally, he's an anti-ag hippy with no idea what farming means. People don't exist online, just circular logic, entrenched positions, and extreme tribalism.

The biggest transition that our island is facing isn't ag, hotels, or residential development-- it's our newfound ability to isolate ourselves into self contained opinion bubbles. Instead of the integration that made Hawai'i a melting pot and humility a way of life, our new digital separation makes empathy and compassion handicaps in the increasing fervor of our verbal warfare and simplified memes. While I find myself continually slipping into that partisan abyss, the bus remains a necessary dose of human reality.

My internet hardened blogging persona cringes at how trite this is about to sound, but, I have to get it out-- we're all in this together.