I’ve recently developed an annoying habit.
It annoys me, anyway – and I’m sure it annoys others even more.
I have unintentionally appointed myself Senior Fact Checker of Facebook. When Mark Zuckerberg announced the end of Meta’s fact-checking program after Trump’s election – to much rejoicing and lamentation – I somehow found myself stepping up to fill the void, almost against my will. It’s an unofficial, unpaid position. (Yes, I’m a volunteer!) I would love to quit the job – it’s time consuming – but the work feels more like a compulsion than a choice.
Mind you, I’m not talking about opinionating or persuading or arguing positions – all the stuff I’ve been doing for years, both here and on social media. This new gig is not about shaping perspectives or challenging deeply held political views. I’ve come to believe those are almost completely gut-level for most of us, and barely subject to correction or change. And in a choose-your-own-adventure world of multiple media narratives, I’ve just about given up trying to forge consensus or mutual understanding. It’s like trying to make pottery out of vapor.
But facts? Facts are solid, right? They either are or they aren’t. Facts, I mean. If I work hard enough, I can prove that something either happened… or didn’t. The Big meaning-of-life Truths may be elusive, and even subjective (which thoroughly irritates me!), but the facts – truths with a small t – are objective. You can get your hands around facts.
Those quasi-political quotes everybody’s posting on Facebook, attributed to Pope Leo? There’s no compromise or middle ground. He either said them or he didn’t. (FYI: He didn’t.) That statement “recently released” by General James Mattis that’s been getting thousands of shares? All it takes is actually reading it to know there’s nothing “recent” about it. A little research reveals Mattis made that statement in June of 2020, during the George Floyd summer. And yet, round and round it goes on FB like a shiny new toy. I even received it via email last week.
This stuff is not rocket science, y’all. You don’t have to be particularly smart to check facts. You just have to be curious. And skeptical. And open to disappointment.
As one of my FB friends said, while discussing yet another fake Pope Leo quote aimed at shaming Trump supporters: “If someone you believe to be an authority figure over the people you despise says something you believe the people you despise should be righteously scolded to believe, the chances of it being fake rapidly approach 100%.”
He’s not wrong.
I recently got so frustrated with this bogus Pope Leo meme that kept appearing on my feed – it was proliferating like no-see-ums at a Lowcountry cookout – that I stopped making corrections on every post I saw and just slapped the meme on my own page, with the following announcement:
Attention – Pope Leo did NOT say this. He didn’t say that stuff about being “woke,” either. This pope is the most misquoted Christian on social media since C.S. Lewis.
The declaration gave me a deep, burning sense of righteous satisfaction. For about two minutes. Then I deleted it.
Because who wants to be that person? The sassy know-it-all? The one who repeats “actually” like it’s going out of style? The schoolmarm of Meta?
Not me. I promise. But you people need to stop triggering me!
My heartfelt plea? If a famous person you greatly admire is quoted on Facebook as having said something contemptuous about somebody you hold in contempt, despite your overwhelming urge to share that quote with the world – because it will be overwhelming! – please think twice. Chances are high it’s a misattribution, a very loose paraphrase, or – most likely – a complete fabrication. And I’ll be forced to fact-check you.
As my mother used to say when my sisters and I were fighting: Don’t make me come in there.
I don’t know why I’m so driven to this task. I’m almost OCD about it. Nowhere else in my life am I like that. Almost the opposite, in fact. I’ll let laundry sit in the dryer for days without folding it… and just shrug. I’ll convince myself the weeds in my backyard are beautiful wildflowers just to avoid whacking them. No biggie.
But the facts? I must save them! I must not let them be twisted or mauled or even slightly glossed. The facts must be impeccable.
Oh, don’t get me wrong. I’m not talking about the big, important facts – the ones shrouded in spin and deception, politics and competing agendas. I can’t tell you if Covid came from a bat or a lab leak, or who’s actually winning the war in Ukraine.
No, I tackle the little facts. Mainly who said – or didn’t say – what, and when they said or didn’t say it.
In a certain light, it seems like a petty pursuit. Why bust people’s chops and take away their sense of virtue? We all want to believe in the righteousness of our opinions, and when a public luminary shares those opinions, it’s the ultimate affirmation.
Why am I compelled to rob people of their celebrity endorsements?
Honestly, I’m not sure.
I could blame Nancy Drew and Harriet the Spy, two of my earliest influences; I was an aspiring Girl Detective from a very young age. That aspiration has never really left me, the yearning to “get to the bottom of it,” to peep into every Old Clock and Hollow Oak.
But I think it’s more than that. Above, I mentioned that we now live in a choose-your-own-adventure world of multiple media narratives, and I think it’s just about shattered us as a society. I feel the weight of that shattering – that absence of a common, binding story – and it’s very heavy on me.
Checking the little facts – the ones that can still be checked? I think it’s my way of proving to myself – and others – that there is still such a thing as objective reality. The facts are the facts, no matter what we believe about them. You can try to spin the facts, but the facts remain. Somehow, that brings me peace.
I think it’s the same reason watching Jeopardy has become the highlight of my day. We usually do it over supper. (Yes, we’re one of those TV tray families. We use our kitchen table as a shelf. Don’t judge.) There’s just something about watching people answer those questions – or, rather, question those answers – that does my heart good.
With Jeopardy, it’s all about the facts. You’re either right or you’re wrong, period. No opinions invited, thank you. Like Alex Trebek before him, Ken Jennings is a nice guy, but he suffers no fools nor falsehoods.
Verily, a hero for our age.
