Who watches the watchmen? The case for calling out people who call out

VIEWER DISCRETION ADVISED: this article contains depictions of violence inflicted on children. Avoid reading it if you’re easily triggered and can’t discuss ideas, like #CharlieWednesday.?

1. But Vlad, you wouldn’t like it if someone called you out!

The f*ck I wouldn’t. Somebody did call me out on something I posted yesterday, and we had a lovely discussion. Yes, we didn’t agree on everything, but I learned something. Here’s the thing about professionals — we never stop learning. Even when we think we know enough. Please, contradict away, I love a great debate.?

2. But we have to protect whoever is posting.

No, we do not. If they choose to say stupid shit, they should undoubtedly get their comeuppance. Why? Because actions have consequences. So, if you do stuff like:

• Call people unprofessional because they call themselves freelance writers, not ghostwriters, all in an effort to peddle your course – cvnt.?

• Tell people to change their desperate language because “I’d love to chat” seems a lot more desperate than “I want to chat” – stupid, Tinderly cvnt.?

• Make fun of someone’s design while your own website is in shambles – you get what you deserve.?

The problem lies with becoming accustomed to saying whatever in public and not taking responsibility for it. You can be a toxic bastard and nobody should call you out.?

LinkedIn certainly won’t. Even if what you are saying is borderline exploitative, free speech.?

If I want to call somebody an… assortment of names, my comments get deleted. Not so free speechy after all, right? Don’t worry, I can also insult people in a smart way.?

3. You’re on the same level as them.?

Great! I love that level. We’ve been tolerant with intolerance for far too long. Time to raise our standards. The biggest problem in the world is not just people who do harm. It’s also the bystanders who do nothing about it.?

Or, even worse, the people who blame others for stepping in and calling out the abuse. Unlucky for you, I have a martyr’s personality. I can take it.?

4. A lack of authority leads to anarchy.

Marketing and writing are not regulated by any authority. No official body to govern it. As such, we have to self regulate. If we don’t… chaos. How about a story?

I was four or maybe five years old. My parents’ divorce was looming closer and closer. Sure, my brain couldn’t quite figure it out, but a child can smell the signs like a shark picks up on blood in the water. I knew it was coming. I just didn’t know what it was. Suffice it to say, my emotions were running wild, and I was high-strung. I’m not attempting to excuse myself, just to provide context. I was also fed a steady diet of cartoons and comics about superheroes, so my sense of justice was sharp. And unrelenting.?

So, one day in kindergarten, things went too far. Mihai?? (little Michael) took to harassing some girls. You know how boys are. They can’t express their feelings, so we lash out, often in violent ways. I was the quiet one who kept to himself. Mihai?? was the go-getter in a pre-Andrew-Tate-way. So, in his pre-copulatory-rage he started hurting the girls. I was Batman back then, too, so it just didn’t sit right with me. So I asked little Michael to stop hurting the girls. He doesn’t listen. I ask him again. Still, he pushes on and ignores me. At this point, I do what every law-abiding citizen does, I go to the authorities.?

The authorities (the educators) are busy chain-smoking by the window, so they shoot me a malaise-institutionalized-weary smile and tell me off.?

“Boys will be boys” they say. Hah, they are right.?

Left with no other course of action, and with the authorities having failed me, I take it upon myself to solve the matter. By any means necessary. I take one last effort and grab little Michael’s hand. He recoils and pushes me away violently.?

I’m at my wit’s end (I'm younger than little Michael, and he towers over me) so I climb a chair and grab the cuckoo clock from off the wall. I use it to swiftly smack him across the face. A solitary tooth leaves his mouth and falls to his hand. Blood gushes.?

The authorities show up, in an American-school-shooting-that-could-have-been prevented-had-the-authorities-done-their-job style. I’m taken away as little Michael wails like the police siren. The only reason I’m not severely punished is that the girls I helped plead in my favour.?

Sure, I’m reprimanded, and my mother is told I may have issues. She’s to get her house in order and mend my behaviour.?

I go back to being a quiet little boy. Little Michael is also well-behaved for the rest of the year, if a bit lispy.?

I do not condone violence. At least not physical one, except if I'm defending myself or a loved one. Don't worry, I won't deck you if we ever did meet. A disgusted smile will do the trick if I don't respect you. Sure, I don’t think that what I have done was the right thing. But, left without options, I did it. Let’s collectively disallow ourselves to get to that point.?

We are the authorities in our story. Do not turn a blind eye. Do not be a limp prick. Call out the people who do wrong.?

And, if necessary, call out the people who call out. We tend to overstep.?