I have struggled with my Dad’s hate-posting for years. He has been a consistent soldier in the alt-right, consistently glomming on to the issue of the day. The hate-posting content is so voluminous and nasty that it’s hard to know where to even begin describing it. And one of the worst issues is it’s not just my Dad. It’s the cesspool of other right-wing extremists who add comments to his ugly content that really takes it down the toilet. Of course, my Dad’s inflammatory posts invite this kind of response. The content he chooses to put out into the world makes it clear to his friends that ugly, inflammatory responses are welcome. 

I’ll describe the incident that really made me step back and realize how entrenched he was. I think that until this point, I always held out hope. I always had this small feeling that maybe he’ll “see the light” some day and stop with the obsessive hate posting behavior. That maybe he’d tire of it, that maybe he’d “wake up.”

This was in the fall of 2019. Greta Thunberg had just given her famous speech at the UN about climate change, where she called all of the assembled world leaders on the carpet for not doing more about climate change. 

In typical fashion, because it was a culture war issue that the alt-right was jackrabbiting about, my Dad posted about it. Many times. I wish I had screenshot of this particular post because I would share it here (and I will share screenshots in the future of his posts). I can reconstruct the post pretty accurately using our subsequent emails about it.

My Dad’s post was of the “stupid and untrue” variety, but wasn’t in and of itself that awful, all things considered. He has certainly posted much worse, and I never would have called him out for this post alone. It was the comments that were so upsetting. 

The main point of his post was that it was sickening that Greta was attacking Trump in her UN speech. Of course, Greta didn’t attack Trump in her speech. She didn’t call out the US or Trump specifically in any way. Her criticisms were aimed at the collective UN. This is why I call the post stupid and untrue. (I personally think it’s completely stupid to get oneself worked into a lather about a complete fiction. That’s just me!)

The bad part came in the cesspool comments to my Dad’s post from a few of his “friends.” Here, I must take a moment to explain that my father has about 4,400 “friends” on Facebook, and his page is completely open for all the world to see. Most of his “friends” are people (and surely bots) he doesn’t know. He has no personal relationship with them. They are just fellow travelers in the Facebook hate media underworld, who spend their days hate posting with one another. I should also note that I cannot recall the last time I saw a family member comment on one of his posts. His online “world” mostly seems to involve interactions with strangers. (And also some former military friends.)

Ok, as for the bad part. In the comments to my Dad’s post criticizing Greta for (not) attacking Trump, one of his friends called Greta a “retard.” Another called her a “little bitch who needed her ass whupped.” And another posted that if Greta wants so much to live under Sharia law, she should be “beaten and gang raped.” (I have no idea what the reference to Sharia law is supposed to mean.)

When I saw these comments, and especially the last one, I felt like the wind had been knocked out of me. I literally felt pressure on my chest and couldn’t breathe. I cried and my whole body was shaking. I remember exactly where I was, at my desk in office. I had to close my office door to compose myself. I felt bile rising in my throat.

This girl they were talking about was 16 years old at the time. These (purported) “men” who were commenting were just cruising by on a random weekday. Probably having coffee or a turkey sandwich while they scrolled Facebook…. and blithely expressing shocking hate. Abject cruelty. Blatant misogyny. And it was just so casual and easy for them… no fear of repercussion. No worry that anyone would say “hey, that’s not cool.” They made these comments because they absolutely knew they were in comfortable company: my father and his like-minded “friends.” Just breezing by, sprinkling hopes of a 16 year old girl being beaten and gang raped. And even worse, expressing these thoughts over a completely fictional account of what happened.

I have a daughter Greta’s age. Thus, my father has a granddaughter Greta’s age. This fact surely made the shock more acute and palpable to me. It hit home (for me; not for everyone, apparently).

A short while later, after I had composed myself, I emailed my father and told him that some of his moronic friends had made these comments, and that he needed to immediately delete the comments. I no longer have that email, unfortunately. I know that was terse and direct and called his friends stupid or moronic, or words to that effect. I have a vague memory of saying his “friends” had the intelligence of a squirrel, or something along those lines. It was a short email, I know that. Maybe just 2 or 3 sentences. I was furious, but I know for a fact that I didn’t make any comment about my Dad’s post because I knew that would not be well received (more on his fragility in later posts). I know for a fact that I limited my comments to what his friends said. 

He didn’t respond to me right away but did take down the entire post (thank heavens). A few weeks later, he emailed me a long, drawn out response with the subject line “Focus on Ideas, Not Insults.” Oh, the irony! Dad was just so darn offended by the insults sent his way. Not at all worried about the disgusting messaging he’d been part of disseminating to literally thousands of others about a 16 year old girl being beaten and gang raped for the audacity of giving a 4-minute speech about climate change. In the email, *he* accused *me* of creating emotional distance between us. All I can say to that is: LOL. Ok, big guy.

At no point did he say “gee, those were awful comments.” He didn’t say “I blocked those jerks.” Nope. There was nothing of the sort. Instead, it was an extended attack on me for supposedly accusing him of supporting teen sex assault. And a whole lot of feeling sorry for himself that he has been “insulted” in this way.

Of course, I did no such thing. I was deliberate with my wording to specifically call out that these were his moronic friends commenting. But he’s so excruciatingly sensitive that being called out in any way is immediately perceived as an attack on him, and he twists the facts to fit that narrative. This is a theme I have now seen in him many times over in the years that have followed, which I’ll share in later posts. He is often nasty, mean-spirited, petty, and cruel in his public posts. But getting (indirectly) chastised privately one time sends him off the deep end into wounded-feral-animal-response mode.

As the saying goes, there’s a thin line between love and hate. This exchange with my father gave me my first glimpse into the meaning behind this saying. I was so utterly disgusted with him in that moment (I’m still completely disgusted when I think back to this moment). Disgusted with the lies he puts out into the world. Disgusted with with the ugliness of the content. Disgusted with the bottom feeders he chooses to associate with online. Disgusted with his refusal to employ even a modicum of critical thinking ability to what he chooses to share on his Facebook page.

This event really started to shift my thinking about my father, and marks the start of me coming to terms with the reality of who my father often shows himself to be, which I had tried to deny for a long time. Much more on that to come.

For now, peace out.

XO,

Jane