All is Fair in Twitter and YouTube
I have been casually making videos on YouTube since 2010. Back then, YouTube was not a career goal, and analytics and algorithms were practically unheard of. People made videos because they enjoyed it. They made videos because it was a creative outlet. They made videos to find a sense of community.
I am still in that place. I don’t make videos consistently enough to earn money or to garner a plethora of views, but that doesn’t matter to me. The friendships I have made through the YouTube community and the things I’ve learned from those friendships are more valuable to me than trends or clickbait or AdSense earnings. It’s difficult for some people to understand, but I make videos because I like to make them, and that’s that.
I recently was confronted about this. I found myself in a Twitter spat with a stranger (as one does) about nothing particularly important. It was impersonal, it was insignificant — that was, until it wasn’t.
After a bit of back-and-forth, I mentioned that Bitcoin Jason’s credibility was questionable (not because his Twitter handle is Bitcoin Jason, although in retrospect that would have been a valuable point.) He responded with this:
I couldn’t help but be caught off guard. I had not posted a YouTube video in months, so it would have taken a solid amount of effort for Bitcoin Jason to find it.
In one respect, Bitcoin Jason was right. My videos are not consistent. What felt wrong was that my consistency in a hobby became a reason to question my integrity, as if my failure to post regular videos made me a vapid flake.
Bitcoin Jason also took the time to watch my video, because he made his next personal attack on the content. In the video I explained why I hadn’t made a video in a while, and that I was in a stagnant phase of life that I wasn’t sure how to get out of. I didn’t think twice about sharing this with my small, community-driven YouTube audience; it’s the kind of thing they would want to know.
What Bitcoin Jason didn’t know is since posting the video, that chapter has closed and I have been healing. But that wasn’t relevant to him. To him, I was someone who “couldn’t close a chapter and heal.” To him, my journey of personal growth was merely a bargaining chip to use against me.
I understand that open, online conversations have consequences. I understand that not everyone will agree with what I say. I suppose the solution to this encounter could be boiled down to a few points: don’t argue with strangers online, and don’t post anything personal online.
Unfortunately, those solutions don’t sit well with me. I should be able to engage in conversation on a public platform. That’s what social media is designed for. I should be able to document details about my life in a public way. That’s what YouTube is designed for.
I am absolutely guilty of being curt online, and I probably stick my nose in a few places where it doesn’t belong. But I have never taken the time to research a stranger’s internet content and personal history to use as leverage in a conversation.
Strangers are strangers. It’s one thing to take what someone says at face value and critique it for what it is, but it’s another to pretend like we know who they are and go on the offensive with limited facts.
My generation made YouTube videos because we wanted to belong somewhere. I don’t want the next generation to feel like they can’t find their place to belong due to fear. Fear that a stranger will take their words out of context. Fear that a stranger will attack them for their personal feelings. Fear that a stranger will paint them as something they aren’t.
Human decency has lost its way. We are quick to speak and slow to listen. We have taken “all is fair in love and war” and expanded it to “all is fair, everywhere with anyone.”
It’s not fair, it’s not right, and we can’t expect the next generation to behave better if the adults don’t do it first.
