Comfortable With Cruelty
The other day I was watching a political commercial when something struck me.
It wasn't the candidate. It wasn't the issue. It wasn't even the politics.
It was the tone.
The narrator's voice was deep, ominous, and accusatory. Every sentence seemed designedto make viewers dislike, distrust, or even despise another human being. The attacks weren't focused on ideas. They felt personal.
Then, at the end of the commercial, the candidate did not appear on screen. He hid and said the familiar words:
"I'm so-and-so, and I approve this message."
I found myself wondering: You do?
Really?
Would you walk across the street, look your opponent in the eye, and say those same things face-to-face?
Probably not.
And that led me to a larger question.
Have we always been this rude?
Certainly, people have always disagreed. Politics has never been a gentle sport. History is full of insults, rivalries, and public feuds. But disagreement is not the same thing as contempt.
Fifty years ago, people argued about politics, religion, and social issues. They debated at dinner tables, workplaces, and community gatherings. Yet most of those conversations happened face-to-face, where human nature imposed certain limits. You had to look another person in the eye. You had to live next door to them tomorrow.
Today, much of our communication happens through screens.
Social media allows us to say things we would never say in person. Anonymity removes consequences. Algorithms reward outrage. The angrier the comment, the more attention it receives. The more attention it receives, the more people imitate it.
Rudeness has become profitable.
And perhaps that is why it feels as though our culture has become increasingly comfortable with cruelty.
At the same time, many states have chosen to post the Ten Commandments in schools. Whatever one's views on that decision, one commandment stands out in our current moment:
"You shall not bear false witness against your neighbor."
The commandment isn't simply about lying in court. At its heart, it is about truthfulness, fairness, and refusing to damage another person's reputation through falsehoods and reckless accusations.
Now imagine a teenager walking past that commandment every day at school.
He reads it.
He thinks about it.
Then he goes home and watches adults tear apart political opponents, celebrities, neighbors, coworkers, and strangers online. He hears people assume the worst motives, repeat rumors as fact, and celebrate the suffering of those they dislike.
What lesson is he supposed to learn?
The contradiction is impossible to miss.
Recently, I saw a social media post claiming that Pam Bondi has thyroid cancer. I have no idea whether the claim was true. What stunned me was not the post itself but a response underneath it.
Someone wrote that they hoped she died.
I stared at the comment for a moment.
Why?
How would that improve the person's life?
What good could possibly come from wishing death on another human being?
The comment wasn't thoughtful. It wasn't persuasive. It didn't solve a problem. It simply added more darkness to an already dark corner of the society.
And unfortunately, examples like that are becoming easier to find.
Now artificial intelligence is rapidly changing the way we communicate. AI can create content faster than any human being. It can amplify messages, arguments, and opinions at unprecedented speed.
The question is not whether AI will change our conversations.
It will.
The question is whether it will amplify our better angels or our worst instincts.
Technology itself is neither kind nor cruel. It reflects the people who use it.
Which brings us back to the only question that really matters.
Can we reverse course?
Can we become less comfortable with cruelty?
The answer is probably yes, but it requires something that modern culture doesn't reward very often: self-discipline.
It requires pausing before posting.
Verifying before sharing—and even if it's true, asking whether sharing it is the right thing to do.
Listening before attacking—and sometimes choosing the healthier option not to attack at all.
It requires recognizing that disagreement does not require hatred and that being right is not the same thing as being righteous.
Can I get an amen?
Most importantly, it requires remembering that every person on the receiving end of our words is a human being.
The solution may be simpler than we think. It begins with a choice.
The next time a cruel comment appears on your screen, the next time you're tempted to pile on, the next time outrage offers an easy ticket aboard the rudeness train, ask yourself one question:
Do I really want to help drive it?
Or is it finally time to step off?
I’m Lauren—a writer, educator, and novelty quilter with over 30 years of experience in service and sales. I’ve taught high school English, worked as a journalist, and now run Artisan Shop USA, a marketplace supporting handmade artistry.
