Molly (let's call her that) works full-time for a small
construction firm in the Northeast. Her husband, Desmond (also not the name he
actually goes by) is a firefighter for their local fire department. They have
two children, a third grader and a fifth grader, who attend the same school.
Molly and Desmond each regularly contribute their time to
the school by supporting fundraising events and volunteering when the school
puts out a call for parent volunteers for certain events. They've done this
since their oldest child started school six years ago.
Recently, another group of parents started a social media
site where parents can post information about the school, including notices of
upcoming events, results of sporting events, or other news related to the
school. The social media group is curated by a small group of parents who
manage who gets to belong to the group and read the posts. People connected to
the school who ask to join the group are rarely if ever denied access.
Molly regularly checks into the site because she often
finds postings that are useful, whether it's the announcement of an upcoming
bake sale, or news of one of the student's efforts to engage in a project
supporting an area of the country recently hit by a hurricane. Desmond also
belongs to the site, but rarely spends any time with it. In fact, Desmond
rarely spends time with any social media, or the Internet at all.
A recent post to the social media group raised an issue
with an effort that one of the other parents was undertaking at the school. A
long discussion thread -- some agreeing with the post, others taking the poster
to task -- followed.
Molly was incensed. "It seemed totally inappropriate
for the site," she writes. "Some parents want to use the site to
complain rather than to share information."
She was prepared to add to the discussion thread with a
comment asking parents to remember the purpose of the site and to ask them to
not turn it into a site for complaints and quarrels. She also planned to email
the administrators of the site to ask them to take the post and discussion she
found offensive down.
When she told Desmond of her plan, he urged her not to
post anything. His concern, she writes, was that her request would have little
effect and those engaged in the disagreement might "turn on her."
"Is it wrong not to post something if I really feel
strongly about it?" she asks.
Molly needs to decide to do what Molly wants to do,
regardless of what I or Desmond think. Do I believe that her comment will quell
the masses rushing to disagree online? No. Social media sites have a way of
taking on a life of their own. If the rules of engagement are not made clear or
the site administrators don't do a rigorous enough job policing those who
disregard those rules, the sites run the risk of becoming posts full of
misinformation or rants.
The right thing, however, is for Molly to decide if she
feels strongly enough to post a comment, even if it means she will become a
focus of ire. Or she could simply decide to unjoin the social media group and,
like Desmond, spend less time online.
Jeffrey L. Seglin, author of The Simple Art of Business Etiquette: How to Rise to the Top by Playing Nice, is a senior lecturer in public policy and director of the communications program at Harvard's Kennedy School. He is also the administrator of www.jeffreyseglin.com, a blog focused on ethical issues.
Do you have ethical questions that you need answered? Send them to rightthing@comcast.net.
Follow him on Twitter: @jseglin
(c) 2017 JEFFREY L. SEGLIN. DISTRIBUTED BY TRIBUNE CONTENT AGENCY, LLC.
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