Sean Moncrieff: An act of kindness that proves it’s the messiness of the world that gives us hope

Every week, once this column appears online, I tweet a link to the article. Then it’s my policy to retweet the reactions to it, good and bad. Most of it, anyway. I don’t retweet anything racist and I block any accounts that abuse my family.

I try very, very hard not to reply but I don't always succeed. I've got better but every now and again – on the pandemic or climate change, for instance – I get drawn into an exchange with someone who not only disagrees with me but doesn't believe a word I've written. There are various iterations but the shape of the story (for them) is largely the same: things aren't as they appear to be. Beneath the official account, there is a secret scheme, the aim of which is to steal freedom or to control the world in some way. It usually involves Bill Gates.

Every time I engage, I relearn what I should have remembered before I replied: it’s a waste of energy to point out the inconsistencies or logical gaps in their version of reality. They are burrowed into their beliefs.

All the people of this sort that I've interacted with are convinced of their opinions because they know how the world works

Because such views seem disturbingly common, it's become a boom time for academics attempting to explain how some people came to be this way. One factor seems to be the individual feeling powerless and needing to explain what's going on around them. Perversely, it's a comfort to think that there is one person controlling everything behind the scenes, even if it's some Dr Evil type. It's neat and simple.

Spend It Better: A clean air project for Dublin

---

Sally Rooney: ‘I’m really paranoid about my personal life. I feel self-conscious’

---

Lilly Higgins: An incredibly simple but rewarding summer stew

---

Ice cream and fish and chips, but not as you know them

---

Yet it must only be a temporary comfort. Because while they may feel relief at having arrived at an explanation, perhaps even smugness for being part of the small group who have revealed The Big Lie, it is devoid of any future. It’s predicated on a dismal view of human beings. It denies the essential messiness of life.

In my experience, all the people of this sort that I’ve interacted with are convinced of their opinions because they know how the world works: a world created by the people within it. Thus, the overwhelming majority of other people – who believe The Big Lie – are, at best, deluded or lazy. The rest – people who work in the media, politics or science – are irretrievably corrupt. When you’ve concluded that most people are beyond saving, it’s easy to “other” them. When you take to Twitter to proclaim those beliefs, it’s easy for those people to “other” you.

Some Sunday evenings, I sit at the dinner table with Herself and despair at how Twitter is a cesspool of hatred and delusion. And she often reminds me that her experience has been quite different. She's involved with a group of Irish women who help mothers in direct provision. Herself was assigned a woman from West Africa who has two small children, so every now and again Herself sends down clothes or toys or anything she might need. But because the woman is outside Dublin, it's not always possible to deliver them in person.

Recently, Herself went on to Twitter to ask if anyone could deliver a package. She was swamped with offers. And the man who made the delivery not only did it promptly, but threw in €50 so the mother in direct provision could buy something for her kids.

I don’t know this man but I’ll make some guesses about him, based on how I think the world works. Like all of us, he tries his best. But there have been times when he failed. There have been times when he has been cruel or cowardly. And there have been other times when he has been brave and principled, when, through a simple act of kindness, he brought tears to the eyes of a woman who crossed half the world with her children to find safety. It’s the messiness that gives us hope.