Understanding Assholes

Why some people enjoying hurting others

I recently posted a note stating that I, as a self-identified feminist and LGBTQIA ally who is also a weightlifter and former fighter, am the perfect antidote to the manosphere and, predictably, all the man-babies came for me. As you would expect, they didn’t come to debate with well-reasoned counter-arguments and salient points, but to hurl insults like high school bullies who never grew up or kids who were bullied in high school and never got over it.

I was called the F-word, the N-word, and everything in between, and it got me thinking: what were they trying to accomplish with their insults? Did they think they were changing my perception of the manosphere by putting down feminists and throwing around racist and homophobic slurs? Because any idiot could see they were just proving my point. Or did they believe they were hurting me with their cruel words? And if the point was to hurt me somehow, why? How would that make them feel better?

I have wondered the same thing whenever I see someone go on a post about body positivity, or just about any time a woman posts a photo or video of herself, to insult her weight or tell her she’s unattractive, often with a startling level of vitriol. Why? What pleasure do they get from insulting a stranger?

When I was five years old, my mother, sister, and I moved in with my great-grandparents, fleeing an abusive relationship. I remember sitting on my neighbor’s porch a few doors down, watching as my uncles moved my stuff into my new home, when a kid I didn’t know drove by on his bike, paused, and called me ugly. He drove off smiling, and I was left angry and confused. I had no idea why someone would want to insult a stranger. What pleasure could anyone derive from hurting someone they didn’t even know? That question would become a recurring theme.

When I was 11, I transferred to a new school — Henry H. Houston Junior High School. Henry H. Houston was in Mount Airy, the neighborhood adjacent to mine. I lived in Germantown, or G-Town as it was known, and the difference between the two neighborhoods was the difference between the middle and upper-middle class and those existing below the poverty line. My mother had faked our address so I could go to a better school in a better neighborhood, which was definitely the right move. The schools in my neighborhood were shit, designed to keep those assigned to it trapped in a cycle of crime and poverty due to poor education. I doubt I would be who I am today had I gone to my neighborhood school. However, the three years I spent at Henry H. Houston were three of the worst years of my life.

Compared to the middle-class kids I went to school with, I was dirty, raggedy, and completely lacking in style. My mom couldn’t afford to dress me in designer jeans or name-brand sneakers, so I wore off-brand clothes and was teased mercilessly for it. Colorism was a huge thing back then, so I was also teased relentlessly for being too black as well as too poor. I preferred being jumped and beaten up to the teasing I endured at Henry H. Houston. I almost committed suicide twice between the ages of 11 and 13.

In my neighborhood, several new kids had moved in from North Philadelphia, and they too began to tease and bully me. Back then I didn’t know backing down from a fight was an option, so I was constantly fighting these bigger, tougher kids, and getting my ass kicked half the time. But, just as in school, the beating hurt much less than the teasing. Over time, I got used to both and developed a pretty thick skin. Turns out that as a fighter and as a writer, I would need both.

These days, social media is every bit as cruel as middle school. It is full of juvenile bullies hurling sophomoric insults. Go on any post where a woman is celebrating her body, and for every ten or so supportive posts you will see at least one or two posts from men and women putting her down. I am part of an over-50 bodybuilding and fitness group on Facebook, and even among us seniors who you would think would be more mature, on every post by someone showing off the physique they have worked hard to build and maintain, there will be assholes brutally critiquing them and putting them down. And if anyone dares upload a video of them working out and lifting weights, they will get excoriated by keyboard warriors for their technique. Same thing in the boxing Facebook groups. Let someone post a video of themselves sparring or hitting the focus mitts or the heavy bag; unless they’re a professional boxer, they will get absolutely decimated by folks eager to belittle them. And if a gay or trans person or any racial minority posts anything positive about themselves anywhere on social media, they can expect to receive a tidal wave of hatred. I have to wonder why? What do the people who jump on these posts to insult others get out of it?

When I was fighting, I have to admit there was no greater feeling than conquering and humbling another man. Perhaps, in the minds of the keyboard warriors, they imagine themselves doing the same thing? Especially those who can’t actually fight or would only fight someone smaller and weaker than them. Perhaps the only way they can get the same feeling I got from sparring or fighting is by insulting women on Instagram or gay and trans people on Facebook or Black horror authors on Substack? Perhaps it’s a reaction to a world changing faster than they can keep up with and feeling lost and unsafe in this new world that looks nothing like it did when they were growing up? I find that sad and pathetic, but at the same time have a hard time feeling sympathy for them.

Not everyone has the support system I am lucky enough to have. Not everyone is a 6’ 5”, 250-lb, ex-fighter. Some folks will receive insulting comments like these during moments of vulnerability, after suffering a lifetime of ridicule and abuse, years of feeling unsafe, and perhaps it will be their last straw. Perhaps they are doing their best to heal from past trauma, overcome self-esteem issues, insecurities, and body dysmorphia. Perhaps they have been fighting racism, sexism, homophobia, transphobia, or some other form of bigotry their entire lives, and they are mentally and emotionally exhausted. Maybe the last thing they need is to be insulted by some asshole on the internet who can’t feel good about themselves unless they are putting someone else down, and this latest insult reopens wounds they have been trying hard to heal.

That’s why I can’t feel sorry for the incels, TERFS, and red pill folks because I know they are hoping to catch you and me at these low moments. They are hoping their words cause harm so they can feel a moment of superiority to temporarily soothe the hurt, damaged little child in themselves. Hurt people, hurt people. And that’s narcissistic and sociopathic. Even if I could understand someone having a life so tiny, pathetic, and insignificant that the only way they can feel powerful is by hurting a stranger, I wouldn’t be able to excuse it. I wouldn’t be able to forgive it. They should work on those issues rather than spreading their own pain and insecurity.

The only good thing I can say about assholes like these is they are good inspiration for the villains I write. Definitely look for the manosphere and its adherents to make an appearance in one of my future horror stories. But don’t expect them to be sympathetic villains. I have no sympathy for them.