Carmel Pan
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Every conversation at dinner seems to be the same, and tonight is no different: the stifling, shallow talk has passed, and now we’re all simmering in awkward silence. I mentally sift through conversation topics, but none stand out as something that’d interest this friend group. It seems no one else can find something either, if they’re even trying.
Someone breaks the silence. “Remember that girl I said I couldn’t stand?”
The table lights up. Quickly, the flow is revitalized. Everyone’s suddenly far more interested in devouring drama than the food on their plate. “No, what’d she do now?”
The conversation drones on, but I sit back. Idly listening, I wonder why this generation is seemingly only able to generate conversation with gossip. This trend is not limited to Generation Z; gossip has been an innate human quality since the beginning of time, subconsciously building a silent hierarchy that people are desperate to climb from the moment they’re born.
This theoretical hierarchy is what underlies and empowers all gossip. To clarify, “gossip” in this context is negative gossip, though I’d reckon the word is inherently negative; it is not necessarily gossip to comment on what your teacher wore today, what your coworker said or what your friend posted on social media.
It is gossip if it’s said with the intent to ridicule or harm, spreading information on a subject in order to degrade one’s reputation or build up your own. In practice, it’s usually both.
Studies have observed that gossip serves a beneficial role in familiarizing someone with social norms and building trust. I would say this isn’t so much “beneficial” as it is a built-in norm to play the social game that society has built.
I’d further argue that if your methodology of bonding is to inadvertently say, “Hey, I trust you not to tell anyone, but I think she’s really ugly,” your bonds have zero sustenance.
Yet so many of today’s friendships seem to entirely hinge on the next juicy spill session. At some point, someone has to ask themself: Is this friendship sustainable or even beneficial to either of us? What are we contributing to each other’s lives? When we reach the upper echelons of the social hierarchy, will we find ourselves caught in our incessant negativity, lonelier than we’ve ever been before?
Back at dinner, the table roars in laughter and snarks at the mention of some classmate who hardly even interacts with anyone. I prod at my food, realizing that at the end of the day, the target never seemed to matter in relevance. People just needed something — or someone — to receive their negativity, to establish their position on the food chain and to stifle the fear of rejection.
There’s nothing humane, or even fulfilling, in climbing to the top by tearing others down. To sacrifice values that build lasting relationships — compassion, empathy, love — for a moment of pseudo-bonding over exaggerated hate is a tragedy.
As I sit, I wonder how many of these people talk behind each other’s backs when we’re not at this dinner table. I wonder how many more venomous words will be spoken, how fragile the connection stringing us together is, and how easy it will snap when someone knows something they shouldn’t.
By perpetuating gossip, we only strengthen our social insecurity. It’s a cruel cycle, fed by our own desire to fit into a society that continually rejects you behind your back.
But it is very possible to live displaced from this norm. Hold the words of those closest to you the tightest, the ones who unequivocally love you for who you are. Speak in love. Gossip is a poor replica of the sustenance true friendship carries.
Reach Carmel Pan at letters@collegian.com or on social media @RMCollegian.