“This program…is a crash course on everything a parent needs to know about the troublesome world of the internet.” (Italics added.)
Thus read the announcement for a program called “Cyber Smarts,” a 90-minute presentation on the “dangers” of the internet, sponsored by our local school district. The presenter, a “renowned national speaker,” is “a national expert on teen relationships and current risk issues for schools.” According to her bio, she has appeared on Oprah, Larry King, NBC Nightly News, etc.
(I won’t include her name, because she scared the hell out of me when I attended the program the other night – my fear isn’t about scary Facebook stalkers, it’s about the speaker’s seeming fondness for litigation.)
Before I launch into a criticism of this program, I will note the following: the speaker was very smart, very qualified, very informed on the topic of on-line dangers for children, and she made a number of excellent points (Damn, I said “she” – I should have used “he” or the neutral yet insipid “s/he.” Now s/he’ll be on to me.)
Here’s my beef – she had nothing good to say about the internet, which seems to otherwise add value to society; she was patronizing and insulting in her delivery; and she focused on the most sensationalistic elements of the topic, to the detriment of solid information and advice. I’d say that she reminded me of some of the nuns who taught me in elementary school, but that would be unfair to nuns.
She (from here on, I’ll refer to her as “The Cyber Avenger,” to avoid a glut of “she’s,” which would not be polite) started out by making the obvious link between slumber parties and home invasions; I wasn’t aware that twelve-year-old girls were using their cell phone cameras at 2:00 AM to scope out likely robbery targets on behalf of Asian Triad gangs. Nor was I aware that the naked pictures taken at frat parties and posted on a Facebook page, and then erased the next morning, actually NEVER…GET…ERASED! They live on forever (“Did you HEAR me, parents???…FOREVER!!!) in a server farm somewhere in Montana.
Unfortunately, the really valuable stuff that can actually protect kids – awareness of strangers on-line, cyber-bullying, etc. – was obscured by Cyber Avenger’s tabloid, sensationalistic, Nancy Grace style. For example, Cyber Avenger spent more time during the presentation showing YouTube clips of a kid pretending to be in a Star Wars movie than on educating parents on how to recognize on-lines scams targeted towards kids.
The air time given to the Star Wars clip allowed Cyber Avenger to provide a lengthy catalogue of the ills that have since befallen the unfortunate kid in question, such as depression and dropping out of school. She didn’t actually make the causal link between this fairly innocuous video and the poor child’s misfortunes. That would have been impossible without comprehensive evidence from health-care professionals. All that Cyber Avenger needed to scare the hell out of the audience was her vocal inflections and her REALLY…CREEPY…DELIVERY!!!
So, what’s the point? The point is that our school district paid Cyber Avenger $10,000 for a days worth of presentations to various grades, ending with an evening presentation to parents. The point is that the school authorities booked this act (yes, act) under the belief that they would be receiving something of real value for the entire community. The point is that the resulting presentation was sensationalistic, inaccurate, and lacking in substance.
The school district was duped. They booked this woman in good conscience, based upon her references and marketing material. I argue that the school did not receive what they expected. The school booked this speaker in complete good faith. They expected to receive solid, useful information on internet safety for their children, parents and teachers. Instead, they were treated to the worst type of demagoguery and misinformation.
One final observation. Cyber Avenger punctuated most of her stories with demonstrations of her complete respect for the law (she told us that her husband is a lawyer, her father was an FBI agent, etc.). At approximately one hour into the presentation, the school fire alarm went off, and after a few seconds, it was apparent that this was no test; there was either a fire in the building, a system malfunction, or perhaps someone pulled the alarm as a prank. What did that champion of the law, The Cyber Avenger, do? She implored the audience to stay in their seats, wait for the alarm to stop, thereby allowing her to complete her performance. I looked at my wife, said “The law is the law,” and left the building.