A couple of years ago, our neighbourhood watch WhatsApp group fell into disarray. Two unrelated incidents caused the fallout. The first related to one member posting a series of photographs of a man who had stopped by the said member’s gate to go through the trash bag so he could retrieve any recyclable material.
One member objected to the photos: “Why are you violating the man’s rights? You do not have to take photos of him in a public place and he has not done any wrong.” A heated debate ensued – first between the two antagonists and then we all joined in the melee. The matter had taken a racial undertone. It did not help that someone then posted a photograph of a snake that he had killed in his yard. It was the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back. I left the group as the pandemonium heated up my phone and messages were being hurled like grenades.
The dynamics of the office WhatsApp Group
I once reported to a team leader who had the vanity of a peacock. Offline and online, we had to pass compliments to them for even the most mundane things. Their birthday was a big brouhaha in which team members jostled to send the best message with images, emojis and all. It was like a permanent visit to Precabe Farm and we were all Tshabangus eulogising the Dear Leader to curry favour.
But our team leader decided that we could not confine comments to WhatsApp. It became mandatory that we were all on a certain social media platform where we were supposed to like, repost and reply with glowing statements equivalent to “Apa maseva, Chief!”
For the majority of the team members, there was no choice but to follow the unwritten orders. This was powerplay and younger and junior staffers knew that the consequences could be severe. For the odd one out that defied this, there was a terrible psychological warfare to endure.
WhatsApp groups are more than just social media platforms. They say a lot about our society, and its obsession with hierarchy and validation.
Enter sports, family and other connections
I am in a rugby WhatsApp group that has interesting dynamics. The majority are Springbok supporters, a few are for the All Blacks and none supports France or other team. The members come in at different levels – two are former Springbok players and many played high school and university rugby. One, a Zimbabwean, coaches at a boys’ school in New Zealand. The members have an opinion on everything rugby – whether it is on some subjective article titled 20 Greatest Rugby Captains Ever or a Grey College versus Paarl Boys High School. When it gets heated, you have to brush up on your IsiXhosa to follow – it is fire.
Then comes the family group – may be best to say the Family Groups as they are divided into immediate nuclear family, wider family and “wider wider” family. I cannot comment on any of these groups and survive, but you, dear reader, know what goes down in your own groups. You also know that there are parallel, factionalist groups where you are excluded. In that factionalist group, a collective of the disenchanted runs its own narratives of developments within the clan.
For others whose family dynamics are tense, profile pictures and status messages are deployed to send a message. A friend says on his side there are sleuths deployed to visit his profile regularly and make a report to certain forces from an immediate past. Mark Zuckerberg should give us free psychological services on WhatsApp – our people need them.
The joys of WhatsApp
My personal joy with WhatsApp came when my son sent me a message by mistake. It was supposed to go to his brother. They had been conniving to deprive me of certain black coat that I had purchased. The problem for the robbers was that I had chosen to wear the said apparel that same day. The disappointed message read: “Sorry man, the Old Geezer just decided to take the coat with.” It was so refreshing to know that I had an unflattering name from the folks that do not pay rent at my abode.
In the spirit of a Dear Leader, I did not dispense with stipends to the culprits for a whole month. When one did dare ask, I simply wrote back via WhatsApp: “Sorry, no dough. OG (Old Geezer)”.
