The town of Ridgefield reached a social media landmark on Nov. 11 when the 8,000th person joined its popular Facebook page. For a town of only 25,000 that is quite an achievement. “Eight thousand!” said John Frey, in a post. Frey is the founder and moderator of the page. “Congratulations to Jen Fasolino,” he continued, “who is the 8,000th member of this Ridgefield, CT, group. Who would have thought?”
In this quaint, idyllic New England town, the Facebook page may be popular, but it is also controversial. While regularly exhibiting a fair amount of country charm, Ridgefield’s citizens live close enough to New York to display some big city swagger and old-fashioned Gotham rudeness as well. It appears that the page has become an outlet for a lot of long-suppressed rage, its members predisposed for an argument at a moment’s notice. Due to the anonymity of social media sites, members can bicker with each other from behind computer screens without ever having to face their enemies and account for their words. It makes for some interesting exchanges.
While no one person can solve all the problems plaguing the town of Ridgefield — or any other town, for that matter — the page has become a way for many to feel they are contributing to the public debate. It’s all very uplifting to the ego, or so it seems. Instead of complaining to the police or Board of Selectmen, the citizens of Ridgefield can now sit at their computers, gaining support for societal change through “likes” and comments on their posts.
“Whoever left all this garbage at Richardson park down by Lake Mamanasco has no regard for nature, the Earth and our town,” offered Jeffery Albanesi, in a recent post. “I was saddened by the sight of it. Not to mention completely embarrassed. It was obvious there was a party in the woods near the lake.”
While Albanesi’s post may seem innocent, it became a serious issue for argument on the page. This one post elicited over 40 comments, as Ridgefielders from all corners debated the significance of the incident.
One person replied, “Is there a garbage can there? If it’s kids drinking and partying, what else do you expect? Put a garbage can there and I’m sure they would have thrown it out!”
“Seriously?” retorted Albanesi, clearly annoyed. “There is a garbage can up on the hill but it was full. You should take your trash home with you. Very simple. I don’t think they left the garbage because they couldn’t find a place to dump it. It was probably under-aged drinking.”
Members frequently use the page as if it were an opportunity to inflict public punishment on all the “sinners” of the town. Salem may have had its witch trials; Ridgefield has Facebook. Bad drivers are an especially popular target. In this fast-paced suburb there have been many incidents.
“I think I’m right that if you’re driving and you see a pedestrian at the side of the road at the crossing you’re supposed to stop?” said member Michele Williams, facetiously. “In which case the two cars that squeezed past me on the shoulder when I was stopped at the crossing by Adam Broderick’s [a popular town hair salon] earlier should be ashamed. You could have wiped out the poor old man trying to cross the road!”
“Dear Fellow Ridgefielders,” read David Goldenberg’s post, delivered in the form of an open letter to the group. “May I humbly request that you use your turn signals? It reduces confusion and prevents accidents. And while it may require you to put down your phone, it otherwise requires very little effort. Thank you, Dave.”
On average, more than 20 posts are added every day, with topics ranging from mundane to the profound. A screed on garbage cans appears next to a considered opinion on what to do about the Syrian refugee crisis.
John Frey is not only the page’s founder and moderator. He is also the Republican state representative for Ridgefield. As a politician, he says the page is a productive addition to popular dialogue.
“It’s something to talk about at the dinner table. It’s entertainment,” Frey said, admitting to his own amusement at what he reads there. “But it’s also someone looking for a doctor or a new restaurant. And then it’s a place to go when tragedy strikes the town like when a girl died [in a car accident] last year on Ridgebury Road or during prolonged power outages.”
While no one can deny the value of the page as a kind of virtual town square, it is fair to say that most days the Ridgefield Facebook page is more like a dive bar late at night, where the conversation ranges from idle to meaningless and as the night grows long, more than a few bar brawls break out.
“There are some regulars who are straight up odd,” said Frey. “We have over 50 people blocked.”
The page has also created the problem of having unwanted, and especially inappropriate, information posted. With its 8,000 members, every post can attract a large amount of viewers and, as moderator, Frey cannot possibly delete every offensive or unsuitable expression.
“Sometimes people just don’t filter when they write on a forum like Facebook,” said Frey. “When three Ridgefield kids died [in a car and a small plane accident] a few months ago people were posting their names before anything was confirmed. Friends of the deceased were finding out through Facebook. That’s just not right.”
Ridgefield’s Facebook page has also become a forum for serious political issues. Some posts advocate for political support and raise social issues. Oftentimes, it is one post that causes a snowball effect of commentary, as more members try to add their point of view.
Recently, there was a controversy on the page concerning the Syrian refugee crisis. As is the case with most of the political controversies of the page, the rush of posts and comments began from just one simple statement of opinion.
“I urge all my fellow Ridgefielders to call Governor Malloy and oppose his plan to allow Syrian refugees into our state,” wrote Danny Spano.
The post ignited a firestorm of comments, ranging from respectful to abusive. Much of the commentary was reactionary and uninformed, simplistic arguments followed by name calling. Ironically, the most productive post, and the one that received the most support from the group, came from a high school student.
“Don’t repeat history. Make history,” said Tyler Carey, 17, a Ridgefield High School junior. “Make a better future for all. You can’t just think about yourself or just your family. Because guess what? There are about 100,000 families who live in Syria who wake up wondering if today is the day they are going to die.” When Carey’s post appeared on the page there was an almost audible pause from the group as if a child had parted the waves and brought the attention of the entire town to his one simple plea.
In a forum of over 8,000 people, however, some members are unhappy with the political discourse carried out on a page they feel should be simply an informational hub.
“It’s everything that’s wrong with social media,” said Drew Chapman, Ridgefield resident of 19 years. “It’s the epitome of social media’s distortion of ego. People who would never be heard can now be heard by the masses, thus inflating the collective sense of self but without anything to truly justify our confidence.”
But as with social media on a whole, some argue that debate on the page is needed as it can broaden one’s point of view.
“I think any platform where opinion can be shared can easily change or question political issues,” said Carey in response to his Syrian refugee post. “I think it’s important that we have these platforms because people like me need them in order to have a voice.”
Ridgefield experiences its share of typical small-town problems. High School kids speed through parking lots, the local diner serves a dish below expectations, or an owner loses its golden retriever. Along with this idyllic, suburbanized atmosphere comes relatively little excitement. While it may seem insignificant and petty to some, the page is a sort of entertainment that many in the town need and desire.
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