Encompassing but not limited to text chains, Messenger threads, WhatsApp dramas, Facebook comment kerfuffles, and similar circles of digital grievance.

It is a melancholy object, to those who dare attempt discourse, when they find conversations derailed by nuance, muddied with civility, or — ye gods! — conducted in person. Face-to-face conversations are notoriously unreliable, as they often involve people saying things that sound suspiciously like what they mean.

In this smoldering age, politicians argue, institutions creak, and somewhere, someone is inventing a new kind of paperwork.

I think it is agreed by all sensible parties (and at least three committees who have been trying to adjourn since 2006) that the sheer multiplicity of human communication is a public menace. Who amongst us has not endured the inefficiency of speech, the peril of eye contact, or the muppety flapping of arms to emphasize a point? No politician, pundit, or professor can preserve us.

Therefore, I modestly propose (usually preferable to immodestly proposing) that the group chat be the model and indeed the mechanism by which all of society is preserved. All communication, be it domestic, political, or sextual, should be confined henceforth to group texts, Facebook comment threads, and other online bitching arenas. All comments can be observed, recorded, and weaponized as needed. I propose these places not because they’re good, but because they’re reliably bad, which these days is the closest thing we have to safe.

We have already seen its power. A PTA chat of fifteen mothers and one father who replies “sounds good” can coordinate massive amounts of allergen-free snacks with more efficiency than the Pentagon deploys aircraft. A college roommate chat can process four marriages, two divorces, and one regrettable tattoo with fewer delays than family court. A midnight “you up?” has sparked (and derailed) more talks than Geneva.

By my best calculations, a group text of six to thirty-seven people, on a topic of no importance or clarity, can continue for weeks without resolution yet with feigned enthusiasm, thus bonding the community like poorly-set epoxy. Likewise, a Facebook thread can be expected to produce on average 142 comments: 118 bad-faith accusations, 17 GIFs, and 7 people sincerely attempting to help. They will be ignored. Surely these numbers demonstrate the efficiency of the system. Surely, also they demonstrate the futility of resistance.

Also, I posit with the mathematical certainty of one who regularly zoned out in algebra class, that for every one thousand “k” reactions, at least five international conflicts may be prevented. Gross domestic happiness would increase by twelve percent.

Of course, rules must be clear: no muting, no leaving, no sneaking off to Buffalo Wild Wings for in-person jibber jabber. Every meme circulated thrice shall acquire the force of law.

Should anyone run afoul of these rules, the penalty shall be immediate banishment to an uncomfortably governmental Signal chat.

Some will cry out that this proposal reduces sincerity, nuance, and basic human decency. To which I reply with all possible graciousness: obviously. Have you met people? And have we not already reduced all discourse to bloviating, grievances, and emojis? I merely propose a proper filing system.

Others may object in favor of email, to which I say: That way lies madness. Group texts are the last good ship on the sea, and if we are to survive, we had better climb aboard. (Also, just admit it: your Gmail is a Mausoleum of the Unread.)

A third objection may be raised, that conversation face-to-face is preferable. This, in theory, I cannot deny; yet in practice, it has already ruined civilization, whereas the group text has not yet had the opportunity.

I profess sincerely that I have no personal stake in this. I have been ejected from three group chats, ignored in countless threads, and endured the indignity of someone attempting to mute me in person with a TV remote. My only motive is the preservation of civilization by its last remaining instrument: the perpetual ding of notification