Last week a young woman walked up to Premier Danielle Smith at the KDays pancake breakfast on the legislature lawn and let her have it. She’s angry about the UCP government’s record, and on plenty of counts, I think she’s right to be. What I can’t defend is the yelling. Or the profanity that came with it.

I didn’t like it when a man cornered Chrystia Freeland at Grande Prairie city hall and screamed obscenities until she reached an elevator. I didn’t like it when people threw gravel at Justin Trudeau on the campaign trail. I’m not thrilled about efforts to crash Doug Ford’s annual summer barbecue, either.

I have serious problems with all of those leaders. But when they show up at a public event, they’re entitled to a bit of dignity. Politics is hard enough without adding raised voices and f-bombs to the mix. We can disagree with people. We don’t have to scream at them.

The “fascist pancakes” line made me laugh, I’ll admit that. But shouting the f-word in public, or printing it on a t-shirt, is a bit much. I’ve used that word myself, more than a few times, usually in a newsroom or a news van when everything was falling apart around me. I’m not proud of it. As my street filled up with young families over the past few years, I’ve made a point of watching my language outside. There are kids up and down the block who don’t need to hear it, and I’ve cautioned a few friends over the same thing over a beer in my backyard.

It’s the t-shirts and the bumper stickers that bother me most. Why print it? Why wear it? Somebody’s already selling shirts with the pancake line on them, and I’d bet money the orders are coming from people who’d never say the word to a stranger’s face. It’s one more sign of how little civility is left in our politics, and how comfortable we’ve gotten broadcasting our anger instead of arguing it.

Words carry weight. There are a couple that will never cross my lips, and I cringe whenever I hear them. I’m also sorry I leaned on the f-bomb as often as I did in my younger days.

The fascist pancakes meme is cute, and the woman’s complaints about Smith and the UCP are legitimate. Alberta’s rush to court AI data centres deserves scrutiny. So does the province’s drift toward separatist rhetoric. Those are real arguments, worth having in public, in daylight, with the premier standing right there. But the volume and the profanity bury the argument. Nobody walks away from a video like that talking about data centres. They talk about the swearing.

That’s the real cost. Every f-bomb aimed at a politician hands their supporters an easy way out. Instead of answering the question, they get to point at the tone. Instead of debating the policy, they get to call the other side unhinged. Shouting doesn’t just fail to persuade anyone who wasn’t already convinced. It gives the target a free pass to dodge the point entirely.

I spent four decades in newsrooms and news vans asking politicians hard questions, plenty of them uncomfortable, some of them downright pointed. I made it a rule to stay civil, because the people on the other side of the microphone are still people, whatever I think of their politics. I slipped a couple of times over the years, lost my temper on the phone or muttered something I shouldn’t have off camera. I’m not proud of those either.

None of this means we go quiet. Alberta has plenty to be angry about right now, and the anger is earned. Show up at the town hall. Write the letter. Hold the sign. Ask the hard question, and ask it loudly if you have to. Just leave the f-bombs in the car.

These are trying times in Alberta, and they’re likely to stay that way for a while yet. But Barack Obama had it right when he told a heckling crowd: don’t boo, vote. Don’t shout, vote. It’s still the best way to tell a politician exactly how you feel, and it’s the only kind of noise they actually have to listen to.