This week’s column is a farce, Mr Editor; although, who knows, maybe in the eyes of some, all of my columns are. So be it. There will always be a disagreement on matters of opinion and that’s not a bad thing. In fact, it is downright healthy. As one of your anonymous readers pointed out this week, columnists are not gospel.

But here’s the other thing; a good thing, I think: while I may disagree, I do try to express my disagreement without insulting the person with whom I disagree or the office that the person happens to hold.

It’s called respect and it is what a lot of us think we need more of, around here — not just on the Hill, but off the Hill and throughout the community generally.

Raising the game — and the need to raise our game — is something I touched on last week with Bob Rae.

That said, use of the word “farce” can be very useful, and effective, when employed properly, and not just correctly. That’s key.

In view of the recent fuss, I thought I would refresh my memory as to what it actually means.

I turned to The New Shorter Oxford English Dictionary, which isn’t that short at all. Here’s what I found: “1. A dramatic work intended only to excite laughter, often by presenting ludicrously improbable events. 2. Anything fit only to be laughed at; a hollow pretence, a mockery.”

Hmm. Whatever else you might think the word means, the description most definitely is not complimentary unless, of course, that is exactly what the author intended to produce, and that is something farcical (again from The New Shorter — but thicker — Oxford English Dictionary: “pertaining to, or resembling farce, extremely ludicrous or futile”). The Ombudsman’s job is anything but. When it comes to farce, a couple of classic comedies come to mind for me — and, no, I am not thinking of the Three Stooges, although their body of work fits the bill.

I was thinking more of Sheridan’s play The Rivals or that other classic, The School for Scandal. I am going back a ways to recall them: they were a feature of my early education in English literature so many years ago now.

As I also recall, they were a hoot: 18th-century comedies about manners (how appropriate and relevant is that?) featuring some unforgettable characters (the Absolutes, Sir Anthony and Jack, and one of my favourites, Mrs Malaprop, whose legacy lives on) created by a playwright who also (catch this) served as an MP in Britain for 32 years.

Shucks: presumably he knew a fair bit about that about which he wrote.

But what is farcical, and admittedly not all that funny (ha, ha), is when one wrong gets justified by pointing out that the other party also committed the very same offence (or something close to it).

Sadly, we are all too familiar with the schoolyard refrain: they did it first. Some justification, huh?

We chalk that up to politics, again sadly, and move on; and nothing changes.

Except this: language that divides, and repels, is rarely forgotten. It has its consequences and, in some cases, the desired effect: division. Words also happen to provide a window into the hearts and minds of men and women, a very good indication not just of style but of substance.

Let’s be clear, too. I am not just talking about politicians but supporters and partisans, too many of whom hide behind pseudonyms to lay out defences and launch attacks, sometimes personal.

But whether censorship or legal suit is the answer remains a big question mark. These comments usually mask thoughts and thoughts don’t just disappear, even when they are silenced. Better sometimes to tackle them in the light of day than to let them ferment in the dark?

Facebook itself is coming under greater scrutiny, and most recently in Germany, for vicious comments over there about immigrants and ethnic groups, and Mark Zuckerberg is facing some tough decisions as he comes under increasing pressure to edit, er, censor.

My own view is that nasty, personal attacks are unnecessary, and unwelcome, and should be stopped, especially when bloggers feel emboldened by anonymity, which, dollars to doughnuts, is invariably the case.

All of it also serves only to distract and deflect from the real issues, the issues with which we should be coming to grips. But that’s politics, too — and strong language tends to make for better soundbites and bolder headlines. No joke.

It strikes me, too, that good humour and apologies rarely feature in politics: apologies are likely seen as signs of weakness, an admission or concession to critics, or worse, to the other party.

Sorry, Mr Editor. You can’t Trump that.