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Dumb_Ox didn't seem to have any productive suggestions for a new context for the discussion of civlility.

I was, of course, merely voicing a caveat, but I can easily expand on my comment. (If "productive suggestion" means making wish-lists of rights, please count me out.) Let's say this "right to be indifferent" really exists. Simply stating it sure doesn't make it true, but makes it appear merely emotivistic; "I hate having to care about every lousy new crisis. You! Do so as well!" That's not argument.

Perhaps my major difficulty with "bills of rights" like these is that at best they are a finished construction of a long, considered argument. However, like a finished building, all the scaffolding has been torn down and removed from the public eye. Hence it appears ripped from all context, and no better than any odd wish list. This last thought was sparked when I searched for a particular passage from John Henry Newman, and realized that were I to simply post it as a guideline for debates, it would face the same criticism of not going into in-depth proof, despite it being part of a masterful tome. Without context, it would appear as odd and arbitrary as our pieces here. Therefore, I post Newman's reflections on being a gentleman with an exhortation to read the work from which it came:

It is almost a definition of a gentleman to say he is one who never inflicts pain. This description is both refined and, as far as it goes, accurate. He is mainly occupied in merely removing the obstacles which hinder the free and unembarrassed action of those about him; and he concurs with their movements rather than takes the initiative himself. His benefits may be considered as parallel to what are called comforts or conveniences in arrangements of a personal nature: like an easy chair or a good fire, which do their part in dispelling cold and fatigue, though nature provides both means of rest and animal heat without them. The true gentleman in like manner carefully avoids whatever may cause a jar or a jolt in the minds of those with whom he is cast; -- all clashing of opinion, or collision of feeling, all restraint, or suspicion, or gloom, or resentment; his great concern being to make every one at their ease and at home. He has his eyes on all his company; he is tender towards the bashful, gentle towards the distant, and merciful towards the absurd; he can recollect to whom he is speaking; he guards against unseasonable allusions, or topics which may irritate; he is seldom prominent in conversation, and never wearisome. He makes light of favours while he does them, and seems to be receiving when he is conferring. He never speaks of himself except when compelled, never defends himself by a mere retort, he has no ears for slander or gossip, is scrupulous in imputing motives to those who interfere with him, and interprets every thing for the best. He is never mean or little in his disputes, never takes unfair advantage, never mistakes personalities or sharp sayings for arguments, or insinuates evil which he dare not say out. From a long-sighted prudence, he observes the maxim of the ancient sage, that we should ever conduct ourselves towards our enemy as if he were one day to be our friend. He has too much good sense to be affronted at insults, he is too well employed to remember injuries, and too indolent to bear malice. He is patient, forbearing, and resigned, on philosophical principles; he submits to pain, because it is inevitable, to bereavement, because it is irreparable, and to death, because it is his destiny. If he engages in controversy of any kind, his disciplined intellect preserves him from the blunder. [From The Idea of a University, 1852]

Alas, I fear I have mistaken the "sharp sayings" of our title author for arguments.