If Only In Characters
When Dan* began following me on Twitter a few years ago, I was amazed. There I was (and still am), a nobody on the platform, and here Dan was, a published author, novelist, and television pundit.
Dan’s following me wasn’t one of those follow-you-for-a-day types. He was a real follower. We engaged on Twitter. He replied to and liked some of my tweets.
I had read several of his books and loved his columns. His work appeared in a major monthly magazine, first story after the masthead. Dan’s a big deal, so I felt like an even bigger deal because he followed me.
That’s what Twitter does to us: a like by someone we like is akin to a million bitcoin. A windfall of GameStop stock.
Dan, I always knew, was dead center on the political spectrum. I appreciated his position on topics, and his candor on how he viewed government and elected officials. As the 2020 Election cycle built toward what we can all now consider the most divisive episodes of contemporary history, Dan appeared to be veering from center to the right.
This was fine. Everyone’s entitled to their political views. I support that, and I support other writers who share their views. We are still a free nation that upholds the First Amendment.
Aren’t we?
Dan didn’t think so.
Last week, one of his posts intimated that free speech is under attack by those [intellectuals and artists] who invoke cancel culture on those they disagree with.
I respectfully disagreed in a reply to Dan’s tweet. We went back and forth a couple of times, never adversarial, just a good old fashioned Twitter match. I walked away from the platform that day only to return the next day shocked to see that Dan had blocked me.
I’ve never been blocked, and so to be silenced by a guy I truly admired, I was stunned, especially when he had cancelled me—the very practice he was bemoaning.
I “at-ed’ him, saying how truly bummed I was that he blocked me, saying that I admired him and how I thought our conversation was what we were supposed to be doing right now in this country—talking to those we disagree with.
Twitter has short memory, but in rare instances, it finds itself. People do connect. Humanity emerges, if only in characters. I didn’t bully Dan, and neither did he. Blocking on Twitter is the equivalent to sticking one’s tongue out at someone else; I should be mature enough to know that.
By the end of the week, Dan unblocked me and “at-ed” me with a “my bad.” It all worked out. We’re not mad at each other, and in truth, we never were.
And so Twitter goes. In love and war. Poo-tee-weet.
*Not his real name, concealed for privacy.
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Photo by Markus Winkler on Unsplash
