We’re in the middle of the social media flouncing season. These spells occur haphazardly and sporadically – like small dust storms – and feature groups of people leaving the social media site Twitter/X.
It’s not sufficient, however, that they merely depart from the micro-blogging host: they seem to have an overwhelming urge to tell everyone that they’re leaving.
This is often accompanied by long, tedious and egomaniacal explanations – conveyed in multi-tweet form – why their conscience can’t permit their continued presence on this platform.
I’ve noticed, too, that some of them only discover the immorality of Twitter because they’ve been told there’s a problem. It unfolds like this. There they are, declaiming and pontificating about matters of which they know little, when – all of a sudden – someone posts a message that they don’t like.
Then someone else says that Elon Musk, the owner of the site, has created a subliminal mind virus in which the unwary are stealthily turned into racists, transphobes, and Islamophobes. Obviously, the designer progressives can’t be seen to be endorsing any of this and so they distance themselves from it by describing Twitter/X as a “hellscape”.
This is so no-one can be in any doubt that they don’t actually approve of the “hellscape” and are only posting on it with extreme reluctance.
Then, a social conflagration happens – like the English race riots – and Mr Musk is accused of having personally conducted the orchestra of hate by permitting some bad people to be unpleasant and beastly.
Now, it’s not enough to dismiss Twitter/X as a “hellscape”. The “hellscape” must be abandoned lest they too become infected.
It matters not a jot that many of those who take part in the seasonal “grande flounce” have spent the last few years organising virtual firing squads to marginalise and harass people for articulating their views. Sometimes they have even demanded that these people lose their jobs and are shunned by polite society.
Lost in the post
Only very occasionally do I post anything on Twitter/X. This is because I’ve reached that stage in my life when I’m no longer as certain about my positions on several issues as I once was. I’m in awe of those many people who take to social media to declaim and pronounce verily on subjects, as though this is the last word on the matter. I’d love to have that confidence.
That said, I find Twitter/X to be a very uplifting environment. Why, just this week I’ve seen footage of a snake and a crocodile having a square go in a river with a commentator describing the action as though it were a boxing match.
I’ve seen someone rescuing a baby goldfinch and appealing for advice on what to do next. Occasionally, I’ve seen killer whales solve complicated algebra equations in their heads and organising foodbanks for disadvantaged orcas or those with addiction issues.
My two favourite Twitter/X accounts are The Cultural Tutor and All The Right Movies. Last week, The Cultural Tutor told me that the highest paid athlete in history was a Roman charioteer called Gaius Appuleius Diocles whose career winnings were the equivalent of £15 billion.
All The Right movies posts brilliant threads about the behind-the-scenes mayhem and bacchanals that went on during the making of brilliant movies.
At least one a week there are appeals by Police Scotland seeking Twitter/X’s help in finding missing persons.
On my timeline, by a factor of 10-1, posts that are life-affirming and joyous, such as found footage of Deep Purple or Led Zeppelin playing an early concert in Scandinavia, easily outnumber the beastly content.
And if ever I have the urge to snap at someone or just to be a smart**** I just go to one of the many Celtic accounts I follow to watch old videos of Kenny Dalglish and the Lisbon Lions.
Cybernat nonsense
I’VE also noticed (on my timeline anyway) that it’s usually the SNP glove puppets who are first to take offence and to announce that they’ve had enough of the “hellscape”. These are the ones who, at the merest criticism of their party or Nicola Sturgeon, will accuse you of being a Yoon or a Red Tory.
(Image: Jane Barlow)
They will sally into any geopolitical fray at the drop of an ushanka or a keffiyeh, but only after first checking who else is getting involved. Many of them do this, yet have remained silent as it’s become known that their party has become a “hellscape” of sexual abuse where complaints by women about harassment and violent threat are routinely ignored.
So accustomed have the SNP’s officer class become to having their views unquestioned that they are now resentful when Scotland’s unkempt rank and file use social media platforms to voice criticism of the politicians they elected.
Before social media, Scotland’s political elites were protected from trenchant criticism by newspaper letters editors. Only a handful of the politest and most learned missives were given houseroom. Glasgow’s G12 Gendarmerie now routinely use the term “fascist” to dismiss people who haven’t signed up fully to their psycho-sanctimony.
They appoint themselves judge, jury and executioner, and consider themselves alone to be the arbiters of the nation’s morals.
There is no reasoning with them – there is no debate and there is no right of appeal. In this scenario, I only see one group exhibiting fascist-like behaviour.
Fringe benefits
NEXT Saturday afternoon, I’m to be interviewed on stage at the Edinburgh Festival Fringe. This is a sentence that I’m ashamed to have written, having vowed never to participate in this bacchanal of middle-class smugness.
As the interviewer is an old friend and colleague Graham Spiers, I have decided to make an exception.
That and the fact the organisers have agreed to pay a small donation – in lieu of my fee – to For Women Scotland, the wonderful campaigning group which protects women and children’s rights.
I can’t bring myself to provide any more details than that because the ticket price is a bit steep for my liking and I can’t really guarantee that it will be worth the outlay. If you do decide to come along you will be most welcome, but if I were you, I wouldn’t be cancelling anything important.
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