My Twitter Suspension
I am a tree
It’s been a couple of good weeks for me, I had my first article published, and even before then, I felt like I was on a writing streak. The Politics and Parenting substack, which I started in December of 2021, was now showing consistent signs of growth. It began with me, then added John Beatty, and now includes our wives, Katie Beatty and Vanessa Mayhugh. The vision of a community information center about Authority written by people in the community was finally starting to take shape, and the views, likes, and subscriptions were on the rise.
Politics and Parenting is important to me for two reasons: 1. I think my community could use something that’s honest, vulnerable, and informational. 2. I need a microphone. As crazy as it sounds, this father of 5, blue-collar, middle-class, small business owner, who barely graduated high school, believes he has something valuable to say and wants to be heard. And by heard, I mean our country is going through a challenging time, and I want to give a regular American’s perspective on the issues we face today. And I want to be heard by the people in power. I want a chance to change their minds on how they govern/rule us.
I am heard, in a way. Imagine high-rise buildings towering over a city, looking out into a distant forest; a tree has fallen. Did it make a sound? Yes, but only the other trees heard it. I am a tree, and if you’ve heard me, you’re probably a tree too. Trees like me are frightened by the big buildings off in the distance, we can hear their concrete pouring and sledgehammers pounding, but they can’t hear us blowing in the wind. I dream of getting dug up and planted in the parks that separate their buildings, not so I can admire them from up close, but so I can show them how peaceful our life can be. Where they are impressed to the earth, I am of the earth. Where they grow and grow and grow, I grow and die. Sometimes trees like me fall, not because the wind blew us over, but because we were chasing it, we may get uprooted and transformed into something different. Whittled down until the smallest component is made into something of value. A splintered piece of Aspen wood topped with potassium gelatin turns the last remaining parts of the uprooted tree into a match. A match is no longer of the earth and can no longer blow in the wind; a match is made to burn.
The momentum of Politics and Parenting, combined with the lack of leadership in Washington, inspired me to write. Friday night into Saturday morning, my fingers were glued to my MacBook. When I finally looked up, I had a piece I was pleased with. I asked my wife to read it first, and then I sent it to people I trust. The response was in line with the current momentum and very positive. There was a little pushback from the anger I displayed in the article, but I felt it necessary. Sunday, I read the piece repeatedly, out loud to my wife, and quietly to myself. I decided the anger I displayed in the original draft was a little rash and overshadowed the positive message and plan I was presenting. I was writing it both for the trees and the towering city off in the distance. I wanted buildings to know the trees didn’t need them to survive, and I wanted the trees to know they weren’t alone in their fear and frustration. I trimmed back the negativity and scheduled it to publish at 5:30 am Monday morning.
I spent the day celebrating my wife’s birthday with family. As the day was winding down, around 11 pm, I checked Twitter to find that my account had been permanently suspended. It felt like I was gut punched. Twitter was a significant tool in building my recent momentum. And just like that, it was gone. Years of cultivating relationships with thoughtful people to share information back and forth with, and poof, gone. No reason was given. No direction on how to reach a conclusion. Just a text box to submit an appeal. No timetable for a reply. The article I was looking forward to sharing on Twitter was about how the corporate structure of our government grew too large without expanding its customer service base, then relied on Authority without communication to govern/rule us. That’s what Twitter did to me, ruling me with authority and providing me with no communication. It was frustrating.
I woke up Monday morning to see that my account was still suspended, and still no communication. It had me in a funk. I spent the day pushing my article out via text, Instagram, and Facebook. I wasn’t going to let this stop me from being heard.
In the afternoon, I volunteered with my twin’s girl scout troop. There was an opportunity to read, so I seized it. The other parents warned me the girls could be a little rowdy since they had just gotten out of school. When my time came, the girls were quite rowdy; I sat down and explained the rules (when I was talking, no one else was to be talking) then I read. “Ring! Ring! Ring!” They were silent and still, and I was heard. The story was about a courageous flower named Tula who used her voice and stood up for another flower who was getting bullied. When it was over, I looked around to see if there were any questions. Sometimes it’s hard to tell if your kids like the things you do, but Ellie raised her hand and said, “I love you.”
In the evening, I was back in my funk. The girl’s love was but a bandaid for the pain I felt this day. Why? Because I felt like I failed. Not myself but them. I fear the shadow cast by the buildings will block out their sun and stunt their growth. How can I be heard if I am but a tree?
I pulled out my Macbook to write through the frustrations. When I remembered something John said to me earlier in the day, he mentioned other venues to reach people. So I decided to check out Reddit; I’ve heard a lot about it but never gone on the site. So there I was, about to create my Reddit username, when I noticed, “Reddit is anonymous, so your username is what you’ll go by here.” I’ve never been anonymous on purpose before. I wondered what I could do if I were unknown, the power I could have. My power is my voice, and my weakness is my responsibility. What if I could use my power without having any of the responsibility? What if I could tap into my frustration of being a tree watching the city grow and grow and grow and leaving no place for my saplings? What if I could build a following of my anger without showing the world my anger? What if they amplified my voice, and that’s how I’m heard? But is that what I want? To be whittled down to the smallest component and dipped in potassium gelatin? Do I want the world to burn, or do I want it to grow?
My username was going to be I_AM_NOBODY435 because I am nobody, I have no power, I am but a tree that has fallen in the woods. I can be heard but only by other trees. I couldn’t be a match because where will my saplings grow if the forest burns?
I sat and reflected and then closed the window. I don’t want to be whittled into something else to be heard. So I opened this google doc and started writing. I thought back to the car ride home. Ellie and Sadie are in the back, chatting up their experience. I said, “what did you learn today?” They yelled in tandem, “how to be courageous!” What is a voice without a name but power without responsibility? What is power without responsibility but death without life? And what type of courage would it show if I let one corporation whittle me down or shade me into silence.
If you’re a tree who wants to be heard but fears the shade of big buildings blocking your opportunity, then help this tree out. Write a review, share a post, or leave a comment, and help elevate this tree’s voice so he can share how peaceful our life could be.
Update: After writing this article, my Twitter account has been restored. I received an email saying I broke rules I do not believe I broke. They did not explain when I broke the rules or show evidence that I broke the rules. They threatened further suspension if I broke the rules again. They did not provide instructions on how to obtain further information. Just a link to the rule book. Hypothetically let’s say I did break the rules, but I honestly had no idea. How am I going to change my behavior if no one shows me what I did wrong? This is an example of bad Authority. Enforcement of rules with one-way communication. It is the Authority that has the power; therefore, it is the Authority that has the responsibility to explain and communicate. The Authority must lead. The Authority must listen.
Anonymous essays remind me of the writers of the revolution and early republic. Latin pseudonyms like “Plutarch,” “publicus,” etc. and I quite like it. It lets the power of one’s ideas shine through.