*Potential trigger warning*
Several years ago, a friend was called up for jury service for a rape trial. He said that despite the fact he and almost all of his fellow jury members believed the man accused of rape was guilty, they were obliged to pass a 'not guilty' verdict as there wasn't enough evidence to convict him. My friend said he went home in tears after the case was closed, feeling that a guilty man had walked free and knowing that a rape survivor had not seen the justice she deserved, and was therefore forced to feel more pain and anger at her treatment.
It is a well known fact that the number of reported rapes is significantly lower than the number of actual rapes. It is also a well known fact that the number of reported rapes that see the alleged rapist convicted is barely above 50%. So it is quite something that last week a jury found footballer Ched Evans guilty after a woman accused him of rape in May 2011. It's not something to celebrate (there's nothing to celebrate about rape), but it is something to acknowledge.
However, some of Evans' fans started the hateful #JusticeForChed hashtag on Twitter, which not only saw his rape survivor named (a criminal offence, as her identity was protected by law), but thousands upon thousands of vile misogynistic messages aimed at the survivor and those supporting her.
Sabotage Times invited me to write an article for them about this, and you can read it by clicking the link here. (NB: That wasn't my headline!)
Showing posts with label Twitter. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Twitter. Show all posts
Monday, 23 April 2012
Monday, 25 July 2011
The Women of Twitter
I bloody love Twitter. I love Grace Dent, too. So when she wrote a book about Twitter, well, that was like heaven in paperback form.
When I joined Twitter last December, Grace was one of the first people I followed. Not deliberately – but so many other people I knew followed and Retweeted her, that I needed to join in to keep up. And never once has my finger hovered over the ‘Unfollow button, which it has for many others.
Grace’s book, How To Leave Twitter, is brilliant for many reasons. Here’s some of them:
- It’s very funny.
- It’s very funny because it’s so true to life.
- If you can’t laugh at yourself, you’re screwed.
- Grace loves Twitter but she knows where to draw the line.
- The line is somewhere near the WiFi ‘off’ button.
- But she always comes back, because that’s the magic of Twitter.
Twitter is an amazing network of people you know, people you didn’t know you wanted to know, a few desperate celebrities trying to cling to the last hint of fame to bolster their flagging egos now they haven’t had a TV show for 15 years (Wincey Willis, I’m looking at you), and, of course, the lovely Martin Kemp from Spandau Ballet (who I heart. Big time).
Grace acknowledges all of this, and more. Because she also recognises that Twitter is governed by an amazing network of witty, snarky, wise and savvy women – who know what’s going on in the world, who’s doing it, and what needs to be done to make things better. Which is why the strongest part of her wonderful book is where she laments that all too often women are denied a voice on TV – yet on Twitter, we can talk as long as we like, unedited.
As she says, on TV women are often “screen parsley stuck on the side of the plate”, pointing out that “no one would really notice if you scraped them into the bin”. Grace points out there are hours and hours of TV screen time every day devoted to men (“potatoes in jumpers”) being able to tell us what they think. BUT WHERE ARE THE WOMEN? Since no one wants to hear what we have to say, we’re all on Twitter… in our millions.
Here are some of my favourite funny women on Twitter: @gracedent, @scouserachel, @DawnHFoster, @caitlinmoran, @soul_of_twit, @sueperkins, @gail_brand. There are many more, though. MANY.
(In the interests of equality, I should stress that I also know there are some amusing men on Twitter, too: @wowser, @GarethAveyard, @RealBobMortimer, @Headspill, @StephenMangan… oh, and some others.)
When I joined Twitter last December, Grace was one of the first people I followed. Not deliberately – but so many other people I knew followed and Retweeted her, that I needed to join in to keep up. And never once has my finger hovered over the ‘Unfollow button, which it has for many others.
Grace’s book, How To Leave Twitter, is brilliant for many reasons. Here’s some of them:
- It’s very funny.
- It’s very funny because it’s so true to life.
- If you can’t laugh at yourself, you’re screwed.
- Grace loves Twitter but she knows where to draw the line.
- The line is somewhere near the WiFi ‘off’ button.
- But she always comes back, because that’s the magic of Twitter.
Twitter is an amazing network of people you know, people you didn’t know you wanted to know, a few desperate celebrities trying to cling to the last hint of fame to bolster their flagging egos now they haven’t had a TV show for 15 years (Wincey Willis, I’m looking at you), and, of course, the lovely Martin Kemp from Spandau Ballet (who I heart. Big time).
Grace acknowledges all of this, and more. Because she also recognises that Twitter is governed by an amazing network of witty, snarky, wise and savvy women – who know what’s going on in the world, who’s doing it, and what needs to be done to make things better. Which is why the strongest part of her wonderful book is where she laments that all too often women are denied a voice on TV – yet on Twitter, we can talk as long as we like, unedited.
As she says, on TV women are often “screen parsley stuck on the side of the plate”, pointing out that “no one would really notice if you scraped them into the bin”. Grace points out there are hours and hours of TV screen time every day devoted to men (“potatoes in jumpers”) being able to tell us what they think. BUT WHERE ARE THE WOMEN? Since no one wants to hear what we have to say, we’re all on Twitter… in our millions.
Here are some of my favourite funny women on Twitter: @gracedent, @scouserachel, @DawnHFoster, @caitlinmoran, @soul_of_twit, @sueperkins, @gail_brand. There are many more, though. MANY.
(In the interests of equality, I should stress that I also know there are some amusing men on Twitter, too: @wowser, @GarethAveyard, @RealBobMortimer, @Headspill, @StephenMangan… oh, and some others.)
Wednesday, 20 July 2011
Depression in the digital age
Until I had depression, I didn’t understand what it was. If I said I was depressed, it was usually because of something inconsequential like staying late at work. That’s not being depressed, that’s being fed up – at worst, pissed off. But it’s not being depressed.
Depression is the complete and utter, all-consuming gloom. It’s the dark cloud that saps your energy, your spark and sometimes your will to live. It can be the torment of countless, endless, sleepless nights, trying to remember to breathe slowly while staring at the ceiling and knowing (knowing) you are the only person in the whole wide world who is awake at that time. And it is a thousand other permutations of barely living misery. Depression cannot be overstated.
So for people who don’t understand depression to say they’re depressed ‘cos there’s no milk for their tea, is really rather insulting.
But it’s also understandable. Because if they haven’t experienced depression themselves, or seen someone they are close to experience it, why would they understand it? Depression is one of those things that people just don’t talk about because it’s to do with “mental health” and the unfortunate link that having “mental health problems” makes to someone therefore “being mental” and having “the people in white coats come and take them away”. Depression is not glamorous, even if celebrities come out and say they have mental health problems, too. Sadly, unless handled well (Catherine Zeta Jones, Stephen Fry), they often get mocked for it (Kerry Katona, Charlie Sheen).
Which is why the internet is a wonderful thing. The essential charity Mind has a website that is filled with an endless stream of priceless resources, support and advice. In my early days of depression, I nervously visited their website worrying it might be tracked in my internet history file, and another user of my computer would then judge me as “mental”. This never happened. But what did happen was that I found lifelines such as plain English factsheets explaining why feeling the way I did was OK, and audio files of relaxation sessions to ease me through a panic attack, which I could burn to a CD and play endlessly. Mind’s website, which is laid out in such a simple yet unpatronising way (perfect for those visiting in a less than clam state), is straightforward, easy to use and unendingly supportive.
Extensions of the Mind website (and similar organisations) are their Facebook and Twitter profiles (@MindCharity, @the_elephant_, @timetochange, @Rethink_), and associated #timetochange and #whatstigma hashtags… plus more I’ve probably forgotten, apologies. All of these are updated throughout the day with useful suggestions, relevant news stories and interesting links – and you should follow them all.
Bizarrely, a further extension of how social media helps to challenge ignorance and offer unconditional support, is (surprisingly – to me, at least) through the Twitter timeline. In real life, I feel too embarrassed to tell all but my closest friends that I have depression – it just never comes up in conversation. I certainly don’t tell my employer, even though I’m 99% sure they’d be supportive. And I don’t shout about it on Twitter… but slowly, over the months I’ve spent in the Twittersphere, I’ve seen a few hints from people I follow (who I don’t know in real life, but I follow because they post amusing or insightful commentary on the news, or funny pictures of puppies in berets, or because they were once in a band I liked) that maybe some of them have depression, too. And while I obviously don’t feel pleased that they do, it is also incredibly reassuring to know that there must be thousands of other people out there (people who are pretty much like me) who do their best to get on with their lives, but some days it’s just not happening. And so when someone I follow suddenly apologises for being on Twitter that day, and saying they should never log on when “the black dog” is around, a light bulb of affinity and connection clicks in my mind.
Like anywhere, Twitter obviously has its negative characters, but like anywhere, they are outweighed by the genuinely kind and generous people who populate the community. And in 10+ years of being online, I’ve never found that anywhere like I have on Twitter. Twitter is addictive because it is a 24/7 stream of news, jokes and funny pictures of cats on a mocked up front page of The Guardian. But it’s also addictive because among the anger and resentment at the bastards who are ruining our country and crippling us financially, there is a real sense of camaraderie and team spirit. There are sometimes people on Twitter who, when having a bad time, tweet about what a shit day they’ve had – and receive messages of genuine support from total strangers. Which is sometimes what you need, because often it’s easier to tell your problems to a stranger than it is to those you’re closest to in real life. I’m not saying that joining Twitter is the answer to depression, but it is certainly an amazing support network – even if people don’t realise that’s what they’re doing.
Depression is the complete and utter, all-consuming gloom. It’s the dark cloud that saps your energy, your spark and sometimes your will to live. It can be the torment of countless, endless, sleepless nights, trying to remember to breathe slowly while staring at the ceiling and knowing (knowing) you are the only person in the whole wide world who is awake at that time. And it is a thousand other permutations of barely living misery. Depression cannot be overstated.
So for people who don’t understand depression to say they’re depressed ‘cos there’s no milk for their tea, is really rather insulting.
But it’s also understandable. Because if they haven’t experienced depression themselves, or seen someone they are close to experience it, why would they understand it? Depression is one of those things that people just don’t talk about because it’s to do with “mental health” and the unfortunate link that having “mental health problems” makes to someone therefore “being mental” and having “the people in white coats come and take them away”. Depression is not glamorous, even if celebrities come out and say they have mental health problems, too. Sadly, unless handled well (Catherine Zeta Jones, Stephen Fry), they often get mocked for it (Kerry Katona, Charlie Sheen).
Which is why the internet is a wonderful thing. The essential charity Mind has a website that is filled with an endless stream of priceless resources, support and advice. In my early days of depression, I nervously visited their website worrying it might be tracked in my internet history file, and another user of my computer would then judge me as “mental”. This never happened. But what did happen was that I found lifelines such as plain English factsheets explaining why feeling the way I did was OK, and audio files of relaxation sessions to ease me through a panic attack, which I could burn to a CD and play endlessly. Mind’s website, which is laid out in such a simple yet unpatronising way (perfect for those visiting in a less than clam state), is straightforward, easy to use and unendingly supportive.
Extensions of the Mind website (and similar organisations) are their Facebook and Twitter profiles (@MindCharity, @the_elephant_, @timetochange, @Rethink_), and associated #timetochange and #whatstigma hashtags… plus more I’ve probably forgotten, apologies. All of these are updated throughout the day with useful suggestions, relevant news stories and interesting links – and you should follow them all.
Bizarrely, a further extension of how social media helps to challenge ignorance and offer unconditional support, is (surprisingly – to me, at least) through the Twitter timeline. In real life, I feel too embarrassed to tell all but my closest friends that I have depression – it just never comes up in conversation. I certainly don’t tell my employer, even though I’m 99% sure they’d be supportive. And I don’t shout about it on Twitter… but slowly, over the months I’ve spent in the Twittersphere, I’ve seen a few hints from people I follow (who I don’t know in real life, but I follow because they post amusing or insightful commentary on the news, or funny pictures of puppies in berets, or because they were once in a band I liked) that maybe some of them have depression, too. And while I obviously don’t feel pleased that they do, it is also incredibly reassuring to know that there must be thousands of other people out there (people who are pretty much like me) who do their best to get on with their lives, but some days it’s just not happening. And so when someone I follow suddenly apologises for being on Twitter that day, and saying they should never log on when “the black dog” is around, a light bulb of affinity and connection clicks in my mind.
Like anywhere, Twitter obviously has its negative characters, but like anywhere, they are outweighed by the genuinely kind and generous people who populate the community. And in 10+ years of being online, I’ve never found that anywhere like I have on Twitter. Twitter is addictive because it is a 24/7 stream of news, jokes and funny pictures of cats on a mocked up front page of The Guardian. But it’s also addictive because among the anger and resentment at the bastards who are ruining our country and crippling us financially, there is a real sense of camaraderie and team spirit. There are sometimes people on Twitter who, when having a bad time, tweet about what a shit day they’ve had – and receive messages of genuine support from total strangers. Which is sometimes what you need, because often it’s easier to tell your problems to a stranger than it is to those you’re closest to in real life. I’m not saying that joining Twitter is the answer to depression, but it is certainly an amazing support network – even if people don’t realise that’s what they’re doing.
Wednesday, 22 June 2011
The Twittering Classes
The wonderful thing about Twitter is it not only enables you to eavesdrop on conversations you’d never normally be privy to, but it also allows you to interact with a bunch of people in the public eye. Which is fun.
I quickly cottoned on to the fact I could follow ‘80s pop heroes like @realmartinkemp, @BoyGeorge, @GeorgeMichael etc and turn my Twitter feed into Smash Hits for the middle-aged. This never gets dull.
But an unexpected side effect is that sometimes the well-known take it into their heads to contact the unknown. This is fun, too.
My first experience of this was a few months ago when I Tweeted that I was reviewing Gary Younge’s book (@garyyounge), and he sent me a DM asking what I thought of it, which led to a little exchange. Out of the blue, a few weeks later, he followed up with a friendly DM apologisng for being unable to make a Festival of Ideas event here in Bristol.
Then there’s the fact that Twitter (and Facebook) have opened up a sprawling network of interconnected people who you can access with a few well-placed RTs. Take the recent ‘Close Hooters in Bristol Now’ petition, which went viral in about an hour, thanks in no small part to Twitter, the RT function and a few sleb endorsements – again, all thanks to Twitter. Without Twitter and its impressive function of endless RT-ing, it seems unlikely that Jonathan Ross (@wossy) would otherwise have heard of it. Twitter also enabled me to directly contact regular Tweeters like David Mitchell (@RealDMitchell) and Ian Martin (@IanMartin) and ask them to get on board, too – and they in turn RT-ed their zillions of followers.
Another aspect is that, in many instances, you can Tweet a particular known person and ask a question that, on almost any other platform, they would have been unlikely to answer – but a 140-character Tweet is easy to reply to. Last night and this morning, I had a Twitter conversation with Caitlin Moran (@caitlinmoran) about some points in her book that I took issue with. Before Twitter, this kind of casual interaction with a ‘public person’ just didn’t exist.
It took me three attempts over two years to get to grips with Twitter, but having decided to embrace it since January, I really can’t remember how we coped without it (thanks to some excellent tutoring from @polywhat). The immediacy, the availability and the speed of information is unrivalled… and while much of Twitter is filled with mildly amusing tosh, there’s also a huge chunk of Twitter that’s vital and vibrant and necessary. #win
MadamJMo
I quickly cottoned on to the fact I could follow ‘80s pop heroes like @realmartinkemp, @BoyGeorge, @GeorgeMichael etc and turn my Twitter feed into Smash Hits for the middle-aged. This never gets dull.
But an unexpected side effect is that sometimes the well-known take it into their heads to contact the unknown. This is fun, too.
My first experience of this was a few months ago when I Tweeted that I was reviewing Gary Younge’s book (@garyyounge), and he sent me a DM asking what I thought of it, which led to a little exchange. Out of the blue, a few weeks later, he followed up with a friendly DM apologisng for being unable to make a Festival of Ideas event here in Bristol.
Then there’s the fact that Twitter (and Facebook) have opened up a sprawling network of interconnected people who you can access with a few well-placed RTs. Take the recent ‘Close Hooters in Bristol Now’ petition, which went viral in about an hour, thanks in no small part to Twitter, the RT function and a few sleb endorsements – again, all thanks to Twitter. Without Twitter and its impressive function of endless RT-ing, it seems unlikely that Jonathan Ross (@wossy) would otherwise have heard of it. Twitter also enabled me to directly contact regular Tweeters like David Mitchell (@RealDMitchell) and Ian Martin (@IanMartin) and ask them to get on board, too – and they in turn RT-ed their zillions of followers.
Another aspect is that, in many instances, you can Tweet a particular known person and ask a question that, on almost any other platform, they would have been unlikely to answer – but a 140-character Tweet is easy to reply to. Last night and this morning, I had a Twitter conversation with Caitlin Moran (@caitlinmoran) about some points in her book that I took issue with. Before Twitter, this kind of casual interaction with a ‘public person’ just didn’t exist.
It took me three attempts over two years to get to grips with Twitter, but having decided to embrace it since January, I really can’t remember how we coped without it (thanks to some excellent tutoring from @polywhat). The immediacy, the availability and the speed of information is unrivalled… and while much of Twitter is filled with mildly amusing tosh, there’s also a huge chunk of Twitter that’s vital and vibrant and necessary. #win
MadamJMo
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