I joined Twitter in 2010. I’ve always been an early adopter and those days on Twitter were wild. The Kenyans there were countable and everyone was open even to meeting offline. I attended a lot of random meetups with strangers I’d met online because it felt relatively safe and I was open to meeting people I’d otherwise not meet. The internet, especially Twitter, felt full of possibilities.
Fast forward a few years later and Twitter became increasingly hostile towards women and other minorities. It cemented my feminism, but it also hiked my cortisol. I discovered an anxiety I had never had before. It gave me new sisters that I cherish, but it also exposed me to the worst of humanity. I had no idea people could be that vile. The level of hatred and bigotry was at a level I had never experienced. The Feminist movement online was a force. We came together for battle. Our shields weak, our swords rusty, but our wills strong. By the end of it, we were all battle tested. Some of us, too exhausted to move forward, left.
I understood. It’s unkind to ask people to stay in spaces that are violent towards them. It’s downright cruel to expect that people will sit there and negotiate their humanity day in day out without cracking.I’ve watched many of my fellow Feminists quit Twitter. I’ve anticipated my own quitting too. I’ve wondered what would cause it. Doxxing? Rape threats? Being the character of the day for misogynists? The constant bombardment of triggering content? I’m not yet there, but I wonder what will eventually do me in.I hate that I am hypervigilant. I hate that I’m careful about whose DM I respond to. I hate that I’m constantly preparing for the onslaught of insults when I tweet tame tweets like, “Women deserve to be safe.”
I hate that I’m numb to being called a malaya and told to unfat. I hate that I don’t even care enough to block anyone anymore for what are blockable offences. I hate that I’m unbothered and even expect that level of violence and I’m surprised when it doesn’t come.I’ve fantasised about being online. I’ve thought about what life would be like to be free of the online chains. To walk around just a person that has no idea what the trending topics are or what to worry about with the misogynists.
Then I realize that I’m truly privileged if the majority of the misogyny I experience on a daily basis is from strangers online. Most women are facing the grim reality of misogyny in every other moment of their lives.I tweeted today and it was in support of sexual violence victims. I was insulted for supporting sluts and whores. And after getting through the insults, I basked in them.
Yes, I support the sluts and whores. I support the women and minorities that dare to break the rules. I support the rebels and I can’t lie. We deserve freedom. We are people. We are human.I have been online, especially on Twitter (I refuse to call it X), for the majority of my adult life. Online GBV/Technology facilitated violence apologists claim that those of us with an issue with the state of the online space can just go offline. I mean why are we in the kitchen, if we can’t stand the heat? And I think about it a lot. Why am I here? It’s toxic. It’s violent. It’s stressful.
But then, I think about what leaving means. Ceding space to misogynists. These spaces are ours too. We’ve created sisterhood. We’ve inspired generations. We’ve learned and taught. We’ve made change. Our voices have been heard. We’ve marched and screamed across the world, our voices weapons of mass defiance. Until I am spent, I will not leave. I will fight and remain loud and defiant. Until Elon shuts it down, I will keep my voice loud and unwavering. I will be unabashedly visible. We are worth fighting for.
