Tara Hunt posted a while back something that has stuck with me:
… nobody has come forward to show me where it is unsafe for a woman to expose her life to a wide audience. I’ve only experienced personal and professional gain …
The ACTUAL danger here is not the danger, itself, but the danger of silencing the myriad of voices through the threat of danger. And you know, I’m going to be the ballsy (dangerous) broad I am and continue to challenge every single person who even hints towards the theory that women are less safe than men online. Because, truly, I would rather die for my convictions than live in fear any day.
I don’t know what it is that bothers me about this. Or rather, I find it difficult, morally sorting out all the bothersome things. The irritations from the deeper issues, the offenses from the common moral good.
Nor is it clear why Miss Hunt makes such a good Good Example. Perhaps because her heart is, of all hearts, so plainly, even sweetly in the right place. The sort of person who moves one, whose fallings short of the mark shows us something deeply human about our own. Of course, Tara Hunt may have quite other feelings about me, but hey. The writers’ life.
For it’s writers, don’t you know, who see through walls, and let nothing alone. The unseen and the unspoken are what sets us to thinking, and that is our work and our pleasure. To think through the ghastly spell that grips American life, to illuminate something of the non-suffering world beyond.
And I don’t mean the endless-drivel aspect of the web. It’s the blog entries of people who have neither inclination nor, perhaps, that awful wherewithal to do the hard, often painful work to Think. (cf. Hannah Arendt.) Who churn out i the semi-truthful posts, drawing commenters happy to live in a semi-truthful world. Is everybody comfy?
I certainly hope not.