Lonely Street (A Metaphorical Lonely Street. Not an Actual Street With No One On It. Or a Street With Just Me Walking Alone)
Well, it seems that we have passed peak wingnut (warning: Reynolds link ahead) and I can peek my head above the metaphorical bunker again.
I’m at the point where I’m pretty bloody angry with myself for using language intemperate enough to open the door to these people to try and change the narrative. It seems they failed, precisely because of the push back they received over freedom of speech. For this, I can’t thank the good people at Crooked Timber enough, not to mention so many other people. I never wanted to be the subject of a free speech campaign. Usually those are reserved for people who really said something offensive where one has to stand in principle. I still don’t see what I said as offensive, and certainly not as offensive as supporting policies that allow crazy people to have access to high-powered weapons. But while I generally use relatively measured language here, I was using Twitter as the site to express my true unabashed outrage about the world. I guess I have to be more careful on that going forward. Lesson learned.
That said, what really bugs me is that because of my intemperate language, we are talking about me and what others said about me instead of the policies of unrestricted ownership of killing machines that led to the death of 26 people in Connecticut last week and thousands around the United States and Mexico every year. I look forward to moving the conversation back to what really matters–regulations on guns.
Things were pretty lonely for me for awhile there. But thanks to everyone, and of course the Ray Price I was relying on to help me get through, there was indeed no Lonely Street for me. Except the song.