I remember the time when books were all imaginative and not at all about issues...

Books by Enid Blyton who taught me that Empire, racism, classism xenophobia etc were really good and if I didn’t benefit from them, it’s because I lacked imagination

Then there were the wonderfully imaginative books by Frances Hodgson Burnett which were not about issues at all. Everyone knows that brown people only exist to serve and obey bratty white princesses

And of course that elegantly dressed Peter Rabbit never addressed any issues. Everyone with imagination knows exactly how a nativist, sentimentalised vision of Albion had no role to play in the construction of imperial imaginary at the height of the Empire...

And there was absolutely no issue ever covered by Kipling AT all! I mean what’s a bit of racism and glorification of Empire amonst white imperialist friends...oh sorry, I meant amongst white imaginative readers

I could keep going...

I find socmed musings of influential, powerful people comfortingly revealing. They are useful reminders of what they really think of me, no matter how nice, kind, polite, charming in social and professional settings

Thankfully it’s like clockwork. Just as I start getting even vaguely comfortable, one of them reminds me that I am only here - professiobally, creatively, personally on sufferance.

And any tolerance shall be withdrawn at the first sign of resistance from me.

It’s comforting. And helpful. Because before socmed, we woukd be would gaslit for decades, entire lifetimes and endlessly doubt ourselves and suffer.

Now? At least their socmed musings make it clear that for them, really, I am a problem, an anomaly, a threat..an issue even

And believe me not being gaslit is a greater relief than one may imagine