Tonight, I set myself in a corner of edu-Twitter and began to decorate it with cushions and a throw. I lit a candle (not too close to the textiles) and poured three glasses of wine. One for me; one for the Secret Teacher; and the third for the Quirky Teacher. [adjusts cushion]
Yes, every Saturday we convene to berate the latest ST for dragging our profession through a playground strewn with broken glass and hypodermic needles. And, yes, we marvel at the brazen instrumentalism of QT as s/he writhes in his/her progressive strait-jacket. [sets candle off-centre and squares off coasters]
And, ultimately, we resolve to ourselves not to dignify a word of anonymously-scribed invective. This is not ‘truth to power’; it is sour grapes with impunity. [pours a bowl of Nik Naks]
But, whilst we are as entitled to opine as ST and QT, and comment upon their cloaked personae; whilst we speculate upon their who-abouts, and deride them as lacking in the courage of conviction that is implicit in putting one’s name to one’s writing, let’s not ostracize them any further than they have themselves.
They, like me, are anonymous for reasons.
They, like me, may have learned (from adversity) not to be free and easy with identity.
They, like me, may desperately want to be known to you, but far too fearful of repercussions too great to dally with.
[the doorbell rings and I rise expectantly]