chosen a different course—to protect even hurtful speech on public issues to ensure that we do not stifle public debate. That choice requires that we shield Westboro from tort liability for its picketing in this case.
Emboldened by our success, we announced that we would quadruple our protests of soldiers’ funerals. In the days and weeks that followed, I was more active on social media than ever before or since, so thankful to be one of God’s representatives on earth and utterly exultant that He had put a megaphone to the mouth of our tiny church. I used Twitter to bait celebrities with anti-gay messages, to publicly celebrate Japan’s Fukushima nuclear disaster, and to debate the merits of the Snyder case with anyone who would listen. Whether I was cooking dinner, sitting on an airplane, or standing at a protest holding two signs in one hand and my iPhone in the other, I spent every spare moment I could find answering thousands of users, whether they were curious, angry, confused, or mocking.
BRETT MICHAEL DYKES (thecajunboy): Lil Wayne is making abstinence education videos now, apparently …
MEGAN PHELPS-ROPER (meganphelps): With 1 in 4 U.S. girls aged 14–19 having an STD, abstinence is *clearly* the problem, thecajunboy. Pssst: #GodHatesFornication!
BMD: Go fuck yourself.
MPR: Why yes—it HAS been too long since WBC’s been to [your area]! Picket ideas? You know who to tweet.;) #Obey
And in the midst of it all, him. Over the weeks, I started to notice his name and photo each time they appeared among the flood of messages I was receiving, though neither gave me any hint as to who he could be. His name was “FormerlyKnownAs,” his profile picture that iconic image of Robert Redford as Jay Gatsby, leaning against the yellow convertible; I studiously ignored the spike in my heart rate and the dopamine rush I experienced whenever I saw them. So many of those who messaged me were enraged—understandably so, given that we were disposed to celebrating the deaths of children and blaming their parents for the tragedies that took them—and while he was certainly perplexed by our doctrines, anger had no part in his response after that first tweet. Instead he lurked, his infrequent questions belying the fact that he was reading each and every word I posted. His careful attention was intimidating and intoxicating, and all the more so as a figure of him started to form in my mind: exceptionally witty, quietly dignified, deeply curious, and above all, respectful and kind. The thoughts he shared were never what I anticipated: reverent praise of my grammar, critiques of the font used on our picket signs, and literary and film recommendations as diverse as Marilynne Robinson’s Pulitzer Prize–winning novel Gilead and the comedy blockbuster The Hangover. Apart from his typical questions about the church, he was all over the board and never where I expected.
I relished confounding his expectations, too. Like many others, he’d arrived at my Twitter under the impression that my church was filled with hillbillies and rednecks, an assumption I was only too happy to dispel. Upon my trumpeting of our Supreme Court victory, he learned that my family is full of lawyers, and I learned that it was a profession he shared—another piece of the puzzle that I meticulously filed away. He was shocked to find that my grandfather had been honored by the NAACP for his civil rights work in Kansas. Still anonymous, he wrote this message to a researcher who was looking into the ways Westboro used
I became aware of WBC via Anonymous. I immediately sent MPR a nasty tweet. She responded in a charming way. I was charmed. I wiki’d WBC which led me to wiki Fred Phelps. I learned that he, like me, was a lawyer. I learned that he was a civil rights pioneer in Kansas, which was contrary to what I expected. I studied more. During that study, WBC won a Supreme Court decision I didn’t realize was pending. Whether you love them or hate them or think they’re good or evil, you can’t deny that it’s a fascinating, complex American story. If MPR hadn’t sent a witty, charming response to a nasty tweet from me, I wouldn’t know the first thing about WBC, and I wouldn’t have written this to you. That’s the power of Twitter. That’s influence. That’s the power of an .
Witty, he said. Charming. I found myself blushing at his compliments, but failed to recognize the deeper import of what he was saying. It