When we look back as a species, right before the first nuke starts to spiral towards earth in a terrible arc, at our accomplishments during our comparatively short time on the planet, it will likely be noted that Twitter was among our very worst. As a social media platform, it’s done more to erode dialogue, create arbitrary delineations between groups and individuals, and contribute to the slow, grinding downfall of man than perhaps any other form of communication. It is, simply put, a real bitch of a website.

But, it must be said, there is a certain swath of the population that has taken to Twitter with aplomb. Exacerbated by endless months of COVID lockdowns, people flocked online in large numbers to converse, debate, and form groups. Twitter’s comparatively easy-to-use layout; the short, bite-sized tweets; and the overall universality of the app made it a natural choice.

One such group of people was a loosely formed conglomerate known as “Alaska Twitter,” made up of media figures, pundits, politicians, local celebrities, and everyday Alaskans that found each other on Twitter. These Alaskans share local news, earthquake reports, recipes, and generally converse about topics other Alaskans might find interesting.

And now, they’re talking about leaving.

Elon Musk’s recent acquisition of the social media platform has sent people (mostly, it should be noted, on the left side of the political aisle) into histrionics about the fate of their website. Loosened content moderation, Musk’s checkered history, and a general dislike of change have combined for many of these Twitter regulars, long used to a virtual echo chamber, into a DEFCON 1 level event.

Julia O’Malley, an Alaskan food, politics, and culture writer, sent out an invite on Twitter for a public meetup at a local coffee shop. “Are we saying goodbye? Who knows!” the invite reads. “See your Anchorage tweeps in person Friday.” (O’Malley, incidentally, called in sick the day before the event, so she was not in attendance.)

When I walked in the door to Cafecito Bonito off Debarr on a cold Friday night, I was told (if I hadn’t already seen the sign on the door that read “Private Event: Zero Tolerance!!!”) that there was a private event.

I’m with the Alaska Landmine, I explained, and though I’m not actually on Twitter, I was hoping I could talk with some of the people here and maybe see what their feelings were on the website, and why they were talking about leaving. It’s for an article.

Well, said the masked barista slinging drinks behind the counter, if you’re with a media organization, you can’t be here.

“Are you kicking me out?” I questioned.

If you’re with a media organization, she repeated, you can’t be here.

OK, I said, I’m here by myself.

Then that’s fine, she replied.

It was a weird exchange, like something out of a Beckett play for the modern era. Was I being given the boot? Obviously not, but I got the feeling I shouldn’t have said anything in the first place.

The small coffee shop was fairly packed with 20 or 30 “tweeps,” many of whom were masked, occasionally pulling them down to sip lattes from earthenware mugs. I sauntered to the back of the room, looking around for people to talk to.

It’s strange, in sort of a meta-analytical way, to see people conversing based only on their shared allegiance to a given media platform, itself dedicated to… allowing people converse. It would be like a meetup for people devoted to the concept of phone calls, or the idea of letter writing. To come together because of Twitter, Jack Dorsey’s best stab at one of the Four Horsemen, feels absurdly grim and depressing.

You can watch the stratification and atomization of culture in real time on Twitter, as micro-niches and absurdly specific identities are created and disseminated in hyperspeed, and dialogue inches closer and closer to being almost entirely nonsensical. OOMFs, kinning, neopronouns, callouts – these are all basically incomprehensible to the layperson, but to the terminally online Twitter junkie, these are terms used every day.

Which isn’t to say that everyone on Twitter is a slavering extra from Transmetropolitan – far from it. Some people get on to check what their favorite sports star is saying, to see if there’ll be any concerts announced in their city, or to post pictures of their garden. At its most base level, that’s what social media is there for – but a good proportion of users exist who are, in a sense, intrinsically tied up with the mysterious and holy Twitter algorithm.

“I’ll probably never leave,” said one user at the coffee shop. “I want to watch it crash and burn.”

I asked about Elon, who most of the Tweeps there saw as a nutjob. Comparing Elon with the previous owners and operators of Twitter, one guy argued, was absurd. Elon’s insanity seemed, to him, to be self-evident, and by comparison, Twitter’s former executives were the only actual adults in the room.

But hasn’t Twitter always been kind of bad, I pressed. Hasn’t it been sort of a bad site for dialogue?

There was agreement on this, but most of the people there couldn’t think of anywhere else to go. Mastodon (another microblogging platform) was mentioned, but it’s significantly less plug and play than Twitter.

The problem with leaving is that so many people have built up a following and an online brand centered around Twitter. To translate this to another platform would mean starting from square one – hence some of the deranged, desperate rhetoric coming out after Musk’s acquisition of the site. If someone’s made a name for himself as a Twitter celeb, it’s impossible to imagine making a career without the site. If Musk, as many foresee (and perhaps vindictively hope), craters the site, by driving off advertisers with his antics and opening Twitter up to more unsavory elements, these people may not have anywhere else to go.

But this was never not a possibility. Twitter’s always been a private platform, subject to the same whims and market forces as any other website. It may have been stable to some, and reliable to others, but at the end of the day, there was always the distinct possibility of New Management. Now, that day has come, and Musk is trying to clean house in his own strange (possibly ill-advised) way – though, it must be said, I doubt I could do any better with $44 billion dollars.

What does a Twitter devoid of users look like? And more importantly, where is the line in the sand that the vast majority of Tweeps will not cross? How far is the point of no return for users, and has Elon reached that point yet?

I couldn’t say – I haven’t used the site myself in years, having gotten off in an attempt to detox from social media. What I do know, however, is that any attempt to frame an exodus from Twitter (whether it’s individual or en masse, like lemmings jumping) as a higher moral decision and not simply a foot-stomping hissy fit over a controversial billionaire making a dumb purchase is, to put it kindly, ridiculous. No one leaving Twitter is any morally better for it. They may find another website, or they may not. Whether or not they stay or leave, no greater good will actually be accomplished, because at the end of the day, it’s a website to fire off 280 character posts about covfefe and how you think the Eagles will go all the way this year.

I met some Tweeps (I hate that term so much). I stood around and compared Twitter handles and listened to people bemoan Elon and it was a sort of strange way to spend a Friday evening. Some of these guys were chill – I had a nice conversation about WSU’s football team with another Coug who’d answered O’Malley’s open invite. Based on what I heard, I don’t think there’ll be a real mass exodus from the site. Most people will adapt, and keep tweeting earthquake magnitude predictions or messaging Forrest Dunbar. Alaska Twitter will stumble, but probably regain its footing. Keep on tweepin’ on.