You don’t have to have been on Twitter for long to realise that it can bring out the worst in all of us. Emboldened by the anonymity the platform affords, we can pretty much say what we like to whomever we like. Socrates, had the great man been around today, would have been appalled at how far we’d drifted. He’d have urged us to think before we tweeted. ‘Is it true, is it kind or is it necessary?’ he’d ask. Alas, the great man is not around and so, in the absence of his wise counsel, we forget to ask ourselves those three questions, and we carry on regardless.
Yet occasionally – and it really
is rare - you come across someone who rises above all of that. Someone who is
instantly ‘special’. Someone who stands out from the rest. Someone who wants to
make the world around them – and that includes their virtual world – a better
place. Nikki Stix – for it is she – managed to do all of that.
Nikki was instantly likeable – fun,
engaging, amusing, clever. And the Brexiteer’s Brexiteer. She was passionate
about it and campaigned hard for us to leave. She hated the division it caused
and her tweets would always accentuate the positives, never the negatives.
Sure, she had a pop at Femi, Grayling and O’Brien from time to time – but who
on our side worth their salt did not? But her aim was always to bring together,
not divide. She lamented how the discourse had deteriorated over the four
years. But despite this deterioration, she remained upbeat, strong, and
principled. Easy for even those on the ‘other’ side to see.
Nikki’s battle with cancer was
well documented – she shared her struggles with a candour and openness that
helped many – people who were also ill, people who had lost loved ones, and
people who were going through struggles of their own. But she shared never to
garner sympathy, only ever to inform and inspire. And she did it effortlessly,
with humour and with good grace - never afraid to give a little bit more of
herself to build up those around her.
But today, Twitter became a
little darker for many of us. Somewhere, a light was switched off. All of us
knew Nikki was ill and we knew that the last few months had been bad – she’d
kept us updated as she had always promised she would. Yet despite that, today’s
news came as a bolt from the blue. A cruel kick in the teeth at the end of a
cruel, relentless year.
This morning, as usual, we’d
logged in, coffee in hand, and scrolled as we always did. And as usual we’d see
a tweet from someone we follow and we’d chuckle and nod or perhaps tut and shake
our heads. As usual, we’d like, reply, maybe retweet. But we’d already moved on
with our day. Actions barely important at the time, becoming so quickly inconsequential.
But then a tweet that stopped us
in our tracks. We didn’t move on with our day. We sat, staring at Mike’s
message, barely able to take it in. Tears for someone we’d never met, but who
all of us knew so well. Tears for someone who’d invited us with her on her
journey. Tears for someone who had shared, selflessly, her ups and downs. But
this final ‘down’ was crushing. We’d not been prepared for that.
Comments started pouring in.
Thousands within minutes. She was described as a ‘force of nature’, an ‘inspiration’,
a ‘member of the family’, a ‘fighter’. And she was all of that, and more. And
amongst the comments, names familiar to all of us. Names I mention not because they
are any more important than the thousands of others, but proof that her appeal
and influence transcended the usual twitter bubbles: Iain Dale. Dan Hodges. Alex Deane. Madeleine Grant.
Adrian Hilton. Dan Wooton. All of them expressing their shock and sorrow. But
perhaps it was Claire Fox who said it best:
Oh, I am devastated to hear this. She was such a good friend to me on here, and a voice of reason. She will be missed so much. You were a real fighter for freedom and fought your own health fight with guts. What a woman!
But of course, sad though we are,
our loss is nothing - nothing at all - compared to that of Nikki’s family, Mike
and their little dictator. It’s hard to imagine what Christmas will be like for
them, this year and for every Christmas after. But when Mike has the time, he’ll
look through the messages sent today. He’ll see the impact she had on so many
lives. And he’ll keep them safely stowed away. And as the original 3 foot
dictator becomes the four foot dictator, then five, who knows, maybe even six, she’ll
always be able to look back at what her mother meant to so many people whom she’d
never even met. And she’ll be proud to say: ‘That, boys and girls, ladies and
gentlemen, was my mum.’
RIP Nikki Stix. You absolute
legend. X
