Stop Using Grok and X Now!

Let’s be honest about what’s happening here. X hasn’t simply “changed”, it’s been deliberately reshaped into something harsher, noisier, and less trustworthy, and people are right to walk away. A public square that once aspired, however imperfectly, to host plural voices has become a platform where outrage is rewarded, nuance is buried, and misinformation travels faster than truth. That’s not accidental, it’s structural, and users are being asked to accept it as the new normal.

Trust has been hollowed out. Moderation has been weakened in the name of “free speech”, but what that has often meant in practice is freedom for the loudest, the most aggressive, and the most cynical. Good-faith conversation gets drowned. Marginalised voices retreat. Reasonable people self-censor or leave altogether. A space that silences people through hostility is not a free space, it’s a hostile one.

Then there’s the concentration of power. One individual now exerts extraordinary influence over rules, reach, and direction, with minimal transparency and no meaningful accountability. You don’t need a law to be broken to decide you want no part in that. Consumers are allowed to make moral choices. Withdrawing attention, data, and participation isn’t censorship, it’s conscience.

Grok sits uncomfortably inside all of this. It isn’t being received as a neutral, trustworthy tool, but as an extension of the platform’s brand and ideology. When the environment around a technology feels politicised, unstable, and ego-driven, trust in the technology collapses with it. That’s not irrational scepticism, it’s common sense.

People aren’t leaving because they’re fragile or offended. They’re leaving because they can see clearly what the platform has become, and they refuse to pretend otherwise. That’s not virtue signalling, it’s integrity.

Drowning in Simplified Certainties

Many things in our modern world require complex explanation, yet people increasingly want simple, black and white answers. We live in an age shaped by science, technology, economics, psychology, and global interconnection, all of which are layered and subtle. Real understanding often demands patience, humility, and a willingness to sit with uncertainty. But too many people resist that discomfort. They’d rather reach for certainty than wrestle with complexity, rather accept a neat story than think carefully about probabilities, evidence, or the messy realities of human behaviour.

Social media makes this worse. Its design rewards speed over reflection, outrage over balance, and certainty over curiosity. Algorithms don’t promote nuance because nuance doesn’t travel well. What spreads fastest are the loudest, simplest, most emotionally charged claims, regardless of whether they’re true. In that environment, conspiracy theories flourish and extremism feels normalised. Ignorance isn’t just tolerated; it’s amplified, packaged, and broadcast with confidence.

That’s what makes it so exhausting. Trying to explain basic concepts in science, history, or maths can feel like pushing against a tide. Conversations that should begin with shared foundations often start with fundamental misunderstandings. Instead of building on common ground, you’re forced to go back to first principles again and again. It drains energy, patience, and hope. Yet the work still matters, because without careful thinking, honest learning, and respect for complexity, we lose our grip on truth itself, and that loss carries consequences for everyone.

Halfway Round the World

The line so often tossed around in public debate – “A lie is halfway round the world before the truth has got its boots on” – has a far older and richer story than most people realise. It’s usually pinned on Churchill or Twain, partly because it sounds like something either might have said, but the trail leads back more than two centuries before them, to a writer who understood human frailty with almost surgical clarity.

In 1710, Jonathan Swift published a piece in The Examiner in which he sighed over the power of falsehood to shape public opinion. His words still feel painfully current: “Falsehood flies, and truth comes limping after it, so that when men come to be undeceiv’d, it is too late; the jest is over, and the tale hath had its effect.” Swift saw how quickly a rumour could take on a life of its own, leaving truth to hobble along behind, patient, earnest, and too often ignored.

Over the next century and a half, writers, preachers, and pamphleteers repeated variations of Swift’s idea. The imagery softened, shifted, and picked up new colours as it passed from hand to hand. Then, in 1855, the Victorian preacher Charles Haddon Spurgeon offered the version that would change everything: “A lie will go round the world while truth is pulling its boots on.” With that single stroke, he transformed Swift’s lament into a vivid little proverb. Suddenly truth wasn’t limping, it was simply taking too long to get dressed, fumbling at the laces while lies dashed gleefully away.

From that moment, the wording began to crystallise. Newspapers and speakers adapted it freely; the boots sometimes became shoes, and the distance travelled grew from a circuit to half the globe. By the early twentieth century, the familiar modern form had settled into the language, sharpened and polished by repetition: “A lie is halfway round the world before the truth has got its boots on.”

The quote we know today isn’t the invention of a single brilliant mind, but the product of three centuries of observation: Swift’s sharp insight, Spurgeon’s memorable turn of phrase, and the slow, steady work of time. It reminds us that truth often arrives late, but it does, eventually, arrive.