For those who didn’t grow up in a neighborhood of houses on the edge of Bucharest, mud crackers were pieces of dirt mixed with water; we used to make them in the fall, late, when it was nasty outside, we didn’t have much to play elastic or football with, we didn’t have very interesting toys, books were also few in number, and a neighbor was giving us a hard time. So we wanted to get back at this person who couldn’t stand the children’s cries in the alley.
This gentleman had a house with a high wall, always clean, on the street. We, children without much sense, would make these mud crackers and throw them on the wall of the house. It wasn’t long before the gentleman would come out and threaten us, shout at us, chase us. With the other neighbours we had nothing, they didn’t say anything, they ignored us, so they didn’t stand out, they didn’t jump out at us.

But one day, when we weren’t throwing mud at the gentleman’s wall, so we were on good terms with him, he gathered us all together and told us that we were good children, that he liked that we went to school, that we learned well, that we knew how to play chess (chess was seen then as an activity that developed your mind, it was encouraged around us), and that some activities, games, were inappropriate for such children.
Our hearts and other essential organs swelled up on the spot, we couldn’t fit into our proud skins. Someone saw us, admired us, and this someone was our enemy. In fact, within minutes he had become our friend. We stopped slinging mud that day.

I’ve often thought about those kids’ activities that were swinging the gate. I often see waves of hatred on social media, of hateful words, onomatopoeias, swearing, that are like mud-bashers. Only now, in cyberspace, the mud is thrown not at walls but at other people. Not by 5-year-olds who haven’t learned much yet, but by adults. Hiding behind their phone or computer, some people think it’s okay to express themselves as they want because they want to, they can.
Of course, in the motley landscape of all these networks, everyone writes, shares what they think. But everyone’s right stops where another person is being hurt, trampled on.

We can make our point of view in an elegant way, but nothing in this world gives us the right to mock another being.
Umberto Eco was quite harsh on those who feel entitled to express themselves anyway on social media. I’d like society to contradict him in the future.