Linda Grant had an excellent and thought-provoking article on Comment is Free at the beginning of the week on anonymity in cyberspace. She took the contrarian position that anonymity isn't just causing people to be mean and to cross dangerous boundaries, but to have a sense of community that they wouldn’t have otherwise when they take the time to get past first impressions and instant reactions. Sugary excerpt:
Often I would try to imagine the person behind the opinions. Who did we have here? An embittered old Trot with a couple of bad marriages behind him and a tendency to take a drink or two? Or spotty Tory boy, commenting in his bedroom while he was supposed to be studying for his A levels? The problem with Cif was that not only did you not know who someone was, but usually you didn't even know their gender, age, occupation. Was this person commenting on Africa a veteran of the anti-apartheid struggle or a call-centre worker who has read an article on Wikipedia?
But why should it matter? It mattered, I thought, because by turning someone into nothing more than a set of opinions on a screen, you could first depersonalise, then dehumanise and then demonise your opponent. You were battling with vast realms of virtual enemies, whom you could invest with all kinds of evil intent (which is why the accusation "Nazi!" is so popular on the internet). The extrapolation from a few slightly badly chosen words, hurriedly typed, into a whole system of belief became a common sport - "Zionist neocon!", "Loony lefty".
I recounted last week the discovery that the son of my old boss, Tony Hall, turned out to be the frequent commenter known as "ishouldapologise" (in real life Phil Hall). Through him, I was able to regain contact with his parents, two of the most remarkable people I have ever met, who have spent all their lives devoted to Africa and its people, "gypsy journalists" they described themselves. It was a few months before Eve Hall's death from breast cancer, and I wrote her obituary for the Guardian when, two weeks ago, sadly, at the age of 70, she died.
I wrote about this experience last week on Cif and something remarkable happened. After a few comments on the issue of anonymity, suddenly people began to treat each other as people, not sets of ideas. Many offered their condolences to Phil Hall (ishouldapologise); he told them the names of the songs that would be sung at his mother's funeral on Saturday, and people posted Youtube versions. Some said they would light candles. Others began to reveal, painfully, their own experiences of close family deaths, of mothers, of fathers and of children, of their own battles with cancer. The most remarkable were the words of "sapient", in Australia, who wrote:
"This is hard to write even though anonymously ... today 9th Nov is the 20th anniversary of my son's funeral. My son was injured in an accident and lived for ten days. My only question was: 'Has he enough painkiller?' The doctor's answer was: 'We do not know.' He died on the 5th."
This harrowing image has stayed with me. I don't know who "sapient" is, and his or her name is immaterial. Whatever their opinions, I know that this is a person who was suffered a dreadful loss. Would it make any difference if their real name were printed next to it? If this is Jane Smith or Marcel Leland (whoever they are) it makes no difference. And as "sapient" pointed out, it was the anonymity that allowed the memory to be expressed. If anything has convinced me that the anonymity issue is a red herring, this is it.
I spent the last few days wondering rereading Grant’s article and wondering if she could be right. I have concluded that she is because I think that anonymity becomes less about meanness when one is able to get past the tempestuous and vile articles and comments written probably by someone choosing to vent, to react, and not to think. However, the more thought and feelings get into the process, the more personalizing anonymity becomes in the sense that you may not know the person name, but you know things about them, what they think and about what they feel. I think I am of course an example of Grant’s point or at least, if I hope that I am not. If I'm not, I will just try harder to elevate the debate and to make a distinction between being opiniated and passionate and being mean and intolerant.