Evening Focus: Does Online Anonymity Undermine Civil Dialogue?
Anonymous online comments are attracting attention from newspaper and website publishers, academics, and others who care about how we talk to each other. (More)
The National Conference of Editorial Writers recently discussed whether to end anonymous online comments at newspaper sites. The president of NCEW, Froma Harrop, wrote about the issue this week at Nation of Change:
More speech is not necessarily a positive development. News sites’ online forums have unleashed speech in quantity, for sure. But they’ve given a stage to swarms of moronic insults and outright lies, most cloaked in anonymity or false identities. Such comments waste our time – but of larger concern, they degrade the civic culture and undermine thoughtful attempts to craft public policy.
Last November, New York Times op-ed contributor Julie Zhuo detailed some heart-wrenching examples:
After Alexis Pilkington, a 17-year-old Long Island girl, committed suicide earlier this year, trolls descended on her online tribute page to post pictures of nooses, references to hangings and other hateful comments. A better-known example involves Nicole Catsouras, an 18-year-old who died in a car crash in California in 2006. Photographs of her badly disfigured body were posted on the Internet, where anonymous trolls set up fake tribute pages and in some cases e-mailed the photos to her parents with subject lines like “Hey, Daddy, I’m still alive.”
Psychological research has proven again and again that anonymity increases unethical behavior. Road rage bubbles up in the relative anonymity of one’s car. And in the online world, which can offer total anonymity, the effect is even more pronounced. People — even ordinary, good people — often change their behavior in radical ways. There’s even a term for it: the online disinhibition effect.
Salon‘s Matt Zoller Seitz thinks even the worst of that is socially worthwhile:
It’s impossible for anyone who reads unmoderated comments threads on large websites to argue that racism, sexism or anti-Semitism are no longer problems in America, or that the educational system is not as bad as people say or that deep down most people are good at heart. Unmoderated comments threads are X-rays of the reptilian brain — indicators of the dark stuff that rattles around in the id and that would get blurted out in the home or workplace routinely if the superego didn’t intervene. Mel Gibson’s rants are no more ugly than sentiments that get expressed thousands of times a day all over the Internet.
When a person comments anonymously, we’re told, they’re putting a mask on. But the more time I spend online the more I’m convinced that this analogy gets it backward.
The self that we show in anonymous comments, the fantasy self, the self we see in the mirror when we fantasize about being tough and strong and feared, the face we would present to the world if there were no such thing as consequences: That’s the real us.
The civil self is the mask.
The psychologists who researched Online disinhibition effect – the tendency of some to self-disclose or act out online in ways they would not in a face-to-face conversation – disagree:
Rather than thinking of disinhibition as the revealing of an underlying “true self,” we can conceptualize it as a shift to a constellation within self-structure, involving clusters of affect and cognition that differ from the in-person constellation.
Translated from academese, they suggest our “true self” consists of many possible selves, depending on social context.
The most savage online commenters are, as even Seitz concedes, engaging in a fantasy of “being tough and strong and feared, the face we would present to the world if there were no such thing as consequences.” There are consequences in face-to-face interactions, so that is not, as Seitz concludes “the real us.” It is a possible self … a fantasy.
Talking Points Memo is among many sites that debated whether to require commenters to use their real names. Yet as online culture consultant Anil Dash argued, humans have for millenia found solutions to curb our worst behavioral impulses. Simply, we establish norms and find ways to discipline those who violate the norms.
We have done that here at BPI. Our Admissions Department has guidelines for reader comments, and our About BPI page details our editorial policy for authors. Our editors not only fix typos and other helpful nips’n'tucks. We also delete expletives and even entire comments when necessary. Simply, we expect each other to behave as responsible adults, but with the caveat that children may be reading. We manage to accomplish that without requiring our faculty, staff, and student body to use their real names.
As MKSinSA discussed last month, putting your real name online allows anyone to find out almost everything about you. There are many, entirely valid reasons to avoid that, and pseudonymity gives us at least a small shield. Research shows that pseudonymity also helps reduce patterns of privilege that are common in conversation.
A review of Facebook-based comment sites – or a few hours listening to talk radio – should be enough to challenge the notion that using real names would take us back to an imagined Good Old Days where people treated each other with respect and courtesy. Where that exists, it exists because people create and enforce rules.
That’s not “censorship” or “political correctness” It’s “community.”





The owners of Facebook and similar you-must-give-us-personal-information-we-can-sell sites insist that online anonymity is the cause of the ugliness of our national dialogue. But ugliness on talk radio predates the internet, and the ugliness of the KKK predated talk radio.
It’s tempting to say both examples reinforce the point – talk radio callers are largely anonymous, and KKK members wore robes and hoods – but that argument the form for the reality. The ugliness of talk radio was and is not limited to somewhat-anonymous callers; the hosts are often as ugly as anything you find online. And while some KKK members did wear robes and hoods, most made little or no attempt to conceal their identities. They did not rely on anonymity to avoid consequences of their ugliness. They relied on their ugliness being accepted by their communities.
Too many people say ugly things online because too many online administrators all but announce that ugliness is okay, with policy statements such as: “We accept no responsibility for the views and opinions expressed in reader comments.” Worse, too many online administrators encourage ugliness, on the (false) theory that flame wars increase hit counts and thus make them more attractive to advertisers. Flame wars do increase hit counts, but advertisers look at other metrics and many don’t want their products presented alongside a stream of ugly invective.
If you want people to behave well, tell them what the rules are for that community … and enforce those rules.
I raised my sons in a house that was built in 1886. The previous owners embraced all sorts of updates. I spent years undoing some of the decorating that was not to my taste and taking tinny speakers out of the ceilings. They had installed a whole house intercom. The switch in the kitchen had been left on and I suddenly heard my two young boys and their cousins plotting on the front steps. It wasn’t mean just “unacceptable behavior.” I casually went out to chat with them and caught a couple of furtive looks. Then I told them that their ‘plan’, which I calmly detailed would not be happening and why. They seemed shocked that I knew. I told them mothers always knew and to not forget that.
Years later they brought that up and I confessed to having the intercom on.
Families are communities and parents are the moderators. When I run into total lack of civility and ism fights on-line, I leave. I do wonder what kind of parents they had and if they are like that in person. I tend to think there have been really objectionable words and behaviors present throughout history.
In my house we don’t speak or act like that.
Does it?
Heck yeah. What did you think, $^^@?
*snark*
But from personal experience, and from what I’ve seen on the Internet, I can say that yes, anonymity brings out the beast. Its much the same as sitting behind a steering wheel. You feel isolated, secure. You don’t see other drivers, you see shadows in the glare of their windshields. And there is no consequence for a nasty toot of the horn, or a one finger salute. After all, you didn’t realize it was your son’s favorite teacher you cut off.