The 29-Day Blogging Challenge: A is for Anonymity
Let’s begin this epic and seriously inconsequential 29-day, 29 blog-post challenge with something closely related, or possibly unrelated, to blogging: Anonymity. Blogs, like the rest of the interwebs, allow for varying degrees of anonymity, the ability to propound any manner of opinion, criticism, observation, or in the case of Stockholm Syndrome, meandering drivel, without the prospect of discovery or accountability. I can say whatever I want, about whatever I want, with no direct reprisal or consequence. One can spew vitriolic filth, confess inner desires, admit self-deprecations, offer random musings, target political or societal commentaries, or paint themselves a Chuck Norris-esque badass with no checks, balances, or anyone calling ‘bullshit’. On the net, you can be anyone you want to be, regardless of who you are.
Blogs are somewhat unique in this aspect. Facebook is less anonymous, as your comments and tags and posts are connected to your account. True, one can set up a fake account, and make ‘anonymous’ comments thereafter, but people generally only ‘friend’ folks they know, so that limits one’s audience to groups and fan pages. Same with Twitter and numerous other social networking sites. But blogs – especially those hosted by the likes of Blogger, WordPress, etc. – require no proof of your true identity and therefore offer as little or as much anonymity as desired.
But is anonymity really a desired aspect among bloggers? I was asked some time ago whether most bloggers were inherently shy introverts and thus appreciate the ability to communicate anonymously without revealing their true identity. I’m sure that some are – similar to those of us back in the “olden days” (pre-internet era) who would scurry home from school and write in their journals all night. But at the same time I believe some are the opposite – inherent extroverts who simply see blogs as another medium through which to communicate with the world. This latter group, I would argue, are increasingly common – perhaps even the majority – in today’s blogosphere. Take, for instance, the blogs here on The Local. Of the 30 Readers’ Blogs with accompanying icons (at the time of writing), 25 used pictures of the blog authors. True, most don’t post their full names, addresses, personnummers, and mobiles, but still – the possibility of visual recognition whilst rumbling along the subway line dampens the potential anonymity of having a blog. A few others used logos (e.g. Stockholm Syndrome, that bastard) but not necessarily for increased anonymity; perhaps, as in my case, simply because the blog name lent itself to a kitschy logo. (I must say I really like the logo for Dmitry in Sweden – great way of using a profile pic to capture the essence of both author and subject matter.)
Anonymity for me is a crap-shoot. It’s hard to be ‘anonymous’ (or perhaps inconspicuous is a better term in this instance) in the real world when you’re a 2-meter tall, long-haired, Ashton Kutcher look-alike (or so I’ve been told). I lived in Dubai for a few years and honestly thought I was the tallest person in the whole emirate. I routinely had – and have – people come up to me and comment on my height, or at least stare in amazement when I walk by. Sometimes it’s nice to just blend in and be the observer, rather than the observed. But I ran a website for a few years there, and didn’t reveal too much personally identifying information (mainly due to political reasons, a story for later…) One time at Mall of the Emirates I overheard a couple of lads talking about an article one had read on a blog. It was about the war between Israel and Lebanon in ’06, and they were discussing some of the writer’s commentary on the Middle East’s response. I quickly realized that they were, in fact, talking about my blog, my words, my opinions. There was something quite funny about that, being ‘party to’ a conversation about something I wrote, without them knowing it. It was also validation of sorts, a nod to the idea that someone was actually taking the time to read what I had posted. I left without revealing my identity, emboldened to go on, to blog another day, in true internet superhero fashion. I felt like I should have been wearing my cape.
The ability to be anonymous on the internet has a huge benefit in some cases. Think of the recent political and civil turmoil in Iran, and how sites like Twitter allegedly helped the general population communicate, disseminate, organize, and push for change. Did anything material come out of it? Not really; but if the goal was to make people aware, especially outside the borders, then the anonymous online presence of the people did achieve a great deal. Look at China, with its increasingly stringent censorship guidelines, blockages to certain social networking sites, monitoring of online activity… in such a regime, is it any wonder people seek out any opportunity at anonymity, even if it is for wholly benign purposes? I know I feel awkward at times when people stare at my height – not necessarily a common occurrence in Scandinavia, mind you – but to know that my internet activities were monitored, controlled, directed, logged, and subject to judicial scrutiny?
Like I said, these days and in most cases, anonymity is not necessarily the selling point for bloggers. Some have achieved worldwide fame by doing this very activity – they simply see this as a globally accessible soap-box upon which to stand and holler to the world. Others, true, prefer to remain in the digital shadows and be a faceless voice of social commentary, much like Christian Slater’s pirate-radio-broadcasting character in Pump Up the Volume (great movie, by the way). I’m somewhere in the middle… It would be oddly validating to hear someone on the subway talking about one of my recent posts, but at the same time, I wouldn’t rush up and introduce myself. If there were a gathering of The Local’s bloggers, though, I’d be there with pint in hand. Otherwise I’m happy to don this virtual mask and stomp around in the shadows for a while, unrecognized, inconspicuous, and free to write crap without seeing the collective of raised eyebrows.
Tags: 29 days, Miscellaneous