Mo Ansar: tweeting yourself into existence
Published in 2014, Telegraph blogs
Over the last 12 months, self-styled Muslim commentator Mo Ansar has been a regular fixture on television and radio. But you might be seeing less of him from now on. Over the last ten days or so, Ansar has been mauled by a pretty fearsome squad: Nick Cohen in the Spectator,[i] Milo Yiannopoulos’,[ii] radio presenter Iain Dale [iii] and author Jeremy Duns.[iv] The claims are these: that he reported Iain Dale to the police for Islamophobia on specious grounds; that he fanned the campaign to get Maajid Nawaz de-selected as a Lib Dem prospective parliamentary candidate for having tweeted an image of the prophet, (a campaign which resulted in Nawaz receiving death threats, which Ansar did condemn); that he speaks the language of tolerance and moderation, yet he refuses to condemn the chopping off of hands for theft in Islamic states or homophobia; that he has creatively and quite dramatically sexed up his professional experience — including falsely claiming to be a lawyer; and that he runs a sock-puppet Twitter account which he uses to defend himself and attack perceived rivals. Individually they are all pretty serious claims; together they amount to a damning charge.
‘It’s over’ wrote Cohen, in his expose.
I’m less interested in Ansar himself than how he got there in the first place. He epitomises the rise of a new type of social media monster: the professional commentator. From whence Mo came no one is entirely sure. But at some point he obviously decided he would become a social commentator. Through sheer force of will, calculation, Herculean social media activity and Blair-esque self-belief he tweeted himself into existence. He managed, with no qualifications, experience or credentials, to become a public figure who appeared on Newsnight, the Today Programme, the Big Questions, and elsewhere. In so doing became a de facto spokesperson for the ‘Muslim community’, a position he did not merit.
In a strange way, I admire the fact he went for it: it’s exactly the sort of self-starting entrepreneurial spirit this country needs. He spotted quicker than most that social media allows you to create and then promote whatever version of yourself you wish. Over last few years he has claimed to be, among other things, an educationalist, communication specialist, theologian, diversity consultant, activist, community organiser, political and social commentator, and my favourite, a ‘professional logician’. Impressive list indeed, but if you scrutinise each one carefully you’ll find none of them are in any way falsifiable. They are all vague and unprovable. (Some of his other professional claims — such as his claim to be a lawyer are falsifiable, and were shown to be a lie).
Armed with a vague but believable list of job titles the professional commentator then starts churning out content. A tweet, a blog, a tweet about the blog, a blog about a tweet. Each time using any toe-hold to propel himself forward. Soon enough he’ll get asked to come on radio because a journalist has seen the blog. He tweets about the radio show. Another journalist spots he’s been on radio, and so invites him also. He then spams everyone with his media appearances, and picks up more Twitter followers which then give the appearance of some sort of prominence or credibility. When things are looking quiet, he manufactures some controversy: more material, more tweets, more blogs, more media.
The reason this whole wretched story is so cringe-worthy is, I suspect, because in Ansar we also see a small part of ourselves. All of us on-line, mildly plugging our views, retweeting our articles, and trying to build our online profiles. I certainly do it. This, I’m afraid to say, is how a lot of TV punditry works. Blame lazy or busy producers who think that the number of Twitter followers is a handy heuristic for credibility — Ansar just played the game. He happens to be exceptionally well suited to thrive in this new world, where constant self-aggrandisement really can get you on the television.
There is nothing wrong with having an opinion of course. Twitter is something like a level playing field, opening up the public sphere to more people. If people like your content, you’ll rise to the top. That’s good. But it’s less good if the professional commentator doesn’t know what he’s talking about, or if he starts relying entirely on self-promotion, and fabricated flattery from false accounts he runs. Or if he uses the warm fuzzy language of tolerance while also pushing out some pretty nasty ideas. Or if he patronises people who have actually done things — written books, researched groups. Or if he accuses people who upsets him of Islamophobia, and reports them to the police.
In a very small way I experienced first-hand Mo Ansar’s modus operandi, after he repeatedly accused me being an apologist for the English Defence League, because I’d written a report about the group in which I said the EDL should not be banned, and that, though they are sometimes objectionable, they have a right to heard. My credentials? Two years studying the group, and a detailed survey of 1200 members of the EDL. Mo’s credentials? Some — lots of — tweets, and vague but unprovable hints that he works on community something-or-other. Doubtless Mo Ansar knows more than I do about a great many things, but the EDL is not among them. Opinion is great, but it’s best when built on a nodding acquaintance with facts.
I had planned to conclude that Mo Ansar wouldn’t be gone for long, because every professional commentator lives in fear that someone else will fill his role, that he is dispensable. But he beat me to it of course. After a 24 hour self-imposed Twitter exile — some kind of record for him I think — he’d re-joined the fight, posting a Southpark-esque picture of himself with the caption ‘Team Ansar’.
‘Evening Tweeps’ he writes ‘Missed anything much?’
