The Ugly Truth Behind Internet Trolls
He told me I was, “fat and ugly LOL”. Hilarious since my Twitter photo was a Powerpuff girl. Only ugly girls use cartoons, only ugly people wouldn’t want the world to see their faces, LOL! So ugly, he reassured Shrekli, that no man would want me. Ugly girls views don’t matter. They’ve never mattered. Just ask Eleanor Roosevelt.
(Your eyes narrow, asking why I was arguing with Shkreli, why open my mouth at all, because no one can stop them. Boys will be boys, as inevitable as acid rain.)
Each one thinks their argument will destroy feminist writers. As though we don’t know it’s coming. Come out into the world as a feminist and you’ve seen the body shaming. It wasn’t even two weeks ago when they twisted a friend’s happy beach photo into a nightmare. As an eating disorder survivor, she didn’t need to be told that her body will never be model thin: she’s carried too many years of shame already.
The trolls think they wield a unique tool box of insults. Slut, whore, trash: they all say the same tired thing. Ugly isn’t valuable because they can’t bear to fuck her. Slut has no value anymore because her cunt is used up. Yes, her cunt, because that’s the only part of her that is useful. They turn her parts into a toolbox with only one piece he needs, a warm hole he can find a small pleasure in. A slut, however, is a ruined tool, too tired to be useful for his consumption.
Or is it that a woman who’s had multiple partners might just realize he’s a pathetic jackrabbit in bed? Hard to see past those avatars.
Trash is usable, but barely. When a British friend wrote about wanting safe sex and the importance of consent, someone responded with a photo. It was her own face covered in cum. If she can say no then she’s not fully usable, is she?
(Isn’t this just part of the job, the officer says. She doesn’t know what to say. His badge shines a warped version of her reflection. He’s supposed to serve and protect, but who?)
They don’t want just our open legs, the trolls demand closed lips. What can a woman know about athletics? Female sports are different. Women just sit around, painting our nails, giggling. We’ve never sweated, never bled, never had to struggle. So we don’t ‘get to have’ opinions on professional athletes and domestic assault.
Sit still. Smile. Our tongues were never made to hold letters, just to swallow theirs. If we don’t, they’ll make us. They’ll rape us. If they can’t make us terrified to speak, they’ll kill us.
(You say it’s just words and we pray to God you’re right. We could have been her, the writer who was stalked and shot by a classmate. We could have watched our own college administration say pretty words but let their hands stay still, doing nothing. We could see the scar every morning, unable to forget him. Maybe it’s just words but we know what could be, a storm we can’t stop.)
Of course, I’m not shocked at your surprise, your disbelief. Too many still don’t believe in the misogyny of #GamerGate. Rape and death threats by the dozens claimed as a fight for ethical journalism. Many saw their personal information leaked, taking away any shred of personal safety for many women. No that wasn’t the point, one man had to tell me. It was about journalism, a purity apparently these women lacked.
(Your mouth turns in that flat line. It’s the one you use for illogical things like conspiracy theories or penis enhancing lotions. The line of your mouth slides towards me, as though rape threats are just as absurd, just as unlikely. Then again, you don’t have to live with one in six chances of being raped.)
When does extreme become normal? Is it normal after Gamergate? Is it normal for Ijeoma Oluo, an editor and woman of color, who has blocked 60,000 people on Twitter? They sent images of apes, filled her social media with tired old hate. Or is it finally normal because LGBTQ youth experience nearly three times as much bullying online as their hetero counterparts?
How many people have to live with blatant hate before you realize it is normal? You don’t have to say anything: your answer hides in the way your jaw tightens and your argument sits between your lips. But you don’t have faceless avatars telling you the only good woman is one sucking his dick.
(Her mother tells her to stop writing, to stop putting those words out there. It’s inciting, no wonder you get this hate. She imagines it, sewing her own lips shut. No more cum stained photos, only her own tongue festering behind her teeth.)
Maybe you’re tired of these essays. A part of you hates how people whine, how people demand civility. After all, 100 years ago people were selling postcards of lynchings. Things are so much better! Why can’t anyone just accept that?
(How easy to close your eyes, let the sulfur dioxide spill into the air. The acid rain will fall, but it will be thousands of miles away from you.)
Despite all of this, we will continue. We will smoke, drink, and bitch to our fellow believers. When we think our lives our in danger, we will call the police and hope we’ll talk to a cop who doesn’t think we’re hysterical. We will sit on our therapists couches and cry. We will write words, take snapshots. We will reveal the very nature you don’t want to see. The faces that look all too similar to the old postcards of that bitter, strange fruit.
We can’t forget so neither will you.
