The prevailing myth about our particular moment in time is that the only necessary key to liberation and equality is a Wifi connection. In the world of social networks and online presence, anyone can create value (read: data) simply by existing and interacting. Why wouldn’t that be equitable?
But the truth is that the conditions of lived experience in the analog world do map onto the digital. And for the disenfranchised, the underrepresented, the harassed — that means that our existence on these platforms is fundamentally unequal (as well as, apparently, shockingly unsecured).
Women of color are more subject to online harassment than any other demographic; the horrific, graphic abuse that Leslie Jones experienced in 2016 that drove her to temporarily leave Twitter was just one reminder of the many vulnerabilities women of color expose on social networks. I learned to stop blinking at “bitch” and “slut,” but those words often come arm-in-arm with a racial slur or two, which I find harder to stomach, for some reason. Sometimes physical threats follow, or someone sends you a screenshot of your neighborhood on Google maps, because they found your IP address. I have felt the nauseating fear that comes with being cyberstalked, have learned how to trace site visitors’ locations if only to make sure they’re too far away to actually cause me physical harm (it’s alarmingly easy).
And if you’re an immigrant? Being online could mean being under federal surveillance. To the wealthy gatekeepers who run these platforms, our data is just an asset, its security an afterthought, but to us — it’s not only an extension of our identities, but a question of physical safety.
The depth of our trauma and hurt feelings should be enough to inspire stricter regulation of the speech allowed on social networks, though it historically hasn’t been. Threats of physical violence should be enough to quickly banish a user from a platform. We shouldn’t have to wonder what political forces our data will involuntarily enable, or how it’ll silently be turned against us.
But the most ironic consequence of the abuse women of color are forced to bear online is our withdrawal from the platforms that fail to protect us. Research has found that we’re more likely to censor ourselves online as an act of self-protection, reserving our opinions if our gut tells us someone won’t like it. And that’s how “freedom of speech” — the supposed beauty of these platforms — becomes a weapon for abusers, rather than an empowering force for the minority.
If the gatekeepers of these networks actually want to build safe, inclusive platforms, they should be willing to crack down unapologetically on those who make them threatening. More than that, they should acknowledge that these platforms were never built for us. Until then, existing, and speaking our minds, is a radical act online, just as it is in real life. This week, we’re celebrating some women doing just that.
— Natalie, a woman of color who will never log off
LIDO PIMIENTA
Lido is a Colombian-Canadian singer who asks that her white audience members move to the back of the venue so that attendees of color can be near the stage. After one performance last year, she received an onslaught of abuse through social media. Her response: “When we make space for women of colour, we are saying ‘we see you, we love you, we appreciate you’ and allowing them to have a safe space from which to enjoy the show.” Read more about Lido’s philosophy here.
AZMINA DHRODIA
Azmina is a researcher with Amnesty International’s technology and human rights division, and spent 16 months conducting a study about the online abuse and harassment women experience on Twitter. The conclusion? “Twitter is failing to respect women’s rights as online violence and abuse thrives and women are being silenced.” Read the entire report here (and a summarized account here).
ANITA SARKEESIAN
Anita Sarkeesian is a media critic and the founder of Feminist Frequency, a site that critiques portrayals of women in pop culture. In 2012, Anita began fundraising for a project that would analyze recurring tropes about women in video games, and was immediately hit by death and rape threats, leaked personal information, and much worse. The good news? Anita still launched Tropes vs. Women in Video Games — with about $150,000 more in funding than she expected.
