// essays //
Fall 2014
For More Information, Contact Anonymous:
The Flaw in Anonymous Activism on Campus
Hannah Vaitsblit
Fall 2014
For More Information, Contact Anonymous:
The Flaw in Anonymous Activism on Campus
Hannah Vaitsblit
It might have gone almost as silently as it came. Just a short few months ago, as the freshmen were stumbling through NSOP, the Disorientation Guide made its unimpressive, grammatically incorrect debut at Columbia’s gates. This year’s edition of the “propagamphlet” was especially notable for the ingenuity, or cowardice, of utilizing an Orwellian anonymity that consistently excluded individual contributors’ names.
Both the 2000 and 2002 editions included a slew of names, etched in stone, or whatever the virtual equivalent is, right at the beginning. But somewhere in between 2002 and the invention of the iPhone, privacy became all the rage. The nebulous unidentified “group of student activists committed to supporting a culture of dissent and politicization on Columbia’s campus,” representing various campus organizations ranging from the Coalition Against Gentrification to the Barnard Outdoor Adventure Team, banded together behind a veil of secrecy.
The Guide explains the individual anonymity away on the opening page, claiming that “We chose not to name individuals for the sake of solidarity but want to acknowledge the valuable contributions of individuals not in these groups as well.” But what is solidarity, here, really? Is it about recognizing differences between social groups and glorifying them, or is it a quiet muting of dissent? Without any indication of names and accreditation of sources, DisGuide’s solidarity yields nothing other than conformity, with dissent cowering somewhere between “keep[ing] the publication free of individual credit” and struggling “for what is good.”
As its mantra, this year’s Guide employed the “us-them” paradigm. But because of the anonymity, it is difficult to know whom these pronouns are referring to. See, for example, the roller-coaster psychology on page 2: “For many of us, however this dissonance is a place from which to exercise our privilege to undo the systems that we object to, including the ones responsible for our privilege.” Don’t the authors of DisGuide purport to be representative of the oppressed masses and their counter-revolution against capitalism, racism, sexism? Why, then, does the language assign privilege to the activists themselves? Anonymity makes it impossible to distinguish a victim of exploited privilege from the privileged perpetrator. And yet, the writers use harsh words, emphasizing the distinction as paramount, only to proceed with an ambiguity that conceals the culprit of this amorphous privilege––is it the students, the administrators, the capitalists, the classical authors whose names are etched in Butler’s facade? Or maybe the mailman who hand-delivered your college acceptance letter? The Disguide’s vague “us vs. them” model both blurs the “them” and characterizes the “us” as no one in particular. In remaining anonymous in a united front against the elite “them,” whoever they may be, the producers of the Disorientation Guide simply replace one elite with another, branding their very selves as the morally superior, unidentifiable cohort they ostensibly despise.
Speaking of the elite, DisGuide criticizes Columbia University’s perpetuation of the ruling class, a consequence of the institution’s overindulging in full-tuition payers. But how is a reader to know whether or not the entire editorial board of the Disorientation Guide isn’t comprised of trust-fund babies whose last names might be found our very own Columbia buildings? Or alternatively, are these writers all on our beloved campus courtesy of financial aid and the contributions of the wealthy, elite alumni? Without names, there is no accountability for their use of the collective.
Putting your name on your work apparently doesn’t carry over from class to protest either. Nearly every one of the DisGuide coalition organizations maintains a web page, Facebook page, and/or blog with no “Board Members” tab. “Contact” usually only has a general email address. An inquiring mind is stumped by strict anonymity at every turn: only on the nearly obsolete LionLink can she find sparse, vague information about some treasurer of the group, and maybe a lonely president or vice president who forgot to opt-out of the local social network. An email from Student Worker Solidarity, for example, leaves you with nothing but “SWS” as a signature, an ominous replacement for any individual names or roles of group members. CU Prison Divest demands “more transparency regarding Columbia’s investments” on its homepage, but does not follow up with its own offering of the same, with no disclosure of leadership in sight. When the call for transparency is not answered by the demanding par- ties, this kind of anonymous activism loses integrity and lacks a realized commitment to its purported values. The trail of dominant anonymity begins to resemble the pre-determined pact to operate surreptitiously that is explicitly outlined in DisGuide.
It might be the case, perhaps, that these organizations are structurally conducive to anonymity. C-SJP’s board, for instance, is non-hierarchical, a status that is either a means of staying true to its pursuit of any “anti-oppression” soundbite, or is a comfortably convenient way to allow for activism in the dark. Actively choosing to abstain from hierarchical structure is ostensibly noble in the world of high-stakes competitive extracurriculars, but it too easily allows for a secretive diffusion of responsibility and authority. As a result, SJP and similarly structured groups become more difficult to engage with, to monitor, to hold accountable, and more basically, to contact. SJP’s reliance on anonymity in the public square is only reinforced by recent demands pressing Bwog to blur out an activist’s face from an image of the group’s 9/11 protest. Institutions that bow to this pressure are equally culpable in perpetuating a culture of oppressive anonymity, because they selectively favor one party’s unfounded claims about privacy rights in a public setting over another’s right to free speech and access to information.
Without structural hierarchy, and with the ability to erase evidence of public activism, there is no one to take responsibility for certain claims. The anonymous group speaks not through particular point-people but via official “statements,” and is referenced in the Columbia Daily Spectator mostly in iterations of “SJP said” or “SWS calls for,” or the more sophisticated but meaningless “CPD released its first communication.” This way, when the activist grows up and becomes whoever she will inevitably become after graduation––likely not a career activist––she will be able to carefully slip her wild and young dissentful days under the college rug together with all the other transgressions that the Internet never managed to record. “Violent, obnoxious, fact-misrepresenting, cause-conflating activist” just looks kind of awkward on that first CV.
In an anti-climactic last stroke of hope, DisGuide displays some break from anonymity in its final pages, with “Advice to First Years [From Current and Past Members],” in the form of speech bubbles graced with unverifiable initials. One moment of counsel from “XJ” speaks the loudest: “We hold each other accountable for our words and actions, and that accountability serves as a way of maintaining safe(r) spaces as well as being a learning moment, or rather an unlearning moment in the context of oppressive behavior.” But in the context of this year’s unclaimed DisGuide enterprise and the general culture of anonymous activism on campus, it is silence, conformity, and the stifling of the individual that are oppressive. The attempt to push “incontrovertible facts” through the minds of newly welcomed students without citing sources is nothing short of condescending. Anonymity is frail, lacks confidence, diminishes credibility, and promises to be soon forgotten.
Congratulations DisGuide 2014, for being “disorienting,” and anything but revolutionary.
Both the 2000 and 2002 editions included a slew of names, etched in stone, or whatever the virtual equivalent is, right at the beginning. But somewhere in between 2002 and the invention of the iPhone, privacy became all the rage. The nebulous unidentified “group of student activists committed to supporting a culture of dissent and politicization on Columbia’s campus,” representing various campus organizations ranging from the Coalition Against Gentrification to the Barnard Outdoor Adventure Team, banded together behind a veil of secrecy.
The Guide explains the individual anonymity away on the opening page, claiming that “We chose not to name individuals for the sake of solidarity but want to acknowledge the valuable contributions of individuals not in these groups as well.” But what is solidarity, here, really? Is it about recognizing differences between social groups and glorifying them, or is it a quiet muting of dissent? Without any indication of names and accreditation of sources, DisGuide’s solidarity yields nothing other than conformity, with dissent cowering somewhere between “keep[ing] the publication free of individual credit” and struggling “for what is good.”
As its mantra, this year’s Guide employed the “us-them” paradigm. But because of the anonymity, it is difficult to know whom these pronouns are referring to. See, for example, the roller-coaster psychology on page 2: “For many of us, however this dissonance is a place from which to exercise our privilege to undo the systems that we object to, including the ones responsible for our privilege.” Don’t the authors of DisGuide purport to be representative of the oppressed masses and their counter-revolution against capitalism, racism, sexism? Why, then, does the language assign privilege to the activists themselves? Anonymity makes it impossible to distinguish a victim of exploited privilege from the privileged perpetrator. And yet, the writers use harsh words, emphasizing the distinction as paramount, only to proceed with an ambiguity that conceals the culprit of this amorphous privilege––is it the students, the administrators, the capitalists, the classical authors whose names are etched in Butler’s facade? Or maybe the mailman who hand-delivered your college acceptance letter? The Disguide’s vague “us vs. them” model both blurs the “them” and characterizes the “us” as no one in particular. In remaining anonymous in a united front against the elite “them,” whoever they may be, the producers of the Disorientation Guide simply replace one elite with another, branding their very selves as the morally superior, unidentifiable cohort they ostensibly despise.
Speaking of the elite, DisGuide criticizes Columbia University’s perpetuation of the ruling class, a consequence of the institution’s overindulging in full-tuition payers. But how is a reader to know whether or not the entire editorial board of the Disorientation Guide isn’t comprised of trust-fund babies whose last names might be found our very own Columbia buildings? Or alternatively, are these writers all on our beloved campus courtesy of financial aid and the contributions of the wealthy, elite alumni? Without names, there is no accountability for their use of the collective.
Putting your name on your work apparently doesn’t carry over from class to protest either. Nearly every one of the DisGuide coalition organizations maintains a web page, Facebook page, and/or blog with no “Board Members” tab. “Contact” usually only has a general email address. An inquiring mind is stumped by strict anonymity at every turn: only on the nearly obsolete LionLink can she find sparse, vague information about some treasurer of the group, and maybe a lonely president or vice president who forgot to opt-out of the local social network. An email from Student Worker Solidarity, for example, leaves you with nothing but “SWS” as a signature, an ominous replacement for any individual names or roles of group members. CU Prison Divest demands “more transparency regarding Columbia’s investments” on its homepage, but does not follow up with its own offering of the same, with no disclosure of leadership in sight. When the call for transparency is not answered by the demanding par- ties, this kind of anonymous activism loses integrity and lacks a realized commitment to its purported values. The trail of dominant anonymity begins to resemble the pre-determined pact to operate surreptitiously that is explicitly outlined in DisGuide.
It might be the case, perhaps, that these organizations are structurally conducive to anonymity. C-SJP’s board, for instance, is non-hierarchical, a status that is either a means of staying true to its pursuit of any “anti-oppression” soundbite, or is a comfortably convenient way to allow for activism in the dark. Actively choosing to abstain from hierarchical structure is ostensibly noble in the world of high-stakes competitive extracurriculars, but it too easily allows for a secretive diffusion of responsibility and authority. As a result, SJP and similarly structured groups become more difficult to engage with, to monitor, to hold accountable, and more basically, to contact. SJP’s reliance on anonymity in the public square is only reinforced by recent demands pressing Bwog to blur out an activist’s face from an image of the group’s 9/11 protest. Institutions that bow to this pressure are equally culpable in perpetuating a culture of oppressive anonymity, because they selectively favor one party’s unfounded claims about privacy rights in a public setting over another’s right to free speech and access to information.
Without structural hierarchy, and with the ability to erase evidence of public activism, there is no one to take responsibility for certain claims. The anonymous group speaks not through particular point-people but via official “statements,” and is referenced in the Columbia Daily Spectator mostly in iterations of “SJP said” or “SWS calls for,” or the more sophisticated but meaningless “CPD released its first communication.” This way, when the activist grows up and becomes whoever she will inevitably become after graduation––likely not a career activist––she will be able to carefully slip her wild and young dissentful days under the college rug together with all the other transgressions that the Internet never managed to record. “Violent, obnoxious, fact-misrepresenting, cause-conflating activist” just looks kind of awkward on that first CV.
In an anti-climactic last stroke of hope, DisGuide displays some break from anonymity in its final pages, with “Advice to First Years [From Current and Past Members],” in the form of speech bubbles graced with unverifiable initials. One moment of counsel from “XJ” speaks the loudest: “We hold each other accountable for our words and actions, and that accountability serves as a way of maintaining safe(r) spaces as well as being a learning moment, or rather an unlearning moment in the context of oppressive behavior.” But in the context of this year’s unclaimed DisGuide enterprise and the general culture of anonymous activism on campus, it is silence, conformity, and the stifling of the individual that are oppressive. The attempt to push “incontrovertible facts” through the minds of newly welcomed students without citing sources is nothing short of condescending. Anonymity is frail, lacks confidence, diminishes credibility, and promises to be soon forgotten.
Congratulations DisGuide 2014, for being “disorienting,” and anything but revolutionary.
// HANNAH VAITSBLIT is a Sophomore in Barnard College and a Staff Writer for The Current. She can be reached at hv2163@barnard.edu. Photo courtesy of Flickr user Sean MacEntee.