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Can women experiencing sexual harassment safely take their whisper networks online?

For centuries, women have relied on each other for warnings about sexually abusive men. Is there a safe and secure way to spread these warnings online?

In October 2017, a Google Doc went viral. The online document, entitled “Shitty Media Men”, emerged at a time of global uprising after over a dozen women accused Hollywood producer Harvey Weinstein of sexual harassment and assault. “Shitty Media Men” was exactly what it sounds like – a list of over 70 men in the media industry who are alleged to have abused women.

The nature of Google Docs means women could share the link with each other privately and contribute to the list anonymously, but the pace at which it was shared ensured it quickly became international news. With the list labelled everything from irresponsible to malicious in the press, its creator decided to retain her anonymity – until yesterday.

In an article for The Cut, writer Moira Donegan explains why she created the spreadsheet. “The anonymous, crowdsourced document was a first attempt at solving what has seemed like an intractable problem: how women can protect ourselves from sexual harassment and assault,” she states, explaining that for centuries women have been involved in “whisper networks” by which they can warn one another about dangerous men.

“Many of these networks have been invaluable in protecting their members,” she writes. “Still, whisper networks are social alliances, and as such, they’re unreliable. They can be elitist, or just insular.”

In an age where the internet is used for everything, it is tempting to try and digitise our whisper networks. The immediate downside of a whisper network – that it relies on people having connections that the most vulnerable to abuse simply do not have – is instantly eliminated, and women can freely and widely share warnings and experiences to protect each other from assault. Yet as Donegan writes in her piece, there are unforeseen dangers to taking the “intense sincerity of our most intimate conversations” online.

Donegan admits to being “frightened” by the spreadsheet she created, which ultimately lost her both friends and her job. Living with the fear of being exposed and harassed also took its toll on the writer, who only revealed her identity after discovering that Harper’s magazine planned to run an article exposing her. “I still don’t know what kind of future awaits me now that I’ve stopped hiding,” she writes.

That future could be anything from a libel lawsuit to further harassment – which may leave women who want to share their stories of assault online wondering what to do.

For a Google Doc to work as a whisper network, it has to be shareable on a mass scale, meaning it can quickly get out of its creator’s control. Over the past months, women have sought an alternative in group chats on places such as Facebook Messenger or WhatsApp, but these channels also present different difficulties.

“When I first joined, I felt excited and relieved to be part of a network of women who had very similar experiences to me – it felt like we had strength in numbers and a real moment of change,” a woman who was part of a WhatsApp group used to discuss sexual harassers in her industry tells me. Reading people’s experiences helped her to validate her own and warned her away from specific men, while WhatsApp’s encryption practices meant the chat felt both practical and secure.

“But it was also quite stressful,” she says, explaining that receiving literal notifications about abuse became overwhelming. “There were so many people on there I didn’t know, unrecognised numbers, and it felt less and less secure. Anyone could have been added to the group, and anyone could have leaked it – which, in the end, semi-happened.” The group was disbanded after its members feared being outed.

The fact online communications can be screenshotted and saved is also troubling to anyone who fears a permanent record of their whispers. “Anything recorded in writing, if inflammatory, could form the basis of a libel claim,” explains Jenny Afia, an award-winning defamation lawyer. Afia explains that the creator of a Google Doc or WhatsApp group that libelled a man by accusing them of sexual assault could also ultimately be the person liable to the law, even if they didn’t personally write the offending message. “If they have the ability to still control the document or delete the messages, then you could still be held responsible.”

Nonetheless, Afia emphasises that the best defence against a defamation claim is that your accusations are true. “If you want to do it, you just have to be certain it’s true,” she says of creating an online whisper network. “You should be willing to stand by it and you must have a very strong belief that what you’re saying is true, that you’re not acting maliciously or with an axe to grind.”

When it comes to defamation, it’s also important to remember that, technically, a traditional network of whispers leaves you open to a civil suit. “A whispered conversation in a bathroom, if somebody else heard it, that also would carry a legal risk,” says Afia. While there is therefore no ironclad way to protect yourself from defamation claims, it is helpful to bear these risks in mind when designing a digital whisper network. Apps like Telegram and Signal pride themselves on providing a space for anonymous, encrypted conversations, and Telegram even allows anonymous blogs. In the past, the more technically-savvy have even been able to send and decrypt messages about abusive men.

In the end, then, the risks of online whisper networks may be similar to their real world counterparts – and more than ever women find themselves wanting to turn whispers into shouts. Stephanie Boland is a journalist who co-founded The Second Source, an organisation designed to tackle harassment in the media (she is also a contributor to the New Statesman). She explains how whispers between friends became a concrete organisation.

“The Second Source started because one of the founders, Emily Reynolds, wrote a piece entitled ‘An Incomplete List of Men in the Media Who Have Wronged Me,’” Boland says. “Once we began talking, we realised that we all had a story from journalism: ranging from men who would keep harassing you, low-key, for months to quite upsetting stories.” The Second Source was set up as a way to lobby the industry and work on real policy change, while ensuring employers take up guidelines that work for victims.

“My advice if your industry has been a bit quiet on this front is just go for it,” says Boland. “It’ll expand to fill all your available free time, sure, and make half the men you talk to very nervous – but maybe it's time for a few men to get a bit nervous!”

When it comes to risk, Boland acknowledges it – “But that's how pretty much all solidarity works.”

For her part, Moira Donegan’s article is reflective but not remorseful. What shocked her most about the spreadsheet, she writes, was how badly it was needed. Her final message is one of both accepting the risks and understanding the rewards.

“The experience of making the spreadsheet has shown me that it is still explosive, radical, and productively dangerous for women to say what we mean,” she concludes her piece.

“But this doesn’t mean that I’ve lowered my hopes. Like a lot of feminists, I think about how women can build power, help one another, and work toward justice. But it is less common for us to examine the ways we might wield the power we already have. Among the most potent of these powers is the knowledge of our own experiences. The women who used the spreadsheet, and who spread it to others, used this power in a special way, and I’m thankful to all of them.”

Amelia Tait is a technology and digital culture writer at the New Statesman.

Photo: mdl70 via Flickr
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Childhood mythology is being revamped by digital monsters like Slenderman

The stories the younger generation tell one another are just as rich, and as terrifying.

“I am the spirit of dark and lonely water, ready to trap the unwary, the show-off, the fool...”

The eldritch tones of Donald Pleasance will breathe a chilly memory along the vertebrae of those of a certain age. That 1973 public information broadcast about water safety lingers long in the memory. But why? There was something about the hooded figure depicted beside the river where children cavorted that just resonated. A shadow, a memory, a whisper. It was as if we'd almost heard it before. It wasn't just a warning. It was a story.

Before Donald Pleasance kept Britain's children from its treacherous riverbanks, we had tales of ubiquitous river-hags. Two good examples are Peg Powler, who haunts the banks of the Tees, and Jenny Green Teeth, who stalks Shropshire's waterways.  Both of these terrifying water spirits live to drag youngsters to a watery lair. These monsters pan the world, from the native Penobscot people of Maine, with their child-luring swamp-woman Skwaktemus, to the Inuit's Qalupalik, a green-skinned water witch that reaches up from below the ice to snatch wayward and disobedient children.

These stories are geographically distant but carry essentially the same message: “Stay away from the water”. Predatory creatures embody a very real fear. The unimaginable nightmare of our children in real peril is blunted by the presence of a monster.

Children need stories as much as adults do; stories make sense of reality when reality is hard to understand. Stories are told to be re-told, to be embellished, to raise heroes and to make monsters.

For people of the Dark and Lonely Water generation, including me, it's easy to assume that today's kids have lost the art of storytelling. We say social media has diffused, has numbed, has snuffed the flame of imagination. Yet perhaps it hasn't. Perhaps we just got old. On the contrary, the stories the younger generation tell each other are just as rich. Monsters are still being made. This world of ours is still being understood.

There is real danger out there. There are real monsters. But now they come in new forms, they lurk in new lairs.

Today, the internet is the new hunting ground of the monster. Grooming, trolling, cat-fishing and scamming have become the MOs of the vile in our society and, as if in direct response, legends and myths have sprung from the same place.

Creepypasta, 4Chan and /nosleep are breeding colonies of legend. Forums and social media have taken the place of the skipping-rope chants and the childhood whispers. Young people still know Bloody Mary, yet Black-Eyed Kids and the Goatman have usurped her from her throne. Nefarious rituals and games like Hooded Man or Elevator to Another World have been born of the internet age, submitted as stories and experiences. Like the Spirit of Dark and Lonely Water in the 70s, they have touched a common nerve.

The most iconic of these net-dredged horrors is Slenderman: born of a paranormal Photoshop competition, his legend has transmogrified into an internet Tulpa, the power of which played a significant part in the decision of 12-year-olds Anissa Weier and Morgan Geyser to stab their friend Bella Leutner 19 times. He is strengthened with every share, every fan image, every account of his being. It is no wonder that he has become flesh in the hearts and minds of those who need him, who want to escape into his world.

The readers of the forums that bear these eldritch fruits know the content isn't real. Yet disbelief is intentionally suspended. As it says on the /nosleep board guidelines “Everything is true here, even if it's not. Don't be the jerk in the movie theater [sp] hee-hawing because monkeys don't fly.”  It's disrespectful to negate the skill or the talent that it takes to write a story or make an image on Photoshop. This leaves space for storytelling. We need stories.

These stories stir something inside us, lend a bellow to the flames of our imagination. Images, anecdotes and instructions - they are monsters we have the power to control. Online, we can pass on the whispers, we have the ability to interact with the shadows. Online we can be the purveyors of this mythology. We can tell each other stories. We can control. If we make a monster, it is ours. Most importantly, we can escape from reality and immerse ourselves in our monsters.

Not just monsters lurk online, there are games and rituals, rich in their own mythology. The illicit Ouija board in the parks and graveyards of my own childhood are dwarfed by the trans-cultural crucible of today's games. With the ingenuity of Koji Suzuki's cursed video in Ring, far eastern influence and technology are pervasive throughout. Japan can boast the ghost-summoning Satoru-kun, and the White Kimono game. Both are alleged to summon spirits, Satoru-kun specifically with a mobile phone. There are many more of these games sprouting up from all over the rest of the world eg.- Mexico's ' El Juego Del Libro Rojo' (Red Book game) and Portugal's Ritual da Televisão (Television ritual) and nearly all carry grave warnings.

These nebulous games, like the internet's monsters carry their own stories. Peruse Reddit and you'll find accounts and speculation from those who claim to have played and been changed or had their lives altered by what they've done. The comments below the hundreds of accounts begging for advice are a mix of sincerity and concern.

“Dude, luck only lasts so long, and even longer less when you tempt things you know nothing of.”

“OP, you messed up big time. You're always supposed to follow the rules of the game as completely as you can!”

“You idiot! Ghost games are not for play! Especially japanese ones, they are dangerous”

“Get some sage. Burn the sage, and wave it into every corner of every room in the house... I would recommend putting salt across doorways and window sills, anything that would be an 'entry' into the house, but it sounds like you may have summoned it inside the house”

Everything is true here even if it's not.

But how can we know for sure? Do we really know that the user didn't summon something terrible from the void they opened with one of these games?

That's what makes them so compelling. That's what makes Slenderman, Smile Dog and Jeff the Killer so iconic. Like that friend of your mate's brother who went mad after he did an Ouija board down the park, we are still whispering, we are still embellishing and interacting.

The internet is open, unchartered landscape, there are no rules of the real world in which to weave mythology and the quest is to be the creator of something that wriggles from our grasp and is embraced, formed and made flesh by a collective consciousness. Are we in some way thankful for these creatures that bring us together over oceans and time zones?

Phones and tablets in the hands of our children are frightening to us: they are the unknown, the window into an abyss. Yet from that abyss, we are like our ancestors, toasting heraldry and horror, and making new myths.

Hydra by Matt Wesolowski, published by Orenda Books is out now.