It’s something that happens with a kind of sickening regularity now: a horrific event occurs and later, when it’s written about online, it’s accompanied by callous, inflammatory, often anonymous comments. Most recently, when gut-wrenching news about a cyclist’s death broke earlier this week, comment sections were predictably peppered with crass, politicized speech that seemed to have no regard for the dead or little things like human dignity. It was one more reason to wonder about the ills of online anonymity, particularly light of a much-circulated piece in the New Statesman about the awful misogynist abuse many women face on the internet that also has prompted similarly disturbing takes. It’s hard to blame those who, confronted with hateful vitriol smeared across their screens, want to do away with anonymity. The ability to simply open up a website and enter words without fear of reprisal or harm can be a powerful motivation to break social convention, and whether or not the internet actually promotes anti-social behaviour, we’re certainly exposed to more of it now that the web is part of our lives. But would the internet really be a better, more civil place if anonymous comments were banned? It’s a debate that has raged for years. Proponents for banning anonymity argue that having a real name attached to online activity would fix consequence to one’s behaviour, forcing people to police themselves. Those opposed suggest that not only would a real name policy be monumentally difficult to enforce, in reality it would do very little to reduce harmful speech online. But to really get at how to make the web a better, more civil place, you have to ask a couple of annoyingly abstract questions–namely “what is the internet?” and “what kind of place do we want it to be?” What often underpins arguments for curtailing online anonymity are ideas based on a pre-internet world. Anonymity is a kind of cowardice, and if you wouldn’t say something to someone’s face, you shouldn’t say it online. You should treat the web as you would a broadcast medium like a letter to the editor or TV: if you are going to send your ideas out into the world, you should have the guts to attach your name to it. At the very least, ideas that circulate in the public sphere should be vetted somehow; letting anyone spew bile is a problem for the quality of public discourse. These are the general notions that accompany the desire to ban anonymity. The trouble is, online isn’t physical space. We’ve never really had this persistent world in which anyone with a computer could inscribe their thoughts for many to read. Moreover, other than for a tiny number of authors and artists, most people have never had the chance for their identity to live somewhere else other than their own bodies. Historically speaking, the internet is brand new because it represents the first time the virtual realm of ‘space of public discourse’ has been something more than a metaphor. And in that space, anonymity can have real benefits. It lets people explore new ideas and personas. It allows them to test out or work on their social skills. It also helps those with marginalized identities connect with others and find support. Because of reduced consequence online, anonymity is vital to the experimental, exploratory nature of the web, and without it, the revolutionary potential of the web degenerates into, well, Facebook–a fact well articulated by here by 4chan founder Christopher Poole. But as the internet becomes a place where women are threatened with rape for daring to express their opinion and racism, classism, homophobia and hatred of all sorts is rampant, we can’t let it sit at that. What do we do in the meantime? I’d argue there are two answers, and neither is particularly comforting or easy. If the internet is full of hate of various forms, it’s not simply because it encourages the bad, but that it’s given a voice to sentiments and thoughts that were already there. Because the distribution of information has become decentralized and open, distasteful things you used to hear on the subway now appear in comment sections. That means that the long term approach to the problems of the web is unfortunately similar to broad social issues: an ongoing, ever-increasing emphasis on social justice. The web didn’t create social discord, but it has accelerated the speed with which we must react, and if anything, the policing effects of “political correctness” must be ramped up, not chipped away at. The shorter-term response, however, is to find web-based solutions for web problems. And it’s here that management of online comment sections becomes central. As long-time blogger Anil Dash so succinctly put it, if your website is full of assholes, it’s your fault. Just as we have developed numerous policies to facilitate physical behaviour, we must do the same online: namely, have humans moderate comment sections; have persistent, accountable, if pseudonymic identities; and clearly mark out policies of what is and is not acceptable. Most of all, however, we need to accept that we cannot force the web to return to a past that never existed. The internet was never physical space, and it will never be a place that can or even should conform to the rules of the physical world. Certainly, that leaves us in scary, uncharted waters, and we must work to protect the vulnerable. But if the web is to be something truly new–a space in which people can embrace the multiplicity and fluidity that online interaction allows–it must be treated as such, anonymous warts and all. __ Navneet Alang is the Toronto Standard Tech Critic.