Comments
MY P.O.V. - I’ve spent my entire career in politics. As a Democratic consultant based in Los Angeles, I’ve worked on campaigns across the country—some inspiring, others bruising. I’ve seen how civic engagement can bring out the best in people. But in recent years, I’ve also seen how our digital platforms are bringing out the very worst.
One morning, after a particularly heated campaign, I found swastikas carved into the side of my car. I’d received anonymous threats before—emails, social media messages, burner accounts spewing hate—but this was different. This was real. Tangible. My wife and I had to explain to our four children why someone would do something like that. We had to pretend we weren’t scared. We had to hope it wouldn’t escalate.
That wasn’t politics. That was terrorism. And it was fueled by the toxic anonymity of the internet.
I’m not the only one.
In 2022, NPR reporter Odette Yousef, who covers extremism, was targeted by an anonymous white nationalist network that posted her photo online alongside calls for violence. Arizona’s Secretary of State at the time, Katie Hobbs, had to be placed under protection after receiving a flood of anonymous threats tied to election disinformation. In Michigan, a group of men radicalized in online forums plotted to kidnap Governor Gretchen Whitmer. Even low-profile school board members across the country have faced coordinated campaigns of online harassment that quickly spilled offline—into threats, stalking, and confrontations outside their homes.
This isn’t free speech. This is stochastic terrorism—the incitement of violence through mass, anonymous provocation, where the instigators rarely face consequences.
In the American town square, we’ve always believed in the power of speech—but we’ve also believed in accountability. We accept that if you say something dangerous or defamatory in public, you’re responsible for the consequences. But in the digital age, the town square has been overrun by masked figures—anonymous users hurling hate, threats, and lies with impunity.
The internet promised us global connection and open discourse. But it has enabled something else: a culture in which anyone can be dehumanized, doxed, and targeted by strangers they’ll never see—people who never use their real names.
And when that hate is supercharged by algorithmic recommendation engines designed to maximize engagement at all costs, it spreads like wildfire.
In 2022, a white supremacist walked into a supermarket in Buffalo and murdered ten Black Americans in a racist mass shooting. He posted a 180-page manifesto on 4chan and Discord—anonymous forums steeped in bigotry, memes, and glorified violence. He cited the “Great Replacement” theory, a white nationalist conspiracy that metastasized online long before it made its way into a rifle barrel.
He wasn’t the first. The Christchurch mosque shooter in New Zealand, the Tree of Life synagogue gunman in Pittsburgh, the El Paso Walmart attacker—all shared the same digital lineage: radicalized in online echo chambers that thrive on anonymity and algorithmic amplification.
This is not just an online problem. It’s a national crisis. A threat to our public safety, our civil discourse, and the very foundation of our democracy.
The platforms are not neutral actors in this. They’ve built business models that reward outrage. They’ve engineered algorithms to prioritize content that gets clicks—and nothing drives clicks like conflict. Rage becomes revenue. Anonymity becomes armor.
And the real-world consequences are staggering.
Imagine walking into a PTA meeting and shouting racial slurs or rape threats. You’d be escorted out, if not arrested. But online, that kind of behavior happens every minute—with no accountability. Teachers, journalists, healthcare workers, election officials, and teenagers are all vulnerable to anonymous abuse from strangers who may never be identified.
Anonymity doesn’t just embolden political harassment—it drives the epidemic of online bullying that’s tormenting teenagers across America. When cruelty has no consequences, it becomes culture.
Let’s be clear: the First Amendment protects you from government censorship. It does not guarantee you the right to threaten people from a fake account while a multibillion-dollar company gives you a megaphone.
Defenders of online anonymity often cite noble exceptions—whistleblowers, dissidents, marginalized voices. These cases matter and deserve protection. But they are exceptions, not the rule. And they shouldn’t be the shield behind which thousands of trolls wage digital warfare on democracy.
We need a new social contract for the digital age—one that affirms freedom of expression, but not freedom from responsibility. Here’s where we can start:
- Require identity verification on large social platforms. Users can still use pseudonyms publicly, but platforms should verify real identities on the back end.
- Provide carve-outs for legitimate exceptions—whistleblowers, political dissidents, abuse survivors—through a vetted process.
- Mandate algorithmic transparency, and prohibit platforms from recommending content flagged for hate, harassment, or violent extremism.
- Hold companies liable when they knowingly host and amplify threats that lead to real-world harm.
This isn’t about silencing anyone. It’s about protecting everyone. It’s about making the internet safer for kids, for journalists, for voters, for public servants—and yes, for people like me, who enter public life knowing the risks, but never agreed to become collateral in a digital free-for-all.
Democracy depends on disagreement. But it also depends on accountability, trust, and a shared sense of reality. Right now, online anonymity is undermining all three.
When the loudest voices face no consequences and the most thoughtful ones log off in fear or exhaustion, we are left with a digital public square that repels the very people democracy needs most.
It’s time to turn the lights on. It’s time to remove the mask.
(John Shallman is an award-winning political media consultant, crisis management expert, and President of Shallman Communications in Los Angeles. He has advised presidential, gubernatorial, and local campaigns nationwide. In addition to his work in politics, Shallman is the author of the national best-selling book Return from Siberia, a memoir blending history and personal discovery. His insights on strategy and storytelling continue to shape public opinion across platforms. Learn more at www.shallmancommunications.com.)
