2B
Magazine Editor:
Ian DIllingham
Deputy Editor:
Natalie Gadbois
Design Editor:
Jake Wellins
Photo Editor:
Luna Anna Archey
Creative Director:
Cheryll Victuelles
Editor in Chief:
Jennifer Calfas
Managing Editor:
Lev Facher
Copy Editors:
Hannah Bates
Laura Schinagle
Emma Sutherland
THE statement
“I feel like (my family members) would judge me
or look at me differently (if they knew). Like ‘Hey
mom, what’s going on? Is it OK if we talk about sex?’ I
would probably go to someone else … We had the sex
talk, but I wasn’t actually having sex at that point so it
wasn’t relevant to me, I guess. Now that I’m actually
participating I don’t really want to talk about it. ”
– BRITTANY SIMMONS, LSA Sophomore
Wednesday, December 9, 2015 // The Statement
Hate in the time of Facebook
B Y N A B E E L C H O L L A M PAT
LUNA ANNA ARCHEY/DAILY
THOUGHT BUBBLE
COVER BY LUNA ARCHEY
THE ‘TALK’
I
sit there, waiting. An all-too familiar feeling
is coursing through my blood, and my head
is in my homework but my heart is here, on
my computer. I close some tabs here and there,
but reopen them every once in a while, hoping for
the name. I’m biting my nails, making jokes with
my roommates in the meantime, getting up for a
glass of water, and then I see it.
Suspect identified.
I’m hoping, praying for the wrong thing,
misguided in my desires, but it’s all for naught.
The name is Muslim-sounding. And my heart,
heavy and lonely and full of anger and grief and
all the weight of my skin color and first name
and religion, sinks.
How sad is it that, mere minutes after the
shooting in San Bernardino was reported and I
texted my friend in Riverside, my next thought
was of fear? All the way in Michigan, I was
scared. Of the shooter being Muslim. Of people
sitting there chomping at the bit for a suspect
name, perversely waiting for it to be foreign,
for it to be Arab, for the skin to be brown and
the beard to be long. Of the tide of Muslim-hate
growing, as it has for a while now. And I, just as
guilty of completely forgetting the victims and
their families, turned masochist. I went online.
The Internet is the world’s most lawless play-
ground. For all that it provides, it coaxes out the
worst in people, and it’s hard to turn away. Yes,
I’ve seen all the thinkpieces detailing, in great
and unnecessary length, why Muslims are good
and “to not let the actions of a few define a whole
group of people.” I’ve seen this so much that it
starts to annoy me. Instead, I spend much of my
time on the Internet reading comments about
Muslims from random people on Facebook.
The comments are disgusting, vile and some of
the worst things you can find online. For each
comment I read, each tweet I pore over, each
personally recorded YouTube video of a guy in
his room explaining how we should deal with
the Muslim problem, I am baffled. I know it’s
stupid, but I can’t stop. I’ll find a particularly
nasty one, click on the profile and stalk the shit
out of them.
How are people this horrible? How can they
feel this way? What traumatic event in their
lives made them so hateful? How many Mus-
lims do they actually, personally know? Behind
the screen, we are anonymous. Sure, our names
are there, along with our hometowns and pro-
file pictures and favorite movies. But that’s not
really us. That’s not a corporal being that we
can see or hear. And for the perpetrator, there is
no recipient for his hate. There is no one hurt-
ing, crying, humiliated — at least not that he can
see.
Before the Internet, I couldn’t do this. I
couldn’t have the new “Batman v. Superman”
trailer open in one tab and some racist douche
from Arkansas’ Facebook profile open in the
next. Before, I would not have been aware of
such existences. But now, I know exactly who
hates me. I am no longer in the dark.