Nina Jankowicz - How to Be A Woman Online: Surviving Abuse and Harassment, and How to Fight Back

To Mom and Dad, for giving me the self-confidence and courage to dress as a bird princess and peck annoying little boys at the first grade Halloween Parade.

It is a bright, cloudless morning as you leave for the office. Youve been working your dream job for over a year, and you are just starting to feel like youre finding your stride: you know your employers priorities, you feel comfortable in your role and your contributions to the organization, and youre not scared to talk about either of them on social media, a necessity for career advancement these days. You keep it real, too, posting the occasional snapshot from your daily life: a picture of your cat, perhaps a shot of your notebook, a pastry, and favorite order at the local coffee shop bathed in golden hour light, the ubiquitous post of every Instagram intellectual.

Youre a few blocks from the metro station, thinking about your to-do list, when you notice a man following you at close range. You nod at him over your shoulder with a tight-lipped smile as he catches your eye. Feeling uneasy, you pick up your pace.

OH, IS THAT HOW IT IS? he shouts as you turn into the metro entrance. ARE YOU TOO GOOD FOR ME OR SOMETHING? BITCH! You try to shake it off as he keeps shouting. You reach the metro turnstile and take a deep breath as you make your way down to the platform. Theres too much going on today to let this guy bother you.

Grabbing a seat on the next train, you settle in with todays newspaper. On the front page is an article in your area of expertise, the Russia-instigated war in Ukraines east. The man next to you reads over your shoulder. I went to Ukraine for a bachelor party once, he laughs, reminiscing and leaning in. Hm, you barely reply, attempting to radiate unapproachability and shifting toward the window. Beautiful women there, the man continues, undeterred. Its a shame about the civil war, but this is probably the first time a young, pretty thing like you is hearing of it, I guess.

You gather your things and leave the car as he continues to mutter obscenities. Taking the steps on the escalator two at a time, you emerge into the daylight, likely looking harried, sweaty, and late, but you just want to put some distance between yourself and the guys you encountered on your commute. Rounding the corner onto your office buildings block, a homeless man stands in an alley with his hand in his pants, pleasuring himself as he leers at you. In front of the entrance to your building, a group of peoplemostly menhave gathered. Against all odds, the man who was following you and your fellow metro rider are there, leading the mob. Their cries pelt you from all angles.

Tick tock! Thats the sound of your biological clock ticking. Better go home and try to make a baby before its too late, sweetheart.

Check out the Adams apple on you! Youre probably a fucking tranny, arent you?

Do you even have tits?

Learn the art of the blow job and make yourself useful for once in your fucking life!

The security guard in the lobby doesnt seem to notice whats going on outside. Passersby keep their focus straight ahead and walk down the street as if nothing is happening. You were simply trying to get to work, and even if this angry crowd disappeared right now, the idea that youd be able to concentrate, to write, to keep your cool in meetings and on phone calls, to banter with colleagues at the water cooler, is inconceivable. You are frozen, panic-stricken, and nauseous. You turn around and text your boss that youll be working from home today.

* * *

The sentiments in the fictional scenario above are from my online admirers. As of this writing, none of them have been removed from the social media networks on which they were shared.

Most thinking, feeling individuals would be appalled to encounter a scene like this on the street. They wouldwe hopeintervene in some way. Theyd offer to walk you into your building, accompany you home, or call the police. Law enforcement might make some arrests, or at the very least disperse the crowd. We expect such intervention in real life.

Online, however, that expectation doesnt exist. This type of abuse is the norm for many women engaged in public discourse, particularly those with marginalized identities. We accept that harassment of women is simply the cost of their social media engagement, or worse, that women are expected to endure harassment and silencing in the name of free speech. It is long past time for that to change.

The first truly disturbing online abuse I received was in November 2018. I had been invited on the PBS Newshour, a no-frills, no-nonsense, nuance-filled nightly news magazine on Americas public broadcaster. It was my third time on the program, and in a six-minute segment, I discussed my analysis of Facebooks ongoing self-regulation efforts. The segment aired on Thanksgiving Day.

The next morning, while nibbling some leftover cornbread, I sat at the kitchen table with my coffee, scrolling through my social media notifications. I had two Facebook messages in my requests folderthe place where notes from users who are not friends go. At 7:36PM on Thanksgiving night, when he might have otherwise been in a tryptophan coma or watching football with his family, a man named Brian located my account and wrote: I just watched your interview on PBS News Hour. I cant even recall what you were speaking of, because you said UM or Uh 16 times. Amazing anyone would interview you I counted them

Another guy, Edward Jr., seemed to have a similarly urgent message. Hello, Ms. Jankowics, he wrote, misspelling my last name, though he ostensibly had it right in front of him as he typed his missive, Hope you had a happy and blessed Thanksgiving. However,however?!I just watched your report on PBS Newshour, and I think I need to tell you I noticed something odd. While I was watching, I noticed the esophageal area of your throat seemed darkened. It may be the lighting, but Ive seen many people in that situation who didnt have that appearance. It may be just your physique. Anyway, I dont mean to offend you in any way I shared the message with some friends, who informed me that scrutinizing womens necks for evidence of an Adams apple is a hobby of transphobic individuals looking for evidence that successful, attractive, headstrong women are secretly transgender.

I have never really been afraid of speaking up around men and boys; as a first grader, I pecked a little boy in the face while dressed up as a bird princess on Halloween. The costume was my own creation, merging the previous years princess outfit with a bright pink bird mask, complete with a six-inch-long beak. Though Ive always remembered that day proudly, likely thanks to my parents bemusement and delight at my behavior, preserved forever on home video, it wasnt the triumphant day I now recall as an adult. My mom recently unearthed my first-grade journal, where that Halloween I wrote: Today I am a bird I am sad peple macke [sic] fun of me.

But I continued to do my best not to let anyone walk all over me. My mom fondly recalls a day more than a decade later when she overheard me on the phone, yelling at the male co-president of my high schools Debate Club for not shouldering his share of the work. I went to a womens collegeBryn Mawr, one of the Seven Sisters, a group of historic womens higher-ed institutionsan environment in which I was told my voice mattered. In my career, Ive been lucky to work alongside inspiring women who have commiserated with and guided me, and to exist in a more equitable world than my mother or grandmothers had access to when they were my age.