NotHoward – the case against anonymous sniping

As someone who has been cancelled more often than a Sunday Times subscription, you might assume that I’d be waving the flag for anonymous submissions. As someone who’s been turned away by certain publications simply because of who I am and what I apparently represent, it would be perfectly reasonable to imagine me cooking up a pseudonym like “NotHoward”, so glaringly obvious that no-one would ever suspect a thing.

And yet … I’m not a fan. Quite the opposite, in fact.

Last week, in a meeting, I was asked if I could use a fake social media account to follow someone. The shock in the room when I admitted that I didn’t have one was matched only by my own surprise to learn I was the lone holdout. Apparently, everyone else has burner accounts for “research” purposes, or, more honestly, for online lurking without consequence.

Now, I’m not oblivious to the reasoning. In certain situations, when your job might be jeopardised; when personal safety is at stake; or when you’re doing some good old-fashioned sleuthing, anonymity makes sense. I’m not suggesting that war correspondents use their real names on Twitter while embedded in hostile territory.

But anonymity also comes at a cost. A big one.

Take, for example, last week’s SA Jewish Report piece, “Musings of a reluctant community leader”, penned by Anonymous. It took broad swipes at community structures, some fair, others not so much. But here’s the issue, it was written from behind a parapet. What exactly was the writer so afraid of? That the South African Jewish Board of Deputies would drag them to the Equality Court? That the South African Zionist Federation would revoke their Yom Ha’atzmaut invitation? That the chief rabbi would post a YouTube diss track? Or was the true fear being uninvited from Shabbat dinners across greater Glenhazel?

Let’s be honest, this wasn’t Babita Deokaran blowing the whistle on systemic corruption at personal risk. This was lobbing a grenade and ducking for cover.

If I had a dollar for every time someone called me “Humpty Dumpty” from behind the comfort of an anonymous handle, I’d be a dollar millionaire. If I dropped a kilo every time I was called rude names by an unnamed Twitter egg, I’d be modelling for Men’s Health. And yet, I still put my name to what I say. Because for me, it’s not just about having my say, it’s about showing my children that you own your words, even when they cost you.

The truth is, anonymity makes it too easy to be reckless. It’s the online equivalent of scribbling insults on a bathroom wall, satisfying in the moment, but hardly a contribution to the betterment of humanity. We’ve created a culture where people confuse being “brave” with being “faceless”, and where accountability is optional if your handle is “FreedomFighter742”.

Because at the end of the day, anonymous shots don’t change the world. They just make the room noisier. And L-rd knows, we already have enough noise. And if all else fails, maybe I’ll take the coward’s route, hide behind a fake name, and start firing off hot takes as “The Artist Formerly Known as Hirsch”. But something tells me even he wouldn’t stay anonymous for long.