Alia Dastagir is the author of the new book To Those Who Have Confused You to Be a Person: Words as Violence and Stories of Women's Resistance Online. She is a former reporter for USA Today, and she is an Axinn fellow at New York University.
Q: What inspired you to write To Those Who Have Confused You to Be a Person?
A: Initially, I'm not sure that I was "inspired." I was angry, and I think some part of that anger animated a desire almost to exploit my own pain. I wanted to take the abuse and turn it into something personally productive. I'm glad the book evolved beyond that initial impulse.
Once I started interviewing other women who had suffered violence online, I stopped thinking about the project in personal terms. I was writing for every woman and, frankly, every marginalized person who has been silenced online, who has had to pay an unjust psychological, physical, reputational, economic, or social cost for the right to speak.
I wrote the book because I do not believe we are a better society when women are pushed out of public and civic life, when we have to leave online spaces because they are too harmful or too traumatic. That doesn't lead to the most speech in a society, which is what we should all strive for.
Q: How was the book’s title chosen, and what does it signify for you?
A: I went through many titles. I had another I really liked but I had to scrap it because it ended up being a Taylor Swift song.
I suppose with this title, I was thinking about what I would respond to. The books I tend to pick up often have a title that is strange or mysterious or even a little confusing.
My title is based on the last statement someone made to me online before I began to write the book in earnest. A user had messaged me in response to a story I wrote about online abuse of women journalists, accusing me of being so morally bankrupt that I could not be a person. The grammar is awkward, and it took me a while to understand what the sender was trying to say.
I liked the title because of its relevance to the book's origin story but also because I think it's reflective of a part of the experience of online abuse that's often overlooked.
We're not always receiving rape threats and death threats. Sometimes, it's these quieter, more chilling messages that take up time and mental space, that interrupt our lives in a more complex way.
This person was telling me that because of what I wrote I did not belong in the human community, and it took me time to sit with that. I think the title embodies how dehumanizing and psychologically taxing these attacks can be, even when they aren't profane or explicitly threatening.
Q: How did you find the women whose stories you tell in the book?
A: Some were former sources on stories I had written while at USA Today. I found a number of folks through social media. While public vulnerability around this issue can be risky, there are still a lot of women who share their abuse online and condemn it.
I found feminist comedian Maria DeCotis because she posted unsolicited nude images that a man sent her online.
I found Indigenous activist Marissa Indoe through posts she made on TikTok about the abuse she experienced for calling out the harm of residential schools.
The tradeswoman I interviewed is an acquaintance who had already spoken to me about the misogyny she faces at work and online when she tries to advocate for women in the trades.
I knew I wanted to talk to Taylor Lorenz because she had become the face of this issue for many women journalists.
I knew I wanted to talk to cultural critic Mikki Kendall because of her public disclosures on the issue and because of the nuance she brought to the experiences of women of color online.
Lindsey Boylan, the first woman to publicly accuse former New York Governor Andrew Cuomo of sexual harassment, was also on my list because she was viciously targeted online not by men but by other women, which deserved attention.
I knew I wanted to talk to someone who had run a pro-Amber Heard account during the Johnny Depp and Amber Heard defamation trial, because the coordinated effort to shut Heard supporters down was so vicious and silencing and bodes so badly for the future that it needed a chapter of its own.
Many women were willing to speak on this issue, and I remain grateful to all of them.
Q: The writer Lyz Lenz said of the book, “This book is both a manual and a manifesto for bringing about a better way to exist online.” What do you think of that description, and what do you hope readers take away from the book?
A: I think that description is generous and accurate. When I read it, I felt like she articulated what I was trying to do better than I could.
I hope when a reader finishes the book they are clear on why online abuse cannot and should not be ignored. I want them to feel that their experiences matter, that their pain matters. I want them to know that all the effort they spend trying to cope with these experiences is its own form of injustice.
I want to disabuse them of the idea that violence online is inevitable, that it's a problem that cannot be solved. It can be solved -- with will, with pressure, and by disempowering people who have decided harm online is not a problem worth meaningfully addressing. Ultimately, I want women to read the book and feel seen and valued.
Q: What are you working on now?
A: Mostly, I'm trying to get the word out about the book. I'm trying to find readers who the book will speak to most directly. I'm also trying to figure out how to be a good citizen and an effective journalist in a fraught political moment. Like so many of us, I'm trying to determine how best to use my voice.
Q: Anything else we should know?
A: I remain frustrated, because of time and the book's space constraints, that I couldn’t profile more women. I’m aware that I didn’t capture every experience, and that I certainly didn’t say everything that needed to be said. I hope the book will start new conversations. I hope it’s just a beginning.
--Interview with Deborah Kalb
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