Anonymity is a powerful weapon on the Internet. In times where every stray thought can be immortalised online – building a digital image of you – imagine being able to share your darkest ideas with no face attached to be publicly shamed for it.
Sarahah is one such app, borne out of millennials’ seemingly unquenchable thirst for validation. To be fair, I am one such millennial afflicted with this thirst, and I defend it.
Everyone wants to hear nice things about themselves. The premise of the app was simple; anyone with a profile has an open inbox (with a custom url) and people send you messages.
However, there was an additional feature that most people considered a deal breaker – the sender’s identity would remain anonymous.
It Was All Positive, Till It Wasn’t
I joined the app late one night at the silly insistence of a friend, who claimed the messages he received were from old friends and full of nostalgia, inside jokes and general compliments.
I signed up and shared the link on my social media profiles, with self-deprecating comments but excited nevertheless.
It was exhilarating. People sent in lovely messages. Old jokes were referenced. I got lots of love for my cats, and even some hate for, of all things, uneven eyeliner. It was all positive and sunshine and rainbows.
I sent my friends lovely messages too, and for a change, the warmth on my Facebook feed was almost sickening.
Three days later, I received this on Sarahah:
“I’ll rape you and you’ll like it.”
‘Who did I upset?’
It took 20 minutes for me to stop crying in panic that afternoon. I was shattered and scared. My mind didn’t stop obsessing over my recent behaviour online. What did I do to warrant it?
Did I pick a fight with someone on Twitter? Did I disagree with someone on a Facebook post? Who would want to send these horrific words to another human being?
And then followed the even greater disgust at thinking I deserved this in anyway.
Twitter trolls had a field day when I shared a screenshot of this message. I should’ve expected it, they chided me, when I signed up on a platform made for vacuous people.
“You’re far too sensitive,” some mocked me, “it’s just silly words!” I tried to engage with these people and patiently explain my experience, but their nonchalance is another thing I apparently should have expected.
Who writes these rules for women on the internet, I wondered? Is there a code to this?
My parents have begun to call me more frequently. My friends check-in on me more often. The person who sent me this message probably took two minutes to do it.
A simple sentence, attached to nothing, but it has generated a fear that is all consuming. A friend of mine put this collective reaction brutally in perspective - “If it was real threat, it wouldn't be on Sarahah.” I’m sad to say that made me feel better.
Anyway, I deactivated my Sarahah profile. The nasty messages have stopped. So have the nice ones.
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