Just in case coming back from Thanksgiving to finals wasn’t enough, you will be happy to know construction is taking the Bryan Center Plaza away for two years. Luckily, Duke was kind enough to wait until we were all gone before instating a slat of plywood more fearsome than the Berlin Wall to separate us from our favorite place to chill and eat by those misters that make the Plaza feel like Jurassic Park.
As we wave goodbye to the skateboarders constantly eating s--- and the incessant “awareness raising” from the Plaza hippies, we can also bid adieu to my publicized babbling. Yes, Mean Boy is coming to an end. So now I’m supposed to attach some meaningful statement to my last article. Here goes nothing.
I did not choose to be Monday, Monday. I didn’t even apply at first. Rather, I was approached—an engineer who barely scraped through Writing 101—because I go on funny rants when I’m drunk. When I applied and took the position, I had no idea what I was getting myself into. After writing my first few articles, I quickly learned how harsh anonymous commentators can be online. Every style I tried was condemned. I was either too mean or not mean enough. I didn’t make a clear point, or my point was too specific. With anonymous commentators complaining about an anonymous writer, both were simply hurling stones and insults from the shadows. It was easy to be mean behind a screen.
I was bitter about my critics throughout most of the semester until one sobering moment. While on a road trip with a friend, I decided to tell him I was Monday, Monday. After a few seconds of disbelief followed by laughter, he told me he had been one of my harshest online critics. We proceeded to talk about the differences in our opinions, and he offered constructive criticism for my writing, which I gladly accepted. It didn’t matter if he didn’t think my writing was spectacular, because he was giving his opinion as I gave mine. As we laughed about the anonymous disagreement that now seemed so useless, the major issue at Duke I’ve wanted to tackle all semester became even more clear.
We are all mean, especially when we are anonymous. Not just when we’re posting online, but also when people are not aware of what you are saying about them. We have all talked behind someone’s back, made a mean joke at someone’s expense or even made a bitchy tweet every now and then. It’s easy to berate someone when they don’t know you’re the one doing it. People commit such secret treasons all the time—I know, because I based my writing on it. To write most of my articles, I would simply sit on the Plaza and eavesdrop on actual conversations for ideas. Many of the things I wrote came straight from the mouths of other Duke students. I wasn’t writing sheer ludicrous opinions. I wrote from the mean side in all of us.
Monday, Monday is not an anonymous position. For a majority of the semester, no one has any idea who you are. But the scary part of being Monday, Monday is writing article after article, knowing whomever you criticize will eventually know your name—and likely think negatively of you. When I release my name as Monday, Monday, I take personal credit for not just the character I spent a semester creating, but also all the offense associated with it.
I wrote for four months and will be judged for the persona I created. Four months of being mean. Looking back, there were definitely some things I wouldn’t want attached to my name. But that was my writing, and I need to take credit for it, just as we all should take credit for what we say.
I applaud the Chronicle columnists who put their opinions out for the entire campus and attach their names to their writing. They put their thoughts on paper and have subjected themselves to the judgment of the entire student body, not to mention an onslaught of anonymous critics searching for a reason to tear them apart. As someone who has been one of those writers, it is terrifying to know people on this campus have opinions about you—many negative—and not only can you not address these opinions, but often you have no idea who holds them. You might not agree with what the writer says, but at least you know who you’re arguing with.
As a parting word of wisdom from someone unwise, I pose this question: If you weren’t anonymous, how would you act? Would you berate that girl on an online group discussion board, insult that guy because of who he hung out with or condemn someone because they were better at Quidditch than you? In a moment of catharsis stuck halfway in between a Nicholas Sparks protagonist and a mediocre Jack Johnson song, I realize now how easy it is to dismissively insult someone and not take responsibility for your actions. We can and should critique each other because constructive criticism is the only way people improve.
For my final farewell, I urge all of you to critique something. Write an article review, give an honest opinion or simply tell someone they suck as a person. Be mean, but do it personally. Some might even thank you for the advice.
Keep it mean, but only if you are willing to own up to what you say.
Stay mean, stay classy,
Rob Vogel
Rob Vogel is a Pratt sophomore and an avid believer in bitchy tweets.
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