Anna in Istanbul

My dear Maddie recently brought to my attention her concern that I will be censoring my stories in order to protect my squeaky clean image. My first thought was “But Maddie, why would I ever do anything worthy of censorship?” I then proceeded to nurse a sick bird back to health while simultaneously instituting sustainable wind energy in a small Angolan township. The gall of these friends of mine!

I think this is a real tension within modern society–the fear of being constantly published and edited. The opening of the media gives the individual millions of ways to impress and make an ass of oneself with every click. I see my parents and peers constantly reminding me that the Internet never forgets. While I value that advice, I also worry that this constant checking of our personalities separates us even more from our realities. We filter everything about ourselves and what are we left with?

This year I fell victim to internet nervosa thanks to Ahmadinejad and The Chicago Sun-Times. During the Iranian President’s controversial visit to Columbia, I spent the day on the south lawn with my best friends and roughly the entire population of Columbia University and the Upper West Side of Manhattan. Unlike the asinine national media debate, the discourse on Columbia’s campus was amazingly nuanced. Every student dissected, reevaluated, and really pushed their understanding of geopolitics and morality during the lead up to the debate. Unfortunately, sensationalist media politics prevailed.

As my friends were debating the pros and cons of the Ahmadinejad’s visit, the woman squatting in front of us introduced herself as a reporter from the Chicago Sun-Times. Since we were stuck sharing the same patch of grass, we decided to include her in our discussion. All of us were engaged, points and counterpoints, thrusts and parries, no clear answers were found. She asked us for our names–which we gave her thinking “Yes! Finally, someone will see how reasonable this debate can be even on Columbia’s campus!” Alas, it was not to be.

When the published article came out, I was mortified to find myself the subject of this reporter’s blatant editorializing. She misquoted me and then added, “said Anna C-, a 19-year-old with a pierced tongue and strong opinions”. My identity and the worth of my opinions–completely undercut by a reporter’s desire to make me into the stereotypical college liberal (which, I hope you will see as this blog develops, I am not). My identity and my opinions are written off automatically because of a piercing. I was frustrated, not only because of my own visceral reaction to being so brushed off, but for all students who get such short shrift. By including the tidbit about me having a pierced tongue, the reporter completely undermined my credibility as an analytical and believable witness to the event. Now–thanks to the internet–I will forever be viewed as just another product of a “hippie liberal institution”, my opinions completely devoid of legitimacy because of something as stupid as a piercing.I had hoped speaking to the reporter would allow the press to see another side of student life without falling into tried and frustrating stereotypes. I was really looking forward to seeing Columbia students shown for the intelligent and critically thinking individuals I know them to be. I had the misguided belief that opening up to the media would give the world a better view of the academic discourse through which all Columbia students strive to express themselves. Unfortunately, the article fell woefully short.

I ended up writing the reporter, adding at the end “I wish you the best of luck and hope that in the future you will give students the chance to present their intellectual depths without fear of over-simplification”. Parry, thrust, and touché.

Oh and I emailed all of her editors personally

A victim, I am not.

This adventure really made me wary of any type of publicity. I recognized that one day those few words might come back to haunt me. Better to be obscure than misread. And yet, I think since then I’ve come to a new conclusion.

Some of the perks of working with the WMC have been the conversations I’ve been blessed to have with some great thinkers of our time. During a conversation with Gloria Steinem, she gave me some of the best advice I have heard; “Don’t try to be completely understood. You will NEVER be completely understood by anyone else. And if you worry constantly about being understood, you’ll go crazy. Just understand yourself.”

In all honesty, I don’t mind telling anyone stories of my adventures–however sketchy. As any of my friends will tell you, the guiding force in my life is the desire to find bigger and better stories to tell. I come from a long line of story tellers. From my Baba’s lost finger, to my Mum and Dad’s Tanzanian adventures, to my sister’s… entire life. My family loves a story–the more unpredictable the better. In fact, my favorite story of all time (besides the Kaki King story which Maddie knows by heart) is of sleeping in a train station in Belgrade, Serbia with my sister. Every time we would nod off for a second, a sketchy looking man with a beer in one hand and perpetual cigarette in the other would move three seats closer to us. These are the things that make life exciting!

And if they are recorded, well so be it! Anyone–employers or otherwise–who I would want to associate with must embrace the nuanced and unfiltered parts of life. This is not a resume; it’s a travel blog. I aim to inform, not impress.

I will take the advice of Ms. Steinem. I will not try to be understood. I will take over from my story-telling mentors. I will try to be as candid as legally possible. And I will enjoy every minute of it.