I will not engage with anonymous people on the internet.

It pains me to ignore seemingly nice people on The Twitter, or to tell them, “Cough up a name.” This discussion is often limited by the 140-character realm, so let’s take a moment to use grown-up words for clarity.

When I started writing for the Toronto Star, the paper had just enabled online commenting. I would read all the comments, and even take part by responding. Great, I thought, I can engage with readers directly, in a transparent forum where everyone can participate. It sounded democratic.

Sometimes that meant accepting compliments, sometimes insults. Most often it meant reading the same observation; that with all the problems in the world, a reader was upset that this particular article had been written, and had taken the time to say so. There are people who wake up just to write “why is this news?” everywhere they can. 

Having thick skin, I felt, and still feel, is necessary for a restaurant critic or a reporter. But I eventually grew sickened by the cowardly nonsense, false bravado and needless hyperbole that online anonymity breeds.

A conversation over a review of Pizzeria Libretto was the final straw. In my deliberately snooty language (a tone that has gotten only snootier over the past three years), I had written that, despite the authenticity of placing whole olives on a pizza, I preferred them without the pits:

This is not Italy 300 years ago. This is right here on Ossington in Canada, the 21st century. And even though our hands are already floury and oily from this flawless pizza, plucking olive pits from our mouths is an effrontery.

Waking on a Saturday morning, I found these among the online comments: 

Nice article. Although it seems to be composed by someone lacking the finer touches of culinary understanding… The absence of olives with their pits warm, juicy, and to their fullest potential in flavour would be a disgrace to Italians everywhere … Some people might be too accustomed to take out pizza at Pizza Pizza to embrace the more aquired tastes involved at Libretto. 

Its author was identified as DOP. And from someone dubbed eatereater:

it's disappointing to read a review where the reviewer hasn't done the necessary research because it raises questions on how accurate their previous posts are. a quick google would have turned up any number of articles on why olives are served with their pit. a good article is the (overly) long explanation posted on blog.to a few weeks ago when they fawned all over terroni

My response was to follow through by asking the chef what he thought. I then posted this comment:

Everyone is entitled to their opinion. I've already stated mine. But, curious about this difference of views, I contacted Rocco Agostino again. The chef told me that he also does not care for olive pits on pizza. The pits were the insistence of his partner Max Rimaldi, a dispute that Agostino has since won.

Here’s the problem: the due diligence of contacting the chef and waiting for his response took a day. And caring about it took time and attention from my other work. But writing a reactionary opinion online, without thinking about it, takes less than one minute.

It’s not just a matter of a few bad apples. It’s that in our society there is no reason for anonymity, or pseudonymity. More recently I wrote:

Anonymity has a purpose. If you live in a gang-controlled neighbourhood and need to make a tip to Crime Stoppers, or if you live in Iran and want to talk about kissing another boy, hiding your identity is essential. But if you need an anonymous online identity to trash someone's boots or complain that a restaurant served you overcooked fish, you are a coward. I won't engage anyone online who doesn't stand behind a proper name. Sorry, @fundraiser-cupcake-mom, no doubt you're swell.

There are exceptions. I met a teacher who explained that her job precluded the ability to attach her name to her online writing and opinionating. And I sympathize with the many civil servants who have something to say but believe it would put their jobs in peril. But remember two things about the G20 weekend.

Remember the police officers who hid their badge numbers. Remember how that allowed them to break the law, to abuse the civil rights of Torontonians, without punishment. And remember that there were other police officers who were appalled by the behaviour of their incognito colleagues but were unable to say so.

A name is a big deal. It’s accountability. It connects you to family, friends, professional associations. In Tokugawa-era Japan, declaring your name when you met someone meant associating yourself with the status of a clan and caste. In our time, it means people can Google you and find information that amounts to the same.

To me, a name is the minimum ante to open your mouth.

Using that shield of anonymity to agree, disagree or complain that a restaurant server was rude, whether it’s on Chowhound, blogTO or Twitter, is the behaviour of a coward.

If we care to give credence to that level of discourse, we might as well start reading the graffiti on the men’s room wall at Sneaky Dee's.

Editor's note: OpenFile allows readers to post comments under a username, which provides some anonymity, but we require registration on the site with a valid email address.

Blog image by orphanjones via Flickr