With every passing year and each new online trend, the perceived gap between what we do on the internet and its real-world consequences grows ever larger. All the while our sense of self gets even more intertwined with our online identities. It is so easy to feel invincible from the comfort of our own homes, sitting in front of keyboards or holding game console controllers. And though the real-life violence instigated by a particular online criminal in this week's Classic is rare, it's an example of just how wide the gap can be between who we are online and what happens in real life. In Brendan I. Koerner's 2018 feature "It Started as an Online Gaming Prank. Then It Turned Deadly," a young man entrenched in an angry corner of online gaming directly causes the death of an innocent father of two in Wichita, Kansas. Koerner tells the story of how Andy Finch died at the hands of the police and as a result of swatting, the act of calling in false threats with the aim of unleashing a heavy police or SWAT response, usually in retaliation against an online enemy. Finch was not the intended target, and he was not supposed to die.
One of the central questions in Koerner's piece is the division of blame between the actors involved in the swatting and the police officer who should have never pulled the trigger. During his reporting, Koerner got to know Tyler Barriss, the man behind the call that led to Finch's death, as well as a string of many other swatting cases. Barriss never accepted responsibility and displayed little remorse, choosing to believe that what he did from behind a screen thousands of miles away was at most "connected to this incident" rather than the direct cause of it. Koerner's piece is great not just because he weaves a captivating story and artfully captures the devastation within Finch's family and the Wichita community but also because it, like so many great WIRED features, serves as a window into a less understood online space.
Later, when talking about his efforts to get to know Barriss for this feature, Koener explains that sharing the experiences of people like Barriss, those society has deemed irredeemable, forces us to "ponder fundamental questions about our obligations to one another. Only by peering into the abyss of human malice can we divine how best to help those struggling with their demons, how we can muster the strength to forgive even the truly lost, how we can grapple with our own dark impulses." Even though it's open to interpretation whether the ultimate villain of the story is Barriss or Justin Rapp, the officer who shot Finch, the piece makes clear how quickly devastation can be wrought from dark, often fleeting impulses. Though it doesn't usually result in death, internet-based malfeasance results in dire consequences all the time. Can you think of an example of when an online action led to terrible repercussions in the real world—and who do you think should be held accountable? I'm interested in how examples like this help us understand "human malice" or even our own "fleeting impulses." Share stories below the article or write to me at samantha_spengler@wired.com.
See you next Saturday!
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حبيبي ليس يعدله حبيب *** ولا لسواه في قلبي نصيب حبيب غاب عن بصري وسمعي *** ولكن في فؤادي ما يغيب يا حبيب ...
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