It was a little after 5 o’clock on Friday evening when I got a call from my father in Paris.
This immediately struck me as odd; it was late for him to be calling. When I picked up the phone, his tone was solemn. He asked if I had been following the news—I hadn’t. As my father began to explain what was happening, my throat tightened, and I felt a surge of panic.
Terrorists had attacked Paris.
There were suicide bombings during a friendly soccer match between France and Germany, a mass shooting at a popular concert venue, and the attacks appeared to be multiplying. I still have trouble remembering what my father said because it all seemed so outrageous. Bombings? A shooting? Multiple shootings? Terrorists? I could barely process any of it.
About an hour later, I was preparing to leave work for the day, when a coworker asked me if I had called my father. I told him we had briefly spoken, and that he was safe. My coworker, who also has loved ones in Paris, seemed shaken up. Given his demeanor, I felt compelled to join the small group that had gathered at his desk to watch a live stream of the events.
I fought back tears while watching hordes of policemen descend upon Paris. I know these streets. As a dual French-American citizen, I grew up between Paris and Los Angeles. The neighborhood where the attacks took place was a neighborhood I frequented when I worked for a Parisian jeweler. Our repairman’s office was located there, in the 10th arrondissement. I could hear the familiar cry of French sirens in the background of the live stream, as reporters estimated the latest death toll.
I called my father again. Fortunately, our home in Paris is located on the other side of the city from the attacks. He promised again that he was safe, and said he had no intention of going anywhere. I was only beginning to grasp the severity of the situation, and had a hard time staying calm. By this time, President François Hollande had closed France’s borders, and in the midst of the chaos, I wondered how long it would be until my father could return to the U.S.
How long was this going to last?
For the next hour, I remained tethered to the screen in front of me. People were leaving the office, but I couldn’t move. Walking away felt irresponsible—even though there was obviously nothing I could do. I messaged all of my Paris-based friends, and constantly refreshed my Facebook notifications in the hopes of seeing another Safety Check. I also opened my laptop to access another live stream from France 24.
As I sat in front of two computers, with my phone in hand, bouncing from one feed to the next, I realized I was looking for answers I wasn’t going to find. No one could tell me why these individuals committed such vicious attacks, or promise me it was going to stop. And after a certain point, I didn’t even know what I was searching for anymore.
Social media occupies a strange position in the realm of current events, especially during acts of terrorism. On one hand, it offers an unfiltered, on-the-ground perspective in real-time. Social media’s value lies in its immediacy and perceived authenticity, so it’s not uncommon for news to break online before hitting major networks. On the other hand, social media is not journalism. And because many of the people engaging on social media are not journalists, they may do so irresponsibly.
In an emergency situation, when emotions are running high, firsthand accounts can be as messy as the scene unfolding. It’s very easy for misinformation to spread. One study revealed that during the 2008 Mumbai attacks, remote terrorists in Pakistan had been surveying the events through live media (including social networks), while delivering strategic commands to those on the ground. The study suggested that any updates regarding the position of law enforcement, for example, could have provided terrorists with information that helped their cause.
This is, in part, how we win the war against online terror: by celebrating the beauty of one of the world’s most magnificent cities—not by sensationalizing the violent acts of a fringe minority.
There is also a war being fought online, as well as off. Terror groups actively use social media to recruit and train members, spread propaganda, and celebrate acts of violence. The Internet is as much their battle ground as the places they terrorize. For sites like Twitter, it’s difficult to say whether removing offensive content does more harm than good: Disrupting a terrorist’s social media presence can work to dilute their audience, but can also impede intelligence efforts. It’s a thorny catch-22.
Terror, by definition, is only powerful so long as it makes people afraid. By the time I left my office, I was scared to take the train home—despite many reports saying there was no known threat to the U.S. at the time. My fear was at least partially fueled by online hysteria: the cacophony of grisly updates and photos streaming out of Paris.
When we feel outrage, we want the world to know our suffering, and mourn with us. But it’s important that we don’t fall on our own swords. By sharing and reposting graphic imagery, we’re allowing our personal indignation become a tool for fear-mongering. Terrorism thrives on media exposure, and of course, a certain degree of coverage is necessary; but the world doesn’t need more gruesome updates to feel anger about the 129 lives lost on Friday. To be clear, I’m not arguing for censorship, but I am imploring people to post mindfully and responsibly.
There is a silver lining to all of this. Posts promoting peace and solidarity spread online as quickly as information about the attacks. I was moved to see Jean Jullien’s illustration combining the Eiffel Tower and a peace sign flood my Instagram feed. My Facebook feed was also full of beautiful photos from friends’ Parisian vacations, and many filtered their profile pictures with an overlay of the French flag. This is, in part, how we win the war against online terror: by celebrating the beauty of one of the world’s most magnificent cities—not by sensationalizing the violent acts of a fringe minority.
ISIS has since claimed responsibility for the attacks, warning Westerners that they were but “the first in the storm.” It added, “Let France and those who walk in its path know that they will remain on the top of the list of targets of the Islamic State.” Such rhetoric is not unfamiliar. Somedescribe this as a common jihadist motto: “We love death more than you love life.”
It’s imperative that we prove them wrong.
Demonstrate that our commitment to life and peace is stronger than their commitment to death and destruction. Preach tolerance. Retweet Rohan Singh Kalsi, the man who welcomed those stranded in the streets of Paris on Friday into Sikh temples. Repost the photo showing people of every creed and color waiting in line to donate blood at Hôpital Saint Louis, among them, a woman dressed in a hijab.
This approach has on-the-ground implications, too. Instead of contributing to the fear and bigotry that incites even more chaos and violence, we can spread messages that celebrate humanity’s better half. In truth, it’s the much bigger half.
