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The observer | wednesday, march 24, 2021 | ndsmcobserver.com
QAnon and you(anon) Ellie Konfrst Butterfly Effects
Alright, I’ll admit it. In the heat of the lockdown summer, around June of last year, I found myself down a rabbit hole of conspiracy theories. I was consuming heaps of media centered around conspiracies, from binging The X-Files to spending sweltering afternoons watching “documentaries” on The History Channel with my dad. I found learning about conspiracy theories to be an entertaining way to distract myself from the real world, but it’s not like I was really buying anything. (Well, except for Fox Mulder’s insistence that maybe aliens are real - but that’s a topic for another time). Unfortunately, as the heat of summer faded into the first chill of fall, learning about conspiracies became a lot less fun. In the run-up to the 2020 election, it seemed every American who considered themselves well-informed wound up reading articles titled something like “QAnon, explained.” If you somehow haven’t, I’ll give a quick summary. QAnon is a conspiracy theory, originating in the far-right corners of the internet, based on the idea that there is a group of Democratic Satanist elites running a child sex trafficking ring, who also control American politics and media. It is also deeply intertwined with the Trump presidency — QAnon believers contend that President Trump was recruited by military officials to break up this group of elites. The theory originated in October 2017, when a 4chan poster who called themselves Q posted the first claims about the cabal. It should go without saying, but there is no evidence that any of QAnon’s central beliefs are true, and many of its theories have been repeatedly debunked. Yet, the resilience of QAnon believers is kind of astonishing — many of Q’s predictions have very publicly failed to come true, the most recent example being the successful inauguration of President Biden in January. Yet, the conspiracy is extraordinarily malleable, and while some believers gave up after Trump left office, many seem willing to follow Q anywhere, including to Trump’s second inauguration on March 4 ... no, March 20 ... no, wait …
For a long time, it was easy to brush QAnon off as a fringe, harmless conspiracy theory, finding company among the flat-earthers and moon landing truthers. Yet, QAnon is no longer fringe, and it’s certainly no longer harmless. A December poll found that 17% of Americans wholeheartedly believe the core tenets of QAnon, with another 37% saying they are not sure whether they are true. Further, law enforcement officials found that belief in QAnon was a common thread among those who stormed the U.S. Capitol on January 6. Still, it’s easy to feel like QAnon is a far-off, distant threat. Sure, your crazy uncle Steve had some weird takes on George Soros at Thanksgiving, and you’ve seen some distant relatives sharing Marjorie Taylor-Greene’s Facebook posts, but your close family and friends don’t buy into any of it. And there’s absolutely no way you’ve played a role in spreading QAnon-adjacent misinformation — right? That’s actually a harder question to answer than you might think. While you’re probably not accidentally sharing information coming directly from Q, QAnon is a “big tent” conspiracy theory, meaning it encompasses a wide variety of other conspiracy theories as proof of the existence of a Deep State. There are detailed, extensive maps laying out the massive web of QAnon beliefs, and the ideas that are included might surprise you. Some are seemingly innocuous social media campaigns, like #SaveOurChildren (easily confused with the actual NGO, Save The Children), that spread easily because of their broad appeal — who doesn’t want to end child sex trafficking? Some seem completely unrelated, the type of thing you would expect to see on The History Channel — Atlantis, the JFK assassination, UFOs. QAnon feeds off misinformation spread widely across the internet, even onto platforms many would consider “safe.” It’s easy to believe that wild conspiracies are being spread on 4chan — I mean, it’s 4chan — but TikTok? That kids’ app everyone downloaded when we were all stuck at home? Yeah, they removed 400,000 videos in the second half of 2020 due to misinformation. I’ve heard lots of close friends and family write off QAnon believers as “wackos,” then innocently ask me if I’ve heard about that Wayfair thing. People who liked TikToks that were tagged #SaveOurChildren are clearly not the same as those who stormed the Capitol, but the latter
were probably, at some point, the former. The dismissive discourse around QAnon is key to allowing it to continue to grow, and its nature is twofold. First, there’s the aforementioned notion that you, a sane person, could not possibly fall down the QAnon rabbit hole. The second is reliant on the first, but more sinister: since you would never believe conspiracy theories, the people who do must be completely unhinged — there’s nothing we can do. Many psychologists see the rise of QAnon as symptomatic of larger cultural and political issues plaguing the United States: increasing community isolation, rising mistrust in government and media, and feelings of helplessness, triggered by increasing inequality. Conspiracy theories, especially broad ones like QAnon that seek to explain systematic issues, provide simple explanations for complicated problems — it’s unsurprising that as the world becomes more complex, people become more desperate for simple explanations. Of course, the explanation of their beliefs does not excuse them — QAnon is deeply rooted in white supremacy, antiSemitism and a melting pot of other violent ideologies. And there are many people who believe in ending child sex trafficking but never spiral toward belief in a Satanist cabal of political elites. Yet, for those who recognize the reality of the threat posed by QAnon, it is vital to avoid the trap of complacency. QAnon is dangerous because of its accessibility, and everyone needs to be more vigilant toward misinformation and structures that make people more likely to fall down that rabbit hole. That doesn’t mean stop watching “documentaries” on The History Channel (I certainly will not), just do your due diligence before preaching to your friends about the Illuminati. Ellie Konfrst is a junior majoring in political science, with minors in the Hesburgh Program for Public Service and civil & human rights. Originally from Des Moines, Iowa, she’s excited that people will finally be forced to listen to all of her extremely good takes. She can be reached at egloverk@nd.edu or @elliekonfrst13 on Twitter. The views expressed in this column are those of the authors and not necessarily those of The Observer.
LETTER TO THE EDITOR
Remember the names, not the stereotypes Growing up, I dreaded the first day of school because it meant the teacher would have to say my name aloud for attendance, butcher the pronunciation, and all of my classmates would laugh at the terrible way it was pronounced. Did I ever want to change my name? Sure, there were many times. Like that one time when it became a running joke in elementary school to say that I was “so mean.” Or that one time in middle school when someone constantly called me “salmon.” And that one time in college that a professor mispronounced my name as “semen.” Small victories were celebrated when someone could get my name right in the first try, and I’m not trying to say that the people who mispronounced my name or made fun of it were terrible people. Everyone is capable of making mistakes, so I don’t blame them. I just started to hate my name more and more. But then I go back to thinking about why I was given my name. When I was born my mom wanted to give me a “normal English name” because she was afraid that my name would be made fun of. She had her own experience of her classmates making fun of her Korean name and didn’t want her children to experience the shame that she felt. However, my dad was adamant that I would use my Korean name as my English name because he was confident that I would grow up to be a strong, confident Korean American woman who would be able to stand up for herself and wouldn’t be looked down upon by others. My dad was right. I am proud to be a strong, confident Korean American woman, part of the Asian American community that is composed of so many other Asian Americans like me who too are strong, confident and proud to be who they are and where their families come from. Some of these Asian Americans were brutally murdered March 16 in metro Atlanta, by a white gunman, after he
dropped by three different spas in the area to commit the heinous murders. These murders are an addition to the senseless violence and hatred against the Asian American community that has been on the rise since the start of the pandemic. According to Stop AAPI Hate, a non-profit organization that tracks incidents of hate and discrimination against the Asian American and Pacific Islander (AAPI) community, from March 19, 2020, to February 28, 2021, there were almost 3,800 reported hate incidents against Asian Americans nationwide — which is only a fraction of incidents that actually occur. It is devastating to see just how often there are reports of a 75-year-old Chinese grandmother fighting back against her attacker after she was brutally beaten in the face in the stress of San Francisco or of a 36-year-old Asian man being stabbed in the back on a street in New York’s Chinatown. All Asians, no matter what age or gender they are, are becoming victims of violence and hatred in our society, and no one should have to bear the burden of living in fear due to their identity. The rise of hate crimes against the AAPI community has given the opportunity for strong Asian Americans to stand up for their community and advocate for change to happen. Often, the Asian American community feels like they are meant to be invisible from society due to the constant pressure of having to be as successful as the model minority myth paints Asians to be. Yet, the community refuses to be invisible this time around, as Asian Americans all across the country are joined by others who are willing to show their solidarity, in hopes of condemning racism and promoting societal changes that are inclusive and welcoming for all. My name defines the strength that moves me forward with my life, and I am taking that strength to join other strong Asian Americans who are advocating for the safety,
protection and acceptance of the AAPI community. Meaningful change goes beyond just posting something on your Instagram story that disappears in 24 hours or posting a picture with a hashtag. Change begins within the self, by recognizing the hidden biases and stereotypical views of people that we carry. We need to make a valiant effort to change the biased views we hold and to transform the rhetoric and culture that often coalesce into violence and hatred against specific groups, as has become especially evident during this pandemic. Among those killed, there were women who were fearless mothers, wives, sisters, aunts and daughters. These are their names: Delaina Ashley Yaun, 33; Xiaojie Tan, 49; Daoyou Feng, 44; Soon Chung Park, 74; Hyun Jung Grant, 51; Sun Cha Kim, 69; Yong Ae Yue, 63. Remember their names and their stories. Remember that many of these women were Asian Americans, the same community that is in need of solidarity and support. Our society needs to end the perpetuating patterns of tragedy and violence, and this starts with us standing up against hate. Here are some resources on how to be an ally with the AAPI community and stop anti-Asian violence: “Violence Against Asian-Americans Isn’t New, but It Is Growing” by The Amber Ruffin Show on YouTube; “The Making of Asian America: A History” by Erika Lee; “Yellow: Race in America beyond Black and White” by Franklin Wu; Stop AAPI Hate; Asian Americans Advancing Justice; Send Chinatown Love; Asian Mental Health Collective. Somin Jo senior March 22
