The First Amendment, Freedom to Fill: “Hello, my name is ____” 

Aisha Shams ’27

Contributing Writer

After 9/11, the US government launched its Global War on Terrorism. While the main targets of this campaign were Islamic terrorist groups, thousands of Muslims ended up paying the price. Thousands of civilians lost their lives in Afghanistan and Iraq. According to the Washington Post, the social climate following 9/11 events “contributed to some 4.5 million deaths.”

One of the lesser-known facts about this campaign was the bounty programmes the US had with countries like Pakistan. According to Amnesty International, the US government paid large sums of money to authorities in Pakistan and Afghanistan  in exchange for people who were suspected of ties to terrorism. Hundreds of people were kidnapped, held in secret locations, and then handed over to US authorities, often without any substantial proof of their crime.

These bounties even reached millions of dollars. Many of these individuals, whose lives were bought and sold through this system, were held at Guantanamo Bay, the infamous facility where suspected terrorists are imprisoned to this day. Amnesty International has long condemned this site, calling it an emblem of “gross human rights abuses and torture perpetrated by the US government in the name of counterterrorism.” Out of the 780 detainees, only seven were ever convicted (Amnesty International, 2023). 

One of the earliest detainees, Shaker Aamer, was captured in Afghanistan in 2001 while working for a Saudi charity. Shaker was released in 2015, after spending 13 long years in Guantanamo without being charged or tried. His crime? Being a person of colour who identifies with a faith that is synonymous with being labeled as “dangerous” and “problematic” by the great majority. 

Mohammed el Gharani, the youngest inmate held at Guantanamo Bay, was just 14 years old at the time of imprisonment. Despite his age, he had to endure relentless physical and psychological torture. In 2009, after seven years of isolation and confinement, el Gharani was finally released by order of U.S. District Judge Richard J. Leon, who stated that there was neither sufficient nor credible evidence to label him as an enemy combatant.

Can you imagine being just 14 years old and facing accusations of plotting some kind of terrorist attack? He was kidnapped and forcibly separated from his parents. Can you imagine the mental anguish that such an experience can cause, for years to come? In an interview with Al Jazeera following his release, el Gharani said, “I was just waiting for my death any minute, due to the amount of beating and torture.” Cases like this remind us that it’s always the most vulnerable people, especially children, who become casualties in larger conflicts, reduced to mere numbers, statistics and collateral damage.

For people like Aamer and Gharani, speaking up  – uttering a single word, let alone critiquing a country’s foreign policy – is a perilous choice. For them, the U.S. is far from a safe place. It’s not a place where someone can publish their views in a college newspaper under an indisputably Arabic name and not expect severe consequences such as backlash, false accusations, or worse.

For people of colour, Muslims and international students, anonymity is often necessary. Anonymity is crucial, lending them a voice and allowing them to speak out without risking their safety. It’s easy to call for an end to anonymity when you hold a U.S. passport and enjoy the privileges of U.S. citizenship.

Throughout history, authors have written anonymously or under pen names, including women who have had to adopt male pseudonyms just to be taken seriously. Anonymity never diminished the integrity of their work; if anything, it has always amplified it, allowing them to share something important with the world. The act of using pen names is so widespread that even Penelope Featherington adopts one in everyone’s favourite Regency-era show Bridgerton. Despite living in a society where women’s roles are restricted to motherhood and childbearing, Penelope finds a way to rise above her circumstances and earn her own income by writing under the anonym, Lady Whistledown.

Anonymity might seem all cool and aesthetic, it might seem like a “debatable topic,” until it becomes something that is indispensable. Until it needs to be applied to protect people from harassment and threats. While Bridgerton might be making an active effort to represent people from all walks of life and be a champion of diversity, the reality of the 1800s was very different. You would not have found a Kate Sharma or Simon Basset in that era. Places like the subcontinent (today’s Bangladesh, Pakistan and India) were still under occupation – under British colonization – back then. If you weren’t aware, the British East India Company took control of the subcontinent in 1757, eventually transferring power to the British Crown, and it wasn’t until 1947 that any semblance of independence began to emerge.

In reality, if Penelope hadn’t been an affluent white woman, she could have faced disastrous consequences after her identity was revealed. What I’m trying to say is, sometimes, your identity, skin colour or name can become a political statement in itself. 

If you are someone who fits the mold of the typical, digestible citizen, you may find things working in your favour even when openly protesting against traditional systems and structures. It is indeed a luxury, afforded to few and not on the market for purchase, to speak without fear of consequence. For those on the other side of the coin, the repercussions of this same situation can be dire.

 Anonymity allows people to fully express themselves without fear of retribution, a right safeguarded by the First Amendment of the U.S. Constitution for citizens and non-citizens alike. Anonymity doesn’t restrict journalistic integrity. Instead, it ensures even the most marginalized voice is heard in a world that otherwise prefers impoverished populations to swallow their words for breakfast.