The only biographical information I found on Griot was on his or her user page, which was sketchy at best. Griot claimed to be a college professor and a record shop owner who was born and raised in San Francisco "in the Western Addition, to be exact" — and still lives here. Of course, it's difficult for another Wikipedian (or a reporter) to independently verify whether Griot is actually a record-shop-owning professor — or, for that matter, whether Griot is a man or a woman, Republican or Democrat (it's doubtful Griot is a Green Party member, considering his antipathy for Nader), and what other agendas may be at play while editing Wikipedia entries. For me, there was the practical concern of how I could track down Griot for an interview — a real in-person one, not an e-mail exchange — without a real name.
The best way to contact Griot was by writing a message on his Wikipedia user page. So that's what I did. I waited for a couple of days, but heard nothing. Then I sent a follow-up. Still nothing.
Author Andrew Keen says online anonymity "lends itself to dishonest people."
Griot battled one Wikipedia rival over former Supervisor Matt Gonzalez' entry.
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For centuries, West African history has told of griots — those who have bestowed wisdom to the masses and fulfilled the crucial role of sharing village histories, usually through song. Griots do more than tell tales: They have created oral histories. They are truth-tellers. The Griot on Wikipedia, though, seemed more of a shit-talker than a truth-teller.
"Be warned," Griot's user page read when I checked it out last month. "It has been said that I have a 'Dick Cheney approach to personal politics' , that I'm a 'hysterically paranoid info-deleter,' and that I 'use dirty tricks and corporate-style high jinks on Wikipedia to abuse independent artists' ." (This user page has since been altered.)
Andrew Keen, author of The Cult of the Amateur: How Today's Internet Is Killing Our Culture, finds the anonymous nature of the wiki world one of its most troubling aspects, and feels that "it lends itself to dishonest people." He has a point.
There is the infamous story of the once-prominent Wikipedian known as Essjay, a man who was believed to be a tenured professor of religion at a private university — one holding a Ph.D. in theology and a degree in canon law — who reportedly had written or contributed to 16,000 entries. After Essjay was featured in a July 31, 2006, article in The New Yorker titled "Know It All: Can Wiki-pedia conquer expertise?" he was unmasked as 24-year-old Ryan Jordan, who was not a professor and held no advanced degrees. "He was willing to describe his work as a Wiki-pedia administrator but would not identify himself other than by confirming the biographical details that appeared on his user page," the editor's note appended to the article reads.
The Essjay fiasco illustrated the limits of Wikipedia's editorial transparency. While everyone who reads an entry can click through to its editing history, as well as to any accompanying debates about changes and additions, you often still have no idea who the real-life editor is. How can you consider the source when you don't know who the source is?
Some Wikipedians do use their full names. Michael C. Berch, a 51-year-old Bay Area user and volunteer administrator who helps monitor the Wiki world, goes by "MCB," and lists plenty of biographical information on his user page. He said he understands why some users choose to be anonymous, but also voiced concerns about the "burden of anonymous editing." Berch, who called the Essjay saga a "great embarrassment," added that there isn't the same level of accountability when people don't sign their real names.
Another danger that any casual Wiki-pedia reader may notice: Some people seem more emboldened to act like assholes when cloaked by pseudonyms and online anonymity. Griot seemed to be a case in point.
Anyone with Internet access can edit Wikipedia, and the site's project introduction page speaks of the wonderful aspects of such a democratic pro-ject: openness, inclusion, and contributing knowledge as you see fit in a collaborative way. Champions of Wikipedia often invoke what's known as the "wisdom of crowds," or the idea that "the many are smarter than the few," as a 2004 book by James Surowiecki on the subject put it.
It's a noble principle. Unfortunately, the wise online masses too often erupt into vitriolic and wordy warfare in need of crowd control. Edit wars are a common manifestation of the crowds getting unruly.
Many an edit war may seem like a fight over nothing to the casual observer, but considering that according to its staff, the popular, multilingual Web site gets about 7 billion views per month, stakes can be high. An edit yields what millions of people read on the site on any particular topic. (That is, until another user dives in to make additional changes.)
Of course, some predictably controversial entries inspire frequent warring — the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, for example, not to mention the entry titled "Armenian Genocide," or the biographical entry of George W. Bush. But arguments can also break out over much more obscure matters, such as whether Nancy Reagan alienated herself from the general public with her expensive taste in clothes as well as her White House fine china collection. And then it seems some edit wars are waged out of sheer personal spite.
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