Where the Despairing Log On, and Learn Ways to Die

‘They’ll Never Prevail With Censorship’

In December 2019, two months after Daniel’s death, a coroner in England called for a government inquiry after discovering that members of the site had advised a troubled young woman on ending her life. German officials had already begun an investigation, worried about potential harm to children.

And Australia’s eSafety Commission, the nation’s regulator for online safety, had been looking into the site for months, after a father reported that his 22-year-old son had poisoned himself with the preservative.

“We were very concerned about having it out there in the open, what that would mean to potentially thousands of other families who had a vulnerable child or a vulnerable person,” Julie Inman Grant, the eSafety commissioner, said in an interview.

Later, a site member in Leeds, England, would ask in his parting words for the forum to be shut down. “Please do your best in closing that website for anyone else,” Joe Nihill, 23, implored in a suicide note.

Serge and Marquis were determined to protect the site — and themselves.

The two men had taken pains to scrub their personal identifying information from the internet and obscure the names of companies hosting the website, making it difficult for authorities and families of the deceased to take action against them.

As Australia began its investigation, the site was moved to a new server, according to a post by Marquis. And when Australian law enforcement officials tried to contact the site, he later wrote, “We ignored their emails and requests for information.”

In March 2020, after the site was removed from online search results in Germany, the company hosting the site threatened to take it down over its “violation of German law.” Once again, the site was moved.

“We have been planning for the worst for years,” Marquis wrote in November 2020, citing daily server backups and the purchase of alternative domains, “and we are confident even if they coordinated all those takedowns at the same time (which is very unlikely), we could be back online within 24 hours.”

The two took other precautions. Serge warned members they would crack down on anyone publicly sharing personal contact information. He also said they would begin closing the accounts of those who had posted goodbye threads, a step that kept loved ones and law enforcement from gaining access to them later.

“If you’re preparing your departure, please contact a mod so we can help with preparations,” Serge wrote, directing members to moderators.

Concerned about legal liability, Marquis explained, the men were requiring prospective members to tick a box affirming they were 18 or older, though he made clear in a post that the site would not ask for proof.

Links to a suicide hotline and other mental health resources appeared on the site, as did a new public forum focusing on recovery from suicidal thoughts. But Marquis also noted that people who registered only to use the recovery forum “will be denied most likely.”

As several deaths drew scrutiny from news organizations, he claimed that critics wanted “total annihilation of this website,” dismissed coverage as “the usual pro-life BS” and vowed to take “drastic measures” — going to court — to stop efforts to take it down.

“They’ll never prevail with censorship and we will fight every one of their attempts to do so,” Marquis wrote.

His fierce defense drew praise from members. Many said the site was a rare safe space to share their feelings. Some said it had helped them realize they did not want to die.

“People idolized him,” Ms. Davis, the former member, said of Marquis, the more vocal of the two men.

For all the devotion they commanded online, website participants had little idea who Marquis and Serge actually were.

Marquis dropped some hints in his posts. His father had been in the military. He was “about 7-8 years old” on Sept. 11. And he acknowledged his struggles with suicidal thoughts and wrote that he was among those who had been “immensely helped by talking to people on the forum.”

Serge was more private. He didn’t appear to share biographical information and would later remove his posts from the site, essentially erasing his visible connection to it. (The Times viewed screenshots and archived web pages that had captured messages posted by Serge before he deleted them.)

On video chats and other virtual events, neither man showed his face.

But in June 2019, BuzzFeed News reported that in addition to the suicide site, the two men were running the incel websites.

Money didn’t appear to be the motivation. Both men seemed to have found their identity and sense of purpose in the online world of incels, many of whom share a dark outlook known as “black pill.” In 2017, when Reddit had banned an online group of incels for encouraging violence, Serge started an independent site for them, soon joined by Marquis, who had written to him about his interest and skills as a system administrator.

By then, several deadly attacks had been carried out by men expressing grievances common among incels. American authorities would later flag incels as an emerging extremist threat. Radicalization experts warned that some were prone to misogyny, suicide and violence.

On the incel sites that Serge and Marquis run, many members have expressed anger at society; some commend those who commit violence, and fantasize about doing the same. An Ohio man who was a frequent poster on one site was indicted this past July for allegedly plotting to slaughter women. In a podcast interview about incels, Serge said that much of the discussion was “suicide fuel.”

But he and Marquis claimed they were helping those on the sites by allowing them to freely express themselves and face hard truths, a rationale similar to one they have offered about their suicide site.

“If people want to change, if they want self-improvement, basically the whole web is out there to go for that — Reddit, Facebook, Twitter, all the big ones,” Serge said during a virtual panel discussion about incels in January. “But if we are being honest, not everyone has a way out.”

The sites rely on search engines to drive traffic. About half of all visits to the suicide site come that way, according to data from Similarweb.

But when Australian officials asked Google, the dominant business, and Microsoft’s Bing in 2019 to remove the site from their search results, they refused to do so absent a legal requirement.

It was not Google’s role to pass judgment on any sites containing content that was legal, “as objectionable as it might be,” a senior manager told the Australians.

Parents of those who had died would later get a similar answer.

Jess Miers, a legal policy specialist in Google’s Trust and Safety division, responded to a request for help from Kelli Wilson, whose 18-year-old son hanged himself in Texas last year after finding instructions on the site. Ms. Miers told her in a private written exchange that she had spoken with someone running the site — who was using one of Serge’s known aliases — and found him “unhinged.”

In tweets, Ms. Miers acknowledged that the site had moderation problems and that content encouraging suicide slipped through. But she also said that the website and Google were shielded by the First Amendment. (Ms. Miers said in a recent interview that she hadn’t been speaking on behalf of Google.)

Asked about the website, a Google spokeswoman, Lara Levin, said, “This is a deeply painful and challenging issue.”

In a written statement, she said Google tried to help protect vulnerable users, including ensuring that suicide hotlines are visible. But, she said, “we balance these safeguards with our commitment to give people open access to information.”

As for Bing, a Microsoft spokesperson said the company was continually working “to help keep users safe.”

‘Look, Here’s the Crimes Code’

Jackie Bieber went to the district attorney’s office in York County, Pa., in July 2019, pleading with officials to investigate the death of her daughter, Shawn Shatto, two months earlier.

In most states, including Pennsylvania, assisting suicide is a crime. Ms. Bieber shared with prosecutors some exchanges on the suicide site that she thought showed just that activity.

When Ms. Shatto, who suffered from severe social anxiety, depression and other mental health conditions, posted that she wanted to die because she hated her Amazon warehouse job, members offered affirmation.

When she worried that she had screwed up her suicide plans, others assured her she was on track. And when she shared after taking the preservative that she was “terrified,” several wished her success and “safe travels.”

Ms. Bieber, in an interview, recalled identifying the relevant section of the Pennsylvania statute and telling the officials, “‘Look, here’s the Crimes Code.’”

While federal law protects the site operators from being held liable for most content posted by users, the members could be vulnerable to criminal charges.

William Haider, a retired detective in St. Paul, Minn., helped investigate a man convicted in 2011 for assisting in the suicide of someone he had met on a previous suicide website and sent instructions on hanging. “I’m convinced that there are smart people out there wearing a badge that could handle this type of internet crime,” Mr. Haider said in an interview.

But the definition of a crime depends on the jurisdiction. State suicide laws vary. Some specify that assistance must be physical. Only a handful criminalize encouragement.

And the laws haven’t always withstood court scrutiny. In the Minnesota case, the state Supreme Court found that the law was overly broad: While it affirmed that assisting suicide by offering instructions was a crime, the court ruled that prohibiting the encouragement of suicide was an infringement on free speech.

What’s more, police forces and prosecutors are often unaware of the state laws, The Times found. And because suicide is no longer considered a crime, as it was for centuries, they see little reason to investigate it.

“Law enforcement is reflecting societal attitudes,” said Guyora Binder, a law professor at the University at Buffalo, who has written about suicide laws. “We typically see suicide as the unfortunate decision of an individual.”

In Pennsylvania, the local police told Ms. Bieber they didn’t have jurisdiction if the site members who had communicated with her daughter lived out of state. The county prosecutor promised to pursue the case, but two years later, there is no sign that he did.

In Long Beach, Miss., a friend of a 35-year-old man who died from the preservative also sought police help. One site member had offered to advise the man on acquiring the poison discreetly; another exchanged private messages as he was ingesting it.

But Detective Brad Gross, who handled the case, said in an interview that without evidence of physical assistance with the suicide, it wouldn’t be considered criminal behavior. To him, online communication “didn’t feel malicious.”

“It would have been different if it was, ‘Hey look, man, I need you to do this, and hold the pillow,’” he said. “As far as any kind of cybercrime,” he added, “we’re far from equipped to deal with any of that.”

Some law enforcement officials outside the United States have also declined to investigate the operators and members of the site, believing the online activity falls outside their jurisdiction.

Officials in several countries consider the forum an American website. Italian investigators said they concluded that because a site administrator — apparently Marquis, using another of his fake names — provided them with a business address in the United States.

Those factors influenced an investigation in Scotland. Roberta Barbos, a Romanian psychology student at the University of Glasgow, was contacted by a man after she posted a message in November 2019 that she was 22, based in Scotland and looking for a male partner to hold her hand through her suicide.

She and her boyfriend had broken up, and she had sunk into a deep depression, writing, “Sometimes loneliness hurts so much that I can barely hold myself together.” In private messages on the suicide site and later on WhatsApp, a fellow member said he could help.

“I’m based in Glasgow, and have a hell of a lot of experience with hanging … I’d be happy to aid if you want. No pressure, no judgment and at your own pace.”

Ms. Barbos met the man, Craig McInally, at a local cafe. But afterward she cut off communication.

Within weeks, prosecutors in Glasgow contacted her. Mr. McInally had persuaded two other women from the site to meet him, and then had sexually assaulted and tried to hang each of them, court documents say. (Last week, he pleaded guilty to reckless conduct; charges involving the second woman had been dropped after she declined to participate.)

Law enforcement officials, however, were not investigating the site, which a spokeswoman for the Scottish police said was hosted out of its jurisdiction.

Ms. Barbos got pulled deeper into the suicide forum. She was learning more and more about poisoning. And she was getting swept up in private messaging with a member in Bulgaria, who had offered support. “I wish I could’ve felt real affection before doing this,” she told him.

She managed to escape a predator. But she didn’t escape suicide. In February 2020, Ms. Barbos ended her life while messaging with that member on the site.

“It swallowed her,” said her mother, Maria.

‘How Is This Site Still Allowed?’

The Times investigation led to an elegant three-story apartment building in Montevideo, Uruguay, and a modest two-bedroom townhouse in Huntsville, Ala.

The man calling himself Serge is Diego Joaquín Galante; Marquis is Lamarcus Small.

Reporters pieced together their identities and roles with the site from domain registration and financial documents, their online activity, public documents including court records, and interviews with seven people who had interacted with either of them.

The domain and financial records were never intended to become public. They came to light after a domain seller the site operators had used was hacked this fall, resulting in the release of millions of records. In addition, The Times obtained photographs of Mr. Small and Mr. Galante that were a match with Marquis and Serge.

Records show that Mr. Galante, 29, resides in the Montevideo apartment with his family — several siblings, his mother and his father, who is a lawyer. Mr. Small, 28, lives with his mother and brother in the townhouse.

Mr. Small’s family life has been tumultuous. His father, who has served as an Army officer, and his mother divorced. She was accused of attacking her husband in 2010, and then her adult daughter four years later, according to police complaints.

Mr. Small had his own troubles. In 2017, a bank sued him for $6,578, and wages from his remote work for a Colorado tech company were garnished until that job ended in 2019.

In two recent phone interviews, Mr. Small said that he did not know how his credit card number, name, address and phone number had appeared on an invoice for the suicide website domain name. He suggested first that the information might have been stolen, then that his brother, whose name appears on several documents, might have made the purchase.

Mr. Small did not respond to subsequent phone calls, texts, emails and a letter delivered to his townhouse. Despite similar efforts by The Times to contact his brother, he did not respond.

Mr. Galante, when reached by phone, initially said he knew nothing about the suicide website and hung up. Days later, after receiving a letter from The Times, he acknowledged in an email that he had posted on the site as Serge, but he denied that he was a founder or operator of it.

Records show that Marquis described him as a co-founder of the site and often mentioned in posts that the two had conferred on rules and practices. Serge’s own posts identified him as an administrator.

In his email to The Times, Mr. Galante defended the site as a positive influence that improved the lives of some members. But, he said, “I am deeply sorry that there are people who decide to end their life.” He noted that the suicide wiki page has been taken down. The extensive information about methods remains, however.

Sharon Luft, Matthew’s mother, and other parents want more.

“I’m talking to moms that their kids are dying, they’re so frustrated,” Ms. Luft said in an interview. And friends ask, “‘How is this site still allowed?’”

In January, Robert Davis, a senior vice president at Epik, the domain seller that was later hacked, read Ms. Luft’s tweet pleading for help.

Concerned, he had several phone conversations with someone he identified as “the site owner.” In an email to The Times, Mr. Davis said he had concluded that that person and the site administrators “lacked the empathy, compassion or intent to appropriately utilize the platform for future good.” Epik terminated its services for the suicide site, effectively removing it from the internet.

Within days, it was back, with a slightly different domain name.

Some parents had taken their battle to shut down the site to Washington, in phone calls and Zoom meetings with lawmakers. Those efforts also had little effect.

There has been growing bipartisan agreement that a 1996 law governing online activity — Section 230 of the Communications Decency Act — is in need of reform. In most circumstances, the law shields websites from liability for content that users post on their platforms.

The need for more regulation was repeatedly raised during congressional hearings in October, as Democrats and Republicans alike blasted Facebook and Instagram for content about body image and eating disorders that harms teenage girls. But with tech companies resisting sweeping reform, and the two political parties pursuing different agendas, not much has changed.

As the months went by, more members of the suicide site died. A 21-year-old lifeguard outside Vancouver. A 25-year-old online gamer in Portadown, Northern Ireland. A 31-year-old musician in Kansas City, Mo. An 18-year-old high school student in Italy.

And just this fall, a 30-year-old man in Grapevine, Texas. Newly unemployed, going through a breakup and deeply in debt, he found his way to the site, making his first post in late September. Three days later, he was gone.

Daniel’s room, more than two years after his death.Ashley Gilbertson for The New York Times

Source