The Delusion of Social Media

this is not a political post

“During the Vietnam War... every respectable artist in this country was against the war. It was like a laser beam. We were all aimed in the same direction. The power of this weapon turns out to be that of a custard pie dropped from a stepladder six feet high.” - Kurt Vonnegut

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Black Nonsense by Tyler Mitchell (2020)

In 2012, we raised our pitchforks towards a shared enemy. We became galvanized by a documentary that depicted the Lord’s Resistance Army (LRA), a Ugandan rebel group responsible for war crimes such as forced labour and child soldier recruitment. The sensational video campaign, which encouraged support from superpowers like Obama, Swift, Kardashian, and Gates, became the first video on YouTube to reach over a million views. It reached more than half of young American adults. Globally, it sparked awareness, outrage, and calls for justice in the East African country. 

As wallets opened around the world to support military intervention in Uganda, the rebel leader and documentary’s titular villain, Joseph Kony, became famous. Sights locked in on a shared foe. We grew restless and angry, feverishly punching #StopKony into our keyboards and onto the Twitterverse. ‘Stopping Kony’ became a bipartisan issue as policy workers collaborated with Ugandan officials in an attempt to bring the rebel lord to justice. For this brief moment, we appeared to be united. 

Under the mirage of momentum, we cried louder. It’s working, surely there was more we could do? And so, Invisible Children, the charity behind KONY 2012, organized the “Cover The Night” campaign encouraging supporters to put up #StopKony posters in their local communities to spread awareness. However, the frenzy of online media failed to yield considerable grassroots action. Over a million posters were distributed. Less than 10% of people who signed up actually participated. 

Then, miraculously, our cries became quieter. Our anger quelled. Time moved on and so did we. Despite our spirited burst of activism, Kony was never captured, and the trending hashtag of #StopKony lived up to its name: a trend. 

But, who cares, right? We got a taste of what we could do. We could mobilize governments, educate minds, and get Justin Bieber to share our tweets!!! The perception of our influence, strengthened by this novel, peculiar tool called social media became outsized and warped as if reflected in a fun-house mirror. And so, with this newfound tool, sharper than the blade of a katana, we swung. We shared Je Suis Charlie posters on our Facebook walls. We tweeted #MeToo under illuminating infographics. We decorated our Instagram grids with cute, little Black squares. 

Some things changed, other things didn’t but we felt in control. For those few seconds, when we hit send and released our political expressions to our followers, we experienced a brief tinge of validation. 

In Trick Mirror, Jia Tolentino cautions against the deception of scale created by the internet. The performance (posting) and affirmation (engagement) dynamic of social media establishes a complicated relationship that rewards media output (you). The media could be you sharing what you ate for lunch or it could be you posting a political message. This expectation of continuous output, insidiously coaxed out by notifications, new features, and your echo chamber of friends creates a falsified superiority. Thanks to the algorithm, whatever you say will always have someone to hear it. Not only do you have a ‘platform,’ you also have an ‘audience.’ And with an audience, you perhaps have a ‘responsibility.’ It is within this that lies the great delusion of social media. 

The promise of social media initially touted an ability to foster community, connection, and conversation but everything becomes flattened online. Nuance is lost. A region’s complicated history is reduced to an infographic. The death of a Black man at the knee of a police officer becomes reduced to a square. Social media is effective at raising awareness but, as seen by KONY 2012, awareness is not always action.

And yet, as embarrassing as it is to admit now, those stupid little Black squares meant something to me back then. No matter how delusional. During that bleak period, delusion was the only comfort I had. Next to delusion sits faith. And next to faith sits hope. Who are we to deny anyone of hope?

Instead, we must collectively press ourselves to determine the role of social media in modern-day activism. Is it to educate and change the opposition’s mind? That may be so but surely there are more precise tools in our arsenal that we can use, in conjunction with social media, to allow for a more nuanced dialogue. Perhaps, it is to signal support to a friend or marginalized group. And even so, wouldn’t a text, a private donation, or a conversation, allow for greater impact? It’s become clear that social media is an effective tool but shouldn’t be the only tool we are using to engage politically. We must regard social media as only part of a comprehensive toolkit for social justice.

Some could argue that although awareness isn’t action, it could lead to it. There is a special power in expressing your values loudly that social media can enable. Whispers won’t change the world.

And yet, contrasted against the inescapable cacophony of social media activism that arouses fatigue, neither shout nor whisper can be heard. We are numbed and dumbed. You start to wonder if our once-new tool of social media has begun to lose its efficacy. If its blade has become blunted from overuse throughout these trying years. 

In a way, this essay is also a blunted delusion.

Which is why, to enact change, we need more weapons than the sword. I admit, the blade feels good in our hands. And even though it may not be enough to defeat our foes on its own - be it racism or climate change or Joseph Kony - the weight of the sword feels like we are doing something. And maybe that feeling, in times as hopeless and dreary as the present, is enough. Maybe it’s less about socializing through media and more about socializing with ourselves.