Turn Your Snark into Art
Did Lazy Activism Kill Creativity?
Sometimes I want to shout at people on the internet.
I’ve read books about compassionate, curious communication in the age of polarisation, but the temptation to yell in CAPITAL LETTERS is still there. As a friend recently said, “cunts abound”. Still, it doesn’t do any good just ranting at people, even in the name of activism.
Lazy activism kills creativity.
In around 2019, self-identifying as an activist became a huge trend. The mode of delivery was often public shaming and reputational damage aimed at people and brands on social media.
By 2020- 2021, we witnessed rampant emotional instability dressed up as "activism" all over social media. The mob was bored, locked down, and lapping up drama. If somebody forgot to answer your email, they must be racist. If somebody declined your Zoom call invitation, they must be anti-your-identity. If somebody didn't commission your TV show, they must be a misogynist. If somebody had a similar book idea to yours, they must be a privileged, self-serving thief who disrespects your entire bloodline. Name and shame culture made private grudges into a profitable industry. Meta and Twitter must have loved it; more comments mean more advertising profit. Nothing encourages commenting like drama and disagreement; polarisation pays.
Attention is currency.
In 2020, I saw a popular online influencer publicly tear down a self-employed events organiser, accusing her of “disrespect” and racism when a series of collaborative emails were missed. Did the influencer bother to find out why some emails went unanswered? No. Was the racism overt, implied, or assumed? Was it a microaggression, a series of such, or something else? Nobody knows because no details were ever given. Nevertheless, a strategic campaign to destroy one woman's reputation ensued.
Behind the scenes, one huge detail was omitted by both parties: the woman who was being accused of disrespectfully ignoring emails (and being a racist) had just lost her mother. Yes, her Mum had just died, and she didn’t reply to her emails or set an out-of-office message.
As with so many online witch hunts, there was never any detailed substance to the accusations beyond “it felt disrespectful”. How often have we seen this? A rallying cry for justice cosigned by.…erm..…somebody’s feelings. In this case, the lack of depth, detail, or facts was compensated for with a honed strategy akin to the average book launch.
The take-down consisted of multiple "call-outs" on Instagram, complete with carousel posts of up to 10 slides, detailing the crimes of the “accused”. There was even a “CANCEL *their name* ” logo— I am not making this up. Daily livestreams kept viewers abreast of the audacious lack of response to said emails.
When the fever pitch seemed to be dwindling, the accused, fresh from her mother’s funeral, supplied fresh drama in the form of The Panicked Apology. Screenshots followed of both the apology and the rejection. This lead to a runaway train effect as the whole thing gathered momentum again. What the accused is meant to do at this point is unclear, but presumably they must suffer as much as possible according to the law of the witch-hunt.*
*It’s worth noting that in a serious online witch-hunt, the apology must be treated as a key plot point— and it must always be rejected. Nobody earns higher engagement by accepting an apology. The mob, reducing itself to children by participating, also wants the apology to be rejected. A sense of false intimacy around a common enemy is part of the game. Everyone must bay for blood. The show must go on, and the algorithm wants to be fed.
The most harrowing thing I witnessed during that terrible take-down was well-meaning but ultimately bungling white people scrambling to comment and discredit one woman. What made it surreal was that I knew many of them personally. I saw a local handbag designer call the accused a “vile person” on Instagram. I saw clients publicly announcing that they were no longer working with her. Worst of all, I saw her hairdresser pile in with “I always thought she was a bitch”. Imagine being cancelled by your hairdresser! Such intimate betrayal. People are beyond brutal when they feel invested in a take-down.
The net result of this "cancelling" reads like a tragic shopping list: Two unhappy women (who still hadn't had a conversation), one business in tatters, one influencer with plenty of engagement but no actual resolution, scores of brands running scared from both parties, and worst of all, thousands of fans who participated in the mob—dimly aware that they could be next. Public take-downs leave a mark by reminding us not to step out of line socially or creatively. What do you think that does to a person's creativity?
When we participate in publicly shaming somebody else, we send our creativity into hiding.
Cancel culture happens when we conflate personal success with collective liberation and exploit that confusion for our own gain. Through characterising ourselves as victims of shared injustice, we’re able to convince other people that joining the mob helps to achieve justice and freedom for everyone. Guess what else happens when we conflate personal success with collective liberation? Greed, exploitation, a grandiose sense of self-importance, and unhelpful hubris. It’s a heady cocktail; we lose our capacity to notice that we’re part of the problem. A common enemy and sense of false intimacy can be addictive and create the illusion of safety in numbers. But we become meaner, stupider, lazier, greedier, and worst of all, less creative.
We’re still living in the long shadow of 2020 cancel culture. We might not be active participants, but our creativity is still licking its wounds. I lament the stories that haven’t been told, the books that haven’t been written, the art that hasn’t been made— not because of a lack of resources or time, but because creativity is still hiding.
Everything we put out into the world makes a mark on it. If that mark is destined to curtail expression and creativity, could there be another way to deliver the message? Can we turn our frustration into something more meaningful than public humiliation? Can we craft something with more longevity? More soul?
I think we can.
Perhaps the answer is to make more art. If not for the world, then for ourselves.
