Social Media Activism - The game with no winners

Hadid flying her flag proudly at a demonstration in New York. Source: Instagram / @mohamedhadid.  

While Tik Tok fills the screens of Gen Z with memes, trends, dances and mukbang, it is also a platform for political ideologies and activism. Content creators were once just good for creating a dance to a trending song during lockdown - now, they are being pinned to boycott lists for absence of engagement on current world issues.  

No matter where the algorithm leads you, activism has undoubtedly trickled through the endless flow of content stored in your apps. Brief 30-to-60-second videos spark significant social movements that can touch all corners of the world in a way that has never been seen before, but while influencers accrue millions of likes and views for their niche talents or quirks, TikTok has built a foundation of demands.  

Whether it’s if they’re still with their partner, why they don’t hang out with a certain friend anymore to why they haven’t spoken out for Palestine, amidst the current social, environmental and political landscape, TikTok is becoming the new frontier for modern activism. 

According to Paramount insights, TikTok has become the most effective platform for communicating with the largest possible audience in the shortest amount of time. Despite the company’s efforts to devoid themselves as a political app, Tik Tok is now one of the most widely consumed sources of political discourse and activist content, rather than being strictly for entertainment. Gone are protests strictly through marches, rallies, flyers, and strikes. Now it’s hashtags, likes, comment, shares, reposts, and spreading the word whilst racking up creator funds. But the more eyes on your profile, the more expectations arise.  

Influencers vary along the follower scales, but their role as a person of influence never goes unnoticed. In the social media sphere, it is never enough when you’re on a platform. The on-going humanitarian crisis happening in Gaza has people in support of Palestine outraged. Calls for a ceasefire on the ground level mean voices can be faint, forcing frustrated on-lookers to call upon influencers to help spread the word. Some influencers are loud and proud about their activism and trickle it throughout their content. But some remain silent, or when they do speak up, they get harassed for it being ‘too late’. 

The debate about whether mukbang influencers should speak out on humanitarian crises, despite their private support, is complex. It revolves around whether their behind-the-scenes contributions—like Emma Watson’s support for Palestinian rights through quiet donations—are sufficient. To be a person of influence holds a vast amount of power, and what people do with it is their choice.  

Celebrities like Selena Gomez may feel the pressure to post on social media, as she believes a “single post won’t change the world.” Other celebrities like Bella Hadid continually speak out for Palestine despite potential job losses. This intricate balance between public visibility and private actions underscores the nuanced responsibilities of modern influencers, blurring the lines of expectations placed upon them. 

Lucy Blakiston, owner of Shit You Should Care About, said her frustrations with social media activism are rooted in a deeply personal and challenging experience. On a podcast with creator of The Spinoff, Duncan Greive, she explained that during a particularly tough period in October due to the passing of her brother, she faced intense criticism for not publicly addressing what happened on October 7th.  

Blakiston is loud when it comes to posting about current events, issues, politics, and her support for Palestine. And yes, she had 3.4 million followers expecting some shit they might care about, but at the end of the day she’s just a Kiwi gal doing her best. She described this period of heightened scrutiny as a time when she was “really down” and felt overwhelmed by the barrage of negative comments and demands.  

“People were coming for my throat about it... I was honestly ready to delete everything, and it would have been a real shame.”  

TikTok following accounts disseminating important information about what is happening in Palestine. Source: Canta / Elsie Williams.  

This intense online pressure contributed to her decision to reevaluate her presence on social media platforms. Blakiston’s criticism of social media activism is informed by her broader disillusionment with its performative nature. She expressed frustration with the way activism on these platforms often prioritises visibility over meaningful impact. 

“It kind of feels like gamifying social justice a little bit. How many likes, how many shares... it just feels very performative.” This sentiment is exemplified by her reaction to the public shaming of The Weeknd, who was criticized for not posting about his substantial 4-million-dollar donation to Gaza.  

Blakiston and Greive highlighted the disconnect between public expectations and actual contributions. “The Weeknd was on that list... who hasn’t posted about it but has just donated 4-million-dollars to help feed Palestinian people. And you’re like, what is the end game here?” 

Blakiston’s experiences illustrate a broader critique of how social media platforms emphasise superficial engagement over genuine activism. Her contemplation of leaving Instagram reflects her recognition that these platforms can be emotionally taxing and may not necessarily foster real-world change.  

“I make zero money off of it, so why am I letting it hurt me?”  

This questioning of social media’s role in activism highlights a growing concern about the effectiveness and impact of online engagement versus tangible, offline contributions. 

Gabi Lardies from The Spinoff recently critiqued a social media campaign aimed at blocking celebrities who haven't condemned Israel's bombing of Palestinian civilians. This campaign, sparked by a TikToker known as @blockout2024, encouraged users to unfollow and stop engaging with these celebrities to reduce their ad revenue, leveraging the attention-based economy of social media.  

“What makes the blackout so appealing to many is that a small individual action can grow into a global movement as more and more people join, or rather, block. It’s an opportunity to participate in people power, or true grassroots activism.” 

Lardies argues this approach, while popular for its simplicity and potential for mass participation, may not be the most effective means of activism. 

Instead, Lardies advocates for supporting the BDS (Boycott, Divest, Sanction) movement, a long-standing form of protest endorsed by numerous Palestinian organisations since 2005.  

BDS seeks to apply non-violent pressure on Israel by boycotting Israeli products, divesting from companies involved with Israel, and advocating for government-imposed sanctions. The movement aims to end the occupation, achieve equality for Arab-Palestinian citizens, and uphold the rights of Palestinian refugees. 

Lardies emphasises that BDS has a track record of influencing corporate and public behavior, citing examples such as the relocation of Sodastream's factory and the halting of Ben & Jerry's sales in occupied territories. She suggests that while blocking celebrities may raise awareness, engaging in the structured and strategic actions of the BDS movement can lead to more substantial and sustained impacts when engaging with a humanitarian crisis. 

Navigating social media activism presents no clear answers. Influencers are criticised whether they publicly speak out or support causes privately. This underscores the nuanced responsibilities of modern advocacy, where balancing visibility and genuine impact remains a delicate and complex challenge.