Opinion

Avoiding Armchair Activism When Fighting For Change

November 11, 2016


via Flickr

This past week, over a million Facebook users checked in to the Standing Rock Sioux Reservation to show their solidarity with Dakota Access Pipeline protesters and thwart any potential targeting efforts by officials. Having followed the escalating severity of the situation the past few weeks (through the dedicated reporting of Amy Goodman), I was awed by the simple beauty of this small gesture. Eager to contribute to the indigenous rights and anti-pipeline movement in whatever way I could, I too took to social media. After googling “how to check in on Facebook Places” (yes, technologically inept millennials do exist), I was about to change my location, cursor hovering over the confirmation button—when I paused.

In that split second, the events of 2016 flashed through my mind: police brutality protests and Black Lives Matter demonstrations, the Orlando shooting, the North Carolina bathroom ordinance, this godforsaken election. My blood boiled with each recollection as I began to draw a painful parallel between the events: my inaction.

To be fair, I have not been entirely passive in the past year. As each of these affairs unfolded, I anxiously consumed news articles, liked and commented on friends’ online posts, even made some of my own. I conversed with—sometimes screamed at—allies and dissenters who had the habitual misfortune of dining with me at Leo’s. At the peak of my productivity, I voted in the primary and mailed my absentee ballot. The problem, however, was that I thought these sporadic and superficial grapplings with social and political issues were sufficient.

Despite the fire that swelled inside me whenever such news would break, I habitually acquiesced to the terrible realities each time. Not once did I take advantage of my leverage as a constituent by corresponding with my senator about gun control. I never dug into my wallet to donate to a campaign, forget volunteer with one. I have never been to a protest, never even seen a protest. And I live in Washington, D.C. All I had to show for that fire was my Facebook page. Where there were once flames, there was now useless ash.

Social media scares me for this very reason. Yes, I take complete accountability for my lack of initiative in each of these accounts, but the problem is that I thought I was taking initiative. The nature of social media deceives us into believing that we are reaching an important and impressionable audience with our posts, that our friends and acquaintances are forever changed by the articles we share and comments we leave. In reality, the platforms of social media can breed hostility and, at worst, complacency.  Impassioned posts provide the illusion that we are putting forth legitimate effort in making a difference, but where is the sacrifice? Can 140 characters be an adequate reaction to witnessing gut-wrenching, knee-jerking injustice? In the same way that we can delude ourselves into thinking that online interactions are comparable to real relationships, we can delude ourselves into thinking that a Facebook post and a retweet are sufficient substitutes for pointed action. They are not.

Should I have checked in to the Sioux Reservation on Monday, I am ashamedly certain that it would have been the extent of my contribution to the NoDAPL (no Dakota Access Pipeline) movement. My empathetic urges to act, to stand with the Sioux people, would have dwindled to indifference. I would have been convinced I had done my part.

I do not believe that there is anything inherently wrong with using social media to promote a cause. On the contrary, I believe it can be a valuable tool to inform and rally, an effective complement to action. However, rarely does a simple expression of outrage change anyone’s mind. Using social media as a dumping ground for frustration is cathartic, yes, but not necessarily productive.

The construction of the Dakota Access Pipeline will disrupt the sacred grounds of the Standing Rock Sioux and could threaten the water quality of the Missouri River. It will be another book in a saga the federal government insists on writing: a tale of perpetual trespasses on the rights of this country’s native peoples. A Facebook post is not enough to end these violations.

The myth of our smallness becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy when the extent of our outrage is a comment, a status, a dank meme. I refuse to let a virtual expression of indignation be my ultimate contribution to ending injustice. I deny my smallness. I pledge to act—in the real world.

Anne is a sophomore in the College.


Anne Paglia
Anne graduated from the College, studying English. She enjoyed writing for Leisure and still enjoys long walks on the beach.


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