Instagram and Infographics: Shouting into the Void
Sometimes I feel that I am shouting into the void. That void being Instagram.
I wrestled with this feeling particularly during the height of COVID–contained to my room, witnessing tragedy upon tragedy in the world unfold, feeling effectively powerless to do anything about it. Since I have immunocompromised family members, for a while it was not possible to take part in any kind of direct, in-person action.
In turn, Instagram became a cursed outlet for suppressed rage. As cringe as it may be to some, I felt that at least sharing information and crowdfunds on social media could make a small difference when I couldn’t do much else. Whether or not this difference is truly meaningful is another question…
That being said, a perceived benefit of online activism is that it allows people to convey narratives without relying on the mainstream media apparatus to hand them the microphone. I have no doubt that this possibility has advanced the goals of many causes. After all, it was not on the cable news that I was able to witness the horror of American police officers brutalising people–it was on Instagram and Twitter. The power everyday social media users have in circulating news beyond national boundaries is both novel and full of potential.
However, the influence of aesthetically pleasing infographics as a tool of disseminating information on social media sparks some curiosity to the changing expressions of solidarity in the 21st century. The ability to be “politically engaged” while passively scrolling social media is a comforting idea to many of us, I think.
Enticing colours reminiscent of corporate branding are meant to engage even the most apolitical user. Carousels of bold statistics and easily-digestible blips of history now populate our feeds, like a kind of attention-deficient modern newspaper. These posts may very well function as a starting off point for curious, well-intentioned people. Despite this, accusations of performative activism continue to ricochet across the online world.
So then, what is considered meaningful solidarity? And what is the place of social media in cultivating this solidarity?
And now more than ever these days, I’m wondering–has Instagram activism exploded the way it has because people lack democratic means to make their voices heard?
Do we post because we lack education and tools for other kinds of direct action?
I don’t know the answers to these questions. But I have witnessed how “raising awareness” has solidified itself as a dominant organising method in the online sphere. To be clear, visibility is vital and necessary in garnering support for broader movements.
However, I’d argue that “raising awareness” is precisely what many states and corporations want us to do. “Raising awareness” can create paradigm shifts in public thinking over time, but does little to disrupt the order of things as they are currently happening.
I don’t say this to criticise–in fact, I am often still posting political things and know very little about effective organising. I am just a useless white western leftist after all. But, I genuinely do believe “they” want us to shout into the void. They want us to channel our energy into scrolling and sharing rather than organising and disrupting. They want us to be blissfully ignorant of the ways our ancestors have protested, unionised, gone on strikes, occupied, and even taken up armed struggle.
They want us to shout into the void instead of shouting at them. And this is of little fault of our own. When policy fails, distressed people attempt to make their voice heard in any way possible, to push forward with only the tools they’ve been given.
Millions of people in the U.S. took to streets to demand the defunding of police in 2021, yet most city budgets have only gotten higher since then. Even when we voted the “right people” in, they didn’t listen or follow through on promises. This can be applied to endless contexts all over the world. People are overworked and underpaid–screaming into the echoes of the Instagram void provides an instant ailment to the burns of dysfunctioning democracies.
I believe we can appreciate online activism for its communicative strengths but understand its limitations. It’s about time we start screaming at them.
