By Negin Khodayari

If you spend any time online during moments of global crisis, you already know the routine: a tragedy happens, social media timelines flood with posts, stories, statements and graphics. Then comes the second wave: the scrutiny. Who posted fast enough? Who posted anything? Who posted the “right” thing? And who stayed silent?

Somewhere along the way, we decided caring looks one specific way—usually an Instagram story—and that anything other than of that is suspicious. Caring has become something you’re expected to prove publicly and if you don’t, you’re labelled as complicit. Your morality is questioned.

But movements were never meant to function like this.

Social media is supposed to be an additional tool, not a moral compass. Posting doesn’t automatically make someone informed, ethical or effective, and choosing not to post doesn’t necessarily mean someone doesn’t care. Sure both can be true at times, but this shouldn’t be the baseline assumption. People engage in movements in wildly different ways: some organize on the ground, some donate, some are educating themselves. Some might be having conversations offline, supporting friends or doing community work that doesn’t photograph well. Aside from all this, some people are exhausted, grieving or just trying to survive their own daily lives.

Somewhere along the way, we decided caring looks one specific way

None of that always fits into a 24-hour story—but it still matters.

What’s even more damaging is how quickly this turns into comparing tragedies. Like this, we start measuring suffering against suffering, arguing over which injustice deserves more attention because its so easy to track social media engagement. As if empathy is something we’ll run out of if we acknowledge more than one pain at a time. As if caring about one thing means you must be silent about another.

This behaviour doesn’t challenge power, but instead it mirrors it.

Instead of directing our anger at the systems that perpetuate violence and inequality, we turn on each other. We dissect each other’s language, we ‘algorithmize’ grief then we accuse people of not doing enough, not caring enough, not performing correctly. Calling each other out online replaces human conversations. Nuance gets labeled as indifference.

And honestly? It’s exhausting.

Performatism thrives in this environment. It rewards certainty, even if wrong, over curiosity and outrage over understanding. It’s easy to post something that signals you’re “on the right side.” It’s much harder to sit with complexity, to admit gaps in knowledge or to stay engaged when there’s no applause for it. When no one’s liking your stories in awe.

Nuance gets labeled as indifference

What gets lost is empathy, both for the people directly impacted by tragedy and for each other. We tend forget that people carry different capacities, fears, and responsibilities. We also forget that not everyone feels safe speaking publicly.

On the other hand, public figures, politicians, policy makers and those who carry influence have a responsibility to platform vulnerable communities in times of need. That said, if they share misinformation or lack context to a matter, they’ll in turn likely cause more harm than good. In that case, would it not be better if they don’t post at all? Yes, they hold a responsibility to amplify these movements, but they have an even larger responsibility to make sure they’re getting it right—to attend demonstrations and community events, to read and research, to talk to the people impacted—all this is most valuable, and posting should be an additional tool alongside this. 

Solely posting a black square to a private Instagram feed or resharing an A.I. generated infographic where no sources are listed does not make one an activist—though their attempts can be respected. But attacking people for not doing so is damaging too. It causes fear and hesitation among those who may be curious about a cause, but are too scared to ask or talk about it. 

All this is not to discourage the average person from posting. Every act is valuable when done right and in moderation. It is simply a suggestion to do your research first, understand a cause, educate yourself, then post if you see fit. It is also a call to those who may be quick to pass judgement on how and when someone posted, to recognize that perhaps they don’t know the full story.*

Movements don’t just fall apart because people care too little, they fall apart because we start believing caring has to look identical.

If we want real change, we need to stop treating activism like a performance and start treating each other like humans. That means offering empathy instead of immediate suspicion, patience instead of instant judgment. It means acknowledging that people can show up differently and still be aligned in values and goals.

Unity doesn’t mean everyone posting the exact same thing at the exact same time. It means resisting the urge to attack each other online and remembering why we’re here in the first place: not to win arguments or gain a following, not to look morally superior, but to push for a world that’s actually more fair—together.

*Updated on Feb. 3. This is a longer version of an article that went to print on Jan. 27