A reflection on digital activism in an era of publicly broadcast global suffering
Our social media feeds may numb us to the horrors of the world, but as a Palestinian, our digital spaces remain essential to liberation.
Never in my 15 years living in Canada would I have ever, ever thought to see Palestinian flags waving in the streets of Toronto. I would have never thought to see so much attention on the cause of Palestine by individuals living in the West. I would have never thought that the true narrative of the illegal occupation — one of massacres, forced expulsions, cultural erasure, and racism by Zionist entities — would be so prevalent in the society of today’s youth. Why? Because as someone who, as a child, felt the need to hide their Palestinian identity in a world that deems my existence “controversial”, I had always seen racism as intertwined in our sick world.
In a society where the lives of people who look like me don’t matter, I remember classmates who were kicked out for saying “Palestine,” or told to remove their Keffiyeh — a headdress that symbolizes Palestinian culture and liberation — because it made others uncomfortable. For so long, I saw society as ignorant and hellbent on silencing my people. But since the events of October 7, 2024, and the subsequent genocide of Gazans, it warms my heart to see the drastic shift in how social media finally took hold of the narrative in Palestine, and how I began to represent myself as a Palestinian Canadian. I’ve gone from cautiously saying I was “from the Middle East” to advocating loud and proud that I am from Palestine and will continue to fight for the basic human rights of my people until my very last breath.
Social media has changed advocacy and created this newfound visibility like never before. It has allowed long-standing social injustices, such as the 75-year occupation of Palestine, to finally receive the attention it deserves in the social and political consciousness of the masses. The Israeli military’s actions have been repeatedly condemned by the International Court of Justice as acts of genocide and complete violations of international law. Society woke up to this when they saw graphic photos and videos of Israeli military assaults burning down Palestinian hospitals and the people inside.
Social media — be it posts, comments, or likes — puts story-telling power in the hands of those with immediate lived experiences, allowing the dominant narrative to be revised. With just a phone in hand and stable internet connection, Palestinians like Bisan Owda and Plestia Alaqad have been able to document both the mundane and horrors of living through a genocide that has killed over 41,000 men, women, and children. Social media has broadened and personalized the definition of journalism, and in the process, elevated the intimacy and urgency of the truths told.
Social media currently remains an essential space for activism, but we must acknowledge that the constant stream of information and gruesome imageries on Instagram or TikTok causes moral exhaustion and activism burnout. Doom-scrolling is a prevalent problem that has led to mental exhaustion and anxiety, especially for activists whose social media algorithms are centered towards advocacy, social injustices, and political issues. The constant indulgence in graphic content of death, oppression, and pain can often render us numb, leaving behind the question: “Is this really normal? Should this be something I see every time I open my phone?”.
Many activists, particularly those who are well educated on social issues, feel an immense sense of duty to educate, defend, and raise awareness. I always feel an urgent sense of responsibility to correct every misconception about Palestine because, as a Palestinian, it feels as though I am the only one who can. It goes beyond just advocacy: when injustice or misinformation circulates, it feels deeply personal, a fight for my heritage and identity. And, as much as I seize the chance to educate my peers or correct harmful narratives, I remain exhausted from constantly defending my existence and rights.
Oftentimes it feels like the least I can do is engage with the gruesome videos and create awareness of the existing suffering in as many people as I can. But that same responsibility has left me mentally and emotionally exhausted. I’m compelled to engage with painful images, yet this responsibility leaves me torn between burnout and the need to keep speaking up, especially for my people. As humans, there’s only so much horror we can witness as images of dismembered children and people burned alive bury into our minds.
This is where our current advocacy has shifted from historical advocacy. The constant exposure made feasible by social media and its many apparatuses leaves us grappling with the weight of our humanity and the limits of how much we can bear. In the meantime, we fight for justice in institutions and spaces that have historically been complicit in causing unimaginable suffering.
The fight for justice is a fight for human rights, and in this process, you may find yourself sacrificing pieces of yourself: your safety, stability, and even relationships. Mental exhaustion lies in the constant fear of one’s future while advocating for causes that may be deemed as “controversial” by society. When speaking up against Western silence or complicity in the face of Israel’s occupation – indeed, apartheid – in Palestine, we shouldn’t have to wonder whether we’ll be threatened by other parties on social media. Whether our activism will cost us our career prospects and overall life.
I have and continue to face the challenges of not knowing whether to wear my necklace with the map of Palestine during a job interview, or deciding whether to take my Keffiyeh off in certain environments to protect my safety. Undeniably, it became a back-and-forth battle between doing what is morally correct and what will keep me safe. I find this dichotomy morally exhausting, because the decision to wear a simple cloth representing my culture is the least I can do in my advocacy, despite its risks. But the challenges and anxieties I face on a daily basis pale in comparison to the agony and tribulations of my people in Gaza.
Despite my personal struggles and our collective bearing witness to Palestinian suffering on our phone screens, I ask myself, what keeps me going? To be able to fight through the inevitable challenges of advocacy in hopes for liberation and justice? To that question, I say: my people, who despite their homes being demolished in front of their eyes, or witnessing their loved ones’ bodies dismembered, can look at the world with a smile. The mother in Gaza, who after losing her son to a bomb, raises a finger in gratitude to God, is an image etched into my soul. It reminds me that while the fight for justice is grueling and exhausting, it is also profoundly meaningful. The fact that social media has finally, after so many years, been able to humanize Palestinians and enforce the truth, is what gives me hope to continue my advocacy and celebrate my Palestinian identity.
