“Am I Being Woke?”: The Danger of Social Media’s Performative Activism

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They are fading. On June 2, 2020, black squares overwhelmed Instagram feeds, standing in solidarity with justice for George Floyd, Ahmaud Arbery, and Breonna Taylor, among others. Blackout Tuesday may have had weighty aspirations, but it did little except clog up the #blacklivesmatter hashtag, which details important information on petitions, protests, and public donations. 

But that was only the start.

In the past few months, America has witnessed a myriad of injustices that have fueled a culture of outspoken activism among the nation’s younger generations. We are broken—scarred by slashes of racism perpetuated by police brutality, cleaved by political perspectives, and apprehensive from a global pandemic only worsened by irresponsibility. 

How do we heal? Perhaps black squares and infographics are our first steps, but they are not enough. Performative activism—surface-level activism merely used for personal gain—is not the answer. 

Lexingtonians claim to be avid advocates of social justice, but many of our warriors only go so far as to “raise awareness”: spreading posts by Instagram users such as @feminist or @impact (often not entirely true information), or posting pictures from protests we’ve attended (seemingly treated more like social events). We’re guilty of cherry-picking the issues we support: we only choose to be “allies” when it’s convenient for us—when we play the victim, for example. Although awareness spread with a genuine motive in mind is never frowned upon, it’s those who rely on this form of performative activism to “do their deed” for the day that need to fully contextualize the depth of the world’s pertinent issues and their accompanying social movements—problems ingrained in history and society that require change from a grassroots level. 

Why won’t a heavily-resourced progressive enclave go any further than that? How can we show genuine allyship and push for real change? Perhaps it’s because we are more concerned with how others view us, and less with how communities actually need our help. 

It’s easy to feel responsible when our privilege allows us to avoid the brunt of discriminatory behaviors; we may not be as affected by police brutality or Trump’s non-citizen policies, for example. We feel inherently guilty because we aren’t minorities: neither BIPOC nor LGBTQIA+, to name a few. To avoid backlash and criticism, as well as to gain peace of mind, it seems only necessary to broadcast our so-called lazy “actions” to the world to feel like we’ve done enough to alleviate this guilt. The urge to be credited for doing what is right brings only the perception that we’re somehow off the hook; it’s simply a false fix. When we engage in activism merely for attention, it is inherently selfish. 

Being “woke”—or knowledgeable about the circulating social problems—is a trend; we feel that we have to keep ourselves updated on the newest and brightest. But “wokeness” is inherently impermanent, as trends dissolve and change over time. Instead of asking yourself if you’re “being woke” and thinking you have some duty to educate lesser people, ask yourself if what you’re doing is making a true impact. 

What will tagging ten friends with the #blacklivesmatter hashtag do? Or, how about sharing the same infographic our friends have already posted, with quotes like “we need to do better” or “settle for Joe Biden”? Without true education—true information—about Joe Biden’s campaign compared to Donald Trump’s, or statistics from recent COVID infections, for example, cliché quotes mean pretty much nothing to the poster nor the voices they’re attempting to amplify. They are the epitome of performative activism, something our generation seems to cozy up to more often than not.  

It is totally okay to not visit that rainbow app (taking up unnecessary space on your phone, dare I say) every hour of the day. Posting on your story is not your duty, so why must it be treated like a job that requires around-the-clock surveillance? 

Instead, support America’s dire issues in more effective ways. Educate yourself on the longstanding impacts of white supremacy. Sign petitions to defund the police. *Donate to the Black Immigrant Collective. Or the Division of Indian Work. Or the Lake Street East African Worker Recovery Fund, perhaps the Okra Project, maybe the Navajo and Hopi Families COVID-19 Relief Fund. Buy from black-owned companies. 

Write to Joe Biden or other policymakers like Ed Markey and Ayanna Presley, or even your town committee. Keep on pushing for change—protecting minorities and passing bills tackling COVID-19 and climate change. Wear masks, rather than posting about their importance as you party (unmasked) with ten other friends!

Words and Instagram stories fade after 24 hours, but action with a genuine impact remains perpetual. Understand that the Black Lives Matter movement, the human rights issues associated with political campaigns, and the safety of the underrepresented and impoverished are increasingly real, relevant, and lasting—six months after they’ve erupted, specifically. Real activism is not a trend. 

It is only when we stop promising and start doing that we ignite real, long-lasting change. It can start with something as simple as a conversation with family or friends that causes us to think critically about our own privilege and place in the world—these difficult and uncomfortable situations are what ultimately ripple into changes in mindset, creating more open, accepting, and moral people. And this must not merely be a temporary movement, for we are the future leaders of our world. 

We must lead this revolution to justice. 

*For a more comprehensive list of organizations protecting minorities that you can donate to, visit this site. 

by JOY GONG