"Clicktivism" has emerged as an effective instrument for increasing awareness in the modern digital world. Just consider how #BlackLivesMatter, #MeToo, or #SaveTheArctic united people from all over the world, regardless of time zones or national boundaries. Everyday voices are given a platform by social media, which transforms clicks into dialogues and dialogues into genuine change momentum. Do all those likes, shares, and profile picture changes make a difference, or are we just deluding ourselves into thinking we're making a difference when, in reality, we may not be doing anything?
Psychologists say our urge to post about causes often stems from a mix of identity, emotion, and how we want to be perceived. It’s called identity signaling, when we align ourselves publicly with a cause to show what we stand for.A study found that when people express support for something publicly, they’re less likely to take meaningful offline action afterward, because that post already gives them a sense of having “done their part.” Adding to that, pluralistic ignorance can kick in too, where people post about a cause even if they’re not completely sure about it, just because they think everyone else is on board. They end up following the crowd, even with their own doubts. Diffusion of responsibility is another issue. When a lot of people are posting about something, such as the Israel-Gaza conflict or Indian political debates, it can be easy to feel like your voice is no longer very important. "Everyone else is already talking about it, what difference would I even make?" you begin to ask yourself. This idea ties into a term you’ve probably heard: slacktivism. It’s a label for digital support that doesn’t go beyond the screen. Sharing a post or signing a petition online might feel good and even earn social validation but it can also give us a false sense of progress. Another factor is fear: fear of backlash, online trolling, or cancel culture. Sometimes, out of fear that saying too much (or too little) will draw criticism, people post just enough to show that they are on the "right" side without really participating. So, they either put up one safe post and move on, or just go along with whatever the majority seems to believe. Of course, slacktivism doesn’t tell the full story. There’s growing evidence that online activism can lead to deeper involvement. A 2017 study found that young people who engaged with political content online were more likely to show up offline, whether through protests, volunteering, or donations. So digital and real-world activism don’t have to compete. They can build off each other. What really matters is the why behind our posts, are we sharing because we care, or because we want to be seen caring?
Social media runs on emotion. Posts that stir up outrage, hope, or moral passion tend to travel fast and go far. According to a study, content that uses morally charged language combined with emotional intensity is far more likely to go viral. That’s why certain causes catch fire online while others quietly fade. But there’s a downside: burnout. When we’re constantly hit with stories of injustice, it can get overwhelming and this "outrage fatigue" can eventually numb us to even the most pressing issues.
What online activism looks like depends a lot on where you are. People frequently use local-language apps or community-driven platforms like WhatsApp to organize and mobilize in collectivist societies like South Korea or India. Within close-knit groups, where shared values and group action take the lead, these tools aid in the rapid dissemination of messages. People use social media sites like Instagram and Twitter to share their personal narratives in more individualistic cultures like the US or Canada. They make space for connection, start vital discussions, and serve as a reminder that one voice when expressed from the heart, can truly make a difference by being open and vulnerable. Neither strategy is more "correct," and both represent deeper cultural values. They simply express themselves and show up in different ways. Local politics, censorship, and tech access shape how activism plays out. In Nigeria, #EndSARS found strength online but faced hurdles like internet blackouts and disinformation, issues less common where digital freedom is stronger. Looking at activism through a cultural lens shows there’s no universal formula. Each place has its realities, and what works in one may not work in another.
Online activism can bring about significant change, but there isn't a single solution. Real discussions and changes to workplace harassment policies were spurred by #MeToo.
Social media helped coordinate climate strikes that pushed environmental issues into mainstream politics. And countless fundraising campaigns, whether for disaster relief or healthcare, have raised life-changing sums in just days. The difference often lies in the follow-through. Hashtag movements that link up with grassroots efforts, offer specific action steps, and hold power to account are way more likely to create lasting impact than those that just fade after a viral moment.
Despite its strength, online activism is not flawless. It has the power to mobilize people in previously unthinkable ways, elevate under-represented voices, and start global conversations. But it can also lull us into thinking we’ve done enough just by posting. So maybe the question isn’t “Does online activism work?” Maybe it’s “what are we doing after we hit ‘share’?”
Ria Damani
