Why Not Call Yourself an “Online Activist”?
Here’s the thing. I’ve had to take time off due to illness, family responsibilities, education, work stuff and moving — but now I’m back and aiming to whip up a new article roughly once a month. As the virus runs riot across the globe, everything we do has been pushed online. As police brutality plagues the United States, we all feel compelled to do something about it and racial inequality in general. Much of what we’ve done has been online. Because of the virus running riot across the globe.
Yet I’ve noticed among young people that the term “online activist” is being used almost competitively these days. As if it’s a credential to put on one’s CV. And more often than not, it’s being used by people who aren’t even particularly politically active, and are somewhat privileged.
Kurdish people tend to dislike the concept of the “online activist”. It’s a fact that we have lots of online connections, and we do share and collect information related to our political issues. Nonetheless, It’s a running joke in Kurdish circles that there’s the one ally, usually a white man, who joins in, calling himself a “Middle East Expert”, posts a running-commentary about our “conflict” on Twitter, and puts “big strong fighter” Kurdish women on a pedestal, but never actually shows up to any of our protests or events, and might even say things that are Kurdophobic without even realising it. He’s perfectly able to, he’s not on hiatus out of necessity, he just doesn’t because he’d rather play international relations simulator video games and is of the idea that “The Kurds” are solely a political entity. Think Lindsey Graham if he was somewhere other than the White House.
This here Kurdish person feels the same, and has started to think that a large percentage of people who call themselves an “online activist” without a hint of irony just want to be applauded for doing the bare minimum. Not everyone, of course, but enough people that it feels like a narcissistic ego-stroke-a-thon. I knew a narcissist once and he’d totally take part. Like “Look how much I’ve done for you poor oppressed folks! I even logged onto my laptop.” The trend of “online activism” that doesn’t amount to much turns more people into the international relations simulator-playing “Middle East Experts” us Kurds are so fond of picking apart.
I’ve fallen into this trap as a Kurd. It would be great if I could find a charity to work with. I’d be happy to work for the UN, but they need to recognise us before they can help us. All in all, NGOs that consistently help us, as well as being in line with our goals of statehood, are few and far between, with most getting shut down by the Turkish Government, robbed by Syrian highwaymen, or accused of “terrorism” by Belgian bureaucrats. The best I could do was a multinational Muslim-led charity, but their modus operandi was one of short-term emergency relief for lots of different groups, and I’m not Muslim, so I frankly felt a bit out of place bringing the money home. I’d quite like to start my own charity for Kurds. If I can get it registered.
I thought writing stuff was the only thing I could do. Not articles, but dumb things like “Um, have you lot even heard what the Turkish Government’s been up to? PSA: normalise tickling Erdogan’s enormous nostrils with a feather while he’s napping. Keep calm and Kurd on. Sorry not sorry.” Until I found out it was better to start individually by helping my Kurdish friends beat internalised racism, or putting money in a collection tin for a Kurdish baby with SMA, than to yell into the void and preach to the choir.
Calling yourself an “online activist” because you sent out a few Likes only lets marginalised people down. Likes don’t save lives. Your black co-workers may have put their trust in you to have difficult conversations about the brokenness of the policing system, or the Home Office, or what-have-you, with your fuddy-duddy uncle. Or one of my Kurdish friends (we all know each other) may have put their trust in you to explain to your pickup-artist brother why it’s not polite to call women of colour “exotic”. Different marginalised group, same struggle.
Almost anyone can pick up a phone, tablet or laptop and join the hashtag-loving brigade. But it takes a certain amount of effort, drive and no-funks-given attitude to make meaningful change. It’s signing and starting petitions. It’s writing to MPs. It’s writing to councils. It’s hosting zoominars. It’s setting up educational websites. It’s a lot to do.
Obviously this is different during the pandemic. And no, I’m not saying everyone has to do all that — we have education, families and jobs that make it more difficult for us to make change. We have an invading army of single-cell organisms rescheduling our entire lives! But if you can’t do much, please don’t make a big deal out of being an “online activist” either. Admit that you’re trying your best, but instead of saying “I’m the greatest activist ever to act actively because I logged onto my laptop,” just say, “I’m trying my best even though I can’t find much to do because, duh, it’s lockdown.”
Virtue signalling on a website is the icecream of Kurdish advocacy. I’m not saying it needs to be avoided entirely but it mustn’t be the only way one shows up for us, just like you can enjoy icecream every now and then but you’ll be woefully unhealthy if it’s the only thing you eat. It should complement your life, not comprise your life. And it doesn’t make any sense to turn your love of icecream into an identity. Walk the walk (or march the march) as much as you talk the talk. Have those difficult conversations with the old fogeys in your family. Write to your MP or the council. Start petitions, sign petitions, share petitions. Which can actually go on your CV. Do these things and move on. Does that sound fair?
