Over the past decade, movements like #BlackLivesMatter, #EndSARS, Fridays for Future, and even the digital solidarity around the crisis in Gaza have demonstrated that online networks can play a significant role in pushing for social change. These digital spaces are often seen as democratic arenas where people challenge dominant narratives, organise protests, and build global solidarity. While social media has amplified the voices of everyday people, it is crucial to recognise that these same platforms are shaped by commercial, algorithmic, and political forces that influence what activism is seen and what is suppressed. This essay argues that although networked publics offer new forms of visibility, identity formation, and political engagement, their potential for lasting structural change is limited by the corporate infrastructures and governance systems that underpin them. I will first examine how networked publics operate emotionally and socially through hashtag activism and diasporic connections. Then, I will explore how platform algorithms, surveillance, and moderation practices constrain activism. Finally, I will consider emerging alternatives, such as “slow publics” and platform cooperativism, which offer more sustainable models for digital political engagement.

The idea of “networked publics” helps explain how social media and activism connect. danah boyd (2011) defines networked publics as both the digital spaces created by platforms and the imagined communities formed within them. Papacharissi (2015) builds on this by showing how these publics are shaped by emotion as much as discourse people don’t just share opinions, they also express feelings. Hashtag movements like #MeToo or #BLM aren’t only about taking a political stance; they’re about signaling identity, belonging and solidarity. In that sense, networked publics are like digital civic stages where people especially those excluded from mainstream institutions can be seen, heard and feel part of something larger.

A clear example of this was the #EndSARS protests in Nigeria in 2020. After videos of police brutality went viral, young Nigerians mobilise on Twitter and Instagram. They used these platforms to livestream violence, share real-time updates, crowdfund legal aid and raise international awareness about police abuses. The movement gained support from celebrities and the Nigerian diaspora, showing the power of digital tools for cross-border activism. But despite the global visibility, the movement struggled to achieve long-term reform. Government crackdowns escalated, protesters were arrested and online censorship increased. Users reported having their content removed or accounts restricted. As Ojala and Ripatti-Torniainen (2023) argue, research often overstates the democratic potential of networked publics without considering how platform infrastructure especially algorithms and moderation controls what gets seen and what’s silenced. Visibility may be offered, but it’s not neutral and it’s definitely not guaranteed.

And this isn’t something that only happens in authoritarian contexts. We’ve seen similar patterns in the digital response to the crisis in Gaza. Since late 2023, TikTok and Instagram have been flooded with posts documenting Israeli military attacks, especially from Palestinian users and the diaspora. But this surge in visibility has also triggered waves of suppression. Users have reported “shadow banning”, content removals and suspensions after sharing posts flagged as “graphic” or “political.” Even though platforms deny bias, activists have pointed out that moderation disproportionately impacts users from the Global South or those challenging Western-aligned narratives. Again, we’re reminded that while social media can raise the volume of marginalised voices, it only does so within the rules of platform governance. Ojala and Ripatti-Torniainen (2023) point out that scholars too often treat platforms as neutral stages when they’re shaped by capital, surveillance and geopolitical agendas.

Still even with these limits, networked publics matter especially for stateless or diasporic communities who use them to express identity and stay connected. Keles (2016), in his research on the Kurdish digital diaspora, explains how social media enables Kurdish users to build a sense of displaced consciousness a shared identity that comes from political expression, storytelling and cultural preservation. In the absence of a recognised homeland, these platforms act as digital civic spaces. But even here, access isn’t equal. Keles points out that digital literacy, platform rules and even language can affect who gets to participate, reminding us that even in “open” digital spaces, barriers still exist.

Gen Z-led climate movements use similar digital strategies. Campaigns like Fridays for Future and Stop Adani as well as climate creators on TikTok use short videos, memes and visual storytelling to make climate issues feel urgent and relatable. These tactics help build communities, especially among young people who often feel ignored by mainstream politics. Yet again we see the limits. Even when content goes viral actual policy changes are slow or even nonexistent. Some creators even face moderation when they call out corporations or governments, showing once more how algorithms shape which causes are boosted and which are buried.

Altogether, these cases show how complicated digital activism really is. Networked publics are clearly powerful they create space for community, identity and organising across borders. But they’re also deeply shaped by corporate systems, algorithms and uneven moderation practices. Scholars like Papacharissi and boyd help explain how these publics work emotionally and socially, but Ojala and Ripatti-Torniainen push us to ask harder questions: What kinds of publics are we really forming? Who controls them? And how much resistance is possible inside systems that are built around surveillance and profit? In the end, networked publics have real potential, but we really shouldn’t idealise them. They show both the strengths   limits of the digital age. They give people a voice, but lasting structural change still runs into the barriers of platform power and politics.

This brings up a deeper theoretical question: what kind of public is being formed online and how does it compare to older ideas about the public sphere? According to Habermas (1989), the public sphere is a space for rational and critical debate where citizens come together to make decisions for the common good. It’s meant to sit between the state and civil society, giving people a place to deliberate, challenge authority and make collective claims. But as Ojala and Ripatti-Torniainen (2023) point out, most research on networked publics doesn’t revisit these ideas. Instead, it often treats publics as loosely connected or emotionally charged crowds, more like cultural audiences than traditional deliberative communities.

The emotional and performative nature of online activism challenges the Habermasian view. A lot of digital content isn’t designed to start debate it’s meant to show solidarity or take a moral stance. Things like call-out culture, cancel campaigns and viral posts usually prioritise emotional impact over reasoned discussion. This is especially visible in hashtag activism, where identity often takes centre stage over deep conversations about the issue. These movements can spotlight serious problems like police brutality (#BlackLivesMatter), settler colonialism (#FreePalestine), or gender violence (#MeToo) but the engagement sometimes becomes short-lived or symbolic. Scholars like Caliandro (2018) and Dolata and Schrape (2016) suggest that in digital spaces, the line between publics, crowds and communities has blurred. As a result, it’s harder to figure out where real public discourse is happening.

Still, Papacharissi (2015) argues that affective publics shouldn’t be written off just because they’re emotional. Her work on the Arab Spring and Occupy shows that anger, grief and solidarity can be just as politically powerful as reasoned debate. These publics might not follow the traditional rules of discourse, but they still build shared meaning, form collective identities and challenge dominant narratives. Feminist and decolonial scholars also remind us that “rationality” often excludes marginalised voices. For many minority activists, storytelling and lived experience aren’t side notes to political speech they are the core of it (Jackson et al., 2020).

At the same time, if we celebrate affective publics without looking critically at the platforms that shape them, we risk idealising digital activism. Keles (2016), for example, shows how platforms like Facebook and YouTube have helped Kurdish communities stay connected, raise awareness and engage in cross border activism. But they’re also controlled by systems of moderation, of surveillance and of algorithmic filtering. Kurdish content is often taken down because of geopolitical pressure. A similar thing happened with Palestinian activism especially during the 2023 crisis in Gaza where posts showing violence were often ‘shadowbanned’ or removed altogether (Hao, 2021). These examples show that while platforms can boost visibility, it’s not guaranteed. It’s controlled by corporate systems that aren’t always transparent.

The way platforms are built also shapes the kind of publics that form. For instance, TikTok’s “For You” page rewards fast, emotional content, which can make complex political issues feel shallow. Instagram encourages aesthetic curation, which often leads to activism that looks good but lacks depth. As Bucher (2018) argues, platforms don’t just show us what to engage with they also decide what to leave out. Because of this, activists end up tailoring their messages to fit what the platform wants, sometimes choosing to reach over substance. This creates what Chun (2016) calls a ‘habitual public’ a kind of audience that engages in surface-level actions instead of long-term critical involvement.

On top of that, digital activism is increasingly tied to personal branding. When influencers use activist language to grow their following, causes can get watered down. This is what people mean when they talk about “woke-washing” or “performative allyship” (Banet-Weiser, 2018). It may spread awareness, sure but it also turns activism into a strategy for visibility and profit. Ojala and Ripatti-Torniainen (2023) warn that if researchers don’t connect digital activism back to political theory, we risk mistaking emotional content for actual democratic participation.

That said, not all digital activism is like this. More attention is now being paid to slower, less visible forms of civic engagement online. Local Facebook groups running mutual aid, Discord servers for labour organising, or collectives like Unicorn Riot are all examples of networked publics that focus on long-term goals rather than viral reach. Lim (2020) calls these “slow publics” communities that focus on strategy, education and real-world support instead of platform spectacle. These groups challenge the assumption that digital activism has to be loud and fast. They show how alternative digital spaces can build more sustainable forms of political engagement.

This kind of thinking is also seen in platform cooperativism an approach that reimagines the structure of online platforms altogether. Tools like Mastodon, Diaspora and other more decentralised platforms are trying to create spaces that are user-owned instead of controlled by corporations. While still niche, these projects represent a new way of thinking about what publics could be: not just communities that exist on platforms, but ones that own and help shape the platforms themselves. As Scholz (2016) argues, if we really want the internet to live up to its democratic potential, we must start with its infrastructure.

Online networks have changed how we think about the public sphere but their ability to drive real, lasting democratic change is still limited. Networked publics offer connection, identity and visibility. But they’re also fragmented, emotionally driven and deeply tied to commercial and surveillance systems. To really understand their political potential, we need to go back to political theory and re-evaluate the role these spaces play. That means thinking about what kinds of publics are being formed, how they function and what they could become. If digital activism is going to grow into something more meaningful, it has to go beyond the platforms themselves and start challenging the systems that control them.

References:

Banet-Weiser, S. (2018). Empowered: Popular feminism and popular misogyny. Duke University Press.

Bucher, T. (2018). If… then: Algorithmic power and politics. Oxford University Press.

Caliandro, A. (2018). Digital methods for ethnography: Analytical concepts for ethnographers exploring social media environments. Journal of Contemporary Ethnography, 47(5).

Chun, W. H. K. (2016). Updating to remain the same: Habitual new media. MIT Press.

Dolata, U., & Schrape, J.-F. (2016). Masses, crowds, communities, movements: Collective action in the internet age. Social Movement Studies, 15(1).

Habermas, J. (1989). The structural transformation of the public sphere: An inquiry into a category of bourgeois society. MIT Press.

Hao, K. (2021, October 4). Facebook’s own data shows how it suppresses Palestinian voices. MIT Technology Review.

https://www.technologyreview.com/2021/10/04/1035730/facebook-moderation-palestinian-content

Jackson, S. J., Bailey, M., & Foucault Welles, B. (2020). #HashtagActivism: Networks of race and gender justice. MIT Press.

Keles, J. Y. (2016). Digital diaspora and social capital. Middle East Journal of Culture and Communication, 9(3).

Lim, M. (2020). The politics of “slow publics”: Digital activism beyond clicktivism. Information, Communication & Society, 23(2).

Ojala, M., & Ripatti-Torniainen, L. (2023). Where is the public of ‘networked publics’? A critical analysis of the theoretical limitations of online publics research. European Journal of Communication. https://doi.org/10.1177/02673231231210207

Papacharissi, Z. (2015). Affective publics: Sentiment, technology andpolitics. Oxford University Press.

Scholz, T. (2016). Platform cooperativism: Challenging the corporate sharing economy. Rosa Luxemburg Stiftung.