You log onto Instagram and idly flip through 10 stories. Each is prefaced with a glaring red “TW”: a post about war, assault and, occasionally, some unfortunate meme. It’s the post that has won the favour of the algorithm for the day and you will keep seeing it throughout the day. Eventually, you realize why. People are fervently insisting that if you’re not sharing that particular post, you are complicit in your own oppression. Someone posts a distressed story about selective activism: every time you ignore this post, they say, your silence causes another death. With a jitter, you share the story, the emotive call to action sticking in your mind far more than anything actually mentioned in the post. However, how effective can this culture of “shaming to share” really be?

The pressure to be perpetually outraged online is something every marginalized group has felt. A woman who faces patriarchal violence in every aspect of her life is reminded about the worst aspects of her existence every time she logs onto social media. Every time you see such a post but choose not to visibly vocalize your pain online, there is a sense that you are failing other women around you. But after already fighting for one’s space, at home, in the streets and against the state, being told that it is your duty to do this virtually as well is unfair: it takes away from the escapism and safety that online sites can offer.

When your entire existence as a marginalized group is politicized, the respite offered through online spaces is crucial. The choice to take a break online is better for building resilience, confidence and mental health. Jameela Jamil’s #iweigh campaign explores this best: the movement’s participants share what they value most about themselves, rather than the labels society deems to be the most important. Posting about the costs of patriarchal violence is noble and commendable, but it can also add up to a sense of disillusionment known as “activism burnout”. Activism burnout “is a deterioration of psychological … wellbeing” that manifests in lethargy, feelings of shame and guilt about the inability to affect change. According to Good Therapy, the “advocate may be so overwhelmed by the ways in which people are victimized and re-victimized … that he or she feels paralyzed”.

The universal pressure to post also doesn’t take privilege into account. Privilege, in whatever form it exists for one, gives one more mental bandwidth to speak out about a cause. Someone who is less vocal on social media is not always #fakewoke but may be afraid of suffering very real consequences: a queer person may be afraid of being outed, a woman may be afraid of receiving rape threats or triggering traumatic memories. While there are vocal members from these communities who are actively and passionately leading the fight, if one chooses not to, that decision should be respected, not judged. Guilt-tripping less privileged groups to speak out ostracizes the very people the movement is supposed to be helping.

Ultimately, this means that greater responsibility lies with men to share posts from the women who do speak out. There is greater responsibility on hetero-cis people to amplify queer voices in their community. There is greater responsibility on rich celebrities to utilize their millions of followers to bolster smaller movements and bring them to the mainstream.

I often feel guilty that I have not used my social media platform to be more vocal about the causes I’m passionate about, but I think we would all be happier if we realized that the primary burden of Instagram activism isn’t on the average user. If the point of your activism is radically changing people’s minds, then sharing an already popular post on a small private account with an audience that you have highly filtered and cultivated to reflect the same opinions as you is only feeding the echochamber. In that case, seeking out and engaging with people known to be prejudiced and/or discriminatory would create more impact. The focus on “sharing” a distressing piece of news also creates a sense of complacency for some allies who feel that their work is done after posting on Instagram. Posting is a good start, but it is not an end goal in and of itself.

I get it. Likes are ready-made dopamine hits. The effect of volunteering feels less tangible. Picking a new cause to excessively post about every two weeks feels exciting. Dedicating yourself to one or two causes and watching change happen at a snail’s pace? Maybe not so much.

It’s understandable why yelling into the void is therapeutic: it is easiest to channel your outrage at the people in your immediate proximity. But empty repetition of rhetoric your audience already knows doesn’t achieve much change. It’s worth evaluating who you are directing your social media activism toward. The next time you’re sharing a post with the caption “if you don’t share this post, you are part of the problem,” take a second to think: is this directed towards the oppressor or the oppressed?