Social Media Cancer

Andrew Field,

Venturing a little from southern Africa, this blog discusses extremist political turmoil and division between left and right in the Western World. Moderate or centre-oriented politics seems to have slipped away. The now destructive impact of social media is manifesting as a significant factor.  There was a time, not too long ago, when the internet was spoken of in reverent tones. It was the great leveler, the promise of a more connected and democratic world. We waddled in comfort behind keyboards.

Social media, in particular, was hailed as the voice of the voiceless, the amplifier of truth, and the destroyer of gatekeepers. But like so many revolutions, it has turned inward. What began as liberation has become a form of captivity; indoctrination by falsehoods; addiction to dogma.  The world has experienced a boom in disinformation, and the old communist and socialist propaganda machines have ignited.

The embers of old ideology, once smouldering in pamphlets and party halls, now flare anew in the algorithmic furnace. What was once a slow burn of doctrine; fed by ink, radio waves, and rigid manifestos; has been rekindled in the digital ether, where virality replaces dialectic and memes masquerade as manifest truth.

The old propaganda machines, rusted but intact, have found fresh fuel in the infinite scroll: a wildfire of curated outrage, nostalgia, and engineered belonging. The revolution is no longer televised; it’s livestreamed, liked, and looped.  Today, social media is not the town square; it is the colosseum. It is not the library; it is the loudspeaker. Sadly, it is no longer the conscience of society; it is its cancer.

The platforms we inhabit are not passive. They are designed; engineered, even; to keep us engaged, enraged, and addicted. Every click, every swipe, every reaction is measured, monetised, and fed back into a system that rewards extremity and punishes restraint.

This is not incidental. It is the business model. The longer we linger, the more data we shed. And the more data we shed, the more precisely we can be targeted; not just by advertisers, but by ideologues, propagandists, and provocateurs. The latter three are in overdrive.

In Southern Africa, where political discourse has long been shaped by struggle and survival, this machinery takes on a darker hue. Media platforms that once gave voice to governments and liberation movements have died, replaced by the fiery ether; a volatile medium of transmission; both liminal space and realm of transformation.  And so it is in the West.

Welcome to today’s internet. The nouveau media of exchange now amplify populism, tribalism, and revisionist history.  Everyone is a racist, a bigot, a liar – and ignorant to boot. The truth is no longer what is accurate, but what is viral. Nuance is drowned out by noise. And the measure of a thought is not its merit, but its metrics. And as it is in Africa, so too in the West—only ten times worse.

On 10 September 2025, Charlie Kirk, founder of Turning Point USA and a prominent conservative voice, was shot dead while speaking at Utah Valley University. The footage, captured on mobile phones, was online within minutes. It was graphic, immediate, and unfiltered.

The reactions were swift and polarised. Donald Trump called him “legendary”. Barack Obama condemned the violence. The left pointed to Kirk’s record of inflammatory rhetoric; the right blamed the climate of hatred fostered by progressive activists. And somewhere in the middle, the truth was lost.

What followed was not mourning, but acrid mobilisation. Kirk’s death became a meme, a weapon, a rallying cry. Videos circulated on TikTok and Instagram, some reverent, others grotesque. A woman misidentified as the shooter was hounded offline. University staff were suspended for posting celebratory messages. And the platforms, as always, profited from the traffic.

This was not a tragedy; it was a spectacle. And it revealed, in stark relief, the moral vacuum at the heart of our digital culture.

Social media has not only distorted truth—it has commodified belief. The right speaks in the language of faith, tradition, and moral certainty. The left counters with secular virtue, symbolic justice, and curated outrage. Both sides perform. Both sides posture. And both sides rely on platforms that reward performance over principle.

In Zimbabwe, South Africa, and beyond, we have witnessed this play out in our own unique ways. Political parties invoke, most often false, liberation credentials while silencing dissent. Revisionism becomes the gospel. Activists are celebrated one day and vilified the next. The digital battlefield is littered with slogans, hashtags, and doctored images; each claiming to speak for the people, but few willing to listen to them.  Orwell’s “doublespeak” rules supreme.  And so it is in the West, but so much more.

Charlie Kirk, for all his attributes and flaws, depending on your sway, believed in something. He built a movement on the promise of free speech, individual liberty, and cultural resistance. But the irony is cruel: the very platforms that enabled his rise are now the battlegrounds for his erasure.

And herein lies the paradox. Any attempt to “cure” social media, through regulation, moderation, or algorithmic reform, risks undermining the very freedom of expression that gave rise to voices like Kirk’s. The cancer cannot be cut out without damaging the tissue that sustains it.

We are more connected than ever, but more alone than ever. We speak in hashtags, argue in comment threads, and measure our worth in likes. But we do not listen. We do not think or reflect. And we do not change.  We have become mere drones and the fodder of evil elites.

Social media has given us the illusion of participation without the substance of engagement. It has replaced dialogue with declaration, empathy with exhibition, and solidarity with spectacle.

In Southern Africa, where community once meant shared hardship and collective memory, the digital age has fragmented us. We are no longer neighbours; we are avatars. We are no longer citizens; we are content. And so it is ten times as much in the West.

Social media has become a cancer, and the cure must be more than cosmetic. It must be philosophical. We must ask not only how we regulate platforms, but how we rebuild the public square. We must rediscover the value of silence, the dignity of privacy, and the discipline of thought.

But we must also be honest. The cure will come at a cost. It will mean limits on speech, constraints on reach, and friction in a system built for speed. And in doing so, it may suppress the very freedoms it seeks to protect.

That is the tragedy of our time. That is the paradox of our progress. And that, perhaps, is the price of clarity.