Social media is an inescapable invention. Its existence and our daily usage of it are no novelty, as the vast majority of the world population has an online presence on at least one social media platform or instant messaging service. For years, we have used these spaces to communicate, share perspectives, and call out injustices. They have allowed us to become global citizens, witnessing all types of developments, from human rights advancements to disastrous situations, such as the livestreamed genocide of Palestinians.

Social media has given us the possibility of obtaining different versions of a single event, which is not only meaningful for staying informed but also incredibly important for recognizing the truth in an era defined by misinformation and disinformation. However, the very platforms that empowered civic engagement are now increasingly serving as instruments for political manipulation, state propaganda, and the normalization of anti-rights discourse.

Social media interactions have become obscured by AI-powered decisions over which actors get to use their voice, and emotion-stirring algorithms that amplify controversial content to cause reactions, debates, and, ultimately, polarization, not only across cultures and continents, but also among nations themselves. The adoption of these technologies is often justified by promoting an unrealistic understanding of freedom of expression, which assumes that this right entails speech at any cost without restrictions. Yet, under international human rights law, freedom of expression inevitably comes with responsibilities and limits aimed at protecting individuals and groups from hate, discrimination, or any form of speech or act that is inherently antithetical to the respect for human dignity.

In the past years, governments and political leaders have expanded their use of social media as a strategic political instrument, often employing it to promote their views, including deeply discriminatory ones. Social media has become yet another arena where segregation, discrimination and oppression take place. This development has unfolded in parallel with the resurgence of far-right political ideologies and the accelerating decay of democracy worldwide. What unfolds in offline political environments is mirrored in online spaces, where policies and regulations bend to fit current narratives. Offline political behaviour, therefore, shapes the conditions under which users are allowed to communicate online.

In January 2025, for example, Meta announced policy changes to their platforms, justifying their decision by stating that “[i]t’s not right that things can be said on TV or the floor of Congress, but not on our platforms.” As a result, policies that regulated online speech are now increasingly relaxed to allow for hate and disinformation with less content moderation, removal of fact-checks and tolerance for a higher level of controversial content. In more concrete terms, Meta’s objective is to keep itself up to date with current political dynamics. If political speech is allowed to, for instance, avidly argue that certain groups in society are not entitled to human rights, why would this narrative be restricted on social media platforms?

The long-term effects of these policy changes are clear: with flexible regulations, social media platforms become spaces where users can openly display anti-rights and dehumanizing discourse in a public sphere without any repercussions. As an added bonus, governments also get the marvellous benefit of being able to shape people’s perspectives without having to adhere to bothersome guidelines on disinformation. The White House, in the United States, stands as a prominent example with its notorious use of platforms like TikTok, where it publishes snippets of videos romanticizing the mistreatment of migrants on a daily basis, among other things.

Its social media usage perfectly illustrates how governments can employ entertainment formats to normalize violence and appeal to the youth. Whereas one could superficially class this type of content in simple terms as ‘rage bait’, it is undeniable that the White House’s presence in social media platforms succeeds in causing a reaction and reaching its target audience. Its intent to reach a young demographic is most notable through its use of pop culture and participation in ‘trends’, both of which are often incorporated in its content. 

Last week, for instance, the White House posted a video of Immigration and Custom Enforcement officers arresting individuals with the audio from Sabrina Carpenter’s song ‘Juno’. The artist immediately reacted by expressing disgust, asking the administration to “not ever involve [her] or [her] music to benefit [it’s] inhumane agenda.” The White House subsequently took the video down, but insisted that it would not “apologize for deporting dangerous criminal illegal murderers, rapists, and pedophiles” and that “anyone who would defend these sick monsters must be stupid, or is it slow?” referring to Carpenter’s lyrics from the song.

It may be too malicious to assume that this is precisely the type of reaction the White House is after. However, it is evident the strategy broadened the post’s reach. Had an audio from a government-supporting artist, or none at all been used, the post would likely have reached only a limited audience already aligned with that type of content. By deliberately including an audio that is certain to trigger a polarized reaction, the content reached a wider audience, including those who oppose the current administration’s policies. 

These algorithmic influencing strategies do not only manipulate our social media engagement, but they also distract the global population from more worrisome issues whose visibility seems to have subsided in social media: that Ukraine is still being attacked; that there is still a genocide in Palestine; that political tensions continue to rise between the West and Russia; and that the global economy is at historic lows.

Private corporations, which own and regulate these platforms, also benefit from this dynamic. By aligning themselves to those in power, they can have a more direct involvement in the shaping of narratives and language. In this sense, establishing good relations with state actors is only rational. Together, they hold the authority to decide whether a symbol, such as a watermelon emoji, should be less tolerated than directly calling a group of people “garbage.” In this system, regulatory discretion is merely a tool of political alignment rather than a mechanism for protecting users or even safeguarding democratic debate.

The result is a digital landscape where dehumanization is acceptable and common, but standing against injustices is inappropriate. When the ‘right’ dominates on the basis of a discriminatory rhetoric, speaking up in favour of human rights is, thus, an exclusive endeavour of the ‘left’. Since it has become trendy to frown upon, and even censor, advocacy for the dignity of other human beings, human rights are, then, left without social media accounts.

The existence of this exclusionary environment with no room for respect consequently reinforces the erroneous (yet widespread) belief that human rights can be subject to a vote, reducing democracy to a space where the views of the majority prevail, however antidemocratic those may be. Such a flawed conception essentially distorts the purpose of human rights and democracy, which are meant to set limits on majority rule and support those vulnerable to exclusion.

77 years from the adoption of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights by the United Nations General Assembly, what can we expect of the future of human rights? A future whose tone has been set by our current complacency. A future where we are expected to be silent observers of injustice. A future that mirrors the mistakes more than the lessons from the past.

Little is said about the chilling effect this type of censorship has on the next generation, one that has grown up entirely with social media. A generation who is learning to abide, not by the rule of law, but by the will of modern-day tyrants. Along with the increasing reliance on AI, the future promises a docile generation that questions neither thought nor action, not because they are not capable of it, but because they learned that doing so would be unacceptable. In that future, the biggest risk for human rights is that they may no longer be redefined by those who demand justice, but rather by those who are forced to remain silent.