They told us the revolution wouldn’t be televised,

But they forgot to mention it might be live-streamed.

Might be a screenshot, reposted, tagged.

Buried beneath brunch photos,

Then resurrected by a hashtag.

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Truth is, sometimes the front line has a comments section. 

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We used to pass flyers.

Now, we pass tweets.

Used to march down avenues,

Now we march through algorithms,

Dodging shadowbans like tear gas.

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Do not call this Slacktivism.

There’s a difference between

Performing and platforming.

Between the click

And the consequence.

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Because somewhere,

Someone is holding a phone to the sky

Like a torch. Like it’s the last thing

They have to prove they exist.

To prove that what happened

Did happen.

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You can ignore a scream in the street,

But not a video with 5 million views.

You can silence a person,

But not a movement made of code…

When it goes viral.

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This isn’t the solution, but it is a tool.

And tools build things. Or they tear them down.

So when I post, when I speak into this void

Which is disguised as a feed,

I’m not just chasing likes,

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I’m looking for you.

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The you who might see your struggle reflected

And someone else else’s bruise.

For you, who has forgotten that solidarity

Starts with listening.

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We don’t log in to escape the world,

We log in to confront it.

And sometimes, all it takes

Is one story, told with enough clarity

To cut through the noise.

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That’s not a miracle, that’s strategy.

That’s resistance,

With a Wi-Fi connection.

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(c)BobChristian