The reach and reality of digital activism

Digital activism is a widespread term. Everyone uses it, many claim to partake in it, but defining it is a tricky task. At its simplest, it refers to the use of digital platforms for political purposes. But as a former student organiser at Warwick put it, “I think what makes it activism is the intention behind whatever you’re doing digitally”. The intention behind the use of digital tools is what separates a trend, reposting infographics, a common form of ‘clicktivism’, from a movement with actual fervour. “I think you’ll find digital activism rooted more within organisations,” said a former student organiser. The work that happens offline shapes what goes online, not the other way around. Digital activism becomes a complement to on-the-ground action, used when necessary rather than treated as an end in itself. For these students, digital activism isn’t just constant content production. It’s used with purpose, at moments when it aligns with the goals and campaign of an organisation.

The aim is to address a longstanding issue in student activism: every few years, knowledge slips through the cracks as people graduate – the kind that comes from actual experience organising, from being in the room talking to people and doing outreach

At Warwick, digital tools have the potential to broaden reach, build visibility, and enable different groups with shared interests to connect. They also help student activists engage and share resources with activist groups off campus. Overall, they work to explain the rationale behind certain decisions so that onlookers to a protest understand the plethora of considerations that go into the organisation.

Warwick’s digital approach is not just centred on outreach but also on building platforms to chronicle the work done by previous cohorts. The Warwick Anti-Racism Archive, created in a collaboration between faculty members and students, is an online collection of anonymised accounts from activists, as well as timelines and zines documenting previous campaigns. The aim is to address a longstanding issue in student activism: every few years, knowledge slips through the cracks as people graduate – the kind that comes from actual experience organising, from being in the room talking to people and doing outreach. “There wasn’t exactly a sense of continuation,” a former contributor explained. The archive creates coherence. It gives new students a sense of what they’re stepping into, what worked, what didn’t, and what still needs to change. Anonymisation also makes it safer for contributors to be honest. “We wanted to democratise the activism process and make it easier for people to get involved.” In the last few years, we have seen mass mobilisation organised through social media make tangible political change.

On 9 September, Nepalese Prime Minister KP Sharma Oli resigned following a surge of youth-led protests ignited by the government’s sudden banning of social media. Instead of shutting down dissent, the ban pushed organising into other corners of the internet. Platforms such as TikTok, Discord servers, and encrypted messaging apps became the centre of mobilisation. Many of these digital spaces weren’t new, they had been used previously for mutual aid, flood relief, and oxygen delivery coordination during the pandemic. So when the political moment arrived, the infrastructure was already there. After Oli stepped down, ten activists were chosen to advise on forming an interim government. The new prime minister was then selected through a Discord poll.

Social media can pull people in quickly, but it doesn’t build the engagement in the struggle that successful movements need. When groups skip that and rely solely on online momentum, they are more likely to fracture under pressure

Although the idea of serious political upheaval being executed through online platforms may seem unusual, even dystopian, Nepal is not an isolated case. During Bangladesh’s ‘July Revolution’, which ran from July to August 2024, student demonstrations, again rooted in online networks, culminated in the resignation of the prime minister. Indonesia has seen protests over budget cuts and economic stagnation organised heavily across social media. However, digital tools need not be used solely for the purpose of organisation and mobilisation; Ukrainian activists have used them to collect open-source evidence of Russian war crimes, a form of open-source investigation. These methods have repeatedly been used to challenge power for years now, a well-known example being the 2011 Arab Spring movement; however, it would be an error to view digital tools as a holy grail for these movements’ successes. Social media was just one channel of networking that contributed to the protest movement. Despite these demonstrable examples of impact, digital activism also comes with real risks.

In the Philippines, Facebook has become a tool for red-tagging, where young activists are labelled as enemies of the state and then targeted online and offline. And in countries such as Algeria, Zimbabwe, Gabon, and Uganda, governments have learned that one of the easiest ways to suppress a movement is simply to shut off social media entirely. Although tech optimists hail the openness of the internet, Big Tech is equally complicit in censorship. For example, after the Arab Spring, many Arab governments tightened control over online spaces. Social media companies, instead of defending free expression, removed thousands of dissident accounts across countries like Tunisia, Palestine, Egypt, and Syria, taking down posts about rights and justice with little explanation. 

Further, online movements can fizzle out faster than long-term campaigns rooted in interpersonal connections and a strong in-person network. Social media can pull people in quickly, but it doesn’t build the engagement in the struggle that successful movements need. When groups skip that and rely solely on online momentum, they are more likely to fracture under pressure.

In the end, digital tools are an opener, a tool in the activist’s toolbox. They can spark a moment and pull people in quickly and in large numbers, but they don’t build the trust, commitment, and engagement that movements run on

Reach alone doesn’t keep people engaged. Unlike national movements spread across cities, Warwick’s campus setting makes this easier. As a former student activist put it, “You’ve got a prime opportunity to build relationships with people, so why wouldn’t you take that on? I think that’s an understood sentiment among Warwick student activists.” Digital tools can be used to initiate involvement in these movements, but building these relationships must be done the old-fashioned way. The prioritisation of such in-person community building can be seen across societies on campus. Whether this be book clubs, bowling socials, or banner making, they offer a space for people to build sincere relationships and exchange and challenge ideas. The aim here isn’t simply to share information, but are there to foster a sense of community that encourages long-term involvement.

In the end, digital tools are an opener, a tool in the activist’s toolbox. They can spark a moment and pull people in quickly and in large numbers, but they don’t build the trust, commitment, and engagement that movements run on. As a former organiser expressed, “It opens the door, but it’s not what’s going to get people to stay in the room.”