When the algorithm becomes the jury — how influencers police public opinion

Mail & Guardian

10 hours ago

Graphic: John McCann
Social media was supposed to be a place where everyone could finally have a voice. For years, we heard that platforms like Facebook, Instagram, X and TikTok would open up public conversation.
No more gatekeepers in newsrooms deciding whose views mattered and no more barriers to ordinary people being heard. That was exciting. Imagine a digital square where the kid in Mthatha and the student in Bloemfontein could all debate big ideas as equals. A space where different experiences could meet without fear or favour.
But, if you spend any time online, you will know it didn't really turn out that way. Instead of becoming a free marketplace of ideas, social media has evolved into a space where a small group of influencers and big accounts set the agenda. These are the people who decide which opinions are 'right', which are 'dangerous' and which deserve to be ridiculed.
The irony is that many of these influencers built their brands on the idea of challenging old power structures. They spoke up when the mainstream media ignored certain issues. They fought for visibility, and that work mattered, and still does, but somewhere along the way, the line between calling out injustice and policing all disagreement got blurred. Now, it sometimes feels like social media has simply replaced one set of gatekeepers with another.
It happens repeatedly. A controversial issue breaks out, perhaps about a politically charged subject such as race, feminism or the management of the economy, and within hours, the largest accounts with the most reach have declared which perspective is acceptable. Those who hold a different view quickly learn that it's safer to say nothing.
This isn't just about social disapproval. On platforms that thrive on engagement — any post that doesn't fit the popular narrative risks being buried by the algorithms or swarmed by abusive replies. The cost of speaking up can be high; it can sometimes cost you your reputation, mental health and even your job. Hence, most decide to remain quiet. However, this doesn't mean they agree. It means they've seen what happens to others who speak out and decided it's not worth it.
The German political scientist Elisabeth Noelle-Neumann's spiral of silence theory fundamentally posits that individuals have an instinctive fear of isolation. This compels them to monitor their environment, particularly opinions voiced in public, to assess which views are dominant. When people perceive that their opinions are unpopular, they are more likely to remain silent, preferring the safety of conformity over the risk of ostracism.
Over time, this process amplifies the dominance of one view, not necessarily because it is intrinsically correct, but because dissent is suppressed through social pressure, so it looks as if everyone agrees even when they don't. That's how a small group ends up controlling the conversation on social media.
Take a look at any trending topic on X or Facebook and you'll see this dynamic in action. A few large accounts decide that a certain view is unacceptable. They post their verdict, sometimes in mocking tones or with hashtags demanding accountability, then their followers pile in to amplify the message.
If you've ever watched someone get dogpiled, you know how nasty it can get. Strangers will flood their replies with insults, demands for apologies and calls for punishment. Screenshots of the offending opinion will be shared in group chats and private forums, often stripped of context. Sometimes the target did say something reckless or offensive, other times they simply voiced a perspective that wasn't popular with the influencers in charge and, in the background, thousands of users read the exchange and quietly take note — this is the price of disagreeing. It's not surprising that most people choose self-censorship over open discussion.
This culture doesn't just happen by accident. It thrives because social media platforms are designed to reward outrage and conformity. Algorithms push content that gets engagement, likes, shares, comments — even angry reactions. The more dramatic or polarising the post, the further it spreads. That's why influencers so often lean into profanity, invasion of privacy and any kind of sensationalism. It's a guaranteed way to grow their reach and, while it works for them, it damages the rest of us. Complex and multilayered issues are reduced to black-and-white takes, nuance disappears, anyone who asks a genuine question gets treated like an enemy.
It's also worth saying that this isn't only about opinions, it's about finance. On Facebook, monetisation tools have turned big pages into income streams. Influencers can earn real money from in-stream ads, stars and subscriptions. The bigger your following, the bigger your payout and that creates an extra incentive to protect your turf.
It's not surprising that many influencers act like gatekeepers — when you challenge their narrative, you're not just disagreeing, you're threatening their income. This new power dynamic is rarely acknowledged. Most people still talk about social media as if it's a level playing field, but it's not. A handful of personalities effectively decide what's acceptable to say and, if you have a smaller audience, your opinions are easier to ignore or attack.
Over time, this creates a closed ecosystem. If you want to grow your following, you're better off repeating whatever the big voices are saying. You learn to avoid certain topics and watch your words. While this might feel like a personal problem, just individuals adapting to the platform, it adds up to something bigger. It creates a culture where real debate is replaced by a performance of agreement.
The saddest part is that it didn't have to be this way. Social media could still be a space where unpopular views get tested, challenged and sometimes even changed. But, instead, we've normalised a culture where punishment comes before understanding. If you're someone who has ever hesitated before posting, you already know what this feels like. The calculation happens in your head: 'Is it worth it?' and most of the time, the answer is 'No.'
It's tempting to think that silence means consensus, that if nobody is speaking up, it must be because everyone agrees, but that's rarely true. More often, it's a sign that people have weighed the risks and decided they'd rather say nothing than deal with the consequences.
We should worry about what this does to freedom of speech and tolerance. When influencers alone control the narrative, we miss out on opportunities to find common ground. This results in an illusion of unity, an illusion that breaks down the moment we step offline and realise how much resentment and frustration has been building online.
You don't have to be a public relations professional to see why this is a problem. In PR, we learn that perception matters just as much as reality. If people feel as if they can't speak out, it doesn't matter how many times you tell them the platform is 'open to all'. The reality is that it's open only to those who agree with the prevailing sentiment.
That perception is shaping the behaviour of millions of South Africans and it's the reason people retreat into private groups and encrypted chats and stop engaging with public posts. It's the reason many of us feel like we're living in two worlds: the world of performative agreement online and the world of honest disagreement offline.
Next time you see someone speaking up, even if you don't agree, ask yourself whether they really deserve to be humiliated or erased and the next time you feel that familiar fear in your gut before posting, remind yourself that your voice matters too. If we all keep quiet, the conversation belongs only to the people willing to weaponise their influence and that's not the kind of public square any of us signed up for.
Lindokuhle Tonono is an honours student at Unisa.