A Questionnaire to Oneself Before Posting (or Not Posting)

"What are the tyrannies you swallow day by day and attempt to make your own, until you will sicken and die of them, still in silence?" – The Audre Lorde Questionnaire to Oneself

A few weeks ago I shared a piece I wrote earlier this summer entitled “A Questionnaire to Oneself Before Posting” (attached at the end of this newsletter), inspired by the Audre Lorde Questionnaire to Oneself. Adapted by Divya Victor and Naomi Wolf from Audre Lorde’s Cancer Journals, the question from Lorde’s questionnaire that pierced me most was: “What are the tyrannies you swallow day by day and attempt to make your own, until you will sicken and die of them, still in silence?” As I come across dozens of stories of people losing their employment from simply *posting* about the genocide in Gaza—and feel the palpable, heavy silence of the countless number of people incarcerated by the silence that capitalism viciously demands—this question has swirled in my head relentlessly. 

Social media right now is the epitome of a dissociation machine. I get it, we’re under the collective trance of these behavioral modification empires and it’s easy to feel entitled to posting as usual but I think what Instagram in particular does is distort reality in deeply damning ways. It serves as a psychosocial ‘normalcy’ parade ground that glazes over the sheer gravity of the present moment. What we’re witnessing right now is perhaps the most potent politicizing moment towards decolonization in our lifetimes to-date (as has been articulated by Fariha Róisín). Nothing can be “the same” after this. For those of us who are American, continuing business as usual quite literally directly + indirectly powers the imperial engine that funds and permits the atrocities we are witnessing be committed in Palestine. 

I am not immune. I am not saying this from a place of higher ground. I am speaking from a place of shame, deep contradiction and embedded complicity. I am ashamed that I spent even a moment hesitating to voice my support of Palestine out of fear of losing upcoming opportunities when those stakes absolutely pale in comparison to what the 2 million people in Gaza who are getting bombed beyond belief are facing. I am ashamed of succumbing to the pressure of leading with condemnation instead of historically warranted (and collectively incredibly overdue) unwavering solidarity.  I am ashamed of going to TikTok instead of Twitter in my downtime because I know I’m more likely to be able to ‘escape’ there.

Instagram was not built to be a public square, it has been shaped to be a social marketplace. We are addicted to the façades, to beauty and glamour and performing the most palatable parts of our lives. But what this time is making inescapably clear — what we MUST understand is that absolutely everything is connected. The travels we’re on, the events we’re promoting—they’re a result of a complex matrix of power. American leisure and mobility and ‘normalcy’ is a product of centuries of genocide not quite unlike what is unfolding in Gaza. The dollars we spend at Starbucks and McDonalds at scale are quite literally what fund genocide now.

Having to “play it safe” is what is making even those of us who are naming this as genocide still have to concessionally engage in a condemnation of the people who are fighting for their land back, for basic human dignity and a right to life. Somehow, it is permissible to sign open letters that support genocidal war regimes, but to even suggest that Palestine must be free is enough to make people lose their jobs. 

To those of you who have hesitated to share your solidarity publicly—more likely than not due to the possible professional repercussions it might have for you, I ask you this—and I do so with compassion—

Do you feel it, the heaviness of having to swallow tyrannies each day in the name of “getting by”? Where does this tyranny live in your body, in your spirit? When will enough be enough?

A question I omitted in the “Questionnaire to Oneself Before Posting” was: ‘Is there someone I hope doesn’t see this?’ I empathize with people whose livelihoods are at risk, with those of us who wish we could show solidarity but hide it from certain bosses or colleagues. And yes, I know that posting is not the only way to demonstrate solidarity. But at the very least, what would it look like to boycott the digital normalcy charade? To withhold from posting business-as-usual, as though a genocide were not actively unfolding?  

All is not well. Perhaps it is too risky—in the sense of financial precarity, which again I feel the need to emphasize *pales* in comparison to what people in Gaza are facing—to share information that counteracts the Zionist propaganda machine perpetuated by mainstream media at present. Perhaps not all of us feel literate enough in the history of Palestine to post about it online (I don’t really think you have to be anything close to a scholar of Palestinian history to speak out against ethnic cleansing, but I do empathize with the hesitation to share online while feeling contextually under-informed). But it is certainly not too risky to resist the temptation to post as though nothing were happening. 

Again—I say this not from a place of judgment, but from a place of empathetic contradictions of my own. A Questionnaire to Oneself Before Posting is an invitation towards reflection. What we share has just as much power as what we don’t share—for better or for worse.

Below is the original version of the questionnaire I had put together earlier this summer. The past two weeks have made me realize that perhaps even the way I framed these questions was rooted in an individualism that is not in service of the behavioral rehabilitation that I aspire towards. I am sharing it here as it stands, a work in progress, as I continue to reflect on what it means to engage with social media not as an apolitical personal scrapbook–but rather to meaningfully consider the totality of its potentials (and limitations) as a collective tool.

With Love and In Solidarity,

Neema