The hostility we see online isn’t simply the product of algorithms. Much of it comes from impulses we ordinarily keep hidden

There’s more truth to the hatred, taboo beliefs, and raw emotions expressed on social media than we’re willing to admit.

From morning to night, you and I practise the exhausting routine of self-control. We force a smile when our boss moves the goalposts. We stay silent when an acquaintance spews absurd conspiracy theories. We put up with rudeness, entitlement, petty demands, and people who seem determined to make our lives miserable.

We swallow what we’d really like to say because we learned early in adulthood that “go along to get along” is the price of admission to society. It’s how we get through the day without losing friends, jobs, or teeth.

Then we unlock our phones, scroll through social media, or read the comments on an article, and suddenly those restraints don’t seem quite so necessary. Within seconds, our carefully constructed mask of public politeness slips off. We leave comments that don’t merely disagree; they’re meant to decimate. We launch into rants about politicians, immigration, geopolitical crises, or the neighbour who wants to build a fourplex down the street. We say things to strangers that we’d never dream of saying while standing next to them in a grocery store.

Why?

The popular explanation is that social media has poisoned us. Algorithms feed us outrage, encourage tribalism, and turn otherwise decent people into aggressive keyboard warriors. There’s truth to that. Social media companies have built enormously profitable businesses around keeping us emotionally engaged, and anger is particularly good at holding our attention.

But blaming algorithms for our behaviour lets us avoid a more uncomfortable possibility. What if social media isn’t creating all this hostility? What if it’s simply giving us permission to express what we’ve been thinking all along?

Social media doesn’t just distort human behaviour. It exposes the anger, resentment, and prejudices we ordinarily keep to ourselves.

Think about the last time someone said something that made your blood boil. Perhaps it was a political opinion you found offensive or a smug remark from someone who clearly thought they were the smartest person in the room. You probably didn’t say everything that crossed your mind. You considered the consequences, bit your tongue, and moved on.

Now imagine that same exchange taking place online, with a stranger you’ll never meet. Suddenly, there’s no awkward silence to endure, no friendship to jeopardize, and little immediate risk of getting punched in the nose. The temptation to say exactly what you’re thinking becomes considerably stronger.

There’s actually a name for this behaviour. Psychologist John Suler called it the “online disinhibition effect” in 2004. Anonymity and the absence of face-to-face contact can make us less restrained about what we say. In other words, we’re more willing to speak our minds when we don’t have to look someone in the eye.

The anger didn’t suddenly appear because you opened Facebook. It was already there. What changed was your willingness to express it.

We like to believe the politeness we display in public reflects who we really are, while the ugliness that sometimes emerges online is an unfortunate consequence of technology.

But why should we assume our public behaviour is always the more authentic version of ourselves? The person who smiles politely at someone he despises and the person who attacks a stranger online are not two different people. They’re the same person behaving under different circumstances.

Civilization depends on our willingness to keep our less admirable impulses under control. We don’t tell every irritating person exactly what we think of them. We don’t turn every disagreement into a personal confrontation. We practise courtesy, sometimes sincerely and sometimes because the alternative would make everyday life unbearable.

Call it manners, restraint, or good old-fashioned social hypocrisy. Whatever you call it, society couldn’t function very well without it.

After a day of smiling politely and swallowing our frustrations, there’s something perversely satisfying about telling a stranger on Facebook exactly where to go. And there’s usually an audience willing to applaud.

Of course, not everything people post reflects their deepest convictions. Some exaggerate to attract attention. Others say outrageous things to impress their online tribe. But wanting to feel superior, punish someone who disagrees with us, or simply have the last word didn’t begin with social media.

Social media companies didn’t invent human toxicity; they discovered an oil field and built derricks to monetize it.

Their algorithms don’t need to manufacture every resentment or prejudice. They identify what gets us worked up and keep serving us more of it. Anger attracts attention. Outrage generates engagement. Every argument, insult, and furious exchange gives the platforms another opportunity to keep us scrolling. A 2021 Yale University study found that people who received positive feedback for expressing outrage on Twitter were more likely to express outrage again.

The companies profit from our hostility, but we’re the ones supplying the raw material. Their platforms reward our worst impulses and encourage us to keep expressing them.

Why do we enjoy seeing someone we dislike humiliated online? Why does a vicious comment sometimes give us more satisfaction than a thoughtful disagreement? Why are we so quick to assume the worst about people whose political or social beliefs differ from ours?

I’m sure you’ve seen people who would never dream of insulting a stranger in person gleefully ridicule someone online. Perhaps you’ve done it yourself. I know I’ve occasionally typed something, looked at it, and realized I wouldn’t have the nerve to say it face to face.

It’s tempting to dismiss such moments as lapses in judgment. Sometimes they are. But when millions of people repeatedly behave this way, perhaps we’re witnessing something more revealing than a collection of isolated bad decisions.

Much of everyday civility depends on consequences. When the risk of embarrassment, rejection, or confrontation feels distant, some people quickly abandon the courtesy they expect from everyone else.

This doesn’t mean everyone secretly harbours hatred or that every angry post reveals someone’s true character. Human beings are more complicated than that. We can be generous and vindictive, compassionate and cruel, sometimes within the same afternoon. Social media reveals how easily those competing sides of our nature emerge when the usual restraints weaken.

Saying everything that crosses our minds doesn’t make us authentic. The fact that we feel something doesn’t make it true, fair, or worth saying. Sometimes being honest with ourselves means admitting we have an ugly impulse and choosing not to act on it.

We’ve spent years asking what social media is doing to people. Perhaps we should spend more time asking why so many people are willing, even eager, to behave this way when they believe there are few consequences.

Social media may bring out the worst in us, but it didn’t create every ugly impulse it exposes. We are responsible for what we choose to do with those impulses, whether we’re standing in front of someone or hiding behind a screen.

That’s what makes looking at our screens so uncomfortable. Sometimes, the ugliness staring back at us is our own.

Nick Kossovan decodes the psychological impact of AI and social media, helping us make sense of our evolving digital landscape.