By Revgene Marie Andicoy
It starts small. A screenshot from a group chat. A stray comment clipped from class. A joke that missed its mark. Before long, it’s out of context, out of proportion, and out of your hands—living its second life in a Reddit thread.
This quiet dread that hovers over students today: not just grades or deadlines, but the possibility of becoming “content.” The fear is simple: What if I’m next?
We learn to rehearse ourselves constantly, measuring every word not only for clarity but for survival. In the process, something shifts: we don’t just speak less—we wear masks. Masks have their uses. They let us confront injustice anonymously and voice opinions we fear saying aloud. An effective call-out can raise awareness of racism or harassment, amplify voices otherwise silenced, and remind us that words still matter, even in digital space
But too often, accountability slips into spectacle. Nuance collapses into caricature. “Cringe kid,” “problematic,” “red flag.” A single comment now defines an entire person. Growth now is no longer learning but mere managing impressions.
And yes, sometimes the spotlight lands on genuinely improper behavior. The group of
friends who treat the library like a karaoke bar. The couple making out in public as if no one else exists. Those who ignore sanitation etiquette, leaving others to deal with the mess.
These aren’t harmless quirks—they’re disruptions. They cross lines of respect, and make others pay for one person’s irresponsibility. Here, posting about them can be more than petty complaints. It becomes a reminder, a digital nudge that says, “Hey, boundaries matter”.
But psychology reminds us that group behavior online is rarely straightforward. Consider groupthink quick nods, swallowed doubts, eagerness to match the loudest voice. Add group polarization, where a mild gripe turns into full-blown outrage once echoed enough times. Then throw deindividuation with the cover of anonymity in the pot and restraints loosen, names fade, and the crowd takes over. Before long, what started as a fair reminder snowballs into a digital dogpile.
Here’s the kicker: we respond with a new mask: the curated self. Authentic expression fades, and vulnerability slips behind polished updates and safe takes.
So where do we go from here?
We need to own our masks. They can reveal courage, but they also just as easily erase empathy. Accountability as well should include correction, not just condemnation.
“Cancel culture” can give way to “call-in culture,” one that teaches rather than shames.
Most of all, students need spaces—online and offline—where mistakes aren’t life sentences, but chances to stumble, reflect, and grow without being cast out.
Students aren’t scandals. They’re human. Behind every avatar, every new subject of
chismis, is a person absorbing the weight of those words. That reminder feels especially urgent in Suicide Prevention Month, when we are called to notice the quiet burdens others carry. A careless post can wound deeper than we think; a thoughtless pile-on can push someone closer to the edge.
Accountability is necessary—but so is care. May we find ourselves braver in the masks we choose, freer without the ones we don’t, and more human in the space between.
