Recently, a simple, well-intentioned moment turned into a small revelation for me—one that, like so many things in life, seemed minor on the surface but revealed deeper currents once I paused to reflect. I was chatting with Jessica, my brilliant and kind-hearted manicurist, about how she’s growing her business. She mentioned she hadn’t printed new business cards yet because most of her clientele now finds her through Instagram. This made perfect sense to me: in today’s world, social media can be more powerful than a thousand little cards with phone numbers and logos. She gave me the link to her page, I looked it up, showed her to confirm, and offered to share the link with others I know who might love her work. “Sure!” she said warmly.
That gesture—of wanting to support a hardworking small business owner—led me to create my own Instagram account for the first time. I used an existing Gmail address that’s anonymized (it doesn’t contain my name or personal identifiers) because I prefer to keep a boundary between my digital footprint and my deeper self. It seemed like a straightforward process. But almost immediately, I received an email from Instagram saying my new account would be deleted for violating their community guidelines. The notice was vague, a laundry list of supposed possible infractions—none of which I recognized as remotely applicable to anything I had done.
This prompted a pause—and then a decision. I am not going to fight to keep that account. I am going to walk away from Instagram, not just because of this bureaucratic mishap, but because of what I’ve come to understand about the deeper values of the platform and its leadership.
When we use Instagram, we often think we’re just sharing photos, checking in on friends, or following artists and entrepreneurs. But the reality is that we are feeding an algorithmic system designed primarily to extract behavioral data and monetize our attention. The corporate umbrella that houses Instagram—Meta, under the direction of Mark Zuckerberg—has repeatedly prioritized growth, political influence, and platform dominance over transparency, ethics, and user dignity.
Once upon a time, Zuckerberg stood at odds with Donald Trump’s policies. But times have changed. Since Trump's reelection in 2024, Zuckerberg has not only congratulated him and visited Mar-a-Lago, but Meta has also made policy hires aligned with hard-right ideology and donated large sums to Trump’s inauguration. The signals are not subtle: this is a company increasingly aligning with authoritarian-leaning governance, censorship opportunism, and a willingness to reshape reality in ways that benefit the powerful.
That, to me, is not neutrality. That is complicity.
Let me be clear: my frustration is not about being personally inconvenienced. I don’t “need” Instagram. I’m not a brand, a celebrity, or someone chasing followers. I’m simply someone who believes that technology should serve human beings—not manipulate them. That digital platforms should be stewards of free expression, not silent enforcers of opaque rules. That companies which claim to build “community” should not sell out to power for access or protection.
I realize now that the decision to suspend my account may not even have been made by a human. It may have been triggered by an AI algorithm, trained to look for anomalies in login patterns, names, locations, or behavior. And that’s precisely the problem. We are being policed not by principles, but by pattern recognition. We are interacting with increasingly unintelligent “intelligence,” accountable to no one, optimized not for truth or fairness, but for scale and compliance.
What emerged for me is this: I no longer want to feed the ecosystem of a platform that has become an enabler of political regimes I find dangerous and dishonest. I no longer want to offer my energy, time, or even my clicks to a company that will cozy up to demagogues when it's profitable, then plead ignorance when harm is done. My values—spiritual integrity, truth-seeking, compassion, and a fierce insistence on authentic freedom—are not abstractions. They are my compass.
That’s why I’m walking away.
I want to be clear that I’m not judging people who still use Instagram. Especially people like Jessica—who uses it not for ego or illusion, but to build a living, one beautifully painted nail at a time. She deserves a platform that empowers her work without entangling her in a web of hidden agendas and corporate machinations.
But even as I support her, I also want to name the system that profits off her effort and our attention. It’s not the tool that’s the problem—it’s the hands it’s in. If a hammer becomes a weapon, we don’t blame the hammer. But we do need to be very clear about who is wielding it, and to what ends.
I still believe in the promise of digital community. I believe that technology, when designed with conscience and courage, can be a bridge between worlds—between science and spirituality, between people and their higher potential. But we’re not there yet. And we won’t get there by supporting platforms whose leaders have traded integrity for influence.
So for now, I return to the roots: email, word of mouth, authentic relationships. I’ll continue to share Jessica’s work through channels I trust. I’ll champion her brilliance without feeding the algorithm.
We don’t have to be pawns in the game. We can choose which ecosystems to nurture. And every small act of conscious refusal sends a ripple through the illusion of inevitability.
I’m out, Instagram. Not in anger, but in alignment with my values.
My values -- spiritual integrity, truth-seeking, compassion, and a fierce insistence on authentic freedom -- are not abstractions. They are my compass.
-- rzc, April 10, 2025