Moral Grandstanding Kills Real Change

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Imagine scrolling through your feed and spotting yet another solemn meme or symbol in solidarity with a cause, or a friend beaming abroad as they hold a hammer, to build something at a mission. These gestures can feel sincere, but sometimes they mask a hunger not just to help, but to be seen helping. In today’s world of hashtags and hero photos, our urge for belonging and recognition can tip into what psychologists call communal narcissism. When it surfaces in social justice circles, it wears a deceptively benevolent mask.

Moral grandstanding is more than merely making a point; it involves using moral argument as a stage for self-promotion. Instead of asking, “How can we solve this?”, the grandstander wonders, “How can I be seen as solving this?” We see it in the person who leaps into every online debate not to listen or learn, but to out-argue others. We see it in people who publish calls to action while their practices remain unchanged. And crucially, we see it wherever our deep-seated need for approval and group acceptance becomes entwined with our activism.

Communal narcissism is a softer cousin of traditional narcissism. While classic narcissists seek admiration for their power, charm or intelligence, communal narcissists pride themselves on being the kindest, most generous, most morally upstanding people in the room. They genuinely believe they are society’s greatest benefactors, yet research consistently shows that their generosity often evaporates when no audience is present. Their self-image relies on public praise; without that external validation, their so-called altruism can vanish.

Imagine the viral image of an influencer borrowing a power drill to “help” board up a shop after a protest, pausing long enough for a photograph, then slipping away. Another example is Blackout Tuesday, when millions posted black squares under #BLM. Although well-intentioned, the gesture required no meaningful sacrifice and drowned out vital organising information. These episodes capture communal narcissism at work: acts that look selfless but serve primarily as virtue signalling.

Trauma therapist Rev. Sheri Heller offers a stark warning about those who cloak themselves in the mantle of “Social Justice Warrior” yet act as communal narcissists. Such individuals often use vulnerable communities as trophies, strutting their alliances like badges of honour. They demand unquestioning praise and brand any critique of their tone or methods as complicity in oppression. They cultivate a sense of victimhood to command attention, and weaponise outrage to bully dissenters into silence. Their anger at injustice may feel genuine, but it can be a smokescreen for a deeper hunger for control and adulation.

Low-effort online activism, sometimes called slacktivism, can raise awareness, but when the only cost is a few taps on a screen, it risks becoming a substitute for authentic engagement. Changing a profile picture or sharing a hashtag can make us feel virtuous without demanding any true sacrifice. On a grander scale, some volunteers who travel abroad to build schools may pay thousands for the experience. Still, the result can do more harm than good if the focus is on perfect social-media shots rather than genuine community collaboration. This further creates problems, as well, that the well-meaning people following this behaviour on social media are compelled to join the circus due to FOMO, thus reinforcing the memetic behaviour created by the communal narcissists - The idea that "If I don't morally grandstand, someone else will, and I will be made to look bad in the community." It can also be due to the "Agent Smith effect", which I wrote about in this blog.

Nigerian-American writer Teju Cole describes this as the “White Saviour Industrial Complex,” where volunteers often benefit their own egos more than the communities they claim to serve. He states, "The White Saviour Industrial Complex is not about justice. It is about having a big emotional experience that validates privilege." A former voluntourist admitted she structured her entire trip around Instagram moments and barely learned any locals’ names, to curate her personal narrative of compassion. This kind of selfie-driven altruism can create dependency, divert resources from sustainable projects and ultimately leave local people more vulnerable.

Companies are not immune to virtue signalling either. When corporations rush to post public statements or pledge donations in response to crises, it can ring hollow if their internal cultures remain unchanged. A CEO under scrutiny might tout a six-figure gift on LinkedIn to burnish their reputation, while the company’s boardroom diversity and employee wellbeing go unaddressed. Although such gestures can feel superficial, sometimes they spark the scrutiny needed to compel genuine reform.

The cost of performative altruism extends beyond mere annoyance. It erodes trust in genuine charitable and activist efforts. Donors discovering that a charity leader sought headlines over impact feel betrayed and may withhold future support. Movements themselves can splinter under the weight of moral grandstanding competition for the podium, as activists compete for the loudest outrage or the most socially acceptable stance. Instead of uniting behind clear goals, debates descend into purity tests, with even minor missteps resulting in public shaming and ostracism.

There is also a human toll on those caught in communal narcissism. The relentless quest for admiration is exhausting, and any criticism, no matter how constructive, can feel like an existential rejection. When every good deed carries an invisible question: “Will this earn me praise?”, one experiences the atrophy of one's empathy and self-awareness. Over time, relationships built on conditional kindness often collapse when the applause fades, leaving the communal narcissist isolated and disillusioned.

Recognising these psychological traps enables us to steer toward sincerity. Healthy self-esteem, rather than fragile approval-seeking, acts as a shield against the manipulative tactics of narcissistic activists. When our self-worth is not tethered to likes or shares, we can speak up even if no one is watching. By decentering ourselves and practising what Rev. Sheri Heller calls “narrative humility,” we listen first and amplify the voices of those most affected by injustice, rather than positioning ourselves as heroes.

Building genuine kindness in our lives often starts with those little, unnoticed acts of generosity. Think about making anonymous donations, volunteering without sharing it online, or simply being there to listen when someone needs support. It's also about encouraging charities and companies to do better by looking into their impact reports, not just their shiny press releases. Let’s take a moment to appreciate the everyday heroes among us, starting from the simplest of kindnesses, like the neighbour who collects and keeps safe your TEMU delivery. These quiet, unassuming efforts can create the most meaningful and lasting change in our communities!

When we think about activism and charity, it really comes down to a simple yet important question: Are we focusing on helping the cause or just on ourselves? Sometimes, when people show off their good deeds or seek attention, the real purpose gets lost, and the cause can end up suffering because of it. But instead of becoming cynical, we should strive for awareness. By understanding the temptation of wanting to appear virtuous, we can get back to the genuine spirit of altruism: helping others simply because it’s the right thing to do, not just to look good. It’s in those quiet moments, when no one is watching, that we truly test our character and find the most sincere way to make a difference.