What Goes Viral and Why? - The Anatomy of a Hungry World

We live in a world where what spreads fastest is often what wounds deepest. Fear, outrage, ridicule, division — these are the viruses that pass through our feeds like wildfire. And when something loving, beautiful, or true does catch flame, it is often quickly consumed and forgotten — a flicker in the storm.

The question isn’t just, Why does hate go viral?

It’s Why do we feed it?

We point at corporations, algorithms, politicians, and influencers. Yes, they capitalize on our pain. Yes, they build systems designed to exploit our impulses. But let’s be honest — they didn’t create the appetite. They simply packaged it.

There is something far older, far more insidious at play.

A wound in the human psyche.

A scar left by generations who had to abandon parts of themselves to survive.

A deep and quiet belief that we are not safe in love. That we are not worthy of peace. That we must fight to belong. That tenderness is weakness. That love is naive. That unity is impossible.

So we consume what mirrors our pain.

We share what confirms our suffering.

We amplify what protects us from our own vulnerability.

Hate doesn’t go viral because it’s powerful. It goes viral because it feels familiar.

Because somewhere inside, many of us have been taught — through punishment, abandonment, betrayal, or silence — that love is not safe to trust. That connection is conditional. That being good means performing. That being accepted means shrinking. That being seen means risking too much.

And so we build walls. Digital ones. Emotional ones. Cultural ones.

We hide behind “likes” and identities and opinions and we call it expression.

But what we’re really doing is surviving — not connecting.

We are not broken. But we are aching.

And the ache has become content.

The ache has become an economy.

The ache has become culture.

But it doesn’t have to.

What goes viral is not just about what’s marketed to us — it’s about what we choose to multiply. We are the source code. Every click, every comment, every share is an offering to the collective altar.

What are we worshiping?

What are we remembering?

Because love is just as contagious as fear — if we let it be.

But it asks more of us.

It asks us to slow down.

To be seen.

To let go of the performance.

To risk our hearts.

To rewire the stories we’ve inherited.

To choose again and again to meet hatred with presence — not silence, not complicity, not vengeance — but presence.

Because what you feed grows.

So no, this isn’t about blame.

It’s about power.

The sacred, sobering power of choosing what we amplify.

Let’s stop feeding the machines that profit from our disconnection.

Let’s become the ones who make love viral again — not by pushing it into the algorithm, but by living it so boldly that even the machines can’t help but notice.

One honest word.

One act of care.

One refusal to dehumanize.

One commitment to feel the ache and not pass it on.

One human remembering at a time.

That’s how it spreads.