Before addressing the core issue, it is worth reflecting on a number of Facebook posts—mostly news-related—that have appeared on my newsfeed over the past few months.
I have seen women of all ages take to the streets in protest against the alarming rise in rape and sexual harassment cases. These demonstrations were powerful, necessary, and born out of collective pain and urgency. I read about a television personality who amicably ended her marriage and began a new relationship—an entirely personal matter handled with mutual respect. I also came across stories of a well-known sports figure inaugurating an event belonging to a different faith, something that should be unremarkable in any pluralistic society.
Alongside these were far more disturbing reports: underage boys being sexually abused by teachers; religious minorities having their homes and places of worship vandalised; and countless accounts of loss, suffering, and death during the pandemic. Mixed in were everyday posts—people sharing opinions, photos, and videos from their own lives. All of this is normal. This is, after all, what Facebook is meant to be: a digital reflection of human experience.
Yet, something deeply troubling stood out. Many of these posts—regardless of how serious, tragic, or sensitive—were met with ridicule. At the heart of this mockery was a single feature: Facebook’s “Haha” reaction.
When Facebook introduced reactions, the intention was sensible. Instead of relying solely on a “Like,” users could quickly express a wider range of emotions. A heartfelt post could receive a “Love,” shocking news a “Wow,” and tragic updates a “Sad.” In theory, reactions allowed nuance with minimal effort.
However, design choices matter. Facebook displays only the most-used reactions beneath a post, arranged in order of popularity. As Julie Zhuo, former Facebook product design director, explained, this was intended to help users quickly grasp the “general sentiment” while scrolling. And this is precisely where the problem begins.
What often starts as a handful of people trying to be funny—clicking the Haha reaction—quickly snowballs. Others follow suit, sometimes without reading the article or understanding the context, simply reacting as the crowd does. Within minutes, a post about sexual violence protests or communal attacks can appear to be “funny,” because the Haha emoji dominates the reaction bar.
This distorted “general sentiment” trivialises serious issues. It reframes pain, injustice, and grief as entertainment. Worse still, it emboldens toxic behaviour in comment sections, where inappropriate remarks gain validation through likes and laughing emojis. What might seem like harmless online mischief to some inflicts genuine harm on others.
The consequences are far-reaching. Important social issues are reduced to jokes. Harmful ideologies gain visibility and legitimacy. Religious and ideological divisions deepen as people weaponise reactions to provoke and demean. Perhaps most concerning is the impact on young users. Children and teenagers, growing up immersed in social media, absorb these distorted cues about what is acceptable. Many learn to mock rather than empathise, to follow trends rather than think critically.
This helps explain why victim-blaming, casual misogyny, and online bullying have become so common among younger users. They are not born cruel; they are conditioned by the digital environments they inhabit.
There is no easy solution. One cannot dictate what others should or should not find amusing. Facebook reactions are quick, effortless, and emotionally detached. Yet that is precisely why they carry so much power.
The next time you hover over that Haha emoji, pause. In a system designed to amplify collective sentiment, a single reaction can shape perception, reinforce harm, or—if used responsibly—help restore a measure of empathy to our online spaces.