Recently, a video went viral—not a harmless meme or a funny clip, but a calculated attack that reached into my private life, resurfaced decades-old lies, and deliberately aimed hurt not just at me, but at my family. The creator of this video wasn’t looking for truth or justice; he sought clicks, notoriety, and profit, willing to sacrifice my safety and peace for his own fleeting fame.
The impact was immediate and deeply unsettling.
Consider this: Just a short while ago, I was out on a routine photoshoot. As a professional photographer and artist, not just an author, I take pride in capturing the nuances of landscapes and nature. I commented casually to another photographer how the bright blue sky, while beautiful, offered a repetitive backdrop—something we photographers often lament since a distinctive sky can dramatically alter the uniqueness of our shots. Nearby, a couple of teens overheard us, exchanged strange looks, and quietly slipped away. At the time, I dismissed it, hoping my unease was unfounded.
But the next day, reality set in starkly.
While preparing for another shoot—thankfully still seated safely in my car—I watched as a large vehicle pulled up, spilling out a group of teens and young adults. They were visibly aggressive, clearly seeking someone. My instincts immediately told me they were looking for trouble. Several emerged carrying baseball bats. The one who appeared to be their leader had a large hunting knife visibly sheathed and tucked into his waistband.
One voice carried clearly as they scanned the area, frustrated and angry: “I told you he wouldn’t be here. He never takes pictures when the sky’s blue.”
These weren’t fans or curious readers. These were people emboldened by online hate, who believed the lies and rumors propagated in that viral video. Their intentions were unmistakably hostile. In that chilling moment, a terrifying realization hit me: the previous day, I hadn’t been alone—my wife and daughter had been there too. What had this group intended to do, not just to me, but to my family?
I sat frozen in fear, grasping how vulnerable we had become, all because someone online had decided we were fair game for ridicule and worse.
The consequences of viral misinformation aren't just abstract—they are tangible, dangerous, and terrifyingly real. My daily life, my sense of safety, my family's security, all compromised by a narrative that profits from sensationalism and cruelty.
This is the true cost of viral hate: not just clicks and views, but trauma, anxiety, and physical threat. This isn’t entertainment—it’s harm.
If you’ve ever wondered about the human cost behind viral attacks, this is it.
Think before you click. Question before you believe. Remember, there's a human being behind every screen.
—William Robert Stanek
