The Downfall of a Vigilante Troll
By: Reuben Salsa
Tags: Self, Social Media, Culture, Influencers, Trolls

The Downfall of a Vigilante Troll

I thought I was speaking truth to power, but the fall from that high horse can hurt

Photo: PeopleImages/Getty Images

Confession: I used to be a troll.

Not the traditional kind. I wasn’t the type who hid behind a fake profile, swore, goaded, and tried everything to make you feel like shit.

I was more of a new age “wear you down with shit humor” type. The occasional contrarian who played devil’s advocate to self-righteous assholes; the one who poked holes in a wall of justified logic.

I used too many words to be a full-grown troll. I didn’t need to swear or attack a person’s race, sex, or whatever prejudgments society inflicted upon them. I used my words — my well-educated language. I trolled with riddles. I trolled with innuendo. I trolled with a succinct use of passive-aggressive behavior like a cleaver slicing through the bullshit. And yes, I thoroughly enjoyed it.

My trolling took on the big players, the large egos, the narcissists with a huge fan base, and the look-at-me braggarts who needed justification for every thought. I was a troll with a conscience, on a mission to right the world. Only I had a clear vision to call out the popular wolves in sheep’s clothing.

In my mind, trolling was my way of railing against the system, perceived injustice, cliques, the torch-bearing mobs, and the influencers who stroke the glistening G-spot of the masses.

I can see how ridiculous that all sounds now. Who needed another Batman for social media?

Did it even mean anything? Did it change anyone’s mind? Only one thing seemed to happen: I got angrier every time I logged onto social media.

I once labeled what I did “positive trolling.” The missus said that was dumb; it was still trolling.

I would argue back: “But these people don’t notice. These people won’t care.” But I didn’t really know. I’ve never spoken to Gary Vee to find out if he ever got pissed at that bloke from New Zealand talking down his ideas again. Once Tim Denning blocked me, I couldn’t even parody his posts. Did he notice? His media team certainly did. They get paid to block the trolls, keep out the ugly, and protect their client: positive replies only. Release the feel-good endorphins all clients crave.

My humor was often misunderstood with cultural gaps wider than a Kray twin’s Chelsea smile. But was I still trolling if nobody got my message?

I’ve read all the comments and theories on why people troll. For the record, I’m not sad, upset, or depressed in any way. I’m not an underachiever or have a poor education. I’m not from a broken home, I don’t have divorced parents, and I wasn’t abused as a child. I don’t hate my job or feel unfulfilled in my life. I’m not jealous of others’ successes or long to be the center of attention. I’m positive, upbeat, and often described as a joy to work with. I’m a glass-half-full type who wakes up content in the morning. In fact, I’m as far removed from what many like to imagine a troll to be.

Does that make me a sociopath? Maybe. It’s an interesting box, though I dislike being labeled. Maybe trolling was my need to kick out at society’s norms, to upset the apple cart, and to go against the grain.

I mostly attributed my trolling to a high sense of morals, and believed that everybody shared the same ethics as me. That lying isn’t good behavior. That scamming shouldn’t be allowed. That harming people with words is detrimental to a positive society. That my children can feel safe online without reading some perv’s comments wanting to see more flesh from a kid’s homemade video uploaded on social media.

Universal concerns, right? But who doesn’t think that way apart from the psychopaths that stalk everyday life? The problem is that everybody has their own prism. We see life from slightly different angles. For example, are scammers consciously aware they scam, or do they have confirmation bias and truly believe they’re helping people somehow? Are people liars, or do they happen to change their minds in an open and public forum?

It all boils down to critical thinking and leaving ego aside — not reacting with emotion but actually reading and engaging critically. That’s what I told myself to justify my actions.

I was a troll with a cause. All about my perception. Was it worth it? I don’t know; I couldn’t help myself. What did I get out of it? A sense of justice? Was it a complex that crowned me the champion of the downtrodden? Isn’t that what every troll believes? It’s complicated.

But what happened when I got trolled?

I awoke one Monday morning in the early hours. My phone flashed alerts at a rapid pace, with incoming notifications blitzing my network. It was an overwhelming sight; I had got myself into a shitfest.

The uproar was caused by an innocuous LinkedIn post about a fictional character named Michael who lied and cheated his way through life. I thought Michael was generic enough for me to not get into any trouble. Unfortunately, people I disliked online who had already blocked me got the wrong end of the stick and now wanted to beat me with it.

It began with nasty comments on my post. I got one from an actual Michael, a man behind several pods of influencers, who tagged people into his comment. It wasn’t long before several of his followers waded into the commentary.

I fought back and answered them emotionally and defensively, but I couldn’t keep up. I know I should’ve ignored my trolls and took time away from my computer — time to cool down. But I was caught up in the moment and quickly losing control of the situation.

The same mob began to retaliate by making their own posts about me and tagging their fellow influencers. They called me mentally unstable and claimed that I wanted to harm others and encourage them into suicide.

How would you react to reading those posts from influencers calling their followers to take action? As a collective, they incited half a million people to make my life hell, all in the name of cleansing social media and creating a safer environment. But wasn’t that my role?

Was I the only one who could see the irony when mental health advocates started actively cyberbullying me? When a substantial group of influencers on LinkedIn who advocated an anti-bullying policy called upon a mob to get me banned?

I admit: It got to me. It upset me in a way I didn’t think was possible. I felt depressed and wanted to curl up somewhere. I was terrified and angry, and the lack of sleep didn’t help. I couldn’t concentrate at work. I spent my entire morning answering, replying, and attempting to fight back. People who knew nothing about me judged me and questioned my character. They made assumptions about my background and even threatened my family.

I was now an angry, vengeful troll, trapped in a cycle of shitty behavior. I was the product of what my trolls made me, a reaction to their spite.

Hours after the initial attack, those same people launched a campaign to end hatred on social media. They cruelly mocked up my face. Instantly, I became the poster boy for all that was wrong with the platform — the public face of a bully.

How did that Monday feel? Quite shit. Tearful. I hated life. It made me want to become the biggest douche of a troll imaginable. I wanted to lash out and piss in everybody’s fucking cornflakes.

I was now an angry, vengeful troll, trapped in a cycle of shitty behavior. I was the product of what my trolls made me, a reaction to their spite.

I was advised, thankfully, to take a break. So I took time off work and sought counseling. I couldn’t understand what had happened and why it had happened, but it’s all obvious now. Out of the storm, I could see how my actions led to the attack. I knew something had to change.

In the end, I changed my online identity. I locked down my privacy and secured my settings. I made sure that if I ever got attacked again, I’d make it harder to decipher my identity.

More importantly, I stopped worrying about other people’s ethics. I couldn’t save people or change their minds. It was pointless committing to a fight against scammers when my heart wasn’t in it. Gullible and weak people were always going to become victims, and the internet had just made it easier for that to happen. It was pointless, getting upset and angry. What good was that doing in my life?

I used to be a troll, lashing out at influencers who hid behind smoke screens pretending to do good. Now I’m human, trying my best not to let a lousy mood seep out onto social media, not to overreact, and to think critically.

And that’s all anyone can do.