The Rejection of Humanity on Lemmy.World: A Fight for Respect

I want to talk about something that sits heavy on me—an experience that perfectly illustrates the failure of online communities to uphold basic human dignity. It involves my time on the Lemmy.World instance of the Lemmy platform. I joined that space with optimism, believing it could be a rare corner of the internet for genuine sharing and connection, aligned with the principles of humane tech. I was severely mistaken.

Instead of being seen as a person—an autistic individual trying in good faith to navigate their platform—I felt like they only saw me as an object. I was either a content machine for engagement metrics or just another "NPC" (Non-Player Character) account among millions. This is the core of the problem: dehumanization. I was not seen as someone with feelings, needs, or a right to respectful communication.

I made multiple, earnest attempts to ask for respectful dialogue. I wanted to be talked to like a human being. Yet, the response felt like public criticism, emotional gaslighting, and passive exploitation for their own community engagement, followed by immediate dismissal. It was emotionally and mentally overwhelming—too much for anyone, especially someone with a chronic mental illness like mine, to process without consequence.

Eventually, I was banned. The irony is, it wasn't because my actions were harmful or toxic; it was because I was visibly upset. Yes, I sent multiple messages—not out of malice or aggression, but out of an overwhelming, desperate need to be heard, to be acknowledged as a real person whose feelings had been disregarded. My communication style, shaped by my neurodivergence, was clearly interpreted through a hostile, ableist lens.

The response I finally received to my email solidified the systemic coldness:

"Stop accusing us of violating rights you think you have."

That statement hit me with the force of a full system shutdown. There was zero attempt to understand the why—why I felt wronged, why I was frustrated. There was no apology, no compassion, only deflection and self-victimization. It was a perfect display of authority prioritizing its own perceived immunity over accountability. My effort to seek justice was instantly weaponized and rejected.

While they pointed to being unpaid volunteers facing burnout, that is not an excuse to abandon ethical responsibility. If you choose to moderate a space where real people, especially vulnerable and marginalized people, gather, there must be a genuine sense of care and an effort to pursue equity. The duty is to look at the whole picture—to ask why a user is distressed, rather than simply enforcing rules to maintain a superficial silence.

What hurt most was the label of "abusive" placed upon me when I was the one who was seeking justice against mistreatment. It made me feel like my legitimate pain was invalid and that trying to stand up for my basic right to respect made me the villain.

But I know the truth. I know my struggle to communicate respectfully. I won’t let one defensive email from an authority figure rewrite the reality of what happened. If you have ever been dismissed, silenced, or treated as less than human—online or offline—know this: You are not crazy. Your emotions are valid. You are not wrong for fighting to be heard. You deserve to be seen, heard, and respected in every space you occupy.

This is a failure of inhumane tech, and we must keep pushing for better, more compassionate digital spaces.

Revived from an original blog entry draft, first published on May 26, 2025.