Some questions emerge less from theory than from the accumulation of experiences. This is one of them. Over the past few months, while speaking with artists, event organisers, independent media outlets, and simply people involved in various cultural scenes, I have been struck by a recurring reaction. Whenever criticism appears, even well-reasoned criticism, the same concern seems to surface : why criticise us when we’re already trying to build something ? The argument takes different forms. « We’re students. » « The project is self-funded. » « We’re doing the best we can with limited resources. » « We should be supporting the cause. » And it must be said from the outset : these arguments are not unreasonable. Organizing an independent event is difficult. Keeping a media outlet alive without investors is just as challenging. Building a cultural project in a context where attention has become a scarce resource can sometimes feel like an uphill battle. Yet the more I hear these arguments, the more one question seems unavoidable : at what point does the need for support become incompatible with the right to criticism ?
This question is partly what gave birth to Outernet Magazine. If this media exists today, it is not because we believe we are better than anyone else. Rather, it emerged from a growing frustration : the frustration of watching more and more spaces talk about culture without truly interrogating it. Spaces that relay, announce, share, and promote, but analyse less and less. A cultural publication is not supposed to function as a communications service — or at least, not exclusively. In our eagerness to support our communities, artists, and events, we may have forgotten something essential : criticism is not the opposite of support. More often than not, it is a condition of it.
The age of permanent visibility
It would be easy to blame social media alone. After all, Instagram, TikTok, and X have profoundly transformed our relationship with visibility. Algorithms reward the circulation of content, favor immediate reactions, and encourage a logic of constant promotion. In this environment, to exist means to be seen. And being seen can sometimes become more important than being understood. But the phenomenon predates social media.
In French rap, for example, the question of criticism has long occupied a particular place. For years, many specialized media outlets operated within a paradoxical situation. On one hand, they sought to defend a culture that was regularly caricatured or attacked in the public sphere. On the other, their journalistic role required them to maintain a degree of critical distance and analytical rigor. The balance was fragile. How do you criticize an album without appearing to reinforce anti-rap narratives ? How do you point out an artist’s shortcomings without being accused of betraying a culture still seeking institutional recognition ? That tension has not disappeared, it has simply shifted elsewhere. Today, it affects independent media, artistic collectives, student-run events, online communities, and virtually every cultural space operating outside the mainstream. The difference is that social media has transformed this tension into a reflex. When everyone depends on everyone else’s visibility, criticism quickly comes to be seen as a risk. A nuanced article can be interpreted as a lack of support. A reservation can be read as an attack. A disagreement can feel like a betrayal. Gradually, a confusion emerges between visibility and validation. Media outlets are no longer expected merely to cover initiatives. They are expected to support them. Then to defend them. Then to actively promote them. And it is at that point that the boundary between journalism and public relations begins to dissolve.
To be fair, this evolution is not simply the product of ego or oversensitivity. It is also tied to the material fragility of many independent scenes. When a festival relies on a handful of volunteers, when a publication survives thanks to the energy of a few passionate individuals, or when a collective organizes events without meaningful funding, every criticism can appear disproportionate. Why highlight the flaws of an initiative that is already struggling to exist ? The question is legitimate. But it contains a trap. If the difficulty of a project is enough to exempt it from evaluation, then criticism becomes reserved for those who are already established. The most fragile actors are shielded from debate, while the most powerful remain the only ones open to scrutiny. This logic, however well-intentioned, produces a strange outcome : it gradually transforms solidarity into indulgence.
Are communities built on consensus?
What makes this shift so striking is that it seems to contradict much of the intellectual history many of our cultural spaces claim as their own. Take Black political and intellectual traditions. Today, figures such as W. E. B. Du Bois, Aimé Césaire and Frantz Fanon are often invoked as shared reference points, almost as if they belonged to a settled canon. Yet their intellectual journeys were shaped by disagreement, rupture and debate. Du Bois spent a significant part of his life arguing over the most effective strategies for Black emancipation in the United States. Césaire broke with the Communist Party when he concluded that it was incapable of seriously confronting the colonial question. Fanon, meanwhile, was unsparing in his criticism of postcolonial elites, whom he saw as being more concerned with their own advancement than with transforming the societies they claimed to represent. None of these thinkers appeared to believe that solidarity required silence. Quite the opposite. They understood that internal criticism is often a sign that a movement is being taken seriously enough to be pushed forward.
And this tradition extends far beyond Black intellectual thought. Feminist, labour, anti-colonial and student movements have all been shaped by debates that were, at times, deeply contentious. Not because they were weak, but because they were alive. A community that no longer tolerates disagreement gradually ceases to function as a political or cultural space. It becomes a space of affirmation. And affirmation is not the same thing as reflection. In fact, it is worth asking whether our era has developed a somewhat paradoxical relationship with diversity. We readily celebrate diversity of identity, background and lived experience, yet often seem far less comfortable with diversity of opinion within the same group. As though internal disagreement automatically threatens collective cohesion. History suggests otherwise.
Support is not applause
This is perhaps where the heart of the issue lies. Over time, we have begun to conflate several ideas that are not, in fact, the same thing : support, promotion, defence and approval. A publication can support a cultural scene without believing that every project it produces is successful. A journalist can admire an artist while remaining critical of a particular release. A reader can believe deeply in the importance of a community while still questioning some of its practices. These positions are not contradictory. If anything, they are essential to any culture that wishes to retain the ability to reflect on itself. Because what remains when a publication abandons criticism ? What remains is promotion. And promotion, by definition, serves a different purpose. Its role is to persuade, to elevate, to shape perception. There is nothing inherently wrong with that. It is simply doing its job. The problem emerges when this becomes the only acceptable logic. When media outlets are valued less for their perspective than for their approval. When criticism is judged not by the strength of its argument but by its potential impact on someone’s image. When an article is considered troubling not because it is inaccurate, but because it makes people uncomfortable. At that point, the discussion gradually stops being about ideas. It becomes a discussion about the consequences of those ideas. And that is often a sign that a culture is beginning to lose confidence in itself.
We cannot celebrate the benefits of journalism when it amplifies our initiatives while denying its independence the moment it turns a critical eye towards them. Pressure, intimidation and appeals to solidarity are not counterarguments. More often than not, they are signs that press freedom is being challenged and that debate has moved beyond the realm of ideas. When that happens, public discourse usually loses far more than it gains in polite consensus.
A healthy scene does not need protection from criticism. It needs criticism that is honest, informed and well argued. The distinction matters. Defending criticism does not mean defending cynicism, bad faith or contempt. Lazy criticism is no better than blind promotion. In both cases, the work of thinking has been abandoned. The real challenge is to preserve a space where disagreement can exist without immediately being interpreted as a declaration of war.
A question of trust
Ultimately, the issue may not be criticism at all. It may be trust. A community that is confident in itself can withstand scrutiny. A publication that is confident in its editorial vision can withstand disagreement. A cultural scene that is truly alive can accept that some of its output will be debated, questioned or even found wanting. Because it understands that its existence does not depend on constant approval. Indifference is far more dangerous than disagreement. We criticise what matters to us. We debate what we care about. We argue over the things we believe are worthy of attention. To reject criticism in the name of solidarity is often to weaken the very thing one claims to protect. A community that can no longer look at itself honestly will eventually seek that perspective elsewhere. And when a culture ceases to generate debate, it risks becoming precisely what it once sought to avoid: not a space for collective reflection, but a communications strategy.
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