The Bluesky purity test

Substack is a weird place. You can throw out a post or a note, thinking people are going to love it, only to watch it vanish like a pebble tossed into a coal mine.

Strangely, whenever I share something I’ve written here over on Bluesky, I get way more engagement—sometimes ten times as much. I suppose that’s down to the architecture of both platforms. Substack wasn’t built as a social media site; it was designed as a publishing engine. Bluesky, on the other hand, was built to recreate Twitter—just without the toxic insanity. They both do what they do well, and since I appreciate engagement, I make a habit of sharing my work there.

But every time I do share a Substack piece on Bluesky, there’s one response I can almost guarantee: someone will tell me I shouldn’t be publishing on Substack.

There’s a belief, not super widely held, but wide enough and fervently so, that Substack has a Nazi problem. I’ve even used the phrase myself. And to be fair, there are some deeply unpleasant people publishing here—just as there are on every large platform.

That means people can publish—and profit from—things that I find pretty reprehensible. Some are certainly Nazi-adjacent, and some are full-service fascist monsters. There’s no denying it. And yes, Substack as a platform makes money off them, which sucks.

But here’s where I struggle with the argument that being here means endorsing them. If you’re on any major platform—Facebook, Instagram, Reddit, even Bluesky—you’re hanging out with some genuinely vile people. Even if you never see them, they’re there, and you are adding to the vitality of the space they have chosen. Bluesky has done an impressive job of pushing shithead rightwing extremists out through collective moderation and a culture of mass blocking, but no platform is free from the worst human beings imaginable. If I could be fucked (Spoiler, I can’t) I’d bet I could find a goodly number of really, ugly, terrible, no-good very bad shitheads on Bluesky.

But I don’t go looking for them, and when they do turn up, I block them on sight. Left-wing or right-wing.

For me, the question is: What am I doing here? And the answer is simple: Substack has become one of the most valuable places on the internet for independent journalism, expert analysis, open discussion and good-faith disagreement. Some of the sharpest, most rigorous critiques of authoritarianism—not just in America, but globally—are being written here every fucking day. It’s also become a hub for subject matter experts—on everything from geopolitics to science to history—who share their knowledge freely, outside the constraints of corporate media. And to be honest, that’s a helluva lot more valuable than a simple Twitter clone.

Could Substack do more to distance itself from the worst actors? Pfft. Duh. But I’m not gonna write off an entire space—or the work being done within it—because of a couple of shitheads. Even Nazi shitheads. Just block the cunts and move on.

I don’t know what the future of Substack looks like. I suspect that as it continues to attract independent writers and journalists, it will become a bigger target—both from the dregs of humanity and from powerful people who would love to own and control everything, everywhere. Sometimes they’re even the same people. The biggest practical challenge will be the same one every platform faces in the end. Does it serve users or shareholders? Inevitably, money wins and ruins everything But for now, Substack remains one of the most open and dynamic places for indie publishing.

And as long as that’s the case, and the block button still works, I’m fine with being here. Some people aren’t, and I’m fine with that too.