Introduction: When Helping Becomes Content

In the digital age, the line between altruism and spectacle has become increasingly blurred. Platforms such as YouTube, TikTok, and Instagram have cultivated a new cultural phenomenon: social experimentation as entertainment. Netizens engage in acts of “helping,” “testing,” or “surprising” strangers in ways designed not only to elicit empathy but also to maximize engagement, clicks, and ultimately income.

This practice, now widespread in Indonesia and beyond, raises serious questions about digital ethics, authenticity, and the commodification of poverty. While some praise it as a form of generosity amplified by technology, others see it as exploitation masked in the language of kindness.

Staging Poverty: The Performance of Suffering

A common pattern among influencers is to stage themselves as poor, lost, hungry, or sick. They approach strangers in the street, asking for food or small amounts of money. If no one helps, the footage may be framed as a social critique, portraying society as cold and indifferent. If someone does help—especially someone already struggling—the video pivots into a dramatic reveal: the influencer hands over a thick wad of cash, a new motorcycle, or even the keys to a house.

This staged reversal produces a wave of emotional catharsis for viewers. Audiences are encouraged to both admire the influencer’s generosity and celebrate the everyday heroism of the person who initially gave help. Yet the economics behind the scene complicate the story. The money or gifts may appear life-changing, but the true value lies not in the recipient’s temporary relief but in the views, likes, and ad revenue harvested by the influencer.

The Emotional Economy of Surprise

Another dominant pattern is the “shock gift” strategy: giving something far beyond expectation. Someone who lends a stranger a few coins suddenly finds themselves the recipient of millions in cash. A rickshaw driver is given a brand-new motorcycle. A family living in poverty is granted a home. These spectacles are filmed with cinematic intensity—close-ups of tears, shaky hands, prayers of gratitude—deliberately designed to maximize emotional impact.

For the influencer, the return on investment is clear. A single video of such an event can generate millions of views, brand partnerships, and ad placements worth far more than the cost of the gift. In this economy of spectacle, generosity is no longer simply about helping but about producing a marketable emotional experience for mass consumption.

Virtual Philanthropy as a Business Model

This form of philanthropy differs sharply from older traditions of giving. In many cultures, including Indonesia, acts of charity were historically conducted quietly, without publicity, often guided by religious or cultural principles of humility. Today, however, giving is increasingly tied to metrics of visibility: subscriber counts, shares, and monetized views.

Some wealthy influencers—sometimes branded as “crazy rich”—even livestream themselves handing out envelopes of cash or scattering bills in public. These acts boost their public image, reinforce their brand identity, and solidify their status as benefactors. Yet the generosity is never free. The “gift” is part of a calculated business model where every act of giving must also yield profit.

The recipients, meanwhile, are often left with temporary relief but not long-term transformation. A one-time gift of money may solve immediate needs, but it rarely addresses structural issues such as lack of healthcare, education, or sustainable employment. In this sense, poverty itself becomes a renewable resource for content creation—a commodity repeatedly mined for profit.

The Ethics of Exploitation

The moral ambiguity of this practice lies in its asymmetry. Influencers become wealthier by showcasing the tears, prayers, and vulnerabilities of the poor. The people being “helped” may receive temporary aid, but their suffering is instrumentalized, turned into a consumable story.

While there is nothing inherently wrong with sharing acts of kindness, the spectacle of generosity risks normalizing a culture where the value of human dignity is subordinated to entertainment. Helping becomes a strategy for self-promotion rather than a genuine act of solidarity. In such cases, the poor are not participants in philanthropy but props in a performance designed to enrich others.

From Tradition to Transformation

What distinguishes this digital philanthropy from traditional charity is not merely the platform but the motivation. In many ancestral traditions, including Islamic teachings practiced in Indonesia, charity (zakat, sedekah, or infak) was ideally done quietly, without seeking public recognition. A good deed carried value in itself, not in the number of viewers it attracted.

In the digital age, however, generosity carries a price tag. Visibility is currency. The more dramatic the act of giving, the higher the emotional engagement, and the greater the income generated. What once was a private moral act has become a public commodity, reshaping how society perceives both poverty and philanthropy.

Conclusion: Generosity in the Age of Algorithms

The culture of social experimentation in digital life reflects both the possibilities and perils of our online world. On one hand, it amplifies acts of kindness, spreading inspiration to millions. On the other, it commodifies suffering, reducing human hardship into a spectacle for profit.

Ultimately, this phenomenon forces us to ask difficult questions:

• Is generosity still genuine when it is monetized?

• Do the poor truly benefit, or are they merely raw material for digital content?

• What kind of culture do we build when helping others requires an audience?

The answers may not be simple, but they are urgent. As digital life continues to shape our values, we must critically examine not only what we watch but also what it means for the future of empathy, ethics, and social responsibility in a world where kindness itself can be monetized.