Downvotes, mockery, and silence: a catharsis about power and listening in Hive

Something happened to me that I'm still chewing on. I tried to open a dialogue on several Discord servers linked to Hive, thinking it could be a space for debate, to better understand the platform's unwritten rules, to listen and be heard.
What I encountered was the complete opposite: ridicule, belittling, evasive responses. Even when I invited someone to read what I had to say, instead of stopping to listen, they chose to stray onto another topic. As if my word was worth so little that it didn't even deserve a minute of attention.
And the worst part: when I wanted to talk to the Hive Watchers on another server, I respectfully accepted their "no." So far, so good. But another user soon appeared, not to debate, but to berate me, to impose their will over mine, as if they had the right to do so. I ended up leaving that server after they called me a "whiner," when all I wanted was to debate respectfully.
That episode opened my eyes: it wasn't just a problem of downvotes, it was something bigger. It was a symptom of how power is wielded even in places that call themselves decentralized. A clear example of how lapdogs emerge, defending the indefensible, believing that obeying the powerful makes them part of something.

Downvoting is presented as a legitimate tool to correct abuses: low-quality content, plagiarism, spam. But in practice, it often becomes a weapon of censorship.
One downvote from a whale can erase twenty upvotes from smaller users. That's the cold math of the system. And when that happens, it doesn't matter if what you wrote has value, if it's been around for a while, or if it's loaded with experience: the balance is tilted from the start.
Decentralization is sold as Hive's great virtue, but how decentralized can a system be where a few concentrate so much voting power that they decide who deserves to be read and who doesn't? What hurt me most wasn't the vote itself, but the reaction of the surrounding community. There was no dialogue, no listening, no debate. There was mockery. There was the servile attitude of those who rush to defend the powerful without stopping to think.
It's the classic lapdog reflex: it doesn't question, it doesn't observe, it doesn't construct. It only repeats what its master wants to hear because, deep down, it fears losing the crumbs that fall from the table. And so the logic is perpetuated: the powerful do what they want, and others play along as if it were natural.
I experienced it firsthand when they called me a "crybaby" just for wanting to debate. That insult wasn't meant to describe what I was doing; it was meant to delegitimize my voice, to silence me. And that's when I understood that it wasn't just Hive: it was the same old logic, that of any power structure.
I've seen simple posts, without elaboration, research, or effort, filled with votes and comments of support. Why? Because they were written by someone with a reputation, someone well-connected, someone already within the circle of power.
Meanwhile, other texts with work, analysis, and hours of work behind them are relegated to silence or crushed by a solitary downvote. This exposes another reality: Hive isn't always a meritocracy of content. Often, it's a meritocracy of contacts.

And no, this isn't a problem exclusive to Hive. It happens everywhere: in universities, in offices, in politics. But it hurts because Hive presents itself as a different space, as an oasis of decentralization and digital justice. When the same old vices are repeated later, the disillusionment weighs more.
Hive isn't a separate planet. It's a mirror. And in that mirror we see what we already know: Hierarchies disguised as horizontality. Concentrated powers justified as "necessary." Mockery and silence for those who don't align with the dominant discourse. Content valued more for its byline than for what it says.
The same thing happens in politics, in education, in the media. What should be a space for encounter becomes a battlefield. What should be open to a diversity of voices becomes a repeated chorus of those who shout the loudest or those who weigh the most.
Hive, with all its promise of decentralization, ends up showing that no system is exempt from human misery.

My catharsis

I entered with a desire to contribute, to write, to debate. I wasn't looking for pats on the back or easy applause; I was looking for someone to stop and think with me.
What I found was the indifference of some and the hostility of others. And yes, it hurt. It hurt.
Because one doesn't write in a vacuum; one writes to be read, to be part of a larger conversation. When that conversation is replaced by ridicule, what remains is frustration.
My last post on this topic
This will be my last post about downvotes. Not because they no longer matter to me, but because I don't want to keep spinning on the same pointless wheel, since the responses from those who downvoted were silence and hostility.
From now on, I want to continue writing about what truly moves me: social criticism, education, mental health, culture, the series that move me.
But I needed to leave this testimony as a catharsis, as closure, as a written cry. Because every time a voice is silenced by ridicule or power, the entire society loses.
And if this text manages to make even one person stop to think, even for a second, about how we treat those who think differently, it will have fulfilled its purpose.