We need to talk about this double standard I just discovered here.
The fact that I only discovered a few days ago that the actor who plays Murray (Brett Geldman) not only attended Zionist rallies but even went on stage to deliver Zionist speeches is, to me, the ultimate proof of how the entire narrative surrounding Noah has been nothing more than performative activism — a convenient excuse to relentlessly harass him without consequence, turning him into a modern-day scapegoat. And the truth is, his homosexuality is one of the reasons behind it.
I have never seen a single viral tweet spewing hate toward the actor who plays Murray, despite the fact that his stance on Israel’s colonization of Palestine has been far clearer and far more direct. Meanwhile, almost every week — if not every few days — I come across yet another viral hate tweet recycling the same old photo of those infamous stickers to vilify Noah.
Let’s lay out the facts for comparison: on one hand, we have an 18 or 19-year-old gay Jewish boy who reacted emotionally after the October 7th attack, expressing that he didn’t want innocent people to be killed — whether they were Palestinian or Israeli. Later, he was filmed in the company of adult influencers who were the ones actually responsible for holding those stickers. Due to the backlash (which, by the way, none of those adult influencers ever addressed), Noah publicly apologized and reaffirmed his desire for peace. And yet, despite his apology and the fact that he never repeated those mistakes, he has been subjected to continuous and merciless harassment — including death threats, sexualized threats, and torrents of homophobia and antisemitism — even three years later.
Meanwhile, we have a man in his forties who actively participated in Zionist rallies, took the stage, grabbed a microphone, and gave speeches feeding pro-Israeli propaganda. And this man has faced little to no backlash for it. Not a single account obsessed with hating Noah Schnapp for simply breathing every week under the guise of “calling out a Zionist” has ever mentioned this forty-year-old actor who plays Murray. He has not received even one percent of the abuse Noah still receives to this day.
And I’m supposed to believe that everyone who remains obsessively fixated on hating Noah Schnapp online is doing it “for the Palestinian cause”? You never cared about Palestinians. You were waiting for the perfect excuse to publicly hate him without seeming unjust, and you seized upon this grave, sensitive issue to do exactly that — spreading misinformation to justify your cruelty and self-righteous malice.
This disgusting double standard, this moral hypocrisy, is all the proof I need that a large portion of you are projecting your repressed homophobia and antisemitism onto him — all while daring to use an actual genocide, a real human tragedy, as a moral shield. And this obsessive need to channel your energy into insulting Noah Schnapp rather than genuinely discussing what Palestinians are enduring is the most harmful form of diversion imaginable.
You want to raise awareness about Palestinians? Talk about what’s happening there. Stop talking about the person you hate. You’ve made him into a symbol — but he is not a symbol. He’s not Israel’s prime minister, he’s not the president of the United States. All you’ve done is confirm that you never truly cared about the victims of this genocide. You just wanted a scapegoat to bully online and rack up likes on Twitter.
As I already mentioned on the sociological post I made last may here, this situation says it more about you all problematics mentality than Noah's.
Psychologically and sociologically, this double standard exposes the mechanisms of projection, moral scapegoating, and performative activism that dominate online culture. People often redirect their inner conflicts and prejudices toward a socially acceptable target — and in Noah Schnapp’s case, his identity as both Jewish and openly gay makes him an ideal scapegoat. Harassing him under the guise of “activism” allows many to externalize their own repressed homophobia or antisemitism while maintaining the illusion of moral virtue.
On a collective level, this behavior reflects how social media communities thrive on symbolic punishment and public shaming. Outrage becomes a tool for belonging — a performance of virtue rather than a pursuit of justice. Instead of focusing on the actual victims of war and colonization, people channel their moral energy into vilifying a single young celebrity because it’s easier, safer, and more gratifying than confronting the complexities of the real issue.
The lack of comparable outrage toward older or more powerful figures who have made explicit Zionist statements reveals how identity — age, sexuality, and social position — shapes public reaction. A young gay Jewish man is scrutinized far more harshly than a middle-aged heterosexual one, not because his actions are worse, but because society unconsciously applies different moral expectations depending on who the subject is.
Ultimately, this hypocrisy reveals how online activism often reproduces the very systems of bias it claims to fight. What presents itself as justice is, in reality, a performance of cruelty disguised as righteousness — a collective need for a scapegoat rather than a genuine concern for human lives.
From a psychological standpoint, what we see here is a form of projection and displacement. People often redirect their internal conflicts, frustrations, or repressed biases onto a socially acceptable target. In Noah Schnapp’s case, his identity as both Jewish and openly gay makes him a convenient vessel for these projections. For individuals who unconsciously harbor discomfort with homosexuality or Jewishness, attacking Noah allows them to express those feelings under the moral pretext of “political activism.” It’s a psychological coping strategy that disguises prejudice as righteousness — what Freud might have called a defense mechanism cloaked in virtue.
This also aligns with the phenomenon of moral cleansing, where people try to reaffirm their own sense of moral superiority by publicly condemning others. Social media amplifies this urge: outrage becomes performative, and the more visible and emotional the condemnation, the more “morally pure” one appears. Thus, the act of denouncing Noah — regardless of logic or fairness — becomes a way for individuals to signal virtue, to belong, and to externalize their own discomfort with moral ambiguity.
Sociologically, this double standard exposes the tribal nature of online communities and the dynamics of symbolic punishment. In digital spaces, moral hierarchies and ideological purity tests govern social belonging. The figure of the “public enemy” serves a crucial purpose: it unites the group through shared outrage. The chosen target — in this case, Noah — becomes a symbolic scapegoat onto whom the community projects its collective anxieties, contradictions, and unspoken prejudices.
Moreover, it highlights the phenomenon of performative solidarity — where people engage in activism not out of genuine empathy for victims (in this case, Palestinians) but to perform a moral identity within their social group. Supporting a cause becomes less about justice and more about visibility and validation. Hence, true structural issues are overshadowed by targeted harassment against a single individual who is politically and emotionally “safe” to attack.
The absence of similar outrage toward the older actor who has expressed explicit Zionist positions further illustrates how power, identity, and desirability shape public reaction. A middle-aged heterosexual man faces less moral scrutiny than a young gay man — not because his actions are less questionable, but because society unconsciously applies different moral and emotional expectations depending on who the subject is. It’s a reflection of intersectional bias: the overlap of antisemitism, homophobia, and age/gender-based perceptions of authority and credibility.
In essence, this double standard is not random — it’s the byproduct of a culture where moral outrage, prejudice, and identity politics are entangled. It shows how digital activism often reproduces the very systems of exclusion it claims to oppose. The moral theater of social media rewards those who shout the loudest, not those who think the deepest — and Noah Schnapp’s treatment stands as a psychological mirror of that collective hypocrisy.
