fox files

The collapse of viewpoint diversity on Bluesky is neither a fluke nor a recent regression. It is, rather, the predictable consequence of importing the cultural logic of elite academia, progressive journalism, and activist politics into a digital commons. What has emerged is not a neutral platform but a curated ideological enclave, a gated garden of enforced agreement. Far from modeling a healthy democratic discourse, Bluesky illustrates what happens when the infrastructure of debate is subordinated to the politics of purity.

Consider the origin story. Bluesky launched as a decentralization project initiated under Jack Dorsey, its purpose ostensibly noble: to build a more open, federated alternative to Twitter. But the timing of its mass adoption tells the real story. Following Elon Musk‘s acquisition of Twitter in late 2022, and the subsequent rollback of opaque censorship mechanisms that had disproportionately silenced conservatives, there was a liberal exodus. The appeal of Bluesky was never just technical. It was ideological. It became the place to be not because it offered better features or user interface, but because it offered a perceived reprieve from heterodoxy.

The stampede began in earnest after Trump’s reelection in November 2024. For many progressives, his return to power signaled not merely a political loss, but an existential crisis. Twitter, now X, had ceased to be the enforcement arm of consensus. What followed was a migration from a newly pluralistic platform to one where progressive assumptions remained unchallenged. Bluesky’s user base exploded from around 10 million in fall 2024 to over 35 million by spring 2025, most of whom, according to Pew and Business Insider, self-identified as left-of-center.

This demographic uniformity seeded the platform’s rapid ideological calcification. The environment quickly began to mimic the echo chambers of elite universities and major newsrooms. These institutions, as numerous studies show, already suffer from significant ideological skew. For instance, a 2023 Harvard survey found that more than 77 percent of its faculty identified as liberal, with just 2 percent identifying as conservative. FIRE’s 2024 national faculty survey revealed that 71 percent of professors believed a liberal colleague would “fit in” well in their department, while only 20 percent thought the same of a conservative one. Within such ecosystems, dissent becomes not only discouraged but pathologized.

Bluesky followed this trajectory with unsettling speed. Moderation policies and cultural norms effectively deputized users to enforce orthodoxy. Moderates were hounded, centrists were ignored, conservatives were banned. According to Newsweek and Politico, even users who aligned with 90 percent of the prevailing progressive views found themselves castigated for voicing a solitary note of dissent. What ensued was not dialogue but ideological inquisition.

Mark Cuban‘s disillusionment captures the dynamic in miniature. The billionaire investor joined Bluesky in November 2024 with the hopeful salutation, “Hello Less Hateful World.” By June 2025, he had reversed course. In a series of withering posts, Cuban described the atmosphere as toxic, dominated by users who weaponized moral language to silence disagreement. “Even if you agree with 95%,” he lamented, “if there is one point you question, they will call you a fascist.”

His criticism was not mere anecdote. It echoed a growing body of observations suggesting that Bluesky had become a “progressive bubble,” as the Washington Post phrased it, in which dissent invited mobbing and orthodoxy earned applause. That Cuban had financially backed a Bluesky-related application made his reversal all the more telling. Investment did not buy insulation from the inquisition.

Even on apolitical fronts, the consequences of this atmosphere were stifling. A Wharton professor researching artificial intelligence publicly announced his retreat from the platform after finding that any deviation from prevailing opinion, even on purely technical issues, elicited disproportionate backlash. The logic of purity had metastasized beyond politics, suffocating any form of nuanced discourse.

The irony is that while Bluesky was degenerating into a speech cartel, X was recovering. Despite breathless predictions of collapse, Elon Musk’s platform saw both advertiser return and user stability. As of early 2025, X boasted roughly 600 million monthly active users, with around 250 million logging in daily. According to Reuters and Finance Yahoo, ad revenue was projected to grow 17.5 percent in the US and 16.5 percent globally this year, reversing the post-boycott slump. The platform, now dominated by a rough parity of liberals and conservatives, had not devolved into chaos. It had become messy, yes, but it was free. And freedom, though often cacophonous, is what sustains democratic legitimacy.

Bluesky is what happens when speech is subordinated to civility. Or rather, when civility is used as a cudgel to enforce ideological conformity. The results mirror what we’ve seen in other progressive-dominated institutions. At The New York Times, dissenting editors like Bari Weiss resigned under pressure from internal cliques that policed language and punished transgression. At MSNBC, overt progressive bias has long eclipsed any pretense of ideological balance. Bluesky, built from the same cultural DNA, could not escape the same fate.

In fact, it amplifies it. For while a university campus is limited by geography and accreditation, and a media outlet by reputation and ratings, a social network like Bluesky can evolve into a micro-totalitarian regime in real time. There are no checks, no institutional constraints, no internal ombudsman. The result is the swift descent into purity spirals. Each user competes to be more righteous than the last. Each deviation, no matter how slight, is met with exaggerated condemnation.

To be clear, the problem is not that Bluesky is full of liberals. The problem is that it institutionalizes liberalism as an orthodoxy and punishes deviation, particularly deviation from within its own ranks. The right is not merely excluded, it is dehumanized, rendered so beyond the pale that any conservative presence is swiftly purged without ceremony. Yet the irony is that the most brutal penalties are reserved not for the outsider, but for the insufficiently orthodox insider. This is the slippery slope of ideological purity: disagreement from the right is unthinkable, while dissent from the left is treated as betrayal. In a healthy liberal democracy, disagreement is a feature, not a flaw. But Bluesky’s culture treats disagreement, even among liberals themselves, as an existential threat. That is the mark not of an open society but of an ideological sect.

One might argue that users self-select into platforms and that like-minded communities are inevitable. But this misses the deeper point. What Bluesky reveals is not merely digital tribalism, but a creeping authoritarianism within the cultural left. When faced with pluralism, this faction prefers segregation. When exposed to disagreement, it demands removal. This same instinct has crept into institutional politics, where Democrats have increasingly abandoned democratic norms in the name of saving democracy itself. They changed party rules to retroactively invalidate David Hogg’s election as Vice Chair of the DNC after realizing he might challenge the status quo. They denied Democratic delegates any choice by mandating a vote for Kamala Harris alone, with no write-ins or alternatives permitted. And they cheered on state-level efforts to keep Donald Trump off the ballot entirely, not through electoral means but by weaponizing bureaucratic technicalities. Bluesky, in this light, is not an outlier but a symptom. It does not want to compete in the marketplace of ideas; it wants to monopolize it.

This explains why, paradoxically, Bluesky’s rapid growth has not translated into cultural relevance. Despite an initial ballooning user base, its influence wanes because its ecosystem is self-limiting. The platform has begun shedding active users, and those who remain are posting with diminishing frequency. What is there left to talk about? You either agree or you are kicked out. There is no room for disagreement, so there is no reason for discussion. Echo chambers do not produce innovation. They produce repetition. And repetition, even when loud, cannot compete with the chaotic energy of a truly open forum.

Bluesky is the canary in the coal mine, signaling what digital speech looks like under progressive orthodoxy: aesthetically sleek, rhetorically inclusive, and intellectually inert. It functions not as a public square, but as a chapel of ideological conformity, complete with rituals of cancellation and catechisms of belief. Its growth is not a testament to its health, but to the deep yearning among many on the left to avoid disagreement at any cost.