But let's be honest: this is not an American problem, not a McLain problem, and not simply a social media problem. This happens every single day within our own sport. In Belgian and Dutch comment sections. In Facebook groups about breeding, competition, and welfare. In WhatsApp threads where everyone laughs along — except the person being talked about.

The equestrian world has a particular dynamic. It is a small world with large egos, significant money at stake, and a culture where hierarchy runs deep. Those at the top attract both admiration and envy. Those who make mistakes — or who are simply young and visible — are sometimes crushed by people who would never dare say such things openly at a show, but who have no hesitation picking up their phone to do so anonymously.

That makes it cowardly. Not passionate, not honest, not constructive. Cowardly.

And the outside world is watching. Sponsors, brands, journalists, the next generation of riders — they read the same comments. Every toxic reaction beneath a Clip My Horse video or an Equnews article, every attack on a young talent on Instagram, every whispering campaign that finds its extension online: it is a billboard for our sport. Not a flattering one.

McLain says something we should hear more often: celebrate each other's successes. Show gratitude. And if you have criticism — of an adult, a performance, a decision — use your name and exercise some judgment and class.

For an eleven-year-old child, there is no excuse. None whatsoever.

A sport that speaks so readily about the welfare of the horse might pause to consider the welfare of the people within it.

But there is a second dimension we cannot ignore.

Equestrian sport has for years been under pressure from a growing opposition movement. Animal welfare activists, vegan lobby groups, radical animal rights organisations — they are organised, they are vocal, and they are exceptionally skilled at using social media as a propaganda channel. Their strategy is not subtle: gather footage of misconduct, genuine or taken out of context, and build a narrative around it that criminalises the entire sport.

They do not need to feed that narrative themselves. We do it for them.

Every toxic comment beneath a competition video is potential material. Every dispute played out publicly in a Facebook group. Every attack on a young rider, every sarcastic remark about a colleague's performance, every bitter fallout from a judging decision aired online — these are screenshots waiting to happen. Ammunition for people who have long since decided our sport is beyond redemption, and who are simply looking for evidence to illustrate that conclusion.

And we provide that evidence free of charge.

The irony is striking. The same people who care for their horses with dedication on a Sunday morning, who advocate for animal welfare, who are proud of what this sport means for culture and competition — those same people hand a propaganda weapon to opponents who would gladly see the entire sport banned, with a single unconsidered comment.

This is not a hypothetical. Look at how anti-equestrian sport campaigns operate on TikTok and Instagram. They recycle content that equestrian people post themselves. They cut, edit, and add a caption. A clip originally shared with pride becomes evidence of arrogance. An internal conflict made public becomes evidence of a toxic culture. An attack on a child becomes evidence that the sport is elitist and morally bankrupt.

They do not need journalists. They have us.

McLain Ward chose dignity. He defended his daughter without raising his voice, without naming names, with the composure of someone who knows what matters. That is the standard our sport deserves.

Celebrate someone else's success. Use your name when you have criticism. And before you hit send, remember: this is not a private conversation. This is our face to the world.