The Chilling Effect of Weaponized Privacy Claims on YouTube

How YouTube Aids a Cyberbully

As someone who's spent a year documenting the public court battles of Anthony D'Amato Jr.—better known, though not widely, online as ZeroDarkTony—I've seen firsthand how easily a public figure can twist privacy policies to silence criticism. I'm not a traditional journalist; I'm an independent creator using platforms like YouTube and X to shine a light on what I believe is predatory behavior, drawing solely from public records and D'Amato's own livestreams. But when I post videos summarizing his 26 misdemeanor charges for stalking, harassment, and willful cruelty to a child, they vanish under "privacy" complaints. This isn't protection—it's censorship, and it's creating a chilling effect that could let abusers like D'Amato evade accountability while victims stay in the shadows.

Let me take you through my experience. It started when I began covering D'Amato's case, which revolves around his targeted harassment of anti-Scientology activists, including a minor. D'Amato, 55, has positioned himself as a limited-purpose public figure — someone who voluntarily enters a public controversy — by livestreaming court updates and rallying followers with claims of persecution. He uses his platforms to raise money for his 'legal fund' while unemployed and averaging five streams a day.

His charges, filed in Los Angeles Superior Court under case number 24CJCM07073, include restraining order violations and acts prosecutors have described as a "danger to children," all committed online via YouTube and other platforms. I've never disclosed any private information — no addresses or hidden messages — just summaries of unsealed filings and his own broadcasts.

Consider February 20, 2025, for example. During a recess in a civil harassment hearing, D'Amato was arrested right outside the courthouse by Los Angeles Police Department officers. The transcript captures the chaos: His attorney, Steven M. Tamer, accused the judge of being used as a "pawn," pleading with the judge to intervene and explain jurisdiction to the officers. The judge refused, presuming probable cause for the detention. This is public record, available through California's court system, yet when I included it in a video, YouTube pulled it down after a privacy complaint—likely from D'Amato himself, who has acknowledged using privacy complaints to remove videos from critics.

Or consider an earlier hearing on January 17, 2025. The transcript shows a back-and-forth over video evidence: Tamer argued that providing timestamps for specific sections of videos was his protected "work product," but the judge overruled him. D’Amato and his attorney submitted evidence of many hours-long videos with no timestamps, in what appeared to be an effort to confuse and delay, and the judge wasn’t having it. Without clear and convincing evidence, you lose. And D’Amato did eventually lose his retaliatory case and could be on the hook for over $36k in the minor’s legal fees.

Again, no sensitive info here—just procedural drama in open court. I turned this into a short commentary video, framing it as another "win" for a kid despite D'Amato's spin. It was factual reporting with no private information. But poof—gone from YouTube, flagged as a privacy violation.

These takedowns aren't random; they're part of a pattern. D'Amato boasts online about potential lawsuits and has a history of inciting his audience. By crying "privacy," he's exploiting YouTube's complaint system, who often approve removals to avoid liability. I've appealed these decisions, tagging @TeamYouTube on X, and explaining that everything comes from public sources. But appeals often fail, with YouTube continuing to err on the side of removal.

The result? My channel suffers, my reach diminishes, and the full story gets buried. This has a profound chilling effect on victims and others like me who would cover the story. As an independent voice, I rely on these platforms to reach people concerned about online harassment, cyberbullying, and child safety. If public figures can erase coverage of their actions, it deters reporting on vital issues. Victims lose advocates as biased narratives prevail — D'Amato's streams endure, casting himself as some sort of victim, while exposés fade. Even mainstream journalism suffers: How can anyone cover public-figure or influencer scandals if courtroom facts are retroactively labeled "private" on bigger platforms?

YouTube and similar platforms must do better. Their policies should demand proof that content truly invades privacy, not just take complaints at face value, especially from those who've voluntarily entered the public fray. Heightened scrutiny for public figures, clearer fair use guidelines, and faster appeals could help. Lawmakers should also intervene, ensuring digital spaces don't become tools for suppression.

As D'Amato's hearings drag into late 2025—with more violations and potential jail time looming—I'm not backing down. But this fight highlights a bigger threat: In the digital age, false privacy claims can weaponize caution against truth. If we let it continue, the public square becomes an echo chamber without criticism or transparency, and accountability becomes optional.