**A situation that never should’ve happened just did and Twitcth's response was lackluster to say the least.** At this year’s TwitchCon, something happened that crossed every possible line. Streamer Emiru, one of the most recognizable faces on the platform, was assaulted during a meet-and-greet. A fan walked up, grabbed her face, and tried to kiss her — in public, surrounded by staff and attendees. It wasn’t “awkward.” It wasn’t “a misunderstanding.” It was completely unacceptable. And yet, somehow, it’s not even surprising anymore. <script async src="https://pagead2.googlesyndication.com/pagead/js/adsbygoogle.js?client=ca-pub-7472214434062426" crossorigin="anonymous"></script> <ins class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block; text-align:center;" data-ad-layout="in-article" data-ad-format="fluid" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7472214434062426" data-ad-slot="4951124482"></ins> <script> (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || []).push({}); </script>  **A culture that reacts — never prevents** That’s the thing: this kind of situation keeps happening, and it’s starting to feel predictable. Every serious incident plays out with the same script: outrage, statements, and promises to “do better.” Then months later, another creator gets harassed, another fan crosses the line, and nothing has changed. We live in a time where companies only move when something goes viral and want the appraisal publicly trying to show us guys we are on the same team, we understand the struggles, we are the good guys** People don’t act until after someone gets hurt. **We’ve become reactive — not proactive.** And TwitchCon 2025 is a perfect example of that. **Twitch’s “response” — and why it’s not enough.** <script async src="https://pagead2.googlesyndication.com/pagead/js/adsbygoogle.js?client=ca-pub-7472214434062426" crossorigin="anonymous"></script> <ins class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block; text-align:center;" data-ad-layout="in-article" data-ad-format="fluid" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7472214434062426" data-ad-slot="4951124482"></ins> <script> (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || []).push({}); </script> After the video surfaced, Twitch claimed the man was “immediately removed” and banned from the event. But Emiru said that’s not true — he walked away freely. Nobody from Twitch checked in on her. She was forced to stay at the event because of contractual obligations. Security did almost nothing. **That’s not safety. That’s a PR shield pretending to be accountability.** Then came the punishment: a 30-day ban... Thirty days. For putting hands on someone’s face and trying to kiss them without consent. If that’s what counts as “serious consequences,” then we’ve learned nothing. A space that’s supposed to unite — not terrify TwitchCon was supposed to be a celebration of the community. But now, people describe it as tense, uncomfortable, even hostile. Creators, especially women, are openly saying they don’t feel safe attending anymore. And can you blame them? If one of Twitch’s biggest names can’t be protected at their own event, what chance does a smaller creator have? The lesson no one seems to learn What happened to Emiru isn’t an isolated case — it’s a symptom of a bigger problem. The lack of preventive action, the obsession with damage control, and the unwillingness to take real responsibility. Twitch doesn’t need another “we’ll learn from this” statement. **It needs to act before the next person gets hurt.** **Because at this point, silence until the next crisis isn’t neutral — it’s complicity.**