I’m Michaël Papa, and House Station Live .com isn’t just a project to me; it’s a battle for survival. Every day, we edge closer to shutting down. This isn’t some distant “what if”—it’s a daily reality we’re trying to stave off, one heartbeat at a time. While others sleep soundly, we lie awake, wondering if this will be the day our dream dies. While others enjoy simple pleasures, we sacrifice everything—time, health, peace of mind—just to keep House Station Live .com alive. I don’t have a corporate team behind me, nor a series of sponsors with deep pockets. I have only the stubborn belief that, against all odds, we can build something meaningful, something real, something that doesn’t compromise. Over the past three years, I have poured everything into this. My diet has been reduced to endless plates of rice and pasta, not out of choice, but out of necessity. Every spare cent is funneled back into House Station Live .com, even when it means sacrificing basic comforts that most people take for granted. This isn’t just about financial survival; it’s about mental resilience in the face of endless setbacks.
Caisse d’Allocation Familiales:€15,000 stolen in 2020 for failure to provide service
Appy Pie:€5,000 stolen in 2023 for abusive contract termination
Unicis:€2,500 stolen in 2024 for abusive contract termination
Indeed:€500 stolen in 2024 for abusive contract termination
Imagine signing a contract, feeling your hope surge because this contract—promised “for life”—could be the lifeline you desperately need. And then, after only a few months, it’s terminated without warning. Not once, but three times in as many years. Imagine spending years sacrificing comfort, cutting back on meals, and watching every penny just to build something real. And then, when you think you’ve finally found a trustworthy partner who promises to help you grow, they abandon you without a second thought. This isn’t just disappointing—it’s devastating. Appy Pie sold us a “lifetime” subscription for nearly €5,000, only to cut off access after five years, as if “lifetime” were just a convenient label to boost their profits. To make matters worse, they kept bleeding us dry with annual fees labeled as ‘maintenance’ and ‘bandwidth’—charges for services they simply didn’t provide. Our applications were hosted directly on Google Play and the Apple Store. In truth, the only thing stored on Appy Pie’s servers was a ‘privacy policy’ page—a file so light it barely registered a few kilobytes. And yet, we were billed for ‘bandwidth’ on a page so minimal it might as well not have existed. It was absurd, insulting even—a stark reminder of how easily they could take advantage of our trust and vulnerability.
It’s hard to convey the pain of watching a dream crumble because a partner saw us as nothing more than an easy profit. If you’ve ever been betrayed by empty promises, if you’ve felt powerless against corporate greed—stand with us. We need your help now. Stand with us by contributing to our fight for justice, so that stories like ours don’t keep repeating. Every donation, every message of support, is a statement that we will not be defeated by greed and indifference. Each betrayal left us not only financially wounded but emotionally gutted, wondering how we could survive another hit like that. Imagine the weight of that on your shoulders, knowing that every lost contract inches us closer to disappearing entirely. When you sign a contract with a matrimonial broker, you’re entrusting them with something deeply personal—your hope for a future shared with someone special. It’s more than a business transaction; it’s a leap of faith. Imagine opening up your heart to someone you trust, only to have them disappear without warning, leaving you with a deep wound and broken promises. That’s the kind of heartbreak we’re facing—except it’s our dreams that are crumbling. The betrayal I experienced wasn’t just professional—it was personal and deeply painful.
They speculated with my heart under the guise of a matrimonial brokerage. The ‘love trader’ meticulously reviewed my profile, and I entrusted them with a signed authorization to manage my heart for a €2,500 investment. I mean. Literally. But by breaking the lifetime contract without even a single partner proposal, they trampled on my heart, crushed it underfoot. They used my sentimental life like a doormat and played with my feelings for their own profit. They became the legal owner of my heart and broke it within three months, for no serious reason, without any notification.
If you’ve been misled, mistreated, and left unheard, then you understand why this isn’t just about money; it’s about survival. By supporting us, you’re not only standing up for justice but for the principle that such betrayals should not befall anyone else. Join us in ensuring that such exploitation never goes unchallenged. Let’s make sure no one else has to endure this pain in silence.
Dinoh Gallo: Computer Fraud & Sabotage, Stalking, Intellectual Property Violation, Material Degradation (2024)
Lina Kehal: Abuse of Weakness (2024)
Célia Barbera: Malicious False Accusations, Stalking (2024)
Rkia Babaal: Sexism (2024)
Marie Derognant: Violation of Dignity (2024)
The collaborators we trusted, who we thought would support this vision? Too many have turned out to be anything but allies. We opened our doors to them, welcomed them as partners, only to be met with manipulation, aggression, and outright hostility. Some came not to help build, but to tear down. They left scars—not just financial but emotional scars that I carry every day. And despite filing complaints, despite looking for legal help, the system remains silent, indifferent. I’m also facing a disturbing reality in trying to find volunteers—a single person willing to give their time out of pure passion. The young people who come to us often lack the skills and don’t arrive with a spirit of learning or dedication. Too often, they come with criticism or, worse, outright hostility. And the job market, the so-called “collaborators,” the platforms that are supposed to help—none of it is what it seems. Instead of support, we face a daily barrage of obstacles, automated systems that flag our content, platforms that shut us down without a word, technical issues that eat away our time and energy. It’s a battle on every front, and most days, it feels like we’re drowning. We live in a violent society—a society that seems to thrive on breaking down anything that doesn’t fit the mold. Some people think we’re “nobodies” just because we don’t have the influence or visibility of the big players. To them, we’re an easy target, a punching bag for their frustrations. And believe me, they don’t hold back. They attack us online, send hateful messages, even try to destroy us with public shaming and doxxing. All this, just because we dared to exist, dared to create something they didn’t understand or appreciate.
I found it necessary, in the interest of transparency and because of the heart-wrenching failure of the legal system, to list the harms inflicted upon us by these individuals, just as we have cataloged the damages caused by our supposed “partners.” This isn’t drama—it’s reality, built on real, concrete, and verifiable facts. No censorship, no sugarcoating. We are left with no choice but to expose these people and their actions. If criminals can destroy lives with impunity, then we consider it our duty to name and shame them. It is part of who we are, part of our core values: if we can’t stop them from tearing us apart, if we can’t respond to their relentless attacks with equal force, then let the world know this—we refuse to be silenced by intimidation. This, right here, is self-defense at its rawest.
As I write, Dinoh’s surveillance and attacks continue unabated. Each moment of inaction by the justice system only deepens the wound—because in the end, inaction and delay are one and the same. This public record, this painful truth, is our last line of defense, our only weapon left in this fight for survival. Only God knows how many times we’ve been hunted, humiliated, degraded by these hateful people, individuals who boast of their tens of thousands of followers, ready to destroy us with a single post. Only God sees the true damage to our reputation, damage that we can never fully see or measure. And so here we are, left to fend for ourselves, scraping together the courage to keep going, knowing that at any moment, we could be crushed. If you’re reading this, if you have any sense of justice left, we need you. We need people who believe in decency, who believe that honesty should not be a death sentence. Stand with us, not just for us, but for every small voice that fights to be heard in a world that seems to have lost its soul.
Tinder: €5,000 stolen in 2021 for fraud, Violation of Human Dignity, Systemic Discrimination, Sexism
Twitch: €5,000 stolen in 2023 for fraud and concealed labor (2023)
Facebook: Digital Dispossession and Complicity in Digital Theft (2020)
Twitter: Digital Sabotage and Loss of Lifetime (750 hours) (2024)
Imagine pouring your trust, time, and money into platforms that promise visibility, community, and opportunity, only to be betrayed at every turn. Tinder, for instance, isn’t just a dating app—it’s a stage for fraud. €5,000 stolen in 2021 in exchange for “boosts” that produced nothing but empty promises, a clear violation of trust. Yet, the damage goes deeper than financial. Tinder’s biased algorithm perpetuates Systemic Discrimination and Sexism, reducing users to commodities in a marketplace of “human consumption.” A privileged few are showered with attention while the vast majority are left to face rejection and invisibility. This isn’t just an inconvenience; it’s an assault on human dignity, a system that traps countless users in a cycle of self-doubt, despair, and even isolation.
Imagine dedicating 20 hours a week to full-time streaming, believing that all the time, effort, and sacrifice might lead to something real, something rewarding. But after six months of streaming, video editing, and engaging with my audience, Twitch’s partnership report came back with a harsh reality check: my work was valued at a mere €0.02 per hour. Twitch won’t even release the €5.20 I “earned,” because their payout threshold is set at €100. For six months of dedication, I am left with nothing. Nothing but the echo of my own effort and a broken dream. Maybe in 1962, a few cents could buy an ice cream. But let’s be honest—gaming isn’t cheap. This is “Uberization” at its most exploitative: Twitch lures us in with the illusion of opportunity, burying our profiles so deep that visibility and real earnings remain a distant mirage. It’s not just low pay; it’s exploitation dressed up as a chance at success, with Twitch acting as the “AI boss”, setting the rules, reaping the rewards, while we, the streamers, are left in a cycle of hidden, disposable labor.
And there’s a heavy financial toll, too. A new game today is €80, and with DLCs and expansions, that price can reach €500 per game—because let’s face it, no one wants to watch a streamer with just the base version. Audiences expect a fully immersive experience, advanced techniques, and insights—all of which require endless hours of personal sacrifice and financial investment. We give up evenings, weekends, moments with loved ones, pouring every resource we have to keep up, hoping it will one day pay off. But in the end, it’s us—the streamers—who are left paying the bill for Twitch’s profit model, left empty-handed, with nothing but the remnants of a dream that Twitch sold to us, one false promise at a time. Facebook, a platform that should connect people, instead enabled theft at the most personal level. In 2020, due to Digital Dispossession and Complicity in Digital Theft, I lost ownership of my business page without a single warning. My brand, my community, even my customers’ private messages—all handed over to a stranger, a thief, while Facebook’s silence and refusal to help only deepened the wound. Imagine building something meaningful, only to lose it in an instant, with no recourse, no evidence of ownership, no chance to warn your audience that their data and trust are now in the hands of a criminal.
And then, there’s Twitter, where I invested 750 hours of my life over 10 years, only to find out I had been shadowbanned for six months without notice. This Digital Sabotage not only stole my time but destroyed the fruits of a decade’s worth of effort, stripping away my community and my voice in one fell swoop. Twitter’s opaque algorithms and silence reduced my hard work to nothing, a Loss of Lifetime that can never be recovered. Three platforms, three betrayals, and a cumulative assault on trust, dignity, and human worth. Each platform, through negligence or active harm, has left me with losses—financial, emotional, and personal—that go beyond mere inconvenience. They are modern giants, yet their silence in the face of wrongdoing speaks volumes. In a world where tech platforms hold so much power, who stands up for the people crushed under their weight?
UberEats: €7,500 stolen in 2020 for fraud, Deceptive Commercial Practices
AXA with Uber: €1,000 stolen in 2020 for fraud (unpaid sick leave compensation)
Getaround: €15,000 in 2020 for fraud, Misappropriation of Property, Deceptive Commercial Practices
Imagine signing up with UberEats, enticed by promises of “easy extra income.” The reality? €7,500 stolen in 2020 in exchange for endless hours of work under exploitative conditions. Despite working tirelessly for UberEats, I earned only €2 per hour for 450 hours—when the legal minimum wage was €10 per hour. UberEats misled me with their empty promises of “extra income.” And then there’s AXA with Uber, where I was denied €1,000 in sick leave compensation after falling ill. Not a cent was offered in compensation, exposing Uber’s true nature: a business that exploits its workforce and refuses to protect them when they’re at their most vulnerable.
And Getaround, luring me in with promises of “easy income,” left me with nothing but shattered trust and €15,000 in losses. They encouraged me to rent out my car without disclosing the severe risks involved. Instead of steady earnings, I faced countless midnight calls to hand off the vehicle, irreparable transmission damage, drained batteries, vandalized interiors, and stacks of unpaid fines that cost me points on my license. My once pristine Mini Cooper S—a high-end car I cherished— became a symbol of frustration. Despite my specific instructions for gentle handling, it came back scratched, dented, and neglected, marked by the kind of wear it would never have seen otherwise. The loss was so bitter that I couldn’t even bear to drive it. I had to sell it at a €10,000 loss just to escape the nightmare it had become.
But it didn’t end there. When renters vanished with my car—cases that anyone would call theft—Getaround turned a blind eye, offering no support or accountability, even though nearly 50% of car “thefts” on platforms like these are due to such abuses of trust. For Getaround, it’s just another transaction; for us, it’s the destruction of something we value, something we trusted them to protect. They profit off our faith in their system, while we’re left with the emotional wreckage and financial devastation of what they promised to safeguard. And justice? When I reported the theft to the police, I’d just disabled the vehicle remotely. They quickly found the renter in my car, still trying to restart it. A few days later, I retrieved my car—with a PlayStation 4 left in the trunk, an odd memento from the ordeal. But the real “surprise” came when the same renter appeared at my door, punched me in the face, and “thanked” me for reporting him. Now, I understand why so many victims never report crimes; I’ve experienced firsthand the fear of retaliation. What did justice offer in return? A reminder that, too often, seeking help can make you a target.
And this story doesn’t end with Getaround or the police’s indifference. It marks the beginning of a long, disillusioning journey through the legal system itself. Since 2020, I’ve reached out to more than 25 lawyers, spending nearly €2,500 in consultation fees—each time pleading for help, only to leave with nothing but a profound sense of betrayal. These weren’t casual consultations; they were urgent cries for justice, born from real desperation. Instead, I faced the same unsettling pattern—a calculated indifference dressed as professionalism, the same abandonment I experienced with Getaround, only this time cloaked in the authority of the law.
Lawyers: €2,500 stolen (€100 x 25) by 25 different lawyers between 2020 and 2023, for abuse of weakness and deceptive practice
Unlike doctors, who are bound to help the moment they see a patient, lawyers hold the right to turn us away—a power that some wield with calculated precision to their financial advantage. Over the phone, they’d insist I bring my documents, claiming they needed a “thorough case review” to decide if they’d take my case. But when I arrived, my hopes hinging on this encounter, they’d barely glance at the papers I’d painstakingly gathered. After mere minutes of skimming through them, they’d deliver a cold, rehearsed rejection. It was clear this interest was a charade—a tactic to justify charging a fee. Imagine sitting there, vulnerable, with all your hopes hanging by a thread—only to realize that they never intended to help. Their interest was merely pretense, a way to secure their fee. And without hesitation, they’d bill me—often without an invoice, making it impossible to reclaim anything. Most provided no contracts, no record of our meeting, blocking any chance for reimbursement and allowing them to end the relationship at their convenience, often with just a casual text message. Hello, Maître Bouhadouza, how are you? (It’s fitting, almost ironic, how this greeting falls here).
Let’s give a heartfelt shoutout to our friend, Maître Docteur—yes, that’s his real name. As a last resort, I turned to him, scraping together the €100 he quoted for a consultation, hoping against hope that this meeting would bring some clarity. When I arrived, I requested an invoice, needing it to keep a precise account of the costs accumulating in this exhausting search for justice. That’s when he told me that an invoiced consultation would cost €120—the extra €20 to cover VAT if an official document was involved. I was stunned. Later that evening, I reluctantly accepted, realizing that every scrap of evidence, every invoice, was essential to track the financial toll of this pursuit of justice. The irony? I was willing to pay more, only to be met with silence. Maître Docteur promptly sent his bank details, yet to this day, that invoice remains just another empty promise. And it didn’t stop with him. The next two lawyers I consulted dodged my requests for receipts as well, despite my clear insistence on accountability. Each consultation followed this same pattern—a brief, hollow “review of the case,” followed by rejection. Every fee represents a sacrifice—a meal skipped, a bill delayed—all in hopes that one of these professionals would finally offer real support.
In moments like these, I wish people would look beyond ratings. If they only knew that reputation is often just an illusion, carefully protected by lawyers who selectively avoid clients in real need. A book like Chronique du Mépris Ordinaire (Chronicles of Ordinary Contempt) by Michel Amas stands as a powerful reminder of the empathy and dedication that should define this profession—a standard often hidden behind polished ratings and curated reputations.
It’s easy to see how someone as calculated as Maître Docteur keeps his Google Maps reviews glowing. Clients, often as desperate as I am, choose lawyers based on polished ratings, assuming they’re in good hands. But if people only knew that these stars and reviews hide the reality—that vulnerable clients are often turned away when they’re most in need. Many lawyers, in fact, cite the “risk of losing” as a reason to reject cases—a convenient excuse to keep their records spotless. They know full well that even the hardest cases deserve representation and that we come to them not for a guaranteed win, but for a fighting chance. Yet this system isn’t built for those chances. It’s built to protect their prestige, their facade, while leaving clients like me stranded. To them, I’m just another face, another fee, another brief exchange in an endless line of clients billed and dismissed. Most likely, they don’t even remember my name. That’s the cruelest part—it’s all so routine, a well-oiled machine profiting off the desperation of people seeking justice, only to be met with yet another closed door.
Meanwhile, HSL TV remains central to our mission, leaving little room in our budget to pursue these costly legal battles. With your support, we could finally escape this financial stranglehold, fight back, and defend consumers as HSL TV was intended to do. We envision a future where we can document this journey in a vlog, showing every step as we gather evidence, interview others who’ve been harmed, and fight for justice in collective legal actions. The funds raised here could be our lifeline—a way to investigate, to act, and to finally bring these cases forward. Imagine a world where ordinary people are no longer victims of these abuses, where justice is truly accessible to all. This is the future we want to build, and we need you to help us make it a reality. Together, we can expose and dismantle this network of greed and exploitation. Stand with us, not just for ourselves, but for everyone who has ever felt powerless in the face of a system that seems rigged against them.
Stand with Us
Maybe you’ve felt this too—betrayed by people you trusted, left to pick up the pieces alone. If you know that feeling, then you understand why this isn’t just about money; it’s about survival. This is about resilience in the face of constant loss, about refusing to let the greedy and powerful erase voices that dare to be different. I’m asking you to truly see the brutal reality of what it takes to keep something small, genuine, and true alive in a world that only seems to care about what’s profitable and disposable. Every person who stands with us is a message—a quiet, powerful message that says, “You’re not alone in this fight.” And I need that message now more than ever. If you believe in a world where small voices still matter, where something real can thrive despite everything stacked against it, then stand with us. Join us, not just for ourselves, but for everyone who has ever felt unseen, unheard, and unwanted by the forces that shape our lives.
We are the silenced voices, the quiet resistance; together, we can bring back the light and break this silence. Each contribution, however small, is a stone added to build a wall against this injustice. Every single act of support brings us closer to pushing back against the overwhelming forces we face. Your support could be the difference between silence and justice for those who have been wronged. Together, we can keep the lights on, keep fighting, and maybe—just maybe—prove that resilience, honesty, and courage still have a place in this world. Because we’re stronger than the silence, stronger than the betrayals, and stronger than the countless walls they put in front of us. Stand with us. Help us show them that we won’t go quietly.
Thank you for listening. Thank you for being here. And if this moved you, if you felt something—please, stand with us ■
Michaël Papa
