Once upon a time, elites saw themselves as stewards of society, bound by a duty to uplift those below them. Noblesse oblige, they called it, a sense of responsibility rooted in privilege. Today, that compact lies in tatters. In its place, a new breed of elites wields "woke" ideology, not as a beacon of justice but as a political weapon of mass destruction, carving chasms between classes, cultures, and communities. Far from uniting, woke dogma has become a tool of separation, a cudgel to silence dissent, and a mechanism to entrench power. It's not about care; it's about control.
Woke ideology, at its core, started with supposed noble intentions: addressing systemic wrongs, amplifying marginalised voices, championing fairness. But like a virus mutating in a lab, it's been weaponised by elites to serve darker ends. Politicians, corporate titans, and cultural gatekeepers, those perched atop the socioeconomic pyramid, have repurposed it into a divisive battering ram. They don't wield it to heal; they wield it to wound. By framing every issue through the lens of identity, race, gender, sexuality, or invented oppressions, they've turned society into a zero-sum battlefield where grievance is currency and unity is the enemy.
Consider the mechanics. Woke ideology thrives on moral absolutism: you're either with the cause or a bigot, no middle ground. This binary brands dissenters as heretics, justifying their exclusion from discourse, jobs, or even social circles. Politicians like Keir Starmer's Labour, cloaked in progressive piety, push policies that prioritise ideological purity over practical good, think Angela Rayner's housing fiascos, where virtue-signalling trumps actual homebuilding. And likewise in Albo's Australian Labor Party with the same assault upon liberties. Meanwhile, corporate elites slap rainbow logos on their brands while dodging taxes and exploiting workers, using woke credentials as a shield against scrutiny. In academia, professors police language and curricula, cancelling scholars who dare question the orthodoxy. The result? A fractured society where the elite's moral posturing widens the gap between them and the working-class masses they claim to champion.
The destruction is deliberate. Woke ideology's obsession with identity pits groups against each other, eroding the common ground needed for a cohesive society. Take the UK's recent scandals: ministers preaching equality while embroiled in corruption or tax-dodging, reveal a hypocrisy that alienates the public. When elites push narratives that demonise "the privileged" (read: anyone who disagrees), they absolve themselves of responsibility to those they govern. Instead of lifting up the disadvantaged, they stoke resentment, ensuring the downtrodden fight each other rather than challenge the top. It's classic divide-and-conquer, dressed up in social justice jargon.
The data backs this grim picture. A 2025 YouGov poll shows 62% of Britons believe political correctness has gone too far, stifling free speech. Trust in institutions, government, media, academia, has plummeted, with only 20% of the public expressing confidence in MPs, per Ipsos. This erosion isn't accidental; it's the fallout of elites using woke dogma to deflect accountability. When a minister like Rayner can dodge £40,000 in taxes and still be lauded, or when "anti-racism" workshops cost taxpayers millions while homelessness spikes, the message is clear: woke is a performance, not a principle.
Historically, elites maintained power through tangible duties, building infrastructure, funding schools, defending borders. Today's lot opts for symbolic gestures: tearing down statues, renaming streets, mandating pronoun protocols. These cost nothing, but yield immense control, letting elites police thought while ignoring bread-and-butter issues like wages or healthcare. The working class, meanwhile, is left to navigate a cultural minefield where one wrong word can cost a job, but systemic poverty goes unaddressed. It's no wonder Reform UK and populist movements gain traction, they're fuelled by the resentment of those betrayed by a system that preaches equality but delivers elitism.
The weapon's genius lies in its self-perpetuation. Woke ideology creates a feedback loop: elites push divisive narratives, which fuel outrage, which demands more elite intervention. Cancel culture, deplatforming, and lawfare (like Reform UK's internal smear campaigns) silence opposition, ensuring only the "correct" voices rise. Universities churn out graduates indoctrinated to see the world through grievance, not gratitude, feeding the cycle. And the media, complicit in amplifying elite talking points, ensures the public stays too polarised to unite against the real power brokers.
But here's the rub: this weapon may destroy its wielders too. By alienating the masses, elites are sowing the seeds of rebellion. The 2025 riots in Leeds, sparked by perceived elite indifference, show what happens when trust collapses. If the good, those principled, pragmatic souls who value unity over ideology, stay silent, the woke weapon will keep carving up society. But if they speak, organise, and demand accountability, the tide can turn. The West's hardworking, resilient people aren't the problem; their leaders are. Woke ideology isn't a duty of care, it's a betrayal of it. Until we dismantle this weapon of mass destruction, our civilisation risks fracturing under the weight of its own hypocrisy. The elites may not care, but the rest of us must.