Woke

Robin Ince's Blog

I think you’ll find the real victims are rich men paid handsome fees to write or perform routines that dehumanise and elevate spite and disdain.

Greta Thunberg. Pic by Lëa-Kim Châteauneuf

In a time where we are told to think like lobsters, the pink faced and psychosomatically put upon still seem to remain anxious of the woke. I am not sure what woke really means, I am more of an insomnia case blearily trying to understand humanity, both its diversity and conformity.

The energy of the anti-woke agenda surprises and saddens me. In a world where our leaders can boastfully claim of their pussy grabbing techniques and write of watermelon smiles while also pompously dismissing climate change science, it seems peculiar that the real public enemies of civilisation should be Greta Thunberg and occasional vegans.

Every tribal side believes the other side is a victim of confirmation bias while they are the true freethinkers. Each clan declares their opposition are in an echo chamber and only they hear the truth. My eye has almost run out of room for its motes.

One of the reasons my relationship with social media becomes increasingly distant is observing the speed it dehumamises, the speed in which we can declare ourselves the real victim in the fracas. It is not easy admitting we may be wrong, doubling down is preferred over contemplation.

I am frequently anxious about being wrong and anxious about upsetting. When I have been picked up on material or social media statuses in the past, my stomach tightens and my desire to dismiss enlarges. I would rather prove myself right than listen for too long and be confronted by my error, but I hope I am getting better at facing up to my shoddy thinking or thoughtlessness.

The anti woke movement seems to be propelled by a confusion between actual people in power and people with an internet connection. As we spend so much time both out in the open yet inside our phone, our insularity elevates our narcissism. Everything becomes personal. Those who increase their self pity find it almost impossible to muster pity for anyone else.

I think many discussions, debates and campaigns can start from a legitimate place of concern, but we have found a fast route to dehumanising those we disagree with.

I remember doing a gig where I mentioned gay marriage. In the bar afterwards, I was told off, not angrily, but firmly, for using this term rather than same sex marriage. A bit of me wanted to take umbrage and declare that my joke was on the correct side of the argument of progress and it was only a phrase and and and and and… but then I managed to shut myself up and realise it just took a little thought and a two word change should I perform the routine again, which would not be an oppressive yoke that would be break me. I have been confronted before by those who are probably considered woke and I have not always agreed, sometimes it changes me, sometimes it doesn’t, but I see no great threat from thinking about why I said what I said or asking myself why I believe what I believe.

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I use my mouth in a slapdash manner on and offstage, so it wouldn’t surprise me if it can be thoughtless at times.

I was briefly intrigued by Jordan Peterson. I picked up his bestseller in an Islington Oxfam and read it on the bus. I couldn’t quite grasp what it was I should have taken from it. When I see Peterson interviewed, his cool confidence seems to conceal something brittle, as if writing about the might of males will allow him to throw off his hidden fragility and he’ll appear as a mythical warrior drawn by Frank Frazetta. Oddly, though his words have helped others to shun compassion, there is something I think I see in him which makes me feel compassionate towards him, not in his words, but in something unspoken. 

Is this a Frank Frazetta artwork or a photograph of Jordan Peterson?

Many of those I read attacking identity politics seem to be barely masking their own terror that they are losing their identity or do not have enough of one in the first place. Anything that questions them may vaporise them, a body turned to vague spittle by a question.

So little of this debate seems to be about listening, it seems to be about certainty and declaring anyone who questions you or criticises you as an enemy of truth. So much of this does not happen face to face. It happens in the light of a laptop and by the time you see the real person, your decision of who they are and what they mean is set in stone.

I think election results of this decade and the possibilities of who they will hurt and who they will favour should lead to us listening more and enabling this through well used doubt rather than blinding ourselves with our convictions.

I will be at the Norwich Playhouse for a double bill show in January, and I’m a Joke is out now in paperback.

Robin Ince is a multi-award winning comedian, writer and broadcaster.  As well as spending decades as one the UK’s most respected stand-ups, Robin is perhaps best known for co-hosting The Infinite Monkey Cage radio show with Brian Cox.  For his work on projects like Cosmic Shambles he was made an Honorary Doctor of Science by Royal Holloway, University of London.

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The Cosmic Shambles Network relies on your support on pledges via Patreon so we can continue to provide great, new, exciting content without the need for third party ads or paywalls.
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