The Nature of “Wokeness”: A Perspective

In today’s world, where every concern feels magnified into a larger moral phenomenon, the concept labeled “wokeness” distinguishes itself through a notable trait: it’s often seen as, well, ungrateful.

Being “woke” isn’t merely about addressing injustice; it tends to cling to the negativity associated with it. It treats any progress as merely an illusion, views opportunities as deceptive traps, and considers gratitude as something that enables wrongdoing. For an everyday person, this outlook can become overwhelming, creating an atmosphere that’s hard to breathe in—everything becomes tainted.

Michelle Obama’s narrative could be a genuine American story, yet she often speaks about this nation as if it’s been a source of pain.

We’ve all encountered that one friend who never fails to complain about work. The boss is unfair; the pay is poor; colleagues are incompetent. You start by listening and empathizing. You might offer advice. But then come the excuses: “I can’t leave because of the benefits.” “The job market is terrible.” “No one would hire me.” It becomes a cycle.

As you keep hearing the same grievances, you realize the problem may not lie with the job itself, but with this person’s own mindset. They don’t want to solve their issues. They might even prefer to remain dissatisfied. Gradually, you stop inviting them out, or you simply nod, tuning out their complaints.

Wokeness follows a similar pattern. It promotes a victim mentality as an identity and sees grievance as a form of virtue. This perspective often overlooks the significant strides the nation has made regarding race, gender, and equality, which requires a measure of humility and can dilute the movement’s moral authority.

The outcomes are predictable: empathy wanes, people feel drained, and potential supporters turn into indifferent observers.

This trend is prevalent in activist circles. Some racial justice advocates endlessly discuss systemic racism yet neglect pressing internal issues that trouble their communities, like family instability and educational crises. Many LGBTQ activists seek constant validation while neglecting major legal and cultural advancements.

The prevailing sentiment appears to be an entitlement to more. Rarely does anyone acknowledge the progress, suggesting, “Here’s how far we’ve come, and here’s how we can contribute to improvements.”

Michelle Obama exemplifies this mindset remarkably.

Her journey could be viewed as a testament to the American experience—her husband was elected president twice. The Obamas have become prominent global figures, leveraging their platform for considerable wealth and influence through books, speaking events, and various media engagements. Few families have reached such heights in contemporary America.

Yet, Michelle often discusses her experiences in this country, framing them through a lens of hurt.

Take what she expressed during the 2008 campaign: “For the first time in my adult life, I am truly proud of my country.” Many interpreted her words as disdainful. Despite a privileged upbringing that included Princeton University and Harvard Law School, she implied that pride was something only earned through her husband’s political achievements.

In a 2016 convention speech, she stated, “I wake up every morning in a house built by slaves.” Instead of highlighting this as a sign of moral progress—a black family residing in the White House—she chose to emphasize the grievance, even amid a historic moment.

Recently, President Obama referred to his White House years as a kind of trauma: “What did it do to me?… We made it. We came out alive.” While he doesn’t pretend it was a smooth journey, the rhetoric of burdens and survival persists, almost as if privilege itself is a form of suffering.

In discussing her feelings as a black woman, she described being labeled “bitter” and “angry.” Yet, she enjoyed years of positive coverage from mainstream media and influential cultural platforms that often criticized her detractors. Despite facing some hostility, she existed within a protective spotlight throughout her public life.

This dynamic is instinctively recognized by many. Wokeness imposes guilt on everyone, even when reality might suggest gratitude. Celebrating progress becomes a challenge, as doing so would require acknowledging the nation’s improvements. There’s no space for relaxation; the struggle demands a continual state of anger. Credit dissipates because sharing it weakens the hierarchy of grievances.

Ordinary Americans typically don’t dismiss wokeness because they’re against justice; rather, they often turn away because it seems perpetually critical, never satisfied, and entirely dismissive of anything positive. Achievements become mere accusations, and every success feels like a criticism.

This ingrained ingratitude pushes people away. History shows that movements rooted in resentment tend to diminish. It’s not that adversaries have silenced them; instead, people simply choose to walk away.

That’s the inevitable outcome for those ideologies that struggle to utter two simple words: “Thank you.”