The death of the 'Social Justice Warrior’

‘The Culture War had died and was replaced with a Cultural Regime’

I distinctly recall the first time I noticed it. This new way of talking, of thinking – American in its inception, yet it would soon metastasise into other Western societies, providing each with an existential crisis of its own.

It is a way of thinking that suggests that our homes are hotbeds of unspeakable evil, that our nations must be punished for their histories and that we are not even allowed to belong. For we are the recipients of a new original sin, that of perceived privilege.

It was the summer of 2015 and I was eighteen-years-old. I'd travelled to Israel and found myself in Tel Aviv, crammed into a three-bedroom flat with seven flatmates; six American and one Canadian.

Israel, the centre of the country in particular, has a large American population. Most young – most leftward in their politics. It was here that phrases like 'white privilege', 'rape culture', 'systemic oppression' and 'transphobia' first became known to me.

My response then was my response for the next couple of years: confusion, followed by amusement.

Over the next year, I couldn't help but gorge myself on YouTube videos, the titles of which followed a clear style guide; there was always an 'SJW' and they always got 'owned', 'silenced' or 'destroyed'. (Or, if it was a particularly good video, all three at once!)

The joke was too much to resist, these people – often young, naïve, and incapable of defending their ideas in the face of mild criticism – could never be taken seriously, and would never be in a position of serious power. Oh, how wrong I was...

At some point, which I will attempt to locate in this article, that approach died, and one of caution replaced it – itself replaced by neurosis and hopelessness in due time.

The joke was over and the true malice of this new social prism had made itself nakedly obvious.

I call this moment 'the death of the Social Justice Warrior'. I must make clear that it was not the movement that died, nor the people or their ideas. It was the joke, the mockery, the lack of a tangible threat to the social fabric.

The name 'Social Justice Warrior' is a pejorative, it belongs to the detractor. The entity which fits the description has never held that term as its own. In the same vein, conservatives, and even some libertarians caught in the crossfire, have no sentimental attachment to the accusation of 'racist', 'fascist' or 'misogynist'.

The term 'Social Justice Warrior' no longer applies to the modern radical left. That term denotes a baying, sanctimonious, but ultimately pathetic corner of the political realm. The joke is over and this is serious now.

We laughed at them when they were confined to the university campus, but we're not laughing anymore.

This isn't a group of kids running around their universities stomping their feet about 'micro-aggression' or a Ben Shapiro lecture. This is a powerful and radicalised fifth column in Western society; one with uniforms, flags, deities, and a set of inalienable objectives.

It is a movement which is the same in every country, giving the reactionary forces to it an inherent disadvantage.

By the time I'd gone to university in the autumn of that year, I'd largely forgotten about the bizarre rhetoric that had filled bar conversations in the summer before. It seemed insular – a particularly American disease.

Even the ascension of Jeremy Corbyn to the Labour leadership hadn't done much to disrupt the flow of daily life. For now, Labour was the same as it had been: fixated on Palestine, against the 'b*****d Tories' and austerity, but never fundamentally anti-British.

The thought of The Cenotaph or an iconic statue being felled and vandalised was unthinkable.

And then we started winning.

Brexit came first. I recall two conversations I had with an acquaintance – one before the referendum and one after. Both were amicable, intellectual and respectful until one moment in the second conversation when it became known that I had voted for the United Kingdom to leave the European Union. Now, I'd been in fierce debates before, but never had I seen eyes widened with hatred the way I did that evening.

This was beyond a mere disagreement on the geopolitical direction of our country. To her, I was a villain of the most despicable variety, not deserving of time to think, or different conclusions to come to. It is a sight, and a feeling, that I am yet to unsee.

As is typically the case, we were upstaged by the Americans as riots broke out in the US following the victory of Donald Trump in November 2016. It almost seemed as though Trump gave the 'Social Justice Warrior' what it truly needed: not a leader but a target. A symbol. Suddenly, the dynamic changed, as an antagonistic press whipped up hysteria around the Trump presidency. Assaulting any appendix of that symbol became not only justified but encouraged.

Was this the 'Death of the Social Justice Warrior'? Not quite.

While the aggression and hysteria ramped up consistently between 2016 and 2020, some inexplicable force kept its darkest element at bay. The desire to attack and destroy anything deemed Western, to tear down everything held as sacred and sacrosanct. It was in that woe-filled year of 2020 that the joke ceased to be.

Going into that year, we held hope in the reactionary camp. The platform of the 'Social Justice Warrior' had been dealt a hammer blow in the UK general election of December 2019, and it seemed that, barring a significant change in events, Donald Trump would serve a second term as President. And yet, on one fateful day in Minneapolis, it died.

Months of rioting, invasive propaganda and naked social revolution engulfed the West. The Culture War had died and was replaced with a Cultural Regime. Not beholden to truth, to tradition or to the rules of behaviour governed by the word 'hypocrite', what was once a joke had become something very serious.

Now, the Cultural Regime has infected every facet of public life; sport, film, music, television, local and national politics, the armed forces, quangos and heritage foundations.

In many ways it was our own fault. To avoid fighting a smaller competitor, we let it grow to twice our size. While our punches can wound, theirs devastate.

We, the self-appointed defenders of Western culture, let the biggest threat to it in living memory rise to prominence. Why? Because we were too busy laughing.