How Woke Became a Weapon
By: Caitlin White
Tags: Culture, Marginalization, Woke Shaming, Community, Woke

The clash between well-meaning, if ignorant, new supporters and those who have been acutely aware of injustice their entire lives regularly unfolds online. Marginalized folks, like those within the queer community and people of color, often rightly have a hard time with the newfound trendiness and mainstream focus on these causes, which have been their lived realities all along.

Woke shaming is markedly different from trolling, and even other forms of public shaming, because it occurs in communities that purport to be united by a shared cause that’s not necessarily part of the mainstream. If you’re shamed in a community that small, the fallout can feel total, or those seeking to join the cause can be deterred from participating further.

Like Taylor and Johnson, Patrisse Cullors, a queer Black woman and co-founder of the Black Lives Matter movement, spoke about the downfalls of woke shaming in an interview with Complex last year. “Woke shaming is really unfortunate,” Cullors said. “If we are trying to build a movement to save all of us, we need to be able to invoke faith in people who are new, who are learning, and who are willing to grow. There is a difference between people who are bigots and people who are trying to figure out their way in this. We should have patience.”

Cullors isn’t alone in this stance — many other activists vehemently disagree with the practice of shaming within social justice movements. “There is no value in shame, only ego and belittling,” says Natalie Patterson, a queer Black female poet, teaching artist, and activist and founder of Sister Support. She echoes Cullors’ thoughts on the fruitlessness of shaming. “I think shaming others is really evidence of a lack of leadership and maturity,” Patterson continues. “We all have a place in these conversations because no one is an island. We have to do the emotional self-work so that we are prepared to be peacemakers, not just fire starters.”

But given the emotional reaction that topics like police violence, sexual assault, and other forms of institutionalized trauma can have on those who are triggered, speaking out, or protesting, that advice isn’t always easy to follow. After all, social media is arguably the first time marginalized people, including women, queer voices, and people of color, have had space and freedom to express their pent-up rage at injustice. Their trauma is not digital: It’s death, assault, rape, torture, genocide, and more. Who in their right mind could begrudge this historical anger an outlet?

“I think with the online meanness in exchanges like these, oppressed people can act out trauma on allies who really are just trying to learn and help,” says Alex Ashford, a Black female author, writer, and teacher. “As human beings, this is unfair, and it feels unfair, and I think that’s normal. However, people of color are aware that the very systems we operate under each day are — and always have been — unfair and thus don’t give a fuck about your feelings. We are so traumatized sometimes we don’t have the capacity to care about your feelings.”

Writing for Wired in 2013, cultural critic Laura Hudson noted that while social media gives a powerful platform to the disenfranchised, it can also become an unregulated “weapon of mass reputation destruction” that is historically more powerful than any of its predecessors. “We despise racism and sexism because they bully the less powerful, but at what point do the shamers become the bullies?” she asked. “Even if you think your bullying is serving a greater good, the fact remains that you’re still just a bully.”

Hudson clarifies that bullying is earmarked by a power differential — bullies punch down — and when it comes to woke shaming, those doing the shaming often consider themselves to be punching up, or sideways, at maximum. Certainly, there is no blanket agreement across marginalized groups that woke shaming is acceptable, and it’s disingenuous to assume that everyone in activism practices the same behaviors. On the other hand, activists and allies should consider healthy feedback a normal part of the learning process.

Andi Zeisler, one of the co-founders of Bitch Media, an early feminist media organization founded in 1996, points out that most people make mistakes in activism when they’re first getting started, but she also notes that listening to feedback about those mistakes is a key part of true allyship.

“I think it’s important to recognize that everyone fucks up in activism, and particularly online,” Zeisler says. “You have people who are at Feminism 101 alongside those who are Feminism PhD. There has to be room for well-meaning people to fuck up and a dynamic that doesn’t ostracize them, but rather makes them realize that shutting up and listening is a great way to learn.”

Sometimes shaming has more to do with the context of privilege around the person who is speaking out than their behavior itself. Consider the backlash in response to actor Matt McGorry’s bumbling feminist pivot, or the effusive praise John Oliver received for confronting Dustin Hoffman, when he was only doing what many women consider to be the bare minimum by calling out misogyny.

“Challenging men who are clearly performative, speaking in bad faith, or trying to talk over or patronize women can be a good sniff test with regard to their sincerity and willingness to engage,” Zeisler says. “An important thing about being an ally to marginalized people is that it requires giving up something — your comfort, your voice, your perceived authority — in order to give others the platform.”

But the line gets blurrier considering that online shaming may now come with an ulterior motive of its own: Its performative nature has emerged as an extremely powerful way to build a presence online. Prominent shamers who are able to solicit and obtain apologies or other action from their targets can become beacons for movements, or even earn brand capital, like the now infamous woke dictionary.

“When shaming others can bring social capital, that’s when it becomes a pile-on,” says Blake Flournoy, a queer, Black, genderfluid writer and reporter with a background in sex education and psychology. “Often because not piling on can be used as an avenue to be shamed. I know how dangerous digital shaming is, and I’ve seen too many people get traumatized by it. But I do think there is value in using shame to press people to change or own up to their behavior.”