Gen Z’s Pretend Apoliticism and the Friend Who’s Too Woke

Words: Zahra Hanif

In online activism, efforts to spread awareness about social issues are perhaps more widespread, but at the same time, feeling increasingly more diluted. From sharing infographics breaking down social issues - where someone else does the explaining for us - to sharing AI-generated images on our Instagram stories regarding the same issues in a more ambiguous manner - see: “All Eyes on Rafah” - it’s clear that we’re eager to position ourselves as politically aware. 

In the online world, we’ve been conditioned to seek the approval of others as it is reinvented into engagement, in the form of likes and comments. By sharing watered down thoughts, taken from someone else’s page, we prioritise comfort and ease over considered engagement with difficult topics. If we make our followers overwhelmed by sharing anything more than the commodified parts of ourselves and aestheticised politics, we risk losing our social currency. We risk being shadow banned or worse, unfollowed, and losing all social currency we have - the occasional story like from now-distant acquaintances, and the unparalleled ego boost that it brings us.

This balancing act has resulted in the ridicule of those brave enough to extend their activism beyond their personal digital echo chamber. This was exemplified in one TikTok mocking “That one friend who’s too woke” went viral last summer. 

In the video, the user performs as a friend interrupting a light-hearted conversation by telling their friends that they should be concerned about the possibility of war and the cost of living - “how y’all sitting here giggling and cackling about some Four Seasons Orlando when we about to go to war?” While this is a very obviously exaggerated impression of the “woke friend”, mocking this fictional figure contributes to the idea that social or political issues and worries are out of place in our interactions with one another.
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“Entertainment, news, and discourse all blend together into a continuous stream to be consumed unconsciously.”

This TikTok is a symptom of a broader cultural shift that has made us deeply self-conscious about sincerity in all forms. Gen Z’s obsession with dark humour, in making light of trauma, has spiralled into what was described aptly by Ethel Cain as an “irony epidemic”, as we are desperate to prove that we are unaffected. This has brought a level of disengagement upon us that naturally causes us to scroll past anything that challenges our detachment, as insincerity reigns over all corners of the internet. 

This pervasive detachment contributes to the widespread belief by many that they are apolitical. They believe that they’re not involved in politics because they don’t watch the news or follow their local politicians online. The reluctance to fully embrace earnestness has led to a culture where even the most moderate opinions require a level of self-deprecation or irony to be palatable. This is evident in the response to the aforementioned TikTok, as it prompted a wave of memes referencing the original - in these posts, users begin their sentence with “Not to be the friend that’s too woke but…” and proceed to share their – often incredibly mild – social and political takes. Examples include “Not to be the friend that’s too woke but this feels racist” about reactions to Cynthia Erivo on the Wicked press tour and “Not to be the friend that’s too woke but why is it so normalised for people to harass minimum wage workers on tiktok for a prank”. 

This phrase prefacing our opinions highlights just how self-conscious we’ve collectively become, playing right into a conservative cultural victory by re-weaponising the word “woke” in leftist circles. We’re scared of being annoying; of breaking our meticulously curated, nonchalant internet personas, and this is how the right-wing gains ground. Our insincerity and overuse of irony, coupled with the perception of politics as optional and not essential, enables figures like Donald Trump and Elon Musk to push their agendas unchecked. 

There are countless posts on TikTok and X showcasing Donald Trump’s “funny moments”, with users commenting that “he should’ve been a comedian” regardless of their political stance. These are the moments that go viral, while more important discussions about Trump’s leadership, policies, and the implications of his rule in office are sidelined. The internet has conditioned us to extract entertainment from every situation for the sake of likes and shares, and politics is no exception to this rule.

It doesn’t help that when we scroll through our feeds, there’s no distinction between the type of posts that we see. Entertainment, news, and discourse all blend together into a continuous stream to be consumed unconsciously. It’s unlikely that anything will grab our attention to the point of retention, but it’s certainly not going to be a nuanced political debate or an in-depth policy analysis. It’s unlikely that we even come across these posts as often, as content creators prioritise engagement and shareability above all else. The key point about viral content is that it is easily digestible. Political content is less likely to be so, and even if it is, it is problematic to rely on the ability of other users to simplify information for us when inherent biases exist. 

We need to stop apologising for being “too woke”, even ironically. We need to let go of the shame that has become attached to sincerity. Most of all, we need to embrace the fact that politics underlies every aspect of our lives and stop pretending that comedic interactions with the right aren’t adding to their power. Because the truth is, being earnest is powerful, and educating and expressing ourselves is essential. Advocating for your views gives you the power to shift your reality, as we ultimately get a say in who we give authority to. It’s time to delete the disclaimer before sharing our political beliefs.