Like any parent, I expected my son’s teen years to be eventful. It’s a delicate period, we hear from all sides, whether it is from child psychologists, early childhood specialists, other parents and our own parents. So, I had prepared myself for what I would say to my son if he ever succumbed to drugs, alcohol or gangs. I prepared for the worst: nights of drinking with his buddies, slamming doors and maybe a challenge to my authority.
I expected a potential rebellion on his part. And I did get it. But I would rather call it going to a school for new values. My son has turned the tables, practically daring me to follow him in establishing his values. To say that I have a hard time keeping up is an understatement. It is a real rollercoaster. I try to keep up as best I can, but I have to admit that I’m out of breath.
Four years ago, my son, who was then attending a prestigious boarding school in New Hampshire, challenged me by imposing the use of pronouns. He made me promise that if I were to buy a car, it would be a Tesla and nothing else because Elon Musk’s group is supposedly one of the few companies that cares about the environment and is advanced in the fight against climate change. Under his pressure, I was forced to give up negative criticism. For example, I started looking for ways not to say that someone is fat; I could no longer say that someone is awful. I had to review the foundations of my parenting at short notice. I was a tough parent; more using the stick than the carrot, pushing him to do more and more. I didn’t compliment him a lot. It was the style of parent that would almost always take the teacher’s side than that of my son the student. I was the parent who didn’t hide his frustration. My son forced me to change all that.
“It’s toxic,” I remember hearing him say. “It’s the past.”
I had to change. And fast. I put my spontaneity in the closet. I started to watch my language and my actions. I stopped uttering any negative criticism. I had to respect the notion of personal space. Instead of a teenage crisis, it became a father crisis. Instead of educating him, I became the one who was being educated. I was treated like a parent only when my son was faced with a problem. It was at the moment he needed me, my experience, my help, my insight. But of course, on his terms. I had to be available immediately. I was relegated to an observing parent. All this was one of the consequences of wokeism that marketing and communication specialists keep harping on about.
I must admit that my son opened my eyes to the acceptance of differences whatever they may be. I also learned to focus on my strengths rather my weaknesses. I integrated new ideological benchmarks even if I had many issues with the intolerance attached to all these new values.
When my son was accepted into a Californian university, located in the heart of Silicon Valley, I told myself that I was not done chasing the new dictates of the woke. Silicon Valley, until a few months ago, was considered the bastion of woke. Some even saw it as the place of indoctrination of progressive values. So, to my surprise, I started seeing little cracks in the woke fortress built by my son. He took a position against the participation of trans girls and trans women in women’s sports. He felt that trans women had a physical advantage over cis women. I remember being the one who argued that accepting people as they are meant not excluding them once it didn’t suit us. My son passionately defended his position, which was widely shared by anti-woke people. He had the right to change his mind, I remember thinking. But the transgender question is at the heart of the intense fight between woke and their detractors. It is the nerve center of the new culture war.
The facts finally proved me right: my son was in his “de-wokeification” phase. I can now say without hesitation that he is no longer woke. I had proof of this during the holiday season, while we were both back in Paris, France. On December 30, as we were having dinner with friends, he and the soon to be 18-year-old daughter of a friend kept rejecting any characterization made about their generation, Gen Z, specifically the idea that they are soft, intolerant, quick to cancel anyone who doesn’t do or say the right thing. On January 1, we had a similar discussion with the same friends. I found out that not only has my son rejected the woke label, but he has become a “contrarian.”
I did not hesitate bringing up the topic a few days ago.
“It looks like you are not woke anymore. What happened and when did you figure out that it was not for you?” I asked him, eight days into the new year.
“I can’t exactly say when,” he responded. “I think I started questioning the whole thing right after the COVID-19 pandemic. I began to think that it had gone too far. It had to stop. I had enough.”
“What went too far and why did you have enough?” I asked.
“It was the arguments made to force everyone to get vaccinated. It looked hypocritical to me because it’s the same people, the same progressives, who said women have the autonomy on their bodies but you can’t decide whether to get vaccinated or not. It’s totally hypocritical.
“Then, there was the transgender topic,” he continued. “Progressives started to force it on people; the idea that someone under 18 has the right to choose what their gender is but at the same time people under 18 are not legally authorized to purchase alcohol. It doesn’t make sense. There is no specific time when I changed my mind. What is certain is that they should not have forced everyone to get vaccinated. If progressives believe everyone has the right to do whatever they want with their body, then you have no argument to force people who don’t want to get vaccinated or to prevent them from going to school, to work or to take part in some social activity.”
“What is rubbing you the wrong way now with people who are woke?” I asked.
“It doesn’t bother me because I really don’t care about it anymore,” he responded. “I am in a school dominated by liberals. It’s like the tyranny of the majority. If you disagree, if you don’t say the right thing, it’s over. We don’t and can’t have free conversations anymore. It’s either you are with the majority or you are damned. They (liberals) are too soft. They are like ‘you are hurting my feelings just because you disagree.’”
He paused for a moment. He seemed to be looking for his words.
“It’s like every day I have to care so much about their feelings. Also, people are not allowed to judge. Why am I not allowed to judge if I see someone doing something that I don’t agree with? It’s just always about like, not hurting someone. It’s just fake. Everybody has to walk around on eggshells.”
In his voice, I could sense frustration, anger and disappointment mixed together. There was regret too. Regret, no doubt, because he believed in wokeism.
“Instead of creating a space where people can just share different ideas, a space where knowledge can be exchanged, they created a space where people just walk on eggshells and are terrified of saying the wrong thing.”
He then accused progressives of causing a malaise among young straight men, a crisis which he believes explains the shift to the right of many young men his age.
“Straight men can’t say anything,” he said. “For example, if you have a debate [in the class] and you talk a little loud, it’s almost like you can’t debate another girl, because if you say she’s wrong that’s offensive or you’re like mansplaining. I’m just having a conversation. I just disagree with her. No, it’s always interpreted the wrong way. It’s like men are the evil of the world.”
“Don’t you think that the whole idea of woke was to build a world where everyone is accepted the way they are? To build a more inclusive world?” I tried again.
“I don’t think so,” my son answered, brushing me off. “The Left just forced the transgender issue on people that otherwise wouldn’t care. It ends up turning people against it.”
The conversation lasted a few more minutes. “I hope I answered your questions,” he said, ready to hang up. For him, woke was a thing of the past.
After I hung up, I said to myself that I would not be surprised if in two years my son complained that society has veered too far to the right.
Maybe he is simply tired and wants a break until the next culture war.
Finally, I can catch my breath, but for how long?
This post originally appeared on Medium and is edited and republished with author's permission. Read more of Luc Olinga's work on Medium.