Whining About the Way Things Used to Be and the "Woke Mob"

I am fifty-one years old and, thus, a solid member of Generation X. We are knocking on the door of retirement, gathering energy for the last trudge uphill before the golden handshake and our collective journey into irrelevance.

While retirement is inevitable in some shape or form, irrelevance is not. Let’s learn from the mistakes currently being made.

I have also surrounded myself with older friends since I was in my thirties as I resonated more with people older than me, mostly Boomers.

Lately, however, I’ve become extremely frustrated with my older friends and acquaintances as they stubbornly push for “the way things used to be.” Don’t get me wrong, I love a little nostalgia as much as the next but I don’t long for “the good old days.”

Just exactly who were they good to?

I read a lot of articles from people of colour as I want to understand their struggles as much as I am able. I need to do this not only for the energetic imprint I leave in this world but to remind myself of my lily-white upbringing in extreme white privilege in apartheid South Africa.

From what I have read over and over again, as well as experienced, the good old days were terrifying for most of the BIPOC community. From the dompas, translated as “stupid pass”, instilled in South Africa, to the razing of Black towns and communities in the US, the “good old days” were filled with fear.

Turning to my own community for a minute where I can speak from experience, LGBTQ+ people also didn’t have a fabulously free time in the “good old days”.

My first girlfriend was terrified that someone would find out that she was a lesbian at work and she would lose her highly paid and highly-skilled job in structured and commercial finance. Because of this, we couldn’t touch each other in public, even holding hands in a darkened movie theatre terrified her for fear that someone she knew would see us.

Recently, I finished watching Fellow Travelers, an Emmy Award-winning series which follows two gay men from the 1950s to the 1980s and highlights the political and social struggles of the community during those decades. It’s heartbreaking how two men so completely and totally in love with each other had to live alternative lives in order to survive.

Over what? The ability to love?

Not to mention the Neandertholic attitudes towards women, individuals with mental or physical disabilities, and immigrants — sorry, strike that — brown and black immigrants.

My frustration is on the rise.

I started working a full-time job when I was eighteen. I hated high school and the thought of engaging in another four years of study after I was finally liberated from the patriarchal, punitive British-based school system, sickened me.

The Bank Manager

I got a job in a bank where I was paid less than my male colleagues despite outperforming them. The managers were all men, bar one woman. Despite being more than twenty years my senior, we became friends, initially through my adoration and complete dedication to her which she took full advantage of, treating me like her personal handmaiden.

It was the age of authority. The age of do as I say and don’t question it. The age of women getting manhandled in the workplace and having to brush it off as “it’s just their way.” The Me Too movement as well as the continual uncovering of sexual abuse and harassment within the entertainment industry are only just scratching the surface of this particular nightmare.

A couple of years ago, The Bank Manager called me out of the blue and we chatted for about an hour. She was frustrated and angry as the new “woke mob” was “defying authority, had a lazy work ethic, and wanted everything their way!”

It took everything within me not to burst out laughing and remind her of her 90s management style. She wanted absolutely everything her way and expected those around her to be as committed to their jobs as she was to hers. Her marriage was falling apart and she spent almost no time with her daughter as she flew from one commitment to another to escape the reality of her life.

The irony of it all was that I remembered how badly she treated her subordinates, far worse than her account of the current woes in her workplace. The difference was that she was no longer in charge. Now, she had to listen to people many years her junior in a new world where her ways were outdated and she had to compromise.

Although she couldn’t see it, compromise was the hardest thing for her. She was no longer the top dog. Her safe little world of “respect your elders” had fallen away to respect is earned based on how you treat and listen to others.

The Homophobic Lesbian

Last year I was back in Southern Ontario, Canada for the summer and having a blast.

June is Pride month in most of North America but this city celebrates in July. I had just watched the parade with a friend and we were sitting down in the beer garden at the end of the route with a cold beer. Life was good. The weather was warm, happy gays surrounded us on a day where being yourself was okay, and more people were piling in by the minute as we all caught sight of friends we hadn’t seen in a minute.

Friends of friends joined us, one of whom could be easily, and probably was often, misidentified as a man. I never liked her. There was something off about her. A little too brash, a little too much insecurity oozing out of her skin which she sometimes projected toward her partner, a lovely, sweet, and gentle woman.

All of a sudden, she started with the same old rhetoric.

“What are all those new symbols on the rainbow flag?” she scoffed, feeling safe with the other older women around her.

“They represent the non-binary, trans, and BIPOC communities,” I said, not at all in the mood for more good-old-days bullshit.

I was out of luck because here it came. Her mouth twisted into a shade of ugly as she almost spat out her distaste at “all these new types of gays.”

“What happened to the simple LGB system?”

I wasn’t interested in engaging her archaic mindset. I looked at her with a slight level of disgust, caught the eye of my friend and shook my head, turning to chat with the two lovely trans women to my left.

It was a day of love and understanding and I had zero desire to sully it.

The Bigot

When I was working as a Foster Carer recruiter in Australia, I made friends with one of our weekend carers. She was a British woman living alone in Australia, having emigrated to the sunburnt country decades before with her ex-husband. She loved living down under but also enjoyed returning to the UK every second summer to see family now that she was retired.

We developed a kind friendship despite some crucial differences existing between us. She was devoutly Christian, and although she knew I was gay, we never really spoke about it. She seemed accepting enough and we had other interests that kept the friendship going. We only saw each other socially a couple of times a year.

I left the country seven years ago and we reach out to each other about once a year with the standard and courteous, How are things going? email. They’re relatively innocuous and supportive but this last communication floored me.

She had just returned from her summer trip to the UK and briefly mentioned “how bad things are over there.” Against my better judgment, I asked her to elaborate as I’ve been hearing this over and over again — mostly by the older generation and the fake news media.

I was not expecting the bigoted rant I received.

I won’t post it here but over two emails, she hit on every bit of misinformation and fake news that the right-wing media love to milk.

• Immigrants are taking over. — “It’s rare I hear an English-speaking voice anymore,” she whined.
• The orange Cheeto (my words, not hers) is the only one who has the right idea. Well, okay then. I knew she was indulging in right-wing misinformation, but that’s a whole new level of crazy.

• She lamented about “The Woke” without any confirmation of what the term actually means.

I’ve noticed that those complaining about “The Woke” are usually unwilling to shift even the most rudimentary of mindsets to truly understand the meaning and history behind the term which began in the 1930s in the African American community to bring awareness to the social and political inequalities affecting their race.

• She embarked on a transphobic rant, stating that she used to support the LGBTQ community before they started “chemical castration on children”.
• The Africans are depleting the medical system, veterans are living on the streets, and Muslims are harassing Christians in the streets and knifing teenage girls.
• The government is controlling news outlets skewed toward the liberal agenda, ending the rant by comparing the UK to Nazi Germany.

It always astounds me how those comparing totalitarian political ideologies to liberalism fail to realize that the far-right principles they cling so dearly to are, in fact, totalitarian political ideologies.

Well, smack my ass and call me Judy!”

She signed off the second email with “Shalom.” Considering that she’s devoutly Christian and had never alluded to any affiliation with the Jewish faith, this one word was a nod to her support of Israel’s recent atrocities.

It all sickened me. Deeply to my core.

Time to gain a little perspective.

It seems that the only people whining about the “good old days” are white privileged cis-gender heteronormative middle-class Boomers.

The generation that built wealth on the backs of those they have utter distaste for now. Those able to buy two-story homes with a couple of cars in the driveway and enough food to feed everyone on one income. The generation that has priced most of the population out of the housing market. The generation that was able to educate themselves for a fraction of today’s cost.

The generation that love to complain about the younger generations being lazy despite not having worked in a system where employers expect you to be available twenty-four hours a day due to the technology boom.

It seems that the older generation has forgotten the similar complaints their parents and grandparents made about them.

The narrative is changing.

That’s what evolution does, it changes the narrative.

As the middle-to-older generations, we need to put on our big girl/boy pull-ups and deal with the consequences of the elitest and prejudicial systems we created.

Things were not that good in the “good old days.” Sexual harassment and assault abounded with no recourse, authority reigned supreme without question, and marginalized groups huddled in small corners of society trying to remain unseen in order to survive.

Unfortunately for the older generation, the days of “because I said so” are over. Everyone gets to be a part of the discussion now. Injustices can be aired and people can get mad. The swords being wielded need to be sheathed now, they are no longer welcome in the society that the younger generations are building.

I still love my older friends but I’m getting tired of the anger, hatred, and judgment. We’ve all had enough of the “my way or the highway” rhetoric. It’s time to try a little kindness. The world is no longer yours, just as it was no longer your parents when you took over.

You had a damn good run. It’s now time for acceptance of what you cannot control.

Be a part of the solution, not the problem.

Please feel free to buy me a coffee if you like what you read.