Who Or What Is The Woke Mob?

By way of metonymy, the 'woke' mob gets thrown around quite a lot in our modern political arena. So, what exactly do you think it means? And, what’s the best way to capture the essence of the message being conveyed, without being overly (or perhaps unbearably), critical of the Left? I’ve come up with a story to do just that. So here’s my personal reflection on what or who the 'woke' mob may be….

Most of us have heard of Atlas and his role in holding up the heavens. But there's also another ‘Atlas’ who is the king of Atlantis (a paradise island of uncertain location, according to a tale by Plato). His father is Poseidon, the creator of storms and floods; and it suffices to say that Poseidon is both moody and unpredictable. Therefore, Poseidon wouldn’t necessarily consult with his son, before exercising any sort of judgment.

Now, let’s just say, one glorious day, Poseidon spots some weary travellers, whom he feels are a tad out of their element on this paradise island; for they are basking away in a secluded bay, unperturbed by the potential misfortune that a sudden wake — or even a rising tide — might impose upon them unannounced. The tired travellers have sprawled themselves out in the clear water, with their toes sticking out of the water before them. And they make use of their elbows, to prop their head out of the water, ever so slightly. In such a position, they are soaking up the sun's rays and enjoying themselves. And rightly so, they would say.

But, they have yet to fathom the sheer power of the ocean's pull; and, in their ignorance, they’ve disregarded any and all the signs posted in the vicinity of the bight. The signs clearly illustrate the dangers present, but these travellers don’t care. They feel they’re safe enough, tucked away within the little alcove of this bay. They can see right through the clear water, after all, and so there’s nothing to fear; the water is barely knee-deep and they don’t see any dangerous fish swimming hither, nor thither. There’s no coral to avoid (which could potentially cut through skin like a razor) — but they don’t know anything about coral, either; they just happened to get lucky out here with a bed of pebbles and sand, which is laid down before them as soft padding for their tushes.

There’s no green moray, sting ray; nor any sharks that lurk within these parts. Even the cone snail (with its deadly poisonous harpoon), is absent from these crystal clear waters. The travellers move on in — as if at home on the top of a mountain, having decided that they know everything there is to know about the ocean. They’ve come from another world altogether — they could’ve been mountaineers, from the Alps — but what does it matter, for they'll believe themselves to be sailors as soon as tomorrow! They’ve given themselves ‘airs,’ which qualify them to navigate a sudden change in conditions, with no real guidance. They’ve decided, upon many reflections staring back from the water, that they should now rip the signposts off the fence (which they had passed earlier, on the way to this bay), because, well, they feel the illustrations on them are overly dramatic; and, they'd be doing the next crew of seafarers a favour by removing such a deterrent; such is the nature of their ignorance.

But, Poseidon, why, he has other plans. Poseidon wants to teach these tired travellers a valuable lesson. But, of course, he’s not going to be too callous about it. He’ll leave his trident at home; for all he really wants to do, is, wipe the smirk off the faces... of these unsuspecting victims. In his mind, he's not being too harsh, he’s just got that face of Ancient Rome which doesn’t belong in modern civilization. All he wants, is, to be the hard lesson for this tribe of dimwits. So, what does he do? He creates a sudden ripple in the water. And from his throne in the deep ocean below, that ripple grows and grows until it's a giant wave, heading directly for the open (but secluded) bay, where the tired travellers are now nestled.

Sure enough, upon reaching the bay, the wave bursts in like a tsunami, and, despite the darnedest of efforts made by the travellers to steer their fate, they are swept up onto the jagged rocks that surround them and are eventually beached like a pod of injured whales…

They survive to tell the tale, but the ‘wake’ — originating from that tiniest of ripples in these uncharted and unpredictable waters — had taken the 'woke' right out of them... as all good things often do. In such a way, modern civilization depends on the capacity of these travellers (the 'woke') to learn from such folly.