Woke Soup for the Activist Soul

Today I saw photos from a protest in Belfast that happened yesterday – ostensibly for trans rights. But the placards told a different story. There were Palestinian flags, climate banners, keffiyehs, anarchist symbols, and slogans demanding the end of capitalism and the “decolonisation” of gender. It felt less like a focused campaign and more like a festival of fashionable causes. A kind of progressive cosplay, where every banner is welcome, as long as it hits the right ideological notes.

What stood out most wasn’t the political sprawl, but the sheer aggression. One sign simply read: ‘Fuck Terfs’

Not a message about rights, dignity, or safety, just an expression of hatred. And let’s be honest: that hatred is mostly directed at women. More specifically, lesbians. Women who’ve had the audacity to say that sex is real, and that same-sex attraction isn’t up for ideological revision.

This is what “solidarity” looks like now, not discussion, not coalition-building, not even principled disagreement. Just fury, aimed squarely at people who were once part of the same movement.

I’m not some outsider sneering at protests from afar. I’ve stood in those crowds. I’ve marched for abortion rights, campaigned for marriage equality, and worked with organisations that fought for hard-won freedoms. I’ve spent years on the left – not because it was easy, but because it was right.

But at some point, I started asking uncomfortable questions. About women’s spaces. About whether inclusion should always trump boundaries. About whether the new orthodoxy around gender identity was compatible with same-sex rights. I thought I was engaging in good faith. I thought it was still possible to raise concerns without being exiled.

I was wrong.

Today, the rules are clear and rigid. It’s not enough to support trans rights. You must affirm the entire belief system: that gender identity overrides biological sex, that there is no meaningful difference between male and female bodies, that anyone who questions this is dangerous.

But it doesn’t stop there. You’re also expected to support a long list of adjacent positions, unquestioningly. You must be pro-Palestine (but never criticise Hamas), anti-borders, anti-police, anti-West, anti-capitalist. You must adopt all of these as a single, seamless identity, and perform it publicly, often, and without hesitation.

Nuance is no longer tolerated. You can’t say, “I support Palestinian rights and oppose terrorism.” You can’t say, “I want trans people to be safe, but I think sex matters.” You can’t try to hold two ideas at once, even if both are rooted in compassion.

Instead, you’re expected to chant the slogans, share the graphics, and fall in line.

And if you don’t?

You’re labelled a fascist. A bigot. A TERF. And if you’re visible enough, someone might hold up a sign with your name on it. In all this theatre, something essential is lost: the work.

The hard, unglamorous work of building coalitions, facing contradictions, listening to people you disagree with, and doing the slow labour of real change. That’s what movements used to be about.

Trans people do deserve dignity. Palestinians do deserve justice. Racism, climate collapse, inequality – all real problems. But when every issue is thrown into a single ideological soup, nothing gets addressed properly. It’s all slogans, no solutions.

It becomes performance politics. A competition for moral purity. A cult of certainty.

I didn’t abandon the left. I still believe in justice, equality, and liberation. But I no longer see those values represented in a movement that demands silence over thought, loyalty over honesty, and performance over principle.

I miss the left that could argue with itself. That welcomed dissent. That belief in disagreement was a strength, not a threat.

Now, it’s all or nothing. You’re either fully in obedient, unquestioning, orthodox — or you’re the enemy.

If being honest means being cancelled again, I’ll take that risk. Whatever.

I’d rather be excluded for telling the truth than applauded for playing along.