Proud to Be Woke

If caring about people makes me woke, then I’ll wear the word like a medal. Somewhere along the way, a simple idea—that we should stay alert to injustice and aware of the struggles of others—was dragged through the mud. The word “woke” didn’t come from politicians or pundits; it came from ordinary people warning each other to keep their eyes open, to see the truth, to act with compassion. It was a call to vigilance, not a declaration of war. I don’t believe being woke is a cause for shame. I believe shame belongs to those who mock it.

The roots of “woke” run far deeper than the sneers of talk radio or the cheap shots on social media. It began in African American Vernacular English as a warning to “stay woke”—stay alert to racial injustice, to systems rigged against the powerless. In the 1930s and ’40s, it echoed in blues songs, in whispered warnings, and in the speeches of civil rights leaders. It was never about dividing people; it was about waking them up. The phrase spread with the civil rights movement, then to other struggles for justice. It meant refusing to be lulled into the comfort of ignorance.

Then came the hijacking. As “woke” entered the mainstream, its history was stripped away. Opponents weaponized it, turning it into a punchline, a blunt tool to discredit anything that challenged the status quo. They made it a catch-all insult—mocking diversity, scoffing at equality, and sneering at compassion. This wasn’t misunderstanding; it was sabotage. The goal was to make awareness look ridiculous so that injustice could go unchallenged.

I learned the meaning of woke before I ever heard the word. I grew up on the so-called “wrong” side of town, where race and geography drew the same lines. Not only that, but I saw how Black students were disciplined harder and expected to achieve less. My parents sent me to a lily-white school for a while, where diversity was a rumor. That ended at thirteen, when I landed in an integrated middle school—and I was unprepared. Suddenly, I couldn’t ignore it: the game was fixed, and some kids started life miles behind the starting line.

Once you see that, you can’t unsee it. And that’s why I’ll never hand “woke” over to the people who want to turn it into an insult. They want you to believe awareness is dangerous, empathy is weakness, and injustice is just the way things are. No. Awareness is dangerous only to those who profit from ignorance. Empathy is power. If woke means seeing the truth and refusing to look away, then we need more people claiming the word—not fewer.

So mock it if you want. Call me woke like it’s supposed to sting. Words have only the power we give them, and I give this one back its dignity. Being woke means living with my eyes open—seeing pain and promise and acting anyway. It means speaking when silence would be easier and standing when sitting down would be safer. If that’s something to ridicule, I’ll take the ridicule. I’ve been asleep to too many truths in my life to go back now. Being woke is not a cause for shame—it’s a call to conscience. And I’m proud to answer it.