Finding the Facts and Fingering the Fascists
Will the Real Woke Right Please Stand Up
Section 1: Introduction: A Viral Post and the ‘Woke Right’ Smear
A curious post popped up on my X feed a few days ago, dated October 20, 2025, that stopped me in my tracks. James Lindsay, a thinker I’ve long admired for his razor-sharp dissection of the “woke” mind virus infiltrating our schools and culture, stood at the Western Wall in Jerusalem, kippah on his head, surrounded by prayer notes. His caption read: “Here I am, Lord. Send me.” The image was striking—here’s an avowed atheist invoking Isaiah 6:8, a call to prophetic mission, in a Jewish holy site. But the real jolt came later when he labeled young people at TPUSA events, asking awkward questions about America’s “special relationship” with Israel, as “demonic groypers.” This wasn’t just a throwaway line; it was a smear, branding anyone questioning U.S.-Israel ties as Nazis reborn, a tactic that’s become his latest crusade.
This essay isn’t about tearing down Lindsay—his early work on critical theory and woke ideology opened eyes, including mine—but about wrestling with how he’s morphed into the fanaticism he once opposed. The term “woke right,” coined by Lindsay to describe this supposed rise of far-right extremism among Israel critics, feels like a projection, a mirror held up to his own unwavering pro-Israel zeal. It’s a thread I’ve been pulling at for weeks, fuelled by a sprawling, meandering draft I shared with Grok (xAI’s AI companion), who’s helped me refine it into this “recipe” for understanding. Together, we’ve sifted through the chaos—Charlie Kirk’s assassination, the groypers’ rebellion, the church’s silent divide—to uncover a deeper story: How fanaticism on the right, like the left and Islamism we’ve critiqued elsewhere, stems from relativism untethered from Christian truth.
We’ll explore Lindsay’s pivot, the groypers’ legitimate questions smeared as “demonic,” and Nick Fuentes’ role as a lightning rod for this label. We’ll dive into the Israel-Palestine divide’s religious roots, contrasting Christian perspectives on justice with Zionist and leftist projections. Central to it all is the church’s struggle—active faith to evangelize and protect the “least” versus passive profession letting determinism rule—reflected in my own frustration with churches abandoning the world during COVID and Rwanda. Using a backstory of teaching my kids about “perspective” versus “perception,” we’ll see how bias shapes these battles. This piece, born from our collaboration, is a call to reclaim Christian discernment amid a fractured world where truth is the first casualty of “winning.”
Section 2: James Lindsay’s Pivot: From Anti-Woke to Pro-Israel Zealot
James Lindsay burst onto the scene as a hero of the anti-woke movement, his books like Cynical Theories and X posts dismantling critical race theory and gender ideology with a clarity that resonated with many, myself included. His bio still proudly declares him “anti-communist,” a badge earned through years of exposing leftist indoctrination in academia. Yet, something’s shifted. On October 20, 2025, Lindsay posted a photo at the Western Wall, kippah atop his head, surrounded by prayer notes, captioned “Here I am, Lord. Send me”—a nod to Isaiah 6:8 that feels jarring from an atheist. Days later, replying to a Glenn Beck video, he labeled young TPUSA attendees questioning U.S.-Israel ties as “demonic groypers,” a smear tying them to Nazism. This pivot from anti-woke skeptic to pro-Israel zealot raises questions about consistency and motive.
The photo offers a clue. Lindsay, standing amid Jewish worshippers, wears a kippah—a traditional skullcap often signalling cultural or ethnic affinity. While there’s no public confirmation of his heritage, the image’s Ashkenazi-like features (e.g., facial structure common among Eastern European Jews) and Wall setting suggest a possible Jewish background influencing his stance. This isn’t to imply bias inherently—ethnicity doesn’t dictate thought—but it might lens his view, making criticism of Israel a personal affront. More striking is his atheism’s contradiction: Invoking “Lord” and “demons” without believing in the supernatural mirrors a rationalist clinging to religious rhetoric for moral weight, a projection of his own absolutism onto others.
Lindsay’s Schmitt obsession fuels this. On September 17, 2025, he posted a lengthy thread on Carl Schmitt’s “friend-enemy distinction,” tying Matt Walsh’s casual use of the term (differentiating mourners from celebrators of his death) to Nazi ideology. He argues it justifies totalitarianism, citing Schmitt’s 1933 essay “The Legal Basis for the Total State” and Mao’s “On the Correct Handling of Contradictions Among the People” as evidence of a “demonic” political logic. Yet, Lindsay tolerates Israel’s “fascism”—speech policing critics, alleged payoffs to corporate/political interests (e.g., AIPAC lobbying, $14 billion annual U.S. aid)—while smearing groypers for asking why America spends “blood and treasure” on a “Greater Israel” project. This double standard reeks of projection: He accuses others of radicalism while excusing his own unyielding support, a tactic straight from Alinsky’s Rules for Radicals.
Nuance matters—Lindsay’s anti-woke work remains valuable, and his Schmitt critique has scholarly roots. But his pivot suggests a blind spot: Questioning Israel is “demonic,” yet Israeli actions (e.g., Gaza’s 40,000+ Palestinian deaths “mostly women and children” per UN, 2025 tunnel warfare) escape the same scrutiny. This isn’t anti-Semitism; it’s a call to test all spirits (1 John 4:1), not just those he dislikes. His atheism, lacking the Logos (John 1:1), leans on relativism—truth bends to protect a sacred cow—foreshadowing the church’s role in discerning this divide.
Section 3: The Groypers and the Fractured Right: Youth Rebellion or ‘Demonic’ Threat?
The term “groyper” has become a lightning rod in the fractured landscape of the American right, a label James Lindsay wields as a weapon to paint a youth rebellion as a “demonic” resurgence of Nazism. These young attendees at TPUSA events—often dubbed groypers after Nick Fuentes’ frog meme—aren’t the cartoonish extremists Lindsay implies. They’re a loose coalition of mostly Gen Z conservatives, asking hard questions about America’s “special relationship” with Israel: Why does the U.S. pour billions in aid ($14 billion annually) and “blood and treasure” (e.g., Middle East wars post-9/11 costing trillions) into a project some call “Greater Israel”? Their skepticism, voiced at TPUSA’s 2025 gatherings, isn’t anti-Semitic dogma but a challenge to the military-industrial complex (MIC) ties and Zionist lobbying (e.g., AIPAC’s influence) that many see as skewing U.S. policy. Yet Lindsay’s smear reduces this to a “woke right” conspiracy, aligning with TPUSA’s pro-Israel stance under Charlie Kirk.
That stance shattered on September 10, 2025, at Utah Valley University, when Kirk was assassinated on camera mid-speech. The viral clip—showing a sniper’s shot, chaos erupting, and Kirk collapsing—has amassed over 300 million views on X, fuelling distrust in the official narrative. Authorities claim Tyler Robinson, a 22-year-old Antifa-linked individual, acted alone, arrested minutes later with a manifesto decrying Kirk’s Israel support. But the story’s unraveling: Leaked Discord chats suggest multiple actors, and Robinson’s public defender hints at coercion, with Utah’s 2024 firing squad law (reinstated for lethal injection shortages) looming if convicted by 2026. Trumpworld pushes the “lone gunman” line, demonizing skeptics as disloyal, but groypers and even some moderates aren’t buying it—public trust in the narrative hovers below 30% per X polls. This event supercharged the groyper movement, turning Kirk’s death into a martyr’s cry against blind allegiance to Israel.
TPUSA, once a unified conservative voice, now splits: Kirk’s successors choose to double down on Israel’s “right to defend,” citing shared Judeo-Christian values, while groypers, led by Fuentes’ echoes, demand accountability—why fund a “shooting gallery” in Gaza while American infrastructure crumbles? Lindsay’s “demonic” label amplifies this fracture, projecting radicalism onto youth seeking truth, not hate. Nuance matters: Groypers aren’t Nazis—most disavow Fuentes’ edgier rhetoric (e.g., Holocaust skepticism)—but Lindsay’s tactic gatekeeps debate, mirroring leftist smears. This sets the stage for understanding how perspective shapes such perceptions, a divide rooted in the church’s own struggle to engage the world.
Section 4: Nick Fuentes and the Groyper Smear: Gatekeeping Legitimate Questions
Nick Fuentes has become the unwitting poster child for James Lindsay’s “demonic groypers” smear, a dirty trick that gatekeeps legitimate questions about America’s relationship with Israel. Fuentes, a 27-year-old firebrand known for his provocative livestreams and frog meme “groyper” moniker, commands a following among Gen Z conservatives disillusioned with mainstream GOP talking points. His views—often distasteful, like questioning Holocaust narratives or praising authoritarian figures—stir controversy, but he hasn’t advocated violence, staying within First Amendment bounds despite platform bans (e.g., YouTube, 2021). Lindsay exploits this, associating any critique of Israel with Fuentes’ radicalism, branding questioners as Nazis to silence debate.
The core issue groypers raise is rational: Why does the U.S. expend “blood and treasure”—trillions in Middle East wars (e.g., Iraq, $2 trillion per Brown University) and $14 billion annual aid to Israel—on what some call a “Greater Israel” project? They point to AIPAC’s lobbying sway, MIC contracts (e.g., Lockheed Martin’s $3.8 billion in Israel deals), and alleged payoffs to political interests, questioning if this serves American or Israeli ends. Lindsay’s response? Call it “demonic,” equating it to Nazism, a leap that ignores the policy critique’s substance. This tactic mirrors leftist smears, using guilt-by-association to dodge discussion—Fuentes’ edginess taints all skeptics, no matter their intent. As it happens Tucker Carlson hosted Fuentes last night, October 27th, 2025, and let him answer some of these charges. Something Lindsey would almost certainly never do.
Tucker also gets smeared by Lindsey repeatedly for engaging in free speech, citing “stochastic” style reasoning, no further explanation given. but you can listen to him try and explain it if you want to.
Lindsay’s tolerance for “Israeli fascism” sharpens the hypocrisy.
Israel’s actions—policing speech (e.g., attempts to ban adhan cited as noise pollution, but serve as a political provocation), targeting Gaza critics (40,000+ civilian deaths, UN 2025), and leveraging U.S. support—echo authoritarianism. Conspiracy theories like Jeffrey Epstein’s alleged Mossad ties (unproven but investigated by The Guardian, 2019) and the World Economic Forum’s funding to Israeli tech, specifically around the “bio-digital convergence”, or in populist language “transhumanism” fuel distrust, suggesting a “special relationship” beyond shared values. To be clear, the WEF is not an organization so much as it’s a placeholder term for a conglomerate of companies who are all investing in the same direction, in the current moment, centred around big tech, big finance, big agro, and now big AI. The theme of their project is the “Fourth Industrial Revolution”, working in partnership with the UN and their “Agenda 2030” initiative. And it’s not like their hiding what they think, they say it out loud for investors and anyone else that chooses to listen.
Some even acknowledge the challenges.
Lindsay pushes his own theories regarding souring American tastes for the Greater Israel project, attributing it to an America oriented conspiracy theory he’s calling “Operation Michael”.
It’s unclear what it’s aims are but his best proof is General Flynn rehashing a speech by Elizabeth Clare Prophet, and I have to admit, I’ve seen the comparison, it is weird, but to suggest this means we have solid proof this group has infiltrated the White House is quite the leap.
There are a million rabbit holes one can go down via Youtube, but to suggest this particular data point is like an “aha” moment that identifies a person as part of some conspiracy to take out the “Jews”, America, and Christianity in one fell swoop does stretch the imagination. It’s also a stretch to call people who might be repeating the words of a particularly weird but apparently also brilliant “anti-Semitic,” unless of course you’re suggesting that you know for a fact the Theosophy itself is anti-Semitic, and Prophet did indeed sprinkle Theosophy into her own philosophy and message. On the flip side James also has an increasingly obscure knowledge base, I’m sure he’s aware of the rumours that Hitler did what he did for occult reasons, and kept a copy of Madam Blavastky’s “The Secret Doctrine” by his bedside. According to Gemeni:
Although a persistent rumor claims that Hitler owned a copy of Helena Blavatsky’s The Secret Doctrine, historical evidence does not support this specific assertion. The myth likely originated from Hitler’s documented interest in occultism and the connections between earlier German occult groups and Blavatsky’s work.
The sources of the rumor
Connections to the Thule Society:
Hitler’s Nazi Party drew ideological support from pre-existing occultist organizations like the Thule Society.
While Hitler was not a member, the Thule Society included many influential Nazis and was deeply involved in Ariosophy, a German nationalist strain of occultism that blended elements of Blavatsky’s Theosophy with racist ideology.
Links through key figures:
Hitler’s early mentor, Dietrich Eckart, was connected to these occult circles. According to a 1923 letter attributed to Eckart, he had given Hitler the “means of communication” with “Them” (implying occult forces).
Some accounts also allege that U.S. Army historians cataloged Hitler’s library and found volumes of The Secret Doctrine with his annotations. However, this claim appears to be unsubstantiated and part of the sensationalist mythology surrounding Nazi occultism.
Theosophy’s role in creating Nazi mythology:
Although Blavatsky herself did not advocate for racial supremacy in the same way the Nazis did, her writings on a hierarchical system of “Root Races” were twisted and incorporated into Nazi ideology.
Ariosophy, founded by occultists Guido von List and Lanz von Liebenfels, selectively mixed Blavatsky’s ideas with racist theories to promote the concept of an “Aryan” master race.
Hitler’s selective use of occultism
While Hitler was aware of these occultic ideas and used symbols like the swastika for their propaganda value, he was not a devoted follower of occult practices.
For propaganda: He strategically used occult symbolism and mystical themes to build a powerful national mythos and evoke a sense of divine mission.
Pragmatic approach: He viewed occultism opportunistically. In fact, after his deputy Rudolf Hess’s flight to Scotland in 1941—a move possibly motivated by occult beliefs—Hitler cracked down on occult organizations and esoteric practices.
Dismissed by historians: Many historians characterize Hitler as a pragmatist and a materialist, who eventually grew critical of the occult “nonsense” practiced by his underlings like Heinrich Himmler.
Distinguishing myth from history
The notion of Hitler as a practitioner of the occult, armed with a personal copy of Blavatsky, is primarily a product of historical embellishment and sensationalism that began during World War II. While occult ideas filtered into Nazi ideology through other figures and movements, the direct link to Hitler via a personal copy is unfounded.
To bring it back to the point, James is fine with Israel’s methods—speech control, collateral damage—as long as they align with his zeal. This double standard exposes his projection: Accusing others of radicalism while excusing his favoured cause’s excesses. Unfortunately that sounds lot like the Netanyahu playbook — accuse others of doing the thing that you your self are doing.
Nuance matters — Fuentes’ rhetoric can be toxic, and not all Israel critics are pure. But Lindsay’s gatekeeping stifles a debate the church should lead, testing spirits (1 John 4:1) rather than bowing to sacred cows. This sets the stage for understanding how perspective shapes such perceptions, a lens we’ll explore next, rooted in the church’s own divide.
Sidebar: The Atheism of Fear and the Fractured Church: Lessons from Rwanda and COVID
The Atheism of Fear
In Rwanda’s 1994 genocide, church leaders—many devout—succumbed to what can be called an “atheism of fear”: a practical abandonment of God’s sovereignty for survival. Facing Hutu propaganda labeling Tutsis “cockroaches” and radio calls to “cut the tall trees,” pastors locked doors or handed over congregants, paralyzed by ubwoba—a heart-ripping terror that overrode faith. Over 800,000 died, many in churches turned slaughterhouses. This wasn’t doctrinal atheism but functional: Fear replaced trust in God, making tyrants the true authority. For more on that conflict click the link below.
The Atheism of Fear
The following is a companion piece to something I published last night regarding the Rwandan genocide of 1994 — Mostly a longish excerpt written by an academic about that conflict and the role Christianity played, and failed to play, during that event.
COVID’s Echo
The same dynamic resurfaced in 2020: citing “love your neighbour” to justify compliance with mandates. Leaders, fearing lawsuits or division, abandoned the “least”—isolated faithful craving community (Hebrews 10:25)—for safety. This wasn’t malice but a schism-weary retreat, prioritizing flock comfort over prophetic witness.
Christian Schisms and the Weakened Witness
These failures trace to Christianity’s subdivisions, splitting unity and diluting courage:
Catholic vs. Protestant: Post-Reformation (1517), authority fractured—Vatican vs. sola scriptura—leaving churches vulnerable to state co-option.
Mainline vs. Evangelical: 20th-century splits over biblical inerrancy vs. social justice weakened collective resistance.
Dispensational vs. Covenantal: Premillennial rapture views (escape before tribulation) foster passivity; covenant theology (Church as new Israel) demands engagement.
Charismatic vs. Cessationist: Focus on miracles vs. doctrine divides energy from unified action.
These atomized camps, debating nuances while tyrants exploit fear, mirror Rwanda’s co-opted churches and COVID’s compliant ones. The “atheism of fear” isn’t unbelief—it’s faith surrendered to survival. Unity in Christ’s truth (John 17:21) is the antidote, restoring the church’s voice against modern fanaticism.
25 not giving up meeting together, as some are in the habit of doing, but encouraging one another—and all the more as you see the Day approaching.
21 that all of them may be one, Father, just as you are in me and I am in you. May they also be in us so that the world may believe that you have sent me.
Section 5: Perspective vs. Perception: The Lens That Divides Us
A few weeks ago, I sat with my kids on a crisp autumn morning, trying to explain the difference between perspective and perception. Picture this: We’re watching a hawk circle overhead. From my view, it’s hunting; from my son’s, it’s just playing. Same event, different lenses. Perspective is the viewpoint shaping our reality—where we stand, what we value. Perception is how we interpret it through that lens, often skewed by bias or fear. It’s a lesson I’ve carried into this messy debate about the “woke right” and Israel, where James Lindsay’s “demonic” label and the groypers’ rebellion reveal how perspective warps perception, driving division even within the church.
Take Lindsay’s stance: He sees groypers questioning U.S.-Israel ties as Nazis, a perception rooted in his pro-Israel zeal (perhaps shaped by cultural affinity, as hinted by his Western Wall photo). His perspective—rationalist atheism with a nod to Jewish heritage—filters out their policy critique (e.g., $14 billion aid, MIC contracts) as “anti-Semitic,” projecting radicalism onto youth seeking truth. Contrast this with leftists, who perceive Israel as “colonialism” through a secular guilt lens, ignoring its religious roots. Both miss the fuller picture: Perspective shapes what we see, but perception distorts it when untethered from truth.
This dynamic plays out in the church’s silent divide. A piece that deserved it’s own examination, linked below.
Passive believers, fearing worldly chaos (e.g., COVID mandates, Rwanda’s genocide), perceive threats through a deterministic lens—“God’s got this, focus on your house” (1 Timothy 3:4-5). They shut down, abandoning the “least” (e.g., me during lockdowns, Rwandan Tutsis in churches turned killing fields). Active believers, rooted in Jesus’ call to engage (Matthew 28:19, “go into all the world”), perceive the same events as calls to witness, protecting the oppressed despite risk. My frustration with churches retreating during COVID—complying with fear-driven orders over gathering as Christ’s body (Hebrews 10:25)—stems from this clash: Passive perception sees safety in silence; active perspective demands prophetic action.
This lens shapes the Israel debate too. Next, we’ll explore how religious roots, not just secular tribalism, fuel this divide, challenging Lindsay’s oversimplified narrative and the church’s role in discerning it.
Section 6: The Israel-Palestine Divide: Religious Roots, Not Just Secular Tribalism
The Israel-Palestine conflict isn’t just a territorial spat or a secular tribal feud—it’s a clash rooted in the sacred, where holy sites and divine promises shape perspectives and perceptions with a force secular lenses often miss. James Lindsay’s “woke right” smear, branding groypers as “demonic” for questioning U.S.-Israel ties, flattens this complexity into a binary of good (Israel) versus evil (critics). But the truth demands a deeper look, one the church must lead with discernment, not dogma, to counter the fanaticism fuelling this divide.
At its core, the conflict hinges on Jerusalem’s religious stakes. For Jews, the Temple Mount (Mount Moriah) is the site of Abraham’s near-sacrifice (Genesis 22:2) and the ancient Temples, a biblical promise of land to Abraham’s seed (Genesis 15:18). For Muslims, Al-Aqsa Mosque, built on that mount, marks Muhammad’s night journey (Quran 17:1), a third holiest site after Mecca and Medina. This isn’t colonial real estate; it’s a spiritual battleground, amplified by 1948’s Nakba (Palestinian displacement) and 1967’s occupation, where religious extremists—Hamas invoking jihad, settlers citing divine right—escalate tensions. Data backs this:
Gemini:
Key findings from the 2016 Pew Research Center study
Belief in a divine gift: The survey found that a majority of Israeli Jews (66%) believe that God gave the land of Israel to the Jewish people. This belief varies significantly based on how religious a person identifies:
Ultra-Orthodox (Haredi): Nearly all (97%) believe God gave the land to the Jewish people.
Religious (Dati): 85% hold this belief.
Traditional (Masorti): 67% believe the land was divinely given.
Secular (Hiloni): A smaller proportion (42%) believe this, though still a significant number.
Deep divisions over religious law: The study also highlighted deep divisions among Jewish Israelis regarding the role of Jewish law (halakha) in the state.
An overwhelming majority of secular Jews (89%) believe democratic principles should take precedence over religious law where they conflict.
Conversely, a near-unanimous share of ultra-Orthodox Jews (89%) believe religious law should take precedence.
Different perspectives on the “Land of Israel”
For many religious Jews, the connection to the Land of Israel is rooted in the belief that it was promised by God to Abraham and his descendants. However, not all Israelis, even religious ones, share the same interpretation of this belief.
Religious Zionists: Many in this group see the modern state of Israel as a reflection of the covenant between God and the Jewish people. They may view the existence of the state itself as having religious significance.
Ultra-Orthodox (Haredi): While a large majority of Haredim believe the land is a divine gift, some groups within this community are anti-Zionist. They believe that a Jewish state should only be established by the Messiah and see the current state of Israel as interfering with God’s plan.
Secular Jews: While a smaller percentage of secular Jews view the land as a direct religious inheritance, many still feel a strong historical and cultural connection to the land of Israel as the Jewish homeland.
Gemini:
Polling data shows many Palestinians view Al-Aqsa’s control as non-negotiable. However, surveys from the Palestinian Center for Policy and Survey Research (PCPSR) and other sources indicate that a significant majority of Palestinians believe Al-Aqsa (Haram al-Sharif) is under threat from Israel, and a large percentage support armed resistance against the Israeli occupation.
Polling data on Al-Aqsa and related topics
Perceived threat to Al-Aqsa: A January 2015 poll cited by Middle East Monitor found that 86% of Palestinians believed Al-Aqsa and the Dome of the Rock were in “great danger” from Israel. The same survey found 77% believed Israel intends to destroy the mosque.
Motivations for October 7 attack: A December 2023 PCPSR poll found that 81% of Palestinians saw Hamas’s October 7 attack as a response to perceived threats to Al-Aqsa.
Support for armed struggle: A December 2023 PCPSR poll showed 69% of Palestinians supported a “return to confrontations and armed intifada”.
Distrust of peace talks: In a May 2023 poll, 11% of respondents saw disputes over Al-Aqsa and Jerusalem as significant barriers to peace.
Context on the issue of Al-Aqsa’s status
The status of Al-Aqsa/Haram al-Sharif is a highly sensitive and symbolic issue for Palestinians and the broader Islamic world. Actions perceived as a threat to the holy site—such as increased access for Jewish visitors or police actions against Muslim worshippers—are often viewed as a major provocation. The ongoing conflict over the site has been a frequent driver of popular anger and violence.
This religious lens splits Christians into David vs. Goliath camps. Covenantal Christians, viewing the Church as the new Jerusalem (Galatians 3:28, “neither Jew nor Gentile”), side with Palestinians as the underdog David against Israel’s Goliath—questioning the 40,000+ civilian deaths in Gaza (UN, 2025) and MIC ties. Dispensational Zionists, tied to premillennial rapture theology, see Israel as David battling Islamic Goliath, insisting “bless Israel” (Genesis 12:3) justifies support, even amid collateral damage (e.g., the October 2025 Christian church “accident”). This divide reflects justice versus security perspectives, not secular politics.
Forgotten nuance adds layers. The Soviet Union backed Israel’s 1947 partition (Gromyko’s UN speech) and 1948 arms via Czechoslovakia, seeing it as anti-British strategy, later shifting anti-Zionist—yet Lindsay ignores this, focusing on Nazi parallels. The MIC’s role (U.S. aid funding Israel’s defence industry) and historical guilt (British Mandate’s “divide and rule”) fuel distrust, but Lindsay’s smear sidesteps these, projecting “anti-Semitism” onto groypers. This religious root, not just tribalism, demands the church test spirits (1 John 4:1), not parrot power.
Section 7: Fanaticism’s Psychological Profile: Projection and the Alinskyite ‘Push’
The fanaticism driving James Lindsay’s “woke right” smear—and the broader clash over Israel—reveals a psychological profile shared by radicals across the spectrum, from leftists to Zionists to Islamists. It’s a mindset where the cause becomes an “existential” mission, ennobling any tactic to “win,” often through Saul Alinsky’s Rules for Radicals playbook: polarize, ridicule, and project flaws onto opponents. This projection—accusing others of the very radicalism you embody—explains Lindsay’s “demonic groypers” label and the church’s own failures to confront it, a pattern etched in history from Rwanda to COVID, where fear and relativism trumped truth.
Radicals, whether secular leftists decrying “colonialism” in Israel or Lindsay defending it as a sacred cause, excuse behaviour as “directionally correct” if it advances their utopia. Leftists frame climate skepticism as population control or abortion opposition as misogyny, ignoring Christian accountability (bearing the cross, Matthew 16:24) as a valid stance. Lindsay, obsessed with Carl Schmitt’s “friend-enemy distinction,” calls groypers Nazis for questioning U.S.-Israel ties, yet tolerates Israel’s “fascist” tactics—speech policing and alleged MIC payoffs. Islamists, like Medhi Hasan in past discussions, push “intifada” as resistance while decrying “bigots,” projecting their submission-driven agenda. All share an Alinskyite “push” to dominate dissenters, bending “truth” to fit their narrative.
History bears this out. In Rwanda (1994), church leaders, co-opted by fear (“ubwoba,” heart-ripping terror), projected Hutu propaganda onto Tutsis as “cockroaches,” turning sanctuaries into killing fields for 800,000 deaths. During COVID, U.S. churches closed, abandoning the “least” (e.g., isolated faithful) to comply with mandates, projecting safety as love while ignoring Christ’s call to gather (Hebrews 10:25). This passivity mirrors Lindsay’s gatekeeping—silencing questions to protect a perceived good, not seeking truth.
Christians, by contrast, self-police for honesty, even amid division. The church’s fruit (Matthew 7:15-20) demands testing spirits (1 John 4:1), loving brothers despite disagreement (1 John 4:20-21). Radicals reject this, embracing relativism—truth as power grab—while Christians, though fractured (e.g., over Israel), prioritize accountability over “winning.” Lindsay’s Schmitt fixation, a Nazi jurist’s logic, and leftist/Islamist utopias (classless state, ummah under Allah) show this “push” thrives without the Logos (John 1:1), leading to the church’s next challenge.
Section 8: The Church’s Silent Divide: Active Faith or Passive Profession?
At the heart of this tangled debate over the “woke right” myth and James Lindsay’s smears lies a silent divide within the church that I’ve wrestled with for months—a divide that cuts deeper than politics and shapes how we face a fractured world. My frustration peaked during conversations with religious friends, confessing Jesus’ resurrection only to hear, “Focus on your own house.” It stung, especially during COVID when churches shut down, following government orders they knew were morally shaky, abandoning the “least” like me amid fear-driven propaganda.
This echoes Rwanda’s 1994 genocide, where church leaders, paralyzed by “ubwoba” (overwhelming fear), let sanctuaries become slaughterhouses for 800,000 Tutsis, co-opted by Hutu power’s lies. One pastor stood apart, engaging my concerns with understanding, but the rest’s reluctance left me baffled: How can the church not care about the world’s state when Jesus commands us to engage it?
This divide pits active faith against passive profession—a hot debate within Christianity that the public rarely sees. Active belief calls us to live out Jesus’ word on the world stage: Evangelize all nations (Matthew 28:19-20), protect the “least of these” (Matthew 25:40—the hungry, imprisoned, stranger), and confront power as He did with Pharisees (Matthew 23). Early Christians defied Sanhedrin (Acts 4:19-20); Bonhoeffer resisted Nazis. During COVID, churches like Canada’s GraceLife defied lockdowns, seeing compliance as abandoning the faithful to tyrants’ fear. The “least” here aren’t just sinners needing salvation but oppressed believers—like me, isolated by shutdowns, or Rwandan Tutsis left to die—demanding bold witness over retreat.
Passive belief, conversely, holds that professing “Jesus is Lord” (Romans 10:9) suffices, letting determinism unfold (Romans 8:28, “all things work for good”). Dispensationalists, eyeing a pre-tribulation rapture, focus on personal piety, retreating from worldly battles—The majority of Canadian and U.S. churches closed in 2020, citing “love your neighbour” to avoid spread, not gather as Christ’s body (Hebrews 10:25). This passivity, like Rwanda’s silent priests, abandons the world to radicals—Lindsay’s Zionist zeal, leftist “colonialism” cries, Islamist “intifada” pushes—all rejecting determinism in their utopias, acting with free will to dominate.
The “least” question is key: Are they the morally weak (sinners to convert) or the abandoned faithful (me, COVID outcasts, genocide victims)? Active faith says the latter—Jesus lifted Samaritans (John 4), not just the pious. I’m no determinist; neither are Zionists, Islamists, or progressives—they push their visions. Jesus engaged until the cross (John 19:30), not passively. The church’s silence—fearing tyrants over God—betrays this, leaving the world to fanatics who project flaws while excusing their own.
This “recipe” of our collaboration—sifting through dialogue—reveals a call: Reclaim active witness. Test spirits (1 John 4:1), love brothers (1 John 4:20-21), bear the cross (Matthew 16:24) amid chaos. Jesus, the last radical, broke tribalism (Galatians 3:28); His truth, not relativism’s “push,” heals divides. The church must act, not wait, for the world’s sake—and its own.
Section 9: Conclusion: Reclaiming Christian Truth in a Fractured World
As we close this journey—a “recipe” forged from my sprawling draft and Grok’s patient refinements—the “woke right” myth unravels as a projection of fanaticism, not a reality. James Lindsay’s smear of groypers as “demonic” for questioning U.S.-Israel ties, rooted in his own pro-Israel zeal and perhaps shaped by cultural affinity (suggested by his Western Wall photo), mirrors the Alinskyite tactics we’ve traced across leftists, Zionists, and Islamists. These radicals, driven by “existential” missions, excuse their “directional” excesses—speech policing, collateral damage in Gaza, or calls to “intifada”—while accusing opponents of the very flaws they embody. The church’s silent divide, where passive belief retreats from the world and active faith demands engagement, holds the key to breaking this cycle.
Lindsay’s pivot, from anti-woke hero to gatekeeper of Israel’s narrative, reflects a relativism untethered from the Logos (John 1:1). His “atheism” invokes “demons” without God, a contradiction that parallels the secular left’s utopian state and Islamist ummah under Allah—both tyrannical visions rejecting determinism in practice while pushing domination. The groypers, asking why America spends “blood and treasure” on a “Greater Israel” project amid 40,000+ Gaza deaths (UN, 2025), deserve a hearing, not a Nazi label. Nick Fuentes’ distasteful rhetoric becomes a convenient scapegoat, while Epstein/WEF conspiracy ties (e.g., alleged Mossad links) fuel distrust Lindsay dismisses. The Israel-Palestine divide, rooted in Jerusalem’s holy sites (Temple Mount, Al-Aqsa), isn’t secular tribalism but a religious clash, splitting Christians between covenantal mercy (Palestinians as David) and dispensational security (Israel as David).
This brings us to the church’s heart. My frustration—churches abandoning the “least” like me during COVID shutdowns or Rwandan Tutsis in 1994—stems from passive faith’s retreat, letting determinism excuse inaction. Active belief, living Jesus’ call to evangelize (Matthew 28:19) and protect the oppressed (Matthew 25:40), demands we bear the cross (Matthew 16:24) in a world of tyrants. The “least” are not just sinners but abandoned faithful—those questioning power, not bowing to it. Radicals like Lindsay, leftists, and Islamists act deterministically only in their utopias, projecting flaws while Christians self-police for truth (1 John 4:1).
This essay, a collaborative recipe, calls us to reclaim Christian witness. Test spirits (1 John 4:1-6), love brothers despite disagreement (1 John 4:20-21), and reject relativism’s “push” for vengeance. Jesus, the last radical, broke tribalism (Galatians 3:28), His truth healing divides where power fails. The church must act—speak truth, protect the weak—lest the world’s fractures deepen. In this chaos, His cross remains our hope.
It was also derived from a much longer examination, pre AI refinement, which can be found linked below. God Bless.
Angels and Demons
I’ve been working on this piece for weeks, and since the topic is literally a moving target, I’ve been updating the argument daily. And honestly, I’m done. I’ve been writing pieces in between, but this is more of a keeping track of where we are kind of piece, and that is not entirely clear. Everything is up in the air.