The room is dimly lit, with a circle of folding chairs arranged around a small table holding a jug of kombucha and some gluten-free oat cookies. A hand-painted sign on the wall reads: Woke's Anonymous – A Safe Space for Recovering Bullies.
A young man with an undercut, wearing a Smash the Patriarchy T-shirt, stands up and nervously adjusts his scarf. He clears his throat.
“Hi, everyone. My name’s Indigo.”
The group responds in unison, “Hi, Indigo.”
Indigo exhales deeply. “I… I bullied someone yesterday.”
A collective gasp ripples through the room. One person whispers, “Oh no,” while another clutches their emotional support water bottle.
Indigo continues, tears forming in his eyes. “It started when I saw someone on Twitter say they liked Harry Potter. I couldn’t stop myself. I called them a TERF enabler and told them they were cancelled. Then I tweeted a 47-thread post about how their love for a problematic author perpetuates systemic oppression.”
A woman with pastel-dyed hair leans forward, her earrings jangling like tiny wind chimes. “And how did that make you feel, Indigo?”
“At first? Powerful. Like I was doing the work, you know?” Indigo pauses, his voice quivering. “But later… I felt so empty. Like maybe yelling at strangers online isn’t the same as dismantling the patriarchy.”
The group nods solemnly. A man in a knitted poncho mutters, “We’ve all been there.”
A facilitator in a gender-neutral kaftan gestures warmly. “Thank you for sharing, Indigo. Admitting you have a problem is the first step. Would anyone else like to share?”
A young woman with horn-rimmed glasses hesitates but stands up. “Hi, I’m Clementine. And I’m addicted to cancelling people who don’t compost.”
“Hi, Clementine.”
“I mean, I know it’s wrong, but… when I see someone throw an avocado pit in the regular bin, I just black out. Before I know it, I’m Instagramming a rant about eco-fascism and tagging them in a meme that says ‘Recycling is Sexy.’”
A bearded man nods empathetically. “You’re so brave, Clementine. We’re all here to support you.”
Clementine sniffs. “Thanks. I just… I want to be better. I want to educate, not annihilate.”
The group claps gently, their approval respectful yet restrained, because excessive clapping might marginalise the noise-sensitive.
The facilitator smiles. “You’re making progress, all of you. Remember, we’re here to learn how to hold people accountable without tearing them down. We can critique the system without emotionally vaporising individuals.”
Indigo raises his hand timidly. “Can I ask something?”
“Of course.”
“Do we still get to call out billionaires?”
The room erupts in murmurs of agreement. The facilitator raises their hand to calm the group. “Yes, Indigo, of course. Accountability doesn’t stop at the one percent. But remember—Jeff Bezos memes alone will not topple capitalism. Baby steps.”
As the meeting ends, they form a circle, hold hands (consensually, of course), and recite their affirmation:
“Woke, not wrathful. Just, not judgmental. Together, we rise, and everyone’s invited.”
Indigo sighs with relief, ready to face another day of critical thinking and carefully worded tweets. For now.
