The Faux Woke

I was sitting in the back seat of the car, trapped in the theater of someone else’s performance. Next to me sat the 19-year-old girl, her eyes darting with a mix of excitement and nerves, completely unaware of the strings being pulled around her. Beside her was the 26-year-old fuckboy, leaning back like he was the main character, his grin saying he knew exactly how to get what he wanted. Up front, in the passenger seat, was the director, gesturing dramatically as he spun his latest tale. He talked like he was the wise elder guiding us all, but I could see him for what he really was—a manipulator, a snake hiding behind a mask of mentorship and wokeness. His friend drove silently, just as complicit as anyone who keeps the engine of harm running.

“This is a mistake,” I said. “Seeing each other is a mistake. Working with him? Even worse.” My words hung in the air, ignored as the director drowned them out with his oversized presence. Everything about him was loud—his voice, his gestures, his need to make sure every moment centered on him. I could see the bigger picture, though. He wasn’t just exploiting the 19-year-old’s naivety or the fuckboy’s arrogance; he was pulling all the strings in that car. He was creating the chaos he needed to keep everyone too distracted to see the truth.

But he wasn’t acting alone. That’s the thing about people like him—they always have an entourage. His friend, the driver, didn’t say much, but his silence was its own kind of participation. People like him grease the wheels, keep things moving, enable the chaos while pretending they’re just along for the ride. It’s never just one person causing harm. It’s the entire system they build around themselves, the people who nod, laugh, agree, and co-sign every manipulative move.

When the 19-year-old and the fuckboy’s relationship inevitably fell apart, the chaos exploded. The director didn’t take responsibility. Of course not. Instead, he did what snakes always do—he turned it around on me. Suddenly, I was the problem. He and his entourage launched a campaign to frame me as a rape apologist, twisting the narrative to protect himself. The truth didn’t matter. Everyone knew the relationship had been consensual, but that wasn’t the story they wanted to tell. They needed a scapegoat, and I was an easy target. I wasn’t part of their inner circle. I wasn’t someone who could fight back on their terms. So they lied, and the community believed them.

The director wrote emails to people in the community, spinning the story to deflect attention from his own actions. He was the one grooming young people, manipulating them for free labor and favors, but he had the power of his entourage to amplify his lies and protect his image. His people didn’t just sit back—they actively helped him spread those lies. They laughed at his jokes, backed up his accusations, and helped him maintain the chaos he thrived on.

And the community? They went along with it. They believed him, not because his story made sense, but because it was easier to follow the loudest voice than to question it. It proved what I’ve always known: these weren’t my people. They were impressionable, eager to follow anyone who promised them belonging, no matter how shallow or toxic that belonging was.

I wish I could say this was the only time I’ve seen this happen, but the truth is, this pattern has followed me everywhere. From the art center on the Northwest Side of Chicago to the national science storytelling organization that left me homeless, to Scott and his entourage at the “work-trade” hostel in Indiana, it’s always the same story, just with different players.

The art center was supposed to be a haven for Black and brown artists, a space where we could share our stories and build our futures. But the woman who ran it? She was another snake. She didn’t care about the artists. She cared about the funding, the grants, and the donations she could secure by selling the image of an inclusive, equitable space. Most of that money never reached the artists or the programs. It went straight into her pocket. And she didn’t work alone. She had her own entourage—administrators and staff who turned a blind eye, who smoothed over the cracks, who helped her exploit the very people she claimed to serve.

Then there was the science storytelling organization. I loved that job. I thought I’d finally found a place where I could use my skills, connect with people, and make a difference. But when I didn’t fit their polished, white-washed image of what a Latina should be, they replaced me. They fired me, denied me severance, and hired a white-passing Latina who didn’t even speak Spanish. They took my work, my ideas, my labor, and left me with nothing. And the people who worked there? They let it happen. They nodded along, stayed quiet, and watched as the organization left me homeless. They weren’t just bystanders—they were part of the system that made it possible.

And then there was Scott. Scott ran the hostel like a dictator, pretending it was a community space when it was really just his playground. He manipulated everyone around him, but he didn’t do it alone. He had his managers, two handpicked people who kept the staff in line and carried out his orders. One of them, Zack, spent the entire season trying to impress Scott, even at the cost of his own dignity. He became Scott’s “bro,” his accomplice, his enabler. Together, they created an environment where people like Cor—a woman who made openly racist comments about Mexicans and Black people—felt comfortable and protected. When I called Scott out, his managers stood by him, silent and complicit.

What I’ve learned from all of this is that the snakes thrive because of their entourages. The chaos isn’t an accident—it’s a strategy. They create environments where the people around them are too distracted, too scared, or too complicit to fight back. And they do it because they know we doubt ourselves. They know we’ve been told our whole lives that we’re not good enough, not smart enough, not strong enough to lead. And they use that against us.

But here’s what I wish: I wish we could stop handing over our power to people like this. I wish we could see the signs earlier, before the chaos takes over. I wish we could trust ourselves enough to step into those spaces, to lead, to create communities that are built on care, not control. I wish for a world where we don’t need entourages or manipulative leaders. A world where people show up for each other without expecting anything in return.

Here’s my call to action: Stop feeding the snakes and their entourages. Stop giving your time, energy, and trust to people who thrive on chaos and manipulation. Find the people who are doing the work quietly, without applause. The ones who don’t need an entourage because they’re not interested in power—they’re interested in people. Support them. Stand with them.

Believe in yourself. Trust your instincts. The snakes only rise because we hesitate. They count on our fear, our silence, our self-doubt. But we don’t need them. We never did.

The world doesn’t need more performances. It needs real action, real care, real community. It needs people willing to step up, not because they crave the spotlight, but because they know we all deserve better. Let’s stop feeding the chaos. Let’s start building something better. Because we deserve it. Because we’ve always deserved it.