The New Masters of Chaos: Reflections on Populism, Shamelessness

I’ve been grappling with the seismic shifts in our political landscape, particularly the rise of figures who seem to thrive on chaos, obscenity, and a perverse redefinition of freedom. Recently, I came across a discussion that dissected these phenomena with unsettling clarity, and it’s left me with much to unpack. From the erosion of traditional authority to the commodification of rebellion, the ideas I encountered resonate deeply with the struggles of commoners. 

I’ve always believed that hope is a lifeline for the working class, but I’m starting to see why pessimism might be a safer bet in today’s world. I think that being an optimist today is almost suicidal. You set yourself up for constant disappointment when the systems you hope will change—be it trade policies, labor protections, or social safety nets—either stagnate or regress. As someone who champions workers, I feel this deeply. Every promise of reform, every pledge to “level the playing field,” seems to dissolve into more precarious jobs, fewer benefits, and a growing sense of abandonment.

Pessimism, though, offers a strange kind of resilience. If you expect the worst, you’re occasionally surprised by small victories—a union win, a policy tweak, a community standing together. For the working class, this mindset aligns with our reality: we’ve learned to survive on scraps of progress while navigating a world that often feels rigged against us. I view this shift as a call to rethink our strategies, to stop banking on grand promises and focus on building power from the ground up.

What struck me next was the analysis of today’s political figures, who defy the mold of traditional authority. Gone are the days of dignified leaders who upheld a facade of moral rectitude. Instead, we have figures who revel in obscenity, making crude jokes and flaunting their contradictions. I think this shift is crucial to understanding why the working class feels both drawn to and betrayed by these leaders.

These figures—think of the brash, headline-grabbing populists—aren’t paternalistic in the old sense. They don’t project the stern father figure of past decades. Instead, they embody a chaotic, almost primal energy, like the mythical “primordial father” who rules through excess and intimidation. I state this not to glorify them but to highlight their appeal. For workers who feel ignored by polished elites, this rawness can seem authentic, a middle finger to the establishment. But here’s the catch: this authenticity is a mirage. It masks policies that often shaft the very people who cheer for it—tax cuts for the rich, deregulation that guts labor protections, and trade wars that hit workers hardest.

I’ve noticed a tendency among critics to mock these figures, as if satire could dismantle their power. I view this as a grave mistake. When comedians or commentators lampoon these leaders, they’re playing into their hands. These figures are already caricatures, thriving on the spectacle of their own absurdity. For the working class, who often feel sneered at by the same elites, this mockery can backfire, making the populist seem more relatable. I think we need to stop laughing and start dissecting what makes these figures resonate. Their lies, their contradictions, aren’t liabilities—they’re assets. They signal to workers, “I’m flawed like you, not a robot trained by consultants.”

One idea that hit me hard was the claim that today’s populism is the twisted offspring of the 1968 counterculture. I state this with a heavy heart, as someone who admires the spirit of that era—its push for creative work, sexual liberation, and freer education. But I think there’s truth here. The demands of ’68 were co-opted by capitalism, turning rebellion into a commodity. Creative work? It’s now precarious gig jobs at companies like Uber, where workers are told they’re “small capitalists” owning their means of production. Sexual liberation? It’s been commodified into a market-driven free-for-all, often devoid of genuine intimacy. And education? Humanities are gutted, replaced by a focus on “practical” skills that serve corporate interests.

For the working class, this feels like a bait-and-switch. We were promised freedom but got instability. I view this as a betrayal of the ideals that could have empowered workers. Instead of collective strength, we’re fed a false freedom—jump from job to job, hustle endlessly, and call it liberation. I think this perversion fuels the appeal of populists, who promise a return to “sanity” while delivering more chaos.These leaders don’t bother with the old pretense of justifying their actions. They act openly, brazenly, whether it’s ignoring Congress or pushing policies that defy logic. I state that this shamelessness is a direct assault on the working class, who rely on accountability to protect their rights. When power operates without shame, it erodes the checks that keep exploitation in check.

I think this shamelessness extends beyond politics. Look at the gig economy, where companies dodge responsibility for workers’ wages or safety, claiming they’re just “neutral mediators.” Or consider the environmental crisis, where corporations pollute without apology, knowing workers will bear the brunt of climate fallout. For the working class, this is a call to demand shame—not as moralizing, but as a tool to hold power accountable.

A certain populist leader as a symptom of deeper failures, not a random aberration. This figure’s rise reflects the collapse of the liberal democratic welfare state—a system that, for all its flaws, once offered workers some stability. I think the working class sees this clearly: the old promises of security, fair wages, and a voice in governance have crumbled, replaced by elites who seem out of touch.

What fascinates me is how this leader’s voters—often decent, rational people—externalize their frustrations onto him. They see him as a vessel for their anger, a way to disrupt a system that’s left them behind. I state that this isn’t madness but a rational response to betrayal. Workers aren’t stupid; they know the system’s rigged. But I think they’re being misled by a figure who channels their rage into policies that harm them—deregulation, tax breaks for the wealthy, and a rejection of collective solutions like unions.

Here’s where I got uncomfortable: the idea that this leader is a fetish for the liberal left. I view this as a tough pill to swallow but undeniable. By fixating on him, liberals avoid confronting the real issues—class struggle, systemic inequality, the hollowing out of worker protections. I think this obsession lets them dodge the hard work of rebuilding a system that serves the working class. Instead of addressing why workers feel abandoned, they demonize the figurehead, as if removing him would fix everything. I state that this is a cop-out. The working class needs allies who tackle root causes, not scapegoats.

There is  a paradox: these populists champion “freedom” while ushering in new forms of control. I think this is critical for workers to understand. The rhetoric of “getting the state off our backs” sounds appealing to those crushed by bureaucracy, but it’s a trap. In practice, it means dismantling protections—unemployment benefits, workplace safety, environmental regulations—that shield workers from exploitation. I view this as a bait-and-switch: promise liberty, deliver servitude.

I state that the working class needs a different kind of freedom—one rooted in collective power, not individual hustling. Unions, cooperatives, and public institutions can provide the stability to thrive, not just survive. But this requires rejecting the populist lie that freedom means every worker for themselves.

The ecological crisis was another focal point, and it’s one I feel passionately about. I think the working class is uniquely vulnerable to environmental collapse—think of factory workers exposed to pollutants, or communities hit hardest by floods and heatwaves. Nature isn’t a harmonious backdrop we can return to; it’s chaotic, shaped by catastrophes long before humans. I view this as a wake-up call. We can’t rely on “nature” to save us, nor can we trust populists who deny the crisis altogether.

I state that addressing ecology demands global cooperation—something anathema to populist nationalism. For workers, this means fighting for green jobs, clean air, and a system that doesn’t sacrifice their health for profit. Anything less is a betrayal of the class I belong to.

So I wonder whether we’re in revolutionary times. I think we are, but not in the way I’d hoped. The right wing is driving a revolution, reshaping society in ways that undermine workers’ rights and futures. I view this as a tragedy: the energy for change is there, but it’s being hijacked by forces that prioritize profit and power over people.

I state that the working class has the potential to reclaim this energy. We’ve seen it before—in strikes, in community organizing, in moments of solidarity. But it requires rejecting the false prophets of populism and building a movement that’s unashamedly pro-worker, pro-planet, and pro-cooperation. I think the left must shed its nostalgia for old models and embrace a bold, pragmatic vision—one that meets workers where they are, not where elites wish they’d be.

As I reflect on these ideas, I’m left with more questions than answers. How do we counter the allure of shameless populism without alienating the workers it seduces? Can the working class forge a new kind of freedom, one that balances individual dignity with collective strength? And most urgently, how do we build a movement that confronts the ecological and social crises head-on, before the chaos of populism engulfs us all? I invite you to join me in wrestling with these questions—because the future of the working class depends on the answers we find together.