In 2022, I made a prediction: the climate craze might have hit its apex that very year. I remain rather comfortable with that assessment, though it will take a few more turns of the calendar before hindsight strips away the fog and allows for a sober accounting.
For now, the air is still thick with posturing, denial, and theatrical outrage. But beneath the bluster, the panic of the climate zealots is speaking louder than any press release. They’ve sensed it—the jig is up.
I also see the unmistakable signs from the real weather vane of our age: finance. Wall Street and its equivalents elsewhere are quietly shifting their weight, edging away from the “green gold rush” like seasoned con men who know the crowd is about to turn ugly. They’ve sniffed the roast and are already hustling toward the next great swindle, leaving their underlings behind in a rapidly deflating circus tent.
And what a body of underlings it is—vast, indoctrinated, and utterly unwilling to accept their predicament. When bubbles burst, they leave armies of losers in their wake, and those losers don’t go quietly. They flail, claw, and scream until the bitter end.
That’s precisely what we’re witnessing now: the rage of the stranded, the last gasps of a movement that mistook its own momentum for permanence. The trendline, however, is already written.