Oh, I hate to stomp across your parade float in steel-toed boots, but pretending there’s a meaningful distinction between “woke capital” and any other flavor of capital is about as clever as sticking your head into the toilet and slamming the porcelain lid onto your own skull—repeatedly, with enthusiasm, perhaps even humming a tune.
Wall Street—along with its charming international litter of clones—has no politics whatsoever. No ideology, no flavor, no noble crusade. It possesses the moral range of an industrial vacuum cleaner and the conscience of a well-fed tick. There is no grand agenda beyond stripping the planet down to the wiring and sweeping whatever loose change is left into its own pockets.
High finance is not a belief system. It is a bubble wrapped in a Ponzi scheme wearing a rented human mask. It will use any disguise, any incantation, any tribal banner to get what it wants. If the current hustle requires chanting the hymns of wokeness, it will belt them out in perfect pitch. If the mood shifts and roaring MAGA becomes the golden ticket, it will paint itself red and bellow with the best of them. These people would sell their own shadows if they could securitize the afterimage.
Yes, some trends have momentum, and yes, it takes a moment for these creatures to sniff the change in the wind. But don’t misunderstand momentum for conviction. A shark circles because it must keep moving—this does not make it a philosopher. And just like the political class they quietly bankroll, Wall Street can execute a flawless 180-degree pirouette on the tip of a needle in less time than it takes you to swipe to the next TikTok reel.Conviction has nothing to do with it. Survival and profit do. Everything else is wardrobe.