The 2024 election is shaping up to be a clash between two extremes: Trumpism and Wokism.

But while they dominate headlines and airwaves, there’s a critical false equivalency being drawn between the two. Wokism, for all its excesses, is fundamentally an overreaction to real, historical wrongs.

Trumpism, by contrast, is an overreaction to an overreaction—a backlash without a real grievance, inflamed by a man who thrives on division.

Wokism is rooted in a genuine struggle for equality and justice. While its most radical voices can be rigid and self-righteous, its origins lie in the ongoing fight to address systemic racism, sexism, and other forms of oppression. Yes, sometimes the movement overshoots the mark. The drive to right the wrongs of the past can lead to dogmatic positions and overzealous demands. Cancel culture is real.

But the underlying truth is hard to dispute: there are real wrongs that need to be corrected. Wokism, at its best, calls for society to live up to its own ideals of fairness and inclusion.

Trumpism, on the other hand, isn’t a response to oppression. It’s a reaction to the very idea of progress, a lashing out at the discomfort of change. It thrives on the perception that America is under siege—not by foreign powers or economic decline, but by cultural forces that challenge long-standing privileges.

Trumpism doesn’t seek to correct an injustice. Instead, it inflates grievances that don’t exist, weaponizing them into a rallying cry against an evolving world. It’s an overreaction to the overreach of political correctness, fueled by fear and stoked by a leader whose primary interest is self-promotion.

The problem is that the two are often framed as equivalent in media narratives, as if they represent equal and opposite reactions in the culture wars.

But that’s a dangerous simplification. Wokism, for all its flaws, has a foundation in the pursuit of justice. It may be imperfect, even maddening at times, but it’s rooted in the recognition that inequality and prejudice are real and need addressing. Trumpism, by contrast, is a retreat into grievance politics—a reactionary movement fueled by resentment and a nostalgia for an America that never truly existed.

Wokism can be abrasive, yes. But Trumpism thrives on misinformation, on demonizing opponents and undermining democratic norms. Where Wokism seeks to expand rights and redefine equality, Trumpism seeks to shore up power through exclusion and division. One aims to create a more inclusive society, even if imperfectly; the other exploits fear of that inclusion for political gain.

This election, then, isn’t just a fight between two extremes. It’s a choice between an overreaction to historical wrongs and an overreaction to progress itself. To equate the two is to miss the point.

We need to stop treating these movements as if they’re on the same moral plane. Wokism’s excesses can be reined in. Trumpism, by its very nature, thrives on destruction.

And if we’re not careful, it could burn down more than just the White House.

Hurricanes are deadly enough, but the storm of conspiracy theories surrounding them is proving just as destructive. Perhaps more so.

The recent devastation caused by Helene and Milton has unleashed not only catastrophic winds but also a torrent of disinformation, with platforms like X, TikTok, and YouTube fueling wild claims that the storms were engineered for sinister purposes.

Theories about government weather-control lasers, man-made disasters, and nefarious plots to mine lithium have spread unchecked, overshadowing the actual work of emergency responders. It would be laughable if it weren’t so dangerous.

These aren’t just idle rumors. They’re deliberate lies, engineered to prey on fear and undermine trust in institutions when trust is needed most.

While thousands of rescue workers put their lives on the line, social media buzzes with absurd ideas that FEMA workers are part of a secret government operation to mine for lithium or manipulate elections. Some theorists claim the hurricanes were directed toward Republican districts as part of a Democratic plot to disrupt voting. Others insist sound waves or microwave weapons were used to create the storms for financial gain, citing investment firms like BlackRock as culprits.

Nearly always tied to the far right, conspiracies seek to stoke distrust in the government and institutions, pushing the absurd over the real dangers at hand.

Scientists have repeatedly explained that hurricanes are natural phenomena, not the product of government control. We can no more control the weather than we can time.

But in a world where facts are optional, reason falls on deaf ears. It’s easier to believe in villains than to accept the chaos and randomness of nature.

They aren’t just misinformed—they’re actively sabotaging efforts to save lives.

In the real world, these conspiracies have devastating consequences. Emergency workers are being harassed, people are refusing to follow evacuation orders, and some are avoiding rescue operations altogether, convinced it’s all part of a nefarious scheme.

Take Matt Huggins, a police officer in Marion, N.C., who spent days rescuing people from flooded homes. After helping save lives, he logged onto Facebook only to find himself accused of being part of a FEMA conspiracy to mine lithium. “They aren’t mining for lithium,” he wrote. “They’re running their bodies into the ground to search for and help people they don’t know.”

Even officials who have dabbled in conspiracy theories themselves are trying to stop this wave of misinformation. Republican congressman Tim Burchett, a Trump ally, felt compelled to speak out against the lies swirling around relief efforts in his state. That’s how bad it’s gotten—election deniers are now pleading with their followers to stop spreading storm-related disinformation.

But where’s the accountability for those who created this monster? Social media companies profit off the lies, funneling clicks and ad revenue into their pockets while our collective ability to discern fact from fiction deteriorates.

There is no incentive for them to act, not when their business models thrive on the engagement that these conspiracy theories generate.

When truth drowns beneath waves of disinformation, it’s not just facts that are lost—it’s lives.