Did you know that this man is J.D. Vance, the vice president of the USA? Did you also know that his real name is James Bowman and that he is a Catholic who opposes gun control?
And get this: he is married to an Indian immigrant with three interracial children.
Why am I exposing this? Because he is a rank hypocrite. The reason he and Trump and the others play the race card to divide America, the UK and elsewhere is because they have the wealth to protect themselves from their hypocrisy.
Listen to this short clip, and then remember who Vance really is.
JD Vance says it’s “totally reasonable” to not want to live next to people who speak another language.
— Brian Allen (@allenanalysis) October 29, 2025
This man is married to an Indian woman and has mixed-race kids; yet he panders to white supremacists for applause.
If he won’t defend his own family, he’ll sell out anyone.… pic.twitter.com/3d4UCXo1gp
We have to stop pretending. We have to strip away the pious platitudes of the corporate press and the performative anguish of the talking heads. What we are living through is not a genuine debate about social justice; it is the greatest and most cynical con trick ever perpetrated on the British public. While the foundations of our society crumble under the weight of grotesque inequality, we have been hypnotised into fighting a phantom war, a carefully orchestrated spectacle designed to keep our eyes firmly off the ball.
The real, searing division in this country is not race, not gender, not even Brexit—it is wealth. It is the unbridgeable chasm between a parasitic, transnational elite and the rest of us, the serfs who service their world. This tiny cabal of billionaires and corporate chiefs doesn’t just own the lion’s share of the wealth; they own the political class, they own the policy, and, most insidiously, they own the means by which we understand the world. They own the media.
And what a masterful use of their ownership it has been. Recognising that a population united by common economic grievance is a revolutionary threat, they have executed a brilliant strategy of division. They have taken the legitimate, urgent struggles for recognition by marginalised groups and have twisted, amplified, and weaponised them into a all-consuming cultural firestorm. They have made identity politics their favourite weapon of mass distraction.
Look at the front pages of the newspapers they own. You will not find forensic investigations into the offshore bank accounts that bleed our public services dry. You will not find outrage at the fact that a CEO now earns more in three days than a nurse does in a year. Instead, you are fed a relentless diet of neurotic outrage. A statue is threatened, a comedian tells a tasteless joke, a transgender woman seeks to use a public toilet. These issues, complex and deeply personal for those involved, are stripped of their nuance and pumped into the public sphere as explosive, binary battles.
This is not an accident; it is a strategy
It is a strategy because a worker in Middlesbrough who is furious about a “woke” university syllabus is not furious about his crumbling wage, his zero-hours contract, or the fact his family can’t get a dentist appointment. A pensioner in Devon seething about immigration is not seething about the billion pounds a month in corporate subsidies handed out by the Treasury. The corporate media, the loyal lapdog of wealth, has redirected our justified anger away from the boardrooms and onto each other.
And the ultimate insult? The very corporations that exploit this division have the gall to posture as our allies. They drape themselves in the rainbow flag during Pride while dodging their own taxes—taxes that would fund the very services that support the LGBTQ+ community. They issue black squares on Instagram while their business models perpetuate the poverty that disproportionately grinds down Black and ethnic minority communities. This is “woke-washing” of the most nauseating kind: a cheap, cost-free performance of virtue that provides the perfect smokescreen for their relentless, vicious class war from above.
They have convinced us to argue over the crumbs of representation—a black face on a board, a female spacewalker—while they hoard the entire bakery. They encourage us to fight for a more equitable slice of a pie that they are systematically poisoning.
Enough. It is time to see this racket for what it is. The culture war is a rich man’s game, a luxury belief funded by the very people it never, ever touches. It is a conflict fought by the poor against the poor, the middle against the working, the native against the immigrant, all for the entertainment and security of the oligarchs watching from their gilded boxes.
We must refuse to play. We must relearn the language of class. We must redirect our fury from the phantoms they have constructed and aim it squarely at the architects of our decline. The real enemy is not the migrant, the trans person, or the “woke” student. The real enemy is the man in the penthouse, laughing as we tear each other apart below, his wealth secure, his power absolute, his great swindle complete.
