The PR Blog

Why modern activism feels less like justice and more like identity

I was watching Rebel Without a Cause the other night, and it struck me that the title feels strangely modern.

Jim Stark, played by James Dean, isn’t oppressed. He isn’t poor. He doesn’t live under tyranny or injustice. He has parents, a home, and a reasonably comfortable life. Yet he’s restless, angry, searching for something to fight against.

He doesn’t really know what he’s rebelling against. He just knows he has to rebel against something.

Because without a struggle, without a cause, he feels adrift. And boy oh boy, don't we see that too much these days? Have we become a society of Jim Starks? Of Rebels Without a Cause?

People who protest for the sake of protesting... and so often have no bloody idea why or what they are protesting...

On the plus side, without activists, slavery might have lasted longer, civil rights might have been delayed, women might still be excluded from public life, and it could be argued that activism has often been the conscience of civilisation. 

But here’s the uncomfortable question we rarely ask:

What happens when the big battles are mostly won?

What happens when society, for all its flaws, is no longer the monstrous villain it once was?

Here’s a thought that will irritate some people: a certain kind of activist seems to hate a solved problem.

Activism thrives on conflict. It needs injustice the way a fire needs oxygen. When genuine injustices recede, new ones must be discovered, expanded, or, in some cases, invented. 

A cause gives people identity. It gives them the intoxicating feeling of being important.

When someone feels small, unnoticed, or unmoored, a cause can feel like salvation.

Jim Stark wasn’t rebelling because life was unbearable. He was rebelling because his life was empty.

That pattern isn’t new.

Thomas Sowell once warned that one of the most destabilising forces in modern societies is the rise of a newly educated intelligentsia - people trained to see injustice everywhere, yet often detached from practical responsibility or real-world consequences. They are taught that the world is unjust, but not how fragile civilisation actually is.

Historically, such groups have been volatile. Before the Second World War, many students, teachers, lawyers and intellectuals in Central Europe became the foot soldiers of extremist ideologies. They were often first-generation university graduates who felt entitled to status and influence that reality did not deliver. When expectations collided with disappointment, resentment searched for an explanation.

A cause was born.

Fast forward to today, and the pattern feels uncomfortably familiar. In many universities, moral outrage has become a substitute for serious thought. Old hatreds are repackaged in fashionable language. By redefining certain groups as “oppressors,” people can express hostility while feeling virtuous.

The language has changed. The psychology hasn’t.

And you can see this dynamic playing out much closer to home.

As Australia heads toward 26 January, the familiar ritual begins again. The calls to rebrand it “Invasion Day” grow louder. Protests are organised, slogans recycled, outrage amplified. The activism carousel spins once more - same energy, new framing, often detached from the deeper, more complex story of the date itself.

Yet 26 January is far more than the arrival of the First Fleet in Sydney Cove in 1788.

On 26 January 1949, the Nationality and Citizenship Act came into effect. For the first time, “Australian citizen” became a legal reality. Until that moment, everyone in this country - Indigenous or otherwise - was legally a British subject, tied to British passports, British obligations, and British wars.

That day, we all became Australians.

Indigenous Australians were included as natural-born citizens within this new legal framework. For the first time, the law formally recognised a shared national identity - one nation, one citizenship, one legal protection for all. It gave us Australian passports, citizenship ceremonies, and a sense of belonging that transcended colonial ties.

And yet, in recent years, that unifying story is increasingly overshadowed by a narrative that thrives on division.

Australia has invested enormous resources in improving outcomes for Indigenous communities - billions of dollars annually across health, education, housing and employment. Per-person expenditure is significantly higher than the national average, reflecting a national commitment to equity and opportunity that few countries can match.

But even here, the story has become complicated. Some have exploited loose self-identification rules, claiming Indigenous heritage without genuine cultural or community ties in order to access scholarships, grants and positions intended for those who have lived the reality of disadvantage. Indigenous leaders themselves have raised concerns about this, warning that it undermines trust and diverts resources from those who truly need them.

None of this fits neatly into slogans or protest placards.

And perhaps that is precisely the problem.

Australia Day is not a celebration of conquest or denial. It is a recognition of survival, migration, citizenship and shared identity. It marks not only arrival, but belonging. That is why new Australians take their citizenship oaths on or around this day: it symbolises welcome, protection and unity under one law. As a " new" Australian, I remember the day I became an Aussie. We had a big celebration and I was so damn proud. I was one of the gang.  

But, back to our story today.  For some, unity is less emotionally satisfying than conflict.

A shared national story is less intoxicating than a permanent grievance.

So the rebel without a cause looks for one.

You can see the same pattern in other movements. Environmentalism once meant saving whales, protecting forests, and living in harmony with nature. Today, it often means vast industrial projects justified by apocalyptic rhetoric. The original impulse - to conserve - has morphed into something more ideological and less grounded.

Or consider modern identity politics. The struggle escalates into ever more symbolic battles over language, representation and perceived micro-offences.

It’s as if some people simply can’t leave “fight mode.”

Why?

Because when your identity is built on struggle, peace is terrifying.

If the battle is over, who are you?

For many activists, the cause isn’t just something they support. It’s who they are. To admit progress would mean confronting an uncomfortable truth: that their sense of purpose might have been built on perpetual conflict.

A society that can’t offer its people meaning will inevitably produce citizens who look for it in conflict. When faith, family, work and community lose their pull, ideology rushes in to fill the gap. Maybe this is the real crux of the matter?  The destruction of all the old traditional anchors? And so many governments around the world have sure as hell upped anchor and set sail on a course to rocky shores with no clue what the destination is.. or do they? 

Are our governments rebels without a cause?  It seems to me that many are these days.  They create problems to hide the very problems they created. Are they simply the rebel who desperately needs a cause because, without one, he doesn’t know who he is.