A Foreigner in My Own Country
Why the Cultural Wars Are Only Smoke, While Capitalism Quietly Sets Our Souls Ablaze
We live in uncertain, dangerous times, a moment thick with dread and echoes of past upheavals. One senses it everywhere, in restless cities and forgotten towns, on television screens flashing images of war-torn streets, and in heated family arguments around dinner tables. We are haunted, perhaps, by the suspicion that we have been here before, the world feels like it's once again teetering on the edge, poised between hope and catastrophe.
Our societies seem internally frayed. The signs of decay are unmistakable: economic disparities widen like fault lines beneath our feet; and extremist rhetoric has grown so bold that prominent figures in America can openly raise their arms in Nazi salutes, which are met with cheers rather than shame. Meanwhile, divisions deepen not just between political tribes but within them. We see so-called progressives retreating into rigid identities, weaponising language in battles where nobody listens and everybody talks past one another. These internal fractures reverberate outwardly, manifesting in the erosion of once-stable alliances: Brexit shaking Europe's foundations, America turning inward and uncertain, trade wars rupturing long-held economic ties, and global institutions losing their legitimacy in slow motion. From Ukraine's shelled cities to Gaza’s genocided children, conflict no longer simmers quietly on the fringes, it erupts with alarming frequency, undermining any illusion of a stable unipolar world.
But if we listen carefully beneath the shouting and spectacle, there is something else at work, something deeper and more insidious than mere cultural division. There is a profound dissatisfaction, an alienation whose source we feel yet struggle to name, embedded so deeply within our daily lives that it goes unnoticed, as invisible and essential as oxygen itself. Perhaps the problem isn't simply the backlash against a changing culture, as many popular theories suggest. Instead, the unrest we witness - the rise of demagogues like Trump or Modi, the anger in rust-belt towns or Indian villages - is actually the symptom of something else entirely, something embedded within our very economic and moral fabric: capitalism itself.
Modern capitalism has quietly imposed upon us a fundamentally transactional view of life, where even our innermost feelings and relationships become exchanges, calculated and commodified. This market logic, which we breathe as readily as air, has reshaped our ideas about identity, morality, and community in ways that often leaves us feeling profoundly hollow and alone. Traditionalists sense their world changing too quickly, but they misdiagnose the culprit. They see the corrosion of their communities and moral frameworks but mistake the enemy, turning their frustration not towards the transactional values capitalism has imposed, but against those progressives who try, imperfectly, to articulate a moral world outside the logic of the market. In this confusion, reactionary politicians step forward, offering easy scapegoats and promises to restore a nostalgic past, all the while reinforcing the very capitalist logic that created this alienation.
This article will be presented in two parts, so please stick with me. In the first part, we'll discuss the inadequacy of the prevailing cultural backlash hypothesis and illuminate instead the deeper roots of our collective discontent. We'll argue that capitalism is not simply the neutral engine of prosperity it claims to be; rather, it quietly shapes our moral selves into transactional actors, breeding alienation that can be politically exploited. In the second part, we'll examine how these internal issues caused by unrestrained capitalism are pushing us toward global disaster. Finally, we'll explore how an economic framework rooted in morality can correct the emptiness and rancour imposed by unchecked capitalism. Indeed, there is only one moral framework that offers the clarity, depth, and certainty needed to restrain capitalism and perhaps save us from the Armageddon of global conflict. Surely, that's worth sticking around for.
Beyond the Cultural Backlash Hypothesis
The cultural backlash hypothesis, prominently articulated by political scientists Pippa Norris and Ronald Inglehart, has become one of the most influential frameworks for explaining recent surges in authoritarian populism across the globe. According to this theory, the recent political turbulence and the rise of demagogic leaders stem largely from reactions among conservative or traditionalist segments of society against rapid cultural and social changes. It argues that older, more culturally conservative demographics, have responded with heightened anxiety and resentment. This stems from their discomfort with transformations in gender norms, immigration patterns, ethnic diversity, and the broader social liberalisation. This reaction, in turn, fuels support for authoritarian and nationalist leaders who promise a restoration of perceived traditional values and national identity.
There is considerable evidence supporting the cultural backlash thesis, particularly in Western contexts. Donald Trump’s electoral victory in 2016, for instance, drew extensively upon promises to "Make America Great Again," appealing directly to nostalgic sentiments and cultural anxieties of older, predominantly white voters who felt displaced by demographic shifts and progressive social movements. Similarly, Brexit’s success in the United Kingdom hinged significantly upon themes of reclaiming national sovereignty and halting immigration, which resonated deeply with voters who saw their national and cultural identity threatened by globalisation and European integration.
Despite its persuasive power in these Western scenarios, the cultural backlash hypothesis struggles to explain similar authoritarian surges in contexts that lack analogous cultural shifts. Narendra Modi’s ascendance in India, for example, draws heavily on Hindu nationalism, but the conditions that gave rise to Modi do not neatly map onto the cultural progressive transformations described by Norris and Inglehart. Likewise, the electoral successes of figures like Jair Bolsonaro in Brazil or Rodrigo Duterte in the Philippines, though they contain elements of conservative reaction, are not easily reducible to anxieties about immigration or liberal social norms.
Moreover, while the backlash theory effectively captures surface-level cultural anxieties, it often neglects the deeper structural economic and social causes underlying these anxieties. Economic precarity, growing inequality, and broader feelings of alienation frequently intersect with cultural grievances. Yet the hypothesis typically presents cultural backlash as an isolated phenomenon, potentially overlooking these crucial economic and moral dimensions.
In short, the cultural backlash hypothesis, while insightful and influential, provides only part of the story. It succeeds in highlighting how certain demographics have reacted against rapid cultural change but fails to fully explain why authoritarianism is also rising in contexts less affected by these transformations. It does not adequately account for why traditionalist voters often support economic policies that directly undermine their stated cultural and communal values. Thus, while cultural backlash offers a valuable lens for understanding contemporary political dynamics, we must look beyond it, to the deeper, often hidden forces shaping our moral and economic landscape, to fully comprehend and address our current global crisis.
Capitalism and Alienation: The Transactional Paradigm
The hypothesis proposed here suggests that beneath the surface-level cultural anxieties identified by the cultural backlash theory lies a deeper, subtler force: the transactional moral logic embedded in capitalism itself. Karl Marx first articulated the idea that capitalism fundamentally reshapes social relationships through commodity fetishism, transforming human interactions into market exchanges. Marx argued that under capitalism, individuals experience profound alienation from their work, from each other, and ultimately from themselves, because human relationships are reduced to mere transactions based on economic value.
One need only look around to feel this alienation. Consider the young worker in an Amazon warehouse, whose every move is timed and recorded, reduced to a mere unit of productivity. Each interaction, each moment of rest or kindness, carries a price tag. The humanity of this worker becomes secondary to efficiency, a human life compressed into cold calculations of profit and loss.
French theorist Jean Baudrillard deepened this analysis with his concept of hyperreality, where genuine experiences and moral values are replaced by simulated realities - copies without originals. Baudrillard argued that late capitalism doesn’t simply commodify goods, but morals and identities too, creating a society where authenticity itself becomes just another product to buy and sell.
We feel Baudrillard’s theory in our bones when we witness corporations perform morality through glossy adverts proclaiming solidarity with social movements, while quietly perpetuating inequality and exploitation behind closed doors. Or when they co-opt social and cultural touchstones to sell impotency medication or car insurance. Our moral compass spins wildly, caught between sincere aspirations and the cynical manipulation of corporate interests, leaving us disoriented and morally exhausted.
Michel Foucault similarly exposed how neoliberal capitalism disciplines us into becoming entrepreneurs of the self, framing all decisions, be they personal, moral or political, in terms of cost-benefit analyses. Under this regime, individuals internalise market logic, judging relationships, careers, and even family life as investments, which are subject to continuous evaluation for returns.
Consider how social media and digital devices, designed to capture and monetise our attention, reshape our relationships. And we allow it. Platforms measure engagement in clicks, likes, and screen time, subtly training us to allocate attention in ways that maximise algorithmic visibility rather than genuine connection. We check in not out of spontaneous care but because a notification reminds us. We ration replies, scrolling past messages we "don't have time for," while offering curated glimpses of our lives in exchange for social validation. Slowly, the logic of the feed infiltrates the fabric of intimacy, where once attention was freely given, now it is mediated, measured, and doled out in increments dictated by an interface. Spending so much of our social lives mediated by these platforms we take this learned behaviour and implement it to offline relationships.
Erich Fromm described capitalism’s psychological impact as producing a "marketing orientation," whereby individuals see themselves and others primarily as commodities. Fromm warned that this leads to superficial relationships, perpetual dissatisfaction, and emotional isolation, because individuals constantly feel pressure to sell their best selves.
You see it clearly in a young woman and men carefully curating their image online, packaging themselves like a brand to attract followers or potential employers. Deep inside, a quiet dread rises: who are they really, beneath the polished surface designed for market consumption? This transactional self leaves us lonely, even when surrounded by crowds.
Historically, such transformations of the community and the self by economic transformations are vividly evident. The shift from feudalism to early capitalism, as Max Weber detailed in "The Protestant Ethic," reshaped communal relationships into individualistic, achievement-oriented pursuits. Similarly, post-Soviet nations experienced rapid market liberalisation, leading to widespread social confusion and anomie as previously collective societies struggled to adapt to new capitalist values. Latin America's neoliberal reforms have similarly fragmented communities, eroding traditional networks of support in favour of competition and individual survival.
The Transformation of Capitalism: From Managed to Unrestrained
The capitalism we experience today is not the capitalism of our grandparents' era. Following the devastation of the Second World War, Western economies adopted a regulated form of capitalism aimed at delivering broad prosperity, stability, and social cohesion. This period was characterised by Keynesian economic policies, substantial public investment, strong social safety nets, powerful trade unions, and extensive public ownership of essential services. The post-war capitalist order explicitly recognised collective social responsibilities, where education, healthcare, housing, and transport were largely viewed as public goods that demanded collective investment and oversight.
However, this consensus began to unravel dramatically in the late 1970s, driven by persistent economic stagnation, high inflation, and a reactionary ideological shift epitomised by Margaret Thatcher and Ronald Reagan. A new economic vision took hold: now known as neoliberalism. Under this framework, previously public domains were aggressively privatised and deregulated, seen now as markets ripe for profit rather than shared social obligations. Public services, from hospitals and schools to railways and water utilities, were systematically privatised, restructured to prioritise profit above public welfare. As social spending receded, economic inequality surged, with wealth becoming increasingly concentrated at the top.
Yet, the most consequential shift was perhaps the process known as financialisation: the transformation of nearly every aspect of life into speculative financial instruments. Housing was no longer merely shelter but became an asset for speculation, traded globally in financial markets detached from local needs or realities. Personal savings and pensions became sources of speculative capital, subject to volatility and crisis, eroding security for millions. Even our personal data and interactions were commodified, turned into tradable financial instruments. The financialisation of society not only amplified economic instability but fundamentally reshaped the very nature of human interaction and identity.
Financialisation’s reach has gone beyond the economic sphere, deeply influencing democratic governance and political life. Democratic decisions now routinely prioritise market sentiments and investor confidence over the common good. Political agency has been diluted; citizens increasingly experience democracy as passive consumers rather than active participants. Elections themselves can resemble market transactions, where candidates are marketed to voters, policies tailored by focus groups, and campaign promises tested by consumer-like satisfaction rather than moral or ethical standards.
Privatisation of public life, coupled with financialisation, has created conditions ripe for alienation and moral confusion, fuelling public anger and resentment. Political discourse now struggles to address substantive social or moral concerns outside the transactional paradigm. The result has been deep internal fractures, populist anger, and authoritarian temptations as people desperately seek meaning, clarity, and stability in a landscape stripped of genuine communal bonds and authentic moral purpose.
Thus, understanding capitalism’s historical transformation from managed to unrestrained is vital for grasping the roots of today’s pervasive alienation and political turmoil. It is precisely this hidden corrosion of human dignity, identity, and democratic solidarity that must be addressed if we are to overcome the dangerous internal divisions now haunting our societies.
It is difficult to convey fully the extent of the moral violence wrought by this transformation but it amounts to nothing less than a denaturing of the human spirit. We have allowed ourselves, slowly, perhaps unknowingly, to become mere transactions, commodities measured and traded on markets beyond our control or understanding. We have allowed humanity itself to be reduced to market values, measured by price rather than intrinsic worth. In this brave new world, dignity is contingent upon one’s marketability, compassion becomes weakness, and relationships, stripped of empathy and solidarity, become mere calculations of benefit and loss. And though we sense this corruption deep within our bones, we remain trapped, unsure how to escape, not fully recognising the quiet horror of our complicity. The insidiousness lies precisely in how natural, how inevitable, how unquestionable it all appears. Perhaps, as we walk blindly forward, the greatest tragedy is that we have internalised this transactional morality. We teach it to our children, pass it on like an inheritance, until humanity itself is redefined, hollowed out and emptied of meaning, from the inside out.
In Part Two, we'll explore how these internal ruptures are unfolding into global instability and we’ll investigate a meaningful moral path forward.