Have you ever wondered what conservative influencers mean when they rail against “the elites”? I used to assume they meant what the word traditionally suggested: the wealthy, the powerful, the influential. But that explanation unravelled when I looked closer. How come school teachers, social workers, artists, activists, and university lecturers get labelled as “elites,” while billionaires and presidents are presented as outsiders fighting the establishment? The more I thought about it, the more I realised I we are dealing with something other than a description of political, economic, or social status.
What I eventually realised was that culture-war rhetoric has transformed the meaning of the word for many people. The “elites” being criticised are not necessarily political or economic elites, but cultural ones. They are people perceived to be shaping the stories, values, and assumptions of society. Teachers influence the formation of children. Academics influence ideas. Journalists influence public narratives. Artists and entertainers shape imagination. Activists influence social conversations. Their significance comes not from their bank balances, but from their ability to influence how people see the world. Calling them “elites” frames their cultural influence as a kind of power and positions those who oppose them as ordinary people resisting those who control the direction of society.
This helps explain why the language is so effective. Culture wars are ultimately battles over meaning: What should society value? What should children be taught? What stories should be celebrated? What vision of the future should guide us? By calling cultural opponents “elites,” populist movements can suggest that these debates are not simply disagreements over ideas, but conflicts between ordinary people and those who believe they have the authority to shape society. It is a powerful rhetorical strategy because it turns questions of culture into questions of legitimacy. The irony is that some of those being championed as “ordinary people” are presidents, billionaires, and some of the most influential figures in the world.
Jesus offers a different way of thinking about influence and power. He did not deny that some people had greater influence than others, nor did he ignore the ways power could be abused. He confronted religious leaders, political rulers, and wealthy individuals when their influence became self-serving. Yet he also refused to create a simple divide between righteous outsiders and corrupt insiders. Jesus was not interested in helping his followers identify the correct group to distrust. Instead, he asked what people did with the influence they possessed. In the kingdom of God, greatness is not measured by our ability to shape culture according to our preferred vision, but by whether we use our influence to serve others.
Perhaps the deeper challenge for Christians is not deciding who the elites are, but recognising how easily we allow cultural battles to shape our imagination. It is tempting to believe that the problems of the world would be solved if only the right people lost influence and the right people gained it. But Christians across the political spectrum can fall into this pattern. We can become more committed to identifying the people we oppose than becoming people who reflect Christ. The invitation of Jesus is not simply to win the battle over culture, but to become a people whose presence transforms culture through humility, love, truth, and service.
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