Wicked: Parable on Modern Politics
- Sofia Cortes Rodriguez
- 6 days ago
- 3 min read
Updated: 3 days ago
In 1964, historian and schoolteacher Henry M. Littlefield published his now-famous
essay, “The Wizard of Oz: Parable on Populism”, arguing that L. Frank Braum’s The Wonderful
Wizard of Oz contains a hidden subtext symbolizing late-19th century American politics.
Littlefield suggested that the characters and elements in Oz reflected the real politics of the Gilded
Age, from industrial interests and the Populist movement’s struggle with monetary policy and
power structures in the country.
Nearly a century later, Wicked, Gregory Maguire’s 1995 re-imagining of Oz from the
perspective of Elphaba, expands on these themes by depicting the politics of Oz as deeply
corrupt, authoritarian, and infused with propaganda and scapegoating, especially by the Wizard
of Oz and Madame Morrible.
Written in the aftermath of the Gulf War, Wicked reflects the political climate of the early
90s, particularly concerning media control and the suppression of dissent during wartime. The
Wizard of Oz can be read as a symbolic representation of state authority during the Gulf War,
embodying political and military leadership that relies on spectacle and managed headlines to
justify intervention while also obscuring civilian suffering and economic interests. Madame Morrible
functions as an allegory for the media and dominant ideologies that allow the state to gain public
control by inflicting fear and simplifying complex geopolitical conflicts.
In contrast, Elphaba represents anti-war sentiment, challenging the dominant narrative
and being subsequently labeled a traitor. Meanwhile, Glinda mirrors liberal or centrist figures who
recognize injustice but choose reform and working within the system rather than direct
opposition. The silenced animals of Oz parallel the civilian populations affected by the war,
whose suffering has been largely censored from the public.
Beyond its Cold War and Gulf War era influences, Wicked continues to resonate in
contemporary politics and can be mapped onto recent U.S. affairs as a way of illustrating the
broader dynamic of power and opposition within today’s political atmosphere. The Wizard can
be attributed to the Trump administration, which similarly relies on nationalist rhetoric and
constant media control to consolidate executive power while framing critics as threats to public
order. Madame Morrible parallels political messengers and media figures such as Karoline
Leavitt or Kristi Noem, who function as ideological intermediaries. They spread simplified moral
narratives in order to defend executive authority, and believe that truth is not determined by
fact or reason, but by what they can convince society to collectively accept as true.
Conversely, Elphaba can be aligned with progressive figures like Bernie Sanders and
Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, whose systemic critiques of corporate influence and state violence
often result in their portrayal as radical or extremist figures. Glinda, by contrast, characterizes
establishment Democrats, figures like Joe Biden, Nancy Pelosi, or Gavin Newsom, who
acknowledge injustice but prioritize reform over direct confrontation with corruption. The
animals of Oz, stripped of speech and political autonomy, represent marginalized communities
whose suffering is rendered invisible or politically inconvenient. Their silencing mirrors current
events concerning whose stories not only receive substantial attention, but accurate coverage as
well.
The deaths of Renée Nicole Good and Alex Pretti at the hands of ICE can be attributed to
this analogy, as the Trump administration has publicly framed their deaths as acts of self-defense
by immigration enforcement officers rather than the outcome of excessive and unjustified force.
This narrative functions as a means to control public perception and legitimize state violence by
framing their deaths as necessary and inevitable. Just as in Wicked, the Trump administration’s
determined which lives are publicly mourned (think Charlie Kirk), and which are quietly
dismissed. As in Oz, the silencing of those who are oppressed is not incidental but is structural
and deliberate, and is done so with the intention of suppressing anyone who challenges and poses
a threat to authority.
Wicked, to this day, remains a powerful political allegory because it challenges its
audiences to question the systems through which power is exercised and justified. By erasing the
binary of good and evil, the book asks whether “good intentions” can truly be separated from the
harm they cause, and whether participation in unjust systems, however well-meaning, remains
ethically defensible.
Elphaba’s fate suggests that righteousness is not determined by public approval, while
Glinda’s ending raises uncomfortable questions about complicity and reform. Wicked encourages
reflection in readers: to question who defines wickedness and who benefits from said definition.
In encouraging audiences to reconsider these distinctions, the work ultimately suggests that
systems built on silence depend on your desperation and hopelessness, and that your hope,
however fragile it may be, is what renders them useless.
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