If you’ve seen Wicked as many times as I have (and trust me, it’s a lot), you’ll know it’s so much more than a dazzling spectacle with unforgettable songs. Beneath the magic, it’s a powerful story that resonates deeply with real-world issues. The scapegoating of Elphaba by the Wizard’s regime reflects patterns we continue to see today: minorities being targeted and blamed for society’s problems while those in power use fear and division to maintain control.
The Politics of Fear: Scapegoating the Minority
At the heart of Wicked is the story of Elphaba, a misunderstood young woman born with green skin. From the moment she enters the stage, she is marked as “other,” her difference used to isolate her and vilify her in the eyes of society. The Wizard and his government exploit Elphaba’s marginalisation, labelling her a threat to Oz and using propaganda to convince the citizens that she is an enemy to their way of life.
This reflects a key strategy in fascist regimes: the use of minorities as scapegoats to unify the majority through fear and division. Whether it’s ethnic, religious, or social minorities, such groups are often portrayed as existential threats, distracting citizens from the true issues of corruption, inequality, and oppression. In Wicked, the citizens of Oz are too focused on their fear of Elphaba to notice the real abuses of power carried out by the Wizard, such as his suppression of the talking Animals.
Division as a Tool for Control
The Wizard’s regime relies on division to maintain control. Talking Animals, once full members of society, are systematically silenced and stripped of their rights, beginning with small changes that escalate into widespread oppression. The gradual dehumanisation of the Animals mirrors historical examples of how fascist regimes isolate and devalue minority groups.
This division isn’t random; it’s calculated. By focusing the public’s attention on Elphaba and the Animals as supposed dangers, the Wizard distracts from his own failings as a leader. The citizens are too preoccupied with their hatred and fear to question why their world is in turmoil or why they are suffering. This manipulation reflects how fascist systems use scapegoats to justify authoritarian measures while deflecting blame from their leaders.
The Role of Propaganda
The Wizard’s use of propaganda plays a central role in maintaining this narrative. Through songs like Wonderful, he presents himself as a benevolent leader, glossing over his manipulations with charm and charisma. At the same time, lies about Elphaba—her “wickedness” and supposed crimes—are spread far and wide. The musical’s iconic number Defying Gravity showcases Elphaba rejecting this narrative, but her defiance only strengthens the regime’s propaganda machine.
This echoes historical examples of fascist propaganda, which dehumanises minorities and vilifies dissenters. The goal is to create an “us vs. them” mentality, where loyalty to the regime becomes synonymous with protecting society from an invented threat.
A Reflection on Modern Society
The allegory in Wicked is uncomfortably relevant today, as the scapegoating of minorities continues to play a central role in political and social conflicts worldwide.
In the United Kingdom, we’ve seen similar patterns of scapegoating. The rhetoric around Brexit often targeted immigrants as the root cause of economic struggles, with phrases like “Take back control” stoking fears about borders and jobs. The Windrush scandal further highlighted how minority communities were unfairly blamed for systemic issues. Even now, asylum seekers are frequently framed as a threat, with terms like “small boat crossings” dominating headlines and prompting policies that shift attention away from broader challenges like housing shortages and inflation.
In the United States, immigrants have been cast as threats to national security or economic stability. Policies like the construction of a border wall or the “Muslim ban” were justified using fear, even though they distracted from more pressing issues such as income inequality or failing infrastructure. More recently, the rise in anti-LGBTQ+ legislation in states like Florida and Texas, portraying queer individuals as dangers to children or family values, has served as another example. These narratives keep the public divided and focused on invented threats while systemic issues like underfunded schools or rising healthcare costs go unaddressed.
Elsewhere, Hungary’s Viktor Orbán has used anti-immigration and anti-LGBTQ+ rhetoric to consolidate power, framing minorities as threats to Hungarian traditions. In India, Prime Minister Narendra Modi has been accused of scapegoating the Muslim minority, using religious division to rally Hindu nationalist support while diverting attention from unemployment and economic challenges.
In Russia, Vladimir Putin has passed anti-LGBTQ+ “propaganda” laws to position the West as a moral threat and unify citizens under nationalism, distracting from economic struggles and corruption. Similarly, Myanmar’s military regime has scapegoated the Rohingya Muslim minority to justify ethnic cleansing and divert public discontent from political unrest.
These real-world examples mirror Wicked’s narrative of distraction and division. Leaders use scapegoating to foster an “us versus them” mentality, keeping citizens preoccupied with fear and hostility instead of questioning the abuses of power happening right in front of them.
By weaving these parallels into its story, Wicked offers more than a commentary on Oz. It’s a reminder to look critically at the narratives we’re told. Who benefits from these divisions? What truths are being hidden? And, like Elphaba, are we brave enough to rise above it all and fight for a fairer, more inclusive world? After all, as Wicked teaches us, sometimes being “wicked” just means standing up for what’s right.
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