The problem isn’t Trump. Voting him out or impeaching him won’t change this country because the real issue is the American people. They are controlled by an oligarchy of multinational corporations that dominate everything—from the news they consume to the food they eat, even shaping their education. Through the internet, these conglomerates track, manipulate, and influence society with a precision that surpasses any dictator’s wildest dreams. Corporate algorithms have automated humanity.
We now live under the most powerful propaganda machine in history. There is little difference between Nazi art glorifying an idealized, statuesque Aryan utopia and the ExxonMobil banner at my local gas station, where a husband and wife drive toward the sunrise, basking in the illusion of fresh air—her face tilted toward the open window, his eyes brimming with confidence from choosing the “right” gasoline. (And neither of them, by the way, wearing seat belts.)
Albert Speer admitted during the Nuremberg Trials, “Through technical devices like the radio and loudspeaker, eighty million people were deprived of independent thought. It was thereby possible to subject them to the will of one man.”
Living in such a controlled world, I feel like an uninvited guest. At Walmart, I grasp the slippery handle of a shopping cart and observe what’s left of America. Most people don’t realize that the gerrymandered system is rigged against them. They don’t understand that even if they pooled their votes and resources with millions of others, it wouldn’t matter. They remain oblivious to the looming catastrophe of climate change, unaware that it’s already too late. Yet, they proudly wear flag-covered T-shirts and fly Old Glory from their pickups, never recognizing that the less a government does for its people, the more patriotism it demands.
Absurdities surround me daily. I pause Fareed Zakaria on a Sunday morning, only to have my frozen screen bombarded with ads for Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse, Dumbo, and Venom—films as intellectually empty as the tabloids at supermarket checkout lines. I open a box of medicine, finding 30 tiny pills drowning in 80% dead space—the packaging designed not for practicality but to fill acres of shelves in the fend-for-yourself megastores. I drive down a mountain road at sunrise, yet I can’t enjoy the moment because I’m dodging desperate redneck F-150s and ruthless Audi drivers, their aggressive behavior betraying a deeper panic. Perhaps, on some level, they sense the end is near. In these desperate times, civility and nuance have vanished—outwitting an argument with cleverness is passé. Waiting for a passing lane? Unheard of.
I’ve watched my country be dismantled. Ayn Rand-inspired oligarchs have privatized public assets, stripped consumer protections, and conflated “freedom” with unregulated capitalism. We live in a society where everyone is expected to be accountable, yet few are provided with the education, connections, or security to meet that standard.
Perhaps, after an intermission, I’ll overcome my stage fright. But for now, like John Galt, I retreat to my Colorado hideout and watch the world implode.
As the say in Cabaret, Money makes the world go 'round!