The Theatre of Control: Why the Masses Defend the System That Enslaves Them

Most people believe they live under governments because governments are necessary, inevitable, and ultimately protective, yet this belief is less the result of reason than of conditioning, repetition, and fear absorbed so early and so completely that it feels like common sense rather than indoctrination. From childhood onward, authority is presented as benevolent, obedience as virtue, and dissent as either immaturity or danger, so by the time adulthood arrives the idea of life without governance feels not merely unrealistic but unthinkable. This is why the typical person, even while complaining bitterly about inflation, cost of living, crime, migration, war, and declining quality of life, continues to uphold the very systems that produce these outcomes, defending them reflexively while insisting that the problem is merely poor leadership rather than structural deception.

The media plays a central role in maintaining this illusion, not by telling people what to think in a crude sense, but by defining the boundaries of acceptable thought through the Overton window, carefully curating which ideas are considered reasonable, which are fringe, and which are unspeakable, while offering light, medium, and heavy versions of propaganda so that everyone feels catered to and informed. People argue passionately within these boundaries, believing they are thinking independently, unaware that the frame itself has already been set, and that true dissent never appears on their screens at all. This is why voting feels meaningful even though it changes nothing fundamental, why people cycle between hope and disappointment with each election, and why the rich continue to grow richer while the middle classes fund the system and the poor remain structurally trapped, serving as a permanent reminder of what awaits those who fall out of line.

The game of Monopoly illustrates this perfectly, not as a metaphor but as a revelation, because once enough property is consolidated the outcome becomes inevitable, and yet the game continues, with players obeying the rules, paying rent, and hoping for lucky dice rolls long after the result is already decided. As George Carlin and Richard K Morgan rightly observed, the poor exist largely to frighten the middle classes into compliance, and society itself functions as a structure for the exploitation and oppression of the majority through political force directed by the parasitical elite and enforced by visible and invisible thugs, and sadly upheld by a wilful ignorance that allows people to mistake their own subjugation for stability. This is not a conspiracy theory; it is the observable pattern of history repeating itself under different names and technologies.

What makes the current era distinct is not that control exists, but that it has become total, intimate, and psychological, extending beyond economics and law into biology, environment, and identity itself. The recent global health crisis revealed this with startling clarity, because almost overnight the human body was redefined as a site of collective governance, fear replaced consent, obedience was moralised, and questioning was pathologised, while populations were divided into righteous compliers and dangerous skeptics. Whether one believes every measure was justified or not, misses the deeper lesson, which is that once fear reaches a certain threshold, bodily sovereignty collapses and people will volunteer their autonomy while attacking those who hesitate. From that moment on, the precedent is set, and what was once unthinkable becomes normal.

This biological governance does not operate in isolation but sits within a broader environment of frequency saturation that most people barely notice yet constantly feel, because modern life is drenched in electromagnetic noise, artificial lighting, screens, signals, and information overload that the human nervous system did not evolve to withstand. The result is chronic anxiety, fatigue, emotional volatility, hormonal disruption, and cognitive fog so widespread that they are now treated as personal failings rather than environmental consequences. A population in this state cannot think deeply, feel clearly, or act courageously; it reacts, and reaction is the currency of control. This is why stillness has become so rare, why silence feels uncomfortable, and why people instinctively reach for distraction rather than reflection.

Within such an environment, crisis becomes not an exception but a business model, because war, terrorism, pandemics, climate emergencies, and financial collapses all justify expanded controls, emergency powers, and behavioural compliance, each one framed as temporary and necessary, yet never fully rolled back. Technology makes this effortless, because images can be fabricated, videos staged, narratives injected at scale, and emotional responses triggered before facts are processed, while those who attempt to investigate independently are dismissed as unstable or extreme. The illusion no longer needs to be perfect; it only needs to be constant, because exhaustion replaces curiosity and repetition replaces truth.

Voting and taxation function within this theatre as rituals of participation that preserve the structure while offering the illusion of agency, allowing people to feel involved without ever threatening the foundations of power. Historically, systems do not collapse because people protest loudly within permitted boundaries, but because participation is withdrawn quietly and collectively, whether through labour, compliance, or economic contribution, which is precisely why such ideas are treated as immoral, dangerous, or unthinkable. The system can tolerate anger and resentment; it cannot tolerate indifference and refusal. Most people, however, have been trained to equate obedience with responsibility and non-compliance with chaos, so they endure quiet suffering while defending the very mechanisms that produce it.

Pharmaceutical dependency fits seamlessly into this architecture of control, because a population disconnected from natural health, traditional knowledge, and bodily literacy becomes reliant on external authorities to interpret its own biology, turning health into something administered rather than cultivated. Whether specific interventions are beneficial or harmful in isolation is almost secondary to the broader trajectory, which moves steadily from autonomy to dependency, from self-regulation to external management, and from intuition to instruction. A medicated population is predictable, governable, and profitable, but more importantly it is psychologically conditioned to outsource responsibility for its own wellbeing.

Many still cling to the idea that one day enough people will wake up and the system will fall, yet history offers no support for this belief, because it is always a remnant that sees clearly, while the majority prefers familiar suffering to uncertain freedom. Some glimpse the deception and retreat into apathy; others see it and rationalise continued participation out of fear; others are absorbed into controlled opposition, given platforms precisely because their dissent never threatens the core narrative. Those who truly challenge the structure operate at the margins, unheard, deplatformed, or erased, because if you know their name widely, they are already part of the game.

We now live in an inverted age where war is sold as peace, terrorism as liberation, censorship as safety, and surveillance as care, where genocide can be justified, famine normalised, and entire populations traumatised through screens, while crisis actors, production teams, and narrative managers turn human suffering into consumable content. Creating a crisis has never been easier, and mind-controlling a population has never been more efficient, because information overload ensures that few have the time or energy to discern truth from fabrication. The result is a society that celebrates its own imprisonment, defending its chains as freedoms and attacking those who point them out.

The way out of this theatre is neither political nor collective in the conventional sense, because every external battle feeds the egregores it claims to oppose, generating the emotional energy on which the system thrives. True liberation begins inward, incrementally, and quietly, through withdrawing attention from manufactured crises, simplifying life, reclaiming bodily awareness, reducing dependency, resisting emotional manipulation, and realigning with something deeper than institutions or ideologies. Call it conscience, intuition, or the divine spark; the name does not matter, because coherence within the self is what starves a system built on fragmentation.

Religion itself, when fossilised into institutions and rituals, becomes just another layer of control, because God does not create religions; humans do, and then defend them violently while mistaking obedience to systems for alignment with truth. Alignment with God is not found in podcasts, protests, marches, or movements that mirror the very structures they oppose, but in submission in its truest sense, which is not submission to men, doctrines, or hierarchies, but to truth itself. Everything else is distraction, feeding egregores hungry for attention, outrage, and fear.

There is hope, but it does not come from mass awakening, because that will never happen, as recent history has made painfully clear. It comes from a small remnant that steps out of the theatre entirely, refusing to play assigned roles, refusing to be batteries for the machine, and choosing instead to live deliberately, ethically, and coherently in a world built on inversion. When enough individuals stop performing, the stage eventually collapses, not through revolution, but through irrelevance.

True freedom is not granted; it is reclaimed, layer by layer, like peeling an onion, until nothing artificial remains, and what is left is alignment with the Source itself.