We were born into a game we never agreed to play. A game designed for the few, rigged from the start. The rules were never taught—only enforced. Overseen by players we’ll never meet, their hands unseen, their moves decades ahead.
We grow up believing in fair competition—work hard, follow the rules, and success will follow. But the winners were chosen before we entered the arena. The rest of us are here to keep the game running, to burn through our bodies and years, to be discarded when we break.
We are told we have choices, but every path was paved long before we set foot on it. The schools we attend, the neighborhoods we live in, the jobs we qualify for—each step carved by forces we never saw, pushing us toward roles we never chose.
We spend our lives chasing prizes that are always out of reach.
The Illusion of Chance
They sell us the dream of meritocracy: work hard, climb the ladder, become someone. But the ladder is missing half its rungs, and the others are slick with oil.
The economy “improves” while we drown. The stock market surges, GDP soars, corporate profits shatter records—but the wealth never trickles down. 10% of the population hoards 84% of the world’s wealth.
There are 2,781 billionaires. They tell us these men built their empires through genius and grit. But their fortunes are forged from our labor. We clock in. We grind. We produce. They collect.
And when a rare moment lands in our favor—a small raise, a dip in inflation—we are expected to cheer. Like prisoners celebrating an extra scrap of bread. Meanwhile, the rich stack their chips higher, watching as we fight over the crumbs.
There is no winning when the rules are intended to keep us losing.
On A Board That Keeps Changing
The world map isn’t neutral—it’s a blueprint of control. Borders aren’t just lines; they’re cages. Where we are born determines our value to the machine. In some countries, we are consumers. In the other countries, we are the resources.
Raw materials, cheap labor, human suffering—all extracted from the Global South to fuel the profits of corporations in the Global North.
They tell us wealth flows toward innovation. It doesn’t. It flows toward power.
And power moves like a virus, relocating factories to wherever wages are lowest, laws weakest, and resistance easiest to crush.
Workers in Bangladesh die in collapsing factories while Western brands post record profits. Cobalt miners in the Congo dig with bare hands so executives can sip cocktails in air-conditioned boardrooms.
And when workers demand fair wages? The corporations move on to the next. The factories close. The towns collapse. The machine simply finds new bodies.
The game is rigged at a global scale, and the rules are written in blood.
With Indeciperable Rules
ey tell us there are rules—pointing to statute __ of the __. Thousands of pages of legalese, not meant to inform, but to exhaust. We are kept so busy trying to survive that we have no time, no energy, to decipher our own enslavement.
They tell us we live in democracies. That we have a voice. That we shape the rules. But elections are just rituals of consent, a puppet show designed to make us believe we matter.
We memorize politicians’ names, follow their scandals, argue over their promises. But the real decisions aren’t made in government halls. They are made in boardrooms, where lobbyists draft laws and politicians merely sign them.
And in the streets, we are ruled by gangs—some wear colors, others wear badges. The government operates no differently than a cartel, enforcing its will through violence, extracting wealth through fear.
We are told we need them for protection, even as they arm and enable the very forces we should be resisting.
Some regimes we call allies, others enemies, but in the end, it is always about oil, money, and control.
Who is Winning?
We are homeless, hungry, sick, depressed—and told we should be grateful for the scraps.
We have more stuff than ever, but are our lives any better? The promises they made—security, liberty, the pursuit of happiness—were never more than contracts of compliance. We are used, manipulated, kept small.
We work endlessly, just barely covering rent, drowning in debt. The hamster wheel never stops. And when we are too exhausted to fight, too desperate to think, we cannot question the system that keeps us trapped.
Survival is their strongest weapon. They keep us on the edge—one accident, one bill, one misfortune away from collapse. Too tired to revolt. Too scared to resist.
Governments. Corporations. They thrive on our dependency. The weaker we are, the stronger their grip.
And we’ve reached the breaking point.
We no longer know how to feed ourselves, clothe ourselves, heal ourselves without their handouts. Without their drugs, many would die in days. We are kept sick, weak, compliant.
We are poisoned. Our food, our water, our air—all laced with toxins. They profit when we are just well enough to keep working, but never free enough to escape.
Healthcare is not about healing. It is a marketplace of suffering. The insurance companies keep it opaque. The pharmaceutical companies keep us hooked. The hospitals keep us indebted.
The rich live long, comfortable lives. The rest of us fight to exist.
We are not citizens. We are batteries.
We work. We consume. We suffer. We die.
And they profit.