many who once admired certain professions or institutions, only to become disillusioned upon seeing the reality beneath the surface

I’m not trying to save anyone. I’m just contributing to a conversation that has persisted throughout history. The same humility that Plato wrote about is relevant today because we live in an era where the loudest voices often drown out thoughtful discussion. My goal isn’t to deliver concrete solutions, but to invite reflection in a noisy world that rewards certainty, even when that certainty is false. This mindset doesn’t directly solve the world’s problems, but it helps foster a way of thinking that could lead to better, more nuanced approaches in everything from politics to personal relationships.

That shift in perspective is an experience shared by many who once admired certain professions or institutions, only to become disillusioned upon seeing the reality beneath the surface—from the entertainment industry to the defense sector, and even sports. People often start their careers with idealized visions, only to realize that these spaces are rife with corruption, unethical behavior, and manipulative hierarchies.

In industries like music or entertainment, figures like Diddy (Sean Combs) have been caught in allegations and controversies that point to abuses of power, exploitation, and manipulative tactics. Many artists, especially in hip hop, have grown up idolizing moguls (i was never a bad boy fan. even the instrumentals were bad, and like west side mother fucker) only to later face betrayal or exploitation. These individuals initially rise through mentorships or partnerships with industry veterans, but then, like the seemingly rampant culture in the defense sector as propagated in the public eye via law enforcement, citizens encounter the darker reality—one where power is maintained by preying on others, demanding submission, or fostering toxic cultures of exploitation. What is often sold as mentorship or gatekeeping turns out to be predatory behaviour.

Ok so I know what some are thinking:

Oh great, another artist feeling their feelings, as if that’s gonna change anything. Just make something real instead of moping about ‘not knowing.’”

Defense: Vulnerability is not weakness—it’s a form of strength, especially in a world that often encourages cynicism or bravado as shields. A willingness to admit your limitations, to acknowledge uncertainty, is what gives art and thought depth. If your art or writing were purely confident and assertive, it would miss the human experience of doubt and struggle, which is far more relatable. Vulnerability draws people in because it resonates with their own uncertainties and emotions. It’s not about making “strong” statements all the time; it’s about creating something people can reflect on.

Similarly, the defense sectors gate keepers are no different in the way they leverages power, particularly among the "old timers" as some put it (I love the old timers, and personally blame the boomers and the sell out X’ers). These veterans of the industry, who may have been key players for decades, can manipulate younger or emerging professionals, enforcing archaic or unethical practices. This behavior echoes throughout many industries where power is maintained by suppressing new voices, manipulating narratives, and forcing submission to ensure the continuation of their dominance.

Whether it’s Diddy’s alleged control over artists, the "old guard" in the defense sector expecting subservience, or the creepy power dynamics about control and maintaining a system that benefits the few. These behaviors are reinforced by the unchecked authority, and anyone challenging that status quo is either ostracized or silenced.

This speaks to a broader societal issue, where individuals in positions of power exploit their influence to maintain control. It’s a system built on the idea that those at the top can manipulate those beneath them—either through economic, social, or psychological pressure. The only way to combat this is by shedding light on it, sharing stories of abuse, and challenging the narratives that have protected those in power for so long.

This same abuse of power also perpetuates gender dynamics, where men in positions of power exploit their authority to demand unethical favors. For many it’s a universal issue: toxic hierarchies and exploitative dynamics persist as long as they are unchallenged.

The desire to serve as a police officer often stems from a place of wanting to help others, protect communities, and uphold justice—principles that, on the surface, align with the image of law enforcement. However, facing the reality of corruption, abuse of power, and systemic failures within policing can be dehumanizing.

This mirrors what happens in many areas where power, competition, and identity are intertwined, like in sports teams. The ideals people grow up with—the heroism of a police officer, or the camaraderie and loyalty of a sports team—often mask the toxic cultures that can exist beneath. When people step into those spaces and encounter the harsh realities—whether it’s the internal politics, the exploitation of individuals for profits, or the prioritization of winning (or maintaining power) over fairness or justice—it can be crushing.

This disillusionment reflects a broader issue of systemic failure where institutions meant to serve the public or foster teamwork end up fostering environments of corruption, abuse, or exploitation. The cognitive dissonance between what these institutions are supposed to represent and how they function in reality can be jarring, leaving individuals questioning not just the institution but their own place in it.

This cycle of idolization followed by disillusionment is also a powerful reminder of the need for accountability in all systems of power. Without checks, what begins as an admirable profession or a beloved team can devolve into a space where personal ambitions, unethical practices, and harmful behaviors go unchecked. Reforming these institutions starts with acknowledging their flaws and being willing to dismantle harmful structures—whether that’s addressing corruption in policing or toxic behaviors in sports teams.

The conversation around policing, particularly the idea that law enforcement is more aligned with protecting property and maintaining societal order than genuinely serving the public, is not new. It stems from a long history of how police forces were developed and how they operate today. The role of media in shaping public perceptions, coupled with institutional barriers that make it difficult for police officers to be held accountable for misconduct, reinforces a system where abuse can thrive.

Historically, law enforcement agencies were often created to serve the interests of the elite, particularly in protecting property. In places like the United States, police forces grew out of early slave patrols and strike-busting units, designed to maintain social hierarchies rather than provide safety for all citizens equally. This legacy continues to affect how policing is structured today, particularly in how certain communities are over-policed, while others benefit from a "protective" presence. Law enforcement’s role in controlling marginalized groups—whether through overt brutality or more subtle surveillance tactics—has been well-documented. We can observe parallels between the police's actions during protests, union strikes, and racialized policing patterns that disproportionately target people of color or lower socioeconomic groups.

The problem of underreporting and lack of accountability only compounds the issue. Sexual misconduct by police officers, for instance, is one of the most underreported forms of police abuse. Victims often fear retaliation, further violence, or simply that no one will believe them—especially when their abuser is the very person meant to protect them. The legal system adds another layer of protection for officers through mechanisms like qualified immunity, which shields officers from lawsuits unless they’ve violated "clearly established" law. This creates a formidable barrier for victims seeking justice. Even when officers are prosecuted for crimes, conviction rates are low, reinforcing the perception that police are above the law.

The media plays a significant role in shaping how society views the police. Historically, popular culture, from television dramas to news reports, has portrayed police officers as heroic figures. Shows like Cops or Law & Order present a narrative of officers as essential protectors of societal stability, rarely questioning their use of force or authority. This has a dual effect: it ingrains the belief that misconduct is an aberration, not a systemic issue, and it normalizes the police’s role as the gatekeepers of social order, often at the expense of marginalized communities. Media narratives thus often obscure the darker realities of policing—abuses of power, racial profiling, and violence—and this influences public perception in ways that make it harder to hold officers accountable.

Case studies of high-profile police abuses further illustrate the system's failings. Take the example of Daniel Holtzclaw, the Oklahoma City officer convicted of sexually assaulting multiple women—mostly Black and low-income. Holtzclaw specifically targeted women he believed wouldn’t be believed if they reported the abuse. His case is one of the few that resulted in a conviction, but it highlights a much larger, hidden issue. Most victims of police sexual misconduct either don’t report or, when they do, face enormous challenges in being heard. Even in Holtzclaw’s case, the conviction wasn’t easy to secure; it was the result of relentless work by advocates and community pressure, not the justice system working as it should.

There’s also the issue of how police operate under the pretext of maintaining "order" in society, which often results in over-policing marginalized groups. As seen in cases like the Baltimore Gun Trace Task Force or the Chicago police under Jon Burge, systemic abuse of power becomes almost inherent to the job. Officers in these cases operated as criminals under the guise of law enforcement, protected by the very system designed to control them. The result is a deep erosion of trust between communities and the police, as well as a growing recognition that the system itself is not set up to address these abuses effectively.

The challenge with police reform is that it confronts not just individual misconduct but a deeply entrenched system that protects those in power. It's hard to separate the role of policing from the broader societal structures that prioritize property over people, particularly when laws and institutions are designed to maintain these hierarchies. Reforming police practices would require a fundamental shift not only in legal frameworks like qualified immunity but in how we conceptualize the role of law enforcement in society. This would also require the media to shift its narrative from glorifying the police as heroes to questioning the system’s inherent biases and failures.

In many ways, this discussion ties back to the broader concept of a "state of exception," where certain groups are perpetually outside the protection of the law, subject to control rather than protection by law enforcement. Police can operate with relative impunity, particularly when it comes to marginalized communities, because they are often seen as the enforcers of order rather than individuals bound by the same laws they enforce. This legal and societal flexibility allows officers to commit abuses—whether sexual misconduct or other forms of violence—without facing the same consequences as ordinary citizens.

The broader question, then, is how we deconstruct these narratives and rebuild systems that truly protect all individuals equally. The current structure, designed as it is to maintain order rather than justice, makes reform difficult but not impossible. It requires not only systemic changes in how police are held accountable but also a shift in how society views the police's role. Only then can we begin to address the deep-seated issues of abuse, corruption, and inequality that have become normalized within law enforcement institutions.

You know, capitalism is like that shiny car that drives real smooth until you pop the hood and realize it’s running on fumes from centuries of feudalism. You look closer, and you can’t help but notice the engine’s still powered by something darker, something ancient. The gears of progress? They’re slick with the oil of exploitation—modern-day serfdom in a three-piece suit.

I mean, let’s face it: capitalism’s great at pretending it’s new and shiny, but it’s carrying the baggage of slave societies that go way back. The same old structures, just repackaged with better marketing. Freedom to compete? Sure. But the playing field’s about as level as a ski slope. The winners? Often the ones born with the map to the finish line. The losers? Well, they’re the ones still trying to claw their way out of the mud while the race ends without them.

And then you’ve got the feudalism. Ah, feudalism—did we ever really leave it behind? Land ownership, the cornerstone of control, is still one of the most potent forces. The difference is, now we’ve swapped kings and lords for corporations and billionaires. It’s a new kind of nobility, but make no mistake, the power structures are eerily familiar. The peasants are still there, only now they’ve got mortgages, student loans, and credit card debt instead of pitchforks. The serfs once tilled the land for survival; now they grind in cubicles and gig economies just to keep the lights on.

And the worst part? Some of the structures we see creeping up in capitalism—the surveillance, the control, the concentration of wealth—start to smell a little too much like something uglier. You don’t have to dig too deep to see the undercurrents of fascism in a system that worships control. When the state or corporate interests align too closely, the results get dangerous. Sure, we don’t have literal swastikas plastered on every wall, but let’s be real: you don’t need armbands and goose-stepping parades to see the authoritarian tendencies brewing. The wealth gap, the surveillance state, the control over speech—it all feels like we’re walking that fine line between the "free world" and something much darker.

It’s not that capitalism is inherently Nazi-esque, but it’s that the system, left unchecked, can tilt toward fascism. When power concentrates in the hands of the few, when the masses are kept just comfortable enough to not revolt, you start to see those old feudal tendencies rear their ugly heads. The world starts to look less like a meritocracy and more like a game of who can keep the most power, land, and influence—feudalism with fancier toys.

So, is capitalism flawed? Yeah, you bet. Fundamentally. It’s running on a system that’s been rigged since before Marx was a glint in his mother’s eye. It may not wear the chains of overt slavery anymore, but they’re still there, hidden in plain sight. Debt is the new shackle, and economic dependency keeps the masses in line. The modern serfs, just with slightly better benefits packages. But the structure? Feudal at its core, with a sprinkle of authoritarianism for good measure.

Capitalism promised freedom, but too often, it delivers servitude wrapped in the illusion of choice. And that’s the real kicker, isn’t it? The illusion. You think you’re free because you can choose between ten brands of cereal, but in the end, the system still owns you. You’re still bound by the need to survive in a world that demands your labor, your time, and your mind—all for the benefit of the ones sitting pretty at the top.

We’re still playing the same game, just with a different scoreboard. Capitalism may have its charm, but it’s time we stopped pretending it doesn’t come with a dark side.