Historically, police forces were not designed to protect the general population equally but were primarily established to protect property and uphold social hierarchies. As previously mentioned in my last article (this is a easier read A/B live testing), in the United States, slave patrols were among the first forms of law enforcement, explicitly created to control enslaved Black populations and maintain economic interests. Similarly, in Britain, policing developed to prevent theft and suppress uprisings from the working class during industrialization. This origin is key to understanding the ongoing issues within law enforcement today. The structural biases that prioritize protecting property over individuals have evolved, but the fundamental issue persists.

Abstract thought allows space for interpretation. Art and philosophy often explore the invisible threads that connect lived experience to greater ideas. The river metaphor isn’t new, but it’s timeless because it captures the reality of impermanence. It’s not meant to be literal or direct; it’s meant to provide a mental framework for understanding how truth and knowledge flow. Abstract ideas might seem distant from action, but they inform the mindsets that guide action.

You know, when we talk about slavery, we like to imagine it as something in the past—chains and cotton fields, distant enough to make us feel clean, like we’ve moved on from that ugliness. But the truth is, slavery didn’t disappear. It just changed clothes. Today’s slaves? They’re the very same girls these so-called protectors—the police, the people we’re supposed to trust—are exploiting. It’s not just corruption; it’s a betrayal of the worst kind. And we’re supposed to believe they’re going to fix this? It’s like asking the wolf to guard the sheep.

It’s not just them, though. The real power doesn’t wear badges—it wears suits. We’ve got modern-day feudal lords strutting around not with crowns and scepters, but with corporate titles and golden parachutes. They sit at the top, cushioned by layers of privilege and protected by laws they helped write. Meanwhile, the rest of us? We scramble for the crumbs, hoping the game isn’t as rigged as it feels.

And here’s the kicker—this isn’t some accident of history. This is a system that was designed to be this way. Capitalism didn’t replace feudalism; it just gave it a rebrand. Now we’ve got profits, shareholders, and the ever-hollow promise of "trickle-down economics." The rich get richer, and we’re supposed to believe that, somehow, their wealth will magically lift us up too. Spoiler alert: it never does.

It’s the same old hierarchy, just with fancier language. Back in the medieval days, you had lords and serfs, kings and peasants. Today? It’s CEOs and minimum wage workers, billionaires and the rest of us barely scraping by. They’ve traded in the castles for penthouses and private islands, but the dynamic hasn’t changed. They still own the land, the resources, the power. And the rest of us? We’re still renting our lives from them.

Feudalism never really went away. It just got better at hiding. We call it capitalism, but underneath all the talk of markets and competition, it’s the same old game. The few at the top, the many at the bottom, and a whole lot of us stuck in between, pretending like we’ve got a chance.

The worst part? The system tells us this is freedom. It whispers that if we just work hard enough, play by the rules, we too can climb the ladder. But that ladder? It’s leaning on a house that was never built for us. And the higher you climb, the more you realize that the people at the top didn’t get there by playing fair. They got there by pulling the rungs up behind them.

The police, the politicians, the corporations—they’re all part of the same system. They’re not here to protect us; they’re here to protect it. And the girls they abuse, the workers they exploit, the communities they crush underfoot? They’re just collateral damage in a game where the rules were written by the powerful for the powerful.

We’ve got a problem, but trusting the people who built this mess to fix it? That’s not going to work. It never has. They’ll talk about reform, about justice, about making things better. But at the end of the day, they’re just protecting their own. And we’re left picking up the pieces, wondering how much longer we can keep pretending this isn’t broken.

Feudalism, slavery, exploitation—it’s all the same story, just told with different words. But if we look closely, we can see the patterns. And maybe, just maybe, if we stop buying into the illusion, we can start building something new. Something that’s actually for us, not just for them.

Until then? The wolves are still in charge.

Psychological and Philosophical Deconstruction of Power

Power, when concentrated and unchecked, can lead to corrupt behavior. This idea is widely accepted in social psychology and political philosophy. Lord Acton's famous maxim, "Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely," reflects the human propensity to misuse authority, particularly in hierarchical systems like law enforcement. Police, by nature of their role, are granted significant control over civilians, creating an imbalance that is prone to exploitation.

Michel Foucault’s theories on power and surveillance are crucial in understanding how police misconduct, including sexual violence, thrives in law enforcement systems. In Discipline and Punish, Foucault argues that modern institutions—like the police—are systems of control and surveillance that shape behavior. The police do not just react to crime but regulate and discipline society. This power structure inherently suppresses opposition and facilitates control, making it harder for victims to challenge authority.

In the case of police sexual misconduct, this dynamic becomes even more dangerous. Officers often wield their power to coerce, intimidate, or silence their victims, especially those from marginalized communities. Foucault’s concept of the panopticon—a structure in which power is exerted through constant visibility—can be seen in how police forces maintain control. They are always present, not just physically but as an institution, constantly reminding civilians of their authority.

Systemic Silence and Institutional Protections

One of the biggest challenges in addressing police sexual misconduct is the systemic and institutional protection granted to officers. Qualified immunity—a legal doctrine that shields government officials, including police officers, from lawsuits unless they violated "clearly established law"—is one such protection. This creates an environment where officers rarely face accountability, even for serious offenses like sexual violence. Victims of police sexual misconduct often face immense barriers to justice, including fear of retaliation, disbelief, and institutional bias.

Jean Baudrillard’s concept of simulacra—the idea that representations of reality can distort or replace the actual reality—applies to the public perception of law enforcement. The media and popular culture often portray police officers as protectors, heroes, and upholders of justice, while in reality, the power dynamics within the system allow for corruption and abuse. This disconnect between perception and reality makes it difficult for victims to come forward and for the public to acknowledge the severity of the issue.

Statistics and the Underreporting of Abuse

Statistical evidence of police sexual misconduct is challenging to gather due to significant underreporting and the systemic factors that prevent transparency. For example, a study conducted by the Cato Institute found that sexual misconduct is one of the most common forms of police crime. However, many of these cases go unreported due to fear of retaliation or disbelief from authorities. Additionally, internal investigations often fail to hold officers accountable, further perpetuating the cycle of abuse.

A study by the Bowling Green State University found that, on average, around 1,100 police officers are arrested annually for various crimes, including sexual offenses. This figure is likely much higher, considering the cultural and institutional forces that shield officers from being charged or convicted. Even when they are arrested, the conviction rates are lower than for civilians, indicating a clear disparity in how justice is administered for officers compared to the general public.

Philosophical Implications of Authority and Abuse

Philosophers like Max Weber and Hannah Arendt have long examined the relationship between authority, violence, and the state. Weber’s definition of the state as the entity that holds a monopoly on legitimate violence is particularly relevant when analyzing the role of police. This idea suggests that police violence, whether in the form of excessive force or sexual misconduct, is not an anomaly but an inherent function of their power. The state grants them the right to use force, and without adequate checks, this power can and often does lead to abuse.

Hannah Arendt’s exploration of the banality of evil—the idea that great harm can be committed by ordinary people simply following orders or acting within the norms of their role—can also be applied to police misconduct. Officers committing sexual violence may see themselves as acting within their authority, protected by the institutional norms that prioritize the interests of the police over the welfare of civilians.

To address sexual violence within law enforcement, we must acknowledge that the issue is not just about individual officers but about the structural, psychological, and philosophical dynamics of power. Without systemic reforms—such as eliminating qualified immunity, increasing transparency in investigations, and creating independent oversight bodies—abuse will continue. Additionally, shifting the public narrative away from romanticized portrayals of police as unchallengeable protectors toward a more critical understanding of their role is essential.

By deconstructing the existing power structures and understanding the deeper psychological motivations and institutional protections that perpetuate police misconduct, we can begin to develop solutions that genuinely protect vulnerable populations.

Here’s the sickest joke of all: the very people we’re supposed to trust—the ones who wear the badges, the ones who promise to serve and protect—they’re part of the system they claim to police. And not in some vague, abstract way, but in the ugliest, most brutal sense. They’re the ones standing there, raping the very girls they’re meant to defend. It’s medieval, really. You’d think we’ve evolved past this, but here we are, with a shiny modern gloss over the same old corruption.

Feudal lords don’t wear crowns and sit on thrones anymore, no sir. They wear suits, sit behind desks, and sign off on deals that keep the whole thing ticking along. Golden parachutes instead of royal jewels, titles like CEO and board member instead of Duke or Lord, but it’s the same hierarchy—only now they’ve swapped out the scepter for a spreadsheet. The people below them? The ones scraping by on whatever crumbs are left? Still serfs, still chained to the land, though now it’s a paycheck instead of a plot of dirt.

Feudalism never died. It just learned to speak capitalism.

And the worst part? The so-called protectors—those in blue uniforms with the authority of the law behind them—are often complicit. You’d think we could trust the people charged with keeping the peace, but there’s rot in the foundation. These girls, these women, they’re the slaves of today, caught in a system that fails them at every turn. It’s not just about corporate lords and politicians; it’s about the whole damn system being built to protect itself. You can’t expect the fox to guard the henhouse, but here we are, pretending like it’ll somehow fix itself.

People talk about progress like it’s this unstoppable force, but I’m starting to wonder if we’ve just gotten better at pretending. The lords aren’t gone—they’re just wearing new uniforms. The castles are gone, but the walls are still there, invisible maybe, but just as real. And those walls keep the rich, the powerful, the untouchable at the top, while the rest of us claw at the scraps.

This isn’t just capitalism gone wrong; it’s the culmination of centuries of inequality, wrapped in the banner of freedom and opportunity. Feudalism may have died on paper, but its spirit lingers, passed down through generations like a family heirloom. It thrives in the gaps between us, in the spaces where justice is supposed to live but somehow never quite reaches.

And it’s not just about money. It’s about power, control, and the abuse of both. The same old story, just with different characters. The peasants of today are those who fall victim to the system’s cruelties, those who get crushed under its weight, while the people who should be fixing it are too busy propping it up, pocketing their bonuses, and keeping the machine running smoothly.

What’s the solution? Hell, it is irrelevant almost. Because trusting the same people who perpetuate the problem to fix it? That’s like asking a thief to guard the vault. The system’s designed to keep itself alive, no matter how many bodies it leaves in its wake. And as long as we keep pretending it’s different, as long as we keep hoping someone else will tear down the walls, we’re just playing the same old game.