The facade of civic pride hides a creeping sickness

There’s a tragedy in watching a city rot. It’s like seeing a body waste away from a disease that no one acknowledges, even as it eats them alive. The streets may still be filled with people, the buildings may still stand, but there is no life in them—only the slow, inevitable decay of a place that has lost its purpose, its vision, its soul.

Perhaps that is why you (my wise reader) at times feel like your in a poem, maybe Poe’s raven—perched at the edge of the decay, watching, knowing that no matter how hard you try, the darkness is already here. It is the apathy, the corruption, the sabotage that will bring the city down, not in a glorious collapse, but in a slow, creeping death. And yet, knowing this, i hope the good can stand against it—because to do otherwise is to let the rot consume you as well.

In the end, cities rot because people let them. They rot because the fight is hard, and the path of least resistance is always easier. But the few who stand against the decay, who refuse to be swallowed by the darkness, are the ones who will keep the flame of hope alive, even as the city crumbles around them.

And so, the rot continues. It spreads silently, consuming everything in its path, leaving nothing but hollow shells where there once was life. The city falls apart not with a bang, but with a whisper, as one by one, the people give in to the apathy, the fear, the helplessness. They sabotage each other, not out of malice, but out of fear—fear of standing out, fear of failing, fear of facing their own complicity in the city’s decline.

Cities do not fail because of a lack of resources or infrastructure—they fail because of a lack of vision. They fail because those in power stop imagining a future, stop striving for something better. They become comfortable, complacent, and in that comfort, they lose the ability to see beyond their immediate needs. They fail to recognize that a city is not just a collection of buildings and roads—it is a living, breathing entity, sustained by the dreams and efforts of its people. When those dreams die, the city dies with them.

When corruption and decay become normalized, individuals start to disengage morally, convincing themselves that their actions (or inaction) don’t make a difference. This allows corruption to perpetuate without challenge. Nepotism and favoritism in local politics create a class of insiders who benefit from public contracts and decisions while others are excluded, leading to inefficiency and decay. This typically leads to what i call the ‘Fallen Cities’, those so utterly lost to regulatory capture, where industries or wealthy individuals influence policymakers to prioritize their interests. This results in policies that benefit a few at the expense of the wider population. This is the pale horse that leads death and decay.

Cities often regress when they become resistant to change. Whether due to entrenched bureaucracies or social norms that discourage risk-taking, cities that avoid innovation tend to stagnate. Fear of failure and an overreliance on established ways of doing things prevent necessary reforms and adaptations.

In the absence of opportunity, crime often increases as marginalized groups seek alternatives to make a living. This cycle of disenfranchisement and crime makes it harder to attract investment and new residents. Social fragmentation arises when different groups within a city become isolated from one another, leading to mistrust and division. Racial, ethnic, and economic divisions can become exacerbated by political and economic factors, further weakening the social fabric of the city.

In Vernon, and in so many other cities, the failure is not in the streets or the structures—it is in the hearts of those who inhabit it. The city rots because its leaders and citizens alike have given up. They have surrendered to the inevitability of decay, choosing to exist in a perpetual state of want & greed flanked with mediocrity rather than risk the pain and challenge of growth.

Weakness is at the heart of it all.

Those who could change the city, who could push for reform, are too scared to act. Cowards that they are.

They sabotage anything and anyone who tries to break free from the mold, who tries to challenge the rot. They tear down those who dare to rise because they can’t bear the thought of being left behind. They are complicit in the decay because to admit otherwise would mean admitting their own cowardice, their own failure to act.

In cities like Vernon, where the weak rise by undermining the strong, the rot becomes inevitable. It is not enough to simply sit in a position of power—you must protect it at all costs, even if that means ensuring that nothing ever changes, that no one else ever rises. It is a perversion of leadership, a distortion of what governance should be, and it is why these cities rot from within.

But perhaps more dangerous than corruption is apathy—the quiet, creeping indifference that kills cities more effectively than any overt act of destruction. Apathy is what happens when people stop caring, not because they don’t see the problems, but because they believe they are powerless to solve them. It’s the learned helplessness that comes from years of neglect and broken promises, from watching as the same systems that should lift people up instead push them down, again and again.

Apathy is insidious because it is passive. It doesn’t demand attention, it doesn’t cause a scene—it simply waits, like a parasite, feeding off of inertia. When people stop fighting, when they stop believing that their actions matter, the rot sets in, and the city begins to wither. What was once alive with possibility becomes a ghost town, haunted by the specter of what might have been.

Citizens who experience consistent failures or challenges when trying to improve their city may develop a sense of helplessness. This psychological state can lead to apathy, where people stop trying to make a difference because they believe their efforts are futile. When cities grow too quickly or are poorly planned, they can struggle with environmental issues like pollution, lack of green spaces, and poor waste management. Over time, environmental neglect contributes to a declining quality of life, further pushing people to leave or disengage from civic life. Cities that do not plan for or address challenges, be it gods hand, increased storms, or heat waves, they find themselves at greater risk. Without proactive measures, environmental degradation hastens urban decay.

Corruption isn’t just backroom deals and brown envelopes stuffed with cash—it’s the cancer that eats away at the soul of a city. It is the quiet betrayal of the public by the very people who claim to serve them. It is the slow surrender of morality in exchange for power, the hollowing out of integrity for the sake of ego. Those who hold the reins in these decaying cities are no longer leaders—they are scavengers, picking at the bones of a once-thriving metropolis, feeding off the last remnants of its lifeblood to preserve their own weak, crumbling sense of superiority.

In Vernon, and cities like it, power is concentrated in the hands of a few, but their vision is myopic, their ambition as fragile as glass. They cling to their little kingdoms, not realizing that the walls are closing in. They sabotage anything that threatens their comfort, anyone who dares to stand out or challenge their authority. This isn’t just corruption—it’s cowardice. Apathy born from fear. They are terrified of change, terrified of failure, and so they cling to their positions like drowning men grasping at straws.

Economic power concentrated in the hands of a few corporations or individuals suppresses competition, innovation, and small businesses. This leads to economic stagnation and limits opportunities for broader prosperity. As opportunities dwindle, many middle-class residents leave for better prospects elsewhere. This leaves behind a polarized population, with a wealthy elite and an increasingly impoverished working class, which weakens the economic foundation of the city. Economic stagnation often means that infrastructure maintenance and development are deprioritized. Crumbling roads, outdated public transportation, and dilapidated public spaces are physical symptoms of a deeper economic malaise.

There’s a moment when you can feel it—when the air is thick with the stench of neglect, and the streets are empty of hope. Cities rot not because of some great catastrophe, but because of a slow, insidious decay that begins with the very people meant to protect and nurture them. The rot seeps in like water through the cracks, quietly at first, until the foundations are soaked, and the walls begin to crumble. The decay is everywhere, though few have the courage to acknowledge it—because to do so is to admit their own role in the ruin.

Cities rot because they fail to adapt and reform when confronted with challenges. Corruption, economic stagnation, social fragmentation, apathy, and environmental degradation are interlinked problems that compound one another. Once a city enters this cycle of decay, it becomes increasingly difficult to reverse course without strong leadership, engaged citizens, and systemic reforms.

Reversing the rot requires breaking out of entrenched patterns of behavior and thinking, re-engaging the population, and making long-term investments in infrastructure, governance, and social cohesion. However, these changes are often resisted by those who benefit from the current system, leading to the continuation of a city's decline.

In places like Vernon, you can see it. The facade of civic pride hides a creeping sickness—an infection of apathy and selfishness that has settled deep into the bones of the city. What looks like a quaint, peaceful town is nothing but a tombstone for failed ambitions and lost futures. The signs of rot are subtle at first: a neglected street here, a derelict building there. But soon, it becomes clear that these are not isolated cases—they are symptoms of a far greater disease.

PS: For Those Brave Enough to Read to the End

If you've made it this far, perhaps you already know what comes next. The decay, the rot—it’s not the end of the story. It never has been. The truth is, for those brave enough to confront the darkness, to bear the weight of what has been lost, there is always the opportunity to rebuild. And what a grand endeavor that would be.

Imagine a city reborn—not from the whims of the powerful, but from the resilience of those who refused to give up. A city built not on fear or apathy, but on vision and hope. It won't be easy—nothing worthwhile ever is. But for those strong enough in mind and spirit, who see beyond the rubble and the cracks, rebuilding isn't just a possibility. It’s a call to greatness.

To rebuild is to choose optimism over resignation, to see potential where others see only ruin. And that, I believe, is the most powerful choice we can make.

Because you know deep down that this tragedy is happening already, its sad, and its not a lost fight, but it is difficult to be watching a city rot. It’s like witnessing a body waste away from a disease no one acknowledges, even as it devours everything alive. The streets may still be filled with people, the buildings may still stand, but there is no life in them—only the slow, inevitable decay of a place that has forgotten its purpose, its vision, its soul.

And yet, I must make something clear: this isn’t about Vernon. I’ve found people are more or less the same everywhere, typically more good than bad—just as I’ve found lovely people in places like China, where you can’t trust the government any more than you can trust our own. But that’s the point. Everywhere, people are lovely. It’s not the people who are the problem; it’s the systems of power that entangle us all, distorting trust, integrity, and progress.

Perhaps you, my wise reader, have felt this too—that sense of being caught in a vast, complex web of forces beyond your control. Maybe it feels like being trapped in a poem, something like Poe’s Raven—perched at the edge of decay, watching, knowing. Knowing that the darkness is already here, that the creeping apathy, corruption, and sabotage are already at work. But if we stop there, what hope do we have? No, this awareness must be more than a lament. It must be a call to action.

Cities do not fail because of a single catastrophe. They fail because people let them. They rot because the fight is hard, and the path of least resistance is always easier. But just as surely as the rot spreads, so too can the seeds of renewal take root. The city falls apart not with a bang, but with a whisper—yet in that whisper, there is still the faint sound of hope. We, the ones who refuse to give in, who stand firm against the forces of decay, are the ones who keep the flame of possibility alive, even as the city stumbles and falters, even as we do.

Yes, it’s easy to become cynical. When corruption and decay become normalized, people disengage. They convince themselves that their actions—or their inaction—don’t matter. But I ask: what if we rejected that narrative? What if, instead of surrendering to the forces of decay, we reminded ourselves that every action, no matter how small, has the potential to make a difference? In a world as connected as ours, change ripples outward faster than ever before. And while the insiders and powerbrokers may benefit from the status quo, lasting change comes from the ground up. It starts with us, with those willing to challenge the system.

Yes, cities often regress when they resist change. Fear of failure, reliance on outdated ways of thinking, and systems of power that feed on inertia all hold back progress. But we are not bound by the mistakes of the past. We must live within them, trapped by them to be sure, but in this most enlightened time of human history—a time when innovation, creativity, and bold new ideas are within reach, the only true thing blocking us is the weakness of the mind of humans. In every corner of the world, people are using technology, collaboration, and sheer determination to overcome obstacles that once seemed insurmountable. We are not powerless in the face of decay. We are empowered to rise above it. But that means casting aside systems designed to prevent this.

The failure of a city is not in the streets or the structures—it is in the hearts of those who inhabit them. Weakness lies in the surrender to apathy and fear. But there is also strength in those who choose to resist it. Those who stand up and say, “No more,” who refuse to let their cities fall into ruin, are the ones who carry the true power—the power to reform, to rebuild, to reinvigorate.

This isn’t about blaming individuals. It’s not about singling out a city like Vernon or any other place. It’s about recognizing that the systems we live under, the governments we are supposed to trust, have often failed us. (At the behest of local enterprise) And yet, we cannot let that be the end of the story. We are living in an age where knowledge, connection, and the ability to inspire change are more abundant than ever. Yes, corruption is real. Yes, decay is happening. But so too is the potential for rebirth, for renewal, for creating something better.

This is why I journal these thoughts. It’s not out of cynicism, but out of a sense of duty. A duty to document what I see, to speak what others may overlook, to express what feels like an unsung truth. The decay is real, but so is the hope. We must acknowledge both if we are to rise above the rot and build something stronger.

In the end, cities rot because they fail to adapt to the challenges they face. But adaptation is what humans do best. In the most enlightened era of our existence, we have the capacity not just to survive but to thrive. Reversing the rot requires breaking out of old patterns and reimagining what’s possible. It requires the belief that the future can be brighter than the past, and the willingness to work toward it, no matter the obstacles in our way.

So yes, the rot is there. The cynicism is warranted. But so is the optimism. We are capable of change, of progress, of creating cities that reflect the best of what humanity has to offer. And I believe we will. The question is not whether we can stop the rot, but whether we will choose to. And if you are reading this, I believe that choice is yours to make.

Because deep down you know this tragedy is already unfolding. It’s heartbreaking, yet the fight isn’t lost, though it’s undeniably difficult to witness a city rotting away. It’s like watching a body waste from a disease that no one dares to acknowledge, even as it devours everything in its path. The streets may still be filled with people, the buildings may still stand, but the life has drained away—leaving only the slow, inevitable decay of a place that has lost its purpose, its vision, its soul.