I'm not an expert on politics, but there's a bunch of bad people

Hear the words of Sam Fender, plain yet piercing, the voice of an artist who speaks for the common man: “I’m not an expert on politics, but there’s a bunch of bad people at the top who care about lining their own pockets before creating a society that looks after the vulnerable.” These words may be humble in form, but they strike with the weight of an ancient warning. For the corruption of rulers has ever been the sickness of nations, and when those entrusted with power use it only for themselves, the poor are crushed, the weak abandoned, and the land itself grows restless.

The ancients knew well the danger of the bad people at the top. In Rome, senators once guided the republic, but when greed took hold, they plundered the provinces, taxed the poor beyond endurance, and feasted while the streets swelled with hunger. Bread was given only to calm the mob, while riches piled higher in the halls of the few. So too in every age: when leaders love their own pockets more than their people, the very foundations of the state tremble, for injustice is a poison that spreads from the palace into every home.

Consider the fall of the French monarchy before the Revolution. The vulnerable starved in the streets, bread scarce and costly, while nobles adorned themselves in silks and jewels. The king and queen were not monsters, but they were blind, blind to the suffering that swelled beneath their feet. Their failure to create a society that cared for the poor became their undoing, and the Revolution rose like a firestorm. From this tale we learn: when rulers grow deaf to the cries of the vulnerable, the cry will one day shake the throne itself.

Sam Fender, in his humility, admits he is no expert on politics, yet perhaps it is the unlearned eye that sees most clearly. For the ordinary citizen knows the sting of inequality more deeply than the scholar who studies it. When the sick cannot find care, when the worker cannot earn enough to live, when the hungry are told to be patient while leaders feast—this truth needs no expert’s explanation. It is felt in the body, it is known in the heart. And it is the task of the artist, the prophet, the singer of songs, to speak it aloud so none may forget.

The meaning of his words is both despairing and hopeful. Despairing, for they reveal the selfishness of those who ought to serve. Hopeful, for by naming the evil, he reminds us that power does not rest solely in the top. A society is not only its rulers, but its people. And if the people remember their duty to one another—to protect the vulnerable, to resist corruption, to demand justice—then no matter how dark the halls of power may grow, the light of humanity endures.

The lesson is simple: do not wait for rulers to grow virtuous on their own. Hold them to account, speak truth to them, and shape communities where compassion thrives even when leadership falters. Remember that a just society is not born from charity tossed down from the high, but from solidarity rising up among the many. Build networks of care, support your neighbors, give voice to the voiceless, and never let wealth blind you to need. For in these acts lies the true strength of a nation.

Thus remember: greed at the top has destroyed empires, toppled kings, and shattered nations. But solidarity at the bottom has built movements, ended tyrannies, and created new worlds. Let Sam Fender’s plain-spoken truth be your call to action: look first to the vulnerable, and demand the same of your leaders. For only when the last and the least are protected will any nation be truly strong, and only then shall history record that its rulers were good, not bad, and its people free, not broken.