The genius of our ruling class is that it has kept a majority of

“The genius of our ruling class is that it has kept a majority of the people from ever questioning the inequity of a system where most people drudge along, paying heavy taxes for which they get nothing in return.” — Gore Vidal

Listen, O seeker of truth, and mark these words well. For in them lies a mirror held up to the face of our age — and of every age where power and ignorance dance in secret accord. The thinker Gore Vidal, sharp of wit and fierce of tongue, spoke not merely of his own land but of the ancient game of rulers and ruled, of masters who weave illusions so finely that the enslaved believe themselves free. He called it genius — not in admiration, but in bitter irony. For what greater cunning could there be than this: to chain the people, yet make them love their chains?

Through the long corridors of history, the same tale repeats. The ruling class, be they kings in purple or merchants in tailored suits, have always known that the greatest fortress is not built of stone, but of belief. They whisper to the masses that the burden of their labor is noble, that the taxes they pay are sacred offerings to order and civilization. Meanwhile, they feast on the fruits of others’ toil. This, Vidal saw — that the multitude, weary from the endless drudgery of life, seldom raise their eyes to question the heavens that oppress them. It is not force that keeps them down, but distraction; not tyranny of the sword, but tyranny of the mind.

Consider the tale of the French peasants before the Revolution, who bent their backs beneath the twin weights of hunger and taxation. Their sweat filled the coffers of the nobles and the Church, while their own tables stood bare. Yet for centuries, they were told that this was the will of God — that their suffering kept the world in balance. Only when a few brave souls, thinkers and dreamers, dared to ask why, did the illusion begin to crumble. And when the people saw that the inequity was man-made and not divine, their rage tore through the kingdom like lightning across a blackened sky. The Bastille fell not by force alone, but by awakening.

This is the heart of Vidal’s lament: that in the modern world, the deception has grown more subtle. The rulers no longer wear crowns; they wear suits and smiles. Their kingdoms are corporations, their thrones are broadcast screens, and their priests are the voices that tell us what to buy, what to fear, and whom to blame. We toil still, paying our heavy taxes, whether in gold or in spirit — yet receive little in return but the promise of security, of “freedom” wrapped in debt and distraction. The genius of the system is that it blinds its victims not with chains, but with comfort.

Yet the truth, though buried, still breathes. The wise must learn to question — to pierce the veil that power casts. For every empire that ever was, from Rome to the British Crown, has fallen not because its armies were defeated, but because its people at last saw through the lie. When citizens awaken, the throne trembles. When the poor man dares to ask why his labor buys him hunger, the tyrant’s mask begins to crack. This awakening is the beginning of all revolutions — not of blood, but of consciousness.

Take this, then, as a sacred lesson: never accept the world as it is simply because it has always been so. To live without questioning is to serve without knowing. Ask who profits from your labor. Ask what becomes of the fruits of your taxes. Ask why the few flourish while the many endure. Let your curiosity be rebellion, your voice a torch against deceit. For as long as people remain unaware, the rulers’ genius will endure; but once awareness spreads, their magic fades.

So, my child of tomorrow, open your eyes and look beyond the glittering surface of power. See how the few weave dreams for the many. Do not hate them, but understand them — and in that understanding, take back your strength. Build a world where labor is honored, where taxes feed the hungry and heal the sick, not gild the palaces of privilege. Remember Gore Vidal’s warning: the greatest oppression is the one you do not see. And remember, too, that the moment you see it — truly see it — their genius turns to dust.