We begin pretending earlier than we realize.
At first, the lies feel harmless. Adults tell children stories about Santa Claus. They invent magical worlds where good always wins, and evil is punished. Also, they promise that everything will turn out fine, even when it will not.
They do it to protect innocence—or so they say. In truth, it is often to maintain control. A calm child is easier to raise than one who questions everything. Thus, pretending is not learned. It is inherited.
Pretending becomes a social skill
As we grow, the pretending continues. But it evolves. We stop believing in fairy tales, yet we adopt new illusions—ones meant for adults.
And we smile at people we dislike. We exchange empty compliments. Help is offered without meaning it. In offices, we show enthusiasm we do not feel. Around dinner tables, agreement replaces honesty.
No one instructs us to pretend. Still, the consequences of honesty become clear early on. Truth creates conflict. Disagreement invites tension. So we learn to nod, to flatter, to censor ourselves.
Eventually, sincerity feels like a risk. Pretending feels like maturity.
Totalitarian regimes depend on pretending
In authoritarian systems, pretending shifts from convenience to necessity.
Citizens must perform loyalty. They wave flags, sing anthems, vote in rigged elections, and praise leaders they secretly fear. They attend rallies not out of conviction, but because absence would be noticed.
What makes this dangerous is not that the regime forces belief—it does not. Instead, it demands performance. Everyone knows it is an act, yet the performance continues. Breaking character could lead to prison or worse.
This pattern played out in Stalin’s Soviet Union, where silence meant safety and applause could mean survival. It continues in North Korea, where facial expressions are watched. It defined life in East Germany, where even children were trained to report their parents. Nazi Germany perfected it—dissent brought disappearance.
People did not merely obey. They acted. They lied, not just to others—but eventually, to themselves.
The real power is not in parliaments
Most people believe politics happens where cameras are present. They trust the buildings of power are the places of decision-making. That belief is part of the illusion.
Real power hides behind structures the public does not see. Today’s global order is not democratic. It is financial—and tightly interconnected.
Major banks do not compete as much as they cooperate. They hold shares in each other, create interdependent debt chains, and build alliances behind closed doors. Mutual members of boards of directors maintain unity across firms. Their lending patterns, insurance arrangements, and crisis coordination form an invisible web.
Governments borrow from them. Central banks work in silent sync. Regulatory bodies are staffed by people who once worked for these same banks—or soon will.
Behind them sit dynastic families. Not the billionaires splashed across magazines, but older, quieter, and more powerful ones. Their wealth compounds over generations. Their names rarely trend because they do not need attention.
Further behind, closed networks operate with full discretion. These societies—clubs, orders, alliances—create elite consensus. They define acceptable narratives. Long before the public votes, these circles have shaped the options.
This is not conspiracy. It is architecture. Ownership records, financial data, and boardroom patterns all confirm it. But the silence surrounding it is no accident.
Someone ensures the story stays hidden.
Journalists: The high priests of pretending
Nowhere is pretending more refined than in journalism.
Reporters are presented as seekers of truth. They brand themselves as investigators, defenders of the public interest. In reality, most are stage actors in a scripted drama.
They sit in studios, read sanitized news, and ask polite questions. Guests are carefully chosen. Interviews avoid risk. Discussions revolve around trivia.
They pretend to challenge power while preserving it. Rarely do they touch the structure behind central banks. Interbank ownership goes unmentioned. Cross-holdings, elite foundations, and dynastic wealth stay in the shadows.
They sound concerned. But they avoid what matters. Trained in narrative framing, not forensic inquiry, they serve containment—not clarity.
Worse still, they do not feel guilt.
To them, this is professionalism. They follow editorial lines, protect reputations, and obey the invisible guardrails of media culture. They believe in neutrality, even when it conceals everything.
Silence is framed as focus. Censorship becomes judgment. Omission is simply restraint.
They do not feel like liars. They feel like experts.
Personally, I could not live like that. Pretending to seek truth while sidestepping it would corrode everything inside me. Acting concerned while guarding power is not journalism—it is betrayal.
They do it every day. They feel proud.
These people are not reporting reality. They are curating illusion.
Morality is a mask
Powerful institutions constantly speak of values. They use words like justice, transparency, equality, and freedom. These words are hollow.
Their purpose is not to guide behavior but to shape public perception.
Behind every speech about fairness, there is usually a financial motive. Behind international summits, private negotiations unfold. Sudden media campaigns for moral causes often distract from darker moves.
The elite do not serve ideas. They serve strategy. Morality is used when convenient and dropped when it interferes.
And journalists echo it without hesitation.
The price we all pay
When pretending becomes culture, something fundamental erodes.
People no longer trust what they hear. They do not know who to believe. Gradually, they stop believing anyone. They detach from the system—not from apathy but fatigue.
They sense they are being lied to. But they cannot trace the lie. They suspect manipulation yet lack access to the mechanics behind it. Confusion spreads like mold.
The very idea of truth begins to dissolve. What remains is spectacle, cynicism, and a silence too thick to break.
Refuse the lie
There can be no clarity without truth. And no truth without naming the performance.
Do not pretend to believe, do not applaud the journalists who guard the gate. Do not mistake headlines for insight or credentials for courage.
This world was built on pretending. But it does not have to remain that way.
Name the actors. Break the script. Pull the curtain back.
Truth begins when pretending ends.
Leave a Reply