The older I grew, the clearer it became that the world is not run by prayers, nor by righteousness, but by power. And those who hold that power are not necessarily the most holy, but the most daring the elite.
I began to see them everywhere. They were the men and women who understood the game of life and played it without apology. Some wore the face of politicians, some wore the face of businessmen, and many too many wore the face of religion.
The common thread between them was simple: they knew how to enslave minds.
It wasn't chains they used. No, chains are too obvious, too easy to resist. They used words. They used fear. They used carefully crafted systems that made the poor grateful for their own suffering.
And religion was their most powerful weapon.
The elite understood something that most of us in the congregation never realized: if you control a man's belief, you control his life. If you convince him that poverty is holy, he will never complain about hunger. If you make him believe riches are sinful, he will never challenge your wealth. If you teach him that questioning is rebellion, he will hand you his freedom willingly.
That is how the game was played.
I started paying attention to how the messages were tailored. The poor were told to be patient, to wait for God's time, to store their treasures in heaven. The rich, on the other hand, were told to give generously so that God would protect their wealth. In other words, the poor were taught submission, while the rich were reassured of power.
It reminded me of that strange parable in the Bible: "To him that has, more will be given. But to him that has not, even what he has will be taken away." For years, I never questioned it. But as life battered me, I began to see it for what it really was: a law of power, not righteousness. A system where the brave and powerful take, and the timid and righteous lose.
And so, while the congregation shouted "Amen" every Sunday, the elite laughed silently. They collected from those who had little and gave to those who already had much. Wasn't that the very definition of wickedness?
It made sense then why the world felt upside down. The righteous prayed but starved. The wicked schemed but flourished. The poor sacrificed, but the rich benefited. Life, it seemed, was designed as a ladder, and only those bold enough to climb no matter whose neck they stepped on reached the top.
I watched as pastors who once lived humbly rose into wealth and forgot the very people who carried them there. I watched politicians preach about service, only to enslave the very masses who voted them in. I watched businessmen exploit their workers while donating millions to churches for prestige.
The masses remained enslaved, not because they were weak in body, but because they were weak in mind. They believed the lies of the elite. They believed suffering was spiritual training. They believed that heaven's gate would reward them for the hell they endured on earth.
And the elite, wise in their wickedness, fed fat on that ignorance.
It hurt me deeply, because I realized my own parents were victims too. They gave, they prayed, they obeyed, and in their hearts they truly believed it was the right path. They didn't know they were feeding a system that was designed to keep them small.
I used to ask myself: If money is evil, why do the pastors demand it? If wealth is vanity, why do the politicians fight so hard to hold on to it? If humility is the highest virtue, why do the rich command the loudest respect?
The answer was simple: the rules we were taught were not the rules they lived by. We were raised to be righteous. They were raised to be brave. And life, always, rewards the brave.
The bitter truth began to settle in my bones: the hell most people fear is not beneath the earth it is here. It is poverty. It is ignorance. It is submission. It is the suffering of the enslaved, while the elite build heaven for themselves here and now.
And if you do not wake up, if you do not step out of the cage, if you do not become brave, then you will remain a slave righteous, yes, but still a slave.
This realization made me restless. It made me angry. But more than that, it made me determined. Determined to break the cycle. Determined not to remain an enslaved mind, bowing to fear while others lived off my silence.
The elite may be wise in their wickedness, but I had decided I would no longer be among the enslaved.