Statists live in contradictions, tangled in strings they refuse to see.  They insist their servitude is freedom, their obedience is virtue.  They chant slogans as if they were spells, reciting them until reality bends.  The puppet dances, believing it moves by its own will.  The strings tighten, and it calls the grip its salvation.

The marionette has no quarrel with the puppeteer—only with those who refuse to be strung up.  The sight of an untethered man enrages the controlled.  He must be reined in, subdued, made to bow like the rest.  If he will not, he must be destroyed.  The mob turns against him, hurling accusations, breaking his spirit if they can’t break his body.  Their hatred is not for him alone—it is for the reflection of their own enslavement.

Fear holds the strings in place.  The puppeteer whispers of chaos, collapse, and ruin should the strings be cut.  The marionettes believe him.  They obey not because they love their master, but because they fear life without him.  Dependency is called security, and security is worth any sacrifice.  The strings must remain.

The spell is woven with words that mean their opposite.  Theft is called fairness, coercion called order, obedience called unity.  These words are repeated until they become sacred.  Question them, and you are a heretic.  Deny them, and you are a threat.  The puppet will fight for its master, believing it fights for itself.

Children are taught early to love their strings.  The schools train them not to think, but to repeat.  They must not question, only accept.  The sorcerers of the state ensure this.  Their magic is not wisdom but repetition.  Say a lie often enough, and it becomes truth.  Say the truth often enough, and they will burn you at the stake.

A society of marionettes is easier to rule.  The puppeteers do not need whips or chains when they have the mob.  The slaves will police themselves.  They will turn on any who try to cut their strings.  The free man is a threat to them.  He must be silenced, mocked, or erased.

There will always be those who cut the strings.  The puppeteers know this.  Their power is built on the silent consent of the many, but one voice of defiance is enough to shake the illusion.  The marionette may turn its head and, for a fleeting moment, see the hand that holds it.  That moment is dangerous.  That moment is revolution.

The puppeteers fear nothing more than a man who stands without strings.

Reference

Joost Meerloo; The Rape of the Mind: The Psychology of Thought Control, Menticide, and Brainwashing