You’re being distracted. Again.
Today’s headlines? More Epstein documents and the cancellation of Colbert’s late-night show. That’s your “news.” A dead man’s secrets that will never be fully revealed, and a television host who once poked power before being absorbed by it.
But while you’re watching that circus, the real revolution has been underway—quiet, polished, and exclusive. And it wasn’t televised because it didn’t happen in the streets. It happened in boardrooms, hedge funds, encrypted chats, and black-tie retreats.
“The revolution will not be televised.”
That was Gil Scott-Heron’s warning in 1970.
He didn’t mean there wouldn’t be cameras. He meant the truth wouldn’t be framed. That the networks wouldn’t show you the real story—only the version that kept the audience calm, the sponsors happy, and the power structure intact.
He was right then. And if he were here now, he might look at our feeds—endless livestreams, social media blowups, hashtags, highlight reels—and say: “It’s not a revolution if it only goes viral.”
We talk about free markets, free speech, and free will like they still mean something. But the capital has been centralized. The speech is filtered by algorithms. And the will? That’s been broken down into preferences and purchase patterns. All of it tracked, analyzed, and commodified.
This is the real revolution that won’t be televised.
Not with gunfire. But with ETFs.
Not with manifestos. But with venture rounds.
Not with boots. But with bots.
Not with force. But with finesse.
Because the real revolution—the one that changes the system—still doesn’t show up where you expect it.
Back then, black Americans were marching for civil rights. Chicanos were organizing for labor rights, educational equity, and cultural dignity.
Vietnam was on fire, and students were bleeding on campus steps.
But if you turned on the TV, what you got was a nation of tidy suburbs, well-behaved reporters, and three channels worth of filtered reality.
So the warning came down:
“The revolution will not be brought to you by Xerox in four parts without commercial interruption.”
Fast forward to now, and everything is televised.
Protests are livestreamed. Police violence hits your phone before it hits the evening news.
The smoke, the chants, the sirens—they’re clipped, captioned, filtered through apps and algorithms.
Everyone’s a witness.
Everyone’s a reporter.
And yet—are we any closer to liberation?
Because what we’re watching is spectacle, not transformation.
While you’re filming in the streets…
They’re reorganizing the system.
The they isn’t a cabal in the shadows. It’s not some QAnon fantasy.
It’s real. Documented. Trackable. Boring—by design.
It’s:
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Wealth managers shifting assets away from labor-heavy industries.
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Tech firms deploying AI to replace human roles with “efficiencies.”
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Billionaires funding school boards to scrub curricula.
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Foundations buying influence over climate policy, urban planning, and digital rights.
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Private equity turning housing into commodities and entire cities into portfolios.
No flashbangs. No picket signs. No chants.
Just memos. Lobbyists. Think tank breakfasts.
Deals signed while you’re stuck in traffic behind a protest you support.
This isn’t conspiracy.
It’s capital, unchallenged.
It’s the quiet revolution.
And the irony?
The same tools we use to tell the truth—phones, apps, social platforms—are owned and monetized by the very people reconfiguring the world beneath our feet.
You want to speak truth to power? You’re doing it on Power’s platform.
They collect the clicks.
They throttle the reach.
They adjust the algorithm.
Meanwhile, what do they call their revolution?
Innovation. Optimization. Disruption.
All buzzwords for the same old thing: Control without accountability. Ownership without responsibility. Policy without consent.
And when you do get a glimpse?
When a museum shuts down because it dares to tell Indigenous truth…
When school districts start banning books because they might spark critical thought…
That’s not revolution. That’s memory management.
That’s authoring the past to control the future.
And they’re doing it while you scroll.
So yes, the revolution might be livestreamed.
You might see the march.
You might hear the chant.
You might even cry at the footage.
But unless you understand the power structure—how it morphs, adapts, disguises itself—you’re watching the show, not the system.
Because Power learned from Gil Scott-Heron too.
It realized it didn’t need to silence the revolution.
It just needed to distract from its own.
Make enough noise in the streets, and nobody notices what’s happening on the 38th floor.
So what do we do?
We stop thinking of revolution as a performance.
We stop mistaking visibility for power.
We stop scrolling long enough to ask: Who’s funding this? Who’s shaping this? Who’s profiting from the chaos?
We remember that memory is resistance.
That organizing is boring but essential.
That truth is often quiet, but enduring.
And that the real revolution doesn’t need applause.
It needs eyes open, minds sharp, and people brave enough to see both battles at once: The one in the streets—and the one in the spreadsheets.
Because the cameras are on. The stage is lit. But if you want to understand the revolution, look backstage.