The Grand Parade of Power: Understanding the Illusion of Control

Every era has its absurd trends. The 70s had bell-bottom pants, the 2000s had polyphonic ringtones, and today we have… the eternal, indestructible obsession with power. Yes, power, that dazzling flame that attracts crowds like a lamp attracts moths, except in this case the moths fight each other for the privilege of being electrocuted first. And this spectacle replays in every generation, like a bad sitcom that keeps getting renewed despite disastrous reviews.

The most ironic part? Nobody is forcing these candidates at gunpoint to “serve the nation” or “guide the people.” They raise their hands themselves, practically shouting: “Me! Me! Give me the electric chair, I even brought my own cushion!” It’s hard to think of another human activity where so many people fight for a burden they’ll eventually regret. Even marathon runners know their legs will hurt, but at least they don’t pretend they’re running to save humanity.

The Illusion of Control: Piloting a Machine Bigger Than You

The first cause of this madness is laughably simple: believing that having power means actually controlling something. In reality, it’s like boarding a plane thinking you’re flying it, when you’re really just stuck in the bathroom. You press a few buttons, things beep, and you convince yourself you’re in charge. But the truth is the machine is infinitely larger, older, and more stubborn than the so-called pilot. The State, institutions, lobbies, bureaucratic habits—this is a tidal wave of concrete. The poor leader ends up reduced to the exact size of their mistakes, no more, no less.

In other words, the quest for greatness mostly produces shrinkage. The mighty leader becomes an administrative silhouette, a walking PowerPoint slide, trapped between spreadsheets and international obligations. In the end, it’s not the leader steering the wheel, it’s the Outlook calendar. The tragic truth: power doesn’t elevate, it compresses.

The Fear of Being a Small Fish

Then there’s the logic of “if I climb high enough, I won’t be prey anymore.” It’s the same strategy as a pet jumping onto the couch to avoid being trampled by kids. Many chase power simply to escape being crushed by neighbors, bosses, or rivals. But the higher you climb, the more you meet predators who are bigger, meaner, and far better fed. You’ve traded a thousand ants for one tiger. Congratulations.

Fewer enemies, sure, but they’re heavyweight enemies. And let’s be honest: just because fewer people want to eat you doesn’t mean the meal is more pleasant.

The Thrill of Altitude

There’s also this primitive pleasure: feeling “above” the crowd. Imagine looking at a city from the top of a skyscraper. Thousands of tiny silhouettes, busy living lives you’ll never understand. The leader gets a shiver: “Look, all of this is under me!” In reality, nothing is under control. It’s like saying you “own” the ocean because you scooped up a bucket of water. People keep shopping for groceries, life goes on, and the leader doesn’t even know their names. Dominating statistics is the adult equivalent of collecting imaginary Pokémon cards.

The Temptation of Being Carved in Stone

Another engine driving the power obsession is the morbid desire to leave a mark in History. Some dream of inaugurating monuments, signing treaties, launching wars—like scrawling graffiti on a bathroom wall: “I was here too.” The great illusion is believing that legacy equals immortality. In practice, you just become a footnote in a dusty textbook no one reads, sandwiched between two battle dates. Public glory never redeems private conscience. One can die famous and still feel utterly dissatisfied—a fairly bleak combo.

The Carnival of Titles and Costumes

We can’t ignore the irresistible pull of ceremonies and protocol. Endless banquets, coded greetings, pompous press releases—it’s all theater where costumes replace reality. The goal isn’t to be just, but to be seen as important. It’s institutional cosplay, except instead of plastic swords, you’ve got irreversible laws. After a while, even the leaders forget they’re playing a role. Clothes don’t make the man, but they make a perfectly convincing minister.

Tribal Pride Disguised as Virtue

Finally, there’s that primitive pride: feeling “great” just because you command others. It’s the monkey reflex of climbing the highest branch. Yet what should feel like a crushing moral burden is celebrated like a victory. The misunderstanding is spectacular: we applaud people who voluntarily take on a weight nearly impossible to carry. Logically, we should pity them. Maybe even send them pillows and chocolates, like visitors to the hospice of common sense.

Power as an Extreme Sport

Let’s recap. The chase for power is fueled by a cocktail of primal impulses: illusion of control, fear of fragility, thrill of altitude, hunger for glory, love of rituals, tribal pride. To explain this to an alien, you could say: “Humans fight over who gets to hold a live grenade because it shines and makes for great photos.”

And the worst part? Nobody is forcing them. People sign up for this role like they’re joining a boxing club without ever having taken a punch. It’s what we might call a moral extreme sport: you volunteer for an activity where failure is guaranteed, and success means only limiting the damage.

The Great Perversion: Wanting the Impossible

The real problem isn’t governing. It’s wanting to govern. In other words, desiring a responsibility that exceeds human capacity. Every decision is a stone skipped across a lake, except the ripples spread across generations. And intentions don’t matter: injustice multiplies just as fast as ambition. No destructive policy is fully reversible, no ill-judged war completely erasable. Wanting this is already proof of dangerous arrogance.

The Tragic Necessity

Someone will say: “But someone has to govern.” True. But that’s no excuse to hand out medals. Governing is a useful burden, not a privilege. A lucid sacrifice, not a calling to greatness. Those who accept should be treated like volunteers cleaning up a disaster site, not mythic heroes. And their success should be measured not by how many decisions they made, but by how many they resisted making. The real glory lies in not pushing the big red button.

Changing the Collective Lens

The first reform isn’t institutional, it’s psychological. As long as power is desired as a prize, everything will be warped. It should be viewed as a chore, an open invitation to moral peril. Greatness should lie in knowing how to refuse—or only accepting under extreme conditions. Fewer red carpets, more ethical speed bumps. Fewer laurel wreaths, more guardrails. And perhaps, finally, a society that applauds those smart enough to say “no thanks” to the top job.

Reinventing Success

Political success shouldn’t be measured in reforms passed or monuments erected. It should be measured in mistakes avoided, suffering prevented, temptations of power resisted. The best leader is the one who leaves the fewest scars, not the most statues. And when the irreversible is unavoidable, it should be minimal, strictly necessary, and validated not by the thrill of History but by the slow grind of prudence.

Conclusion: The Courage to Say No

The race for power isn’t a noble adventure. It’s a tragic farce where people fight for a burning chair. We don’t desire the good, we desire the appearance of the good. We don’t chase justice, we chase the costume of justice. As long as pride outweighs prudence, as long as the intoxication of History beats the conscience of the innocent, we’ll keep running headlong into the abyss, cheering all the way.

And maybe true courage is simply not to run at all. To say politely: “Thanks, but no thanks, I’d rather keep my soul intact than have my name on a boulevard.” That might be the most radical revolution of all: learning to celebrate refusal. Because stopping the race is already governing better.