THE MODERN ENQUIRER by Nick Holt
At some point, politics stopped being about ideas and solutions and became a full-blown cult. Scroll through your social media feed, and you’ll find the true believers proselytizing like street-corner prophets.
Their chaotic thoughts pour into the digital void, shaped into what they assume are absolute edicts, demanding agreement without question. Faint traces of their misguided convictions are etched into each post.
They’re addicted—not to change, but to the self-perpetuating high of outrage and the need to feel important.
Political addiction traps people in a relentless cycle of emotional manipulation and moral self-justification.
Rather than empowering individuals to drive real change, it renders them passive participants in a system designed to exploit their grievances and sustain their dissatisfaction.
Nietzsche might have called this the triumph of slave morality—a condition where the addicted cling to their sense of victimhood, nurtured by the very forces that profit from their despair.
This isn’t the 'opium' of blind faith or passive obedience; it’s a hyperactive compulsion to consume, react, and regurgitate.
Picture the addict refreshing their news app or doom-scrolling Twitter, fingers twitching for the next hit of indignation.
Left, right, or center—it doesn’t matter. The addiction transcends ideology, reducing them to pawns in a game they can’t even see, let alone control
Understanding political addiction starts with recognizing its architects. Media conglomerates, political operatives, and Big Tech platforms create and refine emotional manipulation.
Algorithms don’t educate; they provoke. Headlines demand your attention, and notifications pull you deeper into the vortex. This system doesn’t generate outrage as a byproduct—outrage is the product.
Outrage sells. It drives clicks, boosts ratings, and keeps you glued to the screen through every commercial break.
Pundits shout about existential threats, manufactured crises, and the villain of the week, and the addicted public consumes it like junk food, blind to its corrosive effects.
Meanwhile, the real villains—oligarchs and career politicians—silently consolidate power, undisturbed, while you exhaust yourself arguing with your cousin on Facebook or a total stranger on Twitter.
Political addiction’s potency lies in its illusion of agency. Unlike other forms of escapism—television, video games, or even substance abuse—it deceives you into thinking you’re participating in something meaningful.
Every comment section you dominate and every argument you win (or lose) feels like a small victory in a grand battle for truth and justice.
But this isn’t engagement; it’s enslavement. You’re not storming the gates of power—you’re really just arming the forces that oppress you.
The matrix analogy couldn’t be more fitting. Political addicts are plugged into a system that thrives on their fear, anger, and tribal loyalty.
The illusion is so complete that even questioning the system feels like heresy.
To the true addict, dissent isn’t an invitation to think critically—it’s an act of betrayal.
Observe how swiftly political addicts turn on anyone who strays from the script. A once-valued ally becomes an enemy overnight for daring to suggest a more nuanced perspective.
Nuance, after all, is the addict’s kryptonite. It threatens the binary worldview they cling to: us versus them, good versus evil, red versus blue.
This isn’t the first time humanity has fallen for such a ruse. History is littered with examples of collective delusion. In every case, the addicted masses believed they were defending truth and justice, only to wake up years later to the wreckage of their moral crusades.
Political addiction, like its predecessors, thrives on a suspension of critical thought. It replaces skepticism with dogma and complexity with memes.
The difference today is scale. The digital age has turned political addiction into a global phenomenon. It’s no longer confined to town halls or broadsheets; it’s everywhere, all the time.
The addict can’t escape it, even if they want to. Their phone is their needle, their newsfeed the endless drip of manufactured conflict.
Escaping political addiction isn’t easy. Like any addiction, it demands a reckoning with uncomfortable truths—about yourself, your beliefs, and the system you inhabit. It starts with detachment.
Stop seeing politics as a team sport, where loyalty to the tribe trumps logic and evidence. Begin by questioning the narratives you’ve been fed, even those that align with your own biases.
Unplugging from the matrix doesn’t mean apathy or ignorance. It means stepping back far enough to see the machinery for what it is: a carefully constructed illusion designed to keep you docile and distracted.
Real power doesn’t lie in hashtags or cable news panels; it lies in the quiet, unglamorous acts of self-education, civic engagement, and critical thinking.
If you remain addicted, you’re not just a victim—you’re a collaborator.
Every retweet of a misleading headline, every knee-jerk reaction to a sensational story, every tribal rallying cry you echo only strengthens the matrix’s grip.
You are serving the very system you claim to oppose.
So, the question isn’t whether political addiction is real—it is. The question is whether you’re willing to face the reality of your enslavement and do the hard work of breaking free.
The matrix has you, and the only way out is to dismantle its hold on you.