On the Elites and the Proletariat

I grew up during the 1970s in a second-tier Communist country, where no one cared about anyone but themselves. People would lie, cheat, and steal just to get ahead and join the Elites. Rampant corruption (still present to this day) and socioeconomic classes based on proximity to "the take" left a vivid impression on my young mind of how not to build a society.

The Elites in that country were not the most educated folk but rather the most connected and the most brazen—breaking all kinds of rules, laws, and norms. Yet, they were Elites because they had access to the world outside the Iron Curtain and sent their children to study abroad, not unlike the North Korean dictators did. I guess it was a trend back then.

I was not among the Elites. My family was lower-middle class; my parents were a banker and an accountant. But I had a happy childhood. Aside from jeans and a stereo, there weren't many things I missed. Oh, and bananas. We only had bananas for Christmas (or rather, New Year's, since Communism doesn't celebrate Christmas), and I really loved that fruit.

Enter the Proletariat

I don't use this word lightly—it has been used to justify the killing of innocents and the destruction of entire societies. Some Latin American countries are still reeling from its consequences. This is a word painted in the blood of many and will be forever stained. But I am no Marxist, nor a Communist. I use it to refer to those left behind—left behind by the society they live in, whether in a Communist backwater or an advanced economy. I guess I could say for a period of time I was part of that Proletariat, but somehow escaped. And no, I didn't join no Elites, I was just no longer left behind.

Fast forward to the 1990s

Having settled in the U.S., my awe of this new and vastly better world was nothing short of idyllic. It was as if I had jumped into the future. Everything was better. Meritocracy ruled, and I was exuberant. It didn't hurt that my journey in America began in California. I had landed in one of the wealthiest places in the country—Orange County. No wonder it felt like the future. Everyone was well-off, or at least not struggling. This was the land of the Elites, the kind of society that Communism had promised us, according to my childhood brainwashing teachers.

Eventually…

I started traveling across my new country, seeing the real United States—from rural counties to coastal enclaves, from northern ranches to the southern border, and everything in between. Beautiful! Not just the landscapes, but the people and the society they had built, which I now proudly call home. But… there is always a but.

I also started noticing familiar patterns. Inequality was apparent everywhere I went. There were people who flew private and people working full-time who still couldn't afford the necessities. People of average intelligence who couldn't get ahead by doing what their parents had done. Ordinary people who were falling behind with each new generation. The Proletariat.

And so, here is why…

I decided to write this and get it off my chest. These people—the Proletariat, those left behind by the Elites, they also get a vote both proverbially and literally. No society or government can afford to abandon them, because eventually, that society will be rudely awakened by their sheer number and the actions they can take. Whether through riots or by electing demagogues like Trump, there will be a price to pay. We can only hope it never escalates to another 1917 Russia, but one way or another, we will see change—likely not for the better.