Humans have long been celebrated as the most intelligent species on Earth. Our languages, our art, our ability to reason, and the civilizations we have built are held up as proof of that superiority. But a troubling question lurks behind this pride: are our thoughts truly our own? Or, as Rousseau once wrote, are we “in chains at every step,” shackled not by visible iron but by invisible forces that dictate what we think, what we value, and even what we dream?
When examined closely, the idea of intellectual freedom begins to look more like an illusion. Identities, values, tastes, and judgments are often not the organic products of individual experience but the result of careful shaping by powerful forces. These forces work subtly yet relentlessly— through education, media, history, religion, and ideology— embedding themselves so deeply in the human mind that those controlled begin to think of their chains as ornaments.
From our notions of morality to our diets, from dress codes to religious rituals, from aesthetic preferences to career ambitions— everything carries the fingerprints of regulation. But the regulators are often not our immediate communities; they are the distant but pervasive legacies of colonialism, reinforced by today’s neo-colonizers: global institutions, multinational corporations, and political powers that understand control is most effective when it is invisible.
French philosopher Michel Foucault offers one of the sharpest tools for understanding this phenomenon— discourse. Discourse is more than conversation. It is the structured framework that determines what can be said, what is deemed “truth,” and what must be dismissed as falsehood. In the realm of medicine, for instance, discourse has the power to decide what counts as a legitimate disease, who can claim authority to treat it, and what treatments are acceptable. For decades, Traditional Chinese Medicine was dismissed in the West as “unscientific,” not because it failed to heal but because it did not fit into the Western medical framework. Its eventual acceptance came only when it was reframed in Western terms. Truth, here, was not about efficacy; it was about power— about who gets to define it.
Foucault’s insight that knowledge and power are inseparable dovetails with Louis Althusser’s idea of Ideological State Apparatuses (ISA) and Repressive State Apparatuses (RSA). These are the tools— sometimes subtle, sometimes blunt— through which the state and ruling powers shape belief and behaviour. Italian Marxist Antonio Gramsci took it further with his notion of cultural hegemony: the ruling class maintains dominance not only through coercion but through consent, by convincing the ruled that the ruler’s worldview is the only rational one.
Colonial history offers countless examples of this. The British Empire, for instance, did not rule solely through armies. It ruled through stories, textbooks, and narratives that convinced colonized people that British civilization meant progress, order, and morality. Colonized populations came to measure their worth by their ability to imitate their rulers— learning English, dressing in Western fashion, adopting European manners. The chains were internalized.
The most lasting victory of colonization was not territorial— it was psychological. Eurocentrism seeped into education, fashion, science, and even self-worth. Even after the political end of colonialism, the intellectual and cultural structures remained intact. Today, global education systems still largely privilege Western history, Western philosophy, and Western scientific narratives, often sidelining or erasing the contributions of other civilizations. The innovations of Muslim scientists in algebra, optics, and medicine, for example, were often repackaged under European names or omitted altogether from mainstream curricula.
Power will always shape the world. The question is whether it will continue to shape human consciousness unchallenged. A society that surrenders its capacity to question is a society that has surrendered its future. But a society that nurtures awareness, cultivates critical thought, and refuses to mistake shadows for reality may yet find the courage to step out of the cave. And when enough people step out, the puppeteers lose their grip— not because the chains have vanished, but because the people have learned how to live without them.
This rewriting of history has consequences. It conditions people in developing nations to look toward the West as the epicenter of innovation, culture, and intelligence. The West becomes the standard; everything else becomes the “other.” This is not a historical relic— it is an ongoing project. Global media and cultural exports continue to frame Western lifestyles as modern and desirable, while portraying non-Western ways of living as outdated or inferior.
Philosophically, this condition mirrors Plato’s Allegory of the Cave. Most of humanity, like the prisoners in the cave, sees only shadows on the wall— images projected by the systems of education, media, and ideology. The puppeteers, whether political leaders, corporations, or cultural institutions, decide what shadows appear. And when someone escapes the cave and tries to describe the outside world— the more complex and uncomfortable truth— they are often ridiculed, silenced, or dismissed as dangerous. We see this today when whistleblowers, dissidents, and critics of dominant narratives are labeled as radicals, conspiracy theorists, or threats to stability.
The psychological aftermath of colonization runs deep. Many in post-colonial societies grow up with an unspoken sense of inferiority, aspiring to migrate to countries that once exploited their homelands. Neo-colonizers eagerly welcome this migration of talent, benefitting from the labour, creativity, and innovation of the developing world, while the home countries are drained of their brightest minds.
Meanwhile, in the global arena, control is maintained through monopolies— on technology, on nuclear power, on financial systems. Neo-colonizers claim the role of guardians of “global security” while ensuring that only they hold the most strategic advantages. Efforts by developing nations to assert independence, whether in military capacity, economic policy, or cultural narrative, are often met with economic sanctions, regime-change operations, or diplomatic isolation. The message is clear: challenges to the existing order will be neutralized swiftly and decisively.
Escaping this matrix is no easy task. It begins with a willingness to ask uncomfortable questions: Who am I? What do I believe? Why do I believe it? These questions cut through the comforting illusions that dominant systems provide. They are difficult, even dangerous, because they threaten the mental architecture that has been carefully built to sustain power.
Education— real education, not just formal schooling— is essential to this process. Self-education, the kind that Frederick Douglass embraced to liberate himself from the intellectual bondage of slavery, is a revolutionary act. It involves questioning authority, challenging assumptions, and seeking knowledge beyond the narratives fed to us. Without this, individuals risk becoming loyal instruments of the very systems that exploit them.
Yet it would be naïve to imagine that complete liberation from all systems of control is possible— or even desirable. Some structures are necessary for order and cooperation. The challenge lies in distinguishing between systems that serve the collective good and those that exist primarily to sustain the power of a few. Chinua Achebe’s Things Fall Apart captures the tragedy of communities caught between resisting harmful systems and navigating the inevitability of change.
The information we consume is another battleground. In an age where social media algorithms curate our realities, it is crucial to ask: is this content enlightening or manipulating? Is it expanding my worldview or narrowing it? A passive consumer of information is the ideal subject of control; an active, critical thinker is its greatest threat.
No individual can dismantle these vast systems alone. Change, if it is to be meaningful, must be collective. When communities begin to think critically, to challenge the stories that justify inequality, and to support one another in the pursuit of truth, the foundations of hegemony begin to crack. This is not an overnight transformation; it is a slow, often invisible process. But it is the only path toward reclaiming the mind from the invisible chains of the matrix.
Power will always shape the world. The question is whether it will continue to shape human consciousness unchallenged. A society that surrenders its capacity to question is a society that has surrendered its future. But a society that nurtures awareness, cultivates critical thought, and refuses to mistake shadows for reality may yet find the courage to step out of the cave. And when enough people step out, the puppeteers lose their grip— not because the chains have vanished, but because the people have learned how to live without them.
