The Intelligent Slaves:

A social commentary

by Aisel Thakur

Imagine a cold winter’s day. The sun is bright, yet provides no warmth. It’s the frigid winter of New York City. Early 2000s; when dreams were well-packaged into lightly understood metaphors. It was the time period I felt the most misunderstood. It didn’t register why people constantly made the trudge in the winter of NYC. Why I had to do it in this time period boggled my brain. The same time period where my uncle looked into my eyes, with fear and sadness in his, and said, “Do you think your feelings matter? NO! Suck it up and do it, because nobody will do it for you.” It felt like we were still at war. A dream was something you had. Not something you were. And so we were reduced to our conscious and subconscious. Statistics became the only metric. Because statistics could gamble with anything. And so, on display, millennial children were shown a gilded idea of reality.

 

But, don’t be mistaken to think that was it. The gilded age of America happened roughly 100 years ago. But, can we deny it’s still happening? Can we say that it ever was truly resolved? An age where poverty was hidden. Outwardly, the country was at its peak. Inwardly, everyone was still somehow afraid. Afraid they would lose something. And, maybe more sinister, afraid they already had. That was how I saw the world wars when we learned of them in school. The clinging to sacrifice, justice, and atonement.

A fort built on pride. On sacrifice. On neglect until everyone screams, “That wasn’t the problem!!” So how is it that we delay the screaming?

Oh, just give it to him! If only to shut him up!

Let’s look at a child in a developing age. Psychologically, the child is expected to develop coping and soothing mechanisms to handle the “common stressors” humans face daily. If that sentence made you wince for the child, that it has to cope with anything at all, sit with that. For small children, small problems feel enormous. Those moments become the groundwork for everything: grief that arrives before language, anger that arrives before logic, sadness that arrives before memory, the early sense of self, the early sense of other, the internal rhythms that tell them what feels safe and what doesn’t. These big feelings often get labeled as poor or unwanted behaviors. But poor or unwanted to whom?

If the answer was the parents, then are they, in fact, actually equipped with the same coping strategies they expect of their kids? Are they as transparent about expectations? Are they able to see everyone’s perspective? And who is the end-all-be-all judge of appropriate behavior? If, in fact, a child’s angst has some merit, do they not deserve a session in court?

Oh, but then it becomes a game itself. Almost theatrically so. A parent that takes their role as ‘judge’ too seriously will end up manifesting that trauma. Was it their choice? Probably not. There’s science to defend that lack of free will, and maybe also some psychological reason why we believe we have free will. They are on the same line, I believe.

Traumas are villainized because they are given foundation in shame. That if you were to traumatize your kids, your only antidote is to feel bad about it. Guilt. A funny emotion. It’s actually a projection. And children read those. So we all kind of collectively taught our millennials empathy on steroids. To slow them down. And give them less power. To force a generation to be the most educated and least paid. In addition to Gen Z.

But, we are not invaluable. We are actually very precious right now. We have given our time having “fun” with our devices, using them as “crutches” because we couldn’t “kick it” like the normies. We see problems by the thousands and that creates room for more avenues of growth. Who are “we?” We are everyone who’s had to hear it. And according to statistics… that’s pretty much everyone. We are absorbers of parroted words and beliefs that contradict each other, and we must also distinguish the truth from the blatant falacy.

 

 

"Remember Where The Fuck You Came From" by Aisel Thakur. 4 x 6 acrylic on canvas panel.

The questions I need to ask myself about this observation of mine is: Is it just me? Was it just me? Is it my fault I’m not doing more? Is more available to me? Am I willing to see where more is available for me? Am I willing to break that mindset?

But most importantly:

Can I be a pioneer without becoming homeless?

I suppose the title was a little deceiving. I don’t know where any millennial is in their life. I only know me. I stay away from most people because I feel their projections about themselves. Then, asking for money becomes another game. It becomes immoral. And when I put out all this work and make no money or derive any enjoyment, it begs the truth to come forth.

Is the programming done programming, yet?

 

מי שאומר לעולמו די, יאמר צרות עמי די

How many SSRIs do you need? How many months, years, eons, incarnations, gilgulim? Am I just depressed, or am I a sponge squeezed plum out? The sponge that had to learn a religion that required so many rules and regulations. Even taking a breath was hard in a rigid existence. Everyone had to behave, or else! Everyone was a threat! Everyone listened to us. But, somehow, we knew nothing of them.

Paranoia. It’s a mental illness no child should have to carry. Yet, I live with it every day. Not because I’m doing anything wrong. But because I fought to get here, and there’s still so far to go.

 

 

All rights reserved to the author, Aisel Thakur. 2026