A Spooky Story
On November 7th, no matter who wins the race, the scion of a corrupt oligarchy-promoting party will be elected to the most important office on the planet. Your participation is a tragic farce, and ultimately meaningless. Economic stratification will continue apace, and the emerging transnational ruling class will solidify into a self-conscious group of neo-feudal overlords.
The new overclass is healthier, and more beautiful than you. They are better educated, with broader opportunities. It goes without saying that they can buy and sell you at a whim. They have no national loyalties, for they do not identify with you and your fellow serfs. Their peers are the elites of foreign nations, and they hop national borders with something like impunity. Wherever they land, the suborn the government to their own will. The screws will continue to tighten, wringing ever more from you to be sucked away by the rapacious maw of global capitalism. You will be twisted until the last drop of blood is squeezed from your desiccated corpse, and the husk will be thrown onto the discard pile. Your children will be your replacements.
The environment will continue to deteriorate, because the overclass needs their helicopter taxis to get to their nightclubs. Why should they care? As the few remaining areas of stable weather get smaller and smaller, they will simply buy up the land and build walls around it. Guards are cheap, and there will always be serfs desperate to escape the lowest classes by turning on their brothers. Your homes will be blasted by lethal weather, year after year. Food prices will climb. There is no escape. They have taken all the refuges for themselves.
As biotechnology advances, new techniques in gene therapy and prosthetic replacement will grant them longer lives and enhanced capabilities. These will, of course, be far too expensive for the likes of you. Your overlord will be a eighty year old psychopath with the body of a teenager and an IQ to shame Einstein, and you will be little more than a draft animal to him.
They will keep you docile with cheap toys to dull the pain. Television featuring implausibly beautiful people–members of the overclass, so you come to love your oppressors, naturally–playing at being Just Regular Folks in a patronizing pantomime of the horrors of the new age. Ultraviolent games to vent your frustrations on. Nothing about love, or human dignity, or justice. Your culture will be a carefully honed entertainment product, extruded and marketed to you through DRM locked distribution channels that They own. On no account will you be encouraged to create your own art. The only artists allowed to feed themselves will be tools of the establishment, churning out fear-building propaganda.
All of us, the new slave caste, will march each morning to our cube farms with iPods in our ears and fear in our hearts.