We like to believe that we evolve. That societies move forward, that thinking becomes more refined, that old patterns dissolve with time. But when you look closely, the structures themselves remain remarkably familiar.

We still hold on to traditions long after they have stopped serving everyone equally. We defend systems not always because they are right, but because they offer orientation, protection, or advantage — sometimes so quietly that it no longer feels like privilege at all.

When someone begins to change something — slowly, carefully — the first response is rarely curiosity. More often it is laughter, dismissal, pointing fingers. The existing order is defended, even when its arguments have become thin or contradictory.

Absurd arguments do not weaken this defense. They often strengthen it. Because what is being protected is not logic. It is position. A place within the structure that feels earned, familiar, or necessary for one’s sense of self.

This does not only apply to those who benefit visibly. Even those who see the cracks, who reflect deeply, who question systems in theory, may still hesitate when change threatens something they rely on — stability, identity, moral certainty, or belonging.

Every system teaches its participants how to justify it. Over time, these justifications begin to sound like truth. Questioning them feels uncomfortable, not because the questions are wrong, but because they disturb an inner balance that has quietly settled.

Those who challenge the structure are rarely met with open listening. They are labeled impractical, naïve, or disruptive. Not necessarily because they are mistaken, but because they expose tensions others have learned to live with.

Change, when it happens, rarely arrives as a clear victory of reason. It begins with discomfort. With someone no longer laughing along. With someone allowing doubt to exist without rushing to replace it.

Perhaps we did not fail to change. Perhaps we simply became very skilled at defending what works well enough — for us.