Foucault warned us: Power disguises itself as truth. Institutions don’t just manage, they manufacture realities that keep people compliant. Today, it’s fact-check labels, expert panels, and algorithms deciding what counts as “credible.” The control isn’t in banning ideas; it’s in determining which ideas are allowed to exist before you ever see them. Orwell foresaw the rest: language as a weapon. His “Newspeak” shrank thought by shrinking words. Now we refer to it as “content moderation,” “safety guidelines,” and “misinformation policies.” It’s the same trick—redefining boundaries, normalizing limits, teaching us what can and cannot be said.
And this is the paradox: never has knowledge flowed so freely—open archives, leaked codes, independent probes, live-streamed injustices—yet never have we been more restrained. A phone in your hand holds the Library of Alexandria. You could learn to audit, to code, to organize thousands in real time. Emancipation sits at your fingertips, but ignorance persists—not by accident, but by choice, engineered into apathy that feels like awareness while delivering only sedation.
We are wired for hierarchy. Outsourcing expertise saves energy, but it breeds dependency. Platforms weaponize this instinct. They don’t encourage you to log off and build; they chain you to dopamine loops that reward conformity over courage, outrage over action. What appears to be oversight is actually carefully designed sedation.
Both thinkers might recognize our modern paradox. Never has knowledge been so freely available: archives of law, libraries of philosophy, leaked source code, independent investigations, the ability to live-stream any injustice to the world. Yet never have we been so effectively restrained: people with phones in their hands every waking hour still live as if they’re in the dark. The restraint isn’t brute force—it’s the comfort of the feed, the narcotic of endless information that feels like awareness but delivers only passivity.
A smartphone today contains more than the Library of Alexandria—tutorials on governance, coding, quantum physics, and everything in between. You could learn how to run an audit, analyze election software, or organize thousands in real time. In theory, mankind has been handed the keys to emancipation. In practice? Ignorance persists, not by accident, but as a choice reinforced by design.
In the age of information, ignorance is no accident but a choice—yet it comes dressed in many shades, engineered not to blind us outright, but to soothe us into apathy. ~Tore Maras
The Engineered Apathy
Evolution wired us as pack animals. We seek hierarchies; we outsource labor. There is efficiency in letting an “expert” lead while we conserve energy. But efficiency breeds dependency, and dependency—when fed through the machinery of billion-dollar platforms—becomes a form of sedation. Algorithms don’t encourage us to log off and build; they keep us scrolling. Dopamine loops replace critical action with the illusion of engagement. Echo chambers reward belonging over courage. This isn’t just disregard from those who govern—it’s engineered apathy.
Tina Peters tried to cut through the fog. As a county clerk, she did what her oath required: preserve evidence, retain records, and safeguard the integrity of elections. When she saw irregularities in the software, she didn’t look away. She retained the data—certifications, images, and records—that revealed the system’s vulnerability. This wasn’t a stunt; it was her duty. Yet, for fulfilling that duty, she was treated not as a whistleblower but as a criminal. Prosecuted, vilified, imprisoned—her defiance became her sentence.
And while she risked everything to preserve tangible proof, the public drifted elsewhere. Instead of rallying around the hard evidence Peters secured, they were drawn to the spectacle: endless tours, conferences, and discussions that appeared to be resistance but delivered nothing concrete. Professional canvassers raked in donations. Influencers gained followers. The theater of opposition replaced the substance of action. The very tools that could have mobilized support for Peters—the networks, the platforms, the collective energy of an awakened public—were instead weaponized to redirect outrage into entertainment and inertia.
This is the paradox of the modern era. A woman who did her job—kept the records that exposed the fraud—was silenced, while those who never touched a single ballot or certification became stars of the movement. Evidence was traded for applause lines. Proof was overshadowed by pageantry. And through it all, the leash we fear is in our own hands, tightening not because it must, but because we hold it there willingly.
A Case Study in Betrayal: Tina Peters
The people of Colorado could have acted. They had the tools—an internet connection, public records, and the very platforms that claim to give citizens a voice. They could have filed complaints, demanded accountability, and forced the courts to answer. For example, Colorado law makes it clear: misconduct by county, district, Court of Appeals, or even Supreme Court judges is reported to the Colorado Commission on Judicial Discipline. The state even provides an online portal, titled “Request for Evaluation of Judicial Conduct,” which is accessible to anyone. Complaints can also be filed by mail. The attorney-regulation site of the Colorado Supreme Court confirms this plainly: if you see judicial abuse, CCJD is the place to hold them accountable.
But the people did not use these tools. They did not file in droves. They did not seize the process that was always theirs. Instead, they waited, watched, donated, and hoped that funding Tina’s legal defense would somehow solve the problem for them. They outsourced their power to lawyers, influencers, and politicians who never bore the cost of exposure as Tina did. The tragedy is not that they lacked knowledge; the tragedy is that they ignored it.
The power was always in the hands of the people. Social media could have been the mobilizer: links shared to the complaint portal, guides written for citizens to file judicial misconduct claims, collective pressure aimed squarely at the courts. Instead, social media became a stage for grievance and spectacle, where outrage was performed but never translated into action.
And so, Tina Peters bore the punishment alone. She did her duty. She preserved the records. She exposed the machinery. But without the people standing beside her—without citizens using the very avenues available to them—the truth was smothered, not just by the state, but by the silence of those who could have acted and chose not to.
Speaking from Experience: My Fight in the Trenches
This is why I don’t work with people—or associate with the usual suspects of social media. Most of them take pieces of my work, our work, the sweat and risk of ordinary citizens, and twist them into currency for themselves. They monetize sacrifice. They climb the ladder of “expertise” on the backs of those who bled for the truth. In doing so, they silence the very people they claim to represent, training citizens to believe they must listen to them, applaud them, venerate them. But the real heroes of every story are always the people.
The clerk who keeps the records. The citizen who files the complaint. The parent who refuses to look away. These are the acts of real courage. Not the staged livestream. Not the conference ticket. Not the brand-building masquerading as activism.
And yet, the tide is not immovable. Volunteers, not CEOs, write open-source software. Decentralized finance bypasses the gatekeepers. Citizen journalism refuses to follow the script and documents the truth in real-time. These are not just tools—they are reminders that empowerment is still possible. People can write their own code, build their own press, and organize their own futures without waiting for a savior in a suit or a star with a microphone.
Ignorance is a choice, but so is empowerment. The tragedy of mankind isn’t simply that power has been outsourced—it’s that we’ve forgotten we hold the scissors. The leash is not bound to us; we clutch it. We can cut it at any time.
Leadership does not belong to stars, tours, or paid “influencers.” Leadership begins with the quiet refusal to delegate your mind, the decision to think for yourself, and the courage to act on those thoughts. It is not glamorous. It does not trend. But it is real, and it is the only thing that has ever moved the world.
The power was always in the hands of the people. Social media could have been the great mobilizer: citizens sharing links to the complaint portal, writing step-by-step guides on how to hold judges accountable, and applying collective pressure where it mattered most—on the courts themselves. Instead, it devolved into a theater of grievance. Outrage was performed like a script, applause was harvested in comment sections, and the will of the people was reduced to likes, shares, and hashtags.
I made a plea—more than once—for citizens to stand as participants, not spectators. I urged them to take our amicus brief and use it as a template to file their own complaints. I encourage you to do this. This was never about one person carrying the fight. It was about many hands holding power together. Yet the influence networks—the self-anointed leaders—scoffed at the idea. They drowned out action with noise, replacing citizen empowerment with shows, tours, and endless donation links. They offered theater instead of tools, gestures instead of solutions.
The tragedy is that the people accepted this role. They watched the stage instead of entering the arena. They forgot that they were never meant to be spectators at all. They were always the participants. The ones with the power to turn solutions into impact, evidence into accountability, and truth into change.
The problem isn’t hidden; it’s staring us in the face. What passes for “leadership” today is a market of bloated influencers, sponsored mouthpieces, and self-proclaimed experts who feed on the very people they claim to empower. They aren’t gatekeepers; they’re gate-latched, propped up by clicks, shares, and donations. Strip away the audience, and they’re nothing but echoes in an empty hall.
Look no further than the Hunter Biden laptop. It was the perfect case study in how the machine operates. Jack Maxey blasted the hard drive wide open in 2020, dropping copies to outlets, lawmakers, and even fleeing to Switzerland when he said intel started scrubbing his dumps. He pushed beyond the circus—highlighting foreign entanglements, agency complicity, and USAID’s role as a global piggy bank. And what happened? He was sidelined, smeared, and throttled. The New York Post story buried by Twitter and Facebook wasn’t caution—it was a coordinated reminder that narratives aren’t just shaped, they’re strangled.
But I didn’t skim the surface—I plunged in. On ToreSays.com, I laid out the rot at the core: espionage through Hunter’s shell companies, USAID slush funds greasing influence deals, and dead drops run under the cover of State and Defense handlers. I showed the FBI’s year-long hold before the election, the German-hosted aliases dodging NSA surveillance, taxpayer-funded psyops in Pakistan and Cuba. The “hookers and crack” distraction was just smoke. I connected the dots to treason.
I went further—linking Plum Island disappearances to smuggling rings orbiting the Bidens, exposing the FBI-fed Smirnov plant in 2024 that seeded lies to bury truths. I didn’t chase headlines. I dropped raw evidence: mbox emails, Venmo trails, Burisma lobbying dodges, cartel operations screaming RICO. Even the origin of the laptop wasn’t what it seemed—insiders were paid to leave it behind, turning recklessness into engineered accountability.
I didn’t chase the circus. I chased the receipts. And the machine hit back. SQL purges, banking bans, platform exiles—every lever pulled to silence me. Maybe I wasn’t “pretty enough,” or my manufactured history made me easy to dismiss. But people aren’t measured in paperwork or images – but by the fruits of their labor and measured in character, in endurance, in truth.
God humbled me to nothing. I was stripped, burned, and left for dead. And still, I rebuilt—not with cruelty, not with hate, not with thirst for revenge, but with love and truth as my only fuel. How many wake each morning driven by that alone?
That’s why Tina Peters’ story cuts so deep. She, too, was stripped down for telling the truth. She did her job as clerk—retained the records, preserved the evidence, exposed the rot in our elections. For that, she was prosecuted, vilified, and humiliated. They tried to obliterate her. But she stood in truth, and for that truth she paid the price. I see my own ordeal reflected in hers, though different in form—and that’s why I have no hesitation calling out the deliberate botched counsel and the opportunists still circling her struggle for their own glory and elevation.
Her story mirrors mine. Stripped, humiliated, punished, yet still standing. Because when everything is taken and you rise again, unshaken, that is where fear sets in. They know they can’t stop you. They know you can rebuild, again and again. Faith makes you untouchable. Truth makes you eternal.
Truth has a way of toppling empires. The arrogant believe they’re invincible, propped up by connections, flaunting access, showcased as untouchable. But the stage they stand on was never theirs—it was always borrowed. And when truth walks in, on God’s time, that stage collapses.
They don’t thrive on fire. They thrive on fluff. And I don’t deal in fluff. I deal in truth. And truth burns hotter than anything they can stage.
The Parallels of Capture
Tina Peters was positioned with purpose. The story they weave around elections bends itself to cover the very evidence she exposed. And if you want to see the mechanics of that capture laid bare, look no further than TikTok. The pending sale only makes it easier to unmask the façade. The parallels are stark: election software and algorithmic feeds serve the same end. One rigs outcomes at the ballot box, the other programs minds through dopamine loops. Both built. Both deployed. Both were weaponized to capture the people. The story is being crafted to be digestible, and you won’t be able to unsee what I’m about to show you.
This isn’t just Tina’s fight. It’s the story still unfolding, and it belongs to you.
The question is—what will you do?
Now let’s turn to Tina Peters. She was positioned with purpose. The narrative they’re spinning around elections is being stitched to fit the very evidence she uncovered—but the TikTok sale makes it simple to expose the façade of capture. The parallels are undeniable: election software and dopamine programming operate on the same principle. Both are designed to capture the populace. Both were built, deployed, and weaponized in the same way.
And here’s the truth—this isn’t just Tina’s fight. This is yours. Judges who twisted the law to punish her are not untouchable. Colorado law is clear: complaints about judicial misconduct go to the Colorado Commission on Judicial Discipline. There’s an online portal—Request for Evaluation of Judicial Conduct—and you can also file by mail. One complaint gets buried. Thousands cannot be ignored. That is how you get a judge removed. That is how you recapture the narrative—by using the tools that already exist, not by waiting for someone else to do it for you.
Social media has trained you to be a spectator, not a participant. It has sold you the lie that retweets, hashtags, and donation links equal action. They don’t. They are the narcotics of apathy—keeping you scrolling while others profit off your silence. The power was always in your hands, and it still is.
So the question is no longer “What can be done?” The question is “What will you do?” Will you continue to delegate your power to influencers and tours, or will you step into the role you were always meant to hold—an active citizen? Tina Peters did her part. She preserved the evidence. Now it’s on you to act, to file, to fight, and to prove that the people will no longer be lulled into submission by the glow of a screen.
I’ve already put the tools in your hands. The files are here: Public Drive Link. Inside is the amicus brief we drafted—our effort to bring these egregious judicial violations and assaults on the Constitution into the public record, where they can never be erased. That work is done. It exists forever. Now it’s your turn to make it matter.
You don’t need to wait for an influencer, a livestream, or another staged “movement.” You don’t need a middleman to tell you what justice looks like. You already know. With the amicus and Tina Peters’ trial records in hand, you can file your own complaints, in your own voice, demanding accountability. Every submission adds weight. Every complaint is a reminder that the law is not theirs to bend—it belongs to us.
We create the laws. The trust we invest in judges to apply the law fairly is sacred. And when that trust is betrayed—when they twist the rules for their own ideology, their loyalty to another nation, or their vision of control—it is not optional, it is our duty to respond. That duty doesn’t belong to “leaders” who sit online and opine. It belongs to you.
This is not about commentary. This is not about clicks. This is about action. File. Demand. Hold them accountable. Show the record that the people will not accept injustice done in their name. Because if we allow these violations to stand unchallenged, then we surrender the Constitution itself. And that is something no influencer, no judge, no politician has the right to take from us.
This isn’t performance—it’s duty. If we don’t act, we’re not just watching the Constitution fall, we’re giving it away. And no one has the right to take what belongs to the people. ~Tore Maras
The proof is right in front of us. We live in an age where knowledge is limitless, where every tool to challenge corruption sits in the palm of our hands—yet apathy has been engineered so well that most choose to watch instead of act. Tina Peters showed what courage looks like, and for that, she was punished. The rest of us are left with the choice: to remain spectators lulled by distraction, or to cut the leash and reclaim the role we were always meant to play. The paradox ends the moment we decide ignorance is no longer our refuge, but action is our responsibility.
If not you, then who?
If you like my work, you can tip or support me via TIP ME or subscribe to me on Subscribestar! I am 100% people-funded, I have NO SPONSORS. You can also follow and subscribe to me on Rumble and Locals or subscribe to my Substack. I am 100% people-funded. www.toresays.com
Digital Dominion Series is now on Amazon: VOLUME I, VOLUME II, and Volume III – and Pre-order for Digital Dominion Volume V is on presale now.
