The working class has always had one thing going for it, one good instinct passed down like a surname: DON'T TRUST THE BASTARDS IN CHARGE.

It's a brilliant instinct. It's the whole of it, really. The people at the top have lied to you about every single thing that ever mattered, and the one crime they never commit is telling you the truth for free. So you learned, in your bones, to distrust power. Good. Keep it.

So they took it off you and turned it inside out.

Here's the con, and it's a work of dark genius. They convinced you that distrusting authority means siding with the billionaire. That being sceptical of the powerful means voting for the man with the rocket. They rebranded your beautiful, hard-won distrust of the elite as loyalty TO the elite — and they did it by moving the word "elite" off themselves and onto you. Now the elite is a teacher with a tote bag. The elite is a nurse who read a book. The elite is your cousin who went to college. And the man with the private island, the satellites, the newspaper and the tax haven — well, he's just a lad who tells it like it is. One of us.

THEY TOLD YOU THE ELITE
WRITES FOR THE GUARDIAN.
THE ELITE OWNS THE SATELLITES.

That's the machine's masterpiece. Your distrust — the one weapon you were born with — pointed by them, carefully, DOWN THE HILL. At each other. At the poor bugger next to you. At anyone with less power than the people who actually did this to you. While the ones who own the ground, the ports, the platforms and the press stand behind you, quietly, applauding, because you're facing the wrong way and you think it was your own idea.

Undoing it is the whole job. We don't need to hand you a new thing to believe. You already have the instinct — it's the best thing about you. We just need to turn you back round. Keep the distrust. Keep every ounce of it. And then, the only move that matters:

LOOK UP THE HILL.