The Illusion of Left and Right: A Personal Reflection on the Rise of Populism

I’ve been grappling with a troubling realization lately, one that’s shaken my understanding of the political landscape. We’re told the world is divided into left and right, liberal and conservative, progressive and traditionalist. But the more I dig, the more I see that these labels are a distraction—a clever sleight of hand orchestrated by those at the top. The real divide isn’t between ideologies; it’s between the elites who pull the strings and the rest of us caught in their web. This isn’t a conspiracy theory; it’s a pattern I’ve observed, and it’s fueling the rise of populism in ways that both alarm and intrigue me. Let me explain.

I used to think politics was a spectrum, with the left championing economic fairness and social progress, and the right defending tradition and individual liberty. But the mantra of political success today, as I see it, is far more cynical: be left on the economy, right on immigration, race, or religion. Confused? I was too, at first. It’s a strategy that exploits the weaknesses of capitalism while diverting attention from its failures. Politicians have realized that people are waking up to the traps of unchecked capitalism—widening inequality, stagnant wages, and corporate monopolies. So, they borrow from the left’s playbook: promise pro-people policies, welfare programs, or tax reforms to soothe the discontent. It resonates because it’s what people want to hear. But here’s the catch—they pair it with a hard-right stance on immigration, race, or religion, using these issues to shift blame for systemic failures onto vulnerable groups. It’s a masterclass in the framing effect, and I’m both awed and horrified by its effectiveness.

This tactic isn’t accidental. I view it as a deliberate move by elites—those with the wealth and influence to shape government decisions—to maintain their grip on power. Capitalism, for all its promises, has holes that are impossible to ignore. Real wages for the working class have barely budged in decades, while the top 1% have amassed unprecedented wealth. According to the Economic Policy Institute, CEO pay in the U.S. has grown 1,322% since 1978, while worker pay has risen just 18%. People feel this injustice, and they’re angry. Politicians, backed by elite donors, know they can’t defend the status quo outright. So, they offer just enough economic populism to keep the masses hopeful, while pointing fingers at minorities, immigrants, or other religions to deflect scrutiny from the real culprits: themselves and the system they uphold.

I think this is where the “us vs. them” narrative takes root, and it’s a double-edged sword. Populism, as I see it, has surged because it taps into this anger. It promises to take on the elites, to “drain the swamp” or “make America great again.” But too often, the “them” in this equation isn’t the billionaire class or the political insiders—it’s minorities, immigrants, or religious groups. This misdirection is deliberate. Donald Trump’s rhetoric, for instance, painted undocumented immigrants as the source of economic woes, while his policies slashed taxes for the ultra-wealthy. Similarly, in the UK, Brexit was sold as a revolt against EU elites, but it leaned heavily on anti-immigrant sentiment, obscuring the real issues of austerity and deregulation championed by the same leaders. I state this plainly: the elites are fine with populism as long as it targets the powerless, not the powerful.

What shocks me most is how this plays out within political parties, even those we associate with the left. Take the Democrats in the U.S. I used to see them as the party of progress, fighting for the little guy. But when I looked at their donor lists, my jaw dropped. The same billionaires and corporate giants funding Republicans—like Oracle’s Larry Ellison or Wall Street titans—pour money into Democratic campaigns too. These are the forces that sidelined Bernie Sanders, a true economic populist who dared to challenge the billionaire class. Sanders’ calls for Medicare for All and wealth taxes threatened the elite stranglehold, so the Democratic establishment rallied behind moderates like Joe Biden, whose policies are safer for the status quo. It’s not just the Republicans; the Democrats have their own elite-friendly wing, and it’s thriving.

Across the pond, I see the same pattern in the UK’s Labour Party. Jeremy Corbyn, much like Sanders, represented a left-wing vision that scared the establishment. His push for nationalization and wealth redistribution was too much for Labour’s right wing, which I view as cozy with corporate interests. Tony Blair, once hailed as the father of modern liberalism, is a case in point. His Tony Blair Institute for Global Change, which advises governments worldwide, is funded by none other than Larry Ellison, among others. This isn’t a coincidence; it’s a symptom of a deeper truth. The left-right divide within these parties isn’t about ideology—it’s about who gets to curry favor with the elite. Corbyn was sidelined, just as Sanders was, because they dared to point the finger upward, not sideways.

I’m concerned because this elite influence distorts democracy itself. The framing effect—where issues are presented to shape public perception—works because it’s relentless. Immigrants are demonized as job-stealers, Muslims as threats, minorities as outsiders, all while the real culprits—tax havens, deregulation, and corporate monopolies—go unchallenged. This continuous demonization creates a vicious cycle: people’s fears are stoked, their anger misdirected, and the elites stay untouchable. It’s wise, in a Machiavellian sense, but it’s also deeply unjust. I think we need to break free from these smaller identities—left, right, liberal, conservative—and see the bigger picture. There’s no left or right; there’s only the elite versus the people.

This brings me to populism’s rise, which I view as both a symptom and a warning. Populism thrives on “us vs. them,” but it’s been hijacked. Instead of uniting people against the elite, it’s been twisted to pit groups against each other. Trump’s base, for instance, includes working-class voters who feel betrayed by globalization, but his rhetoric often targets minorities rather than the corporate titans who offshore jobs. Similarly, right-wing populists in Europe rail against immigrants while cozying up to big business. Even left-wing populism, like Sanders’ or Corbyn’s, struggles to break through because the elite-controlled media and party machines drown them out. The irony is that populism’s energy—its rejection of the status quo—could be a force for good if it focused on the real “them”: the ultra-wealthy who rig the system.

I state this with conviction: we need to disenfranchise ourselves from the smaller identities that divide us. Race, religion, and immigration are real issues, but they’re not the root of our problems. The root is a system that lets a handful of billionaires—like Elon Musk, Larry Ellison, or the Koch brothers—shape policy to their benefit. According to OpenSecrets, the top 100 donors in the 2020 U.S. election cycle gave over $2 billion, with both parties reaping the rewards. This isn’t democracy; it’s oligarchy. The same elites fund think tanks, media outlets, and campaigns to keep us fighting over culture wars while they pocket the profits.

So, where do we go from here? I think it starts with awareness. We need to see through the framing effect and reject the scapegoating of minorities. We need to demand transparency in political funding and amplify voices like Sanders or Corbyn, who dare to name the real enemy. Most importantly, we need to build a new “us”—one that transcends left and right, race and religion, and unites against the elite. Populism can be a tool for this, but only if we redefine “them” as the billionaires and insiders who’ve gamed the system for too long. I view this as our only path forward: a collective awakening to the true divide, and a refusal to let the elites keep us distracted. The time for “us vs. them” is now—but let’s make sure we’re fighting the right fight.