"People are waking up."
The Sleep at the End of the Dream
People have been waking up for as long as I can remember. They are as awake as they’re ever gonna be. But they’re still indolent. Did you notice that? I did.
-Gene Botkin
People keep saying they’ve awakened, as if opening their eyes is all it takes to see the writing on the wall. A few years back, everyone seemed to be talking about how “conscious” they were becoming, as though some great veil had lifted overnight. I was never entirely convinced, given that awareness often stops the moment real effort is required. People march one weekend, sign a petition the next, then flop onto their couches and scroll through social media as if their one rally or viral post has changed everything. The cycle continues, with fresh promises made each time a news story stirs a bit of outrage.
Some call these scattered actions a sign of a grand shift, but I’ve noticed that once the excitement wears off, so does the will to keep pushing. For all the talk of being enlightened about one injustice or another, daily routines carry on without much disruption. There’s a sense that awakening is supposed to lead somewhere, but the path fades. You could liken it to waking in the middle of the night, telling yourself you’ll remember a dream, and then forgetting every detail by morning.
Occasionally, when something extreme happens—like a dramatic government decree or a blatant infringement on personal liberties—people rise up with fiery declarations. They proclaim that this is the moment they’ll fight back. Then, just as quickly, the fervor fizzles. A cynic might watch it unfold and mutter, “Well, that sure was quick.” I’ve lost track of how many times I’ve witnessed that routine, and I’m not as old as you might think. It’s simply the same drama staged again and again.
I recall one instance where a local city council decided to restrict business hours on small shops, effectively hobbling local entrepreneurs. Everyone fumed for a month, threatened protests, and made calls to the mayor’s office. By the next season, the shops were either shutting down or adapting to the rules. Did public anger force a reversal? Not at all. A few citizens wrote letters, a brief flurry of activism. Then the news cycle moved on, and so did the conversation.
Over time, you begin to see a pattern. People claim they’re wide awake, and they truly believe it for a moment. But that fleeting awareness isn’t the same as living wide-eyed every day. It’s like dozing off once the alarm is turned off. You throw the blanket back on and figure you’ll get up later, if at all.
The Great Loss of Rights
I’ve heard elders recall how freedoms used to be more tangible in their youth, how certain boundaries felt sacred. The Constitution wasn’t some relic trotted out in high school textbooks; it was a lived document that guided daily affairs. Try suggesting an intrusive measure back in the day, and the collective blowback could be severe. People wouldn’t hesitate to speak their minds, which used to be an accepted part of public discourse. These days, you’re lucky to find a handful of voices daring to protest the creeping encroachments on personal choice.
Some of our essential rights seem to have slipped away without much fuss. Gun regulations popped up in one place, data collection soared in another, and speech codes quietly wove themselves into the public arena. One day, you might discover you can’t express certain opinions on a platform you once trusted. Another day, you realize that local authorities can scan your front lawn for anything they deem suspicious. The changes rarely come all at once. They arrive bit by bit—like a slow tide advancing until your ankles are submerged before you notice the water’s cold sting.
A friend tried to hold a rally on private property to discuss these concerns. Neighborhood regulations turned that effort into a legal labyrinth. Even though the meeting was on his own land, bureaucrats insisted he needed special permission to gather people. He eventually gave up. That’s just one use case where people recognized that the rights they believed in had lost their edge. The realization left him bitter, though not particularly motivated to keep fighting. He joked that he was merely “scratching at the edges of a sleeping giant,” except the giant hit the snooze button and turned over.
Many who notice these restrictions wave them off as necessary. They say, “We live in complex times; we have to adapt.” That refrain can lull people into accepting every new rule or clampdown. By the time the real damage is done, it’s too late. It’s as though we keep telling ourselves that the next intrusion won’t be the final straw. Yet the final straw never arrives because nobody can pinpoint which moment will break the camel’s back.
I recall a coworker who used to host a small radio show about local politics. He felt strongly that people should discuss rights and responsibilities. His signal got drowned out by newer regulations that forced small radio operations to follow complicated guidelines, so he ended up shutting down the broadcast. Now he works at a desk job and occasionally reminisces about the excitement he once felt, talking on-air about personal liberty. Whenever I see him, there’s a gleam in his eye that suggests he’s not quite over it, yet he’s too worn out to start again.
The Comfort of Denial
It’s odd to see how some can be half-awake, acknowledging that something is amiss, while simultaneously choosing the path of least resistance. Maybe this is the greatest puzzle: the stubborn refusal to act, even when fully aware of creeping authoritarian measures. Some say it’s because our modern world coddles us with convenience. Others argue that people have grown used to letting experts handle everything, that a sense of individual responsibility has withered. From a cynical standpoint, I might say it’s just plain laziness, though that might be too simple an explanation.
Consider a scenario where a new rule limits homeowners from collecting rainwater in barrels. A few neighbors grumble about it. They toss around big words, paint protest signs, and vow that “this time, they’ve gone too far.” Then a year goes by, and they’re all abiding by the rule. When asked, they shrug and say they’ve got bigger issues to worry about. That pattern holds true with countless new limitations, each apparently trivial until you realize how they add up to a substantial loss.
You can watch a fellow citizen talk tough in one breath and meekly accept the next clampdown in the next breath. It’s not contradictory to them, because they see each intrusion as minor, while priding themselves on being “woke” to the overarching problem. I think this is why so many claim they’re fully aware, yet their actions suggest they’re in a sleepwalk. They know enough to speak about the injustices yet do almost nothing to reverse them.
A relative of mine once spent weekends decrying censorship. He’d point out how certain books and articles were being quietly suppressed. He rattled off examples, citing authors who had been ostracized. I expected him to form a reading group or spark a local event. A few months down the line, he’d shifted to watching reruns on TV, grumbling about the same old problem without lifting a finger to address it. People like him know the barricades are rising, yet they still wander around them as if waiting for someone else to tear them down.
The Tension Between Hope and Reality
I often wonder if this is what fuels the grand disillusion. People sense that their rights have been eroded, but they cling to some faint hope that everything can still be fixed overnight. They hold onto heroic stories from the past, times when a spark of defiance kindled an entire movement. Our national folklore is filled with examples of pioneers who overcame monumental odds, so part of the population might be waiting for a single rallying cry that never comes. In the meantime, each new blow to personal liberty lands with less protest than the last.
An acquaintance in a rural town told me about how local property taxes were skyrocketing. He rallied his neighbors, raising alarm about the creeping cost. They held a meeting in a barn—complete with strong coffee and a few jokes that lightened the mood. He gathered signatures on a petition, and for a moment, it looked like genuine action might emerge. A month later, the energy dissipated. Half the neighbors had errands to run, while the rest couldn’t agree on how to proceed. The taxes went through, people grumbled, and life meandered on. The spark didn’t kindle anything lasting.
A cynic might say, “That’s simply human nature.” Yet there’s a deeper frustration in seeing how quickly righteous indignation collapses under the weight of daily chores and ephemeral distractions. A coworker once quipped, “People talk about waking up, but maybe they’re just having a dream where they think they’re awake.” That line stuck with me because it highlights how illusions can feel real even as they lull you into complacency.
When they do muster the determination to resist encroachments, they’re often shouted down by the same crowd that claims to be awake. The irony is glaring: a person tries to stand up for a basic right—like speaking freely or protecting property—only to be branded as an obstruction. It’s no wonder some become jaded and retreat into cynicism, convinced that genuine action is an uphill battle they can’t possibly win.
The Sleep at the End of the Dream
I’ve always found it striking how a person can know their freedoms have been whittled away, can rage about it over coffee, and still do next to nothing once they finish that final sip. Maybe it’s a deep-rooted fear of consequences. Maybe it’s an instinct to stay comfortable, to avoid rocking the boat too hard. There’s a phrase I once heard—though I’ll tweak it to keep things fresh—that says we’re all creatures who can sense the storm but hide under a borrowed umbrella that’s full of holes. That sense of dread is real, yet the effort to fix the umbrella is almost nonexistent.
Moments of rebellion appear, but they’re scattered and rarely last long enough to form meaningful momentum. I’ve seen groups gather online, shouting from virtual rooftops about their rights. Then, a few nights later, their posts are drowned out by trending gossip or the latest viral clip. It’s like stepping from a candlelit vigil into a raging carnival that diverts your attention at every turn. People sometimes try to juggle both—the cause and the carnival—but it’s tough to stay focused when everything around you is designed to pull you off track.
Paleoconservatives like me often lament that what once defined us as a robust body of citizens—individual responsibility, a willingness to speak one’s mind, and a bond with the constitutional bedrock—has slowly eroded. While some still fight tooth and nail, many others shuffle around in a hazy half-awareness. They talk about how wide awake they are, but their actions prove otherwise. They might share a quote from a founding father on social media, then comply with the next directive that knocks on their door. Over time, that contradiction erodes faith in any real revival.
All this might sound grim, but it’s the reality I’ve observed. People realize something’s wrong, but they’re not prepared to leave their comfort zones for the sake of real change. Sleep seems more inviting, even if it happens at the end of the dream. Perhaps it’s easier to daydream about a glorious uprising than to do the hard labor required to restore lost rights. Those who are genuinely awake sometimes feel lonely in the crowd, wondering if the rest will ever rouse themselves in time.
There’s a chance that one day, circumstances will force a reckoning, a moment when you can no longer ignore the chain on your ankle. I can’t say if that day will come soon or ever, but if it does, it might not arrive with fanfare. It may happen quietly, as a final spark when people realize there’s no more room for retreat. Whether that spark changes anything remains to be seen. Until then, what we have looks a lot like a collective half-sleep, a hazy awareness that grants just enough insight to gripe but not enough stamina to act.
Hopefuls speak of a grand awakening, but it feels more like a polite nod to the notion of lost freedoms than a genuine revival. It’s the difference between reading about historical revolutions and actually leading one. Many know which rights they’ve lost; they just don’t feel compelled to reclaim them in any consistent way. Perhaps they’re waiting for someone else to do the heavy lifting, or maybe they’re hoping the rules will magically reverse themselves if they wait long enough.
None of us can predict if another wave of restrictions will finally spur a broader response. We’ve witnessed repeated attempts that fizzled out, leaving cynics shaking their heads. One might accuse me of painting a bleak picture, yet I’ve watched too many abrupt bursts of passion dissolve into apathy overnight. Call it what you will—human weakness, a sign of the times, or a symptom of chronic reliance on others. Whatever the cause, the result is an uneasy sleep that settles in after the first alarm bell.
Standing on the sidelines, I sometimes question if the slumber will ever lift. A part of me still believes in the power of determined citizens, though that belief has grown fragile. If we’ve learned anything, it’s that a society can lose its rights gradually and get used to the loss as part of everyday life. The real tragedy is how quickly we adapt. We read about the ghosts of freedoms past in dusty documents, and we call ourselves informed for doing so. Maybe that’s the final trick the modern age plays: letting us think we’re fully awake while we snooze, content in the illusions we’ve built around ourselves.
The next time someone declares, “People are waking up,” ask them what they plan to do with that alertness. If the answer is no more than a passing complaint, it might be wise to question if they’re really alert, or just talking in their sleep.
But is there a moment coming when everyone finally decides to open their eyes for real?