They want dogs, and they have been getting them for decades without even hiding it, building this civilization of surveillance with the obsessive meticulousness of the rancher who knows exactly where to place every single fence post of the enclosure. This is because human data has become the oil of the new century, and we are the oil fields to be drilled, the wells from which they extract predictable behaviors, programmed purchases, preemptive votes, and existences mappable down to the last digital breath.
Metropolises did not grow by chance or demographic necessity; no, they are enclosures perfected through generations of social engineering—corrals where cattle masses are herded together to facilitate conformity via perpetual propaganda, schools that function as docility training camps, and universities that churn out highly trained specimens competing to fetch the stick for the right master. Meanwhile, below them churn the less-prepared specimens in assembly lines and call centers, performing the exact same fetching movement, only the stick has a different name.
Technocracy has perfected a mechanism as old as domestication itself: neoteny applied to the human being. This means maintaining the psychophysical traits of a puppy—playful, docile, easily managed, never truly grown up—in the adult through a process of cultural adolescentization that spans every available medium, from television to social networks. This produces individuals who, even at forty, still retain that readiness for training that the adult wolf lost forever when it had to focus on survival and reproduction, when it had to learn that the world is not a protected space but a territory to be defended with its fangs.
The family in the woods (link 1 – link 2 – link 3) was raising wolves, not retrieving dogs, and this is the unforgivable crime that the system cannot tolerate because it undermines the very foundation of the architecture of conformity. They were teaching their children to be adults, to develop critical thinking and autonomy, keeping them away from the transmitters of homogenizing propaganda. They were transmitting practical knowledge and the ability to face the necessary risk required to learn how to navigate the world without an emotional GPS, without a permanent guardian, without the total protection that generates fragile, unconscious monsters.
The ferocity with which the system came down on that family is precisely the ferocity of the rancher who discovers a pack of wolves inside the sheep pen. The attack serves as a warning, a lesson delivered according to the ancient Roman principle of “punish one to educate a thousand“, because if even a single family manages to escape the architecture of submission, if even one family unit proves it is possible to raise human beings outside the system of data extraction and behavioral manipulation, the entire structure risks revealing its cracks.
At this point, there is no alternative: either we continue to breed trained dogs who fetch the stick for the right master, who consume the products suggested by algorithms, who vote according to behavioral predictions processed by big data, who breathe through imposed muzzles when necessary, who allow themselves to be drilled when required, who smile in front of surveillance cameras as if they were reassuring mirrors—or we choose the path of the wolves, which is tougher, more solitary, infinitely more dangerous, but which retains the dignity that domestication erased from the dog’s genetics millennia ago.
The message is clear and allows for no ambiguous interpretation: those who deviate from the imposed standards will be punished with the same ruthlessness used to eliminate a contaminating element from livestock. In this technocracy there is no room for uncontrolled variables, for human beings who evade behavioral mapping, or for families that teach their children to think instead of obey.
Freedom begins exactly where training ends, and this is precisely what cannot be tolerated.