The Systems We Defend

Sometimes the cage is not locked. Sometimes we protect it because it feels safer than questioning what exists beyond it.

I do not follow celebrity culture...

I do not memorize actors’ names, obsess over their relationships, next projects, their "merch" or spend my time invested in who wore what, who dated who, or who is fighting with whom. My husband has always laughed at me because he will try to mention an actor or actress trivia and I almost always respond with the same thing: “I really don’t care.”

To me, celebrities have always existed inside a business transaction. They create something, and if I enjoy it, I support it with my attention or my money. I get entertained, and then I move on.

So the fact that I became deeply invested in this particular lawsuit surprised even me.

At first, I did what I think many people did during the Amber Heard and Johnny Depp case years ago. I initially leaned toward believing the allegations because I wanted to support abused women and the #metoo movement. I think many of us did. There was a cultural climate happening at the time where women speaking out against abuse deserved to be heard after decades of being dismissed. But then the evidence began to emerge, and I remember something uncomfortable happening inside me. I had to admit I was wrong.

Not because I suddenly idolized Johnny Depp. I did not. In fact, I openly admitted to myself that he came across as someone who probably struggled with alcohol and toxicity. But the more information surfaced, the more it became clear that the original narrative being presented publicly was incomplete at best and manipulative at worst. That experience changed something in me. It made me pause the next time another celebrity accusation exploded publicly.

So when this recent case emerged, I did not immediately choose a side. I had never even heard of Justin Baldoni before this, but something felt off almost immediately. And no, it was not because I am anti-woman. It was because I had already learned how quickly narratives can be constructed before the public has access to enough information to make fair conclusions. So I waited. I watched. I read. And then I started noticing patterns.

What initially caught my attention was not even the lawsuit itself. It was the silence.

One detail kept standing out to me over and over again. Taylor Swift, one of the most powerful women in entertainment and someone who has publicly spoken about issues involving power, exploitation, and personal violation, never publicly stood beside her supposed best friend. Not once. No public support for the film when it came out, no statement of support when her best friends allegations hit the news, no visible solidarity. Nothing.

And before people rush to explain away that silence, let me be clear: I understand nuance. I understand PR teams, legal strategy, brand protection, and that celebrities are corporations now. But I also understand patterns. Taylor publicly supported Kesha during her legal battle. She financially helped her (probably because it served her image to do so). So when someone with that level of influence, power, wealth, and previous public advocacy suddenly disappears during a friend’s public allegations, people are going to notice.

I noticed. And that is how I began to question Blake's credibility. And the truth is all in plain sight if you care enought to read the evidence in the docket.

Thus, what fascinated me was not celebrity drama. It was what the entire case began revealing underneath the surface. The filings, the motions, the PR machinery, the media narratives, the framing, the coordinated shaping of public perception. That is what hooked me. Because suddenly this no longer felt like Hollywood gossip. It felt like a microcosm of the larger system we are all living inside.

A system where narratives are often shaped before facts fully emerge. A system where reputations can be destroyed publicly before evidence is carefully examined. A system where media, PR firms, social influence, and power structures intertwine in ways most people rarely stop to examine.

And the deeper I looked, the more uncomfortable the entire thing became. Not because it confirmed every suspicion I have ever had, but because it forced me to confront how vulnerable we are to narrative conditioning & manipulation including myself.

That is why I started posting my thoughts on my FB account about this case. Not because I suddenly became obsessed with celebrities, but because I became obsessed with what the case symbolized.

And then something fascinating happened.

A friend of mine responded to one of my posts this week defending billionaires.

At first glance, that interaction may seem random, but it was not random at all. Because the conversation was never really about billionaires. It was about power. I pointed out that in this case, both sides had billionaire friends. One billionaire publicly and financially supported his friend. The other billionaire, despite publicly positioning herself for years as someone deeply aware of exploitation and injustice, remained completely silent.

That contrast mattered to me. Not because silence automatically proves guilt.... it does not, but because we reveal ourselves through what we risk and what we protect. And what fascinated me most was not even Taylor's silence itself. It was watching ordinary people instinctively rush to defend billionaires.

That is the part that truly stayed with me for the rest of the week.

Because many of the same people defending these systems are simultaneously being crushed by them. People struggling with rising insurance costs, people drowning in debt, people working exhausting hours while barely surviving, people angry at corporations, people exhausted by economic instability. And yet, the moment concentrated wealth or systemic power is questioned, something emotional activates.

Defensiveness.

Why?

That question is what this entire reflection is really about. Why do we sometimes defend the very systems that keep us psychologically, emotionally, financially, or spiritually confined?

The answer, I think, is far more complicated than politics. I believe, part of it is fear. If we fully accept that systems may be unfair, manipulated, exploitative, or rigged in certain ways, then we must also confront something deeply unsettling: what if hard work alone is not enough? What if power protects itself? What if fairness is not guaranteed? What if the game was never entirely equal to begin with?

That realization can destabilize a person psychologically. So defending the system often becomes emotionally safer than questioning it.

Another part of it is aspiration.

Many people do not see themselves as defending billionaires. They see themselves as defending hope. Hope that success is possible, that effort matters, that one day they too might escape struggle. In societies built around individualism and meritocracy, wealth becomes morally symbolic. The wealthy become proof that the system works. And if the system works, then suffering must eventually pay off.

But there is another layer that runs even deeper, I am just now begging to see clearly: conditioning.

We quickly adapt to systems the same way animals adapt to cages. Eventually, the cage begins to feel normal, predictable, even safe. Questioning the cage then feels more threatening than remaining inside it, especially when identity, belonging, survival, and self-worth become tied to the structure itself.

And perhaps that is what disturbed me most while following this case. Not the celebrities, not the lawsuits, not even the media. What disturbed me most was realizing how easily narratives can shape collective perception before people pause long enough to ask deeper questions, and how quickly people will defend systems of power even while suffering underneath them.

I am not writing this because I believe every billionaire is evil. I am writing this because I believe concentrated power deserves scrutiny and accountability.

Always.

Whether that power exists in Hollywood, politics, media, corporations, or social movements.

And perhaps the most dangerous thing any society can do is discourage people from questioning the narratives placed in front of them. Not because every narrative is false, but because discernment requires the courage to tolerate uncertainty long enough for truth to emerge.

That, more than celebrity drama, is what this case revealed to me.

Not who to worship.

But how easily human beings can be influenced into choosing sides before fully understanding the game being played around them.

☥