The relationship between politicians and corporations is not just a case of occasional backroom deals or individual moral failings—it is a deeply entrenched system designed to serve the interests of power and capital. This corruption operates through well-established mechanisms such as lobbying, campaign financing, regulatory capture, and the revolving door between government and industry. At its core, this is a system that prioritizes profits and political power over public welfare, and it manifests differently in the United States and Europe.
Lobbying is often portrayed as a legitimate way for industries to inform policymakers, but in practice, it serves as a multi-billion-dollar mechanism for corporations to buy influence. In the United States, lobbying is deeply embedded in the political system, with industries like Big Pharma, Big Oil, and Big Tech, and Big Defence spending massive sums to shape policy. In Europe, lobbying is also present, particularly in Brussels, where the European Union is headquartered, but there are stricter transparency laws and regulations. However, corporate lobbying still wields significant influence over EU directives and national governments, particularly in countries like Germany, France, and the UK.
Elections require vast amounts of money, and corporations and billionaires are more than willing to fund political campaigns in exchange for favorable policies. In the U.S., Supreme Court decisions such as Citizens United v. FEC have made it legal for corporations to spend unlimited amounts of money in elections, ensuring that politicians are financially dependent on wealthy donors rather than their constituents. In Europe, many countries have stricter regulations on campaign financing, including limits on corporate donations and public funding for political parties. However, scandals such as the Qatargate bribery allegations within the European Parliament show that corporate influence remains a serious issue.
Regulatory agencies are supposed to oversee industries and protect the public, but in many cases, they end up serving the very corporations they are meant to regulate. This phenomenon, known as regulatory capture, occurs when corporations influence regulatory bodies by installing industry-friendly officials, funding misleading research, or exploiting loopholes. In the U.S., the Food and Drug Administration (FDA) and the Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) have often been criticized for being too close to the industries they regulate. In Europe, agencies such as the European Medicines Agency (EMA) and the European Central Bank (ECB) have faced similar criticisms, particularly regarding their relationships with pharmaceutical companies and financial institutions.
A striking pattern in modern politics is the “revolving door” between government and the private sector. High-ranking government officials often leave public service to take lucrative positions in the industries they once regulated. Conversely, corporate executives frequently transition into government roles where they shape policies that benefit their former (and likely future) employers. This cycle ensures that laws and regulations are written by people with deep ties to corporate interests rather than by neutral public servants. In the U.S., this is a well-documented issue, particularly within the defense and financial sectors. In Europe, former EU Commissioners and national leaders have been criticized for moving into corporate boardrooms, as seen with ex-politicians like José Manuel Barroso, who took a senior role at Goldman Sachs after leading the European Commission.
Corruption is not just a structural issue—it is also a psychological and societal one. Politicians and corporate executives operate in environments where power and money reinforce each other. Once inside the system, individuals often rationalize unethical behavior as necessary for success. The public, meanwhile, is conditioned to accept corruption as inevitable, either through apathy, media manipulation, or cynicism. The mainstream media—often controlled by the same corporate interests that benefit from corruption—frequently downplays or distracts from systemic corruption, instead framing it as isolated incidents of “bad apples.”
While corruption exists worldwide, its forms and intensity vary between the U.S. and Europe.
Fixing this corrupt system requires massive structural change, but the incentives for those in power make reform difficult. Possible solutions include:
In Europe, stronger enforcement of existing regulations could curb corruption, while in the U.S., significant legislative changes would be required to dismantle corporate influence over politics.
While individual politicians and executives may be called out, the broader structure remains intact, ensuring that new figures will always rise to replace the old ones. Only by recognizing corruption as systemic rather than anecdotal can societies begin to challenge and dismantle it.
The question remains: will people in 2025 onwards remain passive, or will they demand a political and economic system that truly serves the public interest?
Oh wow, what a masterpiece of geopolitical strategy! So, let me get this straight—first, the U.S. brilliantly convinced the EU and Ukraine to jump headfirst into a war with Russia, all in the name of democracy, freedom, or whatever the buzzword of the day was. And now, in a plot twist that would make even Hollywood jealous, they’re apparently cutting a deal with Russia to slice up Ukraine like a birthday cake? Without Ukraine being included in the talks! Classic. Nothing screams “ally” quite like leading your friends into a disaster and then shaking hands with the enemy over the wreckage. Bravo!
Imagine a house on fire. The flames are spreading, the walls are crumbling—but instead of putting it out, the people in charge start debating who gets credit for calling 911. That’s what politics looks like in 2025.
Everywhere you look, the world is full of problems that didn’t have to be this bad. The climate crisis, wealth inequality, geopolitical instability—none of these issues appeared overnight. They were neglected, ignored, or deliberately postponed in favor of election-cycle politics.
And when people ask why, the answer is always the same: “We’ll get to it later.”
Well, later is here. And we are paying the price for a system that only looks four years ahead when the problems we face demand generational thinking.
If 2025 has made one thing clear, it’s that short-term politics isn’t just frustrating—it’s actively dangerous.
The Climate Crisis Is No Longer a Future Problem
The Economy Works for the Few, Not the Many
Democracy Is on Life Support
All of this was preventable. All of this was avoidable. But instead of tackling problems head-on, politicians keep playing for votes while the world burns—sometimes literally.
The reason we’re stuck in this mess is simple: long-term solutions don’t win elections.
So, what do politicians do?
They focus on:
Short-term tax cuts to boost approval ratings. Infrastructure projects that look good rather than last long. Deflecting responsibility onto the next administration.
And let’s be honest—we let them do it.
We reward politicians for temporary relief over lasting change. We fall for the same soundbites every election season. We complain, we rage, but we rarely demand accountability that stretches beyond an election cycle.
History has a way of repeating itself. The worst disasters of the past weren’t just caused by bad decisions—they were caused by leaders who refused to act when it mattered most.
Every time, we look back and ask: How did they not see it coming?
But right now, in 2025, we do see it coming. We see crises forming everywhere, and still, leaders are making the same mistakes—playing political chess while the world teeters on the edge.
If politicians won’t think beyond the next election, we have to force them to.
Call Out the Short-Term Lies
Stop Rewarding Leaders Who Only Think in Poll Numbers
Reimagine What Leadership Looks Like
Invest in Political Education
If we keep rewarding short-term thinking, the future will always be someone else’s problem.
But the truth is, we are the generation paying the price for the short-term politics of the past.
The only question is: Will we keep making the same mistake?
Because if we don’t demand better now, the next generation won’t even have the luxury of asking.
“If a single child is trapped under rubble, the world stops. If thousands suffer, we call it a crisis—but we move on. Why?”
We don’t like to admit it, but our empathy has limits. We care deeply about our families, our friends, our communities. But beyond that? Beyond our immediate circles, our borders, our cultures?
Something shifts.
A war breaks out in a distant country. A factory collapse kills hundreds. Refugees flee devastation.
And we scroll past.
Not because we’re bad people. Not because we don’t care. But because something inside us—something ancient, something wired into our survival—tells us: That’s not your problem.
This isn’t just about apathy. It’s about how human nature, technology, and politics work together to turn real people into statistics. And if we don’t challenge it, the consequences are dire.
Science has a name for this: psychic numbing—the way our emotions shut down when faced with large-scale suffering.
Paul Slovic, a researcher on human behavior, calls this the collapse of compassion. The larger the tragedy, the harder it is for our brains to compute.
And it’s not just numbers. It’s distance—physical, cultural, emotional.
The further someone is from our world, the harder it is to see them as fully human.
This isn’t an excuse. It’s a warning. Because history shows us what happens when we let this instinct go unchallenged.
We like to believe that atrocities belong to the past. That genocide, war crimes, exploitation—those were the failures of another time.
But here’s the truth: Every mass injustice started with dehumanization.
The moment we stop seeing people as individuals with hopes, fears, and dreams—that’s when anything becomes possible.
And make no mistake: Dehumanization isn’t just something that happens “over there.” It’s happening now. In the way we talk about migrants. Protesters. The poor. The enemy.
This isn’t just about the past. This is about us. Right now.
Have you ever noticed how some tragedies make headlines for weeks—while others disappear in hours?
It’s not random.
Why? Because we prioritize the suffering of people who look like us, live like us, think like us.
The media doesn’t create bias. It reflects it. It feeds us the stories we’re most likely to engage with—the ones that feel closest to home.
And what happens to the rest? The wars, the famines, the crises that don’t fit a convenient narrative? They fade into the background.
The world keeps turning. And people keep suffering, unseen.
If human nature, history, and media all push us toward selective empathy—what do we do about it?
Statistics don’t move people. Stories do.
If you want to care more, seek out the human stories. Don’t let crises become headlines without faces.
Next time you’re scrolling, ask yourself:
Challenge the instinct to only empathize with people who remind you of yourself.
The moment we call people “migrants” instead of families fleeing for their lives, we detach.
The moment we call people “rioters” instead of citizens demanding justice, we lose the story.
Words matter. They shape how we see the world—and who we decide is worth saving.
We can’t control global suffering. But we can control what we engage with.
Empathy is a muscle. Use it.
Every injustice—every war, every genocide, every mass suffering—began with the same excuse:
“That’s not our problem.”
And if we let that thinking take over, if we let ourselves become numb—then we will watch the next crisis unfold in real time, feel bad for a moment, and move on.
But we don’t have to.
We can fight to see people as they are. To challenge the forces that divide us. To break the cycle before it’s too late.
Because the greatest threat to humanity has never been war, or disease, or disaster.
It’s indifference.
And the choice before us everyday is simple: Will we care, or will we look away?
Trust is the currency of progress. It’s what holds democracies together, what makes economies function, what turns strangers into communities. Lose it, and everything starts to break down.
Right now, trust is running on empty.
According to the 2025 Edelman Trust Barometer, only 36% of people believe the next generation will be better off. That’s not just a number. That’s a warning sign. A flashing red light. A sign that something fundamental is breaking in the relationship between people and the institutions that are supposed to serve them.
And let’s be clear: This didn’t happen overnight.
Trust wasn’t stolen from us. It was chipped away, one broken promise at a time.
People don’t wake up one morning and decide to stop trusting institutions. It happens slowly, then all at once.
And over time, we stop expecting anything different.
That’s the real danger—not just that trust is declining, but that we’re getting used to it. That we’ve reached a point where corruption, deception, and broken promises don’t even shock us anymore.
Because once trust is gone, what comes next?
This isn’t just a crisis of trust. It’s a crisis of what happens when trust runs out.
Rebuilding trust isn’t about putting out better press releases. It’s about delivering results. And that means:
Radical Transparency. No more fine print. No more vague promises. If an institution wants trust, it has to earn it in public.
Accountability That Actually Matters. If politicians lie, they should lose power. If companies deceive, they should lose profits. If AI makes decisions that affect us, we should know exactly how.
Media That Puts Truth Over Clicks. We need journalism that informs, not inflames. Outrage makes money, but trust makes democracy work.
Leadership That Serves, Not Profits. The institutions that survive the next decade will be the ones that put people first. Not stockholders. Not advertisers. People.
It’s about whether we believe in the idea that institutions can serve the people again.
Because if we don’t believe that, we’ve already lost.
But if we do—if we demand better, if we hold power accountable, if we refuse to accept that this is just the way things are—then trust isn’t gone for good.
It’s just waiting to be rebuilt.
The only question left is: Are we willing to fight for it?
