The Inevitable Elite: Understanding Modern Western Democracy and the Roots of Distrust

Economy, Geopolitics, Society, Technology, Uncategorised |

Introduction

In ancient Athens, I could have stood on the Pnyx hill, faced a crowd of thousands, and in three minutes swayed the city’s course—war, law, or exile decided by my words and their votes. No party machines, no bureaucrats, just citizens shaping their world directly. Fast forward to 2025’s United Kingdom, where my voice is one of 47 million, filtered through career politicians, dense civil service layers, and economic titans whose influence often overshadows Parliament. I cast a ballot every few years, hoping my intent survives the labyrinth of Westminster, where trust languishes at 20–30%, mirroring the U.S.’s 22% confidence in its government. From my vantage point, born in 1971 and shaped by Thatcher’s reforms, the dot-com boom, and Brexit’s fractures, this distrust isn’t just a reaction to scandals or populism—it’s woven into the fabric of our systems.

This essay pulls back the curtain on why politics works this way, tracing the arc from Athens’ direct democracy to today’s elite-driven hybrids. It’s not a conspiracy of a shadowy few, but an inevitable drift: scale demands gatekeepers, and gatekeepers become rulers. Drawing on Robert Michels’ Iron Law of Oligarchy (Political Parties, 1911), James Burnham’s managerial vision (The Managerial Revolution, 1941), and Marc Andreessen’s blunt X posts, I’ll show how societies, growing from 50,000 to millions, birthed professional politicians, technocrats, and economic influencers—like Musk or Andreessen in my “Trump, Musk, and the Tech Elite: Who Rules America in 2025?” (March 2, 2025). This arc spans Rome’s republic, Enlightenment blueprints, and industrial bureaucracies, with variations—UK’s monarchy and parliament, U.S. federal gridlock, EU’s supranational technocracy—shaping how elites emerge.

My aim is clarity amid the noise of polarization, from Brexit’s cries to MAGA’s fervor. By mapping this evolution, you’ll see why distrust (62% U.S. voter turnout in 2024) is structural, not personal, and how tech, like blockchain in my “Solana Pay” (April 5, 2025), might offer a reset. This isn’t about despair—it’s about insight, empowering us to navigate 2025’s exponential age with eyes open, deciphering politics as a system we can question and reshape.

The Ancient Origins of Scale

As we’ve established in the introduction, the contrast between Athens’ direct democracy and today’s mediated systems sets the stage for understanding the inevitable drift toward elite rule. Let’s delve into those ancient foundations, where scale first began to pull power away from the citizen—a pattern that echoes through my discussions on the Iron Law from my essay “Trump, Musk, and the Tech Elite: Who Rules America in 2025?” (March 2, 2025).

Classical Athens in the 5th century BCE remains history’s boldest experiment in direct democracy. The ekklesia met around 40 times a year, with up to 6,000 citizens (adult males of Athenian descent, roughly 30,000–50,000 eligible from 250,000 total) debating and voting on laws, wars, budgets, and ostracisms. No intermediaries—just direct impact, with participation at 20–25% for key sessions, thanks to the city’s compact 2,400 square kilometres. Sortition randomized offices like the 500-member boule (agenda-setting council, one-year terms, no repeats), while juries of hundreds decided trials, including Socrates’ in 399 BCE. Pericles’ stipends (450 BCE) levelled access for the poor, fostering trust through visible, diffuse power—unlike today’s voter apathy (62% U.S. turnout in 2024).

But even here, proto-elites emerged: wealthy orators like Pericles swayed debates, not by plot but necessity. Crises like the Peloponnesian War (431–404 BCE) pulled power toward generals, eroding the assembly. Aristotle’s Politics praised aristocracy (rule by the virtuous) but warned of its slide into oligarchy when wealth trumped virtue—a structural gravity, as crises favoured specialists.

Rome amplified this. From 509 BCE, the republic mixed assemblies (comitia) with an elite Senate of patricians, managing an empire of 50–60 million by the 1st century BCE. Cicero, building on Aristotle, saw it as balanced, but scale made direct rule impossible. Augustus’ consolidation (27 BCE) formalized the drift: assemblies became ceremonial, bureaucrats rose. This wasn’t betrayal—it was governance at scale, foreshadowing modern distrust when voters feel distant from decisions. The pattern was set: as territories expanded, power centralized in fewer hands, from patricians to emperors, creating dependencies that bred alienation.

In both cases, the citizen’s role diminished not through deliberate exclusion but practical limits. Athens’ ekklesia worked for 30,000; Rome’s comitia faltered for millions. This early gravity pull hints at why today’s systems, with populations in the hundreds of millions, rely on experts far removed from the average voter, a theme we’ll carry into the medieval and Enlightenment shifts next.

The Long March of the Elite

With the ancient patterns laid bare—from Athens’ vibrant but fragile directness to Rome’s imperial consolidation—we can see how scale’s gravity began pulling power inward, setting a template for the centuries ahead. This transition from classical experiments to medieval and modern forms wasn’t abrupt but a gradual march, where governance adapted to fragmentation, revival, and industrial explosion. From my UK lens, having grown up through the tail end of empire and witnessed how these historical echoes play out in Brexit’s centralization debates, this era shows the inevitability deepening, not through villainy but the relentless demands of expanding societies—a thread we’ve woven from Michels’ Iron Law in our discussions on elite dynamics.

Medieval Europe, following Rome’s fall in the 5th century CE, shattered power into a feudal mosaic of lords, bishops, and monarchs. Governance was local and personal: a peasant’s “politics” meant loyalty to a manor lord or church authority, with kings like England’s Henry II (1154–1189) exerting influence through itinerant courts rather than centralized bureaucracies. City-states in Italy or the Hanseatic League offered pockets of merchant-led republics, but these were oligarchies at heart, ruled by guilds and families much like Rome’s patricians. The UK’s own Magna Carta in 1215 exemplified this: it curbed King John’s excesses but empowered barons, not the masses, creating a proto-parliamentary check that hinted at representation without broad inclusion. Trust, where it existed, was personal—tied to a lord’s fairness—rather than systemic, a far cry from today’s institutional cynicism (e.g., 35% UK trust in politicians per Hansard 2023). This fragmentation wasn’t a deliberate decentralization; it was the chaos of collapse, where elites filled voids left by Rome’s vast machinery, maintaining control through land and oaths.

The Renaissance in the 14th–16th centuries rekindled classical sparks, blending feudal remnants with revived republicanism. Florence’s guilds and Venice’s doges experimented with councils, but power often concentrated in families like the Medici. Niccolò Machiavelli’s The Prince (1532) and Discourses on Livy (1531) provided a realist blueprint: leaders must balance elite interests and popular will to survive, acknowledging that crises favour strong hands. This wasn’t scheming for scheming’s sake but a response to Italian city-states’ fractured politics, where trade networks demanded coordination beyond feudal ties. In England, Tudor monarchs like Henry VIII (1509–1547) centralized through Parliament, laying groundwork for the Glorious Revolution (1688), which shifted sovereignty from crown to lawmakers—still an elite gentry, not the populace. These revivals marked a turning point: as printing presses spread ideas, governance leaned toward structured representation, but the gatekeepers—nobles and merchants—remained, foreshadowing the professional politicians Michels critiqued.

The Enlightenment of the 17th–18th centuries crystallized these ideas into modern blueprints. John Locke’s Two Treatises of Government (1689) advocated rights and consent, while Montesquieu’s The Spirit of the Laws (1748) pushed separation of powers to prevent tyranny. The U.S. Constitution (1787) and Federalist Papers (1787–1788) applied this for a nation of 4 million, with James Madison arguing checks like Congress and judiciary balance factions—but introducing elected intermediaries that distanced citizens, a seed for oligarchy. France’s Revolution (1789) aimed for direct assemblies but devolved into the Directory’s elite rule amid chaos. In the UK, the 1689 Bill of Rights solidified parliamentary supremacy, but dominated by landed gentry. These innovations solved emerging scale—urban growth, colonial ties—but at the cost of directness, creating dependencies on representatives who, as societies expanded, became a self-perpetuating class.

Industrialization in the 19th century supercharged the drift. The UK’s Reform Acts (1832, 1867) expanded suffrage amid factories and railways, but bureaucracy ballooned—the Northcote–Trevelyan Report (1854) professionalized civil service, growing from 30,000 staff in 1902 to 730,000 by 2020. The U.S. Pendleton Act (1883) curbed patronage but insulated experts. Empires like the British Raj (1,000 officials over 250 million in India) exemplified elite mediation: pragmatic coordination of trade, infrastructure, and colonies, not sinister design. As the UK’s population hit 20 million by 1850, decisions required hierarchies, pulling power further inward despite democratic gains. This era’s lesson, tying to Burnham’s managerialism, is clear: growth breeds specialization, and specialization entrenches elites—a foundation for the 20th century’s technocratic surge we’ll examine next.

The Technocratic Century

The march from medieval fiefdoms through Enlightenment blueprints shows power steadily consolidating as societies scaled, setting the stage for the 20th century’s defining shift: the rise of technocracy. Where aristocrats and gentry once held sway, a new breed of elites—experts wielding specialized knowledge—took the reins, driven by global wars, economic crises, and technological leaps. This section traces how the technocratic elite solidified, not through malice but the relentless demands of complexity, deepening the alienation that fuels today’s cynicism.

The early 20th century saw states expand to tackle unprecedented challenges. World War I (1914–1918) and the Great Depression (1929–1939) demanded coordinated responses—mobilizing armies, stabilizing economies—that outstripped the capacity of elected assemblies. In the UK, the civil service swelled to manage war efforts and welfare programs, growing from 30,000 staff in 1902 to over 730,000 by 2020, as per historical records. The U.S. New Deal (1933–1939) birthed agencies like the SEC and Social Security Administration, while the Federal Reserve, established in 1913, gained prominence steering monetary policy. These weren’t plots to seize power; they were pragmatic answers to crises no single citizen, or even elected body, could navigate alone. James Burnham’s The Managerial Revolution (1941), a cornerstone we’ve discussed, predicted this: a new managerial class—bureaucrats, economists, engineers—would dominate as societies leaned on expertise to manage welfare states, industrial growth, and global conflicts.

Post-World War II, this technocratic ascent accelerated. The United Nations (1945) and the European Coal and Steel Community (1951), a precursor to the EU, centralized decision-making on trade, security, and reconstruction. In the UK, the Bank of England’s Monetary Policy Committee shaped economic life, while in the U.S., agencies like the FDA or Pentagon wielded influence often outlasting elected terms. By the Cold War’s end, the rise of computing and early internet systems demanded even more specialized knowledge, paving the way for figures like Elon Musk or Marc Andreessen in 2025, who, as my March 2025 essay notes, shape policy with $270 million campaign funds or efficiency drives like DOGE. These technocrats aren’t just advisors; they’re gatekeepers, controlling systems—AI, crypto, global trade—too complex for most voters to engage directly.

This shift eroded trust. In the U.S., Gallup polls show confidence in government plummeting from 77% in 1964 to under 20% by 2024, a stark contrast to the post-WWII optimism when institutions felt responsive. The UK’s Hansard Society (2023) found only 35% trust politicians to act in the public interest, while EU national governments lag at 36% versus 52% for the supranational EU (2025 Eurobarometer). Why? Voters don’t feel they’re steering—ballots signal preferences, but real decisions happen in opaque boardrooms or server farms. Christopher Lasch’s The Revolt of the Elites (1995) nails this: a globalized elite, detached from local concerns, prioritizes its networks, whether it’s Whitehall’s civil servants clashing with Brexit mandates or U.S. agencies resisting Trump’s reforms, as seen in 75,000 federal resignations.

The technocratic century didn’t betray democracy; it adapted it to a world of millions, not thousands, where issues like nuclear policy or blockchain protocols demand expertise. But this adaptation widened the gulf between rulers and ruled, fuelling cynicism as voters became spectators. As we’ll see next, this drift follows structural laws, not human scheming, shaping the very mechanics of power today.

The Physics of Centralization

As the 20th century’s technocratic surge cemented elite rule, transforming democracy into a complex web of experts and intermediaries, we’ve seen how each historical shift—from Athens’ open assemblies to modern bureaucracies—responded to the growing scale of human societies. Now, let’s zero in on the underlying forces driving this drift, the structural laws that make elite dominance not a choice but an inevitability. This section unpacks the physics of centralization: why power concentrates in the hands of a few, not through malice but as a natural outcome of complexity, and why even well-meaning reforms struggle to reverse it.

First, complexity breeds specialization. Modern nations—67 million in the UK, 330 million in the U.S.—face issues like AI regulation, climate agreements, or global finance that dwarf Athens’ trade disputes. No single citizen, or even elected assembly, can master these without experts. Central bankers at the Bank of England or Federal Reserve, tech regulators crafting GDPR in Brussels, or Silicon Valley pioneers like Marc Andreessen shaping policy through ventures—these gatekeepers arise because someone must navigate the data, algorithms, and treaties. Robert Michels’ Political Parties (1911) nails this: organizations, even democratic ones, rely on specialists who, over time, hold the keys to decision-making. This dependency concentrates power, as seen when 75,000 U.S. federal workers resigned under Trump’s efficiency drives in 2025, leaving technocrats to steer the gaps.

Second, crises favour decisiveness. Wars, recessions, or pandemics demand swift action that large assemblies can’t deliver. The Peloponnesian War shifted Athens’ power to generals; World War II empowered unelected planners. In 2020, COVID-19 responses hinged on health experts, not parliaments, sidelining voters who felt like bystanders. This isn’t conspiracy—it’s efficiency under pressure, where small, expert groups outmanoeuvre slow consensus. Marc Andreessen’s X posts call this “soft authoritarianism”—subtle control born of necessity, not tyranny, yet it widens the citizen-elite gap, fuelling cynicism when outcomes feel imposed.

Third, path dependency locks in hierarchies. Once created, institutions like the EU Commission or U.S. agencies resist dismantling, developing survival instincts. The UK’s civil service, growing to 730,000 by 2020, persists despite Brexit’s anti-bureaucratic rhetoric, clashing with elected mandates. This inertia isn’t deliberate sabotage; it’s the weight of established systems, as Burnham’s The Managerial Revolution (1941) foresaw, where managers perpetuate their own structures.

Finally, information asymmetry seals the divide. Elites—whether Whitehall bureaucrats or Musk’s X platform curators—know more about policy intricacies than voters can access. This gap, unlike Athens’ transparent debates, breeds suspicion: only 35% of UK citizens trust politicians to act in the public interest (Hansard 2023), while EU national trust lags at 36% versus 52% for the supranational EU (2025 Eurobarometer). Even decentralization experiments, like Ireland’s citizens’ assemblies or Porto Alegre’s participatory budgeting, professionalize over time, spawning mini-elites of facilitators who replicate the cycle. Christopher Lasch’s The Revolt of the Elites (1995) captures this: detached experts prioritize global networks over local voices, amplifying alienation.

These laws—complexity, decisiveness, path dependency, asymmetry—aren’t plots; they’re the physics of governance at scale. They explain why power drifts to the few, from ancient generals to 2025’s tech moguls, and why distrust persists. Next, we’ll explore how this plays out differently across Western democracies, shaping the same arc with unique flavours.

Variations in Western Democracy

The structural laws of centralization—complexity, decisiveness, path dependency, and information asymmetry—reveal why power gravitates toward elites, turning democracies into systems where citizens feel more like spectators than shapers. Yet, this drift manifests differently across the Western world, with each nation’s institutions casting unique shadows on the same arc. This section explores how the UK’s parliamentary system, the U.S.’s federal republic, and the EU’s supranational framework express the inevitable elite dominance, each with distinct flavours but bound by the same gravitational pull toward the few.

In the UK, parliamentary sovereignty and a constitutional monarchy create a centralized model unlike its Western peers. The uncodified constitution allows swift legislative action—Brexit laws post-2016 sailed through Westminster without the judicial checks of a U.S. Supreme Court. The monarchy, a vestige of the aristos + krates plays no governing role in 2025 under King Charles III but softens perceptions of elite dominance with cultural continuity, unlike the U.S.’s stark republicanism. Yet, power concentrates in career MPs and Whitehall’s civil servants, who often outlast elected governments. The first-past-the-post voting system entrenches Labour and Conservative dominance, marginalizing smaller parties and reinforcing a political class, as Michels’ Political Parties (1911) predicted. Scandals like Partygate (2022) or post-Brexit trade frictions expose this detachment, driving distrust when voters see elites flouting accountability—only 35% trust politicians to act in the public interest, per Hansard’s 2023 audit.

The U.S., by contrast, operates a federal republic with fragmented power, designed to check elites but often amplifying their influence through gridlock. The Federalist Papers (1787–1788), as we noted, shaped a system of separated powers—executive, legislative, judicial, with states holding significant sway—to prevent tyranny. Yet, this complexity fosters stalemates, allowing technocrats and economic elites to bypass elected channels. My 2025 essay highlights figures like Elon Musk, wielding $270 million in 2024 campaign funds and X’s narrative power, or Marc Andreessen, steering efficiency drives like DOGE. With only 8% approving of Congress (2024 Gallup), voters see a revolving door between Washington, Wall Street, and Silicon Valley—75,000 federal resignations under Trump’s reforms signal reshuffling, not renewal. The electoral college, like the UK’s voting system, limits choice, entrenching two-party elites and echoing Michels’ oligarchic inevitability.

Europe’s democracies, particularly within the EU, layer national systems with supranational technocracy. Countries like Germany or France use proportional representation, fostering coalitions that dilute single-party dominance but empower unelected bodies like the European Commission or Central Bank, steering 27 nations. This complexity, foreseen by Burnham’s The Managerial Revolution (1941), fuels distrust when national voters feel overridden—36% trust national governments versus 52% for the EU (2025 Eurobarometer). Populist movements, from France’s Yellow Vests to Italy’s far-right, mirror Brexit’s anti-elite cry, showing shared alienation despite structural nuances.

These variations—UK’s centralized agility, U.S.’s fragmented gridlock, EU’s technocratic overlay—don’t break the arc. Scale (47 million UK voters, 330 million U.S., 450 million EU) and complexity (AI, trade, climate) demand elites, whether MPs, senators, or tech moguls. As Christopher Lasch’s The Revolt of the Elites (1995) warns, their detachment breeds universal distrust. Next, we’ll explore how digital tools might disrupt or deepen this cycle, offering a fork in the road for democracy’s future.

The Digital Inflection Point and Three Futures

While variations across Western democracies highlight how the centralization arc adapts to local contexts, they all converge on a common challenge: how to manage the exploding complexity of a globalized, tech-saturated world without further entrenching elites. This brings us to a pivotal moment—the digital inflection point—where tools like AI and blockchain could either reverse the drift or accelerate it, creating new forms of detachment. Having observed the internet’s promise in the 1990s give way to platform dominance today, this juncture feels urgent, especially amid post-Brexit debates on data sovereignty. Echoing our explorations of Burnham’s managerial warnings and Michels’ Iron Law, which underscore how innovation often births new gatekeepers, this section examines how digital advancements might disrupt the cycle, while outlining three plausible futures drawn from themes in my essays like “AI and Crypto in 2025” (March 15, 2025) and “Solana Pay” (April 5, 2025). The question isn’t if tech changes governance—it’s whether it pulls power back to citizens or consolidates it further.

Digital technologies offer the first real counterforce to centralization in centuries, lowering coordination costs to near-zero. Blockchain, for instance, enables tamper-proof, decentralized voting and transactions, bypassing traditional intermediaries. In Estonia, where 90% of citizens use digital IDs for e-governance, people vote online, file taxes, and access services without layers of bureaucracy, hinting at scalable directness. AI amplifies this: algorithms could summarize 500-page policy bills in plain language, fact-check debates in real-time, or facilitate virtual assemblies for millions, addressing the information asymmetry that plagues modern systems. As I’ve argued in “Solana Pay,” blockchain’s transparency could revive Athenian-style visibility, letting citizens track decisions end-to-end, reducing the opacity that drives distrust (e.g., 36% EU national trust per 2025 Eurobarometer). Platforms like X, despite criticisms of “soft authoritarianism” from figures like Andreessen, already democratize discourse, allowing real-time feedback that assemblies of old couldn’t match.

Yet, this potential comes with risks—tech doesn’t erase gravity; it can redirect it. Opaque algorithms on platforms like X or Facebook have already concentrated narrative control in a few corporations, mirroring Burnham’s managerial class in digital form. If governance tools fall into private hands—Musk’s X shaping policy debates or Andreessen’s ventures influencing AI ethics—the result could be a more insidious oligarchy, where code becomes the new Senate. My “AI and Crypto in 2025” warns of this: without open-source mandates, innovation might entrench elites, widening gaps as voters grapple with black-box decisions.

This inflection point leads to three futures, each branching from today’s trends:

  1. The New Athens: Tech enables genuine direct democracy at scale. Blockchain secures votes, AI assists deliberation—summarizing arguments, translating languages, moderating fairly. Citizens engage in ongoing policy forums, not just elections, shrinking the professional class. In this vision, tools like decentralized autonomous organizations (DAOs) revive the ekklesia for millions, fostering trust through transparency. Distrust plummets as power diffuses, much like Estonia’s model expanded globally.
  2. The Managed Democracy: Elites persist but under tighter oversight. AI enforces algorithmic accountability, open data exposes decisions, and citizen audits keep technocrats in check. Like Singapore’s efficient governance blended with Western rights, this hybrid narrows gaps without dismantling hierarchies. Blockchain tracks elite actions, reducing scandals’ impact, but centralization lingers—trust rises modestly, as in the EU’s 52% approval for supranational bodies.
  3. The Digital Oligarchy: Power concentrates in platform owners and AI architects, deepening detachment. Code becomes law, opaque algorithms decide policies, birthing a new aristocracy of data lords. As warned in Lasch’s The Revolt of the Elites (1995), elites prioritize global networks, amplifying distrust—voter turnout dips further, populism surges. This mirrors today’s X-driven narratives, scaled to governance.

These paths aren’t predestined; they hinge on design choices now. As we’ll reflect in closing, recognizing this fork empowers us to steer toward inclusion, reshaping democracy’s arc before gravity pulls too hard.

Conclusion

The journey from Athens’ sunlit Pnyx to the digital pulse of 2025 reveals democracy not as a broken promise but a system reshaped by the relentless demands of scale. From my UK perspective, shaped by the churn of Thatcher’s reforms, the dot-com dreams, and Brexit’s battles, this arc—from direct assemblies to technocratic hybrids—grounds the distrust that defines our era, with only 20–30% trusting Westminster and 22% the U.S. government in 2024–25 polls. We’ve traced this through Michels’ Iron Law of Oligarchy, Burnham’s managerial foresight, and Andreessen’s sharp X posts, tying it to my essay “Trump, Musk, and the Tech Elite: Who Rules America in 2025?” (March 2, 2025). It’s not the work of shadowy plotters but the physics of governance: as societies grow, power flows to gatekeepers—politicians, technocrats, economic titans—who become rulers. Variations across the West—UK’s centralized parliament, U.S.’s fractured federalism, EU’s supranational technocracy—add nuance but confirm the pattern: complexity breeds elites, and elites breed alienation.

Yet, this insight is a tool, not a verdict. Understanding why voters feel sidelined—whether by Whitehall’s bureaucrats, Musk’s $270 million campaign sway, or Brussels’ unelected commissioners—cuts through the noise of populism and polarization, from Brexit’s cries to MAGA’s fervor. My essays, like “AI and Crypto in 2025” (March 15, 2025) and “Solana Pay” (April 5, 2025), point to a digital fork: blockchain and AI could revive Athenian directness, shrinking elite power, or forge new digital oligarchs if left unchecked. The future isn’t fixed—it depends on building systems that resist centralization’s pull, like Estonia’s e-governance but scaled globally. We can’t erase scale’s gravity, but we can design anti-gravity: transparent platforms, citizen-led oversight, decentralized tools that keep power visible and diffuse.

This clarity empowers us. Instead of shouting into the void of Partygate scandals or U.S. gridlock, we can question and reshape the mechanics—whether in London, Washington, or Berlin. The challenge is to harness tech not for new rulers but for a new ekklesia, where our voices, even among millions, carry weight. History won’t hand us this; we’ll build it, turning insight into action for a democracy that feels like ours again.

References: Key Writings Discussed

These texts form the intellectual backbone of the essay’s thesis on the inevitability of elite rule, listed in chronological order.

  1. Aristotle, Politics (circa 350 BCE)
    • Relevance: Analyses forms of government, praising direct democracy and aristocracy while warning of their slide into oligarchy due to scale and virtue’s corruption.
    • Link: https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/6762
  2. Magna Carta (1215)
  3. Niccolò Machiavelli, The Prince (1532)
    • Relevance: Realist guide to maintaining power, emphasizing how leaders balance elite and popular interests amid complexity, foreshadowing modern managerialism.
    • Link: https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/1232
  4. John Locke, Two Treatises of Government (1689)
    • Relevance: Advocates for rights, consent, and limited government, influencing Enlightenment representation but introducing intermediaries that enable elite entrenchment.
    • Link: https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/7370
  5. Charles de Montesquieu, The Spirit of the Laws (1748)
  6. Alexander Hamilton, James Madison, and John Jay, The Federalist Papers (1787–1788)
  7. Robert Michels, Political Parties: A Sociological Study of the Oligarchical Tendencies of Modern Democracy (1911)
  8. James Burnham, The Managerial Revolution: What Is Happening in the World (1941)
  9. James Burnham, The Machiavellians: Defenders of Freedom (1943)
  10. Christopher Lasch, The Revolt of the Elites and the Betrayal of Democracy (1995)
    • Relevance: Critiques modern elites’ detachment from the public, prioritizing global interests over local, amplifying distrust in technocratic systems.
    • Link: https://wwnorton.com/books/9780393313710

Additional References: Statistic Citations

These sources provide the essay’s key statistics, including voter turnout, trust levels, and historical figures.

  1. U.S. Government Trust (22% in 2024): Pew Research Center, “Public Trust in Government: 1958–2024” (July 2024).
  2. UK Westminster Trust (20–30% in 2024–25): Ipsos UK Political Monitor (August 2025 update).
  3. U.S. Voter Turnout (62% in 2024): U.S. Census Bureau, “Voting and Registration in the Election of November 2024” (preliminary report).
  4. UK Trust in Politicians (35% in 2023): Hansard Society, “Audit of Political Engagement 20” (2023).
  5. EU National vs. EU Trust (36% national, 52% EU in 2025): European Commission, “Standard Eurobarometer 103” (Spring 2025).
  6. Historical Population and Participation Figures (e.g., Athens 30,000–50,000 eligible citizens, 20–25% attendance; Rome 50–60 million empire): Oxford Classical Dictionary and Cambridge Ancient History.
  7. UK Civil Service Growth (30,000 in 1902 to 730,000 in 2020): UK Government Cabinet Office, “Civil Service Statistics 2020.”
  8. U.S. Federal Resignations (75,000 under Trump’s efficiency drives): U.S. Office of Personnel Management, Federal Employment Reports (2025 update).

Referenced Essays by Aron Hosie

These are my essays referenced in the text, with links to the website.

  1. “Trump, Musk, and the Tech Elite: Who Rules America in 2025?” (March 2, 2025)
  2. “How AI Redefines Consumerism and Identity by 2050” (April 8, 2025)
  3. “AI and Crypto in 2025” (March 15, 2025)
  4. “Solana Pay” (April 5, 2025)