There is power in subtlety. There can be more, perhaps, in nonaction, so long as you are clear on the goal. If the goal is to change the status quo, then nonaction is frequently just an expression of your impotence; and especially so in a system designed to function with or without you around. On the other end of the resistance spectrum, a head-on attack is almost always a quick path to failure. Or worse—by showing your adversary its regions of vulnerability, you have provided it with useful knowledge, and in the long run only increased its strength.
But subtlety and nuance, these things can be nearly impossible to guard against. This is what makes satire such an effective counterpoint to belligerence, why the kings of old were forced to embrace it, to own it, to control it and contain it. In this way the court jester’s role can be more important than that of the royal guard.
With the current situation, here in the heart of civilization, at the center of the tragedy, satire has lost any hint subtlety. In a world maintained through perpetual distraction, through constant breathlessness, through evermore sound and fury, nuance is overwhelmed by noise and sparkle and spectacle. A light touch, a nudge, a casual bump, these are overwhelmed by the relentless inertia of the machine, by its sheer mass. A whispered word, regardless of its timing and placement, regardless of its relevance, its aptness, its shades of meaning, is overwhelmed by the persistent cacophony of accelerating consumption.
We are not like the kings of old. As denizens of the modern civilized world, we have chosen not to embrace our own humiliation in order to garner some power over it. Instead we quickly stuff our heads in the sheltering sands of consumable distraction with even the slightest peripheral glimpse of our impotence. And we are content to live as emasculated kings, puppets to be manipulated in a tragicomedy presented for the entertainment of our corporate court jesters.