The Fantastic Voyage

This is the fantastic voyage, and it begins with a majestic vessel floating on the deep sea, steady and strong. The boat carries people from every walk of life—different faces, different skills, different beliefs. Yet on this voyage, they live in peace. They share food, tell stories, and learn from one another. The air is filled with laughter, conversation, and the rhythm of a community in balance.

This is their voyage, a fantastic one. There is harmony, a kind of homeostasis. No one is the same, yet all are passengers on the same ship, moving forward together. For a time, it feels eternal—an unshakable order, a vessel meant to endure.

But then tragedy strikes. The hull cracks. A hole appears. Water seeps in. At first, it seems small, manageable, nothing to fear. But then another hole forms. And another. The peace begins to fracture. The once-majestic voyage is replaced by panic, suspicion, and voices raised in conflict.

The captain, to their credit, steps forward. They admit they failed to foresee the harm, lacked the foresight to prevent it, and will take responsibility. Then, with honesty, they recuse themselves from command. Accountability, though rare, is shown. But when the position of leadership is left vacant, something strange happens.

Instead of rising together to find a new leader worthy of the role, the passengers split apart. Groups of people form, not around character or a shared concern for life, but around frivolous and superficial beliefs. From this fracture come the factions that will shape the fate of the boat.

1. The Observers

These are the people who simply point out the obvious: “Look, the boat is sinking.”

But they stop there. They do nothing beyond naming the problem, as though awareness is enough.

At a micro level, they profit in small ways—attention, the comfort of feeling “in the know,” the illusion of wisdom without responsibility. By saying something, they feel validated. Their identity as “watchful” or “concerned” excuses them from ever having to act.

2. The Explainers

These people go one step further: “The boat is sinking because there are holes in the bottom.”

They pride themselves on analysis and explanation. They can tell you how big the holes are, how fast the water is rising, even who first noticed it.

At the micro level, they profit through credibility, applause, and status for sounding informed. Their explanations reinforce their sense of superiority and their decisions in life. Understanding becomes their shield, an excuse never to change or take responsibility.

3. The Accusers

This group takes the next leap: “Yes, there are holes—but it’s their fault. They didn’t do what they were supposed to do.”

They thrive on blame, contempt, and division. They despise those who don’t look like them, think like them, vote like them, or believe like them. And their contempt becomes a weapon.

The Accusers don’t stop at pointing fingers—they shout untrue obscenities, hurl hateful rhetoric, and promote conflict to disguise their own failures. Their noise becomes a shield that absolves them of accountability and gives them permission to attack.

And here’s the darker truth: the Accusers live off the Observers and Explainers. They take their donations, harvest their outrage, and build entire ecosystems where only their kind are allowed in. These are echo chambers of anger and identity, safe havens for blame where outsiders don’t belong.

The Observers and Explainers stay in these ecosystems because it feels good. It validates who they are, the choices they’ve made, and the comfort of belonging. They don’t see that they are being used—that their attention, money, and loyalty are feeding the Accusers’ power while the boat keeps sinking.

4. The Fixers

A much smaller group says: “It doesn’t matter whose fault it is—we need to fix the boat before we all drown.”

They grab buckets, patch holes, and demand solutions.

But their voices are drowned out by the Observers, the Explainers, and the Accusers—groups that cannot see, are unwilling to see, or refuse to see. And when the Fixers press harder, all three groups turn on them. Instead of being supported, they are ridiculed, attacked, and treated as the enemy—not because they are wrong, but because they disrupt the comfort, excuses, and power of the other groups.

At the micro level, the Fixers gain nothing. They sacrifice their time, their energy, and often their peace, because their reward is not profit—it is the hope of survival.

5. The Pretenders

Then there are the Pretenders. They know the truth. They see the holes, the water, and the danger as clearly as the Fixers do. But instead of helping, they side with the Observers, Explainers, or Accusers—mimicking loyalty so they can protect themselves and maybe, just maybe, be noticed by the powerful.

At the micro level, they profit by staying safe, earning scraps of approval, or being shielded from attack. But their real ambition is not saving the boat—it is escaping it. They dream of being accepted onto the yachts, even if it means abandoning everyone else to drown.

Why the Others Refuse to Act

The tragedy is that most people never join the Fixers. Why?

• Some are limited by their own intelligence or understanding—they don’t know how to see the full picture.
• Some benefit from fear-mongering, selling band-aid solutions instead of fixing the wound.
• Some cling to blame and propaganda to protect their interests, even while threatening everyone else on the boat.
• And some—the Pretenders—know the truth but chase ambition, hoping to be rewarded by the very powers that profit from the boat sinking.

This is selfishness disguised as survival. And in that selfishness, they doom everyone around them.

The Yacht Owners

And then, just beyond the sinking boat, there are the Yacht Owners.

They have resources, wealth, and power beyond imagination. They could save everyone in the boat, but instead they watch. They antagonize. They laugh. They profit from the chaos because division and destruction serve their interests.

Unlike the others, they don’t profit at the micro level—they profit at the macro level. They don’t just sell the band-aids. They own the company that makes the band-aids and the company that causes the injuries. They don’t just report on the chaos. They own the media that shapes the story, the Accusers who pass the rules, and the stage where the arguments are performed.

The Yacht Owners have always existed. In every age, in every civilization, there has been a class that profits from the suffering of others. They are not new—they are the oldest constant in human history.

And long after the boat finally sinks, long after people destroy one another in the chaos, the Yacht Owners will still be there. They will build new boats, fill them with new passengers, and watch again as division, ignorance, and blame consume the people inside. For them, it is a cycle that never ends, a theater that never closes, a game that always pays.

That is why they do not help—because destruction feeds their power. As long as we argue in the boat, as long as we drown in blame instead of solving the problem, they remain untouchable. Their control over us—unstoppable.

The Reminder

We must never forget: we are not enemies. We are passengers on the same sinking ship.

The Observers, the Explainers, the Accusers, the Pretenders—they think they are different, but they are all still in the same boat. Only the Fixers understand that survival depends on unity, not division.

And here is the tragedy: even though the Fixers would gladly welcome anyone into their ranks—anyone willing to grab a bucket, patch a hole, and help—the other groups will not welcome the Fixers.

• The Observers would lose their comfort and ease of life.

• The Explainers would lose their fame and influence.

• The Accusers would lose their enemy, and with it, their ability to impose their will on others.

• The Pretenders would lose their path to riches and a seat at the table on the yachts.

So the Fixers remain few, isolated, and under attack. But they are also the only hope.

Because if we don’t work together to plug the holes, the boat sinks. The people fight. And the yachts float on.

Our Responsibility

Let’s fix this together. Let’s hold those accountable who cause the holes and profit from the leaks. And then, let us ensure that vigilance and resoluteness are once again part of the character of our boat captain—because we are searching for someone worthy and competent enough to hold such a position.

Leadership without those traits guarantees our children’s boats will sink, and the cyclical nature of this design will harm more innocent people in the future.

The purpose of this Fantastic Voyage is to ensure all those who seek cohesion receive inclusion. Whether we realize it or not, we are a collective—and our responsibility to one another is grounded in kindness, decency, and respect. But these responsibilities are reciprocal. At any moment, the boat, the passengers, and the voyage itself can be threatened by those who abandon them.

On this journey, character is the only true identity worth celebrating. Without it, it matters not what you look like, how you think, who you love, or what you believe—you become a threat to those around you.