When I arrived at JFK and stepped, for the first time, on American soil, I immediately thought: “It smells like freedom!”

It smelled of gas, city fumes, and tobacco.

But to me… to me, it smelled like equality, opportunity, and freedom. Yes, freedom.

At 18, I was enamored with the glorified idea of the United States that every Soviet child of the ’80s carried in their subconscious. I had easily bought into the doublespeak and doublethink that existed here because the version we got in the Soviet Union, and later in Ukraine, was so crude and obvious that I considered myself forever impervious to propaganda.

Blunt lies, verifiable by the naked eye. Childlike statements such as, “Grandpa Lenin was the kindest person in the world.” Closed borders and a near-total lack of information about other countries. Belief in a perfect, superior nation.

These things were easy to spot.

The Soviet version of propaganda was often blunt, visible, and therefore easier to resist.

America presented a much more challenging picture.

When I saw God on the dollar bill, I didn’t flinch. Although I distinctly remember that odd feeling that hit me in the stomach.

“An odd combination…” I remember noting, momentarily connecting two distinctly opposite symbols: God and money.

Even religions themselves warn against confusing God with money, and yet—here we are.

But that feeling was fleeting, and a new thought replaced it:

“Well, they must just be very religious people here,” I concluded, and marched on, unburdened by what now seems like a brief moment of clarity.

As time went on, I began to notice how many Americans rarely questioned the government, institutions, or even the experts whose opinions surrounded them. This stood in stark contrast to Ukrainians who, having lived under propaganda for generations, tended to trust official narratives less. As a result, they were often more inquisitive, more skeptical, and less inclined toward obedience.

The longer I lived here, the more I began to see that sophisticated systems of persuasion rarely look like propaganda. They feel like common sense. They feel like consensus. They feel like morality. They feel like freedom.

And perhaps that is precisely why they are so effective.

As a psychologist, I have come to appreciate that people rarely experience persuasion as persuasion. We experience it as our own thinking. The more seamlessly an idea blends into the surrounding culture, the less likely we are to examine it. The most effective narratives are not imposed by force. They are adopted voluntarily, under the comforting assumption that they originated within us.

Between increasingly sophisticated techniques of influence and a population conditioned to trust them, Americans were being successfully fooled.

Fooled into following the dollar sign as if it were God.

Well, dang.

In practice, it was.

With our confused values, distracted minds, and dulled senses—satiated only to the point of numbness—we mechanically follow the cheese. The paths are predetermined: “The Successful One”, “The Rebel One”, “The Enlightened One”, “The Good One”, “The Bad One”, “The-Most-Recent-Trend One.”

The people are many.

The paths are few.

Prescribed, preordained, and blessed by those who shape the narratives and define the boundaries. By those who pull the strings. By the few who are truly free.

To wake up in America, I eventually thought, is nearly impossible.

A prison made to look like freedom is the most dangerous prison of all.

The famous aphorism by Kozma Prutkov came to mind:

“If you see a sign that says ‘Buffalo’ on an elephant’s cage, do not trust your eyes.”

It’s time to wake up, Americans.

It’s time to finally wake up and choose your own path to happiness.