Looking around, it’s hard to escape the conclusion that the devils are no longer confined to myth or imagination. They walk among us — governing, exploiting, and sowing misery that mirrors our darkest visions of hell. Shakespeare’s The Tempest gave us the line, “Hell is empty, and all the devils are here,” a poetic reflection of disorder. Today, it feels more like a grim everyday truth.
Just over a month ago, Donald Trump was re-elected as president. For many, myself included, despair now feels like a constant shadow, given the character of the incoming administration and its ominous promises. The very soul of America, long heralded as a beacon of hope and a bastion of democracy, now teeters on the brink of self-destruction.
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This great human experiment — my adopted homeland — seems poised to unravel under the weight of its own contradictions, its promises of justice and equality replaced by the shadow of cynicism and division. The thought of watching this nation, once a symbol of resilience and progress, descend into chaos is almost too much to bear.
In the wake of the election, I stepped away from my weekly opinion column for an entire month. What was the point, I wondered, of spilling ink when my homeland, Nigeria, already stands as a monument to chaos, and America seems hell-bent on following the same path? Writing felt like an exercise in futility; who even reads it? It was like screaming into an endless void, watching helplessly as the world spirals ever faster into madness.
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Looking around, it’s hard to escape the conclusion that the devils are no longer confined to myth or imagination. They walk among us — governing, exploiting, and sowing misery that mirrors our darkest visions of hell. Shakespeare’s The Tempest gave us the line, “Hell is empty, and all the devils are here,” a poetic reflection of disorder. Today, it feels more like a grim everyday truth.
Imagine Dele Farotimi, a man who, by law, should be presumed innocent until proven guilty. Yet, he has been detained under a law that experts confirm does not exist in Ekiti State’s statute book. He is left languishing in jail, not for committing a crime, but because he is ensnared in a corrupt system that thrives on injustice. His story, however, is far from unique; it reflects the lived reality of countless others punished not for wrongdoing, but for their vulnerability. Meanwhile, those in power, the executives, lawmakers, and judges, bask in their privilege, ensuring the weak remain voiceless, while the guilty prosper.
Across the Atlantic, in the United States, a nation once seen as a beacon of democratic ideals, a convicted felon now stands at the helm, assembling a cabinet that seems better suited for a courtroom drama than governance. It’s not just the absurdity of the situation but the unsettling fact that nearly half the country is cheering him on, mistaking his crimes for virtues. It’s a grotesque spectacle, a stark reminder of what happens when charisma and divisive rhetoric overshadow accountability and moral clarity.
Perhaps most damning of all is the indifference of those who have the power to act. The global elite, safe in their fortified enclaves, observe chaos with detachment. They host summits, issue statements, and launch performative initiatives that do little to disrupt the status quo. Philanthropy becomes their shield, a facade of benevolence that allows them to maintain privilege without making meaningful sacrifices. Meanwhile, the systems that breed suffering remain untouched.
The devils are not confined to politics. Wars rage worldwide, tearing lives apart in the service of greed and geopolitical games. In Gaza, Yemen, Sudan, and countless other regions, innocent people are crushed under the weight of conflicts they neither started nor can end. Refugees, desperate for safety, face closed borders and hostile policies.
Meanwhile, powerful individuals and nations profit, selling arms and fuelling the flames under the guise of strategy. Each dropped bomb and fleeing family tells the story of a world in which human lives are expendable.
Even in peacetime, there’s no respite. Economic systems quietly perpetuate inequality, ensuring that billions remain in poverty, while a select few hoard unimaginable wealth.
Corporations strip resources, exploit labour, and evade taxes, all while touting hollow commitments to social responsibility. Insurance companies rake in billions, yet deny patients essential care. Politicians, complicit in this scheme, safeguard these structures. They tell us the markets are thriving, but for whom? Certainly not for the workers who can’t afford rent, food, or basic dignity. If hell exists, it resides in boardrooms where profits take precedence over humanity.
Hatred and division form yet another layer of evil. Racism, xenophobia, and religious persecution fracture societies, turning neighbours into enemies. Across continents, minorities are scapegoated, their suffering justified by twisted ideologies. The Rwandan genocide, when ethnic tensions between the Hutus and Tutsis erupted in mass slaughter, and the xenophobic attacks on foreign nationals in South Africa, fuelled by economic frustrations, are glaring examples of how intolerance thrives when left unchecked. These aren’t isolated incidents; they are symptoms of a world that tolerates and even nurtures prejudice.
Perhaps most damning of all is the indifference of those who have the power to act. The global elite, safe in their fortified enclaves, observe chaos with detachment. They host summits, issue statements, and launch performative initiatives that do little to disrupt the status quo. Philanthropy becomes their shield, a facade of benevolence that allows them to maintain privilege without making meaningful sacrifices. Meanwhile, the systems that breed suffering remain untouched.
The real question is whether we are willing to confront the devils — not just in others but within ourselves. Are we complicit in systems of oppression? Do we ignore suffering because it feels distant? Do we excuse the devils when they serve our interests? Facing these uncomfortable truths is the first step toward reclaiming a sense of morality in an increasingly fractured world.
And yet, even amidst this bleakness, we must refuse to abandon hope entirely. For every devil, there are countless individuals fighting back, often unnoticed: grassroots movements challenging corruption, communities uniting against injustice, and ordinary people choosing compassion over indifference. These acts of defiance remind us that while the devils may seem omnipresent, they are not invincible and they do not have to win.
Progress is neither linear nor easy. It requires enduring failures, navigating setbacks, and pushing forward even when despair feels overwhelming. Viktor Frankl, a psychologist and Holocaust survivor, called this tragic optimism, acknowledging life’s inherent suffering, while choosing to move forward with resilience. This philosophy allows us to hold space for the full range of human emotions: joy and sorrow, hope and despair, courage and fear.
Tragic optimism demands that we see the world clearly, its beauty and its brutality and then focus on what we can control. It reminds us that we’ve faced challenges before and survived. To stand still is not an option; to rise, even when weighed down by despair, is the only path forward.
“Hell is empty, and all the devils are here.” These devils thrive on our apathy, our cynicism, and our silence, feeding on the spaces where our resistance should be. Yet, humanity holds the power to challenge them. The question is not whether we can — it is whether we will summon the courage to stand, to speak, and to fight for what is right. Our salvation lies not in waiting for someone else to act but in confronting these devils head-on, refusing to let them define the world we leave behind.
The real question is whether we are willing to confront the devils — not just in others but within ourselves. Are we complicit in systems of oppression? Do we ignore suffering because it feels distant? Do we excuse the devils when they serve our interests? Facing these uncomfortable truths is the first step toward reclaiming a sense of morality in an increasingly fractured world.
Osmund Agbo is a US-based medical doctor and author. His works include Black Grit, White Knuckles: The Philosophy of Black Renaissance and a fiction work titled The Velvet Court: Courtesan Chronicles. His latest works, Pray, Let the Shaman Die and Ma’am, I Do Not Come to You for Love, have just been released.
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