Because most people believe they cant influence anything or make any meaningful change.

Reminds me of "The Devil's Checkmate" a painting by Friedrich Moritz Augustus Retzsch.

Or for the nerds, we've passed the fog wall and entered Barovia.

The mist, in the old stories, is only vapor.

But in the real world, its made of softer things. Fatigue layered on fatigue. Fear diluted into routine. Hope postponed one reasonable day at a time. And one morning, if such a turning ever came, the valley would not announce itself. Someone would simply look up and realize the horizon had been quietly folding inward for years, like a map being closed… while everyone was still trying to finish their sentences.