To Start Us Off...

I have just finished watching 'The Rum Diary', one of Johnny Depp's new films and, I must admit, I was surprised at my reaction. I enjoyed watching it but i found the dialogue and message especially interesting.
You see, i realise that, if we reduce middle/rich class society to one of its simplest levels, with no tiny exceptions, acusations or any offended gasps, it can be divided into two types of people.
Firstly, we find the vast majority, the maybe 90% of the people living in an oblivious, satin bubble. These people decide to live unconscious of what surrounds them, either because they don't want to worry about it or they simply don't give one fifth of a fuck what happens if it doesn't involve their lives. There can be deaths, poverty, disease, exploitation, suffering, misery.... they simply close their eyes, and turn the volume up louder to drown out the screams of the world exploding around them.
Then we have the remaining 10%. People who, no matter where they come from, what they have lived through, what the consequences are or what they may have to face, people who fight for what they know is right over wrong. I'm talking morality. I'm talking people who don't even have to be part of the conflict to fight against it. That tiny minority whose brains shrivel and sweat over the hatred and the lack of values and the disrespect and the scum surrounding them day to day, and they think and the squeeze their ideas and they realize that they are nothing. They aren't strong enough. Because, if walking up to a random figure on the street they unleash the thoughts that they wish to act upon, my skepticism tells me that they will walk away, with a flourish of the hand exclaiming 'why worry so much? it's bad for the skin darling!'
And yes, I am aware of my stereotypical remark. And I know that there are exceptions, but I am caught in a wave of rage in which i can't even be sure if I am typing the right letters or if I am simply letting loose on these keys.
It is so unfair, for the few born with conscience. Dragging all the load around, twisting and turning it when there is no answer. But they can't make it leave! It never goes away. I have so many times attempted at being cold-blooded, uncaring for what doesn't concern me. It is like an itch, an itch that tickles and burns the contours of the lungs, the heart. Like nicotine and smoke scratching at the arteries. The pain and incompetence is even more recomforting than the sensation of doing nothing to change what you know is wrong.
I many times sit back and dream, dream of a place where greed would just be a nightmare to the rich and poverty a memory to the rich. A dream where everyone would be rich, therefore no one would be, and no individual would live under a towel on a street in order for another to own seventeen cars.
How would the world be if...
If.