At the Mercy of Power: How We Forgot Our Rights

In the United States, we like to talk about freedom. It’s stitched into our founding documents, etched into our monuments, and repeated like a mantra in our political rhetoric. And yet, in practice, we live not in freedom, but at the mercy of power.

When the government provides social programs, we call it generous. When taxes are fair, we say it’s because we’re lucky. When laws are humane, when healthcare is accessible, when justice is evenhanded — we are grateful. As if these things are gifts.

But they are not gifts. They are rights — or should be.

The deeper truth is this: we have stopped thinking of equity, liberty, and security as something that is ours by right. Instead, we wait for those in power to bestow them upon us. We hope that politicians will be kind. That the system will work in our favor. That courts will be fair, that police will be restrained, that corporations will be ethical, that agencies will look out for our health, our food, our air, our labor.

But none of them are obligated to. Because we haven’t made them be.

We have allowed ourselves to become supplicants in a system that was meant to serve us. We cross our fingers during every election. We beg for debt relief, for living wages, for fair housing. And when we get scraps, we are told to be thankful — as if justice were charity.

This is not how a democracy should function.

Rights are not conditional. They are not awarded based on the mood of the ruling party. They are not earned through good behavior or revoked by executive whim. They are inherent. But only if we act like they are.

The original promise of this country — however imperfectly imagined and deeply compromised from the start — was that power would rest with the people. That government would exist to secure the rights of the governed, not to distribute favors. But over time, we’ve flipped the script. We treat the government not as our instrument, but as our master. And like all masters, it decides what we get and when we get it.

This culture of dependency — not on each other, but on authority — is the slow death of democracy. It numbs our sense of agency. It hollows out our expectations. And it trains us to be grateful for things we should demand.

Universal healthcare? Thank you, if you’re willing. Clean water? Please, if it’s not too much trouble. A livable planet? Maybe, if industry agrees. These are not the voices of citizens. These are the voices of the ruled.

We have to unlearn this.

We have to remember that our rights do not come from Congress, or the White House, or any political party. They do not flow from the goodwill of those in charge. They arise from our inherent dignity — and they are protected only when we organize to defend them.

This means we must stop waiting. We must stop hoping that power will treat us kindly. We must build power of our own — rooted in communities, fueled by solidarity, sustained by direct action. We must act not as passive recipients, but as co-creators of the world we want to live in.

The movements that have reshaped this country — abolition, suffrage, labor, civil rights, disability justice, climate justice — were not polite requests. They were not grateful for slow crumbs of reform. They were fierce, strategic, and relentless in insisting that rights must be recognized, not gifted.

We are not subjects. We are not clients. We are not the lucky beneficiaries of benevolent governance.

We are the people. And if we want equity, liberty, and security, we must stop asking for mercy — and start acting with purpose.

That purpose begins with community constructivism — the practice of building the world we need from the ground up. It means creating local food systems, community health care, housing cooperatives, mutual aid networks, and democratic schools — not as charity, but as expressions of sovereignty. Community constructivism reclaims our power not by waiting for justice to trickle down, but by planting it in our neighborhoods and growing it together. It’s not enough to resist injustice. We must replace it with systems of care, autonomy, and dignity — and we must build those systems ourselves, alongside our neighbors, right now. That is how we stop living at the mercy of power. That is how we live in freedom.

 The Strategy of Struggle

All around the world — and right here at home — people are rising. Communities are organizing, marching, calling out injustice, and standing firm in the face of increasing authoritarianism. The courage, creativity, and commitment we see in these movements is nothing short of inspiring.

But if we’re honest with ourselves, we know courage alone won’t be enough.

Too often, nonviolent resistance is seen as something spontaneous — reactive, even idealistic. We assume that if enough people show up, if we speak truth to power loudly enough, if we refuse to back down, that somehow victory will follow.

But imagine a military general preparing for battle by simply rallying the troops and hoping for the best. No maps beyond the level of individual battles. No objectives. No coordination on a broad scale. Just passion and determination. 

To win, generals study the political environment, the strength and weaknesses of the adversary, the resources at hand, and the likely moves and countermoves. They define objectives, phases, logistics, and exit strategies. They analyze terrain, assess enemy capabilities, and they map out communications, supply lines, morale. 

In other words, they develop a grand strategy.

The same should be true for us because nonviolent struggle aims to dislodge deeply entrenched entitlements, and shift the balance of power. In short, it seeks to remove power from the oppressive regime and wield it for the people.

Gene Sharp understood this. One of the most influential thinkers on nonviolent resistance, he wrote, “Nonviolent struggle is not just a moral alternative. It is a technique of combat.” And like any technique of combat, it requires planning, discipline, and strategy. Sharp did not romanticize resistance. He studied it — meticulously — and identified nearly 200 methods of nonviolent action. But he didn’t stop at tactics. He asked a deeper question: How do these tactics add up to strategic success?

Because strategy turns resistance into power.

This is not to dismiss the extraordinary work already being done. Far from it. Organizers and movement builders are doing the heavy lifting of building community, raising awareness, and mobilizing action — often at great personal risk. That work is essential.

But what we need now is to level up — to move from powerful moments to powerful movements. To move from scattered resistance to unified campaigns that are far clearer about where they’re going and how to get there.

Unlike violence, nonviolent resistance doesn’t rely on fear or destruction to force compliance. Its power comes from something even more potent: the withdrawal of cooperation. That power must be cultivated, coordinated, and focused with precision. That means building campaigns with clear objectives, sequencing tactics to escalate pressure, preparing for repression, managing morale, and mapping the interlocking pillars that hold up the regime you aim to bring down.

Nonviolent resistance is not magic. It is organized power.å

Look at the Polish Solidarity movement. Look at Serbia’s Otpor. Look at the civil rights movement in the United States. These weren’t random outbursts of protest. They were campaigns — carefully structured, strategically executed. They studied their opponents. They chose their battlegrounds. They built parallel institutions and trained their participants in nonviolent discipline. And when one crisis after another unfolded, they were ready.

Today, as authoritarianism rises around the world — and in our own country — we must reject the myth that nonviolence is merely reactive, or moral, or passive. It is none of those things. It is proactive, tactical, and fiercely intelligent. 

This is not about criticizing our movements. It’s about empowering them. It’s about recognizing that we have more power than we realize — and that when we wield it strategically, it becomes transformative.

Let’s honor the courage already shown building campaigns that not only disrupt injustice, but dismantle the systems that sustain it. Let’s move with the discipline, vision, and power that the times require.

We must think like strategists. And we must organize like our future depends on it.

Because it does.