The Hegemon’s Dilemma

In a democracy, the hegemon IS the people and the only motive is to create a better nation of, by, and for those same people.

Alice W. Meadows’s cliff notes to the Founding Documents of the United States

Using spectacle to seduce populations comes straight out of fairy tales. Booming voices messaging the masses, handing out favors like Mardi Gras beads, and issuing a steady stream of proclamations are part of the script by which authority exists.

Not all of this is bad. It is up to leaders to communicate. Sometimes favors are indicated to right past wrongs. And well-considered rules run through our democratic process help create orderly societies.

So why do I hear the refrain “Follow the Yellow Brick Road” (1) as I write this?

Who do we know who appears all-powerful from a distance, has a booming voice, and puts on a spectacle in front of the masses? Who has minions who dutifully do his bidding? Who warns outsiders not to question the story he has carefully crafted about the society he has disproportionate authority over? And who tosses out just enough benefits to keep the people believing in him?

If you give up, I’ll ask one more question. Which fairy tale character was revealed when Toto exposed his ruse by pulling away the curtain?

It was the Wizard of Oz, of course. When the big booming wizard was revealed to be Oscar Diggs, a con man from Omaha, Nebraska (spoiler alert), his power collapsed along with his legitimacy. The citizens of Emerald City removed the green glasses that filtered their reality.

Oscar, the wannabe wizard, was forced to face the hegemon’s dilemma when he was exposed by a pesky little dog.

In my last post, “Questioning Hegemony” [found here], I looked at how those in power get our consent without using force. How we go along with collective ideas we may not agree with about educational priorities or military actions, or economic policies. These are consequential issues played out on the national and world stage every day. Because as a “superpower” in the traditional sense, the United States wields an invisible power of consent over the world.

It is always troubling when this power becomes visible. When a leader decides that the tools available to create unity without force no longer suit loosely defined national goals, the situation is called the “hegemon’s dilemma.”

The hegemon’s dilemma is the problem of continuing to rule by consent without exposing the underlying quest for power and domination. If the hegemon uses force, it destroys the legitimacy it has built. If it avoids force, it risks losing control and power.

Hegemony, as we know, runs on consent. It is easier for us to go along to get along. We get used to wearing the green glasses. To maintain this consent, those in power must play their cards below the radar. Their governance must look neutral, enfolding their pursuit of power in law, tradition, and their unique suitability for the task. In Oz, our Wizard found his skills as a hack circus magician to be useful in ensuring compliance from his diverse realm.

Hegemony does not look like forcing an outcome. Keywords are comforting, normalized, and subtle. Institutionalized. A durable power that does not feel like power at all.

But what happens in times of crisis? For example, when spiraling inflation, runaway wars, demographic changes (think immigration here), or a worldwide pandemic disturb the comfortable world the hegemon has set up to achieve its goals?

Or a house drops from the sky and kills your second nastiest citizen. Which irritates her nastier sister.

This setup brings us to a fork in the road. Will the hegemon use coercion or not to bring the citizenry back to its agenda?

What did the Wizard of Oz do at this fork in the road? Until now, he has been governing his four colorful regions (most famously Munchkin Land) as a benevolent leader. Behind this benevolence, though, was a deception built on lame party tricks and two-bit technology. He used these tricks to keep his world in balance. He was the “Peace Wizard,” not quite entitled to a prize.

One day, a disturbance showed up in the Land of Oz. A young woman named Dorothy was asking questions. Challenging the status quo on behalf of a trio of misfits. They want something from the Wizard, and he is placed in an awkward position where his charade will be exposed because he does not have that to give, which undermines both his authority and legitimacy. There could be no greater threat to his power. He needs to do something to shore up the people’s belief in him.

So, coercion it is. He recruits the wronged sister-the Wicked Witch of the West, and her minion flying monkeys, who wreak violence on the threats (read rip them to pieces). The Wizard must stomp out the ashes before they inflame the entire Land of Oz.

The hegemon has broken the spell, saying the quiet parts out loud. Many begin stomping on their green glasses. Using force confirms what critics knew all along. Restraint would invite rebellion and disillusionment. Either choice accelerates the hegemon’s loss of power as legitimacy and authority erode. To hold the line, there is more policing, more puffery, more moral high ground language.

As Munchkins, we have choices, but they all come with costs.

If belonging and safety are our must-haves, we will fully accept the Wizard’s way as legitimate and never take off the green glasses. In return, we remain squashed little Munchkins, with diminished agency and a quiet resentment that comes from living according to the washed-up magician’s definition of fulfillment and success.

Most of us choose selective compliance. In public, we wear the glasses. In private, we take them off so we are free to voice our dissent. No one hassles us, but the cognitive dissonance and self-censorship can be exhausting.

There are various degrees to opt out of the hegemonic system. The least drastic is to be Dorothy and voice our concerns about the way Oz is run. To be a reformer. This can be a lot of work for a low return on investment. But it is less jarring than a complete exit (where do you go from Oz?), where we trade full autonomy for economic uncertainty, social isolation, and the prospect of starting over. Leaving our homes, our professions, or our cultures is a statement move against prevailing winds. At the extreme, we can build a parallel system, like a co-op or mutual aid community, with the limitations of scale, recognition, and legitimacy, for example. At the extreme comes a denial of the legitimacy of the hegemon in power. While we gain clarity without the green filter and hold on to our integrity, as I wrote in my earlier piece, we self-select to a life of isolation.

Wizards can be clever, especially wizards caught at the crossroads of the hegemon’s dilemma. Really clever wizards can tear down an existing hegemony while simultaneously replacing it with their own. It must be a sleight-of-hand trick they learned in magician school because in the beginning they tweak a law or two, and the next thing you know they have invited us to an advanced game of Risk (2).

Now many of us have played Risk, but none of us have played with real countries moving real armies. Somewhere between the tweak and the invitation, the hegemon offered belonging instead of long-standing rules. Ironically, in the belonging came a division into “Real Americans” (and my math background would suggest its counterpart: Unreal Americans?). Familiar performance-based metrics were replaced by mercurial “loyalty” standards. Institutional legitimacy fell away in favor of the personal legitimacy of the Wizard reinforced through outrage, spectacle, and media saturation of these. The hegemony was re-centered from society’s institutions (framing documents, traditions, procedures) to the hegemon himself.

There is no simple solution. Let’s at least make sure our glasses are clear.

Love, Alice

(1) The Wizard of Oz. Produced by Mervyn LeRoy. Directed by Victor Fleming. (Judy Garland, Frank Morgan, Ray Bolger, Jack Haley, Bert Lahr, Billie Burke, and Margaret Hamilton). Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer, 1939.

(2) Risk (Hasbro, 1957) is a board game for 2-6 players played on a board depicting a political map of the world. Players take turns through rolls of the dice moving armies to capture territories. The goal is to occupy all 42 territories on the board, eliminating every other player.