What fantasy stories teach us about defeating authoritarianism

This article What fantasy stories teach us about defeating authoritarianism was originally published by Waging Nonviolence.

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Like many true elder millennials, I find comfort in escaping into fantasy worlds — “Harry Potter,” “Lord of the Rings” and “Star Wars.” But lately, these stories haven’t just been a break from the chaos of real life. They’ve become a lens for understanding it. They remind me what courage looks like when the odds are stacked against you — and what it means to stand up, not just to threats to justice, but to silence, complicity and fear.

Lately, I’ve been thinking less about the final battles, the catharsis, the clarity, the triumphant arrival of friends. We’re not there yet. Not even close. What I keep returning to is “Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix,” the part of the story where everything tightens. The danger is real. The protagonists are scattered. The institutions are eroding and the air gets heavy with denial and dread.

Voldemort has returned, but the Ministry of Magic refuses to admit it. Rather than confront the threat, those in power turn on the people who do. Truth-tellers are ridiculed, surveilled and silenced. Education, once meant to foster critical thinking, is recast as indoctrination. Dissent becomes disruption. Truth becomes dangerous.

At the center of it all is Dolores Umbridge, smiling through pink cardigans and kitten plates as she issues decree after decree. Her power doesn’t come from brute force, but from something more insidious: the weaponization of bureaucracy. She governs through policy, paperwork and punishment, tightening control with every rule and ritual designed to reward obedience and punish defiance.

It’s also not just the rules; it’s the gaslighting. A kind so relentless that it makes you question your memory of what’s right, of what’s real. For instance, when Harry insists Voldemort has returned, Umbridge punishes him for “lying,” forcing him to write the phrase “I must not tell lies,” a denial of truth etched into his own skin.

Today’s decrees aren’t written in magical ink, but they echo those same tactics. They come dressed as executive orders, targeted investigations and retaliatory firings masked as efficiency, which looks like governance but functions as something else entirely. As political scientists Steven Levitsky, Lucan Way and Daniel Ziblatt warn, “Most 21st-century autocrats are elected. … They convert public institutions into political weapons.” In this model, repression hides behind bureaucracy. It’s disguised as a process, making it harder to name and easier to doubt your instincts.

The goal isn’t just control. It’s to make resistance feel reckless. As those political scientists note, “When citizens must think twice about criticizing or opposing the government — because they could credibly face government retribution — they no longer live in a full democracy.”

That’s the danger right now: Fear pushes people into isolation, and when they are isolated, silence starts to feel like strategy.

What makes it more disorienting is that we can’t even agree on what’s happening. Some see democratic collapse. Others see righteous restoration. Many disengage entirely and are unmoved, overwhelmed or unwilling to name it.

This isn’t just polarization, it’s a fracture in our shared reality. And beneath that fracture, there is something even more destabilizing: a collapse of trust.

Trust is more than a sentiment. It’s the scaffolding of civic life, the thing that makes dissent possible, and gives us confidence that others will stand beside us, even if they don’t fully agree.

But according to a new report by the Pew Research Center, 64 percent of Americans say most people can’t be trusted, a number that hasn’t budged since 2016. And when trust erodes, democracy doesn’t collapse all at once; it decays quietly, from within.

Even in that decay, though, something begins to grow, not because it’s safe, but because it’s necessary.

In “Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix,” the institutions are compromised. The leadership is absent. The heroes are scattered. And still, something forms. Dumbledore’s Army doesn’t begin with a sweeping call to arms. It begins in the margins, with a few people deciding they won’t wait for permission to defend what matters. It wasn’t a dramatic uprising. It was a quiet refusal to comply in advance.

This is where we choose what kind of characters we want to be, not waiting for a rescue (because no one is coming), but recognizing the story depends on us.

Fantasy stories — and history — remind us: Turning points rarely feel like turning points. They don’t come with clarity or consensus. They come with hesitation. They come when people stop waiting for the right moment and start acting anyway.

Dumbledore’s Army begins

In every story we turn to for meaning — such as “Harry Potter,” “The Lord of the Rings” and “Star Wars” — there’s a moment when it feels like the heroes might lose. The world is unraveling faster than it can be repaired. The danger is real, the enemy is advancing and help isn’t coming.

That kind of despair isn’t just emotional, it’s strategic. It’s exactly what authoritarianism counts on. Not brute force, but momentum. The illusion that resistance is futile. That no one else will act. That the outcome is already decided.

But illusions can be broken.

And that has been happening in the United States. We’ve already seen cracks in the surface: mass protests, legal victories, institutional pushback. By the end of March 2025, there were more than three times the number of protests in the U.S. from the same time in 2017. As researchers Erica Chenoweth, Jeremy Pressman and Soha Hammam observed, “Americans seem to be rediscovering the art, science and potency of noncooperation. The resistance isn’t fading. It’s adapting, diversifying and just getting started.”

The way forward doesn’t require perfect coordination. It requires commitment and showing up however and wherever we can. This isn’t a single movement, it’s a mosaic. And that’s a strength, not a flaw.

We know what works. We’ve tested interventions, built infrastructure and shifted narratives. The question now is whether we’re showing up, consistently, creatively and together.

And that is starting to happen as people recognize that democracy isn’t self-sustaining. Educators are shielding students from political interference. Lawyers are refusing to capitulate under threat. Institutions and public servants are holding the line. Neighbors, coworkers and faith leaders are choosing not to normalize the unacceptable. People are stepping outside their comfort zones, seeking connection, building trust and strengthening the civic fabric.

The work is underway. The call now is to keep going and to bring others with us.

As Ian Bassin of Protect Democracy reminds us, “To believe in democracy is to believe that we, collectively, have the power to shape our future … until democracy is completely vanquished, and even after, ultimate power rests in the hands of We the People.”

Chenoweth’s research shows that almost every nonviolent movement in modern history that has mobilized at least 3.5 percent of the population has succeeded, and many have won with less. Reaching that threshold doesn’t happen on its own. It takes people inviting others in, making participation feel possible, even joyful.

And that’s what gives me hope. As long as enough of us keep speaking up, showing up and standing together, the story doesn’t end here. We still get to shape what’s written in the next chapters.

The magic is us

Fantasy stories remind us that it was never about the numbers; it was about the networks. Dumbledore’s Army. The Fellowship. The Resistance.

They didn’t wait for permission. They didn’t wait for someone else. They stepped into the story, scared, unsure and in motion.

Now it’s our turn. Now it’s your turn.

Maybe you’ve never seen yourself as an activist. Maybe you still don’t. That’s okay. Because this isn’t about activism as an identity, it’s about citizenship as a practice. And somewhere along the way, we stopped practicing it.

In America, we’ve come to treat citizenship like a spectator sport, something you check into every few years. Something reserved for politicians, pundits or the loudest voices in the room. But democracy was never meant to be a performance. It’s a collective act, sustained by ordinary people showing up in ordinary ways.

Real citizenship is how we meet this moment, not just in resistance, but in participation. Not just when the stakes are high, but when no one’s watching. Not just in protest of what we’re against, but in active pursuit of what we’re trying to build.

If we want to keep the experiment of American democracy alive, we can’t treat it like someone else’s job. We have to be participants, not spectators.

So, how do we start showing up?

Remember, we’re working with a mosaic. Practicing citizenship looks different for each of us, but here are three ways anyone can begin:

1. Find your people. Find your joy.

Democracy isn’t just sustained by protests and policies; it’s sustained by relationships. And right now, we’re living through a loneliness epidemic. According to Pew, nearly half of Americans say they don’t have a single person they could call in an emergency, or even trust with a spare key. That kind of isolation doesn’t just erode well-being, it weakens our capacity to care, to engage, to stand up for each other.

So start small. Community doesn’t have to be big to be powerful; it just has to be real.

If you’re looking for ways to start building community, here are a few places to begin:

• The Longest Table is a global movement bringing neighbors together over shared meals to build connection and empathy.
• National Good Neighbor Day is a national initiative encouraging neighborly acts and stronger local ties.
• A Wider Circle hosts “Neighbor to Neighbor Day” and other community engagement efforts that foster dignity and mutual aid.

And most importantly, make space for joy. Share meals, laughter and stories. These aren’t distractions from the work, they’re what the work is for. Even in the darkest chapters of history, people still fell in love. Still celebrated. Still found each other. Because joy, connection and belonging aren’t extras. They’re part of how we endure. They’re how we honor our shared social contract to care for one another.

2. Model the democracy you want

Our democratic values don’t just live in constitutions and courtrooms; they live in us. In what we expect. In what we tolerate. In how we treat people, especially those with whom we disagree.

That means refusing to accept injustice, corruption or dehumanization as normal. And it means calling in, not just calling out: having honest, respectful conversations that challenge harmful ideas while leaving room for learning and growth.

You don’t have to be a politician to shape democratic culture. Just let your values be visible in how you listen, how you speak and how you engage across differences.

These groups offer tools, trainings and spaces to help you do that work:

• Team Democracy encourages citizens to commit to safe and fair elections through their Principles for Trusted Elections Pledge — a visible, nonpartisan act of support for electoral integrity and civic trust, both during elections and in everyday life.
• Citizen University hosts Civic Saturday gatherings and leadership programs that help people practice civic rituals, build community and strengthen democratic culture.
• Civic Genius creates tools and events, like “How to Run for Office” workshops, that make it easier for everyday people to understand and engage in local government.
• Better Together America promotes civic unity by helping Americans engage across political differences, support democratic values, and restore trust in institutions and one another.
• One America Movement works with faith leaders and communities to confront toxic polarization by fostering relationships across religious and political divides.

3. Protect the process

Democracy doesn’t run on autopilot. It depends on systems that are fair, transparent and accountable, and on people who make sure they stay that way. Protecting the process means keeping those systems visible, responsive and strong.

That might mean volunteering as a poll worker or helping a neighbor get the ID they need to vote. Or it could mean attending a town hall, tracking how public money is spent, or submitting a comment on a local policy.

Here are some organizations that make it easier to get involved and stay informed:

• VoteRiders helps voters navigate complex ID laws and ensures access to the ballot.
• League of Women Voters offers nonpartisan guides and local engagement opportunities, such as candidate forums, ballot explainers and voter registration drives.
• Power the Polls recruits volunteers to serve as poll workers and ensure safe, fair and accessible elections in local communities.
• Open States lets you follow your state legislature and track bills in real time.

These practices aren’t side quests. They’re the main storyline, the way turning points begin — quietly, collectively and often before we realize it.

And if these stories have taught us anything, it’s this: The arc shifts when ordinary people decide the story is theirs to shape.

As Dumbledore once told Harry, “It is our choices, Harry, that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities.”

We don’t need magic to know what comes next — just the courage to believe that our choices now determine how the story ends.

This article What fantasy stories teach us about defeating authoritarianism was originally published by Waging Nonviolence.

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Source: https://wagingnonviolence.org/2025/07/what-fantasy-stories-teach-us-about-defeating-authoritarianism/