The Politics of Joy

In an era where fear is the ruling currency, joy is an act of rebellion.

Authoritarianism thrives on despair. When people feel isolated, powerless, and afraid, they make themselves easier to control. Despair demoralizes citizens and strips away the emotions that bind a free society together: trust, cooperation, and belief in a better future. Here in the United States, authoritarian forces have actively fueled this despair. They've fed it with an endless stream of distorted stories, including tales of rigged elections, decaying cities, criminal immigrants, failing schools, and collapsing moral values. These narratives are largely inaccurate, but they’re not random; they’re calculated. They serve a dual purpose: first, to encourage passive acceptance of authoritarian control by presenting our current government as broken beyond repair; and second, to amplify a sense of hopelessness so profound that people stop believing in collective solutions. They stop believing in each other. They stop believing in their nation. A hopeless citizen is an easy citizen to control. Worse still, these false narratives of despair peddle a perverse glorification of dominance, elevating the so-called “winners” who claw their way to the top by pushing others down. It offers a counterfeit version of hope: not the hope of rising together, but the cold satisfaction of rising alone. It’s a false hope, because nobody rises in isolation.

That’s why joy is so dangerous to those with authoritarian ambitions. Joy reconnects us with each other. It interrupts the narrative of doom and reminds us that meaning is not found in domination but in dignity. Joy affirms that we are not alone, and that solidarity, not cruelty, is the path to something better. When we engage in joyful acts, such as sharing a laugh, helping a neighbor, or celebrating small victories, we restore a sense of belonging. Joy builds bridges where fear builds walls. Joy is a radical reclaiming of humanity in the face of dehumanizing systems. Joy doesn't just feel good; it reminds us that a different world is possible, and it’s a world worth fighting for.

Just remember that joy doesn’t grow in a vacuum. It grows through connection, through the act of giving and receiving, and through a shared sense of dignity. To resist authoritarianism, we must commit ourselves to joy and to rebuilding a sense of economic fairness, not the kind that makes everyone equal in wealth, but the kind that ensures no one is left behind. The kind that allows some to be rich, yes, but not so rich that they force others into economic desperation.

Start small, and start now. Turn off the nightly news that profits from our anxiety and fear. Limit your exposure to these commercialized sources of news. When you do seek out information, rely on a variety of sources, especially those not owned by giant media corporations, and include international perspectives to widen your understanding. Put your damn phone down and talk to the people around you, like family, friends, coworkers, and strangers. During your lunch break, sit with someone who wants to talk instead of scrolling on their phone. Make new friends by joining a book club, a volunteer project, or a community group at your local library. Write a book, if that’s your ambition. Or take that trip you’ve been dreaming about. And if what’s happening in Washington is getting you down, don’t suffer in silence; instead, show up to a local protest. You’ll be surprised how much hope you’ll find among people who care.

Joy is contagious. It builds solidarity. It creates the kind of world where tyranny can’t take root. Trump can’t rule alone. He needs the help of joyless people. So let’s cut off his supply by choosing joy for ourselves and each other. Let’s choose to live in peace, freedom, and joy.