‘Above the Law’

How unchecked power thrives on our silence

Lately, I’ve been noticing something that’s hard to unsee once it clicks: how often people in positions of supposed authority take advantage of that power. Abuse it. And I don’t mean only the obvious, headline-grabbing villains, though they matter probably the most. I mean the people around us. Teachers making unprofessional, loaded comments. Sports coaches overstepping boundaries because no one wants to be the difficult one. And then, on a broader, more systemic level, institutions and governing bodies – ICE, political leaders, Trump, entire administrations – exerting power where it does not belong, in ways that are degrading, mocking, rude, and at times deeply inhumane. Power stops being about responsibility and starts being about dominance.

This notion reminded me of the Stanford Prison Experiment, and it’s been sitting with me ever since. In 1971, psychologist Philip Zimbardo ran a study where 24 ordinary, psychologically healthy male students were randomly assigned to be either “guards” or “prisoners” in a simulated prison environment. The experiment was meant to last two weeks. It was shut down after just six days. Why? Because the situation spiralled frighteningly fast. Around a third of the participants assigned as guards began to display overtly abusive, authoritarian behaviour – humiliating prisoners, depriving them of sleep, forcing them into degrading acts, and enforcing rules with cruelty rather than necessity. These weren’t “bad people.” They were students who had been given authority, uniforms, and permission. The power didn’t just change how they acted; it changed how they thought. Prisoners, meanwhile, became passive, distressed, and compliant, some experiencing emotional breakdowns. What the experiment exposed was not individual evil, but how easily power corrupts when it goes unchecked – and how quickly others learn to accept it.

And yet, despite knowing this, we still turn a blind eye. Too often, comments made by people in authority are brushed aside because it’s easier not to see how disgusting they are. “It’s just a passing comment.” “We can’t say anything anyway.” “Nothing will happen if we do.” “Just ignore it.” That quiet dismissal is dangerous. Even worse is when authority figures don’t just speak badly, but act badly, and we collectively look away. Why do we do that? Are we scared? Do we think standing up won’t change anything? Or have we simply been trained to believe that discomfort is preferable to confrontation?

Why do we let people with power run systems into the ground? Why do we let them talk down to us, disrespect us, mock us, and still say nothing? I’m not saying the answer is to insult them back or become cruel in return. But call it out. Name it. Refuse to let it pass as normal.

There’s an idea, especially among those who aren’t directly affected by injustice, that these issues aren’t their responsibility to fix. That if something doesn’t touch them personally, it’s not their problem. But “privilege is when you think something is not a problem because you aren’t affected personally.” Silence is not neutrality; it is alignment with the person holding power. When people let authority go to their heads, we see horrific outcomes – systemic racism upheld by policy, migrants treated as disposable, women silenced in institutions meant to protect them, abuse scandals buried for the sake of reputation, violence excused as “procedure.” None of this happens in isolation. It happens because enough people decide it’s easier not to intervene.

I cannot stand passivity. History doesn’t move forward because people stay quiet and hope for the best. Say something. Get up. Raise awareness. Power relies on silence to survive, and the moment we start speaking – really speaking – it begins to crack.