Does Speaking Truth to Power Work?
Recently I posted this clip from a Scot Nakagawa Substack article:
Traditionally, the term “speak truth to power” was a call for moral courage—a demand that people with less power confront those in power with undeniable facts and ethical clarity. The belief that truth could serve as a weapon against unjust power was rooted in the idea that exposing injustice would force the powerful to change or be held accountable.
Today, authoritarians already know the truth—they just don’t care. Speaking truth to them won’t change their behavior, because they thrive on controlling narratives, not facts.
I’ve re-read this a dozen times. Each time, I feel punched in the gut. It’s been weeks. I still feel deflated. I’m haunted by the starkness and loss of this thought: speaking truth to authoritarians won’t change them. I know this has always been the case, so why am I so wracked?
I’ve gone three newsletter rounds where I’ve wanted to include a cogent, thoughtful piece about my reaction. I’ve been collecting voice notes and unfinished sentences on paper scraps; nothing is coalescing. I read the phrase speak truth to power again and I’m still hooked. So yesterday, abandoning clarity, I decided to share a mid-process moment by simply documenting these back of the envelope thoughts. I wrote them into into bodies with form, flavor, and integrity. It took a while. What happened is what often happens when I sit with unsettledness: I arrived somewhere. It’s a place of some resolve, some clarity, a sensation of upright rather than collapse. Here’s the result:
I grew up steeped in the belief that justice, peace, and equality could be wrestled into place by speaking truth to power. This was the battlecry of the 60s & 70s - of civil rights, Vietnam war, and anti-nuke protests. Was it naïveté or a faith in humanity that convinced us that “undeniable facts and ethical clarity” would move those in power to act justly? Speaking truth to power was my theory of change, an inspiration to become an educator, the basis of my ‘political’ activity. This is why I’m so unsettled; I’ve lost my foundation. What now?
My mother wrung her hands before the 2016 election. I asked what her concern was. “Fascism,” she said. I thought this was a bit dramatic. I was wrong. She could see it coming: born in 1938, she grew up with Holocaust survivors in the neighborhood, Hitler and Mussolini in the news. She knew what it was like to have truth mean nothing to those who care only about owning the narrative. I, on the other hand, am experiencing authoritarianism on home soil for the first time. Or more truthfully put: I’m seeing it flaunted overtly for the first time. I know it’s always been here.
One reason I clutch my belief that speaking truth to power is effective: I want to believe that a regard for humanity lives in each of us. I see that this is not the case, every day. Yet I still really want to believe it.
There’s a comfort in a known route, in holding the right tool for the job that feels so good in the hand. Speaking truth to power has been this for me. Yet every reflection includes information I’ve been avoiding or denying: those in power to whom I’m directing truth toward don’t care about the truth. In saunters Mark Twain: “Truth is mighty and will prevail. There is nothing wrong with this, except that it ain't so.”
The gut punch is instructive here. I know this place; it’s quiet and wordless and fueled by denial and resistance - to loss. I don’t want to have to let go of what I thought worked. There’s a truth here, and I am choosing to be moved by it. What an irony! I’m speaking truth to my own power. The result: I’m able to grieve this thing I’ve clutched, let go of it, open to a new way of embodying my commitment to justice, liberation, and equitable regard.
Controlling narratives, not facts: Authoritarians, totalitarians, egomaniacs, and everyday self-important folks: these generally are singular, charismatic people who dominate through bullying, aggression, and violence, winning over supporters intoxicated by the power play or afraid of its consequences. I’m suggesting there are a lot more of us, the ones without that kind of power, the ones unmoved by its magnetism. I know that when we all rise into coordinated movement, even dictators fall; and in the same breath, I know that many, many of us will fall, over perhaps many, many years, on the way to that moment.
Truth doesn’t topple authoritarian regimes; brave committed people of conscience do. We don’t have the power that comes with billions in the bank, institutional backing, or hoarded authority. Our power is in our numbers and our convictions. It’s in the reflective work we do to expose our own prejudices, biases and beliefs - as happened for me through this writing. It’s in the creative and persistent ways we protest, and how we allow ourselves to be moved by certain truths - like the fact that every life matters. This is a power I can speak my truth to. Speak truth to the power of the people.
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