Maq Masi Blog

Power is a paradox. It concentrates in the hands of a few such as emperors, priests and corporate leaders, yet history pulses with the defiance of the many. From ancient temples to digital algorithms, small groups have dominated vast populations through cunning, force or ideology. But this is not inevitable. Communal tribes, democratic revolts and decentralised networks have always pushed back, proving that power, however entrenched, can be reshaped. This is a story of minority rule, its tools, and the majorities who dare to rewrite its terms.

Imagine ancient India, around 1500 BCE, where Brahmins wove a divine tapestry of caste, declaring inequality the will of the gods. Their scrolls and rituals monopolised knowledge, but Buddhist and Jain rebels challenged this order, preaching equality in dusty villages. Centuries later, Athens birthed democracy in the 5th century BCE, a bold experiment that empowered free men while silencing women, slaves and foreigners. The Hellenistic world spread these ideas, and by the 1st century BCE, Rome absorbed them, forging an empire where senators and legions governed millions. Rome’s laws and roads bound distant lands, but whispers of revolt simmered among peasants and slaves.

As centuries turned, power grew more sophisticated. From the 7th to the 15th centuries, Islamic caliphates blended Sharia with bureaucracy, taxing and converting to centralise authority. In Europe, kings and bishops ruled through feudal oaths, their castles looming over serf-tilled fields. Religion cloaked these hierarchies, whether through divine kings or holy wars, but cracks appeared. By the 16th century, European empires stretched across oceans, none more audacious than Britain’s. With just 3,000 officials, it governed 300 million Indians, extracting spices and cotton while imposing English laws and language. In the 20th century, Gandhi’s satyagraha a quiet, resolute defiance unravelled this empire and inspired anti-colonial fires worldwide. Karl Marx, observing industrial Britain, saw a bourgeois elite exploiting workers, a pattern he called class conflict.

These systems relied on tools as varied as they were enduring. Religion, the oldest, justified caste divisions and crusades, but it also ignited resistance. In 1960s Latin America, liberation theology turned faith into a weapon for the poor, while Islamic reformers challenged despots with visions of justice. Law, too, was double-edged. Roman codes, colonial decrees and Jim Crow rules locked in inequality, but the US Civil Rights Movement of the 1950s used the courts to end segregation, and South Africa’s anti-apartheid campaign toppled legalised racism. Knowledge, once the domain of scribes and scholars, empowered elites. Medieval Europe hoarded books, and colonial powers rewrote histories. Today’s digital platforms have begun to shatter these gates. Citizen journalists and whistle-blowers like Edward Snowden expose secrets, echoing Michel Foucault’s insight that power shapes language and perception.

Economics, perhaps the most abstract tool, evolved from feudal land control to modern financial technology. The USSR, born in 1917, promised equality but gave rise to a party elite, mirroring the capitalist hierarchies it aimed to dismantle. When it collapsed in 1991, oligarchs seized former Soviet states under the guise of free-market reform. Nevertheless, alternatives have emerged. Cooperatives share wealth, microfinance banks such as Grameen empower women, and blockchain-based decentralised finance bypasses corporate gatekeepers. Antonio Gramsci, who believed that elites maintained control through cultural influence, would recognise these modern shifts, where majorities reclaim narratives and resources.

The globalised markets of the 1990s ushered in a new era, one in which technology giants eclipsed monarchs and generals. Today, companies specialising in artificial intelligence, social media and data brokering exercise influence by harvesting and manipulating personal information. These are not the traditional rulers of history, but invisible operators of digital empires. Resistance, however, is far from silent. The #MeToo movement challenged abusers with viral testimonies, a modern echo of Frantz Fanon’s call to reclaim dignity. Greta Thunberg’s climate strikes mobilised millions for environmental justice, turning tweets into tangible pressure. In 2024, EU AI Act protests led by groups such as AI Commons demanded democratic oversight of machine learning tools. In India, the Kisan Andolan 2.0 protests of 2024 and 2025 challenged agribusiness interests using digital platforms and real-time mobilisation. The Reclaim Your Data campaign, gathering millions of signatures by 2025, demanded tighter regulation on corporations such as Meta and Google, helping to accelerate reforms like the EU’s General Data Protection Regulation.

So who will shape the future? Those who understand and influence information, digital infrastructure and the global response to climate and inequality will hold significant sway. The direction that power takes will depend not only on those who control these systems, but on those who contest and reshape them. History offers a blueprint. Tax the tech giants to fund public services. Strengthen digital rights and privacy laws. Support local economies and promote transparency in the development of new technologies. Movements for ethical innovation, whether cooperatives, digital unions or open-source artificial intelligence platforms such as EleutherAI, show that technology can be developed to serve the many rather than the few.

Power is never fixed. From barefoot monks challenging Brahmins to online organisers challenging surveillance capitalism, the story of humanity is also the story of those who have dared to resist. The future does not belong to those who hoard power, but to those who reimagine and share it.