By: Aramis Sundiata
As Democrats win control of the US House and Senate, we must resist the temptation to be swept up in the ritualistic euphoria that so often accompanies electoral victories in the West. Let’s be clear: elections in the United States are not vehicles for genuine democracy or liberation. They are, at their core, nonviolent contests between rival sectors of the colonial ruling class for control of the state. The spectacle of party politics is designed to distract us from the deeper, more urgent questions of civilizational health, justice, and meaning.
At the core of this development is the question of loyalty—what does it mean to be “patriotic,” and to whom or what should our loyalty be directed? There are, in truth, two patriotisms: one rooted in loyalty to enduring principles and values, and another rooted in loyalty to institutions and state power. The latter, so often demanded by the state and its apologists, is a hollow patriotism that asks us to subordinate our conscience to the needs of power. But as history shows—whether under Clinton, Obama, or Bush—the state has never truly embodied the values it claims, especially for the domestically colonized and the oppressed. Institutional betrayal is not an aberration; it is the norm.
The rituals of elections and party loyalty are false choices, distractions from the real work of independence and self-determination. The state exists to maintain the relationship between colonized and colonzier, to protect the interests of the West. In our era of globalized financial capital, the state is increasingly outsourced—its functions delegated to private contractors, security firms, and multinational corporations. The machinery of our subjugation is more diffuse, but no less real. Whether Democrats or Republicans hold power, the fundamental logic of Western dominance and exploitation remains unchanged.
Let us not forget the historical continuity of state power as an instrument of coercion. From the era of Jim Crow to the age of mass imprisonment, from the coups and interventions abroad to the militarization of police at within these borders, the state has always prioritized the maintenance of order and the protection of capital over the well-being of our people. The faces and rhetoric may change, but the underlying structures remain intact. The global south knows this well: the same state that claims to champion democracy and human rights abroad is the architect of coups, sanctions, and economic warfare against those who dare to assert their sovereignty.
Rather than fighting to reform a declining and morally bankrupt system, we must detach and build self-sufficiency connecting with others who share our values and vision. True loyalty is not to the institutions that have failed us, but to the legacy of our people: the global south revolutionaries, the civil rights movement, and all those who struggled for dignity, justice, and well-being. Their struggle was never about mere inclusion in failing institutions, but about the creation of new forms of community, unity, and meaning.
This moment calls for honest self-evaluation. Where do we seek dignity and meaning for ourselves and for future generations? The real choice is not about conversion to a party or political alignment, but about grounding ourselves in enduring values—those that can survive and flourish even as institutions collapse. We must ask: What truly lasts? What is worth striving for? The answer lies in our epistemology, our collective memory, and our commitment to building something that transcends the narrow confines of the present order.
The Democratic win in the Senate will be heralded as a victory for progress, for democracy, for the “soul of the nation.” But we must not be seduced by these illusions. The reality is that the state, regardless of which party is in power, remains fundamentally committed to the preservation of its own authority and the interests of capital. The policies may shift at the margins, but the core logic of exploitation, exclusion, and domination persists. Detachment from this system is not cynicism—it is clarity. It is the recognition that our liberation will not be granted by those who benefit from our subjugation.
In this era of institutional decline, our task is to build organizations and networks rooted in mutual aid, self-sufficiency, and principled unity. We must cultivate sources of meaning, dignity, and belonging that are not dependent on the whims of electoral politics or the fortunes of political parties. This is the true legacy of our people—the refusal to accept the terms of our oppression, and the insistence on creating new possibilities for ourselves and for those who come after us.
As the US Senate and House changes hands, let us not mistake this for progress. The work before us is not to celebrate or mourn the fortunes of parties, but to recommit ourselves to the pursuit of meaning, dignity, and justice—rooted in principles that endure beyond the rise and fall of empires. Our loyalty must be to the struggles of our people before us and the hopes of our descendants, not to the institutions that have betrayed both. In the end, the real measure of our lives will not be our proximity to power, but our fidelity to truth, justice, and the enduring values that make liberation possible.
