Introduction: My First Encounter with the Illusion
When I visited the United States for the first time, just before the 2000s, I witnessed a loud protest on a busy street — a moment that, though ordinary to locals, would later shape how I understood the balance of power in US democracy. A man gripped the steel police barricades, shouting with fury, “This is democracy!!” He was angry—frustrated that law enforcement had restricted the crowd with metal fencing.
I laughed quietly. Not in mockery, but from the kind of ironic distance that only experience gives you.
I had grown up in the Middle East. In my world, shouting at police—even peacefully—could get you arrested, beaten, or worse. The idea of protesting openly on the street was not an act of freedom—it was an act of bravery, or madness.
Americans, I realized, understood democracy deeply—but only from one side. They knew what democracy feels like. But few knew what its absence feels like.
It got me thinking: Why does the U.S. have democracy, while so many other places don’t? Is it something in the culture, the religion, the race, the constitution?
It took me years to come to an uncomfortable conclusion:
Democracy isn’t a value. It’s a result.
More specifically: Democracy is what happens when power is balanced.
Democracy as Balance of Power
In every society, there are powerful actors: political factions, economic elites, military institutions, religious movements, and foreign influences. When these forces counterbalance each other—when no single power can fully dominate—the system tends to approximate what we call “democracy.”
Not because of high ideals or national virtue, but because no one is strong enough to override the others.
But once that balance tips—when one party or power center gains disproportionate influence—democracy starts to erode. That erosion may be subtle, or it may be violent. It may come from the top down or the bottom up. But it always starts with the same root: an imbalance of power.
This leads to a painful truth:
Democracy is not permanent. It is conditional. It must be defended not by slogans, but by structure, specifically, by protecting the balance of power in US democracy
What Do I Mean By Power
When I speak of “power,” I don’t mean popularity or media influence. I mean something more direct: the ability to set and execute agendas (economic, domestic, foreign) without meaningful challenge.
This kind of power can serve the public, serve the powerful, or both.
In a functioning democracy, no entity holds unchecked power. Every actor faces friction, oversight, and opposition. But once a group can impose its will without being blocked or modified, democracy withers—even if elections continue.
Interestingly, citizens will often accept this erosion—if they feel it’s delivering results. In China or Russia, many accept strong centralized power because it seems to offer growth, order, and global standing. Whether these outcomes are real or exaggerated, the perception sustains consent.
In places like Egypt, however, concentrated power coexists with collapse—and people suffer both authoritarianism and dysfunction.
This teaches us something else:
The absence of democracy is sometimes tolerable—if outcomes satisfy public needs. But democracy itself is only tolerable when it works.
When Democracy Turns Dysfunctional
Even democratic systems can rot from the inside.
When parties fight endlessly, block every proposal, and reduce politics to zero-sum performance, democracy becomes dysfunctional. Citizens grow tired of debate without delivery. And eventually, they start looking for shortcuts—even if those shortcuts lead to authoritarianism.
In Tunisia, this frustration led to public support for a power grab. Initially framed as a way to “restore order,” the move sidelined elected institutions and concentrated power in one man’s hands. The result? A deeper crisis—and a worse economy than before.
This is the paradox:
Even democracy can push people to surrender democracy, if it no longer serves them.
Real-World Power Shifts in the U.S.
The balance of power in US democracy has always been shaped—and shaken—by shifting centers of influence. Some examples:
1. The Military-Industrial Complex
Since World War II, the U.S. has been drawn into conflict after conflict—Vietnam, Iraq, Afghanistan, and beyond. These wars have cost trillions, claimed thousands of American lives, and destabilized entire regions.
Why? Because war is good for business—for defense contractors, weapons manufacturers, and their investors. The military-industrial complex survives by creating enemies and manufacturing threats. It funds think tanks, lobbies Congress, and builds jobs in every state to secure bipartisan support.
So when it’s time to vote on war spending or foreign intervention, Congress rarely says no. Democracy survives—but voting becomes performative. Power is elsewhere. This aligns with Dwight Eisenhower’s warning about the military-industrial complex, which rewards war with profit and influence—turning genuine oversight into political theater.
2. AIPAC and the Israel Lobby
The American Israel Public Affairs Committee (AIPAC) is one of the most powerful lobbying forces in Washington. It funnels millions to pro-Israel candidates, often determining their political futures. See AIPAC’s role in campaign financing via OpenSecrets lobbying reports.
This has led the U.S. to support Israel unconditionally—even when it contradicts American interests or violates human rights. Billions in aid flow annually. Israeli actions, even controversial or illegal ones, rarely face consequence.
Americans often ask: Why are we spending our wealth and moral capital to protect another country, even when it hurts our own credibility?
The answer lies in power—not public debate.
A Moment of Tilt: January 6
The most blatant attempt to upset the balance of power in recent U.S. history came from within.
After losing the 2020 election, President Trump refused to accept the results. His base followed, culminating in the January 6 attack on the Capitol—a literal assault on the institutions meant to preserve that balance.
But for some of us, the warning signs appeared earlier.
On November 11, 2020, I watched a Trump speech where he reshuffled top military leadership and told his diplomats to behave as if he had won. I called a friend and said,
“A coup is in the making in the U.S.”
He laughed. “We’re a democratic nation—nothing can change that.”
But those of us from the Middle East recognize the playbook. We’ve seen the early signs: discrediting institutions, consolidating power, questioning elections, rallying a loyal base.
It took only weeks for it to become real.
Importantly, the people who marched on the Capitol were not criminals or gangs. They were ordinary citizens, many with genuine concerns, misled and mobilized. This is how power grabs often happen: they ride the energy of the crowd.
Over a century ago, Arab reformer Abd al-Rahman al-Kawakibi wrote in his classic (“The Nature of Tyranny and the Struggles Against Enslavement”) about how rulers exploit the masses to enslave themselves. One powerful line reads:
“The despot forces the nation to drink slavery drop by drop… until it awakens to find itself shackled, subdued, and unfree—by its own hands.”
Mass movements can be engines of change—or weapons of control.
On January 6, the system survived. But it was a warning: the balance is fragile. Even here.
Final Thought
The U.S. is still a democracy—but balance of power in US democracy is tense, imbalanced, and vulnerable one. The forces competing for power have grown more ruthless, more well-funded, and more detached from the common good.
And now, we are beginning to see the symptoms of imbalance becoming action.
Just recently, law-abiding U.S. green card residents were pulled off the streets by masked ICE agents—not wearing visible identification—held in overcrowded detention centers far from home, and threatened with deportation. Their crime? Exercising First Amendment rights—attending protests or posting online in support of Gaza and against what has been widely recognized by international legal experts, human rights organizations, and the majority of the world as genocide.
These actions, justified under vague “foreign threat” provisions, reflect something deeper than law enforcement. They reflect a state leaning into its security arm to suppress dissent—and doing so with almost no transparency or accountability.
This is not a President Trump issue. Police under President Biden have violently attacked protesters as well. It is not a left or right, Democrats or Republicans thing. It shows that across institutions—law enforcement, courts, even local leaders—this erosion is being tolerated, not challenged.
When basic constitutional protections can be bypassed using bureaucratic loopholes, democracy isn’t just wobbling—it is bleeding.
It reveals that the erosion is no longer hypothetical—it is underway.
Democracy here is not dying overnight—but it is being reshaped, reinterpreted, and sometimes weaponized.
And whether it collapses or recovers depends on something more than elections or institutions.
It depends on whether Americans can recognize the illusion for what it is:
A beautiful structure, vulnerable not to enemies from abroad—but to unchecked power at home.
