The World’s Crumbling! Get Your Hammer!

The thing about empires is that they always think they’re too big to fail–until they do. Rome, Byzantium, the British Empire, Blockbuster… And now, if TikTok historians are to be believed, the United States is hitting its expiration date at the ripe age of 250. It certainly feels like something is unraveling. The cracks aren’t just showing; they’re widening and swallowing up whatever faith we had left in the institutions that are supposed to keep society functioning.

I started thinking about what happens after a fall–after I myself fell into yet another late-night doom-scroll, bouncing between footage of natural disasters, economic free-falls, and politicians pretending everything is fine. It’s hard to ignore the chaos when it’s everywhere, and when it feels like the very systems that should provide safety and security are the ones driving us toward the edge. The cost of living is skyrocketing, democracy is feeling so undemocratic that it feels like a bad TV show that should’ve ended seasons ago, and the people in charge are less concerned with fixing the mess than they are with convincing us that the mess is part of the plan. But if everything is crumbling, and we’re already standing in the wreckage, what happens next?

History would tell us that collapse is usually followed by reconstruction. The problem is, who gets to be in charge of that rebuilding? The last few decades have given us some pretty clear warnings. The 2008 financial crisis should have been a wake-up call to the inherent instability of an economy built on corporate greed and deregulation, but instead, the same predatory banking systems came out on top while everyday people got left behind. The pandemic exposed every weakness in our public health and labour systems, but instead of real reform, governments raced to reinstate “normal”—and now it’s worse than ever. The cost of living keeps rising while wages stagnate, corporate profits soar while workers can barely afford rent, and access to basic necessities–healthcare, housing, even a sense of security–feels more impossible every day. And on top of all of that, rights are being rolled back constantly, wars continue with no clear end in sight, new conflicts simmer waiting to erupt, and the systems that were supposed to protect and provide are doing neither.

I understand the urge to look away. The endless flood of bad news is exhausting, especially when it’s all we see on our phones all day. But stepping back isn’t really an option, is it? At this point, we can’t afford the luxury of staying ignorant—the stakes are too high. Truthfully, this isn’t about scrolling past the chaos or waiting for someone else to fix it. It’s about recognizing that inaction is its own form of participation. But here’s the thing—the action doesn’t always have to be huge. You don’t need to be protesting at parliament, you don’t need to be campaigning on social media. Sometimes, the most powerful thing you can do is simply to be aware—stay informed, engage in conversations that matter, question what’s happening around you. But above all else, VOTE! Too many people have become so comfortable in their positions of privilege that voting seems like an afterthought, something that doesn’t make a difference. We forget that the right to vote isn’t always guaranteed. People died fighting for it, especially those in marginalized communities. Please do not take that for granted. Not when the stakes are this high, not when lives are on the line.

You cannot wait for it to be too late. Look at the United States. Think about how many people stayed home in the 2024 election, how many chose not to vote, and consider the world we could have had if more people showed up. Around 89 million eligible voters—about 36% of the country—did not vote. Let that number sink in. Millions of people chose to remain silent, to step back and let white supremacists decide their fate. By not voting, they weren’t just passive, they were complicit. Every person who sat down and decided that their vote didn’t matter, helped to shape a future they now have no right to complain about. Please, don’t be that person.

The way I see it, the biggest mistake we can make is trying to rebuild things exactly as they were. We should be asking: what do we actually want? What kind of systems would serve people instead of exploiting them? What if we built healthcare, education, democracy, and economies that actually worked for more than just a select few? Instead of constantly slapping bandaids on broken institutions, what if we scrapped them and started fresh?

Of course, it’s terrifying. Living through a time of upheaval always is. But I keep reminding myself that moments like this—when everything is in flux, when nothing feels certain—are also the moments where real change becomes possible.

So that’s where I’m choosing to put my energy. Not just in mourning normalcy, but imagining what could be once the chaos dies down. Even in destruction, there’s opportunity—a chance to rebuild better and stronger. The only question now is: who gets to hold the pen?