Star Wars: A New Hope was the first movie I saw in the theatre. I was 5. I still clearly remember the pungent, buttery smell of popcorn wafting over me, and the colourful carpet that was somehow both hideous and mesmerizing at the same time. Then the lights dimmed, yellow text (that I wasn’t yet able to read) started scrolling across the screen, and I was forever lost in a galaxy far, far away.

I loved the grandeur of Star Wars. I loved the characters, the actors, the droids, and of course the toys. What I didn’t realize in the 70s and 80s when I was having light sabre fights in the forest, was that Star Wars wasn’t just a larger-than-life saga–it was a reflection of the real world. Even though the politics of the galaxy didn’t register for me back then, it was always there.

After I saw The Force Awakens in 2015, I was irritated that J.J. Abrams threw in the Death Star destruction trope yet again. I wondered, Why is it so hard for these studio people to come up with something new and innovative? But I really wanted to be whisked back to my favourite parts of childhood, so I chose to suspend my disbelief and begrudgingly accept the fact that the Empire would continue to gain power after what seemed like a permanent defeat by the Rebel Alliance – only to make the same mistakes over and over and over again.

It wasn’t until recent years that I realized this repetitive cycle is exactly what happens right here in our world. History repeats itself. Oppression is never eradicated in one epic battle. It’s impossible to ever completely destroy it; history proves that oppression or oppressive forces are always present, lying in wait…quiet and still, looking for a chance to exploit weak spots: fear, division, and complacency. Oppression is really good at waiting patiently for the quiet moments when people stop paying attention.
‍

By the end of Return of the Jedi, the Death Star exploded. Twice. The Emperor was defeated. Luke saved Darth Vader from the dark side right before he morphed into Anakin’s force ghost. The Ewoks and our beloved heroes partied in a forest celebration. We believed that a new world was ushered in, and they would all sip blue milk together and live happily ever after.

However, despite appearances, the galaxy was not free. In this fan’s not-so-humble opinion, the First Order rose up not because they were stronger than the New Republic, but because the people believed the fight was over. They let themselves believe the battle had been won, and in that belief, they allowed history to repeat itself. 

The same pattern plays out in our world–oppression doesn’t disappear, it adapts, shifts and  conforms, just like a pesky virus. And when we grow complacent, assuming the work is finished, we unknowingly invite its return.

If we want to understand how freedom is lost and won, we must pay attention not just to battles and revolutions, but to what happens before and after.

The show Andor (prequel to A New Hope) offers one of the most compelling perspectives I’ve seen on how oppression operates, and in particular how it doesn’t rely on brute force alone—it thrives through exhaustion, bureaucracy, and hopelessness. If we want to understand how freedom is lost and won, we must pay attention not just to battles and revolutions, but to what happens before and after.‍

The Rebellion’s warning: Freedom is an active commitment

When I feel overwhelmed by the state of the world, I often long for a hero to swoop in and save the day. I've been conditioned to believe that we need people like Neo, Batman, Iron Man, or even Jack Bauer to save us. We get to sit back, eat popcorn and watch while “the chosen ones” fight the impossible battles. One of the most disappointing parts of adulthood has been recognizing that there are no such superheroes. No one is coming to save us. The sobering fact is, we all must play a role in fighting for freedom.

"We're gonna win this war not by fighting what we hate but saving what we love.” - Rose Tico in The Last Jedi.

‍Star Wars creator George Lucas was heavily influenced by Joseph Campbell’s Hero’s Journey–the classic storytelling arc where a protagonist leaves the familiar world, faces trials that transform them, and returns forever changed. In many ways, Luke Skywalker is our protagonist, but Star Wars stands apart from other stories because he isn’t the saviour–he’s truly a part of something bigger. The real story of Star Wars is that it revolves around collective action–groups of people choosing to fight again and again, because freedom isn’t something to be assumed or inherited–it’s something to  protect with all the fierceness we can muster: "We're gonna win this war not by fighting what we hate but saving what we love.” - Rose Tico in The Last Jedi.

In the Star Wars universe, the Empire isn’t looking for people to love it. It doesn’t need adoration–it needs compliance. The Empire thrives not just through violence, but by convincing people that resistance is futile, that obedience is survival, and that order is more important than anything.
‍

Maarva Andor (Andor season 1) understood what it meant to live under the creeping weight of the oppressive Empire. She understood what it felt like to want to just look the other way and live a “normal life.” I’m sure we can all empathize with that feeling deeply in our bones. At the end of season 2, she projects a hologram speech to the people of her city (Ferrix), warning them to stop sleeping and fight the Empire. In it, she says: 

“But I fear for you. We’ve been sleeping. We’ve had each other, and Ferrix, our work, our days. We had each other and they left us alone. We kept the trade lane open, and they left us alone. We took their money and ignored them, we kept their engine churning, and the moment they pulled away. We forgot them…”‍

We see parallels to the rise, fall, and reconstruction of the Empire throughout human history. The pattern repeats: an oppressive system is challenged, it falls, and for a time, it seems like things have changed. But again, oppression doesn’t disappear—it adapts. When people believe the battle is won, when they assume injustice is behind them, defeated, that is precisely when it makes its return.

“But we were sleeping. I’ve been sleeping. And I’ve been turning away from the truth I wanted not to face. There is a wound that won’t heal at the center of the galaxy. There is a darkness reaching like rust into everything around us. We let it grow, and now it’s here. It’s here and it’s not visiting anymore. It wants to stay.” - Maarva Andor

In 2020, after the murder of George Floyd, many were shocked to realize we were not living in a post-racial world. But for those who had lived with systemic racism all their lives, this was anything but new–it had never disappeared. Chattel slavery ended, but segregation followed. Jim Crow was dismantled, but mass incarceration took its place. The Civil Rights Movement made history, but racism was never ‘solved.’ Oppression does not vanish when laws change–it shifts into forms that are harder to recognize for those not directly affected by it.

“The Empire is a disease that thrives in darkness, it is never more alive than when we are asleep...” - Maarva Andor

After the Holocaust and the defeat of Nazi Germany, the world said, “never again.” But fascist ideologies never truly disappeared–they went underground, they rebranded, became more palatable and resurfaced in new movements across Europe and North America. Far-right white nationalism, authoritarianism, and racial scapegoating persist, showing that history does not move in a straight line toward progress–it cycles, unless people actively resist and intentionally move towards freedom.

“But I’ll tell you this, if I could do it again, I’d wake up early and be fighting those bastards from the start! Fight the Empire!” -Maarva Andor

We see that in the Star Wars universe one of the keys to the Rebellion’s success is the decentralization of power. The movement is not built on one leader–but on many. Mon Mothma leads politically, Cassian Andor fights on the ground, Jyn Erso sacrifices for the cause, Leia Organa organizes, Luthen Rael plays the dangerous game of espionage, and thousands of others contribute in their own ways. Illustrating that it is not for any one person to save the world and keep darkness in check. It always has been — and always will be — a collective effort.

Meanwhile, the Empire and the First Order centralize power. One powerful leader at the top, an unquestioning bureaucracy below, and an entire system built on obedience, fear, and control. Unchecked power corrupts. Even those who value integrity and honesty struggle to stay true to their principles when survival depends on compliance–and those in power, intoxicated by control, can begin to believe their own authority is absolute.

This mirrors real-world struggles: authoritarian regimes thrive when power is concentrated, while movements for justice require decentralization, adaptability, and shared leadership. 

Freedom is not a moment. It is not a victory that, once won, is permanent. It is an ongoing act, a choice that must be made over and over again. Complacency is the death of freedom. ‍

The Empire rises: When complacency opens the door

In the Star Wars story, Emperor Palpatine is the architect of evil. But he wasn’t perceived as the villain at first. His part in the story began as an esteemed senator from Naboo. Palpatine didn’t seize power quickly–he slowly and methodically used the Republic to consolidate political power and dominance. He dismantled democracy from within the system itself, using legal loopholes, manufactured crises, and the illusion of stability. Many wise, good people went along with him with little to no questioning. He fuelled war, expanded executive powers, labelled dissent as treason, and kept the Senate as a powerless façade, making the transition from Republic to Empire feel inevitable, until democracy was nothing more than a memory.

The Empire didn’t rise because people craved tyranny–it rose because they feared instability and uncertainty more than they valued freedom.

He made the galaxy believe that order and control were more valuable than freedom, and that a strong leader was the only way to avoid chaos. This is the danger of weaponized certainty–when people are told that questioning authority is dangerous, that only a single perspective is valid, and that dissent is the enemy of progress, oppression morphs and grows. The Empire didn’t rise because people craved tyranny–it rose because they feared instability and uncertainty more than they valued freedom. ‍

The psychology of obedience & the banality of evil‍

The Milgram Experiment (1961) revealed that ordinary people will often commit harm simply because they are told to. Study participants were instructed to obey authority figures without question, by administering what they believed to be electric shocks to learners they thought were in another room. The majority of people obeyed direction even when it violated their conscience. The fake shocks increased in intensity and at the highest level could have caused death. They couldn’t see the person getting the “shocks” they administered, but in some cases, they heard screams and yells. Participants later speak about having done this because they believed obedience was necessary. One hundred percent of participants gave shocks — none refused. Only 35% stopped before the intensity reached the maximum 450 volts. Philosopher Hannah Arendt called this the “banality of evil:” great atrocities are often carried out not by monsters, but by ordinary people who simply follow orders. 

The Empire rose because individuals within the system allowed and enabled it. One thing I love about Andor is how it highlights characters who are driven by ambition, success, and a rigid adherence to authority–people who enforce the system without ever stopping to question it.

Philosopher Hannah Arendt called this the “banality of evil:” great atrocities are often carried out not by monsters, but by ordinary people who simply follow orders.‍

Freedom: Nemik’s Manifesto (Andor)

As an adult in mid-life who has always been a fan, what I take now from Star Wars is the reminder that democracy doesn’t fall overnight–it erodes when people assume someone else will defend it. We all have a role to play in creating the world we want to live in. 

With every ounce of my being I believe in all the goodness of life–joy, love, delight and community connection; even so, we must remember to constantly stay vigilant and avoid complacency. Even when we think we have created something new and better, free from harmful ways, we must remember that oppression and darkness is sly and tricky. It bends, morphs and sneaks its way in when we aren’t looking.

When we treat freedom as a given, rather than something that must be actively upheld, when we take it for granted, we risk losing it. The greatest threat isn’t always a tyrant at the top–it’s the quiet compliance of those who obey or look away, assuming the fight is over, who believe resistance is someone else’s responsibility.

Nemik’s manifesto reminds us:

“There will be times when the struggle seems impossible. I know this already. Alone, unsure, dwarfed by the scale of the enemy. Remember this: Freedom is a pure idea. It occurs spontaneously and without instruction…

… The Imperial need for control is so desperate because it is so unnatural. Tyranny requires constant effort. It breaks, It leaks. Authority is brittle. Oppression is the mask of fear.

And know this: the day will come when all these skirmishes and battles, these moments of defiance will have flooded the banks of the Empire’s authority and then there will be one too many. One single thing will break the siege.

Remember this. Try.”

I got my first tattoo when I turned 50. I chose the Rebel Alliance symbol, along with one word: hope. I chose that word because of the work I do in mental health, and also because of Jyn Erso’s powerful words in Rogue One: “Rebellions are built on hope.” 

“Rebellions are built on hope.”

Because in the end, that’s what resistance is–it’s the belief that the fight is worth it, even when victory isn’t certain. I’m not talking about an airy-fairy future focused hope. I’m talking about today–right now, in this present moment. Hope is gritty and messy. It asks us to stay awake and refuse opportunities for oppression to take root in the quiet spaces where we too often stop paying attention. Freedom, like hope, must be intentionally nurtured in order for it to survive.
‍