From Survival to Leadership: Why Does Society Keep Making Us Fight?

Reflecting on the case of Vasilis Maggos and what it reveals about justice, social responsibility, power, leadership and human dignity.

“Even if we never win, we will always keep fighting.”

These were the words of Vasilis Maggos, a 26-year-old from Volos, Greece, who took part in social and environmental campaigns. Among the causes he supported was the opposition to waste incineration at the AGET-Lafarge cement plant, an issue that had raised serious concerns among local residents about its potential impact on the environment and public health. This was not an abstract cause or a distant political debate. It was about people's right to live in a safe environment, to have a say in decisions affecting their lives, and to be able to speak up without fear.

On 13 June 2020, a large demonstration took place in Volos against waste incineration. The following day, Vasilis was physically assaulted by police officers outside the city's courthouse, during a gathering in solidarity with protesters who had been arrested. He reported that the abuse continued during his transfer in a police vehicle and inside the police headquarters. On 13 July 2020, almost a month later, he was found dead at his home.

Six years later, on 31 October 2026, the Mixed Jury Court of Karditsa found five of the six police officers accused in the case guilty. The verdict included the charge of torture relating to the abuse inside the police headquarters, as well as other offences. The court treated the allegations concerning the police vehicle separately. The decision marked a significant moment in the family's long struggle for justice, although the legal process is not yet over, as the officers appealed the verdict.

Following the announcement, Vasilis's father, Giannis Maggos, added a powerful thought to his son's words: 

“And even when we win, we will still have to fight.”

Perhaps this statement captures something much bigger than the case itself. Because even when a court reaches a decision, even when a long struggle finally produces a significant outcome, the question remains: what has actually changed? How many people must fight, expose themselves to risk, endure consequences and persevere for years before rights that should have been taken for granted are finally recognised? And how many times will we still have to fight for the same things?

When the obvious becomes something we have to fight for

We live in a society where people are still forced to fight for things that should never have been negotiable in the first place: justice, dignity, equality, safety, the protection of the environment and the right to life. And in the middle of all this, instead of someone standing alongside another human being, acknowledging an injustice, taking responsibility and doing what they are supposed to do, the conversation so often shifts elsewhere. Suddenly, it becomes about “the left turning everything into a struggle”, about so-called troublemakers, extremists or people who supposedly see problems where none exist.

In doing so, we lose sight of what actually matters. We stop discussing what happened, the human consequences, the responsibility of institutions or the need for accountability. Instead, the focus shifts to who belongs where, who supports whom and which side should ultimately prevail. Human dignity becomes a matter of political affiliation, as though the right to justice depends on the ideological identity of the person demanding it.

It is striking, and deeply concerning, how easily these dividing lines are drawn. “Us” and “them” begin to matter more than the issue itself. The need to defend our own group can become stronger than the willingness to acknowledge an injustice, even when it is committed by people or institutions with which we identify. Disagreement becomes a threat, criticism becomes an attack, and loyalty to a group can gradually turn into an unwillingness to question it.

Social psychology has explored these dynamics for decades. Our sense of identity is partly shaped by the groups to which we belong, and the distinction between an in-group and an out-group can influence how we perceive and treat others. This sense of belonging is not inherently problematic. It becomes more concerning when group identity is built around the rejection of another group, when people are encouraged to see others as enemies rather than fellow human beings with different perspectives.

A shared enemy can become a powerful tool for creating solidarity within a group. But when unity is built primarily around opposition to someone else, rather than shared values, responsibility or a common vision, it can also become a means of maintaining power. It is much easier to keep people divided and occupied with fighting one another than to encourage them to question the structures that shape their lives. When enemies are constantly created, followers and defenders are easily mobilised. People become so invested in protecting their side that they may stop asking whether that side itself needs to be held accountable.

This is not exclusive to any particular political ideology. It is a social dynamic that can emerge wherever the need to maintain power becomes more important than the willingness to take responsibility. And this brings us to another important question: what do we actually understand by strength?

The difference between strength and dominance

We have become accustomed to confusing strength with dominance, leadership with control, and winning with defeating someone else. It is almost as if someone must lose for someone else to succeed. As though admitting a mistake diminishes our worth, taking responsibility makes us weak, and empathy is something we can afford only when our own position is not under threat.

This way of thinking is also reflected in certain expressions of toxic masculinity. Not masculinity itself, nor male identity as a whole, but social expectations that associate a man's worth with dominance, control, aggression and the constant need to prove superiority. Within this framework, a strong person does not back down, does not question themselves, does not apologise and does not have to answer for their actions. Yet genuine strength is not measured by one's ability to impose their will on others. It is also reflected in the ability to recognise one's limits, take responsibility and protect without controlling.

Healthy masculinity, like any healthy expression of strength, does not need to constantly prove its superiority. It can coexist with care, sensitivity, empathy and accountability. It does not need to diminish another person to affirm its own worth. It does not mistake compassion for weakness or responsibility for defeat. And this is not simply a matter of individual behaviour. It also concerns the way power is exercised within families, workplaces, institutions and society as a whole.

What kind of leadership are we creating?

The same question arises when we talk about leadership. What does it really mean to lead? Is it having the authority to give orders and demand obedience, or is it being able to take responsibility for the people and decisions one influences? Is leadership about maintaining control, or about creating the conditions in which others can grow, contribute and express disagreement without fear?

Leadership is not demonstrated simply by how many people follow someone. It is also reflected in how those people feel and function around them. Is there trust? Is there room for different perspectives? Can mistakes be acknowledged? Is accountability shared, or is responsibility repeatedly pushed downwards onto those with less power? Someone can hold a position of authority without possessing genuine leadership qualities. They can enforce compliance without inspiring trust, make demands without offering support, and maintain their position by creating fear rather than confidence.

Perhaps the most important dimension of leadership, however, begins before we ever take responsibility for others. It begins with self-leadership: the ability to recognise our own patterns, understand our reactions and take responsibility for the impact we have on those around us. We cannot demand a society free from domination while reproducing controlling behaviours in our own relationships. We cannot demand accountability from others while refusing to acknowledge our own mistakes. And we cannot speak about change while expecting everyone else to change without examining our own contribution to the very patterns we criticise.

When survival becomes a collective experience

All of this becomes even more significant when viewed through the lens of social and intergenerational trauma. Repeated experiences of violence, injustice, exclusion and institutional abuse do not affect only those directly involved. They can undermine trust within communities, shape how people perceive safety and influence their relationship with authority. These experiences may leave a lasting imprint across generations, not only through family relationships and shared narratives, but also through social conditions that continue to reproduce fear, insecurity and a sense of powerlessness.

When individuals or communities are repeatedly forced into a position of defence, when safety cannot be taken for granted and when exercising basic rights comes with the fear of consequences, we cannot ignore the psychological impact of these conditions. Prolonged exposure to threat can affect our sense of safety, our nervous system's ability to regulate and our capacity to trust the world around us.

This does not mean that every act of social resistance is a trauma response, nor should the pursuit of justice be pathologised. Resistance can be a conscious, healthy and necessary choice. The question is why we continue to create and maintain conditions in which people have to resist simply to protect what should already be guaranteed.

Perhaps this is only a small reflection of the way our world operates: a society that so often confuses strength with dominance, leadership with control, and victory with defeating someone else. A society that speaks of justice, equality and human rights, yet struggles to uphold them when they come into conflict with interests, established power or collective identities.

Beyond the struggle itself

Maybe we still have a great deal of work to do, both individually and collectively, to understand what strength, justice and human dignity truly mean. We need to learn how to disagree without dehumanising one another, how to take responsibility without constantly searching for excuses, and how to understand leadership as a responsibility towards people rather than a right to exercise power over them.

Until we reach a society where people no longer have to fight for the most basic things, where safety is not a privilege and where we no longer reproduce conditions of fear, defensiveness and survival, let us hope for the next victories in the struggles that lie ahead. Not only the victories that bring recognition or vindication, but those that help create a world in which future generations will not have to fight the same battles.

Because perhaps the greatest victory is not the ability to keep fighting forever, but the ability to create a world in which no one is forced to.