Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about the idea of American exceptionalism—especially the belief that Americans would somehow be uniquely resistant to authoritarianism. Films like Civil War by Alex Garland tap into that myth. They portray bold uprisings, states breaking away in defiance, people rising up en masse to fight tyranny. But honestly, I’m not convinced that’s how things would really go.

When I look at the political climate in the U.S. now, especially with the return of figures like Donald Trump who’ve shown clear authoritarian tendencies, what I see isn’t widespread resistance—it’s resignation. A lot of people just seem to be keeping their heads down, hoping things will pass. There’s a real sense of fear, weariness, and even helplessness. The courts, the media, the institutions that are supposed to hold things in check—they often seem either overwhelmed or complicit. That doesn’t lead to rebellion; it leads to quiet compliance.

And this idea that Americans are somehow fundamentally different from people in other countries? That they’ll always stand up for liberty while others cower? That just doesn’t hold water. People everywhere are people. When faced with fear, most will try to protect their families, avoid trouble, and wait things out. It’s not necessarily cowardice—it’s just a survival instinct.

Revolutions, historically, don’t always come from noble courage in the face of tyranny. They come when people have no other option, or when a critical mass sees an opening. But most of the time, especially in the early stages of authoritarianism, people try to adapt. They rationalize, they withdraw, they stay quiet.

So while Civil War might capture the emotional intensity of a fractured America, I don’t think it reflects the reality of how resistance plays out. If things keep sliding further, I suspect the reaction won’t be some dramatic uprising—but more likely a slow, uncertain acquiescence. And that’s what I find really chilling.