Beyond Outrage: Build the Alternative

Why violence fails and how building a better system beats tearing down the old one

Can violence ever be the answer to societal injustices? If not, what is the most effective way to drive systemic change? I have spent nearly 6 months and written four essays grappling with these questions¹. When Luigi Mangione allegedly shot Brian Thompson, the CEO of United Healthcare, it set off a wave of both support and moral outrage. It was an incident that presented a microcosm of our widening societal rupture.

In this fifth and final essay on the shooting², I explore why engaging in violence or supporting it to bring down the current system is unlikely to move us closer to a just society. In fact, it may just change the face of power, but not its nature, while deepening the very injustices we seek to correct. Instead, I suggest that our goals might be better served by creating an alternative to the current system that outcompetes it. I end with some concrete examples that illustrate how these alternatives are already being built.

Why we need to focus on the system

Before we look at why building an alternative might be a better strategy, it is important to clarify what I mean by the system and why we must focus on it and not on individuals. The system is the web of institutions, laws, and incentives that govern our lives—economies, governments, media, cultural norms, education systems, values, and more.

The need for acting on those levers instead of resorting to desperate acts of violence is captured in this news item from Reuters on May 7th.

In the wake of Brian Thompson’s murder, United Healthcare instituted policies that would increase the number of insurance claims it approved. The result— it promptly got sued because shareholders said this would impact profitability, and the company should have told them so—so they could have dumped the company’s stocks.

Let’s pause to consider the perversity of that for a minute. A healthcare company was sued for prioritizing people’s health. Many people celebrated the shooting of Brian Thompson, saying that he was a villain who denied people healthcare. What does this headline say about who the villain is? The shareholders, some of whom are ordinary people like you and me? The law firm that brought the lawsuit? Or the system of incentives that keeps us locked into this madness?

And perhaps more disturbingly, what does it reveal about our complicity, witting or unwitting, in maintaining our own prison?

Why should any company or executive ever do right by us if they are promptly going to get punished by the market? This example clearly illustrates what is wrong with our economy—the narrow prioritization of short-term profit as opposed to the well-being of society.

This also shows why violence might not be the answer. Forget the moral and ethical dimensions, it is just not an effective strategy.

Why violence doesn’t lead where we think it does

But let’s take it further. Suppose, just suppose, we manage to bring down this system with violence. What comes after that? Do we have something better to take its place? How do we ensure that we don’t end up repeating the errors of the past? Most revolutions fail because those who lead them haven’t thought beyond toppling existing power structures. It is understandable in some sense because toppling power structures can itself seem like such a tall order. Thinking of anything beyond that seems like a pipe dream.

But history is awash with examples where revolutions only changed the face of power while retaining underlying structural dynamics. The French Revolution, arising out of inequality, ended with the monarchy being replaced by Napoleon, who declared himself Emperor. Or the Iranian revolution, where the Shah, a secular autocrat, was replaced by Ayatollah Khomeini, a religious autocrat, as ‘Supreme Leader’.

But the most ironic example comes from the Taliban in Afghanistan. I share their case not because the righteous struggle of the oppressed masses is in any way comparable to the actions of the Taliban. The Taliban has committed unspeakable atrocities in the name of a holy war, while people crying out against the system are mostly innocent victims. But the example shows how even the most extremist of ideologies can be subsumed by existing power structures.

In news that reads like something right out of the Onion—a report from Afghanistan Analysts shows that the Taliban are now stuck running the same system they fought so hard against and complaining about the soul sucking nature of traffic and bureaucracy.

Here are some quotes from interviews with ex-Taliban fighters who are now a part of the government:

“In the time of jihad, life was very simple. All we had to deal with was making plans for attacks against the enemy and for retreating. People didn’t expect much from us, and we had little responsibility towards them, whereas now if someone is hungry, he deems us directly responsible for that.”

“The Taliban used to be free of restrictions, but now we sit in one place, behind a desk and a computer 24 hours a day, seven days a week. Life’s become so wearisome; you do the same things every day.”

It is this phenomenon, where revolutions just repackage old systems without changing underlying fundamentals, that led the French critic Jean-Baptiste to remark:

“The more things change, the more they remain the same.”

And this is the case if violence even ends up achieving its aim of toppling power. It mostly does not. Instead, history shows that when violence becomes normalized, it isn’t just the so-called rich and powerful who suffer— all of us do.

In post-World War I Germany (1918–1933), more than 30 competing paramilitary factions normalized political violence, each claiming moral justification for the murder of nearly 400 people. The chaos eroded trust in institutions, paving the way for Hitler’s rise—who positioned himself as a strongman capable of restoring order.

Similarly, Ted Kaczynski (the Unabomber) justified 17 years of bombings as a “revolution” against industrial society. He killed three and maimed dozens—all the while deluding himself that collapsing the techno-industrial complex would restore individual autonomy.

These examples reveal a pattern: moral certainty fuels “us vs. them” narratives, escalating violence until everyone loses. It is a pattern that is already playing out in our highly polarized world.

We’re drifting toward a dangerous collective narrative: the system is rigged and the situation is hopeless. That hopelessness breeds volatility. Today’s target is the CEO; tomorrow, the landlord, tech worker, or immigrant. Rhetoric in the US has already expanded from “eat the rich” to anti-tech and anti-immigrant rage—the line keeps moving until anyone considered to be opposed to one's aims becomes fair game.

These violent political examples highlight a deeper truth echoed in spiritual traditions across cultures. Reality’s interconnectedness means every disturbance ripples outward and impacts us all.³ The implications are caught perfectly by these famous lines from John Donne:

"No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main; any man’s death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind; and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls, it tolls for thee.”

After years working on systemic crises like climate change and feeling the weight of corruption and inequality myself, I understand the desperation that drives acts like Luigi’s. But violence, even born of frustration, exacts a toll far beyond its target: on families, on the perpetrators themselves, and on a society left questioning how to respond to this moment.

If we are to avoid an ever-escalating cycle of chaos, it is imperative that we reject violence and respond in a way that heals instead of fractures. This is especially critical in today’s times of rising authoritarianism. As the example of Germany above shows, authoritarianism thrives on division and chaos. It justifies itself by pointing to the very instability it helps create. It needs an enemy. It wants a riot. It is critical that we avoid that trap.

That does not mean passivity in response. Rejecting violence does not mean rejecting resistance. When dissent is criminalized and vulnerable communities face existential threats, nonviolent confrontations—protests, strikes, legal challenges—are not just justified but essential.

Those resistance tactics are not something that I feel qualified to write about. This essay, however, focuses on a parallel truth: even successful resistance cannot sustain justice without alternatives to replace the systems it topples. Survival and transformation are not opposites—they are partners. Immediate disciplined non-violent resistance protects our present, systemic change protects our future.

Transformation requires that we make the power these corrupt systems and individuals hold irrelevant. And that begins by understanding how we can effectively change the underlying dynamics of power, not just its face. That requires us to develop a theory of change.

---

A little support goes a long way. If you find this post useful, please consider a small contribution to keep this inquiry going

---

A theory of change: Build the alternative

A theory of change is a thesis about how change might take place. Luigi and those supporting his actions are espousing a theory of change that says:

“People in positions of power are corrupt and evil. They do not care about us, and the only way to get them to change is to use violence. Violence will make them fear us. And once they fear us, they will have no option but to do right by us.”

We have already seen above why this theory of change is incorrect. Can we do better? I think we can.

One of the main theories of change I subscribe to comes from Buckminster Fuller, the legendary systems theorist:

“You can’t change anything by fighting or resisting it. You change something by making it obsolete through superior methods.”

This means that if we want to move beyond this cycle of pain and protest, we must realize that critique alone doesn’t change systems. If we want people to abandon broken models, we have to offer working ones.

The effectiveness of this strategy can be best seen by looking at the story of Tesla. It is easy to forget this now, but 15 years ago, nobody thought electric cars could be mainstream. Tesla ushered in the electric car revolution by proving that they were not only viable but superior. It did this against all odds, with all automobile manufacturers betting against it. But once Tesla showed that an electric car is viable—the ground shifted beneath all of them and they were left to play catch up—building electric cars of their own⁴.

How this strategy of building alternatives pair up with resistance can be seen from the Montgomery Bus Boycott that was part of the Civil Rights Movement. In 1955, Alabama’s segregated buses forced Black passengers to surrender seats to white riders, endure racial slurs, and enter through rear doors. In response, over 40,000 Black residents refused to ride buses for 381 days, starving the transit system of 65% of its revenue.

In parallel, Black churches and community groups organized a sophisticated carpool system with 300 vehicles, providing 20,000 rides daily. Drivers navigated police harassment (tickets, insurance cancellations) but kept the boycott alive. This made the boycott sustainable and demonstrated Black resilience and self-sufficiency, undercutting racist narratives of dependency. All of this culminated in legal victories in 1956 that rendered bus segregation unconstitutional.

It is critical to emphasize that these shifts were only possible because people had an alternative to move to. In the case of Tesla, criticism against automobile manufacturers and fossil fuels had been going on for decades—but it didn’t move the needle until someone came along and proved that a better way was possible. This shows that alternatives must match or exceed incumbents’ utility, not just their ethics.

That isn’t simple. But it is extremely powerful. Building an alternative sets in motion a domino effect. As more people see alternatives working, we see a cultural shift supporting the alternatives. Since the aim of politicians is to get elected, these cultural shifts embolden politicians to support reform. They champion policies that they think their base likes. As new policies get enacted, they enable even more alternatives to come up. As alternatives become mainstream, consumers abandon corporations and institutions doing things the old way. This, in turn, puts pressure on these institutions to play by the new rules. And slowly but surely, you end up with a new system.

This strategy is also empowering. When people are only offered critique, they collapse into fatalism or nihilism. Critique puts the onus and power of driving change in the hands of someone else. But when people are offered a path to build — even if it’s small, even if it’s local — they recover a sense of agency. And agency, more than outrage, is what fuels real change.

Outrage burns fast. It is the fast food of meaning⁵. But belief in a possibility — that’s what sustains movements. That’s what turns grief into building. So it is important to remember that we need something to move toward, not just something to fight against.

So much of our energy today is locked in opposition. But we cannot outfight the system on its own terms. We have to outgrow it. And that means creating models that make people say: “Why would I keep playing by those rules, when this is clearly working better?”

This can seem like an uphill task given that incumbents have billions of dollars and a many-year headstart. The key lies in realizing that the alternative doesn’t have to compete on the terms of the incumbent. For instance, a company offering a 4-day work week might not be able to compete on pay with a company offering a 5-day work week. But it can compete on providing greater freedom, time with family/friends, and higher overall well-being.

There are many other challenges in creating alternatives, including how to make them sustainable, so I will explore more of these levers and tactics in future essays.

For now, the key takeaway is that building the alternative is not about waiting for someone else to fix it. It’s about reclaiming power from politicians and technocrats and asking: What can we demonstrate, right now, that proves another way is possible?

To help whet our appetite for the challenge, let’s look at a few examples of where alternatives are already being built.

Where the future is already being built

Kaiser Permanente: Aligning incentives in healthcare

Let’s take healthcare — the very system at the center of Luigi’s alleged act and Brian’s life’s work.

The US healthcare system is broken because the incentives of the players run counter to the well-being of the patient. Simply put–patients want to live long, healthy lives; providers financially benefit from having more sick patients needing billable services; and payers/insurers profit when they enroll generally healthy people who don’t require expensive care​.

Given that people in the US change health providers ~every 2 years, the insurers lack the incentive to invest in long-term health outcomes. If the insurer pays for preventative healthcare now, but the savings only come in later after the person has changed plans, then it is a losing proposition for the insurer. The insurer, in fact, has every incentive to delay or deny expensive care a patient needs in order to improve its profitability.

The rabbit hole of US healthcare is deep, and there are many more issues, but the end result is that preventive care gets underfunded, essential care gets delayed or denied, and patients get lost in the maze.

But there’s another model. One that proves it doesn’t have to be this way.

Kaiser Permanente is an integrated healthcare system that flips the usual incentives on their head. Instead of separating insurers, providers, and hospitals into competing entities, Kaiser brings them under one roof. Members (patients) prepay through premiums for comprehensive care, and Kaiser is responsible for providing all necessary healthcare for that fixed payment.

This prepaid model means that, unlike fee-for-service, KP does not earn more by performing unnecessary procedures – it actually does better financially if it keeps patients healthy and out of the hospital. This flips the usual incentives: prevention and efficiency are rewarded.

The result? Lower costs, better outcomes, and higher patient satisfaction — all within the U.S., all under the same constraints every other provider faces.

It’s not perfect. But it’s proof. Proof that structure matters. That systems can be designed to heal rather than extract. That we don’t have to accept the status quo as inevitable.

And healthcare isn’t the only domain where this shift is happening.

Civic Tech Toronto: Making Power Legible

Here in Toronto, a group of volunteers is quietly building something powerful — a dashboard that helps citizens understand what policies their city council is working on, how each councillor votes, and how to meaningfully participate.

The mechanisms they use are simple. By making the city’s actions more transparent and accessible, they allow more people to show up at City Hall when a law they care about is being discussed. Typically, politicians only hear from lobbyists or vested interests and end up acting in their favour. When ordinary citizens show up, the councillors pay attention because they want to get elected the next time around. The pressure to listen is added on because the Civic Tech team also sends people an email with the councillor’s voting record right before the election.

The brilliance of this initiative lies in the fact that it puts power in the hands of people using already existing infrastructure. It requires no law changes, no external funding, and no institutional support. Just a bunch of volunteers deciding that their city deserves better and getting to work.

Cooperatives: Community Ownership as a Counter-Model

In Colorado, a group of ride-share drivers launched a worker-owned transportation cooperative. It functions like Uber — but instead of funneling profits to shareholders, it distributes them to the drivers. Unlike Uber, where a driver’s take on a ride ranges from 40-75%, drivers in the cooperative keep 80% of the fare. All this while offering cheaper rides to the commuters.

Same service. Different logic—one rooted in community ownership, dignity, and shared benefit.

If you are wondering about the scalability of this model, just take a look at Amul. It is an Indian dairy cooperative that supports millions of small farmers by cutting out middlemen. It generates a whopping 11 billion USD in revenue annually, but makes zero profit because it passes on the surplus to farmers and consumers.

---

If you find this post useful, please consider a small one-time contribution to keep this inquiry going. A little support goes a long way

---

Believe that something different is possible

Please note that while the examples above are in the realm of business and civic innovation, there is equally innovative work being done across education, culture building, environment, and more. I will write more about these cases in the future, but I hope the examples above show you that driving systems change is possible.

It is important for us to believe that and build these alternatives, lest the system claim more tragic victims like Luigi and Brian. And yes, it is critical to recognize that they are both victims. Luigi was a bright spark, an Ivy League graduate driven to the edge. Not much has been written about Brian, but then he must have undoubtedly been smart and driven to be the CEO of the US’s largest insurance provider. More importantly, he was a husband, a son, and a father to two young sons. Let this class divide not make us forget the very human stakes at play here.

Whether you support Luigi’s actions or grieve Brian’s death, I understand that treating them as victims and shifting focus to the system instead of individuals is challenging. It seems to leave out something important. That, in the end, despite systemic pressures—we are all responsible for our actions. That fact leaves us with unresolved pain and anger. Difficult as it is, I find the antidote to that in the words of Martin Luther King Jr:

“He who is devoid of the power to forgive is devoid of the power to love. There is some good in the worst of us and some evil in the best of us. When we discover this, we are less prone to hate our enemies.”

It is easier to stay in judgment, to hold on tightly to anger, to call for justice in the abstract. Forgiveness is neither owed nor is it easy. But that might be the only thing that can heal our world. The real work begins when we take that hard path. When we sit with the full weight of the tragedy and let it stretch our understanding, rather than let it turn us against each other.

What’s needed is not a clearer villain, but a deeper understanding of the system that produced both men. And a clearer vision of what we might build in its place.

That vision won’t come from outrage alone. Or from waiting for someone else to fix things. It has to begin with us — not just as critics, but as designers. As people willing to experiment, to imagine, to try again. As people who understand that tearing things down is easy, but building something that truly works, something that holds, requires a different kind of courage. That path is difficult, but it is rewarding.

When I first started writing about systemic crises, many friends asked me what they could do as individuals to tackle systemic problems. I had no easy answer then because much of what needs to be done has to be invented by us. But the other reason was that I was thinking of systems change as one big monolithic problem. I have since realized that it is the wrong way of looking at things. Changing a system is the result of winning a billion small battles. Meaningful change often comes from starting where you are and taking what action you can instead of thinking abstractly about global problems.

If we’re going to move forward, we need more than policy change. We need cultural change. We don’t need to wait for permission. Each of us can be a builder. Even one working model, one cooperative, one community initiative, can help shift the narrative. It can give us belief, even in dark times, that the future is still unwritten — and ours to shape.

It is clear that the time for the current system is at an end. And while our present is tumultuous, the future is ripe with possibility. What might we create if we unshackle our imaginations from the tyranny of the present? As I end this essay and we continue this collective quest to build our tomorrow, I find these lines from Soren Kierkegaard to be inspiring companions:

“If I were to wish for anything, I should not wish for wealth and power, but for the passionate sense of the potential, for the eye which, ever young and ardent, sees the possible.

Pleasure disappoints, possibility never. And what wine is so sparkling, what so fragrant, what so intoxicating, as possibility!”

.

---

A little support goes a long way. If you find this post useful, please consider a small contribution to keep this going and share it with your friends

A big shout out to

The People's Community

for supporting this work with numerous referrals.

1. The first essay explored how this incident was a tragic inevitability and represents a fork in the road. The 2nd argued that given its subjectivity, morality is a limited guide in this situation and can actually worsen the problem. The 3rd used John Rawls’s ‘Veil of Ignorance’ to examine what a just society would look like. The 4th looked at data from housing, healthcare, education and more to establish that we live in a far from just society and people’s grievances against the system are justified

2. This was originally a series of 7 essays. I skipped publishing essays 5 and 6 because I realized that they deserved to be a series of essays in their own right. Originally, essay 5 tried to come up with a first principles based value system focused on our interconnectedness. The intention was to use that as a metaphysical base for building future systems and incentives. Insightful critique from

Joshua Bloom

made me realize that I need to deepen my understanding much further and explore the ideas in more detail.

Essay 6 was a series of arguments about how it was in the interest of elites to drive systems change. Each of those arguments probably deserves a post of its own instead of being clumped into one essay

3. From Eknath Eswaran’s introduction to the Gita, the foremost Hindu scripture

4. Tesla, in fact, serves as a double example of this strategy. When Elon did a hard right pivot—Tesla sales plummeted because people had other car companies they could switch to

5. This is a quote I love from Tom Chi at One Ventures