The Machines of Our Own Decline: How We Are Both Victims and Enforcers of Capitalism
How Black Americans Navigate Survival, Resistance, and Exhaustion in a System Designed to Exploit Them
In America, we are trapped in a brutal cycle. On one hand, we are victims of a system that exploits, exhausts, and dehumanizes us. On the other, we are the very hands that keep the machine running. Every job we do, every rule we enforce, every quiet moment of compliance—these are the actions that perpetuate the system we hate.
This reality is especially true for Black people. We exist in a nation built on our exploitation, one that profits from our labor, bodies, and suffering at every turn. The 2024 election only underscored what many of us already know: we are on our own. We cannot count on political systems that ignore us until it’s time to vote, nor can we depend on allies who disappear when our issues are inconvenient.
We are both the oppressed and the enforcers of our oppression, caught in a web of survival under capitalism. This is the uncomfortable truth we rarely confront: we are mechanisms of our own decline. We enforce the very system that robs us of our dignity, profits from our pain, and punishes us when we dare to resist.
But this system wasn’t built to serve us. It was built to exploit us. And we can’t dismantle it unless we first take care of ourselves and each other. Self-care is not a luxury—it is survival, and it’s the foundation for resistance.
Capitalism doesn’t just demand that you show up to work—it demands your obedience. It thrives on compliance, turning ordinary people into gatekeepers of exploitation. Whether you’re a manager denying time off, a clerk refusing a refund, or a bureaucrat rejecting someone’s benefits, the system depends on your participation to keep its wheels turning.
During the COVID-19 pandemic, millions of people faced eviction. According to the Princeton Eviction Lab, there were 3.6 million eviction cases filed annually even before the pandemic. Many of these evictions were carried out by property managers who were “just doing their jobs,” as families were thrown onto the streets in the middle of a public health crisis.
For Black Americans, this wasn’t just a housing crisis—it was a continuation of centuries of systemic harm. Black renters are disproportionately evicted in comparison to their white counterparts, and Black families are more likely to experience housing insecurity.
In a nation with more than 16 million empty homes, compared to approximately 600,000 homeless people, this is not a failure of capitalism—it’s a deliberate choice. Housing is not treated as a basic human right but as a commodity to profit from. Landlords would rather let properties sit empty, waiting for wealthy renters, than provide affordable shelter to those in need.
This grotesque prioritization of property over people speaks volumes about who we are as a society. As Martin Luther King Jr. said, "We must rapidly begin the shift from a 'thing-oriented' society to a 'person-oriented' society. When machines and computers, profit motives, and property rights are considered more important than people, the giant triplets of racism, materialism, and militarism are incapable of being conquered."
For Black families, the denial of housing is not just an economic issue—it’s an attack on our humanity. When we enforce the system’s rules without questioning their morality, we become complicit in perpetuating this harm.
The U.S. healthcare system is another battleground of exploitation. Every year, thousands of people are denied life-saving care not because it isn’t available, but because it isn’t profitable. According to the Kaiser Family Foundation, 18% of claims submitted to ACA Marketplace insurers were denied in 2021. These denials aren’t made by doctors—they’re made by low-level workers following rigid corporate policies. Patients are left to navigate a maze of bureaucratic cruelty while their health deteriorates.
For Black Americans, the stakes are even higher. Black women are three times more likely to die from pregnancy-related causes than white women, largely due to systemic racism within the healthcare system. But this is just the tip of the iceberg.
Black patients are often misdiagnosed, undertreated, and expected to endure inhumane levels of pain because of racist assumptions that we are somehow stronger or less sensitive. A 2016 study published in the Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences found that nearly half of medical trainees believed Black patients had thicker skin or higher pain tolerance. This isn’t just ignorance—it’s deadly. From inadequate pain management during routine care to outright dismissal of symptoms, this systemic bias costs lives.
For disabled Black Americans, the challenges compound. Navigating the labyrinth of insurance claims, Social Security, and state support systems is a full-time job in itself—a job with no paycheck, no benefits, and no end in sight. Processing times for benefits can stretch over 300 days, even for those with documented permanent disabilities. While waiting for the system to decide whether you “qualify” for survival, bills pile up, housing becomes precarious, and food insecurity looms.
This isn’t just exhausting—it’s designed to be. Fighting capitalism is exhausting—emotionally, physically, and spiritually. It drains us, numbs us, and keeps us too burned out to resist. The system thrives on our exhaustion, using it as a weapon to keep us compliant.
For single parents, this reality is even harsher. Between raising children, fighting bureaucracies for basic needs, and trying to stay engaged in community organizing or activism, there’s little left in the tank. How do you find the energy to write, create, or speak truth to power when you’re already drowning in survival? How do you support grassroots organizations, attend events, or donate to mutual aid funds when your time and money are consumed just trying to keep the lights on?
This is the cruel calculus of capitalism: it keeps us so preoccupied with survival that we have no bandwidth left to challenge the systems causing our suffering. It’s no coincidence that the very organizations advocating for change are often underfunded and overworked. Grassroots groups rely on the energy and support of people like you, but when the system ensures you’re too stretched to contribute, it wins twice—by maintaining the status quo and isolating you from collective action.
In this fight, exhaustion isn’t the only weapon used to keep us compliant. The culture around us also works to suppress resistance by shaming those who dare to point out injustice or express anger. It doesn’t tell you to stop resisting outright—it frames your dissent as weakness. This is where toxic positivity becomes a powerful tool for maintaining the status quo.
Toxic positivity discourages people from addressing systemic issues, framing them instead as personal problems to overcome with the “right mindset.” It silences dissent by labeling anger as negativity and systemic harm as a personal failure.
“You need to make the best of what you’ve got.”
“Stop complaining and just focus on the positive.”
“You’re being a victim—think like a survivor.”
These phrases aren’t just dismissive—they’re dangerous. Toxic positivity feeds into the myth of rugged individualism, the idea that we’re all on our own and responsible for our success or failure. It isolates us, convinces us that our struggles are ours alone, and discourages solidarity.
This mindset is devastating for Black people. When we internalize the lie that we’re failing because we’re not working hard enough or thinking positively enough, we lose sight of the real enemy: a system that was never designed to let us thrive.
It’s time to stop being tools of the system and start being agents of change. That doesn’t mean you need to quit your job tomorrow, throw your life into chaos, or burn bridges. Real change starts with conscious choices—decisions rooted in humanity, compassion, and a commitment to challenging injustice wherever you see it. It means recognizing that even small acts of defiance and solidarity can ripple outward, inspiring others to do the same.
Being an agent of change requires a balance between resistance and sustainability. Here are tangible ways to start:
Speak Up When It Matters
Challenge policies or practices in your workplace, community, or personal life that perpetuate harm. This could mean advocating for better treatment of coworkers, questioning biased policies, or refusing to enforce unjust rules. Even something as simple as saying, “This isn’t right,” can disrupt the cycle of silence that keeps injustice alive.Support Local and Grassroots Movements
Systemic change often starts with grassroots organizing. Find organizations in your community that are fighting for housing justice, healthcare reform, racial equity, or labor rights, and lend your support. If you can’t donate money, donate time, skills, or even just your voice to help amplify their work.Build Relationships and Foster Solidarity
Change doesn’t happen in isolation. Connect with people in your community who share your values and goals. Solidarity doesn’t just make movements stronger—it reminds us that we’re not alone in this fight. Find or create spaces where people can share their struggles, plan actions, and support one another.Boycott, Divest, and Demand Accountability
Use your purchasing power to support businesses and initiatives that align with your values and withdraw support from those that don’t. While individual action won’t topple capitalism, collective action—when paired with targeted organizing—can hold companies and institutions accountable for their practices.Educate Yourself and Others
Knowledge is power, but it’s only powerful when shared. Read, listen, and engage with content that broadens your understanding of systemic issues and teaches you how to combat them. Share what you learn with your community to help others see the connections between personal struggles and systemic harm.Refuse to Buy Into the Myths of Rugged Individualism
Capitalism thrives on the idea that we’re all in this alone. Push back against this myth by leaning on your community, asking for help when you need it, and showing up for others when you can. Collective care is revolutionary.
Through all of this, take care of yourself. This fight is hard. It’s exhausting. It’s relentless. But you cannot pour from an empty cup. Prioritize rest when you need it—without guilt. Nourish your body, mind, and spirit. Create moments of joy and connection with loved ones. Recognize that self-care isn’t selfish; it’s an essential act of survival and resilience.
You don’t need to do everything at once, and you don’t need to do it alone. Start where you are, with what you can. Whether it’s showing up for a protest, signing a petition, mentoring a younger activist, or even just speaking truth to power in your own circles, every act of resistance matters.
Because the fight for justice isn’t a sprint—it’s a marathon. And we need all of us, rested and ready, to make it to the finish line together. The system wasn’t built for us to thrive, but together, we can build something better.
Sources
Princeton Eviction Lab, The State of Eviction in America
https://evictionlab.org/Kaiser Family Foundation, Health Insurance Claims Denials
CDC, Racial Disparities in Maternal Mortality
https://www.cdc.gov/media/releases/2019/p0905-racial-ethnic-disparities-pregnancy-deaths.htmlStatista, Number of Empty Homes in the U.S.
https://www.statista.com/statistics/240264/total-number-of-vacant-housing-units-in-the-us/NCBI, Racial Bias in Pain Assessment and Treatment
https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC4843483/