Hegemony

Antonio Gramsci developed his theory of hegemony while imprisoned by Mussolini's fascist regime from 1926-1937, writing in coded language to evade censors. He questioned why Italian workers supported fascism despite it opposing their economic interests, concluding that cultural institutions—schools, churches, media—had secured their consent to ruling-class dominance. His insight that power maintains itself not primarily through police but through shaping what seems "common sense" revolutionized how we understand social control. These prison writings, smuggled out and published posthumously, became foundational texts for understanding everything from advertising to education policy.

Hegemony explains why you might defend systems that don't serve you—it's not false consciousness but the subtle saturation of ideas that make alternatives seem unrealistic or naive. Social media algorithms create hegemonic bubbles by making certain political perspectives feel universal while rendering others invisible or extremist. The genius of hegemonic power is that it feels like freedom: you're choosing your beliefs, your purchases, your politics, never noticing how the menu of acceptable options was curated. Recognizing hegemony in action means asking not just what you think, but what you can't imagine thinking.

Gramsci argued that revolutionaries needed to win a "war of position" in civil society before seizing state power—changing hearts and minds through alternative education, art, and journalism. This concept inspired everyone from Paulo Freire's critical pedagogy movement to contemporary activists building mutual aid networks and independent media. The right wing understood this too: think tanks, conservative campus groups, and Fox News represent deliberate counter-hegemonic projects to reshape common sense. Every cultural battle over school curricula, pronouns, or holiday coffee cups is actually a hegemonic struggle over whose worldview gets to feel normal.

"Hegemony" comes from the Greek "hēgemonia" meaning leadership or dominance, originally describing how Athens or Sparta led military alliances of city-states. The term implied leadership that combined force with the consent of subordinate partners—a voluntary hierarchy. Gramsci radicalized this ancient concept by applying it to class relations within societies, showing how ruling groups maintain "leadership" through cultural consensus rather than constant coercion. The etymological journey from military alliance to cultural domination reveals how power always prefers subjects who march willingly.

Fish don't know they're in water, and that's precisely how hegemony works. Try this: name three assumptions about "how things work" that seemed natural until someone pointed out they were political choices—maybe that healthcare should be tied to employment, or that 40-hour work weeks are inevitable, or that certain emotions are "professional" while others aren't. The most successful hegemonic ideas are those that have successfully disguised themselves as nature, biology, tradition, or simple practicality rather than as the preferences of specific groups. Breaking hegemony starts with the uncomfortable recognition that much of what you call "reality" is actually just well-established convention.

Gramsci distinguished between "traditional intellectuals" (priests, teachers, philosophers who seem autonomous) and "organic intellectuals" who emerge from and articulate the worldview of their social class. Every group produces its own intellectuals—union organizers, political bloggers, community activists—who either reinforce or challenge dominant hegemony. You're probably an organic intellectual in some domain, whether you're explaining workplace injustices to colleagues or helping your community understand new technologies. The question Gramsci forces us to ask: whose hegemony are your explanations, your expertise, your "just makes sense" arguments actually serving?