On Revolutions, Opinions, and Never Forgetting to Come Home with the Milk!

 

I was once privy to a discussion among a group of brothers about recent events, particularly in Sudan, Syria, and more recently Iran, and the broader question of whether revolutions are ultimately worth their cost.

 

It was not an unusual conversation. In many ways, it reflected the nature of the world we now live in: a world where people are increasingly informed by proximity to news rather than depth of understanding, and where opinions, often strong ones, form quickly around events that are complex, distant, and still unfolding.

 

Discussion itself is not the problem. On the contrary, discussion is healthy. It sharpens thinking, exposes assumptions, and helps people test ideas against others. The issue arises when discussion becomes detached from understanding, or when it absorbs so much attention that it begins to substitute for our other priorities and responsibilities; the kind of responsibility that includes, quite literally, arriving home without forgetting the milk!

Don't get me wrong. I am not trying to come across as 'scolding' or 'condescending,' but merely trying to highlight that 'there is a difference between being engaged and being consumed.'

What struck me in that discussion was not disagreement, but a certainty formed without grappling with the underlying mechanics of the topic at hand. This is common in corridor conversations, dinner dialogue, online commentary, and even, sometimes, professional settings. People speak confidently about their ideas of outcomes while overlooking real structural forces and sensitivities that shape actual outcomes. This gap is sadly not new.

 

Regarding the topic at hand, once I heard a South African ambassador make an observation on the subject of revolutions that stayed with me. I am not someone who proactively searches out these topics, but it was a case of unintentionally being in the right place at the right time. In his presentation, he spoke about how revolutions are often judged by their moments, the 'force,' the uprising, the removal, and the spectacle, while the more decisive phase of the shifting layers of events is largely ignored. He framed it not as a political critique but as a misunderstanding of how systems actually function.

 

Later, I encountered the same idea articulated more formally in political theory, particularly in work published through Oxford platforms such as Oxford Research Encyclopedias and the Oxford Public International Law series. The language differs, but the core insight is consistent:

There is a fundamental difference between the balance of force and the balance of power.

 

Most people focus on the first, but most outcomes are determined by the second.

The balance of force refers to visible pressure.

 

It is what manifests in protests, strikes, mass mobilisation, public defiance, and moments where authority appears to collapse under collective weight. Force is disruptive by nature, as it interrupts routines, removes individuals, and exposes weaknesses in an existing order.

 

Whilst some argue that in both political and organisational contexts, force is often necessary because without it, entrenched systems rarely move, since it is proven to be the mechanism by which change becomes unavoidable, it is important to recognise and realise that: 'force has limits'...

 

It peaks quickly, fades unevenly, and mostly fails to govern what follows.

 

Whilst it may create openings and remove leadership, it does not automatically create structure, nor generate coherence, legitimacy, or continuity.

 

This is where many pundits and inexperienced observers, particularly those distant from the reality of consequences, fall into error: 'They overestimate what force alone can achieve.'

What is the balance of power?

 

The balance of power is silent and slower. It resides in institutions: in states, this means the military, police, judiciary, bureaucracy, and financial systems; in organisations, it takes the form of governance structures, decision-making processes, incentive systems, informal hierarchies, and organisational culture.

 

Now the key denominator about power is that it's never about noise and visibility. It is about 'durability.'

 

This is where strategy becomes decisive. Institutions are rarely transformed through confrontation alone. More often, they shift when participation in the new order becomes safer, more viable, and more rewarding than resistance to it. In that sense, institutions sometimes need to be persuaded, almost seduced, not through ideology, but through incentives, reassurance, and careful sequencing. Practicality often has to precede idealism. The individual operating in this space is therefore not necessarily a traitor to the cause, but a navigator of constraints, working to ensure continuity while change takes shape. History is unkind to movements that ignore systems, and frequently misunderstands those who choose to work within them.

 

In summary: Force can destabilise an order, but power determines what replaces it.

This distinction is well understood by people operating at executive and institutional levels, whether in governments or large organisations. They are acutely aware that abrupt disruption without institutional alignment creates instability, fragmentation, and unintended consequences.

 

That awareness often looks like hesitation from the outside and can be misread as weakness, betrayal, or bad faith, and this is exactly what corridor commentators frequently miss. They miss the fact that executives are not managing moments; they are managing systems. They are constrained not only by ideals but also by continuity, legal frameworks, operational realities, and long-term risk.

 

This is why the Arabic saying "عقول الثورات لا تبني دولا," meaning "the mindset of revolutions does not build states," persists across cultures. It is not an argument against revolution itself but a recognition of its limits and, from them, the fact that 'removal is not always construction, and disruption is not always governance.'

None of this is an argument for disengagement or indifference. It is an argument for intellectual discipline.

 

In a world saturated with information and opinion, the temptation is to speak often and confidently about everything. But understanding complex transitions, whether in countries or companies, requires restraint, humility, and a willingness to sit patiently despite uncertainty.

Discussions are valuable when they deepen understanding but become counterproductive when they replace it. And when they begin to pull us away from our own responsibilities, be they personal, professional, or moral, they stop being a sign of engagement and start becoming a distraction.

Circling back to the discussion among this group of strong-opinionated brothers, where this post came from, and in case it got missed:

Revolutions remind us that change is possible. They also remind us that disruption is easier than building, and that what lasts is usually shaped by forces we don’t see in the moment.

 

 

If our conversations about the world are meant to be useful, not just expressive, or 'for the sake of it,' they must move beyond surface judgments and engage with the underlying structures. That requires deepening our knowledge of the things we speak about: particularly the political, economic, and institutional structures of countries and organisations that shape real outcomes.

 

Without that effort, we risk talking endlessly about utopian ideals while neglecting both the sensitive realities and our own life responsibilities, including, from time to time, remembering to come home with the milk!