By: Roy Douglas Malonson
What’s the real difference between a democracy and a dictatorship—and does it depend on who you are in America?
For Black Americans, that question has never been theoretical. It’s personal. It’s historical. And
In today’s divided political climate, it’s urgent. The events of January 6, 2021, when an overwhelmingly white mob stormed the U.S. Capitol to overturn the results of a presidential election, forced the nation to reckon with a truth Black communities have long understood: democracy in America has always operated on a double standard.
When Black people protest against injustice— whether police brutality, voter suppression, or systemic racism—they are met with riot gear, rubber bullets, and mass arrests. But when mostly white rioters violently breached the Capitol, many were allowed to walk away without consequences. The difference in treatment was not just about politics— it was about privilege. And it exposed how quickly democratic ideals can slip toward dictatorship when power is protected by force instead of votes.
Donald Trump’s refusal to accept the outcome of the 2020 election wasn’t just political defiance—it was a direct challenge to the foundation of American democracy. He pushed lies about voter fraud, pressured officials to “find votes,” and told his supporters to “fight like hell.” That call led to violence. Yet even after the attack, many downplayed what happened. Some called it a protest. Others blamed “Antifa.” But Black Americans knew exactly what it was: an attempted power grab disguised as patriotism.
Now in 2025, with Trump once again a dominant political figure, the threat of authoritarianism feels even more real— especially after the recent wave of protests in Los Angeles. This time, the unrest didn’t begin with a police shooting, but with large-scale ICE raids. Around June 6, federal agents swept through the Fashion District, Home Depot, and other areas in downtown L.A., detaining more than 100 people. Witnesses described federal officers using stun grenades during chaotic scuffles. The community response was swift and angry.
In the days that followed, downtown L.A. saw major protests, some clashes with police, and limited looting. But instead of addressing the roots of the unrest, the government responded with curfews, militarization, and mass arrests. Mayor Karen Bass declared a state of emergency and imposed a strict nightly curfew from 8 p.m. to 6 a.m. covering a one-mile radius. Police arrested over 400 people in a single night, with dozens more detained for curfew violations and “unlawful assembly” throughout the week.
President Trump— using familiar language—called the protests “insurrectionist” and deployed more than 2,000 National Guard troops and 700 Marines to control the situation. The move drew criticism and legal pushback from Governor Gavin Newsom, but federal forces arrived anyway. The federal occupation of a major U.S. city, against the wishes of local leaders, is the kind of power play more commonly associated with dictatorships—not democracies.
And once again, the contrast was sharp. When Trump supporters attacked the Capitol, federal troops were delayed. Police presence was minimal. Arrests came slowly, and some charges were reduced or dropped altogether. But when Black and Latino communities rose up in L.A., the government wasted no time bringing in the military.
The same story played out in 1992, when the acquittal of officers in the Rodney King beating sparked outrage across Los Angeles. Back then, the National Guard flooded the streets. In 2020, following the murder of George Floyd, peaceful protests were met with tear gas, rubber bullets, and media narratives that labeled protestors “thugs” and “anarchists.” And now in 2025, we’re seeing history repeat itself.
So what’s the difference between dictatorship and democracy? On paper, it’s about power and consent. But in practice, especially in Black America, the difference has always come down to enforcement—and who benefits from the rules. When law and order serve power, not people, democracy becomes a performance. When elections are questioned only when Black and Brown voters show up in record numbers, democracy becomes conditional. And when soldiers are sent in to silence dissent, we’re no longer asking “if ” authoritarianism is rising—we’re witnessing it.
Black Americans have never had the luxury of assuming democracy would protect us. We’ve had to fight for every right, every vote, every breath. That’s why we must keep asking the hard questions. Not just what democracy looks like—but who it really works for.
Because if democracy only serves some, and punishes others for speaking up, it’s not democracy at all. And we know exactly what comes next.
