The Power of Conflict: A Crisis or an Opportunity for Justice?

Conflict is often painted as something to avoid—an inconvenience, a disruption to the status quo. But for Black and Brown communities, conflict is not just inevitable, it’s a daily reality. Whether it’s the fight for fair wages, quality schools, affordable housing, or protection from state violence, constantly, there is a need to navigate struggles that shape both survival and their future.

George Cassidy Payne

The instinct to avoid conflict is understandable. Most people fear it because, at its core, conflict threatens our sense of safety, belonging, and emotional stability. Evolutionarily, humans are wired for cooperation and social harmony because our ancestors relied on group cohesion for survival. Open conflict within a tribe could lead to exile, loss of resources, or even death, making avoidance a deeply ingrained instinct. Psychologically, conflict triggers the brain’s fight, flight, or freeze response. We either engage in confrontation, withdraw, or shut down emotionally. For many, avoidance feels like the safest option, especially in cultures where confrontation is seen as disrespectful, unprofessional, or dangerous.

Our upbringing plays a significant role. If we were raised in environments where conflict led to punishment, rejection, or unresolved pain, we might learn to suppress disagreements rather than confront them. There’s also the illusion of peace—many people mistake the absence of visible conflict for actual harmony. But unresolved tensions don’t disappear; they fester. Suppressing conflict often leads to deeper resentment, passive aggression, or explosive outbursts when the pressure becomes too great.

But what if we saw conflict not as a threat, but as an opportunity? The Chinese word for “crisis” is composed of two symbols—one meaning danger, the other opportunity. This duality is something black and brown communities understand deeply. Every movement for justice, from civil rights to Black Lives Matter, was born from a crisis that could no longer be ignored.

Albert Einstein once said, “Out of clutter, find simplicity. From discord, find harmony. In the middle of difficulty lies opportunity.” Injustice breeds conflict, but it is conflict that forces society to demand something better.

The question we all must ask is not how do we avoid conflict? but rather how do we use conflict to advance justice?

One of the clearest modern examples of conflict shaping social change is the Black Lives Matter (BLM) movement.

In 2020, following the murder of George Floyd, the world watched as cities across the United States—and even around the globe—erupted in protests. Some saw these demonstrations as a call for justice; others dismissed them as riots. But what critics failed to understand is that these protests weren’t just about one man’s death, they were about centuries of systemic oppression, police brutality, and unfulfilled promises of equality.

Conflict does not emerge in a vacuum. It is the product of ignored grievances, denied rights, and power imbalances. The BLM movement reveals multiple dimensions of conflict, all of which are important to understanding how oppression operates: Nearly everyone agrees that public safety is essential, but the methods for achieving it are fiercely debated. Should we reform the police? Defund them? Abolish them entirely? The goal—community safety—is the same, but the pathways to that goal are contested. The movement forces society to confront deeply held beliefs about law enforcement, justice, and racial identity. For some, "Defund the Police" is a necessary call for reallocation of resources. For others, it is an attack on law and order. This is a fundamental clash of values. While billions are spent on policing and prisons, Black and Brown communities remain underfunded in education, healthcare, and infrastructure. Who gets resources and who is denied them is at the heart of many social conflicts.

The words of John F. Kennedy resonate deeply here: “Those who make peaceful revolution impossible will make violent revolution inevitable.” The uprisings of 2020 were not about creating chaos; they were about confronting the unresolved tensions of racial injustice.

From the Streets to the Systems

The struggle for Black lives plays out on multiple levels, making it clear that conflict is not just a street battle, it is systemic:

• Personal Conflict: A Black mother teaches her son how to survive an encounter with the police. A young professional struggles with the reality that they must work twice as hard to be taken seriously in a predominantly white workplace.

• Interpersonal Conflict: Families and friendships are tested over differing views on race, privilege, and activism. Some relationships survive these conversations; others do not.

• Local/Legal Conflict: Rochester, like many cities, has debated police accountability measures, from civilian oversight boards to banning no-knock warrants. Every policy change is a battle.

• National and Global Conflict: The movement ignited worldwide solidarity protests, forcing countries to examine their own histories of racism and oppression.

  
  

Each level of conflict feeds into the next. A personal awakening leads to public activism. A protest forces policy change. A city’s decision influences national law. This is how social change happens, not in one moment, but through layered, sustained conflict.

The Myth of Avoidance

Despite this, we are often told that conflict is something to be avoided. “Keep the peace.” “Stay quiet.” “Don’t rock the boat.” But what does peace really mean in a system that is fundamentally unjust?

Too often, “keeping the peace” is just another way of maintaining the status quo. It means asking people to endure injustice quietly. It means avoiding difficult conversations. It means telling activists to wait, to be patient, to trust that change will come eventually.

But history tells us otherwise. Martin Luther King Jr. understood this well when he wrote from a Birmingham jail:

“We know through painful experience that freedom is never voluntarily given by the oppressor; it must be demanded by the oppressed.”

King was not advocating for chaos; he was advocating for necessary disruption. Change does not come through silence, it comes through struggle.

Turning Crisis into Change

The question isn’t whether conflict will happen, it’s what we do with it.

Will we allow it to divide and exhaust us? Or will we use it to challenge the systems that keep us marginalized?

We have seen, time and again, how conflict shapes progress. The Civil Rights Movement was a direct response to racial injustice. Labor movements clashed with corporations to demand better wages and working conditions. The fight for LGBTQ+ rights faced resistance at every turn. And yet, in each case, conflict was the catalyst for real change.

Conflict is a tool. It has torn us down, but it has also built movements, inspired policy shifts, and forced this country to reckon with its failures. The difference lies in how we use it.

So when we hear calls for “civility” or “moderation,” we should be skeptical. Civility is often a demand for compliance. Moderation is often a demand for inaction.

The next time we are told to “calm down” or “wait our turn,” we must remember: the future belongs to those who refuse to avoid the fight.

Because the conflicts we confront today will determine the justice we see tomorrow.

Final Thoughts: Embracing Conflict with Purpose

If we want justice, we must be willing to embrace conflict, not for the sake of division, but for the sake of transformation. Conflict is not the enemy; it is the force that compels us to push forward when the world tells us to stand still.

Angela Davis once said, “I am no longer accepting the things I cannot change. I am changing the things I cannot accept.”

This is the mindset we must carry. We cannot afford to fear conflict. We must learn to navigate it, to channel it, and to turn it into action.

Because in the end, history will not remember those who stayed silent. It will remember those who fought, not just for themselves, but for a world that had yet to imagine what justice could truly be.

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George Cassidy payne is a writer and educator with a deep interest in architecture, film, and the immigrant experience. With a background in philosophy and social justice, his work often explores the intersections of place, identity, and memory. Payne is particularly drawn to stories that challenge conventional narratives about history and belonging. When not writing, he can be found wandering through Brutalist landmarks, contemplating the interplay of light and concrete. He lives and works in Rochester, NY.