Dismantle Hierarchy, Rebuild Community: A Social Worker's Call for Unity

If your protest sign were someday printed in a history book, what would you want students to see? More importantly, what kind of world would you hope they’re living in when they see it?

That question shaped every part of my poster. Not as a slogan to shout, but as a quiet vision for the future. It wasn’t meant to impress. It was meant to invite reflection. And yet, what struck me most was the reality of how easily it was overlooked. In a space full of passion, progress, and protest, my message passed by without pause. No photos. No questions. No double takes. At first, I felt disheartened. But then I realized the lack of reaction affirmed the very problem I was trying to expose. We are so conditioned to seek affirmation and familiarity that we often miss the quiet challenges. The ones asking us not to shout louder, but to listen deeper.

Before I tell you what I meant, I want to ask: what do you see when you read:

“Dismantle Hierarchy, Rebuild Community.” What feelings rise? What assumptions do you make? What does it make you curious about? What does it make you want to turn away from?

For me, this phrase is layered. It draws from my roots and training in social work, from the values that define our practice. As the NASW Code of Ethics reminds us, “Social workers understand that relationships between and among people are an important vehicle for change.” “Social workers treat each person in a caring and respectful fashion, mindful of individual differences and cultural and ethnic diversity.” These values, along with deep reflection during a recent social work conference, reshaped me. I came in one person and left another. Refreshed, challenged, and committed to leading not with ego but with relational integrity. My sign is not just about protest. It is a blueprint for liberation.

The Message Behind the Colors

The colors on my sign were intentional. Red represents Republican. Blue represents Democrat. Purple represents unity, compromise, everyone.I used these familiar shades to challenge the boxes we trap each other in. And often trap ourselves in. Because the truth is, we live in a society that is infested with division and profits from it. And I’ve played into it too. I’ve rolled my eyes, snapped back, and written people off because of a political affiliation. I can hold immense empathy for marginalized communities, but none for my peers who wore red instead of blue. That’s not empathy. That’s conditional grace, and I’m working to unlearn it.

Purple, in this context, doesn’t represent neutrality. It symbolizes active coexistence. And even more hopefully, collaboration. It reflects a vision of community that transcends shared beliefs. It’s not about erasing our differences, but about intentionally choosing dignity and shared humanity in spite of them.

What does this poster mean objectively?

Hierarchy shows up in institutions, governments, relationships. Even in protests. “Dismantling hierarchy” means naming and disassembling systems where power and moral authority are concentrated in a few. It means

• Challenging titles and power hoarding. No role should grant you supremacy over others, especially when that role is meant to serve.

• Decentralizing power. Real democracy comes from localized, participatory leadership.

• Building systems of accountability, not domination.

We cannot rebuild community without first disrupting the systems that define who is heard, who is valued, and who is disposable.

"Rebuilding community" means refusing to only coexist alongside one another. It means thriving together. It’s not soft. It’s not passive. It’s radical. And yes, it’s uncomfortable. Because it demands more than chanting slogans. It demands reflection, responsibility, and the courage to talk across difference.

This message was shaped not just by theory, but by a moment of genuine human connection at that same conference. A conversation with someone who described themselves as a “closeted conservative.” They spoke about the fear of judgment and isolation in progressive spaces using this phrase which often represents experiences of hidden sexuality for queer individuals: fear of rejection, of being misunderstood, of having to hide who they are. The parallel was striking. And it stopped me in my tracks.

I didn’t walk away agreeing with everything they believed. But I walked away seeing them. Not as a threat. Not as an ideology. But as a whole person. And I realized that’s the same grace I expect others to show me. That’s the grace I now aim to extend.

The Sign No One Noticed

Maybe no one stopped to photograph my sign. Maybe it wasn’t “radical” enough in the performative sense. But that’s okay because its message still stands. And it was never meant for just one moment. It was meant for the history books. For the students who will one day ask, “How did we get here?” Hopefully, my name is there too as the caption for this photo as the beginning of my relentless pursuit of a more just society. One that is connected and kind, where all people are free to define life and liberty on their own terms.

I hope they’ll see that someone quietly and imperfectly chose unity over ego. Chose connection over hierarchy. Chose curiosity over judgment. And I hope, by then, that they’re living in a world where that choice is no longer radical. But expected.

To anyone ready to think deeper and build better, I urge you to attend The And Way training. It transformed my life. Not by teaching me what to say. But by teaching me how to listen, analyze, unify, and how to lead with integrity, even when it’s hard.

Thank you to the peers, mentors, and even the strangers who gave me the grace to grow.

I’m trying. And I’ll keep trying.

With Genuine Unrequited Love,

Tori Leto