Five centuries of Western dominance are now giving way to a new world order. Political, economic, military, cultural, and ideological structures are already being reshuffled. If the coronavirus spreads far enough, it will merely accelerate this transition. In this essay, I aim to briefly outline three of the major intersections shaping our time. Part 3: Social competition / Part 1. Ideological / Part 2. ‘Glocal’
The third question demanding attention in this time of transition—and even more so during the coronavirus pandemic—is the stark inequality in vulnerability within societies. I do not mean the increased vulnerability of the elderly, but the vulnerability of those lacking opportunities and security.
In recent years, many have highlighted growing inequality, particularly in so-called ‘undercover oligarchies’ such as China, Russia, India, Brazil, and the United States. Europe, Canada, and Australia fare somewhat better, thanks to more extensive welfare systems, stronger social dialogue, and progressive tax policies. Yet even in these regions, vulnerability is rising, as people find themselves unable to escape inadequate circumstances or overcome structural barriers that deny them the opportunity to thrive.
Consider the growing number of self-employed and gig workers, struggling with temporary contracts, low incomes, minimal social protection, and little political voice. In 2011, Guy Standing described this group as the “precariat” in The Precariat: The New Dangerous Class—a term combining ‘precarious’ and ‘proletariat.’ Standing warns that chronic vulnerability leaves people susceptible to populism and extremism.
Daniel Markovits, in The Meritocracy Trap (2019), examines how a segment of American society that initially benefited from meritocracy has now become a closed elite. From a young age, this group prepares for top positions, commanding top salaries and responsibilities, while the precariat struggles to keep up and remains trapped in insecure, low-status work. Markovits illustrates this through Uber: a small group of privileged managers and designers at the top, and millions of underpaid, overworked drivers at the bottom, with little hope of advancement.
Even in Europe, Australia, and Canada, social mobility is declining, leaving many only one accident away from financial disaster. And we are only beginning to grasp how automation, robotics, and digitalization will disrupt labor markets in the years ahead. The question gains urgency: how can we prevent social unrest fueled by structural inequality?
Now consider the pandemic in this context of social competition. One silver lining is that we have suddenly noticed those previously overlooked—the essential workers whose labor keeps society running. At the same time, the world faces a solidarity test of unprecedented scale.
The social and economic toll of lockdowns is immense. For millions of small business owners, losing a livelihood means losing a life’s dream, accompanied by sleepless nights over layoffs. For 60% of U.S. citizens, unemployment also means losing health insurance. Factory workers face hardship when global trade stalls. Labor migrants lose income abroad and, with it, the ability to support families at home. Day laborers risk a day without work, a day without food.
As the dust of the pandemic settles, one fact is already clear: those who have nothing to lose are vulnerable to extreme solutions—communist revolutions, ethnic cleansing, fascist nationalism, scapegoating, and sectarian violence. History has shown this before, and these threats remain real.
Anger is fueled by a lack of recognition. In times of uncertainty, we cannot afford for people to feel humiliated economically or socially. To prevent such anger, we must urgently ask: how can we safeguard each person’s self-esteem and dignity?
This raises a further question: what matters more to society—someone’s income or their contribution to its functioning? As long as income dominates our valuation, society remains divided into ‘workers’ and ‘volunteers,’ with the latter feeling undervalued. If, instead, we recognize all contributions to the common good—whether a police officer, accountant, nurse, family caregiver, church elder, or babysitting grandparent—we create a culture of genuine appreciation.
Recognizing unpaid work may require calculating its economic value—for example, the costs saved in healthcare by family caregivers. The next step is deciding how much value to assign to various contributions and how to ensure all efforts are appropriately recognized, including financially.
Hopefully, the pandemic encourages us to shift our admiration away from CEOs and traders toward the silent, often forgotten roles that keep society functioning. With unemployment soaring and the most vulnerable suffering the most, we cannot lose sight of everyone’s potential contributions. People need more than charity—they need to feel needed. Solidarity must take the form of acknowledgment and inclusion of every individual’s skills and efforts.
These are not optional exercises. The solidarity test is, in many cases, a matter of preventing anger. What applies within societies applies internationally: how do we prevent entire nations from having nothing to lose and becoming prone to extreme solutions?
The answer requires a global vision. It is time to rise above the four-year election cycle and consider what we want our nations and the world to look like in 2030, 2040, and 2050—and what investments are needed today. Climate change already demands this long-term perspective, but many other issues require the same approach. As Jeffrey Sachs writes in Common Wealth (2008): “The defining challenge of the 21st century will be to face the reality that humanity shares a common fate on a crowded planet.” That is our reality. Time is short. The pandemic is accelerating trends that were already in motion.
