biting the hand that feeds you

on resistance, speaking up, and the myth of silent gratitude

there’s an old saying we’re all taught to revere: don’t bite the hand that feeds you. it’s served to us early, often, and with an air of finality. it’s supposed to teach us gratitude. to make us stay in our lane. to remind us where the power lies. and maybe, once upon a time, it made sense — when survival meant silence, and questioning authority meant exile.

but i don't know if it holds anymore. or — i suppose we have to dismantle it.

because sometimes the hand that feeds you also holds you back.

sometimes it feeds you just enough to keep you from getting away.

and sometimes, you have to bite back in order to call the harm by its name.

we don't speak nearly enough about the danger of quiet acceptance. about how kindness or opportunity can be used by systems, institutions, families, even mentors, as a means of control, of constriction, of silencing. "we gave you this," they tell us. "so be thankful." and thankfulness becomes a leash. criticism becomes betrayal.

and here's the thing: submission should not be needed for gratitude.

you can appreciate and still criticize. you can gain from something and still desire to improve it. that's not hypocrisy. that's integrity.

consider all the individuals who've criticized the very institutions that provided them their initial opportunity. authors condemning the publishing companies that only amplify certain types of voices. researchers criticizing the ethics of the labs that supported their research. artists laying bare the politics of the awards they once appreciated. students condemning the schools where they were taught. it's not simple. it's never convenient. but it needs to happen.

why? because loyalty to power is always secondary to loyalty to truth.

this is particularly the case for people like us who are from the margins — people who are told that we should be especially grateful for the crumbs we get. "we let you in. don't ask for more." and so when we have the audacity to insist on more — more room, more justice, more transparency — it's perceived as ingratitude. arrogance. but what it actually is… is resistance.

biting the hand that feeds you isn't about destruction. it's about confrontation. it's about saying, i see what you've given me, but i see what you're not giving me. it's about not being willing to be bought by kindness. it's the line between appreciation and appeasement.

the truth is, those in power fear the ones they’ve helped most. because they know how easy it is to twist generosity into guilt. and they know the rarest kind of rebellion is the one that comes from within — the person who should be grateful, but instead chooses to speak.

we see this tension play out in every field:

• the star who critiques the politics of cinema, even as they're cashing its cheques.

• the worker who voices workplace toxicity, even after having ascended the corporate ladder.

• the academic who interrogates the gatekeeping of academia, even after receiving her phd.

• the author who criticizes the award that brought them attention because it still pushes others to the side.

and each time, someone will be like, "why are you complaining? look where you are."

as if success should absolve you of suffering.

as if opportunity erases oppression.

as if having eaten should suffice to erase the hunger.

it doesn't.

we must become more acclimated to this discomfort: that which feeds us can also restrict us. that judgment is not betrayal. that protest is not anger. that nipping at the hand that feeds us is not an act of devastation, but of responsibility.

you may love it and yet wish to break it open. you may be raised by a system and yet wish to rewire it. and at times, the individuals nearest to the system—the ones it nurtured, molded, supported, flattered — are the only ones who have sufficient access to subvert it.

silence here isn't thankfulness. it's complicity.

so no, i don't think you ever bite the hand that feeds you. i think you ask what that hand is feeding you for. i think you chew slowly, talk loud, and question everything; even the things that made you who you are. even more so, those things.

if the price of being fed is your voice, your integrity, your right to resist — then perhaps it's worth biting back.

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