It Really Does Take Two
Power’s greatest conquest isn’t crushing lone rebels or dispersing crowds—it’s sneaking into the everyday interpersonal bonds we rely on. Every permit, policy memo or “best practice” guideline wedges a third wheel into human relationships.
But when two people decide “we’ve got each other’s backs,” they short-circuit that gridlock and reclaim a pocket of real autonomy.
Across history, security doctrine and everyday solidarity, pairs—not solo heroes or mass rallies—have proven themselves the true spark of ungovernability.
From marriage licenses to mandatory reporting statutes, rules recast spouse–spouse, parent–child or neighbor–neighbor bonds as legal transactions.
Early slave codes explicitly outlawed secret marriages because hidden dyads fueled escape networks, and witch-hunt records branded two-person care partnerships of midwives “illicit” for operating outside church-and-state licensing.1
Defining Love
Love has been distorted. The traditional narratives about love, whether romantic or communal, have been shaped by societal expectations that focus on control, conformity, and conditional acceptance.
When two people refuse every mediator—no license, no permission slip—they reclaim a zone the system can’t easily monitor.
Long before NGOs or formal relief funds existed, survival hinged on simple private exchanges: neighbors trading seed corn, families sharing secret food caches, fugitives sheltered by single promises. Those unrecorded gifts wove knots of trust no ledger could capture.
Today’s “web of trust” in encryption protocols (a la PGP) works the same way—two people vouching for each other’s keys create an invisible fabric that no authority can unravel.
Zero Trust Societies
In a world increasingly governed by digital systems and data security concerns, Zero Trust and Zero Knowledge Proofs (ZKPs) have emerged as key solutions for safeguarding privacy and mitigating threats. Yet, these frameworks—despite their technical sophistication—may erode the fundamental
In occupied France and the Netherlands, WWII couriers famously moved in pairs—one to gather intelligence, the other to deliver it—leaving almost no trail for occupying forces to follow.
Modern counter-insurgency manuals still prioritize breaking “affinity pairs” first, understanding that severing just two trusted actors can unravel entire networks.
Empirical studies confirm that dyads are far harder to infiltrate than lone actors or larger cells (Sageman 2004).
Every mass protest, petition or online campaign sprouts from whispered one-on-one conversations: friends plotting tactics over coffee, neighbors passing flyers at doorsteps, siblings comparing safety tips in late-night messages.
Maroon settlements of escaped enslaved people often began with a single pair pooling maps and provisions; those seed duos then spun into clandestine communities defying plantation regimes.
Each micro-exchange tests strategies, refines slogans and sustains morale long before banners appear.
A lone actor leaves a single trail—easy to isolate or co-opt.
A mass rally demands dozens of mini-teams to coordinate carpools, first aid and secure communications—each adding friction and failure points.
A pair combines both invisibility and mutual recognition: small enough to slip between the cracks, strong enough to seed something larger.
Movements don’t ignite as huge crowds, nor hinge on solitary geniuses—they flicker to life in the voluntary pact between two people. Find one person you trust and ask,
“Want to try this off-the-books, just the two of us?”
Whether you’re bypassing red tape, organizing your block or simply sustaining each other through hard times—it really does take two.
Federici (2004) argues that early capitalism required not just the exploitation of labor but the destruction of collective forms of subsistence, especially those centered on women’s autonomous knowledge and care. Witch hunts and the criminalization of midwifery weren’t just superstition—they were deliberate moves to sever informal reproductive and healing networks that resisted enclosure.
— Silvia Federici, Caliban and the Witch: Women, the Body and Primitive Accumulation