‘We say yes when we could and should say no’

America has long been celebrated as the land of the free — a place where agency, independence and self-determination are enshrined in our national mythos. Whether idealising the rugged frontiersman or the daring entrepreneur, Americans take pride in the idea of forging their own paths. Yet despite these stated ideals, we often surrender our liberty in surprising ways.

Compliance is the act of going along with something — often imposed by a person or system — through reactive or passive obedience. It’s vandalising a book on command, going against our better judgment when someone tells us to or administering electric shocks to another person, as in Stanley Milgram’s famous experiments.

We say yes when we could and should say no. Experiments I’ve conducted suggest that Americans regularly comply with advice even when they know it is bad. In a series of studies, I gave participants obviously poor recommendations to choose a clearly subpar lottery over one in which they stood to win twice as much. I found that compliance rates soared as high as 85%. In a nation that so cherishes independence, why are we so inclined to comply?

The answer may lie in our misunderstanding of compliance. Compliance and consent are often conflated, yet they are fundamentally different. Compliance is reactive and externally dictated, imposed by systems or authority figures who give little room to say no. Consent, by contrast, is a thoroughly considered authorisation reflecting one’s deeply held values. For consent to be valid, five elements must be present: capacity (the competence to make decisions), knowledge (of risks, benefits and alternatives), understanding (a grasp of the facts), freedom (from coercion) and finally, authorisation (giving your informed consent or informed refusal).

This definition, rooted in medicine, highlights that consent is not merely saying “yes” but making an informed, voluntary decision. Without all five elements, consent cannot exist, and compliance fills the void. Defiance is the flip side of the consent coin — it requires the same five elements to act in alignment with one’s values, especially when there is pressure to do otherwise.

Defiance is not necessarily loud, bold, violent or angry. It can be the quiet determination to live your life in a way that reflects your values. It’s a skill, not a personality trait, that can be learned and practised by anyone. But from an early age, we are taught that compliance is good and defiance is bad. Obedience is ingrained in us before we even realise it. When my son was just a year old, we moved to Pittsburgh, where nursery staff at a daycare encouraged parents to buy Steelers onesies for the babies. I asked, “What if he’s not a Steelers fan?” I’ll never forget the look on the carer’s face. It immediately made me backtrack: “Of course, he is a Steelers fan!” The message was clear: we all need to pledge allegiance to this team, and deviation is unthinkable — perhaps even detrimental to the care my son would receive.

This seemingly lighthearted anecdote reflects the way Americans thrive on emotional allegiance, whether to a person, leader, team or party. We’re often expected to be strongly for or against something without seeing both the positives and negatives of each stance. And in pledging such loyalty, we become more socialised to comply without questioning whether these polarising norms align with our values.

One glaring example of compliance masquerading as defiance is voting along party lines out of tradition or allegiance, rather than values. Many voters believe they are acting independently, when in reality, their decisions are dictated by social pressures, emotional attachments or familial expectations. This is also true of “false defiance,” when someone reflexively votes against their perceived enemy party — an act that reinforces conformity, rather than challenging it.

Contrast this with figures such as Republican Liz Cheney, who defied her party to uphold her principles. Her stance came with significant personal and professional costs, but it exemplified values-based defiance: choosing integrity over allegiance. Similarly, Kyrsten Sinema’s votes challenged the Democratic Party when she was a member, demonstrating that defiance is not bound by ideology but by acting in alignment with one’s values. Social pressure compounds the challenge to be defiant. In my research I have documented a phenomenon I call “ insinuation anxiety,” discomfort toward signalling that someone — particularly an authority figure — might be wrong, biased or untrustworthy. In health care, patients often agree to procedures they don’t understand out of deference to doctors; in workplaces, employees remain silent when witnessing unethical behaviour, fearing repercussions.

This anxiety traps us in a cycle of compliance even when it is clearly in conflict with our values. The risks of defiance are often highlighted: ostracism, professional consequences or backlash. But the costs of compliance are rarely discussed. Compliance erodes agency, perpetuates inequality and often leads to harmful outcomes, such as silence about unethical practices in workplaces that enable toxic cultures to thrive.