Grievance and Power: What Colonial History Teaches Us About Political Retribution

Political retribution, personal vendettas, and calls to reclaim lost status have long shaped the American political landscape. But while these themes feel timely, they’re hardly new.

Peter Mancall, Distinguished Professor of History, Anthropology and Economics at the USC Dornsife College of Letters, Arts and Sciences and director of the USC-Huntington Early Modern Studies Institute, is one of the nation’s leading experts on Colonial America. He notes that grievance was a powerful force in the 1600s — not just for leaders seeking to assert power, but also for ordinary colonists who felt wronged and responded with fury.

In this conversation, Mancall explores how grievance fueled both authority and rebellion in early America, the violent outcomes it often sparked, and the warning signs we might recognize today when resentment is stirred for political gain.

How would you describe the role of grievance in early American politics?

Grievance was a powerful motivator in early America. It drove actions not just against Colonial powers but also between colonists themselves. Whether over land, power or perceived slights, resentment frequently escalated into violence. It shaped how colonists viewed authority and justified retaliation.

Can you give us an early example that mirrors the intensity of modern political retribution?

One vivid case is Nathaniel Bacon’s 1676 rebellion in Virginia. Bacon, a newly arrived but well-connected tobacco farmer, rallied backcountry colonists against the provincial government, claiming it had failed to protect them from attacks by Indigenous residents. The rebellion included a march on Jamestown, where they burned the capital and chased out the governor. It was a dramatic expression of discontent, not unlike political uprisings we’ve seen in more recent years.

Were these grievances always about power or protection?

Those were often central, but not exclusively so. Sometimes they were deeply personal or rooted in economic envy. During the Salem witch trials, for instance, many of the accusations were driven by resentment between neighboring communities. The Rev. Samuel Parris, who played a central role, had personal grievances about his salary and status. That tension festered into a deadly moral panic — the largest witch hunt in American history — which resulted in the death of at least 20 accused individuals.

What role did religion or ideology play in framing these grievances?

Religion was often a framework for interpreting grievance. Leaders like William Bradford, the governor of Plymouth Colony, saw violent acts as divinely sanctioned responses to perceived threats. That kind of moral absolutism made compromise difficult and justified extreme measures.

Were Indigenous peoples also caught up in this cycle of grievance?

Tragically, yes. Colonists often saw Native resistance as blocking their legal right to the land. In 1622, the Powhatan Confederacy launched a surprise attack on English colonists to protest encroachments on their land. The colonists responded with scorched-earth tactics and even poisoned Natives under the guise of peace negotiations. These weren’t just military campaigns — they were acts of vengeance.

How does this history help us understand political behavior today?

It reminds us that grievance can be a powerful, volatile force in politics. When people feel wronged — whether justifiably or not — they may seek retribution rather than reconciliation. That impulse has deep roots in our national story, and ignoring it doesn’t make it go away. It’s crucial to recognize how leaders frame these emotions and to be wary when anger is channeled for political ends.

Are there lessons from the Colonial period we should carry forward?

Absolutely. One is that unchecked grievance tends to spiral. It can justify violence, undermine institutions and deepen divisions. But another is that awareness of these patterns can help us make better choices. History doesn’t repeat itself — but we ignore its echoes at our peril. We should be listening carefully.