The most literal meaning of community is “to give among each other.” Essentially, to share something amongst a group—whether that’s information (communication), goods, common goals, or a sense of family. If you destroy the ability, or simply the desire, to give or to share amongst a group of people, you will destroy the heart of the community. And if you destroy the heart of community and replace it with fear, then you will control the people.

The Capitol does this first by keeping many of the people in the districts on the brink of starvation. It controlled the food sources, outlawing hunting and forcing parents to sign over their children’s potential futures (and any sense of security or innocence that should come from being a child) in exchange for tesserae food rations. Only a privileged few outside the Capitol, especially in the poorer districts, have enough money to buy goods from the baker and the butcher (and I imagine the candlestick-maker). And those few aren’t going to complain about the needs of the less fortunate for fear of losing their privileged status. The Capitol keeps the people hungry enough that all anyone has the energy to think about is how to feed themselves.

Second, the Capitol instituted public flogging and curfews, and trained dastardly “Peacekeepers” to watch the people’s every move in order to force them to keep their heads down for fear of punishment. It surrounded the districts with giant electrified fences to keep people from interacting with, or traveling to, other districts. Almost all forms of long-distance communication have ceased to exist throughout the districts, and what little is permitted (television propaganda, and the telephones in the victors’ mansions) is constantly monitored. It is also apparent that within the Capitol itself, and parts of the districts, the people are monitored by cameras so they are not free to communicate without reprisal.

The Capitol even instituted an “ultimate punishment” for major infractions: cutting out the offending person’s tongue, therefore making him or her unable to communicate—and in result unable to function properly within the community. The Avox is removed from his/her family and forced into a life of slavery. The ultimate punishment is ultimate isolation.

Considering all this, the Capitol may seem like a shining city on a hill for budding despots everywhere. So where did it go wrong? What was the fatal mistake that lead to its downfall?

There were two mistakes, actually: the institution of the Hunger Games, and allowing the existence of a teenage girl like Katniss Everdeen from a place like District 12.

The Capitol instituted the Hunger Games to create derision and strife among the districts by pitting them against each other and making them hope for the other districts’ children to be slaughtered instead of their own. But as Laura Miller from the New Yorker’s review of the first two books in the Hunger Games trilogy points out, “the practice of carrying off a population’s innocent children and commanding their parents to watch them be slaughtered for entertainment—wouldn’t that do more to provoke a rebellion than to head one off?”

And that’s exactly what happens—eventually. It is over seventy years in the making, not a huge amount of time considering how oppressed the people of the districts are, but eventually (or inevitably) the Hunger Games play a major role in the demise of the Capitol. If it weren’t for the Hunger Games and the resulting “victory tour” of the winner each year, the citizens of the individual districts would know nothing about the other districts except for the propaganda they are taught in school. The rest of the year, it’s almost as if the other districts don’t even exist, but during the Games, each district is given a human face (or two human faces). Often those faces are not friendly ones, considering that the tributes are fighting to the death. That the only time the districts’ inhabitants interact is when they’re trying to kill each other plays right into the Capitol’s calculating design. But the other tributes are human faces nonetheless—ones that could possibly remind the people that they are not alone—and that’s a big risk. Each district is given champions to rally behind—but if there was someone, or even a team of champions, who multiple districts could actually get behind, it would give the people a common bond, a sense of “community” to bring them together. And when that champion turns out to be someone who dares defy the Capitol—well, that’s all it takes to spark a rebellion.

Collins tells us in an interview with Rick Margolis in School Library Journal:

One of President Snow’s greatest mistakes, the one that led to the downfall of the Capitol, was his lack of attention to District 12. It seems as though the Capitol started out equally stringent in each of the districts (Katniss’ mother occasionally refers to much darker days in the past) but over time it became lax in 12. After all, 12 is the poorest, hungriest district, without even much hope of winning the Hunger Games to bring in more food rations. The poorer citizens in that district are relegated to the Seam, where they have almost nothing to look forward to other than living and dying in the mines. And as the most downtrodden of the districts, 12 was pretty much ignored by the Capitol. It wasn’t worth wasting precious resources on, such as electricity, so the fence was rarely a threat to anyone who dared go under it. It wasn’t worth wasting the best Peacekeepers on either, so after a while, the Capitol stopped caring to send disciplined and obedient Peacekeepers there. This fostered an environment where a black market could exist, providing a gathering place for the people to exchange goods and information. A place where a budding sense of community was allowed to grow—even between the braver townsfolk who visited the market and the Peacekeepers who came for food and enjoyment.

At the beginning of The Hunger Games, most people in 12 are still too afraid to take advantage of the lapses of the Capitol’s judgment concerning their district, but out of this negligent environment comes an unlikely heroine named Katniss Everdeen: a girl with an uncanny (and often unwitting) ability to create a sense of community wherever she goes.

Originally, when looking back at the text of the first Hunger Games book, I was tempted to say that the first act of community in the novel (after Katniss’ father died) that helped Katniss become the kind of person she was before she was even reaped for the Hunger Games, was when she formed a hunting alliance with Gale. Instead of fending for themselves, they worked together to share the burden of feeding their loved ones. The “glue of mutual need” bonded them together, and they created not only a community—giving among each other—but the strongest form of community that exists: a family. But what dawned on me after rereading all three books in the trilogy again, was that the first “act of community in the face of tyranny” that was the catalyst for who Katniss became as a person was an act of community she was the recipient of—rather than the creator of. It was the incident involving “the boy with the bread.”

After Katniss’ father died in a mining accident and her mother went crazy with grief, Katniss and her sister, Prim, began to starve to death. Without their father to hunt, trade at the Hob, or provide income for the family, it looked like all was lost. In the downtrodden Seam, there was no one who had food to spare, and no one Katniss knew of who would have been willing to spare it if they had it. As Katniss tells us, because of the oppression of the Capitol, children die of starvation daily in the Seam. But just when Katniss was about to give up, to sit down and die like the Capitol would have wanted her to, Peeta Mellark, the baker’s son, saw her need and decided to give what he could. He risked a beating from his tyrant of a mother by burning a few precious loaves of bread and then gave them to Katniss instead of throwing them out like he was instructed. This small act of kindness, of true community, was what helped bring Katniss back from the dead—and back to her senses.

With her hunger lessened for a moment, she was able to realize that she could buck the system, too—defy the Capitol—and slip under the non-electrified fence in order to hunt for her family. There she used the descriptions in the book her father created documenting plants that were safe to eat—his attempt at communicating his knowledge to his family before he was gone—to find food and medicine. There she formed the hunting alliance with Gale that kept both of their families alive and healthy, found enough hope to help her mother slowly recover from her depression, and learned to survive—and to kill. She became somewhat of a small hero to her district even before she was a tribute for the Hunger Games. She provided meat for the privileged in 12, as well as for the starving. She procured herbs to heal the sick, and she befriended the Peacekeepers as well as the ruffians. Around her, small shoots of community began to thrive.

And that was the Capitol’s fatal mistake. Allowing Katniss to become, well, Katniss. Where was the hand of tyranny to crush this early uprising that consisted of a teen girl and her bow? Where was the electricity to keep her out of the woods? Where were the brutal Peacekeepers who should have beaten the spirit out her?

Yes, the Capitol, through its lapses in District 12, created Katniss Everdeen. The girl who cares enough to volunteer for the Hunger Games to save her sister. The girl who promises to try to win so she can return to her family and bring food to her district. The girl who unwittingly captures the love of her prep team and stylists, who then turn her into the “girl who was on fire.” The girl who befriends Rue (rather than just making an alliance out of convenience like others in the Games before them), an opponent from a rival district who another tribute might have killed without regard. The girl who proves that friendship by caring for Rue as a sister and placing flowers on her body when she dies in order to rebuke the Capitol’s Gamemakers—an act that inspires District 11 to do something that has never been done before: send a gift to a tribute who isn’t from their district. The girl who shows a nation that its members can work together rather than feel isolated from each other. The girl whose partnership and “romance” with Peeta gives the districts champions to really root for and feel connected to. The girl who creates a community bond within and between the districts. The girl whose defiance at the end of book one makes her and Peeta the symbol of a partnership—one so strong that President Snow will stop at nothing, including altering Peeta’s memories, to try to destroy it—that can be formed to defy the Capitol. The Capitol created the girl who becomes the Mockingjay.

The girl who incites a rebellion that topples the government.

But really, it is President Snow who is doing too little, too late. At this point, it seems like anything he tries to do to squelch the feeling of community only fuels it in most of the districts. He even goes as far as to force Katniss to model her wedding dresses for the nation, only to announce that same day the show airs that Katniss, Peeta, and past victors are to be forced back into the arena. This should have broken their spirits, shown that not even the victors are safe or powerful, but it only serves to enrage the people more. And it gives secret rebels, such as Plutarch Heavensbee, the opportunity to manipulate the Games in order to further the cause of the rebellion. Although her involvement in Plutarch’s plan is unwitting at first, it is still Katniss’ uncanny ability to not only create a community, but a family, around her that fuels the ongoing uprisings. Katniss again blurs the lines between alliance and friendship by choosing to ally herself with people who seem supposedly weak (such as Beetee, Wiress, and Mags) because she cares about them, and many of the other contestants rally around Katniss because they know that she’s the Mockingjay—the symbol of the power of the people to bond together and take down the Capitol. These unlikely friends are slowly welcomed into Katniss’ everexpanding family.

When Katniss breaks free of the arena, President Snow tries to retaliate with what feels like the ultimate blow—he attempts to destroy Katniss’ community altogether by firebombing District 12. But even this horrible move seems to be too little, too late as Katniss’ family escapes the bombings and is rescued by the mysterious inhabitants of District 13.

Part of me fully expected that Katniss would willingly take on her position as the Mockingjay, and with the help of the goodnatured community in District 13, they’d take on the Capitol, free Peeta in the process, and take down President Snow. Then Katniss, their beloved general, would be asked (much like George Washington) to become the new leader of the united districts! The task would be difficult, but because of her ability to create community around her Katniss would be the perfect woman for the job—and the wonderful leaders of District 13 would help her do it.

Only once I opened the pages of Mockingjay, I discovered, along with Katniss, just how complicated the community in District 13 could be. What appears at first glance to be somewhat of a Utopian community that rose out of the ashes of the Capitol’s attack—running with precision and efficiency to meet the needs of its people—suddenly seems a bit off when you look at it more closely.

Maybe it is the way they stamp the characters’ not-to-bedeviated-from schedules on their arms, how everyone is called “soldier,” that their jobs are selected for them by the government, the stringent way they control food portions, the fact that no one is allowed onto the surface without permission, how their locations are constantly monitored, or how no one gathers for an event unless told to do so by the president. It can be claimed that all of this is done for everyone’s safety, to keep the community alive—and rightfully so—but at the same time, this just seems to be another way to rule by fear. By manipulation.

It slowly becomes very clear that President Coin is a tyrant in her own right—not as openly as President Snow, but perhaps even more insidiously. The first real clue of Coin’s true nature is the fact that Katniss’ prep team (part of her strange hodgepodge of a family) are treated like dangerous criminals—even animals—after they are kidnapped by the leaders of 13 to help with the Mockingjay propos. But I knew for sure that Coin was not to be trusted when Katniss has to fear that Peeta might be executed for his anti-rebellion speeches even though it is clear that he is being forced to participate against his will. This seemed like another one of Coin’s manipulations—treat everyone like a threat to the citizens of 13, even their hero from the Hunger Games—and a great way to force Katniss to follow Coin’s plans in exchange for Peeta’s immunity.

Katniss poses a threat to both tyrannical leaders in Panem. However, while Snow attacks Katniss openly through trying to break her bond with Peeta—hijacking Peeta’s brain and attempting to destroy his love for her—Coin attacks Katniss through manipulating her bonds with her family (forcing her obedience in exchange for the immunity of her victor friends), and then attempting to dispose of her when she poses less of a threat as a dead martyr than as a living symbol.

But it isn’t until Katniss suspects that President Snow may be telling the truth about Coin’s alleged final manipulation—that she was the one who ordered the blowing up of the Capitol children and then the rebel medics (including Prim) who tried to help them, and then tried to pass it off as the Capitol who committed the offense—that the real worst tyrant may have been revealed. President Snow preys on the sensibilities of community with the idea that a barricade of children around his mansion would slow the onslaught of the rebel forces, since it would take someone truly depraved to kill children in order to get to him. It’s something the Mockingjay wouldn’t do—but Coin apparently would. Although it’s never confirmed that Coin is truly behind the bombing of the children, I believe this action is not only Coin’s final blow against the Capitol, but also the ultimate manipulation of her own people, and that sacrificing Prim in the middle of it—destroying one of Katniss’s deepest community connections—is meant to break Katniss.

And it almost does.

Instead of killing Katniss, Collins, possibly following the lead of another ancient Roman war hero named Cincinnatus “who was called from his plow to rescue the republic and then returned to his fields after the danger had passed,”²⁴ chooses to send Katniss back to the desolation of the demolished District 12. Katniss is left there alone, with only a drunken Haymitch for company, in a place where there seems to be nothing left for her. No more ragtag family to rally around. Katniss has literally lost Prim, Finnick is dead, along with most of the members of the star squad, her mother and Gale have gone off to help with the transition of Panem, and Peeta’s once unwavering love seems to have been irreparably damaged by President Snow’s brainwashing.

While I was surprised by this turn of events, it feels fitting that the girl who should have never existed was sent back to the place that created her—a place that no longer exists, itself. It’s even more fitting that Peeta—the boy with the bread, the person who made the first connection to her all those years before when she was almost destroyed by the tyranny of the Capitol the first time—is the person who eventually returns to 12 to help her recover. Together, as part of her therapy, they work on her father’s book, expanding it with their own knowledge—communicating what they’ve learned in all the horror that could possibly save future generations from suffering as they did. As their bonds strengthen, they eventually create a new family. One strong enough to help rebuild the community of District 12 that once seemed lost forever. And if they can help it, one that will never be lost again.

The Hunger Games trilogy—what starts out as a tome depicting an example of ultimate totalitarian control—soon unravels into a possible morality tale for anyone with tyrannical aspirations, in which the concept of community is offered as the answer to overthrowing an oppressive regime. President Snow learns the hard way that any sense of true community must be stamped out in order for the dominant regime to remain in control. Overlooking the smallest act of community can light the spark that sets an entire neighborhood, or even nation, ablaze with feelings of brotherhood, sharing, and concern for the greater good. Even the weak, the broken, and the seemingly incapable pose a serious risk to a leader who rules out of fear. And although President Coin understands the power of community, and learns to manipulate it to get what she wants, even she learns that she can only push it so far before it snaps back and destroys her as well. They are both undone by a boy with a loaf of bread and a girl with bow.