Content 18+ Nations often look to their past with nostalgia, a powerful motivator that, though seemingly benign, can become a trap. The call to “make the nation great again” is one such lure, a phrase that is both alluring and profoundly loaded. Such calls can, paradoxically, contain the seeds of democratic erosion—an erosion which is all the more insidious because it is often achieved through democratic means.
Consider the example of Weimar Germany, whose electoral system allowed Adolf Hitler to rise to power through legitimate channels, albeit amidst a backdrop of national trauma and economic despair. The National Socialist German Workers' Party (Nazi Party), despite its name, was fundamentally nationalist and far-right in its policies and alliances. The Nazis capitalized on Germany’s humiliation after World War I, crafting an image of an idealized past and stoking fears of ethnic “pollution” and cultural decadence. This was no aberration; rather, it illustrated a pattern in which democracy, when left unguarded, can be weaponized by those intent on dismantling it.
The rise of authoritarian movements in democratic societies often begins with appeals to a romanticized past—a tactic employed by both populist and nationalist leaders across history. This nostalgia serves as a psychological anchor. Studies on authoritarianism, such as those by social psychologist Erich Fromm, reveal that people are more inclined toward authoritarian leadership when they feel threatened or uncertain. Faced with social or economic upheaval, citizens may be drawn to leaders who promise a return to order and stability, even if that promise includes restrictions on personal freedoms.
This phenomenon is evident in the dual rise of nationalism and isolationism throughout the world. It’s often forgotten that similar ideologies led to devastating wars in the 20th century, yet many democracies today lean toward policies that seek to close borders, limit immigration, and regulate media narratives. These policies feed on the anxieties of a population that perceives globalization and cultural diversity as threats rather than assets. This response is, in a sense, an evolutionary mechanism—a defense strategy triggered by perceived risk. But while biological evolution favors self-preservation, democratic evolution favors adaptation and inclusivity. Without this adaptation, democracies risk stagnation.
From a structural perspective, democracy’s paradox is that its freedoms can be used to weaken its foundations. A politician may rise through free elections and then set about undermining the very system that enabled their ascent. Once in power, such leaders often employ tactics eerily reminiscent of authoritarian playbooks: controlling the judiciary, limiting press freedoms, and consolidating executive authority. In a 2004 study, political scientists Steven Levitsky and Lucan Way coined the term “competitive authoritarianism” to describe regimes that outwardly resemble democracies but internally function as authoritarian states. Such leaders maintain a façade of democratic processes—elections, parliaments, courts—yet manipulate these institutions to entrench their power.
Consider the concept of “media capture,” in which political forces exert influence over independent media to shape public perception. Hungary, Poland, and Turkey are prime examples of nations where once-independent media have gradually fallen under government control or influence. This tactic does not outright eliminate democracy, but it distorts its principles, creating an environment where dissenting voices are marginalized or silenced altogether. As citizens consume a controlled stream of information, their perception of reality narrows, ultimately leading to a populace that may unwittingly support the erosion of its own freedoms.
The tendency to use democratic structures to subvert democracy is not confined to Europe. In the United States, there is a long-standing debate over the role of the Electoral College, partisan gerrymandering, and voter suppression tactics. These mechanisms, though ostensibly legal, can distort the democratic ideal of “one person, one vote.” In a 2020 report from the Electoral Integrity Project, experts rated the quality of U.S. elections lower than that of many European democracies. The factors influencing this rating included barriers to voter access, misleading campaign information, and political financing issues that disproportionately empower elite interests. Such disparities, while technical, can fuel authoritarian tendencies by creating a feedback loop that reinforces power structures at the expense of the electorate’s will.
Ultimately, one cannot ignore the psychological lure of authority in times of crisis. Research by political psychologists has shown that, under conditions of economic insecurity or social upheaval, populations gravitate toward leaders who promise order and certainty. As historian Timothy Snyder notes in On Tyranny, “post-truth” is pre-fascism, and manipulation of facts is a precursor to the manipulation of power. When the idea of “truth” becomes malleable, so too does the concept of justice, making democracy’s foundations dangerously porous.
The irony of democracy is that it is both robust and fragile. It can survive external threats, yet it can be weakened from within by the very institutions and freedoms that define it. When leaders leverage nostalgia to stoke exclusion, when media is controlled to favor a single narrative, and when the judiciary serves power rather than principle, democracy becomes a shell of itself. It remains in form but not in function.
In the end, democracy is not merely a political system; it is an ongoing commitment to freedom, inclusivity, and reasoned dialogue. If a society aims to be “great,” it must first resist the allure of simplified narratives and nostalgic calls that exclude. History shows that true strength lies in diversity, adaptability, and an informed populace. As Asimov himself would likely argue, the survival of democracy is a question of reason versus rhetoric, of science versus superstition. And ultimately, it is an issue of whether we, as a society, choose to evolve or to regress.
P.S.
I will omit any names here, but tell you a story. I know it as I was born there... Many people would say it is different, but is it? There exists a kind of ruler who does not shun democratic institutions but instead embraces and manipulates them, subtly undermining the very system that empowers him. He ascends to leadership through ostensibly legitimate means, only to alter the shape of governance from within. This phenomenon, commonly termed “managed democracy” or “competitive authoritarianism,” illustrates a chilling reality: that democracy’s greatest threat may well come from its own structures.
Consider the mechanism of media control. In a healthy democracy, the press is a vibrant, independent institution, providing the populace with a multiplicity of viewpoints. Yet, under an authoritarian lens, the media becomes a tool of the state, its independence gradually eroded until only state-aligned voices remain. News outlets that challenge the prevailing narrative are either shut down or subtly bought out, and the remaining media serves a single purpose: to portray the leader as the indispensable guardian of national identity. This carefully curated image is crucial; it lends the impression that all opposition is inherently unpatriotic, even treacherous. Thus, the media, ostensibly an arm of democratic transparency, becomes a vehicle for the consolidation of power.
In tandem with media control is the systematic suppression of opposition. Political rivals are not openly executed or exiled in traditional authoritarian fashion; rather, they face a subtler persecution. Legal cases materialize from thin air, accusations of corruption or “disloyalty” take root, and public figures who dare to criticize are found guilty in orchestrated trials. The occasional arrest or exile sends a clear message to potential dissenters: while free speech may exist in theory, exercising it could have severe repercussions.
Then, there is the careful manipulation of judicial and legislative branches, once designed to check the executive’s power. Here, appointments are strategic; only the most loyal and ideologically aligned individuals are entrusted with judicial authority. As the judiciary falls under control, laws become tools, selectively enforced to reinforce the leader’s rule. For those on the outside, there is a frustrating paradox: everything appears lawful, yet the spirit of justice is notably absent. This is “rule of law” in a shell, hollowed out and restructured to uphold not fairness, but obedience.
The elections held in such a system are another profound irony. In principle, elections are the ultimate expression of democracy, a moment when the people’s will is made manifest. Yet, here, elections serve only to confirm the power structure. Through selective disqualification of candidates, control of voting processes, and, if necessary, subtle electoral fraud, the outcome is practically assured. It is an illusion of choice, one that provides the appearance of legitimacy without the reality of competition.
Such a leader also draws heavily on the emotional appeal of nostalgia, invoking memories of past strength, order, and unity. The promise of returning to a former greatness is deeply compelling, especially to those who feel alienated by modern uncertainties. This nostalgia, however, is not innocent; it is a calculated tool. By fostering a longing for an idealized past, the ruler creates a unified identity for the nation, one built on the exclusion of anything foreign or divergent. In time, this emphasis on a “pure” national identity alienates those who question or differ, and unity is achieved not through diversity but through conformity.
There is also a legal tactic in play, one that often operates quietly yet is highly effective. Laws are enacted to label civil society organizations, media outlets, and even individuals as “foreign agents” should they receive any support from abroad. This designation serves a dual purpose: it restricts the financial independence of these entities and casts them as outsiders, untrustworthy influences on the nation. A leader need not silence his critics outright; he need only sow doubt about their loyalty to the nation, thereby neutralizing their influence.
This carefully orchestrated structure does not openly resemble authoritarianism as we understand it from history. Instead, it is a stealth operation, a series of slow erosions, where each institution appears to function as it always has. The judiciary, the press, the electoral system—these all exist, but only as façades. The essential democratic processes remain in form, but their function has been fundamentally altered, turning them into mechanisms that preserve, rather than challenge, the leader’s power.
