Popular leaders can damage institutions in subtle but powerful ways, often hidden behind charismatic rhetoric and appeals to the "will of the people." One common method is by personalising power—shifting decision-making from established legal frameworks to the will of the leader himself. Instead of working through legislative processes, such leaders often rely on executive orders or emergency decrees, eroding the principle of checks and balances. Another tactic is the gradual weakening of oversight mechanisms. Leaders may attack or co-opt the judiciary, marginalise the legislature, and undermine independent media. By appointing loyalists rather than competent professionals to key positions, they strip institutions of their independence and effectiveness.
These leaders also erode public trust by spreading disinformation and blurring the line between fact and fiction. Critics are often dismissed as purveyors of "fake news," "conspiracies," or enemies of progress. In this way, truth becomes relative, and accountability becomes increasingly difficult.
Perhaps most dangerously, they claim to speak exclusively for “the people,” framing institutions that limit their power—such as anti-corruption bodies or constitutional courts—as obstacles to national progress. This populist framing pits the leader against institutions, presenting the latter as elitist, corrupt, or out of touch.
Legal changes often follow. Laws are amended to serve the regime's interest, whether by extending term limits, weakening judicial independence, or criminalising dissent. Though these changes may appear legal on paper, they dismantle the democratic spirit that institutions are meant to uphold.
As historian Timothy Snyder reminds us in On Tyranny (2017), “Institutions do not protect themselves. They fall one after the other unless each is defended from the beginning.”
Similarly, in How Democracies Die (2018), Steven Levitsky and Daniel Ziblatt explain that the decay of democratic institutions rarely comes from abrupt coups; rather, it comes from elected leaders who slowly, and often legally, erode the systems meant to constrain them.
Levitsky and Ziblatt argue that modern democracies do not typically collapse in dramatic fashion, such as through military coups or revolutions. Instead, they decay slowly, from within, often at the hands of elected leaders who use the very tools of democracy—elections, laws, and institutions—to gradually dismantle it.
This process of institutional rot often begins when charismatic or populist leaders are democratically elected. They usually rise to power by presenting themselves as outsiders who will "clean up the system," speaking in the name of the people against corrupt elites. Once in office, however, they begin to subtly undermine democratic norms. They attack the legitimacy of their political opponents, question the integrity of electoral systems, and gradually weaken institutions meant to hold them accountable, such as the judiciary, legislature, or the free press.
Levitsky and Ziblatt stress that authoritarianism in the 21st century often wears a democratic disguise. Institutions remain intact on paper, elections are still held, and constitutions may not be formally suspended—but the spirit of democracy erodes. Rules are bent rather than broken, and legal reforms are passed that concentrate power in the hands of the executive. These changes are often presented as necessary for efficiency, national security, or modernization, making them more palatable to the public.
To help identify this creeping authoritarianism, the authors offer a “litmus test” for potential autocrats. Warning signs include rejecting the democratic rules of the game, denying the legitimacy of political opponents, tolerating or encouraging violence, and expressing a willingness to curtail the civil liberties of critics and the media. While one or two of these traits may not be conclusive, a consistent pattern should raise red flags.
One of the most crucial points Levitsky and Ziblatt make is that the survival of democracy relies not just on institutions, but on the behaviour of political elites. When mainstream parties tolerate or actively support authoritarian figures for short-term political gain, they put the entire system at risk. In other words, democracies often die not because the people demand dictatorship, but because political leaders fail to defend the norms and values that keep democratic institutions alive.
As they put it succinctly, “Democracies may die at the hands of elected leaders who subvert the very process that brought them to power.” In this sense, the death of democracy today is often not a dramatic collapse, but a slow, quiet unraveling—applauded, rather than resisted.
The destruction of institutions by popular leaders is rarely loud or immediate—it is a quiet dismantling carried out in the name of the people, often with their applause.
Imagine a leader so popular, people think he walks on water. He says he’s here to "clean up the system"—but suddenly, the mop becomes a bulldozer.
First, he says, “Trust me, I’ve got this.” Then boom! Parliament is just a background prop, the constitution starts looking like a wishlist, and every decision begins with, “I feel like…” instead of, you know, laws.
Next move? Replace anyone who dares say "Hmm, maybe not." Judges? Swapped. Journalists? Silenced. Critics? Labelled haters, fake news, or foreign agents with bad vibes.
And when someone asks, “Wait, aren’t institutions important?” the leader goes full Marvel villain: “I am the institution.”
Then come the plot twists. Laws are changed. Terms are extended. Suddenly, the ‘democracy’ button is more decorative than functional. And guess what? It’s all “legal,” just like pineapple on pizza.
By the time people realise what’s happening, it’s like waking up in a reality show you didn’t sign up for—called “Survivor: The Democracy Edition.”
Remember what the nerdy-but-wise historians said: democracies don’t usually die in explosions. They die in applause.
The erosion of institutions by popular leaders carries profound and often devastating consequences for a democracy. When institutions—such as the judiciary, parliament, the free press, and electoral commissions—are weakened or manipulated, the checks and balances that limit executive power begin to crumble. Popular leaders, once in power, may gradually centralise authority under the guise of efficiency, national unity, or “the will of the people,” while steadily eliminating the mechanisms that could hold them accountable.
As institutions lose their independence, laws become tools of political revenge or repression rather than justice. The courts may no longer function as neutral arbiters but instead serve to validate the leader’s actions. Legislative bodies can become rubber stamps for executive decisions, especially when opposition voices are silenced or marginalised. Meanwhile, a captured media landscape—either through state control or intimidation—leads to a distorted public discourse where dissent is labelled as disloyalty and propaganda replaces pluralism.
This process breeds a culture of fear, self-censorship, and apathy among citizens. People may begin to lose trust in the fairness of elections, the honesty of public officials, and even the value of participating in civic life. As democratic norms fade, so too does the expectation that leaders can be removed through peaceful, legal means. Instead, regimes become increasingly authoritarian—often still cloaked in the language of democracy—but with power effectively concentrated in the hands of one person or party.
The long-term result is a hollow democracy or what scholars call an “electoral autocracy”—a system where elections occur but are neither free nor fair, where rights exist but are unequally applied, and where opposition is technically allowed but practically suppressed. In such systems, change becomes difficult without upheaval, and the path back to genuine democracy grows increasingly steep.
Ultimately, the rot of institutions does not just damage democracy—it damages society itself. It polarises the public, undermines the rule of law, and can even lead to instability or violence. And tragically, because it often happens gradually and legally, by the time people realise what's been lost, the tools to fix it may no longer exist.
When institutions have already started to rot, the situation is tough but not hopeless. The people must first wake up to what’s really happening, not just believe official stories or propaganda. Awareness is the first step because you can’t fix what you don’t admit is broken. Once people see the problem clearly, collective action becomes key. Citizens need to organize—whether through peaceful protests, grassroots movements, or independent media—to demand accountability and push back against abuses of power. Building alliances across different groups, including opposition parties, civil society, and even some reform-minded insiders, strengthens the fight.
At the same time, protecting whatever independent institutions still remain is crucial. Supporting journalists, lawyers, and activists who uphold the rule of law helps keep a lifeline for democracy alive. Using legal tools to challenge corrupt decisions, exposing wrongdoing, and insisting on transparency can slow down authoritarian trends.
Education and civic engagement are also vital. The public must understand democratic values, rights, and responsibilities, so they don’t fall for populist tricks or misinformation. Empowered citizens are harder to silence or manipulate.
Finally, international pressure and solidarity can play a role, but the main driver must be internal—real change comes from within society itself. It’s a long, difficult path, but history shows that with persistence, vigilance, and unity, people can reclaim and rebuild their institutions.
In Citizenship and Crisis: A Sociology of Political Life (2013), Bryan S. Turner argues that citizenship is not just a legal status, but a lived practice—one that becomes especially vital during times of crisis. His core idea is that citizenship involves both rights and responsibilities, and it is through the active participation of citizens that democratic norms are defended, especially when institutions falter or are under attack.
Turner emphasises that during political, economic, or institutional crises, it is not enough to rely on formal structures to safeguard democracy. Those structures may be weakened, co-opted, or bypassed. Instead, citizenship becomes a form of resistance and reconstruction. In such moments, individuals and communities must engage in what he calls “social action”—that is, collective efforts like protest, advocacy, public discourse, and solidarity movements that push back against authoritarian drift or institutional collapse.
He also highlights that citizenship is relational and contested, meaning it’s constantly being reshaped by who is included, who is excluded, and how power is distributed. Crises often expose and deepen these inequalities. Therefore, democratic renewal requires an inclusive approach to citizenship—bringing marginalised voices into the public sphere and redefining the social contract.
Turner sees active, participatory citizenship as the frontline defense against democratic erosion. When crises hit and institutions falter, it’s the citizen body, not just the state, that must stand up for democratic values like accountability, justice, and pluralism.
Fixing institutions that have already decayed is a long, difficult, and often messy process—but it is not impossible. It begins with the recognition that institutions are not just buildings or bureaucracies; they are held together by norms, trust, and a shared commitment to democratic values. Once these are eroded, rebuilding must focus not only on structural reform but on restoring the moral and civic foundation of institutional life.
In How Democracies Die (Levitsky & Ziblatt, 2018, Crown Publishing), the authors stress that institutional recovery depends on a return to what they call “mutual toleration” and “institutional forbearance.” This means political actors must restrain their power even when they can legally push the limits. Restoring these unwritten norms requires leadership that is both principled and forward-looking—leaders who prioritise the system over short-term political gain.
Another crucial dimension is public trust. In Why Nations Fail by Daron Acemoglu and James A. Robinson (2012, Crown Business), the authors argue that institutions succeed when they are inclusive—meaning they distribute power broadly and ensure participation from all sectors of society. Rebuilding institutions, therefore, must involve re-democratizing access to power, cracking down on corruption, and making sure citizens feel like stakeholders, not spectators.
Education and civic literacy also play an essential role. In On Tyranny (Snyder, 2017, Tim Duggan Books), Timothy Snyder insists that resisting authoritarianism begins with everyday actions—knowing history, supporting truth-tellers, and standing up for institutions even when it’s unpopular. He urges citizens to rebuild democratic norms from the ground up.
Finally, The People vs. Democracy by Yascha Mounk (2018, Harvard University Press) emphasizes the importance of not just procedural reforms, but cultural renewal—creating a political climate that values pluralism, dissent, and cooperation. This involves a long-term commitment to rebuilding civil society, supporting independent media, and fostering a sense of shared national identity that includes all voices.
Thus, rebuilding decayed institutions means changing the culture as much as the structure. It takes good laws, yes, but also better habits—of restraint, dialogue, transparency, and inclusion. The road back is slow, but history shows it can be walked, especially when the people refuse to forget what democracy is supposed to be.
