A Tatar Pasundan street kid said, “Yo, imagine you’re in ‘Stranger Things,’ but instead of battling Demogorgons, you’re stuck behind locked gates with zero snacks and no Eleven to save you. That’s what it feels like when they haul us off to a ‘barak.’ We need school, pizza nights, and friends—not a boot-camp vibe. Give us Wifi, art classes, and a chance to dream our own Upside Down.
I’m just a kid. I sleep on sidewalks, not because I like it—but because that’s the only “bed” I’ve got. Then one day, a van pulls up, and boom—I’m in a “barak.”
They say it’s for “rescue,” but it feels more like a lock-up. No toys. No school. No one asks if I’m okay. Just rules, lines, shouting. It’s not a second chance—it’s just a holding cell.
I want a place where I can draw, learn to read, maybe play Minecraft or paint like in art class. I want someone to ask me what I want, not just tell me what they think I need.
We're not problems to be hidden. We're people waiting to be seen."
An Indonesian social activist’s voice: “Listen up, fam. We can’t treat kids like NPCs in a side quest. A humane shelter model—think ‘Big Hero 6’ HQ, where healthcare, counselling, and real education happen—is the real flex. Any policy that sidelines youth without their voice is so last season. Let’s remix the narrative: community hubs, family reunions, and genuine empowerment. That’s how we level up society.
Hey policymakers—kids are not NPCs in your political simulation. Rounding them up into camps or barracks doesn’t solve poverty, trauma, or neglect. It hides it behind barbed wire and big words.
You don’t “save” kids by scaring them. You save them by supporting them. Therapy, education, family tracing, community support—that’s the real deal. Not uniforms and whistles.
We need homes with heart, not cages with slogans. The world doesn’t need another PR stunt. It needs a system that treats children with dignity.
Baraks won’t build a nation. But compassion will.
"That spin dictators pretend to be democrats proves they have no vision to offer," Sergei Guriev and Daniel Treisman wrote in their Spin Dictators. And then they went on, "Although spin dictatorship has become salient recently, it is not entirely new. Indeed, some insights into it are hundreds of years old. Since the ancient Greeks, most writers on tyranny have focused on the dictatorship of fear. Rulers kill, torture, imprison, and threaten their subjects to secure obedience. They spy on citizens and spread distrust among them. Aristotle called these techniques 'the Persian and barbaric arts.' Montesquieu alluded to the 'prince’s ever-raised arm,' always poised to strike. Fear, he wrote, “must beat down everyone’s courage and extinguish even the slightest feeling of ambition. More recent theorists such as Franz Neumann and Hannah Arendt placed terror, along with ideology—at the heart of modern dictatorship.
Yet, from the start, some thinkers also saw another possibility. Besides the 'old traditional method,' Aristotle described a second approach. This second type of ruler claimed to be not a violent usurper but 'a steward and a king,' governing for the benefit of all. He spent money to 'adorn and improve his city' and cultivated an image of moderation and piety. Although still a tyrant, ruling in his own interest, he tried to seem 'not harsh, but dignified.' He inspired reverence rather than fear. Although enslaved, his subjects did not realize it.
Later, in a similar vein, Machiavelli advised princes to use 'simulation and dissimulation.' Since most people are influenced by appearances rather than reality, an ambitious ruler should create illusions. He 'need not have all the good qualities ... but he must seem to have them.' How to fool the public depends on context: 'The prince can gain popular favor in many ways.' But obtaining public support is crucial. 'I will only say in conclusion that a prince must have the people on his side.'
Spin dictators heed Machiavelli’s advice and copy Aristotle’s second type of tyrant. Rather than intimidating citizens into submission, they use deception to win the people over. To govern in this way entails following a few rules.
Unlike classic despots, spin dictators must care about their approval ratings," the authors of Spin Dictators wrote. "As Machiavelli noted, they can win popular favour in various ways. Good economic performance helps. In any regime, prosperity tends to boost the incumbent’s appeal. This is hugely important and should not be forgotten even as we focus on other, complementary paths to popularity. Citizens infer from economic growth that the ruler must be a skilled manager. Leaders of all kinds—democrats and authoritarians—take credit for booming markets when they can.
But no economy booms all the time. So each brand of autocrat invests in a backup. Dictators of fear use repression to contain discontent as the economy tanks. They make sure citizens are too scared to protest.
Spin dictators may end up repressing as a last resort, reverting to the old-school approach in extremis. But that means giving up on broad popularity. Instead, their first line of defence, when the truth is against them, is to distort it. They manipulate information.
Of course, they are not the first to manipulate information. Some twentieth-century totalitarians were innovative propagandists. What is different is how spin dictators skew the news. The classic fear of dictators imposed elaborate ideologies and loyalty rituals. Their control was comprehensive, their propaganda intimidating. Some were accused of brainwashing their citizens. Spin dictators use subtler methods—less Maoist agitprop, more Madison Avenue. And the content differs. Where twentieth-century strongmen relished violent imagery—recall Saddam’s “poisoned dagger”—spin dictators adopt a cooler rhetoric of competence and expertise, sometimes with a light socialist or nationalist veneer.
When the facts are good, they take credit for them; when bad, they have the media obscure them when possible and provide excuses when not. Poor performance is the fault of external conditions or enemies. And disappointing outcomes are cast as still better than others could achieve. Dictators contrast their own leadership with a deeply unattractive pseudo-alternative, specially chosen to make them look better. Loyal journalists slander any genuine rival. Journalists like these aren’t real ink-slingers—they’re superfans writing political fanfiction every night. The twist? The ending is always: “And then, the great leader saved the nation with a speech and a vanity megaproject.” They don’t report the truth—they stage reality, cropping it neatly to fit the gilded frame of power.
Once, the pen was a tool for seeking meaning. Now, their pen is more like a charm—repelling facts, exorcising logic, and summoning subsidies. Real journalists risk their careers for the truth. But these ones? They risk the truth for a lunch invite at a five-star hotel. They don’t write to reveal reality—they write to make lies feel like home. Like candles proud to melt themselves, just to light up a cracked mirror in the palace.
They were meant to be watchdogs of the state. Now they’re pampered lapdogs, wagging their tails for scraps from the banquet of power, too busy licking boots to bark at injustice. The Fourth Estate was supposed to challenge empires with ink and reason. But these ones? They polish the emperor’s shoes with their headlines and call it journalism. The Fourth Estate was born to shine light in dark corners. But these scribes now dim their own lanterns, kneeling before shadows, whispering that the darkness is “nuanced.”
Throughout, the dictator frames issues and shapes the public agenda to his advantage.
When this works, spin dictators are loved rather than feared. For twenty years, Putin’s approval never dipped below 60 percent. Even Chávez’s opponents acknowledged his popularity. But they are not loved by all. In any modern society, authoritarian or democratic, people can be divided into two groups. To begin with, there are the informed—the stratum of college-educated, media-savvy, and interna- tionally connected citizens. Its members are skilled at getting and communicating political information. They may be co-opted by those in power, but they are generally hard to fool. In dictatorships, the in- formed see through the leader’s lies, recognizing him as out for him- self and far less competent than state broadcasts pretend. They would like to replace him with a better alternative. But they are too few and therefore too weak to do so alone. They need the help of the rest of society—the general public.
In today’s digital age, where charisma often beats competence and hashtags trump hard policies, the rise of populist leaders feels almost inevitable. With slick media strategies, catchy slogans, and a “man of the people” persona, they storm the political stage like rockstars—except with executive powers. But behind the selfie smiles and viral soundbites lies a deeper concern echoed by scholars and historians alike. The dangers of populist leaders can be both immediate and long-term, and many political scholars have examined this in depth.
Populist leaders often rise to power by presenting themselves as the voice of "the real people" against corrupt elites. At first, this can feel refreshing, even revolutionary. They promise quick solutions, cut through bureaucratic noise, and seem to “get” what the public wants. But as Steven Levitsky and Daniel Ziblatt argue in How Democracies Die (2018, Crown Publishing), the same tactics that make populists appealing often undermine democratic norms.
According to How Democracies Die by Steven Levitsky and Daniel Ziblatt, populists weaken institutions, ignore constitutional norms, and centralise power through a slow and deliberate process. Once in office, they often portray themselves as the sole representatives of the "true people," dismissing critics and opposition as enemies or traitors. They begin by attacking the media, judiciary, and independent institutions, painting them as corrupt or biased.
They exploit legal loopholes, bend rules, and slowly erode the checks and balances that constrain executive power. Rather than abolishing democracy outright, they chip away at it piece by piece—firing or intimidating judges, reshaping electoral laws, silencing dissent, and filling key institutions with loyalists. Over time, these actions centralise authority in the executive branch and weaken the democratic system from within, often while maintaining a façade of legality.
How Democracy Ends by David Runciman (2018, Profile Books) explores the vulnerabilities of modern democracies and the subtle ways they might decline. Runciman argues that contemporary democracies are unlikely to collapse through dramatic events like military coups or violent revolutions. Instead, he suggests they may erode gradually through processes such as executive aggrandisement, where elected leaders incrementally undermine democratic institutions while maintaining a façade of legality.
In How Democracy Ends, David Runciman organises his exploration of democracy’s potential demise around four possible scenarios: Coup!, Catastrophe!, Technological takeover!, and Something better? Each scenario reflects a different way democracy might end or evolve—not necessarily through violence or collapse, but through transformation, obsolescence, or displacement.
1. Coup!
Runciman begins with the idea of a traditional military coup, a violent overthrow of government. However, he argues that this kind of democratic collapse is unlikely in mature democracies today. Modern democratic institutions have largely insulated themselves against outright coups. Instead of tanks on the streets, he warns about slow-motion erosion—elected leaders subverting democracy from within while maintaining a façade of legality. He references leaders who win elections but then weaken checks and balances, restrict the press, and consolidate power—often under the banner of defending democracy.
In countries like Hungary under Viktor Orbán and Turkey under Recep Tayyip Erdoğan, we’ve seen elected leaders use legal means to gradually centralise power. Courts were weakened, media outlets were taken over, and opposition voices were silenced. These weren’t violent coups, but democratic takeovers in disguise. For young people, this means growing up in a political environment where free expression feels risky, and where democracy is more about appearances than real participation.
2. Catastrophe!
In this section, Runciman considers how large-scale disasters—such as climate change, pandemics, or nuclear conflict—might expose the weaknesses of democratic systems. Democracies are often slow to respond to long-term threats, especially when political cycles are short and public attention is fleeting. He suggests that autocracies might be more "efficient" in times of crisis, and this perception could push people to lose faith in democratic responsiveness and seek stronger, more centralized rule.
During the COVID-19 pandemic, some democracies struggled to respond quickly and efficiently. In contrast, more authoritarian countries like China implemented rapid lockdowns and mass testing. This raised questions: Is democracy too slow in a crisis? For Gen Z and millennials, it created doubt about whether democratic systems can actually protect people in times of crisis, especially when decisions are delayed by bureaucracy or political bickering.
3. Technological Takeover!
Here, Runciman discusses the digital revolution and artificial intelligence as silent disruptors of democracy. Social media, data surveillance, and algorithmic manipulation change how we communicate, vote, and form opinions. He warns that tech companies, not governments, now wield immense power over information and behavior. This is not a hostile "robot coup," but rather a gradual outsourcing of democratic decision-making to platforms and algorithms optimized for engagement and profit, not public good.
The power of social media platforms like Facebook, TikTok, and YouTube shows how public opinion is shaped not by public debate, but by algorithmic content feeds. These platforms promote emotional, viral content—not necessarily truthful or constructive discussion. Many young people now get political information from influencers, not institutions. Runciman warns that this tech takeover makes traditional democracy feel irrelevant—why vote when it seems like the real power lies in the hands of unelected tech companies?
4. Something better?
Finally, Runciman asks whether democracy might be replaced by a better system, just as democracy once replaced monarchy. He argues that we shouldn’t assume democracy is the final or most perfect form of government. As society evolves, especially through technology, we may find new ways of organizing power that look nothing like the current democratic model but might still fulfill democratic ideals—just in unfamiliar forms.
Some countries and activists are experimenting with digital democracy tools, like online voting, participatory budgeting, and citizen assemblies. Estonia, for example, uses online platforms for many government services. These innovations appeal to younger generations who want faster, transparent, and tech-savvy political systems. The idea is: maybe democracy isn’t dying—it’s upgrading, and Gen Z could be the generation to lead that evolution.
David Runciman doesn’t believe democracy will die with a bang. Instead, it may fade, morph, or be outpaced by forces like technology or crises. He challenges readers to imagine futures where democracy ends not in collapse, but in evolution—into something unfamiliar, maybe better, maybe worse.
Young people are not just passive observers in the decline or transformation of democracy—they are the most important agents of change. While older generations often focus on preserving traditional systems, youth tend to bring energy, creativity, and boldness. Here’s how young people can (and already are) helping reboot democracy:
1. Redefining Political Engagement
For many young people, traditional politics—voting every few years and watching long speeches—feels outdated and disconnected. Instead, they engage through hashtags, viral videos, memes, and digital campaigns. This is not apathy—it’s a new language of activism. Youth are showing that political participation can happen outside parliaments, on platforms like TikTok, Instagram, and YouTube.
2. Pushing for Authenticity and Accountability
Gen Z especially values authenticity. Politicians who speak in vague, rehearsed slogans don’t resonate. Youth demand transparency, real talk, and action, not empty promises. This demand is pushing political leaders to rethink how they communicate and behave—because now, everything can go viral.
3. Building New Models of Leadership
Young people aren’t just waiting to be led—they’re leading themselves. From climate strikes (like Greta Thunberg’s movement) to digital rights activism, youth-led movements are setting agendas. Many are organising leaderless movements, where power is distributed, not concentrated—an experiment in horizontal democracy that feels more inclusive and modern.
4. Blending Tech and Politics
This generation is digital-native. They can code, design apps, and build platforms that make politics more participatory—like e-voting systems, civic education games, or data dashboards. By blending tech and democracy, they’re creating a new democratic infrastructure that’s fast, transparent, and relatable.
5. Reclaiming the Meaning of “Democracy”
Rather than giving up on democracy, young people are asking: “What should democracy really mean?” For them, democracy isn’t just about elections—it’s about equity, inclusion, climate justice, gender rights, and mental health. They are expanding the definition of democracy to match the needs of the 21st century.
So, rebooting democracy isn’t just a technical upgrade—it’s also a shift in values, communication style, and who holds the power. And it’s crystal clear: young people are in the driver’s seat.
Now back to the danger of populist leaders. Populists frequently rely on social media, propaganda, or "alternative facts" to manipulate public perception, reducing the space for rational debate. In Spin Dictators: The Changing Face of Tyranny in the 21st Century, Sergei Guriev and Daniel Treisman explain that modern authoritarian leaders—whom they call "spin dictators"—prefer manipulating public perception over using outright violence or censorship. These leaders often rely on social media, propaganda, and so-called "alternative facts" because these tools allow them to shape narratives subtly, making lies seem like legitimate opinions.
Social media gives them direct access to the public, bypassing traditional journalism and spreading messages quickly and emotionally. By flooding the information space with biased or misleading content, they confuse people, blur the line between truth and fiction, and reduce citizens’ ability to engage in rational debate. This strategy creates a fog of disinformation, where people lose trust in facts, institutions, and even in each other. The result is a distracted and divided public—less likely to organise or resist authoritarian rule.
Populists thrive on creating an "us vs. them" mentality, often targeting minorities, migrants, or political opponents. This leads to dangerous polarisation and social fragmentation. "The People vs. Democracy: Why Our Freedom Is in Danger and How to Save It" by Yascha Mounk (2018, Harvard University Press) explores how populists weaponise identity and nationalism to deepen divides in society.
Yascha Mounk explains that populists weaponise identity and nationalism by claiming to represent the "true people" of a nation—often defined by ethnicity, religion, or culture—against perceived outsiders or elites. They frame politics as a battle between "real citizens" and those who are seen as corrupt, disloyal, or foreign.
This tactic deepens divisions in society by turning political disagreements into identity conflicts. Instead of debating policies or ideas, people are pushed to choose sides based on who they are, not what they believe. Nationalism becomes a tool to exclude and marginalise anyone who doesn’t fit the populists’ narrow definition of the nation. As a result, social cohesion breaks down, and democracy becomes more fragile, because citizens stop seeing each other as equal members of the same political community.
We’ll still be discussing the long-term consequences of the dangers posed by these populist leaders, bi'ithnillah.
