During the Brezhnev era, a writer found himself in Moscow serving on the Executive Committee of the Young Communists. The return was a jolt of horror and clarity. The conviction formed then was stark: if the left wanted progress, the USSR had to dissolve as a political-mob apparatus. This stance did not deny the USSR’s role in defeating fascism or its indirect influence on European welfare states. Simply put, Soviet communism had failed and posed a global danger. When perestroika began, inner peace returned alongside a buoyant admiration for Mikhail Gorbachev’s courage and intellect, even as contradictions persisted. Soviet diplomacy sought to reassure Western colleagues at every turn. An NGO hosted a young Russian woman who spoke of democracy advancing, yet still imperfectly. She described jeans as widely sold but prohibitively expensive, illustrating a broader sense of unequal progress. That naive remark hinted at later misfortunes and foreshadowed the way Western democracies sometimes yielded to uncontrolled capitalism, interpreting history through a pragmatic, sometimes harsh lens.
Celebrations for the fall of the Berlin Wall followed, and the writer felt more European than ever. When Gorbachev appeared for an interview on Channel 9 and invited him to meet, a rare emotion surfaced. Later, participation in the OSCE-EU Delegation to Moscow as a Member of Parliament sharpened the perspective on Russian political shifts. Watching Yeltsin’s presidential campaign, one perceives a setback in Russia’s democratization, aided by the West’s missteps. Reports from ambassadors and European diplomats echoed a familiar critique: Russians distrusted Gorbachev for three reasons. They admired his ending of totalitarian rule while also sensing a relinquishing of empire that gave them dignity and security. Raisa’s Western-influenced image and perceived control over the course of events contributed to local ambivalence. When questioned about his own position, the communist candidate’s remarks about personal restraint contrasted with Yeltsin’s public display, underscoring the risky transformation of democratic centralism into a looser, more intoxicating centrism. The stage was set for gangsters and former security officials to gain influence. The narrative hinted at Putin’s rise, hinted at in quiet, shadowed ways.
In this climate, a personal and sincere tribute arose for Gorbachev after his passing. The reflection examined what might have happened under different conditions and acknowledged the heroism of someone who understood that in a state like the USSR, socialism could not be built with transparency and philanthropy alone. The regime helped dismantle itself, rarely offering assistance to its own construction.
As the global arc shifted, figures from the President of the United States to the Pope oscillated between euphoria and tempered reflection. Some observers drew a line to Fukuyama, the political scientist whose widely cited claim suggested an end to history. The discussion wandered through debates sparked by liberalism, globalization, and free-market economics. Fukuyama’s engagement with Hegelian ideas and his association with liberal-democratic ideals gave proponents a moral framework for market-oriented policy, even as critics warned of the human costs of unbridled globalization. The argument persisted: liberalism would symbolize a lasting world spirit, even as economic liberalism faced criticism for undermining state capacity and social cohesion.
Thus unfolded a critique of globalization and neoliberalism, highlighting the toll on lives, environment, and democratic trust. The critique suggested that a renewed, more sustainable social democracy could restore balance to a world unsettled by rapid capitalist expansion. The writer noted that the supposed certainty of liberal order should be weighed against the ongoing need for accountability, equality, and humane governance. A nuanced reading of Fukuyama acknowledged that his work prompted reflection rather than simple dismissal, and that his book’s themes—liberalism, state roles, and public order—continued to inspire debate about the best path forward.
Looking back, the writer wondered whether the era’s lessons could be distilled into a single, telling sentence. The fear was that social democracy had been mythologized beyond feasibility and that the digital economy had rendered certain promises unachievable. Yet the broader message remained—critical examination of political trajectories, especially around reform and accountability, could still guide a more stable and humane global order. In the end, Gorbachev’s passing and Fukuyama’s calls for reform prompted a reflection about history, liberty, and the fragile balance between change and continuity. It was a moment to consider what kinds of alliances, reforms, and values could best prevent a relapse into old patterns while embracing a more open, fair, and sustainable future.