Given the right conditions any society can turn against

Anne Applebaum, a chronicler of tyranny and a witness to the shifting winds of nations, has warned us with words sharp as prophecy: “Given the right conditions any society can turn against democracy.” Do not take these words lightly, for they speak of the fragility of freedom, and of the ease with which the proud pillars of liberty may be shaken when fear, anger, or hunger gnaws at the hearts of the people. She reminds us that no nation, however ancient or noble, is immune to the descent into darkness if the soil of its spirit is poisoned.

Think on Rome, that mighty empire whose Senate once rang with the voices of citizens. The Republic, founded on checks and balances, was not conquered by barbarians in its first fall—it was undone by ambition within. When famine struck, when wars drained the treasury, when the people grew weary of bickering rulers, they turned their faces not to liberty but to strongmen who promised order. Thus rose Caesar, and with him the end of the Republic. The Roman people, wearied by chaos, surrendered their freedom for the comfort of control. Applebaum’s warning resounds here: under the right conditions, even the defenders of liberty will trade their voice for chains.

Consider too the tragedy of Weimar Germany. Born from the ashes of the First World War, it was a fragile democracy, full of promise yet burdened with debt, humiliation, and despair. The people, suffering under poverty and the bite of inflation, lost faith in the ballot. In their pain, they sought a savior. And so they embraced Hitler, who cloaked tyranny in the robes of renewal. Within a few years, democracy was extinguished, and a society that once had poets, philosophers, and thinkers of the highest order marched obediently into ruin. Truly, Applebaum speaks rightly: no society, however enlightened, is beyond corruption.

But this fate is not inevitable—it is a danger, and dangers can be met with vigilance. The ancients taught that freedom demands eternal watchfulness, for it is not a treasure locked away, but a living flame that must be tended. When corruption creeps in, when fear divides neighbor from neighbor, when lies replace truth, these are the conditions that weaken democracy’s roots. And if we do not resist, the ground will shift, and the tree of liberty will topple.

Let us not despair at this truth, but be moved to courage. The lesson Applebaum offers is not that democracy is doomed, but that it requires guardians. Each citizen must bear the weight of responsibility: to speak against falsehood, to defend the institutions that protect liberty, to refuse the lure of easy answers and strongmen who promise order at the price of freedom. The ancients would call this the duty of the free man and woman—the sacred trust that binds the individual to the community.

Reflect, then, on your role in this. Do you surrender to apathy, believing that your voice is too small? Do you allow despair to blind you, thinking corruption inevitable? Or do you rise with others, as those who resisted tyranny in every age have risen, knowing that liberty survives not through passivity, but through courage? Remember: even in the darkest night, the smallest flame can scatter shadows.

Practical action lies before you. Learn the history of your people, so that lies cannot deceive you. Support institutions—schools, courts, presses—that safeguard truth and justice. Guard your words, and weigh those of leaders carefully, for language is the chisel that shapes the mind of the people. And above all, stand with your neighbors, for division is the tyrant’s weapon, but unity is the citizen’s shield.

Thus, let Applebaum’s warning live in your heart: freedom is not a gift that endures unguarded. Democracy is precious, but it is fragile, and under the right conditions, it may fall. Let us then be vigilant, let us be brave, and let us pass down to the generations after us not chains, but liberty’s flame—burning still, because we chose to defend it.