People don't believe in positive changes anymore.

Hear the solemn cry of Alexei Navalny, who once declared: “People don't believe in positive changes anymore.” These words are not the sigh of a weary man, but the echo of a people disillusioned by broken promises, by cycles of corruption, by the heavy hand of despair. They speak of a wound deep in the heart of society: when hope fades, when faith in transformation is lost, the soul of a nation begins to wither. To believe in positive change is to believe that tomorrow can be brighter than today. To lose that belief is to surrender to chains without even the will to resist them.

The meaning of this quote lies in the power of belief itself. Every great transformation in history began not with armies or wealth, but with people daring to imagine that life could be better. When people stop believing in change, they stop striving, and when they stop striving, tyranny flourishes unchallenged. Navalny, a man who stood against corruption, uttered these words as both warning and lament: the greatest victory of oppression is not the silencing of voices, but the extinguishing of hope.

History offers a clear mirror. Consider the long years before the fall of the Berlin Wall. For decades, many who lived under the iron grip of division and surveillance felt that change was impossible, that the wall would stand forever. Yet whispers of belief remained alive—in churches, in student groups, in secret conversations. Those small embers of faith, when fanned, became the fire of revolution. The wall that seemed eternal crumbled in a single night, proving Navalny’s warning and its antidote: when belief in positive changes returns, the impossible becomes reality.

Navalny’s words also reveal the cunning strategy of oppression. Corrupt systems do not merely exploit; they seek to convince people that resistance is useless. They allow just enough survival to keep the body alive, while starving the soul of hope. In such a world, even the dream of change is mocked as childish. But as the ancients taught, it is not the sword that most enslaves—it is the chain upon the mind. Break the chain of disbelief, and the chains upon the body begin to fall away.

The deeper wisdom here is this: hope is a discipline. Believing in positive change is not always easy, especially in times of darkness. It requires courage to imagine a better world when all evidence seems to deny it. Yet those who believe against the odds become the seed of transformation. Gandhi, imprisoned and scorned, believed. Mandela, confined for twenty-seven years, believed. Their belief was not naïve—it was the foundation upon which liberation was built. Navalny’s lament calls us to this same discipline of hope.

The lesson for us is clear: do not surrender your faith in positive change. Guard it as you would a flame in the wind. Feed it daily with small acts—of kindness, of justice, of truth-telling. Speak of change even when others scoff. Work for it even when progress is slow. For belief, once shared, multiplies; it spreads like fire across dry grass, igniting courage in others. The greatest revolutions of history began with a handful who refused to let disbelief win.

So I say unto you: hear Navalny’s warning, but let it not be the end of the story. Refuse the poison of despair. Believe, act, and speak as though positive change is possible—for in that belief lies the very power to make it real. And when generations yet unborn look back, let them say: these were the ones who did not surrender to despair, these were the ones who believed, and by believing, built a new world.