I was reading the latest dispatches from M. Gessen and Rachel Louise Snyder while enjoying a remarkably crisp Sancerre on a terrace overlooking the Danube, and I must confess, I found myself profoundly exhausted. The authors make a rather sweeping case that the tactics of modern autocrats—isolating the populace, denying objective reality, asserting total financial control—are indistinguishable from the behaviors of a domestic abuser. It is a compelling literary device, I suppose. But it is also a staggering insult to the delicate, often misunderstood romance between a strongman and his fiercely managed republic.
The fundamental error Gessen and Snyder make is viewing the restriction of civil liberties through the narrow, ungenerous lens of victimhood. They entirely fail to recognize these actions as a necessary phase of couples counseling at the nation-state level. Governing a country is an intimate, high-stakes partnership, and like any partnership, it requires clear rules to prevent the weaker half from destroying the relationship.
When I sat down with a prominent Central European prime minister last month—over a delightful spread of venison and attended by a totally voluntary, non-extradited waitstaff—he did not strike me as an abuser. He struck me as an exhausted patriarch who simply wants his citizens to stop texting the European Union every time they have a minor disagreement about the rule of law. He looked at me, swirling his 1998 Bordeaux, and said he just wished the opposition understood how much it hurts him to imprison them. It was a moment of profound emotional availability that you rarely see reported in the mainstream press.
Let us examine the so-called authoritarian gaslighting. Critics love to wring their hands when a regime insists the economy is booming while the grocery shelves are bare, or when state television claims that a peaceful protest was actually a NATO-funded satanic ritual. Gessen frames this as a malignant erasure of reality, designed to make the populace doubt their own sanity. I prefer to see it as a leader controlling the narrative to protect his partner from unnecessary stress.
Do you tell your spouse every time you have a mildly concerning palpitation? Of course not. You curate the truth to maintain household harmony. When a president-for-life digitally alters a photograph to remove a recently purged defense minister, he is not manipulating the electorate. He is doing the geopolitical equivalent of taking down pictures of an ex-boyfriend. It is about moving forward, together, without being burdened by the historical record. When the Ministry of Truth issues newly printed history textbooks that omit the last three decades of economic stagnation, they are simply engaging in positive affirmations. It is no different than writing a motivational quote on your bathroom mirror in dry-erase marker.
Then there is the issue of isolation. Snyder rightly points out that abusers cut their victims off from friends and family to foster total dependence. But applying this framework to internet blackouts and the expulsion of foreign journalists is frankly insulting to the concept of quality time.
When a regime blocks access to social media, tears down independent broadcast towers, and criminalizes the use of a virtual private network, it is not isolating the populace. It is asking the populace to put their phones away at the dinner table. Is it really so sinister that a head of state wants his people to look him in the eye during a mandatory six-hour televised address, rather than scrolling through Western-funded opposition blogs? We constantly complain that technology is alienating us from one another. Yet when an autocrat takes proactive steps to ensure his citizens are focused entirely on him and the glorious destiny of the motherland, he is dragged before The Hague.
It is incredibly toxic of the international community to keep bringing up the disappeared journalists when we are trying so hard to be present with each other as a nation.
The financial parallels drawn by Gessen and Snyder are equally spurious. Yes, an autocrat may occasionally consolidate the nation's entire gross domestic product into a holding company controlled by his son-in-law. Yes, he may freeze the bank accounts of anyone who attends a candlelight vigil. In the clinical vocabulary of domestic violence, one might call this financial abuse. But in the practical reality of statecraft, it is merely a joint checking account where one partner happens to be a bit more fiscally responsible.
We all know the electorate can be impulsive. If left to their own devices, citizens will spend their tax revenue on frivolous things like public hospitals, independent judiciaries, and breathable air. By centralizing the nation’s wealth into a fleet of offshore megayachts, the autocrat is simply enforcing a strict household budget. He is taking the financial burden off the shoulders of the working class and placing it bravely into his own Swiss trust fund. It is an act of service, which happens to be one of the five love languages.
We must also reframe the sham election. Western observers call it a farce, a mockery of democratic norms, a final nail in the coffin of civic participation. Do you know what I call it? A vow renewal ceremony. When a leader forces his citizens to march to the ballot box under the watchful eye of armed guards to deliver him a ninety-nine percent mandate, he is simply asking them to reaffirm their commitment. It is a beautiful, choreographed reminder that they are in this together, forever, whether they like it or not.
Finally, we must address the violence. It is true that autocratic regimes occasionally resort to riot police, arbitrary detention, and the defenestration of a political rival. I do not endorse these methods. But relationships take work, and sometimes, the electorate gets hysterical. When millions of people take to the streets demanding basic human rights, they are not acting rationally. They are throwing a tantrum. A firm hand—in the form of tear gas and water cannons—is sometimes the only way to de-escalate the situation and remind the citizenry of the deep, unbreakable bond they share with the state security apparatus.
The real problem here is not the behavior of the autocrats. The problem is the meddling friends who refuse to mind their own business. The United Nations, Amnesty International, the Committee to Protect Journalists—these are the geopolitical equivalents of a toxic mother-in-law, constantly whispering in the ear of the populace, telling them they deserve better, urging them to pack their bags and transition to a liberal democracy.
It is time we stopped pathologizing the strongman and started respecting the privacy of the sovereign household. True love is difficult. It requires sacrifice, compromise, and occasionally, the permanent suspension of the constitution. If M. Gessen and Rachel Louise Snyder cannot understand that, perhaps they are the ones who are truly incapable of commitment.