Our lives are set by people in tailored suits—those who write laws, spend our taxes, and quietly redraw the rules we live by. We call them elites: the few who control resources, force, and stories. From that control flows status; from status, power.

To understand the chaos around us, we have to understand them—who they are, what they want, and what keeps them awake at night. And we have to compare them, because elites are not the same everywhere. Their codes differ by country, and much of today’s turbulence begins exactly there.

Today we’ll take a bird’s-eye view of modern elites and search for the hidden patterns driving the world’s political drama.

Here’s our journey:

1. What Does It Mean to Be an Elite
   
2. America’s Corridors of Power
   
3. Europe and Its Aristocracies
   
4. China and Its Not-So-Communist Party
   
5. Russia and Its Eternal Fears
   
6. Why Elites Cannot Cooperate
   

If we grasp what elites value, we can predict what they’ll fight for. If we grasp what they fear, we’ll know when they bend—or cooperate.

Let’s begin with the foundation.

What Does It Mean to Be an Elite

We are primates who live in hierarchies, and our behavior is hardwired to reflect that. Every attempt to build a perfectly equal society has failed, because ambitious individuals still strive to lead, to distinguish themselves from the rest—and many of those without ambition instinctively seek someone to follow, especially in moments of uncertainty.

We build hierarchies everywhere: in a kindergarten classroom, on a factory floor, in the army, even in prison. People automatically sort themselves into groups that form a pyramid. Everyone somehow knows who’s important—or cool—or dangerous.

Status always comes down to attention. Those who attract it are seen as important—even if they do so as public enemies or victims. That’s why victimhood so often imitates true status, and why online provocations work: from a safe distance, stirring others’ aggression becomes a way to harvest visibility without real risk.

But that kind of attention is fleeting; it burns out as quickly as it flares up. True status—the kind that lasts and builds real power—comes from five deeper sources.

The first is danger—the ability or willingness to use aggression, or at least to look like someone who can. Even appearing capable of directing others to use aggression on your behalf creates a similar effect.

Why does a knight with a sword seem more fascinating than a peasant? Why does a tiger hold our gaze more than a deer? Why does a mafia boss command attention the moment he walks into a room? And why does small Israel draw more global fascination than vast Brazil or Indonesia? Because danger, or the perception of it, captures the human mind.

The second source of attention is control and redistribution of resources—money, land, jobs, or influence. A boss matters because he pays salaries. A congressman matters because he helps allocate budgets. Parents matter because they provide the resources a child needs to survive. Whoever holds the purse strings or access to opportunity instantly becomes a node of power.

The third is usefulness. Usefulness comes in many forms: solving problems, offering help, and creating something valuable. Doctors and lawyers enjoy high status for precisely this reason. The more you can get from someone—knowledge, support, or rescue—the more important that person becomes to you.

The fourth is possession of something others want but cannot easily obtain—beauty, talent, fame, noble birth, athletic achievement. These forms of scarcity make others orbit around you. Society treats such traits as natural proof of worth, even when they’re largely accidents of birth or luck.

And finally—the most powerful of all—is the ability to create and control narratives that inspire people to act together. Narratives can turn someone into a saint or a pariah. They transform ordinary men into soldiers willing to die for “the homeland” or “the faith.”

Even the mightiest rulers vanish from history if they fail to create a story around themselves. But those who do end up on the national currency.

In modern societies, elites are those who combine these five forces in varying proportions, which shapes their character and agenda.

But before we study them, let me recommend my novel The Prince of the Soviets. It tells the story of how, after the Russian Revolution, the old elite was destroyed—and a new one rose to replace it. Not nobles or politicians this time, but nomenklatura and foreign journalists who suddenly found themselves treated like aristocracy in Stalin’s Moscow.

Why foreign journalists? Because those people had what no one else in the Soviet Union did: freedom. Freedom to leave the country. Freedom from dependence on the state. Freedom that came with foreign currency—money that opened doors to special stores and privileges reserved only for the chosen few. A pretty cool story, indeed.

American Elites

The American elite is built on the principle of championship. Even if you’re born into the right family, you must constantly prove that you’re a high achiever. Everyone watches one another, quietly measuring: where do I stand, how much have others accomplished, and why does my personal “hall of fame” look so modest compared to theirs?

It’s a constant balancing act—wanting to fit in, to be “cool” like the others, and at the same time to stand out. Teenagers face the same dilemma around the world, and that’s no coincidence. America is a young country, and its elites behave like ambitious teenagers—competitive, restless, and eager to impress.

There are three main ways to enter the American elite:

    1    Be born into the right family and follow the trail your ancestors have already carved—through legacy schools, old-money circles, and established networks.

    2    Achieve something extraordinary in your field—whether in business, technology, sports, or entertainment.

    3    Climb the institutional ladder—prep schools, Ivy League universities, elite internships, and alumni networks. Then, keep producing measurable results that push your career forward.

All three paths demand exceptional discipline, ambition, and social agility. It is a system that rewards those who can run the race without collapsing—and who always look good doing it.

Not everyone can. Which is why the upper floors of American power attract a very specific psychological type. They are not necessarily the wisest or the most ethical; they are the ones who can endure pressure and project success. In this world, burnout is common and hypocrisy is everywhere because the system forces its players to perform strength, optimism, and virtue at all times. The greatest social crime here is being perceived as a loser.

The American elite lives in a paradox. They must appear to represent ordinary people and win their sympathy—yet at the same time, they must stand apart as champions, proving they have little in common with mere mortals. In practice, much of their energy goes into performing relatability while fiercely guarding their sense of superiority.

American ideology demands that elites promote equality, progress, and inclusion. Yet their personal success depends on staying above the crowd and protecting the systems that feed them and their sponsors. That’s why politicians spend decades virtue signaling—proclaiming their moral goodness while changing almost nothing in the areas that affect most Americans:

    •    the archaic presidential election and tax systems,

    •    the costly and convolUted legal and healthcare systems,

    •    violence and dysfunction in immigration policy amid population aging,

    •    economic dependency on China and the loss of manufacturing jobs, while consumers still demand cheap goods at Walmart.

The result? A deep erosion of trust.

European Elites

If American elites are built on the principle of championship, European elites are built on the principle of belonging.
Their legitimacy doesn’t come from constant achievement, but from knowing the right people, speaking in the right tone, and signaling that they are part of a lineage—whether it’s a noble family, an academic tradition, or a long-standing corporate dynasty.

In Europe, status is not measured by how high you climb, but by how gracefully you stay.

Western Europe still lives under the long shadow of aristocracy. Even though nobility has lost its formal privileges, its spirit endures—in taste, manners, education, and networks. Yet the modern Western European elite is a hybrid: old money merged with new technocrats, bureaucrats, and financiers. Their children attend the same elite universities—Oxford, Cambridge, the Sorbonne, Bocconi. Success in this world is about continuity: keeping the system elegant, predictable, and intact.

Eastern Europe tells a different story. The collapse of communism in the 1990s erased the old order and left behind a vacuum of legitimacy. Into that vacuum stepped a curious mix of former party officials, opportunistic entrepreneurs, and Western-educated technocrats. Power was no longer inherited—it was seized through insider knowledge, privatization, and foreign partnerships. For many in the East, “being European” became a new mark of status—a way to separate themselves from the provincial and Soviet past. Alignment with Western norms became not only a political statement, but a social one: proof of modernity and belonging.

Europe’s elite world is ruled by cultural subtlety. Flashy ambition is frowned upon; quiet confidence is the true currency.
You don’t show wealth—you suggest it. You don’t shout about success—you let others agree, discreetly, that you are successful.

The greatest challenge facing European elites today is relevance. Inherited prestige no longer guarantees public trust. To the younger generation, institutions like monarchies, banks, and Brussels bureaucracies seem distant, self-serving, and obsolete.

Meanwhile, the social fabric of Europe is changing. Migration—both from abroad and within Europe itself—is reshaping demographics and culture. Smaller towns empty into larger cities; cultural borders blur. The economic balance that sustained Europe for decades—relying on the United States for defense and on Russia for energy—has collapsed.

The new reality demands change, but real change disrupts the equilibrium that European elites are trained to preserve.

Chinese Elites

The key principle that defines the modern Chinese elite is making an impression—or, in other words, saving face. Their entire system of power revolves around maintaining appearances, performing strength, and giving themselves a constant political facelift to project confidence and control. Success must not only be achieved—it must be displayed. Every accomplishment, position, and privilege is a performance designed to confirm both personal power and the stability of the system that grants it. The Chinese passion for ceremony, grandeur, and scale is rooted in this need to be seen, admired, and obeyed.

This pattern is ancient, but it took a new shape in modern times. The old Chinese elites of the imperial and republican eras—landowners, merchants, and scholars—were wiped out after 1949, when the Communist regime came to power. Some perished during the wars and repressions; others fled abroad or quietly disappeared into the masses. I have a Chinese friend whose grandfather owned a chain of department stores in Shanghai. His children, under the new order, became humble workers in a canteen.

The new ruling class looked different. They dressed like common people, spoke like them, and were supposed to embody the ideals of socialist modesty. But their access to privileges set them apart. Soon, like elites in every socialist system, they were preaching equality while enjoying special shops, special housing, and special rights. Having resources and letting others know you have them became a core marker of status.

Today, nothing remains of Marxist ideals. Yet the Party cannot admit it. The old ideology still provides the justification for one-party rule: it explains why China has no democracy and why the Communist Party—meaning the elite—must control everything, including the right to use violence against its own citizens. As Marxism fades, nationalism fills the void. It’s more emotionally direct, more rooted in everyday experience, and it conveniently shifts blame outward—to “foreign forces” and “hostile powers.” It also aligns perfectly with collective memory.

Since the Opium Wars, China endured a “Century of Humiliation”—occupation, exploitation, and decay under weak governments. That trauma is still alive in the Chinese imagination. To understand how it shaped modern China, I recommend my novel The White Ghosts Empire, set in Shanghai of the 1920s—a world some called the Splendor of the East and others, the Whore of Asia.

In China, the demolition of old ideologies always brings turmoil. And change, in Chinese history, is often catastrophic. The Taiping Rebellion of the mid-19th century killed up to thirty million people. A hundred years later, the Great Chinese Famine of 1959–1962 took between twenty and forty-five million lives—roughly the entire population of modern Poland wiped out in three years. This is why everyone—from the top to the bottom—fears instability. The safest way to survive is to maintain the illusion of harmony. Problems are swept under the rug; success is loudly displayed. The public believes the country is thriving, while foreigners, dazzled by numbers and skyscrapers, invest in “the Chinese miracle.”

Power in China is stable only as long as it controls the narrative. Today, that narrative says: the Communist Party, guided by patriotism, strategic vision, and independence from hostile foreign forces, is leading the Chinese people toward a bright future. The evidence: continuous economic growth. This perfectly fits the traditional belief that prosperity is proof of Heaven’s favor. When the people prosper, Heaven smiles on the rulers.

The modern elite is a fusion of Communist officials and businessmen closely tied to the state. Within it exists the Princeling class—descendants of the revolutionary generation who founded the People’s Republic. Their names carry legitimacy and give them privileged access to everything. Yet bureaucratic talent still matters: ambitious cadres climb through provincial posts and performance reviews before reaching national positions.

Meanwhile, millions of rural residents, bound by the hukou system, remain second-class citizens. Their labor sustains the economy, but their voices are silent.

Unlike European elites, who prize understatement, China’s ruling class practices conspicuous consumption. To be taken seriously, one must display wealth—designer brands, luxury cars, and imported art. China now accounts for nearly 40% of global luxury sales. Displaying success has become a social ritual, a fast and efficient way to measure one’s place in the hierarchy. 

These games of glamour have limits, though. From time to time, the Party stages public punishments of corrupt officials—sacrifices to appease public anger. It is a ritual cleansing, a symbolic offering to the dragon so that it sleeps instead of burning down the castles the elites have built for themselves.

Yet nobody wants to become that sacrifice. So, like elites in every authoritarian society, the Chinese elite quietly move their money and families abroad. American and British universities are full of Chinese students whose parents pay enormous sums, hoping their children will find a way to secure residency or marriage in the West. That’s why entire neighborhoods of multimillion-dollar homes have appeared in California and British Columbia—Mediterranean in architecture, Chinese in population.

The central contradiction of China’s elite is this: they earn wealth and power through corruption, exploitation, and globalization, but must pretend their main concern is patriotism and socialism with Chinese characteristics. They live between two worlds—preaching virtue and practicing privilege.

Russian Elites

The problems that plague China’s elites are also deeply familiar in Russia. When power is usurped and national wealth is quietly redirected into private hands, the rulers must invent some moral justification for it. The interests of the elite inevitably collide with those of the people they claim to serve, and so they build an ideology to explain why things must stay exactly as they are.

Authoritarian regimes learn from one another—borrowing methods, testing what works—and they all arrive at the same conclusion: nationalism is the most effective tool. It turns frustration into unity, anger into loyalty, and fear into obedience.

While Russia’s elites behave in many ways like China’s, their core obsession is not appearance—it’s safety. In Chinese history, the enemy was always visible: rebels, invaders, or foreign occupiers. In Russia, the danger comes from within. The true enemy is never clear until it’s too late. Whether you’re a tsar, a minister, or a businessman, the greatest threat is the conspiracy you don’t see coming. Someone invisible might undercut you, send a hitman, or unleash the faceless machinery of the state against you. In a few days, your fortune, your reputation, and your family’s future can be erased.

In this system, people are not sacrificed to impress the public—as in China—but to appease the ruler. If Putin is angry with the Ministry of Defense for its failures in Ukraine, the state will promptly deliver him the heads of those deemed responsible. If a businessman in Chelyabinsk crosses the local security services, they will devour him by breakfast.

This is why the fears of the Russian elite often take on a mystical quality. They fear the abstract, the unseen, the distant, and the inexplicable: the wrath of a superior they’ve never met, the “hostile West” that has never actually harmed them, the phantom invasion by NATO, or the imagined “decay” brought by the rise of LGBT rights.

Their anxieties are not about real threats—they are about forces they cannot understand or control.

Power in Russia belongs to those who command structures capable of collective violence. Since Soviet times, these have been the men in uniform—the so-called siloviki, from the word sila, meaning “force.” The army itself is far away, slogging through mud in Ukrainian fields and wielding little political weight. The real power lies with prosecutors, the Interior Ministry, the intelligence agencies, and above all the FSB—the successor to the KGB.

Money still matters, of course. Oligarchs are part of the elite, but only as long as they have reliable patrons among the siloviki. The same rule applies to governors and federal officials.

To survive, one must belong to a clan. These are not family clans in the traditional sense, but vertical networks of mutual benefit—systems of favors and loyalty where everyone knows their place. A powerful official builds a clientele of subordinates who profit from state contracts, and in turn, they protect his interests. Everyone steals, because stealing is what defines participation in power.

As the state’s resources shrink, competition intensifies. In Russia’s mindset, money is not just wealth—it is security. If things go wrong, you can buy safety or flee. No one cares that the economy stagnates; money is made not by creating value, but by extracting it—from oil, gas, and whatever can still be sold abroad.

The Russian elite is largely hereditary. Around 60% of today’s senior officials are descendants of Soviet nomenklatura—the privileged bureaucratic caste of the past. The rest rose by luck, through timely allegiance to the right clan. For example, when one official moves from the provinces to Moscow, he brings his trusted people with him. I’ve seen it happen: once-obscure young aides from the Volga region are now key players in media and culture, simply because they followed their patron, Sergei Kiriyenko, into the Kremlin.

Putin’s regime has made the Russian elite unimaginably rich—richer than most Westerners can fathom, rivaling Gulf oil princes. But that wealth is trapped. Sanctions and distrust abroad have crippled their cosmopolitan lifestyle. Many can no longer travel freely—not only because foreign countries bar them, but because their own superiors won’t allow it. Being part of the security elite means power and privilege, but also confinement. Everything is opaque; nobody knows what happens one floor above.

Like their Chinese counterparts, Russian elites rely on narrative control to justify their position. At first, that narrative was about restoring the glory of the Soviet Union. The invasion of Ukraine was meant to crown this revival. But when the war turned disastrous, the story changed. Now, the regime claims to be defending “traditional values” against a corrupt and decaying West. It’s a convenient rebranding that appeals to conservative audiences both inside and outside Russia.

The code of survival in Russia is simple: belong to a powerful clan, display absolute loyalty, and protect yourself with money. And for the soul—add a dose of nationalism. Almost everyone in the elite shares the belief that to be Russian is to be exceptional: mysterious, misunderstood, and destined to suffer for greatness.

Why Elites Cannot Cooperate

The conflicts unfolding across the world today are, at their core, conflicts between elites.

If we look closely, we’ll see that these struggles are not truly about territory—or even about money, as many assume. What’s being played out is an ancient drama of dominance, scaled up from tribal hierarchies to the level of nation-states. Each elite class is trying to prove its own significance, secure its place in the global order according to its own worldview, and protect its safety, legacy, and pride.

As we can see, all global elites share the same chronic hypocrisy. They claim to represent the people and to defend their interests—yet this is an obvious fiction. Elites have no intention of changing the systems that made them powerful; those very systems are what carried them to the top of the social pyramid. What they truly want is to reshape the outside world in ways that elevate them not just to the top of their own nations, but to the top of the world’s hierarchy.

For the American elite, the ideal world is one where humanity marches toward progress under U.S. leadership. America is ahead in every field, admired by all, and its role is to “save” others—because saving the world is part of the American identity.

For the European elite, the ideal world is one of cultural sophistication, compromise, and stability. After millennia of endless wars, Europe yearns for peace. It wants to remain a moral and intellectual benchmark, a continent of art, reason, and empathy. But when the world demands that Europe act as a savior again, it grows frustrated—it prefers diplomacy to heroism.

For the Chinese elite, there is both a minimum and a maximum plan.
The maximum plan is permanent growth and the fulfillment of the national myth that China is the “Middle Kingdom,” the natural center of science, art, and innovation. The problem is that an authoritarian regime cannot truly deliver that vision. So the minimum plan is to maintain the illusion—to make the system appear effective, while the rest of the world politely pretends to believe it.

For the Russian elite, the ideal world is one where the ruler is loved and feared, calm and generous enough to let everyone steal in peace. They take pride in their culture and the mystique of the “Russian soul,” but they keep their families and fortunes safely abroad.

Understanding these patterns doesn’t make the world gentler, but it makes us harder to fool—and maybe a little wiser about the powers shaping our lives.

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