Why do intelligent people keep following leaders who harm them? Why do millions cheer for wars that ruin their lives?

The answer isn’t politics or propaganda—it’s something ancient and hardwired into our minds.

I grew up in the Soviet Union, a place where people handed over their lives to toxic leaders who led them straight into ruin. Today, as a writer, my job is to see clearly and speak honestly. Writers don’t build rockets, but we dream them first, so others can bring them to life. Ray Bradbury imagined flat-screen TVs long before engineers built them.

Let me share my vision for a future free from authoritarianism, so the right people can make it happen.

Breaking Free from Authoritarianism

One of humanity’s greatest challenges today is this: our technology has completely reshaped the world we live in—but our ancient behavioral instincts haven’t caught up. Nearly everything has changed—how we eat, work, sleep, marry, raise children, learn, create, and wage war. But the subconscious programs we inherited from our distant ancestors remain stubbornly intact.

These instincts evolved over tens of thousands of years to help early humans survive. And while they once served us well, many have become dangerously outdated. The most destructive of them all is our instinct for authoritarian power.

Modern nations may look nothing like ancient tribes—but the way power is gained and held hasn’t evolved all that much since the Ice Age. Some societies have checks and balances, yes. But they often fail. Why? Because authoritarianism still feels natural to us. It mirrors the power structures seen in nearly all primate species that live in large groups.

That’s why a so-called “alpha male” can so easily attract a following. If he behaves like an alpha and understands how to form and control male alliances, he passes the ancient test. But that test has nothing to do with intelligence or competence.

And here lies the real danger: instead of leading a small group of people he knows personally—like our ancestors did—today’s alpha gains power over millions, sometimes billions. He lacks the skills to manage such complexity. But like any true alpha, he believes he knows everything. He silences critics, drives out experts, and clings to power—not because he’s evil, but because his instincts tell him it’s the only way to survive.

He doesn’t even understand the real source of his own success. Yes, he’s wired to lead—but he’s following a script designed for tribal dominance, not for managing a modern nation.

So what happens? He interprets domestic politics as internal tribal rivalry. He sees foreign policy as a zero-sum clash between hostile tribes. And while that mindset may have been natural for early humans—so were cannibalism, high infant mortality, and constant warfare.

Civilization means rejecting the worst parts of our evolutionary inheritance. Authoritarianism is at the top of that list—because wherever it rises, war and collapse follow.


It’s not a question of if—but when. Every authoritarian leader, once in power, begins hoarding resources. And eventually, he goes to war. That’s the pattern. Always.

The Mutation of Authoritarianism

For most of human history, people lived in small groups—anywhere from 20 to 200 individuals—because that’s all the surrounding land could support. We’re large creatures with enormous caloric needs, and for hundreds of thousands of years, our ancestors met those needs through large, coordinated hunts.

Back then, Eurasia and North Africa looked more like today’s Serengeti—teeming with vast herds of wild horses, mammoths, deer, and other megafauna. These herds migrated, and humans followed them—just as Native Americans once followed the bison. But when the climate shifted, the megafauna began to vanish. And with its disappearance, an entire way of life collapsed.

Around 12,000 years ago—at the end of the last Ice Age—humans living in the Middle East had to adapt. They turned to agriculture. And that changed everything.

In hunter-gatherer societies, food was consumed almost immediately and shared with the group. Yes, stronger men and their preferred mates may have received slightly more, but no one could accumulate wealth. Everyone was kin. There were no private fortunes, no storage containersm, no carts, and no domesticated animals to carry weight. Even basic food preservation—salting, drying, and smoking—had yet to be invented.

Which meant power had very clear limits. If an alpha male wanted control, he had to maintain it with his own fists. And if he became too aggressive, the tribe could—and often did—band together and remove him.

Agriculture broke that balance. Suddenly, grain could be stored. It could be stockpiled, claimed, controlled—and handed out only to those who obeyed. The alpha no longer needed to strike others himself. He could now reward others to strike for him.

With farming came explosive population growth. Infant mortality dropped. People settled. A granary full of wheat gave you options: to trade, to stay, to build, to command. Fertile riverbanks produced reliable harvests, but they also required protection from outsiders and even from neighbors.

You couldn’t just pack up and leave anymore. You were rooted to the land. And rooted to each other. Which meant cooperation became essential—not just with your relatives, but with strangers.

To survive, people had to organize: to defend territory, build infrastructure, and engage in shared rituals that made strangers feel like kin. That’s why we started building things like Stonehenge, Göbekli Tepe, and eventually, the pyramids. These monuments were mammoth hunts transformed into stone and ritual. A primal instinct—redirected toward civilization.

But with this shift came a different kind of power. Not personal dominance. Structural authority.

The alpha didn’t have to be in the room anymore. Real power meant owning the food, commanding the tools, and controlling the violence from a distance. You ruled not just people you knew—but people you’d never meet. 

That’s the model we still live under today.

The Bottleneck Economy

Authoritarian power relies on just two ingredients: resources and people willing to enforce your will in exchange for them. They’ll beat someone up, and you’ll reward them with a sack of barley. They’ll marry off their daughter, and you’ll seat them beside you at the feast—not just offering food, but status.

That’s the ancient contract. And the job of every authoritarian ruler has always been the same: control the flow. Build a bottleneck economy where everything the land yields and the people produce flows upward—to you. Then redistribute as you see fit. Loyalty gets rewarded. Dissent gets starved. Survival depends on submission.

Over time, this structure solidifies. Those at the top gather allies, weapons, and wealth. Those at the bottom lose the means to resist—no bronze spears, no fast chariots, no private army willing to kill for a royal ration of wine and cheese.

But this economy of control didn’t evolve the same way everywhere.

In places like Scandinavia, cod could be caught in massive quantities by anyone with a boat. Kings had limited power because people weren’t desperate enough to become subjects. Yes, the Vikings kept slaves—but they captured them abroad. At home, the average person could still live independently.

In contrast, places like ancient Egypt or Rome worked differently. The land was fertile—but only if you had access to tools, irrigation, and protected fields, all controlled by the elite. Rulers made sure independence stayed out of reach. You couldn’t survive unless you plugged into the system. That’s how true power is built—by manufacturing dependence.

This is the law of the bottleneck economy: if you create a system where resources are centralized and redistributed only at your discretion, your power grows while everyone else weakens. And the weaker they are, the safer you are.

At times in history, authoritarianism brought clear advantages—but not for the people. For the elite. When a dominant ruler and his inner circle could rapidly concentrate resources for war, they often won. They expanded, conquered, built, and extracted more.

But then—war changed. The alphas kept investing in weapons to gain the upper hand, until those weapons became so destructive that war stopped being profitable. It began devouring the very economies it was meant to enrich. This shift started in the mid-19th century, during the American Civil War. From that point on, war brought nothing but massive losses—unless it was fought somewhere far away, and paid for with someone else’s blood and money.

That’s why the European empires collapsed. War stopped being worth it. It cost too much, and fewer people were willing to fight. This unraveling began with World War I and dismantled nearly every empire. Except one: Russia.

Russia simply fell behind. But the same fate awaits it—because you can’t run a 21st-century country with 20th-century weapons, a 19th-century ideology, and Ice Age instincts… all while facing a collapsing birth rate.

Imagine, for a moment, that Putin wins in Ukraine. What does he gain? A shattered country, collapsed infrastructure, pensioners too old to flee—and a nation prepared to resist for decades. 

Even if Putin somehow managed to seize Ukraine, he couldn’t hold it. He’d have to mobilize nearly every able-bodied man. But those men don’t want war. They want homes, families, and a future—even the armchair warriors cheering from the sidelines.

So why can’t Putin see that? Because he’s not led by reason. He’s led by an ancient instinct. Like so many autocrats before him, he doesn’t build an ideology first. He follows a gut impulse and creates the ideology afterward to justify it.

And this is the turning point we must grasp: We are no longer dealing purely with politics or economics. We are dealing with psychology. 

The Psychology of Authoritarianism

Here’s a strange thing about human nature: what we call a crime inside our group can suddenly feel like heroism when it’s done to an outsider.

You’ve seen it in movies. You’ve felt it. The action hero hijacks some poor guy’s car to chase down the villain—and we cheer. We don’t worry about the terrified driver. He’s just background noise. Why? Because the hero’s goal feels bigger than the individual harm. That’s how our brains work: the moment someone’s categorized as “not us,” the rules change.

And that same mental flip drives real-world violence.

Why do so many Russians support the war in Ukraine? It’s not because they’re evil—or even misinformed. It’s because they’ve been taught, gradually and relentlessly, to see Ukrainians as “them.” Not neighbors. Not kin. Outsiders. And once that shift happens, war no longer looks like murder. It looks like a soccer match. You cheer for your side. You celebrate when your team wins a battle—even if it means death.

How does this happen? Are people just stupid?


No. They’re just human. Sometimes we act through reason, empathy, and logic. Other times, our subconscious takes over, following survival scripts written in the Ice Age.



If you never pause to ask why you believe something, instinct quietly takes the wheel. One day, Natasha weeps over a kitten hit by a car. The next, she’s on Telegram calling for a nuclear strike on Kyiv. She hasn’t become a monster. She’s just following unexamined code.

And here’s the part people miss: authoritarian leaders aren’t just manipulating those instincts. They’re driven by them too.

In fact, those who rise to power often have the strongest primal drives. They don’t suppress their instincts—they are their instincts. Amplified.

Every person has a core subconscious drive—a life goal they’re wired to pursue. Some people are Givers, some are Explorers, some are Keepers, and some are Hunters. You can explore the different core personality archetypes on my website, elvirabary.com, under the menu section called The Sphinx Method.

Hunters live for victory, status, and domination. Thousands of years ago, they were our tribe’s providers and protectors. They hunted prey, fought off enemies, and defended the group. They were essential.

But when that same personality type enters politics, things can turn dangerous.

A Hunter isn’t content with being competent. He thrives on challenge. He needs to win. Without a fight, he feels aimless. In sports or business, that hunger can drive remarkable results. But in government, it becomes something else.

Hunters weaponize their instincts. They overpower the weak. They crush their rivals. The most ruthless and lucky Hunters claw their way to the top and believe they belong there—by right, even by divine favor. And from that perch, they start managing other people’s money, choices, and futures—not with guilt, but with pride.

And then they convince everyone that this is normal—that it’s the only way the world works.

It may be natural for them. But most people aren’t Hunters.

Once an alpha has crushed all rivals inside his tribe, his instinct pushes him further: find a new enemy. Another alpha. Another battle. That’s when wars begin.

That’s why Vladimir Putin cannot believe that NATO had no plans to invade Russia. In his worldview, that’s not possible. He sees a battlefield of rival tribes, each one out for dominance. That’s how he operates—because that’s how his ancient instincts tell him the world works.

An alpha male ruled by instinct will never willingly give up power. He can’t. In the tribal code, stepping down means death. If you’re not asserting dominance, you’re losing ground, and someone else is waiting to take your place.

So don’t expect diplomacy from leaders like Putin. They’re not playing politics. They’re reenacting prehistoric dominance rituals—with tanks and nuclear weapons.

This lens explains nearly every war in history. Did Louis XIV need endless war? No. But without conquest, he felt irrelevant. Victory was his meaning. Why did the monarchs of Europe plunge their nations into World War I, when economies were growing and the empires booming?

Because instinct doesn’t care about that. Instinct follows the ancient script: compete and win. Even if you’re already fed. Even if the cost is everything.

The Future of Authoritarianism

Authority itself isn’t bad—it’s necessary, within limits.  A professor leads a class, a manager runs a factory, a conductor directs an orchestra. But in all these cases, authority is functional and voluntary. You follow because it serves a purpose. And you can walk away.

It becomes dangerous when you can’t walk away. When authority detaches from purpose. When it becomes permanent and irreplaceable. 

For most of history, people had no way out. Only the rich or educated could escape one ruler and try their luck under another. The rest were stuck—trapped inside systems that grew increasingly authoritarian.

But the 20th century changed everything. People became mobile. They learned new languages. They built a shared global information space. And the results were unmistakable: the greatest progress happened where authoritarianism was weakest. Where people were free to think, speak, move, and create.

Meanwhile, in tightly controlled regimes like the Soviet Union, intellectual and creative energy dried up. The brightest minds either fled—or stayed and used their talents to keep the machine running…not to move the world forward.


Here’s the real problem: alpha leaders chase dominance and victory for themselves, robbing everyone else of their chance to fulfill their own purpose. When people feel trapped, they become restless and seek escape. That’s why authoritarian regimes inevitably bleed human potential.


I’m a perfect example. I can’t publish my books in Russia anymore, and YouTube is practically inaccessible there. So I’m no longer allowed to do what I was born to do—write, teach, and share big ideas. The regime left me no choice but to switch languages. Now I write and speak in English.
And you know what? That’s not my loss.

I’m not alone. Tens of thousands of Russian immigrants have done the same—channeling their talents into other cultures, other societies, where they’re free to grow and contribute.

That’s the fatal flaw of authoritarianism: it will always fall behind. Because it doesn’t want free citizens—it only wants obedient subjects.

But we can’t just wait for these systems to collapse. We need to act before they gain enough momentum to drag the world into another war.

Because here’s the pattern: authoritarian regimes cannot compete fairly in global markets, so they hoard power and centralize resources. In Africa, it’s foreign aid and raw commodities. In China, it’s manufacturing global trade. In Russia and Iran, it’s oil and gas. These regimes may curse the West, but they depend on it for survival. They need Western money to keep playing their alpha-male games.

And that’s where they’re most vulnerable. What if we started asking, “Who does this deal empower?” For decades, the West took the easy path—dealing with strongmen instead of communities. But that path fed authoritarian instincts and created monsters.


The West didn’t just tolerate authoritarian regimes—it funded them.


It’s time for a different strategy—not another round of slogans and sanctions, but a long-term vision. One that stops power from pooling in one set of hands—anywhere. Because that’s the only way we protect the future for our children and grandchildren.

And speaking of the future—I’ve just launched something close to my heart. It’s called Elvira Bary’s Forbidden Books—a new channel where I read fiction that stirs the soul. Historical tales, fantasy, sci-fi—stories that actually say something. If you’re craving literature with meaning and beauty, come join me there. I won’t promise perfect English or flawless pronunciation—but I can promise passion, depth, and a touch of dark humor. You’ll find the link in the description.

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