Who’s Pulling the Strings?

The square was divided, like the whole country. Protesters gathered under a low, grey sky, flanked by rows of armoured police. On one side, EU flags fluttered beside banners reading “Save Democracy.” Across from them, national colours flew beneath signs warning of globalist betrayal. Everyone was ready to save the republic—just not the same one. Near the barricades, two men ducked away from the noise, sharing a smoke. “So,” one asked, “who’s paying you guys these days?” “Mostly Soros-funded NGOs. Some EU grants, a bit of USAID before the plug got pulled. You?” “Russian embassy. We’re doing TikTok coordination, bot networks. You know the drill.” A third protester overheard and frowned. “You guys are… being paid?” The two stared at him, then nodded slowly. “Ah,” one said. “An idealist.” “That’s cute,” added the other, with just enough pity to sting.

If you take the storylines of political elites—on both left and right—at face value, such a scene could unfold routinely. In an age of hyper-polarisation, every protest is seen not as civic expression, but as a foreign-backed operation. When all dissent becomes foreign interference and every protest a subversive plot, democracy starts to eat itself—haunted by coups, conspiracies, and imagined enemies. Without trust that the other side will play by the rules, the rules themselves become little more than paper.

The Origin Stories of Political Paranoia

For the liberal establishment in the West, the foundational trauma was 2016. The twin shocks of Brexit and Donald Trump’s election were quickly framed not as democratic outcomes, but as products of manipulation—Russian disinformation in one case, and targeted social media campaigning by Cambridge Analytica in the other. That broad swathes of the electorate might have voted out of genuine discontent was, for many, too unsettling to accept. The anxiety only deepened in 2021, when the storming of the U.S. Capitol by Trump supporters was seen not as a fringe riot, but as confirmation that populism had metastasised into an existential threat to democracy itself. On the opposite end, the European populists draw their foundational paranoia from 2014, when Ukraine’s Maidan uprising ousted a pro-Russian president. For them, it wasn’t a revolution—it was a Western-funded coup, a blueprint for how foreign-backed movements can depose an “inconvenient” leader under the banner of democracy. Each side, in its own way, became convinced that political disruption could no longer arise organically. Someone, somewhere, must be pulling the strings.

The echoes of these foundational events reverberate loudly today. The annulment of Romania’s presidential election and the subsequent banning of front-running candidate Călin Georgescu by the Constitutional Court felt like a flipped version of the 2016 U.S. election narrative—only this time, the ‘good guys’ weren’t caught off guard. Meanwhile, Slovak Prime Minister Robert Fico and Serbian President Aleksandar Vučić wasted no time invoking the Maidan playbook. Faced with mass anti-government protests, both pointed fingers at Soros-funded NGOs and foreign-backed opposition, casting the unrest as externally orchestrated attempts at regime change. “Methods of the 2014 Kyiv Maidan won't work in Serbia” declared Vučič in a video address to the nation. The narrative templates are now pre-written—just plug in the actors.

When Civic Trust Breaks, So Does Democracy

It would be unwise to dismiss these fears entirely. Foreign meddling in elections does happen, and external powers often exploit unrest to advance their goals. Maidan in 2014 was a genuine geopolitical flashpoint, where the interests of the US, Europe, and Russia collided, and significant foreign involvement was inevitable. But that does not mean every crowded square in a mid-sized Eastern European country is automatically a top priority for global powers. Have Slovak or Serbian protesters received foreign funding? Probably. Has Călin Georgescu benefited from Russian-backed TikTok bots? Likely. But none of that negates the existence of real, domestic anger. Authentic political support and foreign influence are not mutually exclusive—one often amplifies the other.

Still, democracy can’t function if the mere possibility of interference becomes reason to dismiss any outcome. Democracy relies, at its core, on a basic level of mutual trust—that even when your side loses, the winners won’t jail your leaders, seize your property, or dismantle your values. That may sound hyperbolic, but recent rhetoric suggests we’re drifting toward a political culture where even those minimal assurances can no longer be assumed. As political scientist Robert Putnam noted, it’s not just institutions that hold democracies together, but the invisible threads of civic trust. And once that trust unravels, no rulebook or court ruling can stitch it back. Democracy’s lifeblood isn’t procedure—it’s the belief that your opponent will still follow the rules, even when they win. Only that ensures the losing side won’t riot, but instead waits—grudgingly perhaps—for the next chance at the ballot box.

We can’t see into the minds of politicians, but it’s safe to assume many exploit this paranoia cynically—as a tool to discredit opponents and consolidate power. That’s the rhythm of contemporary Western politics: a rolling emergency, one existential election after another, each framed as the last stand for the nation’s soul. But if we keep shouting “coup” long enough, someone will finally take the hint—and deliver one.

Statement

In an age of political paranoia, losing an election is no longer just a setback—it’s proof of sabotage. Across democracies, from Washington to Bratislava, elites now cast protests as foreign plots and rivals as enemy agents. Romania’s annulled vote, Serbia’s unrest, and Slovakia’s finger-pointing all echo the same suspicion: no opposition is truly domestic. While foreign meddling exists, so does real anger. But when trust collapses and every ballot feels like a battlefield, democracy becomes a permanent crisis. Institutions can survive many things—but not the belief that every loser was cheated. Keep crying “coup,” and eventually, one will come.

Weekly