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Authoritarians Don’t Wear Uniforms Anymore

  • Writer: Andrew Flynn
    Andrew Flynn
  • Jul 23
  • 3 min read
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In 1998, I lived in Volgograd, Russia, a city once known as Stalingrad.


Every day, I walked the same streets where millions had fought and died during one of the most devastating battles in human history. The monuments were everywhere. Giant statues of soldiers and mothers. Eternal flames. Wide boulevards designed for parades and military marches. But what stayed with me most wasn’t grandeur. It was the silence and decay.


The war had ended more than fifty years earlier. Stalin had been dead for decades. But you could still feel the weight of his rule in the way people spoke, carefully, cautiously. In the way older residents seemed reluctant to say too much about politics. In the sad resignation that even the young felt about their futures, and the quiet understanding that truth had never been something you could speak freely without consequence.


I was just a student. But I was paying attention.


Volgograd, Russia
Volgograd, Russia

In many ways, the people I met in Volgograd reminded me of the people I worked alongside years earlier in Wyoming and Montana. Tough, self-reliant, generous. They knew how to take care of their families, how to survive in harsh conditions, how to get through hard times without complaint. But there was something different in Russia—something quieter and heavier. A deep sense of mistrust and resignation.


People didn’t believe the system worked for them, because it didn’t. They didn’t believe their voices mattered, because they hadn’t. And over time, that mistrust hardened into fatalism. The sense that nothing would change. That truth didn’t matter. That power always won.


That’s what authoritarianism leaves behind. Not just political damage, but emotional damage. A hollowing out of hope.


That experience changed me. It gave me a lifelong respect for democracy, not just as an idea, but as a fragile, living system that has to be protected every single day. It’s why I’ve spent much of my adult life in public service, in local government, in emergency response, and in community-building. Because I believe in the American promise and I’ve seen what happens when that promise is betrayed.


That’s why I’m speaking out now.


This is not Post-Soviet Russia and Donald Trump is not Joseph Stalin. We live in a different country, with different institutions and a tradition of free elections and free speech. But the parallels in behavior and approach are no longer abstract. They are real. And they are dangerous.

Andrew and fellow students in the university dormitory in Volgograd. Fall 1998.
Andrew and fellow students in the university dormitory in Volgograd. Fall 1998.

Stalin ruled through fear, disinformation, and absolute loyalty to himself. He rewrote history, silenced dissent, and made truth subordinate to power. Trump may not have Stalin’s methods or body count, but he shares the same playbook. He demands loyalty to him, not the Constitution. He undermines faith in the press, the courts, the electoral process. He labels opponents as enemies. He peddles lies as strategy and punishes truth-tellers as traitors.


In a democracy, that’s not politics. That’s poison.


Real patriotism doesn’t look like this. It isn’t about flag-waving or slogan-shouting while tearing down the very institutions and ideals that hold us together. It’s about integrity. It’s about service. It’s about honoring our differences while defending the shared values that make this country strong.


I’ve met Americans of every political stripe who believe in that kind of patriotism. They’re not looking for a strongman. They’re looking for leaders who respect the law, tell the truth, and serve with humility. That version of America is still here. But it’s under attack, not from abroad, but from within.


I’ve lived in places where truth had to hide. Where history was molded to suit power. Where fear kept people quiet. I’ve seen what that does to a nation’s soul.


We’re not there yet. But the warnings are flashing bright red. If we’re going to preserve what makes America worth fighting for, we need to act, not with violence or vengeance, but with clarity, courage, and conviction.


Because authoritarians don’t always march in with tanks. Sometimes they walk in to applause. And the only thing that stops them is a people who refuse to be ruled by fear.


About Andrew Flynn

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Andrew is a Mt. Lebanon commissioner, public finance and policy expert, volunteer firefighter, and community advocate committed to building safer, more resilient, and better-connected neighborhoods. Through public service and hands-on experience, Andrew works every day to make a positive impact in our community.


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