The dystopia after the fall of the wall – A struggle between the horde and the swarm
1989 was welcomed as a year of liberation. A wave of freedom swept through Eastern Europe and brought with it a surge of hope that seemed to close the chapter of actually existing socialism once and for all. Francis Fukuyama wrote The End of History, interpreting this historical transition as the definitive triumph of liberal democracy. According to Luigi Curini, however, beneath the fallen walls lay ruins as well. The collapse of communism left behind a heavy legacy that has manifested itself over time and is now visible in the cultural decline of the West. The University of Milan professor, who teaches Machine Learning applied to political science in Tokyo and Lucerne, has reconstructed the origins of this process from a nonconformist perspective, far removed from the rituals of political correctness that characterise contemporary thought.
Actually existing socialism was both a political regime and a worldview in which intellectuals had a mission to fulfil. Ayn Rand observed that the collectivist intellectual was not merely seeking truth, but a lofty moral position: that of a self-sacrificing vanguard from which he could judge others. His authority stemmed from the claim to place himself above ordinary society, as a critical conscience, moral guide, and privileged interpreter of the common destiny.
A reference to Hayek is unavoidable here. The hegemonic attitude of the intellectual naturally leads to a dislike of self-regulating markets. The decentralized market diminishes the leadership role of intellectuals because it entrusts social coordination to dispersed knowledge, individual preferences, and spontaneous processes of interaction. The intellectual attracted to planning, by contrast, hopes to claim the role of the one who programs and directs society. James Buchanan emphasised that intellectuals tend to play God, arrogantly believing they know better than others what those others need.
A second observation concerns the contemporary debate about truth, fake news, and post-truth. Who decides what is true or false? Those who aspire to guide society. It is precisely members of the intelligentsia who often consider censorship of ideas deemed “dangerous,” “extreme,” or morally unacceptable to be justified. Truth ceases to be the result of a free search and becomes a domain managed by those who believe they must safeguard the moral order.
Marxist doctrine represented the most extreme expression of this ambition. Yet the fall of communism neither destroyed the moral aspirations nor the institutional incentives that sustained this vision. The failure of the socialist model eliminated a historical form but left intact the desire of intellectuals to see themselves as a planning minority. The new clerics continued searching for a religion they could lead. The opium of intellectuals became a kind of methadone. And methadone, like opium, creates dependence on those who produce it.
The economic alternative to capitalism, nationalisation, state planning, rational allocation of resources, has lost much of its explicit appeal. Today it is rare to encounter left-wing figures openly advocating a return to classical socialist planning. Much more common is the rhetoric of the “nudge” or of technocratic correction of individual choices. According to Curini’s data, only one out of every hundred Harvard professors today considers himself conservative; in the 1960s, three out of ten did. This development affects all disciplines, including law. The paradox is clear: the alternative to capitalism collapses, yet its ruins remain visible in the attitudes of intellectuals, who still see themselves as a minority with an educational mission.
The spread of ideas that seemed defeated with the fall of the Berlin Wall continued across Europe and even reached the other side of the Atlantic. A crucial aspect is precisely that fall of the Wall, which rehabilitated Marxism in the West by removing the stigma of actually existing socialism. During a conversation in the Bundestag referenced in the lecture, Gorbachev remarked: “We are going to do something terrible to you: we are going to deprive you of an enemy.” International relations changed drastically with the disappearance of the clear opposition between West and East, between the free world and the communist world.
Even during the Roosevelt administration, there was already significant interaction in the United States between moderate centre-left forces and Marxist intellectuals. The Cold War and McCarthyism interrupted this continuity because the presence of an external enemy fostered intellectual diversity in America and Europe. After the fall of communism, this external force supporting pluralism disappeared. The intellectual class formed in the shadow of the Cold War lost the constraint imposed by the Berlin Wall.
The result was increasing uniformity within the intellectual elite. A particular vision of ideas came to dominate, and its “superiority complex” encountered no further obstacles. Considering oneself progressive no longer carried any real costs. The economic stigma was removed from left-wing circles: no one automatically associated them anymore with the failure of actually existing socialism, authoritarian planning, or the poverty of communist regimes.
The homogenisation of the journalistic and intellectual world, which later extended into finance and politics, was accompanied by a change in attitudes toward dissent. Divergent opinions came to be seen not only as mistaken but also as morally deviant. In the post-Berlin Wall world, ideological polarisation appears smaller than before, while affective polarisation has exploded. The other side is no longer viewed as an opponent but as a member of another tribe. Compromises are possible when disagreements concern policy; they become nearly impossible when conflict becomes a matter of identity.
The crucial transition is from luxury goods to luxury beliefs. Whereas elites once displayed material goods, today they display beliefs. Rob Henderson has shown how contemporary elites showcase ideas rather than luxury products. Beliefs function as signals of group membership and cultural capital, in a dynamic reminiscent of the sociologist Pierre Bourdieu.
The further a position departs from common sense, the greater its symbolic value becomes, because the most credible signals are the most costly. The example of the peacock makes this clear: only a strong specimen can afford to carry an enormous tail. The signal is expensive and therefore credible. Saying that hard work matters in life signals nothing remarkable. Saying that success depends primarily on “oppressive structures” and “invisible privileges,” by contrast, communicates membership in a particular cultural environment. Likewise, advocating the abolition of the police or more immigration while living in a safe and affluent neighbourhood functions as a signal: “I belong to this world. I attended the right universities. I associate with the right people. I speak the right language.”
Ayn Rand might argue that modern progressivism allows intellectuals and elites to transform their need for moral superiority into social capital. Luxury beliefs become a moral currency and a status symbol: a ritual of symbolic elevation. The need to feel superior to others is converted into reputation and social recognition.
The parallel with personality cults illustrates the ritual nature of this phenomenon. The leader demands not only obedience but also public and emotional assent. It is not enough to remain silent; one must participate in the collective ritual. Citizens demonstrate loyalty by repeating something that is obviously untrue. The more absurd the statement, the more costly it is to utter; the more costly it is, the more credible it becomes as proof of group membership.
In modern democracies this mechanism survives in cultural form. The new “civil religion” (wokeness and related movements) leads managers, media figures, and universities to use the same moral language. Public debate becomes a ritual of conformity. The manager who repeats certain formulas, the professor who uses incomprehensible jargon, the executive who inserts ideological slogans into training programs, they are not merely expressing opinions. They are demonstrating unconditional loyalty to their social network. They are saying: “I belong with you.”
But note: the goal is not to persuade the majority. The goal is to reassure one’s own tribe. From this flows the anger directed at anyone who deviates, even slightly. When stating an obvious truth requires civic courage, something has fundamentally gone wrong. Those who refuse the ritual challenge not merely an opinion but the entire status system built upon those beliefs. Dissenting views are experienced as threats to identity. Those deeply indoctrinated will seek sophisticated justifications for their own aggression.
Curini discussed data on the acceptance of political violence. Among respondents who identify as “very liberal,” the proportion believing that violence can sometimes be justified is significantly higher than among those who identify as “very conservative.” Another graph showed that support for political violence was highest among individuals with postgraduate education or professional qualifications. This is noteworthy because it undermines the notion that political intolerance stems exclusively from ignorance or social disadvantage.
According to Curini, the growing anger toward Western cultural elites is an understandable reaction. He referred to Revelation 3:15–16: “I know your deeds: you are neither cold nor hot. I wish you were either one or the other. So, because you are lukewarm, I am about to spit you out of my mouth.” The target is the moral half-heartedness of those who seek to lead others without bearing the concrete consequences of their own beliefs.
The graphs concerning Germany illustrate the problem of the representation gap. In 2013, the major German parties - socialists, Greens, social democrats, liberals, and Christian democrats - held more positive views on immigration than a substantial part of the population. In 2017, the AfD emerged with a much more restrictive stance. The political space abandoned by the traditional parties was filled by a new political entrepreneur.
In political science, there is no vacuum. If a social demand remains unanswered, someone will rise to represent it. The AfD demonstrates this clearly. A similar development can be seen in the United States, where the Democratic Party has moved rapidly leftward on certain cultural issues, such as affirmative action and immigration, while the median voter has lagged behind. Progressive elites and the most ideological Democratic voters are moving faster than society at large, reinforcing the perception of a widening gap.
The British Labour Party offers another example. Faced with a sharp decline in support, it chose not moderation but further radicalisation of its program. Cultural diversity within the movement disappeared, replaced by uniformity and self-censorship. Academia tolerates dissenting ideas less and less. In countries with little ideological but high affective polarisation, diversity of opinion becomes taboo.
Consider the European Union. Relying on a bureaucratic Leviathan means implementing policies regardless of who wins elections. Conditions are imposed from above with little or no concern for public support. The progressive world can thus shape the political agenda through technocracy, bureaucracy, procedures, and administrative constraints presented as “neutral.”
Ideas move civilisation, but for that to happen, the true intellectual must think independently. He must not sacrifice reality to consensus or social pressure. He must not seek approval or tribal status. Howard Roark, the protagonist of The Fountainhead, becomes a symbol of independence: a man who creates without permission from the crowd, without subordinating his judgment to the rituals of social conformity.
But can the horde resist the swarm?
Curini’s closing question captures the fundamental conflict of our time. The progressive world is a swarm: coordinated, compact, and capable of moving through academic, media, financial, and pseudo-cultural networks. The anti-establishment world is a horde: a collection of anarchic, reactive, and disorganised individuals incapable of organising themselves as systematically as the swarm. The horde breaks apart, flees, and disappears. The swarm, by contrast, moves as a single collective organism.
This contrast reflects today’s political and cultural conflict. On one side stand uniformity, institutional cohesion, and established networks; on the other stand loosely connected individuals acting independently. Only exceptional leaders (Donald Trump, Elon Musk, Javier Milei) manage to give shape to the horde and transform scattered energies into a recognisable political force.
Yet resisting the swarm requires more coordination. What is lacking is the ability to unite alternative ideas to progressive mainstream thinking and to tell a different story. In the 1980s, Ronald Reagan and Margaret Thatcher succeeded in creating a political language that redefined the horizon of the West. Today’s challenge is to rediscover that power: to set independent thinking against conformity, defeat collectivism, and restore the dignity of dissenting opinions.
Lorenzo Cianti studies Political Science and International Relations at Roma Tre University. He writes for Italy’s oldest opinion magazine L'Opinione delle Libertà, as well as for the online magazine Atlantico Quotidiano and the Mises Institute. He writes about economical, philosophical cultural and political topics.
This article previously appeared on the website of L'Opinione
