Lucid Interval

It’s been a quarter of a century since that morning when I sat, palms sweating, in front of a panel in the building of the European Court of Human Rights in Strasbourg. It was the final test that might—or might not—pave the way for a job at the Council of Europe. I no longer remember what they asked me, except for the last question:

“Do you believe that Slovenia’s independence was fully legal and legitimate, considering that the right to self-determination is quite limited under international law and has mostly applied in the context of decolonization?”

Five or six pairs of eyes fixed on me with unreadable expressions, offering no clue as to what kind of answer they expected. I knew this was a make-or-break moment. If they were expecting a negative response, I would disappoint them—and frankly, let them stew, I thought. So, with more confidence in my voice than I felt inside, I replied:

“Besides the fact that the right to self-determination was included in the constitution of the former federation, Slovenia’s independence was the result of an extraordinarily high level of consensus and a democratically expressed will of the Slovenian people. Above all, it was the only way to protect the democratic gains and aspirations of the Slovenian nation, which were gravely endangered by Milošević’s nationalist and authoritarian regime.”

From the panel’s reaction, it was clear that I had the job in the bag.

In that distant year of 1995, a Slovenian passport was still somewhat of an exotic curiosity at many borders, but for people in an organization tasked with protecting and promoting pluralistic democracy based on human rights and the rule of law, Slovenia was a success story. The contrast with other parts of the former Yugoslavia—where authoritarian converts were manipulating the masses with nationalism, chauvinism, and hate speech, seizing state institutions, persecuting political opposition, independent media, and civil society, and looting public funds—was simply too great. In their eyes, any nation’s decision to escape such a fate and commit to progressive, democratic values was legal, legitimate, and worthy of full support.

My early years on the job were, in many ways, exciting. There was adrenaline in the hallways of the Palais de l’Europe, the Council of Europe’s headquarters. We were making history. Changing the world. The decades-long ideological division of Europe was over, replaced by a pan-European consensus on building a society grounded in liberal democratic values.

On the other hand, I often noticed that when I told people what I did—democracy and human rights—I was met with confusion or indifference.

“Democracy and human rights? Yawn. Why bother? We’re all for that already, aren’t we?”

A lot has changed in 25 years. Today, the topics of democracy and human rights no longer leave anyone indifferent—and we are most certainly not all for them anymore.

Part of the reason why, I think, is captured in one of the few wise remarks ever made by former U.S. Vice President Dan Quayle.

“We are on an irreversible path to more freedom and democracy—but that can, of course, change,” he said after the fall of the Berlin Wall.

Whether Quayle had more insight than Francis Fukuyama or simply stumbled into a moment of unexpected clarity—a lucidum intervallum, as it’s called in Roman law and psychiatry—we’ll never know. But history certainly didn’t end in 1989 or 1995.

Much has changed since then—mostly for the worse. There’s a long story behind how and why, and everyone tells it in their own way. One reason, I believe, is that we had too much faith in the supposed irreversibility of the path toward democracy. In our enthusiasm, we got careless. We believed things would keep improving on their own, following some internal and unstoppable logic.

We thought it would be enough to help new democracies build institutions, adopt decent constitutions and legislation, hold regular elections—and then the rest would follow naturally, on rails, toward an ever-freer, safer, and better future. But anything on rails can derail.

We learned that functioning democracy requires more than institutions. It needs politicians with integrity, committed to democratic values, and effective oversight of the executive—not just formal checks. And crucially, democracy needs citizens who understand, embrace, and support its values—who are willing and able to engage and influence society.

Most countries have failed that test in recent decades.

Just days ago, I took part in a videoconference with a young Danish political activist from a traditional political party. He insisted that democracy and political pluralism no longer work—and that people living under authoritarian regimes often fare better than us.

In the last 25 years, we’ve bred a new generation of Europeans—many of whom don’t care about democratic values, largely because they don’t know what happens when democracy is gone. When there are no more political freedoms, no more accountability, no more human rights, compassion, or solidarity.

We’ve forgotten about social rights and social security, which are not some leftist conspiracy. The indivisibility of political and social rights is enshrined in both the European Social Charter (1961, revised in 1996) and the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights (1966). Social security was a fundamental part of Europe’s postwar civilizational model—at least until it was undermined by political inconsistency, shortsightedness, and opportunism.

The embrace of economic neoliberalism gained new traction when Margaret Thatcher discovered Hayek and his prophetically titled book, The Road to Serfdom. The final, painful blow to social security and justice came with the last (so far) financial crisis—and, more importantly, the way most governments, including in Europe, chose to address it.

This created a massive pool of angry, humiliated, and disillusioned people—eager for someone to appear and show the ruling political and economic elites the middle finger. Populism surged back—left-wing to some extent, but especially right-wing, as an authoritarian parody of democracy offering the worst possible solutions to real problems.

Where populism is now in power, it’s growing bolder in dismantling democratic institutions and safeguards, political competition, independent media, judiciaries, and civil society.

Yet many populist politicians in Europe still crave external legitimacy. They want to be seen as part of the traditional right and force themselves—like Cinderella’s stepsisters—into the worn but still respectable shoes of European conservatism.

Ironically, they define their “right-wing” identity mainly by rejecting the values that post-WWII Christian democrats and center-right parties once championed: human rights, judicial independence, press freedom.

In this rhetorical sleight of hand, anyone defending human rights, judicial independence, or media freedom is suddenly labeled a far-left radical. Ridiculous—but often effective in a climate of populist-fueled irrationality.

It should be embarrassing, above all, for those conservatives who know full well that Adenauer, Schuman, and de Gasperi were not communist agents. But it’s dangerous for everyone.

The path to greater democracy and freedom has clearly not been irreversible. So perhaps the current slide into darker times in European history isn’t irreversible either.

But some reversals are more stubborn than others. It’s far easier to lose freedom and democracy than to win them back.

Unless we come to our senses soon, we may find that this most recent and longest period of peace and stability in European history will end up being nothing more than a fleeting exception.

A lucidum intervallum.