This woman has a really smart friend named Max. Other than his argument being Russia centered (which could just as well be China centered - for TDS/PDS sufferers to consider fairly) a pretty good take overall - by her (imaginary) friend Max, certainly not Elvira.
One thing is notable, that unlike others (who are too far gone), Elvira is capable of giving reasonable description of ideas she is opposing. Even with some of her mockery / sarcasm / cynicism, the ideas do come across.
I am going to make a wild guess that you were skipping through the solid arguments by her (imaginary?) friend Max, just waiting for PDS dopamine hits.
I am also making a wild guess that you did not equate the political repression, censorship, conformity of lying, just to survive with the US equivalent of Putin - namely the Biden regime, which you voted for twice.
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Max, my friend in Russia, likes to say,
“You live in California like in Ancient Rome. It still looks rich and stable, but the provinces are
already burning.” He’s certain that the world has entered a new age when liberal democracy
is losing its grip, and power returns to those willing to be ruthless. For him, history isn’t a
process of progress; it’s a natural selection of predators. He doesn’t believe in cooperation or
institutions. “All politicians are crocodiles,” he says. “They eat each other. That’s just nature.”
In his eyes, America tried to reshape the world in its own image, and failed. He sees Iraq,
Afghanistan, and Russia as examples of nations that “don’t want democracy,” because democracy,
as he puts it, “contradicts their identity and traditions.” According to Max,
American attempts to export freedom only provoked resistance and chaos.
He blames Western arrogance for every backlash against modernization, insisting that liberal
values don’t unite humanity, they humiliate it. And yet, the thing that offends him most about
the West isn’t politics, but culture. He sees Western societies as self-destructive, obsessed
with “perversions” like the LGBTQ movement, feminism, and gender equality. In his mind, this
is proof that the West has abandoned its purpose. “Women there don’t want families,” he says. “They
don’t want to have children. They think they’re free, but they’re dying out.” For him, pride
parades and political correctness are not signs of tolerance, they’re the symptoms of decline.
There’s also the question of territory, or as he puts it, “justice.” To Max and millions who think
like him, the West led by the United States has violated every unwritten rule of geopolitics by
“stealing” other people’s spheres of influence. When Eastern Europe and former Soviet republics
chose to align with NATO or the EU, he saw not choice but theft. “They lured away what
belonged to us,” he says about Ukraine. “And now we’re taking it back. That’s justice.”
In his worldview, the collapse of the West is not just possible, it’s inevitable. Europe,
he says, is “dying out.” With birth rates falling, it must import migrants,
and those migrants, in his imagination, are destroying Western civilization from within.
“You see riots in France, chaos in Germany, moral confusion everywhere,” he tells me.
“That’s what happens when you lose your roots.” America, meanwhile, is devouring itself from
the inside, two political parties locked in endless war, each calling the other the enemy
of the nation. A country that can’t even govern itself, he says, can’t possibly rule the world.
And then there’s the economy. “The U.S. debt is beyond repair,” he insists. “The
dollar is inflated, and China is about to overtake them. When the crisis hits, and
it’s coming soon, America will collapse under its own greed.” He sees this not as a tragedy,
but as a natural correction, the fall of an empire that grew arrogant and forgot its limits.
In the mythology of Putin’s supporters, this is not the end of civilization but the beginning of
a new order. The West, they believe, will crumble, the United States will retreat,
and Russia will finally rise, not as an invader, but as a stabilizing force in a world gone mad.
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The New Order
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In the imagination of Putin’s supporters, the old world is gone, and what comes next will not
be a community of nations but a new hierarchy of empires. They see the United States, China,
Britain, and Russia as the four main centers of gravity in the coming century, each with its own
orbit of smaller states, obedient and dependent. The dream of global cooperation, they say, was an
illusion. The future will belong to those strong enough to defend their “civilizational zone.”
Max describes this world almost like a balance of natural forces:
“Empires don’t vanish, they return. It’s not chaos. It’s equilibrium.”
He believes the planet is already dividing into self-contained blocs: separate internets,
currencies, and supply chains, each dominated by a regional power. Russia’s role, he says, is to
“bite off” its rightful region, Belarus, Central Asia, the Caucasus, the Balkans, and protect it
from Western interference. Parts of Ukraine, in this vision, would join Russia’s sphere;
others would belong to Britain’s, along with Poland, Germany, and Scandinavia. “That’s
how peace will be restored,” Max insists. “When every empire minds its own backyard.”
He calls it realism. I call it regression, a return to the nineteenth century disguised
as the twenty-first. The idea that order requires a dominant force in
every region may sound pragmatic, but it’s built on fear: the fear of losing control,
of living in a world where small nations act on their own. In his world, stability is possible
only if someone stronger is always in charge. This fantasy of empires reviving is tightly
connected to another belief: that the United States is collapsing. Putin’s supporters say
America stands on the brink of a new civil war, divided by ideology, race, and class,
unable to rule even itself, let alone half the world as it did during the Cold War.
They claim that the old American elites have squandered their greatness and that new ones,
like Donald Trump and his circle, are isolationists who no longer want to carry
the burden of global leadership. It’s not that the U.S. doesn’t want to control the world, it can’t.
From this perspective, the global order isn’t being destroyed by Russia’s aggression
but by America’s exhaustion. And as the empire weakens, others are rising to claim its place.
In his telling, the whole world is rebelling against American hegemony, against its fashion,
its ideology, its technology, its way of thinking. To “lie under America,” as he puts it,
means losing your sovereignty, your right to act freely within your own zone of influence.
The fear that drives this worldview is the fear of disappearing, of becoming another Westernized
satellite with no unique identity left. To him, Russia’s war and its isolation are
not a tragedy but a chance to escape this trap, to build its own civilization, independent of the
American ocean. In his mind, this is how history restores balance: every empire should have its
territory, its clients, its ideology. He sees the creation of pan-regions as the only way to
achieve peace. “You need a dominant power,” he says, “to stop small states from fighting each
other and to deter the bigger ones from attacking. Without a dominant, everyone fights everyone.”
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The Globalist Conspiracy
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Every ideology needs a villain. For Putin’s supporters, that villain is
the globalist, a shadowy, faceless elite that supposedly rules the modern world. To them,
globalists are not a metaphor for interdependence or international institutions; they are an
organized force bent on destroying nations. Globalists want to “erase borders,” “cancel
identities,” and “turn humanity into a herd.” It’s an all-purpose explanation that makes the world
feel both understandable and terrifyingly simple. Max talks about globalists the way medieval
peasants talked about demons. “They control everything, the media, the banks,
the universities. They promote feminism and LGBT culture to destroy families and
nations. They use climate change and pandemics to expand their control.”
He is not alone. This vocabulary has become mainstream in Russian political talk shows,
Telegram channels, and think-tank conferences. “Globalism” explains every crisis: inflation,
migration, cultural shifts, even wars. If something goes wrong,
it’s never history, chance, or policy, it’s the invisible hand of the globalists.
In this worldview, Western democracy is just a mask. Presidents and parliaments change,
but real power, they say, stays with “the deep state”, an alliance of corporations,
billionaires, and liberal ideologues. The United States is their headquarters;
Europe is their obedient colony. These globalists supposedly dream of creating a single world order,
governed by digital surveillance and social engineering, where national sovereignty will
disappear. To them, the European Union, the United Nations, and NATO are not political
institutions but tools of the same empire. This idea is deeply seductive because it
solves two problems at once. First, it absolves Russia of responsibility for its own failures:
if globalists control everything, then nothing is really Russia’s fault. Second, it gives the
illusion of heroism. The Kremlin is not defending a corrupt system, it’s fighting the last holy
war against a soulless machine. When Putin talks about defending “traditional values” or “spiritual
sovereignty,” this is exactly the narrative he taps into. He becomes the last guardian of
civilization against the globalist apocalypse. There’s also an emotional comfort in this
theory. It tells people that their suffering is part of a grand cosmic struggle. Poverty,
sanctions, isolation, all of it becomes proof that they are resisting evil, not simply paying
the price for bad governance. The more Russia is cut off from the world, the more evidence
they see that the conspiracy is real. “Why do they hate us so much?” Max asks. “Because
we’re free. Because we didn’t bend the knee.” And this story has a distinctly religious flavor.
Globalists, in their imagination, are almost supernatural, an anti-God power that corrupts
souls through comfort and technology. The digital West becomes Babylon; Moscow becomes Jerusalem.
The world is no longer divided by economics or politics but by faith: those who serve
the “global project” versus those who resist it. Of course, the irony is that the Kremlin itself
functions exactly like the conspiracy it claims to fight: a small unelected elite controlling media,
wealth, and information. But in propaganda, mirrors are not for reflection — they’re
for projection. Accuse others of what you are, and you erase suspicion from yourself.
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Predictions of the Future
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In the worldview of Putin’s
supporters, the future is already unfolding, and it divides into two possible paths, one hopeful
and one dark. Both depend on how the old world collapses, and on what Russia does in response.
In the hopeful scenario, the decline of the West becomes irreversible. Europe continues to age;
birth rates fall; migration destabilizes societies; and democratic institutions weaken
under internal tension. The United States, burdened by debt, political polarization,
and the rise of China, can no longer sustain its global dominance. In this imagined future,
Russia rises as one of the world’s new power centers. It establishes a
vast “sovereign civilization,” a sphere of influence stretching across its neighbors,
united by a shared rejection of what supporters call Western “decadence.”
Inside this zone, power is centralized, dissent is seen as sabotage, and stability becomes the
highest moral value. Protests are not signs of civic engagement, they are threats to order.
Sovereignty is redefined not as the people’s right to self-government, but as the state’s
right to rule without interference. The story of Russia’s “moral strength” against Western
decay becomes not just propaganda but doctrine, the ideological foundation of the new age.
Yet the dark scenario lurks beneath this dream, because even among Putin’s supporters there is
an unspoken fear that the weaknesses they mock in the West, division, polarization,
and fatigue, are taking root in Russia itself. They sense that the same forces that broke the
Soviet Union could one day return. In this version of the future, every protest becomes a prelude to
civil war. A political disagreement becomes an existential threat. When power weakens, and when
institutions fail to channel dissent, every social contradiction turns into a potential battlefield.
Within Russia’s propaganda space, this fear has already taken form. Almost any political
conflict, a strike, a demonstration, a regional protest, is reframed as a “risk
of civil war.” The aim is to convince people that disagreement equals destruction, and that silence
equals survival. It is a deliberate inversion of logic: instead of viewing open debate as
a stabilizing force, the regime portrays it as chaos. But political theory, and history, show
the opposite. Societies that allow conflicts to be resolved through legitimate institutions grow
stronger. Those that suppress conflict, pretending unity, only accumulate pressure until it explodes.
In this sense, the regime’s obsession with “preventing chaos” may be what creates it. The
system that refuses to build independent courts, free elections, or real federalism leaves society
with no peaceful way to express opposition. And when that happens, even minor protests can ignite
into something uncontrollable. The Kremlin’s own fear becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy.
So the prediction of Putin’s supporters is stark: either Russia becomes a disciplined
empire, uniting its sphere and defending its “civilizational mission”, or it collapses
into fragmentation, proving that the myth of Western decadence applies to Russia itself.
In the hopeful future, Russia stands as the savior of a disoriented world,
the last stronghold of order and faith. In the dark one, it becomes a cautionary tale, a
broken empire undone by its fear of freedom. And according to those who believe in this vision,
the difference will not be decided by diplomacy or ideology, but by strength: a strong ruler,
central control, zero tolerance for dissent. For them, democracy doesn’t prevent civil
war, only power does. But if that power falters, they say, the cost will be catastrophic. That is
why the war in Ukraine, the fight against “Western influence,” and the suppression of
internal opposition are all framed as preparation, preparation for a future divided into competing
empires, where Russia will either dominate its region or disintegrate completely.
Because in their eyes, history does not reward justice or freedom. It
rewards endurance. And only those who can outlast everyone else deserve to survive.
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The Price of the Dream
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Every empire begins with a promise, protection, order, greatness. But
the dream imagined by Putin’s supporters carries a price, one that ordinary people
will pay long before history records the outcome. In their vision of the future, stability is worth
more than freedom. Security justifies everything: censorship, isolation, even war. People are told
that sacrifices are temporary, that shortages and sanctions are proof of moral strength. “The
West has comfort,” they say, “we have meaning.” But meaning doesn’t heat homes, feed children,
or cure the sick. The more the state demands endurance, the less it gives in return.
For the elites, this dream is convenient. It keeps them in power, surrounded by symbols
of victory while the rest of the country slips into poverty. For the educated class,
it offers two paths, emigration or silence. For those who stay, it demands loyalty,
not conviction. Everyone learns to speak in code: to praise what they fear, to agree with what they
know is false. That is how authoritarian stability sustains itself, through exhaustion, not faith.
The empire they imagine also depends on enemies. Without a hostile West,
without traitors and spies, the myth collapses. Fear becomes the only glue
holding society together. Children are raised to see the outside world as dangerous and their own
suffering as sacred. Patriotism turns into a form of penance, a way to endure without asking why.
But history is merciless to countries that trade truth for myths. The belief that
Russia can isolate itself and remain strong will lead to the same outcome as before:
decay disguised as pride. Technologies will lag, corruption will deepen,
and the brightest minds will leave. The dream of greatness will survive only on television,
while life grows smaller, poorer, and quieter. And yet, inside this darkness, there is one
fragile hope. Every system built on fear eventually creates the very courage it
tries to suppress. People begin to see that silence changes nothing, that the true price
of the dream is their own future, stolen piece by piece, generation by generation.
When you live long enough inside a lie, it stops feeling like deception, it feels like destiny.
That’s what’s happening in Russia today. The parallel reality of Putin’s supporters isn’t
just propaganda; it’s a coping mechanism. It turns pain into pride and isolation into virtue.
It tells millions of people: You are not losing, you are chosen.
But that illusion comes at a cost. The dream of empire, of moral superiority, of Russia as savior
of a decaying West, it gives people meaning, but it steals their future. The real tragedy
isn’t that this myth exists. It’s that so many intelligent, sincere people believe it because
it protects their self-identity and dignity and satisfy the feeling that “my tribe” will prevail
no matter what. And as long as that need is stronger than the desire for truth, the lie will
survive, and so will the system built upon it. The question is: if you see someone trapped in
delusion, how can you show them that their judgment is wrong, that their actions are
leading to consequences they would never want for themselves or their families?
I looked back through my messages with Max and found half a dozen of his predictions that never
came true and now seem absurd just six months later. But I can’t bring myself to show them to
him. I know it would feel humiliating and deeply upsetting. He would see it not as
a conversation, but as a personal attack. And I already know how he would react. He
wouldn’t say, “Oh, now I see how wrong I was! Please, tell me more about your perspective.”
No, he would immediately defend himself, dismiss my arguments, and drown me in a
new avalanche of “proofs” of his righteousness. So I keep wondering: how do you persuade someone
without humiliating them, especially when they are absolutely certain they already know
the truth? Tell me in the comments. If this video helped you see that
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