Because of the 1990s, I spent the entire last year reading what might have been a million articles in global media, all revolving around one central idea: "Does Trump’s rise to power signal the end of democracy?"  

This dystopian view currently prevailing in the Western world aligns with the dark clouds that have suffocated the political skies in Europe for nearly a decade. It coincides with the rise of far-right movements year after year, alongside the increasing levels of dissatisfaction in public opinion polls, reflecting citizens’ discontent with the performance of governments across the democratic West—once a symbol of happiness.  
Indeed, the question of "the end of democracy" is justified. Western societies understand all too well that democracy is an inherently fragile system, one that contains within it the seeds of its own destruction, as history has shown us with Caesar in ancient Rome and Mussolini and Hitler in the twentieth century.  

Yet, I believe the legitimacy of the question isn’t about the essence of democracy itself but rather about the lingering nostalgia for the 1990s still prevalent in much of the political elite. The "end" they are talking about isn’t the end of democracy per se, but rather the end of the version of democracy that emerged during that decade.  

In the 1990s, the United States (and its Western allies) presented the world with a model to emulate. America under Clinton and Britain under Blair, the two youthful leaders who played the saxophone and smiled with simplicity, whose achievements and scandals unfolded in an atmosphere of transparency, lightheartedness, and acceptance of criticism. The idea that a president is not above error or accountability—no matter how trivial the mistake, like a middle-aged man’s fleeting dalliance with a young intern in a blue dress.  

Today, the mood, circumstances, and times have changed. Events and transformations over the past several years have swept away many elements that made up the 1990s version of democracy. The world, and particularly the Western nations, now seem ready to live with a new version of democracy, one that cannot be understood solely through Trump’s return to the White House.  

The new version is inspired by experiences entirely different from those of America and its Western counterparts. Russia under Vladimir Putin, Hungary under Viktor Orbán, India under Narendra Modi, and Israel under Benjamin Netanyahu are now the models to follow. Turkey under Recep Tayyip Erdoğan might also be part of this context. This new version of democracy is one that could aptly be called "Orbán Democracy." While Orbán might not be a global superstar like Putin or Modi, his system has earned certification from the European Union itself, making its replication and acceptance easier across the old continent.  
But beyond the name, what has changed between the 1990s version and the "new Orbán democracy"?

The Shift from Humanism to Religion

The first sign of change lies in the nature of the democracy itself. The 1990s democracy derived its governing values from general humanist philosophy. The Humanist Manifesto was a prominent guide, offering a "humanist" formula suitable for a world where borders were falling and empires were collapsing. The message of the 1990s was clear: the democratic model that defeated communism should be the magic formula applicable anywhere, leading societies to development and victory.  

The 1990s democracy was designed to appeal to everyone, adorned with the necessary trappings to inspire those living behind the Iron Curtain in grim, heavily policed environments. It promised human rights, prosperity, and equality for all. The defeat of communism wasn’t solely due to its inherent failure; failed systems could survive as long as they had military power to protect them. What truly defeated communism was the yearning for change among the people trapped behind the Iron Curtain, who dreamed of the sweet fruits of democracy they saw shining on the other side of the wall—radiant with laughter, equality, diversity, and prosperity. The democracy of the 1990s resembled missionary religions, tirelessly spreading or even imposing their vision on every land and people under the claim that "we cannot maintain our interests with a state or society unless they embrace the magical formula we demand."  

The new version of democracy, however, does not need these accessories. It is more introspective, indifferent to others' opinions, and not concerned with luring distant audiences with the sweet fruits of democracy dangling from the fence. It believes in the uniqueness of each society, system, and state, asserting that we should not meddle in the private affairs of others to ensure mutual benefit. Trade and capitalist growth will continue to thrive, and political-economic deals will ensure progress. If every political system has its flaws, we must accept "neoliberal opportunism" rather than the hypocrisy of liberalism.  

The new democracy draws its core values not from humanism but from religion. From now on, religion will play an important role in defining the boundaries of systems and shaping values. The specific religion doesn’t matter; in Russia, Putin’s Orthodox Christianity coexists harmoniously with Kadyrov’s Islam; in Hungary, Orbán's policy is defined as "illiberal Christian democracy"; in Israel, Netanyahu uses Judaism as both identity and ideology but manages to establish remarkable peace deals with leading Muslim nations; in India, Modi elevates Hinduism while allowing it to surpass the secularism of Nehru and Indira Gandhi.  

The new democracy insists that the core values of religions should be the foundation of systems and societies, not merely the province of the conservative right. Social factions will no longer be allowed to violate religious values without consequence. These religious values, in their broadest sense, are not subject to debate but are the basis from which any discussion should begin and return. Thus, issues like abortion, LGBTQ+ rights, and sexual freedoms are not on the agenda.  

As for the concept of equality — an idea central to Western thought since the French Revolution — it is now being gradually deconstructed. In the new version, it’s no longer natural for the state to treat everyone with equal measure. The rich are not the same as the poor; state supporters are not the same as opponents; the native citizen is not the same as the migrant or illegal immigrant; the white is not the same as the black. Under this framework, it’s absurd to consider that the people of Gaza or the West Bank deserve the same rights as Israelis, that America’s poor should receive the same free healthcare as the wealthy, or that border guards shouldn’t fire on illegal intruders.  

These ideas are no longer just jokes exchanged by neo-Nazi skinheads in bars; they have subtly crept into the rhetoric of politicians in the new version of democracy.  

Does this New Democracy Concept Accept these Developments?

Of course, because democracy was never a singular, rigid model. Like any political system, it evolves with the times and seeks to adapt to new realities. The American democracy of the 1950s, for instance, allowed for racial segregation and the McCarthyist persecution of intellectuals. In the 1920s, it denied women the right to vote. Victorian democracy in the nineteenth century justified the colonization and enslavement of half the world. Even the founding fathers who wrote the U.S. Declaration of Independence denied liberty to women and slaves.  

Does the New Version of Democracy Bring Good or Bad News for the World?

Answering this question is exceedingly difficult. The world’s complexities—its economic, political, and human intricacies, the enormous pressures on resources, and the constant competition for wealth and power—mean that managing this global chaos requires more than just a new political model. However, the good news might be that this new version of democracy will be less inclined to intervene in the internal affairs of other countries, potentially reducing conflicts between major powers and regional forces to a minimum.

The bad news, however, is that this new democracy is less concerned with idealistic humanist ideas, meaning it allows states embroiled in conflicts or wars to pursue their goals at any cost. In the 1990s version of democracy, the immense human and material toll of wars like Putin's in Ukraine or Netanyahu's in Gaza would have generated significant domestic pressure to halt or de-escalate them. However, in the new democracy, these humanist concerns are less important, and with a stronger grip on power, public dissatisfaction and resentment can be quelled, allowing wars to continue longer without significant internal resistance.

* Ali Brisha is an Egyptian novelist, producer and journalist living in Dubai.