By David Williams
Democracy is a remarkable achievement of civilisation, yet its greatest vulnerability lies in the tendency of political elites to believe they understand the public better than the public understands itself. History repeatedly shows that when politicians, technocrats, and self-appointed guardians of “progress” begin treating voters as obstacles rather than citizens, democracy starts hollowing itself out from within.
At the recent Alliance for Democracy summit in Copenhagen,12 May 2026, I was struck not by the celebration of democratic values, but by the extraordinary contempt directed toward ordinary voters. Trump supporters and, by extension, Brexit voters were casually dismissed as “simple-minded,” as though millions of people could simply be written off as intellectually defective because they rejected the preferred "New Atlanticist" political programme of the conference attendees.
The atmosphere was thick with self-congratulation. Had an alien from the far reaches of our galaxy wandered into the hall, it would have concluded that these delegates considered themselves the wisest people alive, enlightened custodians uniquely qualified to decide the future on behalf of everyone else.
That attitude is dangerous.
Democracy cannot survive if those entrusted with administering it come to see disagreement as ignorance. Once politicians and intellectual elites convince themselves that only they possess the sophistication to govern, they stop listening. Citizens are no longer participants in democracy. They become problems to be managed.
What disturbed me further was the almost casual enthusiasm with which some participants discussed war and geopolitical confrontation. Conflict was spoken of not as a catastrophic last resort, but almost as a moral obligation, even a form of heroic destiny.
It reminded me of an experience I once had in a bazaar in Tunis. A street hawker promised that if I followed him, he would lead me to better bargains. At first, I trusted him and followed willingly, even when he began moving faster and faster through the alleyways. Only when instinct abruptly overcame passivity did I realise I was being led into a trap. My brain, which had temporarily switched off its warning system, suddenly woke up and screamed at me to STOP!.
Voters across much of the Western world are experiencing a similar awakening. But professional politicians are still running at full pelt.
Trump supporters and Brexit voters are not, as they are so often portrayed, idiots manipulated by irrational impulses. They are signalling something essential to the political establishment. They simply do not want the future being offered to them. They do not want perpetual militarisation, endless intervention abroad, or political systems transformed so radically that they no longer recognise the societies in which they live.
They are rejecting a technocratic model of complex democracy in which major decisions seem detached from democratic consent.
This does not mean populist leaders themselves are beyond criticism. Donald Trump and several prominent Brexit figures undoubtedly used public frustration to advance their own ambitions. Politics has always attracted opportunists. But the existence of opportunistic leaders does not invalidate the concerns of a large portion of the electorate.
Millions of people are attempting to communicate a simple message. Politicians are no longer responding to the simple priorities of ordinary citizens. Voters are saying, increasingly loudly,
“You do not know what is best for us. We do.”
The modern democratic crisis is therefore not simply a conflict between democracy and authoritarianism. Increasingly, it is a conflict between democracy and technocracy. It is a struggle between the will of the electorate and governing classes who appear convinced that public opinion is something to be corrected rather than respected.
The implications are serious. Democracies become unstable when elites begin vilifying, demonising, and morally delegitimising large sections of their own population. Once political opponents are framed not merely as mistaken but as dangerous, ignorant, or morally inferior, societies drift toward internal fracture. In such an atmosphere, external conflict also becomes easier, because populations conditioned to despise one another can more easily be mobilised against foreign enemies.
So what can be done?
Maybe democracy needs to rediscover restraint. Politicians must stop treating electoral victories as permission for radical social engineering detached from public consent. Governments should focus on the material well-being of their citizens: welfare, stability, affordable living, and social cohesion, rather than endless ideological and geopolitical projects abroad.
Perhaps, nations should also reconsider the assumption that security requires permanent militarisation or constant intervention overseas. A country that has no intention of invading others does not necessarily need vast expeditionary military ambitions. The purpose of defence should be deterrence and protection, both easily manageable with a standalone nuclear arsenal and an independent delivery system to deter enemies, not the normalisation of going to war as a political identity.
Ultimately, democracy survives only when humility survives within it.
The moment political elites begin seeing themselves as uniquely enlightened, as the sole possessors of reason, morality, and historical insight, democracy stops being government by the people and starts becoming government over the people.
And that is when democratic societies become truly dangerous, not because ordinary people have begun asking questions, but because their leaders have stopped listening.