In 2005, Freedom House counted 123 electoral democracies worldwide—the highest number in human history. The Berlin Wall had fallen, the Soviet Union had dissolved, and democracy seemed to be humanity's inevitable destination. Even authoritarian holdouts like China appeared to be liberalizing, with village elections and internet cafes sprouting across the country.

Today, that triumphant march has not just stalled—it's reversed. Since 2006, we've witnessed something unprecedented: a sustained global decline in democratic governance. More countries have moved away from democracy than toward it for 18 consecutive years. Understanding this reversal isn't just academic curiosity; it reveals fundamental shifts in how power operates in our interconnected world.

When the internet first spread globally in the 1990s, conventional wisdom held that dictatorships couldn't survive it. Information wanted to be free, the thinking went, and connected citizens would inevitably demand democracy. The Arab Spring of 2011 seemed to confirm this theory—Facebook and Twitter helped topple decades-old regimes. But authoritarians were taking notes, and what they learned transformed everything.

China pioneered the model, building not just a Great Firewall to block content, but an entire parallel internet ecosystem. WeChat became surveillance infrastructure disguised as convenience. Russia refined different tactics, flooding the zone with disinformation rather than blocking information entirely. By 2015, at least 40 governments had purchased surveillance technology from Chinese companies, learning to turn connectivity into control.

The transformation was complete by 2020. Where protestors once used encrypted messaging to organize, governments now use the same tools to identify dissidents through network analysis. Social media platforms that sparked revolutions became propaganda channels. Even democracies adopted these tools—the NSA's mass surveillance, revealed by Edward Snowden, showed that digital control wasn't limited to dictatorships. The internet didn't end authoritarianism; authoritarianism adapted to the internet.

The old model of democratic collapse involved tanks in the streets and generals on television. But since 2000, a new pattern emerged: democracies dying through democratic means. Viktor Orbán in Hungary, Recep Tayyip Erdoğan in Turkey, and Narendra Modi in India all came to power through elections, then systematically dismantled checks on their authority while maintaining electoral legitimacy.

The playbook is remarkably consistent across continents. First, capture the courts by packing them with loyalists or changing appointment rules. Second, bring media under control through regulatory pressure, tax investigations, or outright purchase by allied oligarchs. Third, rewrite election laws to disadvantage opposition—not enough to make voting meaningless, but sufficient to make losing nearly impossible. Hungary's Fidesz party won 67% of parliamentary seats in 2018 with just 49% of votes, thanks to gerrymandered districts.

What makes this model so effective is its ambiguity. These leaders maintain electoral democracy while gutting liberal democracy—the institutions, norms, and rights that prevent majority tyranny. They hold elections but control the media landscape. They allow opposition parties but audit them into bankruptcy. They permit protests but pass laws making organizing illegal. By the time citizens realize democracy has been hollowed out, the tools to reverse course have been disabled.

The 2008 financial crisis didn't just crash markets—it crashed democracy's reputation. While Western democracies bailed out banks and imposed austerity, China's economy kept growing at 9% annually. Singapore's technocrats looked competent next to Washington's gridlock. Even Russia's managed democracy seemed to deliver stability compared to the chaos of 1990s democratization. For the first time since 1945, authoritarianism had a compelling success story to tell.

The numbers tell the tale. In 2002, 80% of Latin Americans preferred democracy to any other system; by 2018, only 48% did. Across Africa and Asia, surveys showed growing numbers of young people willing to trade democratic rights for economic development. The promise that democracy would deliver prosperity rang hollow when democratic India's per capita income remained a fraction of authoritarian China's. Brexit chaos, Trump's election, and European populism made democracy look dysfunctional even in its traditional strongholds.

Most damaging was democracy's failure to adapt to 21st-century challenges. Climate change required long-term planning that election cycles couldn't deliver. Tech monopolies accumulated power that democratic governments seemed unable to check. Income inequality soared in democratic and authoritarian states alike, but at least authoritarians didn't pretend voters had a say in it. Democracy's great advantage—self-correction through peaceful transfers of power—looked less impressive when problems persisted regardless of who won elections.

The democracy recession isn't a temporary setback but a fundamental reconfiguration of global politics. The technologies we thought would liberate became tools of control. The elections we thought guaranteed freedom became pathways to elected autocracy. The prosperity we thought democracy would deliver seemed to arrive faster under authoritarian management.

Yet history suggests this isn't democracy's end but another test of its adaptability. Previous democracy recessions—in the 1930s and 1970s—led to democratic renewal, not permanent decline. Understanding how authoritarianism evolved helps us recognize its new forms and resist its appeal. The question isn't whether democracy will survive, but whether it can evolve fast enough to remain relevant in a rapidly changing world.