Robin Taylor 🇺🇦 🇮🇱

I’m Polish. If France is your future, I come from the end of that road. France shows you the slow version. We lived the full one – the version where the state doesn’t just take care of everything. It owns everything. In Poland it arrived with Soviet bayonets. In America it would arrive by vote – slower, softer, with better slogans. But the destination is the same, and so is the mechanism. It starts with prices. When the state decides what things should cost, prices stop telling the truth. A price is a message: this is scarce, this is wanted, make more of this. Abolish the message, and the whole economy goes deaf. So the shelves emptied – first of meat, then of almost everything. Every Pole knew the joke. A man walks into a shop: "No meat?" The clerk: "No, sir. Here is no fish. No meat is across the street." We queued for everything. People wrote their place in line on their palms and kept lists through the night. You waited years for a small car, and often more than a decade for an apartment. Not because Poles were lazy. Because nobody in the system had any reason to produce what we needed. At work, we had another joke: we pretended to work, and they pretended to pay us. And the promise of equality? It produced the most unequal system of all. The party elite had their own shops – Poles called them the shops behind the yellow curtains. Those with dollars shopped in special stores. Everyone else got the queue. Then the system needed informers, because nobody believed in it anymore. Our neighbors were recruited to report on us. You never knew who was listening – the colleague, the friend, sometimes family. So we learned to live a double life: one language in public, another at home. Those who spoke up got the wolf ticket: no job, no promotion, sometimes no university place for their children. Nobody needed to send them to prison. They just couldn’t live. The newspapers reported record harvests while the shelves stood empty. Everyone knew. Nobody said it. That is what a society looks like when the lie becomes the system. In 1950 we were about as rich as Spain. By 1989, Spain was twice as rich. That is what forty years of "fairness" cost us. Today in America, the method is softer. Your neighbor won’t inform on you to the secret police. Someone will report your post, and you’ll be cancelled – no job, no account, no platform. Different tools, same machine. We got out. Ten million of us joined Solidarity, and in 1989 a system that looked eternal collapsed. Since then, Poland has become one of the great success stories of Europe – because people were finally free to build. But we still carry it. More than thirty years later, you can see it in the careful answers, the closed faces - the system leaves faster than the fear does. It takes generations to get out of it fully once you fall into that trap. Nobody votes for the queue. Nobody votes for the informer. They come with the promise. Trust me, you don’t want to go down that road.

How Your Country Will Rot When You Elect Socialists. A step-by-step guide. But first, look north – and then across the ocean. Picture a young couple in Toronto. Two good jobs, no hope of ever buying a home. When she needs surgery, they wait – months. In 2022, a veteran and Paralympic athlete told Canada’s parliament that when she asked the government for a wheelchair ramp, a caseworker offered her assisted dying instead. When truckers protested, the government froze their bank accounts – a court later called that unreasonable. Canada wanted to be America with better manners. It became America’s poorer, sadder cousin. Now picture a baker in Lyon. He gets up at four to bake, and spends his Fridays filling in forms written in a language only the administration speaks. Every year a new rule, a new tax, a new inspection. His son, an engineer, left for London. Half of what the country produces passes through the state, and the baker can’t remember the last time it gave anything back. Not even security – his shop window was smashed last week and his daughter doesn’t go out after 6 PM anymore. That is where the road leads. Here is how you get there – meet the Millers. They don’t exist, but you know them. Step 1 – Kindness. The candidate promises free childcare, frozen rents, free buses. Mrs. Miller votes for him. Who votes against kindness? Step 2 – The faces. Look at who gets appointed. The young, photogenic spokeswoman, chosen because she looks good in the campaign photo – diversity of faces, uniformity of thought. The kindly old man who worries so much about your goods that soon you have few of them left... And behind them, the people who actually decide: the committee – appointed, never elected – filled with activists, each one certain he knows how the Millers should live. Step 3 – The bill. First, the rich were supposed to pay. The factory owner moved to Texas, taking two hundred jobs with him. Then the property tax went up. Then the city borrowed – and the Millers’ grandchildren inherited the debt before they were born. Step 4 – The rules. Their son wanted to build a small house on the family lot. Two years of permits, reviews and fees later, he gave up and moved away. Meanwhile, the landlord with frozen rents stopped fixing anything, and nobody built new apartments – why would they? Homes disappeared. Step 5 – The state grocery store. To fight "greedy supermarkets," the city opened its own. It can’t go bankrupt, so it has no reason to stock what you want. Its subsidized prices drove the family grocer out of business. Then the shelves began to empty. Poland had these stores for forty years. In the end, the shelves held mostly vinegar only. Step 6 – Disorder. The pharmacy on Main Street put the toothpaste behind glass. Then it closed. Shoplifting under a certain amount had stopped being prosecuted, so it stopped being punished, so it stopped being rare. The honest customers paid for the thieves – and then lost the shop. Step 7 – Speech. Their daughter learned at college which words get you reported. Mr. Miller posted a joke and lost his account. Nobody was arrested. Nobody needed to be. Step 8 – The wolf ticket. Then Mr. Miller spoke up at a school board meeting. A week later, someone called his employer. Then his bank closed his account – "reputational risk." Under communism, Poland called it the wolf ticket: no job, no university place, no future. Nobody goes to prison. You just can’t live. Step 9 – Dependency. More neighbors now live on a program. At election time, the candidate promises to "protect your benefits." Nobody votes against their own check. The machine has built its own voters. Step 10 – Shame, and the empty cradle. The school taught the Miller grandchildren that their country was a crime scene to be ashamed of. Their son, in a rented apartment with no house in sight, decided one child was enough. His daughter, grown up, decided none was. The family ceased to exist – another civilization took their place. And all of it happens behind a smokescreen. Every week a new outrage, a new enemy, a new crisis. Conflict and chaos – nurtured, encouraged. Divide people by race, by sex, by class, and they will never unite against the bill. The news is always about the battle, never about the budget. "You never want a serious crisis to go to waste," a White House chief of staff once said. They never do. While you watch the fire, the machine grows: one more agency, one more rule, one more committee. Nobody in this story needs to be a villain, at least theoretically… The Millers are good people. Every step felt like progress. Every step looked kind, or fair, or safe. That is how a country rots: not in a revolution, but one kind policy at a time – each one sending its bill to someone who isn’t in the room. Look north. Look at France. You still have the choice.