In this new reality, there are no more adults. From now on, we are the adults – Pavel Kazarin.

Once, I was convinced that my generation was destined to live in a post-history era.

It seemed that all significant events had already occurred and the rules were set. Empires had collapsed, independence had been achieved, and wars had come to an end. It was easy to believe that history was on a predetermined path, and anyone could forecast its trajectory.

The country was perceived as something hard-earned by others. It was obtained through struggle by individuals whose names were etched on banknotes and memorial plaques. It felt like the task of my generation was merely to dust off the monuments and pedestals.

I was mistaken.

It turned out that my generation was living in the most subjective period of the country's history. Our decisions or inactions would determine its future. Independence is a theorem that must be proven every day.

Over the past three years, some of my friends have become streets. Others have become monuments. My grandchildren will be assigned the biographies of those with whom we are currently exchanging messages in chat apps. The portraits of our contemporaries will be featured on Ukrainian banknotes, and the only thing that could prevent this is the absence of Ukrainian banknotes.

If in the past each of us was a guardian of history, now we are destined to become co-authors. Against the backdrop of current challenges, pre-war issues risk appearing "warm" and "cozy." The only difficulty is that our turbulence coincides with a global one — and now the old rules and guidelines are no longer effective.

The number of adults in the room is dwindling.

Previously, we viewed the United States as the guardian of democracy and the world order. Now, American voters have elected a president who threatens allies and makes deals with dictators. A country that has invested in "soft power" for decades is now trading its authority and reputation for the small change of petty popularity.

For a long time, Russia considered itself the antithesis of democracy. It claimed that values do not exist — unlike price tags. That the world is built on cynicism and self-interest. Donald Trump's victory should convince the Kremlin's residents of their correctness. In this new reality, Viktor Orbán and Robert Fico no longer appear as relics of a bygone era, but rather as prophets of a new one.

Add to this the rising popularity of the right in Europe. The radicalization of agendas in old democracies. Electoral surprises born from social media, like in Romania. Centrifugal slogans in EU countries. And we have the same backdrop against which Ukraine reflects off the empire.

The old lines of confrontation in the world have fundamentally changed.

After World War II, it lay between market democracies and planned dictatorships. It was believed that market economies and prosperity naturally lead to freedom. That simply integrating a state into global trade would inevitably make it part of the democratic world. This was a mistake.

The new line of confrontation now runs between market democracies and market dictatorships. The latter are free from the hereditary diseases of their predecessors. They know how to compete, trade, be efficient, and at the same time learn from their mistakes. They are also capable of offering their populations not only the victory of Marxism but tangible prosperity.

The fault line between democracies and dictatorships has become thinner. Once, it had a distinct shape because it was based on an economic model. Now, the transition to unfreedom has become less noticeable, as it is accompanied not by poverty and shortages but by the dismantling of institutions and the destruction of checks and balances.

We have had to fight without rules.

It used to be simpler. We lived on the legacy of the post-war era — and any event could be related to parallels in history textbooks. Now the old rules are losing their power, and the drafting of new ones will depend on the outcome of our war. Russia's success will inspire other empires. Our defeat will instill fear in the continent and create a demand for politicians who will seek peace in Putin's eyes.

If we face defeat, the consequences will not only be millions of refugees in the EU. Not just dozens of new Mariupols and hundreds of new Buchas. The result will be fear of power and a readiness to bow before it. Under such conditions, the 2030s of the 21st century will bear a striking resemblance to the 1930s of the 20th.

The problem is that the grandees of old Europe have long lived in a state of security surplus. Their inviolability was guaranteed by the USA, and they became accustomed to not looking back at military threats. Now they have to relearn this, arm themselves, and teach their citizens that they have not only rights.

We could teach them a lot.

In this new reality, we have unexpectedly become the frontmen. We are the only ones capable of sinking missile cruisers and shooting down strategic bombers. We can smoke tanks by the dozens and destroy horizontal radar systems. Engage in aerial combat against modern fighters and intercept hypersonic missiles.

Only our army knows how to fight a nuclear state. We destroyed the tank fist meant for a strike across the English Channel. Every infantryman under Pokrovsk has seen more war in a month than an American Marine has in their entire service.

War has taught us that culture is the collective memory of a nation. That resentment is its collective immunity. We often criticize ourselves for not coping well with the challenges of invasion. But all criticism falls flat against the fact that we have no one to compare ourselves to. In the last 70 years, no one but us has faced such circumstances.

There are no adults around anymore. The adults now are us.