Author: Lirim Gashi

This is not just a narrative – this is an indictment. In the 1970s and 1980s, the world lived in a great paradox: brutally divided by the Berlin Wall, yet at the same time stabilized by mutual fear.

Two blocs – one led by the Soviet Union and the other by the United States of America – were not only ideological adversaries, but also guarantors of a frightening, yet functional balance.

Back then, humanity knew something that today seems forgotten:
It knew that there were two concentrated centers of responsibility to which one could turn.
It knew that the two superpowers – however cynical they might have been – were forced to consider the global consequences of their actions.

But with the fall of the Berlin Wall, it was not only a symbol that collapsed. Fear collapsed. And along with fear – responsibility.

The West, intoxicated by victory, convinced itself that history had ended. That there were no more rivals, no more limits, no more mirrors that would force it to self-correct.

And this is precisely where the modern tragedy begins:
When power is left without a counterbalance, it does not become more just – it becomes more insatiable.

Political and economic elites no longer managed systems; they began to build personal empires within them. Democracy was emptied of substance and filled with marketing. Justice was reduced to procedure. Morality became a luxury.

Because classical social democracy – which once sought to build harmony between freedom and equality, between the individual and the collective – was replaced by a softened form of capitalism, which no longer restrained greed but merely managed it, postponing its inevitable eruption for as long as possible.

Meanwhile, right-wing and neoliberal ideologies pushed a dangerous idea to the extreme: that unlimited economic freedom would automatically produce justice.

But history proves the opposite: when freedom is detached from ethics, it turns into a license for abuse, exploitation, and injustice.

Thus, slowly and almost unnoticed, a new world order took shape, in which: the minority is not only wealthy – it has become the system itself, while the majority is not only poor – it has become redundant.

Because when 3–5% of people control the vast majority of global wealth, this is no longer an economy – it is an architecture of inequality.

But the consequences are not only economic. They are also ecological: the planet is treated as an inexhaustible mine. They are also demographic: poverty multiplies through birth, seeing hope as its last remaining wealth. They are also moral: we live in a world where dignity is negotiated like a commodity.

They are also political: the citizen no longer chooses – he is managed.
They are also diplomatic: principles of justice are replaced by short-term interests.

And so we arrive at today – not as a coincidence, but as a logical outcome.

Because a world without balance, without shame, and without fear of consequences is a world that produces crisis as a norm.

Because in a world where justice is no longer a foundation, it becomes decoration.

As a result of everything explained above, my conclusion is not merely analysis – it is at the same time a diagnosis, a warning, and a remedy:

If humanity does not establish a new balance – not necessarily between two blocs, but between power and responsibility – then this “pandemic of evil” will never stop on its own.

Because injustice has no natural limits.
It stops only when humanity decides to say: enough.