Lessons for the Left
The Spectre of Colour Revolutions and the Crisis of Democracy
A spectre is haunting the world—the spectre of coloured revolutions and protest movements. Whenever mass protests erupt—in Paris, Belgrade, or Kathmandu—we are tempted to see something that may not even be there. Fear of outside interference, orchestrated unrest, regime change: all this creates a tendency to interpret events through a familiar script. The clenched fist, the symbolic girl facing riot police, the carefully staged scenes—these raise a crucial question: are we witnessing an epidemic born out of democracy’s crisis, especially in states that are quasi-democracies, more like colonies than sovereign countries?
From a liberal perspective, the dilemma centres on the constitutional right to mass protest, particularly when authorities are deaf and blind to citizens’ demands. And of course, the disturbing images of brutal police violence against demonstrators—often older people or people with disabilities treated as terrorists—underscore the problem. Strikingly, these scenes appear not in “authoritarian” states but in so-called advanced democracies, which also increasingly suppress dissent and criminalise movements—even when they fight genocide. At the same time, they intensify militarisation at the expense of social policy. Europe, above all, faces destabilisation to the point of surrendering to Trump’s dictate: more money for NATO and war, less for its citizens.
If the French Revolution of 1789 was the symbol of historic change, today’s France may not herald such a political or social upheaval, but the potential for dramatic shocks remains—shocks that will spill across the continent.
On the EU’s periphery, Serbia has been in a state of permanent street democracy for more than ten months. Politics has moved from institutions into protest movements—some seeking to block the system entirely, others to preserve its shaky functioning. Polarisation reigns: between those clinging to the status quo under Aleksandar Vučić (even if he is not their favourite leader, he still holds the reins), and those demanding radical change without a clear vision of what that change should be. A divided opposition remains united only in being against, unable to articulate what they are for. Who are their leaders? What kind of Serbia do they want? No clear answers.
Elsewhere, violent protests recently shook Indonesia and Nepal, leaving human casualties. Speaking as someone from a country that went through its own colour revolution—Macedonia—I may share the view on the post-revolution political and social landscape. A decade later, people have almost forgotten that episode. Instead, they admire protestors elsewhere who humiliate politicians and force them to flee in panic. But what did Macedonia’s ‘revolution’ bring? No real change—only a reminder that geopolitical pawns are expendable. Once the USA got what they wanted—regime change, constitutional amendments, name change and NATO membership—they moved on to the next hotspot. Today, people remain angry and disillusioned, but there are no protests even after horrifying scandals: deadly fires in hospitals and clubs, ecological disasters in the capital’s outskirts, Gaza. Why? Because the money has dried up. The US embassy holds everything under control. The government is obedient, Macedonia is in NATO, sends aid to Ukraine, and behaves like a colonial vassal who is blind even to genocide and suffering of others.
I won’t pretend to be an expert on Indonesia or Nepal. I read, I listen, I think; still, the picture remains blurred. Nepal, however, serves as a useful case to reflect on the colour revolution phenomenon. Within leftist and critical circles sceptical of US/Western imperialism, two interpretations usually emerge: either the protests are an engineered colour revolution, or they are genuine uprisings driven by deep social contradictions. Even though there is no contradiction between the two… The latter camp yet stresses a vital point: if we automatically dismiss every protest as foreign-sponsored regime change, don’t we strip local actors of their agency and deny the legitimacy of their grievances? Don’t we erase the possibility of a genuine social revolution? This question mirrors the liberal debate about the constitutional right to protest.
From my region’s experience, protests are often a dead end—they go nowhere—if there’s no prior idea, vision, structure, or organisation that isn’t just a one-off project funded by foreign sources. To be blunt, spontaneous protests—even for the most legitimate causes—are rare in impoverished countries, where apathy, even anomie, and fear of worse consequences dominate. Any spontaneous street uprisings are usually driven not by ideas but by raw anger, unchanneled and without a plan for “the day after.” Even student protests or similar actions must reckon with the strong influence of trends and examples from elsewhere in the world. For instance, people cry: “Bravo to the Nepalis (or Serbs); we should do the same with our own authorities.” And nothing comes out of it—they continue voting for their ‘elites’.
In an era of global communication and a true global village, these patterns of behaviour and symbols easily cross continents. There’s a straightforward process of copycatting and imitation—admiration for anything that symbolises justified revolt in a world clearly in its terminal phase. But more often, there are “cookbooks” and manuals on how to topple a regime and install a new one. Western cultural and media hegemony enables this, even when organisations like USAID, NED, and similar groups are not directly involved from the start. Once they sense societal rot and an (un)expected opportunity, the networks spring into action; money flows, and suddenly someone emerges from anonymity as the “saviour.” Vijay Prashad captured this perfectly with his metaphor of a filthy house and the ants that draw in the snakes.
In a text this long, I can’t dive into a full analysis—every case has its own story. What starts as a legitimate protest can quickly be hijacked from the outside. And when there are casualties—and when those lives are turned into symbols of the “bloody hands of the regime”—the winners are almost always the outsiders waiting to profit, not the society struggling to transform itself. The vultures know what they’re doing: they latch onto fresh, young, innocent blood and turn it into an opportunity to push their own agendas—national, regional, or even global.
So where is the Left in all this? A difficult question, without easy answers. Fragmented, disorganised, and consumed by infighting, the Left is rarely present before events unfold. It does not educate the masses, build a revolutionary organisation, or offer vision, or better tactics and strategy. Instead, it reacts post festum. Should it join and support protests that look legitimate? Or should it deconstruct them as external operations? Colour revolutions often emerge in places with deep contradictions and justified grievances. That makes recognition and response enormously difficult.
I have never seen democracy or social justice flourish after a violent overthrow. Have you? Macedonia’s “spring” of 2015–16 bloomed briefly like a desert after rain—then disappeared forever. What remains is distrust, polarisation, and suspicion toward collective action, apathy, and capitulation of spirit. The Left exists in my country, but it is young, weak, and plagued by its own “childhood diseases.” It cannot yet confront the mastodon parties steering us through a so-called democratic transition that is, in truth, a transition into nothingness. How long will it survive? Hard to guess.
I don’t know what will become of Nepal, Indonesia, or even Serbia. What I do know is that electoral democracy solves nothing when metastasised elites compete only for privilege and for the blessing of the US or European embassy, their true patrons, before whom they kneel like loyal subjects. The patrons cannot care less about the internal well-being or democratic principles.
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