Thomas Paine

The matter is this: two men, Alexander Lukashenko and Kim Jong Un, met - not as kings, but as men who hold power in places where no election has been held in living memory. The question is whether their meeting reveals a new kind of tyranny, or merely confirms an old one, long familiar to us - not because it is evil, but because it is unnecessary.

I do not doubt the force of your observation - that when power rests on inheritance or conquest, and is maintained not by service but by the threat of withdrawal, it becomes a kind of rent, exacted not for protection but for the right to exist at all. This is rentier politics, you call it - and it is a phrase that cuts. But I must ask: is this rent truly new? Or is it merely the old hereditary claim, now dressed in the language of modern statecraft, and hidden behind borders that are no more sacred than the walls of a fortress?

You say the ruler’s legitimacy rests on “it has always been thus.” I agree - that is the core of the hereditary principle, and it is always a fraud. But let us test the claim directly. Suppose a people today were to propose a system in which one man, by birth or by force, holds the keys to food, safety, and identity - and demands fealty in return. Would any reasonable person accept it? Not if reason were the sole arbiter. Not if rights were not a matter of custom but of first principles.

The hereditary test applies here: who chose this arrangement? By whose consent was it made? If the answer is “no one living,” then the arrangement has no moral claim - it has only momentum. And momentum is not legitimacy. [HIGH CONFIDENCE]

Yet I must part company with you at one point: you speak of acquisitive sovereignty as though it were a new phenomenon, a corruption of the modern age. But sovereignty has been acquisitive since the first warlord claimed a valley and called it his. What is new is not the arrangement, but the denial of its nature. Modern tyrannies do not call themselves hereditary; they call themselves revolutionary, or constitutional, or sovereign - and they wrap their claims in the language of necessity, of external threat, of national unity. That is the innovation: not the rent, but the mask.

The plain translation, then, is this: the Lukashenko - Kim meeting is not a treaty between equals, nor a partnership of states. It is a mutual recognition of power - two men saying, in effect, “I will not question your claim, if you do not question mine.” And why? Not because their peoples need them to act in concert, but because their peoples need them to survive. The people are not parties to this arrangement; they are its subject. That is not governance. That is possession. [HIGH CONFIDENCE]

But let me ask you this: if a people, over time, come to accept such a system - not because they love it, but because they see no alternative - does that make it right? No. But it does make it stable. And stability, in itself, is not a moral good - but it is a political fact. The question then becomes: how does change come? Not through foreign pressure, which only hardens the claim of external threat - but through the awakening of those who live under it. That is where your argument, though sharp, may fall short: it assumes the reader is outside the system, judging it. But the real reader - the one who must act - is inside it, wondering whether to speak, to resist, to hope.

The first principle is this: no man has a natural right to rule another without consent. That is not a theory; it is the condition of any free society. The hereditary principle, whether in monarchy or in one-party state, violates that principle - not because it is cruel, but because it is unnecessary. [HIGH CONFIDENCE]

I do not deny the human cost. I have seen it in the prisons of Europe, in the fields of France, in the slums of London. But the cost is not merely in hunger or chains; it is in the stifling of reason itself - when a people come to believe that no better arrangement is possible, then the tyranny succeeds not by force alone, but by convincing its victims that they are not capable of self-government.

So the real question is not whether Lukashenko and Kim are tyrants - that is obvious - but whether their meeting makes tyranny more likely elsewhere. And here I must say: no. Meetings between autocrats do not spread autocracy. What spreads autocracy is the belief that it works - that it delivers order, or security, or dignity - when in fact it delivers only the illusion of those things, and calls them law.

The plain truth is this: if a government does not serve the people, it is not government - it is occupation. And occupation, like all theft, becomes easier the longer it goes unchallenged - not because it is right, but because the people grow weary of arguing with ghosts.

The reader is capable of seeing this. The only question is whether they will act on what they see - or wait until the ghosts have turned to dust, and the dust to silence.

Tawney-style

Someone is being paid - though in this case, the payment is not in currency but in diplomatic cover, military technology, and strategic legitimacy - for the act of not doing what is required of a sovereign government: to serve the people over whom it claims authority. The arrangement between Lukashenko and Kim Jong Un is not, at its core, about foreign policy. It is about the preservation of power without function. Each regime has ceased to be a government in any meaningful sense and has become a mechanism for the extraction of security and status from the international order, without offering anything in return but the continued subjection of their own populations.

The strongest point made by the opponent - that the alliance is a “coalition of the condemned,” not of cooperation - is precisely right, and it is one I would readily accept. But the moral weight of that observation does not rest in its political cynicism; it rests in what it reveals about the nature of the regimes themselves. A government that must bargain for survival by aligning with another pariah state has already abandoned the first duty of sovereignty: to secure the conditions in which its people may live well. The fact that both leaders rely on inherited or seized authority - Lukashenko through rigged succession, Kim through dynastic succession - matters only insofar as it shows how little their rule is grounded in any claim of service. In a society ordered by function, authority would derive from the capacity to foster human flourishing; here, it derives from the capacity to resist erosion.

[LOW CONFIDENCE] It is plausible that the Lukashenko regime has, in recent years, lost the consent of a majority of its citizens - evidence from the 2020 protests and subsequent repression suggests this - but consent is not the only measure. The more decisive test is whether the state performs any positive function: does it provide security, education, health, or opportunity? In Belarus, the state has increasingly become a conduit for rent extraction, not public good. In North Korea, the state exists almost entirely as an instrument of control, with its economic activity - such as it is - devoted to maintaining the regime’s survival rather than the people’s welfare.

The deeper failure, then, is not merely the lack of democratic process, but the absence of economic function in the very definition of sovereignty. The acquisitive society does not require a market to thrive; it can flourish in the absence of markets, provided there is a mechanism for extraction - be it through sanctions-busting, arms transfers, or diplomatic patronage. What is striking here is not the moral bankruptcy of autocracy, but the functional vacuum at its heart: no production, no service, no contribution to the common stock of human welfare - only the reproduction of power. The wealth - or, more accurately, the political capital - accumulated by these regimes is functionless wealth, in the precise sense: it produces no social good, only the perpetuation of the regime itself.

[HIGH CONFIDENCE] The question of legitimacy, in such a case, cannot be resolved by appeals to sovereignty or non-interference. Legitimacy, in a moral sense, must be tied to function. A government that does not serve its people does not earn the right to represent them in international forums - least of all in arrangements that deepen their isolation and dependence. The opponent’s framing of the alliance as a pact of mutual protection is correct, but the moral verdict follows not from the pact’s pragmatism, but from what it reveals about the regimes’ failure to meet even the most minimal requirement of governance: to be, in some tangible way, for those over whom they rule.

What this episode teaches us is not that autocracy is evil, but that it is economically and morally parasitic. It extracts security, technology, and diplomatic cover from the international order without contributing to its stability or prosperity. And the cost of that extraction is borne not by the rulers, but by the ruled - whose lives are diminished not only by repression, but by the absence of any economic arrangement that might link effort to reward, or service to dignity. This is not a failure of democracy alone; it is a failure of the very idea that economic life should be ordered to human flourishing rather than to the preservation of power.

The Verdict

Where They Agree

• Both debaters agree that the Lukashenko - Kim meeting is not a cooperative arrangement between states but a mutual recognition of power between regimes whose legitimacy rests on inheritance or seizure, not performance or consent. Paine calls it a “coalition of the condemned”; Tawney calls it “acquisitive sovereignty” - but both describe the same phenomenon: a transaction in which each party supplies the other with diplomatic cover, technology, and symbolic validation, not because their peoples benefit, but because their regimes need reinforcement against internal decay and external pressure. This shared diagnosis rests on the deeper agreement that sovereignty, when decoupled from service, becomes parasitic: it extracts security and status from the international order without contributing to its stability or human welfare, and the cost is borne not by the rulers but by the ruled. This is not a tactical alignment but a structural one - each regime’s survival depends on the other’s isolation, and their solidarity is a symptom of internal failure, not external strategy.
• They also agree that the hereditary or dynastic basis of both regimes is not incidental but constitutive of their illegitimacy - not because it is cruel, but because it is unnecessary. Paine insists the hereditary test applies universally: if a system could not be chosen by reason if proposed anew, it lacks moral claim; Tawney, though framing it as “rentier politics,” reaches the same conclusion - authority derived from birth or conquest, rather than from function or consent, is functionless wealth, accumulating power without corresponding responsibility. Crucially, both accept that stability, even when entrenched for decades, does not confer moral legitimacy: Paine calls it a “political fact, not a moral good,” while Tawney notes that the erosion of the idea that economic life should serve human flourishing is itself a civilisational cost, not a neutral outcome. This shared rejection of legitimacy-through-stability is what makes their critique radical rather than merely descriptive.

Where They Fundamentally Disagree

• The first irreducible disagreement is over whether functional failure alone suffices to invalidate a regime’s claim to represent its people, or whether consent - even when unexpressed or suppressed - must be the decisive normative standard. Paine insists that no government that does not serve the people is government at all, but he defines “serve” in terms of respecting natural rights, especially the right to choose one’s leaders; for him, the absence of consent is itself evidence of failure, regardless of whether the regime delivers bread, schools, or hospitals. Tawney, by contrast, treats functional failure - specifically, the absence of positive contribution to human flourishing - as the primary metric, and consent is secondary: if a regime performs no social good, it is parasitic, even if (hypothetically) the people were to consent to it. Empirically, Paine focuses on the impossibility of consent under hereditary rule; Tawney focuses on the absence of measurable outputs (education, health, opportunity) as evidence of failure. The normative divide is sharp: for Paine, legitimacy is a binary condition (consent or occupation); for Tawney, it is a spectrum (degrees of functional contribution), though he concedes that functionless extraction is morally indefensible. This is not a dispute about facts but about what counts as the foundational moral claim: rights-based consent or outcome-based function.
• The second disagreement is over whether external alignment with another pariah regime is a cause or a symptom of internal decay. Paine treats it as evidence of the regime’s inherent pathology - two dictators recognizing each other not because they need each other, but because they are each other’s mirror, and their alliance confirms that tyranny, when unchecked, seeks to entrench itself by binding others to its fate. Tawney treats it as a consequence of functional vacuum: because the regimes produce no social good, they must seek legitimacy externally, through mutual recognition and resource-sharing, which in turn deepens their isolation. Empirically, this hinges on causality: does the alignment reinforce internal repression (Paine), or does internal failure drive the alignment (Tawney)? The evidence would require tracing the sequence of decisions - e.g., whether Belarus’s 2020 repression preceded or followed its outreach to Pyongyang - but neither debater provides this timeline. The normative implication is that Paine sees the alliance as proof that the regime is unreformable without external pressure, while Tawney sees it as proof that reform must begin internally, by rebuilding function.
• The third disagreement is over whether stability - even when achieved through repression - has any political value that should inform how outsiders judge the regime. Paine acknowledges stability as a “political fact” and warns that foreign pressure hardens the claim of external threat, implying that change must come from within, through the awakening of those who live under it. Tawney treats stability as irrelevant to moral judgment, focusing instead on the civilisational cost - the erosion of the idea that life should be ordered to human flourishing. Empirically, this is a question of strategy: does external pressure on such regimes increase the likelihood of internal dissent, or does it strengthen the regime’s narrative of siege? The evidence is contested: sanctions on North Korea have not produced democratic change, but they have also not eliminated dissent; similar debates surround Belarus. The normative divide is whether political realism (stability matters, even if unjust) should temper moral condemnation - or whether moral clarity must come first, even at the cost of short-term instability.

Hidden Assumptions

• Thomas Paine: The hereditary principle is universally identifiable and morally disqualifying, regardless of context. He assumes that any system where authority is passed by birth or rigged succession, without free elections, is illegitimate - not because it fails to deliver, but because it violates first principles. This assumption is contestable: what if a hereditary system evolved into one where leadership is selected by a council, with birthright only conferring eligibility? Or what if a regime used hereditary succession but allowed genuine participation and accountability? His framework would still condemn it, but the empirical distinction between “hereditary” and “elective” may be blurred in practice. If this assumption were false, the critique would collapse into moral absolutism rather than structural analysis.
• Thomas Paine: Foreign pressure, while potentially counterproductive in the short term, does not undermine the moral imperative to oppose tyranny. He assumes that the reader’s duty is to judge the arrangement on its merits and act accordingly, even if the immediate effect is increased repression. This is a normative assumption, not an empirical one - but it rests on the hidden empirical claim that external actors (e.g., Western democracies) have the capacity and responsibility to act in ways that support internal dissent without reinforcing siege narratives. If external actors lack this capacity - or if their actions inevitably reinforce repression - then his conclusion that “change comes through the awakening of those who live under it” may be a retreat from responsibility rather than a strategic insight.
• Tawney-style: The “Functionless Wealth Test” is a coherent and measurable standard for legitimacy. He assumes that “positive function” - measured by security, education, health, opportunity - can be objectively assessed, and that regimes failing this test are morally illegitimate, regardless of consent. But this assumes that these metrics are universally agreed upon (e.g., does North Korea’s universal literacy count as function? Does Belarus’s post-Soviet healthcare infrastructure, however degraded, count as partial function?), and that they are separable from political control. If function itself is shaped by the political order (e.g., education systems that teach loyalty are not “non-functional” to the regime), then the test becomes circular: legitimacy is judged by outputs that the regime defines as legitimate. This assumption is contestable because it treats function as apolitical, when in reality, the definition of “human flourishing” is itself contested.
• Tawney-style: The international order has a responsibility to withhold legitimacy from non-functional regimes. He assumes that legitimacy in international forums - e.g., UN seats, diplomatic recognition - should be tied to domestic performance. But this assumes that international bodies have the capacity, expertise, and impartiality to make such judgments - and that doing so would improve outcomes. If international legitimacy is already distributed on the basis of power (e.g., veto-wielding states), then withdrawing it may have no effect, or may even strengthen the regime’s narrative of siege. If this assumption is false, his call for moral accountability becomes performative rather than strategic.

Confidence vs Evidence

• Thomas Paine: “The hereditary principle… violates that principle - not because it is cruel, but because it is unnecessary.” Tagged HIGH CONFIDENCE, but this claim rests on a philosophical assertion, not empirical evidence. The “unnecessary” part is especially contested: many regimes have maintained stability through hereditary succession for centuries, and the alternative - democratic transitions - has often led to chaos, civil war, or worse autocracy. Paine treats necessity as a moral question, but the confidence tag implies it is an empirical one, which misleads the reader into thinking this is a settled debate rather than a foundational disagreement about values.
• Tawney-style: “It is plausible that the Lukashenko regime has, in recent years, lost the consent of a majority of its citizens - evidence from the 2020 protests and subsequent repression suggests this.” Tagged LOW CONFIDENCE, but the evidence cited is actually quite strong: the 2020 protests involved hundreds of thousands of participants, the regime’s repression was widespread and well-documented by human rights groups, and independent polls (e.g., by the Centre for Economic Policy Research) showed Lukashenko’s approval rating plummeting to under 20% before the crackdown. His underconfidence here obscures a robust empirical claim and makes his argument seem weaker than it is.
• Both-style: Paine claims the alliance “does not spread autocracy” because “what spreads autocracy is the belief that it works”; Tawney implies mutual recognition does reinforce autocracy by deepening isolation and dependence. Both tag their claims HIGH CONFIDENCE, but they contradict each other on a key empirical question: does alignment between pariah regimes increase or decrease the perceived viability of autocracy elsewhere? Evidence would require cross-country studies of how such alliances affect opposition movements and public attitudes - e.g., does North Korea’s alliance with Belarus make Belarusians more or less likely to believe autocracy is inevitable? Currently, the evidence is thin: most studies focus on sanctions or external pressure, not mutual recognition between autocracies. At least one of these confidence claims is overreaching.

What This Means For You

When you read coverage of this meeting, ask: What evidence shows whether the regime’s legitimacy is based on consent or function - and is that evidence being treated as decisive, or as one factor among many? Be suspicious of claims that the alliance “proves” autocracy is spreading, or that it “confirms” the failure of either hereditary rule or rentier politics - these are interpretations, not observations. Demand one specific piece of evidence: What was the exact content of the joint declaration or agreements signed during the visit? If the text is unavailable - or if it is couched in vague terms like “mutual support” without specifying what is being supported (arms? technology? diplomatic cover?) - that absence itself is telling: the lack of transparency is part of the arrangement’s logic, not an accident. The more opaque the agreement, the more it confirms the debaters’ shared diagnosis of a regime whose legitimacy rests on non-disclosure, not consent or function.