How I Survived A Totalitarian Dictatorship (And So Can You)

These days, I casually drop my "I grew up in a totalitarian dictatorship" origin story into conversations at work so often that my colleagues started charging me a pound every time I mention it. There’s a literal jar labelled “Oppression Fund” by the coffee machine. At this rate, I’ll have enough to patch up the funding cuts and bankroll the next underground samizdat printing press. But hey, surviving a regime where the most popular sport was synchronised silence taught me invaluable life lessons. In the spirit of solidarity (and because I’m told that sharing is a form of resistance), in this post, I offer my own humble introduction to the art of resistance. It is learnt the hard way, from years of practice, in places where courage is a daily requirement, not a trending topic.

Recently, I caught up with a friend, another Eastern European veteran of the human rights trenches.

Instead of the usual competition over whose country is more of a mess (always a close race) or lamenting the state of the world (no shortage of material), we commiserated about something even more absurd: the endless stream of advice that erupts every time the news takes a turn for the catastrophic.

[Ok, we also argued whether we should invest in a bunker or a therapist, but I leave that aside.]

Basically, if you’ve been following the popular ‘Fighting Back’ genre in certain corners of the media (that is, any publication where the phrase “speaking truth to power” is required by editorial policy), you might notice a certain pattern.

More often than not, the tips come courtesy of seasoned veterans of think tanks and op-ed pages, from the comfort of an ergonomically designed chair, a well-curated podcast queue and a mug that says “Nevertheless, She Persisted.” With the benefit of a comment section.

Everyone is suddenly a strategist, diagnosing authoritarianism like it’s a TikTok trend. The advice is always earnest, the checklists are plentiful, and the sense of urgency is palpable.

At least until the next Wordle.

But a word to the wise: if your resistance tips come from places where the worst hardship is a late train or burnt oat milk, you might want to reconsider your sources.

Hence, my fellow aspiring subversives living in “interesting times” and considering a future in dissent, here are my seven tips for surviving dictatorships.

Because all you really need is a checklist.

1. Trust nothing (and I mean nothing)

I still remember the day a colleague in the UK (a media literacy expert, no less), genuinely distressed, complained that people here were “losing trust in the media.”

I had a shock of my life. It would never EVER cross my mind to trust the media.

See, growing up under a totalitarian regime where propaganda is everywhere, you learn early on that the official news story is just that. A story.

Till this day, if the government or mainstream media ask me to do something, my first instinct is to do the exact opposite.

If they tell me everything’s fine, I brace for impact.

If they say there is no shortage, I check my emergency supplies.

When they urge everyone to trust the process, I read the fine print. Twice.

This default setting is pretty common. My mom, for example, treats weather forecasts like The Da Vinci Code. She watches the weather segments on three different news channels, one after another. Actually, each station schedules its weather updates a few minutes apart during the evening news, knowing that people will be cross-checking them.

My American cousin observed this with disbelief: “This is ridiculous. It is JUST the weather forecast!”

“Exactly!” replied my mom, with the wisdom of a true dissident.

Remember: the ‘truth’ is always hiding somewhere between the lines. Or between the channels.

Bonus tip: If you can spot the sarcasm in a state newspaper headline, you are halfway to freedom.

2. But build a community that won't betray you (mostly)

Many Western pundits will find this hard to imagine, as their biggest threat is a Twitter troll and not enough followers.

You must forget viral hashtags and online group chats.

Real resistance means knowing which walls have ears and which friends have loose lips. Choose your confidantes like you’re casting a spy thriller.

Ask any dissident from my region what they found in the archives after the regime fell. Some discovered their best friend, brother-in-law, or dentist had been reporting on them for years.

(I find the last the most scary. Imagine your teeth and your secrets extracted at the same time!)

In the digital age, the rules haven’t changed, only the tools. Surveillance is everywhere now, and betrayal can happen with a screenshot. If you don’t want it known, don’t put it in writing, don’t text it, and don’t trust encryption to save you.

If it must be said, say it in person. And even then, if your conversations require checking for bugs (the electronic kind, not the insect), you’re doing it right.

Remember: this is not about paranoia. Trust, it turns out, is a rare currency. It is earned in teaspoons, not buckets. Spend it wisely.

3. Organise lots of parties

If you think resistance is all gloom, doom, endless protests, angry manifestos, and late-night planning meetings, you’ve clearly never met a real revolutionary.

Dissidents are legendary party planners. When tomorrow means prison (or worse), you learn to celebrate hard and often.

Back in the day, every dissident gathering was a mix of reunion, strategy session, underground university lecture and potential farewell. People danced, debated, and laughed like it was their last night of freedom (sometimes, it was).

There’s a reason the best stories from those years don’t come from the official history books, but from smoky kitchens and crowded living rooms at 3 a.m.

A good party is not a distraction. It is a tactic. It builds trust, forges loyalty, and keeps everyone sane. Networking events and “team-building” exercises will not cut it.

Remember: regimes hate joy almost as much as they hate free speech.

4. Keep receipts (they will be needed later)

Another thing authoritarians fear the most is a record trail.

They count on collective amnesia and the hope that no one is keeping score.

That’s why the smartest dissidents wrote things down.

So, document the abuses and all the madness. Don’t embellish, though. The reality is usually outrageous enough.

But please, hide it in plain sight.

My childhood diary, for instance, was disguised as a tractor maintenance manual. No one reads those.

If you’re feeling realistic, make a backup and give it to someone who’s even more paranoid than you.

Eventually, when denial becomes policy, these records will matter.

Remember: history is not written by winners. It is written by historians. One day, someone will thank you for it. Probably with a footnote.

5. Start a boring hobby

There’s a reason the most suspicious people in the eyes of the state are the ones with nothing to hide. Regimes are always on the lookout for “subversive” minds.

You need a shield. Not a literal one (those are hard to hide). You should get a hobby so dull, so spectacularly unremarkable, that it becomes the perfect cloak for your insurgent work.

Collect paperclips. Catalogue rocks. Memorise niche nonsense, like the Latin names of local weeds.

Need to meet a contact? You’re just trading rare stamps. Delivering leaflets? You’re on your way to a meeting of the local birdwatching society. Mapping safe houses? You’re compiling a comprehensive guide to regional bus stops.

Growing up, my sisters’ and my favourite daily radio program was The State of Rivers Report. A thrilling 10-minute segment where a monotone announcer declared water levels and measurements in several languages, including French, Russian, and German.

To this day, I can still rattle off phrases like “niveau stable” (“stable water level”) or “уровень воды падает” (“the level of water falls”) with the gravitas of a Soviet hydrologist.

Trust me, it will pay off when the authorities come knocking at your door. You know nothing, saw nothing, heard nothing. Except, of course, the fascinating fluctuations and 47 facts about your local river’s sediment flow.

Authorities flee from nerds.

Remember: the duller your hobby, the more invisible you become. And in the world of resistance, invisibility is power.

6. Laugh a lot

Dictatorships take themselves very seriously.

They can ban books, jail poets, and erase history, but they are powerless against a great joke.

Take “Radio Yerevan” jokes… They were so popular that you could get sent to Siberia just for telling one. Assuming you didn’t get there first for something else.

“Why, despite all the shortages, is toilet paper in East Germany always two-ply? Because they have to send a copy of everything to Moscow.”

“Can the average Soviet citizen buy a Volga? Yes, they can. But what would they need such a huge amount of water for?”

“What is the most common reason people end up in the Gulag? Timing. Arrive at work five minutes late - sabotage. Five minutes early - espionage. Exactly on time - you must have a capitalist watch."

The more absurd reality became, the more elaborate the punchlines. The joke was always on the regime. The audience always got it.

Remember: irony is a survival skill. And if you ever get caught, just claim you didn’t get the joke.

That’s one thing every regime understands.

7. Live in truth (courage starts small)

I left the best for last. And some of you will now yawn as you might have guessed, where is this going…

Because if you’ve spoken to me for more than five minutes in the past few years, you’ve heard me bring up Václav Havel. The Czech playwright, philosopher, and political dissident who went from being banned and imprisoned under communism to becoming the first democratically elected president of Czechoslovakia.

My respect for him is fully justified, as only a few writers have dissected the art of not losing your soul in a system built on lies quite like he did.

His essay, The Power of the Powerless, was both a dissident’s manifesto and a manual for daily courage. The kind that starts small and snowballs.

In its core was a call to examine how we live our lives in relation to truth, power, and integrity. How we interact with society, our government, and even ourselves.

The thing is, and I have experienced it first-hand, authoritarianism is not necessarily a blunt-force trauma. More likely, it is a subtle poison. Administered through our own routines, the grudging nods during meetings, the self-censorship before hitting “post,” the collective shrug when norms erode.

The real battleground isn’t the streets or the courts.

It’s the thousand small choices we make to either sustain the charade or call it out.

Remember: ‘living in truth’ (as Havel called it) is our greatest rebellion. Our choices matter more than we think.

Good luck.

P.S.: In a bold act of resistance against my own calendar, Saturdays are now the new Wednesdays (my Substack day has officially moved). Doing this midweek was a tyranny I refuse to accept. Until I change it again.

P.S. 2: For the record, when the communist regime fell, I was way too young!!! If I sound unusually well-versed in the art of resistance, blame proximity rather than seniority. But hey, all you need to know about surviving in a totalitarian dictatorship, you’ll figure out yourself, eventually.

Or you have probably learnt it from your elders.

Except for the part about not trusting anyone over 30.

That's just a myth perpetuated by people who are clearly over 30.