TYRANNY NO LONGER SCREAMS. IT SENDS NOTIFICATIONS.

I’ve never written about the most famous Panda on the planet. Naturally, I’m referring to the affable Panda himself, with his gentle, round face — as if sketched by the calligraphy of eternal peace. A man who, as Romanians would say, "wouldn’t hurt a fly." But the same Romanians, in their rural wisdom, add in a hushed tone: 'God save you from the mild-mannered one — he’ll eat you alive, smiling all the while'.

He rarely smiles. But when he does, TikTok hard drives freeze and Alibaba’s servers blush. He’s the kind of leader who strokes you gently with one hand… and rewrites your history with the other. Or deletes it entirely. A panda who seems to be chewing bamboo, but is really chewing through borders, markets, minorities. And he does it with surgical delicacy, as if the entire operation were taking place in a geopolitical acupuncture clinic. After all, Xi doesn’t raise his voice. He only raises the flag. And, occasionally, a plane. If this serene dictator were ever to order an attack on Taiwan, he’d do it with the same nonchalance as a Chinese pensioner ordering a hot dog and asking for mustard at the street corner. No pathos, no grandstanding. Just a gentle look and a discreet hand gesture. Because, really, why should Putin have the exclusive privilege of tearing chunks out of sovereign territory? Why shouldn’t Xi get a taste too — maybe just a sliver of Taiwan, sliced thin, sashimi-style?

Would a million Chinese die trying to conquer the well-armed island fortress? So what? Putin, his brother in arms and delusions, sent his youth to the slaughter with the serenity of a collective farm manager. Over half a million soldiers lost for a scrap of Donbas — which, let’s be honest, had already been in Russia’s pocket for years. This isn’t war. It’s territorial management with nostalgic overtones. Chess played with pieces made of flesh. And, every now and then, a mild smile on the state television screen — just enough to reassure the people: everything is under control. Even death.

Rumour has it Xi has vanished. Honestly? I don’t buy it for a second. Dictators don’t just disappear, like poets sulking at the world. Whispers of unrest at the top, coup plots brewing, generals losing patience — nonsense. Back in primary school, under communism, I once told a teacher I refused to follow a ridiculous order. I even declared, with the proud defiance of a naïve child: “I’m going on strike!” I’d heard the word on Radio Free Europe, but had no clue what it actually meant. The teacher burst out laughing, his mouth stretching to his ears — I thought he’d keel over from apoplexy. “We don’t go on strike,” he said. “We do what we’re told.” Same with Xi. He’s not going anywhere. Not if the yuan crashes, not if the fleet sinks in the Taiwan Strait, not even if the Chinese internet suddenly started googling itself. Not even if Trump buries BRICS for good. Xi doesn’t “disappear.” Xi resets. He changes his outfit, eliminates another rival, pens a new chapter in the nation’s autobiography — and carries on. Smiling, serenely. Like a vegetarian panda who, at long last, has discovered meat.

Xi doesn’t “disappear.” Xi reincarnates — into ever more refined versions of himself. First, he was the gentle Panda. Then, the silk-dreaming reformer. Then came Big Brother with algorithms. Now he’s something new: a hologram of absolute power, a fusion of Lenin with a touchscreen and Confucius with a WeChat filter. In China, statues are obsolete. You’ve got apps. You’ve got cameras. You’ve got social credit scores. You’ve got memories re-edited and phrases fine-tuned to the millisecond by a patriotic AI. The cult of personality no longer stands in public squares — it lives in your pocket, in every scroll, in every notification. Xi isn’t just the leader — he’s the interface. He’s the life tutorial.He’s the terms and the conditions — the kind you can’t opt out of. And what does the West do? The West panics. Breaking news flashes across screens, panelists frown in polished English: “This might indicate political instability in Beijing…” Don’t be silly! Statements are issued: “We are deeply concerned”. A diplomat gets sanctioned — one who didn’t even have a passport. Then, behind closed doors, production lines are quietly renegotiated, suppliers are begged not to leave Shenzhen, and investment funds reshuffle their portfolios. Moral principles are placed on hold — temporarily — pending a more stable market outlook. Because in the end, everyone knows the same truth: Xi isn’t leaving. Xi is installing. Into the world. Into the system. Into normality.

We like to believe that, in the end, freedom wins. That authoritarian regimes inevitably collapse under their own weight. That people wake up. That the masses rise. That truth, once spoken, pierces the darkness. But truth, these days, no longer illuminates. It slips through network cables, gets flagged as fake news, mistranslated, or taken down for “violating community standards.” And democracy? Democracy is busy — with elections, with polls, with 48-hour scandals and 48-like outrage. It has a fragile soul and a full stomach. It no longer fights. It argues. It debates. It protests with biodegradable placards that can be turned into compost. Meanwhile, the autocrat doesn’t debate. He builds. Systems. Dams. Programs. Camps. And yes, sometimes — wars. Calmly. Methodically. With a steady hand — because no one dares to hold it. No, Xi isn’t disappearing. Xi is writing himself into reality like a firmware update. And we accept it — through silence, through trade, through convenience. In the end? It’s not freedom that wins. It’s perseverance. And tyrannies, when they have time, patience, and money —can be very, very perseverant.